Communities of Sense: Rethinking Aesthetics and Politics
380
Communities of Sense: Rethinking Aesthetics and Politics
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Overview
The first of the collection’s three sections explicitly examines the links between aesthetics and social and political experience. Here a new essay by Rancière posits art as a key site where disagreement can be staged in order to produce new communities of sense. In the second section, contributors investigate how sense was constructed in the past by the European avant-garde and how it is mobilized in today’s global visual and political culture. Exploring the viability of various models of artistic and political critique in the context of globalization, the authors of the essays in the volume’s final section suggest a shift from identity politics and preconstituted collectivities toward processes of identification and disidentification. Topics discussed in the volume vary from digital architecture to a makeshift museum in a Paris suburb, and from romantic art theory in the wake of Hegel to the history of the group-subject in political art and performance since 1968. An interview with Étienne Balibar rounds out the collection.
Contributors. Emily Apter, Étienne Balibar, Carlos Basualdo, T. J. Demos, Rachel Haidu, Beth Hinderliter, David Joselit, William Kaizen, Ranjanna Khanna, Reinaldo Laddaga, Vered Maimon, Jaleh Mansoor, Reinhold Martin, Seth McCormick, Yates McKee, Alexander Potts, Jacques Rancière, Toni Ross
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780822390978 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Duke University Press |
| Publication date: | 09/18/2009 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 380 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Beth Hinderliter is Assistant Professor of Fine Arts at Buffalo State College. William Kaizen is Assistant Professor of Aesthetics and Critical Studies at the University of Masschusetts, Lowell.
Vered Maimon is a full-time lecturer in the Art and Design Department at Northeastern University. Jaleh Mansoor is Assistant Professor in the School of Art at Ohio University.
Seth McCormick is a Lewis B. and Dorothy Cullman Postdoctoral Fellow at Yale University.
Read an Excerpt
Communities of Sense
RETHINKING AESTHETICS AND POLITICSDuke University Press
Copyright © 2009 Duke University PressAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8223-4513-8
Chapter One
JACQUES RANCIÈREContemporary Art and the Politics of Aesthetics
I do not take the phrase "community of sense" to mean a collectivity shaped by some common feeling. I understand it as a frame of visibility and intelligibility that puts things or practices together under the same meaning, which shapes thereby a certain sense of community. A community of sense is a certain cutting out of space and time that binds together practices, forms of visibility, and patterns of intelligibility. I call this cutting out and this linkage a partition of the sensible.
There is art insofar as the products of a number of techniques, such as painting, performing, dancing, playing music, and so on are grasped in a specific form of visibility that puts them in common and frames, out of their linkage, a specific sense of community. Humanity has known sculptors, dancers, or musicians for thousands of years. It has only known Art as such-in the singular and with a capital-for two centuries. It has known it as a certain partitioning of space. First off, Art is not made of paintings, poems, or melodies. Above all, it is made of some spatial setting, such as the theater, the monument, or the museum. Discussions on contemporary art are not about the comparative value of works. They are all about matters of spatialization: about having video monitors standing in for sculptures or motley collections of items scattered on the floor instead of having paintings hanging on the wall. They are about the sense of presence conveyed by the pictorial frame and the sense of absence conveyed by the screen that takes its place. This discussion deals with distributions of things on a wall or on a floor, in a frame or on a screen. It deals with the sense of the common that is at stake in those shifts between one spatial setting and another, or between presence and absence.
A material partition is always at the same time a symbolic partition. The theater or the museum shapes forms of coexistence and compatibility between something that is given and something that is not given. They shape forms of community between the visible and the intelligible or between presences and absences that are also forms of community, between the inside and the outside, and also between the sense of community built in their space and other senses of community framed in other spheres of experience. The relationship between art and politics is a relationship between two communities of sense. This means that art and politics are not two permanent realities about which we would have to discuss whether they must be interconnected or not. Art and politics, in fact, are contingent configurations of the common that may or may not exist. Just as there is not always art (though there is always music, sculpture, dance, and so on), there is not always politics (though there are always forms of power and consent). Politics exists in specific communities of sense. It exists as a dissensual supplement to the other forms of human gathering, as a polemical redistribution of objects and subjects, places and identities, spaces and times, visibilities and meanings. In this respect we can call it an "aesthetic activity" in a sense that has nothing to do with that incorporation of state power into a collective work of art, which Walter Benjamin named the aestheticization of politics.
Therefore, a relation between art and politics is a relation between two partitions of the sensible. It supposes that both terms are identified as such. In order to exist as such, art must be identified within a specific regime of identification binding together practices, forms of visibility, and patterns of intelligibility. The regime of identification under which art exists for us has a name. For two centuries it has been called aesthetics. The relationship between art and politics is more precisely a relationship between the aesthetics of politics and the politics of aesthetics. How can we understand this notion of the politics of aesthetics? This question hinges on a previous one: what do we understand by the name aesthetics? What kind of community of sense does this term define?
There is a well-known master narrative on this topic. According to that master narrative, known as the modernist paradigm, aesthetics means the constitution of a sphere of autonomy. It means that works of art are isolated in a world of their own, heterogeneous to the other spheres of experience. In this world, they are evaluated by inner norms of validity: through criteria of form, beauty, or truth to medium. From this, various conclusions could be drawn about the politicalness of art. First, artworks shape a world of pure beauty, which has no political relevance. Second, they frame a kind of ideal community, fostering fanciful dreams of communities of sense posited beyond political conflict. Third, they achieve in their own sphere the same autonomy that is at the core of the modern project and is pursued in democratic or revolutionary politics.
According to this narrative, the identification between art, autonomy, and modernity collapsed in the last decades of the twentieth century. It collapsed because new forms of social life and commodity culture, along with new techniques of production, reproduction, and communication, made it impossible to maintain the boundary between artistic production and technological reproduction, autonomous artworks and forms of commodity culture, high art and low art. Such a blurring of the boundaries should have amounted to the "end of aesthetics." That end was strongly argued in the eighties, for instance, in a book edited by Hal Foster and called The Anti-Aesthetic. Among the most significant essays collected in that book was an essay written by Douglas Crimp, "On the Museum's Ruins." The ruined "museum" was André Malraux's "museum without walls." Crimp's demonstration rested on the analysis of the double use of photography in Malraux's museum. On the one hand, the "museum without walls" was made possible only by photographic reproduction. Photography alone allowed a cameo to take up residence on the page next to a painted tondo and a sculpted relief, or allowed Malraux to compare a detail of a Rubens in Antwerp to a detail of a Michelangelo in Rome. It enabled the author to replace the empiricalness of the works by the presence of the "spirit of art." Unfortunately, Crimp argued, Malraux made a fatal error. At the end of his volume, he admitted photographs no longer as reproductions of artworks but as artworks themselves. By so doing, he threw the homogenizing device that constituted the homogeneity of the museum back to its heterogeneity. Heterogeneity was reestablished at the core of the museum. Thereby, the hidden secret of the museum could be displayed in the open. This is what Robert Rauschenberg would do a few years later by silk-screening Diego Velázquez's Rokeby Venus onto the surface of a canvas containing pictures of mosquitoes and a truck, or in the company of helicopters or water towers, or even atop a statue of George Washington and a car key. Through photography, the museum was spread across the surface of every work by Rauschenberg. Malraux's dream had become Rauschenberg's joke. Just a bit disturbing was the fact that Rauschenberg himself apparently did not get the joke and affirmed, in turn, Malraux's old-fashioned faith in the treasury of the conscience of Man.
I think that we can make more of the disturbance if we ask the question: what did the demonstration demonstrate, exactly? If Malraux's dream could become Rauschenberg's joke, why not the reverse: could Rauschenberg's joke become Malraux's dream in turn? Indeed, this turnaround would appear a few years later: at the end of the eighties, the celebrated iconoclast filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard, praised as the archetype of postmodern practice, mixed everything with anything as he implemented his Histoire(s) du cinéma, the exact equivalent of Malraux's paper museum.
Let us make the point: there is a contradiction in the "imaginary museum," and that contradiction is testimony to a postmodern break only if you assume first that the museum equals homogeneity, that it is the temple devoted to the uniqueness of the work of art; second, that photography, on the contrary, means heterogeneity, that it means the triviality of infinite reproduction; third, that it is photography alone which allows us both to put cameos, Scythian plaques, and Michelangelo on the same pages and to put the Rokeby Venus on a canvas along with a car key or a water tower. If those three statements are proven true, you can conclude that the realization of the imaginary museum through the photographic means the collapse of the museum as well, that it marks the triumph of a heterogeneity that shatters aesthetic homogeneity.
But how do we know that these points are all true? How do we know, first, that the museum means homogeneity and that it is devoted to the uniqueness and auratic solitude of the work of art? How do we know that this auratic solitude was fostered in nineteenth- and twentieth-century views of art? Let us trace the issue back to the time of the highest celebration of high Art, around 1830. At that time, G. W. F. Hegel's disciples published his Lessons on Aesthetics. At the same time, popular magazines such as the Magasin Pittoresque in France began to use lithographic reproductions in order to offer the treasures of world art to a broad readership. It is also at the same time that Honoré de Balzac published the first novel that he signed with his name, The Wild Ass's Skin. At the beginning of the novel, Raphael, the hero, enters the showrooms of a curiosity shop, and this is what he sees:
Crocodiles, apes and stuffed boas grinned at stained glass-windows, seemed to be about to snap at carved busts, to be running after lacquer-ware or to be clambering up chandeliers. A Sevres vase on which Madame Jaquetot had painted Napoleon was standing next to a sphinx dedicated to Sesostris.... Madame du Barry painted by Latour, with a star on her head, nude and enveloped in cloud, seemed to be concupiscently contemplating an Indian chibouk.... A pneumatic machine was poking out the eye of the Emperor Augustus, who remained majestic and unmoved. Several portraits of aldermen and Dutch burgomasters, insensible now as during their life-time, rose above this chaos of antiques and cast a cold and disapproving glance at them.
The description looks like a perfect anticipation of Rauschenberg's Combine paintings. It frames a space of indistinction between the shop and the museum, the ethnographic museum and the art museum, works of art and everyday materials. No postmodern break is necessary in order to blur all those boundaries. Far from being shattered by it, aesthetics means precisely this blurring. If photography could help literature to achieve the imaginary museum, it is because literature had already blended on its pages what photography would later blend on canvas. It is this "literary past" of photography that appears when the combination of photography and painting turns the canvas into a "print."
This is the second point: how do we know that photography equals heterogeneity, infinite reproducibility, and the loss of the aura? The same year that Crimp published his essay, a significant essay on photography was published: Roland Barthes's Camera Lucida. In that essay, Barthes openly overturned the mainstream argument on photography. He made photography a testimony to uniqueness. And in the following years, photography, after having been taken as the artifact best fitted for postmodern collage, would be viewed as a sort of symbol of Saint Veronica, an icon of pure and unique presence.
This means that the argument could be overturned. The museum means homogeneity and heterogeneity at once. Photography means reproducibility and uniqueness as well. Photographic reproducibility does not make for a new community of sense by its own power. It has to be grasped within a wider form of visibility and a wider plot of intelligibility. It has to lend its possibilities to the enhancement or debasement of a form of presence, or a procedure of meaning. Rauschenberg's use of photography does not open a new age of art. It only gives additional evidence against the modernist identification of "flatness" with autonomous art and the self-containment of painting. It highlights what a reader of Stéphane Mallarmé's "pure" poetry already knows: flatness does not mean the specificity of a medium; it means a surface of exchange; exchange between the time of the poem and the drawing of a line in the space; between act and form; text and drawing or dance; pure art and decorative art; works of art and objects or performances belonging to individual or collective life.
If the production of new evidence against the Greenbergian paradigm of flatness could be viewed as the closure of an era, it is obviously for another reason. It is because there was a definite politics of aesthetics at work in that "formal" paradigm: that politics entrusted the autonomous work with a promise of political freedom and equality, compromised by another politics of aesthetics, the one which gave to art the task of suppressing itself in the creation of new forms of collective life.
The point is that the radicality of "artistic autonomy" is part of a wider plot linking aesthetic autonomy with some sort of political-or rather metapolitical-implementation of community. Aesthetics-I mean the aesthetic regime of the identification of Art-entails a politics of its own. But that politics divides itself into two competing possibilities, two politics of aesthetics, which also means two communities of sense.
As is well known, aesthetics was born at the time of the French Revolution, and it was bound up with equality from the very beginning. But the point is that it was bound up with two competing forms of equality. On the one hand, aesthetics meant the collapse of the system of constraints and hierarchies that constituted the representational regime of art. It meant the dismissal of the hierarchies of subject matters, genres, and forms of expression separating objects worthy or unworthy of entering in the realm of art or of separating high genres and low genres. It implied the infinite openness of the field of art, which ultimately meant the erasure of the frontier between art and non-art, between artistic creation and anonymous life. The aesthetic regime of art did not begin-as many theorists still have it-with the glorification of the unique genius producing the unique work of art. On the contrary, it began, in the eighteenth century, with the assertion that the archetypal poet, Homer, had never existed, that his poems were not a work of art, not the fulfillment of any artistic canon, but a patchwork of collected tales that expressed the way of feeling and thinking of a still-infant people.
(Continues...)
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Table of Contents
IllustrationsAcknowledgments vii
Introduction 1
Part One. Rethinking Aesthetics
Contemporary Art and the Politics of Aesthetics / Jacques Rancière 31
The Romantic Art Work / Alexander Potts 51
From Classical to Postclassical Beauty: Institutional Critique and Aesthetic Enigma in Louise Lawler's Photography / Toni Ross 79
Technologies of Belonging: Sensus Communis, Disidentification / Ranjana Khanna 111
Part Two. Partitioning the Sensible
Dada's Event: Paris, 1921 / T. J. Demos 135
Citizen Cursor / David Joselit 153
Mass Customization: Corporate Architecture and the "End" of Politics / Reinhold Martin 172
Post-Communist Notes on Some Vertov Stills / Yates McKee 197
Part Three. The Limits of Community
Experimental Communities / Carlos Basualdo and Reinaldo Laddaga 215
Prècaritè, Autoritè, Autonomie / Rachel Haidu 238
Neo-Dada 1951-54: Between the Aesthetics of Persecution and the Politics of Identity / Seth McCormick 267
Thinking Red: Ethical Militance and the Group Subject / Emily Apter 294
Interview with Étienne Balibar 317
Bibliography 337
Contributors 355
Index 359