The age of influence: Whitney Biennial artists on what influence means to them

In May, the 79th edition of the Whitney Biennial — the New York museum’s major survey of contemporary American art — opened. Running until 17 September 2019, it’s a show that’s often described as a litmus test or bellwether, a kind of ‘taking the temperature’ of contemporary art, and as such frequently deals with politics and complex issues of the moment.

Yet, in the age of rapidly moving social media, and taking place at an institution rather than in a more accessible space like the Internet, the show raises important questions. Is contemporary art still politically influential? And what influence does the biennial format still hold in that territory?

The 2019 co-curator of the Whitney Biennial Jane Panetta (this year’s iteration is jointly curated by Panetta and Rujecko Hockley) believes so. “In our research for the Biennial we heard from artists that this does still feel like an important show to them, it feels like an important platform,” she said in a phone interview. The event’s influence derives from its historical lineage and its position against the backdrop of the Whitney’s existing collection, which Panetta describes as frequently socially conscientious and deeply engaged with American history.

In this year’s Biennial, Panetta and Hockley present 75 artists in conversation with each other in a design similar to a collection exhibition. “As impossible as it is to make something comprehensive, the more we could get different artists in dialogue with one another, the more we could understand the threads we saw. Be it about the vulnerability of the body, racial and gender issues, the handmade, about pushing on digital technology,” Panetta said, adding that these themes weren’t present during the initial search for participants: “We made a concerted decision to let what we would encounter drive any thematic underpinnings to the show.”

But there’s an important shift to this year’s show: half the artists identify as women, and a majority are of colour. “Given how many artists are making work at this point, it felt like: Why not present as many new names and new practices as possible?” explained Panetta. It’s this diversity of identities, backgrounds, and practices that gives rise to many themes the show grapples with, including one striking overarching motif: the influence of the archive.

“We saw a lot of artists using archival material,” said Panetta. “Be it in video work, in collage, in painting, even in drawing, using found news sources in many instances, which related very directly to strands in American history or in our global history, and retooling it, editing it, modifying it, as if to say, ‘This is an alternative that we could be now. Or that we could hope for in the future.’”

In a fast-paced information age that often craves easily digestible content – the clickbait headline, the viral meme – this year’s Biennial goes against the current with its selection of slow-to-metabolise yet politically resonant work. “What I find often as a curator, is that artists are really important members of our society, of our culture as practitioners who really grapple with difficult issues,” she said. “And they become a really critical and often productive lens through which we process things we’re dealing with
in the very immediate moment.”

JOHN EDMONDS

John Edmonds is a photographer whose work navigates gesture, performance, and self-presentation, particularly in young black men and queer communities. He’s conscious of the influence of his position as a lecturer at Yale School of Art and a practicing artist, navigating both roles with a deep sensitivity.

“I think now as a professor I take very seriously the influence that I have on my students,” Edmonds said on the phone. “I don’t want to misguide them, and I don’t want to tell them the type of artist that they need to be. My job is to give them the set of tools that they need, to look at their special gifts and talents and try to nurture those gifts and talents to form their own criteria of what they believe is good or bad or worthwhile or interesting within their own practice.”

Edmonds, who turns 30 this year, is excited at being selected for the Whitney Biennial. He’s particularly conscious of its historicity, and the impact of its lineage. “I feel very honoured to be able to enter a larger conversation around contemporary art,” he told me. As well as being part of a generational conversation – Edmonds is friends and peers with many of the artists in the Biennial – he’s looking forward to “entering into this intergenerational conversation around the black body in images, as in the work of Wangechi Mutu, or queer desire, like the late Barbara Hammer.” His work at the Biennial will interrogate history, while also posing questions about photographic representation and truth.

As well as being influenced by the work of forebears like Mutu and Hammer, Edmonds spoke about another, surprising influence: travel. “Travel has been an immense part of my life and something that really does inspire me. Paris is a place that’s had a lot of influence on me, and a lot of other Americans, Black Americans specifically, like James Baldwin or Josephine Baker. I’m so moved by that type of desire to flee parts of the world, to go to other parts of the world, to discover other aspects of the world.”

Asked about his feelings on the intersection of art, politics, and identity, Edmonds spoke frankly and with emotion. “I can’t speak for other artists, but I definitely do feel a sense of responsibility,” he said. “And I try to present work out in the world with a type of awareness. As I’ve grown older, I think I’ve felt more empowered to contribute to a conversation or to give some type of visibility to an individual or community or group of people that I see may face a level of ostracism. I feel more empowered now about my own position as an artist. I don’t believe that that means I speak for everyone; I don’t believe that there’s anyone who can speak for everyone. There are so many different types of people; there are so many different types of people within a community. But I think of my objective as a black queer artist, and I don’t take it lightly. I am who I am. And that is a part of my work, inherently.”

MERIEM BENNANI

Artist Meriem Bennani uses a mix of documentary filmmaking and animation to create interactive and playful installations that deal with complex political issues, particularly the colonisation of her home country, Morocco. When we spoke, the 31-year-old was in the midst of editing her new short film for the Biennial, a project about teenagers studying at French schools in Morocco. On her mind was the influence of French colonisation on Moroccan culture today, her work as an artist and journalist within her documentaries, and the impact of reality TV, specifically the mid-Aughts MTV series, Laguna Beach.

“I was interested in documenting the subculture of French education in Morocco,” said Bennani. “It is a little bit disconnected from the rest of Morocco, culturally, and there’s also a financial and class aspect that I wanted to capture or think about.” France still has a lot of power over the country, she explained. Though the period of colonial rule is over, the structures remain, and France still retains a cultural connection to, and an influence over Morocco. Because the French schools that were originally established during colonisation still exist today, Bennani saw them as a good entry point to talk about these issues. “Teenagers were an interesting subject to talk [to] about that as well, because they’re at in-between ages, and that felt like a good way to talk about people who are in-between cultures,” she said.

Editing this project, Bennani explained, “is a big responsibility.” She continued: “The challenge is, how do I have interesting things, because obviously the most interesting things are the most complex, most of the time.” As an artist who is inextricably entwined with her subject (Bennani studied at a French school in Morocco, and actively participated while shooting the film) she has had to balance how she portrays the teenagers, as well as her depiction of the schools. “Obviously my approach in terms of the French government and the French education system in Morocco and the way it exists is critical,” says the artist. “But they have also let me in and I’m sure they are a little bit aware of my angle. So it’s like, am I balancing all these things? And the solution is to not have an agenda, of wanting to make a point. Because I’m not making a point with this project, I’m just opening up questions.”

The artist continued: “I think the solution I’m finding is to always have the most nuanced portrait of each kid, as a way of being as ethical as I can.” She’s also been careful to check in with the teenagers throughout her process. Yet as a video editor, she’s aware of the control she has over the story, and is influenced by both traditional cinema, documentary and reality TV, saying, “sometimes if you have cinematic references in mind before filming, in the filming you can kind of push situations a little bit to emphasise that.”

Did her selection for the Biennial affect the way she considered her work within an institutional
context? Bennani is vehement in her response. “No, no, that would be terrible. That would be horrible, I think, a stressful and also very misleading way of making any kind of work.” After a moment, Bennani continued. “I feel like I think in a pretty isolated way in terms of my influence. I’m focussed on developing this language that every time gets a little more defined every project, and I feel like it’s so specific that I don’t know that anyone would care, you know. I look at it for me.”

PAUL MPAGI SEPUYA

Paul Mpagi Sepuya’s photographic practice is comprised of self-portraiture, collaboration and collage techniques that confuse the picture plane. For this year’s Biennial, the 37-year-old American organised a group show-within-a-show.

His studio created a space using a mirror and a piece of black velvet cloth – two items that frequently recur in Sepuya’s work – while collaborators photographed each other at the same time. These images explore the relationship between sitter, photographer, and camera, complicating the idea of a singular artist or creator, and celebrating the creative – and ultimately more enriching – work of a collective.

“The curators’ inclusion of this project I organised – a group show within the group show – is what I hope will allow for another conversation to open up around my work,” said Sepuya in an email. “A conversation about participation, collaboration, co-authorship and mutual influence.”

“I don’t think anyone works in a vacuum, so the work of other artists is bound to enter your own personal practice,” agrees Giancarlo Montes, one of Sepuya’s collaborators. “In terms of the show and the artists in it, we each use our own visual language, pulling from autonomous and shared toolboxes.” However, as Montes explained, their collaborative work complicates Sepuya’s practice as a singular artist, uncovering themes that overlap within the group.

“I think most cultural influencers aren’t trying to influence culture; they are probably just authentically doing something that gets them off and people take notice,” says Derrick Woods-Morrow, another collaborator. Woods-Morrow spoke to the energy that can be created within a shared practice: “In my work, I tried to feel Paul’s energy, the collective energy and situate myself inside and outside of that energy.” Being part of a group, Woods-Morrow explained, can help guard you as well as give you space.

As an organiser and artist, Sepuya sees himself as having a political responsibility. “That doesn’t mean the work has to be perfect,” he added. “It can’t be flawless conceptually, politically, or socially, but we have to be conscious of what we put out into the world. As my work has moved into the public realm I increasingly have to consider what it means for audiences, especially those who have found it influential or in some way moving, to find themselves included or excluded as viewers.” Sepuya sees this as a conversation, a constant dialogue between artist, audience, and other artists: “I’m not interested in one-directional influence. It has to come back to and transform me.”

This article originally appeared in SLEEK 62, out now. 

The Whitney Biennial runs through to 22 September at the Whitney Museum of American Art.