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The Tate Britain Commission: Pablo Bronstein and the art of being a viewer

Geoff Hands

Tate Britain, the oldest of the four Tate Galleries, still resonates as a Temple for Art, with a grand porticoed entranceway that clearly references ancient Greek architecture. Climbing the steps of the original main entrance of the Tate in Millbank creates a sense of awe and expectation. This is the recommended way in, especially for the first time visitor, even though most people now use the side entrance in Atterbury Street.

We can only speculate what the art and antiques dealer, Lord Joseph Duveen (1869-1939), would think of Pablo Bronstein’s performative, time-based drawing/sculpture currently being enacted in the galleries he funded. The Duveens (essentially two lengthy, barrel-vaulted, neo-classical galleries with a central hall) constituting a major expansion of the gallery, opened just before the second world war (and, if you exit from the aforementioned side street, you will see that the exterior is still scared from bomb damage in 1940). Well into the great century of Modernism, it is fascinating that an anachronistic neo-classical structure should contribute to a great age of progress in disseminating contemporary art in the public domain. Yet, ironically, it was from this point of expansion onwards that the journey towards the newly opened development of Tate Modern would begin.

The Duveen galleries were intended exclusively for the display of sculpture, and the recent exhibitions from the now on-going annual commissions have explored (some might say dissected) the many characteristics of sculpture: including Susan Philipsz, with an emphasis on sound; Christina Mackie, colour and process; Philip King, colour and abstract form; and Phyllida Barlow, materiality. In this recently opened exhibition, Pablo Bronstein presents a performative drawing, in the form of a sculpture, as a living, moving organism, with a foot in the past as well as the present.

With generous sponsorship from Sotheby’s, Bronstein is employing a changing team of a dozen or more highly talented dancers (mostly classically trained) to embody this tradition-challenging presentation. The main action is performed by an ongoing set of three performers at a time that will occupy this space every day for six months from 11am-5pm. They will repeat a set of movements, with some soloing, or co-coordinating in duets or triplets, throughout this time period. There is some allowance for improvisation, but the structure of pre-determined movements is clearly evident. In the video interview on the Tate website, Bronstein describes ‘Historical Dances’ as a form of drawing: “Drawing is very, very immediate. I find that when I draw there’s a kind of direct route to an inner life. But, that said, choreographing… dancers also has the same quality.”

The choreographed system of movement, which Bronstein further describes as “a series of motifs and patterns… in a reconstructed Baroque form”, is derived from courtly graces and manners of the 16th century and beyond; which, “feels as if it is a parallel world to our pedestrian movement.” The set choreography suggests repetition, but according to one of the dancers (Emilia Gasiorek) who we spoke to during her lunch break, with changing audiences from couples to groups of school children, or hurrying members of office staff to dawdling loners, “the energy of the space constantly alters and modifies”. Emilia and her fellow performers clearly possess impressive skills; maintaining absolute discipline, undistracted concentration and sustained physical strength. Yet the mood of the performance is light, even humourous, at times. The spirit of the spectacle echoes the systematically ordered convention of the architecture, yet with a subtle Baroque sense of flamboyance and movement, and a sober liquidity, despite the neo-Classical references of the massive stone structure of the Duveen galleries that maintains a visual rhythm of its own.

Bronstein’s choreography presents artificial posturing, deportment and unashamed gesture in harmonious relation to the surrounding architectural structure. As a deliberately stylised and sophisticated system of a specific, culturally induced, ‘body politic’ that summons the identity of a particular European class, the result is characterized by a playful or even camp flavour – perhaps to undermine or reveal the falsity of power structures. “It’s a showy art-form and it’s unashamed of excess. This also ties into… queer culture and to a very ironic culture which to someone of my generation, or older, is important, because I grew up – and people certainly who are older than me… grew up assimilating and pretending.”

As viewers we might think the movements absurd, yet simple to execute. What looks easy, as the idea and etiquette of sprezzatura (from Castiglione’s ‘The Book of the Courtier’) is intended to convey might come with a health warning – not to be performed at home or only under adult supervision. The effortless grace of movement to impress others has always demanded great skill and training. This Italian term also refers to fashion in clothing and Bronstein has referenced this by dressing the dancers very simply but stylishly in red jumpers, black leggings and soft leather shoes. This female ‘power dressing’ (though male and female dancers wear the same attire) adds another witty, or ironic, element. The wearing of garish earrings, bracelets and large pearl necklaces provides ornament – and the dancers are unequivocally slim and beautiful. There is no room for political correctness in this aspect of the presentation, as we are dealing with notions of classical, and cultural, perfection.

Yet, where Bronstein delightfully undermines traditional content, the camp and theatrical aspect of the Baroque is appropriated, translated and transformed into a post-modernistic and performative spectacle. Elements of Queer, ironic culture and historical precedents (including Kabuki which virtually corresponds time-wise to the Baroque, and Voguing from 1990s dance) are seamlessly included and invested in a way that makes this work contemporary, relevant and necessary, as stereotypes concerning personal identity undergo questioning and re-examination.

Intervention in the permanent space is not restricted to the performances though. At either end of the galleries, Bronstein has had massive, building-sized, illustrative prints that he has drawn reproduced on temporary walls installed to depict the South (Clore) extension and the North (Millbank) façade. The outside is introduced into the building by these theatrical backdrops, to blend in visually, with the interior architecture. However, the illusion is undermined, deliberately, by allowing the viewer to see the rear of the wooden structures that hold these images in place. As spectators we are aware of, and accept the conceits that tradition demands, from the social mores of personal appearance and behaviour, to our widely accepted notions of the greatest classical buildings. Bronstein’s commission therefore gives the architecture a re-imagined cultural and fashionable dimension, in a contemporaneous context, that might otherwise be overlooked.

The ancient past, at least of western civilization, is further referenced by the Greek ornamental patterns depicted on the floor. These linear floor plans, made with white tape, create a guiding structure (another drawing of sorts) for the dancers in the promenading space. But the traditional division between performer and audience is broken down as passers-by, whether as interested viewers or not, have to traverse this space to move from one side of the building to the other. The brave walk across the dancers’ space as they perform; whilst the more timid, shy, uncomfortable or considerate, walk around the edges of the space, implying a performative role for all. That the typically ‘English’, undemonstrative and courteous behaviour of today should contrast with the flamboyance of the Baroque may itself give reason to ponder on our social comportment.

The art of being a viewer, a normally pedestrian affair, could be an outcome to consider, in witnessing the performance of Bronstein’s fictive Historical Dances. We might all be closet-peacocks really, concealed by our practical daily garb and propelled by the necessities of modern living; overwhelmed by the post-modernity that self-consciously reminisces a past that may be no more than an imaginary tale of sorts – but one that persists over millennia and continues to inspire.

 

May 6, 2019