2008 Fall: Theoretical Constructions in Contemporary Art

Rinder describes Fort Thunder as a place "in which extraordinary talent was combined with an absence of self-promotion and ego, and in which a distinctive, original and timely aesthetic had emerged." Rinder writes about Fort Thunder as if it was a healthy organism, with every cell of that organism different from the next, but still working toward the greater functioning of the whole. Artists there seemed to produce not just art work, but a comfortable, active social framework in which to make art work. I wondered if such a contained, lively social framework would prevent much actual artistic work from getting done, but perhaps the sense of happiness and security engendered by community, and by "collective artistic activity," was actually conducive to art-making.

One of the things that most interested me about this article, and one of the things I reacted most strongly to, was the mention of the "ephemeral nature of much of what was made" at Fort Thunder. I've often thought that art should be made so that it can "last," so that it can "remain" as long as it possible, so that it can stay around for a long time after we've "shuffled off this mortal coil": art is meant to make a part of us "permanent." But it seemed that at Fort Thunder a great deal of work was being channeled into making transitory art works -- art works used exclusively to "advertise music shows...(or cover) the walls of the Fort's many rooms and labyrinthine corridors." The idea of art being made to serve no other ends but short-lived social ones, and to be seen by no other eyes but those in a small community, is an intriguing one to me.

Apparently, many Fort Thunder artists "found their primary influences less in the history of art than in a range of vernacular cultures," and were compelled by cultural phenomena "not much embraced by the mainstream art world." Most of my own influences have to do more with conventional and traditional aspects of art, more with the "history of art" than with "vernacular cultures." I suspect that I've made this choice because I sometimes think that my art work has to "seem serious" in order to be taken seriously, and in order for me to be a "serious artist" -- and "rock shows, graffiti...video games...comic-book superheroes and children's art" don't seem like such "serious" subject matter to me...

Such a sad ending to the story of Fort Thunder. I wonder what could have prevented the disbanding of Forcefield and the destruction of Fort Thunder?

From Rinder’s description, Fort Thunder sounds like it was a fantastic and almost magical place to make art and music, thus reminding me very much of all the great stories from the Mission School movement. It seems that large groups of artists living and working together in a communal space can only result in unique and unpredictable results. The influence and vibe in these collectives must be entirely different from a group of students in art school. Places like Fort Thunder seemingly lack rules and boundaries, rigid schedules and obligations, thus allowing for creative energy to flow freely.

I love that “in contrast to many artists working at the same time…much of the work made at Fort Thunder was an attempt to make a real reality of stories, images and objects that had only existed virtually before.� Drawing influence from games, film and literature and children’s art seems completely natural, seeing that this media surrounds us on a daily bases. Because the images in the .pdf file of this article were of low quality, I found a website full of page after page of images from Fort Thunder, http://fortthunder.02909.com/. The entire space feels like a work of art and the artists’ influences become obvious. Between the combination of collage as installation, posters, pilings and odd sculptural combinations, it is no wonder as to why Rinder describes much of their artwork as ephemeral in nature. On that note, Rowan, if you feel that art should be made to last and be permanent, how do you feel about site specific works, like those of Andy Goldsworthy, installations that only survive a few weeks or a few months, and/or performance art in general?

The end to the Forcefield does seem like an unfortunate conclusion to such a great thing. Why is it that the New York art world can do that? I suppose exhibiting art at the Whitney can be akin to “selling out.� If artists are living the lifestyle and making art for the pure enjoyment of creating, then why should they feel the need to conform to convention for gallery exposure and monetary profit? On the other hand, Drain and Peterson felt there could be “opportunities for growth if they accepted the challenges.�

Lawrence Rinder's article about the Fort Thunder artist community had me completely memorized. The first thing that crossed my mind while reading this essay is the Fight Club House crossed with The Factory meets an artist residency program sprinkled with pachouli infused sweat of a hippy commune. It sounds so raw. Hanging out with of all your friends creating day and night. I'm sure it was probably one big long bender. I wonder what they did for money and food? I suppose most had to work some sort of part time job.

I find these sorts of artist communities to be really interesting. As most of us are aware, having other artist around is so crucial in helping to amp yourself up. The more people you have around you that are doing interesting things, the more you can be challenged and influenced. I know for myself, when starting to make work again two years ago, it was helpful to get involved with the Soap Factory and to start to meet and hang out with other artists on a regular basis. In doing so, I started to live and breath art. This being said my experiences pale in comparison to what was happening at Fort Thunder. They spoke of the competitive atmosphere coupled with "a productive spirit of collaboration". I think it's really healthy to have a little bit of good natured competition. If you lived in worked in that sort of environment how could you not improve.

Rinder said that "many other artists working at the time, for whom the challenge was to create digital, virtual reality, much of the work made at Fort Thunder was an attempt to make a real reality of stories, images and objects that had only existed virtually before". It seemed that so much of what was going on at Fort Thunder, whether intentional or not, was a response to the sociopolitical climate of our times. It was a way to escape the pressures of our increasingly complex globalized world by making the fantasies of youth real. It is a shame that it didn't last longer. Unfortunately, many of these sorts of social experiments are usually short lived.

Rowan you are cracking me up with your rules.If there are an infinite variety of people and experiences and emotions to be had here on the planet with our mind and our heart and our senses, I want to know why Art has to be something permanent?

I lived in Providence right on college hill in the midst of Brown and RISD from 1986-89. It would be the most formative time in my llife and many of those people have gone on to be successful in their life. I am appreciative that this curator could walk into a situation and understand the essence of the action to live together and create together and not quiet each other down or lock up shop tight at night. I think these co op experiences that blossomed all around the country were real life experiences of living your beliefs and most importantly because most of these people felt on the fringes or that their voices were not being heard but they did have value, they were able to make a concerted effort to include each other.
What I do think is important is the awareness of starting something from one position and that it grows and will force the participants to readdress their goals. So some of those artists decided they didnt want to be in galleries and some did. Banksy himself is trying to figure out, what do you do when something you have created is no longer fulfilling the desire it was created from. The conclusion drawn by Aaron Rose and Lawrence Binder seems to be positive in its faith that there are cycles of birth and death constantly so the future looks bright.

Rowan, you said that most of your "own influences have to do more with conventional and traditional aspects of art, more with the "history of art" than with "vernacular cultures."" What about this new way of working that you're really excited about? The photo-realism mixed with fantasy? The drawing you had in the fresh works show seemed to be inspired by children's books and maybe even video games... is that not true?

“They are living an ideal without creating it as a dogma, without marketing it, without theorizing it, just living it and dwelling in the amazing results.� This is a great articulation of an avant-garde movement while its actually happening, before it gets “ruined� by its assimilation to mainstream culture. They were just there working, developing their personal practice, expressing “feelings that were hardly occult but rather emerged from the familiar fears of any conscious person trying to make his or her way in our time of environmental destruction, social upheaval and nascent fascism.� When it is put this way, it hardly sounds revolutionary. It sounds obvious.

But clearly, Fort Thunder was also delicate. Why did its members decide to participate in the Whitney Biennial? From the outside, it seems like what they had going was exactly what they wanted, and that they knew that participating was dangerous and probably meant the end of their world. I know that fame and fortune is tempting, but if the entire basis of their art is anti-art world, then why would they choose to participate in the most important show in that world? I can’t say what I would have done in their shoes. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious to them at the time that what they had was remarkable, and was the community that many of us spend their entire lives looking for.

Isn’t this type of environment what we are all looking for here at school? Obviously we can't all sleep here, but I think it would be really interesting if we were to activate the building a little bit. Jennifer Nevitt is always talking about putting stuff up all over the walls. Is there anything we can do to help foster this type of working atmosphere? Would a critique group help? Can this type of thing even exist in academia? It seems to me like these sorts of places just happen, but I suppose they may be organized more intentionally under a certain framework. Does anyone have any ideas?

Good question, Mel. That would be awfully cool if we could foster that kind of collaborative and communicative atmosphere around here. I've been kind of lamenting the layout of the building as it is, with all of our studios in a "private hallway" with no real common space.

I've also been stressing, because the idea of making work 'for school,' with the knowledge that it's going to be evaluated, is really scary to me.

Here's an idea. Let's start making work for each other, instead of for school, or for a grant application, or for our portfolios... Maybe that's just an important mindset shift for me right now... is anyone else feeling that?

As soon as I was half way through the first paragraph of this article, I knew that Fort Thunder faced its demise by the end of it. The first clue was that Rinder worked for the Whitney, scouting work for the biennial and the second was the artistic utopian description “The place is a dream: generous, creative, crazy in all the best ways. They are living an ideal without articulating it as dogma, without marketing it, without theorizing it, just living it and dwelling in the amazing results.� In those words of discovery, I knew it was dead.
I wondered who was paying the rent, the utilities, making it all possible? I wondered where in the city it was located, why weren’t the neighbors complaining, why wasn’t this communities creativity misunderstood? All was answered as I read on, from CNN’s report of satanic worship, the eviction of the artists, the demolition of the building, and to the breaking up of the band.
I wonder if Providence realized the thriving artist community it had right under its nose, surly they contributed more richly to local culture and community than the Eagle Square shopping mall. This article was inspiringly beautiful and sad. How ironic that such influenced and influential work and community can only live in obscurity and being unknown. How discovery can be fatal.

Hey Jen, I'm not sure I understand your question, but I'll give it a shot. Art doesn't have to be something "permanent." I'm actually not even sure what "permanent" means, which is why I put the word in quotes in my Rinder essay. As for me, I tend to think about my own mortality when I'm making a piece of art, I think about my own ultimate future in death, and my artwork's ultimate future after I'm dead. I think about what people here on the planet (with their mind and their heart and their senses) might think about my artwork, and about the artist who made that artwork, once I'm in the ground. Maybe I'm morbid that way, but I find that I devote so much of my life's time to my art, and commit myself to my art work so dearly, I want to believe that when I'm dead, my art work will be well-thought-of, and hang around on this planet for awhile.

Mel, thanks for asking. I'm definitely excited about what I think of as a "new style" in art that I'm trying -- a kind of fantastical, imaginative, "multiple photo photorealism." Contemporary and "vernacular cultures" do influence my art to some degree (like movies, TV, comic books, other kinds of books), but not as much, I would say, as art history does, and especially art history as it pertains to representational art. I suppose that my drawing in the show was not just consciously inspired but unconsciously inspired -- by everything from Albrecht Durer, who drew a number of similar, but less fantastical, detailed pictures of old men, to Salvador Dali's surrealism, to anything detailed, technically sound, and representational that I'd seen in art history before I made the drawing.

Hey Jonathon, I was -- rather, AM -- stressed about the same thing. But I think it's a mistake to worry. If you're interested in your work, other people will be, too. I'm personally going to make it a point to encourage, compliment and congratulate everyone on their accomplishments, since I'm sure people have worked hard and done they best they could. What more can you do but the best you can do? Obviously, what other people think should matter, but what you think about your own work should matter the most (in my opinion).

Isn't Rowan the sweetest?

I must admit that when I decided to enroll in grad school, it didn’t occur to me that I’d be reading essays about Fort Thunder! I had heard legends about the glory days and sad demise of this space, but I had no idea that its residents had been included in the Whitney Biennial. I had heard the insane music of Lightning Bolt and Force Field, but their involvement in museum-sanctioned visual art was news to me. All three articles from this week really speak to the complicated interrelationship between do-it-yourself/punk/skater/street culture and the mainstream. Rinder’s article makes clear that Fort Thunder is an interesting example of the tensions and synergies that can come about when an artistic force exists on the fringes of the two worlds. It was refreshing for me to read about this phenomenon from the point of view of a curator, and to sense his genuine enthusiasm for a playful mode of artmaking.

Fort Thunder is just one example from a nationwide array of loosely networked communal studio/chaos/living/showspaces with cheeky names like Dirt Palace, Rubulad, Medusa, and jerkstore. Rinder’s words upon entering Fort Thunder for the first time could just as well be applied to any of a number of similar spaces: “They are living an ideal without articulating it as a dogma, without marketing it, without theorizing it, just living it and dwelling in the amazing results.� However, when Rinder asserts that the residents are not marketing their work or their lifestyle, he is only partially correct. Certainly, places like Fort Thunder are about as far from consumer culture or marketing as possible, and they even maintain a certain amount of necessary secrecy in order to continue their sub-legal endeavors (avoiding the internet, advertising shows through word of mouth or hard-to-decipher posters, etc). However, they do a great job of exposing their work to large numbers of young people, partially because of their exclusive air of mystery coupled with their obvious personal devotion to their own work. When Lightning Bolt or Forcefield toured, they were a travelling bazaar of music, comics, and ephemera. Hundreds (probably thousands?) of kids from around the east coast went to shows at Fort Thunder because it was lawless and immersive and a great place to party. Clearly, if a curator from the Whitney heard about the place, it was doing a pretty good job of spreading its vision to the outside world, if not ‘marketing’ in the contemporary sense.

In the end, the fate of Forcefield speaks volumes about the sorts of dilemmas that artists face when their art and life are inseparable, and both are guided by idealistic values. It’s sad to see a creative partnership splintered by such dilemmas, but I’m sure that both sides had valid justification for their positions. The exposure from galleries would have allowed the group to make their practice more financially sustainable and reach a larger audience at the same time. However, such a drastic change in cultural context inevitably means a change in the meaning of the very work itself. Suddenly, work which was primarily social can be rendered almost purely aesthetic.

Mel, in response to your question of how we can activate the community at school...Sam had a great idea he suggested a few weeks ago. He proposed that we should find a space to have a collective library. A place where we could all put personal cds, dvds, books, etc. that we think others would be interested in. It would be a simple way to share interests with one another. Anyone know of a space?

Thanks for the link Robin. It's nice to get in there and dig around a bit. That would have been so cool to be involved in that scene. Anybody want to takeover an abandoned warehouse?

That's cool that you were around there back in the day Jennifer. I like your comment about how as it grew people were forced to readdress their goals. Change is the only real constant, so at some point in time people need to face it and respond to it. If any of those artist ever wanted to settle down a bit and have a family, money would come in handy.

Not to bring back Ol’ Walter Benjammin’, but this reading brought up the part of ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’ when he talks about cultish and ritual art opposed to art for the market and masses. Art made for a close group of intimate friends, probably given away for free, created for the sincere joy of it all. Fort Thunder was born and grew in this type of environment. An explosion of creativity and color feeding off of the close-knit energy of the space, and perhaps also feeding off the looming reality of having the cheap art space taken away at any time, forcing the artists involved to live for the moment and make the most of the special circumstances. I think the work in that initial incarnation was dependant on the fact that it was part of a cult and intimate friendship. I don’t think I can ever see art like that of Fort Thunder being made by individual artists in nicer studios with the ultimate conscious goal to be shown in a biennial of some kind. I’m not saying it would be better or worse, just different.

Is it always the case that when art starts being made for a larger audience (the masses), and away from a close-knit group of friends (cultish), it has to become watered-down and lose some of its unique quality/vitality? One of the artists that was part of Fort Thunder, Jim Drain, is still making work and his art career has definitely grown in a sense, still has a very unique style and quality to it that came from the Fort Thunder scene. Maybe in some cases the root system of an artist’s work can keep a strong hold in the place where it germinated, and stay true and ‘pure’ throughout the years of growth and inevitable change. It is the natural cycle of things that art is just as much a part of as everything else in this world. Fort Thunder had to at some point come to an end, or better yet, grow and change into something different. Was it the biennial that did it? I think it was a unique art style that was totally dependant on the place and energy it was born in. Taking it out of that context forced Fort Thunder to morph and spread out.

The original ideas and aesthetic that Fort Thunder created pumped out into a larger audience and influenced and inspired the next generation. So in that sense, it lives on and isn’t really gone. The fact that the original space is now a strip mall is a perfect example of the ‘urban art cycle’. Hennepin Avenue was once cheap rent, full of artists, and had some real culture. The real estate agents re-packaged and sold it as a ‘hip artist community’, raised the rent, and now Victoria’s Secret and North Face live on Lake and Hennepin. The artists moved to Lyndale/Nicollet/Chicago Ave. where the neighborhood was in ‘transition’ and grabbed the cheap rent about ten years ago. Now Lyndale is getting more expensive and condos are popping up. So where to next? Farther east? Seward? Bloomington Ave? Powderhorn Park? I got the chance to spend some time and perform in one of Minneapolis’ own Fort Thunders called The Church. It lived on Columbus and 26th, and was a bunch of artists living in the basement, making art and music with the available materials at hand, all of it incredibly unique and full of energy. It literally was an old church that was abandoned years ago. Last summer The Church had its last party. It is now a parking lot for the children’s hospital.

I'm feeling ya Jonathan. The art that was made to make me and my close friends laugh, cry, resonate is the art that still holds it own to this day. It is more precious and has a sincerity that, thus far, is timeless. I think I am, (I hope), starting to make art more in that vein. For me, it is taking more courage and a 'got nothing to lose' mentality that is getting me closer and closer. Ultimately, it is artwork that comes from a more sacred and sensitive place, so it takes more courage to give birth to it.

I find an ultimate form of creative community in Fort Thunder. A community to share the similar energy and enthusiasm is such a fortunate place to find, in doing anything. I like to work on my own when it comes to art creation for many reasons, one of the big reasons is to preserve a purity of an idea. But at the same time I recognize the potential in collaborative creation. The efficiency of multitude in terms of physical ability is obvious, but in terms of ideas the expansion of possibilities is exponential when the right substances are matched.

Each government, institution, group, team, pair, are all seeking for people who could bond together, and are all struggling in accomplishing that. Collecting “the right kind� of people in your ideal community is impossible, for each carries a different values in our ideas. Especially in the world of art, where the uniqueness and originality is encouraged, is very difficult to gather a group that can share the same thoughts. The secret in Fort Thunder was (I think) the natural flow in its formation, no force was applied on their bond. In nature, when an energy is applied to bond substances together, this energy is converted to other form to counter-act with the original force. Similarly, when an organization tries to bond people together with some kind of force, reaction occurs and breaks the harmony.

The beauty of Fort Thunder I find is in its mortality. It did not exist forever. It was formed in natural flow and then was gone when the outer energy disturbed it. (In this case, a destruction of the building.) I can assume that some kind of reactive energy was formed when it ended, but the result shows that it was not a big enough of a force to resist from distinction. A place was there, and people gathered. An event as simple as this is so hard to accomplish when we try to make it happen.

It is a relief to know that many of us are enthusiastic about opening our doors to each other. Currently I am in a hectic situation where I am not being able to hang around the studio much, but I would love to be in an open space where we could share thoughts or even work together to do something. Like Jonathan said, the physical structure of our studio spaces are very closed so having some kind of space where we can naturally go and chill out and make fun stuff would be awesome!

I’m not sure what to make of this article, Fort Thunder, Forcefield and the New York Art World. Again this is a great story with the typical ending. Capitalism drowns out the innocent creativity of life by marketing, promoting and ultimately mainstreaming the underground. This “Driving around� curator knew from the first moment that he found something to corrupt, sees the gain in promoting this undiscovered realm of jack ass art. The appreciation for finding something new is too high to just let Fort Thunder go by. It is his duty to show America what creativity is happening outside of the New York Art World. Cynical I am, about everything. About the reasons why things get promoted and what lies behind the motivation to expose. I’m sure the members of the Fort wanted to be in the Biennial, who wouldn’t, and the artists, I’m sure are talented but there can be many parallel worlds in art and its creation, not just one in New York City.

The term Jack ass art, is used not out of love but out of respect, these artists have a prankster, anarchist approach to life, they don’t appear to be worried about what people think or about their lifestyle, they are just putting it out there as they wish…serious and nerdy, mixing up anything they want, not confined by history or the art world. I agree that Fort Thunder is/was “a timely aesthetic� that does mark a place in history and culture. I might not “get� the art work of Fort Thunder, large messy spaces confound my brain and I’m too busy trying to get out. I do believe in critiques of culture and opening ideas about our reality. All perspectives are worth sharing to perpetuate the next moves within society.

“Fame and fortune need not mean the end of freewheeling creativity� This is my favorite quote, because it is exactly what happened to the collective of fort Thunder. There may have been other factors such as eviction, but Fame and Fortune do seem to change everything. I am confused by all the facets of this “art World� lately and am trying to figure out how to work it, and where I want to place myself, so reading these articles has made me think about attitude and being true to oneself. I realize there are so many influences that make up my mind; I sometimes forget where I get my opinions and It feels like it takes more energy to just let things go.

While reading about Ford Thunder, I found myself wondering what aspects of their experiment made it so successful as an art-fostering place. Was it the fact that they were immersed in the art, it was all-consuming, and that they had created a community that supported this work? Was it their freedom to experiment, to follow their whims? Was it the fact that they were separate from the New York art world, removed from the expectations and scrutiny of this world? The environment was probably created by all of these things to certain degrees, but it does seem like such a rare, fragile system that it seems worth trying to foster this again. However, perhaps it can only happen organically, and not meant to last. Even if it did last, the character of it would surely change over time as people passed through, and as some went on to success. It’s end is tragic, but it does seem inevitable once they broke the delicate balance of their system.
One of the most interesting observations for me in Rinder’s article was regarding the experiential quality and tactility of the place. “In contrast to many other artists working at the same time, for whom the challenge was to create a digital, virtual reality, much of the work made at Ford Thunder was an attempt to make a real reality of stories, images and objects that had only existed virtually before.� It’s an interesting reaction to the increasing digitization of art-- I can understand this urge to make things that exist in the world, even if they are ephemeral. The Ford Thunder-ites made their life their art (echoing the title of the book, “Art Life�), blurring the line between existence and art. This desire to make shiny things to fill one’s space, one’s life, does have a childlike quality to it. I particularly love the image of “strange creatures, adorned with day-glo fur, sequins and flashing lights.� This seems like something that would only be brought forth from the imagination of children, with their fascination with colors and shiny objects. This childlike wonder seems central to their success, and if anything could be a uniting factor in their art, and in their community, it was probably this.

Yeah, Sam! Benjammin'! The ritual aspect of DIY art/music/showspaces is exactly what I was thinking about when I was lamenting the loss of the aura in response to the Benjamin article. Work that is intended as an ephemeral offering for friends in this way is highly ritualistic, and that's the thing that can never be captured when a subculture is marketed in the form of CDs, coffee-table books, clothing lines, even films.

PS The Church was on Chicago, not Columbus. :)

The readings for this week all have a very distinct strands running through them. All of the movement’s influences include music, culture, and to some extent; drugs and counterculture. All of this work happened in specific time and space. All of the work was born outside the art world and when it came into the art world it got ruined, or tainted, or specific artists became sell-outs.

That being said, I feel really akin to the artists in the Mission School and the Fort Thunder artists (though prior to this article, I had never heard of Fort Thunder.) I wonder if people, as a result of similar influences and culture experience, make similar work without any knowledge of one another with or without the internet and globalization. I wonder if people of a similar demeanor (shy people vs. extroverted people) make similar work.
Similarly, I was thinking about the spread of culture to places outside of their original context (graffiti, hip hop, punk rock). Graffiti has spread all the way to the suburban Midwest. Does that take away some of its potency in the same way that placing it in a gallery, as Jonathan mentioned.

In response to Rowan’s comments on making serious art with serious subject matter: “The darkness and edginess of some of the work, whether in comics, music, or in the occasionally violent wrestling shows, expressed feelings that were hardly occult but rather emerged from the familiar fears of any conscious person trying to make his or her way in our time of environmental deconstruction, social upheaval and nascent fascism. Their work was rarely directly political, but rather used archetypal themes to express allegorically the underlying tensions of our times.�

It makes me a bit sad that there is not more space in our society for artist's cooperatives like Ford Thunder. It sounds wonderful, but in reality, like Bart mentioned, how do the artist's get food, pay rent? How does one have health insurance, save for retirement? Perhaps these environments are best as just a transitory event, a period in someone's artistic life. I do wish I could be a part of this kind of energy, but how? I like the idea of being part of a critique group outside of the class structure, I'd be all for this. The library idea is also a good one, to get an exchange of ideas flowing. We could do more of this virtually as well - by sharing more links to artists we like or find interesting (and is there a way to share music on the network via itunes?). Right now I can't think of a space in the building we'd all have access to that undergrads would not...