Uncommoning Agriculture

Gwynne Fulton
On a cool grey morning last January, we clambered into a black SUV. After losing our way on the snaking highways that connect the sprawling city of eight million to the urban peripheries, we arrived at the Thomas van der Hammen Nature Reserve in Suba, on the northwest edge of Bogotá. After a short walk through the undulating grasslands we reached the site of Zanjas y Camellones (2022 –ongoing), a collective agroecology project created by artist María Buenaventura, landscape architect Diego Bermúdez, educator Liliana Novoa, lawyer Sabina Rodríguez, archaeologist Lorena Rodríguez Gallo, and curator Juliana Steiner, in consultation with Hycha Caca (Abuela/Elder) Blanca Nieves Ospina Mususú. The interdisciplinary project re-creates a fragment of an ancient agricultural system in the territories of the Muisca people who — contrary to the authorized version of history — survived Spanish colonization and are currently undergoing a process of resurgence.

Knowledge of the Muisca cultivation system had largely been forgotten in the city when, in 1968, the US anthropologist Sylvia M. Broadbent documented a checked pattern of cropmarks: short, parallel lines stretched across the valley floor, between old stream beds and the marshy channels of the savannah, from Suba to the Bogotá River.1 1 - Sylvia M. Broadbent, “A Prehistoric Field System in Chibcha Territory, Colombia,” Ñawpa Pacha: Journal of Andean Archaeology, 6 (1968): 135 – 47. Her aerial photographs showed evidence of an extensive network of zanjas (ditches), where the agrarian society raised crabs and fish, and camellones (raised planting beds) where they cultivated important subsistence crops: beans, quinoa, potatoes, yuca, tobacco, sweet potatoes, and maize (“aba” in the Muysccubun language). Regulating water flows across the savannah, the channels transformed marshy meadows into a sophisticated agricultural system.

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This article also appears in the issue 110 - Agriculture
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Danser en attendant (la fin du monde)

Kaysie Hawke
Festival international d’art numérique Sight + Sound, Montréal
du 26 octobre au 12 novembre 2022
Festival international d’art numérique Sight + Sound, Montréal
du 26 octobre au 12 novembre 2022
[In French]
Chapeauté par le centre d’artistes Eastern Bloc, le 12e festival international d’art numérique Sight + Sound se déploie sous diverses propositions : exposition, performances audiovisuelles, conférences et ateliers. Cette nouvelle itération, commissariée par Nathalie Bachand et Sarah Ève Tousignant, s’attarde aux enjeux de la virtualisation de nos interactions et de notre existence à l’aube d’un retour à une certaine « normalité » postpandémique. Sont présentés, dans le cadre de l’exposition à Eastern Bloc, des projets qui investissent de nouveaux paradigmes de socialité ayant émergé au cours des dernières années.

À l’entrée de la galerie, les installations Detumescence (2021) de Faith Holland et calling upon the digital touch (2020) de Marie-Eve Levasseur introduisent les enjeux liés à la nécessité et au désir de proximité pendant les situations d’isolement. Agissant à titre de monument commémoratif pour souligner les morts de la COVID-19, l’œuvre de Holland est composée de peluches reproduisant les ordinateurs Apple aux couleurs vives et transparentes emblématiques du début des années 2000, d’appareils téléphoniques désuets et d’arrangements de fleurs et de fruits voués à se dégrader au fil de l’exposition. L’œuvre a d’abord été diffusée en direct afin d’offrir un espace collectif de deuil aux internautes à un moment où toute réunion demeurait impossible. Approchant ces thèmes avec désinvolture, Holland confronte le paradoxe de l’obsolescence programmée de nos appareils numériques et de leur empreinte écologique au caractère éphémère de notre existence humaine. Cette nouvelle configuration sociale autour d’un évènement fondamental met en relief autant les frustrations qu’il peut susciter que les possibilités qu’offre le Web pour générer proximité et collectivité.

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Broken Nature

Giovanni Aloi
The Museum of Modern Art, New York
November 21, 2020 — August 15, 2021
The Museum of Modern Art, New York
November 21, 2020 — August 15, 2021
Aki Inomata
Think Evolution #1: Kiku-ichi (Ammonite), 14,5 × 12 × 6 cm, 2016-2017.
Photo : courtesy of the artist and MAHO KUBOTA GALLERY
In the Western world, art and nature have been at odds for a long time. During the seventeenth century, artworks focusing on plants, animals, and landscape were relegated to the lower ranks of creative production by Italian and French academicians. History, mythology, and religion were considered much more important because they reassessed our centrality as humans. Our anthropocentric obsession predates this historical moment, but its art historical theorization, which roughly coincided with similar affirmations in philosophy and literature, had a tremendous impact on our existential myopia. The mountains of flowers cascading from opulent vases in Baroque still life paintings are all about us, not flowers; they are symbolic mirrors in which we contemplated our virtues and our dreams, and came to terms with our fears of the passing of time and the fading of youth. Is it much of a surprise that we currently find ourselves on the brink of an irremediable climate crisis and interrelated mass extinction? Of course not. But while art is not the cause of the Anthropocene, painting and other media have been symptoms of an underlying condition that has plagued most of what we call Modernity. Art’s complicity in the marginalization of nature in culture is undeniable.
That said, artists are not the only ones to blame. Institutions and art historians have for centuries promoted anthropocentrism while marginalizing artists whose work focused on environmental degradation, ecology, and biodiversity. But the situation is changing, and changing fast. The popularization of the word Anthropocene has certainly worked wonders in awakening the artworld’s interest in the state of our planet. Innovative perspectives by contemporary thinkers like Bruno Latour, Donna Haraway, Anna Tsing, and Dipesh Chakrabarty, among others, are beginning to inform the work of today’s artists.

But the all-important question still stands: Can art save the planet? The answer is most likely “no.” Not because it’s too late, but because since the twentieth century most modern art has intentionally isolated itself from the real world. And in recent years contemporary art has too keenly embraced hyper-highbrow Conceptualism as its baseline, nurturing an unnecessarily conflicted relationship with beauty that has discouraged the neophyte and alienated the non-specialist museum visitor. In order to instigate real change, artists and institutions need to reach out to vast audiences in engaging and accessible ways.

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This article also appears in the issue 103 - Sportification
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Monstrous Matter

Marie-Charlotte Carrier
Matter fell from grace during the twentieth century. What was once labeled as inanimate became mortal1. 1 - Karen Barad, “No Small Matter: Mushroom Clouds, Ecologies of Nothingness, and Strange Topologies of Spacetimemattering,” in Arts of Living on a Damaged Planet: Ghosts and Monsters of the Anthropocene, eds. Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, Heather Anne Swanson, Elaine Gan, and Nils Bubandt (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017), 103.. – Karen Barad

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This article also appears in the issue 101 - New Materialisms
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Cannibal Actif: The Artist Book as Threshold for Material Encounters

Joëlle Dubé
María Castañeda-Delgado
Two feet emerging from a pool of black oil touch the edge of a bathtub. The dark ink contrasts with the shimmery copper highlights. These feet belong to a bather in Baku, Azerbaijan, where bathing in crude oil — rich in naphthalene — is said to have healing properties. On the left, a white page with barely discernible letters reads, “But to de-privilege our bipedal flesh. Cannibalism as taboo barriers the partnership across species lines. As if we are not also consumed. As if we don’t consume ourselves. Denial. Crying. Even the cannibals are leaky.” I suddenly realize that I have stained the coppery image with the oil of my fingers.

Cannibal Actif(2017), co-created by artist Rochelle Goldberg and editors Frances Perkins and Katherine Pickard, is an artist book centred around an intricate reflection on materiality. It was published on the occasion of Goldberg’s exhibition at the Miguel Abreu Gallery in New York in 2017. The Vancouver-born artist’s oeuvre is composed mostly of sculptures and installations thought of as intra-actions — thresholds — that explore the materiality of blurred spaces where living and non-living entities meet.

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This article also appears in the issue 101 - New Materialisms
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Sinks and Spills: The Containment and Entanglements of Matter-Bodies in Frédéric-Back Park

Philippe Vandal
Landfills are human and non-human assemblages, situated between territorial and cultural politics. Their material characteristics are multidirectional: horizontal in terms of their spatial orientation on land; vertical in terms of their accumulated waste and layered bacterial processes. They are contained and controlled by physical and chemical constraints, yet their transformations are highly unpredictable. They leak metabolized matter that has been turned into hazardous liquids and volatile toxic compounds through bacterial processes. They cause multispecies health issues and impact real estate development and local economies. Yet, they lurk throughout urban environments. Montréal hides many of them, with a few rehabilitated as green spaces. Parks such as Sir Wilfrid Laurier, Rosemont, Père Marquette, Baldwin, Pelican, the Montréal Botanical Garden, and many others are former sites of accumulated waste. The newest is the Saint-Michel Environmental Complex, also known as Frédéric-Back Park.

Frédéric-Back Park sits on the former Miron Quarry, which was filled with garbage accumulated from the early 1960s to the mid-1990s. The park is the result of historical protests against, and political responses to, the noise and hazardous waste that caused the community’s quality of life to deteriorate. Officially open to the public since the summer of 2017, the park embodies the counterimage of its subterranean infrastructure: a 192-hectare curated landscape designed by the Lemay architectural firm, with trails blazing through different ecosystems, sustainable buildings, and cultural centres. Biogas wells, dispersed throughout the landscape, aggregate toxic bacterial anaerobic fumes and redirect their flow to an on-site electric generator and geothermal facility. The spherical design of their architectural enclosures, a collaboration between Lemay and Morelli Designers, conceals the pipes from the public and creates a “new landscape’s feeling of otherworldliness” while adapting to soil movement.1 1 - Lemay, “Frederic-Back Park Landfill Rehabilitation: LEMAY — Architecture and Design” LEMAY, 1 July 2020. https://lemay.com/fr/projets/parc-frederic-back This “new” landscape’s “otherworldliness” is othering, resonating with Hortense Spillers’ associating the colonial Other with the alien figure2 2 - Hortense J. Spillers, “The Idea of Black Culture,” CR: The New Centennial Review 6, no. 3 (2006): 7-28., and simultaneously acting as a “material enactment of forgetting.”3 3 - Myra J. Hird, “Waste, Landfills, and an Environmental Ethic of Vulnerability,” Ethics and the Environment 18, no. 1 (2013): 106.This With forty million tons of garbage under its green and sustainable infrastructure, the Frédéric-Back Park embodies an ambiguous sight. Environmental gentrification, or “the process whereby the seemingly progressive discourse of urban sustainability is used to drive up property values and displace low-income residents4 4 - Miriam Greenberg and Susie Smith, “Environmental Gentrification,” Critical Sustainabilities, https://critical-sustainabilities.ucsc.edu/environmental-gentrification/“, plays out through the absence-presence of highly designed environments and the dissimulation of unwanted matter-bodies.

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Sarah Morris, Machines do not make us into Machines

Emily LaBarge
White Cube Bermondsey, London, U.K.
April 17–June 30, 2019
White Cube Bermondsey, London, U.K.
April 17–June 30, 2019
Machines do not make us into Machines, I say to myself, over and over, walking to Sarah Morris’s striking exhibition of new works at White Cube Bermondsey, her first in six years. Inside the cavernous gallery, I say it again; and again as I leave, walking home over the murky, rushing water of the Thames, across the Millennium bridge, which is thronged with people travelling between St. Paul’s and Tate Modern—those cultural bastions of the north and south banks. “The whole bridge sways,” an American tourist says to his friend. “The entire structure is unstable, you just can’t tell when you’re walking on it.” He’s right, in a way, this fellow-walker: when the bridge first opened, in June of the millennial year, pedestrians experienced an alarming lateral sway. The bridge was immediately closed for repairs, and today the sway is no longer; the official explanation that eventually emerged for this unnerving early occurrence is something called “positive feedback,” or “synchronous lateral excitation”—the tendency of pedestrians in large groups to unconsciously match their footsteps to the imperceptible lateral sway of a bridge, thereby amplifying and exacerbating it.

Machines do not make us into machines, no, but some things are beyond our control. The entire structure is unstable, and we are lodged firmly within it, processed, moderated, modulated. But we make our way, dogged, nonetheless, dazzled and consoled, exhilarated by the patterns and processes of our own making. This all too human propensity undergirds much of Morris’s work, belying the hard-edge and slick painted surfaces of her canvases. In Machines, the artist’s signature language of geometric abstraction and an upending use of the grid system as a kind of indexical urban, architectural, capitalist pop is employed to new ends. Where Morris’s focus has often been the city and a sense of place—how power structures infiltrate institutions, geographies, and governing bodies with entropic intent—these new paintings, while writ in a similar visual language, etherise the forces that be.

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The Sketch Artist: Interview with François Morelli

jake moore
Like many of his generation who developed alongside the materially fluid trajectory of Conceptual Art and related movements such as Fluxus, Québec-based artist François Morelli’s projects have grown into events and situations, but he has maintained a connection to the physical act of drawing that is beyond the preparatory or the requisite speculative action for other works. Exceeding the mere commodity that the market so often demands to build a currency for performance-based or social practices, the marks Morelli makes are in parallel to his performance works and performative of the same conceptual content of presence and contact between people and things. They sharpen focus on how we weigh our response ability and intertwine it with responsibility.

Morelli came forward at a time when tenure-track teaching and conceptual practices held new currency within the academy. After part-time precarity in New York, New Jersey, and Québec, he arrived at Concordia University in Montréal, his hometown. Unlike so many artist-professors, teaching for Morelli is not a necessary exchange for the time and money that artistic development requires; his teaching is of his practice. This holistic ecology of making-thinking and thinking-making brushes up against the neoliberal framework of “research-creation,” in which predetermined outcomes and equivalency between art and science are sought in ways that often undermine the truly creative and generative potential of each.1 1 - Although I have used the term “making-thinking” for some time, I wish to acknowledge the proximity of an interdisciplinary and pedagogical project, The School of Making Thinking, co-founded by Aaron Finbloom, Matheson Westlake, and Abraham Avnisan. In some ways, their project aligns with Morelli’s conflation of art, thought, and life, though they are not personally connected in any way. See http://www.theschoolofmakingthinking.com. Instead, his hybrid art practice of drawing, rubber-stamping, stitching, grommeting, gathering, cleaning, cooking, walking, measuring, teaching, talking, adding, and subtracting is more aligned with Chus Martinez’s analysis of art as knowledgeable instead of producing knowledge, a perspective she elegantly put forward in her book Club Univers:… the fashionable phrase “art is the production of knowledge” hides a truth — though hardly the causal and productivist one that is implied. Art bears a strong relation to knowledge because thinking takes place in art, in the interstices of visibility and discourse. But this is different from being a site where arguments are produced, proof is developed, and conclusive evidence is given. Thinking makes seeing and speaking reach their limits.Morelli entre en scène à une époque où les postes permanents en enseignement et les pratiques conceptuelles commencent à se développer au sein du milieu. Après une période de précarité d’emploi à New York, au New Jersey et au Québec, il débarque à l’Université Concordia, à Montréal, d’où il est d’ailleurs originaire. Contrairement à tant d’artistes-professeurs, Morelli ne voit pas l’enseignement comme un mal nécessaire pour avoir accès au temps et à l’argent essentiels au développement artistique. L’enseignement fait partie intégrante de sa pratique. Cette écologie holistique du créer-penser et du penser-créer flirte avec la « recherche-création », cadre de travail néolibéral qui favorise des résultats prévisibles et une équivalence entre science et art qui, souvent, mine les perspectives véritablement créatives et génératrices de l’une comme de [NOTE count=3]l’autre2 2 - J’utilise le concept de créer-penser depuis un certain temps, mais je tiens à souligner la proximité d’un projet interdisciplinaire et pédagogique, The School of Making Thinking, cofondé par Abraham Avnisan, Aaron Finbloom et Matheson Westlake. Bien qu’il n’y ait pas de rapport entre Morelli et eux, d’une certaine façon, leur projet cadre avec l’amalgame que l’artiste-enseignant fait entre l’art, la pensée et la vie. Voir <www.theschoolofmakingthinking.com>.. En lieu et place, la pratique artistique hybride de Morelli, où se mêlent le dessin, l’estampe, la couture, le rivetage, l’amalgame, le nettoyage, la cuisine, la marche, la mesure, l’enseignement, la conversation, l’addition et la soustraction, se rapproche plutôt de la vision de l’art de Chus Martínez, pour qui l’art est détenteur plutôt que producteur de savoir, notion qu’elle expose en toute élégance dans son ouvrage intitulé Club Univers : « […] l’affirmation à la mode selon laquelle “l’art est la production de savoir” dissimule une vérité – mais pas celle, causale et productiviste, qui est sous-entendue. L’art entretient des liens solides avec le savoir parce qu’une réflexion est à l’œuvre dans l’art, dans les interstices de la visibilité et du discours. Mais il ne s’agit pas d’un espace d’où émaneraient des arguments, s’élaboreraient des preuves et jailliraient des données probantes. Réfléchir pousse à leur limite le voir et le parler4 3 - Chus Martinez, Club Univers (Berlin: Sternberg Press, 2016), 33.. »

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This article also appears in the issue 93 - Sketch
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Bonnie Camplin
The Eight Pieces

Emily LaBarge
Camden Arts Centre, London, September 30, 2016 — January 15, 2017
Camden Arts Centre, London, September 30, 2016 — January 15, 2017
“Philosophers have not hesitated to identify the real and the rational,” writes Roger Caillois, in his 1970 book, The Writing of Stones. “I am persuaded that a different bold step would lead to discover the grid of basic analogies and hidden connections that constitute the logic of the imaginary.” Caillois’ book is a meditation on his vast collection of stones, chosen for their imaginative properties: agate resembles an early morning sun through the clouds, another appears as a landscape of Tuscan ruins, and yet another, “le petit fantôme,” a ghost gleaming out of the dark.

To uncover the logic of the imaginary, to apprehend that which lurks just beneath the surface of the visible, to investigate the interstices embedded within the normative everyday — these ambitious and ephemeral aims are central to Bonnie Camplin’s wide-ranging practice. An intriguing, if at times gnomic, exhibition of new work at Camden Arts Centre reveals a new avenue of the artist’s persistent interest in the nature of consciousness and the means by which we perceive the world, including the “psychic relations” that underpin our connections to other people, environments, and non-human entities. What tools might we use, Camplin asks, to cognitively and creatively excise ourselves from the morass of “consensus reality” to experience alternative coordinates of truth that exist outside of the Enlightenment model confines of body and mind as bounded and discrete?

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This article also appears in the issue 89 – Library - Library
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In her exploration of reality, Sarah Anne Johnson amplifies and shifts the documentary effects of photography by interfering in the medium. She integrates into her images a variety of artifices, using techniques ranging from diorama to Photoshop and painting, thus adding to the initial pictures a long process of re-creation of their content. Like alterations of the pure image, the artist’s manual work somehow critiques the utopia of objective information. She works at the intersection of reality and perception. In this sense, she does not limit landscape to its material composition but integrates emotional and physical aspects as well. Her manipulations evoke the sensitive node that acts under the surface of the image; they also articulate the relational issues, complex and invisible, between humans and their environments and communities.

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This article also appears in the issue 88 – Landscape - Landscape
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