Essay by Teagan Lown for Contextualising Practice

 

Acknowledgement

To begin, I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land on which I live, study and practise art, the Wurundjeri Woi-Wurrung peoples and the Bunurong / Boon Wurrung peoples of the eastern Kulin nation. I pay my respects to Elders past, present and emerging and recognise that sovereignty has never been ceded.  

My essay will explore new materialism, which is predominantly contextualised through a white and western contemporary lens. Indigenous communities have long pioneered notions of agency within non-human objects; however, academia often present agent ontologies as recently discovered perspectives, effectively erasing First Nations cultures and voices (Horton and Berlo 2013; Rosiek 2020). It is important to identify new materialism’s lack of acknowledgement of Indigenous practices, which existed well before what is documented in western theory. My essay will explore new materialism while also recognising the bias and colonial framework through which much of this research is conducted and will encourage a critical view of the included theorists and their positions.

 

Introduction

How could I ever know a work is done when I fail to listen to my materials?    

I often contend with a final work, questioning what it means to be finished and when this should occur. From the start of my degree, I have been searching for a solution to this problem and have failed time and time again. Now, after years of making, my thinking has shifted away from such a static mindset and instead embraces the unknown and uncertain moments that allow my practice to develop and grow. It is through new materialism that my acceptance of this ambiguity has been established, as the broad framework, as Gamble et al. (2019) has noted, prides itself on nuances and complexities that refuse to be categorised or fixed to one understanding. By searching for a blanket solution of when an artwork was complete, I was robbing my materials of their ability to exert their own agency, both individually and within a collective. This approach was counterintuitive, as I was investing time in getting to know my materials yet failing to collaborate with them in any meaningful, visible way. It is through ideas of material agency, assemblage and intimacy with my medium that my approach to artmaking has been altered. As my research into new materialism has continued, I have been forced to recognise the significant extent to which materials inform my art practice.   

Getting to Know the Material

How do I choose a material?  

There is something about my material that speaks to me; it is something vague that I struggle to name but know instinctively is present and will sustain a conversation between myself and the chosen medium. New materialism decentres the long-established anthropocentric view held in modern day society. Instead, it regards matter as something lively and agentic, believing it to be an active force in the world rather than something to be acted upon (Gamble et al. 2019). It was in between reading American political philosopher Jane Bennett’s Vibrant Matter (2010) and German art historian Petra Lange-Berndt’s Materiality (2015) that I found myself questioning my relationship to the more-than-human world around me. The transition into university and the communal studio spaces was when my interest in conventional art materials, such as clay, paint and other two-dimensional mediums, waned. I was presented with an abundance of other people’s offcuts and saw new and vibrant opportunities within them (the term vibrant comes from Bennett 2010; Hawkins 2007). With this change came a fascination for using materials from my everyday life, such as old teabags, found beer bottles and other to-be discarded objects. I was engaging with materials beyond their physicality, drawing on my affective experience as I questioned why they had become unwanted and what their potential could be (Hawkins 2007; Lange-Berndt 2015). Unlike previous artworks where I felt there had been a lack of reflection of self, I was now ingrained in my work through the accumulation of history in the material (Kemp also notes this 1976). The relationship between myself and material in these cases had been building long before any conception or forethought of an artwork. Choosing a material is more than a simple, singular choice, but rather a process that involves listening to the world around me and recognising when something is offering itself beyond its objecthood.  

Once invested in a material, there is a sense of security that overcomes me. The knowledge that what happens next is a conversation that will grow into something I cannot predict alleviates any expectations I held of myself or the material. Furthering the idea of building a relationship with my materials, I begin with exploratory interactions that aim to familiarise myself with the medium in an intimate, tactile way (Albers 1965; Lehmann 2012). I am not interested in solving a problem nor am I asking the material to perform in a certain manner, instead I wish to gain knowledge to contextualise and situate the material properties I encounter. How does the material react to intense heat, excessive moisture or being exposed to other elements? The repetitive and often exposing cycle of engaging, waiting, observing is both informative and soothing.   

Within this method, there are moments of futility; past research and common knowledge of how certain materials behave questions why I need to test what is already known (Albers 1965). Empirically, I know glass is temperamental and that melting it without a kiln is oftentimes unproductive, due to the uncontrollable annealing process that will inevitably take place. In Figure 1, a trial of melting beer bottle fragments together led to the cracking of the structure in several areas, supporting the well-known fact of glass’ inability to stably contract without a heat conduit. Despite not achieving a perfect result, I now knew how this specific glass reacted to the focussed heat of the oxyacetylene torch, and how quickly the glass changed from molten to solid again once the flame was removed. Through my making process, I had gained knowledge that would have otherwise been hypothesised yet still unproven to myself. Without experiencing the process, I would have never seen the glass’ change in surface or how each fragment slowly fused to another. There is something beautiful in the time it takes me to work with each material; through time comes familiarity and tenderness, as well as the recognition of the extensive labour that took place to earn these encounters. In a world so focussed on hurriedness and losing sight of slow processes, I deem materials worth my time. In return, they converse and speak and yell and influence my art to become something interesting and distinct. 

The dialogue that occurs is an exercise of reciprocation to find a compromise. In my pursuit of making an artwork, I am constantly trying to be truthful – truthful to myself and truthful to the material. In doing so, I must admit that I do not know much about either. Previously, this statement would have embarrassed me, however, I can now acknowledge the freedom and flexibility that comes from creating and learning in a nonlinear, concurrent manner. My work is a collaboration; I listen to what the material says and respond with my own ideas. It is a fickle process of trial and error until eventually there is a moment of understanding between me and material. Similar to how Hiller (2003) appreciates the instability in artist-material relationships, the changing dynamics in my work allows me to create something truthful to all actors involved. Authenticity shines through the material, communicating the nuances of my relationship with the work and the struggles it took to achieve. Collaboration between myself and my medium is inherent as materiality is not fixed, it moves with my actions and changes in unique, unexpected ways (Bennett as also described this type of relationship 2010). The conversation comes naturally through my own curiosities and the materials’ agencies.  

Individual tiles from Train Station Walls (see Figure 2 and 3) present the complex relationship between plaster and glass. The aforementioned struggles to stably melt glass without a kiln were resolved through the use of plaster acting as a base to hold the fragile element. It was through my material testing that I was led to the idea of supplying a solid structure to the glass, attempting to provide a new, more supportive environment in order for the glass to remain whole. After spending time getting to know my materials, I felt as though I knew some of their potential and worked with the material properties I had encountered to inform my actions in the making process. In melting the glass directly on top of the plaster tiles, it was fused to the surface as it bubbled and embedded itself in concentrated areas. It was through a dialectic relationship with my materials that the glass was offered temporary refuge in the plaster.  

Assemblage of Material 

How do I target a singular thing when it keeps moving? 

Despite my ability to acquaint myself with material, the tension of actualising an artwork from these broad experiments is still difficult to articulate. When feeling my ideas and practice were too unfocussed, it was French philosopher Gilles Deleuze’s and French psychoanalyst and social activist Félix Guattari’s theory of assemblage that provided guidance.  

Assemblage thinking proposes relationality within both human and nonhuman agents alike, bringing heterogenous elements together to examine their intersection and effect on one another (Deleuze and Guattari 1980; Ohls 2022; Marcus and Saka 2024). It is under the framework of assemblage that I find comfort in the ephemeral, as my agential materials refuse to remain static and will eventually change. The care I show to my materials, enacted through the dialogue I undertake with them, aims to steer them toward a final artwork with the knowledge that they can and will change within the assemblage. Rather than viewing an artwork as a fixed entity, it can instead be appraised as a moment of interrelation and interaction between materials, space and artist (Ohls 2022; Küttel 2024; Marcus and Saka 2024). Assemblage lessens my focus on a final work, exposing the inert and lifeless reality of an absolute conclusion, and draws my focus back to what originally inspired my practice – materials acting. It is the foundations of assemblage that affirm my perspective of lively, active materials and renews my interest in observing them gesticulate.    

Tea Process Performance (see Figure 4 and 5) depicts a continuous and laborious action of reclaiming the clay for each day the work is exhibited. As the clay dries out, cracks from the environment and comes loose from the wood (see Figure 6), the assemblage is changed. The individual materials are emphasised over the new product, returning them to two separate entities that simply exist alongside one another (Ohls 2022; Küttel 2024; Marcus and Saka 2024). The work acknowledges how the change in the clay’s material properties irrevocably alters its relation to the wood, epitomising the temporal and ephemeral nature of the work. Each time the clay dried, it separated from the wooden structure in different areas, changed by its application, the room’s climate and its own agency. Assemblage reflects a moment in time without forcing agents to become stationary; it embraces change and the individual movements of disparate actors (Deleuze and Guattari 1980; Ohls 2022; Marcus and Saka 2024). Viewing my work through assemblage allows space for my materials to breath, opening up a project’s potential to live on in new and distinct ways. 

Moreover, it is through assemblage that the power dynamic between artist and material is engaged with in a rational and conscious manner, an area of contention I experience with Bennett’s theory of material agency. Where new materialism decentres human actions, Bennett (2010) further argues that active nonhuman agents can be isolated from human actors and still hold and enact their own agency. This line of thinking dispels the vast majority of one’s own responsibility as the propelling force within a collective. Alternatively, the positioning of assemblage acknowledges there is an active linking between disparate elements, underlining the role of the cognisant actor in facilitating the relationship (Deleuze and Guattari 1980; Horton and Berlo 2013; Ohls 2022). Whilst I champion and deeply connect to Bennett’s notion of material vibrancy, it is in Deleuze and Guattari’s theory of assemblage that I am held accountable as an arranger of material. I listen and collaborate with my materials; however, it is the environment that I provide for them that grants them access to certain potentials. 

Encountering the Materials  

Has the time, effort and care I have poured into the work been translated or are they kept between artist, material and space?  

It is easy to dismiss materials when you are not the one working with them and I fear this happens when someone encounters my work. There is the wider embedded history of my materials that imply meaning, somehow both removed and deeply connected to artist. Tea is a commonality between many and almost all cultures and provides a sense of homeliness and warmth that transcends location and time (Ger and Kravets 2009). For an audience experiencing Tea Process Performance, they may have their own connection to the material – its practice, its taste or even its production – however, for the extensive dialogue behind the work, this reading feels cursory. The time I spend breaking down and nurturing the material creates an intimacy that is hard to explain to audience, as I feel connected to what the material was, is and could be (Kozloff 1967; Küttel 2024). Through the work, I want my material to speak to the audience: 

Do I remind you of your tea? Do I remind you of your parents and your home and your mug and your quiet mornings? Or perhaps you taste me, and you know I have been steeped for far too long and that my remnants that have been left behind – that I have stained you with – are a bitter reminder that I have been sitting for far too long? Do I take you back to your tea and how am I so different if my tea is not so different from your tea?   

I question how thoroughly a viewer can engage with my work without knowing the tactile qualities of my medium or the tribulations both myself and the material have overcome together (these ideas are also explored by Albers 1965; Lehmann 2012). I am unsure whether this is something I wish to keep between myself and the material or share proudly with the audience. As I have contended with these questions, I have looked toward performative details that allude to the making process. Tea Process Performance informs its viewer by the change of clay over time, allowing them to familiarise themselves with its different forms as it dries out over the span of twenty-four hours. Although the audience is still removed from the rapport I have built with material, it is through the liveliness of the mediums that the care they have been shown is inscribed in the piece. Furthermore, it is important to my beliefs of my art and materials expressing themselves that I must allow for others to form different and individual experiences with the work. Although uncomfortable and potentially frightening, I trust in my work to connect to something within different people, however, I cannot control the encounter itself, much like a material’s agency cannot be contained. 

Conclusion 

Does this feel like home? 

As I have come to learn through new materialism, it is hard to find a definite answer to any questions I pose in my practice. There is the possibility that an artwork is never complete, similar to the belief that a material is never quiet. My work cannot be defined by a final piece or singular moment; it is a slew of distinct conversations that live on through materials and their interactions with the world around them. There will always been friction in my work, but it is in these moments that my materials are at their most lively and joyous. 

 

Reference List 

Albers A (1965) ‘Tactile Sensibility’, in Harrod T (ed) Craft, Whitechapel Gallery, London.  

Bennett J (1957) Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things, Duke University Press, Durham.  

Deleuze G and Guattari F (1980) ‘A Thousand Plateaux’, in Lange-Berndt P (ed) Materiality, Whitechapel Gallery, London.  

Gamble CN, Hanan JS and Nail T (2019) ‘WHAT IS NEW MATERIALISM?’, Journal of Theoretical Humanities, 24(6):111-134, doi:10.1080/0969725X.2019.1684704. 

Ger G and Kravets O (2009) ‘Special and Ordinary Times: Tea in Motion’ in Shove E, Trentmann F and Wilk R (eds) Time, Consumption and Everyday Life: Practice, Materiality and Culture, Taylor & Francis Group, doi: 10.4324/9781003087236.  

Hawkins G (2007) ‘Sad Chairs’, in Knechtel J (ed) Trash, Alphabet City Media and MIT Press, London.  

Hiller S (2003) ‘’Truth’ and ‘Truth to Materials’’, in Lange-Berndt P (ed) Materiality, Whitechapel Gallery, London. 

Horton JL and Berlo JC (2013) ‘Beyond the Mirror: Indigenous Ecologies and ‘New Materialisms’ in Contemporary Art’, Third Text, 27:17-28, doi:10.1080/09528822.2013.753190. 

Kemp W (1976) ‘Wood – Figuring Problems of Material’, in Lange-Berndt P (ed) Materiality, Whitechapel Gallery, London. 

Kozloff M (1967) ‘The Poetics of Softness’, in Lange-Berndt P (ed) Materiality, Whitechapel Gallery, London.  

Küttel NM (2024) ‘Material agency in art installations: exploring the interplay of art, space, and materials in Detroit’, Geographica Helcvetica, 79(2):149-160, doi: 10.5194/gh-79-149-2024. 

Lange-Berndt P (2015) ‘How to Be Complicit with Materials’, in Lange-Berndt P (ed) Materiality, Whitechapel Gallery, London. 

Lehmann U (2012) ‘Making is Knowing’, in Harrod T (ed) Craft, Whitechapel Gallery, London.  

Marcus GE and Saka E (2006) ‘Assemblage’, Theory, Culture & Society, 23(3):101-106, doi:10.1177/0263276406062573. 

Ohls H (2022) ‘The Artwork as Assemblage: New Materialist Perspectives on Aesthetics’, Revista de Estudios Globales y Arte Contemporáneo, 8(1):156-184, doi:10.1344/regac2022.8.41420. 

Rosiek JL, Synder J and Pratt SL (2020) ‘The New Materialisms and Indigenous Theories of Non-Human Agency: Making the Case for Respectful Anti-Colonial Engagement’, Qualitative Inquiry, 26(4):331-346, doi:10.1177/1077800419830135.