Alastair Mac Lennan - Jenny Fitzgibbon - Joseph Carr
performance text photos
Response to a performance
There are many histories embedded within the walls of Kilmainham gaol. Most famously, it is the site where the Easter Rising rebels were incarcerated and put to death in 1916. The gaol also served as the point of departure for numerous Irish convicts deported to Australia in the nineteenth century, while it housed many victims of the Famine in the late 1840s who deliberately committed crimes to avail of meagre food rations.
Given these contexts, the gaol functions as a cultural space where concepts of national identity and heritage can be examined and questioned. It is also the site of actual events and operates somewhat paradoxically as a museum space where history is animated. That an evening of performance art should be staged in Kilmainham is wholly appropriate, considering the numerous national and personal histories transecting the site.
Performers used the architecture of the gaol differently, some choosing to perform behind closed doors, such as Áine O’Brien and Alex Conway, while others emphasised the intimate aspects of their cell, allowing viewers to enter the performance area. Frances Mezzetti chose a more participatory approach by immersing herself within the crowd and using members of the audience to facilitate her work. In general, the performances functioned on a number of sensory levels and some provoked strong olfactory responses to elements such as laundry powder, sheep hide and boiling potatoes.
The focus of my attention for the evening was on Alastair MacLennan, who was situated adjacent to the main east wing in Cell 11. MacLennan was characteristically dressed in black and sat on a low lying stool with his eyes closed. A number of objects were balanced on the artist’s head, consisting of a wooden chopping board laid out with an arrangement of potatoes and a dead fish. There was also a scattering of earthy potatoes on the floor and a pair of black boots with a single tuber placed on the each toe. MacLennan had positioned two pot plants near his feet, one appeared dried up and wind blown, the other showed the beginnings of a small green shoot.
There are many histories embedded within the walls of Kilmainham gaol. Most famously, it is the site where the Easter Rising rebels were incarcerated and put to death in 1916. The gaol also served as the point of departure for numerous Irish convicts deported to Australia in the nineteenth century, while it housed many victims of the Famine in the late 1840s who deliberately committed crimes to avail of meagre food rations.
Given these contexts, the gaol functions as a cultural space where concepts of national identity and heritage can be examined and questioned. It is also the site of actual events and operates somewhat paradoxically as a museum space where history is animated. That an evening of performance art should be staged in Kilmainham is wholly appropriate, considering the numerous national and personal histories transecting the site.
Performers used the architecture of the gaol differently, some choosing to perform behind closed doors, such as Áine O’Brien and Alex Conway, while others emphasised the intimate aspects of their cell, allowing viewers to enter the performance area. Frances Mezzetti chose a more participatory approach by immersing herself within the crowd and using members of the audience to facilitate her work. In general, the performances functioned on a number of sensory levels and some provoked strong olfactory responses to elements such as laundry powder, sheep hide and boiling potatoes.
The focus of my attention for the evening was on Alastair MacLennan, who was situated adjacent to the main east wing in Cell 11. MacLennan was characteristically dressed in black and sat on a low lying stool with his eyes closed. A number of objects were balanced on the artist’s head, consisting of a wooden chopping board laid out with an arrangement of potatoes and a dead fish. There was also a scattering of earthy potatoes on the floor and a pair of black boots with a single tuber placed on the each toe. MacLennan had positioned two pot plants near his feet, one appeared dried up and wind blown, the other showed the beginnings of a small green shoot.
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These simple yet resonant objects form part of a vocabulary MacLennan has been developing since commencing his live art practice in the 1970s. His performance installations, which the artist refers to as actuations, can contain elemental materials such as soil, sand and salt, and have previously incorporated visceral remnants of fish and pigs. Another notable aspect of his vocabulary is the use simple unadorned furniture such as tables and chairs.
A single spot light illuminating MacLennan’s body created an aura of reverence within the cell. Many of the first visitors appeared to sense this invisible field and did not traverse the threshold until later in the evening. As the event gathered momentum, MacLennan’s meditative silence contrasted with the activity outside as visitors bustled to gain lines of sight, filling the cell with distant sounds of footsteps, coughs and camera shutters. This powerfully understated work contrasted with performances taking place in the cavernous east wing. At one point, Pauline Cummins and Dominic Thorpe called across to each other from different balconies, ending in a primal resounding ‘ah’.
As the twenty performances occurred simultaneously, the gaol filled with waves of noise which at times intensified into a cacophony of stomping, rasps and calls. Likewise, the audience seemed to rise and fall with the performers’ energy, and descended into a low whisper with each trough in activity.
MacLennan’s strikingly static pose enabled quiet reflection on the relationship between live art and the performative action. His motionless presence drew attention to how simply being in space is a kind of performance. At various intervals, he performed a series of simple gestures using his outstretched hand, recalling the fluid movements of an orchestra conductor threading air. His black attire further connoted references to themes of death; his presence formed a silent memento mori to live art and to life itself.
A single spot light illuminating MacLennan’s body created an aura of reverence within the cell. Many of the first visitors appeared to sense this invisible field and did not traverse the threshold until later in the evening. As the event gathered momentum, MacLennan’s meditative silence contrasted with the activity outside as visitors bustled to gain lines of sight, filling the cell with distant sounds of footsteps, coughs and camera shutters. This powerfully understated work contrasted with performances taking place in the cavernous east wing. At one point, Pauline Cummins and Dominic Thorpe called across to each other from different balconies, ending in a primal resounding ‘ah’.
As the twenty performances occurred simultaneously, the gaol filled with waves of noise which at times intensified into a cacophony of stomping, rasps and calls. Likewise, the audience seemed to rise and fall with the performers’ energy, and descended into a low whisper with each trough in activity.
MacLennan’s strikingly static pose enabled quiet reflection on the relationship between live art and the performative action. His motionless presence drew attention to how simply being in space is a kind of performance. At various intervals, he performed a series of simple gestures using his outstretched hand, recalling the fluid movements of an orchestra conductor threading air. His black attire further connoted references to themes of death; his presence formed a silent memento mori to live art and to life itself.
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MacLennan’s pose and the arrangement of objects in his cell showed a keen eye for composition, perhaps reflecting the artist’s early background in painting. The doorway created a natural frame around his body, and as viewers traversed the threshold they too became momentarily part of the installation. MacLennan seemed to transcend the physical duress of performing and enter a state of intense concentration. His physical presence in the space was remarkable and small details such as the gently pulsating still life on his head, which followed the rhythm of his heart, were potent signifiers of artist’s vitality.
Although the event had a fixed four hour time frame, the evening contained few temporal gauges and one imagined that the performances would continue into the night, even without the presence of an audience. This impression was emphasised by the decision to control how people encountered the work; performers were already in situ as crowds entered the space and they continued to perform at the close of the festival. The resulting sense of continuity directly confronted the implication that performance art is activated by the viewer’s gaze.
The brief of the festival deliberately reflected this sense of viewing live art in the present continuous tense. The twenty performances on the evening suggested various narratives, albeit, these were mostly non-linear and captivatingly ambiguous. The meaning of MacLennan’s performance was dependent on a person’s response to his ritualistic and concentrated actions. He presented viewers with series of multiple instances, which varied subtly in the course of the evening. Deciphering the meaning of these instances was quietly deflected to the audience and it was up to each individual to find their own interpretation. MacLennan’s silent reflective actions brought us closer to an awareness of our own bodies in time and space. This was one of the main achievements of the night; the performances fostered an understanding based on the physical and temporal experience of viewing live art, a concept neatly captured by the festival title Right Here, Right Now.
Jenny Fitzgibbon, December 2010