Space: 1999 is a science-fiction TV series from the 70s. In the programme, Earth has stored its nuclear waste on the Moon which is already home to the Moonbase Alpha. When an explosion causes a very powerful chain reaction, the Moon is knocked out of the Earth’s orbit, then the solar system. Unable to get back to Earth, the survivors float through the cosmos, confronting danger on their encounters with extra-terrestrial civilisations. The Space: 1999 exhibition could be the vessel of this expedition and the artwork comprising it the expression or statement of a living being in a state of survival.
First and foremost, it’s a story of drift and our drifting. The instability of the living world and matter has thus generated outgrowths – archaeological evidence of sorts which has grouped together objects, symbolising our pride and over-consumption. Placing and staging them like barricades confronts us with the ways in which we use them in our everyday lives. Here, the vessel is like a rudderless ship. These worlds of coalescence and metamorphosis look like nothing at all. The troubling monsters and animals from the past meet the fantasies of future transformations and this entire universe moves in time with a three-step invocation: Nature, Humanity, Technology.
It is also a story of wandering. Here, we can take the universe metaphor as far as the black hole; a region so dense that light can neither reach nor escape it. Indeed, we could draw a parallel between this exile in space and the beginning and the end. It is here that constellations of ideas, milky ways and prayers to the stars are born. Predictions, great myths and readings of the world through cards and planetary alignment show our arrogant trust in our ability to always unravel the mysteries of life. In the words of Novalis, “we are related to all parts of the universe – as we are to the future and to times past”. Daniel Pommereulle wished to photograph and capture the moon, sun and stars. This ecological dystopia sees humankind living side by side with its pollution, desolation and poetry.
Finally, it’s the story of creation and the artist’s journey where the stars suddenly serve as guides and sailors in the night. Franz Kafka challenged books to be the axe for the frozen sea within us. Philip Guston quotes John Cage in the Dana Schutz’s catalogue – again, a story of constellations. In his words, “When you start working, everybody is in your studio – the past, your friends, enemies, the art world, and above all, your own ideas – all are there. But as you continue painting, they start leaving, one by one, and you are left completely alone. Then, if you are lucky, even you leave.” It’s the black night, the expanse of space, the mirror of our mistakes and our brutality. It's the melancholy we feel at the loss of a starry sky, a darkened world where we burn with the desire to see flashes, friendly ghosts and guides. We know they are lying to us and reassuring us: it’ll be fine. So we choose to see what we want to see.
Elisa Rigoulet, January 2024
