Intrigued by the shock art of the few

Auckland's second art triennial has stirred little controversy. MALCOLM BURGESS asks if curators and galleries are more conservative or the public is harder to shock?


If Mexican artist Teresa Margolles' preserved human tongue had made it to the second Auckland art triennial, who knows how Prime Minister Helen Clark would have reacted. As it was, Clark had enough trouble with its replacement: a recording of human skulls being sawn open during an autopsy.

"She seemed shocked," says triennial co-curator Ngahiraka Mason, about our head of Government's unready response to the audio work tucked away in an alcove at the Gus Fisher Gallery.

However, Clark's security guard took it all in his stride, says Mason. "He said, 'I confront worse things every day in my job'."

But such polarised reactions to art seem few and far between these days; Te Papa's Virgin in a Condom scandal - which divided public opinion - is all but a distant memory. But is that because galleries are choosing to show less controversial work, or has the public become more accepting?

Jim Barr, an independent art collector and curator from Wellington, feels New Zealand galleries have become more conservative. "The introduction of sponsorship has had a big effect."

That is not to say New Zealanders are particularly conservative in their tastes when it comes to art, he says. "I personally think people want to see the latest things. And a lot of people enjoy getting upset about it."

However, it's something institutions hate, he says. "The Govett Brewster [the public gallery in New Plymouth] is a case in point; they get into all sorts of trouble."

The unfortunate effect is that New Zealanders hardly get to see any of the world's best, cutting-edge, contemporary art, Mason says. "Ten years ago we would have been moderately up to date with what's going on. But [now] you can't get an idea of contemporary art without leaving the country. Or going to New Plymouth."

Barr, whose 1987 Wellington show entitled When art hits the headlines charted the history of art scandals, says people are shocked by things they don't understand. "Artists are always testing things out - that's what they do. They're five years ahead of their time; and against what you believe now."

Auckland's Artspace director, Tobias Berger, knows about ruffling feathers - of both the public and institutions. Invited to judge last year's Trust Waikato National Contemporary Art Award, the German curator ended up giving the $10,000 first prize to Auckland artist Rohan Weallans. His winning three-dimensional painting of a giant pink vagina, To the Moon and Back, certainly excited some strong feelings among the Waikato locals. For the first time in the art prize's history, the trust did not buy the winning work, says Berger. "It was my first taste of New Zealand morals."

Ron van de Molen of Matamata wrote to the Times, complaining that "Weallans' painting purporting to show a vagina was obviously done for the shock value, but I am not shocked. So often we hear this kind of thing justified by the strident assertion that art has to shock, to challenge one's ideas, to push the boundaries. We don't hear quite so much about the duty of art to be attractive, to appeal to the senses, to stimulate the imagination, and to reveal talent in its creator".

If Trust Waikato had done its homework, it might have known it could rely on Berger not to choose the "prettiest" work as the winner. As director of the non-profit Artspace gallery, Berger's first exhibition, Money for Nothing, included a video work by the controversial Spanish artist Santiago Sierra, in which a line was tattooed on to the backs of prostitutes, who were each paid $30. But Berger does not feel the video had anything to do with shock so much as prostitution and the nature of exploitation.

"I wouldn't exhibit something for the scandal. But you shouldn't back down, either."

But while it is easy to blame galleries for being overzealous in the role of public censor, it is the artists who must first produce the work that may or may not offend public sensibilities. How much of a factor is shock in making contemporary art?

Ann Shelton, described by a Christchurch gallery as the "bad girl of photography", is perhaps best known for her image of a man covered in blood, stitching up his mouth, from her Redeye series. And one of her more recent images, entitled Doublet, is taken at the spot where the Hulme-Parker murder took place in the 1950s.

"Shock in itself is not a subject in my work. I do not think my work is particularly controversial," she says. "As far as I am aware I have never been refused a show on these grounds.

"My subject matter comes first and it is not shocking to my mind. Perhaps it may feel shocking to some, but this is really a matter of the audience."

Ngahiraka Mason is the first to admit there is a squeamish factor to Margolles' tongue work, Lengua (2000). The body part, which the artist preserved and put on show, came from a young Mexican heroin addict who died of an overdose. But she is quick to cite mitigating factors that give the work value. For a start, Margolles was trained as a forensic scientist.

"Margolles has been practising art in this way for over a decade so she's not a fly-by-night sensationalist artist."

And in return for their consent to the artistic use of the tongue, Margolles gave the bereaved family money with which to bury the rest of the body, something they couldn't otherwise afford.

It was a difficult work, precisely because it smacked of exploitation; but in doing so it also shed light on the problems of drugs and poverty in Mexico. Mason adds: "Mexicans have a different approach to death. It is more celebratory. Perhaps we're just more used to the idea of leaving bodies to science than to art."

Mason says many considerations go into deciding whether to show art that may be controversial.

"We discuss implications and consequences of works including finding out if there are legal/media hooks we hadn't thought about. Sometimes that can mean dropping a work if it can't be done the way the artist wants it.

"The artists themselves are crucial players, too, because they generally have detailed and specific display requests which become part of our loan agreement with them."

For example, one of Margolles' conditions for the tongue work was that she personally "courier" the work to the exhibition. When she could not accompany the work, the work couldn't come.

The audio work of the sawing skull that came in its stead is not so different. Both works are rather uncomfortable, ready-made objects, which "reflect back your own vulnerability as a human being", says Mason. "They also push boundaries of what you are ready to tolerate as a viewer, and you can insert yourself into a completely foreign culture where your own values are questioned."

That's all well and good. But the real test is whether the public is complaining about art through the available channels. An information officer from the Office of Film and Literature Classification recalls a time when the Las Vegas girl sign on K Rd was submitted for classification, as an example. And then there was the case in which a book of Robert Mapplethorpe photographs was classified R18. But not much in the way of art has been objected to recently, she confirms.