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Media and Myth
Peter Friese
in catalogue “Hésitations des sens”, C.A.C de Basse-
Normandie, Hérouville-Saint-Clair, 1998
Jean François Guiton's artistic use of video and its associated
technology is in many respects agreeably different from what other media
artists produce and stage. His spatially extensive works consist of only
a few elements and might, at first sight, be regarded as minimalistic
or conceptual, if it were not for the fact that they also possess a narrative,
literary and on occasion mythical plane; in other words, a "content" that
in a quite special way complements and overlies the technology the artist
employs. On the one hand, the suggestive images and sounds of these works
directly affect our visual perception, which is at all times ready to
make associations and draw analogies. They affect our entire sense of
physical-spatial perception, in fact.
On the other hand, the evidence and transparency of their presence in
space, the clear arrangement of the technical elements, make one aware
of the immediacy of the whole undertaking and its stage-like quality.
In that respect, Guiton's works are at once narrative, literary, mythical
and self-referential. They tell us stories, and at the same time they
inform us of the act of narration in the context of their medial transmission.
In this way, they make reference to the media themselves, the hardware
of which is employed in a sculptural form, thereby becoming a theme of
his work.
LE FARDEAU, for example, a work that Guiton created in 1990, consists
of a huge strip of linen slung from one wall to another like a large
sail or an oversize hammock, in the middle of which is a video monitor
with its screen facing upwards. The weight of this hardware, in the literal
sense of the word, tautens the great soft sheet and lends it a form that
only this load could cause. On the underside of the material, one sees
quite clearly the rounded back of the monitor. The tensioning of the
cloth also causes a series of tight upward folds. In this respect, one
is confronted with what looks like a minimalist arrangement. The video
monitor, however, not only rests in the depression caused by its own
weight; it radiates upwards an image of a section of the same strip of
linen in which it lies, as if the intention were to make the concealed
area of cloth visible on top through a kind of light table reinforced
by video techniques. If one looks closely, though, one will see that
there are movements in this (virtual) section of fabric. At first, they
resemble gentle waves, caused perhaps by a current of air - a faint wafting
that changes the video texture. Then again, it seems as if someone were
touching the soft material from below, as if behind or beneath this virtual
sheet there were a living object, the form of which is not clearly identifiable.
The image of this permanently moving strip of cloth on the screen is,
therefore, on the one hand a reflected tautology; as if the artist merely
intended to substitute a full-size video picture for a piece of reality.
On the other hand, the virtual cloth on the screen easily bears the strain
of the real load of the video apparatus. The image transcends the evidence
of load-bearing and suspension and therewith the physical laws manifest
in the construction of the work. It is a demonstration of a paradox;
and at the same time, it is a mental image that fills the entire space.
The conjunction and overlaying of software and hardware provides a typical
example of Guiton's self-evidential form of work. The observer is invited
to participate in an act of meditation. The open relationship between
the elements - a perceptible state of suspension - represents the special
aesthetic attraction of this calm spatial work. The indeterminate nature
of cause, effect and physical laws so confidently demonstrated here is
the outcome of a clear artistic decision. In the case of Le Fardeau,
this inevitably culminated in a minimal installation that consists effectively
of just a video unit and a large piece of cloth.
Guiton's works are narrative without being garrulous. They impress the
observer without seeking to overwhelm him with confidence tricks in the
nature of flickering screens that fill the whole wall or that are arranged
in cupboard-like or pyramidal forms. Existing or newly developed technologies
are employed solely to stimulate experiences, insights and questions
that would be inconceivable outside artistic constellations of this kind.
The decision, therefore, to use a specific sequence of sounds or images,
a particular apparatus and the technical effects associated with it is
always the result of a precise assessment of the factors involved, an
expression of constraints innate to the artistic process. It is never
an end in itself, in the sense of a presentation in which art avails
itself of the latest technologies, merely to be as up-to-date as possible.
In LA RONDE, a work by Guiton dating from 1992, the artist creates a
darkened space that can truly be called mythical. The space is impressively
lighted and dominated by four screens and an ingenious rotating slide
projection. The video monitors are placed in the middle of the room,
their screens facing each other in such a way that they form a cubic
space. The images on the screens can be viewed only from above. On the
floor of this space lies a square mirror in which the four screens appear
to be reflected endlessly, forming a long shaft that tapers towards the
bottom. In this virtual mirror shaft, Guiton shows endless video shots
of red molten lava that here seems to be flowing slowly, but all the
more menacingly, downward. The images are intensified by booming sounds
from the loudspeakers of the video monitors. One is reminded of the rumbling
of an earthquake or the grumbling, crackling, hissing sounds emerging
from the mouth of a volcano. In this work, Guiton uses the hardware in
a most consistent manner: the monitor casings, which have a sculptural
effect in themselves, are also employed to simulate an artificial volcano
shaft, using a simple, but highly effective, trick effect with a mirror.
The four black blocks in conjunction with the luminous bright-red fire
and the thundering sounds from the loudspeakers are sufficient to create
- using technical means - a sense of the mighty forces of nature. There
is no suggestion that Guiton is manipulating his audience, however, trying
to impress them with dramatic chiaroscuro effects and a mysterious soundtrack
of the kind with which one is perhaps familiar from the cinema. Any such
suspicion is dispelled at the outset by the clearly technical arrangement,
the filtering of the experience through media technology and the substitution
of a video film for a volcanic shaft, which represents an integral part
of the work. The sublimity of a perfectly conceivable natural phenomenon
is overlayed here with what is, in comparison, the riduculous technical
ersatz construction of a mini-volcano. That is something both the artist
and the observer see, sense and reflect upon.
That is not all, however. Over this luminous video chimney - and over
the heads of the observers - a seemingly endless row of skulls and mummified
human heads rotates in a macabre dance. Guiton works here with slide
projections, the circular motion of which is produced by a rotating mirror
that reflects the images over the entire wall surfaces of the room. The
motifs for this danse macabre come from Palermo, where a strange funeral
practice existed in the Convento di Cappucini until well into the 19th
century. The bodies of the dead were dried over special ovens and lined
up in rows for exhibition rather than being interred. Even today, visitors
stroll at close quarters past these skinny corpses with grotesquely grimacing
faces. Guiton lets close-ups of the bizarre, seemingly grinning countenances
circle over the heads of the observers in the room. The linking of these
two elements in La Ronde, the juxtaposition of the projected dance of
death with the video volcano, leads to the creation of an intense overall
picture that has an immediate correspondence with mythical concepts in
our own cultural world: death and damnation, hell and purgatory, mementi
mori, apocalyptic images of the Last Judgement that once served to link
the worldliness of this life with a pictorial concept of the life hereafter.
If myth is anonymous narrative in the form of images, ideas and stories
that are handed down from one generation to another on the strength of
their own internal dynamics, then Guiton is a narrator of myths, someone
who depicts in visual form things that have long existed; someone who
communicates them in a quite special way. This is, indeed, one of the
ancient functions of the visual arts, and it is an anachronism in the
eyes of many people nowadays. Guiton takes up this characteristic of "religious" art
(re-ligere means establishing bonds with the past) at the end of the
20th century and lends it concrete form in electronic visions, of all
things. Here, he assumes the role of a self-assured mediator of images
of collective angst and dreams, a poet of myth in the age of state-of-the-art
media technologies. As such, he clearly demonstrates the continued existence
of these concepts and the explosive energy they still possess; and he
shows that they are capable of development in the context of what has
been called the "history of fascination" for religious or mythical
concepts. Death has always been something extremely remote, something
absolutely different that cannot be represented, that can exist in our
minds only in the form of a paraphrase, something that undergoes constant
redescription. A substitution of this kind, therefore - the substitution
of words and pictures for something that is really ungraspable - occasions
surprise, but legitimates itself through its suggestive power and spatial
energy. One might also say that, as a video installation, the true strength
and validity of La Ronde lies in its demonstration of our failure to
comprehend this other state - in its attempt to represent the impossibility
of grasping death, to "picture" it for itself.
Naturally, an observer is required who will be able to respond to such
an offer or experiment with his senses and his intellect and who will
not simply register the interaction of these mysterious images and dramatic
sounds as an intense synaesthetic experience with a high entertainment
value. The viewer must seize the opportunity of aesthetic debate offered
by the work. We see, hear, experience and encounter these sounds and
images in a most intense manner and must always be prepared to reflect
on them and to question them as something made, constructed, arranged.
As subjects, we are in a position to speculate on the conditions determining
the potential of such an ambivalent experience. Part and parcel of this
is the possibility of doubt, the ability critically to question the validity
of an image in its cultural context. These are tokens of an aesthetic
dialectic that is not concerned solely with the delights of sensuous
indulgence. That is clearly an intrinsic element of Guiton's work.
LE VOL DU REGARD, dating from 1977, is another interactive work that
leads the viewer to an act of self-reflective observation. In this case,
it involves a space, over the entire wall surfaces of which one sees
a video projection of dense tropical vegetation. A soundscape of all
kinds of bird calls is audible. Chirping, cawing, chattering, clucking
sounds help to convey a kind of "holistic" jungle experience
that is relativized, of course, in Guiton's sense through the reflexive
nature of its technical communication and at the same time confirmed
as a video installation. In the course of 15 minutes, the green of the
jungle changes. It grows paler and then intensifies again at the end,
as if someone were adjusting the colour control of a television set.
In the middle of the space is a bird house on a pole - the kind one knows
from public gardens or parks - with a pitched roof and gabled ends and
with a small circular opening in the front through which virtual birds
may slip in and out. Since the opening is at eye level, it also forms
a peephole for potential viewers, inviting them to look inside. A link
is, in fact, established between the impressive jungle scenery, the soundscape
of bird calls and this bird house. But as soon as one accepts the invitation
to peep through the hole like a voyeur, as soon as the observer's head
comes near the hole, the wild calls of birds cease, and silence descends
in the room. Within the house, small-scale video images can be seen.
In a kaleidoscopic raster effect, one discovers the schematic outlines
of different birds flying over and across each other; and since the twittering
has been turned off, one now hears a continuous fluttering sound that
comes straight from the inside of the house. It is the acoustic equivalent
in the internal world of the silenced external world. The bird house,
therefore, reveals something that is visible and perceptible only when
the outer world is excluded. This mechanism also functions when other
people are in the room. In the inner video images one can discover something
else, as well. Schematically or as a mere trace behind the crystalline,
grid-like pattern, an initially puzzling motif appears through the fluttering
silhouttes of the birds. At first, one becomes aware of a flesh-coloured
background. Then, if one looks closely enough, one may discover part
of a well-known and controversial picture by Gustave Courbet. It is The
Beginning of the World, dating from 1866, which shows the dark genitals
of a woman between her spread thighs. In this work, Guiton treats not
only the theme of "nature" or the "forest with birdsong";
he makes reference to a visual motif that is firmly embedded in our culture
with all its ambiguity and metaphorical implications. This is evident
from the title of the work: Le Vol du Regard, which in French can mean
an "eye-catching object", the "theft of a glance" or
the "flight of a glance". The observer is here seduced to an
inquisitive act of viewing; but he becomes a voyeur of his own volition.
This becomes apparent to him at the latest when the bird calls are silenced
at the moment he attempts to look through the hole. Guiton's act of homage
to Courbet, however, which the kaleidoscopic grid pattern and doubling
up of the image tends to conceal rather than reveal, is not the only
reference to this work in the annals of art history. Between 1946 and
1966, Marcel Duchamp developed a remarkable and highly complex work that
has received little critical attention to date: Étant donnés:
1. la chute d'eau, 2. le gaz d'éclairage, which is now in the
Philadelphia Museum of Art. For the observer, it reveals a similar basic
situation. Initially, one enters a kind of transitional space, in which
there is nothing to see except a heavily weathered wooden door. Finally,
one discovers two small holes in the door at head height that - what
else? - invite one to peep through them. In this way, having been made
a voyeur through one's own curiosity, one looks through the restricted
view of part of a landscape, in the form of a diorama, and sees in this
artificial picture of nature an evidently naked woman lying with her
thighs spread apart directly opposite the viewing holes. The scene is
reminiscent of a peep show with its coincidental duplicity of events
and decisions - or what else?
What Duchamp already knew and Guiton today revives in an expression of
respect is that the action of the voyeur is based on a specific form
of autostimulation, for which the distance from an object of desire and
its inherent unattainability are necessary conditions. In principle,
a vague intimation and the restricted view through a keyhole are enough.
One is concerned with visual pleasures, which are always coupled with
a certain imaginative faculty, with the nostalgic transposition of a
distant image into the mind of the viewer. If one can regard voyeurism
in the pathological sense of the word as an impoverishment of interpersonal
relations, here, on an artistic and conceptual plane, one is concerned
more with the process of making people aware of this visual pleasure
and the related imaginative faculty as forms of auto-poetic energy. Seen
in an artistic context, the view into the box between a woman's thighs
is not a pitiful masturbatory end in itself. It represents the start
of a new process of contemplation. Anyone who is in a position to reflect
on his own role in this process of perception, to see his expectations,
projections, interpretations and prejudices as part of this perception,
does more than just register in libidinous fashion what he sees before
him. One's doubts about the limitations of one's own voyeuristic view,
the awarness of this passion fixed on a certain point here becomes a
component part of the visual process and leads to an extension of one's
insights and experiences in a form that is virtually impossible in the
context of everyday voyeurism. Here, Guiton does not make the viewer
a protagonist of some strange and superfluous experimental enactment.
He defines the observer as a subject capable of reflecting on his experiences
in an independent way. The "interactivity" of this work, which
employs sensors and computer-aided visual and sound systems to achieve
its effects, is not the ultimate goal, therefore; it is merely the method
or means employed by this spatial installation, which is transposed into
the mind of the observer.
THE RAT CATCHER, created in 1997, is another conceptual image of
a special kind. On entering the darkened room, one discovers a large
number
of
oval loudspeakers scattered about the floor, all of which seem to be
drawn in a winding stream in one direction. The layout bears a certain
resemblance to an aerial photograph of a traffic jam on a highway. The
small loudspeaker elements are linked by cables that follow and define
the course of the stream. The significance of the loudspeakers and connecting
cables becomes apparent on entering the room, when one hears a soundscape
of small squeaking rodents, the incessant pattering of thousands of small
feet, and soft scratching sounds. The associative idea of "rats!" presses
itself on the observer intuitively rather than as a logical conclusion.
The entire room is filled with these incessant sounds; but that is not
all. From a place behind the wall towards which this virtual stream of
rats seems to be heading, comes a dull rumbling sound, somewhat like
the noise of the volcano in La Ronde, but here overlaid with hissing
and gurgling sounds. If one follows one's ears and advances along the
path of the pack of loudspeakers (there are 100 of them, incidentally),
one makes a somewhat gruesome discovery, considering the virtuality of
the phenomenon. The technical "rats" are all drawn towards
a large video projection that, at first glance, resembles an oval or
rhomboid orifice. Here, a monstrous hole opens and closes rhythmically,
droning, steaming, hissing and seeming to devour the stream of rats in
a series of convulsive pumping, gulping movements. It resembles a flaring,
boiling opening in the earth, capable of erupting violently at any moment;
a menacing abyss. Here, too, associations of monstrous female genitals
- more terrifying than lascivious - force themselves upon the viewer:
a constantly expanding and contracting vaginal cleft that grows ever
larger and more threatening and that, in a Freudian sense, may be seen
as an organ of castration (dentata) and, in the sense of Georges Devereux,
as a mythical vulva that instils both fear and desire in the viewer.
One could say that Jean François Guiton here appropriates concepts
that are rooted in our cultural awareness.
In addition, he makes intuitive and yet conscious reference to the (German)
fairy tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, in which a mysterious stranger
rids the town of a terrible plague of rats. When the citizens refuse
to pay him the promised reward, however, he lures all the children of
Hamelin out of town by playing his pipe, just as he had done before with
the rats, and disappears with them for ever into a mountain cave.
Guiton does not illustrate this or any other tale. He does not degrade
his work by making it a spectacular scenario for a series of events that
could just as well be narrated or experienced in another form. He uses
these references as the basis and stimulus for a special experience that
can exist only in this form.
The ancient topoi, myths, archaic images, symbols and visions of fear,
desire and death that recur in his work are not tokens of an attempt
by the artist to uncover arcane signs of the past that have long been
forgotten or become meaningless and to reactivate them in an anachronistic
form. The opposite is really the case. These signs and images are still
present in the media age. They form part of a traditional stock that
has existed for thousands of years, during which time they have been
subjected to a constant process of modification. They are still valid
at the end of the 20th century. In view of the way in which Guiton presents
them, we experience them as mutable phenomena, capable of reinterpretation
and applicable to various situations. Even in the media age, myth still
functions as a kind of "dormant source of information". Pictures
and stories are enriched with elements they have absorbed along the way.
They are changed in the process; sometimes they are scarcely recognizable
any longer. Nevertheless, as a narrator of myths in the media age, Guiton
is not concerned with lamenting losses caused by the intervention of
the media in some sentimental act of mourning. He is interested in an
independent, modern approach to the wealth of images and concepts that
still exist, and in their mutually overlapping meanings. The specific
aspect of an experience of art as he sees it, cannot be replaced by discussion
or description. It may well resist any attempt at verbal comprehension.
It is located at the point where language no longer - or not yet - plays
a role. And Jean François Guiton is convinced that video is an
appropriate vehicle or "medium" for communicating this
.Peter
Friese @
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