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World Sculpture News Autumn
2000
Secrecy And Institutional Power
For those who have suffered at the hands of closed, as well as seemingly
open, institutions, the work of American sculptor Michael Aurbach will
certainly resurrect memories of just how dehumanizing the exercise of
secrecy and power can be, even at its most benign.
by Glen R. Brown
If knowledge is power, then secrecy must surely be the means by which
it is made so. Secrets are by nature divisive, separating the haves of
knowledge from the have-nots, and consequently are of incalculable use
to authoritarianism, as incompatible with the ideal of democratic thought
as tumors are with a vision of bodily health. Not all secrets are malignant,
of course. Some are created through good intentions, and some are simply
trivial. Even in its most innocuous forms, however, secrecy is inseparable
from the exercise of power, is founded on ones conscious decision
to regulate the degrees of ignorance in another. What is known, when it
is known, and by whom are the variables through which power is maintained,
and, conversely, by which even the most dynastic of institutions might
be brought crashing to earth. Consequently, the secrecy of institutions
is fiercely guarded. Like all systems, institutions implicitly recognize
that the highest good is self-preservation, and toward this end secrecy
is as much a defense mechanism as a strategy for exercising control.
The complex connection between secrecy, power, and institutions has provided
the basis for nearly a decade of exploration by American sculptor Michael
Aurbach. A professor of art at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee,
Aurbach, like all academicians, has observed his share of the maddeningly
impersonal nature of institutional power. His service in the College Art
Association, the largest organization for university art faculties in
the United States, has made him privy to countless stories about the shrouds
of silence that make the granting of tenure and promotion as mysterious
as cult ceremony or the rites of a fraternal lodge. Abstracting from the
affinities between these secondary sources and his own experiences, Aurbach
has produced a series of imposing installations that have established
a commentary on secrecy and institutions in universal terms.
The examination of institutional power has, of course, been a prominent
feature of postmodern art and discourse, and has given rise to such memorable
concepts as Michel Foucaults "panopticon" or Laurie Andersons
"corporate voice." The unique aspect of Aurbachs work,
however, is precisely that it is more experiential than conceptual. Not
only does Aurbach draw on personal experience, he designs his works to
provide strategically controlled experiences for his viewers as well.
One of the earliest works in his current Secrecy series, Confessional
(1994) is exemplary. Invited to walk down a procession of buttressed sheet-metal
arches, each of which contains motion-detectors activating low-volume
alarms, the viewer is made to feel the gravity of confession as an act.
The short time required to enter the confessional booth, in which a closed-circuit
television projects back ones own speaking image, is sufficient
for a mental inventory of secrets too volatile to risk whispering when
a recorder might be present. Less about the Catholic practice of confession
on which it is modeled than about the general nature of revealing secrets
and the vulnerable position in which such indiscretion can place one,
Confessional is a reminder of the constant vigil we necessarily
maintain over so much of the information that makes us who we are.
More recently, in a 1998 triptych of relief sculptures entitled Witness:
Conspiracy No. 1, Witness: Conspiracy No. 2, and Witness: Conspiracy
No. 3, Aurbach raised the stakes in the game of secrecy. Suggestive
of the allegory "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil,"
the reliefs contain references to surveillance equipment: headsets, cameras,
and microphones. More important, encapsulated within them is actual documentation---in
the form of audio recordings, text, and film---of information that literally
could be used to terminate the careers of Aurbach himself and some undisclosed
others. Witness: Conspiracy No. 1, consisting of a massive art-deco
arch that mimics the appearance of a 1930s radio, presents a book-shaped
display case that opens to reveal a cassette tape under Plexiglas. Witness:
Conspiracy No. 2 takes the form of a triumphal arch, selected by Aurbach
for its associations with Fascist architecture, and incorporates three
ominous microphones. Witness: Conspiracy No. 3 combines a mastaba
and a pyramid with a surveillance camera and a set of scales that, in
a contemporary twist on the Egyptian Book of the Dead, confirms that a
damning roll of film is not lighter than a feather.
"I think of the Witness: Conspiracy sculptures as part safe-deposit
box, part reliquary casket, and part Pandoras box," Aurbach
says. "These things have real power beyond their visual and symbolic
aspects." The viewer is quick to sense this as well. The works clearly
invoke the issue of power simply by piquing curiosity about the information
they conceal, since satisfaction of the viewers desire to be in
on the secret can only be had by violating Aurbachs privacy. This
violation is not merely a regrettable consequence of the thirst for knowledge.
After all, why should the viewer care to know these sculptures secrets---which
surely must be of less-than-earth-shaking significance to any but a handful
of those in Aurbachs immediate circle---except for the sensation
of power that knowledge carries with it?
The theme of power as the underlying motive of secrecy is reinforced in
Aurbachs sculptures by his frequent recourse to iconographic and
stylistic precedents from the history of art and architecture. The pyramid
in Witness Conspiracy No. 3, for example, is meant to remind one
not merely of the majesty of Old Kingdom Pharaohs, but of the tenacity
with which ancient tomb-robbers violated the secret interiors of the massive
tombs, exposing the mummies to the pernicious effects of outer air and
thwarting their pretensions to eternal life. Great secrets do not generally
come to light without correspondingly great consequences. It is therefore
no accident that institutions which have the most to lose if their inner
workings become known tend visually to be impersonal and unapproachable.
To suggest this projected inaccessibility of institutions, Aurbach has
sheathed the works of his Secrecy series in metal. "I like
using the sheet metal because its cold and insular," he says.
"It suggests power. At the same time, when I represent a building
the foundation may present the effect of brick or stonework, but I use
what is called mobile-home skirting. Its a pre-fabricated sheet-metal
skirt thats used to keep animals and the wind out from under your
mobile home, but also creates the illusion that theres a solid foundation
when in fact it only masks an empty space."
The situation of a mask concealing a hollow is rife with inducement to
insecurity, even paranoia, and Aurbachs works suggest a maxim: The
greater the hollow, the greater the impulse to hide it. Secrecy and its
defensive role in the maintenance of fragile institutional power is made
the focus of Aurbachs major 1997 interactive installation, The
Institution. In this work a bastion-like, sheet-metal edifice is approached
through a triumphal arch bearing closed-circuit television screens that
monitor the viewers movements and message boards that display paragons
of subterfuge such as "A committee is being formed to review the
situation." Physically denied access to the tiny and oddly shaped
door, the viewer is shunted off to the wings, where black-curtained windows
are fortuitously left open. Surrendering to the urge to spy on the inhabitants,
the viewer opens the curtains only to discover that he or she is in turn
being spied on by the institution. Inside a small room is a monitor projecting
an image of the viewer from behind. The spy is momentarily absent, but
message boards reinforce the impulse toward surveillance and control:
"Free speech need not exist," "identify team players."
Although The Institution suggests anonymity and the anti-humanistic
vision of power that is most often the subject of postmodern discourse,
Aurbach is not necessarily suggesting that institutions are larger than
any of us. That kind of thinking acquiesces, for example, to Adolf Eichmanns
plea during his war-crimes trial that issuing extermination orders was
merely the action of a clerk, a pawn of the Nazi political and militaristic
machine. Aurbach suggests, on the contrary, that human psychology is ultimately
to be held accountable for the behavior of institutions. His most recent
installation, entitled The Administrator, provides a glimpse into
an office-sized chamber of manipulative devices, including the "hot-seat,"
a chair equipped with heating coils that awaits the supplicant who must
inevitably enter the administrators office, or the series of hoops
through which this same unfortunate will be required to jump. The slapstick
quality of these sadistic clichés is intended to lampoon the unimaginative
routine by which some administrators exercise control over their "inferiors."
But The Administrator, Aurbach says, "is less about torture
than it is a parody on how we portray people in power: the trappings of
power, the folly." The most important point of the installation,
however, is that the devices are in themselves neutral without the deliberate
decision of a human being to activate them.
By focusing on the human factor in The Administrator, Aurbach makes
clear his conviction that secrecy is not merely a consequence of institutional
effectiveness, but an indulgence from which some individuals derive a
heady sense of their own potency. Does institutional power inevitably
corrupt even those who start out with the best of intentions? Or does
the lure of power within the institution merely attract those who already
harbor secret pretensions to authority over others? Can one accept a position
of power within an institution and function effectively without resorting
to strategies of secrecy? Aurbach characteristically does not make it
the task of his works to decide these issues. His concern is to provide
the viewer with experiences, ersatz and fleeting as they might be, that
prompt reflection on ones own relationship to institutions, the
power they wield, and the secrecy they preserve. Beyond this, and for
obvious reasons, Aurbach avoids and declines to exert his authority.
Glen R. Brown is associate professor of art history at Kansas State
University.
Link to Secrecy Series
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