“We are shown how to fashion masks of ennui and jaded irony at a young age where the face is fictile enough to assume the shape of whatever it wears. And then it’s stuck there, the weary cynicism that saves us from gooey sentiment and unsophisticated naivete”
David Foster Wallace — Infinite Jest
I stand in Christiana, a Freetown commune founded in a deserted military barracks in the heart of Copenhagen. Dogs wander about, seemingly ownerless. The paving stones are cracked and doorways are charred and mottled. Strange odours waft from side streets and weeds sprout from gaps in bricks. More broken windows than you could count. Sharpie scrawlings on every surface conceivable as a canvas.
The clouds are low and there is a distinct lack of any sunshine whatsoever, creating a monochrome effect across the neat and uniform Copenhagen streets. Our tour guide pulls out her fourth cigarette and rasps “Christiania was founded on a universal set of values, the rules are simple; you are free to do anything you want, but you must always consider other people and your environment.”
Making out what little I can of the faded doodles on the park benches, it’s difficult to understand how exactly the citizens of Christiania “consider their environment”.
Our guide continues, “We are all very proud of the artwork that has come out of Christiania, it is full of visionaries, and artists from all over the world are very attracted here”. I find it hard to believe that any art scene could flourish at all in such an apparently unliveable space. The only things that one could tenuously attribute artistic qualities to were the brightly coloured, vibrant murals that covered the walls of most of the houses. Though, if I were feeling bold, I would have said that only few of them were particularly attractive anyway.
This anarchy of colour and spray paint lies in sharp contrast with the efficient, reserved, methodical and impressive Scandinavian design we were experiencing just 500 yards away, outside of Christiania. We continue our tour of the Freetown commune, passing beaten up, weathered hippies refusing to let go of the ‘Glory Days’, and duck through some shrubs.
It is at this point, I must say, I am downright impressed. No, honestly: properly impressed. The artificial water-way through Christiania has been dotted with some very interesting housing projects: a cute little box constructed from timber and glass, jutting out over the lake, with a slanted glass face angled towards the water, so that the light reflected from the ripples on the water’s surface would illuminate the main room when the sun was out; another hut, made from six individual squares arranged to form an octagon (one of the squares apparently defying gravity – hovering precariously over the water’s edge); one house with a roof completely covered with grass, a quaint little chimney poking out through a gap in the turf.
Our guide lights another cigarette and informs us that Christiania has always held a tradition that allowed anybody to build anything they want, whenever they want, wherever they want, as long as they didn’t piss off their neighbours, so to speak. One could stroll down to the Christiania warehouse to buy some timber and carry it to their garden and build a great big jetty over the lake for all anybody cared. It was up to them. It was almost as if it was architecture without an architect. Art without an artist. Just people, building cool living spaces. What’s more, they wouldn’t have to pay housing taxes on the properties they’d built, and they could modify these buildings any time they wish without having to fill out any paperwork or ask for planning permission. Christiania was founded on the idealistic vision that it is not the place of state authorities to impede creativity.
Needless to say, this riled up the Copenhagen councils, committees and governments rather a lot, and various attempts over the last couple of decades have been made to try and assume control over this territory. At the moment there is a lot of trouble over these building projects on the lake. The town planning committees of Copenhagen have requested that a third of these buildings be taken down, and no more building can take place, this along with many of the statues which are dotted around the area.
Now if I had heard this information but 15 minutes earlier, I would most probably have not batted a proverbial eye-lid. I would nod and agree with any MP talking about infrastructures and energy grids and water supply difficulties, and would have totally seen the logic behind what he was saying. However, now that I am standing on the edge of the water and looking at all these honest little homes, poking out tentatively over the water, something stirs in me.
It is a feeling hard to describe. It’s not really all of your fluffy and teenage idealistic conceptions on how the big wide world works shattering into a thousand pieces before your eyes. It’s not that at all. They more flop over and wheeze whilst you shrug and internally sigh: “ah well, c’est la vie”.
Allow me to explain. For any lost student, wandering hopelessly and aimlessly through life, avoiding responsibility, cringing at the thought of growing up, the thought of one day being able to run off somewhere, make art, live in a wooden shack and live off organic celeriac you grow in your ethical back garden vegetable patch is really quite attractive. I mean, the world is a free place right? A man (sorry Molly, I mean a “non gender specific human being”) should just be able to make art and sell it, the art world relies on self-motivation, it’s about self-determination, the world is fair.
But no. Apparently not. There’s always going to be a government or authority that wants to tear your house down. It looks as if there’s no choice but to play by the rules here. In fact, it is almost worrying how corporate and market-driven art has become over the latter half of the 20th century, and the trend hasn’t levelled; it was only in 2007 that the emir of Qatar pulled out £9m for a shelf of prescription medicine arranged by Damien Hirst. “Lullaby Spring”, he calls it, laughing all the way to the bank [4].
The Buyer said: “[Hirst’s Artwork] showcases [the Qatar Museum Association’s] commitment to showcasing art from around the world and sharing it with the people of Qatar”. Art has become a symbol of international relations, how comforting.
“Money is massive,” says Hirst. And He’s right, in a sense. The popular stereotype of the struggling artist, plagued by hunger and madness (think Van Gogh – who actually only sold one painting in his lifetime — cutting his own ear off in a state of manic depression) is probably a damaging one to the artistic community. The fact of the matter is artist have to play by the rules these days: a starving artist isn’t making art. You have to pay the rent. You have to find ways to fund your artistic ventures, As the hungry Christianites would attest to[5].
The real question here is how far cynicism has corrupted ‘corporate’ art. Is modern art so ruined by contemptuous millionaires that it has all become big business; an attempt to ‘one-up’ other millionaires? I am certain that many of the disillusioned hippies in Christiania that have been told to knock their houses down would froth at the mouth at the opportunity to tell you exactly why it has.
But I am here as a mediator, an optimist, a naïve student, and I feel as though it is my duty to perhaps offer some insight into the relation between the modern ‘price’ of art (whether it be hunger, cynicism or £9.6m) and how I imagine a young student would fit into all this. I think it would be most beneficial to an aspiring artist to do one’s best to take heed of both of these art worlds, and to try and integrate them with each other as much as possible.
I would suggest that there is a lot to be learnt from the free-living, hash-smoking, (seldom-washing) occupants of Christiania; it essentially boils down to that one holy catchphrase of American Consumerism: “Just Do It!” (P). For the truth of the matter is that in art, as in everything, you need to sweat and toil before anything you produce even begins to be noticed. Yes, even Hirst spent years living on people’s living room floors and struggling to make it day by day.
Second of all, I would also say that it is not sensible to enclose yourself in Idealistic visions of the art word and put yourself in a vulnerable position; always have an economic plan. You don’t want to work hard on your projects only to find either a) they aren’t going anywhere, b) you aren’t paying rent, or c) there is a fish in the pond bigger than you that objects to your work enough to want to make your life difficult (I.e. knock your house down).
Ultimately though, it is important to not allow yourself to become disillusioned with art in itself: be optimistic. The world needs art and it is the artist’s duty to create it. Be optimistic and just do it. It is up to our generation to right the wrongs of the capital-driven post-boomer art generation and to bring some dignity back to the modern gallery.
I look forward to a bright future of inspired young artists in Britain.
The Sixth Form Journal 