Slopes: No, You’re Product

At first sight Nic Tammens’ curatorial statement for No, You’re Product reads like a lulling, stuttering stream of consciousness; its non-linear form is convoluted and alienating. Admittedly, when it is first emailed to me, I roll my eyes after a few sentences and stop reading, which sucks I know but I had shit to do and it was really long. I pick it up again at Slopes gallery where No, You’re Product is being shown. As I wander around, I glance down at the A4 sheet, skimming it in a non-linear fashion, aligning paragraphs with the artworks. Here I begin to slowly unpick Tammens’ intention.

I am first drawn to Elizabeth Newman’s Untitled (2004) a hanging sculpture framing the 16mm black and white German film Subjektitude (1966) by Helke Sander. I stand looking down at the box TV monitor watching the relational politics unfold between two males and one female. The inner experience of each character is narrated while shots of a bustling street and shop fronts are cut with close-ups of the characters faces and crotches. The space between the characters is palpable –  it is at the same time uncomfortably intimate yet distant. This space is altered and manipulated and played with by Sanders in a beautiful, wave-like manner.

Next is Hayley A. Silverman’s ramen noodle bowl sculptures Understanding and Patience (2014). The sculptures hold small, child-like figurines sitting in a tangled mess of ramen and polyurethane mussels and bean sprouts – an unsettling, cartoonish microcosm. The bowls sit precariously perched on the edge of the gallery’s namesake – a slanted slope jutting out of the gallery wall.

From here I walk the walls of the gallery, going from one laminated Citroën poster to the next. I feel apathetic towards these images, they looked burnt or warped and I half-heartedly wonder how they are made. It isn’t until I am approached by Brooke Babington – the director of Slopes – who is kind enough to walk me through the images and explain their origins. The space inhabited by Slopes was formerly a Citroën mechanic’s garage; these posters are left hanging from the rafters and were inadvertently over-exposed to sunlight and warped by heat which left indents of corrugated iron and peeling laminate. Tammens removed them from the ceiling and hangs them along the walls of the gallery as one would display a series of paintings. Babington explains that Tammens views this as a curatorial endeavour as opposed to an artistic one. It is a means of using the pre-existing space to convey the historical architectural context.  

Gig Ryan’s poem Old Masters (2001), letter-pressed by Tammens, hangs on the edge of a wall next to a set of steps. The poem sits as an artist statement might for a film or installation: on the edge of a wall leading into another room, black text on a white background, hanging at eye level. I mistakenly skim over the poem and walk up the steps expecting an ‘Installation This Way –>’ sign. I find a doorway and hover just behind the curtain. I have an awkward conversation with the shop owner in the back room which I find out is not part of the exhibition. Re-entering the gallery I give Gig Ryan’s poem a much deserved read. I then move to the centre of the room. From here I can view each artwork through the negative space of Newman’s fabric sculpture.

I should now mention that I completely miss Fayen d’Evie’s piece. It isn’t until I get home and realise that there is an extra name on the program that I email Babington to ask if it is a typo. She explains that d’Evie’s piece Excerpts (in draft) of a short story ‘Fly Birdy Fly’ aka Chapter One of a novella that may or may not eventuate (2014) is printed on translucent paper and hangs on the inside window between the gallery and the neighbouring display suite for luxury apartments. She also sends me a PDF enabling me to experience the work from my desk. The exhibited art work, from what I can gather, exists as Gmail print-out that d’Evie (or Tammens?) includes in the exhibition- so I’m not completely disgruntled about having to view the work outside the gallery via my email account.  

It is not only d’Evie’s work which pushes for an alternate viewing or context. You know previously, when I was talking about Helke Sander’s film? My interpretation doesn’t come from what I see in the gallery. Standing and looking down at the box monitor is awkward and disruptive to the narrative of the film. So when I get home, I find it on YouTube and watch it in bed. I could only find one clip without English subtitles, so I lie under the covers watching the spaces between characters bend and change and sever without language.

I correspond with Tammens over email but he asks not to be quoted. Instead I google him and discover his tumblr (it’s actually really awesome, check it out here: http://nictammens.tumblr.com/) which in a roundabout way gets me thinking about his process. Tumblr exists as your own personal dumping ground for images, YouTube clips and links to other sites. It is not used as a polished website or blog, just something to show what you’re thinking about and a place to collate the numerous links you’ve clicked on that day. We curate constantly in our daily lives – who actually listens to a whole album now? You just pick the songs you like and create (curate) a playlist. Tammens has used Slopes not as a polished end to his line of questioning but a stop-over within the broader context of his research. The works included in this show are the beginning of conversation, so it kind of blows that Tammens refuses to comment.

Tammens’ curation negates the gallery space by pushing the viewer out of the role of passive onlooker and into the role of engaged researcher which is commendable. The curatorial statement shows a brutal self-awareness which is mirrored in Tammens curatorial decision-making. The blurring of lines between curator/artist-researcher/curator-gallery/showroom is ambitious and exciting. The downfall of this exhibition is not the questions posited but the space (manipulated by Tammens) in which these questions exist. If you are going to dislocate ideas – push them out of place – you are going to create a dissonance between where they were and where they are. A place of self-awareness lies between these two states. That space, by nature, is uncomfortable and it is not a vacuum. Our human response is to get out of there as soon as possible and check the iPhone. It is as though in this exhibition Tammens wants to choose his audience. The questions/concepts are all there but he builds brick walls around them to keep the idiots out. I don’t wish to be spoon-fed but I also don’t appreciate being patronised as an audience member.

The word curator stems from the Latin word curare which means ‘to take care’. We see Tammens’ (literal) stamp in his letter-pressed Gig Ryan poem which I mistake and disregard for an artist’s statement. We see his curatorial-art making in the Citroën posters which lack meaning without discourse. We read the show through the lens of his disjointed curatorial statement. We walk straight past the beautifully written excerpts from Fayen d’Evie’s short story. In this instance, the artist’s ideas have not been ‘taken care of’ by Tammens, they have been overshadowed.

I understand this as a subversion of curatorial and institutional cannons but I am left feeling empty. The artists included in this show are absolutely stellar and it is exciting and inspiring to see such strong, feminist works. At the end of the day though, it is the artists and their audience – not the curator – who lucks out.