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Phenomenological Psychology, the philosophyof art, History and Politics, James M Eddie (ed.)

.Northwestern university press, Evaston

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.York: Verso Books, 2009

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The Variety Theatre first published at 28 .29.9.1913 by Filippo Tommaso Emilio Marinetti

Kirby, Michael. Futurist Performance, New 29.York: E. P. Dutton, 1971, pp 20

.Ibid, pp 21 30

.Ibid, pp 23 31

Ranciere Jacques, The Emancipated 32.Spectator pp 2-3

.Ibid, pp 23 33

.Ibid 34

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15

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FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

DJ

26

let’s change the concept of our profession of art. On a practical level, I can say that your two clients, the paralysed artist and curator, are suffering. They are experiencing the pain of existence which has resulted from the way of contemporary art interpreting reality with a retrospective horizon – always looking at itself to justify the present. They have become passive. Passive objects are the best instruments to feed with new ideas and targets. We can force them into labour and make them slaves. They will become robots.

They will be assigned to a web-archive in which data scripts will to be uploaded into them. The artist-robot and the curator -robot will behave according to those scripts. After conversion into robots, the artist will be able to create a very large and versatile vocabulary of work and the curator will be the generator machine for never-ending ways of thinking and making interpretations. They will be the faces, the physical presence of a global community, but also free of personal justification of their actions.

Robots can download and use each other’s data scripts. They can even join each other into an ensemble and play dialogues and multi-play scripts.

By converting into robots your two clients will be able to be reproduced into new creative identities. They will overcome their personal dilemmas and will change the future of art.

Part 4You are two different artists. Your opinions are mirror images of each other. Still, both of you use the same kind of voice while you are trying to help me and my two clients. In your own way, both of you suggest that the paralyzed artist and curator should find a way to come back to art, and become active creators again. “Forever Now” in your very special way………………

I am the DJ of this show, I am the DJ in this show. I am the technician, the operator here. When I say move …………Now stop. You are robots and your words are a show and the show is me. Now, neither of you robots suggested that it will be good for the paralyzed artist and curator to quit art indefinitely. Twenty years ago, when I was a student at the art academy, I realized that discussion in the art world is elitist, artist talk which ignores basic needs such as fun, care and immediate and easy satisfaction. Music is experienced first by the body. Thinking and understanding might come later. I made myself a DJ and played in parties all over the world.

When I asked them to Dance they danced. When I asked them to listen they stopped.

Now I am, here. Don’t ask what art can do for you ask what you can do for art…

This song is dedicated to all the artists who are not doingart anymore

DREAM SPECULATOR

DJ

In my understanding he is both the dreamed biological and spiritual parents who have reached their peace, whilst as the dreaming living father, the artist, he was left outside of it.

The solution is hidden from him, so the artist stays creatively paralyzed.

I am not totally sure what you want from us as artists. As I recall we were turned on during the opening part of the play.

Yes you are right - you did not exist during my prologue. I was describing the psychological state of my clients and I said that I have a feeling that the meaning behind the concept of art itself is contributing to the crises.

Part 3Your definition of professionalism needs some thought. I am the artist of thoughts. My main belief is that if one desires to live life fully then any activity such as making art is a waste of time. Living is a creation by itself. Still, making art in a studio is useful because recognising waste can be useful. It acknowledges the logical contradiction in our existence. It is an acknowledgement of failure. My name is Forever Now because I believe the horizon always exists in the present. I can control and change the loopholes of my own existence. So, don't judge me by my personal financial situation, because this is not what professionalism is about. If you reassess the tools you are trying to analyse me with, you may find a new way to look at your two clients. The answer might be just around the corner. The professional can't understand contra-productivity. Contra productivity appears when an image can be dissolved into abstraction, or when form collapses into material, performance into a rave, idea into matter and attitude into behaviour. It is when a life itself becomes a living experimental art performance. That can't happen when art is made under restrictions imposed by professionalism. Personally I think most of the creations made by today's professionals are not art, and art shouldn't be made into a profession.For me, the curator who can’t view art works and the artist who is creatively paralysed, symbolise(d) a state of utopia - the highest state of creation. Their problems lie in their inability to accept their predicaments. We will celebrate their achievement by building a new type of museum and call it the Museum of Never Ending. In this museum every show adds to the previous one. Nothing is moving out of the exhibition space. The participating artist will have to consider those who follow them. The later ones will have to adjust to the work already in the space. They will be able to rearrange the space but nothing will move out of it. There is no end(ing) date for the project.

The curator who can't watch art should be offered to curate this project on condition that she will allow the artist who can't make art to be the first to exhibit. I am sure that this practical exercise will cure your clients and change art forever now.

I am selling my sculptures in the conventional way but I am not happy with (in) the economy of art of our time. It is forcing us professionals to be engaged in duplication and repetition of our creations. We can't evolve under this limitation that we have been imposed upon ourselves. I believe the art profession will change when we change the products of art - objects, performances and actions. When the product of art is the artist himself or even the curator, the museum, gallery, collector or the viewer, they will change too. My name is Future Planing because I believe that art should aim to reveal its meaning in the future. The horizon exists in the future and the present is a transitional tool, a mechanism to be used for reaching the horizon. We, the artists, are making a path to that horizon when we create an object or action to fulfil our future. But, creation will eventually create its own future and by that will contribute to other people’s futures. Instead of announcing that art shouldn't be a profession,

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

FOREVER NOW

FUTURE PLANNING

27

let’s change the concept of our profession of art. On a practical level, I can say that your two clients, the paralysed artist and curator, are suffering. They are experiencing the pain of existence which has resulted from the way of contemporary art interpreting reality with a retrospective horizon – always looking at itself to justify the present. They have become passive. Passive objects are the best instruments to feed with new ideas and targets. We can force them into labour and make them slaves. They will become robots.

They will be assigned to a web-archive in which data scripts will to be uploaded into them. The artist-robot and the curator -robot will behave according to those scripts. After conversion into robots, the artist will be able to create a very large and versatile vocabulary of work and the curator will be the generator machine for never-ending ways of thinking and making interpretations. They will be the faces, the physical presence of a global community, but also free of personal justification of their actions.

Robots can download and use each other’s data scripts. They can even join each other into an ensemble and play dialogues and multi-play scripts.

By converting into robots your two clients will be able to be reproduced into new creative identities. They will overcome their personal dilemmas and will change the future of art.

Part 4You are two different artists. Your opinions are mirror images of each other. Still, both of you use the same kind of voice while you are trying to help me and my two clients. In your own way, both of you suggest that the paralyzed artist and curator should find a way to come back to art, and become active creators again. “Forever Now” in your very special way………………

I am the DJ of this show, I am the DJ in this show. I am the technician, the operator here. When I say move …………Now stop. You are robots and your words are a show and the show is me. Now, neither of you robots suggested that it will be good for the paralyzed artist and curator to quit art indefinitely. Twenty years ago, when I was a student at the art academy, I realized that discussion in the art world is elitist, artist talk which ignores basic needs such as fun, care and immediate and easy satisfaction. Music is experienced first by the body. Thinking and understanding might come later. I made myself a DJ and played in parties all over the world.

When I asked them to Dance they danced. When I asked them to listen they stopped.

Now I am, here. Don’t ask what art can do for you ask what you can do for art…

This song is dedicated to all the artists who are not doingart anymore

DREAM SPECULATOR

DJ

In my understanding he is both the dreamed biological and spiritual parents who have reached their peace, whilst as the dreaming living father, the artist, he was left outside of it.

The solution is hidden from him, so the artist stays creatively paralyzed.

I am not totally sure what you want from us as artists. As I recall we were turned on during the opening part of the play.

Yes you are right - you did not exist during my prologue. I was describing the psychological state of my clients and I said that I have a feeling that the meaning behind the concept of art itself is contributing to the crises.

Part 3Your definition of professionalism needs some thought. I am the artist of thoughts. My main belief is that if one desires to live life fully then any activity such as making art is a waste of time. Living is a creation by itself. Still, making art in a studio is useful because recognising waste can be useful. It acknowledges the logical contradiction in our existence. It is an acknowledgement of failure. My name is Forever Now because I believe the horizon always exists in the present. I can control and change the loopholes of my own existence. So, don't judge me by my personal financial situation, because this is not what professionalism is about. If you reassess the tools you are trying to analyse me with, you may find a new way to look at your two clients. The answer might be just around the corner. The professional can't understand contra-productivity. Contra productivity appears when an image can be dissolved into abstraction, or when form collapses into material, performance into a rave, idea into matter and attitude into behaviour. It is when a life itself becomes a living experimental art performance. That can't happen when art is made under restrictions imposed by professionalism. Personally I think most of the creations made by today's professionals are not art, and art shouldn't be made into a profession.For me, the curator who can’t view art works and the artist who is creatively paralysed, symbolise(d) a state of utopia - the highest state of creation. Their problems lie in their inability to accept their predicaments. We will celebrate their achievement by building a new type of museum and call it the Museum of Never Ending. In this museum every show adds to the previous one. Nothing is moving out of the exhibition space. The participating artist will have to consider those who follow them. The later ones will have to adjust to the work already in the space. They will be able to rearrange the space but nothing will move out of it. There is no end(ing) date for the project.

The curator who can't watch art should be offered to curate this project on condition that she will allow the artist who can't make art to be the first to exhibit. I am sure that this practical exercise will cure your clients and change art forever now.

I am selling my sculptures in the conventional way but I am not happy with (in) the economy of art of our time. It is forcing us professionals to be engaged in duplication and repetition of our creations. We can't evolve under this limitation that we have been imposed upon ourselves. I believe the art profession will change when we change the products of art - objects, performances and actions. When the product of art is the artist himself or even the curator, the museum, gallery, collector or the viewer, they will change too. My name is Future Planing because I believe that art should aim to reveal its meaning in the future. The horizon exists in the future and the present is a transitional tool, a mechanism to be used for reaching the horizon. We, the artists, are making a path to that horizon when we create an object or action to fulfil our future. But, creation will eventually create its own future and by that will contribute to other people’s futures. Instead of announcing that art shouldn't be a profession,

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

FOREVER NOW

FUTURE PLANNING

28

attractive. Her work, of course, is the most important thing in her life. Actually her profession is her life. The curator is 43 years old, single, without children.

Part twoMy analysis is that the realization by the curator that she has lost her fertility, her acknowledgement that she would never be able to give birth to her own children, triggered the crises. Whenever she goes into an art space she feels extremely tired, sick, short of breath, weak in her stomach, sensitive to light and her head and muscles ache.

Does this reaction happen in every exhibition or just in a specific kind of exhibition? Does it make a difference if the show is classical art or modern art?

It doesn’t make any difference. Every show she enters causes that reaction. She can’t view any kind of exhibition.

I think she is experiencing a conflict between two sides of her personality. I will explain….She made her career by replacing having children with work. Her profession is actually her child. Making herself the mother and the child was a good practical solution while working in a profession such as art, in which, late night parties and events, travelling the world and late working hours clashes with the devotion needed to bring up children. It was a successful practical solution, yet temporary. The problem began when the child in her became an adult and rejected her mother. As part of their maturity, children have to reject their parents and by that establish their own independence in themselves and in their environment. This is a normal and legitimate process for the child and the parent by the end of which they both become individual personae.But, in the case of the curator this is a tragedy. While the curator is watching an exhibition, the child in her, her daughter, is telling her, the mother, to go away, to take some distance and let her, the curator, do her job. But since they share the same body this can’t happen and the unstoppable result is an extremely unbalanced physical reaction.

This is an interesting interpretation. I can see the connection between this analysis and the case of the artist who could not work after dreaming of meeting Duchamp. Duchamp is the father figure for contemporary art. I believe that the first mother figure in the arts will be a female curator. Curating is apparently the most important invention of contemporary art and probably the only field from which it can evolve.

What about the artist? What was in the dream that has paralyzed him?

I have already told you about him in the past. The artist is forty-four years old, and a father of a girl. He is an ex veteran infantry soldier who was on duty during the first Palestinian Intifada in 1989. On the night of the 28th of December 2008, the same night the Israeli Army re-occupied the city of Gaza, this artist dreamt of meeting Duchamp. In the dream, Duchamp and the artist were going to enter a house but the journey couldn’t be completed because he was woken up by (a) the voice of his daughter calling him from her room. Duchamp chose to enter the house with two other people: Ageing pensioners. In my view they are the artist’s biological parents and they stand in contrast to Duchamp, the artist’s spiritual father.I believe that like the curator, the artist is experiencing how two parts of his persona can’t be united. The biological and the spiritual fathers in him are fighting an uncompromising war with each other. This war was triggered by the invasion of Gaza. The spiritual father is blaming the biological father for being in favour of parenting over creating and criticising art. The biological father is blaming the spiritual, in emotionally ignoring the unfolding disaster of the killing of children in Gaza. He is blaming the spiritual father of for being willing to walk with Duchamp into the house instead of helping the girl who needed him. But even he can feel the missed opportunity of not joining the journey with Duchamp. It is still unknown what would have happened in the house.

DREAM SPECULATOR

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

FOREVER NOW

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

Change in MeGuy Bar Amotz

Part oneI would like to tell you about two clients of mine - a male artist and a female curator. Both have been operating in the field of contemporary art as professionals. The artist is now incapable of creating any art and the curator can’t look at another art show.

I would like to discuss these two clients because although the psychological reasons for their crises are known to me, I have a hunch that there is another trigger: a hidden one which is not very clear. I believe that the concept of art itself, as it is presented by contemporary artists, might be triggering the crises of my two patients.

Future Planning, you are a contemporary artist and a friend of mine. You are efficient and productive. You live a practical lifestyle with an ongoing routine of being in your studio. You are showing your work in commercial galleries that represent you and the most important art collections in the world buy it. You are the main contributor to your family’s income which includes your wife and three children.

Forever Now, you are a different type of artist. You have made the decision to leave the studio in the favour of living life because for you, to be isolated in the studio is a waste of precious time.As you believe that art shouldn’t become a profession, you support yourself by doing casual jobs. You are a family man who looks after your household because your wife is the major contributor to your joint income. Your art works are shown in museums and independent project spaces. Other artists and art experts appreciate your opinion even though you are impatient and moody with their ideas.

What is it with you psychotherapists turning any everyday or casual difficulty into a Greek tragedy?! So what if an artist can’t make art and a curator can’t look at art? Sounds perfect to me!

Here we are sitting in a bar. I wouldn’t like to run an academic discussion full of references and appendixes… That can happen tomorrow when the levels of alcohol drop and the library doors will open. Remember, my clients are helpless and so am I and I need your help. This round is on me.

Can you tell us more about the psychological triggers for these crises? What do you know already?

I agree with Forever Now, that we psychoanalysts tend to enlarge trivial events into Greek tragedies. But, this is our way of communicating and I do apologize that it is a bit obvious.

The curator: she is a charismatic, impressive woman, intellectually and sexually

DREAM SPECULATOR

FOREVER NOW

DREAM SPECULATOR

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

29

attractive. Her work, of course, is the most important thing in her life. Actually her profession is her life. The curator is 43 years old, single, without children.

Part twoMy analysis is that the realization by the curator that she has lost her fertility, her acknowledgement that she would never be able to give birth to her own children, triggered the crises. Whenever she goes into an art space she feels extremely tired, sick, short of breath, weak in her stomach, sensitive to light and her head and muscles ache.

Does this reaction happen in every exhibition or just in a specific kind of exhibition? Does it make a difference if the show is classical art or modern art?

It doesn’t make any difference. Every show she enters causes that reaction. She can’t view any kind of exhibition.

I think she is experiencing a conflict between two sides of her personality. I will explain….She made her career by replacing having children with work. Her profession is actually her child. Making herself the mother and the child was a good practical solution while working in a profession such as art, in which, late night parties and events, travelling the world and late working hours clashes with the devotion needed to bring up children. It was a successful practical solution, yet temporary. The problem began when the child in her became an adult and rejected her mother. As part of their maturity, children have to reject their parents and by that establish their own independence in themselves and in their environment. This is a normal and legitimate process for the child and the parent by the end of which they both become individual personae.But, in the case of the curator this is a tragedy. While the curator is watching an exhibition, the child in her, her daughter, is telling her, the mother, to go away, to take some distance and let her, the curator, do her job. But since they share the same body this can’t happen and the unstoppable result is an extremely unbalanced physical reaction.

This is an interesting interpretation. I can see the connection between this analysis and the case of the artist who could not work after dreaming of meeting Duchamp. Duchamp is the father figure for contemporary art. I believe that the first mother figure in the arts will be a female curator. Curating is apparently the most important invention of contemporary art and probably the only field from which it can evolve.

What about the artist? What was in the dream that has paralyzed him?

I have already told you about him in the past. The artist is forty-four years old, and a father of a girl. He is an ex veteran infantry soldier who was on duty during the first Palestinian Intifada in 1989. On the night of the 28th of December 2008, the same night the Israeli Army re-occupied the city of Gaza, this artist dreamt of meeting Duchamp. In the dream, Duchamp and the artist were going to enter a house but the journey couldn’t be completed because he was woken up by (a) the voice of his daughter calling him from her room. Duchamp chose to enter the house with two other people: Ageing pensioners. In my view they are the artist’s biological parents and they stand in contrast to Duchamp, the artist’s spiritual father.I believe that like the curator, the artist is experiencing how two parts of his persona can’t be united. The biological and the spiritual fathers in him are fighting an uncompromising war with each other. This war was triggered by the invasion of Gaza. The spiritual father is blaming the biological father for being in favour of parenting over creating and criticising art. The biological father is blaming the spiritual, in emotionally ignoring the unfolding disaster of the killing of children in Gaza. He is blaming the spiritual father of for being willing to walk with Duchamp into the house instead of helping the girl who needed him. But even he can feel the missed opportunity of not joining the journey with Duchamp. It is still unknown what would have happened in the house.

DREAM SPECULATOR

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

FOREVER NOW

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

Change in MeGuy Bar Amotz

Part oneI would like to tell you about two clients of mine - a male artist and a female curator. Both have been operating in the field of contemporary art as professionals. The artist is now incapable of creating any art and the curator can’t look at another art show.

I would like to discuss these two clients because although the psychological reasons for their crises are known to me, I have a hunch that there is another trigger: a hidden one which is not very clear. I believe that the concept of art itself, as it is presented by contemporary artists, might be triggering the crises of my two patients.

Future Planning, you are a contemporary artist and a friend of mine. You are efficient and productive. You live a practical lifestyle with an ongoing routine of being in your studio. You are showing your work in commercial galleries that represent you and the most important art collections in the world buy it. You are the main contributor to your family’s income which includes your wife and three children.

Forever Now, you are a different type of artist. You have made the decision to leave the studio in the favour of living life because for you, to be isolated in the studio is a waste of precious time.As you believe that art shouldn’t become a profession, you support yourself by doing casual jobs. You are a family man who looks after your household because your wife is the major contributor to your joint income. Your art works are shown in museums and independent project spaces. Other artists and art experts appreciate your opinion even though you are impatient and moody with their ideas.

What is it with you psychotherapists turning any everyday or casual difficulty into a Greek tragedy?! So what if an artist can’t make art and a curator can’t look at art? Sounds perfect to me!

Here we are sitting in a bar. I wouldn’t like to run an academic discussion full of references and appendixes… That can happen tomorrow when the levels of alcohol drop and the library doors will open. Remember, my clients are helpless and so am I and I need your help. This round is on me.

Can you tell us more about the psychological triggers for these crises? What do you know already?

I agree with Forever Now, that we psychoanalysts tend to enlarge trivial events into Greek tragedies. But, this is our way of communicating and I do apologize that it is a bit obvious.

The curator: she is a charismatic, impressive woman, intellectually and sexually

DREAM SPECULATOR

FOREVER NOW

DREAM SPECULATOR

FUTURE PLANNING

DREAM SPECULATOR

30

being himself a parent – after all, he is part of a three generation set-up and father of a daughter – seems to disallow the possibility of radically disengaging with the “field” by only following the path that leads du champ – from the field – and thus away from the battlefield. For, as a father, were he to disengage from war he would feel that he disengages from protecting his family. The conflict here, as Dream Speculator rightly points out, is between “biology” and “spirit,” matter and mind, but maybe not quite in the way that he seems to mean it.

In the dream of the artist – as in the piece by Guy Bar Amotz – we are confronted with the split between matter and mind, between biology and spirit. It is an achievement of the theatrical set-up of Guy Bar Amotz’s piece to be completely materialist. It proves to be so even more with it’s demonstration of programming and the subsequent emergence of activities determined by code than with the rather naive affirmation of the body we hear at the end of the play through the mouth of the DJ. Yet, this materialist set-up opens up onto a different level of complexity by entering the dimension of the dream. For with the dream a kind of in-between position opens up. The seeming choice of “biology” or “spirit” is secretly subverted because neither is immediately determinate in itself. (Neither biology nor spiritual/cultural discourses are immediately “fate” but rather have to be repeated and taken up from a position of zero-level subjectivity in order to become fatum.) Neither has the power to simply determine the artist dreamer without him – consciously or unconsciously – choosing it again. This way we can understand his symptom. Guy Bar Amotz registers this interrelation by introducing the dream into the play’s narrative and the name Duchamp into the dream. For while the name seems on the surface to simply point to an identification as an artist that is in competition with the identification as a father, it in fact points to the subject itself. The subject can only be present in the dream indirectly, as an absence. Thus it is present here as the one who comes “from the field”; the start of the war in Gaza reminds the dreamer of the war he himself took part in: the Intifada of 1989. The subject who is thus reminded does not have a substance of it’s own. It shows up only in a failure of showing up; in other words, indirectly in the symbolic productions of language, which in this case means in the name Duchamp: the subject is the one who once came from the field, in 1989.

The function of the dream is to keep sleeping. This is fundamental. Freud has described how a dreamer often is woken up not so much by an outside impulse but by the approach of what he has called the “navel of the dream”30. In this “navel” we have also have what we have termed trauma or tyche. In the dream of the artist this is represented by the accidental moment of the child waking him up. But in order for this external and accidental

influence on the dreamer to actually wake him up, this tyche has to repeat itself, as it were. It has to show up within the dream itself, within the psychic economy. However, there it repeats as something so frightening that it cannot be accepted or integrated into the dream. Thus it has to show up in the dream and at the same time it is impossible for it to show up in the dream. Thus, the dream that is normally structured to keep the sleeper asleep no longer can serve this function. When the accidental returns in the dream as the traumatic kernel of one’s self than the dreamer rather wakes up, seeking refuge in waking life – letting the traumatic kernel be embodied by the normal reality that is designed to keep it at bay.

The patient of Dream Speculator says that he was woken by his daughter. This is a reconfiguration of the sequence of events to make it appear that the dreamer was woken up by an outside cause. In fact, he was woken up by a tyche repeated in the logic of the dream: repeated precisely as a failure to be integrated. The child did not wake the dreamer up, as he must have kept dreaming for how otherwise could he have “seen” how “Duchamp” entered the house with a couple of “aging pensioners”? Had he woken up when he says he did, just at the moment when he and “Duchamp” wanted to enter the house, he could not have seen in his dream who did in fact enter the house with “Duchamp” in his stead. This only leaves one option for the interpretation: The moment the dreamer woke up was when he saw that the “aging pensioners” were entering the house with “Duchamp.” What was so traumatic for the artist that he awoke at this moment? Maybe it was that the old couple – Dream Speculator assumes them to be the artist’s “biological parents” – were so at ease with the one “who comes from the field” – du champ. For would it not indicate that even as an artist who follows in the footsteps of modern art’s signature name – Marcel Duchamp – he remains the one how is identified through his parents. They have no problem with him coming home “from the field,” with the idea of him being someone that comes “from the field.” What is traumatic for the artist is this seeming absence of a trauma. Now it is easy to imagine that this is exactly what happened in 1989: The artist came home “from the field.” Rather than confront this element of his inheritance (his orbe/orph-), he woke up “in order to keep on dreaming” – and mirrors himself in a robot (robota, orph-): the Dream Speculator. The trauma the patient of Dream Speculator is dealing with seems to be a trauma of war, and more, of being identified with this trauma of war. This trauma can articulate itself when it does because, like all trauma, it needs two times to be actualized: The first was in 1989 (when the patient was actually a soldier himself), the second was at the moment of the dream, in 2008 (when the Israeli Army invaded

29 Please see the quote in the epigramatic motto of this text.

30 Cf. Sigmund Frued: The Interpretation of Dreams (1900), Standard Edition, 4&5, London, 1953, p. 111.

Gaza). This trauma ultimately presents – this is the grace and genius of Guy Bar Amotz’s work – not an inevitability of blind suffering, but rather a different image, namely that of a “Nullzustand” (zero level) of subjectivity, from which an articulation of the trauma can take place, an articulation like the one in which the dream is included here. It is neither the identification with the biological (or crudely material) nor with the spiritual (the seeming universality of art) but rather the moment between dreaming and waking, the very moment in which the subject can actualize itself. In “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” the analysis has the form, literally, of a “working-through” of the idea that there is no determination. It is a working-through because it shows that this crude understanding of determination is not true even of robots. The orph- (robot/slave/orphan/change between two states) who looks for a spiritual father is confronted with the absolute zero level of his own being as an individual. The real problem here is not choosing between the particular interests of a “biological father” defending the “home” of his children or a “spiritual father” holding up the universal values of art no matter what happens around him. Rather, what “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” literally puts into a play (the play Change in Me), into a scene, is the place where one changes “from one status to another,” a moment that is neither the biological imaginary of a family nor the cultural symbolic of a spiritual father, but the subjective real from which any such ethical choice can only be made. The play Change in Me and the installation “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” work around this empty place, exposing it by negating all other possibilities: The seemingly easy identifications, the affirmation of simple “fun and easy satisfaction” all turn out to be in need of being taken up, of being subjectivized. Just as the labor of the robot needs to be subjectivized by human labor or just as the inheritance of him who has been “bereft of a father” needs to be taken up. There is an inheritance, for sure. But it is never simply biological, nor even a given cultural inheritance. Whatever you choose as your inheritance, you take it from the only truly universal place: the zero level of the subject, the state “in between allegiances”.

31

being himself a parent – after all, he is part of a three generation set-up and father of a daughter – seems to disallow the possibility of radically disengaging with the “field” by only following the path that leads du champ – from the field – and thus away from the battlefield. For, as a father, were he to disengage from war he would feel that he disengages from protecting his family. The conflict here, as Dream Speculator rightly points out, is between “biology” and “spirit,” matter and mind, but maybe not quite in the way that he seems to mean it.

In the dream of the artist – as in the piece by Guy Bar Amotz – we are confronted with the split between matter and mind, between biology and spirit. It is an achievement of the theatrical set-up of Guy Bar Amotz’s piece to be completely materialist. It proves to be so even more with it’s demonstration of programming and the subsequent emergence of activities determined by code than with the rather naive affirmation of the body we hear at the end of the play through the mouth of the DJ. Yet, this materialist set-up opens up onto a different level of complexity by entering the dimension of the dream. For with the dream a kind of in-between position opens up. The seeming choice of “biology” or “spirit” is secretly subverted because neither is immediately determinate in itself. (Neither biology nor spiritual/cultural discourses are immediately “fate” but rather have to be repeated and taken up from a position of zero-level subjectivity in order to become fatum.) Neither has the power to simply determine the artist dreamer without him – consciously or unconsciously – choosing it again. This way we can understand his symptom. Guy Bar Amotz registers this interrelation by introducing the dream into the play’s narrative and the name Duchamp into the dream. For while the name seems on the surface to simply point to an identification as an artist that is in competition with the identification as a father, it in fact points to the subject itself. The subject can only be present in the dream indirectly, as an absence. Thus it is present here as the one who comes “from the field”; the start of the war in Gaza reminds the dreamer of the war he himself took part in: the Intifada of 1989. The subject who is thus reminded does not have a substance of it’s own. It shows up only in a failure of showing up; in other words, indirectly in the symbolic productions of language, which in this case means in the name Duchamp: the subject is the one who once came from the field, in 1989.

The function of the dream is to keep sleeping. This is fundamental. Freud has described how a dreamer often is woken up not so much by an outside impulse but by the approach of what he has called the “navel of the dream”30. In this “navel” we have also have what we have termed trauma or tyche. In the dream of the artist this is represented by the accidental moment of the child waking him up. But in order for this external and accidental

influence on the dreamer to actually wake him up, this tyche has to repeat itself, as it were. It has to show up within the dream itself, within the psychic economy. However, there it repeats as something so frightening that it cannot be accepted or integrated into the dream. Thus it has to show up in the dream and at the same time it is impossible for it to show up in the dream. Thus, the dream that is normally structured to keep the sleeper asleep no longer can serve this function. When the accidental returns in the dream as the traumatic kernel of one’s self than the dreamer rather wakes up, seeking refuge in waking life – letting the traumatic kernel be embodied by the normal reality that is designed to keep it at bay.

The patient of Dream Speculator says that he was woken by his daughter. This is a reconfiguration of the sequence of events to make it appear that the dreamer was woken up by an outside cause. In fact, he was woken up by a tyche repeated in the logic of the dream: repeated precisely as a failure to be integrated. The child did not wake the dreamer up, as he must have kept dreaming for how otherwise could he have “seen” how “Duchamp” entered the house with a couple of “aging pensioners”? Had he woken up when he says he did, just at the moment when he and “Duchamp” wanted to enter the house, he could not have seen in his dream who did in fact enter the house with “Duchamp” in his stead. This only leaves one option for the interpretation: The moment the dreamer woke up was when he saw that the “aging pensioners” were entering the house with “Duchamp.” What was so traumatic for the artist that he awoke at this moment? Maybe it was that the old couple – Dream Speculator assumes them to be the artist’s “biological parents” – were so at ease with the one “who comes from the field” – du champ. For would it not indicate that even as an artist who follows in the footsteps of modern art’s signature name – Marcel Duchamp – he remains the one how is identified through his parents. They have no problem with him coming home “from the field,” with the idea of him being someone that comes “from the field.” What is traumatic for the artist is this seeming absence of a trauma. Now it is easy to imagine that this is exactly what happened in 1989: The artist came home “from the field.” Rather than confront this element of his inheritance (his orbe/orph-), he woke up “in order to keep on dreaming” – and mirrors himself in a robot (robota, orph-): the Dream Speculator. The trauma the patient of Dream Speculator is dealing with seems to be a trauma of war, and more, of being identified with this trauma of war. This trauma can articulate itself when it does because, like all trauma, it needs two times to be actualized: The first was in 1989 (when the patient was actually a soldier himself), the second was at the moment of the dream, in 2008 (when the Israeli Army invaded

29 Please see the quote in the epigramatic motto of this text.

30 Cf. Sigmund Frued: The Interpretation of Dreams (1900), Standard Edition, 4&5, London, 1953, p. 111.

Gaza). This trauma ultimately presents – this is the grace and genius of Guy Bar Amotz’s work – not an inevitability of blind suffering, but rather a different image, namely that of a “Nullzustand” (zero level) of subjectivity, from which an articulation of the trauma can take place, an articulation like the one in which the dream is included here. It is neither the identification with the biological (or crudely material) nor with the spiritual (the seeming universality of art) but rather the moment between dreaming and waking, the very moment in which the subject can actualize itself. In “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” the analysis has the form, literally, of a “working-through” of the idea that there is no determination. It is a working-through because it shows that this crude understanding of determination is not true even of robots. The orph- (robot/slave/orphan/change between two states) who looks for a spiritual father is confronted with the absolute zero level of his own being as an individual. The real problem here is not choosing between the particular interests of a “biological father” defending the “home” of his children or a “spiritual father” holding up the universal values of art no matter what happens around him. Rather, what “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” literally puts into a play (the play Change in Me), into a scene, is the place where one changes “from one status to another,” a moment that is neither the biological imaginary of a family nor the cultural symbolic of a spiritual father, but the subjective real from which any such ethical choice can only be made. The play Change in Me and the installation “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” work around this empty place, exposing it by negating all other possibilities: The seemingly easy identifications, the affirmation of simple “fun and easy satisfaction” all turn out to be in need of being taken up, of being subjectivized. Just as the labor of the robot needs to be subjectivized by human labor or just as the inheritance of him who has been “bereft of a father” needs to be taken up. There is an inheritance, for sure. But it is never simply biological, nor even a given cultural inheritance. Whatever you choose as your inheritance, you take it from the only truly universal place: the zero level of the subject, the state “in between allegiances”.

32

18 Thomas Nagel: The View From Nowhere, Oxford 1989.

19 Cf. fn. 15 above.

20 Friedrich Schiller: On the Aesthetic Education of Man in a Series of Letters, English and German edition, ed. by E. M. Wilkinson and L. A. Willoughby, Oxford 1984.

21 Jan de Vos: “From La Mettrie’s voluptuous machine man to the perverse core of psychology” in: Theory Psychology 21 (2011), p. 67.

22 Ibid., p. 70-71.

telos. (To be precise, he does not do that himself, he does it in the guise of his alter ego: the DJ robot.) Guy Bar Amotz as producer of robots and plays works with a certain intention, while the discourse that produces us as subjects does not – and never could – work in an intentional way. Again, here lies the difference between code and language. Whose intention should structure all of discourse, the “other” of symbolic life? Even a philosopher who is fond of individualism and who affirms the simultaneous existence of a subjective and objective point of view (the embodied subjective point of view of our first order experience, and the “view from nowhere”, the point of view of objectivity or second order experience), e.g., somebody like Thomas Nagel18 would never claim that there is an agency that successfully unites those two points of view again, either in God or within the masterful individual autonomous subject19. This is the paradox of materialist science: What happens when it succeeds in reducing phenomena of consciousness and spiritual life to material processes, thus making the scientist herself an object (of herself)? When it turns her into a thing that can be subjected to intentions, manipulations, programs? Just as the playwright gives speech to the robots and at the same time programs their movements, voice, etc.

Guy Bar Amotz is putting himself in such a place, uniting in his intentions the objective “view from nowhere” position of the robots with their subjective place within their experiences – i.e., taking up an impossible, phantasmatic position. But Guy Bar Amotz is not simply taking up the traditional “God’s-eye view.” Rather by splitting us between the robots and the space through which we walk in order to experience the set-up, by providing opportunity for the affective reaction to the music (different for each of us, certainly) as well as the significations of the script and the signifiers that it uses, his version of the objective view (or rather the view uniting the objective and the subjective view) does become in fact the point of view from nowhere – if one takes this nomination literally.

So as the point of view from “nowhere” the “God’s-eye view” is present here literally as a kind of subtraction, as a kind of zero-level of code or of determination. It is what is subtracted from the scientific set-up of the robots: While they are completely determined in the sense of being programmed, the set-up of which they are a part constantly forces the viewer to take up a position, to subjectivize a given experience and thus to create it anew (thus taking also responsibility for it). As the spectator follows the spectacle programmed for him or her, he or she will ask certain questions, forced by the set-up of the play Change in Me and exhibition “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle”: Do I feel comfortable with the

affirmation of artistic playfulness (or license) and the impossibility of making art a realm of cognition, thought and discourse? Do I relax into the resentful affirmation of a musical and rhythmic access to something that is pre-reflexive? Or do I assume this spectacle of enjoyment at its most base level, at the point where it is impossible to affirm any of these positions as the one that could be identified with the work or with the position of the artist. Rather, what one is confronted with at this point is kind of Nullzustand (zero level) of aesthetic experience, as Friedrich Schiller called it in his famous letters On the Aesthetic Education of Man20. It might seem truly bizarre to say that programmed robots –machines – are what Guy Bar Amotz uses to confront us with something like the zero level of the subject. However, in doing so, he places himself simply and squarely in the tradition of materialist thought and practice, wresting the aesthetic subject from its idealist inventors. Suffice it to quote a recent study on one of the fathers of the modern materialist tradition La Mettrie:

“La Mettrie provided a decisive redefinition of modern subjectivity and his notion of the machine man still haunts us today. We can see this, for example, in the way that pop psychology, which we might understand as the breach and overflow of academic psychology, confronts us with a strange automaton, a homunculus which we are both supposed to be and with whom we are supposed to deal and bargain.”21

Jan de Vos, the author of these lines, is right to point out that the subject of traditional philosophy was meant to hold together the world once God no longer could do the job by way of his beneficial concurrence with everything that was; and he is right to point out that alongside the subject (maybe properly as a defense against the subject) emerged psychology as the carrier of this pretension22. He, too, calls the level of the subject before it’s (pop-)psychologization and after its embedded existence in God’s great chain of being the “zero level of subjectivity”23. If we take this heritage of thinking about L’homme Machine into account, it is only and completely logical that Guy Bar Amotz chooses robots – the beings of science par excellence – as his protagonists, and that he chooses them as being engaged in speculations about psychology and about the subject: This allows him to deconstruct each of these elements into just another trace of...well, of what exactly?

Orphan Robots or ORBH- It is a well-known fact that robots first got their name in a play – and so they are in a sense returning home with Guy Bar Amotz’s play and installation. The original play was called RUR or Rossum’s Universal Robots and was published in 1921 by Karel

23 Ibid.

24 The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots, ed. by Calvert Watkins, Boston 2000, p. 60.

25 Ibid.

26 Ibid.

27 Ibid.

28 Ibid.

Capek. He had derived the word “robots” from the Slavic word robota meaning forced labor, slavery, etc. However, there is another level to the etymology of the term. Its Indo-European root is “orbh-” which indicates a kind of in-between that happens when one “change[s] allegiance” or when one “pass[es] from one status to another”24. It ranges from a meaning that connotes “deprived of free status” to signifying being “bereft of father”25. Not only does the Czech robota derive from this root, but also the Greek orphanos and with it the English orphan. And, in the Germanic languages it also signifies work or rather, labor26. A final semantic field is opened by the German word Erbe or its Old Irish cognate orbe, both meaning inheritance27. How did all those seemingly different meanings come from the same root? Let us ask the experts:

“Formally, all these words must go together; but the meaning of the putative root from which they are all derived was not clear until a Hittite cognate was discovered in the 20th century. Hittite has a verb harb-, with the basic meaning ‘change allegiance’: In the Hittite Laws it is used if a cow that wanders out of its owner’s fold into another’s. With this new piece of information, the disparate senses ‘orphan,’ ‘inheritance,’ and ‘slave’ could now all be understood as stemming from an original concept ‘to go from one sphere of belonging to another’ or ‘to change status or allegiance.’ Orphans were no longer in the tutelage of their kin-group; inherited property passed from one holder to another; and slaves were persons whose social status had changed from being free to being unfree.”28

In a certain sense we can learn even more about this etymological jewel from Guy Bar Amotz’s work – namely, that it is not so much about being first in one place and then subsequently in another, but about the zero level that is necessitated in order to change from one to the other. That zero level itself does not have a substantial or symbolic presence; it is neither organic nor biological, neither symbolic nor spiritual. Think of the cow that wanders from one place to another or the person moving from one status to another: nothing changes, not a molecule is different. But before the cow belongs to a new pasture or before the free man is a slave or before the orphan is part of a new household, there needs be a zero level that allows for the change to take place. On this zero level, nothing changes on the biological or on the symbolic level – and yet, everything is different. The only way this can happen is by the presence of the subject, the very “nothing” – the orph- – that does not count since it is in the process of being between two places that have ways of counting, between two allegiances. Earlier I wrote about how the subject is made by discourse, here we can see what that means: taking on discourse, being produced by it as a speaking, acting individual all presupposes the zero level

that allows for the discourse to be subjectivized. This is what it means to take on one’s Erbe, one’s inheritance. But for this to work there needs to be something in this discourse that is not presented in it, some surplus. Both Future Planning and Forever Now – unconsciously, as it were and as unconscious – seem to acknowledge this, when they speak of the historical consciousness burdening art today (Future Planning) or of the necessity to actualize the presence of all art in a Museum of Neverending in order to have a platform for not producing (Forever Now). This is the zero level of subjectivity that art constantly and always struggles to make present again. But this zero level should not be confused with any notion of material immediacy or avoidance of discourse. It is not the automaton of “fun and immediate and easy satisfaction” of which the DJ speaks. Rather this longing for sense-certainty is simply the pleasure principle regulating the avoidance of being confronted with the death-drive dimension of its own functioning, its own pre-condition: the tyche of which Lacan says that it is “an encounter with the real.” This tyche shows itself not in the smooth functioning of fun and the little pieces of jouissance it offers, but everywhere where this functioning is interrupted, reconfigured, “in between,” changing allegiance, orph-.

DreamIn this last section I want to return to the artist who stopped making art as he is discussed by the robot characters of the play. I want to do this, because this patient of Dream Speculator provides a dream narrative that confronts us with the issue of automaton and tyche29. Since trauma – for our purposes another name for tyche – only registers as such when it is repeated, it is important to remember that the artist was himself a soldier during the Intifada of 1989. Here is his dream in the words of Dream Speculator:

“On the night of the 28th of December 2008, the same night the Israeli Army re-occupied the city of Gaza, this artist dreamt of meeting Duchamp. In the dream, Duchamp and the artist were going to enter a house but the journey couldn’t be completed because he was woken up by the voice of his daughter calling him from her room. Duchamp chose to enter the house with two other people: ageing pensioners. In my view they are the artist’s biological parents and they stand in contrast to Duchamp, the artist’s spiritual father.”

The former soldier dreams of Duchamp, of du champ, of coming from the field. The “field” is in both French and English an archaic way of referring to the battlefield. So when the artist dreams of Duchamp the very day the Israeli Army is going into “the field” we certainly should hear this signification. In the dream the artist accompanies the one coming from the field, du champ, towards a house. The artist with

33

18 Thomas Nagel: The View From Nowhere, Oxford 1989.

19 Cf. fn. 15 above.

20 Friedrich Schiller: On the Aesthetic Education of Man in a Series of Letters, English and German edition, ed. by E. M. Wilkinson and L. A. Willoughby, Oxford 1984.

21 Jan de Vos: “From La Mettrie’s voluptuous machine man to the perverse core of psychology” in: Theory Psychology 21 (2011), p. 67.

22 Ibid., p. 70-71.

telos. (To be precise, he does not do that himself, he does it in the guise of his alter ego: the DJ robot.) Guy Bar Amotz as producer of robots and plays works with a certain intention, while the discourse that produces us as subjects does not – and never could – work in an intentional way. Again, here lies the difference between code and language. Whose intention should structure all of discourse, the “other” of symbolic life? Even a philosopher who is fond of individualism and who affirms the simultaneous existence of a subjective and objective point of view (the embodied subjective point of view of our first order experience, and the “view from nowhere”, the point of view of objectivity or second order experience), e.g., somebody like Thomas Nagel18 would never claim that there is an agency that successfully unites those two points of view again, either in God or within the masterful individual autonomous subject19. This is the paradox of materialist science: What happens when it succeeds in reducing phenomena of consciousness and spiritual life to material processes, thus making the scientist herself an object (of herself)? When it turns her into a thing that can be subjected to intentions, manipulations, programs? Just as the playwright gives speech to the robots and at the same time programs their movements, voice, etc.

Guy Bar Amotz is putting himself in such a place, uniting in his intentions the objective “view from nowhere” position of the robots with their subjective place within their experiences – i.e., taking up an impossible, phantasmatic position. But Guy Bar Amotz is not simply taking up the traditional “God’s-eye view.” Rather by splitting us between the robots and the space through which we walk in order to experience the set-up, by providing opportunity for the affective reaction to the music (different for each of us, certainly) as well as the significations of the script and the signifiers that it uses, his version of the objective view (or rather the view uniting the objective and the subjective view) does become in fact the point of view from nowhere – if one takes this nomination literally.

So as the point of view from “nowhere” the “God’s-eye view” is present here literally as a kind of subtraction, as a kind of zero-level of code or of determination. It is what is subtracted from the scientific set-up of the robots: While they are completely determined in the sense of being programmed, the set-up of which they are a part constantly forces the viewer to take up a position, to subjectivize a given experience and thus to create it anew (thus taking also responsibility for it). As the spectator follows the spectacle programmed for him or her, he or she will ask certain questions, forced by the set-up of the play Change in Me and exhibition “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle”: Do I feel comfortable with the

affirmation of artistic playfulness (or license) and the impossibility of making art a realm of cognition, thought and discourse? Do I relax into the resentful affirmation of a musical and rhythmic access to something that is pre-reflexive? Or do I assume this spectacle of enjoyment at its most base level, at the point where it is impossible to affirm any of these positions as the one that could be identified with the work or with the position of the artist. Rather, what one is confronted with at this point is kind of Nullzustand (zero level) of aesthetic experience, as Friedrich Schiller called it in his famous letters On the Aesthetic Education of Man20. It might seem truly bizarre to say that programmed robots –machines – are what Guy Bar Amotz uses to confront us with something like the zero level of the subject. However, in doing so, he places himself simply and squarely in the tradition of materialist thought and practice, wresting the aesthetic subject from its idealist inventors. Suffice it to quote a recent study on one of the fathers of the modern materialist tradition La Mettrie:

“La Mettrie provided a decisive redefinition of modern subjectivity and his notion of the machine man still haunts us today. We can see this, for example, in the way that pop psychology, which we might understand as the breach and overflow of academic psychology, confronts us with a strange automaton, a homunculus which we are both supposed to be and with whom we are supposed to deal and bargain.”21

Jan de Vos, the author of these lines, is right to point out that the subject of traditional philosophy was meant to hold together the world once God no longer could do the job by way of his beneficial concurrence with everything that was; and he is right to point out that alongside the subject (maybe properly as a defense against the subject) emerged psychology as the carrier of this pretension22. He, too, calls the level of the subject before it’s (pop-)psychologization and after its embedded existence in God’s great chain of being the “zero level of subjectivity”23. If we take this heritage of thinking about L’homme Machine into account, it is only and completely logical that Guy Bar Amotz chooses robots – the beings of science par excellence – as his protagonists, and that he chooses them as being engaged in speculations about psychology and about the subject: This allows him to deconstruct each of these elements into just another trace of...well, of what exactly?

Orphan Robots or ORBH- It is a well-known fact that robots first got their name in a play – and so they are in a sense returning home with Guy Bar Amotz’s play and installation. The original play was called RUR or Rossum’s Universal Robots and was published in 1921 by Karel

23 Ibid.

24 The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots, ed. by Calvert Watkins, Boston 2000, p. 60.

25 Ibid.

26 Ibid.

27 Ibid.

28 Ibid.

Capek. He had derived the word “robots” from the Slavic word robota meaning forced labor, slavery, etc. However, there is another level to the etymology of the term. Its Indo-European root is “orbh-” which indicates a kind of in-between that happens when one “change[s] allegiance” or when one “pass[es] from one status to another”24. It ranges from a meaning that connotes “deprived of free status” to signifying being “bereft of father”25. Not only does the Czech robota derive from this root, but also the Greek orphanos and with it the English orphan. And, in the Germanic languages it also signifies work or rather, labor26. A final semantic field is opened by the German word Erbe or its Old Irish cognate orbe, both meaning inheritance27. How did all those seemingly different meanings come from the same root? Let us ask the experts:

“Formally, all these words must go together; but the meaning of the putative root from which they are all derived was not clear until a Hittite cognate was discovered in the 20th century. Hittite has a verb harb-, with the basic meaning ‘change allegiance’: In the Hittite Laws it is used if a cow that wanders out of its owner’s fold into another’s. With this new piece of information, the disparate senses ‘orphan,’ ‘inheritance,’ and ‘slave’ could now all be understood as stemming from an original concept ‘to go from one sphere of belonging to another’ or ‘to change status or allegiance.’ Orphans were no longer in the tutelage of their kin-group; inherited property passed from one holder to another; and slaves were persons whose social status had changed from being free to being unfree.”28

In a certain sense we can learn even more about this etymological jewel from Guy Bar Amotz’s work – namely, that it is not so much about being first in one place and then subsequently in another, but about the zero level that is necessitated in order to change from one to the other. That zero level itself does not have a substantial or symbolic presence; it is neither organic nor biological, neither symbolic nor spiritual. Think of the cow that wanders from one place to another or the person moving from one status to another: nothing changes, not a molecule is different. But before the cow belongs to a new pasture or before the free man is a slave or before the orphan is part of a new household, there needs be a zero level that allows for the change to take place. On this zero level, nothing changes on the biological or on the symbolic level – and yet, everything is different. The only way this can happen is by the presence of the subject, the very “nothing” – the orph- – that does not count since it is in the process of being between two places that have ways of counting, between two allegiances. Earlier I wrote about how the subject is made by discourse, here we can see what that means: taking on discourse, being produced by it as a speaking, acting individual all presupposes the zero level

that allows for the discourse to be subjectivized. This is what it means to take on one’s Erbe, one’s inheritance. But for this to work there needs to be something in this discourse that is not presented in it, some surplus. Both Future Planning and Forever Now – unconsciously, as it were and as unconscious – seem to acknowledge this, when they speak of the historical consciousness burdening art today (Future Planning) or of the necessity to actualize the presence of all art in a Museum of Neverending in order to have a platform for not producing (Forever Now). This is the zero level of subjectivity that art constantly and always struggles to make present again. But this zero level should not be confused with any notion of material immediacy or avoidance of discourse. It is not the automaton of “fun and immediate and easy satisfaction” of which the DJ speaks. Rather this longing for sense-certainty is simply the pleasure principle regulating the avoidance of being confronted with the death-drive dimension of its own functioning, its own pre-condition: the tyche of which Lacan says that it is “an encounter with the real.” This tyche shows itself not in the smooth functioning of fun and the little pieces of jouissance it offers, but everywhere where this functioning is interrupted, reconfigured, “in between,” changing allegiance, orph-.

DreamIn this last section I want to return to the artist who stopped making art as he is discussed by the robot characters of the play. I want to do this, because this patient of Dream Speculator provides a dream narrative that confronts us with the issue of automaton and tyche29. Since trauma – for our purposes another name for tyche – only registers as such when it is repeated, it is important to remember that the artist was himself a soldier during the Intifada of 1989. Here is his dream in the words of Dream Speculator:

“On the night of the 28th of December 2008, the same night the Israeli Army re-occupied the city of Gaza, this artist dreamt of meeting Duchamp. In the dream, Duchamp and the artist were going to enter a house but the journey couldn’t be completed because he was woken up by the voice of his daughter calling him from her room. Duchamp chose to enter the house with two other people: ageing pensioners. In my view they are the artist’s biological parents and they stand in contrast to Duchamp, the artist’s spiritual father.”

The former soldier dreams of Duchamp, of du champ, of coming from the field. The “field” is in both French and English an archaic way of referring to the battlefield. So when the artist dreams of Duchamp the very day the Israeli Army is going into “the field” we certainly should hear this signification. In the dream the artist accompanies the one coming from the field, du champ, towards a house. The artist with

34

11 Jacques Lacan: „Position of the Unconscious“, in: Écrits, trans. by Bruce Fink, New York 2006, p. 703 (emphasis in the original).

12 Ibid, p. 704.

13 Ibid.

14 Sigmund Freud, „Beyond the Pleasure Principle“. in: The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Volume XVIII (1920-1922): Beyond the Pleasure Principle, Group Psychology and Other Works, ed: J. Strachey p. 1-64, particularly p. 6.

15 Lacan, Position of the Unconscious, (emphasis added), p. 705.

naming the “Freudian discovery”: the unconscious. It is not simply something “which does not have the attribute (or virtue) of consciousness,” but rather it is something that “is a concept founded on the trail [trace] left by that which operates to constitute the subject.”11 Here it is well to remind oneself with Lacan of the “importance [Freud] attribute[s] to language as the cause of the subject”12; one should also keep in mind the fact that – since prior to Freud such a subject could not be thought – it is true and necessary to say that “the unconscious, prior to Freud, is not purely and simply. This is because it names nothing prior to Freud that counts anymore as an object[...] than what would be defined by situating it in the un-black’ [l’in-noir]”13. The “un-black” is unspecified, centered around blackness and simply connotative of all that is not black. The Freudian unconscious, however, is a specific object that is constructed by psychoanalysis and centers around the traces of the process of the constitution of the subject. The unconscious is the relation of those traces.

Rather than a lack of consciousness the unconscious stands for something that doesn’t quite work in consciousness, the traces that allow for the interruption of automatic processes of consciousness or of any agency governed by the pleasure principle14. “The only homogenous function of consciousness is found in the ego’s imaginary capture by its peculiar reflection, and in the function of misrecognition that remains tied to it15.” The specular image can function as a homeostatic stabilizer of a shifting ground that exists for the subject since Freud. The unconscious has become an object of science (or, maybe more accurately, it has become constituted as an object and thus also positioned science anew) and by that founding act it has become impossible to appeal to unconscious or preconscious reserves of meaning and creativity – as the DJ does in the end of Guy Bar Amotz’s play – without thereby producing itself as a symptomatic act which can be read again.

PhantasmLet’s return for a moment to the set-up of the play. Obviously it is possible, like with the stuffed toys of children, to mirror oneself in the robots of the play. They have faces, they move, they have voices and – more importantly – they are, like probably most spectators of the exhibition, card-carrying members of the art world. Both of Dream Speculator’s interlocutors seem themselves to be involved in the art world, in the sense that they are robot-artists (each, it seems, representing a very specific contemporary art discourse), thus justifying Dream Speculator’s choice to seek council with them. However, in that process of mirroring – and this is what is remarkable in the piece – we are in fact led back to the question that was already present at the outset: the question of the unconscious. It is

present, of course, on the surface, because Dream Speculator has called upon his acquaintances Forever Now and Future Planning to help him discuss two psychotherapeutic cases regarding members of the art world. One is a curator, the other an artist and both have stopped producing in their respective positions within the field of art. The reason Dream Speculator wants to go outside his own field lies in his suspicion that rather than being simply “cases,” what the two patients confront him with is “something in the concept of art itself, as it is presented by contemporary artists.” This something, it follows, has “triggered” his patients’ symptoms and left the artist unable to make art and the curator unable to view art exhibitions.

To strengthen this point the writer Guy Bar Amotz has given the artist Guy Bar Amotz two psychodynamic explanations for the patients’ crises. These explanations are written by the artist in the form of code and programmed so that Dream Speculator can emanate them again – but now as speech. Once they are language and not just code, they need to be deciphered and not simply decoded. And deciphering, it seems, leads to the assignment of meaning. Thus, we hear Dream Speculator explain that the curator cannot view exhibitions because of her inability to confront her mother imago with her desire for separation. And the artist suffers from his inability to accept the ambiguity that lies in being both a representative of something particular – as an Israeli citizen he served in the army during the first Palestinian Intifada of 1989 – and the heir to something universal – the Western notion of modern art. Having arrived at this point the artist Guy Bar Amotz now doubles the problem discussed above – that the subject is produced by language – back onto the scene. He does this, of course, by programming the code so that it emanates as speech, in the manner just described; but he does this not simply by using the script of the writer of the same name in this manner, but by installing the bar of the same name as well, the Umwelt or environment, as it were, thus seemingly giving a tool for deciphering. This Bar Amotz now serves as a platform for the two robot-artists to suggest remedies for both cases, remedies that quickly reveal themselves to be expressions of each of the robot’s self-image and thus opportunities for the spectators to mirror themselves. Forever Now, the robot-artist in a somewhat romantic tradition that shuns success, the market and even the object, all in favor of immediacy and purity, suggests a typical formalist solution: He wants to expand Andre Malraux’s “imaginary museum” into a Museum of “Neverending.” Every (new) work of art must not only consider all works that have preceded it, but also all future works that may come after it. Similarly, all shows in the museum must consider all shows previously curated, but also all future shows. Somehow and not quite coherently

– thus showing the contradiction in the romantic flow of the now – this permanent revolution within the museum is accompanied by the insight that not making art and not curating art shows is in fact a “state of utopia.” For where no art is made, all of life becomes art. Thus the Museum of “Neverending” turns out to be simply the good old romantic hen kai panta, the one-and-all, the unity of everything. The motto seems to be: free art from the position of exception and thus revolutionize both art and life by merging them till they can no longer be distinguished.

Future Planning has a different but corresponding solution. First he complains that the market forces him into “duplication and repetition.” But he doesn’t want to join Forever Now’s call to abolish the profession of being an artist, but rather wants to change that profession. Ultimately the best way to do that, so he suggests, would be to get rid of what one might call “historical consciousness” (that already Nietzsche thought of as a prison): “They are experiencing the pain of existence which has resulted from the way of contemporary art interpreting reality with a retrospective horizon – always looking at itself to justify the present. They have become passive.” But it is this very passivity – induced by the inevitable historical consciousness – that becomes the solution for Future Planning. For passive objects, like robots, can be fed whatever one wants and can be “made into slaves” as he says. “Passive objects are the best instruments to feed with new ideas and targets.” These newly programmed future artists will be the vanguard of a new globalized culture – based on complete forgetfulness.

But Dream Speculator stops both of them from continuing with their solutions, for he has understood that nothing will come of this consultation for his patients other than a hall of mirrors. The solutions both robots offer for them are identical: They both say, in the manner of all help offered by the Ego: Become me! Before Dream Speculator, too, gets interrupted by the DJ expressing his longing for immediacy and sense-certainty, something has become evident for us, who have walked not into Bar Amotz (as first order observers), but rather into the exhibition “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” of the artist Guy Bar Amotz (as second order observers) where we are engaged in experiencing a play called Change in Me. What is it that has become evident for us? That the robots are representatives of subjectivities that easily could emerge within the discourse of contemporary art. The analogy seems to be literally obvious, impossible to overlook: If coded programs produce the expressions of robots, then are we not dealing with something quite analogous to language that produces subjects? One can almost hear Guy Bar Amotz laughing, when he

hears this question, since we have already pointed out the difference: Code becomes operative by being decoded, language by being deciphered. So why go through this whole exercise if at the end the analogy of code and language does not hold?

Maybe to exorcize this very analogy and its hold on our imagination and thought. At the beginning of this text I described how one entered a scene and listened to robots offering solutions to symptomatic inhibitions suffered by human artists and curators. Now we are put to the task to de-register our ability to mirror ourselves in or to identify with robots. After all, this kind of identification is in and off itself nothing unusual; within the realm of entertainment it is rather the rule: R2D2 and his comrade C3PO from the Star Wars movies worked as comic relief only on the basis of a minimum (or in this case maximum?) of identification. “Hell is other robots”16 already takes all of this a step further, with its Sartre reference.17 It points out that while we might identify with those robots, they don’t manage a better life than we do for they are just as much subject to and object of the desire of those others who make life hell. In other words: They are just like us. So neither making robots just another version of a stuffed animals nor working with some Entfremdungseffekt (effect of alienation) to encourage dis-identification is new to the genre. What does, however, seem new to me in the work of Guy Bar Amotz is this complicated effect of registering what a subject is. For on the one hand – precisely by creating a “scene” – he allows us to simply engage in identification as much as in whooping along with the rhythm of the DJ; but he also allows for the failure of this set-up and thus for the analysis of the whole analogy with which he presents us. By means of the double function of being both the playwright and the artist he can provide with a kind of systemic failure that allows for a framing of the problem of subjectivity: We are produced as subjects by discourse, by language – it seems in much the same way as robots are programmed.

But they are programmed by this artist-playwright and he makes it very clear where the difference lies: While coded programs are the product of intentions, the subjects produced by language are rather a kind of leftover, a waste product. So the writer Guy Bar Amotz plays at programming with a specific intention, and by doing that shows how the art world robots only reproduce the theoretical discourse through which they themselves have come into being (but come into being through code – not discourse.) This heritage in discourse – mocked by the code which governs the robots behavior and life – is then countered by the other impulse of Guy Bar Amotz, namely to affirm a kind of playful immediacy or sense-certainty that exceeds and avoids all intentionality or conscious

16 Cf. the popular animated series Futurama featuring robots of all persuasions and morals. This is the title of the first aired on May 18th, 1999.

17 The reference is, of course, to the famous phrase “L’enfer, c’est les autres” from Sartre’s play Huis clos (cf. Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays, New York 1987).

35

11 Jacques Lacan: „Position of the Unconscious“, in: Écrits, trans. by Bruce Fink, New York 2006, p. 703 (emphasis in the original).

12 Ibid, p. 704.

13 Ibid.

14 Sigmund Freud, „Beyond the Pleasure Principle“. in: The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Volume XVIII (1920-1922): Beyond the Pleasure Principle, Group Psychology and Other Works, ed: J. Strachey p. 1-64, particularly p. 6.

15 Lacan, Position of the Unconscious, (emphasis added), p. 705.

naming the “Freudian discovery”: the unconscious. It is not simply something “which does not have the attribute (or virtue) of consciousness,” but rather it is something that “is a concept founded on the trail [trace] left by that which operates to constitute the subject.”11 Here it is well to remind oneself with Lacan of the “importance [Freud] attribute[s] to language as the cause of the subject”12; one should also keep in mind the fact that – since prior to Freud such a subject could not be thought – it is true and necessary to say that “the unconscious, prior to Freud, is not purely and simply. This is because it names nothing prior to Freud that counts anymore as an object[...] than what would be defined by situating it in the un-black’ [l’in-noir]”13. The “un-black” is unspecified, centered around blackness and simply connotative of all that is not black. The Freudian unconscious, however, is a specific object that is constructed by psychoanalysis and centers around the traces of the process of the constitution of the subject. The unconscious is the relation of those traces.

Rather than a lack of consciousness the unconscious stands for something that doesn’t quite work in consciousness, the traces that allow for the interruption of automatic processes of consciousness or of any agency governed by the pleasure principle14. “The only homogenous function of consciousness is found in the ego’s imaginary capture by its peculiar reflection, and in the function of misrecognition that remains tied to it15.” The specular image can function as a homeostatic stabilizer of a shifting ground that exists for the subject since Freud. The unconscious has become an object of science (or, maybe more accurately, it has become constituted as an object and thus also positioned science anew) and by that founding act it has become impossible to appeal to unconscious or preconscious reserves of meaning and creativity – as the DJ does in the end of Guy Bar Amotz’s play – without thereby producing itself as a symptomatic act which can be read again.

PhantasmLet’s return for a moment to the set-up of the play. Obviously it is possible, like with the stuffed toys of children, to mirror oneself in the robots of the play. They have faces, they move, they have voices and – more importantly – they are, like probably most spectators of the exhibition, card-carrying members of the art world. Both of Dream Speculator’s interlocutors seem themselves to be involved in the art world, in the sense that they are robot-artists (each, it seems, representing a very specific contemporary art discourse), thus justifying Dream Speculator’s choice to seek council with them. However, in that process of mirroring – and this is what is remarkable in the piece – we are in fact led back to the question that was already present at the outset: the question of the unconscious. It is

present, of course, on the surface, because Dream Speculator has called upon his acquaintances Forever Now and Future Planning to help him discuss two psychotherapeutic cases regarding members of the art world. One is a curator, the other an artist and both have stopped producing in their respective positions within the field of art. The reason Dream Speculator wants to go outside his own field lies in his suspicion that rather than being simply “cases,” what the two patients confront him with is “something in the concept of art itself, as it is presented by contemporary artists.” This something, it follows, has “triggered” his patients’ symptoms and left the artist unable to make art and the curator unable to view art exhibitions.

To strengthen this point the writer Guy Bar Amotz has given the artist Guy Bar Amotz two psychodynamic explanations for the patients’ crises. These explanations are written by the artist in the form of code and programmed so that Dream Speculator can emanate them again – but now as speech. Once they are language and not just code, they need to be deciphered and not simply decoded. And deciphering, it seems, leads to the assignment of meaning. Thus, we hear Dream Speculator explain that the curator cannot view exhibitions because of her inability to confront her mother imago with her desire for separation. And the artist suffers from his inability to accept the ambiguity that lies in being both a representative of something particular – as an Israeli citizen he served in the army during the first Palestinian Intifada of 1989 – and the heir to something universal – the Western notion of modern art. Having arrived at this point the artist Guy Bar Amotz now doubles the problem discussed above – that the subject is produced by language – back onto the scene. He does this, of course, by programming the code so that it emanates as speech, in the manner just described; but he does this not simply by using the script of the writer of the same name in this manner, but by installing the bar of the same name as well, the Umwelt or environment, as it were, thus seemingly giving a tool for deciphering. This Bar Amotz now serves as a platform for the two robot-artists to suggest remedies for both cases, remedies that quickly reveal themselves to be expressions of each of the robot’s self-image and thus opportunities for the spectators to mirror themselves. Forever Now, the robot-artist in a somewhat romantic tradition that shuns success, the market and even the object, all in favor of immediacy and purity, suggests a typical formalist solution: He wants to expand Andre Malraux’s “imaginary museum” into a Museum of “Neverending.” Every (new) work of art must not only consider all works that have preceded it, but also all future works that may come after it. Similarly, all shows in the museum must consider all shows previously curated, but also all future shows. Somehow and not quite coherently

– thus showing the contradiction in the romantic flow of the now – this permanent revolution within the museum is accompanied by the insight that not making art and not curating art shows is in fact a “state of utopia.” For where no art is made, all of life becomes art. Thus the Museum of “Neverending” turns out to be simply the good old romantic hen kai panta, the one-and-all, the unity of everything. The motto seems to be: free art from the position of exception and thus revolutionize both art and life by merging them till they can no longer be distinguished.

Future Planning has a different but corresponding solution. First he complains that the market forces him into “duplication and repetition.” But he doesn’t want to join Forever Now’s call to abolish the profession of being an artist, but rather wants to change that profession. Ultimately the best way to do that, so he suggests, would be to get rid of what one might call “historical consciousness” (that already Nietzsche thought of as a prison): “They are experiencing the pain of existence which has resulted from the way of contemporary art interpreting reality with a retrospective horizon – always looking at itself to justify the present. They have become passive.” But it is this very passivity – induced by the inevitable historical consciousness – that becomes the solution for Future Planning. For passive objects, like robots, can be fed whatever one wants and can be “made into slaves” as he says. “Passive objects are the best instruments to feed with new ideas and targets.” These newly programmed future artists will be the vanguard of a new globalized culture – based on complete forgetfulness.

But Dream Speculator stops both of them from continuing with their solutions, for he has understood that nothing will come of this consultation for his patients other than a hall of mirrors. The solutions both robots offer for them are identical: They both say, in the manner of all help offered by the Ego: Become me! Before Dream Speculator, too, gets interrupted by the DJ expressing his longing for immediacy and sense-certainty, something has become evident for us, who have walked not into Bar Amotz (as first order observers), but rather into the exhibition “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” of the artist Guy Bar Amotz (as second order observers) where we are engaged in experiencing a play called Change in Me. What is it that has become evident for us? That the robots are representatives of subjectivities that easily could emerge within the discourse of contemporary art. The analogy seems to be literally obvious, impossible to overlook: If coded programs produce the expressions of robots, then are we not dealing with something quite analogous to language that produces subjects? One can almost hear Guy Bar Amotz laughing, when he

hears this question, since we have already pointed out the difference: Code becomes operative by being decoded, language by being deciphered. So why go through this whole exercise if at the end the analogy of code and language does not hold?

Maybe to exorcize this very analogy and its hold on our imagination and thought. At the beginning of this text I described how one entered a scene and listened to robots offering solutions to symptomatic inhibitions suffered by human artists and curators. Now we are put to the task to de-register our ability to mirror ourselves in or to identify with robots. After all, this kind of identification is in and off itself nothing unusual; within the realm of entertainment it is rather the rule: R2D2 and his comrade C3PO from the Star Wars movies worked as comic relief only on the basis of a minimum (or in this case maximum?) of identification. “Hell is other robots”16 already takes all of this a step further, with its Sartre reference.17 It points out that while we might identify with those robots, they don’t manage a better life than we do for they are just as much subject to and object of the desire of those others who make life hell. In other words: They are just like us. So neither making robots just another version of a stuffed animals nor working with some Entfremdungseffekt (effect of alienation) to encourage dis-identification is new to the genre. What does, however, seem new to me in the work of Guy Bar Amotz is this complicated effect of registering what a subject is. For on the one hand – precisely by creating a “scene” – he allows us to simply engage in identification as much as in whooping along with the rhythm of the DJ; but he also allows for the failure of this set-up and thus for the analysis of the whole analogy with which he presents us. By means of the double function of being both the playwright and the artist he can provide with a kind of systemic failure that allows for a framing of the problem of subjectivity: We are produced as subjects by discourse, by language – it seems in much the same way as robots are programmed.

But they are programmed by this artist-playwright and he makes it very clear where the difference lies: While coded programs are the product of intentions, the subjects produced by language are rather a kind of leftover, a waste product. So the writer Guy Bar Amotz plays at programming with a specific intention, and by doing that shows how the art world robots only reproduce the theoretical discourse through which they themselves have come into being (but come into being through code – not discourse.) This heritage in discourse – mocked by the code which governs the robots behavior and life – is then countered by the other impulse of Guy Bar Amotz, namely to affirm a kind of playful immediacy or sense-certainty that exceeds and avoids all intentionality or conscious

16 Cf. the popular animated series Futurama featuring robots of all persuasions and morals. This is the title of the first aired on May 18th, 1999.

17 The reference is, of course, to the famous phrase “L’enfer, c’est les autres” from Sartre’s play Huis clos (cf. Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays, New York 1987).

36

37

38

Why Robots are Orphans: Guy Bar Amotz’s Play for Robots Change in Me Felix Ensslin

“We have translated [ ] as the encounter with the real. The real is beyond the automaton, the return, the coming back, the insistence of the signs, by which we see ourselves governed by the pleasure principle. The real is that which always lies behind the automaton, and is quite obvious, throughout Freud’s research, that it is this that is the object of his concern.”

Jacques Lacan, The Four Fundamental

Concepts of Psychoanalysis1

“I believe that the concept of art itself, as it is presented by contemporary artists, might be triggering the crises of my two patients.”

Dream Speculator in Guy Bar Amotz’s play for

robots Change in Me2

Scene At Bar Amotz, a hangout of the local art intelligentsia, we meet a few customers, Dream Speculator, Future Planning, Forever Now and a DJ. Of course, as in any other bar we might walk into, we don’t necessarily know the names of those present, though I think it is safe to assume we are invited to think they are regulars. On another level, however, if we have come in time for the start of the show we are already in the middle of a very complex set-up. The complexities start with us, or our movement as the spectators of an art exhibition by Guy Bar Amotz called “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” that includes a play for robots titled Change in Me. While we are spectators, the very installation of the show invites a kind of participatory entry – walking around as if accidentally happening upon a new bar at the start of a night out. Yet, if we did indeed happen to come just in time, we will see the beginning of something that clearly does have a beginning, namely the performance of a play with music, actors, a script, a stage, light design, etc. As a performance it loses its accidental quality: While one could easily see how somebody might react to what he or she encounters when entering a bar

with the statement: “What a scene!” anyone who is competent in English will understand that it is a simile, not a statement of fact. Whoever says this does not want to indicate that he or she happens to have walked in on a theatrical performance. Rather, that trope might be derived from some kind of conviction that in the a bar the behavior of its customers is self-consciously theatrical in the sense of playing a certain kind of social role: e.g., flirting, being a football fan or playing the games of one-upmanship between colleagues at an after work hang-out. On the other hand, within a real theatrical performance that trope dissolves and becomes something real.

Do I – the spectator and writer of this text – stay at the “fictional” level of the play, as I did in the first line of the opening paragraph? Since we are dealing with robotics and biology – i.e., the birthplaces of system’s theory – in this piece, I could add that this might correspond to a “first-order observer” position in a system-theoretical approach3. Alternately, I could begin by addressing the second level of reality represented not by Bar Amotz but by the exhibition that includes it (writing as a “second-order observer”4)? But this being a play, the level of second-order observation transcends itself already again, namely through the fact that the play (as maybe every play) is also a mouse-trap5, a play within a play, precisely because it is also part of an art exhibition, while not simply being identical with it. Hamlet wanted to trap his uncle Claudius into betraying his guilt by showing him the fictional representation of his crime by means of a troupe of actors. However the relation of the murderer to the victim in the play within the play rather represents the relation of Hamlet to Claudius, not that of Claudius to his brother (and Hamlet’s father). This shift or sliding6 does not literally add anything to what is being said or done. However, read as a symptom (and that it can be read is what makes a symptom a symptom) we realize this: It points toward the subject precisely because it stages a specific impulse without being

1 Jacques Lacan: The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, trans. by A. Sheridan, New York, 1978, p. 59.

2 As could be seen and heard during the exhibition “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” at Rothschild 12 (opening April 14, 2011), in which the play for robots Change in Me is being installed and performed.

3 Particularly in relation to the shifting grounds of this system’s set-up with which Guy Bar Amotz confronts us, it is important to remember, however, that for Niklas Luhmann the distinction is in a certain sense blurry. Simple feedback systems such as robots with sensors, only function “blindly” or as first level observers: in other words, they simply react. Whereas second order systems not only include the autopoietic systems of biology, but also social systems, such as art. But in those social systems, there is an actor which can imagine him/herself on the cultural level (the level of social systems) as shifting between the two: “The second-order observer, mind you, is a first-order observer as well, for he must distinguish and designate the observer he intends to observe.” (Niklas Luhmann: “Die Paradoxie der Form” in: D. Baecker (Ed.): Kalkül der Form, Frankfurt/M., p. 197-212. For the differentiation of first and second order systems see also: Niklas Luhmann: Social Systems, Stanford 1995. For biological autopoietic systems see: Maturana, H. R., & F. J. Varela. Autopoiesis and Cognition: The Realization of the Living, Dordrecht 1980. 4 Ibid.

5 This, of course, refers to the famous “play within a play” in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

6 Jacques Lacan: ”Desire and the Interpretation of Desire Hamlet” in: Yale French Studies, No. 55/56, Literature and Psychoanalysis. The Question of Reading: Otherwise. (1977), p. 11-52.

7 Jacques Lacan: “The Function and the Field of Speech and Language in Psychoanalysis” in: Écrits, trans. by Bruce Fink, New York 2006, p. 245.

8 Ferdinand de Saussure (1916): Course in General Linguistics, ed. by Charles Bally and Albert Sechehaye, trans. by Wade Baskin, Glasgow 1977.

9 Cf. Jean-Luc Nancy and Phillip Lacoue-Labarthe: The Title of the Letter. A Reading of Lacan, trans. by Francois Raffoul and David Pettigrew, New York 1992.

10 Jean-Joseph Goux: Oedipus Philosopher, trans. by Catherine Porter, Stanford 1993, p. 82.

able to represent it in language or even fully in images, namely Hamlet’s seeming desire to kill Claudius. Certainly it is a desire that needs to remain unnamed because it remains unacceptable to Hamlet himself – but it also remains unnamed because naming it unambiguously would represent the subject (to other signifiers) – thus threatening to eradicate it.

Let me return, then, to the second-order level. Is the set-up of an exhibition – that is the objects, the light, the architecture, the comments by the curator or the audience, the productions of the artist – any less immediate than the possibility of immersion in a play? Of course, traditionally philosophy had a solution for this kind of split: While the first level was the reality of sense-certainty or of consciousness, the second level was that of self-consciousness. The problem always was that the first level never really amounted to a totality of experience or to the identity of a self: as quickly as sense-certainty tried to get a hold of itself or speak of itself, it had vanished again and was lost forever, making room for the next sensation. The solution thus was self-consciousness, the fact of not only being conscious of something (I see what is in front of me in the bar) but to be conscious of being conscious of that content – which, in this case, allows me to locate the perception of what I see in the bar within the larger narrative of the “I” that has gone to a gallery in Tel Aviv to see Guy Bar Amotz’s play for robots Change in Me, in the show “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” in which Bar Amotz is exhibited: “a hang-out of the local art intelligentsia, where we meet a few customers, Dream Speculator, Future Planning, Forever Now and a DJ... .” The history of modern art has been full with claims that it is precisely art’s function to stop or bypass this loop of self-consciousness by asserting the aesthetic primacy of sense-certainty over the “elitist” pretension of the art world; a contemporary example of this sentiment is given by the DJ in Guy Bar Amotz’s play for robots who says: “Twenty years ago, when I was a student at the art academy, I realized that discussion in the art world is elitist, artist talk which ignores basic needs such as fun, care and immediate and easy satisfaction.”

Truth“Truth is structured like a fiction”7– so goes the famous dictum of Jacques Lacan. However, while truth is structured like a fiction this does not mean that one simply needs to know this in order to read the signifiers of that structure and then reality is apprehended and truth spelled out. On the contrary, fiction always circles around something that it cannot adequately represent in itself. This gap within its own narrative or script is what makes the whole thing go, it is the placeholder of the subject

that carries that discourse. I will leave out here the question whether this observation is limited to language or whether “signifiers” include all elements relating (and related) to each other by difference, such as gestures, facial expressions, that is all kinds of “silent” languages. Suffice it to say that to the degree that they are in fact silent languages they are subject to the rules of languages (meaning is produced by use and difference, not by the elements’ inherent qualities). To the degree that such silent languages are meant to be pre-linguistic forms of expression or reaction – as the DJ in Guy Bar Amotz’s play seems to suggest with regard to music when he says: “Music is experienced first by the body. Thinking and understanding might come later” – they are not properly speaking languages. Languages always deal with the two components of image representations (mental images, representations in the mind, etc.) and sound-representations (the actual literal representations of written/spoken words). One could reference Saussure here8 and the two sides of the sign, (i.e., the signifier and the signified), but, of course, also Freud with the two sides of the psychic representations of language, (i.e., the Wortvorstellung or word representation and the Bildvorstellung or image representation). For the purposes of the present discussion it will suffice to point out that this analogy between Saussure and Freud is, of course, at the heart of Lacan’s project that attempts to unite linguistics with psychoanalysis. It has been pointed out that this analogy could only be made to work by the help of the re-introduction of the philosophical subject (of consciousness and intentionality) as a mediator between the two: i.e., the very subject that both structuralist linguistics as well as psychoanalysis had superseded or dethroned9. For traditional (Western) philosophy the “philosophical impulse in its most modern form is to constitute itself as a subject who possesses nature, matter, the Earth; and to do so through an autonomous will to power that owes nothing to the directives of any authority.”10 The subject of which we spoke earlier with Hamlet, the subject of psychoanalysis is not the one that carries this unifying will.

Nancy and Lacoue-Labarthe on the other hand have suggested that Lacan’s subject of truth (or of the unconscious) somehow saves this traditional subject of Western philosophy by a movement of Hegelian Aufhebung, i.e., of simultaneously negating it, taking it to a higher level and preserving it. Were this to be true, then maybe the old genius hero artist, who has no interest in explaining his own working process but calls on deeply seated intuitions and impulses that are not conscious but produce a new Law of Art might seem to be a prototype of such an (mis-)understanding of the subject of the unconscious. But this criticism – whatever its merits in other respects – leaves out the fundamental nature of what Lacan was fond of

39

Why Robots are Orphans: Guy Bar Amotz’s Play for Robots Change in Me Felix Ensslin

“We have translated [ ] as the encounter with the real. The real is beyond the automaton, the return, the coming back, the insistence of the signs, by which we see ourselves governed by the pleasure principle. The real is that which always lies behind the automaton, and is quite obvious, throughout Freud’s research, that it is this that is the object of his concern.”

Jacques Lacan, The Four Fundamental

Concepts of Psychoanalysis1

“I believe that the concept of art itself, as it is presented by contemporary artists, might be triggering the crises of my two patients.”

Dream Speculator in Guy Bar Amotz’s play for

robots Change in Me2

Scene At Bar Amotz, a hangout of the local art intelligentsia, we meet a few customers, Dream Speculator, Future Planning, Forever Now and a DJ. Of course, as in any other bar we might walk into, we don’t necessarily know the names of those present, though I think it is safe to assume we are invited to think they are regulars. On another level, however, if we have come in time for the start of the show we are already in the middle of a very complex set-up. The complexities start with us, or our movement as the spectators of an art exhibition by Guy Bar Amotz called “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” that includes a play for robots titled Change in Me. While we are spectators, the very installation of the show invites a kind of participatory entry – walking around as if accidentally happening upon a new bar at the start of a night out. Yet, if we did indeed happen to come just in time, we will see the beginning of something that clearly does have a beginning, namely the performance of a play with music, actors, a script, a stage, light design, etc. As a performance it loses its accidental quality: While one could easily see how somebody might react to what he or she encounters when entering a bar

with the statement: “What a scene!” anyone who is competent in English will understand that it is a simile, not a statement of fact. Whoever says this does not want to indicate that he or she happens to have walked in on a theatrical performance. Rather, that trope might be derived from some kind of conviction that in the a bar the behavior of its customers is self-consciously theatrical in the sense of playing a certain kind of social role: e.g., flirting, being a football fan or playing the games of one-upmanship between colleagues at an after work hang-out. On the other hand, within a real theatrical performance that trope dissolves and becomes something real.

Do I – the spectator and writer of this text – stay at the “fictional” level of the play, as I did in the first line of the opening paragraph? Since we are dealing with robotics and biology – i.e., the birthplaces of system’s theory – in this piece, I could add that this might correspond to a “first-order observer” position in a system-theoretical approach3. Alternately, I could begin by addressing the second level of reality represented not by Bar Amotz but by the exhibition that includes it (writing as a “second-order observer”4)? But this being a play, the level of second-order observation transcends itself already again, namely through the fact that the play (as maybe every play) is also a mouse-trap5, a play within a play, precisely because it is also part of an art exhibition, while not simply being identical with it. Hamlet wanted to trap his uncle Claudius into betraying his guilt by showing him the fictional representation of his crime by means of a troupe of actors. However the relation of the murderer to the victim in the play within the play rather represents the relation of Hamlet to Claudius, not that of Claudius to his brother (and Hamlet’s father). This shift or sliding6 does not literally add anything to what is being said or done. However, read as a symptom (and that it can be read is what makes a symptom a symptom) we realize this: It points toward the subject precisely because it stages a specific impulse without being

1 Jacques Lacan: The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, trans. by A. Sheridan, New York, 1978, p. 59.

2 As could be seen and heard during the exhibition “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” at Rothschild 12 (opening April 14, 2011), in which the play for robots Change in Me is being installed and performed.

3 Particularly in relation to the shifting grounds of this system’s set-up with which Guy Bar Amotz confronts us, it is important to remember, however, that for Niklas Luhmann the distinction is in a certain sense blurry. Simple feedback systems such as robots with sensors, only function “blindly” or as first level observers: in other words, they simply react. Whereas second order systems not only include the autopoietic systems of biology, but also social systems, such as art. But in those social systems, there is an actor which can imagine him/herself on the cultural level (the level of social systems) as shifting between the two: “The second-order observer, mind you, is a first-order observer as well, for he must distinguish and designate the observer he intends to observe.” (Niklas Luhmann: “Die Paradoxie der Form” in: D. Baecker (Ed.): Kalkül der Form, Frankfurt/M., p. 197-212. For the differentiation of first and second order systems see also: Niklas Luhmann: Social Systems, Stanford 1995. For biological autopoietic systems see: Maturana, H. R., & F. J. Varela. Autopoiesis and Cognition: The Realization of the Living, Dordrecht 1980. 4 Ibid.

5 This, of course, refers to the famous “play within a play” in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

6 Jacques Lacan: ”Desire and the Interpretation of Desire Hamlet” in: Yale French Studies, No. 55/56, Literature and Psychoanalysis. The Question of Reading: Otherwise. (1977), p. 11-52.

7 Jacques Lacan: “The Function and the Field of Speech and Language in Psychoanalysis” in: Écrits, trans. by Bruce Fink, New York 2006, p. 245.

8 Ferdinand de Saussure (1916): Course in General Linguistics, ed. by Charles Bally and Albert Sechehaye, trans. by Wade Baskin, Glasgow 1977.

9 Cf. Jean-Luc Nancy and Phillip Lacoue-Labarthe: The Title of the Letter. A Reading of Lacan, trans. by Francois Raffoul and David Pettigrew, New York 1992.

10 Jean-Joseph Goux: Oedipus Philosopher, trans. by Catherine Porter, Stanford 1993, p. 82.

able to represent it in language or even fully in images, namely Hamlet’s seeming desire to kill Claudius. Certainly it is a desire that needs to remain unnamed because it remains unacceptable to Hamlet himself – but it also remains unnamed because naming it unambiguously would represent the subject (to other signifiers) – thus threatening to eradicate it.

Let me return, then, to the second-order level. Is the set-up of an exhibition – that is the objects, the light, the architecture, the comments by the curator or the audience, the productions of the artist – any less immediate than the possibility of immersion in a play? Of course, traditionally philosophy had a solution for this kind of split: While the first level was the reality of sense-certainty or of consciousness, the second level was that of self-consciousness. The problem always was that the first level never really amounted to a totality of experience or to the identity of a self: as quickly as sense-certainty tried to get a hold of itself or speak of itself, it had vanished again and was lost forever, making room for the next sensation. The solution thus was self-consciousness, the fact of not only being conscious of something (I see what is in front of me in the bar) but to be conscious of being conscious of that content – which, in this case, allows me to locate the perception of what I see in the bar within the larger narrative of the “I” that has gone to a gallery in Tel Aviv to see Guy Bar Amotz’s play for robots Change in Me, in the show “A working machine must not want to play the fiddle” in which Bar Amotz is exhibited: “a hang-out of the local art intelligentsia, where we meet a few customers, Dream Speculator, Future Planning, Forever Now and a DJ... .” The history of modern art has been full with claims that it is precisely art’s function to stop or bypass this loop of self-consciousness by asserting the aesthetic primacy of sense-certainty over the “elitist” pretension of the art world; a contemporary example of this sentiment is given by the DJ in Guy Bar Amotz’s play for robots who says: “Twenty years ago, when I was a student at the art academy, I realized that discussion in the art world is elitist, artist talk which ignores basic needs such as fun, care and immediate and easy satisfaction.”

Truth“Truth is structured like a fiction”7– so goes the famous dictum of Jacques Lacan. However, while truth is structured like a fiction this does not mean that one simply needs to know this in order to read the signifiers of that structure and then reality is apprehended and truth spelled out. On the contrary, fiction always circles around something that it cannot adequately represent in itself. This gap within its own narrative or script is what makes the whole thing go, it is the placeholder of the subject

that carries that discourse. I will leave out here the question whether this observation is limited to language or whether “signifiers” include all elements relating (and related) to each other by difference, such as gestures, facial expressions, that is all kinds of “silent” languages. Suffice it to say that to the degree that they are in fact silent languages they are subject to the rules of languages (meaning is produced by use and difference, not by the elements’ inherent qualities). To the degree that such silent languages are meant to be pre-linguistic forms of expression or reaction – as the DJ in Guy Bar Amotz’s play seems to suggest with regard to music when he says: “Music is experienced first by the body. Thinking and understanding might come later” – they are not properly speaking languages. Languages always deal with the two components of image representations (mental images, representations in the mind, etc.) and sound-representations (the actual literal representations of written/spoken words). One could reference Saussure here8 and the two sides of the sign, (i.e., the signifier and the signified), but, of course, also Freud with the two sides of the psychic representations of language, (i.e., the Wortvorstellung or word representation and the Bildvorstellung or image representation). For the purposes of the present discussion it will suffice to point out that this analogy between Saussure and Freud is, of course, at the heart of Lacan’s project that attempts to unite linguistics with psychoanalysis. It has been pointed out that this analogy could only be made to work by the help of the re-introduction of the philosophical subject (of consciousness and intentionality) as a mediator between the two: i.e., the very subject that both structuralist linguistics as well as psychoanalysis had superseded or dethroned9. For traditional (Western) philosophy the “philosophical impulse in its most modern form is to constitute itself as a subject who possesses nature, matter, the Earth; and to do so through an autonomous will to power that owes nothing to the directives of any authority.”10 The subject of which we spoke earlier with Hamlet, the subject of psychoanalysis is not the one that carries this unifying will.

Nancy and Lacoue-Labarthe on the other hand have suggested that Lacan’s subject of truth (or of the unconscious) somehow saves this traditional subject of Western philosophy by a movement of Hegelian Aufhebung, i.e., of simultaneously negating it, taking it to a higher level and preserving it. Were this to be true, then maybe the old genius hero artist, who has no interest in explaining his own working process but calls on deeply seated intuitions and impulses that are not conscious but produce a new Law of Art might seem to be a prototype of such an (mis-)understanding of the subject of the unconscious. But this criticism – whatever its merits in other respects – leaves out the fundamental nature of what Lacan was fond of

:-#)"73 3+"62&)#")*+ #,)%#-

2011


2011

40

41

42

components, dynamism and kinesis, and an emphasis on the "here and now." Yet the added value of Bar Amotz's project lies in the creation of an event, or happening, in which numerous participants mingle with artificially constructed performers. And while this project is based on theatrical concepts, the use of robots – in addition to being an innovative technological element – also offers a solution to the "crisis of art." In this context, the living actor is replaced by a programmed body, which paradoxically distills and enhances the actor's vital qualities. The effect of the inanimate object's coming to life is more powerful and surprising than the effect produced by a human actor, whose life force is taken for granted. From a critical point of view, moreover, the robot is also an object that may be reproduced, like the commodities/artworks traded on the market. "We Are Showroom Dummies," the finale sung by the robots, serves to further underscore their status as inert matter. They thus function simultaneously as a direct critique of the state of contemporary art, while offering an alternative to object-based art, sculpture, and performance. Their existence and theatrical performance give concrete form to the possibility of another theater, of new forms of sensory experience, and of a collective event taking place in the here and now, with the participation of both the real and the reproduced, the living and the inanimate, the authentic and the artificial.

The Futurist variety theater transformed the understanding of the spatial relations between audience members and performers. Marinetti envisioned a form of performance that would surround and contain the viewers, yet this vision did not necessarily include the viewer as an active participant. The removal of the "fourth wall" created a unique state of symbiosis between the audience and the performers: the viewers responded throughout the performance, and these responses amounted to a physical and energetic dialogue with the performers.28 Yet while Marinetti's theatrical approach centered on creating a suggestive tool for transforming subjective and collective consciousness, audience participation in the course of Futurist performances was limited to various remarks and reactions, applause, laughter, and tears.

The event created by Bar Amotz, by contrast, is shaped by a distinctly different model of audience participation. His work undermines the dichotomies created by classical Greek theater, which are still partially in place to this day. As already noted above, his play does not aspire to transmit a self-enclosed, hermetic body of knowledge. It is not inspired by mimetic or representational ideals, but is rather shaped by a desire to emancipate the viewer. The viewer may thus become the creator of new interpretations, of new ways of thinking, and subsequently of new forms of art. Bar Amotz invites

the viewer to be a partner in the creation of a "new life praxis," in which all storytellers are equal.In his essay "The Emancipated Spectator," Rancière argues that the theater spectator occupies a passive position, and is "separated from the capacity of knowing just as he is separated from the possibility of acting,"29 since he remains unaware of the conditions of possibility of the performance he is watching. Rancière points to the possibility of a different model of spectatorship, in which the viewer's passive optical relation to the performance is transformed into "drama," into a form of "action."30 German Romanticism, as he argues, gave rise to a conception of theater "as a form of the aesthetic constitution – meaning the sensory constitution – of the community: the community as a way of occupying time and space, as a set of living gestures and attitudes that stands before any kind of political form and institution."In this way, according to Rancière, theater became associated with the Romantic notion of an aesthetic revolution capable of changing laws and institutions and of transforming sensory forms of experience. Rancière thus argues for the necessity of calling into question "the equivalence of theater and community, of seeing and passivity, of externality and separation, of mediation and simulacrum; the opposition of collective and individual, image and living reality, activity and passivity, self-possession and alienation."31

Emancipation, in this context, begins with the action of the viewer, who is required to constantly challenge these oppositions, based on an understanding of their relationship to various mechanisms of control. The emancipation of the spectator lies in the blurring of the opposition looking and acting and between individual and collective existence, and involves a reconfiguration of the distribution of time and space. This process, according Rancière, goes hand in hand with the blurring of boundaries in contemporary art – with video installations that function as frescoes, sculptures that are transformed into hypermediatic shows, and so forth. Yet while such a blurring of boundaries seemingly gives rise to new worlds compatible with postmodern reality and artistic notions of hybridity, most of these attempts do not address the underlying oppositions that perpetuate the existing state of passive spectatorship. According to Rancière, the solution to this problem lies in repositioning a vital form of expression and the collective power of the community at the center of the (metaphorical) stage, and in recognizing every viewer's equal ability to tell a story. In this context, the viewer also acts, perceives, understands, interprets, relates, composes, recognizes and creates.32 The result "should be the institution of a new stage of equality, where the different kinds of performances would be translated into one another."33

28 Ibid, p. 23.

29 Jacques Rancière, The Emancipated Spectator, p. 2-3.

30 Ibid.

31 Ibid.

32 Ibid, p. 22.

33 Ibid.

As Rancière concludes, "The effect of the idiom cannot be anticipated. It calls for spectators who are active interpreters, who render their own translation, who appropriate the story for themselves, and who ultimately make their own story out of it. An emancipated community is in fact a community of storytellers and translators." Ultimately, the formation of such a community may enable us to "better understand how words, stories, and performances can help us change something in the world we live in."34

A desire for change forms the underlying basis of Bar Amotz's works. At the heart of the current project, which may be described as a kind of variety theater, is an enigmatic play. Bar Amotz welcomes the viewers into the imagined territory he has created, and invites them to sit together with the actors at the bar, to share a glass of beer, and to tell a story. His work gives rise to a community that comes together in a single space and during a single moment in time, and offers a temporal framework that is unlike that of any conventional art exhibition – as if underscoring the need for a kind of festive interlude in order to observe and participate. He brings the viewers together in a non-hierarchical manner, positioning them alongside the robots and asking them to reflect together on the unresolved enigmas and propositions he puts forth in his play. He bewitches the audience with his use of abstract sound, and invites it to dance alongside the robots and to engage in a shared experience that is open to multiple interpretations. He asks the viewer to consider various ideas, yet does not presume to own these ideas, not does he offer any clear-cut answers. His unusual use of technology creates an experience of estrangement that embodies the tension between innovative high-tech systems and low-tech components – between living and mechanical bodies, between the thinker and the one who is programmed, between the real and the fictional, between movement and arrest. His work precludes the possibility of appropriating the object. It encourages experience, participation, and the sharing of ideas and thoughts, as well as a form of transformation. He creates an arena of exchange, and a platform for the construction of an emancipated community. This community resides in an ex-territory that is nevertheless situated in the context of a living reality, of the here and now. Its members are invited to participate in an experience that centers on music and movement, perhaps even a sort of rave; an experience that encourages participants to become active, and to engage with a new form of cultural kinesis, a new praxis of life.

34 Ibid.

43

components, dynamism and kinesis, and an emphasis on the "here and now." Yet the added value of Bar Amotz's project lies in the creation of an event, or happening, in which numerous participants mingle with artificially constructed performers. And while this project is based on theatrical concepts, the use of robots – in addition to being an innovative technological element – also offers a solution to the "crisis of art." In this context, the living actor is replaced by a programmed body, which paradoxically distills and enhances the actor's vital qualities. The effect of the inanimate object's coming to life is more powerful and surprising than the effect produced by a human actor, whose life force is taken for granted. From a critical point of view, moreover, the robot is also an object that may be reproduced, like the commodities/artworks traded on the market. "We Are Showroom Dummies," the finale sung by the robots, serves to further underscore their status as inert matter. They thus function simultaneously as a direct critique of the state of contemporary art, while offering an alternative to object-based art, sculpture, and performance. Their existence and theatrical performance give concrete form to the possibility of another theater, of new forms of sensory experience, and of a collective event taking place in the here and now, with the participation of both the real and the reproduced, the living and the inanimate, the authentic and the artificial.

The Futurist variety theater transformed the understanding of the spatial relations between audience members and performers. Marinetti envisioned a form of performance that would surround and contain the viewers, yet this vision did not necessarily include the viewer as an active participant. The removal of the "fourth wall" created a unique state of symbiosis between the audience and the performers: the viewers responded throughout the performance, and these responses amounted to a physical and energetic dialogue with the performers.28 Yet while Marinetti's theatrical approach centered on creating a suggestive tool for transforming subjective and collective consciousness, audience participation in the course of Futurist performances was limited to various remarks and reactions, applause, laughter, and tears.

The event created by Bar Amotz, by contrast, is shaped by a distinctly different model of audience participation. His work undermines the dichotomies created by classical Greek theater, which are still partially in place to this day. As already noted above, his play does not aspire to transmit a self-enclosed, hermetic body of knowledge. It is not inspired by mimetic or representational ideals, but is rather shaped by a desire to emancipate the viewer. The viewer may thus become the creator of new interpretations, of new ways of thinking, and subsequently of new forms of art. Bar Amotz invites

the viewer to be a partner in the creation of a "new life praxis," in which all storytellers are equal.In his essay "The Emancipated Spectator," Rancière argues that the theater spectator occupies a passive position, and is "separated from the capacity of knowing just as he is separated from the possibility of acting,"29 since he remains unaware of the conditions of possibility of the performance he is watching. Rancière points to the possibility of a different model of spectatorship, in which the viewer's passive optical relation to the performance is transformed into "drama," into a form of "action."30 German Romanticism, as he argues, gave rise to a conception of theater "as a form of the aesthetic constitution – meaning the sensory constitution – of the community: the community as a way of occupying time and space, as a set of living gestures and attitudes that stands before any kind of political form and institution."In this way, according to Rancière, theater became associated with the Romantic notion of an aesthetic revolution capable of changing laws and institutions and of transforming sensory forms of experience. Rancière thus argues for the necessity of calling into question "the equivalence of theater and community, of seeing and passivity, of externality and separation, of mediation and simulacrum; the opposition of collective and individual, image and living reality, activity and passivity, self-possession and alienation."31

Emancipation, in this context, begins with the action of the viewer, who is required to constantly challenge these oppositions, based on an understanding of their relationship to various mechanisms of control. The emancipation of the spectator lies in the blurring of the opposition looking and acting and between individual and collective existence, and involves a reconfiguration of the distribution of time and space. This process, according Rancière, goes hand in hand with the blurring of boundaries in contemporary art – with video installations that function as frescoes, sculptures that are transformed into hypermediatic shows, and so forth. Yet while such a blurring of boundaries seemingly gives rise to new worlds compatible with postmodern reality and artistic notions of hybridity, most of these attempts do not address the underlying oppositions that perpetuate the existing state of passive spectatorship. According to Rancière, the solution to this problem lies in repositioning a vital form of expression and the collective power of the community at the center of the (metaphorical) stage, and in recognizing every viewer's equal ability to tell a story. In this context, the viewer also acts, perceives, understands, interprets, relates, composes, recognizes and creates.32 The result "should be the institution of a new stage of equality, where the different kinds of performances would be translated into one another."33

28 Ibid, p. 23.

29 Jacques Rancière, The Emancipated Spectator, p. 2-3.

30 Ibid.

31 Ibid.

32 Ibid, p. 22.

33 Ibid.

As Rancière concludes, "The effect of the idiom cannot be anticipated. It calls for spectators who are active interpreters, who render their own translation, who appropriate the story for themselves, and who ultimately make their own story out of it. An emancipated community is in fact a community of storytellers and translators." Ultimately, the formation of such a community may enable us to "better understand how words, stories, and performances can help us change something in the world we live in."34

A desire for change forms the underlying basis of Bar Amotz's works. At the heart of the current project, which may be described as a kind of variety theater, is an enigmatic play. Bar Amotz welcomes the viewers into the imagined territory he has created, and invites them to sit together with the actors at the bar, to share a glass of beer, and to tell a story. His work gives rise to a community that comes together in a single space and during a single moment in time, and offers a temporal framework that is unlike that of any conventional art exhibition – as if underscoring the need for a kind of festive interlude in order to observe and participate. He brings the viewers together in a non-hierarchical manner, positioning them alongside the robots and asking them to reflect together on the unresolved enigmas and propositions he puts forth in his play. He bewitches the audience with his use of abstract sound, and invites it to dance alongside the robots and to engage in a shared experience that is open to multiple interpretations. He asks the viewer to consider various ideas, yet does not presume to own these ideas, not does he offer any clear-cut answers. His unusual use of technology creates an experience of estrangement that embodies the tension between innovative high-tech systems and low-tech components – between living and mechanical bodies, between the thinker and the one who is programmed, between the real and the fictional, between movement and arrest. His work precludes the possibility of appropriating the object. It encourages experience, participation, and the sharing of ideas and thoughts, as well as a form of transformation. He creates an arena of exchange, and a platform for the construction of an emancipated community. This community resides in an ex-territory that is nevertheless situated in the context of a living reality, of the here and now. Its members are invited to participate in an experience that centers on music and movement, perhaps even a sort of rave; an experience that encourages participants to become active, and to engage with a new form of cultural kinesis, a new praxis of life.

34 Ibid.

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2011

44

45

46

for them. Exceeding their mechanical limitations, they move like living bodies, in a manner that attracts the viewers to them. Their alluring physical movements appear weightless, and their ideas are brilliant; at the same time, however, they seem to enter the viewer's space, and to awaken the same kind of anxiety triggered by the uncanny toy dolls described by Freud, which come unexpectedly to life. Their movements and incredibly human gestures, meanwhile, enable us to enter their space. These robots seem to dictate the rules of the game, and their behavior seems as logically conditioned as that of any animal – the only difference being that their conditioning is technological. They exist in a state of constant movement alongside the viewers, sharing a single, continuous space and moment in time.14 If the concept of the avant-garde has any meaning within the aesthetic regime of the arts, according to Rancière, then this meaning lies in its definition not as an artistic vanguard, but rather as a force capable of inventing new forms of sense experience and material arrangements in anticipation of the future.15

"A working machine must not want to play the fiddle," Capek wrote in his first play. In other words, a mechanical being – whose behavior and interests are predetermined – must not aspire to create individualistic, innovative, groundbreaking, passionate art. Yet the robot's very existence attests to the uselessness of this admonition. For the robot is precisely such a work machine that wants to "play the fiddle," to give rise to the creation of theater and artworks. In this sense, the robot represents both the utopian longing for perfection and the dystopian avowal of the failure to achieve it.

In Bar Amotz's play, we witness the evolution of a story within a story within a story: there is the case of the artist and the curator described by the psychoanalyst-robot; three robots analyzing the human condition; and a DJ controlling the robots sitting at the bar. And then, of course, there is also the artist, the puppeteer who controls them all with great skill. Early on in the play, the moderator of the discussion, the psychoanalyst-robot, states his interest in an informal conversation over a glass of beer, rather than in a scholarly discussion – a free-flowing and associative discussion shaped by a Dionysian spirit, in which the participants are all equal. The psychoanalyst-robot turns to the two artist-robots sitting beside him, who represent opposing opinions concerning the case brought up by the psychoanalyst. In this roundabout and highly sophisticated manner, Bar Amotz engages in a discussion of the state of contemporary art.The root of the problem examined in this play stems from one of the most radical manifestations of avant-garde art – Duchamp's ready-made.

When Duchamp signed a urinal in 1913, this act amounted to what Peter Bürger describes, in his Theory of the Avant-Garde, as a "radical negation of the category of individual creation.16" According to Bürger, this provocation "not only unmasks the art market," but also "radically questions the very principle of art in bourgeois society."17 Moreover, Bürger defines ready-mades as "manifestations" that "cannot be repeated indefinitely"; their constant repetition has thus inevitably resulted in the creation of commercial art.

One stance, which is represented in Bar Amotz's play by the artist-robot called Forever Now, is that of the "here and now." This robot's point of reference is the present, and he celebrates intentional waste. Such waste occurs, he argues, when life is transformed into a vital, experimental performance, as well as in the course of artmaking. He believes that art must not be considered a profession, or "work machine." This intentional waste (which is condemned by the second robot, Future Planning) represents the satisfaction of those needs which, according to Habermas, "become quasi illegal in bourgeois society."18 Among these needs, Habermas lists "solidarity living with others," and "the happiness of a communicative experience which is not subject to the imperatives of means-ends rationality and allows as much scope to the imagination as to the spontaneity of behavior."19

The traditional avant-garde stance centered on reintegrating art into the praxis of life. In this sense, it rose up in opposition to the classical bourgeois approach, which created a total separation between intellectual and material life, and circumscribed a distinct artistic sphere in which man could experience his "humanity." In this manner, the bourgeoisie stripped art of its political function, and ascribed to it nothing but a purely aesthetic value. From the 1970s onwards, however, the neo avant-garde – most notably Andy Warhol – limited itself to reproducing and developing existing artistic means.20 The historical avant-garde attempted to overcome the absolute separation between art and the praxis of life,21 and to create artworks capable of having a political impact. Warhol and his contemporaries, meanwhile, did indeed reintegrate art into the praxis of life, yet created a situation in which art became an art of reproduction.

Bar Amotz's robot Future Planning admits that the art field constrains him and his colleagues (the so-called "professional artists") to continually reproduce their works. In his opinion, the present is merely a transition to the future. His analysis of the unfortunate case of the curator and the artist described by the psychoanalyst-robot is that they have become robots just like him – passive objects that serve as a parable of artistic stagnation. By contrast, Forever Now accepts this process of stagnation as natural. His holistic

14 Negative space is the space which surrounds an object in an image.

15 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible, p. 29.

16 Peter Bürger, Theory of the Avant-Garde, translated by Michael Shaw, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984, p. 25.

17 Ibid.

18 Ibid.

19 Quoted by Bürger, ibid.

20 Ibid, p. 61.

21 Ibid, p. 25.

approach stems from the perception of essence as a constant process of revelation and concealment, just as movement involves both advancing and stopping. Contemporary art may thus be understood, in this context, as a work machine that produces commercial art. As such, it is distinguished from the modernist avant-garde, whose goal of reintegrating art into the praxis of life was far removed from any attempt to transform artmaking into a refined process of reproduction. According to Bürger, aestheticism transformed art's removal from the practical, rational praxis of everyday bourgeois life into the content of art. The avant-garde artists had no intention of reintegrating art into this bourgeois praxis, which they themselves rejected. Yet in contrast to the aestheticists, they believed in the power of art to give rise to a new life praxis.

The two different solutions offered by the artist-robots for treating the case described by the psychoanalyst-robot may be taken to reflect two contradictory approaches to modernism, which are elaborated upon by Rancière. The position of the robot Future Planning is compatible with the position of the bourgeoisie, whose aesthetic regime of the arts "invents its revolutions on the basis of the same idea that caused it to invent the museum and art history, the notion of classicism and new forms of reproduction […] it devotes itself to the invention of new forms of life on the basis of an idea of what art was, an idea of what art would have been."22

By contrast, Forever Now embraces the idea of a new collective community life, and of art that is identified with this life. According to Rancière, both of these stances represent modernity as a vague notion, which "seems to have been deliberately invented to prevent a clear understanding of the transformations of art and its relationships with the other spheres of collective experience."23 As Rancière argues, the overwhelming defeat of this vague modernist paradigm is the main feature of what is called "the crisis of art."

How, then, may one define a "new praxis of life"? The contemporary aesthetic of commodities calls for the creation of objects that can be appropriated. Bar Amotz's work, by contrast, inherently resists the aesthetic of commodities, and refuses to be appropriated or even fully reconstructed – since the audience's participation and movement through space plays an essential role in shaping the work. Rather, his work is an open event that gives rise to a collective experience, in which both the performers and the viewers are engaged in a shared action. They "waste their time" in a way that contrasts with Habermas' analysis of bourgeois intellectual life, and experience a sense of solidarity that is free of rational dictates, while inhabiting a sphere that encourages fantasy and spontaneous movement. As Rancière remarks, only art whose contents are distinct from the existing praxis of life

may serve as a point of departure for organizing a new praxis of life;24 Bar Amotz's most recent project clearly answers this definition.

The Real and the ReproducedGuy Bar Amotz's project refuses to be analyzed as a conventional art exhibition. Rather, this virtuoso performance resembles a body with many limbs – sculptural elements, a written text, a choreography performed by the participating "actors," light and sound works, a bar, graffiti that functions as scenery, and – most importantly – the robots, a cutting-edge technological element that has never before been integrated into works of art. These multiple elements, combined with the use of advanced technology, may be viewed as one means of fulfilling Marinetti's 1913 vision of a dynamic "variety theater,"25 which became the central metaphor for the Futurist theater.26 Underlying this vision of a variety theater is a search for multiple new forms of sensory experience, modes of performance, and mediums – together with advanced technology capable of giving rise to new forms of visibility and performance. Another central aspect of this avant-garde vision was the physical involvement of the viewers in the performance, and the destruction of the naturalistic theatrical convention known as "the fourth wall." Marinetti's interest centered on concrete events taking place in the "here and now" and experienced for their own sake, rather than in reference to external, intellectual concepts. His goal was to maximize the sensory dimension of the theatrical event while minimizing, or even negating, its intellectual aspects,27 and to give rise to a dynamic experience enhanced by the physical engagement of the viewers; this vision of a direct, unmediated event – which included an element of madness – amounted to an unconventional, non-intellectual, almost "primitive" experience capable of provoking an irrational reaction.

In contrast to an opera performance or conventional play (and much like Bar Amotz's play), the Futurist variety theater is not concerned with the creation of a mimetic illusion. The actors represent themselves rather than a set of imaginary characters, and their actions are concrete rather than symbolic. The assumption underlying this approach is that the unmediated presence of physical action in a shared space is the most meaningful and rewarding experience for a viewer. Intellectual exertion is replaced, in this context, by an intense investigation of normally unexplored sensory experiences, which is designed to give rise to new signs, new forms of sensation, and new signifiers.

The terms used to describe the Futurist variety theater are equally applicable to Bar Amotz's oeuvre: audience participation, primitive elements, unmediated presence, corporeality, a renunciation of intellectual concerns, technology, multiple

22 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics, p. 25.

23 Ibid., p. 26.

24 Ibid.

25 Filippo Tommaso Emilio Marinetti, The Variety Theatre, first published on September 29, 1913.

26 Michael Kirby, Futurist Performance, p. 20.

27 Ibid, p. 21.

47

for them. Exceeding their mechanical limitations, they move like living bodies, in a manner that attracts the viewers to them. Their alluring physical movements appear weightless, and their ideas are brilliant; at the same time, however, they seem to enter the viewer's space, and to awaken the same kind of anxiety triggered by the uncanny toy dolls described by Freud, which come unexpectedly to life. Their movements and incredibly human gestures, meanwhile, enable us to enter their space. These robots seem to dictate the rules of the game, and their behavior seems as logically conditioned as that of any animal – the only difference being that their conditioning is technological. They exist in a state of constant movement alongside the viewers, sharing a single, continuous space and moment in time.14 If the concept of the avant-garde has any meaning within the aesthetic regime of the arts, according to Rancière, then this meaning lies in its definition not as an artistic vanguard, but rather as a force capable of inventing new forms of sense experience and material arrangements in anticipation of the future.15

"A working machine must not want to play the fiddle," Capek wrote in his first play. In other words, a mechanical being – whose behavior and interests are predetermined – must not aspire to create individualistic, innovative, groundbreaking, passionate art. Yet the robot's very existence attests to the uselessness of this admonition. For the robot is precisely such a work machine that wants to "play the fiddle," to give rise to the creation of theater and artworks. In this sense, the robot represents both the utopian longing for perfection and the dystopian avowal of the failure to achieve it.

In Bar Amotz's play, we witness the evolution of a story within a story within a story: there is the case of the artist and the curator described by the psychoanalyst-robot; three robots analyzing the human condition; and a DJ controlling the robots sitting at the bar. And then, of course, there is also the artist, the puppeteer who controls them all with great skill. Early on in the play, the moderator of the discussion, the psychoanalyst-robot, states his interest in an informal conversation over a glass of beer, rather than in a scholarly discussion – a free-flowing and associative discussion shaped by a Dionysian spirit, in which the participants are all equal. The psychoanalyst-robot turns to the two artist-robots sitting beside him, who represent opposing opinions concerning the case brought up by the psychoanalyst. In this roundabout and highly sophisticated manner, Bar Amotz engages in a discussion of the state of contemporary art.The root of the problem examined in this play stems from one of the most radical manifestations of avant-garde art – Duchamp's ready-made.

When Duchamp signed a urinal in 1913, this act amounted to what Peter Bürger describes, in his Theory of the Avant-Garde, as a "radical negation of the category of individual creation.16" According to Bürger, this provocation "not only unmasks the art market," but also "radically questions the very principle of art in bourgeois society."17 Moreover, Bürger defines ready-mades as "manifestations" that "cannot be repeated indefinitely"; their constant repetition has thus inevitably resulted in the creation of commercial art.

One stance, which is represented in Bar Amotz's play by the artist-robot called Forever Now, is that of the "here and now." This robot's point of reference is the present, and he celebrates intentional waste. Such waste occurs, he argues, when life is transformed into a vital, experimental performance, as well as in the course of artmaking. He believes that art must not be considered a profession, or "work machine." This intentional waste (which is condemned by the second robot, Future Planning) represents the satisfaction of those needs which, according to Habermas, "become quasi illegal in bourgeois society."18 Among these needs, Habermas lists "solidarity living with others," and "the happiness of a communicative experience which is not subject to the imperatives of means-ends rationality and allows as much scope to the imagination as to the spontaneity of behavior."19

The traditional avant-garde stance centered on reintegrating art into the praxis of life. In this sense, it rose up in opposition to the classical bourgeois approach, which created a total separation between intellectual and material life, and circumscribed a distinct artistic sphere in which man could experience his "humanity." In this manner, the bourgeoisie stripped art of its political function, and ascribed to it nothing but a purely aesthetic value. From the 1970s onwards, however, the neo avant-garde – most notably Andy Warhol – limited itself to reproducing and developing existing artistic means.20 The historical avant-garde attempted to overcome the absolute separation between art and the praxis of life,21 and to create artworks capable of having a political impact. Warhol and his contemporaries, meanwhile, did indeed reintegrate art into the praxis of life, yet created a situation in which art became an art of reproduction.

Bar Amotz's robot Future Planning admits that the art field constrains him and his colleagues (the so-called "professional artists") to continually reproduce their works. In his opinion, the present is merely a transition to the future. His analysis of the unfortunate case of the curator and the artist described by the psychoanalyst-robot is that they have become robots just like him – passive objects that serve as a parable of artistic stagnation. By contrast, Forever Now accepts this process of stagnation as natural. His holistic

14 Negative space is the space which surrounds an object in an image.

15 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible, p. 29.

16 Peter Bürger, Theory of the Avant-Garde, translated by Michael Shaw, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984, p. 25.

17 Ibid.

18 Ibid.

19 Quoted by Bürger, ibid.

20 Ibid, p. 61.

21 Ibid, p. 25.

approach stems from the perception of essence as a constant process of revelation and concealment, just as movement involves both advancing and stopping. Contemporary art may thus be understood, in this context, as a work machine that produces commercial art. As such, it is distinguished from the modernist avant-garde, whose goal of reintegrating art into the praxis of life was far removed from any attempt to transform artmaking into a refined process of reproduction. According to Bürger, aestheticism transformed art's removal from the practical, rational praxis of everyday bourgeois life into the content of art. The avant-garde artists had no intention of reintegrating art into this bourgeois praxis, which they themselves rejected. Yet in contrast to the aestheticists, they believed in the power of art to give rise to a new life praxis.

The two different solutions offered by the artist-robots for treating the case described by the psychoanalyst-robot may be taken to reflect two contradictory approaches to modernism, which are elaborated upon by Rancière. The position of the robot Future Planning is compatible with the position of the bourgeoisie, whose aesthetic regime of the arts "invents its revolutions on the basis of the same idea that caused it to invent the museum and art history, the notion of classicism and new forms of reproduction […] it devotes itself to the invention of new forms of life on the basis of an idea of what art was, an idea of what art would have been."22

By contrast, Forever Now embraces the idea of a new collective community life, and of art that is identified with this life. According to Rancière, both of these stances represent modernity as a vague notion, which "seems to have been deliberately invented to prevent a clear understanding of the transformations of art and its relationships with the other spheres of collective experience."23 As Rancière argues, the overwhelming defeat of this vague modernist paradigm is the main feature of what is called "the crisis of art."

How, then, may one define a "new praxis of life"? The contemporary aesthetic of commodities calls for the creation of objects that can be appropriated. Bar Amotz's work, by contrast, inherently resists the aesthetic of commodities, and refuses to be appropriated or even fully reconstructed – since the audience's participation and movement through space plays an essential role in shaping the work. Rather, his work is an open event that gives rise to a collective experience, in which both the performers and the viewers are engaged in a shared action. They "waste their time" in a way that contrasts with Habermas' analysis of bourgeois intellectual life, and experience a sense of solidarity that is free of rational dictates, while inhabiting a sphere that encourages fantasy and spontaneous movement. As Rancière remarks, only art whose contents are distinct from the existing praxis of life

may serve as a point of departure for organizing a new praxis of life;24 Bar Amotz's most recent project clearly answers this definition.

The Real and the ReproducedGuy Bar Amotz's project refuses to be analyzed as a conventional art exhibition. Rather, this virtuoso performance resembles a body with many limbs – sculptural elements, a written text, a choreography performed by the participating "actors," light and sound works, a bar, graffiti that functions as scenery, and – most importantly – the robots, a cutting-edge technological element that has never before been integrated into works of art. These multiple elements, combined with the use of advanced technology, may be viewed as one means of fulfilling Marinetti's 1913 vision of a dynamic "variety theater,"25 which became the central metaphor for the Futurist theater.26 Underlying this vision of a variety theater is a search for multiple new forms of sensory experience, modes of performance, and mediums – together with advanced technology capable of giving rise to new forms of visibility and performance. Another central aspect of this avant-garde vision was the physical involvement of the viewers in the performance, and the destruction of the naturalistic theatrical convention known as "the fourth wall." Marinetti's interest centered on concrete events taking place in the "here and now" and experienced for their own sake, rather than in reference to external, intellectual concepts. His goal was to maximize the sensory dimension of the theatrical event while minimizing, or even negating, its intellectual aspects,27 and to give rise to a dynamic experience enhanced by the physical engagement of the viewers; this vision of a direct, unmediated event – which included an element of madness – amounted to an unconventional, non-intellectual, almost "primitive" experience capable of provoking an irrational reaction.

In contrast to an opera performance or conventional play (and much like Bar Amotz's play), the Futurist variety theater is not concerned with the creation of a mimetic illusion. The actors represent themselves rather than a set of imaginary characters, and their actions are concrete rather than symbolic. The assumption underlying this approach is that the unmediated presence of physical action in a shared space is the most meaningful and rewarding experience for a viewer. Intellectual exertion is replaced, in this context, by an intense investigation of normally unexplored sensory experiences, which is designed to give rise to new signs, new forms of sensation, and new signifiers.

The terms used to describe the Futurist variety theater are equally applicable to Bar Amotz's oeuvre: audience participation, primitive elements, unmediated presence, corporeality, a renunciation of intellectual concerns, technology, multiple

22 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics, p. 25.

23 Ibid., p. 26.

24 Ibid.

25 Filippo Tommaso Emilio Marinetti, The Variety Theatre, first published on September 29, 1913.

26 Michael Kirby, Futurist Performance, p. 20.

27 Ibid, p. 21.

:-#)"73 3+"62&)#")*+ #,)%#-

2011


2011

48

49

50

Bar Amotz marched ahead of his followers with his back turned to them, like the pillar of fire traveling before the camp of Israelites in the desert. Indeed, this work centered on the themes of wandering (mochileros is a term used to refer to backpackers in South America) and of community formation, with the artist in the role of a nomad preaching his gospel to the masses. Once again, however, the attempt to create a utopia of sorts ended in a form of failure, or evasion, as the artist's "believers" continued to follow him without ever seeing his face. This work was also performed in a number of different museum spaces – most notably at the Centre d'Art Contemporain in Geneva.

The Tribal FireThe Mochileros project was another link in the chain of imagined, utopian communities formed by Bar Amotz; as such, it constituted an avant-garde force in both the artistic and the literal sense of leading the "troupes." The communities created by Bar Amotz are all defined by a primitive sense of tribal cohesion and a belief in some kind of primeval catalyst – an instrument that functions as a totem, a collective tribal ritual, or a prophet followed by a group of believers. At the same time, as already mentioned above, the actions he engages in are always directed – in a characteristically Romantic fashion – at the achievement of an unattainable goal. Bar Amotz does not attempt to create a democracy of participants in the naïve sense of this term, but rather forms a network of relations between light, sound, the objects and the subject assimilated into the space of the work. The viewer is thus positioned in relation to the intersection of numerous elements – in a manner that corresponds to the definition of "relational aesthetics." This position enables the viewer to inhabit a creative space of the kind described by Jacques Rancière – a space that provides him with the freedom to move and interpret his surroundings.7 In this sense, the viewer is invited to continue the work, and to introduce something new into it. Yet this invitation is always in some sense an invitation for failure, a renunciation of the ideal of utopia and of artistic perfection in favor of equal participation. In this sense, Bar Amotz's communities are not concrete formations as much as they are fantasies about community and about a better world. This is also true of the performance featured in the current exhibition, in which the viewers themselves may operate the robots, and introduce their own scripts into the play. The robots themselves, meanwhile, may be described as another kind of closed system. They too represent a fantasy about a better community, and about a "super-human" who is engaged in the construction of another utopia – yet who is ultimately nothing but a robot, a mere shadow of the real thing.

A tribal approach has shaped Bar Amotz's work since the inception of his artistic career. His MFA thesis was concerned, among other things, with the difference between animal growls and "cultural growls," between wild and domesticated animals, and between the natural world and an ideological, industrial world filled with competing interests. His own works may be similarly described as containing these two types of "growls": there is the artist attempting to define his own territory while asking the audience members to come together and engage in an undefined, tribal action; at the same time, he is concerned with a form of "cultural growl" that is related to various industrial, economic, and cultural conditions and limits, and to the rules of technical reproduction. The "wild" noise is pre-verbal and corporeal – it is the growl defining one's own presence and sovereignty over a certain territory. The cultivated growl, by contrast, always appeals to a listener; its emission is ideological – it defines an imagined, ideal other, and establishes a set of hierarchical relations. In his thesis, Bar Amotz argued that the technological revolution and the birth of democracy gave rise to a new form of noise: the noise of ideology. This noise was given the clearest artistic expression in the work of the Futurists, and specifically in the manifestoes written by Marinetti and RussoloE – which treat street noise, industrial noise, speed, electricity, war, and violence as valid and even stunning effects.

In the manifesto "The Art of Noise Must Not Limit Itself to Imitative Reproduction,"8 Russolo advocated the liberation of sound from its original context and its recasting as an abstract element that has a transformative power, and which may become an influential force in reshaping subjective and collective awareness.9 Without delving into the Futurists' political agenda, it is worth noting their understanding of sound as an everyday tool capable of redefining space and movement, and more importantly as a political tool for changing the social status quo and collective consciousness. This approach is central to Bar Amotz's works. As mentioned above, it is given expression through his affiliation with DIY culture, which fosters the creation of strong communities capable of social, political or cultural resistance. His works also build on the experimental noise-making devices (Intonarumori) designed by Russolo,10 on the use of everyday, easily available means, and on the creation of a tribal collective moving to the sounds of industrial music. The growls, squeaks and unidentified sounds heard in Bar Amotz's works have been detached from their original context and transformed into abstract signs. His innovative sound, which is characterized by an animalistic quality, is metallic in some instances and desert-like in others, while the hybrid loudspeakers themselves create new sounds. These unfamiliar noises function much like a range of wild and

7 Jacques Rancière, The Emancipated Spectator, translated by Gregory Elliott, New York: Verso Books, 2009.

8 Russolo's manifesto appears in Futurist Manifestos, edited by Umbro Apollonio, New York: Viking Press, 1973, p. 74–88.

9 Michael Kirby, Futurist Performance, New York: E. P. Dutton, 1971, p. 38–39.

10 Futurist Menifestos, p. 74-88.

E Luigi Russolo (left) and his assistant Ugo Piatti with one of their noise-generating devices (Intonarumori)

cultivated growls emitted in an attempt to form a community, to realize a deeply felt, emotional desire for change, to move on to a better place. Yet this longing too is doomed to fail, embodying as it does the impossibility inherent to all utopias.

The Marionette Theater

"The Three Laws of Robotics:A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."11

The word "robot" was first used in 1921, in the Czech playwright Karel Capek's play "RUR." This play features a mechanical creature whose initial goal is to help human beings, yet whose moral judgment is eventually clouded. Capek's work, which centered on the dangers inherent to dictatorships and totalitarian regimes, nevertheless communicated his belief in the human spirit, and gave expression to an altruistic and optimistic vision. Over the past century, the numerous variations on the robot theme – ranging from early films such as Fritz Lang's 1927 film Metropolis to Blade Runner, Robocop and The Terminator – have similarly centered on this dichotomy between "good robots" that have emotions and identify with the human race, and "bad robots" that attempt to gain control over their creators. These robots were all created to serve their masters, to perform various types of grueling labor, and to provide solutions to people's emotional problems or to problems related to warfare and other utilitarian goals. In any case, their existence is a purely functional one. They do not lead an autonomous existence, but are rather programmed to follow orders, and to play a role in a predetermined script. At the same time, the mythological robots described by Asimov in his many books are programmed in such a manner that even their "human" qualities are of a higher order than those of actual human beings. Asimov's robots are equipped with a perfectly programmed conscience; they belong to a perfect world, have high moral standards, and represent a utopian ideal of humanity, while their programmed emotions enable them to understand the intricacies of the human psyche. These robots appear as idealized, perfect versions of us human beings. In this sense, one could argue that sophisticated programming could create a robot whose soul is nobler than the human soul.

The debate about the machine's ability or inability to contain a human soul already appears

in Heinrich Von Kleist's short 19th-century text "On the Marionette Theater," in which two viewers attempt to analyze the magical quality of the marionette's movements. They compare their movements to those of talented dancers, and argue about whether the marionettes' movement is indeed nobler. In doing so, they pinpoint the determining factor that distinguishes human beings from marionettes – that is, the existence of a soul. They debate the question of whether the marionettes' dance is devoid of a soul and is entirely mechanical, or whether its artificiality gives rise to a form of perfection, for "The human soul, as both viewers agree, is prone to affectation ever since it has tasted of the Tree of Knowledge. Moreover, the human body is subject to the laws of gravity, while the marionette represents a form of perfection." Moreover, "the human spirit can't be in error when it is non-existent." As one of the two viewers remarks, "only a god could equal inanimate matter in this respect." The coming together of the material and the sublime is thus described as the meeting place between "the two ends of the circular world [...]."12 "But just as a section drawn through two lines suddenly reappears on the other side after passing through infinity," the viewer continues, "or as the image in a concave mirror turns up again right in front of us after dwindling into the distance, so grace itself returns when knowledge has as it were gone through an infinity. Grace appears most purely in that human form which either has no consciousness or an infinite consciousness. That is, in the puppet or in the god."

Bar Amotz's robots may also be described as marionettes, while the artist may said to be playing the role of the puppeteer. His script activates the mechanical performers, which have been crafted to represent the essence of our human existence. They are a utopian, post-human representation of us humans, existing as they do in a state of perfection. Much like the earlier, inert sculptures created by Bar Amotz for his installations, his robots are the mere shadows of an original form, yet they do not resemble mass-produced dolls. Rather, these papier-mâché creatures seem to have come to life, like the marionettes in Kleist's theater. As the art critic J.J. Charlesworth noted in a text about one of Bar Amotz's sculpture exhibitions, "We are left to focus on the tension between the objects as integrated, whole entities, and their identity as 'after images' of the original object."13 Charlesworth was writing about Bar Amotz's static sculptures, yet this tension also exists in his more recent, kinetic works. These after images of human beings may thus be described as future memorials, or as exhibits in a natural history museum.Like actors in a utopian theater, the robots come to life to play out the script that has been written

11 Isaac Asimov, I, Robot, New York: Doubleday, 1963.

12 Heinrich von Kleist, "On the Marionette Theater," translated by Idris Parry, in Essays on Dolls, New York: Syrens, 1994.

13 J.J. Charlesworth, Guy Bar Amotz: Dark Matter, text published in conjunction with Bar Amotz's solo exhibit at Petra Rinck Galerie, Düsseldorf, 2009.

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2011

:Previous SpreadInstallation View

2011

51

Bar Amotz marched ahead of his followers with his back turned to them, like the pillar of fire traveling before the camp of Israelites in the desert. Indeed, this work centered on the themes of wandering (mochileros is a term used to refer to backpackers in South America) and of community formation, with the artist in the role of a nomad preaching his gospel to the masses. Once again, however, the attempt to create a utopia of sorts ended in a form of failure, or evasion, as the artist's "believers" continued to follow him without ever seeing his face. This work was also performed in a number of different museum spaces – most notably at the Centre d'Art Contemporain in Geneva.

The Tribal FireThe Mochileros project was another link in the chain of imagined, utopian communities formed by Bar Amotz; as such, it constituted an avant-garde force in both the artistic and the literal sense of leading the "troupes." The communities created by Bar Amotz are all defined by a primitive sense of tribal cohesion and a belief in some kind of primeval catalyst – an instrument that functions as a totem, a collective tribal ritual, or a prophet followed by a group of believers. At the same time, as already mentioned above, the actions he engages in are always directed – in a characteristically Romantic fashion – at the achievement of an unattainable goal. Bar Amotz does not attempt to create a democracy of participants in the naïve sense of this term, but rather forms a network of relations between light, sound, the objects and the subject assimilated into the space of the work. The viewer is thus positioned in relation to the intersection of numerous elements – in a manner that corresponds to the definition of "relational aesthetics." This position enables the viewer to inhabit a creative space of the kind described by Jacques Rancière – a space that provides him with the freedom to move and interpret his surroundings.7 In this sense, the viewer is invited to continue the work, and to introduce something new into it. Yet this invitation is always in some sense an invitation for failure, a renunciation of the ideal of utopia and of artistic perfection in favor of equal participation. In this sense, Bar Amotz's communities are not concrete formations as much as they are fantasies about community and about a better world. This is also true of the performance featured in the current exhibition, in which the viewers themselves may operate the robots, and introduce their own scripts into the play. The robots themselves, meanwhile, may be described as another kind of closed system. They too represent a fantasy about a better community, and about a "super-human" who is engaged in the construction of another utopia – yet who is ultimately nothing but a robot, a mere shadow of the real thing.

A tribal approach has shaped Bar Amotz's work since the inception of his artistic career. His MFA thesis was concerned, among other things, with the difference between animal growls and "cultural growls," between wild and domesticated animals, and between the natural world and an ideological, industrial world filled with competing interests. His own works may be similarly described as containing these two types of "growls": there is the artist attempting to define his own territory while asking the audience members to come together and engage in an undefined, tribal action; at the same time, he is concerned with a form of "cultural growl" that is related to various industrial, economic, and cultural conditions and limits, and to the rules of technical reproduction. The "wild" noise is pre-verbal and corporeal – it is the growl defining one's own presence and sovereignty over a certain territory. The cultivated growl, by contrast, always appeals to a listener; its emission is ideological – it defines an imagined, ideal other, and establishes a set of hierarchical relations. In his thesis, Bar Amotz argued that the technological revolution and the birth of democracy gave rise to a new form of noise: the noise of ideology. This noise was given the clearest artistic expression in the work of the Futurists, and specifically in the manifestoes written by Marinetti and RussoloE – which treat street noise, industrial noise, speed, electricity, war, and violence as valid and even stunning effects.

In the manifesto "The Art of Noise Must Not Limit Itself to Imitative Reproduction,"8 Russolo advocated the liberation of sound from its original context and its recasting as an abstract element that has a transformative power, and which may become an influential force in reshaping subjective and collective awareness.9 Without delving into the Futurists' political agenda, it is worth noting their understanding of sound as an everyday tool capable of redefining space and movement, and more importantly as a political tool for changing the social status quo and collective consciousness. This approach is central to Bar Amotz's works. As mentioned above, it is given expression through his affiliation with DIY culture, which fosters the creation of strong communities capable of social, political or cultural resistance. His works also build on the experimental noise-making devices (Intonarumori) designed by Russolo,10 on the use of everyday, easily available means, and on the creation of a tribal collective moving to the sounds of industrial music. The growls, squeaks and unidentified sounds heard in Bar Amotz's works have been detached from their original context and transformed into abstract signs. His innovative sound, which is characterized by an animalistic quality, is metallic in some instances and desert-like in others, while the hybrid loudspeakers themselves create new sounds. These unfamiliar noises function much like a range of wild and

7 Jacques Rancière, The Emancipated Spectator, translated by Gregory Elliott, New York: Verso Books, 2009.

8 Russolo's manifesto appears in Futurist Manifestos, edited by Umbro Apollonio, New York: Viking Press, 1973, p. 74–88.

9 Michael Kirby, Futurist Performance, New York: E. P. Dutton, 1971, p. 38–39.

10 Futurist Menifestos, p. 74-88.

E Luigi Russolo (left) and his assistant Ugo Piatti with one of their noise-generating devices (Intonarumori)

cultivated growls emitted in an attempt to form a community, to realize a deeply felt, emotional desire for change, to move on to a better place. Yet this longing too is doomed to fail, embodying as it does the impossibility inherent to all utopias.

The Marionette Theater

"The Three Laws of Robotics:A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."11

The word "robot" was first used in 1921, in the Czech playwright Karel Capek's play "RUR." This play features a mechanical creature whose initial goal is to help human beings, yet whose moral judgment is eventually clouded. Capek's work, which centered on the dangers inherent to dictatorships and totalitarian regimes, nevertheless communicated his belief in the human spirit, and gave expression to an altruistic and optimistic vision. Over the past century, the numerous variations on the robot theme – ranging from early films such as Fritz Lang's 1927 film Metropolis to Blade Runner, Robocop and The Terminator – have similarly centered on this dichotomy between "good robots" that have emotions and identify with the human race, and "bad robots" that attempt to gain control over their creators. These robots were all created to serve their masters, to perform various types of grueling labor, and to provide solutions to people's emotional problems or to problems related to warfare and other utilitarian goals. In any case, their existence is a purely functional one. They do not lead an autonomous existence, but are rather programmed to follow orders, and to play a role in a predetermined script. At the same time, the mythological robots described by Asimov in his many books are programmed in such a manner that even their "human" qualities are of a higher order than those of actual human beings. Asimov's robots are equipped with a perfectly programmed conscience; they belong to a perfect world, have high moral standards, and represent a utopian ideal of humanity, while their programmed emotions enable them to understand the intricacies of the human psyche. These robots appear as idealized, perfect versions of us human beings. In this sense, one could argue that sophisticated programming could create a robot whose soul is nobler than the human soul.

The debate about the machine's ability or inability to contain a human soul already appears

in Heinrich Von Kleist's short 19th-century text "On the Marionette Theater," in which two viewers attempt to analyze the magical quality of the marionette's movements. They compare their movements to those of talented dancers, and argue about whether the marionettes' movement is indeed nobler. In doing so, they pinpoint the determining factor that distinguishes human beings from marionettes – that is, the existence of a soul. They debate the question of whether the marionettes' dance is devoid of a soul and is entirely mechanical, or whether its artificiality gives rise to a form of perfection, for "The human soul, as both viewers agree, is prone to affectation ever since it has tasted of the Tree of Knowledge. Moreover, the human body is subject to the laws of gravity, while the marionette represents a form of perfection." Moreover, "the human spirit can't be in error when it is non-existent." As one of the two viewers remarks, "only a god could equal inanimate matter in this respect." The coming together of the material and the sublime is thus described as the meeting place between "the two ends of the circular world [...]."12 "But just as a section drawn through two lines suddenly reappears on the other side after passing through infinity," the viewer continues, "or as the image in a concave mirror turns up again right in front of us after dwindling into the distance, so grace itself returns when knowledge has as it were gone through an infinity. Grace appears most purely in that human form which either has no consciousness or an infinite consciousness. That is, in the puppet or in the god."

Bar Amotz's robots may also be described as marionettes, while the artist may said to be playing the role of the puppeteer. His script activates the mechanical performers, which have been crafted to represent the essence of our human existence. They are a utopian, post-human representation of us humans, existing as they do in a state of perfection. Much like the earlier, inert sculptures created by Bar Amotz for his installations, his robots are the mere shadows of an original form, yet they do not resemble mass-produced dolls. Rather, these papier-mâché creatures seem to have come to life, like the marionettes in Kleist's theater. As the art critic J.J. Charlesworth noted in a text about one of Bar Amotz's sculpture exhibitions, "We are left to focus on the tension between the objects as integrated, whole entities, and their identity as 'after images' of the original object."13 Charlesworth was writing about Bar Amotz's static sculptures, yet this tension also exists in his more recent, kinetic works. These after images of human beings may thus be described as future memorials, or as exhibits in a natural history museum.Like actors in a utopian theater, the robots come to life to play out the script that has been written

11 Isaac Asimov, I, Robot, New York: Doubleday, 1963.

12 Heinrich von Kleist, "On the Marionette Theater," translated by Idris Parry, in Essays on Dolls, New York: Syrens, 1994.

13 J.J. Charlesworth, Guy Bar Amotz: Dark Matter, text published in conjunction with Bar Amotz's solo exhibit at Petra Rinck Galerie, Düsseldorf, 2009.

52

The Observer, the Foreseen and Free willNoam Segal

In the course of my conversations with Guy Bar Amotz in preparation for this project "A Working Machine Must Not Want to Play the Fiddle," as we discussed the evolution of his work over the years, we considered the possibility of defining him as a "Romantic modernist." Bar Amotz's work centers on the development of new ways of seeing, and on the creation of novel artistic "systems" designed to instigate cultural change through physical movement and technological progress. These systems invite the viewer to participate in a shared experience, whose rules are never clearly defined. Bar Amotz is an optimist who believes in society and in the possibility of change, and who views such systems as part of a quest for a better form of existence. His works are thus always shaped by processes of transition, or kinesis, capable of instigating a shift from one state to another.Bar Amotz has been creating such systems since the inception of his career as an artist. The first systems he designed could be defined as "tautological" ones, since their electronic components literally constituted closed circuits. Yet these systems were by no means hermetic, and always welcomed the participation of observers. He subsequently went on to create a range of sound works that were all characterized by an optimistic spirit. In these works, the sounds were all composed in advance, while their sequence and timing were dependent on the choices made by the participant observers and on their reading of the work. The work featured in the current exhibition is a similarly closed system, in which a group of robots perform "live" – while "acting" in accordance with a predetermined script. This project builds directly on earlier works by Bar Amotz and on his development of a mechanistic approach, which responds to the technological and digital systems that shape our world.One of the first systems created by Bar Amotz was the work featured in the 1995 exhibition "Grrr," at the Israel Museum (alongside a work by Sigalit Landau). This work, which was titled Idan's Kinder-gartenA, was composed of six toy train cars whose exteriors were covered with paintings

of tanks. The train was surrounded by magnetic eyes, a video camera, a TV screen, a lighting system and a family of paper elephants; moving around an eclectic collection of various furniture items, the train activated a light organ, sound, flickering red and yellow lights, animal-like growls, sirens, harmonica music, and projected images of the moving cars themselves, which were activated by a movement sensor in the magnetic eye. The apparent goal of this unconventional system, however, remained unattainable: the train failed to stop at any of its designated stations. In a conversation with Uri Drumer, which was published at the time in the Israeli art magazine Studio, Bar Amotz noted: "One of the things I do not like about conventional games is the direct appeal to the viewer/player, who is invited to participate in an interaction whose rules are determined in advance. I believe in attempting to create autonomous events in which the viewer can participate, without responding to a direct appeal. I don't push any buttons in order to activate my viewers, and my project exists independently of them. The train is constantly in motion. It invites the viewer to enter another dimension – one shaped by space, light, and sound."1

Relational Aesthetics and the Idea of Corporeality In addition to defining Bar Amotz as a Romantic modernist, one could possibly also describe him as an avant-garde artist, or perhaps as a Futurist. One of the principles central to his work is the active engagement of the viewers, and the creation of a live event in which they become participants. His installations all involve a process of exposure that takes place in the course of a theatrical, musical event, which may be defined as belonging to the category of "relational aesthetics."2 This term, like the term "corporeality," is essential to understanding Bar Amotz's work. "Relational aesthetics" defines art as an encounter that takes place at the intersection of different actions or events that surround the viewer, who may or may not choose to become involved.3

1 Uri Drumer, "Grrr...," in Studio 63–64, 1995, p. 22–30, in Hebrew.

2 Nicolas Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, translated by Simon Pleasnce and Fronza Woods, Paris: Les presses du réel, 2002.

3 This approach assumes that every image has the power to forge various types of connections, and that flags, logos, icons, and signs all produce feelings of empathy and a certain sense of belonging. Art may contain, strengthen and condense these connections, and create a spatial and temporal sphere in which they may be perceived and interpreted by the viewer, while reflecting an abstract image of culture.

A Idan's Kindergarten, The Israel Museum, 1995Photo: Robin Terry

In this context, Nicolas Bourriaud suggests using the term "interstice" – which simultaneously refers both to a small physical space, to a temporal gap, to a form of anticipation time, and to a social experience that exists in the space between other experiences. Bourriaud suggests relating this notion to the sphere of interpersonal relations, and to the possibility of different kinds of exchanges – of images, of ideas, of information, of greetings, of gestures, etc. What is at stake, in this context, is an inter-subjective art space characterized by a relatively open dynamic, which may regularly give rise to unplanned gatherings, to various interactions with the artwork, to free movement through space and to the forging of numerous connections. In this context, the exhibition space is transformed into an arena of exchange.

The term "arena of exchange" may similarly be used to define Bar Amotz's installations, which are all complex artistic compositions shaped by hybrid systems. At the same time, his approach builds on the understanding that the perception of every artwork is based on the viewer's corporeal presence within the space of the work, and that the subjective understanding that follows upon this corporeal encounter is a direct outcome of the viewer's movement through space4. As Merleau-Ponty has suggested, this process precedes the formation of concepts born of a self-reflexive thought process. According to this approach, one of the underlying principles of perception is movement, which shapes the interaction between the object and the perceiving subject. The subject must first approach the perceived object and pay attention to it, and this process requires a change in both his physical and his mental state – a change that is predicated upon movement. Perception itself may thus be described as inherently corporeal and dynamic, and requires the subject to move around the perceived object and to view, touch, or feel it.

A Disharmonious SymphonyBar Amotz views sound as a catalyzing force capable of reshaping reality and transforming subjective awareness. Following his graduation from the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design and his 1995 exhibition at the Israel Museum, Bar Amotz turned, beginning in 1997, to creating systems centered on sound. Noteworthy among the works created during this period are Mochileros (2002), Dance Machine (2003), and Burning LoveB (2000). These systems functioned as participatory installations, in the spirit of DIY culture.5 They all include karaoke equipment or amplifying systems and cast Fiberglass loudspeakers, as well as instruments composed of various everyday objects such as drills, stereo-system parts, tennis balls, plastic boards, disposable cups, golf balls, and ready-mades. These works may be likened, in a sense, to aerodynamic missiles,

which are each equipped with its own individual vocal and audio capacities. After constructing these instruments, the artist invited different musicians to collaborate with him on composing the sounds they would produce. The unique vocal character of each instrument, moreover, is further transformed when heard through an amplifying system, a loudspeaker, or an industrially produced stereo system. Accordingly, just as each sculpted instrument produced a unique sound, each individual viewer who engaged with the work impacted it in some way. Once again, these systems were all shaped by an unattainable goal – in this case, that of creating musical instruments capable of transmitting sound independently, in the absence of musicians

Bar Amotz's Positive VibrationC, an evolving karaoke-style work, was produced in several different variations. This work builds on a term used in the reggae community, in which music is similarly viewed as a catalyzing force. As Patricia Ellis has written, "Positive Vibration is the world's first virtual participatory music documentary."6 In this work, the singer's original voice is silenced by that of a karaoke singer who sings without understanding the words. The result is a cacophonous performance that replaces the original goal of creating a harmonious melody; in this manner, Bar Amotz created yet another system centered on an unattained wish. In the work Dance Machine, which was performed in 1997 and once again in 2003, the dancer and choreographer Yasmin Vardimon moved with sensors attached to her joints. The sensors activated a sound work created by Bar Amotz in collaboration with four composers, and the choreography responded to the sound. The challenging and experimental metallic and industrial sounds resembled moans, cries, screeches and pulsations. They came together to form a cacophonous orchestra, which included unexpected moments of harmony. The sounds were repeated in constantly changing combinations – their sequence, length, and pitch varying in accordance with the movement of participating audience members. In this sense, the chaotic sound work functioned as a kind of seismograph, which gave concrete form to the movement of the viewers in space. Here too, the supposed attempt to create an internally ordered system clearly failed. Yet this failure resonated as a disharmonious symphony – as the vital sound of a group engaged in collective movement and in a shared experience.

The MochilerosD project was similarly related to the formation of a somewhat utopian community. In the course of this project, Bar Amotz walked through the streets of London, carrying a hybrid loudspeaker he had created himself on his back. He was followed by a group of other artists and participants – all carrying strange loudspeakers on their backs as they moved through the urban sphere, engaging in a collective experience.

4 Maurice Merleau-Ponty, The Primacy of Perception and Other Essays on Phenomenological Psychology, , edited by James M Eddie, Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1964.

5 The term "DIY Culture" refers to a wide range of cultures or subcultures that exist in opposition to mainstream culture. These independent communities each have their own political identity, and are defined by various forms of action, such as a grassroots approach, social activism, the creation of independent films and music, and so forth.

6 Patricia Ellis, "Money for Nothing, Chicks for Free," text published in conjunction with Guy Bar Amotz's solo exhibition "Positive Vibration," Window Gallery, Antwerp, 1999.

B Burning Love, solo show at Trade Apartment, London, 2002Photo: Lisa Chang

C Positive Vibration, 1998-1999Studio shots: Iliya Rabinovich

D Mochileros Fabi, Tate Britian, 2005Photo: Jeremy Hilder

53

The Observer, the Foreseen and Free willNoam Segal

In the course of my conversations with Guy Bar Amotz in preparation for this project "A Working Machine Must Not Want to Play the Fiddle," as we discussed the evolution of his work over the years, we considered the possibility of defining him as a "Romantic modernist." Bar Amotz's work centers on the development of new ways of seeing, and on the creation of novel artistic "systems" designed to instigate cultural change through physical movement and technological progress. These systems invite the viewer to participate in a shared experience, whose rules are never clearly defined. Bar Amotz is an optimist who believes in society and in the possibility of change, and who views such systems as part of a quest for a better form of existence. His works are thus always shaped by processes of transition, or kinesis, capable of instigating a shift from one state to another.Bar Amotz has been creating such systems since the inception of his career as an artist. The first systems he designed could be defined as "tautological" ones, since their electronic components literally constituted closed circuits. Yet these systems were by no means hermetic, and always welcomed the participation of observers. He subsequently went on to create a range of sound works that were all characterized by an optimistic spirit. In these works, the sounds were all composed in advance, while their sequence and timing were dependent on the choices made by the participant observers and on their reading of the work. The work featured in the current exhibition is a similarly closed system, in which a group of robots perform "live" – while "acting" in accordance with a predetermined script. This project builds directly on earlier works by Bar Amotz and on his development of a mechanistic approach, which responds to the technological and digital systems that shape our world.One of the first systems created by Bar Amotz was the work featured in the 1995 exhibition "Grrr," at the Israel Museum (alongside a work by Sigalit Landau). This work, which was titled Idan's Kinder-gartenA, was composed of six toy train cars whose exteriors were covered with paintings

of tanks. The train was surrounded by magnetic eyes, a video camera, a TV screen, a lighting system and a family of paper elephants; moving around an eclectic collection of various furniture items, the train activated a light organ, sound, flickering red and yellow lights, animal-like growls, sirens, harmonica music, and projected images of the moving cars themselves, which were activated by a movement sensor in the magnetic eye. The apparent goal of this unconventional system, however, remained unattainable: the train failed to stop at any of its designated stations. In a conversation with Uri Drumer, which was published at the time in the Israeli art magazine Studio, Bar Amotz noted: "One of the things I do not like about conventional games is the direct appeal to the viewer/player, who is invited to participate in an interaction whose rules are determined in advance. I believe in attempting to create autonomous events in which the viewer can participate, without responding to a direct appeal. I don't push any buttons in order to activate my viewers, and my project exists independently of them. The train is constantly in motion. It invites the viewer to enter another dimension – one shaped by space, light, and sound."1

Relational Aesthetics and the Idea of Corporeality In addition to defining Bar Amotz as a Romantic modernist, one could possibly also describe him as an avant-garde artist, or perhaps as a Futurist. One of the principles central to his work is the active engagement of the viewers, and the creation of a live event in which they become participants. His installations all involve a process of exposure that takes place in the course of a theatrical, musical event, which may be defined as belonging to the category of "relational aesthetics."2 This term, like the term "corporeality," is essential to understanding Bar Amotz's work. "Relational aesthetics" defines art as an encounter that takes place at the intersection of different actions or events that surround the viewer, who may or may not choose to become involved.3

1 Uri Drumer, "Grrr...," in Studio 63–64, 1995, p. 22–30, in Hebrew.

2 Nicolas Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, translated by Simon Pleasnce and Fronza Woods, Paris: Les presses du réel, 2002.

3 This approach assumes that every image has the power to forge various types of connections, and that flags, logos, icons, and signs all produce feelings of empathy and a certain sense of belonging. Art may contain, strengthen and condense these connections, and create a spatial and temporal sphere in which they may be perceived and interpreted by the viewer, while reflecting an abstract image of culture.

A Idan's Kindergarten, The Israel Museum, 1995Photo: Robin Terry

In this context, Nicolas Bourriaud suggests using the term "interstice" – which simultaneously refers both to a small physical space, to a temporal gap, to a form of anticipation time, and to a social experience that exists in the space between other experiences. Bourriaud suggests relating this notion to the sphere of interpersonal relations, and to the possibility of different kinds of exchanges – of images, of ideas, of information, of greetings, of gestures, etc. What is at stake, in this context, is an inter-subjective art space characterized by a relatively open dynamic, which may regularly give rise to unplanned gatherings, to various interactions with the artwork, to free movement through space and to the forging of numerous connections. In this context, the exhibition space is transformed into an arena of exchange.

The term "arena of exchange" may similarly be used to define Bar Amotz's installations, which are all complex artistic compositions shaped by hybrid systems. At the same time, his approach builds on the understanding that the perception of every artwork is based on the viewer's corporeal presence within the space of the work, and that the subjective understanding that follows upon this corporeal encounter is a direct outcome of the viewer's movement through space4. As Merleau-Ponty has suggested, this process precedes the formation of concepts born of a self-reflexive thought process. According to this approach, one of the underlying principles of perception is movement, which shapes the interaction between the object and the perceiving subject. The subject must first approach the perceived object and pay attention to it, and this process requires a change in both his physical and his mental state – a change that is predicated upon movement. Perception itself may thus be described as inherently corporeal and dynamic, and requires the subject to move around the perceived object and to view, touch, or feel it.

A Disharmonious SymphonyBar Amotz views sound as a catalyzing force capable of reshaping reality and transforming subjective awareness. Following his graduation from the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design and his 1995 exhibition at the Israel Museum, Bar Amotz turned, beginning in 1997, to creating systems centered on sound. Noteworthy among the works created during this period are Mochileros (2002), Dance Machine (2003), and Burning LoveB (2000). These systems functioned as participatory installations, in the spirit of DIY culture.5 They all include karaoke equipment or amplifying systems and cast Fiberglass loudspeakers, as well as instruments composed of various everyday objects such as drills, stereo-system parts, tennis balls, plastic boards, disposable cups, golf balls, and ready-mades. These works may be likened, in a sense, to aerodynamic missiles,

which are each equipped with its own individual vocal and audio capacities. After constructing these instruments, the artist invited different musicians to collaborate with him on composing the sounds they would produce. The unique vocal character of each instrument, moreover, is further transformed when heard through an amplifying system, a loudspeaker, or an industrially produced stereo system. Accordingly, just as each sculpted instrument produced a unique sound, each individual viewer who engaged with the work impacted it in some way. Once again, these systems were all shaped by an unattainable goal – in this case, that of creating musical instruments capable of transmitting sound independently, in the absence of musicians

Bar Amotz's Positive VibrationC, an evolving karaoke-style work, was produced in several different variations. This work builds on a term used in the reggae community, in which music is similarly viewed as a catalyzing force. As Patricia Ellis has written, "Positive Vibration is the world's first virtual participatory music documentary."6 In this work, the singer's original voice is silenced by that of a karaoke singer who sings without understanding the words. The result is a cacophonous performance that replaces the original goal of creating a harmonious melody; in this manner, Bar Amotz created yet another system centered on an unattained wish. In the work Dance Machine, which was performed in 1997 and once again in 2003, the dancer and choreographer Yasmin Vardimon moved with sensors attached to her joints. The sensors activated a sound work created by Bar Amotz in collaboration with four composers, and the choreography responded to the sound. The challenging and experimental metallic and industrial sounds resembled moans, cries, screeches and pulsations. They came together to form a cacophonous orchestra, which included unexpected moments of harmony. The sounds were repeated in constantly changing combinations – their sequence, length, and pitch varying in accordance with the movement of participating audience members. In this sense, the chaotic sound work functioned as a kind of seismograph, which gave concrete form to the movement of the viewers in space. Here too, the supposed attempt to create an internally ordered system clearly failed. Yet this failure resonated as a disharmonious symphony – as the vital sound of a group engaged in collective movement and in a shared experience.

The MochilerosD project was similarly related to the formation of a somewhat utopian community. In the course of this project, Bar Amotz walked through the streets of London, carrying a hybrid loudspeaker he had created himself on his back. He was followed by a group of other artists and participants – all carrying strange loudspeakers on their backs as they moved through the urban sphere, engaging in a collective experience.

4 Maurice Merleau-Ponty, The Primacy of Perception and Other Essays on Phenomenological Psychology, , edited by James M Eddie, Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1964.

5 The term "DIY Culture" refers to a wide range of cultures or subcultures that exist in opposition to mainstream culture. These independent communities each have their own political identity, and are defined by various forms of action, such as a grassroots approach, social activism, the creation of independent films and music, and so forth.

6 Patricia Ellis, "Money for Nothing, Chicks for Free," text published in conjunction with Guy Bar Amotz's solo exhibition "Positive Vibration," Window Gallery, Antwerp, 1999.

B Burning Love, solo show at Trade Apartment, London, 2002Photo: Lisa Chang

C Positive Vibration, 1998-1999Studio shots: Iliya Rabinovich

D Mochileros Fabi, Tate Britian, 2005Photo: Jeremy Hilder

54

Rothschild 69 would like to thank Guy Bar Amotz and his team for their tremendous effort during the past two years working under budget constraints and limited resources.This unique and complex exhibition embeds technologies requiring the collaboration of highly skilled Mechanical, Light, Sound and Software engineers including specialists in Design and Typography and the development of specific state of the art software to control this carefully choreographed project.As such we would like to thank Peter Rizal Zwingli Hall, Eran Bril, Dani and Ohad Fishof, Keren Goldberg, Gadi Kozitz, Marina Gurevich and Raanan Gabriel.

55

Installation, sculptures, script, mechanical animation, Real Drill and theatrical directions: Guy Bar-AmotzCurator: Noam SegalSoftware design and technical support: Piers O'HanlonSound design: Peter Rizal Zwingli HallScript editor - Change in Me: Theresa Kiyota Rahman de SwietChoreography for "Showroom Dummies": Jasmin VardimonCollaborating artist for the creation of the bar: Gadi KozitzReal Drill Design and collaboration: Raanan GabrielAssociate light designer: Dani FishofOriginal music:Jah Thomas, Ranking Toyan & Tristan Palmer.John Fahey, Sunn 0))), Can, Arve Henriksen, Steven Bernstein,Señor Coconut y Su Conjunto.

Translation of screenplay to Hebrew: Noa ShuvalPhotographer: Ben HarrisIntern: Keren GoldbergCollaborating artists for the installation: Eran Bril, Marina Gurevich Technical manager: Adi Mahalu

"A Working Machine Must Not Want To Play The Fiddle" is a production of Rothschild69 and Guy Bar-Amotz. The project was commisioned by Rothschild69 with the support of the British Council's Grant to Artists Scheme, the Israeli Lottery Award for Outstanding Artists and “Photoman”, Kibotz Maabarot

Thanks to Nadav and Dalia Bar-Amotz, Gery Kuiper, Petra Rinck, Shahin Afrassiabi, Galia Bar-Or, Ohad Fishof, Dani Fishof, Kibbutz Ma'abarot, Adi Mahalu, Amit Marom, Ron Ben Yosef, Tel Aviv municipality- department of preservation, The Coca-Cola Group, Ayala Segal and Ori Gilead.

Catalogue design: BigEyes Agency | bea.co.ilProduction: Dalit NemirovskyEditor Noam Segal text: Rachella SandbankTranslation Noam Segal text: Talya HalkinTranslation Felix Ensslin text: Orly AgranatAcademic Advisor: Dr. Hagit AldemaPrinted by A.R. Printing Ltd.

©Copyright Rothschild69 [email protected]

A working machine must not wantto play the fiddle

Rothschild 69 would like to thank Guy Bar Amotz and his team for their tremendous effort during the past two years working under budget constraints and limited resources.This unique and complex exhibition embeds technologies requiring the collaboration of highly skilled Mechanical, Light, Sound and Software engineers including specialists in Design and Typography and the development of specific state of the art software to control this carefully choreographed project.As such we would like to thank Peter Rizal Zwingli Hall, Eran Bril, Dani and Ohad Fishof, Keren Goldberg, Gadi Kozitz, Marina Gurevich and Raanan Gabriel.

A working machine must not want to play the fiddleA working machine must not want to play the fiddle

APRIL 14TH JUNE 2ND ".'"$ 2 +"#1)$ 14

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Date post:	28-Nov-2023
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A working machine must not want to play the fiddle/ Noam Segal

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