Breathing Life into: Plants, Archives
and People in Responsive Space

Responsive Space
Modern Art Oxford, Oxford
02.10.20 – 17.01.21

Spirited, spires; respire, aspire, transpire. Loose threads link the disparate elements of Modern Art Oxford’s Responsive Space, an assortment of community arts projects located both within a single gallery, and available online. The miscellaneous collection is framed by rectilinear collages mounted on opposing walls; the viewer, it seems, is invited to draw the red tape between the two. What results is a highly contemporary reflection on natural and virtual worlds, and how 2020 has compelled many of us to reorient our position within them.

The first project, Activating our Archives, is composed of a wall of photographs that explore image-making and collective work in lockdown, in addition to a monitor displaying a Zoom recording of the group’s activity. By contrast, at the far end of the gallery, Breathworks gathers critical and creative approaches to breathing, charted in text boxes and accompanying images. These two projects bookend the gallery, establishing a bricolage space akin to a digital display, with various ‘windows’ open. In the space between, we encounter the work of asylum seekers and refugees in Oxford, as well as the overspill from an exhibition on Mariana Castillo Deball. There is a kind of cut-and-paste aesthetic, a sense of the accelerated integration of virtual spaces into our lives over the past year, which directs my understanding of the layout. These assorted elements are the multifaceted possibilities – and effects – of lockdown.

The images that make up Activating our Archives are rediscovered, reclaimed, or else responsive to unprecedented times. Amanda Denny, for instance, recovered discarded photographs from a ‘Covid Clearout Skip’, investing them with new life. The photographs document not only her daily lockdown walk, but also how such excursions fostered fleeting and significant interactions with those whose paths she crossed. Among the archives, family photographs feature prominently. For many, nostalgia has proved a perennial feature of 2020; one such instance is visible in Francesco Pennacchio’s Unlike Flowers, She Won’t Come Back with Spring. In this deeply personal history, Pennacchio places his mother’s photograph – newly excavated from a lifelong hiding place – alongside a Polaroid of daffodils. Side by side, the images are not dissimilar, the dappled light of the daffodils resembling the mother’s smile. Here, photographs are like pressed flowers, a thing preserved after the life is gone. As we put our lives on pause, perhaps, we were borne back into the past.

Etain O’Carroll also contributes a family portrait, a black and white snapshot depicting three young children and their parents gathered on a mattress, the uneven light blending the figures together. In this piece, O’Carroll considers whether photographs allow us to remember things as they are, to what extent any photo is candid or contrived. There’s a light experiment I have always been fascinated by, in which the light behaves differently when recorded. O’Carroll ponders on something similar, when she asks: How is a moment transformed by being immortalised? How does the moment change, if we already conceive of it in terms of how it will be remembered?

As many of us have revisited our photographic archives in isolation and spent increasing periods of time viewing ourselves through computer cameras, O’Carroll’s work asks pressing questions. How do we think of the present? What is the nature of an ‘event’? How do we perform for the camera? The work’s title, Thrown Together, might describe the exhibition as a whole. Contemporary life has become increasingly uncontrollable. Overseen by the Zoom room, Activating our Archives presents a kind of drag-and-drop spontaneity to the newly virtual community space.

Before moving to Breathworks, I lingered on Bharat Patel’s Bridge of Sighs by the River, which engages most directly with electronic culture. Patel Photoshops the skyway over Oxford’s New College Lane into new surroundings, which feature snow and a number of trees, as well as a body of water in which a cyclist is suspended. Oxford is famously a kind of dreamscape, an almost surreal overlap of old and new in the ‘city of dreaming spires’, which spawned Lewis Carroll’s wonderland. Patel’s distortion of such an iconic landmark speaks to a new unsettling of our relationship to both digital and material spaces. The outside world has become alien, perhaps, a landscape garnering a different attention on our one hour of daily exercise; we are learning to recognise ourselves in less tangible spaces.

Breathworks is an entirely different computer window. Displaying extracts and visuals related to religious practices, spiritual healing, medical science and pollution, this portion of Responsive Space meditates on the meaning of breath and air. It is utterly arbitrary that, in my encounter with the space, the Breathworks digital project provided the immediate follow-up to Patel’s augmented reality. That Patel’s ‘bridge’ bridged the gap only attests to the logic of overflow that governs the space; the sound of breathing plays rhythmically through speakers around the gallery, audible as the viewer ponders Patel’s ‘sighs’.

Inspire, aspire, conspire: to breathe life into, to pant with anticipation, to breathe together. Ideas of breath are built into the most fundamental and most imaginative forms of human life. Breath asks us to question the nature of humanity: as we inhale and exhale, we test the capacity of our bodies, the limits of the human. But in the gallery, space breathes, and communities breathe together, unsettling the perceived wholeness of the body. The Breathworks project predates the pandemic, but in the light of recent events, it has certainly taken on a new significance.

As one Breathworks extract has it, oxygen is ‘bacterial excrement’; in another, ‘marine microbes form the lungs of the earth’, and indeed ‘our worlds will only become liveable once we learn how to conspire with plants’. Where some corners of the Breathworks mind map insist on breath as our assertion of self-presence, an absolute certainty and centredness in our own bodies, here, breath is somehow post-human. Breath is the non-existence of self, the confirmation of our symbiosis with microbial life forms. In breathing we are reminded that our bodies offer a soup of microorganisms, not distinct from, but entangled with, the world. Breathworks bleeds over into the wider space, its extracts like units working for the whole; we are composed of smaller parts, and we make up a larger body.

From masks to airless rooms, suffocation in the murder of George Floyd, breathlessness has taken on particular resonance this year. More than ever, we are aware of breath as contagion, as biochemical warfare. But as the exhibition highlights, minority communities have long been cognisant of air quality as politically charged. As an extract from Jane Macnaughton’s text summarises, ‘Breathless people are among the most marginalised in Western societies and one reason for this is that breathlessness disproportionately affects the most disadvantaged communities.’ Women, people of colour and poor people are most vulnerable to respiratory afflictions, and breath has been understood in terms of colonial and patriarchal oppression, as well as environmental violence. In Breathworks, buzzwords, infographics and soundbites map out a stream of information, challenging us to do our research.

Like Activating our Archives, Breathworks also incorporates a screen. Here, a projection exhibits creative responses to breath. It is from this film that visceral sounds emanate – groans, pants, snores, words. On the screen, elemental forces meet with artificial technologies. Depictions of trees and of people blowing into plant life contrast with a head obscured by masks and headphones, and the flash of an iPhone camera. Electronic gasps and virtually rendered faces ask us how expansive our lung capacity might be – how far we might share breath with others, machinic or otherwise.

And then there’s the activity table. Bordered by sand in sedimentary layers, the table asks what pasts – and indeed what presents – we can unearth, and how the viewer participates in meaning-making. Those visiting Modern Art Oxford will navigate by the one-way system and come to Responsive Space via the Deball exhibition, thus newly equipped with Deball’s decolonising ideals. Following on from Deball, who emphasises the significance of museum curation in shaping public knowledge, Responsive Space embraces intersection, encounter and combination as ways of knowing. These collectives rethink ‘human’ and ‘life’, and what it means to record, distort or rethink these fundamentals of self.

Responsive Space captures both the digital expansions and existential challenges which have characterised the past year. Loss, atemporality, contingency and the polluting potential of the body are articulated via an aesthetic reminiscent of internet culture, and the hold of digital interfaces on our imagination. Viewers can ( quite literally ) only approach the work as the current health crisis permits, online or through the adjoining gallery, and here we engage with the unique consequences of an unprecedented year. Seeking out signs of life in unusual places, Responsive Space considers the diverse possibilities for community in 2020.

如何呼吸:反应空间中的植物、档案和人类

回响空间
牛津现代艺术博物馆,牛津
2020年10月2日-2021年1月17日

精神性的,呼吸,吐纳,显露。松散的线索将牛津现代艺术博物馆“反应空间”中的不同元素连接起来。展览集合了各种各样的社区艺术项目,它们被呈现在同一个展厅内,也可以在线上浏览查阅。繁杂的作品被贴在相对的墙上,辅以直线拼贴的画框,观众似乎被邀请至此,来划出两者之间的条条框框。其结果是对自然和虚拟世界的当代深刻反思,以及在2020年,时间是如何迫使我们当中的许多人重新界定我们身处于世界中的位置。

展览的首个作品是《激活档案》( Activating our Archives ),它包括一面照片墙,探索着封闭状态下图像的生成制作和集体工作;还有一个显示器,记录了该艺术组织举行活动的Zoom会议。相比之下,在展厅的另一端,《呼吸工作》( Breathworks )则收集了呼吸行为的关键和创造性方法,并利用文本框和附带的图片做记录。这两个项目将展览夹在中间,建立了一个类似于数字展示的拼贴空间,其中有各种打开的“窗户”。而在展览的中间地带,我们看到了于牛津本地寻求庇护的难民的作品,以及马利亚纳·卡斯蒂洛·德巴尔( Mariana Castillo Deball )的展览留下的一些剩余。剪切粘贴的审美顿时袭来,一种虚拟空间在过去的一年当中加速融入了我们生活的感觉,这引导了我对展览布局的理解。这些不同的元素是封锁状态下能够达到的多种可能性和结果。

构成《激活档案》的那些图像被重新发现、回收,或者开始呼应不可预测的时代。例如,阿曼达·丹尼( Amanda Denny )从一个“COVID隔离基地”找到了被丢弃的照片,让它们获得了新的生命。这些照片不仅记录了她每天在隔离期间的散步,还记录了这种短期禁闭如何促进了她与那些遇到她的人短暂而重要的互动。这些档案中,家庭照片尤为突出。对许多人来说,伤怀已被证明是2020年的一个永续的特征。此类情形可以在弗朗西斯科·彭纳契奥( Francesco Pennachio )的《不似花,她不会随春天回来》( Unlike Flowers, She Won’t Come Back with the Spring )中看到。在作品宣泄的深刻的个人历史中,彭纳契奥将他母亲的照片—从一个遍寻不见的隐秘角落重新找到的—放在一张水仙花的宝丽来相片旁边。并置的照片没有什么不同,水仙花瓣上斑驳的光影很像母亲的微笑。在这里,照片就像被压过的干花,是生命消逝后得以保存下来的东西。当生活暂停,也许,我们会被带回到过去。

埃恩泰·奥卡罗( Etain O ‘Carroll )也贡献了一张全家福,这是一张黑白快照,三个年幼的孩子和他们的父母坐在同一张床垫上,不均匀的光线将所有人物混合在一起。奥卡罗试图思考的问题是照片能否让我们记住事物本来的样子,以及,照片在多大程度上可以算作真实还是虚构?我一直对一个光学实验很感兴趣,这个实验中,光线在被记录时会产生不同的变化。当艺术家思考类似的问题时,她问道:一个时刻是如何通过被凝固而被改变的?如果我们已经从记忆的角度理解和铭刻了它,那么这个时刻又是如何被改变的呢?

当我们中的许多人孤立地重新审视自己的照片档案,并花费越来越多的时间通过电脑摄像头凝视自己时,奥卡罗的作品提出了紧迫的问题:我们如何面对此刻?“事件”的本质是什么?我们如何在镜头前表现?作品《凑成一堆》( Thrown Together )的标题可以描述整个展览。当代生活变得越来越难以控制。在Zoom的监督下,《激活档案》呈现了一种在新兴的虚拟社区空间里拖放鼠标式的自发性。

看到《呼吸工作》之前,我流连于巴雷特·帕特尔( Bharet Patel )的《叹息之桥》( Bridge of Sighs by the River ),这里最直接地融入了电子文化。帕特尔将牛津大学新学院巷的空中通道PS成了新的环境,下着雪,许多树,还有一个骑自行车的人悬浮在水中。牛津是梦幻之地,在这座“梦幻塔尖之城”中,新的事物和旧的事物近乎超现实地彼此交叠,刘易斯·卡罗尔( Lewis Carroll )的仙境也因此而得名。帕特尔对这一标志性建筑的扭曲反映了我们在与数字空间和材料空间的关系中所显露的新的不安。外面的世界已然变得陌生,也许,在我们每天一个小时的锻炼时间内,不同的风景引起了我们不同的关注;我们正在学习在一个不那么切实有形的空间中重新认识自己。

《呼吸工作》则是一个完全不同的电脑窗口,展示了与宗教实践、精神治疗、医学科学和环境污染相关的内容和视觉产出,反应空间中的这部分内容平衡着呼吸和空气的意义。这是完全随意的,漫步于空间当中,作为数字项目的《呼吸工作》立即跟进了帕特尔作品中的增强现实。帕特尔的“桥”跨越了鸿沟,证明了支配空间的逻辑流动;当观众思考帕特尔的“叹息”时,呼吸的声音会有节奏地通过展厅周围的扬声器播放出来。

激发,渴望,共同吐纳:将生命注入呼吸,满怀期待地喘息,一起呼吸。呼吸的概念建构了人类生活中最基本、最富有想象力的形式。呼吸让我们质疑人性的本质:当我们吸气和呼气时,我们在测试身体的能力,人类的极限。而在展厅里,空间和社群一起呼吸,扰乱了被感知到的身体的整体性。《呼吸工作》的创作早在新冠肺炎大流行之前就开始了,但鉴于最近的事件,作品无疑具备了新的意义。

正如《呼吸工作》的一则片段所言,氧气是“细菌的粪便”;而在另一则片段中,“海洋微生物组成了地球的肺”,事实上,“只有学会如何与植物合作,我们的世界才会适合居住”。《呼吸工作》在思维导图的某些角落坚持认为呼吸是我们自我存在的主张,代表我们身体的绝对确定性和中心意义,站在作品的角度,呼吸在某种程度上是后人类的。呼吸是自我的不存在,是我们与微生物生命形式共生的证明。在呼吸中,我们被提醒道,我们的身体是一团微生物,没有区别,但与世界纠缠在一起。《呼吸工作》渗透到更广阔的空间,作品的碎片就像为整体工作的子单元;我们是由更小的部分组成的,与此同时,我们组成了一个更大的身体。

从口罩到不透气的房间,如同乔治·弗洛伊德( George Floyd )被谋杀前所经历的窒息,无法呼吸的感觉在今年引起了特别的共鸣。我们比以往任何时候都更能意识到呼吸是传染病,是生化战争。但正如这次展览所强调的,少数族裔社群长期以来一直认为空气质量带有政治色彩。简·麦克诺顿(Jane macnaughton)总结道:“在西方社会,最喘不过气的人是最边缘的群体,原因之一在于最弱势的群体受到的影响更大。”妇女、有色人种和穷人最容易患上呼吸道疾病,而呼吸则一直被归纳在殖民、父权压迫以及环境暴力的议题之下被加以理解。在《呼吸工作》中,流行语、信息图表和声音片段绘制出一连串的信息,挑战我们去做相应的研究。

和《激活档案》相似的是,《呼吸工作》也包含了一个屏幕,展示了对呼吸的创造性反应,发自肺腑的声音—呻吟、长吁、鼾声、话语,出现在这部影像中。自然力与人工技术在屏幕上相遇了。画面中树木和人被吹进植物里,与被口罩和耳机遮挡的头部和iPhone相机的闪光形成对比。虚拟渲染的面孔伴随着电子喘息询问我们,你的肺活量能有多大—我们能与他人共同呼吸的距离能有多远,无论是机械的呼吸还是以其他方式。

然后是一张活动桌,被沉积层中的沙子所包围,这张桌子向我们提问,我们可以挖掘出什么样的过去—又或者更确切地形容,可以挖掘出什么样的此时此刻—以及观众如何参与到意义的创造当中。参观牛津现代艺术博物馆的游客将通过单一路线系统,穿越德巴尔的展览进入反应空间,从而利用德巴尔的非殖民化理念武装自身。德巴尔向来强调博物策展在塑造公共知识方面的重要性,反应空间与其呼应,将交互、相遇和组合作为认知的方式。展览对“人”和“生命”进行了集体性地重新思考,而对它们的记录、扭曲或重新审视又意味着什么。

反应空间捕捉了过去一年来人类面对的数字扩张和生存挑战。我们通过互联网文化的审美残余和想象中的数字界面来把握和表达失去、非时间性、偶然,以及身体的污染潜能。观众只能(非常确切地说)在当前健康危机允许的情况下,通过网络或相邻的空间来接触这些作品,而在这里,我们面对的是前所未有的一年所引发的独特后果。反应空间综合了2020年社群的各种可能性,在不同寻常的地方寻找生命的迹象。