Self mutilation or art?

Many of you would of seen, perhaps through your hands covering your face, Marc Quinn's blood head. 

A trip to the doctors is a nuisance for many of us, dolefully waiting in a stagnant sitting area, surrounded by the ill and partially living dead. The cold touch of a stethoscope is bearable, an awkward discussion about personal issues, not so. But one heavily disregarded task to delegate is a blood test. Using a hypodermic needle to suck out your own raw fluid to be taken away and tested on. Imagine, however, if you chose to have this blood removed. Routinely and voluntarily drawing out your own cells. Knowing that the smarting stinging sensation which is far too close to your major arteries for comfort was your decision, this foreign object drawing out your precious red plasma was just a fresh idea for your new art project. This is the self sacrifice or perhaps hypochondriac martyrdom that Marc Quinn set out on in 1991 and has continued up until now in his series of blood filled sculptures named ‘Self’.

  Any artist will understand the credentials necessary in order to produce a viable piece of work: dedication, effort and time with a dose of creativity. 4.5L was removed from this artists body to create a mould of his own face. Over a period of five months this total of liquid would be removed in order to shape and freeze for each of the  four sculptures he had fashioned. Usually only half a litre is taken in blood donations before waiting 16 weeks to take more.   A 2.5L loss  is enough to induce death and 4.5L is the average total amount in a human’s body. Quinn has created a doppelganger.  While some may call this glorified self mutilation, Quinn certainly reaches the dedicated goal and ticks time as well -  since 1991 he has made a sculpture every five years and plans to keep doing so – this year will be the birth of his next bloody head.

Aside from its gory and horrifically enthralling appeal, it must be seen as what it is – art. Rugged and imperfect, it translates the flawed aestetic quality of something natural with the most biological medium possible. One may recoil from the porous skin, the unsightly features and even frown at the messy craftsman’s ship leaving such craggy edges but this just highlights one of its messages: the pointless nature of beauty. How can one judge the pleasing aesthetic quality of this piece when it’s made from such a wondrous material, the liquid of life. It however offers a paradox, a piece which essentially hails the vitality of life, a homage to the versatility to that which courses through our veins . But the  series ‘self’ tracks Quinn’s own ageing and deterioration – the sagging of his jowls as the process he seems to appreciate slowly takes his life. However, Quinn himself confessed this lack of accuracy that ‘five sculptures could be done in one day and they’d all look different’. Perhaps it is this ambiguity between the younger the older, the indistinguishable manner which brings them together – a timeline of life and blood, equal in form and regardless of appearance. The sculptures themselves, which came together in 2009 in an haemoglobin frenzy, must be kept in a temperature controlled column in order to retain their original quality. Switched off, they could become a mass of blood and disappointment. Quinn here shows the fragility of his art and indeed life. His sculpture is kept on life-support, tentatively clinging to its solid form. But while the desire is the keep it refrigerated, preserve the hard work and toil of them there is an opposite pull – for the true form of blood to be restored, to see it rush and flow. But the irony is, these pieces of life and hope, are already dead. Frozen blood, without the tricky chemical and time pressured practices used in transfusions, is useless. This liquid of life, is inactive. For a piece evaluated at £350 000, it’s almost in limbo – liquid gold hovered over a drain. Its state is even threatened with the freezer on, the first piece in 1991 is older, a decaying colour of mild orange compared to the crimson of his 2006 piece. But here, Quinn has brought his own immortality into the question, showing life in the balance and you can almost hear a satirical chuckle at the expense of the economics of art.

And you thought fur coats were bad?

A shimmering taupe grey fish, most of its scaled exterior cloaked in mottled feathers, is proudly balanced on two equally ashen chicken legs. Encapsulated in the shadowy black and white print, this is another of Michiko Kon’s enthralling images. His mixed media compositions– consisting of ‘recycled’ materials such as bones, feathers, flowers and dead animal portions – formed his contribution to the ‘Imag(in)ing the West’ exhibition. Asia and the West fuse together in the graphic display to create an awkward mutation of exploitation and fashion. Shrimp studded high heels; fish tail embellished hats and clawed jackets form the shocking evidence of his message – how humans misuse and abuse animals in order to sustain their own requirements. A coat, adorned with limply strung chicken claws and rotted roses, is just another example of Kon’s sombre work. Crude but fascinating, Kon perplexes the viewer with a visually stimulating but morally bizarre piece – only strengthening the significance of animal mistreatment and commercialisation. Rather than confronting you with a bold and dynamic sculpture, Kon is slightly more reserved. His ‘still death’ images are ensnared within greyscale prints which gives them a fake mercantile quality, again supporting his rebellious design, but leaves me yearning something more rather than a flat image which has so much emotional potential as a sculpture. The photographs echo pieces by Robert Rauschenberg, such as ‘Monogram’ and ‘Canyon’ (below) though they lack the bold colourful element. However, Kon cannot even be faulted for this as perhaps if he attempted to force these stunningly gauche pieces into 3D he could risk trivialising his idea – which is already powerfully emblazoned in these dramatic ‘organic’ photos.

Eating Disorder Art

Maria Raquel Cochez' art is shocking, invasive and downright degrading in every way. But oh so perfectly. One of her installations involves the visitors to be weighed, labeled and fed then shamed which giant neon sighs proclaiming FAT IS SHAME. In a world where our exterior is our main credentials, Cochez shows with stunningly clear perception the obsession that we and her have. I interpreted this, personally, as eating disorder art.  The instillation was a cruel but meaningful piece, combining art with social experimentation to unpick taboos which can build up sufferers of eating disorders into the isolation that characterises the disease.

While Cochez' instillation is shrewd and original it could leave some doubting her prowess as an artist. Do not be fooled. Her paintings are just as stunning and engaging - covering focuses of food, from binging to children eating. They look like crude snap shops of a undercover mental health nurse, capturing a bulimic or binge eating in the midst of their shameful act. The cramped claustrophobic view point teamed with the washed out lighting which leaves the figure under scrutiny makes you feel like an awkward invader. The revealing quality of these paintings is what makes them so powerful and shocking. Even  the aversive eye contact which shows shame and the depth of the obsession adds to the invasive nature.

As subject matter, it is a touching and painful study of those who are consumed by their consumption but also is surprisingly realistic. The subtle and soft skin tones contrast perfectly with the harsh lighting but remains believable, as if viewing a hidden photo. The shadows, dark and offensive, are scarce and deep - setting the scene for a midnight binge.

I am very excited by this artist, check her out!!