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Cameron Rowland
South London Gallery
2017
The rings, designed to raise the manhole to the new level of the road, help
us to excavate each layer of history, to dig down, past the macadam, the
gravel and the stone, all the way to the unpaved dirt roads of the rural south
at the end of the Civil War, and to the chain gangs who were first coerced to
work them.
The rings become a portal out to the long history, surveyed in
detail by Rowland in the essay with which he introduced 9102000, of the
ways in which the U.S. government has directly and indirectly made use of
unpaid inmate labour since the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was
passed in 1865; in one sentence abolishing slavery at the same time as
sanctioning involuntary servitude as a punishment for crime.
From object to text to essay, and out further (if we follow
Rowlands footnotes), to academic texts, legal cases, census data and state
correctional codes. Rowlands objects are made to speak of their
genealogies, and to the networks in which they are produced and
exchanged, so that witnessing the exhibition could not involve simply
glancing over them. If seeing comes before words, the words subsequently
alter (and potentially discredit entirely) that first perception.
The abruptness of Rowlands texts, the way he fires a series of
propositions at the reader for them to string together, the vaults he makes
between sentences; these can dazzle, disorient. Understanding comes like a
bright light shone in eyes used to darkness. Lurid blotches of colour wash
across the field of vision.
The effect of this glare, this flash, the searchlight that is
Rowlands prose, targeted at the opacities of power, its absences, its abysses:
a moment of not seeing.
It is a temporary blindness, a hiatus in perception, prefacing illumination.
After we see more, and more clearly.
At the opticians I sit down, take off my glasses, and put my eyes
to the phoropter. Looking through the lenses I see only a blank white wall.
The optician begins her work, and the machine flutters in response. Each
time it pauses, she asks. Which is clearer? this, or this? Almost immediately I
can begin to discern on that blank white wall black marks trembling indistinct
blurred. Is your vision better or worse? with this lens, or this lens? Soon
those black marks take on the form of letters, become legible; the
constituents of words, sentences, stories. How about now?
Hanging on the wall of the gallery are two Nomex fire suits, one
orange, one yellow, as if left behind by two careless visitors. These have been
purchased from CALPIA, the Californian equivalent to Corcraft, and produced
by inmates at Mule Creek State Prison in Ione or at the California Institution
for Women in Chino.
5
Both suits are given a text explaining this, the first two
paragraphs of which are identical. Skimming my eyes between page and
image I initially presumed the third paragraphs, which both begin Inmates
working for CALPIA produce, were also the same. It was with a jolt that
reading the texts for what was perhaps the fifth time that I noticed the
difference. Yellow suits are produced for the states non-inmate wildland
firefighters; orange for the states 4,300 inmate wildland firefighters.
Not just produced by prisoners, but for prisoners. The orange
and the yellow signal not rank or specialism, but whether the man or woman
is free and working for at least the minimum wage (even civilian volunteers
receive $9 an hour), or a prisoner working for $1 an hour.
You take in things you don't want all the time. The second you
hear or see some ordinary moment, all its intended targets, all
the meanings behind the retreating seconds, as far as you are
able to see, come into focus.4
So the poet Claudia Rankine describes the everyday interactions and
conversations that structure her book, Citizen: An American Lyric (2014). Like
Rowlands her work is alert to the way in which violence towards black bodies
is structured in and yet obscured by the quotidian. This passage could
describe the combined effect of Rowlands objects and texts; the moment in
which long, wide histories snap into focus.
Here are three more quotations.
The first is from Amanda Hunt, assistant curator at The Studio Museum in
Harlem, who selected Rowlands Pass-Thru for a group show in 2015:
[Rowland] creates in order to reveal common truths. Interaction
with his work entails learning something that from that
moment forward will be impossible to overlook.5
And the third is from an interview with Claudia Rankine in which she
describes seeing Kara Walkers A Subtlety at the Domino Sugar Factory in
Williamsburg, Brooklyn:
[I] was surrounded by people saying things like, I am not into
the slavery thing right now and taking selfies in front of the
sculpture of the black Mammy sphinx, posing in ways to
appear to be touching her breasts or cupping her buttocks.7
I am not convinced that Rowland would completely agree with Hunt or with
Kitnick. It was the ease with which my eyes could trip over the texts on the
fire suits, and fail to acknowledge the difference between them, that made
me think that Rowlands works are aware of, perhaps even prompt or stage
their mis-reception as Rankine also wondered whether Walkers intention
might be to redirect the black gaze away from the pieces themselves and
onto their white consumption.8
Theres always the risk Rowlands objects unmoor from the texts,
floating loose of the context that grounded them, becoming familiar, and
through familiarity, invisible once again. Whether circulating on Instagram or
without texts in art magazines,9 the works can drift out of focus, their
connections to the systems they dwell in can blur; the truths once revealed
lose their sharpness, dissipate, fade from view.
The relation between what we see and what we know doesnt
settle or fix; the force of words always threatens to be undone by what we
think we see around us.
Rowland seems to anticipate, provoke even, lapses of attention,
carelessness; myopia, scotomata: the elision of those black marks on that
blank white wall;
a reversion to not seeing.
Four Instagram posts in which Cameron Rowlands work slides out of focus
5a
5b
5c
5d
receive them. Conyers has reintroduced the bill to every session of congress
since then. This bill acquired 48 cosponsors in 1999-2000. Currently it has no
cosponsors.
In 2000 the state of California passed the bill SB 2199, which required all
insurance companies conducting business in the state of California to publish
documentation of slave insurance policies that they or their parent
companies had issued previously. In 2002 a lawyer named Deadria FarmerPaellmann filed the first corporate reparations class-action lawsuit seeking
disgorgement from 17 contemporary financial institutions including Aetna,
Inc., which had profited from slavery. Farmer-Paellmann pursued property law
claims on the basis that these institutions had been enriched unjustly by
slaves who were neither compensated nor agreed to be uncompensated.
Farmer-Paellman called for these profits and gains to be disgorged from
these institutions to descendants of slaves.
Disgorgement, 2016
Reparations Purpose Trust, Aetna Shares
Aetna, amongst other insurance companies, issued slave insurance policies,
which combined property and life insurance. These policies were taken out
by slave masters on the lives of slaves, and provided partial payments for
damage to the slave and full payment for the death of the slave. Death or
damage inflicted by the master could not be claimed. The profits incurred by
these policies are still intact within Aetna.
In 1989 Congressman John Conyers of Michigan first introduced
Congressional Bill H.R. 40, which would "Establish the Commission to Study
Reparation Proposals for African Americans to examine slavery and
discrimination in the colonies and the United States from 1619 to the present
and recommend appropriate remedies." The bill would convene a research
commission, that would, among other responsibilities, make a
recommendation as to whether a formal apology for slavery is owed, whether
reparations are owed, what form reparations would then take and who would
viewer might notice how it frames all those who use the door, gifting them
the status of the potential criminal.
But Rowlands work is also a surreal prank (a clue: it was shown at
a group show dedicated to Raymond Roussels influence in 201515). Every
height strip I have been able to find combing the internet extends from 4.5
to 6.5; Rowlands up to 7.5. Its placement by the door at the standard strips
height adds a foot to every person who passes by it. This seems to mimic the
way in which a witness might exaggerate the size of someone they felt
threatened by. The background from which our knowledge of others
appears is compromised by the prejudices that come before perception.
Emancipation begins when we challenge the opposition
between viewing and acting. Rowland draws a link from his practice to
Jacques Rancires argument in The Emancipated Spectator (2008).
Rowlands work asks for an active viewing, a looking that observes, selects,
compares, interprets, that links what we see to what has been seen on other
stages, in other kinds of place.16 It believes in viewings power to produce
and transform our environment.
I dont want to be nurse or a doctor, I just want to be an
observer. So Rankine quotes from an interview with filmmaker Claire Denis.
Being able to draw this distinction, to think you can simply watch, and that
your watching neither confirms nor transforms anything; that how we look
and what we look at arent a choice; this Rankine disparages with sadness
and with anger: so soon we are willing to coexist with dust in our eyes.17
This dust in our eyes, this grit, this rheum, this sleep; these
floaters, debris that skips across the line of sight;
this attempt at not seeing; to not look, to refuse visions work,
falters. In the light of Rowlands art, the dust, the grit, the sleep; we can start
to wash them clear of the eyes.
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Notes
1. John Berger, Ways of Seeing. London: Penguin, 1972: 7.
2. Alex Kitnick, Openings: Cameron Rowland, Artforum Interntional 54.7,
March 2016.
3. Berger, Ways of Seeing: 7.
4. Claudia Rankine, Citizen: An American Lyric. London: Penguin, 2015: 55.
5. Artsy Editorial, 16 Emerging Artists to Watch in 2016, Artsy, Dec 16
2015.
6. Kitnick, Openings: Cameron Rowland.
7. Lauren Berlant, Claudia Rankine, BOMB 129 (Fall 2014).
8. Ibid.
9. Calling out Mousse for their omission: Giampaolo Bianconi, Agenda:
Cameron Rowland: 91020000, Mousse 53 (April 2016), 208, 210-1.
10. Berger, Ways of Seeing: 8.
11. Rankine, Citizen: 24.
12. Linda Mai Green, First Look: Cameron Rowland, Art in America, Sept
2015, 53-5.
13. Rankine, Citizen: 24.
14. Cameron Rowland quoted these words in a talk, Evaluation, given for
Pavilion Journal, 6 June 2013: https://vimeo.com/68547947
They are drawn from Linda Martn Alcoff, Visible Identities: Race, Gender,
and the Self (Oxford: OUP, 2000): 194.
15. Raymond Roussel, Galerie Buchholz, New York, July 2 Aug 29 2015.
16. Jacques Rancire, The Emancipated Spectator (2008), trans. Gregory
Elliott. London: Verso, 2009: 13.
17. Rankine, Citizen: 155.
7.5, 2015
Exit height strip
36 x 1 inches (91.44 x 2.54 cm)
The height strip allows for identification. Typically it is used at the door of gas
stations and convenience stores.
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