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The date 1945, somewhat arbitrarily, may serve to mark a quan-tum heightening in the organization of civilian societies of the United Statesand Great Britain. These societies, once mobilized for armed con Xict (bymeans of rationing, extension of government, spontaneous conformity), werenever subsequently fully “demobbed” in the peace that followed. Hence be-gins a postwar condition in which participation in what Theodor Adorno

and Max Horkheimer termed the “totally administered world,” and so takingpart in a kind of mass collectivity, was a pervasive and ongoing condition,while the question of how collective matriculation takes place supercedesthe earlier question of whether one is to be matriculated at all. 1 A societalchange of this kind could not fail to have consequences for artists’ collec-tives. In the prewar period, artists’ organizations had most often been looseassociations geared for the support of avant-garde artistic practices (think of

the impressionists, futurists, constructivists), which was a reasonable stancegiven the relatively open modes of agency in the society. Now, in the wake

3. Art & Language and the InstitutionalForm in Anglo-American Collectivism

CHRIS GILBERT

BrieXy, by bureaucracy, I do not allude to a massive centralizedorganization but to the fact that major cultural decisions (whichfor example determine fundamental things like the way we learn,the practical relations between people) lie out of our controlandare now all basically directed through the impersonal operationof market institutions (e.g. commercial galleries) and privateadministrative control (e.g. here Artforum, the MOMA, etc.).

—Mel Ramsden, 1975

Despite the above reservations, a community still seems the onlymeans by which we can overcome the extreme isolation of ourvacant subjectivity, and begin to deal with the larger world. Suchcommunities, based initially on professional groupings, couldform the basis for the de-structuring of the present artworld; itsinstitutions and authorities.

—Karl Beveridge, 1975

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of the Second World War these organizations took a turn toward bureaucra-tization, mirroring but also instantiating this turn taken by postwar U.S. andEuropean culture. In this context, the decision of a group of artists to orga-nize on their own terms itself embodied resistance, since in doing so theypresumed to dictate the terms of their own sociality. 2

A key concept for this new form of collectivity is the “institution.”As a matter of de Wnition, an institution may be considered an organizationthat, though formed for an external purpose, also enjoys a relative Wxity andautonomy, as well as a capacity to sustain and reproduce itself. 3 Hence,while institutions have goals—and there are probably as many goals as insti-tutions—each also takes itself in some measure as an end-in-itself, givingthe organization an organic character or “institutional life.” A number of explicitly institutional art collectives emerged in the late 1950s and early1960s. For example, the Fluxus group, which exhibited the branding ten-dency characteristic of corporations (evident in its production of everythingfrom Fluxkits to FluxWlms and Fluxmeals), began in 1962. In the secondpart of the decade, the Art Workers Coalition (1969–71), a group with an

anti–Vietnam War agenda, was formed and had a later offshoot in WomenArtists in Revolution (1970–78). Both were organizations that, making nopretense of having a common artistic project within the group, coalescedinstead around an extrinsic, oppositional political agenda. In the late 1960sand early 1970s, conceptualist duos and trios became widespread, such asthe Vancouver-based N.E. Thing Co. (Iain and Ingrid Baxter), Gilbert andGeorge, the Harrisons, and the Boyle Family. These latter, like Warhol’sFactory, represented institutions of a limited kind since their corporate qual-ities were tempered by a close association with an individual or a familyunit (though the majority had nominal pretenses to being self-sustaininginstitutions). 4

Such coalitions, duos, and family groups were important compo-nents of the experimental, politicized art scene of the late 1960s and early1970s. However, by far the most in Xuential artists’ group of the time was Art& Language. Formed in Coventry in 1968, Art & Language is the focus of

the present essay—a case study in postwar institutional collectivity. Parody-ing as well as instantiating the noninstrumental character of institutions,the group could be described as an institution that, if not wholly without apurpose, was at least one that allowed the issue of its own organizationalstructure and constitution to keep pace with almost any external raison d’êtreduring its Wrst eight years. This was the period from 1968 to 1976 during whichArt & Language grew from a small group in the British art teaching system

to a network of as many as thirty people. Then, following a series of internal

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debates it ceased to exhibit a paradigmatically institutional character, whileshrinking in numbers and acquiring a more directed, extrinsic purpose.

In a culture that primarily values acts of individual creation, it isunderstandable that histories of collectives would be tumultuous. Lookingat the Wrst eight years of Art & Language’s institutional life, what is per-haps most remarkable are the levels of strife that existed inside the groupover demands for internal reform, arguments about orthodoxy, or (not in-frequently) seemingly trivial matters. Mayo Thompson, a musician associ-ated with the group from the early 1970s through the 1980s, remarked thatwhereas in most groups internal con Xict is the exception, in Art & Lan-guage “con Xict was a norm of conversation.” 5 Others inside the group, likeThompson, were baf Xed by its members’ tendency to take issue with any-thing and everything, speculating that Art & Language’s internal discordwas a positive form of working out contradictions that were latent withinthe larger culture. 6

One could speculate that Art & Language’s internal strife was aneffect of two givens: (1) the group’s producing work under the aegis of cor-

porate authorship and (2) its not having a presiding individual (a GeorgeMaciunus, Andy Warhol, or Mark Boyle) empowered to resolve con Xict.Yet it follows from the group’s institutional character, as outlined above—inparticular Art & Language’s uniquely self-re Xexive instantiation of the artists’group idea—that concerns with internal issues of organization cannot havebeen anything but integral to the group’s functioning. By the same token,the tendency to decry or dismiss such internal struggles for legitimacy involvesa signiWcant misunderstanding: if Art & Language’s central purpose was toestablish and maintain its own orthodoxy as an institution, then the strifethat “plagued” it almost from the beginning in fact instantiates the iterativeact by which it attempted to constitute itself as a group apart from adminis-tered culture. In a similar manner, the need for Art & Language to establishits correctness over the work of other conceptual artists, and in relation tocritics and historians who take it as an object—which has led to a vast bodyof critical responses to almost every attempt to locate Art & Language within

history—is not mere prickliness. Instead, it must be related to the group’ssearch for an autonomous legitimacy, a legitimacy that is not to be conferredfrom without. Was Art & Language then an institution without a causeother than the ongoing, if limited aim of setting its house in order? Perhapsa more accurate way of wording this is to say that the group’s key purpose,however “solipsistic,” was to assert its own institutional character as an on-going resistance to a larger sociality within which it would otherwise be,

and was to a large extent, inscribed.

Art & Language and the Institutional Form 79

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BEGINNINGS IN BRITAIN

What does the history of an artist collective look like in a postwar perioddominated by vexed issues of organization? The volatility of a given artists’group depended on its ability to resolve organizational problems that emerge,if for no other reason, because of the group’s oppositional self-organization.In this regard, we may suppose that George Maciunas may have arbitrateddisputes in Fluxus, while the members of Art Workers Coalition, for whomparticipation in the group was distinct from their work as artists, had at leasta degree of separation from their collective decisions. For Art & Language,however, too much was at stake for easy mediation, since their collectivitywas so integral to their artistic identities that the group’s production was vir-tually equivalent at moments to the maintenance and reproduction of theorganization. Even in Art & Language’s beginnings in the late 1960s, issuesof organization, concerning both the group’s informal sociality and its moreformal constitution, colored most of its activities.

These activities emerged from a common rejection of the forms

of sociality and learning extant in the educational and market institutionsaround them. The initial Art & Language core group included Terry Atkinsonand Michael Baldwin, teacher and student respectively at Coventry Collegeof Art, as well as David Bainbridge, who taught at Birmingham College of Art, and Harold Hurrell, then teaching at Kingston-upon-Hull College of Art. 7 Their embattled trajectory through an antiquated British art school sys-tem in the period 1969 to 1971 is well documented in their own writing andalso fed later, more formal research by David Rushton and Paul Wood. 8 Ina large measure what these young students and teachers opposed was a hege-monic modernist discourse that placed American artistic production at thecenter and that of Great Britain (and especially provincialGreat Britain) atthe periphery. A second placement they were resisting was the reframing of British art instruction as part of a liberal curriculum that followed from thereforms of the Coldstream Committee in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Thelatter reforms, in line with the principles of American modernism, attempted

to sever the teaching of Wne art from craft vocations (with emphasis goingto art’s pure or “high” character) while in the same gesture further deepen-ing the system’s long-standing and unreformed division between studio prac-tice and theory. 9

Tellingly, though some participants in Art & Language producedmore traditional objects in this period, the group’s principal work, and cer-tainly its principal collectivework at the time, took the form of a sustained

attempt to resist and reshape an institutional context. Their two most sig-niWcant areas of activity were Atkinson and Baldwin’s teaching of a course

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called “Art Theory” at the Coventry College of Art from 1969 to 1971 andthe founding of the journal Art-Language, the Wrst issue of which was pub-lished in May 1969. Hence from the start Art & Language had its sights onalternative means of education and alternative means of dissemination (bothof them key aspects of self-organization). Struggles against bureaucratic struc-tures that were seen as constraining and diminishing, these efforts exhibiteda key tendency that would inform the group’s practice over the next eightyears: a propensity to place collective structures and communication chan-nels above content. Throughout this period, the group’s self-understandingwas that their goal was not to create new physical objects but, principally, toexamine the conditions in which art could be made. “What perhaps unitedthe founder members of A & L more than anything else,” according to arthistorian Charles Harrison, who began to work closely with the group in theearly 1970s, “was an intuition that, under the speci Wc circumstances of artat the time, the production of Wrst-order art was a virtual impossibility unlessassent were given to those fraudulent conceptualizations by means of whichnormal art was supported and entrenched.” 10

TRANSATLANTIC COOPERATION:

JOURNAL AND INDEXES

The journal Art-Language, which proposed to embody this oppositional stanceand alternative means of communication, quickly transformed and fed intoother collaborative projects. The Wrst issue, which featured contributions byU.S. artists Sol Lewitt, Dan Graham, and Lawrence Weiner, in addition toessays by founding participants Bainbridge and Baldwin, came out in 1969.

Art-Language initially billed itself, according to its subtitle, as “The Journalof conceptual art.” It quickly lost this appellation, however, and distanceditself from any extant variety of art production. By the second issue, Art-Languagewas dealing more explicitly with institutional power and resistance:“It is an astonishing but inescapable conclusion that we have reached,” wentan introductory essay, “. . . that the seemingly erudite, scholastic, neutral,

logical, austere, even incestuous, movement of conceptual art is, in fact, anaked bid for power at the highest level—the wresting from groups at pres-ent at the top of our social structure of control over the symbols of society.” 11

The second issue also deepened the journal’s transatlantic character with Joseph Kosuth listed as American editor. This mirrored the de facto inter-nationalism of the group, which by 1971 had found allies not only in Kosuthbut also in Ian Burn and Mel Ramsden working in New York where they

formed (with Roger Cutforth) the Society for Theoretical Art.12

Most of thewriting in the early years of Art-Language, including the fragment quoted


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FIGURE 3.2. Cover of Art-Language 1, no. 1 (May 1969). Courtesy of Art & Language.



above, consisted of what the group called “smart essay writing”—smartness,given the school system’s tendency to favor the hand over the head, the stu-dio over the study, having acquired the stamp of resistance in relation to thevalues of the prevailing educational institutions. 13

In the early 1970s, with participation in the group swelling (andBaldwin cut off from employment at Coventry College of Art), Art & Lan-guage embarked on a series of groundbreaking projects: the indexes. Thisseries of projects re Xected the group’s increasingly complicated and auton-omous character—equivalent, according to the de Wnition advanced above,to its increasingly institutional character. With the Wrst such project, Index 01of 1972, Art & Language also entered its most self-re Xexive period. Some-times called Documenta Index after its Wrst exhibition venue (“Documenta5” in Kassel, Germany), this work was housed in Wling cabinets that resem-bled library card catalogs. It consisted of a series of propositions, drawn fromthe Art-Language journal and other sources, together with wall diagrams show-ing how the propositions connected (whether they were compatible, incom-patible, or had no relation to one another). Harrison observes that the work

“dramatized the internal ideological and other con Xicts in the group” andfurther that it “dramatized the social nature of thinking.” 14 In effect, Index01 was a way of exhibiting the agreements and disagreements among selectedpropositions and beliefs held in the group, and in that way it depicted andthematized the group’s social or institutional structure. Though a discreteobject, made for exhibition and possibly even sale, it was signi Wcantly differ-ent from most physical art objects in that it was not merely intended forbeholding or contemplation. Instead, what was essential to Index 01 was itsdocumentary and functional qualities, and key to this functioning was thealternative form of sociality and learning that the index re Xected in thegroup.15 This was a form of sociality that, like the use of the project itself, waspermeable from the outside and based on participation rather than member-ship. Because of its open, dialogic structure, Index 01 allowed the provisionaland problematic features of the group’s sociality to remain at the forefront. 16

The index model became a pattern for the group’s projects over

the next few years. A subsequent series of indexes grew out of the Annota-tions project created from January to July of 1973. During that time, a groupof eight participants met weekly in New York City and produced brief textsthat commented on statements made in the previous week’s meeting. InBritain, this material inspired the intractably complex Index 002 Bxal—whichsome Art & Language participants claimed never to have understood—whilein New York, a group led by Michael Corris and Mel Ramsden developed

the more open but no less sophisticated structure that resulted in the Blurt-ing in Art & Language booklet. Hypertext avant la lettre, this booklet logged


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and categorized the group’s statements—referred to as “blurts” to indicatetheir not necessarily logical character—among which it established loose andmore naturalistic, if not fully logical, connections. In both projects, a webof meaning and connections emerged, while the reader, made active ratherthan passive, was invited to retrace and reactivate the connections. Thesedays the Blurting project is online on the Web site of Zentrum für Kunst undMedientechnologie, where one can test its working. 17 To take a not partic-ularly representative example from the more than four hundred blurts in thebooklet, blurt 32 under the heading “ART” reads: “Are we concerned withchanging the rules of the game or starting a new one?” It leads via the strongconnector ( → ) to blurt 54: “Challenging habit and re Xection is surely notlimited to categorically ambiguous art. Rather, categorically ambiguous artforces labyrinthine ruminations about ‘art,’ the ‘category’ art, the bounda-ries of art, art’s ‘nature’ etc.” According to the weaker style of connector(&), this blurt leads to blurt 212 under the category “LEARNING”: “Art &Language’s categorical ‘trouble making’ has caused some genuine cognitivedistress in the art-world: hence a realization of the potential of the gallery

(as a public learning situation).”

84 Chris Gilbert

FIGURE 3.3. Art & Language, Index 01 (Documenta Index), 1972. Eight Wle cabinets, text, and

photostats; dimensions variable. Poster, lithograph on newsprint, 72.5 x 50.6 cm. Private collection,Zurich. Courtesy of Art & Language.

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FIGURE 3.4. Cover of Blurting in A&L: An Index of Blurts and Their Concatenation (theHandbook) . . . Copyright Art & Language, 1973. Courtesy of Art & Language.



The purpose of Blurting was, like the Documenta Index, to make“working relations in the group visible.” 18 It is notable that in the two yearssince the Wrst index the group had acquired a more passionate didacticism,marked by references to the project as a learning deviceand sometimes as ateaching machinethat readers could explore and share in (with “readers” beingunderstood to include creators as well). The aim, then, was nothing lessambitious than a complete rethinking of the social and institutional condi-tions in which the eight participants were currently threaded. The introduc-tion to Blurting makes this goal clear: the project aims not just to make astudy of philosophy or abstract theory but to bring under consideration the“pragmatics” of the gallery situation and the daily conversation that tookplace in it:

This means that we are critical of these conventions or are at least in a position wherewe can view them critically. In other words, we are trying not to be alienated from them(?)—all of the activities going to make up our pragmatics can be seen as necessitouslyrelated. For example, you don’t just deal with bits of the art-domain (art-works), you dealwith all of it. 19

The ambition to deal with and rethink “all of it,” meaning notjust the whole social and political structures of art production but even therelated facts of daily living, lay behind the Blurting project and the paper-and-text remapping of Art & Language’s lifeworld that it offered. However,because it was published and circulated outside of the group, Blurting alsosought to restructure the social relations of the anonymous reader-participantswho might engage it. Accordingly, Art & Language at this time was “nei-ther a model nor an attempt to convert—but, importantly, a bit of both.” 20

THE FOX

The Art & Language participants working in New York City in the mid-1970s operated under the heavy in Xuence of the U.S. art market as well asthe emerging practice of small-scale artist publishing initiatives. The result

was that their next important publication, The Fox, initiated in 1975, tookon some of the characteristics of the art magazine (trade journal–style) and of the artist’s book. 21 Despite this new mode, The Fox—staffed by Corris, Kosuth,Ramsden, Sarah Charlesworth, Preston Heller, and Andrew Menard 22—preserved much of the intragroup re Xexivity of the early indexing projectsin the extended dialogical threads that evolved among contributors. Forexample, Ian Burn and Adrian Piper carried out an ongoing exchange in the

journal about the pricing of works of art, which is just one instance of thenumerous back-and-forths in its pages among Burn, Kosuth, Charlesworth,

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and almost all the other editors. 23 Most notable from the perspective of thisessay was how the discussion of organizational issues in The Fox came, in thecourse of its brief print run, to compete with questions of “content.” By thesecond issue, discussions addressing the shape and operation of the groupran through several of the editorial contributions. In the third and last issue,a long introductory article “The Lumpen-Headache” was devoted to sortingout issues of organizational unity. This article was framed as a dialogue anddocumented an actual meeting in which Art & Language argued about andvoted on their principles of unity.

The debates about unity in The Fox, which focused on the issueof whether Art & Language participants could operate independently or hadto subsume their work to an anonymous collective practice, may be seen asa necessary consequence of the drive in the group to assert and keep alive itsact of self-begetting as an institution. Though the disputes had an irreduc-ible ideological dimension, the crisis the group entered in 1976 because of arguments about principles of unity was also clearly a reassertion of the orga-nizational issue. 24 This crisis would represent a Pyrrhic victory for the orga-

nizational impulse, for the years when The Fox was published (1975–76)were probably the last ones during which Art & Language struggled for andprojected its own internal organization as a form of counterorganization tothe general societal one. If the “Lumpen-Headache” disputes were true toArt & Language’s original impetus—to persist in and maintain its institu-tional character—they also led to the collapse of the large group and theseparation of a subgroup that included Michael Baldwin, Mel Ramsden, andMayo Thompson who contrived to take with them the name and identityof Art & Language. When this group reformed as a smaller body in Britain,it had a more focused production based on the interrogation of certain art-historical genres, while the participants no longer with Art & Language,including Ian Burn, Michael Corris, Preston Heller, and Andrew Menard,among others, tended to pursue more activist and less purely institutionalwork. (The work of the last three on the short-lived Red-Herring magazineprovided an important ancestor to such directly activist collectives of the

1980s as Political Art Documentation/Distribution [PAD/D] and REPOhis-tory.) 25 Hence both the group in Britain and the dispersed former partici-pants in the United States and Australia ceased to be focused on re Xexiveissues of organizational structure.

AN AESTHETIC OR ETHIC OF ADMINISTRATION?

The above reading of Art & Language’s initial phase (1968–76) is not justat odds with the views of many involved, who saw the internal disputes as


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merely unfortunate and accidental rather than essential and necessary, butit also varies from the theorization of conceptual art’s institutionality offeredby critic and historian Benjamin Buchloh. Buchloh sees what he calls an“aesthetics of administration,” clerk-like activities carried out in a rote andoften antiutopian manner, as key to conceptual art’s success in shutting downmodern art’s aspirations to transcendence, but at the same time contribut-ing to conceptualism’s collusion with bureaucratic and administered culture.

88 Chris Gilbert

FIGURE 3.5. Cover of The Fox, 1975. Artist’s publication. Collection Stedelijk MuseumSchiedam, The Netherlands. Courtesy of Sholette Archive.



Buchloh writes: “[I]t would appear that Conceptual Art truly became themost signi Wcant change of postwar artistic production at the moment that itmimed the operating logic of late capitalism and its positivist instrumental-ity.”26 In his view, conceptual artists’ adoption of tautological modes (evidentprincipally in the view that artworks were analytic propositions but extend-able to Art & Language’s re Xexive structure) aligned the practice with theidentity and operation of a depoliticized technocratic postwar middle class.What his account does not seem to allow for, and would follow from thearguments above, is that appropriation of hegemonic bureaucratic or admin-istrative methods was not simply a move against aesthetic transcendence. Itremained, I have contended, an ethical move and a strategy that, while attimes mimetic of the culture it opposed, was certainly also carried out in thename of and with a view toward forming a resistant self-determination.

That Buchloh was writing at the end of a decade of neoexpres-sionist returns to transcendence and authenticity may have colored his viewof the bureaucratic nature of conceptualism. Yet with the perspective of anadditional Wfteen years one may attempt to reframe with greater precision

the practice of Art & Language and the administrativeor institutionalmomentin conceptualism that it exempli Wes with such clarity. How are we to under-stand this moment in which institutional life comes to the forefront of acollective practice to the extent that it serves as at least one group’s raisond’être? There are two answers to this. First, as far as a simple genealogy of the present is concerned, one may look to how Art & Language’s institu-tionalization of collective work—collectivity taking on an institutional char-acter in an effort to secure autonomy from administered culture—did in factmark a massive change in art production, after which it became impossiblefor even mainstream artists to unre Xectively adopt the givens of studio prac-tice, but they would henceforth have to locate their activities within self-instituted or at least self-theorized practices. 27 The period that came in thewake of Art & Language’s administrative gamesmanship ushered in not onlythe “self-instituting” of most artists operating as individuals—together withthe de facto institutionalization of institutional critique—but also an array

of not-for-pro Wt galleries and other public organizations (like Artists Space,Franklin Furnace, Printed Matter) that in many ways make up the landscapeof today’s art subculture. More important than this genealogy, however, isthat from the standpoint of a radical historiography this case study of Art &Language points to how it is in the impulse to self-determination and themethodology of resistant organizational form that an important legacy of conceptual art may be located.

It may seem that excessive weight is being put on one group in theabove, and of course it would be mistaken to assume that Art & Language’s


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role was not also an index of what was going on in the culture more widely(and was evident in the corporate characteristics of contemporary groupssuch as the N.E. Thing Co., Fluxus, and the Factory). A parallel for how anorganization could be preoccupied by structural and organizational issues spur-ring its members to greater activism (often outside the group) can be foundin the brief history of Artists Meeting for Cultural Change (AMCC). 28 Thisgroup had been formed as a loose organization (with some overlap with Art& Language) that was aimed primarily at correcting misrepresentation andbias in the cultural sphere. The most famous of its undertakings was the anti-catalog project of 1976 that proposed an alternative reading of the Whitney’s“Three Centuries of American Art” exhibition. At one telling moment thegroup was visited by members from the Amiri Baraka–led Anti-ImperialistCultural Union (AICU). The presence of representatives from this moreradical group in the AMCC came as a kind of conversion experience forsome of those involved, 29 and may have been a catalyst for a search for greaterideological unity within AMCC that, as with The Fox, ultimately causedmany in the group to reconsider their participation. In any case, issues of

organization soon took hold of the AMCC and left many participants witha desire for more direct political action.

In Art & Language, however, this evolution—from concern withart-related issues to organizational ones to activism outside the art context—happened earlier and in a more perspicuous manner. What the group’s tra-jectory exhibits very clearly in the crucial period of 1968 to 1976 are someof the problematics and parameters of self-institutionalization as a resistantpractice within the art subculture. Well before the existence and indeedproliferation of self-institutional projects under that name in the late 1990s,the group played out many of the challenges and limitations of that form.

NOTES

This essay, written in 2003, re Xects my interest in and thinking about self-institutionalpractices and collectivism within the art subculture at the time of writing. Despite

the limitations of its analysis of the postwar society and state—which lays empha-sis on bureaucratization and the administration of society at the expense of a clearview of the class struggle that both produces and resists these societal effects (a classstruggle in which the Wgure of collectivism, loosely de Wned, operates at times in theinterest of the working class and at times in the interest of the bourgeoisie)—I ampublishing it as it was written originally, with a few modi Wcations for clarity. I do soin part because of limitations of time and format. The essay’s principal error is oneof focus: that of treating an art collective (Art & Language), the phenomenon of art collectivity, and also the larger entity that is the art subculture in isolation from

the macropolitical and economic factors that have produced this subculture, thisphenomenon of art collectivity, and this particular collective. As an error that

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reaches to the core of the essay’s project (and in my view carries over to the projectof the volume in which it appears), it could not be corrected through mere revision.The reason for publishing the essay at all is that its problematically narrow focusproves redeeming in a small way when the essay arrives at its conclusions; theseremain valid within their modest sphere of application, while the larger question of the signi Wcance of struggles within an art subculture and indeed the political valencyof the art subculture in which these struggles take place looms outside the frame of the essay—looms outside of it with much greater urgency than what the essay andthe book itself address.—CG, 2006

[The foundational premise of this volume is that neither art nor collectivism everexists in isolation from macropolitical and economic factors. While Chris Gilbert’s

essay does not address these larger realities as directly as most of the other chaptersdo, we feel it makes a signi Wcant contribution by eloquently rendering the desire towithdraw from these larger in Xuences—a desire that modern art has struggled withsince its inception—as a period cultural symptom.—Eds.]

1. For two loosely concurrent, if very different voices on societal change in thepostwar period, see Gilles Deleuze, “Post-Script on Control Societies,” in Negotia-tions (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), and Raymond Williams, “Baseand Superstructure in Marxist Cultural Theory,” in Problems in Material Culture(London: Verso, 1974), 41: “I am sure that it is true of the society that has comeinto existence since the last war, that progressively, because of developments in thesocial character of labour, in the social character of communications, and in the socialcharacter of decision, it extends much further than ever before in capitalist societyinto certain hitherto resigned areas of experience and practice and meaning.”

2. The discussion of postwar collectivity here is informed by Gregory Sholette’s“Counting on Your Collective Silence: Notes on Activist Art as CollaborativePractice,” published in Afterimage (November 1999). In this essay, Sholette writesof the pervasiveness of de facto collectivity in modern society and distinguishes

between two kinds of collectivity—an active and a passive one: “Instead of theindividual opposed to the collective or the artist deciding to work with the ‘com-munity,’ my contention is that ‘collectivity,’ in one form or another, is virtually anontological condition of modern life. Two consequences follow from this supposi-tion. First it guarantees that there is no location out of which an individual, anartist for example, can operate alone, in opposition to society. . . . [which allows us]to recon Wgure the often stated opposition between collective and individual as thatof a displacement between two kinds of collectives: one passive, the other active.”

3. The two important aspects of institutions, Wxityand purpose, appear in the fol-

lowing Oxford English DictionarydeWnitions: “6.a. An established law, custom, usage,practice, organization, or other element in the political or social life of a people”;“7.a. An establishment, organization, or association, instituted for the promotion of some object.”

4. Scottish artists Mark Boyle and Joan Hills formed Sensual Laboratory in thelate 1960s, a key project of which was Journey to the Surface of the Earth.Begun in1969, this was an enormously ambitious project that involved casting portions of theearth. The work on Journey eventually involved their son Sebastian and daughterGeorgia. By 1971, Sensual Laboratory had morphed into the Boyle Family. This name

was appropriate insofar as, according to Charles Green, “The democratic, commu-nal artistic ‘family’ was their overriding model, displacing all other collaborative




types and intentions” (67). Helen Mayer Harrison and Newton Harrison, a marriedsociologist and artist, began to work together in 1971 forging a breed of environ-mental art that resembled a small business. “Effectively,” Green writes, they “workedas environmental consultants.” Charles Green, The Third Hand: Collaboration in Art

from Conceptualism to Postmodernism(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,2001), 59–121.

5. Mayo Thompson, interview with the author, October 13, 2000.6. Andrew Menard, interview with the author, August 21, 2000.7. Charles Harrison and Fred Orton, A Provisional History of Art & Language

(Paris: E. Fabre, 1982), 15.8. The history of the Art Theory course at Coventry College of Art is told in a

summary fashion in Harrison and Orton’s Provisional History, 25–27. David Rushtonand Paul Wood began to work with Art & Language in the early 1970s and coau-thored the study Politics of Art Education(London: Studio Trust, 1979). See alsoRushton and Wood, “Education Bankrupts,” in Fox 1 (1975): 96–101, and “Art-Learning,” in Fox 3 (1976): 170–76.

9. Harrison and Orton, Provisional History, 9–11.10. Ibid., 21. Art & Language frequently relied on a distinction between “ Wrst-

order” and “second-order” art—a distinction comparable to that between a discoursethat might function in business or exegesis and a metalanguage that might analyzethe Wrst, functional discourse.

11. “Conceptual Art: Category and Action,” Art-Language 1, no. 2 (February1970): 82.

12. Green, Third Hand, 53.13. Harrison and Orton, Provisional History, 10: “The third [contradiction resulting

from the educational restructuring] was that while the Coldstream Council prescribeda certain small proportion of the timetable for Art History and ‘ComplimentaryStudies’—in line with its higher-educational aspirations for art—the priority, auton-omy and prestige conferred on ‘studio work’ guaranteed a generally irreconcilable

breach between studio and lecture room, practice and theory, ‘doing’ and ‘reX

ecting.’”14. Charles Harrison, Essays on Art & Language (Oxford: Basil Blackwell,1991), 68.

15. Michael Corris, interview with the author, May 12, 1999: “we always tried todo something that made it inconvenient to see the work as ordinary, normal piecesof work, to problematize it, as one would have said in the 1980s.”

16. “[O]ur dialectical loci are organizational tasks that don’t feed off a general sen-timentality about sharing.” Quoted in Michael Corris and Neil Powell, “An Attemptat a Textual Analogue of a Possible Art & Language Exhibition,” Art-Language, n.s.,

no. 3 (September 1999): 7.17. The work of Thomas Dreher, the whole of Blurting in Art & Languagetogetherwith an introduction and other essays, is online at the Zentrum für Kunst andMedientechnologie (ZKM) Web site: http://blurting-in.zkm.de.

18. Blurting in Art & Language: An Index of Blurts and Their Concatenation (theHandbook) . . . (New York: Art & Language Press; Halifax: Nova Scotia College of Art, 1973), 10.

19. Ibid., 4.20. Ibid., 12.

21. For more on the importance of the artist’s book, artist’s statements, and theself-published art magazine in the U.S. context, see Lawrence Alloway, “Artists as

92 Chris Gilbert

http://blurting-in.zkm.de/

http://blurting-in.zkm.de/



Writers, Part One: Inside Information,” Artforum 12, no. 6 (March 1974): 30–35,and “Artists as Writers, Part Two: The Realm of Language,” Artforum 12, no. 8 (April1974): 30–35.

22. Despite his deep involvement in The Fox, Ian Burn was excluded from thelist of “editors” on the masthead of the Wrst issue. Instead he was featured as “reviewconsultant.” By the second issue he was featured, along with the others, as “editor.”

23. For the Ian Burn–Adrian Piper dialogue, see Burn’s article in Fox 1 (1975),“Pricing works of Art” (53–59), and Piper’s response in Fox 2 (1975), “A Proposalfor Pricing Works of Art” (48–49). The Ian Burn and Michael Baldwin dispute wasan ongoing one that touched down in several issues of The Fox as well as in Artfo-rum and Art-Language. Throughout the pages of The Fox, Joseph Kosuth and SarahCharlesworth took the position that the group should be open-ended and moder-ate, which drew criticism, especially in later issues, from Mel Ramsden and MayoThompson.

24. The role of ideology in this dispute is treated in my essay “Art & Language, New York, Discusses Its Social Relations in ‘The Lumpen-Headache,’” in Conceptual Art: Theory, Myth, and Practice, ed. Michael Corris (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-sity Press, 2004).

25. Gregory Sholette, “News from Nowhere: Activist Art and After, a Reportfrom New York City,” Third Text 45 (Winter 1998–99): 45–62.

26. Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, “Conceptual Art, 1962–1969: From the Aestheticof Administration to the Critique of Institutions,” October 55 (Winter 1990): 143.

27. Ibid., 140.28. Alan Wallach, “Reading the Anti-Catalog: Radical Art History and the

Decline of the Left,” paper read at College Art Association meeting, Toronto, Feb-ruary 26, 1999.

29. Mel Ramsden, interview with the author, September 25, 2000.


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FIGURE 4.1. Crowd turns out in public screening room during the Wrst Gulf War to watch antiwarvideos from Gulf Crisis TV Project (GCTV). Photo: PTTV.

art language and the institutional - from collectivism after modernism

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