Shannon Tien | Sad Mag

Jacob Wren is a writer and performance artist whose work often theorizes about the state of contemporary art. He is the co-artistic director of the interdisciplinary art group PME-ART, the members of which sometimes “believe in being naive on purpose.” He has been blogging for ten years at A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality and his book, Polyamorous Love Song, was listed as one of The Globe and Mail’s top 100 books of 2014. In the final essay of his newest book, a hybrid of non- and short-fiction called If our wealth is criminal then let’s live with the criminal joy of pirates (BookThug, 2015), Wren writes: “Like many of us, I am in crisis (with one possible difference being that I have a compulsion to announce my sense of crisis as often as possible). I am in crisis about art and also about everything else.”

SAD Mag’s Shannon Tien interviewed Wren to discuss this crisis of artistic ambition, naïve activism, hope, cynicism, and animism, among other meaty ideas.

Shannon Tien: What are you doing in Calgary right now?

Jacob Wren: I’m co-leading a project organized by the New Gallery that’s an art writing residency. There’s me and Jean Randolph co-leading it. We have a few participants that we’re working with for one month in person and then another four months long distance around questions of art writing.

ST: Cool. So let’s start the official interview. In your essay “Like a Priest Who Has Lost Faith” from your most recent book, you write about artworks having their own agency to get us to think in ways we might not have previously considered. Are there any artworks that have made you feel this way in particular?

JW: There probably are. We were talking the other day about this well-known artwork, the name of which I don’t know, by General Idea, where they took the famous “LOVE” graphic and replaced it with the word “AIDS” and that image, I think it was called “The Image Virus”, and that work traveled an enormous degree on its own through various media and became one of the many iconic images in the AIDS movement. I think that’s an example of a work that traveled a great deal on its own.

cms142img2 — Image Virus (1987) by General Idea

Maybe that’s a very literal idea of an artwork having agency. I could also use a cliché historical example: the Goethe novel The Sorrows of Young Werther. A young man kills himself for unrequited love, and then there was a rash of suicides in Germany by young romantic men who read this and imitated it, which was not Goethe’s intention.

But I also think there are less literal examples. In a way all artworks that have any impact on us or enter into our lives make us do things that we don’t know are coming from that artwork. Things we might not have done had we not encountered that project. They might change our thinking or actions or raise questions about our lives that we might not have had otherwise. And I feel with these things, there are no guarantees. Like, maybe you did something because of the artwork, but maybe there were a number of factors that influenced how you thought and acted.

ST: And what is the consequence of assigning the agency to the artwork instead of the artist or the viewer?

JW: I mean, there’s multiple agencies acting on any decision or thought or action. There’s never only one factor as to why something happens. So of course the artist has agency, the viewer has agency, the artwork has agency, and when the different agencies come together, maybe something happens? Or maybe nothing happens?

As a writer, one thing that becomes very clear is that people read your work in ways you never intended or never thought of and also that this is a beautiful and positive thing. And that as a writer, trying to control your work’s public reception is a recipe for insanity and also probably a recipe for very mediocre work. Knowing that you’re making something that has a life outside of you and changes in its interaction with different people and different contexts–I think that’s an essential thing for making anything.

ST: Was there a moment in your writing career when you realized this? That the work had a life of its own? Did it change things?

JW: I don’t remember a specific moment, but I feel like it happens all the time in little ways. For me I might be a control freak, but I’m definitely not a control freak in that way. So I’ve never had any problem letting go. I feel like when it’s ready, people can do with it what they will.

ST: What is art writing? Is this how you would describe the genre that your book falls into?

JW: Well, it’s two short stories and an essay. So, it’s a hybrid book that brings together fiction and non-fiction. And I think one of the reasons we wanted to do this was because for me–and Malcolm Sutton who was the editor–we would like there to be more back-and-forth, more fluidity between fiction and nonfiction. And we don’t see a strong boundary between them.

ST: Yeah I like that idea. In your other book, Polyamorous Love Song, I felt like the short stories presented a lot of nonfiction theoretical ideas, kind of.

JW: Yes, I mean, you know, my fiction is always a fiction of ideas, and ideas are often presented in a…well I try to present the ideas in a clear, non-fiction way. And, for me novels are essays and essays are novels. It’s all in the same swirl of writing and thinking and presenting.

ST: I noticed on your blog, A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality, that you were celebrating your blog’s 10-year anniversary. How does blogging influence your art and writing?

JW: Doing A Radical Cut has an enormously positive effect on my writing in that it’s allowed me to share short paragraphs or short excerpts as I work on them and get some response–put them out there in the world before they’re finished. It’s kept me writing, in a way. Often it could take me four years to write a novel and it’s kind of a secretive, lonely time. Having this way to share little bits and pieces as I go has really given me the energy to continue at many different points.

Also, it goes without saying that we live in the age of the internet. In general, how I’ve shared my work on the internet, mixing things I’ve written with quotes from other people, with songs and videos and having it all mixed together in a kind of giant internet pastiche has very much changed how I see writing and how I see art.

As you probably know, though, this little book was done as a special edition for Author for Indies Day. This was like a desire to have something for independent bookstores similar to Record Store Day–where there’s special editions and special records you can only get on that day–to try and create some excitement about small bookstores in the same way Record Store Day created some excitement around record stores. And I was really unsure that it would work. I was curious. But when I showed up at Type Books at Authors for Indies Day, there was a line up of people wanting to get in to get the special editions. So that gave me a really strange and excited feeling, that people would line up in the morning at an independent bookstore to get these things. I think it gives me a bit of hope.

For more on Jacob Wren, follow him on Twitter, Tumblr, or his blog.

Anders Nilsen is the Minneapolis-based cartoonist responsible for publishing a universally adored series of mini comics called Big Questions that features tiny birds with really deep thoughts on life. His newest book, Poetry is Useless, is a collection of images and doodles from the last several years of his personal sketchbooks. There are no birds in Poetry is Useless, but there are a lot of big questions—about art, why we make art, how we value it, and what it means to be an artist. Marc Bell is a Canadian cartoonist and fine artist who is perhaps most well-known for blurring the line between fine art and doodling. After four years of working in the art world, he’s made what everyone (who knows anything) is calling a “triumphant” return to the world of graphic narrative by publishing Stroppy—a madcap adventure tale about a song writing contest gone wrong. Stroppy also has thoughts on poetry.

BELLMselfportrait — Marc Bell by Marc Bell, Courtesy of Marc Bell

Nilsen and Bell are at Lucky’s Comics in Vancouver on July 17th at 7:00 pm to launch their respective books. Shannon Tien from Sad Mag had the chance to talk to them about authenticity, capitalism, and self-help for writers, among other things. The best of their lengthy phone call is what follows:

Shannon Tien: Something that I think ties both of your books together is thinking about the process of creating art, or poetry specifically. How do your philosophies cross over or differ on this subject?

Anders Nilsen: Boy, that’s a tough one.

ST: It’s a heavy question to start with. I’m sorry.

AN: [laughing] I don’t know if I could do a capsule description of Marc’s philosophy. What do you think Marc?

Marc Bell: Well we made our books independently, but somehow they both ended up referencing poetry.

AN: That’s true.

MB: We did a tour together a few years ago so this is like a reunion tour…I don’t know how to answer that question either [laughing].

AN: I mean I think we both have a little off-the-cuff playfulness in our work. And probably a little—I don’t know how to put this—a little snottiness or something?

MB: Yeah we’re both sarcastic when we reference poetry.

I like writing poetry if I know it doesn’t have to be good. So for example I wrote Clancy the Poet’s poetry and that was super fun because I could do whatever I wanted and I didn’t have to worry if it was good or not. I could write reams and reams of Clancy’s poetry.

ST: But I love Clancy’s poetry!

MB: Right? It’s pretty good, in it’s way.

AN: I think it’s actually extremely deep.

But I think we’re both artists and we’ve both planted ourselves in that existence, but we’re both a little sceptical and like to make fun of ourselves…and the potential for being pretentious.

MB: Yeah and then I can’t exactly knock poetry so much because I do all these drawings and they have random text in them. They’re sort of poetry. Like my stuff is not that far from poetry really.

AN: Yeah, so I think we’re both sort of making fun of the thing we’re also actually doing.

MB: [laughing] Yeah, you got it.

AN: I actually sort of think of my book as my poetry collection, if there is such a thing, you know, making comics.

STROPPY_pg28 — Clancy Recites a Poem from Stroppy by Marc Bell

ST: Ok. I guess I was thinking that Clancy, he’s a poet, and all his poetry ends up doing for him is…

MB: He’s sort of co-opted by the Schnauzers.

ST: Right. So it’s like the opposite of the idea that poetry can save you.

MB: He was against the song contest idea. He was against all of it. But I don’t want to ruin the end! There’s a twist to the story.

AN: Basically, poetry is a tool of the oppressor and we’re both in revolutionary mode against the aggressor. Right Marc?

MB: That’s it, exactly.

AN: Capitalism.

MB: Society!

Refer to Clancy’s poem called “Society”.

ST: Okay so this is more a question for Anders, but your book is fragments of your old sketchbooks. What ties the fragments together?

AN: Really the only thing that ties the fragments together is the fact that they all were in my sketchbooks. They were all just things that either kind of happened or ideas I had that were worth putting down but not worth turning into an actual book.

POETRY_37 — Poetry is Useless by Anders Nilsen

ST: And how many years back does it stretch?

AN: I think the oldest pieces in the book are probably from 2008. There are 22 or 24 books. There’s a funny thing about sketchbook collections because you know that they’re sort of bullshit a little. You know the artist is editing a little and not showing you the really crappy pages, which I’m not showing you either. So each of those notebooks, there’s maybe 6, 7, 8, or maybe 10 pages from each of them.

MB: We did a couple crappy pages in one of them.

AN: Yeah last time we went on tour together we made some crappy pages together and I didn’t show those. We promise to be better on this tour.

ST: Speaking of editing, what’s the point of leaving your editorial marks in the published version of your sketchbook?

AN: I try to maintain readability. So if there’s so much crossing out that it feels like it’s going to make it hard for the reader to understand what I’m writing, then I clean it up a little with Photoshop. But in general, it is my sketchbook so part of what may be appealing about it is the fact that it’s a record of me kind of thinking out loud, on the page. So the mistakes are an important part of that.

Also, part of that work is me responding to my own process. So as I’m doing a drawing and then it turns to shit, I sort of have this idea that I want to still turn that page into an interesting page if I can. So if it goes in a weird direction, I want to try to work within the stakes of those unexpected failures.

ST: One of your stick figures in the book asks how to maintain authenticity after the death of the author. Does this sketchbook have anything to do with that question?

AN: [laughing] Ah, you’re probably calling me out for not being as smart as I pretend to be.

POETRY_12 — Poetry is Useless by Anders Nilsen

ST: But it’s a good thing to think about.

AN: I mean, I sort of don’t believe in authenticity and, you know, the sketchbook has a sort of fake authenticity, as I was saying…you always wonder what’s getting edited out and you’re always getting this sort of idealized view of the artist’s supposed candid moments, which is partly why I’m showing the whole spread of the sketchbook, to show that I’m not picking and choosing the little bits, but the truth is I am. I am not showing the crappy pages. It is work for a finished book. So yeah I think authenticity is highly overrated.

ST: What gave you the idea to draw the back of people’s heads for their portraits? Are they people you know?

AN: Some of them are people I know, but a lot of times when I’m in an audience, like at a poetry reading [laughing], or other events with live speakers, I just want something for my eyes and my hands to do, so I’m drawing them. And also when I’m in public, I don’t always want people to notice, so it’s easier if they’re turned away from me a little bit. I guess I’m a little bit of a coward.

MB: A poet and a coward.

AN: All poets are cowards.

It’s sort of funny. People’s hairdos are really fascinating to draw, as are ears.

ST: I think because you can’t look at the back of your own head, it’s like the most vulnerable part of your appearance.

AN: Yeah sure. That’s a nice idea.

ST: So if poetry is dead, comics are…

AN: Um…stupid?

Actually comics are fucking awesome.

ST: What would you say Marc?

MB: STUPID!

ST: How was the transition moving back to narrative, Marc, after working in the art world for a while?

MB: It was difficult. I’ve mentioned this in a few interviews I think, but I was kind of scared and I started reading self-help books. The equivalent of a writer’s self-help, or if someone wants to get into the film or TV industry, this is the equivalent of self-help books, like books about writing screenplays. They sort of helped, I think.

ST: Do you mind me asking which ones?

MB: I wish I could remember the titles. One I looked at, it was very basic. It was just about the 20 different kinds of stories people tell.

AN: Which number is Stroppy?

MB: Oh man. I don’t even know if Stroppy…

AN: Maybe it’s 22.

MB: Maybe it’s 23. I made a new form of story for Stroppy.

AN: By the way my new graphic novel is going to be number 16, so…

ST: Oh yeah? Is this book called STORY? Because I feel like I was reading the exact same book earlier this year when I was trying to write a novel.

MB: That could be it. Was it an orange book?

AN: Marc doesn’t care about titles. He only remembers the colours of books.

MB: Not interested in titles!

ST: No, mine was purple.

MB: Maybe it was a different edition! They were like the orange one didn’t sell so let’s throw purple on there. People LOVE purple.

Did it help you with your novel?

ST: No, not really.

MB: Well I actually wanted to try and find a formula to follow, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to do that.

AN: I’m trying to find a formula too. And I was thinking of inserting one of Hans Christen Andersen’s tales into my new graphic novel.

ST: Oh yeah! That would be great. He’s a weirdo. So the formula didn’t work out for you Marc. Did any other self-help books help you with building narrative?

MB: Oh no. There was one I was supposed to read…

AN: The Bible?

MB: [laughing] No. I never got around to reading the one I was supposed to read. I just started.

ST: Well, I think it turned out well. I like Stroppy.

MB: Thank you!

This interview has been edited and condensed.

Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber are the creative brains behind Pendula, an interactive art installation that uses the movement of swings to create music and projections, which premiered at Vancouver’s 2015 Jazz Festival. Nancy, the swing set builder, is a VJ, filmmaker and new media artist. Kiran, the music programmer, is a composer and performer whose artistic interests lay at the intersection of technology and music. Below, Sad Mag’s Shannon Tien talks to the duo about agency in art, teamwork, and the community value of swing sets.

Pendula2 — Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

Shannon Tien: Tell me about Pendula.

Nancy Lee: Pendula is a multimedia, audio-visual, interactive installation. We use both hardware and software to take the swinging motion and turn them into audio or visual parameters, which means their effects that can be seen and heard during our installation. Using swing sets.

ST: How did this idea come together? What was the inspiration behind it?

NL: I started building outdoor swing sets as a public interactive installation piece. And then I did an event where I installed 8 swing sets indoors during an electronic music night that I organized. And there I met Kiran for the first time–Kiran was there swinging on the swings. And at that time she thought, “Hey, maybe we could make this swing into an interactive piece.” I’d also had projections installed. At that time it wasn’t an interactive piece, I just had projections over the swing area.

And then we later met again at New Forms festival working as production assistant volunteers. And that’s when we had time to sit down and talk about the project and our vision for it. The swing set I had at the event wasn’t my full vision that I had for it in my mind. I wanted the projections to reflect the social interactions that happened within the swinging area.

Kiran Bhumber: Having seen the swings at Nancy’s party, not interactive, I was very inspired by the idea of making the visuals interactive and also adding audio elements [and a] musical performance element, which was amalgamated into the installation at Jazz Fest. We had a musical performance at the top of every hour where I played clarinet and we had a cellist and I programmed the swings to be an actual instrument and act as an effects pedal. We had the swings changing the sounds of these acoustic instruments.

Pendula4 — Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

ST: What was the timeline for this project to come to total fruition?

NL: About 8 months on and off.

ST: Can you tell me about the experience of performing it at Jazz Fest? Was anyone allowed to go in and swing?

NL: Yeah, after every performance, we invited people to come use the swing sets. And it was interesting, during the performance, because I’m playing the swings, it was interesting to see people’s facial expressions, how they reacted to the piece. You could see their “aha!” moments when they figured out what the swings were actually doing. I enjoyed seeing that moment.

ST: And how did you start working with swings? I’m just wondering because there used to be a public installation by my bus stop in Montreal where swings played different musical tones.

NL: Oh yeah I’ve heard of that! I started working with swings because I like climbing trees and I like building things out doors. Swings are kind of an easy thing to build. You just need rope. And I was dumpster diving and salvaging construction wood that I would use for swing seats. It costs very little to build a swing and the kind of return you get for the community or user is so much greater than the financial cost of building it. It is a really great investment for the community to build swing sets. You generate so much joy from it.

Usually we’re used to art installations being behind glass or a “do not touch area”. There’s a very definitive boundary between the observer and the art piece. And with this swing set, people do come up to us and ask, “Are we allowed to touch it?” But when people can play on the swing set they kind of become the piece. And some of the people who were using the swing sets, they kind of understood that, you know, “I’m becoming a part of the installation.”

KB: And also the addition of individuals on each swing. The piece is going to be different depending how many people are on the swings. So, the social adaptation and amalgamation of their swinging motion to create more aspects of the piece.

NL: We have three swing sets, so they’re kind of a three-piece ensemble. And [the people] all play the swings in a different way so the collective audio-visual output is different every single time.

ST: Did anybody get really into it at Jazz Fest?

NL: I think at the Jazz Fest, because of the setting, people were into figuring out the swings. People tested out different things. I think with public art installations, people are still pretty shy. People were more into figuring out how it worked than playing it as an instrument.

Pendula1 — Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

ST: Is this the first time you’ve set this piece up?

NL: It’s the first time that we’ve done the three swing sets with the audio and visual.

KB: It’s been challenging incorporating the audio into a space that will allow it. So there’s no sound bleed. That’s an issue we had with Jazz Fest as well. The previous installs have been just visual because of that.

ST: How did you overcome that challenge at Jazz Fest?

KB: We got bigger speakers.
ST: Have you two collaborated before?

NL: This is our first collaboration together, but this is just the beginning of something. We plan to do more interactive musical pieces and performance pieces as well. We have so many ideas in our head that we would definitely like to explore in the future.

ST: Do you have any upcoming events?

KB: I just had my upcoming event today actually. I curated a show for Jazz Fest that was all based on interactive works. So technology and music. But at this moment Nancy and I are going to Kamploops in a couple days to start working on a new project. It’s kind of more vague now. We’re just going to check out the site.

NL: It’ll also be interactive, but more on the exhibition side of things, rather than a performance.

Watch: Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bumber

Pendula was on exhibition in Vancouver June 20 and 21st as a part of the Vancouver Jazz Festival. Visit www.swingwithpendula.com for further information on the Pendula Exhibit, and www.coastaljazz.ca for more information on the festival.

This interview has been edited and condensed. Thank you to Jelissa at Classics Agency.

You probably know Roy Frank “RJ” Mitte as the guy who plays Walter White’s son on Breaking Bad. Like Walt Jr., RJ also has cerebral palsy, but to a lesser extent than his character. Now 22-years-old, RJ spends his time spreading awareness about his disability, speaking out against bullying, auditioning for new movies, and touring as a DJ. One gets the sense that he never sits still for long.

This weekend RJ is in Prince George performing a “Breaking Beats” show for Northern FanCon 2015. Sad Mag‘s Shannon Tien talked to him about “feeling” beats, taking risks, and being shy.

SM: Why are you going to Prince George?

RJ: I’m in Prince George for the Comicon there. It’s going to be good. I actually haven’t been to that part of Canada before so I’m excited. I have a lot of friends…one or two from Prince George, but I have a couple from that area.

SM: Do you like the out of doors?

RJ: I do. I like the woods. I’m from Louisiana. I grew up with the forest. Not forest like Prince George has, but forest to a degree. I’ve been to Canada quite a few times. The one thing I enjoy about coming up to Canada is the wilderness. It’s beautiful to look at. Yeah, I’m excited to come. My friend is going to be DJing with me, DJ Mia.

SM: So you were formerly an actor on Breaking Bad. What made you want to become a DJ?

RJ: I’m not really a DJ per se. It’s an opportunity for me to do this. I do so much different work. I’m always auditioning. I’m always doing one thing after another. I thought it would be nice for a bit of a change. I do a lot of talks and I speak at different universities. And one of the main topics I talk about is getting out of the realm of comfort. Not being afraid to do that. And [DJing] is definitely stepping out of the realm of comfort for me. But I’m lucky enough to have this opportunity to grow. I think the more you put yourself out there and take risks, the better off you’ll be in the future. It may not always work out, but at least you tried.

SM: How long have you been DJing?

RJ: I got into it when I was younger. I had some equipment and I’d play around with it, and play with Garage Band. But I had some of my equipment stolen and then I just kind of stopped. Then I was talking to one of my agents about it and they were like, “Why don’t you try it out?” [laughs] And I was like, “Maybe…” Then next thing I know they’re like, “Get up here. We’re doing this, like…Get ready.”

SM: So you didn’t have anyone teach you or anything?

RJ: No. Well I’ve been working with Mia, actually, for a couple of months now. And I know a lot of people in the industry. And I always watch people…but I have a hard time being proactive in front of people. [Laughing] So for the industry I’m in, I’m actually fairly shy. It’s just odd.

SM: So who inspires you in the industry right now, in terms of DJs or artists?

RJ: There’s a few that I know and hang out with and learn from. I mean there’s never just one. The advice is to never take inspiration from just one type of outlet. You have to see it all and you have to learn for yourself:. Trial and error. Always pushing forward and not allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

SM: So how do you come up with a set list? What’s your process?

RJ: I listen to a lot of music and keep listening to DJs. But I’m still working on my set list with Mia today…This will be my fifth show ever.

SM: Does your show contain any connections to Breaking Bad?

RJ: To a degree. I play some of the music from the show. It has a lot of noise and different beats so I try to mix it in as much as possible but not all the time do people catch them. This is something to me that I can just have fun with and hope people have a good time.

SM: How is your DJ career related to your anti-bullying and disability activism?

RJ: I haven’t really incorporated it yet. I’d like to learn more [about DJing] before I introduce those worlds together. I’ve still got a lot to learn, but I’m always pushing forward.

SM: What are some of the challenges involved in DJing with cerebral palsy? It’s a disability that affects hand-eye coordination and movement.

RJ: Nope, my CP doesn’t bother me at all with this. The thing that bothers me is I have a tendency to not hear certain sounds. I don’t always have the best hearing. So that’s been my challenge.

SM: So what are some tricks that you use to overcome that challenge?

RJ: I mean, you can feel the beat. You don’t have to hear it. Sometimes I’ll feel the beat instead. It doesn’t really bother me, but sometimes I just catch myself and I’m like “Oh, I can’t hear that beat,” because I can feel it.

SM: That’s so interesting! So your biggest challenge is being shy, then?

RJ: Yeah I definitely believe that. That’s something I’m definitely dealing with [laughing].

This interview has been edited and condensed. For more about RJ Mitte, follow him @RJMitte.

David Balzer’s thought-provoking new book, Curationism: How Curating Took Over the Art World and Everything Else (Coach House Press/Pluto Press), explores what it means for the verb “curate” to be adopted by popular culture. Whether liking a friend’s post on Facebook, purchasing a cookbook on Amazon, or interacting with one of Subway’s “sandwich artists,” we’ve all become “curators” of our own identities. And with the advent of the Internet, it seems like we have more power over the choices we make than ever before. But is that really the case? And if everyone is a curator, then what is art? Is there any room left for spontaneous experience?

Balzer tackles these massive existential queries in the pages of his book, and will be exploring them during a talk at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery on April 10. Sad Mag’s Shannon Tien sat down with Balzer for a sneak peak of Friday’s event.

Shannon Tien: Can you explain how the term “curate” has changed over time?

David Balzer: So there’s the traditional curator who studies art history, gets their PhD, does a museum studies certificate, and then they work in the back rooms of museums with restorers and they’re kind of custodians of art historical works. That isn’t really what I’m interested in.

I’m interested in the contemporary curator. That idea can be traced back all the way to the Roman Empire. The Latin root of “curator” means to care for something. So the curators in the Roman Empire were basically caretakers.

The curator has never been easy to define; it’s only nowadays that we think of the curator as a “real” job. So I argue that the curator becomes super contemporary when the curator’s asked not just to care for things, but to give value to them. That happens in the early to mid-20^th Century. Then the real birth of the curator in terms of how we understand it happens in the conceptual art movement of the 1960s and 1970s. And at this point, curators are not just giving value to objects, but they’re also performing the value of art. That aspect of performance in curating is the thing I think is kind of key in understanding how curating transitioned from the art world to popular culture.

Basically, using “curate” as a verb—saying that you’re going to “curate” something, or that “I curated a collection of hats”—the Oxford English Dictionary traces that usage back only to the early 1980s. And the usage that they find for their draft edition is from the world of performance art, which I think is really telling. It’s a dance performance at this New York avant-garde space called The Kitchen being written about by The New York Times. From that point on you see the word “to curate” or “curated by” used in the context of dance or music festivals and then by the 1990s, when the contemporary curator becomes a really important part of the institution, that word is used more and more and then the Internet happens and everyone sort of appropriates its use.

ST: When exactly did our own cultural consumption become a curatorial act?

DB: You know the saying in retail, “The customer’s always right”? I think that it’s changed to, “The customer must always feel as if they’re choosing.” When you “curate” something you’re “choosing,” and businesses have really latched onto this as a means of superficially empowering consumers. I think we can pinpoint it in the late 1990s going past Y2K, when all of a sudden we were made to choose a lot as consumers. There’s deep sociological and demographic research that needs to back it up, but generally the Internet has become a fact of life for a lot of people. At the same time there’s a crisis in terms of cultural consumption. In the art world, art institutions are not being funded the way they like, and in other spheres such as book buying, for instance, you’ve got these huge chains emerging in the ‘90s like Borders and Chapters and they just swallow up the little brick and mortar stores. So culture’s getting really homogenized at the same time that everyone’s going online and wondering who they are and interacting with people in a more active and global way than ever before. But whenever I’m talking about “choosing” I’m being a little ironic because I think that the idea of cultural curating is not necessarily the most empowering thing in terms of giving us choice. It kind of provides us with this illusion of choice.

ST: Can you talk about the rise of “normcore,” or the idea that taste is irrelevant because the Internet makes everything available to everyone?

DB: I don’t think the idea of curating would ever become completely obsolete. But what I do argue—and these ideas are present in the work of K-HOLE, the group that birthed the term “normcore,” and they’re present in post-Marxist Italian theory—this idea that we’re online and we’re asked to perform what we like and what our taste is. But people who are thinking about it, who are aware of possibly inhabiting the Matrix or whatever, can easily sense that what we’re doing online is prompted by similar algorithms, and what we like is highly influenced by what other people like. In fact we’re encouraged to like what other people like. When we buy something on Amazon, Amazon tells us what other people bought in addition to what we’re buying as a prompt to see if we might want to buy that too. It’s a bit of disingenuous uniqueness that online curating promotes. And if you think of it for five seconds, you realize that the sorts of choices you’re being asked to make as a social media user are pretty flattening.

ST: Are algorithms robot curators? Are they the future of curating?

DB: Well in a way I think that the algorithm is curatorial but also anti-curatorial. If you program something that can do the choosing for you in a semi-cognisant way, this choosing is only based on what’s been chosen before. But I like the idea that a program can show us that curating is not the most unique or difficult thing that one can engage with. I think that it can really call into serious question our precious notions of what it means to curate. But I also think that a good thing to come out of it would be to bring us back to a more thoughtful meditation on what it actually means to curate or choose. It’s maybe the end point of this discussion where curating has reached such an accelerated moment that now we’re getting computers and software to do it for us.

ST: How has this book affected your own “curationism”?

DB: I think that as someone who as been a critic for a long time, who’s a voracious consumer of film, art, music, literature, and talks about it all the time, I’ve sort of reached a moment, and it was when I was writing the book—and maybe it had to do with a personal element of this [which] was that I just exited a very long term relationship that was very much built around the expression of taste—where I thought, “Why is taste so important? And why am I always trying to perform what I like for everybody? Why does it matter? Isn’t there a better way to engage with culture and show how much it means to me?” So this book maybe represents that existential crisis.

This interview has been condensed and edited. Catch David Balzer at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery on April 10 at 7 p.m.

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