Titel en schrijver

ISBN nr.

Uitgeverij, drukjaar en drukversie

Paperback of hardcover

Aantal pagina’s

Taal en categorie

Korte samenvatting

Deelnemers:

Deze deelnemende kunstenaars waren onder andere: Marina Abramovic, Pierre Albert-Birot, Terry Allen. Juan Allende-Blin, Charles Amirkhanian, Beth Anderson, Laurie Anderson. Ida Applebroog, Ron Arad, Siah Armajani, John Armleder, Antonin Artaud , Richard Artschwager, Robert Ashley. Charles Atlas, Alice Aycock, Hugo Ball, Giacomo Balla, Joan La Barbara. Clarence Barlow, Max Bense, Luciano Berio, Joseph Beuys, Dara Birnbaum, Óscar Tusquets Blanca, Lyn Blumenthal. Christian Boltanski, Eberhard Bosslet, Andrea Branzi, George Brecht. Shawn Brixey, Bazon Brock, Christine Brodbeck, Klaus vom Bruch, Chris Burden, Emil František Burian. Scott Burton, Jean -Marc Bustamante, James Lee Byars, John Cage. Monty Cantsin, Ian Carr-Harris, Michel Chion, Henri Chopin, Henning Christiansen, Bob Cobbing, Norman Cohn, Philip Corner. Tony Cragg, Leonard Crow Dog, Mary Crow Dog, Enzo Cucchi, Alvin Curran, Dawn, Fortunato Depero, Antonio Dias. Die Tödliche Doris, Charles Dodge, Reinhard Döhl, François Dufrêne.

Ook namen deel:

Ed Emshwiller, Toshikatsu Endō, Max Ernst, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Luc Ferrari, Ian Hamilton Finlay. Eric Fischl, Peter Fischli & David Weiss, Bill Fontana, Terry Fox. Gloria Friedmann. Jochen Gerz, John Giorno, Gary Glassman, Vinko Globokar, Jean-Luc Godard, Heiner Goebbels, Jack Goldstein. Malcolm Goldstein, Zvi Goldstein, Leon Golub. Peter Gordon, Antony Gormley, Gorilla Tapes, Robert Grosvenor, Groupmaterial, Glenn Gould, Brion Gysin, Hans Haacke. Gusztáv Hámos, Peter Handke, Sten Hanson, Ferdinand Hardekopf, Ludwig Harig. Helen Mayer Harrison, Newton Harrison, Raoul Hausmann, Haus-Rucker-Co, R.I.P. Hayman. Doris Sorrel Hays, Heinrich Mucken, Helmut Heissenbüttel, Bernard Heidsieck, Hans G. Helms, Pierre Henry, Albert Hien.

Evenals:

Dick Higgins, Gary Hill, Åke Hodell, Gavin Hodge, Hans Hollein, Jenny Holzer, Nan Hoover. Toine Horvers, Madelon Hooykaas, Stephan Huber, Richard Huelsenbeck. Stephan von Huene en Hans Ulrich Humpert, Isidore Isou, Arata Isozaki en Sanja Ivekovic, Alfredo Jaar, Ernst Jandl. Marcel Janco, Alfred Jarry, Sergei Yesenin, Magdalena Jetelová, Tom Johnson. Joan Jonas, Patricia Jiinger,Mauricio Kagel, Wassily Kandinsky, Allan Kaprow, Dani Karavan, Tadashi Kawamata. Niek Kemps, Anselm Kiefer, Jürgen Klauke, Norbert Klassen. Josef Paul Kleihues, Astrid Klein, Carole Ann Klonarides, Imi Knoebel, Alison Knowles, Komar & Melamid, Ko Nakajima. Richard Kostelanetz, Richard Kriesche, Aleksei Kruchenykh, Barbara Kruger, Krypton, Christina Kubisch. Shigeko Kubota, Klaus Kumrow,

Dit was nog niet alles:

Ilmar Laaban, Wolfgang Laib, Bertrand Lavier, Ange Leccia, Maurice Lemaître, Les Levine, Annea Lockwood, Joan Logue. Robert Longo, Chip Lord, Alvin Lucier, Jackson Mac Low, Liz Magor, Vladimir Mayakovsky. Mako Idemitsu, Kazimir Malevich, Stéphane Mallarmé, Chris Mann. Filippo T. Marinetti, Javier Mariscal, Friederike Mayröcker, Steve McCaffery, Bruce McLean, Alessandro Mendini, Andrei Monastyrski. Meredith Monk, Charles Willard Moore, Robert Morris, Jasper Morrison, Charles Morrow, Alexander Mosolov, Heiner Müller. Maurizio Nannucci, Joseph Nechvatal, Maria Nordman, Danièle Nyst & Jacques Louis Nyst, Marcel Odenbach, Pauline Oliveros. Yoko Ono, Julian Opie, Tony Oursler, Nam June Paik, Charlemagne Palestine, Oskar Pastior, Gustav Peichl, Giuseppe Penone. Francis Picabia, Pablo Picasso, Robert HP Platz, Paul Pörtner, Dmitri Prigov,

En ook:

David Rabinowitch, Horațiu Rădulescu, Socìetas Raffaello Sanzio, Bruno Reichlin, Fabio Reinhart. Gerhard Richter, Joachim Ringelnatz, Amadeo Roldán, Ulrike Rosenbach. Rachel Rosenthal, Aldo Rossi, Jerome Rothenberg, Lev Rubinstein, Ulrich Rückriem, Eugeniusz Rudnik. Gerhard Rühm,  Luigi Russolo, Walther Ruttmann, Carles Santos Ventura. Yuri Shaporin, Julião Sarmento, Erik Satie, Pierre Schaeffer, R. Murray Schafer, Paul Scheerbart. Arleen Schloss, Dieter Schnebel, Rob Scholte, Thomas Schütte, Buky Schwartz. Fritz Schwegler, Kurt Schwitters, Walter Serner, Richard Serra, Michel Seuphor, Roman Signer, SITE, Michael Smith. Susana Solano, Ettore Sottsass, Serge Spitzer, Klaus Staeck. Elsa Stansfield, Philippe Starck, Lisa Steele, Gertrude Stein, Demetrio Stratos, Akio Suzuki, Mark Tansey. Anne Tardos, Nahum Tevet, Kim Tomczak, George Trakas. Tristan Tzara, Ulay, Micha Ullman, Oswald Mathias Ungers, Edgar Varèse, Woody Vasulka, Edin Velez, Jan Vercruysse. Bill Viola. Jeff Wall, Robert Wilson, Krzysztof Wodiczko, Silvio Wolf, Erich Wonder, Wolf Wondratschek. Bill Woodrow, Andrei Voznesensky, Paul Wühr.

Over de auteur

Van 1973 tot 1974 was hij directeur van de Kunsthalle Köln. Hij was rector van de Kunstakademie Münster.

Manfred Schneckenburger werd geboren op 1 december 1938 in Stuttgart, Duitsland. Hij studeerde Duitse literatuur, geschiedenis en kunstgeschiedenis. Hij werkte eerst enkele jaren als onderwijzeres en later als kunstcriticus. In 1972 organiseerde hij het culturele programma voor de Olympische Spelen in München. Van 1973 tot 1974 was hij directeur van de Kunsthalle Keulen.

Curator van de documenta

Als artistiek leider was Schneckenburger tweemaal curator van de documenta in Kassel, in 1977 en 1987. Bij het samenstellen van documenta 6 “besloot hij de definities van media te herzien. Anders dan in het verleden dachten we in termen van media, niet in termen van genres”, zei Schneckenburger. “Fotografie werd nog niet als kunst beschouwd, en video ook niet, dat vaak werd verward met televisie. Bezoekers van documenta 6 konden deze media in al hun artistieke potentieel, geëmancipeerd en op gelijke voet bekijken. We hebben zelfs boeken als medium onder de loep genomen. Het was een totaal andere benadering, herzien en bijgewerkt voor 1977.”

Documenta *

In 1987 voerde documenta 8 een dergelijke beoordeling niet uit. “In plaats daarvan probeerden we een nieuwe sociale betrokkenheid bij kunst als selectiecriterium te gebruiken. Bruikbare kunst, sociaal ontwerp, alles wat zich tot mensen richtte en de sociale dimensie uitbreidde, moest onze maatstaf zijn. Vandaar de ondertitel ‘De sociale dimensie van kunst’.

Volgens Richard Cork was Schneckenburger van mening dat “‘In de late jaren ’80’ … er geen nieuwe strategieën zijn, maar eerder nieuwe combinaties’, en hij heeft geprobeerd zich te concentreren op kunstenaars die in hun werk bewegen ‘van de individueel naar het sociale’.”

Hoogleraar aan de Kunstakademie Münster

In 1990 werd Schneckenburger benoemd tot “Professor für Kunst und Öffentlichkeit” en in 1995 tot rector van de Kunstakademie Münster, waar zijn tentoonstellingscyclus “In westfälischen Schlössern” (1992) furore maakte en waar hij ging in 2004 met pensioen.

Manfred Schneckenburger stierf op 2 december 2019 op 81-jarige leeftijd.

Recensies

Artforum.com: ‘THINGS THAT GO BUMP

At Documenta 8, curators with causes. But art is more than effect. Part II.

·         LISA LIEBMANN

Discombobulated and cacophonous, with a populist bent, Documenta 8 was almost entirely free of the lofty airs that surrounded its elegant, smug predecessor in 1982, and that to some degree hovered over many of the more ambitious and large-scale international exhibitions in the five years since. Absent, for instance, was any sense of highbrow intellectualism or formalism, and gone as well the sense of giddy congruence with recent commercial, critical, and promotional dicta. Painting, for one, seemed relatively scarce, and while classicism and mannerism, minimalism and expressionism, architecture and design, art including self-conscious appropriation, art involving mechanical and electronic media, and art consisting of functional or decorative objects were all to be found, they were not to be addressed as discrete genres, nor positioned like so many camps at war. One of this exhibition’s most valorous attempts was to dissolve notions of categories and hierarchies in art. In the process, however, almost everything was dissolved, including the excitable nerve endings that transmit impulses. As one of the big ideas of the show—as big as its other big idea, art and life—the storming of the Bastille of fine-art “exclusives” in 1987 was a bit like, well, storming the Bastille long after the heads were off. The revival of cross-pollination in the arts has been news for ten years, even if Documenta ignored it in 1982. The big gong today sounds the need for thinking about these hybrids, not just plucking them and scattering them around: so what about this situation in which there’s more design and redesign in painting than in a thousand Memphises, what about this situation in which the self-consciously painterly flourish seems more at home on a framed mirror than in a painting. These are weird new frontiers, and there is no such thing as being a little avant-garde.

One round through the show and there was reason to think that the organizers of Documenta 8 had it somewhere in mind to propose a great big model for a sort of functioning and communicating, entertaining and hectoring organism—a total esthetic apparatus for living. The exhibition was full of analogies, mimeses, simulacra, plans, and models for the home, the office, the museum, the art gallery, the gym, the X-ray room, the cemetery, the newsroom, the showroom, the rally, the encounter group, the earth, the village, the town, the city, and even nature. Some examples among them: in the central axis of the Orangerie (one of Documenta’s two principal, neoclassical exhibition buildings, the other being the Fridericianum), the conceptualists Helen and Newton Harrison presented an elaborate and thoroughly considered proposal for the improvement of traffic flow, pedestrian access, and public space in Kassel, heavily bombed during World War II and hastily rebuilt after it. Also in the Orangerie, the English designer Jasper Morrison installed a small, crisply efficient newsroom, complete with Reuters dispatches on monitors (Margaret Thatcher had just won in England; Ronald Reagan was in West Berlin); the Corsican artist Ange Leccia’s brand-new blue Mercedes 300 CE rotated on a showroom platform, dazzling us into briefly forgetting the Hush Puppied tread around the art-and-design shrine; and ambulating “Tina,” the “chair robot” designed by the Italian Denis Santachiara, bumped around neurotically in her stylish and pleasantly lunar living room, a room in which the couch, too, had a life of its own. And there was a substantial passage along the buildings transverse for which a somewhat unsurprising list of internationally known architects and designers had devised actual, ideal, or critically pointed models for the museum of the near future.

The organizers of the exhibition, to their credit, were ever mindful of the organism’s need for a memory bank: in one of the Fridericianum’s tower rooms, a fuzzy recording of Benjamin Britten’s Requiem, implying the sound quality of ’40s radio broadcasts, formed an acoustic veil around two video monitors poised on top of cantilevered columns, and showing the nearly motionless heads of two men in their 60s—witnesses of the war, one had to imagine. This was Coventry, an installation by the 35-year-old, Cologne-born Klaus vom Bruch. Elsewhere, Christian Boltanski’s archival photoinstallation of faces, mostly young. was also redolent of loss, and Nam June Paik’s very impressive and somehow creepy homage, a kind of great video altarpiece, was a memorial for the late Joseph Beuys. Hans Haacke provided a second take, less Duchampian than Leccia’s, on the Daimler-Benz corporation—the history of its South African investments, and of the Deutsche Bank’s, set against an older story, revealed at Nuremberg, of the bank’s investment in the Third Reich. In another tower chamber, a perverse and brilliant installation by Jenny Holzer—with electronic message-boards and marble sarcophagi—offered the suggestion, worthy of Poe, that with age truisms come faster and meaner, and that a relentless consciousness can survive its keeper to issue statements from the grave: “I walk in and out of the cracks of my skull when there is nothing else to do.”

Nor did the curators neglect church and state: out of doors, Scott Burton usurped the seat of perspectival power with a centrally placed cast-concrete bench that encircled a grove of bamboo, demanded the fealty of all the other pieces nearby, and preempted one’s ideal view of the park’s far-off little neoclassical temple, while Ian Hamilton Finlay’s grande allée of guillotines, also oriented toward the temple, stylishly threatened to preempt our heads. Away from the main exhibition grounds Ulrich Rückriem’s parking-lot Mecca provided an uncompromisingly stolid but gorgeously granite refuge. In Kassel’s Huguenot church, a continuous tape of John Cage’s synthesized reading of Thoreau’s essay on civil liberties lent the town a welcome spacey ecumenicism.

Documenta 8 seemed to want to be a World’s Fair with big doses of civic awareness, fun, and angst for all. What it was more like, however, despite high points such as some of those mentioned, was a badly managed household: hectically assembled, conflicted in its reasoning, often terribly installed, and, to an eyebrow-raising extent, beyond the control of its busy heads of house. With their emphases on social issues and technology, their political literal-mindedness, and their anti-esthete bias, Schneckenburger et al did not hold up a particularly appetizing carrot to a number of artists, and they were faced with quite a few drop-outs and “take it or leave it” situations. Though named on an advance list of artists, for instance, the very relevant presence of Sigmar Polke could not be secured, and Anselm Kiefer was represented by the replica of his last gallery show, a show that had closed just the month before in New York. All too often work seemed haphazardly chosen and indifferently shown. Paintings by Leon Golub and Eric Fischl were treated as if illustrations of civic-ed and sex-ed seminars, and Anthony Gormley’s mummy figures, which have to do with scale and depend utterly on the space surrounding them, were plopped down like unclaimed bodies after a fire. In fact the whole show had the pompier’s touch to it.

The exhibition heralded itself with scrolls-full of names unfurling under the headings of video, audio, and performance, lists that framed the exhibition with an illusion of bounty, and produced the impression of a newly radicalized democratic attitude toward art as well as toward “people.” But I’m afraid a “videothek,” “audiothek,” and “diskothek New York” do not a democracy make, and as for a democratic self-image, the curators bizarrely seemed more interested in furthering the old, compact-at-the-dinner-table routine, or perhaps that infamous frog motto, L’Etat c’est moi. It would be hard to count the times one caught sight of one’s own image in a mirror or a TV, or felt oneself otherwise being “portrayed.” Buky Schwartz’s rambunctious sculpture/installation in the Orangerie included a closed-circuit video monitor that gave visitors the chance to see themselves peeking through color bars. Oswald Mathias Ungers’ Kafkaesque Museum in der Kiste (Museum in the box), one of the most interesting high-concept boutiques on architect’s row, forced us to peer through our own reflections in mirrored panels opening onto endless corridors. We were invited to see ourselves as callow philistines in Hans Hollein’s lazy, pompously sophomoric Museumsraum, where wall labels were giant and reproductions of great paintings very small; and, outside, Les Levine’s misanthropic billboards, scattered about town like a Benetton ad campaign gone sour, spat out orders to “Seduce Yourself,” “Consume Yourself,” “Exploit Yourself,” “Sell Yourself,” and “Hate Yourself,” though not, inexplicably, simply to go fuck ourselves. The designer Ettore Sottsass’ altogether more charming “portraits”—wittily framed mirrors including Looking at yourself framed as a normal painting, Looking at yourself like a monument, and (for girls) looking at yourself like a temple prostitute—were reliefs from these one-note harangues.

Where the curators failed to impress us with their subtlety, to move us through their sense of beauty, or to galvanize us with their appeals that we see ourselves in a worse light, they succeeded in making a strong case for a notoriously difficult form of art. Video sculpture was the surprise triumph of Documenta 8. In addition to certain pieces already named, mention must be made of the technically complex and beautiful work of Fabrizio Plessi and of Shigeko Kubota. Plessi’s splashy, theatrical installation of monitors face up in a horseshoe formation, showing a continuous image of flowing water, in the ideal setting of a big, raw, reddish, round room at the top of the Orangerie, was titled Roma, and it evoked Rome’s catacombs, and its Colosseum, and the quality of its nights with a kooky aplomb that made one think of Fellini. Kubota’s Niagara Falls was quieter but longer lingering, and despite the cramped stall it was allotted it was one of the few places in this exhibition in which to breathe and not just react. Expensive, cumbersome, and unreliable, hard to make, hard to sell, hard to move, video sculpture has many postindustrial songs to sing.

Among the other media two works could pack the rafters of the postindustrial opera house. Fischli/Weiss’ seriocomic disaster film—its texture evoking Kiefer, its structure Rube Goldberg, and its timing Buster Keaton—is a kind of Così fan tutte for old tires and spare parts. And Robert Longo’s bonzo time-warped warrior is Pagliacci.’

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