Berlin-based Australian Catherine Nichols appointed Creative Mediator for the 14th edition of Manifesta taking place in Pristina, Kosovo in 2022. She is currently the artistic director of beuys 2021, a year-long centenary programme in the state of North Rhine – Westphalia dedicated to the artist Joseph Beuys. MoCA Skopje is a partner organization of the 14th Manifesta Biennial 2022.
Mira Gakjina: During this year, you are still engaged as the art director of the programme Beuys 2021, celebrating the 100th anniversary of Beuys’ birth. Although we still do not have the historical distance essential to truly appreciate his work, we can certainly celebrate his extraordinary contribution to the art of the 21st century. He recognized the artist within every human and pointed out the need to rethink our relationship to the world at large (a more-than-human world within which we can see a friend in the feral coyote). Could we say that Beuys was among the first to sound the alarm on the crises we are living through (the climate collapse and the global pandemic)?
Catherine Nichols: I really appreciate how you use the preposition “among” in speaking about Beuys’s contribution to ecological enquiry, that you evidently consider Beuys not as a standalone figure but as one of many people – activists, scientists, thinkers and artists – who collectively sounded the alarm. Having spent the past couple of years examining how Beuys – who tends to be heroised or demonised rather than critically appraised – participated in artistic, political and theoretical discourse, I’m always relieved when he is situated from the start in the broader context out of which he emerged, whether it’s Fluxus or Land Art, whether it’s the German post-war period of denial and democratisation or the political upheaval of 1968. I think Beuys helped to amplify the alarm that had already been well and truly sounded by the Club of Rome’s 1972 report The Limits to Growth or by people like Rachel Carson whose 1962 publication The Silent Spring had already overtly demonstrated the devastating nexus between capitalism, global politics and environmental destruction – and was read by millions of people worldwide. It’s unfortunate that fewer people were paying attention when Eunice Foote published a paper linking carbon dioxide to global warming back in 1856. What Beuys and other visual artists contribute – here I’m thinking of Agnes Denes with her Wheatfield that overtook Lower Manhattan in 1982 or Mierle Laderman Ukeles with her Maintenance Art practice evolving since the late 1960s – is a highly evocative imagery and a model for social engagement. It’s an imagery – or rather an imaginary – that dwells not on the detritus and destruction but on its collective public transformation into a recuperative, life-giving entity, into an embodiment of ongoingness that calls for widespread involvement. It’s not as if you would only find this kind of imagery and practice in the artworld. To the contrary, ecological participatory practices are widespread and have in many cultures been passed down for decades, centuries, even millennia. Still, there is no doubt that 7000 Oaks, Beuys’s contribution to documenta 7 in Kassel in 1982, managed to touch an inordinate number of people across the world. Like Denes’s Wheatfield, it was a work that truly succeeded in moving beyond the boundaries of the artworld. And it was by far the most legible manifestation of Beuys’s theory of social sculpture, which, as you pointed out, called on people to think about the intricate interrelationships between all living species and their habitats and – from the late 1970s onwards – to examine how these are affected by the flows of capital. Beuys certainly didn’t anticipate the pandemic as such, but he did point to many of the conditions that engendered it.
Mira Gakjina: The Biennale slogan, borrowed from Donna Haraway, relies on the importance which our modes of communication, our languages, our collective ideas, have in reshaping the world we inhabit. The transformative power of storytelling is truly significant in visual media and languages which open new forms. What kind of role do you foresee the artist (art) having at the Centre for Narrative Practice within the Hivzi Sylejmani library in Prishtina?
Catherine Nichols: The Centre for Narrative Practice plays a central role in Manifesta 14. While all the different elements comprising the biennale – from the artistic interventions through to the thematic exhibitions and sites of learning – examine and experiment with the politics and practices of storytelling, the Centre for Narrative Practice is a site where the storytelling becomes the story, so to speak, where we invite people to explore all different modes, media and materials of storytelling and to themselves engage in weaving stories of their own. The idea was inspired by Prishtina. If you visit the city and meet the people who live and work there, you cannot help but notice how many residents of the city and the country – not only artists, historians and writers – are consciously working in some way with narrative techniques, whether it’s to come to terms with history, to heal trauma, to grapple for better or for worse with old and new mythologies, or to imagine other scenarios for the future. Narration is an inherently creative, artistic act, one that is common to all human beings. Since storytelling seems like one of the most effective means we have of heightening political engagement and training ourselves to “think with an enlarged mentality”, as Hannah Arendt puts it, it seems timely to offer a place where people from all different cultures and subcultures can meet to think about and share different practices of storytelling and, in the process, to tell new stories or to situate well-rehearsed stories in a broader cultural, multidisciplinary and indeed multispecies context. So, as you can imagine, the centre is designed to have facilities, spaces and resources to accommodate practitioners of all kinds, whether they’re engaged in poetry, archiving, hiphop or choral singing, podcasting, filmmaking, weaving, some kind of visual arts or curatorial practice or even just reading, thinking and daydreaming. Thanks to a close collaboration with the Rijksakademie in Amsterdam, which itself teaches and fosters an extremely broad range of narrative practices within the visual arts context, the centre is able to include in its programme a wide range of workshops, seminars and talks run by contemporary artists. During the 100 days of Manifesta 14 Prishtina we’re planning to have a strong focus on artists working with archives, particularly of the kind known as “vulnerable”. We’re also hoping to establish a residency programme that, like the centre itself, will be ongoing. The small exhibition spaces within the building and the beautiful garden both offer the opportunity for various forms of artistic intervention, performance and display.
Mira Gakjina: This is Manifesta’s first edition in this part of Europe, the Western Balkans, whose artistic scene has truly blossomed in the last few years, yielding several significant authors from Kosovo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Serbia and Albania. Have you considered them in the realization of Manifesta14’s programme?
Catherine Nichols:: Yes, certainly. The thematic approach for Manifesta is very much drawn from Prishtina and the region in which it is situated. Of late, as in the 1990s, there’s been a palpable presence of artists from the region in international exhibitions. The recent show curated by Zdenka Badovinac at MAXXI in Rome – Bigger than Myself: Heroic Voices from ex-Yugoslavia – is evidence of that. And many museums across the region, yours in Skopje being one great example, have really shown the significance and strength of the artists and their contribution to contemporary discourse. Yet, as I’m discovering now by immersing myself in the cultural scene of the whole region – I’m currently on a lengthy road trip from Berlin to the Western Balkans and back – there are so many younger emerging artists too, artists whom Manifesta has given me the occasion and opportunity to meet. I’m extremely happy to have the possibility to get to know them and their work, not only for Manifesta but also for my ongoing research and future exhibitions. I’m not going to mention any names yet, because the concept is still developing, but I thinkyou’ll see when the list of artists is published next year that Manifesta 14 Prishtina unfolds from within the region and engages from there with the cultures and discourses that lie beyond.
Mira Gakjina: The exhibition programme will not be limited to Prishtina alone; parts of it will take place at our Museum in Skopje. Could you give an insight into the locations and contents of the parallel exhibition programme?
Catherine Nichols: By the time I joined the team, the Western Balkans project was already well underway. It’s entitled Co-Producing Common Space and Shaping Formations of Solidarity in the Western Balkans. People can think of it as a large-scale collaboration between many different institutions that was initiated by Manifesta and is funded by Creative Europe. It aims to extend the outreach of Manifesta beyond the city of Prishtina to the region and to strengthen the networks between the various cultural centres. The formats planned include expert talks, exhibitions, performances and many other forms of interaction and involvement that are currently being developed. I had the pleasure of meeting representatives of most of the nine partners in Prishtina in October 2021. There was the Post-Conflict Research Center from Sarajevo, Termokiss from Prishtina, Qendra Harabel from Tirana, the APSS Institute from Podgorica, NGO Aktiv Kosovo, Meydan D.O.O. (Hestia) from Belgrade, the Kosovo Architecture Foundation (KAF) from Prishtina, the Institute of Contemporary Art from Sofia, the European Roma Institute for Arts and Culture (ERIAC) from Berlin and of course, as you mentioned, your museum: the Museum of Contemporary Art in Skopje. From the conversations I had, it seems that the partners are planning various forms of engagement with the question of how to tell stories otherwise. Fortunately, the quest to find ways of reaching into “rich pasts to sustain thick presents to keep the story going for those who come after”, as Donna Haraway so poetically puts it, resonates with existing lines of enquiry. So, there is much to build upon and share.
Mira Gakjina: The focus of your activity is the city of Prishtina. In reshaping it, through new ideas and stories, you will have an important partner, the architect Carlo Ratti. Do you expect a close collaboration, as a collective?
Catherine Nichols: Definitely. Something that really attracted me to joining the Manifesta team in the first place discovering now by immersing myself in the cultural scene of the whole region – I’m currently on a lengthy road trip from Berlin to the Western Balkans and back – there are so many younger emerging artists too, artists whom Manifesta has given me the occasion and opportunity to meet. I’m extremely happy to have the possibility to get to know them and their work, not only for Manifesta but also for my ongoing research and future exhibitions. I’m not going to mention any names yet, because the concept is still developing, but I think you’ll see when the list of artists is published next year that Manifesta 14 Prishtina unfolds from within the region and engages from there with the cultures and discourses that lie beyond.
Mira Gakjina: The exhibition programme will not be limited to Prishtina alone; parts of it will take place at our Museum in Skopje. Could you give an insight into the locations and contents of the parallel exhibition programme?
Catherine Nichols: By the time I joined the team, the Western Balkans project was already well underway. It’s entitled Co-Producing Common Space and Shaping Formations of Solidarity in the Western Balkans. People can think of it as a large-scale collaboration between many different institutions that was initiated by Manifesta and is funded by Creative Europe. It aims to extend the outreach of Manifesta beyond the city of Prishtina to the region and to strengthen the networks between the various cultural centres. The formats planned include expert talks, exhibitions, performances and many other forms of interaction and involvement that are currently being developed. I had the pleasure of meeting representatives of most of the nine partners in Prishtina in October 2021. There was the Post-Conflict Research Center from Sarajevo, Termokiss from Prishtina, Qendra Harabel
from Tirana, the APSS Institute from Podgorica, NGO Aktiv Kosovo, Meydan D.O.O. (Hestia) from Belgrade, the Kosovo Architecture Foundation (KAF) from Prishtina, the Institute of Contemporary Art from Sofia, the European Roma Institute for Arts and Culture (ERIAC) from Berlin and of course, as you mentioned, your museum: the Museum of Contemporary Art in Skopje. From the conversations I had, it seems that the partners are planning various forms of engagement with the question of how to tell stories otherwise. Fortunately, the quest to find ways of reaching into “rich pasts to sustain thick presents to keep the story going for those who come after”, as Donna Haraway so poetically puts it, resonates with existing lines of enquiry. So, there is much to build upon and share.
Mira Gakjina: The focus of your activity is the city of Prishtina. In reshaping it, through new ideas and stories, you will have an important partner, the architect Carlo Ratti. Do you expect a close collaboration, as a collective?
Catherine Nichols: Definitely. Something that really attracted me to joining the Manifesta team in the first place at the Hamburger Bahnhof in Berlin – was an Australian show, I feel challenged to make any meaningful comparison between Australia and Europe. The dichotomy of “old” and “new” is rather fraught considering Australia’s colonial history. To consider Australia a new continent belies the fact that Indigenous Australians have inhabited the land for over 50,000 years and have a very rich philosophical, artistic and scientific heritage. Perhaps it’s precisely this common misconception about old and new that has something to do with the difference between the two worlds. When I left Australia back in the late 1990s the main discursive difference between Australia and Europe was, in fact, the focus on postcolonial theory. I remember when my German partner, who had spent some time in Australia, submitted his masters thesis on Christa Wolf’s novel Medea, explored from a postcolonial standpoint, his German professors were quite excited by what to them was a theoretical novelty. Now it would be commonplace.
That’s not to say that Australia was, or is, any closer than other postcolonial – or post-totalitarian – societies to resolving or reconciling the injustices brought about by repressive regimes and perpetuated by people still bound up in their legacies.
Rather, it’s just to point out that the pertinence of postcolonial theory to politics and social enquiry caught people’s attention much earlier where I grew up. I guess the fact that you hear so many Australian accents around Berlin suggests that the city is offering something that people from Australia can’t find at home. Most of the people I know from Australia working in the arts in northern Europe have difficulty pinpointing exactly what it is that makes them stay for years despite the cold, grey winters. If there’s one common denominator it’s the vast and relatively well-funded cultural and academic landscape to be found in many parts of Europe, Germany being one of them. Australia has a much smaller population. It’s geographically remote. So, for all the good museums and institutions, biennials and triennials you might find there, there are still notably fewer opportunities to find work. That said, Europe is, as we know, an extraordinarily diverse place. You only need to consider the divergent perspectives of the countries in the Western Balkans to recall how difficult it is to generalise.
Mira Gakjina: Your doctoral dissertation concerns itself with the oeuvre of Hans Magnus Enzensberger. Within our territory he is known as the laureate of the International poetry festival “Struga Poetry Evenings” in 1980 Tito’s Yugoslavia. Do you see a link between poetry and visual art, particularly nowadays when language is crucial to contemporary visual art?
Catherine Nichols: If there weren’t such a strong link between poetry and visual art, I don’t think I could have found my way into working as a curator and maybe I wouldn’t love working in this field as much as I do. Certainly, language plays an overtly important role in contemporary art, as has been the case in many of the artistic movements throughout the twentieth century from Dada and Surrealism to Serial and Conceptual Art, from Fluxus to Art and Language, to name only a few obvious examples. For me, the most pertinent correlation between poetry and visual art or indeed between poetry and exhibition-making is the device of estrangement or defamiliarisation, to cite the Russian Formalist theorist Victor Shklovsky, that is common to both. When I think of linking two objects, figures, forms or associative entities of some kind together in space, the first thing that comes to mind is the dynamic poetic space that opened up for me in my engagement with modern poetry, especially with Stéphane Mallarmé and with concrete poetry: semantic units come into contact with one another, with the white page, with their own sound and shape and the sound and shape of other words, whether sensical or nonsensical. The appearance and positioning of the words are as essential as their meaning. The eye teams up with the ear and the mouth to form the syllables and with the inner ear, as it were, to “read” the score-like textual entities into being. Applied to the spatio-temporal experience of an exhibition, which is realised by numerous actors, the audience cannot but perceive the act of perceiving as a sensory, creative event that, to cite Shklovsky again, “awakens” the “mind’s attention from the lethargy of custom”.
Mira Gakjina: The term “art of the 21st century” is gaining momentum, evident in the opening of a Museum in Rome under that name. Could you compare the art of the last 20 years to its predecessor?
Catherine Nichols: I always struggle with broad historical comparisons. How do we summarise with any accuracy the art of the last twenty years, how do we group together the art of the twentieth century in a manner that opens rather than closes possibilities for thought? Having learned a lot from the experiences of my colleagues both at the Hamburger Bahnhof in Berlin and the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen in Düsseldorf, as they took on the challenge of rethinking twentieth-century art histories though a lens less Eurocentric as part of Museum Global, a three-year collaborative research and exhibition project, I’m even more reluctant to speak of twentieth-century art in any monolithic sense. I would feel more comfortable in making a few observations. I’ve noticed, for example, that in the last twenty years there’s been a decline in appreciation for self-referential forms of art; that the growing sense of environmental and social crisis and the fragility of civility have lent renewed relevance to socially and politically engaged practices; that collective work is more and more often favoured over heroic monumentality; that art galleries and museums all over the world are going to considerable lengths not to repeat the same hegemonic gestures that silenced vast numbers of artists – and made their collections lopsided and substantially less interesting than they could be. Obviously, many of these developments are rooted in the previous century.
Превземено од: The Large Glass 31/32, 2021. Објавено со дозвола на Музејот на современата уметност, Скопје.
Originally published in The Large Glass vol. 31/32, 2021. With the permission of the publisher, the Museum of Contemporary Art Skopje
Photo of Catherine Nichols: Peter Rigaud