Stodge.org

The term gallerycrashing is a clumsy neologism I have coined to refer to the act of placing an unsolicited artwork in a private or public exhibition. Specialised circuits were constructed for the sole purpose of gallerycrashing and a family of objects called ‘Spacehoggers’ were gradually developed for proliferation around galleries.

The Spacehogger takes the form of a triangular wooden slab bearing a simple alarm based device and an FM transmitter with a small built-in microphone, literally designed to hog space and relay the evidence to an radio receiver with audio recorder. When it is fully armed, any attempts at relocation activate a failsafe: a 120dB alarm tone, dissuading people from tampering with it or moving it.

[The Spacehoggers DVD is now online courtesy of Archive.org. This entire article was written by Dan Wilson - Sal.]

The alarm can be sensitivised to many physical interferences by usage of mercury based vibration sensors, distance sensors, or contact points resting on an existing conductive surface within the gallery space. In the case of the latter contact point method, it actively engages with the space in which it subsists, seeming the most attractive technique as it literally becomes paradoxically reliant on the architecture, unlike the other methods that leave the artwork detached from the space. Furthermore, it is far more economical to build an inverted transistorised circuit exploiting metal surfaces already present in the space.

So this became my preferred method, bearing in mind the fact that reclaiming these Spacehoggers after sneaky installation in galleries would most likely be unfeasible. After the abandonment it is imperative that disassociation with the artwork is executed as quickly as possible, not only due to the act’s possibly perilous consequences, but also to avoid becoming entangled as a prime character in the exploit, shifting the attention away from the gallerycrashing itself. So the device is sacrificed to the whims of the curators, and any strategic decisions they take as a result of the gallerycrashing become artistic offshoots: candid performance art instigated at the induction of a Spacehogger.

I seek to discredit the elitism rife not only in large established city galleries, but also in prim provincial galleries where doors (and minds) are closed to alternative or progressive artforms- much in a similar sentiment to JJ Xi and Cai Yuan in their ‘Two Artists Open Fire’ where they dress in mafia costumes and fire shots with fake pistols around a Royal Academy exhibition. “The reference to the mafia gave a direct allusion to the closed world of art in the establishment” [1]. Meanwhile, my method has no levity or perceptible performance absurdity to evoke any endearment to its targets, but on the other hand I do hope absurdity will be generated through the curators’ inept attempts to disarm the Spacehogger, hence the foolishness of their actions will prove instrumental in my success at discrediting their elitist posturings.

The artwork shouldn’t rest upon the hogger’s hardware or its design, the attention should be shifted onto the manner in which the curators deal with the alien device. Galleries are perhaps the only places other than amusement parks where reality and fiction officially intersect, thus enabling even the most unremarkable gesture carried out within the space to undergo comfortable artistic transitions. Beneath this safe sugar coating of superficiality, there lurk real threats that could hinder any interventionist efforts.

Gallerycrashing by its very nature is invasive, possessing the potential to stir up allsorts of ugly situations- so to counterbalance this I attempted to behave in the most unintimidating way possible: camply (acknowledging the widespread popularity of camp comic TV characters, eg. Frank Spencer; “ooo Betty” [Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em]). However, this theory proved to be quite misplaced in practice where I was instantly seized prior to any Spacehogger touchdown; the curator became more enraged in tandem with my increasing feyness, possibly also contributing to the encountered failures of communication.

In Bishop’s Stortford’s Waytemore Gallery (comprising of the pomp that is Florence Walk) I attempted to persuade the curator/manager (Svetlana; a fake blond uppity, hugely bitchy European woman whom I had been keeping under surveillance for a few months prior to the gallerycrashing) to examine a “new piece of artwork”, but was met by hostility. As I placed it over the metal tract to quietly arm the alarm, the curator’s stiletto clad foot kept kicking it away forcefully, preventing the installation from occurring. An hour later I returned with more bravura to place the Spacehogger at lightening speed, but this was an even worse disaster, as I’ll explain later.

Continue reading ‘Gallerycrashing: Interventionist Art, Causes for Alarm and Excuses for Failure’