THEATRE IRELAND
n.23
Andrew Pendle
talks to the distinguished performance artist, Alastair MacLennan,
about the collisions between the ordinary and the extraordinary which
inform the creative imagination and the thinking in his work.
ALASTAIR MACLENNAN
is practising and perpetrating a form of performance that is at best
underrated and at worst actively despised by the theatre establishment.
His output of installations and performance art events both in Northern
Ireland and abroad is prolific.
His
venues have included prison cells, disused warehouses, pelican crossings,
abandoned bingo halls and office building corridors. The imagery that
he employs is often stark and forceful. Certain components return time
and again; dead animals, balaclavas, barbed wire, white flour, black
paint, a human skeleton with a ram's skull, crutches and shoes. Amongst
it all moves Alastair, transforming the setting as he goes by, moving
the objects, leaving trails of footprints, or stepping in and out of
performance mode to talk to spectators. His performances can last up
to a week. Within them, the human body features as both a formal, moving
object inside a composition and as an individual, living organism.
For those of
you who have not come across his performance work, it consists of two
main strands. The first occurs within a created installation. The second
happens when Alastair takes himself out onto the street or other public
space and the rhythms and surface of the 'ordinary' collide with the
heightened appearance and activities of Alastair as the performing artist.
This collision creates the third element - the performance itself.
It must be
stated that this is not some irrelevant genre of practice or elitist,
backwater activity. He, unlike the majority of theatre practitioners,
is in the enviable position of having to turn down offers of work that
invite his complete, creative autonomy.
It would equally
be a mistake to attempt to dismiss his work - and indeed performance
art - as some sort of hangover from the sixties. His work is both ideologically
and practically in a direct line of descent from the types of work characterised
by the late Joseph Beuys. However, MacLennan, like Beuys, whilst being
informed by the sixties, has a discipline and lack of indulgence that
sets his work firmly in the current age and gives it vitality and relevance.
That theatremakers
should be attending to such neighbouring spheres of activity, (especially
when those activities are concerned with innovation and the testing
of boundaries), may seem self-evident. It appears equally apparent that
dynamism and forward motion feeds on the making of connections and sharing
of insights with related disciplines. This, unfortunately, seems to
escape the majority of professional theatre practitioners and many University
and Polytechnic theatre departments which are in danger of embracing
stagnation through self-imposed isolation.
Alastair is
a warm, quietly spoken man with a shaved head and a ginger white
beard, who is easy going and happy to talk about his work. We had coffee
amidst the chaos of students setting up an exhibition around us at the
Art and Design College in Belfast where he runs an MA course in Fine
Art. He was emphatic that generic boundaries defining what is and isn't
'theatre' or 'performance art' obstruct creativity and artificially
circumscribe possibilities. 'I would like to see the different branches
of art coming together and mingling for whatever period of time.'
Within such
work, the responses of spectators become a component of performance.
The safe, neatly defined segregation of spectator and performer, characteristic
of most performances within formal theatre buildings, is successfully
abandoned without any sense of a return to the uncomfortable and largely
unsuccessful attempts at 'audience participation' that was a feature
of some self-conscious experimentation in the sixties.
Photographs
of his performances in public spaces abound with people stopping, stepping
out of their ordinary experience of reality in order to respond to the
extraordinary. A whole range of responses appear; bemused, amused, contemplative
and outright aggressive. As a working street performer, I am aware that
alienation or feelings of threat from a spectacle can sometimes escalate
to overt aggression. Alastair responds, 'When I first started doing
the performances, I looked on interruptions by people as something disruptive
to the work. However, I learned to start responding to them and incorporating
them into the performance. I often find that, if I'm working at the
same site for a period of time, people who are initially aggressive
towards me will start coming back and by the end of it are actually
quite protective towards me'.
In one of his
earlier pieces, (Target, Belfast 1977), Alastair had walked to and from
work throughout the month of August, dressed entirely in black with
a plastic sheet drawn with arrows over his head, a dart board hanging
from his neck and carrying a black bag. At that time there were more
security gates with soldiers searching passers by. Alastair has said
that he became aware of anxiety as a shared experience between the searchers
and himself which he could control. I asked him about this. He
grins and replies that as time went on he realised that many of the
searchers, especially the younger ones, were more anxious about the
situation than he was. This created a type of tension and energy that
he was able to manipulate and control and so reverse the status and
intimidation of the situation. Much street performance attempts to kidnap
control of the rhythms and life of the street for the duration of the
performance. Having seen documentation of Alastair's work, I am unsure
if he is trying to take control of the environment or plug into its
rhythms. 'I am trying to plug into the rhythms of the street, but at
my own rhythm. By doing this, I aim to make people aware of their own
rhythms and possibly subvert them a little.'
The dynamic
interplay of perceptions between spectator and performer is an aspect
of his work which features quite strongly. He refers to this as 'double-take
overlays'. His own experience of looking out to the spectator is an
element of the overall performance. This is quite a concrete factor
in a work such as Target. It becomes more subtle in a work like Performance,
October 1976. For three hours he stood within netting that was stretched
over him and a chair a few yards away. Between the man and the chair
were various objects. The net served to trap and isolate the objects
while simultaneously connecting them and insulating them from the outside
world. The mutual awareness and responsiveness between those outside
and those inside the net then became the activation of a piece that
concerns itself thematically with connection and isolation.
I am aware
that the activity of performance causes changes to occur in the performer
both in terms of physiology and of psychological awareness. I ask Alastair
what seven days of virtually non-stop performing does to him. 'You are
aware of things slowing down. People become presences on the periphery.
You are aware of the rhythm of their coming and going. You recognise
some of them and notice the regularity of their presence. Maybe they
come every day in their lunch hour. The performance then becomes its
own opposition; a contemplation by the performing self.' Alastair has
said elsewhere, 'Growing up, I felt an outsider looking in and an insider
looking out' and maybe that accounts for this aspect of his work. However,
duality and the creative tension that it can engender is something that
he appears to be fairly obsessive about. Whilst talking about how Zen
has informed his practice, he digressed to acknowledge that notions
of a holistic experience of the world could be wrongly interpreted to
contain a potential for apathy and stagnation. Creativity demands a
dynamism and polarity. He demonstrated this with a performance image
he created in a twenty four hour piece he did in Newcastle. Half the
square performance area was filled with black pigment and half with
white flour. Very slowly, he walked in a circle across the two areas.
Over the twenty four hours a black semi-circle gradually appeared in
the white half and a white semi-circle in the black half. This created
a sign that encapsulated the principle of creative polarity whilst,
deliberately or inadvertently, referring to the yin/yang symbol of balance
and opposition.
Such talk of
holistic ways of being and of eastern philosophies understandably invites
accusations of refusing to confront the political and therefore of being
socially irrelevant. Political signs and symbols do surface repeatedly
in Alastair's work but he refuses to give them an ideological value
or to allow his work to take a politically polemic stance. Rather he
attempts to present potentially emotive signs to us in a may that alienates
us from them. By liberating them from their context we are left free
to attempt to assess them objectively. In September 1988, in a prison
cell beneath Clerkenwell in London, he built a barbed wire enclosure
from which he hung union jacks and tri-colours. During the five day
performance there was a hand-out which included the lines:
'When disaster
strikes, do we wash the blood,
Heal
the victims, or polish the floor?
To heal
we make WHOLE.
One tires
of upstart assertion
'double
parking' as truth'.
During a performance
eleven years earlier in Germany, he built a wood and chicken wire structure.
Wearing sunglasses and with his face painted white, he read to passers
by, in a deliberately neutral voice, sections from pro and anti-British
newspapers. Behind all this, Alastair himself remains inscrutable; manipulating
and articulating such charged icons with a characteristic impassiveness.
I asked why he foregrounds the political without commenting on it. 'I
believe that ideology can be a limited way of looking at the world or
understanding experience; like deliberately looking through a chink
to avoid the whole picture. It is like a coin that has two sides which
are apparently distinct and apart but when you melt the coin down it
is one and made of the same substance. There is no ideology that encompasses
the entire actuality. I will not make art from a set ideological perspective.
To do that will define the outcome of the work before I enter into the
process. The most exciting discoveries occur within the process.' He
is then an artist confronting politics rather than an ideologist confronting
art. Within his works there is room for anomaly, complexity and contradiction.
Interpretation
of his work is problematic. In Slavka Sverakova's commentaries on his
work we read of a seven hour performance, during which Alastair's naked
body, hung with dead fish, moved around the Triskel Arts Centre in Cork,
dragging a broom behind him: 'Fish stand here for both religion and
for ecological concerns. Both are bound together by the immoral disregard
with which they are treated. The negative, life-threatening function
of such disregard is made visible by the juxtaposition of the human
spine and rotting fish and by the visual mutilation of the naked body
by black pigment and marks of bloodied fish on the skin'. This interpretation,
which is not unrepresentative, carries with it a sense of an easy plugging
in by the commentator to a sign system that is probably not so readily
available to the rest of us. Indeed, one of the joys for me of some
postmodern performance work is the lack of need to 'understand' or translate
in terms other than what is present. The image either works or it doesn't.
Another of his works, Slow Know, Canada 1987 was an installation/performance
involving trees, wheelchairs, balloons and Zimmer frames amidst which
Alastair moved and ate a 'conceptual meal' in slow motion to the sound
of a voice-over reading the regulations for entry into Canada. I say
to him that the forcefulness of the image would have struck me but that
I would have failed to reach the same conclusions as Slavka Sverakova
or himself, regarding any meaning, ('the rehabilitation of eating habits
from manipulation by this (catering) industry'). Alastair replies, 'I
know that I cannot expect or demand that a spectator experiences the
same set of interpretations or meanings that I do. To do so is to limit
possibilities and I don't believe the artist can monopolise the piece.
The piece should work of itself and essentially on its immediate impact.
Only later would I expect the spectator maybe to think about the work
and arrive at some sort of interpretation. I do, however, prefer it
if the spectator grounds the piece in meaning. It is an ongoing process
of making connections'.
In 1984, during
a performance at the Pyramid art centre in New York, Alastair found
and took into the studio a load of discarded items. The four hour performance
consisted of Alastair arranging and rearranging these objects, interspersing
this activity with periods of conversing with spectators. The notion
that informed the activity was the reversal of the objects' 'death'
by creating new use for them. Art is thus presented as a process of
healing. However, this healing is artificial. The objects are not, in
themselves, healed. They do not perceive themselves as either sick or
healed. They just are. The healing occurs only within the human perceptions
that have previously been sufficiently blinkered to be capable only
of imagining a single function for them which has been exhausted. The
actions within the performance then are not literal but are visually
symbolic. The significance is metonymic. Rather than being the thing
itself, the items and the performance gesture towards what is aspired
and alluded to. To quote Sverakova again, 'Depending on how we focus
our perception, an object can have two different readings, existing,
it might be said, both between and within the real and the imagined'.
The objects that Alastair MacLennan uses within his compositions, both
those found and the purchased 'ready-mades', immediately attain a heightened
significance. This is not merely as in the more usual theatrical context
where an object attains significance simply by becoming the focus of
the audience's attention and interpretation. Here the objects impinge
on our world, being offered to us by Alastair like artifacts from a
hidden order that is yet to be decoded. The significances and reverberations
of their ritualised reflections on our world provide commentaries from
a privileged vantage point, that is, from the inside looking out.
'What lies
beyond the world of artifice, (yet
manifests through it)? Communicate
from there.'
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