At the most recent Upgrade! Scotland talk, artist Christine Borland gave a very engaging talk about her work. One of the works she spoke about involved the use of a human skeleton that she had obtained by mail-order. Since it seems incredible that one could simply order up human bones, someone in the audience couldn’t resist asking: “You worked with real human bones?” to which Christine responded in the affirmative.
Ever since that evening just over a week ago I’ve been thinking about this, and the word authenticity continually surfaces in my mind. “Borland was shocked by the fact that it was possible to obtain a real human skeleton by mail order “…at a moderate price, even. She had thought that she was buying a copy of a skeleton.” (via 1847.dk) The fact that the bones were real provided critical data that informed the piece that Christine created, but one could imagine someone attempting to make a similar work with imitation bones, because they could not overcome their revulsion at working with human remains.
It’s something that is continually called into question: the uniqueness of the object, the authenticity of experience, the singularity of a moment. If Christine had obtained detailed information about a real skeleton over the telephone and created a work with false bones based on real information, would that have been less authentic? How significantly would that have changed our perception of and reaction to the work?
Then, in the same span of time, I stumbled across the “Hidden Lives” project, which asks people to submit their secrets/confessions/admissions to the website. I happened to click on one right away that again brought up authenticity:
“I stood before one of Picasso’s ‘Weeping Women’ in the Reina Sofia in Madrid. Looking through the painting I suddenly caught sight of my own reflection and was struck that here I stood in front of genius and I was reflected in it. I knew from then on that I had to live life on my own terms in constant pursuit of authenticity. I have failed on occasions, as I expected I might, but my permanent reminder helps me to remember. On my own terms.”
Constant pursuit of authenticity – which means being true to an original form, or at the least, an accurate representation of an original form, or remaining true to one’s own spirit and sensibility – might be something that we strive for, though we fail on occasions. When is authenticity not feasible, not possible, or not desired? When Christine Borland rang up for a fake skeleton and got a real one, she could have sent it back. What made her choose authenticity when it would have been much more palatable to put distance between her and the dead with a copy? What makes us choose to be messy when we could remain distant?