metropolis m

In times of hardship, it is in the interest of all citizens that each makes his or her sacrifice for the Greater Good. What, after all, is a democracy but a body of individuals at war with themselves, killing their own and most precious darlings for the sake of a collective ideal and – who knows – ideology? Therefore, at some undisclosed time in the future, visual artists have stopped producing work. The decision to sacrifice the future of art for the public cause, it must be said, was not based entirely on altruistic pretences. It began with an innocent query, a rather curious but persistent question mark that hovered above the vernissages and finissages in art venues around the globe. The question was plain and simple, and guilty of self-interest: What if the art world would refrain from accepting public money and strive for self-sufficiency instead? What if art were a private good – so private it would never leave the studio, or the mind, of its maker? What, someone dared ask, if it were to rid itself of the desire to reach out to anyone or anything but itself? ‘Art for art’s sake!’ artists agreed. No one seemed to pick up the irony of this age-old claim for autonomy in neo-liberal disguise. These early motives were shrouded in mist and grassroots myth by the time artists published a worldwide statement announcing the collective and immediate renunciation of professional art practice in favour of random pastime play. The announcement is generally conceived as the last manifesto in the history of art. Here is what happened.Production of art has come to a standstill, paving the way for the spare time fabrication of indeterminable objects – an unsettling material gibberish of sorts. Former studio buildings facilitate the necessary space for a rapidly growing therapeutic craft movement, comprising people with an obsessive-compulsive disorder for turning umbrellas and operating tables, or blank pieces of paper, into Something Else. In these buildings, one can find workstations for filmmaking, performance, Baldessarism (better known as ‘nostalgia for nostalgia’ or n2) and do-it-yourself minimal art, the latter with – so it seems – equally minimal attendance. Rumour has it that a group of self-proclaimed hobbyists conducts meetings at secret locations to discuss whether a painting should be red or blue. At the end of the day, the canvas is always left blank, waiting to be argued for and against at prospective gatherings. The attendants all agree that it is the endless and useless quarrel over this painting-in-perpetual-progress that keeps the memory of their former working lives alive. No one outside of these circles can confirm whether any of the above is true: what happens in these buildings stays in these buildings.For lack of influx of new work, a worldwide market shortage of aesthetic goods turns art into one of the most lucrative of investments. Paintings and sculptures are the first to sell out worldwide; investors don’t hesitate to further venture into the field of video and conceptual art, speculating on the minutes of silence composed by John Cage. Commercial galleries are well aware of the tragedy of their success: the better they sell, the faster they will loose business entirely. Meanwhile, big collectors are advised to sell shares in art equity on Wall Street: a Rothko nowadays ‘does’ one billion dollars; five pounds of Richard Serra’s Corten steel equals one ounce of gold. Art insurance packages skyrocket, forcing museums to close doors and spend their entire budgets on the safeguarding of their collections. These institutions, state or privately funded, fail to achieve anything but the rapid accumulation of wealth. There will be a moment when all of the existing art in the world (modern, contemporary and all things pre- and post-) has been collected. Everything will be owned by someone. None of it will ever be seen again in public. There is, of course, always that one exception to the rule. Pilgrims nowadays travel from afar to a public square in a former thriving centre of art. In the middle of this square, visitors can spit chewing gum onto an ever-growing mass of pink bubblegum. The crowds believe that this shifting shape embodies the synthesis of lost beliefs, and that the likenesses of prophets and kings such as Jesus, Ron Hubbard, Clement Greenberg and Damien Hirst blur into the singular image of a new and divine spirit. The encounter with the work is transcendental, but as short-lived and transitory as the taste of gum. It doesn’t keep believers from frequenting the square, to see and contribute to the last artwork in the making – this mountain of materialized spit that illuminates the world with its perpetual future promise, courtesy of the public. Moosje Goosen is a writer and researcher for the Uqbar Foundation