Fluxus was an international, interdisciplinary community of artists, composers, designers and poets during the 1960s and 1970s who engaged in experimental art performances which emphasized the artistic process over the finished product.
The word Fluxus literally means ‘flow’ and all the artists associated with it were more interested in the process, in interaction rather than a stable polished final product. As such they are associated with performance art – you really had to be there! – or conceptual art which only required thinking about, no finished product necessary.
It was a very loose international association which stretched beyond artists to include musicians, composers, performers, poets, dancers, anyone who was prepared to have a go at experimental performance which, in the later 1960s and through the early 1970s, was a lot of extrovert creative types from John Cage and his Black Mountain College colleagues through to Yoko Ono and friends in Japan.
Display case of records, musical scores, magazine articles and photos at Sense Sound/Sound Sense: Fluxus Music, Scores and Records in the Luigi Bonotto Collection at the Whitechapel Gallery. Photo by the author
Luigi Bonotto and the Bonotto Foundation
This is a FREE one-room display of Fluxus-related objects from the collection of Luigi Bonotto. Who he?
Luigi Bonotto was an Italian businessman who made his money from a textile factory and business in Molvena. He became involved with contemporary art in the 1960s and hosted a series of events by Fluxus artists at this home. Here, artists met each other, planned and created new works which Bonotto took it upon himself to document and record.
Gradually Bonotto set out to keep the work of the artists of Fluxus and Experimental Poetry alive, and dedicated his life to preserving, cataloguing, and promoting their poetry, music, and work.
Forty years later the collection has grown to house over 15,000 documents, often given by the artists themselves, a unique archive with which to study the creative processes, relations and collaborations between the artists. It is now housed in the Luigi Bonotto Foundation which, of course, has its own website.
So, after all that explanation, what about the display? Well, it’s like an interesting old junk shop, with display cases showing magazines and photos, a number of fairly big objects, rows of old, long player vinyl records, and some music stands holding iconic Fluxus-related scores such as John Cage‘s iconic 4’33”.
Cage’s ideas about ‘preparing’ a piano by placing nuts and bolts and other impediments among the strings were taken up by a wide variety of followers.
George Brecht (1926 to 2008)
In one of his iconic works Incidental Music, gave musicians a list of ways to interact with a grand piano such as opening the piano and stacking wooden blocks inside the instrument until one falls and creates a noise, or by dropping dried beans onto the keys. Here’s the complete ‘score’, obviously in fact a set of instructions.
Higgins had the idea of creating a musical score by firing machine guns at it. Here’s the resulting score and the electronic thingy at the side included headphones so you could listen to the result. Note the written text at bottom left. As so often with conceptual art, it takes longer to read about than it takes to look at.
Installation view of Sense Sound/Sound Sense: Fluxus Music, Scores and Records showing Symphony 245 by Dick Higgins (1981) Photo by the author
Takehisa Kusugi
Kusugi’s score Musical Piece set a new standard of simplicity: simply place the piece of paper these instructions are written on against your ear and rub. That’s it.
Elsewhere there was a piece of music made up of recorded birdsong placed on a loop, quite a funny big cartoon of a man playing flute and out the end of it dripping spittle which was collected in a jar.
Probably the most striking artifact is this missile titled Bomb Cello by Charlotte Moorman.
Installation view of Sense Sound/Sound Sense: Fluxus Music, Scores and Records in the Luigi Bonotto Collection at the Whitechapel Gallery.
Charlotte was a classically trained cellist who teamed up with Fluxus artist Nam June Paik (who recently had an enormous retrospective show at Tate Modern) to create all manner of happenings and wacky performances. She performed naked or wearing a range of outfits, she played a man i.e. had a man sit in front of her while she went through the motions of playing a cello, and did the same to a TV and to a stack of TVs, in various performances.
The photo above captures Charlotte in the process of ‘playing’ a naked man, a performance titled Human Cello (1965). But it was Charlotte herself who designed the bomb cello standing next to it, which has strings, keys and a bow attached.
On the right in the picture is an artifact titled Composition for a record player and five musicians, with the toy musical instruments usefully attached. You get the idea.
Installation view of Sense Sound/Sound Sense: Fluxus Music, Scores and Records in the Luigi Bonotto Collection at the Whitechapel Gallery.
There are lots of LPs, sheet music, photos and magazine articles and wall labels and headphones so you can listen to the wackier compositions to your heart’s delight and study numerous other ‘scores’ for performances, as well as smashed up, fragmented or otherwise twisted and reinterpreted musical objects, like Claes Oldenburg’s drumkit made out of drooping, sagging sewn fabric. Or a violin case filled with lighted candles and titled A Little Night Music.
Nam June Paik (1932 to 2006) was a Korean American artist. He worked with a variety of media and is considered the founder of video art. He is credited with an early usage (1974) of the term ‘electronic super highway’ in application to telecommunications. (Wikipedia)
This is a major retrospective exhibition of the work of Korean-American artist Nam June Paik, a collaboration between Tate Modern and San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.
It’s the most comprehensive survey of the artist’s work ever staged in the UK, bringing together over 200 works – from early compositions and performances, to sculptures, photos and paintings, magazines and drawings – through to rooms full of videos and large-scale television installations, and a final room which is a large scale, pulsating and very loud, multi-media rock installation.
Sistine Chapel (1993) Courtesy of the Estate of Nam June Paik
The Korean War ended in 1953 with South Korea saved from communist tyranny, and the country which saved it – at such cost in blood and money – the USA, proceeded to invest heavily in the South, fuelling a technology and consumer boom.
Paik developed as an artist during this boom and right from the start was interested in the incongruity of a still, in many ways undeveloped, traditional and Buddhist culture taking on the trappings of Middle American consumer capitalism. Hence his frequent images and assemblies playing with and highlighting the clash of these two cultures.
TV Buddha by Nam June Paik (1974) Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam
When he, inevitably, traveled to America, he was put in touch with other opponents of the swamping consumer culture, the Beat poets like Allen Ginsberg, or the collection of artists musicians and performers at the Black Mountain College, North Carolina, which was home to all sorts of eminent artists and performers, notably the composer John Cage and the choreographer Merce Cunningham.
Cage had an explosive impact on young Paik – he showed him that art can be made out of anything, incorporate any technology, and use chance and randomness. A man on stage twiddling through radio stations can, in the right circumstances be a work of art. A television showing an endless loop of imagery, or weird incandescent patterns you’ve generated to be played through it… or a TV with a magnet on top which distorts the images, or a large magnetic loops around the front with a fluctuating current going through it which makes the images bend and distort.
Why can’t all or any of this be art? After all, this was the age of the atom bomb and the Cold War, when the entire world might be reduced to a smouldering cinder in half an hour if someone pressed the wrong button. How could you possibly go on painting like Rembrandt or Constable in a world like that?
You needed something that responded to the urgency and the crisis of the times. And television seemed to be the new medium, the one through which entertainment and government lies poured in equal measure. A medium which could potentially be used for education and to bring the world together. Or to promote lies and ideology which would tear the world apart.
Why not address its ever-growing centrality, deconstruct it, take it to bits, satirise it, parody it, build sculptures out of it?
TV robots by Nam June Paik
Room by room
This exhibition feels really comprehensive. It’s massive and feels packed with stuff, but still manages to be imaginatively spaced and staged. Its twelve big rooms contain:
Introduction
Paik travelled to work in the US, Germany and Japan. He always questioned not just national borders but professional demarcations – and liked working with collaborators, not just artists, but dancers and musicians, and also fleets of technicians who helped him build robots and experiment with TV technology.
Buddhism. Many of his inventions use Buddhist motifs, from the image of a Buddha statue relayed via a CCTV at the start, to the penultimate room which contains a single lit candle with a camera pointing at it, and the image of the flickering flame reproduced on screens and projected onto the wall.
TV Garden
‘A future landscape where technology is an integral part of the natural world.’ The idea is supposedly related to Paik’s Buddhist feel for the way everything and everyone is connected in the spirit world and, increasingly, in a world dominated by new technology. But it is in fact a load of rubber plants with TV monitors arranged among them.
TV Garden 1974 to 1977 (2002) Tate Modern 2019. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, Dusseldorf
Googling images of this, you can see that in some places the plants were set among stones in what looks like an actual low-growing garden. Tell you where would be a good place for these – the greenhouse at the Barbican.
Global Groove
According to the wall label: ‘This colourful fast-paced video mixes high and popular cultures, with imagery from traditional and contemporary, Western and non-Western sources.’
Far out, man! Look at the crazy picture distortion and mirroring effects! Top of the Pops 1973!!
From quite early on you get the feeling that all of this – the obsession with TV, the notion of the global village, lumbering robots, pop music and pop videos – it all seems incredibly dated. When I saw that the magnets placed around TV sets were being used to distort speeches by Richard Nixon I realised were in that kind of art, art gallery, curatorial time loops which is obsessed with the 1960s and their crappy hangover in the 1970s. The Vietnam War, the Beatles, Allen Ginsberg chanting blues to his harmonium, Woodstock, Watergate – yeah, man, it was all one heavy trip.
Even in the massive multi-media ‘experience’ which climaxes the exhibition in which a disorientiating stream of intercut images and clips and sounds and music are projected onto the walls and ceiling of the final room, I was astonished when prolonged clips came up of Janis Joplin singing her heart out. She died of a heroin overdose in died 1970.
In one darkened room is a huge wall of TV sets with other big TV monitors on the other walls and it seems to be playing a kind of multinational, global mashup of videos from various cultures, all treated to look over-coloured, cut-up and treated and all playing to… a soundtrack of Beatles songs! – titled Video Commune (Beatles beginning To End) and dating from 1970. Old. Old, old, old.
It is all just about near enough to be sort of familiar, but also old enough to smell musty like grandad.
Electronic music
Paik actually studied to be a classical musician and was an extremely able pianist. Some of the clips of Beethoven featuring in various vidoes are played by him. But when he moved to Germany in 1956 and met Karlheinz Stockhausen and John Cage, it blew his mind daddy-oh.
In 1963 he hosted a one-man show at a villa converted into a gallery stuffed with immersive environments and sculptures which required audience involvement. There were musical instruments modified by the artist, three customised pianos in the Cage manner (Cage composed quite a lot of music for pianos which had had nuts and bolts and screws and elastic bands inserted between the keys or into the wires. They’re surprisingly listenable. Paik took this approach to the next level.
Zen for Wind took lots of random dangling objects which a breath of wind made brush against each other, jingle jangle. Visitors could record their own sounds and snippets on tape recorders and hear them reproduced at random through loudspeakers.
Paik’s friend the German artist Joseph Beuys destroyed one of the pianos and Paik liked it so much he left it on display. Ah, those were the days. Such rebels, back in a time when rebellion had meaning.
Some of Paik’s Cage-like music, some of the dangling objects and one of the pianos are on display here in this exhibition. It was ironic to read on all the wall labels how Paik wanted his visitors to interact with the pieces and then turn to them to find them all protected by plastic covers or behind tripwires which set off alarms.
Installation view of Nam June Paik at Tate Modern
No, children, you could play with these dusty old toys once upon a time, even smash them up for fun, but now times are very different and every scrap of paper and piece of old cable which was ever handled by a Great Artist is now a precious Work of Art, which would fetch millions on the current art market, and so must be protected, curated, catalogued and carefully stored away.
That’s what happens to avant-gardes – they fall into the hands of galleries and curators where their entire disruptive, anarchic charge is neutralised, surgically removed, and replaced by polite wall labels and security barriers.
Merce Cunningham
There’s a room devoted to Paik’s collaborations with and riffing off the work of Cage and choreographer Merce Cunningham, including the film Zen for Film a, blank film ‘exploring themes of emptiness, boredom and random interference’ – and Merce by Merce by Paik.
Charlotte Moorman
As a thoroughly trained classical musician Paik was well placed to make his comment that sex was everywhere in art and literature and yet almost completely absent from the classical canon.
Why is sex, a predominant theme in art and literature, prohibited ONLY in music?
(For a start that shows the extreme limits of his knowledge of contemporary and pop culture: I think even a casual examination would have shown him that popular songs, jazz, blues, rock’n’roll, pop and rock music is OBSESSED with sex.)
So he set out to address this glaring error in a collaboration with classical cellist Charlotte Moorman which lasted for nearly thirty years. Basically, these involved getting Moorman to play the cello in various states of undress, topless, bottomless, totally nude, or with various objects taped onto her boobs, for example mirrors, or what looked like little display cases.
This was such a 60s idea it made me giggle. What’s so funny about peace, love and understanding, man? A big quote from Moorman is printed on the wall of her saying that, in the age of nuclear weapons and Vietnam, you couldn’t expect artists to make art like in the old days. She became known as the Topless Cellist.
Thus there are films of performances which involved Charlotte playing the cello nude, or with mirrors or even small TV monitors taped to her breasts, or playing a TV monitor as if it was a cello, or playing a man sitting in front of her as if he was a cello and, most impressively, climbing topless into a column of oil drums filled with water then climbing out again.
The idea that having women strip off, taking their clothes off or taping things to their boobs, would somehow revolutionise music or put the sex back into classical music is so laughable as to be sweet and quaint.
If there’s one thing that Charlotte Moorman is not, it’s sexy. She looks like a nice young lady who’s decided to take her clothes off to make a statement. But just taking your clothes off does not make you sexy, as anyone who’s been in a gym or swimming pool changing room and looked around knows: it just makes you someone who’s taken their clothes off, often enough a rather pitiable sight. Here she is, combining Paik’s two themes, playing a cello made of television sets.
Charlotte Moorman with TV Cello and TV Eyeglasses (1971) Peter Wenzel Collection
Joseph Beuys
Paik encountered the Zero Group in Dusseldorf in 1961, which included the eccentric German artist Joseph Beuys. They remained close friends and made various collaborations. One of the later ones is a long video of Beuys on stage somewhere, standing wearing his trademark hat and army flak jacket and howling howling howling like a coyote into a microphone.
This room contains a full-sized Mongolian yurt, because Paik felt very in touch with the Mongolian part of his heritage. It’s an impressive object, easily big enough to bend slightly and walk into. It was Paik’s contribution to the German pavilion at the 1993 Venice Biennale.
Mongolian tent by Nam June Paik (1993)
The Sistine Chapel
As mentioned above, the penultimate room contains a flickering flame with a camera pointing at it, and projected on the walls. But this pales into comparison with the elaborate scaffolding which projects a mashup of footage onto the walls and ceiling of the final room all to a deafening rock and blues and classical splice track.
The sound is impressive and the images are sort of immersive, but what really impresses is how much bloody scaffolding and structure it took to project these images. I wonder if the same effect could be achieved nowadays with a fraction of the equipment… as in the nearby exhibition of contemporary immersive artist, Olafur Eliasson. And if so, the thing is impressive less for its effects, than for indicating how laborious and heavy and complicated it was back in 1993, to achieve something which can be done with a few hidden projectors nowadays…
Installation view of Nam June Paik at Tate Modern. Photo by the author
Nothing dates faster than old TV
Well, OK, some things do, bread for example. Or pop music. But not much dates faster and more completely than televison. Watching TV clips of Richard Nixon or John Cage or Janis Joplin or hearing tracks by the Beatles from the 1960s conveys a deep psychological sense that we have stepped back in time not just a few decades, but back into what, is now, a different century – a time which is fast becoming incomprehensible in its political and artistic naivety and optimism
I really enjoyed the exhibition because of its quaint sense of being dated and old. I liked the quaint old bakelite TV sets Paik made his television robots out of, or the extremely ancient tape recorders on which he made his cutting edge music compilations in the 1960s.
But nothing dates faster than old visions of the future. Paik’s wall of video monitors is wonderfully redolent of the 1980s, of MTV and the TV generation. But the future would turn out not to be about walls of TV screens, but screens which are so small you can put them in your pocket or possibly be projected onto your glasses (still waiting for that to be perfected).
This is a beautifully assembled and laid out and clearly explained exhibition, and it explains why Paik was clearly one of the early international art superstars but – Tate’s promotional video includes the slogan THE FUTURE IS NOW. But this exhibition is all about THEN, and quite an outdated THEN at that. To me it ranged from the dated, to the very dated, to the really antique.
Some ancient robots and gizmos by Nam June Paik at Tate Modern.
A fascinating look at the world of a pioneer of TV art, or art for the TV age – but really bringing home the fact that that era, the TV era, is long gone, and we are well into a completely new era, of boundless new communication technologies, bringing with them new social ideas and issues, and new geopolitical threats, which have as yet been very little explored by artists.
Paik appears to have been the grand-daddy to the modern world of video art, a granddad whose pioneering work more or less ended around the same time as the analogue era, sometime in the mid-1990s. He was the great pioneer of analogue visual technology, a revered ancestor. Let’s tap the temple bell, and make a bow to his cheeky, funny, loud and inventive achievements.
Related links
Nam June Paik continues at Tate Modern until 9 February 2020
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