Against Animal Cruelty in Art.
Killing in the name of Art. Visiting the Künstlerhaus in Vienna (the house of artists) raises questions about the ethical sensitivity of an artist and the organization exhibiting their work within the "Wunderkammer" exhibition. These considerations relate to the violence that takes an animal's life for the sake of art and, perhaps, the failure of contemporary art itself due to the constant search for shock value. But let me proceed step by step.
While the legal aspects and elements of art, such as copyright, may differ from state to state, art remains a universal concept. Ideas, currents, and considerations, both old and new, can influence each other across great distances, depending on the sensibilities and tastes of the time. In this regard, I would like to draw attention to the guidelines of the College Art Association, the leading organization in the United States that brings together visual arts professionals, from students to emeriti, adopted by its board of directors starting in October 2011.
Among the authors of this document are Paul Jaskot, co-director of the digital art history and visual culture laboratory at Duke, president of the CAA from 2008 to 2010, and professor of art history; Wayne Enstice, emeritus professor of fine arts and director from 1995 to 2000 of the School of Art in Cincinnati; Michael Golec, associate professor and researcher of art theory and history in Chicago; Ellen Levy, American artist and curator with over 40 years of experience in the art world; Marlena Novak; Bernard Rollin, philosopher and emeritus professor of Philosophy, Biomedical Sciences, and Bioethics at Colorado State University, who has promoted dialogue among intellectuals regarding our treatment of animals throughout his life; and Kristine Stiles, contemporary art historian specialized in experimental art, from conceptual and performance art to violent, traumatic, and destructive art.
The text states that "Many fields of the visual arts use animal subjects — from photographs taken in the natural environment to the use of materials derived from animal by-products to the use of live animals in a performance" and emphasizes that "Artists and other visual arts professionals must be free to explore all expressive possibilities so that art maintains a vital role in human society". However, this expression comes with ethical responsibility when using animals in their works. The association does not endorse works that cause cruelty to animals and encourages artists and visual arts professionals to carefully consider the use of animals, as they cannot refuse or consent. An outline of considerations to follow is provided, including:
Avoid causing distress, pain, or physical and psychological suffering during the creation of the work.
Consider, for the same artistic purpose, possible alternatives to using animals.
Discuss any practice that could cause pain or discomfort to animal subjects and consider possible alternatives.
Conduct research on the biology of the animal subject to understand aspects of its experience.
Among those who have capitalized on violence against animals is Franco-Algerian Adel Abdessemed and his work "Don't Trust Me," a video loop of six animals being clubbed and killed for slaughter, which, according to the press release from the San Francisco Art Institute, invites viewers to reflect.
According to the curator of the exhibition in Italy, "the act of violence would have been committed by others, and the animals would have been dead whether the artist witnessed the events or not", and others add that Abdessemed "is only trying to touch the reality of violence without mediation" in relation to the artificiality of death portrayed in cinema. I will limit myself to reporting here the critique by Giovanni Aloi, an art historian specializing in the history and theory of photography, representation of nature, and everyday objects in art at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago: "It is obviously unacceptable to kill an animal with a club, but is it morally acceptable to film the act and repeat the killing within the arena of contemporary exhibition spaces?" And I add, how short is the step from this so-called artist's performance to that of the 31-year-old woman from Amsterdam who, questioning the concept of cruelty, broke her cat’s neck and made a handbag out of it?
Other authors have asked similar questions. "When does a work of art that includes the death or cruelty of animals cease to be art?" was a question that Marco Evaristti, creator of the exhibition "Helena," which included 10 goldfish in 10 blenders that could be activated by the public, refrained from answering. How much space do artists who "kill things to look at them" or commit such violence, believing their sculptures “could have been made with ready-made materials”, deserve today?
Several artists have already addressed the ethical issue of using animals in art, but the absence of regulations that do not punish the practice when it generates violence fundamentally leaves the issue to the sensitivity of the individual artist. The artist will decide whether to use already dead animals or kill specifically for their creation, whether to include the presence of animals in their exhibition through taxidermy installations or by keeping the live animal captive in the gallery. The coldness of the action, the violence, and the oppression of human power over other creatures are, in the case of these public exhibitions, justified by the artist as a "political statement" and "provocation" and celebrated by galleries and curators of contemporary art without any responsibility. If, as a society, we accept that animals are sentient, then our perception of animals as intelligent beings, capable of experiencing emotions, reasoning, making choices, and assessing risks, must carry significant weight in ethically considering the problem of using and including animals, alive or dead, in the creative process and artistic exhibitions.
What value do we place on our lives? Is it easier to accept our own death sentence if it is served "humanely"? Why do dramatic and cinematic theaters succeed with scene creations and fake blood, but Hermann Nitsch's artistic theaters need to stage tragedy with carcasses, organs, and real blood?
For both the artist and the public, perceiving suffering can be difficult at first. Yvette Watt, lecturer at the School of Creative Arts & Media at the University of Tasmania, argues that there is a clear difference in how people perceive the killing of animals for food and the killing for a work of art. Even if the ethical issues of the former are still open, this does not negate the right to question the latter; that the protesting public does not believe the artist should have special permission for things that would cause discomfort if done by anyone else.
Citing Johannes Rass himself, the performance "Animal on Stage" begins with the slaughter and butchering of the chosen animal. In the proposed scenes, the slaughter of the two animals is shown in the most recent video using a captive bolt pistol that essentially breaks the animal's skull but does not kill it. The animal tries to escape the torment, but its head is restrained by a grate. The animal's lack of loss of consciousness leads me to believe that the cause is the inexperience of the operator, namely the artist improvising as a butcher and perhaps sometimes improvising as an artist. The cow then receives a second blow with another instrument, this time with a penetrating captive bolt. Once on the ground and presumably dead, the carcass is explored in every direction with a long iron rod that stimulates further spasms in the animal's facial nerves. In the older video, the slaughter is carried out by electroshock and throat-slitting, with the animal still grunting. Here too, Rass shows no regret or doubt but instead pushes the pig with his knees and blocks its path.
The complete lack of consideration by Rass, both regarding the necessity of this element for his artistic research and the aspects of the animal's experience, leads me to believe that we are dealing with a case of total lack of artistic ethics. Was it necessary to avoid suffering? Could the use of parts of already slaughtered and butchered animals have been considered as an alternative to slaughtering the animal? (Would anything have changed for the final result?)
Once the parts are butchered and cooked, the animals are reassembled using a tool that acts as a metal skeleton and are then placed in front of a black background to be photographed. The animals are finally consumed during a village festival or an elite banquet, as a sort of ritual that presents itself mainly as an occasion for social gathering, celebration, and feasting. The final work, presented to the public, consists of printed and exhibited photographs in a room with black walls.
At first glance, the images seem fantastic. Full of light and saturated with colors on such a dark background, they seem like the effort of an artist who has worked to modify an animal combined with prosthetic stage elements, fake, and artificial. Decontextualized from the production process, the public does not initially perceive the suffering hidden behind them. One of his works becomes the poster for the Wunderkammer exhibition, the chamber of wonders or curiosities, which echoes the tradition of collectors of extraordinary objects that became a typical phenomenon of the sixteenth century, developing throughout the seventeenth century and continuing into the Enlightenment of the eighteenth century. And as per tradition, the Wunderkammer of Vienna is also adorned with all the Mirabilia of the case, naturalia and artificialia. However, the works exhibited with animals are mostly made of metallic materials, with reconstructed and bound bones to create new beings, with stuffed animals or, at most, with dried frogs borrowed from a dissection lesson. The naturals that go further are formed by a collection of seeds and a collection of fish skins sculpted into balls.
And then we finally arrive at the black room. The 3-minute video loops the creation process of the largest photo, that of the cow, which sadly leaves one speechless, especially considering that, one floor below, the exhibition on diversity of the modern Albertina boasts of being able to display works in step with the times and the need for representation of artistic communities that have only recently begun to receive attention.
To conclude, I end with a question: would the reaction of the organization, which approved the exhibition of Rass's works, and that of the public, which did not seem sufficiently outraged by the project, have been different if the artist had chosen animals such as dogs or cats, or even other human beings, for his photographs?
