The name ‘What happens next is a secret’ is quite apt for the exhibition to which it lends itself. Upon entering the exhibition space at the Irish Museum of Modern Art (IMMA), viewers have been given no hints as to what artists they may find on display, what styles of art will be showcased, what mediums will be used, and so on. All the gallery’s leaflet states is that the exhibition is ‘experimental’ – though the experiment relates more to the exhibition itself than the works it showcases.
Rather than selecting a group of works thematically, or by period, ‘What happens next is a secret’ displays works with no underlying connections. This synoptic approach results in a refreshing mixture of media, styles, movements and periods – one of first works I encounter is Jack B. Yeats’s expressionist ‘The Folded Heart’ (1943), but it shares a room with a contemporary conceptual sculpture. The idea is that fresh connections will be generated by the viewers themselves, and through the placement of artworks in relation to one another. As the exhibition goes on, new artworks will be added – and some taken away – changing the context the works are seen in and, consequently, the effect they have on us. The exhibition itself and the way it’s put together take centre stage; the artworks are merely components of the bigger picture.
This is by no means a new idea: in 1891, Monet exhibited fifteen works from his Haystacks series together. He argued that without seeing the works grouped together according to his specifications, a viewer could not possibly understand the value of them. His paintings were to be appreciated not as individual pieces, but as a collective aesthetic; again, it was the exhibition itself which became the ‘artwork’. Yet the difference between this and the IMMA’s experiment is crucial: Monet’s various depictions of Haystacks were always intended to compliment each other and to be exhibited together. On the other hand, the majority of artworks are created as isolated objects, yet they’re almost always exhibited alongside an assortment of other works which may enhance, or dampen, their impact.
So is it fair to jumble together random pieces of art, no matter how carefully selected? Whole new avenues of art theory can be opened up when we question the validity of the exhibition. How can we effectively judge a Renaissance altarpiece, for example, in the stark white walls of the National Gallery, when it is intended to be displayed in a lavishly decorated church?
Perhaps as a result of such problems, more and more contemporary artists are turning to site-specific installations over more traditional, two-dimensional art forms. Katie Paterson, for example, recently hooked up a series of streetlamps on a pier in Kent to synchronise with storms happening around the world in real time. Her piece can only be witnessed in its intended setting, uncontaminated by the conflicting aesthetics of other artists. In addition, we cannot feel we have truly experienced installations such as Paterson’s without travelling to them and witnessing them first hand. A jpeg image posted up on an art blog, or press clipping from a newspaper review, will not make would-be art visitors feel they have experienced the work without physically going to see it.
One cannot help but suspect that ‘What happens next is a secret’, too, is a response to the increasing popularity and availability of art media, both online and print. In order to entice people to visit museums and galleries in person, artists and curators must rethink the entire exhibition process: after all, why hop on the Luas to see art when you could do a quick Google Image search? By turning the emphasis to the curation of the collection, rather than the works themselves, the IMMA demands our attendance: we cannot experience this exhibition vicariously.
This creates several paradoxes. Firstly, that it is through the shift of emphasis away from the artworks and onto the curation of them that we are encouraged to see art first hand, and thus to fully experience them. Only by looking away from the artworks can they be truly appreciated. Furthermore, the exhibition simultaneously becomes a celebration both of what is real (seeing the art in the flesh, rather than distorted copies) and what is artificial (the works become equally distorted through the exhibition process). Yet if we cannot experience art through reproductions, and we cannot objectively interpret it when we see it being exhibited, is there any real way to appreciate art at all then?
This is a problem which remains unresolved by the ‘What happens next’ exhibition, but that doesn’t compromise its effectiveness. Rather, it seems aware of this paradox and exploits it. Because of our heightened awareness to the artificiality of the exhibition, we can come to recognise it for what it is.
The first time I strolled around the space, I was unaware of how seeing one piece would affect my interpretation of another. Only afterwards did I start to see links forming in my head: Kathy Prendergast’s ‘Lost’ (1999), ‘Cardinal’ by Paul Nugent (1997) and Frantiska and Tim Gilman’s 2006 ‘The Museum minus the collection’ all evoke a sense of absence or loss. It can be difficult to break away from this mood when confronted with more light-hearted or positive works like Joao Penalva’s ‘David’s mother’s white bowl’ (2004). Aiding this unwarrantedly eerie atmosphere is the film installation ‘Here after’ (Paddy Folley, Rebecca Troust and Ingerlise Hansen, 2004) which plays on loop at the back of the exhibition space: I can hear the film’s haunting soundtrack of whistling wind, dripping water and white noise as I walk around the collection. A subconscious effect on my interpretation of the rest of the works is inevitable.
But the experiment is not over yet – the full impact of the exhibition cannot be experienced without several visits, due to the constantly evolving nature of the collection. I ask a member of staff when new pieces will be introduced: ‘Well that’s just it’, she replies with a twinkle in her eye, ‘You’ll just have to keep checking back’. The idea is that when I return, the works which remain in the collection will be experienced differently, now that their surroundings have changed. And with Picasso, Hogarth, Michael Craig-Martin and Antony Gormley amongst the list of names soon to have works exhibited, I may well be checking back soon.
