Global warming CAN be over: the art of Ken Yonetani

This is an essay I wrote for a university magazine last year. It gives context about environmental art in general, as well as Yonetani's work and is the prequel to what I am posting about his current exhibtion, 'Still Life'. It is long (you've been warned)



As much of the art industry thrives on the neo-liberalist spirit of consumerism, making luxury goods of art; many artists also crusade for social, political or environmental causes. Ken Yonetani is one of the latter. While many of his ephemeral works escape the commercial quality of being sold, they are poignant and powerful vehicles for raising awareness of some of the ecological, and hence social, problems which plague our modern world. Yonetani is part of a growing breed of artists who are ‘Getting to grips with the idea of ecological systems as art...as the substance of art practice itself.’ (Editorial, 2005, p.14) But the tireless efforts of artists like Yonetani, who so passionately create works in the hope of informing and educating audiences, beg a very important question: Can art really affect change?

An increasingly unnatural world.
In a disturbingly prophetic essay titled ‘Art and Ecological Consciousness’, first published in 1970, Gyorgy Kepes warned that:

Disregard for nature’s richness leads to the destruction of living forms and eventually to the degradation and destruction of man himself...we are all carried along by the uncontrolled dynamics of our situation and continue to develop ever more powerful tools without a code of values to guide us in their use. (Kepes, 1972, p.2)

Indeed, since the dawn of industrialisation, the natural environment has always been a faint afterthought in the pursuit of technological greatness that boosts both profits and mankind’s insatiable need to tame and control nature. And while Kepes recounts fleeting moments of poetic caution over the centuries – more than a hundred years ago, John Ruskin proclaimed, ‘Ah, masters of modern science...you have divided the elements, and united them; enslaved them upon the earth and discerned them in the stars.’ (Kepes, 1972, p.1) – the narrowly-focused task of advancement at any cost has proceeded relatively unobstructed. It is only in the final decades of the twentieth century that the environmental consequences of a hitherto uncapped project of technological progression have been acknowledged by citizens that form the privileged minority. We came to realise, as Kepes so eloquently reflected, that ‘Shaped with the blighted spirit of cornered man, our cities are our collective self-portraits, images of our own hollowness and chaos.’ (Kepes, 1972, pp.3-4) And though it may not be too late, much of the damage is certainly irrevocable, causing great anxiety and uncertainty for the future.

At the same time, art’s relationship with nature became precarious as industrialisation gained more steam, and ecological apathy became the norm. Both, as Felicity Fenner writes, drifted apart and ‘each suffered at the hands of social and political indifference.’ (Fenner, 2007, p.422) While artistic expressions of nature and the natural order still existed, such forays were intermittent and became more sporadic as humanity and nature became more disparate. ‘While oblique reference to the natural world is found in geometric abstraction of the modernist era,’ Fenner claims, ‘it wasn’t until the 1960s, when a renewed socio-political interest in the environment inspired a young generation of revolutionary artists, that nature again became valid subject matter in contemporary art.’ (Fenner, 2007, p.422) Land art, and works addressing ecological issues came to the fore as artists began to register society’s discomfort with their increasingly concrete and artificial surroundings. Pioneering artists such as Richard Long, Dennis Oppenheim, and iconic, ground-breaking (literally) works such as Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty brought art and artists back to nature, albeit a permanently altered nature. Now at the dawn of the 21st century, the need to preserve the natural world has become an imperative, and artists are at the forefront of a movement that seeks more accountability from humans for their ecological footprint.

While they were once polarities, art and science are now, more than ever, joining forces for a greater cause. Given the increasingly destabilized state of today’s natural environment, artists and scientists are collaborating to raise awareness of the issues and to offer solutions. In the last decade, international art collectives such as Ecoarttech, super/collider and Cape Farewell, have emerged to fuse the pragmatism of science with the creative processes of art to, as Cape Farewell’s mission states, ‘stimulate the production of art founded in scientific research.’ (Cape Farewell, n.d.) Such developments highlight the recognition of the universal need to make concerted efforts towards ecological revival and sustainability. The partnership between art and science therefore represents the holistic actions that need to be taken; art to present the environmental damage caused by human activity and to further re-imagine a better, more ecologically-viable world, and science to impress upon us the disastrous consequences of not striving to attain this world. Simon Torok, CSIRO scientist and Artlink contributor, offers an uplifting and hopeful illustration of how collaboration can affect change: ‘Together, art and science can inspire an emotional response, inspiring changes in our attitudes and behaviour that ensure our landscapes survive in more than photographs, paintings and memories.’ (Torok, 2005, p.17)

An artist on a quiet mission.
Ken Yonetani started his working life in one career and has ended up at the other end of the spectrum. Originally a finance broker in Tokyo, he was immersed in the narrow, pragmatic, ecologically disinterested world of profit and economics. After three years Yonetani quit his job and spent several more years searching for his calling, which he found in art, as an apprentice to the master potter Kinjo Toshio in Okinawa. From there, a natural progression to conceptual and environmentally-focused art occurred, as the artist recounts:

I am from the concrete jungle of Tokyo. I felt an urge to draw on my own experiences, and from this moved into the realm of conceptual art. For me environmental loss caused a sense of anxiety: working with my hands, I was able to regain a sense of calm. It was only natural to link the calming action of art-making back to something with an environmental message. (Yonetani, 2005, p.33)

A large part of his environmental message is to bring to light the destructive desire of humanity. Yonetani believes it is important for people to ‘see and feel actual works rather than virtual things.’ Many of his artworks, especially the earlier ones such as the fumie tiles, physically recreate this propensity for destruction. These tiles were destroyed shortly after their unveiling on both occasions of their showing at the CSIRO’s Discovery Centre in 2003 and the Asian Traffic project at Gallery 4A in 2004. In both instances, the tiles, which contained models of endangered Australian butterflies that Yonetani himself had individually handcrafted, were placed at the entrance of the exhibition and crushed under the feet of opening night guests, effectively destroying months’ of work with disturbing voracity. Julia Humphrey offers a detailed recollection of how the installation unfolded at the CSIRO exhibition, drawing parallels between the human condition and the act of destroying another person’s work:

Some people...stepped across the tiles below with a sense of dread. Others stomped across the breaking floor with a kind of pained glee...titillating and yet excruciating... desperately trying to save some of the tiles...Several children also picked up some unbroken tiles, only to place them down once again and smash them with a loud and forceful stomp. After they had been smashed, the children then carefully began trying to place the pieces back together again...Several people began putting tiles into their handbag or under their arms, laying claim to them with a sense of triumphant defiance. Yonetani smiled. This too was another display of human desire – the desire to possess and stake a claim of one’s own. (Humphrey, 2004, p.23)

The reactions and emotions by visitors are a telling portrayal of the human desire to both inflict wanton destruction on their surroundings, and then realise the futility of trying to recreate such a fragile environment. ‘I cried a lot with those ephemeral works,’ Yonetani recalls, perhaps lamenting not only the destruction of his hard work, but what such destruction reflects about the human condition. Many of these broken fumie tiles were subsequently put together to create a new installation of a butterfly mandala. The butterfly pictures of this new work, Yonetani explains, ‘form the ghosts of the destroyed tiles, sacrificed by human’s impact on nature, and a gateway to the spiritual world.’(Yonetani, Westspace, 2005)

Sweet barrier reef, Yonetani’s most celebrated work, is a quiet, subtle comment on the state of ocean floor habitats. In its monumental scarcity, the large sculptural installation, modelled after a Zen garden form and made entirely of sugar, represents the coral wastelands that much of our oceans’ underwater ecosystems have become. The sugar is at once metaphorical and literal; it directly points to the sugar industry’s chemical run-offs as the primary cause for the bleached coral, and also stands as a metaphor for the Western world’s increasing gastric gluttony and desire, manifested through excessive consumption, at any (environmental) cost. At the opening night of Once Removed, the group exhibition in which this work represented Australia at the 2009 Venice Biennale, models in coral-inspired bridal dresses meandered through the throngs of guests, holding delectable, intricately designed wedding cakes, sculpted by the artist. The bright colours of these dessert sculptures were a stark contrast to the deathly white of the installation they accompanied. The performance, entitled Sweet barrier reef for the 21st century – play Strauss’s waltz grandly, included a choreographed dance followed by the models serving up the cakes to guests, creating a relational space which facilitated an interaction and dialogue between artwork and audience. In this case, as well as indulging in one of life’s great culinary pleasures – a wedding cake! – the audience became complicit in the physical destruction of Yonetani’s exquisite sugary sculptures, but metaphorically too in the destruction of the ecosystem that these sculptures represented.

Yonetani’s most vocal, assertive and political attempt to create environmental awareness in the general population is a performance piece he delivered in collaboration with his wife, Julia Yonetani. Global Warming is Over! (if you want it) was a bed-in staged in the middle of Melbourne’s Federation Square on a hot, 35ish°, February weekend in 2010. Emulating John and Yoko’s famous 1969 Amsterdam ‘War is Over!’ bed-in, the performance, which received Yoko Ono’s blessing, was staged to draw attention to climate change and the need for action. ‘The message is the same as the message that John and Yoko had’, Julia explains, ‘if you want something you can actually make it happen...Both of them (war and global warming) we should be able to stop by human action, because they’re caused by human action.’ (J. Yonetani quoted in Pardi, 2010, pp.31-32) The public element of their performance, in which the couple stayed in their Fed Square bed all weekend in John and Yoko wigs, also helped the Yonetanis to take their work and message to a wider audience. ‘People we had chats with in our performance are quite ordinary and do not go to gallery openings often’, Yonetani explains. ‘We discussed about global warming with various opinions. It was very interesting to talk with different people.’ Furthermore, the performance can be considered a direct call to action, informing the public that global warming can be over, if they want it, if they are willing to work for it. The sweltering heat only served to re-enforce the urgency of the message.

Given the conceptual strength of Yonetani’s artistic practice, and the social importance of its message, the artist does not fall into the trappings of ‘crusader’. Rather, his works act as quiet, reflective protests; they impress upon the audience the necessity for change, yet leave the onus for action on the individual. In fact, the only violence in Yonetani’s practice is that which is inflicted on his intensely-laboured creations.

The artist’s next step will be an intense foray into interdisciplinary practices, as the Yonetanis begin their three-month artist residency in Mildura, on the border of the Murray River in Victoria. Long established as a hub for experimental projects where art and science join forces in the quest for ecological revival, Mildura seems the perfect place for Yonetani to begin his next artistic journey. Here, the couple will be collaborating with local scientists to explore the nature of salt, water and salinity as such issues are pertinent to this dry continent, and important to the artist. No doubt what the Yonetanis create will be a telling reflection on humanity’s (mis)use of that most precious of resources – water.

Is art enough...?
In 1972 Kepes introduced the notion of consigning the artist to the task of creating an ecological consciousness. Kepes expounds on ‘the role of the artist in educating the public to understand our ecological situation, and how he can serve to renew the sense of happy equilibrium between man and his environment.’ (Kepes, 1972, p.170) While many artists like Yonetani have enthusiastically stepped into this role, one wonders if art really is enough to change the world. What is the real, practical reach that artists can have on a largely uninterested first world which continues to burn through natural resources faster than they can be replenished? What’s more, should it be the social expectation, or burden even, of artists to take on such a monumental task as changing the mindset and careless living patterns of a population based on rampant consumerism and immediate self-gratification? In other words, is it really the responsibility of artists to change the world? While one’s immediate response would be a resounding ‘No!’ when asked this very question, Yonetani humbly, yet resolutely, replies, ‘I think it is not only given to the artists. All the people have a responsibility to try to change the world.’ From here, it appears that there’s nothing left to say, only do.

List of references
Fenner, F., ‘The nature of art’ in Art and Australia, v. 44, no. 3, Autumn 2007, pp.420-27
Humphrey, J., ‘Ken Yonetani’s Fumie tiles – the art of destruction’ in Ceramics: Art and Perception, no.57, 2004, pp.21-23
Kepes, G., ‘The artist’s role in environmental self-regulation’ in Arts of the Environment, G. Kepes [ed.], New York: George Braziller, 1972, pp.1-12
Kepes, G., ‘Art and ecological consciousness’ in Arts of the Environment, G. Kepes [ed.], New York: George Braziller, 1972, pp.167-197
Pardi, L., ‘GLOBAL WARMING IS OVER! (If you want it)’ in Beat Magazine, Wed 17 Feb 2010, pp.31-32
Torok, S., ‘Picturing climate change’ in Artlink, v.25, no.4, 2005, pp.16-17
Yonetani, J., ‘Sweet revenge: interview with Ken Yonetani’ in Artlink, v.25, no.4, 2005, pp.32-35
Yonetani, K., ‘Exhibition invite text’ at Westspace Gallery, 27 May – 11 June 2005, [Accessed 1 Sept. 2010] http://www.westspace.org.au/program/ken-yonetani.html
Yonetani, K., 2010, email 10 Sept., < ken@kenyonetani.com> 
‘Editorial’ in Artlink, v.25, no.4, 2005, p.14
‘About Cape Farewell’ n.d. in Cape Farewell, [Accessed 3 Sept. 2010] www.capefarewell.com/about.html


[Images from http://kenyonetani.com]

The Wire

I've never blogged about a TV show before. Of course I have my favourites; Modern Family, Entourage, Sex & the City, Seinfeld, Law & Order, and a few others. But I never found the need to blog about any of the shows I enjoy. Until now.

Created by actor, director, producer and former policeman Edward Burns, ‘The Wire’ is a cop show unlike any other. Unflinching in its realistic portrayal of crime – those who commit it, and those who fight it – this show goes further into the systems of law (from both sides) than anything I’ve ever seen. And I love watching detective/cop shows.

Season One consists of thirteen one-hour long episodes delving into one case against relatively new, but rapidly powerful Avon Barksdale, a drug dealer who has control of Baltimore’s poorest and most drug-affected areas. Jimmy McNulty is the detective who pursues the case, despite the entire police department’s apathy towards catching Barksdale. With the help of a judge who empathises with his cause, a small team is assigned to quickly work the case and bring in some results. Sending a clear message about their feelings towards this case, and its unorthodox impetus, the superiors resign the team to a small dungeon somewhere in the cellars of a decrepit police building. From here, the team, with a cautious and initially-reluctant Lieutenant Daniels, work the case with civilian informants, bits and pieces of the puzzle, and gradually building up to wire taps. Wearily overworked and painfully under-resourced (no CSI gadgets here, in fact, they’re still using type writers, and it’s 2002!), the detectives must deal with constant calls for swift results and cessation from the top, and an increasingly cautious and intelligent pool of suspects from the bottom. Meanwhile, Barksdale and his crew are on their game, making an estimated $20-something million a year in drug money. Stringer Bell, Barksdale’s right hand man, goes to community college to improve his business skills. But within this tightly-run hierarchy, some underlings can’t handle the pressure, and start to question their dismal place in the world. In a legitimate organisation, this would be inconsequential, but in the game, no one can flip, and there can’t be any rats.

The events which unfold throughout this season are too much and too complex to try to summarise in one short blog. One of the best scenes, however, is a three and a half minute sequence of McNulty and his partner Bunk piecing together what happened at a murder scene that’s long-since been cleaned up. With nothing but a tape measure, pliers and crime scene photographs, the two engage in a highly-choreographed dance of sorts, trying to figure out how the murder took place. The best part is the dialogue; nothing but the F-word, and its various permutations, repeated to farcical extremes as the pieces fall into place. YouTube it! Indeed, the entire series is punctuated by the authentic Baltimore dialect in which the characters speak, so subtitles are a must.

What really does deserve close attention and praise is the way in which the story is told. Disturbingly real parallels are drawn between those working on both sides of the law, and also between their efficiencies and ineptitudes. On the one side is a ridiculously dense bureaucracy and system of accountability which slows down effective police work. On the other side is the mean environment of the streets, hardening some but leaving a depressing path of destruction for all who inhabit it. Career advancements and rank are the only lines that both sides follow, with those who step out receiving the harshest consequences and condemnations. And of course, there is the ubiquitous stench of corruption and backstabbing which permeates both the world of the law and the underworld.

As such, there is no real winner in this game, only pursuits which are accomplished or failed. Yet there is a sense of defeat on both sides (despite apparent victories), which paints a disconcerting picture of the nature of this kind of ‘game.’ In this, there are good guys and bad guys on both sides, with distinctions so blurred that the characters, and viewer by extension, lose track of what they’re fighting for or against. The anti-climactic finale, disturbingly beautiful and believable in its cyclicality, attests to the reality of such drug cases all over the world. I can't wait to see what the rest of the series has to offer! [Image from http://thewire.wikia.com]

Due Date

Now I love a good stupid-guy movie. ‘The Hangover’ was awesome, I lol’ed all through ‘Superbad’ and still randomly shout out ‘McLovin!’, and you all know how I raved about ‘The Other Guys.’ So I thought that the formula had been mastered by now. Obviously the two Alans (Cohan and Freedland, screenwriters) have not been hanging out with the cool kids, because they have no idea how it’s done!

Starring Robert Downey Jr. and Zach Galifianakis, ‘Due Date’ is about hot-tempered father-to-be Peter (RDJ) being put on a ‘No-Fly’ list along with weirdo aspiring actor Ethan (Galifianakis). With no wallet, ID or cash, Peter is forced to endure a cross-country drive with Ethan and his masturbating dog. And to make things more pressing, Peter must get back to his pregnant wife who is due to have the baby any day now. The predicaments they find themselves in, mainly caused by the idiocy of Ethan, are what then transpire throughout this over-the-top road trip film.

That’s the best way to describe this movie; too much, without achieving anything. It’s like the creators sat down one night with a bong, some booze, and a scrappy piece of paper and said to each other, “What’s the stupidest, most craziest stunts/scenarios that we can come up with?” With the hard part out of the way, they then proceeded to wrap it all up in a sloppy storyline, some random and unnecessary cameo appearances (another cheap trick), and call it a comedy. While the lead actors do appear to be working with what they’ve got, the lack of any substance in this movie means that both performances virtually fall flat. Particularly Galifianakis, whose character Ethan is supposed to be a dopey, but lovable, simpleton, but really just comes off as annoying and overly idiotic to the point that you just want RDJ to whack him over the head and end the whole thing!

The film has given up comedic integrity for brainless stunts, lame punch-lines, shallow sentiment and the most implausible scenarios. Inadvertently crossing the Mexican border with weed, a car wreck caused by a sleep-deprived Ethan, an accidental shooting, mistakenly drinking the ashes of Ethan’s dead father and possible infidelity are just some of the unoriginal, half-witted gems that are doled out in this 1 hour and 40 minutes of nothing. Even the mateship that predictably forms between the mismatched leads is a confusing progression. And when it manifests, it’s abrupt, weak and unconvincing.

Finally, there is no saving grace, no moment of redemption as the movie concludes. Instead, the cheap comedic stunts persist until the end; and like the rest of the movie, they disappoint. Overall, eye rolling and cringing were frequent, but laughs came few and far between, and even then they were the small pity laughs that you give yourself to maintain your mental state and convince yourself that it’s kind of funny in order to just to get through the movie. And of course, ‘WTF’ was uttered so many times that it lost all meaning. [Image from http://www.filmofilia.com/]

Gran Torino

Clint Eastwood is the coolest old guy ever! Well, that’s the impression I got after seeing him in ‘Gran Torino’, a movie which I believe will introduce him to a new generation. Here Eastwood produces, directs and stars as the crankiest of cranky old men Walt Kowalski; ex Korean War veteran whose wife has just died and who’s estranged from his two sons and their families. Around him, Walt experiences a very familiar phenomenon of suburbia – the encroaching of a different cultural group of people, as the current group become increasingly displaced. In this case, it is the Hmong people who are moving into Walt’s formerly white neighbourhood, and finally right next door to him.

The first hour of the movie is a strange concoction of awkward, cringe-inducing, jaw dropping, politically incorrect humour, as Walt doles out racially inappropriate gems on his neighbours – of all colours. The unapologetically racist, gun toting old man has no qualms about telling everyone he meets exactly what he thinks of them, perpetuating every negative racial stereotype under the sun.

When one night a Hmong gang comes to force Thao, the teen next door who was peer-pressured into trying to steal his prized Gran Torino, to join them Walt comes to the rescue, so to speak. Wielding a shot gun, Walt demands that they all get off his lawn. So begins the old crone’s slow and hesitant bonding with his neighbours, as they make their way into his life and he develops a begrudging acceptance, realising that he has more in common with these ‘zipper heads’ than with his own family. And of course he is eventually won over by the rich culinary delicacies of the Hmong culture, or what he calls ‘good gook food.’

Before long Walt finds himself developing friendships with Thao and his sister Sue, as well as a fatherly protectiveness as they are continually harassed, and eventually attacked, by the neighbourhood gang. This is where ‘bad ass’ Eastwood shines as Walt steps into the role of the hero, intent on bringing peace to the children. He takes on guys young enough to be his grandchildren with a fearless disregard for consequences and the skilful fists of a hardened soldier.

From grumpy, cantankerous, unabashed racist to reluctant, but indisputable, hero, Eastwood is magnificent as Walt. With a shamelessly acidic tongue and the raspy croak of age and bitterness, Eastwood delivers racial slurs that would make even Mel Gibson blush – without batting an eyelid, and with the most intimidating of snarls. Even when he eventually warms to Sue and Thao, Walt remains his cranky, offensive self. And when it comes time to step up and save a neighbourhood that is no longer his, Walt undertakes his mission with conviction, culminating in an intense and shocking final showdown.

Apart from the brilliance of Eastwood, the rest of the movie is fantastic! From the dreary, dilapidated sets which present a community in distress, to the duel innocence and resistance (against the gang) of Thao and Sue (played by Hmong actors Bee Vang and Ahney Her), to the insistent young priest, determined to keep peace in the neighbourhood, the film tells a compelling and all-too familiar story of gang violence, crumble-down communities, and racial prejudices with originality and integrity. Far from the didacticism that movies of this subject matter can easily slip into, ‘Gran Torino’ simply presents one individual’s very unique way of dealing with the changing world around him and his indoctrinated bigotry. It is a must watch! [Image from http://thecinemaguy.comn/]

Rihanna - Loud

Thanks to Rihanna’s new offering, I now know what a substance-less album sounds like. Titled ‘Loud’, THAT is all the album has going for it – volume. Listen to it at the right decibel and the noise will distract you from the lack of substance, meaning, and any real reason for existence other than as a filler for a dj’s set list. You know, that section where they need anything inane and brainless, but with a good enough beat, to keep the half-drunken twenty-somethings jiving non-rhythmically until closing time.

Where do I start with this mess? While the beats can be generously considered catchy and appealing, after five albums Rihanna’s singing, which at one time could have been considered fresh and exotic, now grates the tortured eardrums like the pained yelps of a cat under a fat man. Such quasi-singing would be excusable if the lyrics were anything but anodyne, unsophisticated and superficial. I wonder what the thinking process was to get to rhyming ‘realise’ with ‘eyes’. Or to declare, like so many who have come before Rihanna, that her money is on her mind. Good songs should read like poetry – with its nuances, subtlety, hidden messages and layered meanings. ‘Why are you standing there with your clothes on?/ Go on baby strip down and take them off’ leaves nothing to the imagination and seriously undermines the intelligence of semi-literate music listeners. (Admittedly, such basic lyrics do cater to a certain type of unrefined audience.) The only good lyrics in the entire album were Eminem’s, in a cameo appearance of Part II of ‘Love the Way You Lie’. Of course, he wrote that part.

On top of that, the actual contents of the songs do nothing more than shamelessly perpetuate the much love-to-hate misconception of hip hop and rnb as little more than hedonistic, overly-sexualised music. There’s nothing wrong with singing about sex and depravity; hey, they’re what make the world go round. But at least put some effort and creative energy into it, instead of resorting to the lowest common denominator with a song titled ‘S&M’ and lyrics like ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me.’

That said, the album could be interpreted as some kind of emancipation. Two records ago, with ‘Good Girl Gone Bad’, and the skilled and seasoned producing hand of Jay Z, this was appropriate, innovative and executed with sass and style. Now, two albums and a whole lot of courted controversy later, the concept is dated and laughable. What else does she need emancipating from? The result, then, is something that sounds like Rihanna has simply taken the woes of her disastrous personal life out on this album, which is a mess, much like her divisive public profile.

Big words, and punchy sartorial jibes aside, this album simply sucks! After two bad records, whatever appeal or talent Rihanna once had is now officially gone; replaced by the superficial facade of fiery-haired, sultry vixen. But keep in mind that, much like her music, that red weave is also fake. [Image from http://www.muumuse.com/]