The first time I saw
Kendell Geers’ work I was struck by its unforgiving, confrontational
character, but also its raw energy and edginess – elements that have defined
his practice. Over the years Geers has consistently explored life,
contemporary history and its power structures, and has not shied away from
delving into dangerous moral and psychological grounds. Though his work is
informed by his South African background and his experience of living under
apartheid, it is by no means limited to this, but rather explores, using all
possible media, the wider implications of the abuse of power, violence,
oppression and control, as well as the collapse of belief systems and
ideologies.
Geers also probes the basest of human instincts and primal impulses, such as
paranoia, fear, guilt, desire and sexuality. Ultimately, what lies at the
core of his work is human nature and its fallibility and fragility. Through
references to history and culture the artist focuses on the unsavoury
aspects of reality, and probes the areas where the worst of human nature
might be repressed. Although it would be a mistake to label him a political
artist, his work is definitely characterised by a strong socio-political
conscience, and he often places a moral dilemma at the forefront of his
investigations.
At the same time, Geers also aims to alert us to the ways in which we
consume images and the meanings of cultural icons and symbols. For example,
for Twilight of the Idols (2002) he bound iconic figures such as Christ and
Buddha in chevron tape, turning their aura on its head and transforming them
into fallen heroes for the late capitalist era. Like many of Geers’
sculptures, these too function as embodiments of an ideological structure.
Here bound, gagged and packaged, the traditional meaning of the holy icons
seems to have collapsed. A question hangs in the air: what do these icons
really mean today?
Geers often borrows, appropriates or hijacks images or objects in order to
shift contexts and meanings, using such destabilising tactics to alter the
familiar and ultimately question the values that surround them. If his work
is iconoclastic it is so in a way that urges us to question the real meaning
of what is consumed habitually – whether product or idea. Hence the meanings
of his work must be sought in the conceptual and ideological space that his
objects refer to.
Implications of danger or of being put under a potential threat are also
part of Geers’ strategy to challenge the passive consumption of art and to
animate the safe haven of the museum or gallery. Being placed in situations
of possible violence or aggression is not only a destabilising tactic but
also a cue to empathise, to truly think of the ‘what if?’ scenario. This is
perhaps most evident in one of Geers’ recent works The Forest of Suicides
(2004) – shown this year at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Rome – a
labyrinthine room filled with concrete shelves from which pieces of broken
glass protrude threateningly. In navigating this space, one is forcibly made
aware of its physical implications, and of one’s own body within it. As with
much of his work this, too, is about thrusting the viewer into a state of
alertness, but it is also about challenging the safe distance that often
exists between viewer and artwork. Ultimately one could say that Geers is,
in effect, creating a situation where a dangerous liaison is created between
viewer and artwork, whether physically or psychologically.
Other works operate in a less physically confrontational manner, and instead
play more with the mechanics and subtleties of language, such as his neon
pieces for the show ‘TerroRealismus’ at the Migros Museum in Zürich in 2003.
Here the psychology rather than the imagery of violence is explored. Three
neon signs were presented – T/ERROR, D/ANGER, B/ORDER – in which the first
letter switched on and off, altering the meaning of the word and sparking a
host of ideological questions. In other instances Geers’ work operates in a
space beyond language, where words are no longer adequate to express a
situation, emotion or state of mind, such as TW (Scream) (1999), a looped
scene of a scream from the film Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), or TW
(Shoot) (1998–9), a video installation of gun shooting sequences from
Hollywood films, where the viewer is trapped in the crossfire. The
distillation of horror and violence, respectively, in these works is indeed
indescribable here, as it operates on a primaeval level. Although Kendell
Geers does not offer easy answers to many of the questions and dilemmas that
he poses, perhaps the most potent aspect of his work is that he demands from
the viewer a response or, more importantly, a position.
Katerina Gregos is an independent curator and critic
based in Athens