Experiencing Bruce Nauman in Hong Kong

Bruce Nauman. Contrapposto Studies, i through vii. 2015/2016. Seven-channel video (color, sound).

Visiting a survey exhibition of Bruce Nauman(b. 1941)’s lengthy and proliferating artistic career in Central Hong Kong on a random Tuesday morning was nothing short of a surreal experience. Outside, it was sweltering hot, and the bridges connecting various cramped buildings and pathways were packed with people constantly coming from all directions at a swift speed. Beneath them, street cars competed to beat the time in a much nosier pitch. Yet, if you followed a quiet ramp to Tai Kwun, a city prison-converted public museum, and somehow found your way to its ground floor, you might see red and blue swirls of neon lights shining across an empty square. Not far from it, a speaker installed high on a concrete wall by a staircase greeted every passerby with a coarse male voice, telling a joke about a man who was about to tell a joke. However, he always loops back to the same sentence as the beginning, which describes that a man is about to tell a joke to a group of people. Hence, the promised joke never unfolds. It felt increasingly like this was a practice joke on me, who sweated under a burning sun, listening to the recording repeatedly, waiting for the joke. The background sounds from the speaker was not unlike the noise on the busier side of the street. Fortunately, once you stepped into the glass door leading to the exhibition, it was a completely different world.

Bruce Nauman, The True Artist Helps the World by Revealing Mystic Truths, 1967, neon and clear glass tubing suspension supports; 149.86 x 139.7 x 5.08 cm.

It was chill and quiet inside, except for the voices from speakers installed alongside the handrails and walls as the viewers walked up the spiral stairs. They were adjusted to a lower and less intrusive volume, so one must stand closely to hear them. These were selected pieces from Bruce Nauman’s sound installation Raw Materials (2004). Like the one we just heard outside, they all played on a loop, repeating a simple phrase or a few random sentences. Including a total of 22 recordings he created over 40 years in his career, this series of work explores Nauman’s interest in words and their capacity to express meaning and intentions accurately, or the lack thereof. For example, one of the pieces consists of Nauman shouting the phrase “Thank you” with uttermost force and urgency. He leaves no pause between each utterance and keeps his voice as loud as possible so that it becomes an insult rather than an expression of gratitude. It reveals that language alone does not dictate how we interpret meaning: tonality, rhythm, volume, and emotion are all involved in our communication. Written words are not reliable. Not only because everyone interprets the same text differently but also because they can, at best, only articulate a limited section of what we mean to say. It’s also worth noting that this design of the exhibition layout creates an intimacy between the viewers and the secluded artist, who has been living in a remote ranch outside of Santa Fe in New Mexico since 1979 (See “Bruce Nauman, the Artist’s Artist,” New York Times). Through the speakers, Nauman’s voices enveloped the visitors as they ascended the narrow staircase leading to his exhibition. They heard the visual artist talking even before seeing his works, as if Nauman was present, inviting them to join him.

Bruce Nauman, Installation view at Tai Kwun, 2024.

The exhibition officially begins on the second floor, where a gallery to your right highlights Nauman’s signature video installations, neon lights, paintings, and a sculpture from the 1960s through the 1990s, when he was most active. Three blinking neon light installations stand out visually in this room full of small monitors displaying various footage with raucous sounds. Like the sound pieces we just heard, these works also examine the ambiguity of words and explore how language functions. In Perfect Door/Perfect Odor/Perfect Rodo (1972), Nauman displays the same text in cold, warm, and neutral light (from left to right) and changes the spelling of the word “door” into “odor” and “rodo” while keeping the word “perfect” intact. By doing so, the meaning of the text becomes increasingly absurd and senseless. With a simple, playful touch, he reveals the inherent arbitrariness of the connotations we assign to each word and how easy it is to render them incomprehensible. The power of text comes from its capacity to create meaning, argue opinions, and persuade, and this work shows its unreliability by taking that power away. Raw-War (1970), which glows in scarlet red lights, also explores how the order through which the letters line up affects their meaning. When the neon signage lights up from left to right, one letter after another, it reads “WAR,” or from right to left, “RAW.” As the letters illuminate one by one continuously, they become a phrase: raw-war or war-raw. Either way, they comment on the brutality of war and warn against violence. Conceived in 1968 amid the Vietnam War, this work is less of a wordplay about obscure concepts in general human history but a specific social critique.

Bruce Nauman, Perfect Door/Perfect Odor/Perfect Rodo, 1972, Neon tubing and wire with glass tubing suspension frames, three parts. Dimensions: Each 21 3/8 x 28 7/8 x 2 1/4" (54.3 x 73.3 x 5.7 cm). Installation view at Tai Kwun, 2024.

Bruce Nauman, Raw-War, 1970. Neon tubing with clear glass tubing suspension frame. 46 x 63 cm. Installation view at Tai Kwun, 2024.

Another neon work on display is Eat Death (1972), which also explores the idea of mortality. In this piece, Bruce Nauman superimposes the letters “EAT” in yellow neon lights on top of “DEATH” in bluish lights, capturing a different cycle in our existence while hinting eating is part of death. Seemingly comical, this work examines the relationship between two concepts common to all human lives. In 1984, he expanded this exploration into a large multi-colored neon installation entitled “One Hundred Live and Die.” For this work, he created four lists of text, coupling “live” and “die” with words that describe shared human experiences such as “eat,” “speak,” “lie,” “think,” and “pay.” Reading through them can activate a horribly shocking realization of how monotonous and limited one’s life is that it can be encapsulated in so few words. Or it can be a moment of epiphany in which one asserts the power to choose–whether to “rage and die” or “laugh and live.” The only inevitables are “live” and “die,” which appear in each phrase alternatively but are never fully absent. Further, Nauman listed the options of “live and live” and “die and die,” although how to achieve them is another question.

Left: Bruce Nauman, Eat Death, 1972. Neon tubing with clear glass tubing suspension frame, 7 3/8 x 25¼ x 2 1/8 in. (18.7 x 64.1 x 5.3 cm.) Edition of six. Right: Bruce Nauman, Clown Torture (I’m Sorry and No, No, No) (1987). Installation view at Tai Kwun, 2024.

Although Bruce Nauman is famous for working with a seemingly boundless variety of mediums, the neon installations are among his most definitive works. The informed viewers of contemporary art may be familiar with the luminous text signages created by influential artists, including Tracey Emin (b. 1963), Martin Creed (b.1968), and Robert Montgomery (b. 1972), and take this medium for granted. However, it was during the 1960s that conceptual artists such as Joseph Kosuth, Dan Flavin, and Bruce Nauman incorporated neon signages, which were then commonly used in advertisements, into their practice, turning them into a widely recognized artistic medium. Nauman began experimenting with neons when living in California in 1965–1966. In 1967, he created a large neon sign with a sentence stating, “The True Artist Helps the World by Revealing Mystic Truths,” in vibrant colors spiraling from the center outwards, and hung it next to a beer ad sign by the windows of his ground floor studio. It was as if he was promoting his service as an artist to the passengers–that if they were looking for mystic truths, he was up for it and promised to deliver. This is the exact same work currently on view at the entrance of this survey we encountered in Hong Kong. In both cases, this piece serves as an ad for the artist who offered his service for sale — be it a product from his studio or a visit to his exhibition. While blurring the boundaries between fine art and commercial persuasion, this statement defies the commodification of artworks as purchasable objects, aligning with conceptual art’s core definition — that privileges the ideas behind an artwork over the execution of it. In this neon work, Nauman declares that the truths he finds and provides are valuable and that providing them is his value as an artist.

Bruce Nauman, Walk with Contrapposto, 1968 (still), Video with sound, 60 min, Black and White.

Although Nauman has been known for working with a seemingly infinite variety of mediums, his interrogations of what it means to be an artist and what constitutes art are recurring themes in many of his works created in the 1960s. His most well-known and far-influential works from this period are a series of experimental video installations. Influenced by the Duchampian notions such as readymade and chance, he recorded himself performing mundane and repetitive movements for the entire duration of standard videotapes that ran 1 hour long. He gave these works descriptive titles, such as Walk with Contrapposto (1968), Bouncing in the Corner, №1 (1968), and Lip Sync (1969). In Walk with Contrapposto (1968), he folded his hands behind his head, walking back and forth in front of a camera while shifting his weight from one leg to the other and lifting either side of his hip. Contrapposto means counterpoint in Italian, referring to a sculptural development that originated in ancient Greece and thrived in the Renaissance. A figure standing in this posture places most of their weight on one foot while causally bending the other leg at the knee and their torso slightly twisted. It renders the figures relaxed and animated, as if they are about to speak or move. Therefore, it became popular among sculptors who frequently employed it throughout art history. The most famous works are Donatello’s and Michelangelo’s different renderings of David in this same posture, glorifying his moment of triumph after defeating Goliath. While contrapposto is often associated with the classical idea of the beauty of the human body, in the context of Nauman’s work, this deliberate posturing turns out to be preposterous and comical. Within the confinement of a claustrophobically narrow corridor that the artist built specifically for this piece, Nauman remains relaxed, maintains a consistent pace, and concentrates on posing his body as faithfully to the aesthetically pleasing posture as possible. It highlights the tension between the individual and his suffocating, oppressive environment, offering a playful alternative of resistance and enjoying oneself in such situations. However, as time passes, this walk becomes increasingly monotonous and excruciating.

Bruce Nauman, Lip Sync, 1969 (still), Video with sound, 60 min, Black and white.

Similarly, Bouncing in the Corner, №1 (1968) documents the artist’s one-hour repetition of another seemingly random movement in his studio. In this piece, Nauman stands in a corner, facing the camera, then leans backward, allowing his upper torso to fall back until he touches the wall. He then bounces back to stand straight before falling back again. Initially evoking a sense of boredom, this action transforms into an individual’s struggle against the impact of an unseen force to maintain balance as he rocks back and forth on his heels for an hour. Another notable piece from this period is Lip Sync (1969), which captures an upside-down shot of the artist’s mouth as he repeats the word “Lip Sync.” However, the audio is not aligned with the visual footage, either going silent as he speaks or being half a beat slower or faster than his mouthing. This inconsistency frustrates viewers, who become increasingly anxious while waiting for the brief and occasionally almost imperceptible intervals when the video and audio finally correspond. Nauman affirmed the artistic value of these works by claiming that since he is an artist, whatever he does in his studio should be considered art. These works resonate with Dadaist artist Marcel Duchamp’s ideas about readymade and chance that prevailed among experimental artists in New York since the late 1950s. In creating these videos, Nauman used his own body as material in his performances and explored and expanded the potential of video as a time-based medium, surpassing the conventional artistic mediums of the time. Thus, he is regarded as a pioneer and foundational figure in the development of video installation and performative art, and his methodology has inspired artists for generations to come — Marina Abromović comes to mind.

Bruce Nauman, Animal Pyramid, 1989, Polyurethane foam, iron, wood, and wire, 144 x 84 x 96 inches (366 x 213 x 244 cm).

In addition to Nauman’s key video installations, the curators selected three of his relatively recent large-scale sculptural installations and generously dedicated large gallery spaces to each one. Created after Nauman moved to New Mexico, Animal Pyramid (1989) consists of cast bronze sculptures of five caribous, eight deers, and four foxes stacked in layers, evoking an eerie dark ritual. Based on taxidermy molds, these animals are solemn and realistic. They are bound together and fixed in place by iron wires. their nonchalant conformity with the hierarchical arrangement exudes a sense of cruelty. This macabre aesthetic is also manifested in Three Heads Fountain (Julie, Andrew, Rinde, 2005), in which three heads molded after Nauman’s friends are connected at the neck and hung from the ceiling by a wire. Streams of water spill from their mouths, noses, and eyes as if they are gargoyles, alluding to the term “Fountainhead.” This work echoes Nauman’s signature photographic work, Self Portrait as a Fountain, which he created in 1966–1967. In this iconic piece, Nauman faces the viewers topless, opening his arms as if pushing against a visible wall. His eyes are focused on the thin trickle spilling out from his mouth. In this work, he continued his exploration of what an artist is and can provide. In addition, it also salutes Marcel Duchamp’s groundbreaking work Fountain (1917), an industrial urinal he purchased off the street, signed a cartoonish name, “R. Mutt,” on it, and then entered an exhibition as his artwork. Part of a series of three works, including South America Triangle (1981) and South America Square (1981). South America Circle (1981) comments on the torture and political upheaval in the region and the tension between the center and the periphery. The musical hair hanging in the middle symbolizes a person being interrogated and possibly even executed, and the circle that encloses it represents the claustrophobic environment that keeps him or her incarcerated.

Bruce Nauman, 3 Heads Fountain (Julie, Andrew, Rinde), 2005, Epoxy resin, fiberglass, wire, plastic tubes, water pump, wood basin, rubber pond liner.

Bruce Nauman, South America Circle, 1981, Steel, Cast iron, and wire cable, 17 1/8 x 36 x 17 1/8 in. (43.4 x 91.4 x 43.4 cm) chair5 x 168 x 168 in. (12.7 x 426.7 x 426.7 cm) ring.

The entire fourth floor is dedicated to a series of Nauman’s most recent video installation Contrapposto Studies, I Through VII (2015–2016), which took his earlier work, Walk with Contrapposto (1968), as the point of departure. Different from his affected, sarcastic imitation of Greek sculpture within the confinement of a narrow corridor in the earlier piece, in these new works, Nauman sauntered back and forth in his spacious studio as his relaxed self. While wearing similar outfits–a plain white T-shirt and dark jeans–the lank figure of a melancholic youth is replaced by an obtruded abdomen and floppy wrinkled skins. However, he walked with the same concentration as he carried out the arduous repetition of walking along the path for an extended period of time. In addition, he complicated the piece by taking advantage of current technologies unavailable in the 1960s. Each figure of his moving body comprises seven segments of video footage recording him walking in distinct moments. Like the audio and visual images in Lip Sync (1969), they are all slightly out of sync with each other while maintaining the appearance of coherence. The horizontal succession of Nauman’s moving figures facing one direction in the lower register and the opposite direction in the upper figure visualizes the passage of time as linear (albeit reversible) and consistent. Flanked by Nauman’s larger-than-life figures on both long sides of a large gallery, the viewers are immersed in his majestic presence and forced confrontation with the ephemerality of life and its monotonous, endless repetitions of seemingly meaningless movements.

Bruce Nauman, Contrapposto Studies, I Through VII, 2015–2016, Seven-channel video (color, sound).

In conclusion, the survey exhibition highlighted Nauman’s long and prolific career. It introduced the local audience in Hong Kong to the signature works of a remarkable and influential artist whose methodologies and undaunted experimentation define the parameters of contemporary art as we know it today. However, the exhibition’s emphasis falls predominantly on the artist’s newest series while only providing a glimpse of his foundational works without much context or introductory texts for the less informed viewers to understand their significance. In a way, this feels almost like an ambitious gallery exhibition, where the goal is to help seasoned collectors understand the artist’s latest work in relation to the more art-historically established ones. A commonly used tactic to gauge public institutions and private collectors’ interest in acquiring new works from well-known artists. While elegantly curated and installed, the exhibition could be a bit dense and opaque for the general public. Granted, both the section of works and the layout of the exhibition resemble quite a few of the artist’s retrospectives in various institutions in recent years, especially Bruce Nauman: Disappearing Acts at the Museum of Modern Art and MOMA PS1 (Oct 21, 2018–Feb 25, 2019); Bruce Nauman at Tate Modern (October 7, 2020 — February 21, 2021), and Bruce Nauman: Contrapposto Studies at Punta della Dogana, Venice in 2022. One cannot help but wonder whether this faithful transplantation of the artist’s defining retrospective exhibition from New York, where it was initially conceptualized and where the artist spent his formative years, to Hong Kong, where its ideas are unfamiliar and somewhat esoteric, is a boon for the local residents to access the finest contemporary art exhibitions in our time, or a postcolonial move to showcase what it means to be cultured and artistic savvy.

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