“surveyable by a re-arrangement”: wittgenstein

201 Pages·2012·12.94 MB·English

by  Michael Bowdidge

‘SURVEYABLE BY A RE-ARRANGEMENT’: WITTGENSTEIN,
GRAMMAR AND SCULPTURAL ASSEMBLAGE
by

MICHAEL BOWDIDGE B.A. (Hons)
Thesis submitted to the University of Edinburgh in fulfilment
of the requirements of the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy
November 2011
I certify that (a) the thesis has been composed by the candidate, (b) the work
is the candidate’s own, and (c) that the work has not been submitted for any
other degree or professional qualification except as specified.
Signed
Michael Bowdidge
© Michael Bowdidge, November 2011
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Contents
List of Figures 5
Abstract 8
Introduction 9
Writing and making 14
Figures 1-8 19
1. Three and a half goats, two sunsets and a piece of red tape 24
The movement of research 24
Upwards and Onwards 29
The dialogic context 34
Robert Rauschenberg’s Monogram 37
‘The generosity of finding surprises’ 38
Expanding the dialogic context: The Scapegoat 42
Conclusion 45
Figures 9-24 46
2. ‘Surveyable by a re-arrangement’ 54
A tale of two catalogues 54
Assembling assemblage 63
Deleuze and Guattari’s notion of assemblage 66
Grammatical investigations 70
Grammatical disruption in my own practice: Pseudorchard 77
Process(ion) 80
Conclusion 85
Figures 25-38 86
3. Animal furniture space invaders 94
Assemblage and representation 94
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Wittgenstein and aspect 97
Seeing-as and seeing-in 100
The animal aspect 101
The Visitors 106
The Visitors at large 113
Conclusion 115
Figures 39-48 116
4. The nuts and bolts of childhood 124
Positively nostalgic 125
Undoing the nuts and bolts of childhood 129
Walk Tall 133
The box 136
Finders Keepers 138
The Long Haul 143
Conclusion 146
Figures 49-70 147
5. Fitting it all together 162
Wittgenstein and the click 162
Caught 163
The Lesson 165
A bigger picture 168
The sculptural aspect 170
Construction time again 177
‘Engineering in miniature’ 180
Offeror 187
Conclusion – a Duck-Rabbit made from Meccano 189
Bibliography 192
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List of Figures
All works by Michael Bowdidge unless otherwise stated.
1: Upwards and Onwards (2007), 212 x 108 x 126 cm 19
2: Elephant (2005), 172 x 80 x 110 cm 20
3: Huey, Dewey & Louie (2005), 158 x 124 x 61 cm 21
4: Caught (2006), 125 x 67 x 125 cm 21
5: Conditional (2006), 78 x 25 x 11 cm 22
6: Robert Rauschenberg, Monogram (1955-59), 106.6 x 160.6 x 163.8 cm 22
7: William Holman Hunt, The Scapegoat (1854-56), 86 x 140 cm 23
8: William Holman Hunt, The Scapegoat (1854-55), 33.7 x 45.9 cm 23

9: Kristen Morgin, Lion (2006), 162.6 cm high, other dimensions unknown 46
10: Victor Brauner, Wolf Table (1939-1947), 54 x 57 x 28.5 cm 46
11: Rachel Harrison, Huffy Howler (2004), 205 x 122 x 76.2 cm 47
12: Man Ray, Dancer Danger (1920), 21.8 x 17 cm 47
13: Pseudorchard (2007), dimensions variable 48
14: Ring (detail, 2007), dimensions variable 48
15: Slant (2007), dimensions variable 49
16: Process(ion) – arches (2007), dimensions variable 49
17: Process(ion) – tables (2007), dimensions variable 50
18: Process(ion) – pews (2007), dimensions variable 50
19: Process(ion) – blocks (2007), dimensions variable 51
20: Process(ion) – ladders (2007), dimensions variable 51
21: Process(ion) – chairs (2007), dimensions variable 52
22: Process(ion) – brush (2007), dimensions variable 52
23: Process(ion) – trestle (2007), dimensions variable 53
24: Process(ion) – rack (2007), dimensions variable 53
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25: Pablo Picasso, Still Life with Chair Caning (1912), 27 x 35 cm 86
26: Pablo Picasso, Bull’s Head (1943), 42 x 41 x 15 cm 86
27: Ludwig Wittgenstein, Duck-Rabbit (1953), dimensions unknown 87
28: Rosalie Gascoigne, Italian Birds (1976), 63.5 x 68.8 x 22 cm 87
29: Neptune (1993), 29.5 x 6.5 x 7.5 cm 88
30: Ruminant (2008), 118 x 89.5 x 56 cm 88
31: Joker (2009), 170.5 x 89 x 12.5 cm 89
32: Robert Rauschenberg, Oracle (1962-65), dimensions variable 90
33: The Visitors (2007), installation view, dimensions variable 90
34: Work in progress (2007) 91
35: Tomohiro Nishikado, Space Invaders (screenshot, 1978), 91
36: Mother (2007), 158 x 99 x 52 cm, Daughter (2007), 93 x 37 x 48 cm 92
37: The Visitors (2007), installation view, dimensions variable 93
38: Jacob Epstein, Rock Drill (1913-14), dimensions unknown 93
39: Flyer (2009), 86 x 56 x 31 cm 116
40: Flyer (detail, 2009) 117
41: Walk Tall (for Joseph Clover) (2010), 152 x 16 x 20 cm 118
42: Variable (2009), 43 x 32 x 17 cm 119
43: The box my father sent me 120
44: Some of the materials my father sent me 120
45: Finders Keepers (2010), 42 x 12 x 6.5 cm 121
46: The Long Haul (1977-2010), 155 x 72 x 34 cm 122
47: Fireflash from Gerry Anderson’s Thunderbirds (screenshot, 1965) 122
48: The Long Haul (detail, 1977-2010) 123
49: The Lesson (2007), 136 x 73 x 47 cm 147
50: The Lesson (2007), 136 x 73 x 47 cm 148
51: Sweet Spot (2007), 170 x 130 x 90 cm 149
52: Terminal (2006), 82 x 114 x 62 cm 150

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53: Arman, Infinity of Typewriters and Infinity of Monkeys and Infinity of
Time = Hamlet (1962), 83 x 175 x 30 cm 151
54: Passage (2006-2009), 33 x 25 x 8 cm 152
55: Passage (detail, 2006-2009) 152
56: Tony Cragg, Palette (1985), 162 x 180 cm 153
57: Clipper (2010), 107.5 x 62 x 29.5 cm 154
58: Clipper (details, 2010) 154
59: Plunderbus (2010-2011) 48.5 x 17.5 x 9.7 cm 155
60: Plunderbus (detail, 2010-2011) 155
61: Plunderbus (detail, 2010-2011) 156
62: Collision Damage (2010), 112 x 165 x 53 cm 157
63: Collision Damage (unfinished, 2010) 157
64: Full Tilt (2010), 132 x 105 x 52 cm 158
65: Full Tilt (2010), 132 x 105 x 52 cm 158
66: Nathan Sawaya, Yellow (2006), 88.9 x 33 x 71.1 cm 159
67: Harold Hoy, Polar Bear (1998), dimensions unknown 159
68: Dirk Polak, Skeptomenos Manifeste Mecano (n.d.), 100 x 100 cm 160
69: Tomoko Takahashi, My Playstation (2005), dimensions variable 160
70: Offerer (2011), 42 x 33 x 32 cm 161
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Abstract
Certain aspects of sculptural assemblage remain largely unexamined in an
academic context. I contend that this mode of practice is not in need of
theorisation, but that it can fruitfully be brought into dialogue with philosophy.
Doing so may shed light upon assemblage and the contextual thinking which
frames it.
I undertake the re-evaluation of this medium by means of a reflexive
engagement with the processes and concerns of my own assemblage practice.
By detailing the shifts and movements of my own making, I explore the
tensions and connections inherent in the historical development of this media.
I discuss a connection (or family resemblance) between aspects of my
sculptural practice and Ludwig Wittgenstein’s methods of grammatical
disruption and displacement. I argue that thinking about sculptural
assemblage grammatically provides a way of re-framing the relationship
between my artworks and their contexts. This in turn facilitates an
examination of the practical and philosophical implications of the ‘fitting-
together-ness’ of assemblage. It also brings into view a possible re-thinking of
relations in a way that emphasises connective potential rather than difference
or similarity.
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Introduction
Don't apologise for anything, don't obscure anything, look and tell how
it really is - but you must see something that sheds a new light on the
facts (Wittgenstein, 1998, p.45).
This is an investigation into the context and possibilities of assemblage. These
explorations are undertaken primarily in relation to the world of things and
objects, rather than people or places, although sometimes my practice (and
this project) overflows into these areas. I am interested in exploring the
effects of displacement, or as the painter and collagist Max Ernst termed it,
‘the cultivation of the effects of a systematic putting out of place’ (1948, p.21).
Ernst knowingly alludes to a line taken from the nineteenth century poetic
novel Les Chants de Malodor by Comte de Lautréamont (Isidore Ducasse):
‘Beautiful as the chance meeting upon a dissecting table of a sewing machine
and an umbrella’ (1874, pp.289-290). Ernst’s phrase clarifies and simplifies
Ducasse’s original, but what is lost is the excitement of juxtaposition.
While this activity plays a major part in my sculptural practice, my interest
extends beyond juxtaposing objects to include the consideration of how things
come together and fit together. My work is driven by a longstanding and
fundamental sense of excitement about the visual richness of everyday stuff
and its potential for recombination and reconfiguration. This approach echoes
that of the ‘bricolage’ described by the anthropologist and ethnologist Claude
Lévi Strauss, as ‘the rules of [the] game are always to make do with ‘whatever
is at hand’ and ‘elements are collected or retained on the principle that ‘they
may always come in handy’’ (1966, p.11).
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That is not to say that I find all everyday objects potentially useful (or
attractive). The choices I make rest upon a process of contingent
discrimination, which takes into account what has been useful previously and
what seems like it might be useful in the future, yet still remains open to
possibility and surprise. There are no hard and fast rules for this process, only
a general set of guiding principles subject to constant change, negotiation and
revision as they apply to specific objects.
I choose the term ‘assemblage’ deliberately, informed by the historical origins
and use of this word in relation to contemporary object-based sculptural
practice. For the past ten years I have felt a steadily increasing need for a
deeper understanding of my creative practice and its broader context. It felt
appropriate to reach out towards this new understanding from within my
practice, to develop ‘an experiential approach to theory from within practice,
rather than a discursive approach outside of practice’ (Susan Melrose, 1995,
quoted in Paul Clarke, 2003).
Artist and academic Derek Horton’s practice-based doctoral research on
assemblage focused primarily on the extent to which ‘material objects embody
their history of use and exchange’ (2003, p.2). He refers to a similar (yet
subtly different) process of extension in relation to his doctoral project:
At one level the text is the history of an attempt to theorise the
predominantly ‘making’ practice that preceded it, prompted it and
continued during its production. But, importantly, it is also an element
in the development and extension of that practice as text (p.6).
The difference between Horton’s methods of research and my own, lies in his
framing of the creation as text as part of an artistic practice rather than as a
development of it.
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