Group Show: I Know About Creative Block and I Know Not to Call It by Name

December 2011. See the entire magazine online here.

Lisson Gallery, Milan

16 September – 5 November

By Mike Watson

‘I am not naturally a superstitious man, but I know about creative block, and I know not to call it by name’, explains Ryan Gander in the press release for this, the inaugural show at Lisson Gallery’s Milan space in Via Zenale. Indeed, the gallery’s decision to open its Italian outpost with a show themed around creative block is a bold step in these difficult times. Though, as gallery founder Nicholas Logsdail pointed out at the press preview, Lisson – which opened in London 44 years ago – has by now weathered several recessions while becoming a world leader in the field of contemporary conceptual art. Indeed, a possible alternative title for the show could be I Know About Economic Crises and I Know Not to Call Them by Name, reflecting the gusto with which Lisson strides onto the Milan scene.

The exhibition showcases 13 of the gallery’s artists, taking into account that two contributors, Art & Language and Allora & Calzadilla, are artist duos. As the gallery prepares visits for journalists and artists to Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper as part of the opening weekend’s activities, I wonder if the not especially superstitious Gander has spotted this omen: 13 at the table is bad luck. This doesn’t seem to adversely affect the show’s quality, however, the works on display coping well with a bright, naturally lit space and the almost overbearing beauty of the venue’s gardens, which apparently used to be Leonardo’s personal vineyard.

Memorable pieces include the aforementioned press release, an artwork in itself given that Cory Arcangel had scented it with Lynx body spray; and Art & Language’s Five American Background Songs (2009–10). The latter work, primarily comprising two chairs joined together, incorporates lyrics describing portrait drawings of US presidents penned by Art & Language for the American band the Red Krayola. These fragmented descriptions, based on hypothetical artworks, reflect the sporadic nature of the creative process. Indeed, creative block is at times a useful – if frustrating – diversion that interrupts and reframes the artistic process. That is, when it doesn’t last too long, or become permanent. Giulio Paolini’s Letters from Turin (2008), meanwhile, references Friedrich Nietzsche’s last scrawled letters, written as he descended into a madness that would leave him in a vegetative state. Reflecting the fragility of the creative mind, Paolini presents a transparent model of the philosopher’s Turin house filled with writings and technical drawings influenced by his tragic demise.

Gander, while deftly managing some intense themes as the show’s curator, makes an altogether more playful contribution to the show as an artist: a vinyl wall work listing the artists exhibiting in a parallel show, next to which stood a postcard rack showing works by those same artists. Though this isn’t made explicit, seemingly the show to which the piece refers is entirely imaginary, standing as a symbol of art as deception. As Nietzsche put it in one of his last written communications: ‘I go everywhere in my student coat, now and then slap someone on the back, and say: Is everything ok? I am God, this farce is my creation.’ That final sentence could stand equally as the motto of the archetypal artist, curator or gallerist. Under a too-perfect Italian sky, with constant reminders of genius which no one present would ever likely match – that of both Leonardo and Nietzsche – Lisson Gallery pulled off a worthy farce on all fronts. Long may it continue.