Is it possible to create an environment devoid of context where we perceive the object purely for what it is? This has been one aim of the Modernist Art Gallery, what some have called “the bare white cube”: to present each object as entirely autonomous. The painting is enclosed by a frame and surrounded by bare walls and neutral gallery space. Take it or leave it. But in fact it is not like that at all -- messages are being sent out. What would you think about the block of wood in here? This establishment is an important cultural institution. There must be something very special about the wood. Merely by being put here it has been changed. You look more closely. . . .

Marcel Duchamp first raised these questions eighty years ago. His placement of everyday utility objects into a gallery has been widely discussed as a question of “what is art?” Did a shovel or urinal become art because the artist said so? What has been less debated is the comment that this makes on the gallery’s power to change -- or in other words, the importance of context. (1)

So context IS important. The neutrality of the Gallery space is now seen as a myth. And what about the objects themselves? There was a time when Fine Art objects were made to be viewed, largely aesthetically, for what they were within themselves. They had no (or were intended to have no) outside connections, references or narratives. For example, paintings were abstract rather than referring to the human form or to the landscape. Artists refused to append statements, believing the works should speak for themselves. Explanation implied failure. These characteristics of the Modernist period of Art speak of an ideal, something pure, separate and beyond us. It was also a time of aspiration, of building a new, post-war society.

Thirty years later times have changed. There are no longer the same absolutes. White is no longer better than black, and we must be fair to grey too. Art -- the way it is made and discussed -- has changed too. It is important to realise that Art has come to be seen as a PRODUCT of society, and hence not an absolute, or subject to a universal law of its own(2). A more cynical generation of artists realised that the concept of aesthetics was based on a hierarchy: It provided a tool for dealers to give relative values to artists as commodities. So Art has become more political (3).

Another manifestation of recent social changes has been the way in which we think and relate to the world around us. Much of the academic articulation has come from French philosophers, such as Derida or Lacan. This way of thinking has been quickly taken on by those writing about art. The art itself exhibits characteristics of the thinking, both because it is an expression of the same society, and as a result of the influence of the writers.

But what about craft -- or to use another, less loaded word -- Object culture? Unfortunately there is very little critical writing being done about craft and issues are seldom debated. Objects are made more often than not because the maker CAN make them, and because someone else (usually) wants to buy them. As a result, objects are still seen much as the Modernist Art of 30 - 40 years ago: wholly separate or autonomous, and displayed in isolation, usually with little explanation. They rely largely on their aesthetic appeal to the connoisseur. There are though a few younger makers whose work has a political or social dimension, particularly in the body adornment area.

You can however apply structuralist thinking to objects as well. Think again of the block of wood. In itself, the block means nothing. It just exists. Seeing it in different settings allows us to know more about it, or gives us a meaning. In other words the meaning of the object is not an intrinsic absolute that exists in isolation along with the object. Quite the opposite: the meaning is produced by the relationship between the object and its surroundings -- or by relationships with other objects. This meaning is an invisible structure of threads that surround the object, making connections to other objects or events or times.

Some of that structure is linked to the viewer. Each viewer has their own unique set of experiences and emotions which trigger off a response. If the meaning of the object lies in the structure of threads then it follows that the meaning will be different for each viewer. So what becomes important is not so much an intrinsic quality of the object itself, but “the social processes that surround [it]” (4). (This has considerable implications for the way in which craft is assessed, but they are outside the scope of this essay.)

For one person, the block of wood in the Gallery sets off one train of connections and responses -- for somebody else, another. There is no absolute right or wrong in each of these readings. But collectively they build up a structure which becomes the meaning for the society of that time. At another time in the future it will change as more threads are added. There will be some people who have more experience of this kind of object, and of articulating their responses. This enables them to come closer to the collective meaning of the time.

Similarly, different cultures will give different meanings to the same objects. A European sees Ruapehu as a magnificent mountain to be climbed or skied on. To a Maori it is sacred and landing diggers on the summit to pre-empt a lahar is sacrilege.

Cultures relate to objects generally through ritual, which becomes another invisible connecting strand. An extreme example is the Polynesian ritual that surrounds the making of a canoe. This is because the efficacy of the object is crucial to the survival of the people. It could be a war canoe for vanquishing enemies, or a fishing canoe for providing food. So right from when the first karakia is sung before the tree is cut down strict rules apply, and breaking them could mean death to the carver. In the Pacific Islands the makers themselves are also the kaumatua who control the spiritual powers of the canoe. To the Polynesian there is no separation in time or between objects; the block of wood is potential before anything else.

Closer to home we also have our rituals. A barbecue is a different occasion to a formal meal. It is the furniture that defines the ritual: the casual grill and picnic table, or the more expensive and carefully kept dining suite. Just looking at these isolated pieces as aesthetic objects in a gallery setting would be misleading. We also need to know the rituals for which they were made to explain their differences.

What about the making process? Is there any benefit in concealing it? At its most pure, Modernism is based on the writings of Kant who said

“the pleasures of the senses [are] tyrannical; only in the contemplation of the aesthetic could people be free. The object that insists on being enjoyed threatens ethical resistance to it, and denies the distance required by the aesthetic.”(5)

In other words, seductive surfaces and beguiling techniques distract from our appreciation of inner purity. (This attitude, incidentally, was responsible for relegating craft to an inferior status to that of ‘pure’ art.) But if society no longer shares this purist idealism, then those things are no longer distractions. In fact they are routes to our appreciation of the object and add to the structure of meaning surrounding it.

Most people actually have a natural curiosity and want to know how something was conceived and made. Such knowledge adds to the experience and creates further links between maker and viewer. Leaving visible tool-marks tells a story of the making as does the display of working drawings. To conceal these reduces the meaning.

Another Modernist distraction was reference. For an object to be seen only for itself it had to be free of all connections to the past and to other objects. The proscribing of ‘copying’ became a dogma itself, and formed the basis of the concept of the Avante Garde. Post- Modernism reversed this, and suddenly for a period all works referred to earlier styles. Once again, if the meaning isn’t aesthetic and intrinsic to the object, then reference or ‘copying’ is no longer an issue. The act of revisiting an earlier work and re-examining it in the new context of today becomes valid. It is not the ultimate originality that is important, but the new message or meaning surrounding the work.

One of the most common comments that I hear people making about my recent work is "It reminds me of a boat," or ". . . a corset . . !" We all naturally like to make these connections and they add to the interest of the work. As a maker I can’t remain indifferent. My life is a commitment and I have to communicate the full passion of my creativity. I am hurt by lack of care, whether to objects, people or issues. The care of the maker is a moral for society ; not to care is to deny the future. Significance lies, not just in the object but also in how it came to be (i.e. a choice of materials that values the environment), in the passionate urges behind it, and in the messages it imparts. The object is thus a vehicle for artistic communication.

All objects acquire their own life story. More and more museums are attempting to recreate this form of social history that surrounds things, rather than just presenting them to be looked at in glass cases. Most people keep at least something for its memory value, not because of its intrinsic or use value (it’s called ‘sentimental value’ but is that always the right word?)

The aim of this exhibition is to apply this thinking to the display of furniture in order to show how it is related to society. There are some who argue that such an approach can become didactic -- that there is no room left for the viewer to make their own discoveries. That assumes that EVERYTHING is said which of course can’t happen. There are still plenty of connections and conclusions to be found. Instead the audience is being led into the work. They are also being given insights into some of the designer’s thoughts or attitudes, hence increasing communication. All this creates meaning.

It is a fact that, outside the gallery, furniture is never seen in isolation. Whether in the designer’s studio, or the owner’s home or office, it is surrounded by a rich assemblage of other objects. Each gathering is different and tells its own story. So this exhibition is attempting to do the same. The designers were asked to create their own context within which they wished their work to be shown. What connections did they want to make . . . stories to tell . . .rituals to invoke? Furniture making is not a separate, isolated activity. Art, craft and design are totally inter-related and ideas and themes can be explored throughout all three. . . by the same or different people. Given such scope the ideas can be taken further.

Our lives today are not compartmentalised and separated out as they used to be. We see things as being much more inter-connected -- pluralistic. It is empowering because each one of us makes up the whole and can affect it. This exhibition is an attempt to present objects as they are seen, now, at the end of the second millennium.

Thank you to all those who have helped make it happen.

David Trubridge
Havelock North

(1) For further reading see “Craft and Design in Museum History” by Helmut Leuckenhausen in “Craft and Contemporary Theory” edited by Sue Rowley, Allen and Unwin, 1997.

(2) This concept was first presented by T. J. Clark in an article “The conditions of Artistic Creation” in the Times Literary Supplement 24 May 1974.

(3) For example the work of Billy Apple or Barbara Kruger.

(4) Andrew Jackson in “Against the Autonomy of the Craft Object”, Obscure Objects of Desire Conference Papers, Crafts Council, London 1997.

(5) Marcia Tucker, A Labour of Love, New York: New Museum of Contemporary Art, 1996, p31.