Untitled Document

Introductory note

What follows is a revised version of a talk given at Models of Practice, an event that took place in London, across February and March 2001. The talk was given alongside other presentations under the ‘Independent Art School’ banner, an ongoing project that seeks to look at approaches to art, education and communication between artists.

1. A re-cap on the Independent Art School

Since 1999 I have been involved in a project that has come to be known as the Independent Art School (or the 'IAS'), and which currently has associates across the UK, and in Singapore and Amsterdam. It began as a localised protest in Hull, against changes effecting the Art School there, and has subsequently evolved to host a Conference, a week of presentations in London (‘Models of Practice’), and which currently operates a web-site and an Internet-based ‘mail group’.

In my presentation at the IAS Conference (October 2000) I located my source material very firmly in the 1960’s, using recorded statements and images either about or by the protagonists of revolts and actions from that era. The aim of the conference was to provoke questions about the words ‘independence’, ‘art’ and ‘school’; and to ask of ourselves how we envisaged building an ‘independent art school’ of our own.

I have argued that places of Higher Education are no longer necessarily communities for studying what one critic calls ‘the arts of civilisation’. In some instances they are merely utilitarian devices used either for evading or preparing oneself for the workplace (or often, for Unemployment). If one accepts this negative view then colleges are no longer the location for the inspired and the inspirational. For example, the Austrian artist Rudolf Schwarzkogler was cynical about the role of students, who he decided were ‘nothing but tomorrow’s potential business directors.’ Their anarchic rhetoric, he argued, was ‘damned similar to the shit spouted by the leaders of the establishment.’

As the IAS is but one of the ways in which I operate as an artist, I feel that it and any other initiatives I am a part of has to represent something other than normal bureaucracy-ridden mechanisms. As a concept, the IAS appears to have outgrown its initial function of an agitating limb attached to mainstream education.

2. Gurdjieff & ‘lack of concentration’ camps

The self-styled guru George Gurdjieff declared that humanity’s central problem was that it was, at best, only half-awake. For much of the time we are asleep to our highest abilities, and instead we act from an unthinking repetition.

Gurdjieff recommended various techniques in combating human shortcomings: hard physical work, a regime-like sense of discipline, and studying in order to increase our capacity for concentration. Presented to his followers as a ‘mystic path’, his system was often harsh and arduous. He aggrandised his teachings by referring to his activities as ‘The Work’ and calling the place where it was carried out ‘The Institute for the Harmonious Development of Man’.

In a sense Gurdjieff shared something in common to all dedicated artists; that is, as his life-long project, to explore the boundaries and possibilities of freedom. Yet by systematising what he advocated, he arguably infringed upon the rights of his followers to pursue these self-same questions: he constructed instead something of a ‘training camp’ whose pursuit of attaining ‘wakefulness’ lost its appeal through an increasing regimentation of its goal.

If Gurdjieff’s chief objective was to encourage ‘concentration’ or increased awareness, what are we to call the aims of educational institutions, who likewise provide, to a greater or lesser extent, regimented learning? Could we accuse these of being ‘lack-of-concentration’ camps?

3. The De-schooling Movement

Throughout the 1960’s and the early 70’s writers such as Everett Reimer, Paul Goodman and Ivan Illich railed against the way the education of society is organised. The titles of their books, including School Is Dead, Compulsory Miseducation and Deschooling Society, indicate the stance taken by these writers. Whilst dealing principally with the American system, and more particularly its effect on ‘underprivileged’ students, these works present arguments pertinent to re-thinking the notion of ‘the school’.

Figure 2: Illich’s De-Schooling Society and Reimer’s School is Dead. From the Independent Art School archive.

‘The school is completely an instrument of the state and creates subservience to it’, stated Reimer. Likewise, Illich argues that ‘in a schooled world the road to happiness is paved with a consumer’s index.’ This paints a damning picture of a process we are all, at least in the first instance, legally required to participate in- that of compulsory schooling. Would we be better off, as Goodman says of his ‘backward readers’ (as he calls them), in dropping-out and surviving on the streets instead?

His suggestion contrasts with the claims made in glossy brochures and prospectuses; that by attending courses, notably in Further and Higher education, we benefit in numerous ways, from learning skills that will increase our economic standing to furnishing ourselves with a somewhat vague, yet humanistic sense of fulfilment. Are these brochures wrong or fraudulent? Are we in the grip of corruptive state institutions (as these 'deschooling' authors suggest)? Where does the artist stand in all this, and what does he or she stand for?

Socially speaking, to call oneself an artist is to still conjure up a supposedly anarchic, bohemian way of life; the artist is still thought to be inclined towards a counter-cultural or non-conformist attitude. At the same time, artists are often perceived as belonging to a staunchly intellectual elite. As if to confirm this, many artists attend designated ‘Art Schools’ and attain Degrees in the specialised (and to some incomprehensible) practice of Fine Art.

If we entertain this compound of the ‘intellectual-anarchist’ to be at least partially true, how does an artist fit within Illich’s ‘schooled world’ of state-complicit values? One may say that our inherent instincts would call us to drop out of and disavow an organised art-education system. Yet at the same time artists are drawn towards Art Schools to participate in a specific culture of dialogue and critical development. In a world concerned with such prosaic concerns as paying taxes and earning a living, such spaces occupy a necessary, cloister-like niche in our society. In this respect Art Schools retain their unique position. There are very few other scenarios that permit such intellectual and creative freedoms. Kristen Ronnevik, who spent a semester at HBK Braunschwieg, conjures up the desired environment of the art school perfectly:

“As for social life within the University, it is very different from in the UK. The University is open 24 hours, for 7 days a week. We had our own key to the University. It was very accessible. I could work without restrictions. When I had an idea, there was nothing stopping me from simply getting on and doing it. There was a lot of socialising around studio areas. Instead of going down the pub, students would talk about artwork or watch some videos and talk about them. It was a very stimulating environment."

A speaker at Models of Practice, Giles Perry, described how he had set up his own flat as a ‘Sunday School’, sharing the role of ‘tutor’ with friends and inviting discussions about artwork from curious students. This is a practical demonstration of both implementing and, to a certain degree parodying, the formula of the traditional Art School.

The most disparaging aspect of general education - to my mind - is its gradual emphasis on collecting the necessary paperwork to join the workforce. This transition, from having been schooled to having to work, seems a wasteful premise for educating people at all. This is, I think, a key problem with education: it stands dominantly as a training-ground for our participation in the economic system. This has none of the appeal of, say, the Renaissance ideal of the ‘polymath’- of the individual interested in pursuing knowledge primarily for its own sake. The contemporary pact between Education and Work can appear rigid, if one cares to speculate about how the medieval monks might have approached their scholarship instead (medieval universities are described as being the source of the ‘main intellectual life in Europe’ of their time).

The 20th Century De-schooling movement also had reservations about our destinies as workers, of one kind or another. Not unlike Bob Dylan, they seemed to be saying:

"Twenty years of schooling and they put you on the day-shift"

4. The poor School?

‘If a man is indolent, let him be poor. If he is drunken, let him be poor. If he is not a gentleman, let him be poor. If he is addicted to the fine arts or to pure science instead of to trade and finance, let him be poor,’ railed Bernard Shaw at the beginning of the 20th Century. Shaw regarded poverty as the greatest of social sins, in contradiction to security as being ‘the chief pretence of civilisation.’ He had no time for phrases such as ‘poor but honest’ or ‘the respectable poor’, and to hammer home his point he conjured in his play Major Barbara a hero in the form of a millionaire arms dealer, scrupulous but at least not subservient..

The addict of the fine arts, or the ‘intellectual-anarchic’ figure of the artist, is often associated with poverty. Ivan Illich traces the marriage between intellectual pursuit and poverty back to the medieval scholar who, he claims, ‘became an outsider worthy of the scorn as well as the esteem of peasant and prince.’ Paul Goodman writes of his contemporary American society that ‘persons of superior education and talent often choose to be poor rather than hustle for money.’

Shaw, and no doubt others, would find the equation of talent with poverty as abhorrent, or merely as fanciful and romantic. In the sphere of art and performance however there exist theories and practices that suggest that a ‘poor’ art is a ‘pure’ kind of art. Grotowski has talked of a ‘poor theatre’, as have other theatre groups. There has been the use of cheap, found or minimal materials. In some cases environmental art, too, seeks to engage with its surroundings without relying on the mechanisms of skilful financing

Art povera, poor theatre, de-schooling and other ideas - which appear to attach radicalism to poverty - had their most verbal expression in the 1960’s and 70’s. Aside from a resurgence of interest in ‘naïve’ and ‘outsider’ art, there is not a huge discussion today around doing-it-yourself, making do or doing without. Generally speaking, artists often occupy a mind-set that assumes that one makes creative work by tapping into allocated seams of state sponsorship.

In the recent past I have come to investigate the idea of 'relative poverty' as a political exigency in the work. This has been due to my involvement in zine culture, which operates on a shoe-string budget. In a study of zines I came across the notion of ‘living lower impact’, the idea being that one participates in the economic system just enough to get by, sustaining a low profile within it, and reserving one’s energies for creative work. This perhaps runs counter to the conventional view of art practice in the UK, in suggesting something of a retreat from the ‘democratic’ marketplace of State handouts for competitive individuals.

Vehicles such as zines and other easily duplicated media, and ‘networks’ (such as IAS events) become the mechanisms for communication and for learning. The audience, it can be said, may be small, which too conflicts with the ideas of ‘success’ and ‘inclusivity’ determining many social-artistic policies. But these more discreet operations may attract a more fertile kind of mind.

A ‘model of practice’, whether it is an ‘independent art school’ or an individual’s own procedures for making work, must arguably begin by placing itself at the lower end of the economic spectrum.

5. What is work?

I have previously written that artists are often confronted by the prospect of doing unpaid creative work and uncreative paid work. This generalisation places art in a rarefied realm and the processes of everyday life in a mundane context. Both Allen Kaprow and Joseph Beuys, and also Karin Paish (who presented her ideas at the IAS Conference in October 2000), have argued against such a division, expressing a desire to regard all our life processes as having creative worth.

Nonetheless it is a division that many artists feel applies to their own experience. Some of the de-schooling theorists, such as Paul Goodman, sought a solution in redefining the workplace, arguing for collective contracts between workers and other devices to give workers the feeling of ‘empowerment’. The ‘creative worker’, however, cannot easily fit into such an ideal, as his or her work can rarely be aligned to a specific (or ‘useful’) end-product. Illich argues that self-taught men and women can easily be discredited, and their curious, maverick ways dismissed as being ‘non professional’ behaviour lacking in quantifiable value.

Julian Beck states in his poem ‘Revolution & Counter-revolution’: if each man works about ten hours per week the world and the revolution will keep turning

This idea could be related to the notion of ‘living lower impact’ as a way to formulate new creative strategies. In his presentation at Models of Practice sound artist Tony Maas discussed another aspect of ‘creative strategies’. He explained why he makes sound work specifically, in order not to be complicit to what he described as the visual and information overload dominant in our culture.

This brings the notion of responsibility into making artwork; of asking how such work locates itself within a society already flooded with objects, proclamations and loaded information. Any theory about a ‘model of practice’ must consider what kinds of values and priorities one attaches to the work itself. Perhaps Gudjieff was right to describe the physical and cerebral exercises he advocated as ‘The Work’, with capital letters proclaiming their importance?

6. Participation

In his book Art: Action & Participation, Frank Popper describes two forms of participation as forms of art and as improved experiences of living. The first is the ‘Happening’, characterised by its lack of fixity. He quotes Allan Kaprow: ‘If there are to be measures and limits in art they must be of a new kind. Rather than fight against the confines of a typical room, many are actively considering working out in the open. They cannot wait for the new architecture.’ Jean-Jacques Lebel argues that ‘the very limited space which is assigned to art in society does not in any way correspond to its mythical space.’

Just as the Happening was seen to transport creative action outside the boundaries of ‘typical rooms’, so too architects envisaged different ways of ordering living spaces. Ideas were introduced such as plug-in and cellular cities, which could be altered by the individuals who lived in and experienced them. The Dutch artist Peter Struychen argues that ‘a liveable environment is an environment in which the individual personality can reach maximum development.’

Figure 5: Organic Architecture. San Francisco Bay. Photographed by Jean-Paul Porchon in 1973. Taken from ‘Art-participation & action’ by Frank Popper. Studio Vista 1975, page 55.

I feel that these suggestions have some bearing on questioning one’s model of practice, in that they are aiming to transform and liberate space. The Happening does this in a transitory, spectacular form whilst projects such as ‘cellular cities’, which may be seen as impossible in our society at present, speak of an aspiration to build some very different and real models for living.

Figure 6: Yona Friedman: Model of a Town to be Constructed by its Inhabitants, 1962-3. (Page 59: Art-action & participation).

Of course, architectural schemes may be beyond the remit of one’s own personal agenda; as a concept, however, I think it is possible to consider more modest but not ineffective materials and means. Everett Reimer, in his essays on alternatives in education, places a great emphasis on information. For example, he argues that science ‘used to be a network of people, working all over the world, exchanging information freely.’ The possibilities of the Internet are a comparable example of this indeed happening.

Figure 7: Joseph Kosuth: Information Room. 1970. From Conceptual Art by Ursula Meyer. Dutton 1972, page 171.

Reimer places the role of the library, as part of a network of ‘special educational objects’, as ‘one of the major institutional alternatives to schools’. The notion of building up records, freely available and exchangeable, is part of what Reimer calls a necessary ‘network of things’ which people need in order to encounter new ideas. Whereas there has been a revolution in communications technology, a negative view is that many people are consumers or receivers of information, and not creators of it. Within an independent art school or other such scenario one could envisage all participants contributing to (and contradicting) such bodies of information. (This has now happened within the IAS project, with the advent of the aforementioned Internet mailing group.)

Ideas about networks, libraries and transience were evident throughout Models of Practice. Tien Woon, for example, is the Director of the Danger Museum. The Danger Museum is an ‘institution’ or a ‘collection’ that has appeared in Cardiff, London and Seoul, although a critic acknowledges that the project is “not a ‘real’ museum. It challenges notions of the art museum and what it stands for.” In previous incarnations the museum was presented in the kind of tray used by cinema usherettes, and contained books, videos, fanzines and small modified objects (such as matchboxes).

Transportable from country to country, the collection regularly changes and its conceptual heritage is reported in newsletters published by Tien. Throughout this work there exists a desire for sharing information and archiving material. He equates a parallel project- the Long Kang University- to being like a ‘file-sharing’ system, whereby users can log on and access the same data (in this case the data would be faxes and video magazines).

In a practical exercise led by Asim Butt of the Invisible Art College, participants contributed to drawing a ‘life network’ with pens on a roll of paper. Questioning notions of autonomy and self-sufficiency (motivations for the existence of the IAS), our diagram became a map of what we were dependent on: our paid employment, our daily journeys and our environment, our support systems (friends and family), and our needs as artists (studio spaces, access to equipment, ways of communicating).

This rolled-up map made for one of the most pertinent contributions to the Models of Practice archive, and echoed a concern in my own presentation: That above all, for one’s model of practice to be effective one must have control over the means of one’s production. Bureaucratic strategies, which ostensibly exist to enable art making, often place a barrier between an artist and their means of production.

Figure 10: a photograph from Douglas Lowndes’ book Film Making in Schools. Watson-Guptill Publications 1968

Perhaps, rather than being reliant on such systems and their technological wonders, one needs to re-orientate aspects of one’s work? I am thinking here of the particularly creative programmes implemented by the Hornsey School of Art in the late 1960’s. These programmes, designed to interest children in the new uses of media, employed various types of equipment: stills cameras, documentary photography, seminars, Super 8 film, tape recorders, collages, slides, projectors, reel to reel players and blackboards. This educational programme in particular seems to be a rare and sophisticated one, lacking the didactic and hectoring element present in many other schemes, and allowing for an experimentation often disregarded in educational agendas.

This document originally published to coincide with Art School Confidential, an event organised by Meesoo Lee, The Blinding Light cinema, Vancouver, Canada.