THE DESIRE TO DIG DEEPER INTO HISTORY WHILE PROPOSING NEW FUTURES

In They Say We Are Seeking to Understand What’s Been Going On at SixtyEight Art Institute, far-reaching readings of overarching tyrannical structures are investigated, which are seeping into the very foundations of our lives and beings, both physically and spiritually. How do we embody history and politics, which affect us personally, yet in scope seem out of our reach? What methods to employ and who can we trust? And which monuments have never been raised and which should be torn down?

They Say We Are Seeking to Understand What’s Been Going On is curated by Caterina Avateneo. She is based in Turin and is perhaps best known for her assistant curation of Sun & Sea (Marina), which won the Golden Lion at the 58th Venice Biennale, and her curatorial work at the Serpentine Gallery in London. This recently closed summer exhibition is the fourth iteration of the curator’s series of duo-collaborative projects and part of SixtyEight Art Institute’s two-year program of exhibitions, called Memoirs of Saturn.

The works in the exhibition spring from a conversation between the artists Jeremiah Day and Anastasia Sosunova, which took place over a period of two years. The artworks present themselves with a density and nuance that fills me with the desire to dig deeper into the history that the artists think through and which aesthetically drives the exhibition.

Jeremiah Day & Anastasia Sosunova, They Say We Are Seeking to Understand What’s Been Going On (Installation view). Curated by Caterina Avataneo. SixtyEight Art Institute, 2022. Photo: Jenny Sundby.

When I view this show, it has Copenhagen as its backdrop and it becomes necessary to read it, not only in terms of the work shown, but also in relation to where it is installed, in terms of the thoughts and questions which are raised. Therefore, I relate it to the artistic happening – claimed by a group of anonymous artists and which the artist Katrine Dirckinck-Holmfeld decided to take responsibility for – where a replica bust of the 18th century king, Frederik V (made after an original work by the French artist and first rector of the Academy, Jacques-François-Joseph Saly) sank into the Copenhagen harbor in the fall of 2020. The sinking was relatively close to the The Royal Danish Academy. This building was founded by Frederik V, who had several colonizing ventures and profitted from the transatlantic slave trade.

In general, there has been a book published on the matter, Hvidt Støv – En antologi om “busteaktionen” og det vi taler om, når vi taler om den [White Dust – An anthology about the "bust action" and what we talk about when we talk about it] (published by Antipyrine, 2021).

While there has been much debate of the dumping of the bust in different mainstream medias (tv, newspapers etc.), which I feel has unfortunately been lacking nuance and mainly upholding supremacist ideals, there has also been a lack of response within the art world, that evaluates the consequences of such a happening in terms of new artworks made in reference.

“If we want art to have a significant voice and influence in society, perhaps we need not only to write and debate in this more classical sense, but also make several sequences of responses in an art context, just as the dumping of the bust was a response to a previous artwork.”

If we want art to have a significant voice and influence in society, perhaps we need not only to write and debate in this more classical sense, but also make several sequences of responses in an art context, just as the dumping of the bust was a response to a previous artwork. One recent example of this is the two artist run spaces c4 projects and f.eks. platform, who in collaboration hosted Voices in the Shadows of Monuments where different artists had made audio stories which reflected upon Denmark’s colonial past.

In returning to SixtyEight Art Institute and They Say We Are Seeking to Understand What’s Been Going On, this exhibition becomes important in several ways, as Sosunova and Day articulate through their work the impact of tyrannical ideologies and the complexities of restructuring history into a more nuanced narrative. Day, in particular, turns the viewers’ attention toward monuments – both in their rise and fall.

Both artists have focused their attention on a mash-up of personal and public narratives or histories, examining strategies or patterns of power and representation that have been used to create status quos since the Second World War. Something that stands out is how the artists investigate psychosomatic reactions in each of their video works, and how a vulnerability that stands in contrast to oppressing powers comes to light.

Anastasia Sosunova (b. 1993, LT. Lives and works in Vilnius) presents a video entitled Coders, which seems to be a central piece among those shown, both in the placement and the thoughts elaborated on in the exhibition. In the video, a protagonist (which is Sosunova herself, as I read in the press release) bathed in artificial light, is shot in a semi-closeup. She tells a story of how she went to coding therapy to quit smoking and describes all the thoughts and sensations which were a part of that journey.

The video moves fluently between different locations. Such as the semi-closeup of the artist; a handheld camera filming frantically in the streets; images of a nightclub where characteristic strobe lights pulse and indistinct bodies dance; a car ride; recordings of online conversations with experts in coding therapy; and another discussion about presumed esoteric healing methods. Two apparent opposites, which in the end make use of the same language – coding. The most important of the experts here is Egle Rindzeviciute, author of Constructing Soviet Cultural Policy: Cybernetics and Governance in Lithuania after World War II (2008), as Sosunova speaks from a position of embodying a post-Soviet framework.

Anastasia Sosunova, Coders, 2022 (video, sound, colour, 16:30 mins). Still.

The thinking moves fast in the video; bits and pieces get compiled, leaving me both curious and confused. Sosunova reaches beyond her own account of encountering coding therapy by showing a rhizomatic spider web of entanglement between different strains of psychiatric, toxicologic, and anthropologic knowledges. The video is generous yet it leaves me feeling that Sosunova adopts the fast pace of our consumerist society, where the most unusual “item” might be slowness and dwelling. The briefly mentioned notion of the “zombie” is a metaphor for the lack of knowledge and consciousness. The questions raised in the video are important, to such a degree that I wished Sosunova would grant herself even more time to understand the complexities, instead of rushing through large amounts of information – or maybe dwelling on lesser information to grasp it better. But perhaps this is the intent: To mimic an overwhelming amount of circulating information, to leave us confused instead of enlightened.

Anastasia Sosunova, Coders, 2022 (video, sound, colour, 16:30 mins) and Turn our golden faces into the sun, 2022 (zinc, copper, ink, varnish, temporary tattoo stickers). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

Anastasia Sosunova, Turn our golden faces into the sun, 2022 (zinc, copper, ink, varnish, temporary tattoo stickers). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

Three other works shown by Sosunova are sculptures and etchings on metal. And then he summoned me, made of zinc and plaster, was mounted to the wall with a paper certificate from the same coding therapist Sosunova met in the video. On the floor next to this artwork is 6 AM, where etchings are embedded in plaster and a grid of aluminum. The entanglement of materials is exciting, and associations get pulled in different directions, as with the video work. The press release points the viewer in the aesthetic direction of the Danish artist Ovartaci, but this seems to be a point of inspiration, since it doesn’t come through as an actual reference in the artwork itself. The physicality of body-like shapes intertwined with a paper note becomes almost like evidence. At the same time the sculptures have reminiscences of furniture and layers of construction, and overall they give me the sensation of negotiation between different states of reality.

Anastasia Sosunova, And then he summoned me, 2022 (zinc, plaster, ink, paper). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

Anastasia Sosunova, 6AM, 2022 (copper, aluminium, plaster). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

The same goes for the zinc poles with copper plates, etched and varnished, with temporary tattoo stickers, entitled Turn our golden faces into the sun. The curved copper plates make me think of antennas, seeking connections anywhere they can be found, listening in on what might be said.

In the imagery etched upon the copper plates, Sosunova’s own personal story is linked with epic stories – and the etching mimics the narrative from the video. Interestingly, Sosunova chooses to become self-referential within the works presented. The artworks loop into each other, taking baroque imagery and narrative and combining them in new ways through different materialities, deepening the overall work and clarifying her voice.

The entire exhibition is choreographed with great precision and makes viewers move in and out of sight (like dancers) from what is shown, which cleverly corresponds with the explored themes. Jeremiah Day (b. 1974, US, lives and works in Berlin) has two pieces in the front room, a black and white photograph and a performance notation, while in the back room a more dense gathering of artworks is displayed. Here the use of photographs continues, combined with notes and emails – setting the scene for an exploration of artistic research and thinking, with no front and backstage – instead, Day’s works come across as unpretentious and unveiling.

Jeremiah Day, Performance Notation - June 25, 2022 (pen on paper). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

Jeremiah Day, Not far From Bazar, 2022 (black/white photograph). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

Proposal To Move Into Public Space The Memorial For The Person Who Said Long Live The Republic And Was Shot To Death For It Apparently is a video work installed in a wheelbarrow with a scale model in front of it. In the video, Day recites a semi-improvised monologue, discussing the murder of Julien Lahaut, who was shot on the doorstep of his home in 1950, following his resistance against Belgian politics concerning King Baudouin’s constitutional oath. The murder of Lahaut is analyzed through the lens of LA-based poet, writer and civic activist Fred Dewey’s “non-fictional imagination.” Lahaut’s monument was eventually placed not within the city, not near the site of his murder, but instead in a cemetery – a statement of who we choose to commemorate and which stories are granted space within the public arena.

Day’s interdisciplinary approach combines performance, dance, photography, and sculpture, especially in the negotiation of art placed in public space. The history and death of Lahaut are investigated by Day while he moves through a public space in Berlin, making movements or physical contortions that reflect upon his monologue, or is it the other way around? Day makes me question how we use words, the meaning of them, who gets to utter them, and not least their consequences. There is a calmness and restraint in Day’s movement and speech, not lacking emotion but full of thoughtfulness and honest wonder. Anger can be multifaceted and used differently at different times, shifting rapidly in western society today. It is moving to watch Day try to understand with both his mind and body how notions of the “republic” and lack thereof are used to incentivize populations and encourage violence.

Jeremiah Day, Proposal To Move Into Public Space The Memorial For The Person Who Said Long Live The Republic And Was Shot To Death For It Apparently, 2022 (wheelbarrow, model, video, photographs). Photo: Jenny Sundby.

While writing this review, the Danish newspaper Politiken asked different artists what artwork has gotten too much or too little attention. The artist and writer Melanie Kitti mentioned the bust sinking happening and pointed out how the predominant reactions get structured around racism and misogyny. To merely make the sinking of the bust into a violent attack on freedom of speech and vandalism of public property, rather than seeing it as a way to cast light on a history written by white supremacy is solely serving one side of history once again.

Facts are easily forgotten, such as that the bust was not of any real monetary value – there have been about 26 versions of the exact figure, in plaster, marble, and bronze. It has been thought-provoking and not least terrifying to see many white people react with such anger and sense of bereavement to the loss of an insignificant bust, while the actual horrors of white supremacy are left more or less untouched.

To me, the sinking of the bust as an artistic happening asked: How do we no longer accept that the previous “winners” continue their vision and version of history? While recognizing and no longer leaving behind those who were harmed? And just as importantly: How can one be an ally?

This line of questioning makes me think again about the show’s title, which presents itself with a riddle-like quality, neither question nor statement, an open-hearted sentence, which is not answered directly by the curator or the artists. They Say We Are Seeking to Understand What’s Been Going On. It does not seem like a “we” opposing a “they,” the Right vs. Left wing. Instead, the sentence calls forth a need to stay thinking with uncertainty, to continue to try to understand, yet knowing that there is no single answer. Just as there is no you, and I, we, or them – all of us are suffering from the same coding, as Sosunova points out, yet dealing with it in many different ways.

They Say We Are Seeking to Understand What’s Been Going On with artists Jeremiah Day & Anastasia Sosunova curated by Caterina Avataneo was on view from the 25 June - 27 August, 2022 at SixtyEight Art Institute.

This essay is part of an initiative to foster Danish and English language critical writings from a range of talents across the visual arts; and as a partnership between I DO ART and SixtyEight Art Institute.

KARIN HALD

Karin Hald holds three MFA’s: from Malmö Art Academy in Fine Art (2015) and Artistic Research (2022) and Creative Writing within Literary Composition from HDK-Valand (2018). She is a curator and editor within Forlaget Gestus (Gesture Press), which she co-founded in 2015. Hald has an activist approach to art and literature and is continuously searching for subversive methods of undermining existing hierarchies. Karin Hald works between publishing technologies, bodies, politics, performance, and writing. In 2021 her first novel Blomst, buket, was published by Antipyrine. Hald is developing a series of new national and international shows and participating in a residency at The Danish Institute in Rome.