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This
is, remarkably, the fifteenth occasion in the last twenty years when
those of us with a passionate interest in the edges of the arts (and
in how those edges might provide ambitious artists with an arena for
their work) have come together to celebrate what Nikki Milican first
called The National Review of Live Art in 1984.
The
first Four Days of Performance Art took place in the early winter of
1979, and - exciting though that event was - I do not suppose that
any of us who were present at the time really recognised what we
were witnessing: the birth pangs of what would become the single
most important institution in the support of British live art
activity, through to its current state of rude health at the
beginning of the twenty-first century.
Indeed
it is difficult to imagine nowadays what a peculiarly insignificant
activity 'performance art' (as many of us still called it then) was
in the late nineteen seventies. True, it was not by that time such a
young practice, and there had been a whole range of artists and
companies who made special and unforgettable work in its name. But
things are very different now: not only is live art a routinely
pilfered resource for all of the other performing arts and media,
and thus ubiquitous in its influence, but the working practices that
characterise it (which were regarded as being somewhat unusual
twenty years ago) have become the norm in post-modern art making.
I
am thinking of such things as a concern for process over product; a
tendency towards the collaborative; an assumption that an artist
must as often as not be their own administrator, and technician, and
roadie; the willingness to allow artistic endeavour to blur its
edges with all sorts of other activity; and thus a willingness for
artists to allow the real events of their lives to drive the content
of their work
What
these working practices derive from, I believe, is a basic
assumption that sits at the heart of live art, and which it can with
justice claim as its own: that art might present things as
themselves, rather than veiled in a whole set of pre-digested
conventions of representation. Of course this does not mean that the
live artist is incapable of making art of entrancing allusion, as
the best of the work at this year's National Review will once again
demonstrate, but I do believe that Live Art's poetry is rendered
that much more effective by this rootedness in the real that is
characteristic of the practice.
Many
of us cherish our own particular memories of artists whom we first
saw at the National Review, and in what follows, a number of my
friends and colleagues recall those first encounters and pay tribute
to artists to whom they were introduced here. For my part, I want to
salute the National Review itself, and of course its leading light
Nikki Milican, for the very special contribution that it has made to
shaping the world in which we, as artists, work.
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