You Look Like You Need Some Art
And 8 minutes should do it. Specifically, 8 minutes of Ms Sandrine Schaefer, whose Pace Investigations No. 7, seen in edited form below, “asks how one copes with acceleration and deceleration while enduring institutional mediation, shared space, and other external forces.”
Well, obviously.
This immense artistic work, “repeats 15 times consecutively over 6 hours and 27 minutes. In each cycle, the performance duration is either increased or decreased by half.” And thus, “What begins as a 1 minute performance incrementally becomes a 2 hour 13 minute performance, then incrementally becomes a 1 minute performance again.” “The tension between mechanical and affective time is,” we’re told, “always palpable.”
A tension illustrated by the deafening applause that greets the climax of Ms Schaefer’s performance, and by the lady seen on the right, around 1:30, who enters this arena of profound activity armed with carrier bags, and who then looks unsure of what to do, before heading to the adjacent cafeteria, seen on the left, where a fortifying beverage is purchased.
It’s nail-biting stuff. And do stay tuned for Ms Schaefer’s much-anticipated revisiting of the Great Coat Hanger Feat – seen previously here – not once, but many times.
Update:
In the comments, Jen highlights Ms Schafer’s claim that, “The tension between mechanical and affective time is always palpable,” and drily adds, “She lied.” Well, yes. And indeed, dishonesty is pretty much a default signature of ostentatious artistic transgression.
That said, the pretence of intellectual heft and critical discernment is quite funny, given the unspoken rules of pretend artists and their pretend art. Like practically all of her fellow hustlers, Ms Schaefer tells us that she “investigates” and “questions” things, and presumably interrogates them; but despite this allegedly relentless curiosity, I doubt that any specific insight or profundity is ever conveyed to her audience, such as it is, via the art, such as it is. And of course, we’re not supposed to notice this, or notice the comical mismatch of arch rhetoric and inept flummery. And so, in order to feign discernment, one has to not discern any number of really obvious things.
Ms Schaefer, who teaches performance art to those less gifted than herself, is a recipient of the Boston ICA’s 2015 Foster Prize, and has been described by the ICA’s senior curator as “amazing,” “compelling” and yet inexplicably “underfunded.” However, Ms Schaefer has received grants from Waltham Cultural Council, which in turn is funded by the Massachusetts Cultural Council, and ultimately by the no doubt grateful taxpayer. On its website, the Massachusetts Cultural Council boasts of “unleashing the power of culture.” Other grants have been received.
Ms Schaefer’s previous attempts to enrich our lives with eruptions of creativity can be found here, here and here.
A gripped onlooker.
Please don’t make me watch it.
Please don’t make me watch it.
Ms Schaefer’s artistic odyssey is also available in list form.
…“asks how one copes with acceleration and deceleration while enduring institutional mediation, shared space, and other external forces.”
For those among you who are so inspired by the moving works of Miss Sanhedrin, I offer this modest means to get a jump start on your fabulous and lucrative career as a Serious Artist™. You may also obtain an Artist Certificate at the link, as well statements suitable for your twitter or tumblr showings, e.g.;
I am sure Miss Sanhedrin has become certified, have you ?
Truly a groundbreaking work. From beginning to end I was only bored once.
“The tension between mechanical and affective time is,” we’re told, “always palpable.”
She lied.
She lied.
Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s not just the usual display of the Dunning-Kruger effect; it’s the wider, institutional expectation of dishonesty, of complicity and pretending. As I said following our last encounter with Ms Schaefer’s talents:
I’ve often thought that the audience is more interesting than the wearying faff that we’re supposed to be enthralled by. Why are they there?
Related.
Why are they there?
Lost wagers?
It’s jolly good fun to ridicule this sort of thing, but this guy
https://remodernreview.wordpress.com
says it’s something far more ominous. His provocative thesis is that these works of “art” are actually a tool of the elite to convey the impression that they have the key to some mysterious code to which the unwashed brutes in their sports bars and shopping malls don’t have access, and in this way actually constitute a tool of oppression.
Hello. I did not have a satisfactory experience with this art. I would like a refund, please. (looks nervously around for hench lesbians)
Is this the same one who bent over in her undies, showed us her bottom, and squeaked her shoes to release the ghosts of the Yucatan or some such from her travels there?
Is this the same one who bent over in her undies, showed us her bottom, and squeaked her shoes to release the ghosts of the Yucatan or some such from her travels there?
It is indeed. I knew she’d made an impression on you.
I did not have a satisfactory experience with this art.
No refunds. Credit note only.
…to which the unwashed brutes in their sports bars and shopping malls don’t have access, and in this way actually constitute a tool of oppression.
The difficulty with that is although the alleged elites may think it a tool of oppression, a tool of oppression actually has to oppress.
The alleged unwashed brutes, OTOH, may not have access, but they also don’t give a fat rat’s patoot that they don’t have access, and those of us washed brutes merely point and laugh. I suspect the reaction of the unwashed would be the same, however.
An earlier, no less gripping iteration of the above can be found here.
Sorry David, hope you’ll forgive me for skipping this one.
There are only so many minutes (of all sizes) in a day and if the hench lesbians don’t block the door, I’m outta here!
hope you’ll forgive me for skipping this one.
Lightweight.
Why are they there?
Trying to look cultured in order to impress a potential boyfriend/girlfriend, perhaps?
I blame Reagan and his canceling of the Mental Health Systems Act
Lightweight
Denounce yourself for body shaming bilbaoboy.
While looking into his eyes I felt an almost irresistible urge to clutch my children close and move to the other side of the street.
…those less gifted than herself…
I harbor doubts.
What begins as a 1 minute performance incrementally becomes a 2 hour 13 minute performance
So, it’s a visit-to-the-local-goverment-office metaphor, then.
The tension between mechanical and affective time
Any boss or manual laborer is aware of the difference between “how long this should take” and “how long this is actually taking”. This is not an *interesting* tension, merely an irritating one. Whether this is suggestive regarding Mx Schaefer having ever worked a day in her life is left as an exercise.
Hi Farnsworth
I’m an older, but not yet dead, white man.
I can only self-denounce for a maximum 30 minutes per day (doctor’s orders doncha know). And today my time is up.
Oh, and I tricked the hench lesbians by claiming a customer was oiling up the pole-dancing pole and they just had to go have a look 🙂
Found my coat and grabbed my hat and made the bus in seconds flat..
“I’m performing my dance quintet. You know, my cycle?”
You Look Like You Need Some Art
Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.
how one copes with acceleration and deceleration
I think this woman needs to be accelerated to about 11 km/s.
I can only self-denounce for a maximum 30 minutes per day…
No, no, not you self denounce, David needs to self denounce for calling you a lightweight – if you are thin, that is body shaming, and if not, cyberbullying by mocking you.
Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.
Just one teeny mental case? It’s wafer thin!
WTF am I even looking at?
No, no, not you self denounce, David needs to self denounce for calling you a lightweight
[ Opens large file named “Muldoon,” scrolls past numerous incriminating entries, adds the words known troublemaker. ]
I like to think I am thin, so I shall be lawyering up and looking for a life sentence!
You Look Like You Need Some Art
And after that, I still do.
And after that, I still do.
Er, as I recall, this is all your fault, Einspruch.
WTF am I even looking at?
WTF am I even looking at? is the title of a new and exciting ruminative production put on by the David Thompson Collective, which playfully interrogates the interaction of a peripheral audience with a deeply meaningful performance art piece, which is abstracted both in frame and in time signature by its drawing-out over a period of days on a blog. The start point of the clip is at once instant and redundant, recurring in a staccato manner as long as visitors engage with the piece – though in a possible deference to Derrida – the engagement itself is deconstructed by the lack of presence of the commentators bodies and representation only by spirographs and a leitmotif of chosen nicknames.
By altering perceptions of what it is to be in/not-in an art-defined space, this successfully represents a queering of the space itself and of the performance. The performance is mother, welcoming. The performance is rapist, ejaculating into the mind a metaphorical gene of meaning, which then fails to grow as the mind is rendered sterile, neutered by the length of performance.
The acceptance that this will continue on this blog as long as similar art continues to crop up is gendered femme, and also represents a cycle – but of uncertain nature. The Jesuve, the role created by David’s presence, represents both our fulfilment and the instrument of our capture and torture. Is de Sade not in some way the erotic master of the onlooker? Is faffing about, commenting not also masturbatory? The rhythmic nature of the comment genders also the form of the response as impregnatory and gestating, ejecting via the metaphorical anus of Typepad.
*Pauses, begins studying coffee for signs of tampering*
Pace Investigations No. 7
You mean there are at least six more of these?
(BTW, I find it curious that you never post one of these performance “art” videos in conjunction with your occasional fund-raisers. Coincidence?)
the metaphorical anus of Typepad
[ Opens new file, names it Sporkatus. ]
Ye gods, Sporkatus, that was brilliant!!
I think tampered-with coffee is probably the only way any of us will ever make sense of this stuff!
It is indeed. I knew she’d made an impression on you.
That she did…
[shudders]
But then I do come here of my own accord, and even sometimes, god forbid, click on some of the links, fully realizing what horrors may await my brain and eyeballs.
Coincidence?
I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up.
[ Opens new file, names it Sporkatus. ]
Sorry about that. The Bataille sort of bursts out sometimes, IYKWIM.
…would you believe I’m not even a humanities major?
…adds the words known troublemaker…
Justice for bilbaoboy ! Attica ! Attica ! Attica !
This immense artistic work, “repeats 15 times consecutively over 6 hours and 27 minutes. In each cycle, the performance duration is either increased or decreased by half.”
If you start with a one-minute duration, and increase by half a dozen times, you get to 2 hours and 9 minutes, but then you’d need another seven cycles to get down to 61 seconds, which puts you at 20 cycles and a total duration of 8 hours, 35 minutes, and 58 seconds.
If “increase by half” is our esteemed artist’s way of saying “doubled”, then you get to 2 hours and 8 minutes in just seven cycles, and back to one minute in seven more. This gives you the quoted 15 cycles, but your longest cycle is 2:08, not 2:13, and your total duration is 6:22, not 6:27.
I’m starting to think that the entire premise of her routine is forcing sane people to check her math.
…forcing sane people to check her math.
sane
I may have some bad news to convey to you, old man.
Er, as I recall, this is all your fault, Einspruch.
I deny everything.
.
The wife and I spent Memorial Day painting our small office. Three doors, one window, lots of trim. Took longer than expected and we slopped some paint on the tile floor. When we were finished, wife took pictures. Does anyone know, can we still apply for a grant for our art or did we need to secure one before starting the work? Need to know because I’m planning to fix some drywall in the next couple weeks and I’d like to get a grant for that as well. Doesn’t seem “fair” that our hard work should go unappreciated by society.
More performance art FWIW.
I bring you…criticism.
Sporkatus is a filthy plagiarist!
http://www.elsewhere.org/journal/pomo/
🙂
And 8 minutes should do it. . . .
Here, y’all, for an antidote, have something that’s only 4 minutes 12 or so.
If David doesn’t mind, there’s even his review of it available.
Y’know, I’m just going to go ahead and denounce myself without watching, since that’s what I’d end up having to do anyway. Let’s just cut out the middleman (or middle … thing, whatever it is).
Yeah, yeah, yeah, just gimme the credit note. I’m a busy man (he, his, him pronouns, please).
Sporkatus is a filthy plagiarist!
Bugger, I knew I was forgetting one of my pomo namechecks. I left off Foucalt on purpose, but I really should have had Sontag in there somewhere.
Comes of not taking the time to do things properly and mostly just riffing on The Solar Anus.
I may have some bad news to convey to you, old man.
I chose to spend five minutes plugging my calcs into a spreadsheet, rather than spending 8 minutes watching the performance. You tell me who’s mad.
I’m starting to think that the entire premise of her routine is forcing sane people to check her math.
I had a similar thought reading those cycles numbers – the odd juxtaposition of what sounded like (on the surface) to be seriously math-y sounding numbers and the faffing about that made up the routine.
I almost wanted to check the numbers, but couldn’t be bothered. Thanks to the Governor for checking them out – a drink for the gentleman, please, Bartender! Make it a double and put it on my tab.
I chose to spend five minutes plugging my calcs into a spreadsheet, rather than spending 8 minutes watching the performance. You tell me who’s mad.
Rather than doing either, I spent five minutes writing postmodernism about the act of watching the performance. I suspect my answer is “I’d rather not say”.
Aye, Spork, you’re in a league of your own. I’m not worthy to fasten the straps on your jacket.
Here, y’all, for an antidote, have something that’s only 4 minutes 12 or so.
This antidote is only 3 minutes 33 seconds.
This antidote is only 3 minutes 33 seconds.
You are a sick, sick, man.
Seen at Ace’s today:
Art is anything you can get away with.
– Marshall McLuhan
And here’s an antidote to the antidotes, or Neo-Classical graffiti:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btm6Zq2E9OI
(Fair warning – you may find the music quite irritating).
Re antidote to the antidotes, I liked the cat/bus thingy that they painted over much better. Cute how they painted over the graffiti on their graffiti though. I’ve become cynical (realistic?) enough to think that was part of the piece itself.
Ms Schaefer, who teaches performance art to those less gifted than herself
Okay, even in the world of the modern US college community, they must be going some to find enough of those to justify a class?
And 8 minutes should do it. Specifically, 8 minutes of Ms Sandrine Schaefer…
It’s been done, Spiny Norman.
This immense artistic work, . . . over 6 hours and 27 minutes.
Come to think of it, for anyone who want to go for length, there is always Warhol.
“Schaefer, whose Pace Investigations No. 7, seen in edited form below, “asks how one copes with acceleration and deceleration while enduring institutional mediation, shared space, and other external forces.”
I ran around basketball courts for forty years. Had you joined us, Ms Schaeffer, you may actually look like a dancer.
The horror, the horror.