3- bruce nauman

listedeki en favorilerimden biri, ozellikle neonlari, dili diline dolamasi, concrete poetrisi, instructionlari, kitaplari, yuruyusu, sesleri ama - en cok da neonlari. en az da performanslari, ama bu benim defektim, performans sanatlarina olan inancimin azligindan kaynaklaniyor, tiyatro modern dans falan da dahil izlemeye tahammul edemiyorum. biraz baba-sci-fi iliskisi gibi, eminim disarda bilimkurgu seven cool babalar vardir ama bizim mahallede yok, neyse nauman a donersek, bakalim mahalle ne demis:


SHOULD ART BE SEEN AND NOT heard? An old-fashioned notion--the catalog to the Bruce Nauman retrospective, currently at New York City's Museum of Modern Art, has a human ear on its cover. And indeed, no show was ever noisier. Go in, and you hit a wall of sound, all disagreeable: moanings and groanings; the prolonged squeak of something being dragged over a hard surface, like a knife on a plate; repetitious rock drumming; voices reciting mantra-like inanities; and (in its own room full of TV monitors titled Clown Torture) the hoarse voice of Nauman, dressed as a clown, in a baggy suit of vertical stripes that slyly recalls the garb of concentration-camp prisoners, shrieking, "No, no, no, nonono!" while writhing and jerking on the floor.

BEING A NUISANCE
By ROBERT HUGHES

Nauman, beyond much dispute, is the most influential American artist of his generation. Born in 1941, he is of the same artistic age as Eva Hesse, Richard Serra and Susan Rothenberg (whom he married in 1989), but the artists whose work he most counts for are younger; it is safe to say that hardly a corner of the mix of idioms at the end of the 1980s, from video to body pieces to process art to language games of various sorts, escaped Nauman's influence.

There's no mystery about why this should be so. What Nauman practices is a form of psychic primitivism, or atavism if you prefer. His art is chiefly about two states: compulsion and regression. When you see a videotape of him smearing his face with black or green greasepaint, you aren't sure whether he's disguising himself or simulating the fecal games of a backward child. Autism is the governing metaphor of his work's "look"--the long-winded rituals of trivial movement, the ejaculatory phrases, the bouts of ungovernable rage.

He is therefore a kind of guru to artists who seek gnomic "enactments" of pain, are obsessed by splits between private and public identity--including their own feelings of victimization--and treat the body as canvas. Not for nothing does one of Nauman's video pieces feature a bewildered rat in a Plexiglas maze, scuttling about under the bombardment of rock drumming. It's Nauman's idea of the relationship between artist and audience. The artist as hero is long gone from American culture, and the artist as social critic is ineffective, but Nauman, with the example of Dada before him and a slackly therapeutic culture all around, has cut himself a different role: the artist as nuisance.

Nauman doesn't think art has much to do with pleasure. Just about everything that could turn you off is catnip to him: aggro, solipsism, tension, repetition, torpor and bad jokes that may have come out of a misanthrope's fortune cookie. Boredom too. Try watching a fuzzy tape of Nauman overstretching a simple phallic pun by very slowly "manipulating" a long fluorescent tube. You don't so much enjoy this show as endure it; you get through it. Then, in the coffee shop, you peruse the catalog and find such hyperbolic drivel as this, by co-curator Kathy Halbreich: "Like the great 17th century metaphysical poet John Donne, who, faced with a world of expanding information and concomitant chaos, mastered paradox through meditation.Bruce Nauman creates art that is a drama of a particularly physical sort of imagining." Well, yes: remember Black Balls, 1969, eight minutes of Nauman's fingers rubbing black pigment in close-up on his scrotum? "O my America! my new-found land."

http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/nauman/

link: Meredith Monk,

Instructions

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qml505hxp_c

March 2, 1970
Bruce Nauman

Drill a hole into the heart of a large tree and insert a microphone. Mount the amplifier and speaker in an empty room and adjust the volume to make audible any sound that might come from the tree.
September, 1969

Drill a hole about a mile into the earth and drop a microphone to within a few feet of the bottom. Mount the amplifier and speaker in a very large empty room and adjust the volume to make audible any sounds that might come from the cavity.
September, 1969


to listen : http://www.ubu.com/sound/monk.html

link: samuel beckett

Mar 16th 2006
From The Economist print edition

“NOTHING is funnier than unhappiness,” says Nell, an immobile, daffy dustbin-dweller, in Samuel Beckett's play “Endgame”. For Beckett, an Irish playwright born 100 years ago who won the Nobel prize in literature in 1969, adversity and decrepitude were a rich source of humour. The frequently heard charge, that his stuff is morbid and joyless, is altogether wide of the mark.

London and Dublin are celebrating his centenary with festivals that kick off this Sunday. A highlight in both cities will be a revival of the 1984 production, overseen by Beckett himself, of “Waiting for Godot”, his best-known work and possibly the most influential play of the 20th century. “Godot” baffled audiences and critics when it was first performed, in French, in Paris in 1953. Though the play had its champions from the start, the verdict of an Irish critic, Vivian Mercier, that “Godot” is a play in which “nothing happens, twice” stuck to its author like a curse. …