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Time, Memory and the Long Goodbye: Before Memory – A Solo Exhibition by Yuan Goang-Ming
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text by Wang Po-Wei
After the twists, turns and contemplations of the artist’s life, after Disappearing Landscape – Passing (2007) and Disappearing Landscape – Scotland (2008), Yuan Goang-Ming finally returns to the public eye with his highly anticipated new solo exhibition “Before Memory”. The exhibition includes pieces such as Disappearing Portrait, Smiling Rocking Horse, Disappearing Landscape – Passing II, and Before Memory. For us, these pieces come together to form a platform of time and memory; it is the artist’s long goodbye to the past, and his attempt to re-embrace the world.
What Disappearing Portrait offers is a metaphor for the mechanics of memory.
Due to the chemical properties of the phosphorus pigment used on the portrait (which is a metaphor for memory), the image of the woman remains blurry and obscure for an extended period of time. Only when the surface treated with phosphorus pigment receives enough light during this period, can the pigment present a clear image within a relatively short period of time. In this case, the clear image would appear abruptly instead of gradually. If we terminate the video which was projected on the phosphorus-pigment-treated aluminum board at the exact moment the clear image appears, what is left on the screen would remain a blurred, out-of-focus image for a long time.
Such an image-making mechanism serves as a direct reference to the mechanics of memory as we understand it. The moment the video ceases to project onto the phosphorus-pigment-treated surface is parallel to the moment of expiration of someone/something. This abrupt event marks an instant break in the flow of energy, and it is exactly such an irreversible point in time which separates “past” and “future” on a temporal plane: on the one hand, we can no longer obtain any new information from the someone/something/some image itself, and the flow of information feeding into everything from the clarity of the projected image to our own impression of a person decreases gradually in the chronological direction of “from the past to the future.” On the other hand, if we are still preoccupied with this image or this someone, the only possible recourse is to collect related artifacts still in existence or to mine for the scraps of information and impression scattered in the minds of those still surviving, as though by following the anachronistic direction of “from the future to the past,” we are able to fight against the dissipation of information, and begin to weave together a network of memory unique to the individual spectator. However, we must take note of the fact that such a network of memory is constructing a “new past.”
However, as far as the action of establishing a “new past” upon a network of memory is concerned, the simple act of identifying that irreversible point in time is not significant enough to contribute to either the construction of the contents of memory or the development of the network. In order to create specific ways of connecting one event to the next and to achieve the formation of the overall network of meaning, the spectator needs to remember. What Disappearing Portrait brings to our attention then, is that the attainment of coherency between the different events within a network of meaning requires the collaboration between the spectator and the spectator’s memory. However, since the mechanics of memory is not the same thing as memory itself,[1] we must ask the next question: What exactly is memory, within the context of the overall network of meaning?
Just as it can be inferred from Disappearing Portrait, memory and time are locked in a mutually prescribed recursive relationship. On the one hand, it is because the event which existed before but has passed now is different from the “new past” which we create by re-filling the void caused by the event’s absence with memory, that we can perceive the semantic distinction between the “before” and “after” of an event, and thereby recognize the distinction as one which separates the past from the future. Or, by the disparity between the “past” and the “new past,” we are able to comprehend passing (or, that what is gone is gone). On the other hand, only under the preconditions that firstly, at a marked point in time, a someone/something/some image has already passed, secondly, the spectator is able to recognize the event of the passing, and thirdly, the spectator has begun the process of deploying memory to fill up the space vacated by the passed event, that we can begin to address the sameness, in a semantic sense, between the passed event and the event re-constructed through memory.
Practically speaking, the recursive relationship between memory and time means that in terms of meaning-making, the connective thread between event and event can only be arranged and maintained by the spectator. For example, while viewing Smiling Rocking Horse, if we can take note of the specific point in time when we (and other spectators) finally notice that the rocking of the wooden horse is not the result of analogue video, but instead created by computerized parameters, we may come to the seemingly mundane conclusion that everyone takes a different duration of time to arrive at this realization. Such a finding is in fact far-reaching and significant in terms of theorization, because it indicates that the only factor which affects the construction of a network of meaning is the spectator him/herself, and not any other outside factors.
To describe the effect of spectator-action triggered by Smiling Rocking Horse even more clearly, we can say that on a cognitive level, the bow-shaped wooden balancing slab helps us to cross over from the understanding of the piece as an analogue video to the realization of computerized special effects. When our understanding of the cause of the same image content (of the rocking movement) has changed (from video recording to computer programming), the bow-shaped slab retires from our cognition and fades to the background of the event, no longer carrying the responsibility of promoting the change in cognitive understanding. This is because what we know of the bow-shaped balancing slab is no longer part of our understanding in the contents of the rocking mechanism. Here, the bow-shaped balancing slab plays the same role as memory in that the spectator depends upon the bow-shaped wooden slab (memory) to trigger the transformation of the spectator’s own understanding, but the slab/memory itself is not involved in the contents of the cognitive event. In other words, as far as cognition goes, what changes in this process is the perspective of the spectator, and not the way in which the object exists. To use a pop cultural reference, in the film Inception, directed by Christopher Nolan, the little objects that the characters hang onto in order to prevent themselves from a cognitive crisis, whether it be Dom Cobb’s metal spinning top or Arthur’s dice, are exactly what we can designate as the embodiment of memory. For the purpose of this piece, the important part is to notice the spectator’s dependence on memory as a means to complete the unilatoral construction of the network of meaning.
To continue with the above exploration on the topic of memory, in the artist’s own writing about the exhibition pieces, he mentions repeatedly that Disappearing Landscape – Passing II (2011) was created in order to continue and resolve the unfinished narrative in Disappearing Landscape – Passing (2007). What we must then ask is, what was the unfinished part? We can see that there is a drastic difference between the camera movements (which in turn affects the movement of the images) in the 2007 and 2011 versions. The 2007 version was composed of four subsections in terms of visual complex, including the branches, the domestic interior, the passageway and the ruins. The camera movement/ movement of the images do not reach beyond the confines of each visual complex to bleed into the next one. In Disappearing Landscape – Passing II, however, with the exception of two brief segments – the brief pull-back of the camera from the sea to the house at the very beginning, which serves to create atmosphere and prepare the spectator for embarkation, and the final segment of rapid retreat (accompanied by increasing pitch in sound) from the interior of the house back to the sea, passing through all of the visual complex subsections – the majority of the piece consists of a long sequence of forward motion, with the camera viewpoint taking the spectator through all of the visual complex subsections. In other words, the image motion sequence of the piece is pull-back, push-forth, and pull-back again. If in the 2007 Disappearing Landscape – Passing, Yuan’s use of “recursive swinging” as the method of abstractifying the linear transition of time into the status of “passing” purposefully neglects the visual-complex-oriented development of the recorded objects, and goes as far as to stack the landscape on the temporal plane in order to create a “passing/landscape” which places emphasis on the time-image relationship, what exactly is the 2011 version, Disappearing Landscape – Passing II, concerned with?[2]
In Disappearing Landscape: Passing II, the entire “pull-back, push-forth, pull-back” camera movement sequence is only employed once, while the long, continuous push-forth movement penetrates through different and yet repetitious subsections of the visual complex. Such an approach might as well be seen as the artist’s temporary abandonment of the temporally-significant idea of “passing,” in favor of explorations on the physically/spatially –oriented concept of “landscape.” If we compare this interpretation to the artist’s own often-addressed changes in his personal life, it is not difficult to detect characteristics akin to the period of liminality of the ritual process, as posited by Victor Turner.[3] According to Turner, the reason for the appearance of the ritual process is to deal with and resolve the problem of transitions between different statuses. Understood thus, the ritual process does not only take place in religious sites in primitive societies, but also within the everyday social situations and transitions in the daily lives of modern individuals. As opposed to the period of seperation which comes before, and the period of convergence which follows after, during the period of liminality, the ritualistic subject exists within an ambiguous middle state.
Viewed as a whole, Disappearing Landscape: Passing II may indeed be called ambiguous. If we take note of the point of connection between visual complexes during the long, penetrating push-forth movement, we cannot help but become puzzled by the reasons the artist may have for arranging and inter-connecting the subsections specifically as they are presented. After all, Yuan’s method of arrangement does not adhere to the preexisting social or cultural model of classification. If we juxtapose the disparity between socially-accepted structure of classification and the artist’s arrangement and classification of visual complexes with the artist’s personal history, we can easily detect a phenomenon strongly reminicent of Turner’s idea of liminality. In short, we can say that Yuan Goang-Ming is using Disappearing Landscape – Passing II to organize the scenery of his own memory; the piece can be seen as a micro-autobiography of the artist, in which he uses a long goodbye (a persistant, long sequence of forward movement) to deal with the twists and turns of life.[4]
Coming back to the two brief segments of “pull-back” movement in Disappearing Landscape – Passing II, we may remember that the first segment, also the first segment of the piece, begins from the sea while the second one at the end returns the spectator’s viewpoint to the sea. We must then posit the following question: what are the functions of these bookending segments which envelope the process of the individual memory transition while offering support to the transition?
Similar in nature are the questions which Yuan hopes to address with Before Memory, the video installation piece: What is it that provides support for the memory of the individual, before the creation of memory? Or, in other words, what are the things which are considered part of individual unconsciousness, which nevertheless have the ability to influence individual memory as well as changes in the cognitive status? Heinz von Foerster dubs such a phenomenon as “social memory,”[5] while Aleida Assmann believes that “cultural memory“is a more fitting name for the individual unconsciousness, which acts as support for individual memory.[6] Whether it be social memory or cultural memory, both concepts emphasize the idea that the sounds, tones, grammar and modes of action we are familiar with may be re-immersed in social and cultural memory through certain socially- or culturally- constructed mediums which do not feed into the topics of communciation, or which the individual overlooks out of habit. Under a similar context, Bernard Stiegler believes that such a concept is the orientation mechnism provided by technics such as sound, language, writing, print, photography, and film.[7]
As we return to Before Memory, and reconsider the motifs in the piece such as the sea, the forest, the sky, noise, ruins and streams, through the lens of cultural memory, we may be able to identify Yuan, insofar as his usage of specific mediums is concerned, as an ascendent of Romanticism. It is almost as though we are able to hear contemporary echoes of Casper David Friedrich in Before Memory. However, after all, Yuan does not operate in the same day and age as Friedrich, and does not uphold the belief of Friedrich and his fellow Romantics, the belief that Nature sits at a higher position than Art, and that through art, one may indirectly meld oneself with the outside world. On the contrary, Yuan places individual memory within the overall system of cultural memory to inquire about the ways in which cultural memory molds different orientational policies. At this point, we would like to further emphasize that the difference between the works of Casper David Friedrich and those of Yuan is not only a difference of style, but as divisive as the distance between two disparate eras in history. For the Romantic, the rationalist attempt at discovering a point of perfection and balance within manmade social regulations and philosophy is destined to failure; while like the rationalists, disciples of Romanticism also believe that mankind has lost its original connection to nature. What sets the two groups apart is that the Romantics hope to attain harmony between inner nature and outer nature through the byway of art. Just as Friedrich Kittler pointed out, from 1900 onwards, the question, we must at the same time explore the ways in which the individual cons our understanding of the inner workings of culture has long since departed from that of the Romantic era. The counterpart to culture has now become society, instead of nature. The main concern of culture-related fields of study centers around the question of how the individual may obtain and maintain freedom without being overcome by restrictions of society, while functioning under the framework of social structure.[8] Gilles Deleuze also believes that this is the question of creating a world which the individual is willing to believe in and which belongs to the individual.[9] In order to clarify the parameters of tructs personal memory (Disappearing Landscape – Passing II) and conduct an encompassing investigation on the social and cultural orientation mechanism (Before Memory). For us, what Yuan has created with “Before Memory,“ the exhibition, is a platform of visual discourse on this particular subject.
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[1] In order to delineate more clearly the difference between “memory” and “the mechanics of memory”, Niklas Luhmann suggests that we refer to Erinnern (to remember) and Vergessen (to forget) as the mechanics of memory, while using Gedächtnis (memory, or the ability to recall) as the overall signifier of the collaborative mechanisms of remembering and forgetting. For more in-depth discussion on the subject, please see Niklas Luhmann, Zeit und Gedächtnis, in: Soziale Systeme 2 (1996), S. 307-330.
[2] More on this topic, please see Wang Po-wei, “The Social Cognitive Model of Image: Yuan Goang-Ming’s Disappearing Landscape – Passing and Disappearing Landscape – Scotland”, 2010, manuscript.
[3] These concepts were originated by Arnold van Gennep and further developed by Victor Turner. For more information on the topic, please refer to Victor Turner, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual, New York: Cornell University, 1967. Or Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1995.
[4] In this way, we can come closer to understanding the reasoning behind the artist’s written declaration that Disappearing Landscape – Passing II is his own micro-autobiography.
[5] Please see Heinz von Foerster, Das Gedächtnis: Eine quantenphysikalische Untersuchung, Wien: Franz Deuticke, 1948.
[6] For more in-depth information, please see Aleida Assmann, Erinnerungsräume. Formen und Wandlungen des kulturellen Gedächtnisses. München: C. H. Beck, 1999.
[7] Please see Bernard Stiegler, Technics and Time 2: Disorientation, tran. by Stephen Barker, California: Stanford University Press, 2009.
[8] For further explorations, please see Friedrich Kittler, Eine Kulturgeschichte der Kulturwissenschaft. München: Wilhelm Fink, 2000.
[9] Please see Gilles Deleuze, Unterhandlungen 1972-1990, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1993, p. 243-253. For Deleuze, to create a world which the individual is willing to believe in and which belongs to the individual is one of the most important quests of the society of control, a period which stretches from WWII up until the present. |
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