Bulletin

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Some Notes on Movement in Art


Hanging from the ceiling in my infant son's room is a mobile. At rest, he seems to scarcely notice its suspended figures, but a quick breath brings them to life and, drawn to their gentle twirling, his face brightens and body tenses with a laugh.

<p>Andrew Drummond <strong>Sweet Place </strong>2001. Glass, brass, wax, electrical system. Collection of the artist. Reproduced courtesy of the artist</p>

Andrew Drummond Sweet Place 2001. Glass, brass, wax, electrical system. Collection of the artist. Reproduced courtesy of the artist

His pre-verbal fascination provides only the most simple anecdotal evidence for our peculiar vulnerability to objects in motion, but the susceptibility of our attention to movement is deeply ingrained. A healthy capacity to track motion no doubt conferred some evolutionary advantage to a species both hunter and prey. And indeed, the neural pathways by which visual movement is cognitively processed are considerably older than those governing other aspects of visual perception, such as colour or pattern recognition. The sense of movement is fundamental to the way our brain constructs a coherent world from disparate physical sensations. So perhaps Len Lye and Laura Riding were correct to characterise it as ‘the earliest language', and one that ‘expresses nothing but the initial living connotations of life.' From infancy forward, motion compels attention like nothing else in the visual field, and is intimately connected to our physical being.

Perhaps this goes some way toward explaining the historical prevalence of a strong cultural desire to make things move. A recitation of this history of wonder-which might include the development of fireworks, mechanical automata and even cinema-is far beyond the scope of these brief notes. But we can at least glance toward the mid twentieth century, when artists began to incorporate movement into their practices, to shed light on some of the issues at stake. Following some famous, and largely isolated, experiments by Marcel Duchamp and Naum Gabo in the 1910s and 1920s, as well as Alexander Calder's invention of the mobile in 1931 (Duchamp coined the name), an explosion of moving, or kinetic, works of art occurred in the 1950s. Some of this work was created in reaction to the largely moribund lyrical abstraction choking Europe at the time. Seeing that the expression of subjective emotion in paint had become a spent force, bands of artists like Group Zero, Gruppo T, and GRAV (Groupe de Recherche d'Art Visuel) turned to movement as a way to give their art a life independent of the artist as controlling author. Prominent, if now largely forgotten, artists like Nicholas Schoffer looked to the new science of cybernetics for systems of programming feedback and response into sculptures attuned to a new technological society. 


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