Bruce Nauman, Bouncing around the corner, #11968, video, black and white, sound, 60 minutes. © Bruce Nauman/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.
WHEN I WAS IN MY LATE TWENTIES, I worked at Electronic Arts Intermix in New York duplicating video art tapes and DVDs. I had avoided art school, so those weekdays spent in a darkened room lit by an array of art positions were my education. One day, Bruce Nauman was on the monitors doing his thing. Nauman’s performance tapes of the 1960s are rightly celebrated as classics of video art, but I had no patience for him. Duping some tapes reminded me of the days when great novels were assigned to school: regardless of the quality of the material, or because of it, I brought a certain reluctance and resistance to the task. I had pursued this work mainly to have after-hours access to editing equipment to make my own videos. I did not openly call myself an artist and only felt contempt for the art world and its products. I see now, without quite understanding, that I had to adopt these extreme postures precisely because art was so immensely important to me.
I don’t remember what light, insane movement Nauman got into, but it was extremely repetitive and lasted an hour. There I was, sullenly doing what was required, and all the while this supposedly canonical performance marked my time on the clock with silent, absurd force. I said something to a passing co-worker about how I’ve been watching this thing for forty minutes now and couldn’t wait to see how it would end. He said, “I know, don’t you amazing?” Being taken for sincere is like when your foot phantom steps up the stairs, and I had to reassess. Someone thinks that’s amazing? So amazing that he literally can’t hear my contempt? Obviously, the work is rough and dumb. On the other hand, is it possible that it’s both squeaky and dumb And amazing? How does a work of art attract you at the same time as it forces you out? For me, it was the start of a whole new chapter.
Seth Price is an artist based in New York.
