#david steans

Joseph Buckley / Harry Meadley / David Steans / King Conny Wobble Thursday 23rd September 6-9pm Project Space Leeds ‘The Panj Piare is a two hour-long exhibition curated by Hardeep Pandhal. The four exhibiting artists are Joseph Buckley, Harry Meadley, David Steans and King Conny Wobble. Pandhal will partially install The Panj Piare and complete the hang immediately after performing his live sitar piece Scene 3 of Durbar Chronicles.’

The Panj Piare, a one-off exhibition and performance, took place on 23rd September at Project Space Leeds between the gallery’s usual exhibition programme. Curated by local artist Hardeep Pandhal, The Panj Piare, translated from Punjabi as ‘the five beloved ones’, exhibited the work of four artists alongside the performance work of the curator, in which the exhibition’s installation was completed and presented to the viewing audience. As The Panj Piare took place during the gallery’s ‘derig’ phase, significance was naturally attributed to this due to the temporal element of the exhibition. This exhibition was, after all, taking place on one night, lasting for a matter of hours.

Pandhal’s performance itself began when the artist proceeded to announce to the watching, waiting crowd the embarkation of Scene 3 of Durbar Chronicles. With King Conny Wobble filming, camera on shoulder and linked to a television screen on the floor, Pandhal commenced the performance with the recital of the piece of writing which faced the visitors, on the wall by the entrance to the space. It introduced the esoteric subjects of Bruce Parry and the Victorian royal visit to India. This announcement, seemingly unrehearsed, could have almost appeared improvised were it not for this text’s prior descent on the viewers’ consciousness. The haphazard effect of this speech was further emphasized by the shakey camera work of King Conny Wobble, apparently living up to his name. Pandhal’s perplexing performance, though often amusing, was nevertheless not easy to watch. It was unnerving to be an audience member in that space, not only through the uncomfortable intimacy the small space afforded, tightly occupied by artists, attendees and artworks, but also by the sense of uncertainty triggered by the spontaneous and chaotic nature of the performance itself. Indeed, those watching appeared unsure how to respond, even apparently unclear as to whether the performance had finished. This was undoubtedly, in part, due to Pandhal’s almost complete denial of the presence of the audience at all; it was as though this could have taken place in an empty space without much difference. We as viewers were confronted with out need to feel included, courted, even entertained, which prompted an uneasy feeling as we question our role as spectators. Were we unwillingly forced into the position of voyeurs?

The undeniable presence of the cameras throughout the space, aimed in all directions, most likely recording our every move made and sound uttered contributed to this paranoia, further complicating the question: who was watching and who was being watched? The Panj Piare seemed to be set up as a kind of laboratory through which Pandhal and his four fellow artists put to the test their position as artists and the status of their works.

It seemed unfortunate that the succession of this particular performance from the filming of a wider project, The Durbar Chronicles, was not made more apparent. The connection of King Conny Wobble and Steans’ pieces to their wider bodies of work could not have been made more explicit than in Steans’ film piece, My Fellow Artists 7.

With the heady scent of incense drifting from inside the eerie carvings of five heads, King Conny Wobble’s Horror Heads, Oaken Sword, suspended in one corner of the space, contributed to the ritualistic and spiritual atmosphere of the space.

Although decontextualized from their function as costumes in the video work of the artist, The Oculomancers nevertheless perform as emblematic of Steans’ practice. Displayed on stands alongside cameras pointing at the work of the other artists in The Panj Piare, these works appeared as fetishistic as they were ceremonial.

Shown filming on location in My Fellow Artists 7 alongside King Conny Wobble, the viewer is invited into Steans’ working process. The act of creating the work, so often hidden and kept separate from the completed work of art, is not only revealed but also celebrated through Steans’ documentary about the work of his fellow artists. The reflexive nature of the works in The Panj Piare is perhaps most evident and explicit in My Fellow Artists 7, since the film directly focuses back on the other members of the group, being interviewed, explaining their work and discussing their practice.

With the three envelopes place in formation before the striking, triangular artist’s symbol, like hybrid pentacle and crystalline molecule, Harry Meadley’s works The Baby Death, The Macerator and The Patch Of Skin That Cannot Bleed form an altar at which the artist reflects on the careers of his fellows. Each containing secrets ‘that if revealed would be detrimental to [the artists’] personal or professional lives’¹, the three envelopes hinted at a deep bond of illicit information between Meadley and Buckley, Steans and King Conny Wobble. The reason for the shuffling of these envelopes during Pandhal’s performance was not fully explained, however: were these secrets subsequently distributed? Meadley was reputedly the only one to be able to distinguish the three envelopes apart. This drew significance back onto Pandhal’s role as curator, ‘arbiter of taste’, in his overriding involvement in the exchanges between the artists.

The second performance of the evening, ELEGY FIFTEEN by Joseph Buckley, drew together the scattered audience once again, as a group of brass musicians took solemn position on the grid where Pandhal had previously performed. There they stood motionless for an uncomfortable length of time before they were ordered to begin by Buckley banging on the wall. Each performer than proceeded to play a single, respective note, so that the space was at once filled with a wall of cacophonous, haunting and melancholy sound. After what seemed like sufficient time to induce those playing into an oxygen-deprived faint, the band was silenced by a second bang on the wall. What resulted from Buckley’s piece was a drawing together of the ceremonial aspects of The Panj Piare, further underlining the one-night-only nature of the event and imbibing it with Buckley’s own personal stamp, as well as the ‘sacred character’² of the deafening noise.

Like two mirrors turned to face one another the viewer is caught in this infinitely reflexive vortex of artist, practice and artwork. While some may criticize this focus as limiting in its self-interestedness, what seems striking about The Panj Piare as an initiative is the sense of respect these artists and friends have for one another and their work, and the camaraderie this commands. By drawing together, assembling and unveiling the work of four fellow artists, Pandhal presented to those attending an intimate and very personal exhibition, seemingly all the more immediate and permeating for its taking place in the emptied project space; it may not, therefore, be too fanciful to imagine we were invited into a workshop/studio, converted for one night into a temple, bearing witness to the rituals and liturgy of a closed order.

¹ Harry Meadley, artist statement ² Metcalf & Huntington, Celebrations of Death (1979), Cambridge University Press.­ Quoted in the artist's statement