The Musée d’art contemporain du Val-de-Marne (MAC/VAL) has been displaying Mark Wallinger’s exhibit State Britain since February 28. Born in 1959, this English artist became known in the early 1990s at the Charles Saatchi gallery in London, joining the ranks of young British artists Damien Hirst, Tracy Emin and Rachel Whiteread, whose works deal with social struggle, nationalism, royalty and religion, through painting, installation art, sculpture and video. He represented the British pavilion at the 2001 Venice Biennale and in 2007 he won – for State Britain – the Turner Prize, awarded annually by the Tate Gallery for an emblematic artist under 50 years old.
The imposing exhibit reconstructs an amalgamation of documents – banners, photos, paintings, articles and toys – originally displayed across from the House of Parliament in London by the activist Brian Haw, who was protesting England’s participation in the war in Iraq by confronting members of Parliament with images of their wrongdoings. In 2005, Haw’s display was deemed illegal under a law condemning such demonstrations in front places of power, and was thus demolished. With the help of fifteen assistants, six months of work and a £90,000 budget, Wallinger recreated the display and installed it inside the Tate Modern, so that the work would lie outside the legal perimeter around the House of Parliament as defined by the law, and especially in so it could be preserved by its new legitimacy as art. Originally 40 meters long, State Britain has been adapted to the dimensions of MAC/VAL, where it is spread into three rows and occupies an entire room.
Clearly, it is a harsh indictment of the English and American intervention in Iraq: a sign at the entrance warns visitors of the monstrosity of certain images, broken or slashed dolls echo the fate of maimed children, and the word “unbearable” flashes somewhere on a sign. But the work also has an obvious impact on the world of art: Wallinger’s approach is in line with Marcel Duchamp’s Readymade sculptures: found and constructed objects transformed into art by the hand of the artist. But it is not a question of an upside-down wheel or a urinal: the gratuitousness that gave Duchamp’s work its force (turning a bicycle wheel upside down, signing a urinal) would be difficult to put in place today as is, given that a major part of contemporary art is already Readymade in nature. Here, the artistic decree is less an effort to bring into a museum a regimen of objects that were once forbidden there, than it is to preserve what have decided to keep outside. The museum is no longer a space reserved for cleanliness and good taste by the powers-that-be: the cities have perhaps themselves become museums.
State Britain is not dissimilar to Redacted, the great film Brian de Palma directed recently on Iraq by copying images taken mostly from Internet. It’s the same problem: horrifying, but true, pictures of the war are available all over the Web, and yet they’re kept away from places of power, whether they be public spaces or movie theaters. It’s also the same approach: the artist and the director admit that art today is being left behind by alternative medias in the race for representing the truth, and they simultaneously affirm a power born from Readymade sculpture: an artistic decree, in which esthetics cannot be separated from politics.
Bastien Hader



