Maybe we are still living in the last chapters of the »Buddenbrooks«, which are really fascinating and extraordinary. Thomas Mann’s »Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family« at first goes on smoothly for some hundred pages, relating events occurring over several generations. A family chronicle records the events, even very peculiar small events happening in the lives of the family members, and this chronicle is extremely important for the »concept of the family«. The substance of the family lies in the lines written there, and the family character is structured by this historical record. Antonie Buddenbrook, who attaches great importance to the chronicle, is also one of the main upholders of the family concept, along with her successful brother Thomas. In one case, the chronicle even determines and precedes the course of events in real life: after Antonie has read the book with great reverence and feelings of belonging, she agrees to marry a merchant she doesn’t actually love, because it fits in with the rest of the family history. With great resolution, she writes, in the past tense: »Antonie Buddenbrook became engaged to be married.« This means it is going to happen. Period. She at first writes as if she were engaged already, and then becomes engaged as she had written.

Although Antonie Buddenbrook is a great believer in the family concept, she also lets it down badly, and she suffers because of this. And she also knows that it is her brother Thomas who is holding the concept and the family company together. When Thomas dies at an early age, it is very possible to consider the whole Buddenbrook family as dead too - the game is over. And Thomas’s frail son, Hanno, is not a part of the Buddenbrooks concept; we all know he won’t carry it further and that he is living in another reality. But in the famous last chapters, starting with Chapter Eleven, we find ourselves more and more in Hanno’s world. The Buddenbrooks concept is already forgotten in this world, which is full of very different details and perspectives. Here we have a very good view of collective amnesia and consensus-related building of authority.
At the start, we are in the classroom with Hanno and his classmates. The pupils react to issues collectively and adapt themselves to be in harmony with the teacher’s perspective. First, we see how the pupils tend to hate a classmate if he fails to satisfy the teacher and attracts his anger. Then, surprisingly, one of them cheats on the teacher. He pretends he has memorized a piece that he was to learn by heart, but actually reads it surreptitiously from a book. That is why he cannot continue to read when the teacher comes close to him. But Doctor Mantelsack goes back to his place, and the pupil, Timm, continues to pretend. In the end, the teacher is truly deceived. He really believes that Timm has studied well and put in a great effort, even though he couldn’t read perfectly. He congratulates Timm and gives him a high mark. And, very strangely, although the class knows Timm was cheating Doctor Mantelsack, they also believe that Timm really was a good student and that he really deserved a high mark. More strangely still, Timm himself believes the same. And Hanno Buddenbrook sees the shift and is aware of it, but cannot escape. He believes the same thing.
Then another student fails to give the right answer, and the class again hates him. And at the end, it is Hanno’s turn. He behaves like Timm and deceives the teacher. He gains applause from Doctor Mantelsack for a job well done. And still more strangely, he, too, believes that he deserved the eulogies, and is proud of himself. He believes in the reality of the situation although he knows it is not true, and he knows the same thing happened only minutes ago when Timm cheated the teacher. He feels disgust, weakness and exhaustion.
So these collective politics of remembering, which is very much organized in terms of authority building and consensus culture, have a strong tendency to create collective amnesia any time it is needed. I feel very much like Hanno when I attend big local shows like the Istanbul Biennial. I share the disgust he felt for himself and I share his weakness and tiredness as well.

A divided scene

This year we had the 9th Istanbul Biennial (9b). Curators Charles Esche and Vasif Kortun carried out their aim of changing some standard features of Istanbul Biennials: by moving the location of the event from historical Istanbul to an entertainment and culture district, by spreading out over the city, and by raising the show’s profile with additional panels, publications, discussions, etc.
Istanbul biennials are organized by a local elite linked to the wide-ranging network of biennial and festival organizers. But local financial support and motivations are obviously part of broader plans for the marketing of Istanbul as a culture brand. In an interview, Kortun described this as a competition between cities, and listed the Istanbul Biennial as one of four super-size events Istanbul hosted in 2005 (the others were the 2005 Champions League Final, Formula 1 Grand Prix and UIA 2005 World Architecture Congress).
Istanbul Biennial is a big media event in Turkey. It gets first-class press support and it is promoted everywhere. But these promotions are elements of a consensus culture which hides conflicts. The presentation of Istanbul biennials aims to make us forget that the art scene in Turkey is divided and that the biennial is build upon a tiny local scene. It aims to make us forget the festivalism issue and that we are taking part in a competition between the big capitals of the world. And the 9b Biennial with its main concept of »Istanbul« also invites us to forget that a concept of the city can not be produced solely through prestigious big-frame events like biennials, but needs grassroots alternative art scenes which contain both the prevailing tendencies and unofficial developments.
Let us remember that the severely divided Turkish art world has two main camps: the chiefly contemporary art camp, and the conservative, traditionalist art camp. The larger camp is the traditionalist camp – academies, collectors, institutions and galleries mainly belong to it. The contemporary art camp is small and less effective. Everyone who is in contact with Turkish contemporary art knows all the galleries and venues – because they are so few and so close together: two-and-a-half galleries, people like to say. But the contemporary art world is still strong because the (Western) art world is listening to what is done there. Western eyes are turned on this camp. The greater traditionalist camp is locally strong but internationally weak. Big exhibitions like biennials are a subtle kind of war arena: the traditionalist camp hates them. But for the media, both camps are all on the same market shelf. This juxtaposition does not really matter. And most of the Turkish contemporary artists work regularly for exhibitions and events outside the country, whereas they don’t have a similar space to move about in inside the country. And this creates representation problems. Some of them are very bored of being forced to represent a culture and the country to a foreign gaze, and frequently use expressions like »exoticism« or »orientalism«. Some say there are already acceptable programmes for Turkish artists. And, recently, this problem of representation became apparent in the »Focus Istanbul « crisis. The exhibition »Urban Realities: Focus Istanbul« ( 9th July - 3rd October 2005), curated by Christopher Tannert, was held in the Martin-Gropius-Bau in Berlin. But some Turkish artists and curators protested at the event and withdrew. They wrote an open letter and listed some of their reasons for doing so. These included »overall fatigue with regard to exhibitions based on the national identity of artists« .

Istanbul biennials once had a pedagogic function. Because contemporary art used to be remote from Istanbul, biennials were big »lectures« for young generations, especially the one curated by Rene Block in 1995. There was an atmosphere of catching up, resembling post-Soviet runs on art: trying to be »faster than history«. But this pedagogical function is now over. There is a new trend of private museums (like Istanbul Modern, where the »Centre of Gravity« exhibition, curated by Rosa Martinez, was open during 9b; the Sakip Sabanc? Museum, which hosted a Picasso exhibition right afterwards; and the Pera Museum, which ironically opened a Jean Dubuffet exhibition ) The Istanbul Modern exhibition conveyed the message that »if you are looking for high standards (or stars) or just want to catch up with what’s hot and really contemporary and good and from the premier league, then here we go: »You don’t have to go to a biennial, you just come to Istanbul Modern«. So it looks as if the Istanbul Biennial does not and will not answer to the need of »education« any more.
The best result of biennials is the energy they create outside, the rivalry, incentives and encouragements they create to do something (mostly against them). So it would be simplifying things if we wanted to understand biennials as just pure festivalism –for there are many powers fighting inside. Perspectives and motivations of artists, curators, organizers and sponsors, and even contributions from the audiences (which are more effective the more emphasis is placed on public-inclusive works). The waves these big events create can be very effective.

Alternatives from below

9b was different in that it affected the whole city more, producing the impression that artistic things were happening throughout the whole city. (Actually 9b was chiefly located in the main art territory of Istanbul –namely the Beyoglu-Taksim area, but there were »external« art shows even on city ferries) The idea of a biennial intermingling with the city is nice in many ways. Very promising. But in fact there is a certain flâneur fetishism of art people. Vain art flâneurs may like to discover elixirs spread about the city. (Again, not the whole city but the main culture and entertainment district and its hinterland.) And this external discovery and the creation of something to be discovered erases the memory of the city itself. The body also remembers. And the memory of the body can not be consensus-based; it cannot create a collective amnesia. The body has desires itself, and the body of the city desires –and that can not be adequately covered by a frame event like a biennial. Although the curators of 9b wanted to resist this in some ways, it was obviously impossible to do so within the scope of such an event. To reach the energies that come from the cells of the city we need an alternative art scene from below.
Every successful biennial is an end in itself. We move far away from real antagonisms and confrontation with the truth, and instead become used to promotions, market-shelf style juxtapositions; in the face of the growing number of private museums and the rivalry between big art shows, we lose the paths to creating something that takes account of the desires of our bodies, the bodies of our cities or bodies of cultural existence. So, in some sense, as successful as this biennial was, it makes me think of a Pyrrhic victory. »Another biennial victory like this and we are undone.«
There is a certain need to remember the desires of the body, to bear in mind and work with the non-professional level of art. There is so much »success« in the Turkish art scene – mostly dominated by big events. There is a similar situation in literature as well. There is a kind of boom in new novels published – too many success-oriented promotion campaigns but no real independent literary environment to discuss what is being done. The market is based on speed, not corporal thinking.
The most radical act many artists can perform these days may be to become forgotten for some time. To work as an amateur, to experience the process of becoming. It is becoming more and more important to have initiatives that are »unsuccessful« on purpose.
When so many successes come close together, are added to each other, it creates a »success story« where there is no real surprise or desire, no empowerment, but oblivious and harmless art. I am one of those who believe that art can not remain harmless for long.
So I have a strong sense that we are in Hanno’s classroom. We tend to hate unsuccessful art. And tend to adapt ourselves to fit Doctor Mantelsack. We realize this but still can’t help believing. If collective amnesia can be conceived of in this situation, it is not a post-traumatic state; it is consensus culture or culture itself. It is a project we are working towards.
In Christopher Nolan’s film »Memento« (2000), Leonard Shelby, who is suffering from short-term memory loss, finds himselfs running and asks while running, »Okay, what am I doing?« And he sees another man (Dodd) also running. Says to himself »I'm chasing this guy.« But Dodd has a gun, and he shoots at Leonard. Then Leonard says, »Nope. He's chasing me.«
Remembering after we wake up. Remembering the dream. As Benjamin very nicely put it in his »One-Way Street«: until you eat after you wake up, you are still in the realm of dreams. And before you eat something you should not tell the dream you have had, because otherwise you will be telling the dream while you are still partly living in the dream .

This threshold of eating, feeding the body, would be very critical if we can look at the dream metaphor negatively as the dream we manipulate ourselves to believe in. Or it can be thought of the other way round as well. You are in the dream of creative multi-truths, then you »eat« something. And find yourself in the realm of the consensus culture and tell your dream with the words of this collective amnesia. You forget a dream collectively by telling it ....

 

 

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