Fran Ilich | Telenovelas als Instrumente der Existenz und des Widerstands
“Telenovelas as Instruments of existence and resistance” presentation at the Academy of Fine Arts, Vienna, 2nite!
Datum | 14.05.2008, 19.00 h
Venue | Atelierhaus der Akademie der bildenden Künste Wien, Lehárgasse 8, 1060 Wien, Computerlabor, Atelier Nord im 1. OG Vortrag in englischer Sprache
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Punk. No one is innocent.
Kunsthalle Wien (16.5.-7.9.08)
Punk. No one is innocent.
Opens tonight (15.5) with a free party at Kunsthalle
“No one is innocent… Least of all museum taxidermists! This show opening on Thursday night appears to be one of the most atrocious documents of rebellion ever ill-conceived. Of course the fun of it will be that this show epitomizes what museums do best… putting art+life+expression into glass cases for idiots to stroll past. Expect a bottle of hot fury thrown from street level view: A special XLT coroner’s report coming soon.”
11:30am ( with little sleep). So must our punk reflexes kick in before heading over to the press conference this morning. And After, but with a bit more informed rage. And now we can surely add: the stuffed and packaged movement does in fact exude all the familiar odors of bambi roadkill. But the fury in the bottle, also shared by the curators ( i.e. with some exceptional text by Thomas Miessgang, stay tune for excerpts) by subjects ( Gudrun Gut’s’live Berlin vinyl collection ‘tour’), and by spies (you know who you are) who have tasted the realtime revolt is not really diminished by its inevitable pop culture indoctrination, but lies hidden in the encrypted archeological finds. Its volatile and ecstatic states will hardly be reanimated on the Kunsthalle walls and will only be historical symbols of a once wild fringe and furore. And to those who are hungry for them now, all can and will be instantly retrieved at the right place and the right time in both referenced forms and new unforseen aberrations.
Like a Schroedinger black cat, punk is both alive and dead, is both wave and particle, equally untouchable by the casual observer and cultural tourists but always available for transformations and embodiments into a very personal and relative matter. Just as dada, surrealism, theatre of cruelty, situationism, culture jamming, hiphop and such cannot be contained once the leaks have been illuminated.
As we were watching the press conference, we couldn’t help connecting this absurd formality introduction, “academics” at a podium, with an occasion of seeing John Lydon playing with Public Image Ltd., some years following the implosion of the Sex Pistols. The newly hatched hardcore punks of New England converged at a gig in Providence, R.I. and took their positions front and center… in order to cover Lydon in a hail of spit. For them apparently the reincarnated Artist and Media Contortionist had abandoned the raw incubation days of Punk and was a prime target for taunting, and bringing down. It was painful to watch. It was a completely odd hazing ritual ( almost collegiate in its idiotic brotherhood) and initiation to unusable positions. Jump-cut to a similar story years later on the left coast hearing how Jello Biafra of Dead Kennedys was knee-capped ( and severely injured) years ago at a Gilmore show by the new hardcore kids in Berkeley and was another self-collapsing, uninformed and/or inept and/or pointless attack. Btw Biafra remains one of the most politically active creators coming out of the original punk eruptions and, among other forms of expression, continues to support and produce emerging musicans with current sound and fury at Alternative Tentacles.
What do these anecdotes have to do with Kunsthalle’s “No One is Innocent”?! They are just our own internal juxtapositions as we watched curators poke at the remnants of one’s Eskimo relatives in the museum, one still wished for some Act to demand that our family members’ remains (or in many cases still living) be returned. No such act occurred…perhaps cause we knew better. But perhaps some text/analysis can retrieve, can undo the humility, can, as Debord described, bring the oil nearer to the fire, can uncover the insurrectional warpaths, our winter warcries.
In any case one thing is clear, it was not, in this scenario, the curators who might be legitimate targets carrying the responsibility and weight of this carny funeral parlor – Punk Under Glass- but the larger cultural industry as it mind sweeps for a hot catch, to harpoon the Real, to push the savagely sectioned whale-fat pin-ups as artifacts and little souvenir chunks from memory lane, the salty snack sales counter for the still fresh historical wounds. We have moved on to the next page, and if we must burn the trails behind us, it is so the manual might read: our theater is highly flammable, use before expiration date.
to be cont.
( coming: the ongoing rhizome of punk is far more interesting than its weary and over-used icons)