"…The number of particles that compose the world
is immense but finite, and, as such, only capable of a finite
(though also immense) number of permutations. In an infinite stretch
of time, the number of possible constellations must be run through,
and the universe has to repeat itself. […] Since everything is
bound to return, nothing is unique, not even these lines…"
Daniel Birnbaum: Chronology (2005)
"If you use a lot of plastic coffee mugs, you
transform them into something else. If you use just one, then
it's still a plastic coffee mug."
Jacob Dahlgren (2007)
In 2004, Jacob Dahlgren made I, the world, things,
life, which was shown in an exhibition of the same name at
Norrköpings Konstmuseum in Sweden. Since then, he has made various
versions, the latest of which is currently on display in the Nordic
pavilion exhibition at the Venice Biennale.
Monumental in its dimensions, this piece, which
covers an entire wall on each occasion, may be the most popular
of Dahlgren's works, and no wonder. At the very first glance,
it sweeps away the boundary between artist and viewer. It allows
viewers truly to participate in the creation of the artwork, and
also gives them an urge to join in. The work is like a Number-One
hit that everyone has to have because everyone else has one like
it.
The first I, the world, things, life consisted
of almost a thousand black-and-white dartboards mounted side by
side and an equal number of bright-red darts thrown into them
by people who had seen the work. More darts were available from
the open wooden box in front of the target wall, encouraging new
arrivals to throw their own darts. As in a real darts match, a
black line on the floor marked the correct throwing distance.
Dahlgren's background is in painting, and in fact
all of his works can be viewed as paintings, at least if the concept
of painting is suitably loosely defined.
At the same time, however, his works again and
again defy the boundaries of that concept, as does Signes d'Abstraction
(2005). This was a performance staged for a Stockholm shopping
mall, in which a large number of people had dressed in striped
shirts. An ordinary weekend shopping day turned into a living
abstraction, a kinetic painting that constantly changed its shape
and dimensions.
In talking about his dartboard work, Dahlgren uses
the expression action painting. This term, familiar from the history
of Modernism, leads our thoughts straight to abstract expressionism,
and in particular to Jackson Pollock's large, all-over canvases,
but the work itself turns the whole concept on its head once again.
The active agents here are not the artist pouring
his soul out onto the canvas, but the viewers throwing their darts.
Dahlgren mainly watches the situation from the sidelines, as he
also did in the shopping mall performance. Actually, Dahlgren
would not really even need to touch his work. It is a ready
made, it is made up of industrially manufactured parts, parts
that anyone can buy in sports and hardware stores in the Nordic
countries.
As they throw their darts, everyone can think about
how a fundamentally modernist artwork is disappearing before their
eyes and turning into an open process that advances under its
own weight. The outward appearance of the work changes according
to how the darts gather together on its surface. The way the darts
hit home is, nevertheless, dependent on the viewers' aim. Their
aim was definitely not helped by the concentric black-and-white
bands on the dartboards, which made their eyes swim.
Like all of Dahlgren's works, I, the world,
things, life shuffles cultural and social codes, art speak
and its habitual reading habits, as lightly as a pack of cards.
It looks as if Dahlgren does not care a great deal for art's traditional
value hierarchies. On top of his works being viewable both as
a modernist abstraction and as an interactive process, like Pop
art, they can also be thought of as mirroring some of the typical
features of the Nordic way of life.
For instance, dart throwing is a common, popular
form of recreation at the summer cottages to which many Nordic
residents retreat to enjoy their summer holidays. The dartboard
is a sign that symbolises a shared utopia, the warm, light holiday
weeks on the shores of the sea or a lake, amid unspoiled nature.
A utopia because the reality is frequently less rosy than this
picture-postcard image.
The references contained in the work probably do
not end with those already mentioned. A broader framework is provided,
for example, by the Nordic design and architecture of the 1950s
and 1960s. They, too, brought with them their own utopias, a sublime
idea according to which good design and beautiful buildings ennoble
their users, for which reason it is society's task to put them
within reach of everyone. When we look at the grey concrete suburbs
and shopping centres, we know what became of that dream.
Jacob Dahlgren was born in Stockholm in 1970. He
grew to be an artist at a time when abstract painting and sculpture
had already had to surrender their place in the front ranks of
the avant-garde. They had turned into signs among other signs,
precisely because radical changes in society had consigned the
ideologies that originally lent them wings to the shelves of history.
When Dahlgren graduated from the Royal Academy
of Fine Arts in Stockholm in 1999, globalisation was already in
full swing, and the Nordic welfare state, one of the main embodiments
of the modern project, was in crisis. Regardless of party affiliation,
politicians' greatest worries were about how to prevent that utopia
from collapsing.
Dahlgren stresses that in his art he is not interested
in the original ideological underpinnings of the styles and image
languages that he recycles, nor in their links with social utopias.
This is actually understandable specifically because, during his
time, no utopias have emerged to speak of.
"They all just want to make more money," Dahlgren
says when our discussion turns to such enterprises as Polarn &
Pyret, Ikea, Artek and Marimekko. All of them have at times been,
and also manufactured, material symbols of Nordic democracy and
welfare.
"I am a sampler," is how Dahlgren defines his art.
His works are based on repetition and recycling of existing aesthetic
languages and ready-made objects, often in different meanings
of the words simultaneously. Nothing in his art is totally unique
or original, apart from all the new combinations, which he constructs
by mixing his found ingredients and by shaking up concepts in
art. He is an eclectic artist in the straightforward sense of
the dictionary definition, and he creates meanings by combining
things that already exist.
Dahlgren is fascinated by the appearance of "true
abstraction". He sees himself in the mirror of Olle Baertling,
Sweden's leading concretist. He likes the Bauhaus, because it
operated in all areas of art at once, without making a big deal
about the limitations of the arts. He is clearly an urban artist,
who finds abstraction in his own everyday life, in products and
adverts, in car side panels, in the symbol language of the street,
in people's clothes and in various structures and patterns associated
with the environment.
When he is travelling, Dahlgren collects street
abstractions in his small digital camera. Added to the fact that
the thousands of pictures accumulated up to now are for him an
inexhaustible source of ideas and potentials for his works, he
incorporates them into his exhibition catalogues, where they do
an excellent job of shedding light on his pictorial thinking and
on his way of looking at the world. His solo exhibition Signs
of Abstraction at Ystads konstmuseum in Sweden in 2007, also
showed his photographs as independent artworks for the first time.
"For me, abstraction is a way of making out of
reality something that has no clear meaning, or perhaps something
that has its own clear meaning," Dahlgren says ambiguously.
Be that as it may, he nevertheless succeeds in making
everyday, anonymous design and cheap mass-produced objects interesting,
important and expensive looking. Many of the objects that he uses,
from French yoghourt pots to plastic Ikea hangers, are a variety
of post-Bauhausian bulkware, quasi-modern cheap manufactured goods
that have in turn contributed to the break up of the Nordic (design)
utopia. Producing quality on the current economic terms is simply
too expensive.
When people write about Dahlgren's art, it is apparently
customary to point out that he collects T-shirts, and I do not
intend to be an exception here. "He buys practically all the striped
shirts that he sees and at home there are 400 of them stored away
waiting to be worn," Stina Högkvist wrote in 2003. When I asked
the artist about this in the late winter of 2007, the shirts numbered
close to a thousand.
Writers also mention that Dahlgren always wears
something striped, which is a feature that I, too, can confirm.
Apart from wearing the striped shirts, he also uses them as models
for his painting. In his studio are hundreds of small-scale striped
paintings, each one based on a T-shirt design.
Once again, Dahlgren mingles the codes of looking,
and slips the mat from under ideologies that are fundamentally
bound up with modernism. This time, the object is "high modernism"
as promulgated by Clement Greenberg, and its figureheads, such
as Kenneth Noland.
In 2003, Dahlgren showed more than a hundred striped
paintings at Galerie Anhava in Helsinki. The paintings are all
different, even if they are all based on a reiteration of horizontal
bands of colour. They are reminiscent of formalist abstractions,
but their large number, small size and minor differences effectively
empty them of all modernist notions, for example, those associated
with the presumed purity of abstract art. If these paintings have
to be viewed as a homage to something, then it would be to those
same anonymous designers who are responsible for the cheap light
fittings in our homes, and who paint the diagonal yellow-and-black
stripes on our roads to control traffic.
Dahlgren's art contains endless ingenious amalgams
of modernist abstraction and mass-produced objects. And yet he
is not satisfied solely with running through the various concepts
of painting. A wonderful example of his inventiveness is Heaven
is a Place on Earth, a minimalist sculpture, of which he made
several versions in various sizes in 2006.
Each version is made out of cheap weighing scales.
As with the dartboards, the smallest contains 25 of them, and
the largest 1500. Their compositions are equally simple: blue,
red and white scales, either arranged into a square or covering
the entire floor of the museum entrance hall, as at the opening
exhibition at Bonniers Konsthall in Stockholm in 2006.
I, the world, things, life is rooted in
Jackson Pollock's paintings. This time, the main father figure
is the minimalist Carl Andre, who is known for his floor-hugging
modular structures. On the other hand, the colourfulness of the
scales evokes memories of the grids in concrete painting, only
now dressed up as cheap everyday wares.
Here, one of Dahlgren's initial concerns has been
the way that, unlike artworks in general, we are allowed to walk
on Andre's works. In museums they are often situated in doorways
and corridors so that the public unavoidably has to step on them.
Sometimes, we can even see the museum guards intentionally stepping
onto them so as to encourage viewers to do the same.
The physical connection between public and work
is a part of Andre's aesthetic, but it is also a part of Dahlgren's
repertoire, as the above examples show. At the same time, like
the dartboards, the scales also contain references outside the
recent history of art. In addition to Heaven is a Place on
Earth reacting to the weight of everyone who walks over it,
Dahlgren says the work is especially perplexing for American viewers,
for whom body weight seems to be a particularly sensitive issue.
When abstract expression came into existence a
hundred years ago, operating in the background were, in principle,
two parallel processes: improvisation and abstraction. Improvising
artists started from nothing, and trusted in their own inner vision,
while abstractists simplified the tree or landscape in front of
them, until all that remained was its formal structural skeleton.
Of the early abstractists, Wassily Kandinsky represented the former
method, and Piet Mondrian the latter. Both ended up in pure abstraction,
an area from which Dahlgren has subsequently absorbed a great
deal.
Jacob Dahlgren's art has a special feature. His
works, too, seek to abstract the world that we see around us.
But, instead of being images abstracted from the world, they draw
our attention to all that is abstract in our own environment,
to all those formalist pattern fields and sculpture-like structures
that make up urban reality.
Dahlgren's works get us to see how big a part of
the public space still contains echoes of the utopia of modernism
and its positivist worldview. He strips his chosen objects of
their functional properties and brings out their aesthetic aspects.
He thus transforms the everyday object world into art, which he
uses to breathe new air into the ideologies and concepts that
can be glimpsed in the background, and which have already been
buried once. And he does this in a way that leaves no one cold.