EXHIBITION VENUES: Parkingallery, Tehran, Iran; Caravansarai, Istanbul, Turkey; San Francisco Arts Commission Gallery, San Francisco, USA; Media and Interdisciplinary Arts Center, Auckland, New Zealand; Koh-I-Noor, Copenhagen, Denmark; Mess Hall, Chicago, USA; Pittsburgh Cultural Trust (Downtown Electronic Jumbotron), Pittsburgh, USA; Embryosalon, Berlin, Germany; and on the web at http://www.NeverBeenToTehran.comNEVER BEEN TO TEHRAN, organized by artist Jon Rubin and curator Andrea Grover, is a worldwide exhibition with 29 international participants who, for one month, are contributing photographs of what they imagine the city of Tehran to look like, to a universal photo-sharing website. The photographs are streamed to each participating exhibition venue as an evolving projected slideshow, with additional images uploaded daily throughout the exhibition.Exhibition Description: Imagine a city that you’ve only seen in reproductions or perhaps have merely heard about. A place, like many others, that only exists for you through indirect sources–the nightly news, hearsay, literature, magazines, movies, and the Internet. Using these secondhand clues as firsthand research materials, invited worldwide participants–who haveNever Been to Tehran–take photographs (from their home base) of what they imagine Tehran to look like. Anything that anyone might take a photograph of is fair game, just as long as itfeelslike Tehran. As Tehran’s image is regularly depicted in the dominant media, it is a compelling challenge for the participants in this exhibition to sift through the glut of pictures and information to cull out a personally constructed version of an unfamiliar place. For viewers in Tehran, the exhibition presents a chance to witness an unusual mirroring of their globally projected image, taken from the daily lives and environs of outsiders. Collectively, the artists and viewers ofNever Been to Tehranwill be charting a liminal space stuck somewhere betweenhereandtherethat in our contemporary existence just might be home. “The challenge for each participant in this exhibition is to look for a common ground between their city and someone else’s–to blend fact with fiction. It’s a bit like after you read a great book. There is a period of time when the story of the book bleeds into your own life. This daydreaming, in-between state, to which the contributors to this exhibition periodically submit themselves, is an important way of looking at the after-effects of an accelerated information culture.”–Jon Rubin and Andrea Grover
Issues of representation come to the fore in Renzo Martens' Episode 3 - Enjoy Poverty.
In this 90-minute self-reflexive documentary, Martens travels throughout the Congo. As he witnesses dire humanitarian conditions, he keeps the camera trained on his own face, registering shock, anger, sorrow, and perhaps a touch of madness.
Martens continually links the micro and the macro, the personal encounter and the workings of global capitalism. His great innovation is to see poverty itself as a resource - a resource that is mined both by foreign aid workers (who profit from the generosity that poverty motivates) and journalists (who make images of the poverty, and sell these images).
In one encounter with a foreign journalist, Martens asks whether the photographic subjects retain any portion of the copyright or royalties of an image; they are, after all, the authors of the 'situation.' The journalist objects, saying that his subjects may have made the situation, but he is the sole author of the image.
Martens effectively wants to nationalize the poverty industry. He gathers together a group of Congolese photographers and convinces them that they would make more money if they make images of misery rather than photographing weddings and babies for a few cents a picture. It's really quite difficult to watch as Martens pushes the photographers toward the most miserable people in poverty-stricken areas and the sickest children in the hospital.
Soon, Martens comes to a disheartening realization: the images made by his local aspiring journalists are simply not good enough for Western audiences. He concludes that the effort will fail. It turns out that authoring the situation is not, in fact, enough. the image itself does have its own authority and its own authorship, quite separate from the underlying situation that it represents.
Such debates about the politics of representation are old hat; what makes Enjoy Poverty truly compelling is in the end the artist's own performance. He appears to be totally willing to open himself up to an absolutely desperate situation, to become emotionally involved and to be transformed by it. Enjoy Poverty is less a portrait of the Congolese situation than a self-portrait by a Westerner attempting to come to terms with the dire inequities of the world we live in. It is a portrait of the transformation of one Renzo Martens.
The first thing that struck me about Renzo Martens’ new film Episode III – Enjoy Poverty (2008) – confusingly, the second in a trilogy – is the artist’s resemblance to the young Klaus Kinski. The numerous close-ups of his sweaty, troubled face (filmed by the artist himself on a hand-held digital camera) echo those of Kinski in Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972), Fitzcarraldo (1982) and Cobra Verde (1987). The second thing that struck me, despite its supposed exploration of the exploitation of third world poverty by aid organizations and news agencies, is how the film rehearses themes present in Herzog’s films. Each depicts a European living outside their comfort zone struggling to assert themselves in harsh, unfamiliar terrain, and ultimately realizing the futility of their endeavours. The third thing that struck me, after sitting through 90 minutes of Martens meeting aid agencies, photographers, plantation workers, guerrilla fighters, singing Neil Young songs to himself and attempting to convince the residents of a small village to let him set up a neon sign flashing the message ‘Enjoy Poverty Please’ – was how contradictory the film was.
Episode III… follows Episode 1, in which Martens visited refugees from the war in Chechnya, asking them deliberately insensitive questions such as ‘Am I handsome?’ in order to elicit a response that would, supposedly, give the viewer a sense of their individuality rather than see them as generic representations of suffering. Martens’ latest film repeats this gonzo strategy, with him playing the same narcissistic character. His central idea is that not only are the people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo unable to benefit from the wealth of their country’s natural resources, but that they are also being exploited by Western media organizations who, in cahoots with aid organizations such as Médecins Sans Frontières (a claim unsupported by anything like evidence), make money from images of poverty and violence. Martens persuades a small group of Congolese photographers, who make a living from photographing weddings or formal portraits, to try and sell images of suffering to Western news agencies, in order to take control over their media representation. Martens’ slogan for his doomed project is ‘enjoy poverty’ – the neon billboard that he takes with him on his journey.
Martens’ thesis is elementary stuff for anyone with half an interest in media studies. Its deliberately crass expression – the ‘art’ bit of what is essentially an average artist-plays-news-reporter film – is incoherent rather than revelatory, not least because Episode III… attempts to do too much at the same time. In its first half, for example, there is the unsubstantiated suggestion that Médecins Sans Frontières is complicit in the exploitation by Western corporations and UN-led forces. Unfortunately, Martens is too caught up playing the self-obsessed artist to really dig deep which results in very little actually being revealed.
Aside from questions of exploitation that are closer to home – the film’s presentation in a commercial gallery, for one – the most tiresome aspect of the work is the way it perpetuates the very things it is critiquing, such as the vicarious pleasures of watching other people in dangerous situations (it features images of rotting corpses and desperate malnourishment), and, in its quasi-Conradian narrative, a fascination with an exotic ‘other’. In not showing any aspects of their lives other than those necessary to advance his thesis, Martens’ portrayal of Congolese plantation workers or local photographers performs the same reductive stereotyping that the film supposedly criticizes. Martens’ knowingly gauche persona does not alter the fact that Episode III… exploits art audiences’ desires for work that demonstrates ‘authentic’ political engagement. By acknowledging his own complicity Martens does not legitimize it.
Artist Phil Collins talks about his installation marxism today, at BFI Southbank's Gallery from 3 February - 10 April 2011. The work features Collins' short film marxism today (prologue) (2010), first shown at the 6th Berlin Biennale, and a new companion video, use! value! exchange! (2010), which together explore through archive footage and contemporary interviews what became of Marxist Leninist teachers' expertise after the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989. Collins suggests that Westerners today are lucky, as we have a sense of ownership of our culture, whereas in Berlin, there is a sense of embarrassment as regards the past and subsequently memories of childhood school groups and songs have fallen away. Collins further describes why he has centred his research on the impact that the loss of this heritage has had on the German people.
