photo Gorana Bačevac
/scroll down for english version/
Safeword
Snovi o vezivanju i oni o izolaciji
Natalija Paunić
Umetnost Jelene Pantelić podseća na vođenje dnevnika pre nego na pričanje priče, sa refleksijama na poverenje, intimnost i dom koje migriraju iz njenog ličnog života u prostor izložbe. Iako ovo može da se kaže za mnoge umetnike, ono što njen slučaj čini posebnim je nejasan status uzroka i posledice: razlika između stvari koje se jednostavno dese i inspirišu nas, i stvari koje učinimo da se dese da bi nas inspirisale. U suštini i generalno govoreći, ne znamo šta od ova dva dolazi prvo niti šta nas kasnije čeka. Jedan način da se u takvoj situaciji povrati deo kontrole je da se ono najmračnije i najčudnije prenese iz sopstvene realnosti u namerno, veštački i svrsishodno stvoren ekspoze; da se problemi materijalizuju i prikažu publici; da dobijemo publiku i da kažemo njima da se nose s tim. U tom smislu, Jelena Pantelić doživljava svoju praksu kao rabotu a ne kao posao, kao stvar moranja pre nego izbora.
Ova kompulsivnost bi se mogla tumačiti i kao definicija našeg onlajn prisustva: prećutno ćemo se složiti da postoji osećaj da moramo, pre nego da želimo, da provodimo vreme na telefonu, da budemo povezani sa svim mogućnostima koje postoje, da svajpujemo svoj put kroz život. Ovom temom se bavi Tavi Meraud, posmatrajući pipanje LCD-ja simultano i kao dodirivanje sadržaja i ideja, stvarajući tom prilikom novu kovanicu koja je važna za rad Jelene Pantelić: „Transintimnost […] uključuje i ljubav prema kiborg-ljubavi. Uključuje i ljubav koja raste zato što promatram svoju ljubav kroz ekrane; mogu da skrinujem sebe i da se projektujem, i da se kupam u sjaju ekranizovane slike svoje ljubavi. Ali mislim da su ovo sve relativno površinski osećaji uzvišenosti, ravni u poređenju sa potentnim mogućnostima koje površina donosi. Razne verzije elektronske iliti tehno-ljubavi, u nedostatku bolje reči, ionako su uvek smatrane problematičnim jer ovakvim scenarijima kontakta nedostaje upravo kontakt, te oni ne mogu ispuniti haptičku potrebu koja je neophodna čovečanstvu. Posmatrajte transintimnost, onda, kao iridescentnu intimnost, onu koja više nije površinski kontakt, bliskost i posedovanje koje se osvaja dodirom, već onu koja penetrira - koja je vlasništvo u duplom smislu reči „posedovati“, gde smo i mi sami takođe osvojeni, progonjeni.“ (Iridescence, Intimacies, 2015).
Distribucija moći između vlasnika i vlasništva stavlja intimnost i transintimnost u novu perspektivu, definišući odnose u smislu širem od onog koje markira tehnološki uslovljeno doba u kom živimo. Kroz svoj rad, Jelena Pantelić tretira obe stvari: ispovedanje drugima i ispovedanje tehnologiji, što se na kraju projektuje kroz i na samopouzdanje. Veoma lucidan način da se odnosi prikažu je da se o stvarima govori kroz seksualne termine, kroz fetiše i specifične preference, što dozvoljava da se granice odmere suprotnostima. Ovakva postavka ohrabruje publiku da materiju kojom se Jelena Pantelić bavi vide kao sado-madohizam, voajerizam i egzibicionizam, i slične dihotomije koje umetnica sada koristi čak i direktno kroz naslov izložbe. Sa druge strane, pitanje konkretnog odnosa nedefinisano lebdi u vazduhu. Kao posmatrači, suočavamo se, zaista, sa otvorenim prikazom želje, ali jako retko vidimo reciprocitet. Čak i u videu u kom su prikazani ljubavnici na parkingu, nakon što smo videli naizgled uzbudljiv, ali zapravo monoton proces ljubljenja, fokus se prebacuje sa para iz kola na osobu iza kamere (Ili možda još opštije govoreći, na nas same).
Kroz iskrenost i vulnerabilnost kojom se predstavlja drugima, umetnica ispituje njihovu i našu pažnju, tražeći iznova i iznova nove forme bliskosti i vezivanja. Taj motiv se provlači kroz način na koji smo pozvani na njenu izložbu, ali i kroz same radove, ponekad i kroz njihovu pripremu. Eksperiment o ljudskoj empatiji jako često ne uspe, kao što se to desilo u „Klari“, video radu gde publika saznaje za bizarne načine na koje ljudi započinju razgovore sa umetnicom u čet-sobama. Pa ipak deluje da, u umetnosti Jelene Pantelić, ljudski potencijal da razočara je pitanje vremena pre nego „da li će“, što znači da je neuspeh neizbežan, pa čak i neophodan da bi se intimnost ciklično odbacivala, a izolacija, pa i sama ranjivost, opravdavala. Možda je osama mehanizam odbrane a Tinder i Krstarica su načini da se stvari pokrenu, kad ono što vozi ljubav već u dizajnu ima grešku. Možda je ljubav više autorefleksivna nego što mislimo, možda je takva postala skoro, a možda nakon što su ljudi mislili da je slobodna u sedamdesetim. Umesto slobodne ljubavi, dobijamo ljubav sa ograničenjima, ali ne onim koje postavljamo drugima. Kao što Jelena Pantelić sama kaže, imamo pravo na safeword za nas same - kao u S&M odnosima, tako i onlajn, i najzad u životu, šifra (neka analogno tome bude tajna) čuva porciju lične intime na sigurnom i skrivenom mestu.
Snovi o vezivanju i oni o izolaciji
Natalija Paunić
Umetnost Jelene Pantelić podseća na vođenje dnevnika pre nego na pričanje priče, sa refleksijama na poverenje, intimnost i dom koje migriraju iz njenog ličnog života u prostor izložbe. Iako ovo može da se kaže za mnoge umetnike, ono što njen slučaj čini posebnim je nejasan status uzroka i posledice: razlika između stvari koje se jednostavno dese i inspirišu nas, i stvari koje učinimo da se dese da bi nas inspirisale. U suštini i generalno govoreći, ne znamo šta od ova dva dolazi prvo niti šta nas kasnije čeka. Jedan način da se u takvoj situaciji povrati deo kontrole je da se ono najmračnije i najčudnije prenese iz sopstvene realnosti u namerno, veštački i svrsishodno stvoren ekspoze; da se problemi materijalizuju i prikažu publici; da dobijemo publiku i da kažemo njima da se nose s tim. U tom smislu, Jelena Pantelić doživljava svoju praksu kao rabotu a ne kao posao, kao stvar moranja pre nego izbora.
Ova kompulsivnost bi se mogla tumačiti i kao definicija našeg onlajn prisustva: prećutno ćemo se složiti da postoji osećaj da moramo, pre nego da želimo, da provodimo vreme na telefonu, da budemo povezani sa svim mogućnostima koje postoje, da svajpujemo svoj put kroz život. Ovom temom se bavi Tavi Meraud, posmatrajući pipanje LCD-ja simultano i kao dodirivanje sadržaja i ideja, stvarajući tom prilikom novu kovanicu koja je važna za rad Jelene Pantelić: „Transintimnost […] uključuje i ljubav prema kiborg-ljubavi. Uključuje i ljubav koja raste zato što promatram svoju ljubav kroz ekrane; mogu da skrinujem sebe i da se projektujem, i da se kupam u sjaju ekranizovane slike svoje ljubavi. Ali mislim da su ovo sve relativno površinski osećaji uzvišenosti, ravni u poređenju sa potentnim mogućnostima koje površina donosi. Razne verzije elektronske iliti tehno-ljubavi, u nedostatku bolje reči, ionako su uvek smatrane problematičnim jer ovakvim scenarijima kontakta nedostaje upravo kontakt, te oni ne mogu ispuniti haptičku potrebu koja je neophodna čovečanstvu. Posmatrajte transintimnost, onda, kao iridescentnu intimnost, onu koja više nije površinski kontakt, bliskost i posedovanje koje se osvaja dodirom, već onu koja penetrira - koja je vlasništvo u duplom smislu reči „posedovati“, gde smo i mi sami takođe osvojeni, progonjeni.“ (Iridescence, Intimacies, 2015).
Distribucija moći između vlasnika i vlasništva stavlja intimnost i transintimnost u novu perspektivu, definišući odnose u smislu širem od onog koje markira tehnološki uslovljeno doba u kom živimo. Kroz svoj rad, Jelena Pantelić tretira obe stvari: ispovedanje drugima i ispovedanje tehnologiji, što se na kraju projektuje kroz i na samopouzdanje. Veoma lucidan način da se odnosi prikažu je da se o stvarima govori kroz seksualne termine, kroz fetiše i specifične preference, što dozvoljava da se granice odmere suprotnostima. Ovakva postavka ohrabruje publiku da materiju kojom se Jelena Pantelić bavi vide kao sado-madohizam, voajerizam i egzibicionizam, i slične dihotomije koje umetnica sada koristi čak i direktno kroz naslov izložbe. Sa druge strane, pitanje konkretnog odnosa nedefinisano lebdi u vazduhu. Kao posmatrači, suočavamo se, zaista, sa otvorenim prikazom želje, ali jako retko vidimo reciprocitet. Čak i u videu u kom su prikazani ljubavnici na parkingu, nakon što smo videli naizgled uzbudljiv, ali zapravo monoton proces ljubljenja, fokus se prebacuje sa para iz kola na osobu iza kamere (Ili možda još opštije govoreći, na nas same).
Kroz iskrenost i vulnerabilnost kojom se predstavlja drugima, umetnica ispituje njihovu i našu pažnju, tražeći iznova i iznova nove forme bliskosti i vezivanja. Taj motiv se provlači kroz način na koji smo pozvani na njenu izložbu, ali i kroz same radove, ponekad i kroz njihovu pripremu. Eksperiment o ljudskoj empatiji jako često ne uspe, kao što se to desilo u „Klari“, video radu gde publika saznaje za bizarne načine na koje ljudi započinju razgovore sa umetnicom u čet-sobama. Pa ipak deluje da, u umetnosti Jelene Pantelić, ljudski potencijal da razočara je pitanje vremena pre nego „da li će“, što znači da je neuspeh neizbežan, pa čak i neophodan da bi se intimnost ciklično odbacivala, a izolacija, pa i sama ranjivost, opravdavala. Možda je osama mehanizam odbrane a Tinder i Krstarica su načini da se stvari pokrenu, kad ono što vozi ljubav već u dizajnu ima grešku. Možda je ljubav više autorefleksivna nego što mislimo, možda je takva postala skoro, a možda nakon što su ljudi mislili da je slobodna u sedamdesetim. Umesto slobodne ljubavi, dobijamo ljubav sa ograničenjima, ali ne onim koje postavljamo drugima. Kao što Jelena Pantelić sama kaže, imamo pravo na safeword za nas same - kao u S&M odnosima, tako i onlajn, i najzad u životu, šifra (neka analogno tome bude tajna) čuva porciju lične intime na sigurnom i skrivenom mestu.
photo Ana Uzelac
photo Ivan Zupanc
photo Nina Ivanović
photo Vukašin Đukić
foto Ivan Zupanc
Dreams of attachment and those of isolation
Natalija Paunić
Jelena Pantelić is more of a diarist than a storyteller, whose reflections on trust, intimacy and homemaking travel from her personal life into the exhibition space. While this could be said about many artists, what makes her case interesting is the precarious status of cause and effect: there is a difference between things that simply happen and inspire us and those that we do to ourselves to get inspired. The truth is, we don’t always know what comes first, or where it will take us. A way to get a bit of that control back is to bring the darkest and the most peculiar aspects of one’s personal reality to an intentional, artificially and purposefully created exposure; to materialise these issues and show them to an audience; to get an audience and to tell them to deal with it. In this sense, Pantelić experiences her artistic practice as labour rather than work, as a question of necessity rather than choice.
This compulsion could, as well, be one possible description of our online presence: don’t we often feel like we need to, rather than want to, spend time on our phones, to be connected to all possibilities at all times, to swipe our way through life? Tavi Meraud taps into this subject while considering touching a liquid-crystal display as touching content and ideas as well, coining a term that pertains very much to Pantelić’s art: “Transintimacy […] includes the love of cyborg love. It includes the love that grows because I survey my love through screens; I can screen myself and project myself, and bask in the glow of the screened image of my love. But I think these are all relatively flat senses of enhancement, compared to the absolutely voluptuous possibilities indicated by the surface. These instances of electronic or techno-love, for lack of a better word, have anyway been considered to be troubling, for these scenarios of contact precisely lack contact, cannot fulfil the haptic injunction decreed upon humanity. Consider transintimacy, then, as an iridescent intimacy, one that is no longer flat contact […], closeness and possession negotiated through touch, but rather a more penetrative possession - possession in that doubled sense of ‘to own’ but to oneself be owned, haunted” (Iridescence, Intimacies, 2015).
The distribution of power between the owner and the owned puts intimacy and transintimacy into a new perspective, one that defines relationships in a sense broader than the one set in the technologically-empowered age that we’re in. Through her work, Jelena Pantelić deals with both: confiding in others and confiding in technology, which ultimately projects from and onto self-confidence. A very lucid way to portray relationships is to speak in sexual terms, of fetishes and of kinks, and to allow for the boundaries to get defined by opposites. This encourages the audience to associate the matters in Pantelić’s art with dichotomies such as sadomasochism, voyeurism and exhibitionism, which the artist now utilises even more directly with the title of this exhibition. All the while, however, the question of actual intercourse is left up in the air. As spectators, we’re confronted with an open display of desire, yet we rarely see reciprocity. Even with the video showing two lovers in a parking lot, after having seen the initially exciting but ultimately repetitive kissing in a car, the focus of the viewer shifts from the couple to the person behind the camera (or even more relatively speaking, back to ourselves).
In honesty and vulnerability presented to others, the artist asks for their and our attention, seemingly looking for forms of closeness and bonding, each time anew. This transpires in the way we’re invited into her exhibition, but also in the works themselves and sometimes in their preparation. This experiment in human empathy backfired on many occasions like it did in “Klara”, a video in which we get to know the bizarre ways in which people start conversations with the artist in a chat room. Yet it seems that, in Pantelić’s art, the human potential to disappoint is a “when” and not an “if”, meaning that failure is imminent and also the needed outcome that denounces intimacy and justifies isolation in a cyclic pattern. Perhaps isolation is a defence-mechanism and Tinder and Krstarica are ways to set it in motion when the engines of love inevitably fail. Perhaps love is more self-reflexive than we think it is, perhaps it became such recently, or rather right after people thought it was free in the 70s. Instead of free love, we get to enjoy love with boundaries, but not the kind of boundaries that constrain others. As Pantelić says herself, we get to have a safeword for ourselves - as in S&M relations, as online, as in life - a protective spell that keeps a portion of one’s intimacy secret.
Natalija Paunić
Jelena Pantelić is more of a diarist than a storyteller, whose reflections on trust, intimacy and homemaking travel from her personal life into the exhibition space. While this could be said about many artists, what makes her case interesting is the precarious status of cause and effect: there is a difference between things that simply happen and inspire us and those that we do to ourselves to get inspired. The truth is, we don’t always know what comes first, or where it will take us. A way to get a bit of that control back is to bring the darkest and the most peculiar aspects of one’s personal reality to an intentional, artificially and purposefully created exposure; to materialise these issues and show them to an audience; to get an audience and to tell them to deal with it. In this sense, Pantelić experiences her artistic practice as labour rather than work, as a question of necessity rather than choice.
This compulsion could, as well, be one possible description of our online presence: don’t we often feel like we need to, rather than want to, spend time on our phones, to be connected to all possibilities at all times, to swipe our way through life? Tavi Meraud taps into this subject while considering touching a liquid-crystal display as touching content and ideas as well, coining a term that pertains very much to Pantelić’s art: “Transintimacy […] includes the love of cyborg love. It includes the love that grows because I survey my love through screens; I can screen myself and project myself, and bask in the glow of the screened image of my love. But I think these are all relatively flat senses of enhancement, compared to the absolutely voluptuous possibilities indicated by the surface. These instances of electronic or techno-love, for lack of a better word, have anyway been considered to be troubling, for these scenarios of contact precisely lack contact, cannot fulfil the haptic injunction decreed upon humanity. Consider transintimacy, then, as an iridescent intimacy, one that is no longer flat contact […], closeness and possession negotiated through touch, but rather a more penetrative possession - possession in that doubled sense of ‘to own’ but to oneself be owned, haunted” (Iridescence, Intimacies, 2015).
The distribution of power between the owner and the owned puts intimacy and transintimacy into a new perspective, one that defines relationships in a sense broader than the one set in the technologically-empowered age that we’re in. Through her work, Jelena Pantelić deals with both: confiding in others and confiding in technology, which ultimately projects from and onto self-confidence. A very lucid way to portray relationships is to speak in sexual terms, of fetishes and of kinks, and to allow for the boundaries to get defined by opposites. This encourages the audience to associate the matters in Pantelić’s art with dichotomies such as sadomasochism, voyeurism and exhibitionism, which the artist now utilises even more directly with the title of this exhibition. All the while, however, the question of actual intercourse is left up in the air. As spectators, we’re confronted with an open display of desire, yet we rarely see reciprocity. Even with the video showing two lovers in a parking lot, after having seen the initially exciting but ultimately repetitive kissing in a car, the focus of the viewer shifts from the couple to the person behind the camera (or even more relatively speaking, back to ourselves).
In honesty and vulnerability presented to others, the artist asks for their and our attention, seemingly looking for forms of closeness and bonding, each time anew. This transpires in the way we’re invited into her exhibition, but also in the works themselves and sometimes in their preparation. This experiment in human empathy backfired on many occasions like it did in “Klara”, a video in which we get to know the bizarre ways in which people start conversations with the artist in a chat room. Yet it seems that, in Pantelić’s art, the human potential to disappoint is a “when” and not an “if”, meaning that failure is imminent and also the needed outcome that denounces intimacy and justifies isolation in a cyclic pattern. Perhaps isolation is a defence-mechanism and Tinder and Krstarica are ways to set it in motion when the engines of love inevitably fail. Perhaps love is more self-reflexive than we think it is, perhaps it became such recently, or rather right after people thought it was free in the 70s. Instead of free love, we get to enjoy love with boundaries, but not the kind of boundaries that constrain others. As Pantelić says herself, we get to have a safeword for ourselves - as in S&M relations, as online, as in life - a protective spell that keeps a portion of one’s intimacy secret.
2019.
