Confronting the Confrontationalists

“Critical commentary”, “confrontational work”, “disturbing take” and “frighteningly true” are all clichés of contemporary artist statements. Although the clichés obviously help sales, I sometimes wonder where confrontation ends and bigotry begins. Furthermore, I wonder whether “confrontation” is really the most effective way to expand awareness. In other words, will “confronting” people help them consider a new viewpoint or merely confirm our own?

Such questions could be applied to most art mediums in Australia, but it is the movie industry where it is easiest to see some of the ulterior motives that masquerade as confrontation.

One of the features of Australia’s film industry is that the outback residents are disproportionately used as vehicles to confront Australians as whole. For example, this year, we saw the re-release of the outback drama Wake in Fright. Upon its re-release, Sydney Morning Herald film critic Paul Byrnes wrote:

“There has never been a more savage and scabrous film about Australia. Unfortunately, it was also uncomfortably true, which was one reason Australians didn’t go to see it in large numbers when it came out in late 1971. It was just too confronting … It was a vision of outback Australia as one of the inner circles of hell, a place of mad, murderous men and dull-eyed, sluttish women.”

I’ve seen aspects of the Wake in Fright vision rehashed in many other Australian movies that use the harsh outback landscape as the setting to convey something negative about Australia as a whole. Because I haven’t spent much time in rural Australia, I have no idea whether the visions are a reflection of reality or are simply the figments of a director’s imagination. I do know, however, that I am no more confronted by the shortcomings of outback residents than I am by the shortcomings of Chinese, Japanese or Americans. They are just too removed from my life as an urban Australian to see them as reflective of who I am. Furthermore, I have no more desire to see them denigrated in movies than to see any other culture denigrated. I just don’t learn anything from it.

When I say that the outback is an alien world to me, I don’t think I am alone. In fact, I’d argue that those involved in making the movies are probably quite similar to me. Their culture is more likely to be the coffee shop in Paddington or the Italian restaurant in Carlton. If they truly wanted to make a confronting movie, then finding fault in their immediate social sphere would be more in keeping with the true spirit of confrontation.

Of course, if an artist tries to “confront” people within their local culture, they must come face to face with those they are confronting, which is a challenge in itself. It is much safer to confront those who are removed and who can’t argue the point.

Aside from being a little concerned about artists confronting cultures that they are not part of, I also question whether confrontation is an effective way to realise social change. Are outback residents less slutty or murderous now than when Wake in Fright was released forty or so years ago? Are they less prone to inappropriate farting than when Welcome to Woop Woop was released twelve years ago? I personally can’t verify either way, but I am guessing not. In my time, the only real change I’ve noted is that Australian movies have become less popular.

This film industry’s failure to influence is consistent with most precedents set by confrontational art. A similar example comes from Germany, when Hitler was rising to power. Despite being passionately criticised by artists, Hitler’s electoral prospects went from strength to strength. In Politics of the Weimar Period (1978) John Willet wrote: “In so far as any country can be said to choose its rulers, Germany choose Hitler, and bitterly as these artists had opposed him it is doubtful if they really persuaded anyone who did not already share the same views.”

Although it goes against the art patron stereotype, in truth, most audiences don’t like to be confronted. Most audiences only like confrontational art when someone else is being confronted. I say that from first-hand experience because, although I criticise confrontational art, I also produce a lot of it. I am fascinated by disequilibrium, tension and contradiction. On these frontiers, where no rules are written, and few social norms developed, new ideas are born and new emotions are felt. This new territory can’t be experienced unless old territory is reconstructed in disconcerting ways. In other words, new experiences are born by making oneself and others feel uncomfortable.

When I’ve tried to share my disconcerting ethic with others, I’ve found that it is certainty that most people crave. This is understandable. Within our instincts, we are programmed to find conformity with those around us. We like to see others, those removed from us, “confronted” because the exposition of their faults helps bind us to those who are close to us.

One of my early confrontational works was Australian Story, which depicted the drunken orgy that followed the unloading of the first female convict ship to arrive in Australia. I was interested in the interaction of moral and cultural diversity when Australia’s urban foundations were being laid. My painting speculated on what the convicts involved in the orgy thought, what Arthur Phillip watching thought, what the Aborigines watching thought and finally, what the viewer thought. Because the arrival of the convict women was a significant event that was almost never discussed, I believed that by bringing it to public consciousness, I could provoke a diversity of ideas regarding the development of wowserism and larrikinism in Australia. Furthermore, I could suggest ideas relating to the development of Australian feminism and positive attitudes to Aboriginal culture.

My first audience was an art class. When I unveiled my painting, I felt as if the temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees. The icy reception unnerved me, despite the fact that disharmony was exactly what I was seeking. It seems I was more interested in the theory of disharmony than the reality of it.

In the years since, I have sold the painting a couple of times, but I’ve always given the buyers a cooling-off period. They have inevitably cooled off, and it is still in my possession. I’ve never really evoked the speculative ideas that I was hoping for. Instead, those who have engaged with it have tended to latch onto one component without considering the alternative viewpoint. In that regard, it has rarely achieved what I hoped it would achieve. Pragmatically speaking, wanting to divide my audiences has merely made them more motivated to seek a singular viewpoint or avoid the topic entirely. In turn, not seeing my audiences react as I wanted has heightened my desire to find an audience that will react as I want.

In a way, I think that is the story of Australia as a whole. The lack of conformity breeds a desire for conformity. This is reflected in the arts. When I look at “confrontational” art, usually it is not about expanding diversity with new questions, it is about finding some kind of social belonging with those around us. Unfortunately, that often comes at the expense of alienating those who are external to us.

Because I can see the benefit in finding a feeling of resonance with people in my immediate surroundings, I sometimes wonder whether I should assimilate the standard confrontational ideology and find fault with miners, loggers, sports fans, or faceless whites who live in the desert. I’m sure this approach would endear me to many kingmakers in the arts. Then again, many film-makers have assimilated the formulae without finding the success they hoped for. While they have received critical acclaim from within the arts, they have alienated themselves from their potential market outside.

There is an alternative strategy. Instead of insulting a removed audience, I could praise the local audience. This was Pro Hart’s approach. By championing Australia’s egalitarian ethic and infusing it into beautiful outback scenes, Hart increased appreciation for the arts to such an extent that pubs in Broken Hill, where he lived, were converted into art galleries. Vincent Van Gogh had a similarly positive philosophy. By capturing the emotional beauty in the landscape, and seeing strength in the common people who worked it, Van Gogh provided the medium for deeply humane experience that continues to resonate more than a century after his death.

Sadly, although I can see all the faults with the confrontational approach, I still use it anyway, which suggests that while confusion, disequilibrium and conflict will forever be my inspiration, they will also be my curse.

Chad Swanson, a Canberra artist, wrote on Blue Poles in the September issue.