'Head of the Nail' performance 1/3

l recently had some performance footage of three different works of mine from 2007 uploaded on Youtube: better late than never.. You'll find each of these next three posts serve as an explanation for it's corresponding video, which without any explanation as they previously existed on Youtube can be a bit misleading and the intricate plot lines l so carefully devised (at that especially young, pivotal age) tend to vanish.. still developing that side of things with performances to come. Several important performances took place in 2006 which due to lack of visual documentation will be missed here, all though my first performance that really did start it all for me; an intervention on Mike Parr's 'Amerika' (May 2006) will need to undergo some reflection, probably by the time i've written up the third and final entry.. Anyhow, these following three works demonstrate that while showing a development of the performance medium in my work at that time, which l was combining with poetry and a visual art practice (then undertaking my final year at National Art School) they would in fact by the following year be eclipsed by other artistic ventures. Aside from a few informal occasions, performance was more or less ceased for several years; l am by now looking to combine all these various directions over the past five, six years, hence having returned to examine some of these early works for what and how they existed at the time and where l can now continue and develop from them, with all that's been delved into since!

performance 1 of 3

'Head of the Nail'
Art Gallery of NSW, May 2007
filmed by Daniel Havas

By no means was this performance made with any input or clearance from the AGNSW but was instead (as would seem pretty obvious in the footage) suddenly executed on a regular Tuesday afternoon during the 2007 Archibald Prize. Entering the exhibition imitating and using the props to suggest that l was blind was a statement to suggest that l was entering an art exhibition but seeing nothing; the decision for that move came from a dissatisfaction with the exhibition's long standing factory-line of enormous Easter Island-scale heads, commonly over-refined to generate that photographic finish that so often begs the insane judgement commonly overheard; 'wow, it's such a great painting, it looks like just a photograph!' My decision to pick the Archibald came from the personal distaste with the syndrome it commonly places on artists; l had witnessed the bitter experience it plunged into the life of several of my NAS lecturers and the detrimental effect that had on teaching. That addictive state that the quest for the Archibald ensues; the tunnel vision confined further each year as the scent of a win is held just beyond the nose; the artist's entres and eventually their practice becomes increasingly governed by theories and hope of what the judging panel will prefer and the obvious resolution; the longer the artist continually stays in the game, eventually their tenacity will pay off and they'll receive that magic phone call..

All would be fine if the long haul to win was such an easy, un-egotistical, expectation free process but being far from that, the example of the Archibald has a way of dictating artist's careers; the prize, which if finally obtained seems to then result in a crisis of direction; where to and to what now that the Holy Grail has been possessed? I heard once that a true sign of an addicted gambler is in their winning expression, which despite what jackpot they've won, continues to remain sombre; the achievement of their win seems to almost pass them by unnoticed in reflection of their great preceding losses and years of unnecessary sacrifice to reach that moment.. Some of the 'Archibald Hunters' l had met by my early art school years reminded me of this.

So, having explained the context; l am by this time inside the exhibition, imitating that l'm blind strolling nervously towards the part of the exhibition where l plan to execute the next stage of the performance. Suddenly from inside my shoulder canvas bag l reveal a nail, hammer and scrunched up sheet of lined paper with a quick, purposely undeveloped portrait in biro pen, which in a matter of moments is nailed to the exhibition wall, amid a short burst of hammering that rattled like a machine-gun and literally froze everybody in the room to the spot; the feeling would have been similar when releasing a few shots to announce you're about to rob a bank..

The intention of using the hammer and releasing those loud cracks into the air that afternoon was very much to do, for example with firing a gun and resolving the incredible pressure built up by a number of factors to do with the performance; the mountain of built-up tension surrounding the prize, the anticipation of it's many entrants, the hype and it's high-profile status which in terms of publicity tends to still be met each year with a lot of conflicting reviews that do each year spell out the issues with the grand-scale photographic rendering etc, l think despite it's success there's a tension that builds up each year due it's unshifting tastes. As they successfully did l wanted the sound of my performance to ring through the halls of the show and present in a momentary form, a huge release of tension; a dramatised backlash.. fueled by the disastisfaction l personally felt having witnessed the aftermath of Archibald failure or post-winning delirium during my studies then. The exhibition became the object of an issue in the Australian art world that l wanted to comment on at that time, an enormous entity of bottled up criticism and respect, successful careers and buried careers that l was incredibly intrigued to (in my miniscule state) throw stones at and see what would happen; performance proved to be the medium for this one.

If you haven't already, hit the link and enjoy

Jim S