Francis Al˙s: A Story of Deception at MoMA
Nancy and I had the
great pleasure this past Tuesday evening to see an
opening preview of Francis Al˙s: A Story of Deception at MoMA. It is a truly fabulous exhibition,
and I recommend it to your most highly:
Francis Al˙s: A
Story of Deception
May 8–August 1, 2011
Sixth floor
Francis Al˙s
was born in
As you might guess, I do not
typically like video art; but Francis's style of work is a creative expression
all its own. His videos are beautiful, subtle, riveting, humorous, and
entertaining. Consider one of the first great examples in the MoMA
show, Cuento Patrióricos (Patriotic Tales)
(Mexico City, 1997; done with Rafael Ortega). It
is a 24 minute black and white video, shot from a high vantage
point, of an empty square with a flag pole in the center of
it. Francis enters from the side, leading a sheep behind him, and
begins to walk in a large oval path around the flag pole. One-by-one,
individual sheep enter from outside the side of the frame and begin to form a
single-file procession behind Francis, eventually forming an orderly line
8 or 10 strong behind him. At some point, Francis catches up with the end
of the procession, and begins to follow rather than lead the column.
Eventually, one at a time the sheep wander off from the line. It is an
absorbing, fun piece to watch: as with so many examples of Francis's work,
watching it brings a smile to my face—intensified in this instance by the comic
movement style of the sheep and the quiet absurdity of the action. The
filmed image is itself quite beautiful, and its composition is wonderfully
satisfying. It also becomes mesmerizing to watch. Just on this
level alone, the piece is totally successful as an artistic experience.
But then one starts to have feelings about the whole idea of
"sheep"—and about the "following" that is so essential to
what is going on; and then one is confronted with the reversal of the following
and the followed, and all that is evoked therein. Only after all that one
may become aware of the various levels of political implication and
reference. In Cuento Patrióricos, it turns out that there is a very
specific political premise underlying the work, which I was not aware of
until reading the description (which, as typical for me, I did not do until after
watching the video):
This
fiction refers to a key event in the student protests against Mexico's
government that occurred in 1968: on 28 August 1968 of that year,
thousands of civil servants were brought to the Zócalo
or main square of Mexico City to demonstrate in favor of the government,
claiming that the students had defiled the national symbols by raising the Red
and Black flag on the Zócalo pole. But in
a spontaneous gesture of rebellion, the bureaucrats turned their backs on the
official tribute and began to bleat like a vast flock of sheep, forcing the
authorities to disperse them with armored tanks and infantry. [quoted from the catalogue for the show]
It is not in any way necessary to
know this specific historical/political reference to appreciate the piece (and
it is one of my main objections to conceptual art that it often requires such
an explanation in order to be appreciated), although it does adds a dimension
and a depth when you know. What is unavoidable in Francis Al˙s's work is the sense of meaning that goes deeper than
the straightforward significance of the events depicted. Often this sense
of meaning is quite covert, and sometimes it operates only on an unconscious
level; sometimes it is closer to the surface; but it never interferes with the
more immediate artistic appreciation of the works. Interestingly, this
gives a certain politically subversive quality to Francis's art.
Francis was chosen for the Global
Cities exhibition in part because of his extensive interest in cities and urban
issues—and, of course, in even larger part because of the artistic excellence
and artistic power and evocativeness of his urban images. In some of his
works, these urban issues are far more directly in evidence. Paradox
of Praxis I (Sometimes Doing Something Leads to Nothing)
(Mexico City, 1997; 5 minutes, color; a version of which [Sometimes Making
Something Leads to Nothing] available online at www.francisalys.com/public/hielo.html),
Francis pushes a huge block of ice around the center of Mexico City for hours
until it finally melts away. Against the continuous urban backdrop of the
streets of city's poor neighborhoods, one begins to sense the huge exertion and
endless monotony of this physical labor, which, in the end, produces neither
results nor rewards. As usual, there is a bemused humor one feels in
watching the action unfold; and yet there is also an underlying awareness of an
important—albeit subtle—meaning. In Rehearsal I (El Ensayo) (Tijuana, 1999-2001; 29 minutes, color),
filmed on the US-Mexico border, an old VW Beetle heads up a steep little hill
on a dirt road through an arid village. There is a soundtrack
playing of a brass band rehearsing, and the driver has been given the following
instructions:
-While
the musicians play, the car goes uphill.
-When the musicians lose track and pause, the car stops.
-While the musicians are tuning their instruments, the car rolls back downhill.
Even without knowing the mechanics
of what is transpiring, this Keystone Kops' version of a Sisyphean process is
wonderfully comic—and the music of the brass band adds to the overall
humorous effect. And yet, set as it is in a poor Latin American
neighborhood, there is an ever-present echo of the 
frustrations
of the economic experience of that region.
The one other video work I want to
mention is his 
documentation, both in color; the photographic
documentation of which is available online at www.francisalys.com/public/cuandolafe.html).
The premise here is "500 volunteers equipped with shovels and asked to form
a single line in order to displace by 10 cm a 500 m-long sand dune from its
original position." This long line of people,
shoveling sand in unison on this dune outside of
I shall use the opportunity of
discussing When Faith Moves Mountains to mention that
along with Francis Al˙s's video works, there are many
paintings, drawings, and sketches—many with written instructions or
comments—which accompany the videos (like the one at the right, which is a
study for When Faith Moves Mountains, and which I have
shamelessly stolen from the catalogue of the exhibition), and some that are
projects in their own right (like the series Lynchings
(Linchados) [2006; Paintings: Oil and
collage on canvas on wood]). Francis is an extremely talented
painter and draftsman, in addition to being a brilliant video artist.
One of my favorite things in the
show is his Le Temps du sommeil
(1996- present), which consists of 111 small paintings done in oil,
encaustic, crayon, and collage on wood. This series represents an
evolving visual diary of Francis's creative journey, and he paints,
over-lays, and paints over each of the component pieces with images from
and references to the work he has done.
There is also a wonderful piece entitled Song for Lupita (Mańana) (1998; an installation with projected animation, record player, and vinyl record). A long 16 mm film loop, extending 20 feet up to the high ceiling of the gallery, runs continuously through a projector which projects onto a frosted glass screen the simple, black and white outline drawing of a woman pouring a bright, aqua-colored liquid back and forth between two glasses. The visual image plays against the song on the record player, which speaks of "putting off the task until a 'tomorrow' that loops eternally."
Finally there is one totally
unusual visual piece, Tornado (Milpa
Alta, 2000-2010; 55 minutes). In this rather bizarre video, Francis
actually takes his camera and himself—and us with him—into the tornadoes he has
been chasing. He sometimes misses, he sometimes succeed;
but it is a frighteningly tense struggle. Here is the catalogue's
description:
"Ever tried. Ever Failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
(Samuel Beckett, Worstward Ho, 1983)
Over the
last decade Al˙s made recurrent trips to the
highlands south of
There is a brief but very suggestive clip from this work on MoMA's website for the exhibition: www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1104
So, the short story is, go to this wonderful exhibit! It is full of things that will please, surprise, and amaze you.
