#toolbox17

Publishing infiltrated the art world as an art in and of itself in magazines, on the Internet, in libraries, artistic collections to notions of the bookshop and round table discussions on and off-site in Publishing as an Artistic Toolbox at Kunsthalle Wien from November 2017 to January 2018. 

Nowadays, we even consume the analog as a digital experience. This lens i.e. “But is it instagramable?” or "Can I look it up online?” might at first, seem like a basic method but was a means to navigate the books on display.

Red tiled rooftops shape bookcases, replicated in three rows, symbolizing “home is where the books are” . Explanatory meta text is written on the walls, setting its timeline from 1989 to the present, marking the fall of the Berlin Wall and the beginning of the world wide web. This transformation from analog to digital shapes the perception of the show, spanning and panning the many mutations since publishing became an artistic practice.

Exhibition view: Publishing as an Artistic Toolbox: 1989-2017: Foto: Jorit Aust

Experience digitally

   Similar to the world wide web the show is vast in scope but mostly material. Rather than walk each red-roofed aisle like the wet dream of bibliophile, surf it like the Internet. Each publication opens up its own vortex in your hands or via clicks. A large screen hovers over a pedestal, displaying The Post-Digital Publishing Archive, a section in its own right. This project itself is an infinite exhibition. Worth clicking your way through from the comfort of your MacBook for the museum struggles to display post-internet art in interesting ways. The cultural value of this piece gets lost here. So take a look here, on your browser: http://p-dpa.net. Expand your resources of published data online wider by following up your search with the revolutionary UbuWeb, a platform from 1996 that opened up another galaxy to share avant-garde fine art.  What catches your eye? This is the mantra for the impatient digital reader. 

Fixated like a junkie, insatiable like a foodie; the viewer is blinded by bibliophilia. All the curators or rather collectors, headed by Luca Lo Pinto, and the authors, artists, publishers, binders, and coders involved are bibliophiles. Therefore, visiting this show feels like a crash course in library studies or creating an annotated bibliography for your Ph.D. in art. You have to be a true bibliophile —A minor fetishist to the endless textures, multiple formats and content of artist books—to appreciate this interactive index. Listicles are cool here. It’s paper on paper, on paper and on the Internet. 

   Upon entry you receive a booklet, the #toolbox17 index. Next to your iPhone camera, this proves just as important a device to roam and browse the exhibition. Another tool is an oversized newspaper —with no pictures— dryly explaining in small, tight paragraphs the background stories to the individual books in detail. You might have to meticulously read these manuals from front to back before you can even fathom understanding the deep contextual underpinnings of what your vision discloses. 

   The tricky almost virtual method to reading this show is to cross-reference between numbered and titled paragraphs on the wall, corresponding to a red-roofed shelf pew in Real Life. Then match the lists of typed book titles in your booklet with the real book or magazine. Eleven sections in total. On the sensory bright side, you may, however, touch the books individually, smell them, rifle through them, take a picture of a picture or text, and enhance your social media. This system  compares to an encyclopedic video game. The reader has been shrunk to a mouse cursor, and is now stuck in a very colorful version of Wikipedia, doomed to forever roam, browse and cross-reference. After reading on reading, a tiredness sets in similar to the affect after scrolling through your news feed or after reading this article.

Tabs

   Though the show sets up clear sections, there is an algorithmic randomness to what jumps out at the viewer. Each book is click-bait. You will come across dick picks such as the cover of Schism-zine as well as news on news and printed landmarks of sub and high culture. In the section Artist-run Magazines, The Magazine as Medium, you can find radical pieces of paper such as the fanzine Heyt Be! Created by Denis Beser, Sedef Karakas, and Bari’s Sinsi, it represents the Austrian local underground zine scene as well as the alternative and political printing culture in Turkey. These red roofs house a global village in their breath of artistic periodicals. Heyt Be! and the Swiss, Austrian and Berlin-ese art periodical Ztscrpt — each issue is named after a different Word Font— can also be purchased in the actual museum gift shop.

Heyt be!, Photo Credit: Nina Prader

Don’t confuse the gift shop with the art bookstore, you enter the show through. The latter is art, curated by Motto distribution and Gregorio Magnani, usually found in Berlin on Skalitzer Strasse as a shop. On display are meta books such as The Book on Books on Artist Books, exemplary of eternal and viral mirroring effects that suck a reader in to open another book tab. The museum guard mentions that he sometimes has to act as the bookkeeper here. On the wall, a text proclaims the relevance of the distributor and the bookshop to the art world. Aptly titled The Bookshop as a Medium (section 11), the implication uncovers one example from the spectrum of art book distributor practices. From a circulating gift economy, not-for-profit structures, non-profit, not-enough-for-profit to veritable art book gangsters, they all operate and advertise under the ideological belief that the notion of the book is the purest symbol for freedom of speech on the dog-eat-dog art market.

Filters

   Artists that read and make books is the overarching theme to the show’s theoretical filters. Each book has its own set of filters in turn. In the section Artist’s Library, the canonical artist chose inspiring works, relating to artistic publishing. Paul Chan’s choices: Self-Publishing for Dummies, H.P. Lovecraft’s Grimoire, a textbook of magic: Necronomicon and the University of Chicago’s A Manual of Style prove ironically helpful to understanding the show.

    To the book nerd, all the pretty books are markers of printed matter history. Celebrating icons of the printed matter magazine renaissances from the early 80s such as General Idea’s FILE Magazine’s final issues and Starship and Index from the turn of the Millennium. A contemporary response on the timeline is the New York-based independent online-culture, post-internet Sex Magazine, paying tribute to digital-natives and the unregulated Internet. 

File Magazine, Photo Credit: Nina Prader

   Also worth a skim to get that friction between analog versus Instagram photography vibe, SKULPI, annually published by Roman Schramm, is mostly matt technicolor photography, exploring different ways to express sculpture. Follow that up, with the 3-D materialization of the magazine THE THING Quarterly, a periodical that literally is an object edition. It takes the shape as 1 of 1000 hand-crafted numbered ceramic lottery balls. Does the one on display contain a diamond at its center or just a zirconia like the other 999? The message is the medium, worth a snapshot.

2.THE THING Quarterly Issue 28, 2015 THE THING Quarterly Issue 28, 2015, Foto: Kunsthalle Wien 2017

This is Not a Newspaper

   Artistic publishing is a collection of glitches —illy camouflaged— with which artists hack the public. The section The Message as Medium contains artists masking their message in newspapers and periodicals. Pop-culture activist and rabble-rousers like the Yes-Men, Steve Lambert, and Andy Bichlbaum, made a special edition of The New York Times with visions of a better America on July 4, 2009, with the headline piece: “Iraq War Ends”. This section juxtaposes well with the takeaway meta-newspaper NEW YORK POST flag profile by Michalis Pichler at the entrance of the exhibition. On its mostly white pages, this compilation counts flags from newspapers like The New York Times, New York Post, Village Voice around 9/11. Sometimes the absence of text acts self-explanatory like an emoji. In a similiar vein, the Profil magazine facsimile from 2000 by Hans-Peter Feldmann (Austria’s equivalent of the German Spiegel) has a blackened cover. The original rests next to it, Austria’s political mess best described in imagery as an emptied cover of political mourning. These alternative forms of mediating news resonate as artistic fake news with substance.

   On the whole, the show is a haptic google image search. How much you will actually see in full remains a mystery. A heap of book culture from a very specific time frame crystallizes in the shape of an index. There is much room to read or not read in between the lines. The publishing toolbox is obtuse. What is still legible in the age of digitization? Though a feeling of over-saturation, paired with attention deficit disorder sets in, the book remains a monumental signifier for knowledge and freedom of speech, everyone can subscribe, maybe even read one.

Profil by Andy Bichlbaum, Photo Credit: Nina Prader

Written as an Online Review for SLEEK Magazine January 2018