KS: Have you given up your own studio for the duration of Laboratory?

SE:  I go there to collect post, but otherwise this has been my functional studio space. I instantly felt able to work here, even during the installation phase of Laboratory. Compared to the other artists I think it’s easier for a film maker to uproot and relocate quite quickly – as long as I’ve got my ability to edit and research nothing really changes.

The process of film making is about research and development, and then you execute those ideas quite late on in the process. Everything you see here at the moment is just research.

I suppose I have a methodology that I’ve been working with for a while, which involves looking for existing events or contexts where things are already happening, and then I bring to bear on those contexts ideas that I’m already working with. I don’t come in with a documentary ‘arm’, I come in and try and do something that’s based on events that are already taking place.

For Laboratory, I proposed to use the locality of Jerwood Space as part of my work but there were some research lines that weren’t fruitful; for example, the osteopath wasn’t able to contribute as he was restrained by complicated ethics committees, which is an issue I run up against quite often.

KS: Do you think there is something about film making that means you have to think faster and is more about cutting stuff away – so it allows you the freedom to make lots of different things?

SE: I think that depends on the project you’re working on. The typical film making process involves shooting lots of material – much more than you need – so you get coverage and then have choices. For this project I’m working in a different way, accepting the specific limitations. I’m going to mimic the round structure of a boxing fight, which is ten 3-minute durations.

KS: I love the spectacle of boxing. It’s almost like a stage play, it’s not the violence but the drama of the fight.

SE: That’s the difference between amateur and professional boxers. Amateur boxing is much more about scoring points but professional boxers have very established personas they work with, which they adopt in the ring. But this ‘celebrity status’ aspect can be frustrating as they are trained athletes but depend on marketing and managing professionals to network and get fights. So they can easily miss opportunities if they are badly managed. 

KS: That doesn’t sound so far away from the relationship between artist and dealer – that problem of how you attain value. 

SE: No, that’s absolutely right. There are only 11 professional women boxers in this country, so they often have to travel quite far afield to find an opponent of a suitable weight.

KS: So you’ve discovered all this since you started here?

SE: I’m on a very steep learning curve! I’ve previously made some drift-based films where I had no specific content in mind. So I had this locality and discourse, which was to do with injury and trauma. So I was using this discourse to notice things. So naturally I sought out boxing rings in the area and found The British School of Osteopathy. Before starting this project I didn’t have any knowledge or big feelings about boxing and certainly had no knowledge about women’s boxing. Rooneys Gym has been very open and accepting and the owner likes the way I approach working with people.

For a couple of days, I got caught on the tidal wave of Angel; her compelling character and public persona. I can’t stand the television-style standard documentary centred on one compelling character, usually an eccentric, and follows them around – showing them warts and all. I don’t approach moving image in that way but Angel is somebody that offers all those things – providing lots of rich material. But it’s not about her and it doesn’t relate to the discourse that I find interesting.

KS: Your work is interesting in that it requires you to get out and about. How many hours do you spend here in the gallery?

SE: I spend about a third of each day here, and I’m outside the rest of the day. I come back here to re-group and watch what I’ve recorded. The whole room has become a thinking space. I’ve tended to put up short sequences to see what they’re doing.

KS:  Do you think you’re not encountering as many visitors as the other artists are here, and are therefore free from the constant judgement and assessment of the public?

SE: I’m also protected a bit as it’s a darkened space at the end of the building and is somehow less public. But because my work is about engaging with people I don’t know I really like it when people do come into the space and I often ask them if they have any questions; it doesn’t really interrupt my flow of work. In fact I see it as a vital part of my process. I sometimes need to be protected from the indulgence of my own ideas; the more you talk the more you refine your thoughts and ideas come.

KS:  Do you think the work you have created is different to what you could have created in your own studio?

SE: Yes, definitely and I hope that I can take some of this experience back to my studio. Film makers can be studio based and I do tend to do a lot of writing; my ideas are largely academic and text based – sometimes to the detriment of the work.

KS: Do you feel a sense of responsibility being in this gallery space, as an artist whose practice is very different from the other artists, to have an educative element to what you do – a need to explain?

SE: No, I’ve not felt that at all. 

KS:  Has the Angel interlude been a distraction or is it just part of your ‘drift’?

SE: I think I’m in the middle of answering that question. Two days ago I felt overloaded and I couldn’t see where this project was going, but I keep coming back to my formal structure, which saves me from getting caught up.

I’m trying to find ways of approaching Angel and Marianne as subjects, without depicting them directly; without interviewing them or presenting a narrated back-story. One format is the song; factual subjects don’t tend to sing about their lives. The other is the osteopathy relationship; osteopaths use a number of different ways of talking to and physically manipulating their clients in an attempt to understand them. Another format is the trainer-fighter relationship; the off-camera voice which is constantly calling out directions. These three formal elements stop me from getting too caught up in the personas.

KS:   Did you have an end-product in mind when you came in?

SE: I thought I would make a series of vignettes, starting points, for a film that would be made at a later date. I thought it would be much more open and not specific to one context, so I’ve changed my ideas.  I’ve identified a structure for 10 short films, some of which might not work.

KS:  It’s interesting that you all seem to have identified an end-product; even though Laboratory is supposed to be about process.

SE: I think we all see this as something that is borne of this particular context. The sense of camaraderie, support, direct contact with the curator – this is a unique moment in time that can’t easily be continued outside of this context. This is also why I think we have to remain playful with the concept of what a laboratory is. A real laboratory is so different to this; a fixed period of research, economic considerations, and certainly not being watched publicly.

I also think there’s a sense of wanting to produce a significant piece of work in the Jerwood Space, to maximize this opportunity. I had more anxiety about three weeks before the show and because of the nature of the show I didn’t want to do too much preparatory work before the it began, but I feel quite loose now. I don’t think I’d ever have allowed myself to write a torch song, which I wrote with the help of Peter (Wilkinson) who works at the Jerwood.

KS:  It seems that this looseness allows a freedom.

SW:  They are under no pressure from us at Jerwood to produce final work but the artists have been talking to each other about what they are planning to do before the show ends. 

SE: Something we touched on in our ‘crit’ we had last week was criticism and the notion of criticism.  What is the relationship between criticism and Laboratory? As an artist you decide whether things are ready for criticism, whereas here you are inviting criticism when it’s still in development. I’m hoping there’ll be a phase of criticism in the next week, to help me refine ideas – I enjoy the process of rigorous questioning.

KS: You’re creating an installation in the space, is that something you always planned to do?

JM: The trestles are from a past work and they are being formed into a music video. It is now becoming more of a landscape piece. Not being happy with the sculpture just staying static, experimentation became key to changing its layout. It was part of a plan, but the only problem was that it bore resemblance to a past work; it could be made to look ‘nice’. But I think I just wanted to have a piece of work that I didn’t have full control over. I admire Mia’s work in that very few marks are used to make a final piece and she has the confidence to hold back. I have a problem of not knowing when work is finished and being able to walk away. The confidence to make work and be happy with the result has become easier in this space. The element of distraction is key to creating quick works, either with music or talking to someone on the phone; doodles can become works but can never be created while under full concentration.

KS: It’s interesting that you’re questioning what you produce and what your work is in this gallery. 

JM: I usually work from home in a spare room. Some works just end up being framed to protect them. In this space it’s more open to be able to explore finished works.

KS: Have a lot of people talked to you while working?

JM: Some people are quite timid as you would expect, and it’s nice to see people working themselves up to come over and talk. It’s what’s so enjoyable about working in a public gallery. Using bright colours the work tends to engage a broad range of people. 

KS: Do you feel a sense of constant judging by the public?

JM: Definitely. There are a couple of drawings that I did while feeling quite frustrated over the small scale drawings. After 45 minutes I produced a tree on a large roll of paper that was embarrassing enough to be scrunched up and thrown away. After some discussion with Sarah [Williams] later the tree was brought back as part of showing the public all the work – whether or not it is deemed good. It can feel like that the public are cheated if the artist constantly vets his own work especially in this type of exhibition.

KS: What about performance, do you feel as if you have crossed a line? 

JM: I’ve done more controlled performances in the past. The raised floor could be deemed as a stage, and pouring the paint over models in a dramatic fashion when some music is playing could be interpreted as a performance piece. The experience has been surreal overall.

KS: Do you think the actual physical gallery space has changed your work?

JM: It’s nice to have so much space and its good to develop work in what is a nice white cube gallery. It changes the perspective and allows room for more experimentation. It’s interesting from a commercial aspect and the release from having that obligation, which may potentially compromise my creativity. 

KS: Do you feel a sense of peer pressure? 

JM: Yes, I did initially feel the pressure to have finished work on display, but now I’ve completely relaxed into it.

KS: Have you found the questioning helpful? 

JM: Talking to someone else about my work has definitely helped me liven-up and let go of self-questioning – freeing me up to make new work.

KS: It must be difficult to have your practise exposed like this? Did you know that you were going to construct these screened sections?

MT: My original proposal was about blurring and abstraction. This is such a large gallery space and I wanted to play with the way that it is organised but I also wanted to be protected at times. I thought it was interesting to use the screens as a way of guiding visitors through the space as well as isolating details of the building’s structure because I think it is challenging to show paintings in such an architectural space. I can play around, areas can be broken up to be smaller and more intimate, and I can also organise and explore space.

KS: Has your work been affected by being in this gallery?

MT: Yes and no. I’ve never had the opportunity or confidence to work like this. It had always been the intention that the work would become linked with the space and work with the architecture. I’ve tried not to make a private area to work.

KS: Thinking about the balance between public and private, what balance has there been between the art and the experience?

MT: The work and experience overlap, I’m not sure they are separate. With public access their comments become part of the work and they are the experience. Along with all the collaborators they are the work but also carry the experience. 

KS: It feels as if your work has become wrapped up into the fabric of this gallery, how will your work change after this month? 

MT: The idea of going back to my studio feels strange. Before I started here I was looking to shift things in my practise and now I have a practical idea of how I can do that and move forward in the future. I’ve been thinking that it would be interesting to give up my studio for a while and perhaps work in different environments and other public spaces. 

KS: Is it the architecture or the people that affect the work the most?

MT: The architecture is elemental in forming the work. Perhaps the people have not been thought so much about – even though the work is made for their viewing. Possibly it is less about the people but I’m still unsure about that. The public are forced to move through the space that has been dictated by the work and they form an intrinsic part of the gallery, but the work is not out there to disrupt or engage the public from their daily routine.

KS: What about the performance side of the exhibition?

MT: There is a performing and non-performing aspect of being here. When the public is present there is a performance element and a subconscious act is taking place but it is unlike any planned performance. I’m deliberately conscious of not being conscious of my movements. 

KS: Do you feel judged or are you aware of the constant appraisal by the public?

MT: In a way it has increased my confidence and there’s an opportunity to really explore. There is a certain amount of freedom and possibility here, whereas my studio can feel more confined. Ideas that are repressed in the studio can be explored more openly in this open gallery. There is something about exposing ideas in a public place that may be crass; it’s very liberating in a sense that there may or may not be any comeback – but it is fine to experiment. 

KS: This show feels like a departure from a smooth career plan – a sharp break that allows you to analyse your work and acts as a base for new creative opportunities and challenges in the future.

MT: This show was an opportunity for someone without a track record to try something new.

Here is what we thought…

Mia Taylor

Mia’s work in ‘Laboratory’ shows how she has responded to the architecture of Gallery 1 – a busy thoroughfare for visitors with a mixture of walls, glass screens and pillars. Her practice has constantly shifted between painting on canvas and working with the space that surrounds her, always informed by her interest in fragmentation, indeterminacy and multiplicity. Importantly, individual pieces can also be seen as integral parts of a wider series, as Mia has incorporated details of architecture into the paintings and then describing that detail back into the surrounding wall, floor and ceiling areas. The wall-based pieces are arranged in a series of visual jumps: a hazy, indeterminate mountainscape is adjacent to a protruding cone of tissue paper (see below); two gesturally-drawn paintings are separated by a screen that prevents both being easily seen at the same time; a canvas wrapped in semi-opaque plastic with a clear vertical stripe hangs next to another with horizontal fringing collaged across its middle.

The other elements she has created – the ribbons of colour hanging from the ceiling supports, the canvas block that has replaced a brick in the floor, the semi-opaque screens – all show a lightness of touch that, initially, seems like an intervention undertaken in a fairly non-committal way. In aggregate though, these elements have a marked impact on the space – both how it looks and how visitors navigate through it. To us this shows an increasing confidence to work out the links between the architecture of the space and her painting practice and tie that into a coherent installation on which she has stamped her artistic identity. Working with a difficult space appears to suit Mia’s practice well.

The one collaborative piece in Mia’s space is the low-tech science fiction film (see above) produced with Alex Schady, which can be seen on first entering Jerwood Space. Shot in various locations in and around the gallery, the film features a home-made spaceship and orbiting planets set to a soundtrack of audio found on the internet and with dialogue, spoken by Mia, taken from the garbled text that resulted from an interview between her and Pryle that was (as was mentioned earlier in the blog) wildly mistranscribed by some voice recognition software. The film is inventive and amusing, but has a different aesthetic to the other works. Like them, the film takes its cue from the surrounding architecture and includes footage taken in Mia’s gallery space during the show, but the other pieces on display have a number of minutely considered links that weave them strongly together, while the outside references of the film set it apart. Exhibitions of Mia’s work in the future could easily concentrate on her output alone.

Jock Mooney

Jock’s gallery is a mixture of intensely-coloured miniatures and big, gestural drawings. The much-discussed drying rack has been reassembled and sits in a prominent position facing you as you walk into the space. On it are a riotous cast of objects and characters: trees, blobs, flowers, busts (in both senses of the word), a cartoony dog biscuit and a cat simultaneously vomiting and crapping.  Hundreds of hand-drawn wasps (see below) swirl and swarm in a high corner of the space (and even invade the neighbouring toilets) and a link is formed across the gallery to their nest – bundled up pieces of cut-up paper on which the wasps were originally drawn – stuffed in the gap between a wall panel and the slanted ceiling. Apart from a trio of errant wasps, one long wall is animated solely by a small painting on wood – the piece that Jock said felt like a departure from anything he had tried before (see below).

Two huge new drawings, made on paper roughly torn from a large roll, are draped from the central ceiling support (see below). These are direct descendants from the quickly-executed drawings that Jock binned and then resurrected earlier in the show (showing that those earlier drawings proved not to be a dead end). A large pseudo-canvas (made from a piece of jettisoned cardboard) contains a loosely-drawn amalgam of a mountain (or is it a trifle?), a head, a cottage, broken lines and words. This is hung at right angles to a minutely-detailed wreath painstakingly constructed from hand-drawn fingers, entrails, masked figures, a house and a sofa, all seemingly quoted from the 70s horror movies and 60s counterculture comic books that inform Jock’s work.

The dialogue between large and small, minutely-executed and freely-drawn, two-dimensional and three-dimensional, nearness and distance is the most impressive element of his final presentation. Jock definitely needs large spaces to play in. It is interesting too that, although ‘Laboratory’ has been focused on the processes involved in creating art, the final presentations in each gallery evolved into something approaching a ‘finished’ exhibition. With Jock’s work the importance of keeping a sense of process on display seems more important though. The fragile cluster of hand-made leaves that sits in the middle of the space, the sculpture mounted on a four-wheeled trolley and the paint-splattered rack all speak of temporariness (with this in mind, perhaps the floor drips underneath the rack should have been retained too?). A major part of these works is their overt mutability – it is apparent that they can be moulded and changed at any point to produce new and powerful incarnations.

Steven Eastwood

Steven’s space is dominated by a twin-screen projection, provisionally titled The Hiss of the Blow, focusing on Marianne and Angel, two boxers that he met at a nearby boxing gym whilst researching the locality around Jerwood Space. The two protagonists skip, hit punch bags and shadow box in front of the camera, while at one point the pace slows and the atmosphere becomes more melancholic as Angel (who is also a songwriter), sings a cappella lyrics written by her and Steven. In a corner of the gallery is a diminutive monitor sitting casually inside its soft-sided carrying case (see below), which shows a DVD of Steven filming a bout of sparring between Angel and Marianne on a hand-held camera, before he then steps into the ring to spar with (and get well and truly hit by) Marianne.

Boxing is a seductive mix of grace, skill, power, violence and pain. The projections are engaging and visceral invocations of boxing and inevitably suggest comparisons with other filmic depictions – from Raging Bull to Million Dollar Baby – a long and illustrious history that inevitably affects the reading of any new work in the genre. (It’s also worth noting that Rooney’s gym is frequently a filming location for music videos too.) The Hiss of the Blow is divided into 2 minute segments, reflecting that matches are divided into 2 minute rounds for female boxers, and this formal device allows Steven to collage together a range of different techniques, mixing static camera positions with frenetic, staccato footage recorded using a hand-held camera whilst inside the boxing ring during a sparring bout (as seen from a different viewpoint in the video shown on the monitor).

The video piece displayed on the monitor has less polished production values – showing minimally edited footage taken from a fixed camera position – but is in some ways more immediate and more engaging for it. The formal differences between the videos are reinforced by the differing ways that the works are presented: one is projected onto a screen, so will inevitably seem more cinematic, while the other is presented more casually on a monitor still within its carrying case, so will seem more provisional and personal. The monitor work has an evocative contrast between the poised and balletic sparring partners and the slightly awkward movements of the artist ducking in and recoiling back from the action. The artist putting himself in the ring seems like a statement that he is being more involved, less aloof and dictatorial than an archetypal movie director. The artist becomes even more fragile when the sparring between Marianne and himself starts (see below); he is at the mercy of his subject rather than the other way around (although not wearing any protective headgear makes him simultaneously seems braver as well).

This work recalls one of Andy Kaufman’s regular routines that involved him fighting with female wrestlers and it has that same dialogue of man vs woman but amateur vs professional as well. There are also hints of the more extreme works of Chris Burden, who was once filmed while being shot in the arm with a rifle. This is the artist letting himself suffer pain – and possibly scarring – for his art.

Last night was the closing party for ‘Laboratory’ (wiping away a wistful tear as I write… and holding an aspirin…), so today I’ve been thinking about how the many issues raised and explored in ‘Laboratory’ can be summarised. I started drawing up a mind map (see below), but soon realised that there were so many themes explored that all the links I needed to draw would soon become an incoherent mass of lines (I stopped at the point when I was trying to draw a line linking Mia with Collaborators).

The mind map was a useful start though in producing the following list of the many questions that ‘Laboratory’ has raised. Although a number of exhibitions profess to be about raising questions rather than providing answers, this idea seems to be the very core of ‘Laboratory’. A large number of wide-reaching questions have been tackled by the artworks created over this last month, many of which have been further discussed in the blog (and the latter has touched on a number of further issues in its own right).

Here’s the list:

• About the artists
• What do contemporary artists need?
• Can the artist’s studio be transported into a gallery?
• What role has been played by the outside collaborators brought in by the artists?
• To what extent have the artists wanted to stage an exhibition for the closing party?

• Working in the galleries of Jerwood Space
• To what extent are the artworks influenced by the architecture of Jerwood Space?
• How influenced have the participants been by working in a high profile gallery and the expectations that come with that?
• How important has interacting with the wider community around Jerwood Space been for the artists?
• There have been many peer discussions generated by ‘Laboratory’ – between the participants (artists, curator, writer & photographers), with the public during the show, with the public on the evening discussion of 17 August, with Kathleen Soriano from the Royal Academy – how important have these been?

• Examining traditional categories
• To what extent should the participating artists be labeled a painter, a sculptor and a film maker?
• Do distinctions between artistic media make sense in ‘Laboratory’? Have sculpture, performance and installation all merged?
• Has ‘Laboratory’ blurred the boundary between the art and the exhibition catalogue?
• To what extent should a blog document an exhibition and to what extent should it be a parallel creative work?
• Given that ‘Laboratory’ has focused on work in progress, to what extent have the participants and the visitors still been influenced by preconceptions about what a gallery exhibition should look like?

• Finished vs Unfinished
• When is an artwork truly finished?
• To what extent has ‘Laboratory’ been about art as a process more than final objects?
• When does ‘Laboratory’ end? At the closing party on 27 August? On the last day at Jerwood Space on 30 August? When the last entry is posted on the blog?

• Being on public view
• What is learnt by putting all the elements of staging an exhibition – art making, designing, writing – on show?
• What does it feel like to be creative – for both the artists and the curator – while under continual public scrutiny?
• Have the visitors grasped the concepts behind ‘Laboratory’ and to what extent have they appreciated them?
• Can ‘Laboratory’ be experienced via the blog, or do you need to be in the galleries at Jerwood Space? Are these two different shows?

• Being experimental
• Given free rein, how important is experimentation for an artist? Should your current practice be extended or reinvented? Is there a danger of being experimental for the sake of it?
• Are failures, false starts and changes of mind interesting in their own right?
• To what extent is ‘Laboratory’ similar to, and different from, other experimental exhibitions?

As with most shows, there has been a lot of editing, and some works will not make the final cut. This isn’t to say that these works are rejects as such, but I feel it is more important to produce a cohesive final exhibition rather than hanker for every single nugget that I have produced to be given equal attention, and luckily I have the luxury of a curator at hand. Seems like the only squabble may emerge over one of the new works produced today – a silvery scene painted on one of those awful ready made canvas rectangles. The other work produced today, entitled “Weight Gain / Weight Loss / Hair Growth / Hair Loss” is a billboard of sorts on cardboard – it shall be staying, I think it is thrusty.

This will sound like arse kissing, but I’ll continue regardless, Mia’s space is looking brilliant (I love her strange 3D-ish mountain picture) and Steven’s dual screen projection is shaping up to be a … knock out.  Sorry.

Question from Steven:

How much of ‘Laboratory’ is about the idea of ‘art as process’?
I think the process of making artwork has obviously been pushed to the fore in ‘Laboratory’, but I think this has been balanced by the many other concerns of the exhibition, such as giving artists a space to experiment, being experimental with the exhibition catalogue and the curation, trying to blur distinctions based on media, etc. Also, the artists are still focused on creating completed artworks to some degree I think. There doesn’t seem to be any self-imposed deadline to create finished work for the closing party, but I think everyone wants to ensure that they have used their time at Jerwood to extend their practice and try new things with a view to creating works in the future that they are happy with. As a result there hasn’t been the pure emphasis on ‘art as process’ that you would see during the height of Conceptualism in the work of Douglas Huebler, for example, where the art piece would be a set of instructions to create a work that is yet to be realised in any corporeal way.

Questions from Sarah:

How will critical writing evolve with the influx of online forums and discussion sites, where shared opinions are more readily available?
Online discussion sites have the benefit of allowing the views of critics to be instantly challenged to a level and with a frequency that was never possible before – and they give the critic the opportunity to argue back as often as he or she wishes as well. There is now far greater immediacy in critical writing: you can blog about a show that you attended only an hour or two beforehand and Twitter has made it even possible to comment on exhibitions while you are still there. Inevitably this compressed time scale will cause stylistic changes in your writing. In a blog, I think you will invariably write in a more conversational style that approaches your patterns of speech – far more so than when writing for a specialist art magazine that trades on its erudition – which seems to be a good development because discussion websites give you a forum to explore a different part of your writing practice. Some people have argued that the proliferation of new sites and the ever-expanding number of people who can publicly comment on art poses a threat to the traditional role of the critic, but I think this means that expert opinion has become, perhaps counter-intuitively, even more valued. In a world where there is a wealth of comment available – on politics, economics, art, sport, etc. – who do you turn to first? I think the answer is the media outlets and commentators who have built up a profile that makes them trustworthy. To use an example from cinema, it is now apparent that any film release can get a couple of good reviews to emblazon across its posters. A famous example of this was the manufactured praise, supposedly from the Sun, which was used for advertising Guy Ritchie’s Revolver in response to the wall-to-wall derision it had received from critics. (See http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2005/oct/03/pressandpublishing.sun)

What role does the critic play in writing about an exhibition?
For me, I’ve always felt that the exhibition catalogues that work best are the ones in which the critic tries to set the exhibition in some sort of wider context: what the artworks say about current developments in the art world or how they comment on wider political or social issues. Because of this, art writing is in many ways a creative process that runs parallel to the exhibition itself. This idea is something that I’ve been interested in for some time and was what attracted me to ‘Laboratory’, as you [Sarah] made it apparent from the outset that the critical writing undertaken during the show was to be treated as a creative act in its own right. The concepts behind the artworks – what the artists are trying to achieve – are vitally important too, but you can spend a lot of time relaying these views and also describing what you see, which to me sometimes feels like an easy way to fill up some space. I also think it is interesting that, although you are always drawn to reviews that have strong reactions to an exhibition – “this is great!” / “this is execrable!” – if you explain the context well then this allows the reader to make up his or her own mind about whether this is an exhibition that they want to see, irrespective of the writer’s personal preference. When I read Brian Sewell’s reviews, for example, I almost never agree with his take on what is or isn’t a worthwhile exhibition, but he writes in an engaging style that usually gives a sense of what the show is trying to achieve, so quite often I’ll be intrigued to see the exhibition even though he has panned it.

And what effect does the critic’s writings have on the exhibition and the artists involved?
Critics add to the discussions that inform the making of art and the staging of exhibitions, which, like all aesthetic discourses, involve championing ideas that can be both inspiring and constricting to artists. One of the most famous examples I can think of where the critic’s power became rather too overbearing involved Clement Greenberg, who seemed to almost single-handedly create the genre of Post-painterly Abstraction by his continual promptings, through his critical writings, that this was the next logical step for abstract art to take. Usually though, critical texts have an influence on art that ebbs and flows depending on the artists involved. At university I did a project on appropriation in American art in the 1980s and the philosophies of Foucault, Derrida, Lacan and Baudrillard seemed to be quoted ad nauseum by the artists I was looking at: Sherrie Levine, Jeff Koons, Julian Schnabel, David Salle, etc. I then remember reading an article at some point in the late 1990s which argued that the reason why the yBa artists seemed like such a breath of fresh air was because they didn’t read, understand or care about all these philosophers that the Americans were still so obsessed by.

Here are the questions that Jock and Mia asked me (I will be grilled by Sarah and Steven next week).

Questions from Jock:

Have I told you that I love you?
Yes, but not in the last 24 hours. Was it something I said?

What is the worst question I could ask you and why?
Who is the best out of the three artists?

Who’s best? Mia, Steven or Jock?
Oh… This reminds me of those times at school when the bigger kids would come up to you and prod you on the shoulder and shout: “Oi, if your house was on fire and you could only rescue one of your parents, would you save your mum or your dad?” (Maybe that means I should answer you with: “Whichever one of you gives me the most sweets.”) Anyway, I think you have rearranged your space in the most interesting way during the exhibition; almost every day the space seems to have a different feel, with new works and new arrangements and the paint-splattered drying rack showing that it can be split up and rearranged in an almost infinite number of interesting ways. I think Mia is experimenting most widely with different media – painting, drawing, film, sculpture – and I like the way she is really engaging with the space and using the oddities of the architecture (lots of pillars and glass) to her advantage. Steven has been an art-generating whirlwind in his time here: he seems to have created the most raw material to work with (all pretty good from what I’ve seen). It will be interesting to see how many works he creates in the future that have been inspired by his time here, as the footage he has taken – about boxing, about boxers, about trauma, about treatment – would appear to lend itself to quite a range of different projects.

Questions from Mia:

Do you think that you have ownership over your section of ‘Laboratory’ (the text for the blog) in the same way as we, the artists, each have a designated space?
I think that Sarah has given me the same freedom as she has given the artists – there really aren’t any fixed rules about what I can and cannot put on the blog – so it is an area that I can use to express myself however I wish. At the same time I feel that the blog won’t make much sense (or be very useful) if it doesn’t report on what is happening during the show: asking the artists about their work, asking Sarah how the exhibition is progressing, gauging visitor reactions, documenting one off events such as the discussion evening, etc. The blog also has photographs taken by Magnus and Paul, while Sarah and Jock have been blogging their thoughts and feeds have been coming in from Twitter (some of them rather wonderfully random), so the blog hasn’t been solely my little fiefdom, but then this hasn’t impinged on the amount of space available to me – I can still write and write to my heart’s content about whatever I choose…

As you are also an art critic, how would you review this show if you were asked to?
OK, so you know that I’m going to say that my review would unequivocally state that the show is BRILLIANT, but I think examining why, as a critic, you are generally pre-disposed to praise a show that you have been closely involved with is an interesting exercise too. The more you get to know the artists and curator of an exhibition the more difficult it is to be disparaging of what they have done. This isn’t just because you almost invariably get to like them as people and want them to do well, it is also that you have gained a deeper understanding of the thought processes behind their work. Quite often they have thought of a wider range of issues than was first apparent on viewing their work and something that you maybe thought was quite simplistic or crass probably has depth to it that you hadn’t considered. I don’t mean by this that the only criticism that is valid is criticism that is born from a month-long engagement with the work. Art can’t always be engaged with over such a long timespan and other reactions that you have to an artwork – the initial hit it gives you and also its relation to other artworks you have seen – are interesting and valid too. Having said all of that I have always enjoyed exhibitions that are willing to try something unusual and aren’t afraid to put their mistakes as well as their successes on show, so I think ‘Laboratory’ is the sort of exhibition I would have enjoyed anyway.

How experimental do you think you are being?
I think I have the same internal dialogue as the artists: to what extent should I treat ‘Laboratory’ as a time to try something totally different and to what degree should I treat it as a time to develop and gradually extend the work I already do? Also, is there a danger of just being experimental for the sake of it? I think I’d like to find some sort of balance between all of these questions that I am happy with. Asking the artists to interview me as the resident critic, rather than the other way around, feels like a departure from what you’d expect in an art catalogue or an art bog and I’m hoping to try a few more things in a similar vein next week. As I mentioned before, there is a danger of just being experimental for the sake of it, but for me this danger isn’t too great. One thing that I have found in ‘Laboratory’ so far is that even the failures have generally failed in an interesting way. And I often find that when you read a piece of critical writing that has a very odd take on an exhibition – perhaps analysing the show in a way that you strongly disagree with – you do nevertheless end up discussing it for much longer than you would otherwise.

Give it to us straight…

We had a bumper 52 attendees for the ‘Laboratory’ discussion event on Monday evening, with the complimentary wine vanishing at an impressively fast rate (it was a hot, thirst-inducing evening after all). It felt like many interesting issues were raised in the conversations between me, the artists, Emily from The Partners (the design agency for ‘Laboratory’) and the audience.

The evening event provided a perfect opportunity to canvas the views of visitors to ‘Laboratory’ and address their questions. Some of the questions were specifically aimed at the artists: for example Steven was asked if, as well as filming boxers, he has ever thought of going into the ring himself? The answer is yes and he will be soon!

Some of the questions were aimed at the artists as a group: one person asked how the artists felt about working while a blog is documenting your every move – not just the work you are happy with at the end, but everything you make and do? Mia replied that she sometimes felt that the practice of being an artist was being fetishised – with every pot of paint being photographed – but the public nature of the show has been a useful exercise for her, encouraging her to worry less about the reaction of others.

Steven then voiced his approval that the documentation of the artists’ work is being done by a group of people (myself as the resident writer, the photographers Magnus and Paul, and The Partners) who are engaging creatively with the show, so we weren’t just producing a bland, clinical report. I mentioned that the process of blogging has encouraged me to write in a freer style and be less obsessive about my work – there will inevitably be times when I feel that the text I’ve posted the previous day isn’t as elegantly written, elegantly expressed or elegantly thought out as it could have been. (For example I’ve just realised that, in the third paragraph, ‘canvas’ sounds like a truly horrendous/wonderful* art world pun… *delete as you prefer…)

Sarah has also stated that there is a marked difference between her curatorial work in the past, in which everything can be minutely planned before the start and changes can be made away from public eyes, and ‘Laboratory’, in which everything is re-evaluated every day and changes of mind are very much on show.

The audience also posed a number of questions about how the show has been presented: one attendee asked why, since it is obvious that all of the artists are working in quite a few different media during the show, the exhibition literature labels them as ‘painter’, ‘sculptor’ and ‘film maker’? I replied that this is a good example of how things have changed during the show: the initial idea was to have three artists that are generally known for working in three different media, but as the show has developed it has become more and more apparent that these labels are redundant.

This development also reflects a primary characteristic of the show, which is the wish to continue blurring boundaries of categorisation: are there any discrete works on show or only room-sized installations?; are the artists creating objects or staging a performance? ‘Laboratory’ demonstrates, I think, that an artwork can be a sculpture, part of a performance and in an installation, all at the same time. You don’t have to choose only one category for your work (if you want to choose a category at all of course). At this point Steven chipped in with the thought (in reference to a song he is making in collaboration with the boxer Angel) that he is now a singer-songwriter….