The murky neon gives off a hint of dim light. You get the vague feeling that you should see something amongst the cloudy colours. Is there a figure looming inside? No, you can read it in the description of the exhibit: the painting "Paris" is in reality a highly zoomed-in photograph of the chaos following the terrorist attacks in Paris last November. Blurry Conflicts is an appropriate name.
The platform NP3 invited the artist to put a new spin on YARD by Allan Kaprow (1927-2006). Bijl did this in two locations: Blurry Conflicts I at Bur0 Gr0ningen, a snow-white art space with multiple rooms, and Blurry Conflicts II at location M0Bi: a rough, draughty hall of containers. With a title like this, the exhibit relies on contrast, and contrast,
Once you have torn yourself away from the paintings, you are in front of a barricade of car tyres painted in soft colours. Between them are metal stands and plastic bags with balloons. On the other side of the room, news images are projected onto the large white wall, just diffusely enough to see exactly what is going on. Beneath the images are five speakers emitting tinny distorted voices. The sounds, unintelligible and incomprehensible, keep repeating.
Dutchman Marc Bijl lives and works in Berlin. So he himself cannot see how the public responds to his double exhibit in Groningen, but interaction and the exchange of information are themes that are abundant in his work. Does this artist seek out drama, or does it come naturally to him through all the media a person is surrounded with today? Blurry Conflicts I softens the tragedy to the point of it being uncomfortable.
And now the contrast. Blurry Conflicts II is almost Blurry Conflicts I, but turned inside out. Here chaos and violence do not take on an agreeable quality; here tenderness and innocence are hardened. At the centre of the diorama, between the containers, is a cardboard print of Bijl himself. He has a baby on his arm, his baby son. The little boy seems somewhat disoriented, but not afraid. Yet he may have reason to be so, as his father stands amid a blockade of car tyres, one of which is already on fire. The man is restrained by a makeshift cardboard harness, wearing a motorcycle helmet with a cloth over his mouth. He holds a shield with the anarchism symbol on it. No matter how grimly he stares at you from beneath his slick black hair, you can't imagine he could properly protect himself and his child with that equipment.
A video screen has been set up in one of the containers, running a compilation of footage from various projects Bijl has done in the past. Almost all of them take place in the open air of Berlin, mocking brands, advertising and fame. During a film with a dimly lit building full of squatters, three small blond children slip into the container. They remain half in the doorway, fascinated by the images and the heavily slowed, low sounds. ‘It's a monster!’ one of them shouts. ‘Mama, it's really a monster!’ They make a hasty retreat.
Their mother is waiting for them outside. They get to play with the stacks of Kaprow tyres, which they have a great time with. These children cannot be incorporated into a work of art; they do not question society: they build a fortress.
Text: Annejet Fransen
Photos: Niels Knelis Meijer