Tate Modern:
Bruce Nauman
On 17th November 2017, I was, like a moth, instantly attracted to the bright lights of the Bruce Nauman exhibition (Tate Modern). His work demanded the viewer to (literally) take a step back and consider the purpose and context of his work. Nauman's extensive and imaginative use of media transmits a multitude of different ideas simultaneously. It is clear that his previous studies in Mathematics and Physics informed his practice and are a domineering influence on his work. One piece which caught my attention was 'Violins, Violence, Silence' (1981).
Violins, Violence, Silence
1981
Bruce Nauman
The artwork itself was made of coloured neon tubing with a clear glass suspension frame. As the letters overlap, it is hard to initially distinguish what the piece is actually conveying, proving rather disorientating. Additionally, the buzzing noise which accompanies the piece (originating from the neon tubing) is somewhat distracting. However, it is ironic that while reading 'violins' evokes a pure and unpolluted noise, in reality you are faced with a low, droning buzz. I enjoy the irony of Nauman's work and the complex ideas which lie behind the lights. There is much more to this piece than is initially apparent and I hope that other visitors to the gallery take the time to consider its complexity.
Another piece in the exhibition which caught my attention was 'Raw Material Washing Hands'(1996). The video, which documents one individual washing their hands constantly for 55 minutes is difficult viewing. It is reminiscent of a person suffering from obsessive–compulsive disorder (OCD) in which the individual is performing a routine repeatedly, as though it were a ritual. The video becomes painful to watch as we see the individuals skin being overworked by the soap and water and I must admit that although the video runs for just under an hour, I watched it for no longer than 10 minutes.
Raw Material Washing Hands,
Bruce Nauman
1996
After seeing Nauman's work, it is clear that he questions and stretches the boundaries of what it is to make art. He has purposefully left behind traditional notions of 'fine art' and has distanced himself from paint as a medium.
THE SKIN I LIVE IN
Pedro Almodóvar’s, The Skin I Live In (2011), is a troubling film. It asks the viewer to consider how claustrophobic it may feel to be imprisoned in a body which one does not believe represents one’s true identity. Further, the parallels between the young boy, Vincente/Vera’s (played by Elena Anaya), imprisonment in the small room, and the inner entrapment he also faces is unmissable. In the film, the protagonist, a surgeon (played by Antonio Banderas) seeking revenge for the apparent mistreatment of his young daughter (who later commits suicide), imprisons the suspected offender and forces him to undergo gender reassignment surgery. The film is not for the faint-hearted, with rape, suicide and violence either being shown or explicitly inferred throughout. The captive also plays the role of the surgeon’s human guinea pig, and is subjected to trying out a new type of skin which is made from pig hide. What is remarkable about the new skin is that it lacks any blemishes or redness, and asks the viewer to consider how new technological improvements could offer individuals who have undergone facial trauma, the opportunity to re-establish their former identities (at least, structurally). One wonders how those who have previously been subjected to ostracism because of their deformities could be viewed if their faces could be re-modeled to resemble a normal structure. This would inevitably affect their status, for many cultures deem children with deformities as demi-gods, or even, demonic. It is interesting to consider how a new skin would affect the allocation of personhood and how this could impact those who have suffered facial malformations.
Another interesting aspect of The Skin I live In, is the film’s brush with the queer community and its portrayal of some of the struggles faced by its members. Throughout the film, the notion of transgender identities is explored and the link between gender and identity, and how changing the former can alter the latter, is discussed. The viewer shows the confusion caused by someone who feels that their sexual organs are not in accordance with their perceived gender. Trace Thurman in, Horror Queers: Dissecting the Moral Dilemma of ‘The Skin I Live In’, suggests that on first watching the film, any queer references are forgotten, however, on a second viewing, the inferences become more poignant and at times, unmissable. Distracted by the frequent violence, one does not stop to consider the sexuality of protagonist, Dr. Robert Ledgard, and the motives which dictate his actions. Ledgard’s relationship with Vera may be considered heterosexual, if it were not for the forced transition that Vincent was subjected to. This asks the audience to question whether or not those in the trans-community who have transitioned (surgically or otherwise) and engage in relationships with the (now) opposite sex, are performing homosexual or heterosexual acts.
On reflection, The Skin I Live In is an important film, as it demands the viewer to analyze their own perceptions of gender and identity and consider the elements which form their creation. Although raising such a question may offend members of the queer community, it does invite critical discussion which could ultimately help members of the public understand and support their cause. I aim for my studio practice to raise similar questions and inspire independent thought.
REFERENCES
Thurman, T. (2018). Horror Queers: Dissecting the Moral Dilemma of ‘The Skin I Live In’. [online] Bloody Disgusting!. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/editorials/3478093/queer-fear-the-skin-i-live-in/ [Accessed 18 Jun. 2018].