Resistance-Violence :: By Tania Perlini

The overabundance of violent images circulating in the media has been a concern for theorists from various disciplines for many years. This concern is based on the fear that using human suffering as entertainment may encourage real acts of violence, even as it numbs the public to the suffering of others. Consequently, it would appear that a repeated vicarious consumption of intense violence impoverishes consumers' emotional and intellectual capacity, leading straight to a generalized compassion fatigue. Studies dedicated to this phenomenon have become widely solicited as the western world's media output becomes more and more “extreme.” In fact, according to philosopher Michel Lacroix, the quest for strong but negative sensations like shock, vertigo and fear - sensations produced by some violent images - is currently the distinguishing characteristic of our society. As art historian Paul Ardenne points out, the most pessimists among us will believe “that we'll go from here to a cultural crisis without precedent.” And why?

Because if life is too exalted, if humans are too excessive, if representation is too intense, they can only be eroded, deplete their own resilience, and be left spinning their tires. […] It quickly achieves the upper limit, this time unsurpassable, ending up exhausting itself. (Ardenne, Extrême: Esthétiques de la limite dépassée, 2006)

And still, so many artists have considered it necessary, this recourse to violence that aims to use a lasting gesture to denounce injustice and signal a breaking point or a space of conflict, sometimes incarnated in the body itself. A notable example is the famous performance, Shoot , by Chris Burden in 1971, where the artist asked a friend to shoot him in the arm. At that same time, while Burden was trying to blur the line between art and life, and to affirm his existence through pain, many feminist artists, including Valie Expert, Yoko Ono, Carolee Schneemann and Marina Abramovic, were using their own bodies to denounce exclusion and oppression, sometimes subjecting themselves to physical and/or psychological torture. Also worthy of mention are the many photojournalists that capture images of atrocities all over the world such as Nick Ut's photograph of a horribly burned Vietnamese child, which won the 1973 Pulitzer Prize. And let's not forget the filmmakers working to put these images of violence onscreen so that spectators will never forget, never become indifferent. In light of these practices, it would appear that the representation of violence could sometimes prove to be useful as a productive form of expression and resistance.

Representations of Violence as Modes of Resistance

But is it effective? Can violent representations possibly stimulate contemplation and promote knowledge? These are precisely the questions that Amber Berson addresses in her article, which examines a series of paintings called The Forgotten by Canadian artist Pamela Masik. The work consists of sixty-nine painted portraits of women murdered in Vancouver, many of whom are aboriginal. Each portrait was inspired by a newspaper description of the woman's murder. Looking at these large-format paintings/memorials erected for the victims, the author wonders whether these portraits sensationalize the murders or inspire compassion for the victims. To which extent do they raise public awareness about the disappearance of women in Lower Eastside Vancouver and spur people into action? In addition to these concerns, the author points out the paradox that exists within these images, namely, an aestheticized violence, rendered in quasi-abstraction, encroaching on the limits of beauty.

In a similar manner, Olivia Pipe examines the function of the photographic images that constitute the series Trapped: Mental Illness in America's Prisons by American artist Jenn Ackerman. By documenting the living conditions of incarcerated people suffering from various mental illnesses, the artist seeks to bring attention to the declining funding for treating mental illness within the US prison system . The compassion (or pity) inspired by these photos is unquestionable. But at what price does the photographer achieve her aims? The author mentions tight framing, dramatic angles and the exclusive use of black and white—all aesthetic choices—which, while adding weight to the impression of imprisonment, tend to marginalize the subject. Inasmuch as his presence symbolizes the disease and the product of a deficient prison system, can the subject also be considered a victim of the photographer's “violent” scrutiny?

Tension as Aesthetic Experience

Using instant messaging, Arkadi Lavoie Lachapelle interviews the anonymous feminist collective Les Affrontées, discussing the artists' position on Femmes codées . This performance, held at the Montreal gallery L'art passe à l'Est, and put on by two silent women who, in mini-skirt burquas and heels, propose to meet each member of the audience one-by-one via a speed-dating soirée. Reminiscent of feminist performances by Yoko Ono and Valie Export, in which a disruptive power struggle had been suggested between the artist (dominated) and the spectators (dominant), the author questions the collective on the pertinence of re-staging this type of connection (collision?) between the mute and passive woman, subject to the whims of her spectators, and the public, who is dominating the interaction.

This unique approach to art that can only be experienced with apprehension is precisely what characterizes the audio work shot/silence , created by Canadian artist Erin Sexton and presented in this issue. This work exploits tension by juxtaposing the sounds of nature with gunshots, placing listeners in a disempowered position. While listeners wander blind through sounds tempered to the rhythm of nature, the sporadic gunshots that punctuate the piece assail and catapult them into an anguished state of uncertainty and discomfort.

Alternative Strategies for Resisting Violence

In her chronicle, Albertine Bouquet offers a discerning account of the latest film by Rodrigue Jean, Lost Song (2008). Albertine discusses the film's ability to incite tension and anxiety in its viewers through a different kind of violence, namely, psychological abuse in couples. While the film easily conveys the oppression the female protagonist is subjected to at the hands of her husband (the audience can feel her sense of freedom becoming more and more limited), Albertine's account of the film takes form in a completely different atmosphere. It is no longer a representation of a fictional instance of violence, but rather a representation of that representation, through which - from image to text - the viewers-now-readers can reassess their initial experience of Lost Song . As she takes on the role of an informed tour-guide, is Albertine not offering, with each of her impressions, tools to resist the violence too quickly and easily absorbed in our saturated media culture?

Finally, in the chronicle series “In the Studio”, Mel Mundell meets with American artist Lori Gilbert to discuss her work there is no dark side… is there? . The installation, still in the development process at the time of the interview, is a response to the National Museum of Crime and Punishment, which in February 2010 exhibited the car of infamous serial killer Ted Bundy. The museum claimed that it was an educational tool for women. In addition to the artist's concerns for the presentation of such an artefact in a museum context, the work also invites us to think about the ways in which some violent acts are represented, manipulated, commercialized and reinterpreted with time. Here, resistance (to violence) takes an alternative path from the representation of violence. What this path consist of the artist shall explain.