Warren Feeney.
Danish artist Olafur Eliasson’s collaborative ‘The Cubic Structural Evolution Project’ is missing a fundamental ingredient, writes
‘‘WHICH WAY to the kids room and the Lego blocks?’’ asked a parent at the reception desk to the Dunedin Art Gallery. It may be the school holidays, but this introduction to Danish artist Olafur Eliasson’s community ‘‘artwork-in-progress’’ did not start well.
Unsurprisingly, the invitation to Dunedin residents to collaborate in the transformation of thousands of white Lego blocks into a continually changing work of art has proved decidedly popular. So why it is unsettling for a dedicated gallery visitor to think that an art gallery could also be a recreation space for children comparable to a family restaurant or shopping mall?
The brochure for The Cubic Structural Evolution Project, at least on paper, appeared to express larger ambitions: visitors were invited to become simultaneously ‘‘the artist and . . . one of the many parts of this creative social system’’. And it has to be noted that there are many good reasons for a public gallery to feature such an art event.
Eliasson’s installation leaves visitors well disposed to becoming the next generation of userfriendly supporters, building new audiences who may have come for the Lego but might leave as converts to a cultural experience they may not have been aware of.
These are important issues for many of New Zealand’s public galleries, renovated and renewed throughout the country over the past 10 years, as local body expectation of measurable outcomes have grown. As a public artwork and community activity The Cubic Structural Evolution Project is good news for any local council – it both meets expectations for gallery visitors seeking to amuse their children, while satisfying councillors’ demands of value for ratepayers’ money.
The Cubic Structural Evolution Project is most certainly not about satisfying faithful art enthusiasts. Eliasson’s Lego blocks seek to maintain a promise of much more – the social experience of collectively making a work of art. Increasingly in the serious art world, it is this participatory relationship between audience and artwork that has assumed priority – for better and/or worse ‘‘relational aesthetics’’ has gained centre-stage and international prominence.
Eliasson’s installation comes to Dunedin with an impressive track record evident in major public sculpture projects like the $15.5 million New York City Waterfalls. He employs numerous architects and engineers to conceive and deliver projects comparable with the visionary scale of Christo’s wrapped building from the 1960s.
Eliasson’s The Weather Project at London’s Tate Modern in 2003 – an installation that radiated light in a hall of mirrors – attracted two million visitors. Described by one British critic as an event that ‘‘intoxicated [viewers] with their own narcissism as they ponder[ed] themselves’’, Eliasson’s ability to readily flatter his audience seems fundamental to his success.
And that could be part of the problem. At the Dunedin Art Gallery, a low table at a childfriendly height covered with thousands of white Lego blocks is too attractive to resist. And making it all white ensures that a community arts project is not compromised by conflicting opinions about colour coordination or the kind of random decision-making that might disrupt the democratic voice of this social gathering.
But do all those Lego blocks and people assembling this sculpture seriously represent a coming together of art and democracy? Probably not. Genuine democracy, as New York art historian Claire Bishop argues, is about discussion and argument through a diversity of opinions. Those white Lego blocks are missing a fundamental ingredient – a dissenting and provocative voice that provides self-reflection, and a shifting of ideas and values. Where is the challenging voice of the Lego Batman who ‘‘only does black’’?
Eliasson’s work might appear to argue a case for democratic art but there is little that questions, challenges or extends our perceptions of ourselves and the world. Yet there are important questions raised about this installation as a community get together – one celebrating a lack of outcomes. It represents a selfcongratulatory entertainment experience, informed by a coziness, which is neither subtle nor demanding. Lego Batman may only use black, but at least he also recognises the necessity for, occasionally, deep shades of grey.