Commissioned by Film & Video Umbrella, London.
© Carey Young, Courtesy the artist and Paula Cooper Gallery, New York
Last night I went to the second lecture in the Urban Field Speakers Series, co-organized by the Visible City Project and Archive, Public journal and the Prefix Institute for Contemporary Art, to see British artist Carey Young speak about her work. Young has an upcoming solo exhibition opening this Friday, March 13th at The Power Plant here in Toronto, but I knew her work from a group show that originated at the Vancouver Art Gallery in 2005 (and then traveled across Canada, including a showing at Oakville Galleries) called “Body: New Art from the UK”.
The video that was included in that group survey was I am a Revolutionary: documentation of the artist rehearsing a one line “speech” with a professional speech and rhetoric coach in a banal corporate office space that consists of the simple statement “My name is Carey Young and I am a revolutionary”. Young’s attempts at various deliveries of the same line range from heartfelt earnestness to ridiculously overblown, while simultaneously referencing early video art practices and direct camera performances. While I didn’t know much about her work at the time, I was compelled by the piece at the VAG and was eager to hear her speak this week.
Evidently, so were many people in Toronto. The venue, Prefix’s gallery space, was packed throughout her hour long presentation and the 45 min question and answer period, mediated by Power Plant curator Helena Reckitt. I really enjoyed Young’s presentation about her body of work, especially the video clips she showed of early performances like Everything You’ve Heard is Wrong, where she delivered a Toastmasters-inspired workshop on how to speak well in public in the midst of the busy and often polemic Speakers’ Corner in London. Many of her early performances involved her taking on a corporate identity (inspired by her real “day job” working for multinational corporations) and exaggerating or overemphasizing the bureaucracy of these environments in absurd and often hilarious ways (often hearkening back to Andrea Fraser’s landmark institutional critiques).
2007 © Carey Young, Courtesy the artist and Paula Cooper Gallery, New York.
Young mentioned that her seeming ambivalence in the works that aim to critique corporate culture, or a perceived lack of radicalism on her part, has often made viewers, particularly in the UK, upset with her for not being harder on corporate culture or more staunch in her critique. While the question period at Prefix was rather subdued, the same undercurrent of questioning the success or effect of her critique appeared in many of the questions she was asked about her working methods and her reflections on the result of her projects.
While I can definitely sympathize with wanting to see performance art, especially by younger women artists that deals with corporate and commercial culture, be polemical in the face of global capitalism, I couldn’t help but think that some of these questions were not starting from the same premise as Young’s own projects. For me, just because Young doesn’t use her female, business/upper-middle-class bedecked body as a dialogic site of meaning-making and doesn’t make explicit or obvious the violence inherent in these international movements doesn’t necessarily negate the critical potency of her work. Instead, I appreciate that her projects begin from a place of acceptance that the avant-garde ideal of finding a space outside of the systems of commercialization and institutionalization to critique these same systems might not be possible. That, from their outset, Young’s performances and interventions accept that everyone – artists included (or maybe especially) – are often complicit in the processes that they also wish to critique. In many of her videos and text works, especially, there seems to be a moment of self-deprecating humour and self-reflexivity where Young (or her persona) implicitly addresses the audience, saying “yes, we all know that when we closely examine this rhetoric of creativity and commercial success that it is ridiculous, but yet it still works. It still has a hold on us and is something we want to be a part of, even as we subvert it.”
While this acceptance of messy complicity might not offer the radicalism we’ve come to expect from contemporary artists, and might be uncomfortable in the ways it reminds us of our own daily complicity, it felt refreshing to see work that was so pragmatic and, in many ways, practical in its approach to these peculiar social conditions.
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