Part-Objects as Art-Objects: Psychoanalysis 

The following is the second half of a dissertation I submitted for a Master of Arts degree.
It was awarded a distinction.

The Freudian Oedipal event or scenario is ostensibly about a radical splitting of a homogenous sense of subjectivity as the boy child realizes that he is different from his mother and that she is an object of desire, whilst the girl child seeks the desire of her father after realizing that she is like her mother. Many psychoanalytical interpretations of art involve discussion of Freudian ideas such as the unconscious and libidinal motivating drives. However this text more closely focuses on re-readings of Freud’s Oedipal scenario, and aspects that are specifically relevant to more digital or systematic approaches to cognition. As Julia Kristeva suggests this distinction is not unusual;


‘Many practitioners and theorists view psychoanalysis as a transaction of organs and drives, while others make of it a mathematical formula of the signifier or a theory of `mind’, or yet again a cognition' (Kristeva, 1998).


Post-Freudian psychoanalytical theorists such as Jacques Lacan, Melanie Klein, Julia Kristeva and Felix Guattari (writing with the philosopher Giles Deleuze) approach the Oedipal scenario differently. However, although their approaches cannot be argued to be radically distinct from each other – many points overlap and intersect – there is a sense in which they create independent cognitive realms within which notions of the ‘partial-object’ might function. I focus here on the mathematical formulas that these theorists propose rather than any emphasis on organs and drives.


What have been particularly useful to art historians are the visual processes through which the conceptual splitting of individual subjectivity has been argued to occur. Indeed, although they certainly do not describe their approach as formalist, art historians such as Briony Fer (1997, 1999 & 2004), Hal Foster(1996), Rosalind Krauss (2000) and Mignon Nixon (2002) have thought about various different psychoanalytic modes of visuality (as active or contingent visual modes) and asked how we might read, or relate to, the material and thus formal properties of art objects. For example, Fer (Ibid) has drawn on the various psychoanalytical languages of Jacques Lacan, Melanie Klein and Giles Deleuze and Felix Guattari in her various readings of the formal properties of abstract art.


What interests me here are the ways in which art historians use psychoanalytical concepts as conceptual metaphors rather than as direct psychoanalytic affect. As one idea is understood in terms of another that is conceptually superimposed onto it from another conceptual domain, psychoanalytic ideas on dynamic relations inform relations between material part elements in art. What is important, is that by stating that psychoanalysis is being used as a conceptual metaphor is to expresses the point that relations between partial-objects in art are not proposed to be literally the same as the affect laden interactions discussed by psychoanalysts. Instead, a conceptual comparison is being made as one idea is understood in terms of another structural system. This is not to say that psychoanalytical tropes are never used literally, indeed they are. Freud’s essay ‘Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood’ (1910) interprets art through an analysis of the artist and is a case in point. In addition, the direct affect of art and film on the emotions of the spectator has been argued by many, including Laura Mulvey (1989) for example, to be open to literal explanation in psychoanalytical terms. However, if we understand semiotics to be a methodological approach to the systems through which language functions, to look at the use of different systems of conceptual metaphor to interpret formal qualities in art, is , I want to suggest, synonymous with what Kristeva describes as ‘semanalysis’.


Julia Kristeva (1974) uses the term semanalysis to describe the juxtaposition of semiotics and psychoanalysis in making meaning for formal literary structures. Semanalysis seems an ideal term then, to describe the approach used for this dissertation. Indeed this text seeks to discern, and argue for the existence of, various semanalytic methods that are currently being used to read form in art. Thus I want to suggest that the method being used here is fundamentally semanalytic in nature.


As I’ve suggested, post-Freudian psychoanalytical theorists Jacques Lacan, Melanie Klein, Julia Kristeva and Felix Guattari and Giles Deleuze approach the Oedipal scenario differently. Although their ideas cannot be argued to be completely distinct from each other – many points overlap and intersect – they each create independent realms within which visual part-objects (such as breasts, penis, face) function in relationship to linguistic objects or signs.


Chapter 4: Semanalysis and contemporary art history  


The psychoanalytic Oedipal scenario depicts the beginning of ordering and classifying things in the child’s environment. Freud’s ‘New Introductory Lectures’ (2001) articulate the importance of the Oedipal scenario in the development of subjectivity, and the ways in which it marks sexual differentiation. Freud looked at what motivated the child to move from no sense of individuality, to the comprehension of their separateness from others and their sexual individuation. Therefore the Oedipal scenario can be said to mark primary difference. The two headed, four armed and four legged creatures, quoted by Jacques Lacan in his ‘Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis’ (1994) seminar show the primary split; the creatures are split in two and consequently crave a return to union. Before the structuring of identities, the child’s world is ostensibly filled with an incoherent babble of sounds and sensations. Lacan (2006) begins his ‘The Function and Field of Speech and Language in Psychoanalysis’ by informing us that the way that we understand that a word is part of a language, is through our ability to distinguish it from what might otherwise appear to be a homologous babble of sounds:


 ‘What defines any element of a language (langue) as belonging to language, is that, for all the users of this language (langue), this element is distinguished as such in the ensemble supposedly constituted of homologous elements’ (Lacan, 2006).


For Lacan once the ‘homology’ is split and linguistic objects are formed an excess of partial-elements is produced. This excess might be described as the difference between a ‘subterranean’ realm of disordered ‘part-objects’ and an ordered realm of classified things or whole ‘objects’. Lacan (2006) reread Freud in the light of the linguist Ferdinand Saussure and the anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss. In his 1953 paper ‘The Field and Function of Speech and Language’ (2006) Lacan argues that Freud’s Oedipal scenario has a distinct relationship to the ‘Elementary Structures of Kinship’ (1969) that were proposed by Levi-Strauss. Lacan argues that the family is a linguistic framework within which the subject must learn its place according to relationships and roles. In addition Lacan draws on the binary interdependence that Saussure found in linguistic structures when he argues that the signs ‘male’ and ‘female’ are not only oppositions, but also have hierarchical ‘positionings’, such as that of Phallus and lack-of-phallus that are dependent upon each other. For Lacan (1994), when we give something conceptual territory it is because we desire that it should be split from the excess, and formed into a similar significant position to that of the founding linguistic encounter; the symbolic ‘name-of-the-father’. The phrase ‘paternal metaphor’ is introduced by Lacan in 1957. Dylan Evans (1996) states:


‘It designates the metaphorical character of the Oedipus complex itself. It is the fundamental metaphor on which all signification is phallic’ (1996, p137).


What is important for the argument being made here is that on the one hand we have a realm of excess in which partial-objects overlap each other (rather than being clear and distinct) and on the other we have a realm in which the excess is split and linguistic objects become conceptually ordered.


In many ways looking at abstract art is similar to the experience of a very young child when they begin to order their environment. The child is compelled to organise visual objects and events not encountered before into a meaningful system and to do so they need to evaluate that which is prominent from that which is in excess of prominence. Likewise, in order to interpret, and be able to discuss, the various part-elements in abstract art we also need to organise a system of interpretation. The artist Helio Oiticica effectively reverses this idea as he suggests that when working with the materials of his art:


 ‘I feel like a child who begins to experiment with objects in order to understand their qualities (solidity, hollowness, roundness, weight and transparency). It is the starting point for perceiving the specific qualities of objects except that in this case, it is evidently a matter of stripping existing objects of their connotative qualities in order to leave them in their primitive purity’ (2007).


Oiticica reduces the ordered realm of connotation back to a series of sensorial material properties. Therefore, I want to look at the kinds of routes through which the viewer might bring that ‘primitive purity’ back into language. To write about the installation Grand Nucleus (1960-66) and to intellectually evaluate its material properties is to bring the work to language. Therefore to discuss psychoanalytic arguments regarding the construction of language allows discussion of a variety of potential processes.


On the one hand Lacan posits a hierarchical binary structure that involves the Phallus and lack-of-phallus identificatory positions, whilst on the other he articulates a deferral or slippage away from the ‘name-of-the-father’ into a realm of excess that he calls the ‘Imaginary’ realm of ‘objects petit autre’. According to Jessica Evans (1999) this leaves the female in a ‘lack-of-phallus’ position: 


’For Lacanians femininity is doomed to be positioned as ‘lack’ except to the extent which it ‘escapes’ the phallus as jouissance. However, whereas Lacan viewed identity as inescapably caught up in the misrecognition and alienation of the imaginary and symbolic registers, French psychoanalytic feminism has posited pre-Oedipal experience as an alternative basis for femininity’ (Evans, 1999, p.32).


In the later part of the twentieth century French theorists Luce Irigaray, Helene Cixous and Julia Kristeva, sought ways in which the female might be given a more dynamic role in the construction of language in psychoanalytic terms. Thus, according to Jacqueline Rose French feminism ‘refuses Lacan’s central claim that there is ‘no place prior to the law which is available and can be retrieved…no feminine outside of language’ (Rose, In. Du Gay et al, 2005, p.64). However Melanie Klein, a child psychoanalyst, had expressed her ideas regarding partial-objects and the pre-Oedipal realm earlier in the century. As I have suggested, the notion of an accessible realm of ‘partial-objects’ that is ostensibly pre-Oedipal suggests sensations and material things that do not have a complete linguistic term ascribed to them. They are not complete conceptual objects because they have not been radically ‘Othered’ or classified and ordered (and ‘Oedipalised’) into a linguistic system. This is a realm of partial-objects that Lacan terms the Imaginary. Klein is one of the founders of Object Relations theory in psychoanalysis. Like Freud and Lacan, Klein is also interested in the ways in which we come to comprehend objects as we relate to materials and events in our environment. However for Klein language begins before the radical splitting that occurs due to the perception of gendered difference. For Klein it is within the babble of sounds and sensations, or partial-objects, that sensory data is accorded specific qualities and becomes part of language. As we have seen, for Lacan, the ways in which linguistic objects are created is through the perception of difference (Phallus and lack) that exists in the biological world whereas, for Klein, it is through the sensation of difference (as gratification or frustration) that the child feels within its body according to whether it is hungry or satisfied. At times of gratification when the baby is feeding the child feels an internal sense of oneness with mother and her breast. However, at times of frustration, such as when the baby is hungry and is not receiving the breast, the child gets angry. In her biography of Klein, which is part of her ‘Female Genius’ trilogy, Kristeva quotes Klein: 


‘I have often expressed my view that object-relations exist from the beginning of life, the first object being the mother’s breast which to the child becomes split into a good (gratifying) and bad (frustrating) breast; this splitting results in the severance of love and hate’ (Klein In. Kristeva 2001, p.62).  


Klein argues that conceptions of split objects such as the ‘frustrating breast’ can be made whole as it is psychically integrated with the ‘satisfying breast’. The split is then resolved through an internalized conception of both aspects of breast as one and the same object. According to Klein, the severance of love and hate, results in the polarized ‘paranoid-schizoid’ position whereas the integration of love and hate, results in the ‘mature depressive position’. The mature depressive position sees both a conceptual and an emotional management of the apparently ambivalent breast that may be a source of both pleasure and pain and is the aim of therapy. What is distinctive about Klein, feminist writers such as Kristeva have argued, is that meaning is ascribed to the partial-objects or sensations that the child feels within the body, rather than beginning at the visual comprehension of binary sexual difference.


Julia Kristeva, born in Bulgaria and fluent in Russian, a student of Roland Barthes, and who along with Tzvetan Todorov introduced the Russian formalist Mikhail Bakhtin to Western intellectuals, was a member of the radical Parisian group Tel Quel and a practicing psychoanalyst. Therefore, she was well positioned to rearticulate the structural qualities she found in Freud’s Oedipal event. In her work ‘Revolution in Poetic Language’ (1984) Kristeva proposes a ‘semiotic Chora’ as an opposing realm to Oedipal ‘symbolic law’. Toril Moi (1986) proposes that Kristeva 'brings the body complete with drives into semiotics’. According to Moi; ‘Kristeva transforms Lacan’s distinction between the imaginary and the symbolic order into a distinction between the semiotic and symbolic’ (Ibid, p.12). Thus Kristeva’s ‘semiotic’ realm is a realm of partial-objects. Kristeva, in her early work ‘Word, Dialogue and Novel’, written in 1966, used the Russian theorist Bakhtin’s term ‘carnivalism’ to discuss ‘a space where texts meet, contradict and relativize each other’ (Kristeva 1966, In Moi, 1986, p.34).  


‘The poetic word, poly valent and multi determined, adheres to a logic exceeding that of codified culture. Bakhtin was the first to study this logic, and he looked for its roots in carnival’ (Kristeva, In. Moi, 1986, p.36).


For Bakhtin (2006) recreational carnivals were rituals in which persons could transgress established identities by wearing costumes and masks. Therefore carnivals functioned in society as communal spaces in which people could transgress, and thus reconfigure, identity. Kristeva (1984) cites Bakhtin’s ideas of carnival space when she marks out a space within which meanings and identities can be allowed to ‘relativise’ each other before being remade, She calls this quality of space the ‘semiotic Chora’. She proposes that revolutions through the ‘poetic language’ of the 'semiotic realm' are made possible because there is a Choric realm that exists extrinsically to the ‘symbolic’ Oedipal realm. Kristeva marks out a third territory that exists in addition to the interdependent double ‘Phallus and lack of phallus’. For Lacan we only understand the sign ‘male’ when we have access to its counter component ‘female’ as that which fails to be male. Kristeva (1984) argues that whilst the biological female is certainly a linguistic Other, any notion of the lack-of-phallus position being an ostensibly feminine space needs to be reformulated. Thus, she separates the notion of feminine from the concept of a biologically determined female. Kristeva (1984, p.40) makes her argument as she proposes that Lacan’s reading of Freud implies a split between a singular absence (lack-of-phallus) and singular presence (Phallus). This Kristeva (1984, p.40) represents using the numerals 0–2. The ‘0’ she posits as the semiotic Chora and the ‘2’ as the doubled interdependent nature of the male/female or presence/absence binary (as the Phallus and its’ lack). Therefore she shifts the notion of femininity away from ‘lack’ into a third realm; the semiotic Chora.


However this realm is not radically split from the Oedipal double, but engages with it. What is linguistically Phallic or overtly present at a point in history may be made less so over time. Through reengagement with the pre-Oedipal realm, presence may move into absence as meanings change and evolve. Therefore Kristeva (1984) attempts to retrieve a place outside of Oedipalised symbolic law as she distinguishes between her semiotic and symbolic realms. She argues that drives or the ‘genotext’ as ‘energy charges’ and ‘psychical marks’ articulate a ‘Chora’ (1984, p.25). She describes the Chora as ‘a non-expressive totality formed by the drives and their stases in a motility that is as full of movement as it is regulated’. The Chora then, is a totality but one, unlike the Oedipalised symbolic, does not express. However Kristeva also states that; ‘deprived of unity, identity or deity, the chora is nevertheless subject to a regulating process which is different from that of symbolic law’ (1984, p.26). The Chora then, is not a ‘deity’ type of totality, because it is ‘subject’ to another process; a process that has a ‘regulating’ function. She sees no hierarchy between the idea of a pre-Oedipal (or ‘semiotic’ realm) and the Oedipal (‘symbolic’) but instead an ongoing dialogical communication between the two.
Kristeva doesn’t advocate an oppositional body-mind theoretical split. What she finds in Klein’s theory is that it negates the tendency of modern western thought to split the body from the production of the word. She states that it was Melanie Klein who; ‘revived flesh within the word, and she privileged the body of drives and passions within the imagery and symbolism that weave patients fantasies together’ (2001, p.148). Klein’s ‘phantasy’ realm for Kristeva is a space in which the body and symbols co-exist, and continue through adult life to be able to be modified by each other and restructured.
The pre-Oedipal articulated by Kristeva and Klein is a realm of heterogeneity within which language is constructed. It is a heterogeneity of partial-objects. However it is a realm that exists in a relationship to the Oedipal rather than being a replacement for it. 


I now want to discuss a replacement; Deleuze and Guattari’s ‘anoedipal’. The anoedipal mode proposes quite unexpected modes of making linguistic connections. Although it differs from the heterogeneous realm of partial-objects found in the pre-Oedipal, it is, nonetheless, still heterogeneous rather than homogeneous or binary. Felix Guattari was a psychoanalyst who trained with Lacan and practised at La Borde clinic in France. Giles Deleuze was a philosopher. According to Guattari the unconscious (as the realm of partial objects) is not ‘structured like a language’ as Lacan had argued, nor is it a ‘figural’ choric realm as Kristeva suggests, but instead he and Deleuze find it to be ‘machinic’ (In. Guattari 2006, p.18).


Writing before his collaboration with Guattari, Deleuze (2004), in ‘Difference and Repetition’ published in France in 1968 shows his early interest in psychoanalysis when he opposes this restricting realm proposed for the partial-object. Deleuze (2004), citing both Melanie Klein and Lacan, proposes a distinctly different space in which partial-objects function. Indeed he renames the partial-object and use the term ‘virtual object’ as he evokes the notion of ‘pure difference’.


‘The virtual object is a partial object – not simply because it lacks a part which remains in the real, but in itself and for itself because it is cleaved or doubled into two virtual parts, one of which is always missing from the other’ (2004, p.125).


The virtual object then, functions in the same way as a partial-object but is not part of something ostensibly whole.
Deleuze and Guattari wrote two books subtitled ‘Capitalism and Schizophrenia’ Anti-oedipus published in 1972 (2004a) and A Thousand Plateaus 1980 (2004b). In these works they negate what they saw to be the capitalist discourse inherent in the fixed familial relations of Freud’s Oedipal scenario and remain instilled in linguistic re-readings of his work. The fixed conception of nuclear families containing mother and father as founding signifiers in the developing conceptual landscape of the child, were radically aborted by Deleuze and Guattari. Indeed, for Guattari; ‘without the Oedipal triangle, everything slips up and fucks of into desiring filliation’ (2006, p.36).


Both Klein and Kristeva propose that adults can fruitfully re-access the ostensibly pre-Oedipal realms of partial-objects and thus reconfigure Oedipalised notions. Both of their approaches can be seen as parts of a larger system within which the subject circulates through the pre-Oedipal and Oedipal. Whilst Klein’s ideas regarding making meaning with ‘partial-objects’ is well received by Deleuze and Guattari (2004a) they find the circular revolutions involved in Klein and Kristeva’s articulation of the pre-Oedipal problematic. In Anti-Oedipus (2004a) they argue that Klein may have been pressurised to fall in with Freud and that her integrative ‘depressive position’ could be said to be ‘a cover up for a more deeply rooted schizoid attitude’ (p, 46). In addition, in A Thousand Plateaus (2004b) with reference to Kristeva they state: ‘It is obvious that there is no system of signs common to all strata, not even in the form of a semiotic ‘chora’ theoretically prior to symbolisation’ (p.72).


Deleuze and Guattari contest the Oedipal structures and propose an ‘anoedipal’ manner of making meaning that is altogether different to the pre-Oedipal proposed by Klein and Kristeva. The ‘anoedipal’ is argued to be situated outside of the borders of closed familial relations altogether. It is argued to be ‘anoedipal’ principally because it does not involve the construction or transgression of previously defined figural or familial Oedipal borders (mummy, daddy, me). The anoedipal is a realm of partial-objects that does not ‘close up’. In ‘Anti-oedipus’ (2004a) Deleuze and Guattari argue that ‘it would seem obvious that parents’ have an effect on the linguistic inscriptions that the child picks up. But, they ask us to consider; ‘what are the precise forces that cause the Oedipal triangulation to close up?’ (Ibid, p.51). They argue that Kristeva and Klein still adhere to the central tenets of Freud and the power of familial or genealogical relations to order language as they discuss a pre-Oedipal realm. Deleuze and Guattari state:


‘It is true that nothing is pre-oedipal….It is equally true that everything within the order of production is anoedipal , and that there are non-oedipal, anoedipal currents that begin as early as Oedipus and continue just as long with another rhythm’ (2004a, p.110).


Deleuze & Guattari in ‘Anti-Oedipus’ (2004a), argue that ‘the Oedipal operation consists in establishing a constellation of biunivocal relations’. Both Freud and Lacan posit the binary status of Mother and Father as founding signifiers that split the child’s feelings of symbiotic totality, and in so doing, cause a desire to re-find that same feeling of unity by reconnecting to an ostensibly ‘lost’ other half. This is what Deleuze and Guattari mean by ‘bi-univocal’. Whilst for Kristeva and Klein meaning is made as symbols are figured and reconfigured via revolutions that can be made between a subjective interior realm, and conceptual objects that exist outside. However, Deleuze & Guattari argue that Kristeva and Klein make the assumption that partial-objects are parts of original whole objects and can thus be reintegrated:


‘Whatever the reality in which the virtual object is incorporated, it does not become integrated: it remains planted or stuck there’ (2004a, p.125).


As I have discussed, Klein argues that part-objects such as the ‘frustrating breast’ can be made whole as the individual integrates these paranoid-schizoid split objects via the depressive position and they become a phantasised whole mother. Deleuze (2004) replaces this with the concept of the ‘virtual’ or imaginary object, that is indeed a partial object, but one which no longer has a relationship to a whole:


‘In short, the virtual is never subject to the global character which affects real objects’ (Deleuze, 2004, p.125).

Heterogeneous partial-objects for Deleuze and Guattari do not have a secondary or provisional status, but a ‘becoming’ status because they provide entryways into the production of the objects from which we make our world. Partial objects are indeed split objects but they re in no sense split form some prior ‘real’ global object. There is a sense in which the object is shattered into parts and another realm and the parts no longer have a relationship to the former object but instead are born again completely anew without any global references.  


This distance between Kristeva’s arguments for the pre-OedipaI and Deleuze and Guattari’s proposals for the anoedipal, I want to suggest, amount to different ways of conceptualising partial-objects and therefore, heterogeneity. Deleuze and Guattari describe in the introduction to ‘A Thousand Plateaus’ (2004b) three systems of mapping the world; ‘root’, ‘radicle’ and ‘rhizomatic’ systems. With a ‘root’ system, one becomes two. The primary root splits and becomes two roots. According to Deleuze and Guattari when one becomes two ‘what we have before us is the most classical and well reflected, oldest and weariest kind of thought’ (2004b, p.5). They argue that ‘binary logic and biunivocal relations still dominate psychoanalysis’ (Ibid, p.6). Using the analogy of the development of a tree root, Deleuze and Guattari propose that one becomes two, and two become four as we develop as subjects situated within symbolic law. However, arriving at two from one, relies on a ‘strong principal unity’ and this is what Deleuze and Guattari refuse in linguistic psychoanalytic theses (2004b, p.6).  


‘Even a discipline as “advanced” as linguistics retains the root tree as its fundamental image, and thus remains wedded to classical reflection’ (2004b, p.5).   


 They propose an alternative to the binary ‘root system’, that they call a ‘radicle-system’ or ‘fascicular’ root. According to Chambers dictionary (2003) the word ‘fascicular’ can mean a ‘union of a number of parts side by side on a flat plate’, or a ‘bunched tuft of branches, roots, fibres etc’. Likewise, the ‘radicle’ system for Deleuze and Guattari, although a system in which a multiplicity is offered, an overall spiritual unity is still presupposed as an origin or an aim thus reflecting the notion of a ‘bunch’ or ‘plateful’ of parts or indeed a ‘superior unity’. Whilst they find much of value in Joyce and Nietzsche, they accuse Joyce of the inability to think beyond a ‘superior unity’, and Nietzsche for proposing ‘a cyclic unity of the eternal return’ (2004b, p.6): ‘most modern methods for making a series proliferate or a multiplicity grow are perfectly valid in one direction, for example a linear direction, whereas a unity of totalization asserts itself even more firmly in another, circular or cyclic dimension’

Whenever a multiplicity is taken up in a structure, its growth is offset by a reduction in its laws of combination. The abortionists of unity are indeed angel makers, doctores angelici, because they affirm a properly angelic and superior unity’ (2004b, p.6).

 

As I have discussed, Kristeva and Klein’s theorization of the pre-Oedipal, posits partial-objects in a realm that has a distinct relationship with the Oedipal realm. Together they ostensibly form a circular system. However, Deleuze and Guattari argue that even as ‘unity is consistently thwarted and obstructed in the object a new type of unity triumphs in the subject’ (2004b, p.6). Therefore the same reliance on a superior unity is at work in their analysis.


What Deleuze and Guattari attempt with ‘A Thousand Plateaus’ is to construct a book that conforms to their ideal. This they describe as a ‘rhizomatic’ multiplicity;

 

‘it is only when the multiple is effectively treated as a substantive, ‘multiplicity’, that it ceases to have any relation to the One as subject or object, natural or spiritual reality, image and world. Multiplicities are rhizomatic, and expose arborescent pseudo-multiplicities for what they are. There is no unity to serve as a pivot in the object or to divide in the subject. There is not even the unity to abort in the object or ‘return’ in the subject. A multiplicity has neither subject nor object, only determinations, magnitudes, and dimensions that cannot increase in number without the multiplicity changing in nature’ (2004b, p.9).


In the anoedipal mode of operation, difference and language remain schizophrenic, and cannot avoid being remixed and transformed into many novel figurations at any point in time. To mistake Deleuze and Guattari’s message as the blind advocation of a wistful ‘freedom’ with linguistic signs is to misread them because what I think they mean to convey is the grim reality of the machine-like schizoid process inherent in the human production of meaning.


What I have attempted to articulate here are alternative approaches to Freud’s original Oedipal scenario. I ended the literature review by discussing the ways in which high modernism began to disintegrate as a method of interpreting art. I will now more fully discuss the ways in which contemporary art historians approach these partial qualities of non-figurative art today.


The plurality of approaches found in psychoanalysis to marking identity through difference allows art historians to move away from the unifying hypothesis of high modernism. For example, Hal Foster(1996), Rosalind Krauss (2000) and Mignon Nixon (2002) have all thought about pre-Oedipal qualities of partial-objects when reading the formal parts in an artwork. Bataille is frequently cited to this end. Cited in particular is his notion of informe which can be broadly interpreted as ‘lack of form’ or formlessness as discussed in ‘The Story of the Eye’ first published in 1928. The emphasis has been often been placed on the ways in which painterly marks do not always form clearly distinct edges but merge into each other; becoming part-of each other. As such they can be read as ‘partial-objects’. The effect of symbiotic relations between painterly marks had been observed by the art historian Wolfflin in 1915 in ‘Principles of Art History’ (1950). He uses the term malerisch as a sub term in a category of formalist qualities he distinguishes as ‘painterly’. Malerisch is hard to translate, but suggests the tactile qualities of oil paint as it slithers and slides and merges with other areas of oil. For Wolfflin, Malerisch being a ‘painterly’ quality is the binary opposite of ‘linear’ which as we might expect has clearly distinct hard edges. This particular formal quality that Wolfflin noted, has found contemporary art historians appropriating ideas from psychoanalytic readings; in particular, from re-readings of Freud and an ostensibly ‘pre-symbolic’ realm of part-objects. This is because a pre-symbolic r pre-Oedipal realm offers an approach to the interpretation of painterly objects that fail to have clear linear properties.


As I have discussed, one of the many strands that developed after high modernism favoured exactly what Michael Fried (1967) had dismissed as the splitting qualities of what he termed ‘objecthood’ and ‘literalism’. This led to a focus on the split between the body and the art object. It evolved into an interest in so called ‘Minimalist’ works of artists such as Donald Judd. Judd’s works were argued by Fried (1967) to be ‘theatrical’ in that they foreground the body that was in the room with the art object. However, around the same time artists such as Louise Bourgeois and Eva Hesse were making soft sculptures that were significantly different to the hard linear and geometrical structures produced by the Minimalists. In order to interpret the ‘softness’ of the work of Bourgeois and Hesse the art historian Briony Fer has thought about both Fried’s ideas on literalism in addition to different logics of partial-objects in psychoanalytic strategies. Importantly Fer distinguishes between different approaches in psychoanalysis when she reads soft edges and partial Malerisch type qualities in non-figurative artworks.


For example, making direct reference to literalism and Fried in her 1999 essay ‘Objects Beyond Objecthood’ Briony Fer writes on soft sculpture as psychoanalytic relations-between-bodies.


The Destruction of the Father 1974

Louise Bourgeois, The Destruction of the Father (1974)


 



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Eva Hesse, Right After, 1969


Fer suggests of these works above that;


 ‘the whole question of ‘Soft Sculpture’ would invite a language of anthropomorphism, of bodily projection and empathy. Bulbous forms, organic forms, seemed deliberately to inscribe an erotics of the body’ (Fer, 1999, p.279).


It is easy to see Louise Bourgeois sculpture (The Destruction of the Father, 1974) as reminiscent of human bodily parts. Fer states that much of Bourgeois work invites a descriptive language of bodily parts such as ‘breast-phallus protrusions’ and, ‘finger-like growth’ (Fer, 1999, p. 279). However she argues that Hesse’s work requires a different approach to an ‘erotics of the body’. Fer tells us that:


‘The fantasy of the fragmented body became the model of disintegration in art in the 1980’s...The imaginary is the realm Klein described as the falling to bits of the ego...which is where Bourgeois’s work has to be placed’(1999, p.284).


However, Hesse’s work such as Right After (1969) is argued to belong to a different logic of partial-objects because it does not look like an object that has fallen apart but rather a soft construction. Hesse’s post 1966 approach to the same sort of ‘soft’ materials, such as latex and plastic, seems to be more mathematical and abstract than suggestive of bodily part-objects. Thus, fer argues, her work requires a different descriptive logic. Fer’s 1999 paper on Bourgeois and Hesse centres on two conceptions of heterogeneity. On the one hand she posits Bourgeois soft sculptures as descriptive of Klein’s version of the Imaginary realm as the ‘falling to bits of the ego’ object, whilst Hesse’s she argues, is best served by a logic of series or serial objects. Fer suggests that Hesse’s work Metronomic Irregularity (1966) below, showed an alternative model that emerged at that time. She states;

 

‘although the work of Bourgeois and Hesse is usually characterised as being somehow more visceral, direct and less mediated than that of other artists this is not really the point.....Metronomic Irregularity signalled a profound shift, where a logic of the part-object has become a serial one’ (Fer, 2004, p.115).


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Eva Hesse Metronomic Irregularity (1966)


According to Fer (2004) Hesse’s post 1966 work such as Metronomic Irregularity (1966) does not illustrate parts of bodies, but creates ‘non-yet-seen’ materials and forms that only hint at bodily surfaces or shapes. Hesse produces many repetitions in her work. Therefore, Fer argues, her Minimalist non-figurative soft sculptures, although produced around the same time as Bourgeois’, require a different logic with which to interpret the heterogeneity of partial-elements.


In addition, ten years later Fer (2009) cites the 1950’s minimalist artist Donald Judd whilst writing on Hesse’s ‘studio work’. For Judd; ‘the main virtue of geometric shapes is that they aren’t organic as all art otherwise is’, however, he suggests, a ‘form that’s neither geometric nor organic’ would be a ‘great discovery’ (Fer 2009, p.31). Fer argues that Hesse’s studio work falls precisely at this point in between the geometric and organic. In discussing the ‘serial’ qualities of Hesse’s work, Fer (2004) frequently cites Giles Deleuze; in particular his ideas in Difference and Repetition (2004). However, Fer (2004) does not discuss Hesse’s work in terms of the anoedipal, or indeed make any references the Oedipal scenario at all whereas I think marking this distinction would clarify her point. In fact I’m not convinced she is clear on the kind of distinction I have attempted to make. Whilst in the earlier discussion of Hesse’s work Fer (1999) makes numerous references to tropes of the pre-Oedipal, she also distinguishes between the ‘falling to bits of the ego’ on the one hand and ‘meaning about to be declared’ on the other (p.115). In so doing she moves further towards Deleuze and Guattari’s notion of the anoedipal as she rejects the collapsing of an object (ego) and focuses on making meaning. As Fer does this she articulates only one aspect of the work of Melanie Klein and Julia Kristeva (along with Battaille) citing them as she does so. In rejecting the ‘falling to bits of the ego’ aspect of the Kristeva and Klein’s pre-Oedipal theses, and utilising only the ‘meaning about to be declared’ aspect, she, I want to suggest, inadvertently appropriates the rational of Deleuze and Guattari’s ‘anoedipal’ condition. Had she simply evidenced her discussion by marking the distance between the very different approaches to the Oedipal put forward by Kristeva and Deleuze and Guattari her very important point, I think, would be usefully clarified.


In 2007 Mignon Nixon makes the same distinction between two logics with reference to Hesse’s work. However she neither cites the ‘anoedipal’ or the psychoanalyst Guattari in this paper published in the prominent art journal ‘October’ in 2007:


Psychoanalysis offers a theory of the part object (elaborated most comprehensively in the writings of Melanie Klein) but, until recently, has proposed no explicit theory of seriality’ (Nixon, 2007).


Nixon argues that Hesse’s work moves ‘from the infantile body of the drives to its serial substitute’ (Nixon, 2007). Nixon argues that; ‘the part-object and seriality can be grasped as two psychical logics-two modes, two registers, two orders-of psychic existence’. This idea leads Nixon to suggest that;


 ‘the logic of ‘art objects as part-objects’ is not, therefore, exclusively a matter of the body’s reduction to so many rounded protuberances and hollows, so many parts and holes. It is also a temporal mode, an order of repetition: oscillating, pulsating, the beat of the part-object is stubbornly resistant to Oedipal rhythms of renunciation and progression. Seriality, conversely, is a function of sequential time, but its temporality, too, is outside the Oedipal register ’ (Nixon, 2007).


In my opinion Nixon’s point would also be better clarified were she to mark the distance between the psychoanalytical approach to the pre-Oedipal and its negation by a practising psychoanalyst in terms of the anoedipal.


In addition to discussions by Fer and Nixon, writing in the catalogue of the most recent Hesse exhibition, Yve-Alain Bois (2006) also finds a distinctive turn towards a serial strategy in Hesse’s later work. In a direct fit with my analysis of the distance between the pre-Oedipal and anoedipal, Jacqueline Rose observes that this different logic of partial-objects; ‘inaugurates circular rather than sequential time in psychoanalysis’ (Rose, 1993).


What we can see in contemporary art history then, is the development of two different logics with respect to partial ‘Malerisch’ type objects; one, inaugurating circular time, the other sequential or serial time. These two logics are direct equivalents, I want to propose, to the time inaugurated in pre-Oedipal logic and anoedipal logic respectively. To articulate this visual methodological strategy through a comparison of the pre-Oedipal and the anoedipal is, I want to suggest, a pedagogically astute approach and one that has so far been missed. In conjunction with the lack of phallus and Phallus interdependency proposed by the Lacanian thesis we find an approach to the evaluation of aesthetics that might be placed at the point that Harrison and Wood (In. Harrison et al, 1993) suggest must logically exist yet was missed at the ‘point of modernism’s demise’. An approach that, I want to suggest, fits the requirements for a third approach that according to Harrison and Wood (In. Harrison et al, 1993) is required in order to be able to discuss the ‘critical awareness’ that, they argue, must logically exist in the ‘aesthetic experience’ as ‘processes of evaluation in the genesis of pictorial meaning’ (p.253).


I now want to turn to applying the various ‘Oedipalised’ approaches I have outlined as I discuss a potential experience of the work Grand Nucleus (1960-66) by the artist Helio Oiticica.


Chapter 5: Evaluating Grand Nucleus 1960-66    


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Grand Nucleus Helio Oiticica 1960-66


Helio Oiticica (1937-80) was a Brazilian artist and a key figure in the revolutionary 1970’s arts movement known as ‘Tropicalia’. The material properties of colour and texture were an integral part of his work. He was particularly interested in phenomenological and philosophical ideas regarding the sensation and perception of materials. The ‘parangole’ cape he is seen wearing below is intended to involve those interacting with his art to such a degree that they actually create an art ‘event’.


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Helio Oiticica in one of his ‘Parangoles’ (1964-68)


Being wrapped in the intense colours and sensory textures of the capes, the participant could be in some kind of ‘time-space’ conjunction with the artwork. He states that his aim was to ‘trigger states of invention’ (2007, p.17). Grand Nucleus 1960-66, which was made with one of his favoured orange colour ranges, was initially intended to be walked through, and thus, interacted with. However, more recently, (possibly because the work has become more valuable) this work has been hung in such a way as to exclude the viewer from its interior.





Helio Oiticica Grand Nucleas 1960-66

Grand Nucleus Helio Oiticica 1960-66


Grand Nucleus consists of a total of forty-seven square or rectangular plywood boards that are hung at 90% from each other forming a geometric installation. ‘Grand Nucleus’ is produced from a collation of three ‘Medium Nuclei’ that were created between 1960 and 1963, and only finally hung together in 1966. Each Medium Nuclei can be distinguished by its textured surface and colour differentiation. In this hanging at Tate Modern (2007) white stones contained in a low frame lay beneath the work, surrounding it as it hangs in space. The work is hung in separate parts on transparent threads from trellised woodwork attached to structural ceiling beams above. The stones sparkle as they reflect gallery lighting and suggest a replacement, I think, for a picture frame that takes the role of containing the work. As I have stated, it is not always hung in this way indeed, it has been hung so that a person may walk through it. However, in this exhibition the stones function to visually ‘hold’ the work together to a certain extent. In addition they indicate that we should look up at the suspended sculpture. In a way, not only do the stones ‘frame’ the work but also take the part of a stage upon which a performance takes place; the ‘performance’ seems to be suspended in time. With all parts seen as a whole, I think the installation captures something of the sense of a ballet dancer’s light footed movement as they skip across the floor, or what Fried on Anthony Caro (1967) infamously described as an ‘efficacy of a gesture’. The important point here is that Grand Nucleus can be viewed as a coherent totality of parts.


However, Oiticica has intentionally produced very close increments of change in the material part-elements on the surfaces of the work. He described his artistic approach as an ‘obsessive dissection of space’ (2007). There are only very slight shifts in value, hue or intensity of colour and texture on each surface. This makes it hard to differentiate one from another yet they are clearly not identical either.

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Grand Nucleus Helio Oiticica 1960-66


I want to argue that the quality of visual totalisation championed by the high modernists is broken by Oiticica’s multiple material splittings. The image above shows the deep rust colour in the distance, the alternating texture of the boards from smooth in the foreground to dappled in the distance, and the ways in which its shape changes according the distance and angle of the spectator from the work.  


The first quality of split I want to suggest can be equated to Lacan’s notions of Phallus and lack-of-phallus. As I have suggested the Lacanian Oedipal mode of making meaning requires that as we mark identity for an object we observe what it lacks. Thus we perceive a split between presence and absence. In other words, as we are motivated to identify a paternal function or what an abstract mark might ‘be’ we distinguish what it is ‘not’. In art colleges it is commonplace to point out to the student that negative spaces (as part of a background) have an important role to play. They are important, so the argument goes, because without them the symbolic parts of the painting cease to exist. Take the negative parts away and all you have is a mess of incoherence.


Grand Nucleus can easily be seen through the exclusion of what it is not. When I look at Grand Nucleus I notice that I could argue for a clear binary difference between the forty-seven hanging boards and the spaces in between them. The boards appear as distinctly positive or ‘Phallic’, and the spaces negative and lacking. Each board has one length measuring 45 cm and is hung in multiples of this measurement from the floor; the lowest being at 45cm, then 90cm, 135cm & the highest at 180cm.


However, I find that when I stand next to Grand Nucleus any movement I make, alters the composition. Therefore by moving I find can squeeze the negative spaces out of the image that falls on my eye. I can control the negative lacking spaces that ostensibly give meaning to the positive parts; the boards. The composition, the structure of the piece, is entirely open to my command as I sway, squat or move further away from the work. I can make the rectangular or square shapes merge together or move apart. Some become smaller and some larger as I move my body.


Reflections and colours also change as I shift position. Therefore, I want to ask myself when I look at Grand Nucleus, in what way I can inscribe a Phallus/lack duality to these more finely scaled differences in Grand Nucleus. I find that the subtle colour shift makes this difficult, as it seems to resist my attempts at constructing a split. If I manage it at all it is only to realise that there are infinite dualisms, I cannot find a pair that exist on their own in any significant way. Although it is easy to see Grand Nucleus in terms of what it ‘is’ by discerning what it is ‘not’ nonetheless a multiplicity of infinitesimal differences in hue, value, chroma and texture make it appear as a work that contains a plethora of part-objects that refuse to be finally ‘othered’, but instead are endlessly deferred. As a conceptual metaphor this constellation of part-objects I find to resemble the Lacanian ‘Imaginary’ realm or the pre-Oedipal as articulated by Klein and Kristeva because I fail to find any further fixed binaries.


Oiticica meticulously planned subtly different colour combinations for each component and was absorbed by very subtle shifts of colour. These subtle shifts through the range of hues might be described as moving from; burnt orange to slightly less burnt orange then medium orange and onto lighter orange, vibrant yellow, lemon yellow. The textures also shift in tiny increments from coarse grain to a finer grain then a dappled texture. The sheen of the surfaces moves through a range of dull flat surfaces to extremes of shinny lacquer. The Grand Nucleus is a collation of three earlier pieces of work and the textures of the surfaces significantly differ in each smaller cluster of boards or ‘Medium Nuclei’ (1960-63). For example, medium Nucleus No 4 contains brushstrokes that result in a circular raised grain, No 6 has a smoother crosshatched effect and No 3 has visible vertical brushstrokes that produce coloured striations between the layers of paint and has a fine sand-like gritty surface texture. Therefore, Grand Nucleus (1960-66) can be said to contain multiple part-elements created by the artist through the use of colour, surface texture and light refracting varnish.

 

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Grand Nucleus (1960-66)


Oiticica used the Munsell colour system. This system is divided into three parts; value, hue and chroma. ‘Value’ equates to the level of the ostensibly oppositional ‘black’ or ‘white’ being used. ‘Hues’ are the mixes of the triad of primary colours and ‘chroma’ is the intensity or saturation of a single hue without black or white being added. The hues in Grand Nucleus are closely related. So close in fact that on first sight we might simple perceive ‘orange’. However, as Oiticica’s (2007) preparatory colour plans reveal, they are actually carefully blends of orange and yellow with another hue such as lilac. Wynne Phelan’s (2007) research and restoration work has revealed that Oiticica often layered two colours on top of a white ground, and finished with a layer of varnish. Each piece contains, within its discrete unit of rectangular board, at least two but often more distinct surfaces, one applied on top of the other. The use of ‘hue’ in Grand Nucleus conforms to the notion of genealogy or family relations because each colour or hue has part of another contained within it and therefore I want to read it as part of the pre-Oedipal realm outlined by Kristeva. Translucent hues layered onto each individual board shine through each other. The coloured layers, sandwiched in between the initial white layer and the final varnish, are sometimes constructed with ‘complimentary’ (opposite) hues, which, whilst remaining distinct in the sense that they do not mix materially, nonetheless, shine through each other resulting in a measure of neutralisation in the eye. Lavender and yellow for example were used to produce the more neutral lavender grey at the centre of Grand Nucleus. Clear polyvinyl acetate resin is added to some of the layers of paint, or to some areas of the surface, building up the solid form and refracting colour from adjacent boards thus creating further variety in hue, value and chromatic shift. These blends often applied in layers on the surface of each board create a variety of subtly different hues. The shadows of smaller boards fall onto the larger boards behind and a variety of reflections and shifts in colour can be found. This can clearly be seen in the image above. It might be argued, that the closer the poles of difference, the greater the variety of relationships between partial-elements can be discerned. Each perceived hue has part of another colour contained within it.


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Grand Nucleus Helio Oiticica 1960-66


Little distinction can be observed between in the colours with the addition of either black or white. Thus the values cannot be seen as binary pairs creating the effects of foreground and background or presence and absence (as Phallus and lack) in the distinct manner of the boards and spaces in between. Therefore we might want to interpret these part-by-part values as belonging to the pre-Oedipal realms of partial-objects that Klein and Kristeva describe. If I stand back and look at them altogether various rhythms between various material codes become apparent. Looking at the colours on the distinctly individual boards, the slight shift in colour scale from lemon-to-yellow-to-golden-yellow-to-orange, allows my eye to connect them. This connection produces a pattern of an undulating rhythm, a graduated movement in very small shifts, and refuses my attempts to conceive of a binary pair. Kristeva’s semiotic Chora exists as a space in which material codes meet and ‘relativize’ each other and various material part elements in this work seem to meet and relativize each other also. The part-elements of Grand  Nucleus, I want to propose, can be read as parts that in their endless deferral of a fixed position transgress the symbolic order, and thus have an affinity to Kristeva’s ‘semiotic Chora’, yet, however, importantly remain ever fluid interconnecting parts in an ostensible genealogical whole.


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Grand Nucleus Helio Oiticica 1960-66


I now want to discuss how we might move beyond tropes of the pre-Oedipal that, as I have argued, ostensibly contains parts-in-a-whole. As I have said the surfaces in Grand Nucleus are plural and contingent and marking differences depends on where we situate our viewing body. I want to ask how we might perceive the part-elements in Grand Nucleus without recourse to the sense of a genealogical whole.


Any movement of the viewer makes each part-element more complex. We begin to see much more than either the suspended unification of parts; or the ‘pre-Oedipal’ connecting rhythms between parts; or the simple ‘Oedipal’ distinction between boards and spaces in between. What we see are multiple moments of connection unlikely to be repeated that can be seen to occur without recourse to a larger number of parts. I can differentiate between flat surfaces and glossy from a certain single fixed viewpoint. Yet aws I move I find another singular point of connection. I can find connections or juxtapositions between shifts in hue or value. Patterns can be found within the textured surfaces. One part of a surface can be contrasted with another. The shapes produced by light and shade from adjacent boards can like wise be juxtaposed. There are multiple material elements and modes through which to mark difference or similarity that need not be seen as a part within a whole. Rather than finding rhythms and flows through the genealogical relations between marked surfaces we can also disregard such connections and merely see discrete points of connection. The lilac boards in the middle of the work, slightly off centre, do not ‘relate’ to the other colours. They can be read as a moment of singularity instead.


Deleuze and Guattari’s point was that we tend to want to see connections between all parts; that we eventually want to produce a whole ‘form’ of one sort or another and find it extremely hard to get away form such cognitive behavior. Yet, if we so choose, we can focus on one area at a time and delight in that single point of conjunction. We may never quite find that moment again, as we never quite stand in the same spot. As we wander around the work we tend to engage with the parts in a small area as happenstance juxtapositions of light, hue, value and chroma that are unrelated to any other mode of connection; never to be repeated again. In this way each event is singular, un-related to another and thus forms a series of single ‘events’ rather than being seen as fragmented parts of an ostensible whole.


Therefore the work Grand Nucleus (1960-66) by Helio Oiticica can be evaluated in four different ways. One is a replication of the high modernist thesis and the others relate to the different approaches to partial-objects found in re-readings of Freud’s Oedipal event; namely the pre-Oedipal, the Oedipal and the anoedipal.


Chapter 6: Conclusion: Contemporary aesthetic evaluations of form

I have evaluated and discussed art historical approaches to the pre-Oedipal, Oedipal and anoedipal and applied them to the work Grand Nucleus 1960-66 by the artist Helio Oiticica. Therefore, I have proposed a series of ways in which we might evaluate form in art after high modernism yet before the more broadly cultural post modernism that Harrison and Wood (1993) discern.

In the introduction I discussed Harrison and Wood’s (In. Harrison et al, 1993) proposal for the existence of a theoretical gap between high modernism on the one hand, and overtly cultural critical approaches to post modernism on the other. A gap, that they suggest ‘may require the assertion of a ‘third term’ that, whilst allowing critical action in the evaluation of aesthetics, refrains from prescribing broader cultural action (Ibid, 1993, p250).

The third term, I propose, is found in the various novel approaches to form that I have described. A term that is distinct in that although it ‘may establish grounds for critical action; it does not however, make it its’ business to prescribe it’ (Ibid, p.250). That ‘third term’ is, I want to propose, filled by the several ‘Oedipalised’ approaches to evaluating form that I have described. Approaches to the aesthetic experience not premised by a single authoritarian rule which rendered the spectator passive, but one based on different ways in which we might evaluate form that allows the spectator to be critically active, yet refrains from prescribing exactly how they translate that criticality into social action. Harrison and Wood propose that ‘it may be that the role of spectator is key to the sense of a postmodernist painting’ in the light of the ‘Modernist spectator being passive’ (Ibid, 1993, p. 250). Grootenboer (2007) had argued that ‘we lack new designs for particular interpretative approaches that such images may solicit’. I want to suggest that work of the late 1960’ and early 70’s such as Grand Nucleus 1960-66 moves the spectator towards critical action because it ‘solicits’ them to consider its formal qualities in ways that exceed the high modernist thesis whilst also allowing the spectator to evaluate the partial elements of abstract art without prescribing a more ‘broadly cultural’ socio-political action.

I want to suggest that an engagement with aesthetics, or formal qualities, in art allows us to reflect on the ‘shape’ our thoughts take, and they ways in which we evaluate one thing over or against another. The French art critic Nicolas Bourriaud (2009), organising a major exhibition in London, proposes a current ‘Altermodern’ period of art that exceeds the theoretical tropes of ‘modernism’ and ‘post- modernism’. Working though ideas (that he suggests are merely a working hypothesis as both modernism and post-modernism are highly complex and contested concepts) he (nonetheless) presents a ‘manifesto’ outlining what he considers to make today’s art distinctive. Bourriaud (2009) discusses the ways in which todays art foregrounds the weaving of ‘bonds’ and connecting links between language and image;

 ‘Today's art explores the bonds that text and image weave between themselves. Artists traverse a cultural landscape saturated with signs, creating new pathways between multiple formats of expression and communication’ (Bourriaud, 2009).


I want to suggest that what the artistic engagement with materials in the 1960’s and 1970’s has now shown us is something of a third approach to reading form and equates with the thesis of ‘Altermodernism’ that Bourriaud outlines in addition to the third term logically proposed to exist by Harrison and Wood.


As I have shown, contemporary art historian’s evaluations of form in art from the 1960’s and 70’s involve at least three ways in which we might cognitively map the various part-elements that non-figurative or abstract art contains. Therefore what I hope to have revealed is a series of possible ways to approach the evaluation of partial-objects. Such a series, I want to propose, amounts to a series of learning rules, or interpretive algorithms, that theoretically lay betwixt the unifying formalist hypothesis proposed by ‘high modernism’ on the one hand, and the more ‘broadly cultural’ prescriptive theses of post-modernism on the other. Therefore I claim to have clarified at least one ‘third’ approach that Harrison and Wood (In. Harrison et al, 1993) have argued to logically be required in ‘processes of evaluation in the genesis of pictorial meaning’, that have hitherto remained indistinct.


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