[This is a review I wrote a while ago. Schneider's work was brought to Australia in 2007 through the efforts of John Kaldor. Picture from www.kaldorartprojects.org.au]
Driving down Bondi Road on a beautiful spring morning, one does not expect to see a large group of unsightly cages interrupting the scenic coastline of Australia’s most celebrated beach. An obvious and deliberate eye-sore, Schneider’s 'Bondi Beach/21 beach cells' is obtrusively and unapologetically situated amongst the sand and beach goers, just metres from the shore. Once inside these 21 identical beach cells, visitors are welcome to use the 4m by 4m space and amenities as they please. “Importantly”, the organisers point out, “the cells don’t force us to enter, we can choose to take advantage of the cell’s facilities.”
On a normal weekday, the cells are somewhat empty, with the locals going about their daily beach business, relatively immune to the monstrous obstruction. On weekends however, and more specifically Labour Day public holiday, when Sydney-siders all over flock to the iconic site to enjoy a typical day at the beach, the presence of the cells transforms the scene of bikini-clad women, life guards, men in all varieties of shapes and swim trunks, and little children enjoying the sand and surf into something akin to a prison yard. Even more unsettling is the sight of the cells themselves, filled to capacity by a myriad of individuals, all keen to secure a decent spot on the characteristically overcrowded beach. As one life guard observed, “It looks like Guantanamo Bay on Bondi.” Indeed, the stark juxtaposition between the care-free, egalitarian persona of the beach, and the uncomfortable political connotations rendered by the cells is the precise effect which Schneider intended for his audience. “It really hurts”, he explains. “You have this view, the water – and it really hurts to see this at the beach.”
Schneider’s is clearly an art of globalisation, specifically of the state of political prisoners and detention centres. Frieze critic, Dominic Eichler’s observation on White Torture, another of Schneider’s works which plays out the cells motif, has significant relevance to the artist's Bondi installation. Eichler asks: “Was Schneider’s intention to dent the barrier that prevents people (himself included, presumably) who haven’t experienced such deplorable places and practices from empathising with those who have?” In light of such insight, Schneider’s Beach cells appear more sinister and disturbing, evoking dark associations to alienation, confinement and political terrorism (of the kind issued by one’s own government); perhaps a reminder of Australia’s own controversial Woomera detention centre.
But, perhaps even before his critiques on global politics, Schneider is first and foremost concerned with space, and the way in which audience participation transforms the meaning of the spaces he creates. Such is the case with the 21 Beach Cells. The sight of young children, chasing each other through the labyrinth of cages invokes the innocent image of a jungle-gym playground, ubiquitous to parks throughout the world. When two people sit in one of the cells, discussing perhaps the meaning of life, or what was on their favourite soap opera the night before, the image is one of relaxed human interaction, akin to the scene of a coffee shop. When the cages start to fill up with young bikini-clad girls, and their equally undressed male counterparts, however, the allusions start to become somewhat unsettling. Upon witnessing such uninhibited exhibitionism , one is forced to the somewhat related images of, on the one hand, exotic but terrified animals at a circus, put on display, and on the other, exotic-looking but no doubt terrified subjects put out on display in a gentlemen’s club. Finally of course, there is the scene of the cages filled with people of all ages, sizes and nationalities. Such a sight is undeniably the most disconcerting, reminiscent of boat people squeezed into a tiny space as they are forced to travel dangerously across international borders to flee their oppressive home lands, or of news-bulletin images of the same asylum seekers automatically shoved into detention centres upon entrance to a free country.
Despite, or perhaps because of its unsightliness against the backdrop of Australia’s most famous beach, Schneider’s 21 beach cells works. Its disconcerting presence transforms the persona of the relaxed, egalitarian icon into a questioning of human liberties and political freedom. But its effect does not stop here, hence the accomplishment of the work. On a more basic level, the Cells’ interaction with its audience reveals the ways in which human contact transforms the use, purpose and overall image of a space. It is, undeniably, the art audience – in this case, the general public – which bestows meaning on an artwork.
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