The proposal at hand seeks to envision a method of ‘evacuating’ art beyond its contemporary conventions. This necessity stems from the specific parameters of artistic work in an era of irreversible changes sweeping across the planet and the imperative to confront the loss of ecological stability. The question of whether art can be socially useful or whether it belongs to another order – one without any function, in which it can set its own rules – is resurfacing with greater force than ever before. It is a fundamental dilemma with which the art world has been openly struggling for more than a century: on the one hand, autonomy and seeking refuge in the safe world of museums and studios; on the other, a return to the streets, gardens, social movements, working for the sake of sisters and brothers, human and non-human, the animate and inanimate.
While contemplating the possibilities of constructing ‘endospore’ models (the titular term, borrowed from biology, denotes a dormant form that enables organisms to survive adverse conditions), of forging new alliances for 21st-century art and of creating new forms of healing for a strained system (severely impacted by the pandemic that has disrupted mobility, security, and efficacy during the tumultuous years of 2021–2022, and further exacerbated by the full-throttle Russian invasion on Ukraine in 2022), we will look for examples from the history of art and non-art, as well as contemporary practices which develop beyond the strictly artistic. Rather than focusing solely on the production of new tools, languages, and criteria, we will scrutinise promises of the past, searching for methods and practices from the repertoire of ‘post-art’, ‘romantic conceptualism’, radical pedagogy, and cartography, agriculture, non-Western systems of knowledge production, institutional critique, the history of internationalism and emancipatory movements. We will also draw on examples of alternative institutional praxis.
One aspect of the programme explores the question of the ‘instrumentality’ of art, conceived as a means of discerning our place in the world, of educating (ourselves and others), and of unlearning. Following the ideas of the cognitive scientist Alva Noë, we will consider art as a box full of ‘strange tools’. At the same time, we will engage in practical exercises to harness the potential of misunderstanding. Knowledge can be organised and distributed through systems which we are neither able to name nor explain. By way of an illustration beyond the realm of art, we might employ the rebbelib, a navigational map used while sailing around the Marshall Islands until the late 1940s. Such maps facilitated flawless passage amidst myriads of minuscule isles strewn across the vast expanse of the Western Pacific. The rebbelib consisted of interwoven strands of coconut palm fibre, bedecked with shells and stones. These maps were not carried aboard but memorised by the sailors. This system was completely incomprehensible to the European newcomers. It was not until the 19th century that it was discovered that the fibres represented the so-called ‘dead waves’, while the points at which they interlaced indicated the direction of navigation. To use them, you had to expose yourself to a physical sensation, calibrate your body to feel the impact of the wave on the boat and estimate its frequency, strength and direction. For an outsider, this system was so far removed from conventional cartography that it seemed almost paranormal. This example could illustrate a number of misconceptions about contemporary art and the inadequacy of questions such as: ‘What does it mean?’, ‘What is its purpose?’ or ‘What are its effects?’
Thus, the programme for the Academy of Fine Arts in Katowice is grounded in the need to develop a new cartography for contemporary art. As a style, discipline, and format for production, distribution, and audience engagement (with its sophisticated tools such as biennial exhibitions or art fairs), contemporary art bears several serious flaws: a tendency towards exaggeration, competition, elitism, overproduction, puffery, and waste. In the midst of the planetary climate crisis, this baggage becomes burdensome. The efforts of artists engaged in generating social change, focused on everyday labour, unheroic and unspectacular, not always resulting in tangible works, elude the institutional radars – by choice or necessity, they often migrate beyond the world of art. There, we shall seek them, though they may have completely shed the characteristics that allow us to excavate art from the non-artistic strata.
In advocating the need to unravel the constraints that limit the world of contemporary art, it is worth bearing in mind the freedom of art, including the freedom to cease being what it is commonly perceived to be. Occasionally, this entails a return to forms that have been somewhat discredited or marginalised in the annals of history, e.g. propaganda. This term took root in the first half of the 17th century (in a religious context, promoted by the Vatican – the propagation of the faith) and is derived from the Latin word propagare, which simply means ‘to produce new plants from a parent plant’, ‘to propagate plants’, ‘to cultivate’. At the end of the day, every work that inclines us towards something – be it an aesthetic form, a viewpoint, pleasure or discomfort – constitutes a form of propaganda. In an era bedevilled by disinformation and cultural wars, fuelled by cynicism, profit lust, and myopic political scheming, art that propagates action in the service of sisterhood, reproductive rights, and environmental welfare is exceptionally valuable. Meanwhile, the flamboyant costume that contemporary art so willingly dons often constrains its movements and prevents it from delivering precise blows. The American intellectual and social activist, the father of Pan-Africanism, W.E.B. Du Bois, wrote in 1926: ‘All art is propaganda and ever must be, despite the wailing of the purists. (…) I do not care a damn for any art that is not used for propaganda.
A guiding light through the world of terms pertinent to addressing the challenges that face contemporary art can be found in a book, ‘Toward a Lexicon of Usership’ (2014), authored by the Canadian theorist Stephen Wright. This slender volume has reignited discussions concerning the utility value of art, its autonomy, and the role of the audience. In his book, Wright devotes considerable attention to artistic practices on a 1:1 scale (‘art that uses the world as its own map’), questioning the validity of creating artificial models or replicas of reality in spaces reserved for art. He underscores the need to redefine the roles played by cultural producers and consumers today (authors should become initiators of processes, and viewers should become users). He encourages a rethinking of the (passive) position of the viewer, the hegemony of the event and the object, seeks strength in the weakness of art, and contests the need to replicate the existing systems, the strictures of ownership and authorship, and the rules and regulations of the so-called expert culture. We will juxtapose these concepts with proposals from the 1970s, including Jerzy Ludwiński’s theory of ‘art in the post-artistic age’, and thus diagnose the 21st century as a time of post-art in a state of emergency.[1] A theorist, lecturer and art critic (1930–2000), Ludwiński championed conceptual art and is considered one of the founders of Polish conceptual art. He was instrumental in organising groundbreaking artistic events such as the Ogólnopolskie Sympozjum Puławy’66 [1st Symposium of Artists and Scientists in Puławy, 1966] and formulated the programme for the Museum of Contemporary Art (1968) – dubbed the ‘Museum of the Game’. Ludwiński used the term ‘post-artistic age’, which seems useful for locating certain processes in contemporary art on the conceptual map and in history.[2] This theorist posited the need to prepare for an entirely new art, one that would be immaterial and would not require the support or ‘sustenance’ (in terms of visibility and attribution of meaning) by institutions. He divided the evolution of art into six phases, placing us currently in the fourth phase, the stage of meta-art, which absorbs the entirety of reality. Ahead of us lies the total phase, leading to the zero phase – to an art that cannot be definitively exhibited in a conventional manner, for instance, in an art show; it can only be ‘suggested’. In discussing ‘art in the post-artistic age’, Ludwiński pointed to the mutual permeation of art and other disciplines. ‘The smaller the field of artistic activity, the greater its expansion into seemingly victorious domains. (…) Within the art of visual exploration, artistic phenomena penetrate so far into the competence of science and technology that they are indistinguishable from the latter, just as the products of New Realism and Dada art are indistinguishable from ordinary objects and creations of nature,’[3] he elucidated. Ludwiński frequently used hand-drawn sketches to convey his ideas; his lecture notes and typescripts abound with diagrams, illustrations, and charts. He posited that new art eludes both language and the institutional apparatus at our disposal. ‘It is highly probable that today we are no longer dealing with art. We have simply missed the moment when it transformed into something entirely different, something we can no longer name. However, it is certain that what we are engaged in today holds greater potential,’ he asserted.[4] This greater potential primarily entails the opportunity for artists to work outside the art world, in the fields of political protest, ecology, advocacy for sexual minorities, alternative tourism, natural sciences, etc. Following Ludwiński, many of the contemporary artistic practices in Poland that have social or political consequences can be described as post-artistic practices.
By reviving Ludwiński’s proposal and relating it to the specific attitudes of artists creating in the 21st century, the term post-art can be applied to many practices that remain beyond the institutional radar and do not always allow themselves to be clearly defined as art. In a preliminary sense, the term post-art could define (typically) long-term artistic practices that do not (or only sporadically) lead to the creation of material works of art with clearly attributed authorship, inaccessible through conventional cycles of artwork-exhibition-museum. Most often, such practices involve the application of competencies from the field of art beyond its domain, engaging various (also non-artistic) entities and characterized by phases of dormancy and heightened activity. Post-art is frequently devoid of distinguishing features (such as title, author, originality, exhibition architecture, durability, etc.) by which we can distinguish its constituent actions or objects from non-artistic backgrounds; simultaneously, it constitutes a part of other non-artistic systems, such as economics, education, climate activism, agriculture, etc.
In addition, Jerzy Ludwiński used the term ‘glue’,[5] when discussing art as a substance that fills the ‘gaps’ between disciplines, which also has unifying properties and brings together more or less compatible elements (social sciences, philosophy, astronomy, etc.). Such an understanding of post-artistic practices as a cohesive force between different areas of knowledge and professions, with blurred authorship and difficult to ‘capture’ institutionally, is characteristic of a number of collectives and individual artists currently active in Poland and around the world.
Post-art also has its own art history. Similarities, inspirations, and sources can be found in the work of individuals such as the American artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles, who viewed art as a form of caretaking for the immediate environment and the natural world. Following the birth of her child in 1969, Ukeles published her ‘Manifesto for Maintenance Art’, in which she addressed the separation between the artist’s work and motherhood. The text, which simultaneously served as the script for the exhibition entitled ‘Care’, abolished this dualism by declaring the undertaking of tasks related to childcare and household maintenance in terms of art. Ukeles wrote: ‘I am an artist. I am a woman. I am a wife. I am a mother. (Random order). I do a hell of a lot of washing, cleaning, cooking, renewing, supporting, preserving, etc. Also (up to now separately) I “do” Art. Now I will simply do these everyday things, and flush them up to consciousness, exhibit them, as Art. (…) MY WORKING WILL BE THE WORK’ [emphasis added, S.C.].
The exhibition was never realised, yet the manifesto became a ‘roadmap’ for the artist’s subsequent practice. She documented the performances of daily childcare and domestic work (Private Performances of Personal Maintenance as Art, 1970), but also staged actions in museums, such as cleaning the stairs (Washing/Tracks/Maintenance: Outside, 1973). From 1978 onwards, Ukeles was an artist in residence at the New York City Department of Sanitation. In the initial phase of her residency, the artist spent 11 months working on the ‘Touch Sanitation Performance’ (1979–80) – she contacted over a thousand sanitation workers, accompanied them at work, conducted interviews, and thanked them for ‘keeping New York alive’. Ukeles is also involved in a long-term project to transform the Fresh Kills landfill on Staten Island into a city park. Not only was it the largest landfill in the world, but also one of the largest human-made structures ever created. By the end of the 20th century, it was receiving over 20,000 tonnes of waste from New York City daily. In March 2001, the landfill was closed, largely due to public pressure following the so-called Syringe Tide of 1988 and 1989, when waves washed medical waste onto the beaches of New York and Connecticut. Several months later, Fresh Kills was reopened to sort and bury one and a half million tonnes of debris from the World Trade Center towers. Ukeles’ proposal consists of three modules: a viewing platform overlooking the salt marshes and earth forms: the Earth Bench and the Earth Triangle. The revitalisation of the Fresh Kills aims to restore the biodiversity of the marshes and reclaim their function as a coastal barrier.
While Ukeles’s example is well-documented and occupies a prominent place in the annals of art history, it rather points to a rupture within the system. Contemplating ‘art beyond art’ (as Rasheed Areen has called it) requires a radical rethinking of the hitherto prevalent ideas and rules. One of the classics of conceptual art, the Uruguayan artist of German descent, Luis Camnitzer, a teacher and author of texts on education, compared the art world to a lamp store with Aladdin’s lamps.[6] We collect, preserve, and marvel at these ‘vessels’, viewing them in museums, contemplating their embellishments and contours. We can recount the history of these objects, identify styles and trends. Yet, what truly captivates us is the genie, trapped in the lamp or bottle; we believe it resides inside and has special powers. We have devised an intricate system to sustain faith in the existence of this spirit: the towering edifices of museums, frames and plinths, books and catalogues, the argot, the cult of ‘geniuses’. This system can be exceedingly costly and energy-intensive as well as demanding specialised knowledge and (as befits any cult) a certain degree of initiation. Art would then be a ‘craft plus’, although it is difficult for us to ascertain – without delving into esoterica – what lies behind this mysterious plus.
And if the genie does not exist? Or, what appears to be a far more intriguing preposition: he has left the lamp or rarely visits it, instead residing in many different places, objects, and actions? At this point, one could invoke Marcel Duchamp, who pondered the term ‘a coefficient of art’ during his lecture The Creative Act in 1957. Duchamp was fascinated by the difference between, on the one hand, what the artist intends to communicate through his work but loses that message, and, on the other hand, what the work ‘in itself’ communicates without the artist’s intention. Following this path, Stephen Wright ventured a certain intellectual and perceptual exercise: Let us assume that there are no separate sets of things and phenomena which can be deemed works of art and those that are not art. Instead, there exists a certain ‘substance’, whose intensity increases or decreases in different objects or actions. The art coefficient can, therefore, be measured in all human activities and their material and immaterial outcomes.
The practice of art is an act of addition, less often of subtraction. Hidden within it lies a peculiar paradox: Even works of art that proclaim to be critical of the exploitation of natural resources and predatory modernisation are themselves energy-intensive, expensive objects. The effort required to keep works of art alive, in the form of air-conditioned rooms, sophisticated forms of presentation or specialised transport, is nothing short of monstrous. Fickle ideas, captured in material forms, drain resources and energy. At the same time, for several decades now, there have been clear mandates to refrain from production and to transfer artistic creativity to the sphere of environmental and climate activism. This is the case, for example, with the process of dematerialisation of the artwork in the conceptual art of the 1960s, a practice that was often based on an ecological foundation. This aspect has been marginalised in the history of Western art, as incompatible with the cold, analytical, ‘non-organic’ image of the movement. In a conversation with Ursula Meyer in 1969, Lawrence Weiner, one of the pioneers of Conceptualism, made the following explicit statement: ‘If you can’t make art without making a permanent imprint on the physical aspects of the world, then maybe art is not worth making. In this sense, any permanent damage to ecological factors in nature not necessary for the furtherance of human existence, but only necessary for the illustration of an art concept, is a crime against humanity.’Two years later, in Poland, a text was published to accompany the open-air event ‘Ziemia Zgorzelecka, 1971: Science and Art in the Process of Protecting the Human Natural Environment’ in Opolno-Zdrój. This manifesto, which articulated the premises of what was probably the first open-air artistic event in Europe on the subject of climate change, included the following prediction: ‘The archetype of our modern civilisation turns out to be the most important engine – among those known to us – that is hurtling towards its own annihilation. It stems from the drive for constant change in the world. There is currently a visible crisis in the concept of science as a universal remedy for all of humanity’s problems.’
One of the terms that might be useful in describing art that does not rely on the imitation and reproduction of the visible world (i.e. the continuous production and search for ‘novelty’) is the 1:1 scale. In relation to the 20th- and 21st-century artistic practices, this category was introduced by the aforementioned Canadian theorist-escapist Stephen Wright. The 1:1 scale artistic practice uses ‘the world as its own map’ rather than being concerned with creating models of reality. It is a world that describes itself, a territory that is its own map. Wright quotes an extract from Lewis Carroll’s Sylvie and Bruno (1893), which deals with a cartographic project where a mile of land corresponds exactly to a mile on the map. This motif was also taken up by Luis Borges in his short story On Exactitude in Science (1946) and by Umberto Eco in his essay On the Impossibility of Drawing a Map of the Empire on a Scale of 1 to 1 (1995). When using this literary reference, Wright alludes to artistic practices that challenge the validity of creating artificial models of reality within art spaces. Artists establish their own museums, gardens, political parties, and schools; they become consultants, chefs, therapists, etc. On a 1:1 scale, art is difficult for institutions to recognise, because the distinctive characteristics that allow such practices to be captured, named, and subjected to the judgement of historians or critics disintegrate. However, the 1:1 scale allows one to enjoy the real effects of such practices, even if they are not always ‘benevolent’ in nature. Wright speaks of their dual ontology: They are ‘this and that’, art and life, a performance and an ordinary gig, an artistic process and a political one. They produce a real effect, good and bad, for humans and non-humans alike.
Here, we can refer to practices that engage with contemporary ruins, the processes of entropy and the cataloguing of human-modified landscapes. What can serve as an illustrative case in point is the enterprise undertaken by the Center for Land Use Interpretation (CLUI), an organisation founded in 1994 in Los Angeles, which creates exhibitions and research programmes on the modification of the planet’s surface by Homo sapiens. One of CLUI’s programmes is the conceptual American Land Museum, which covers the entire territory of the United States and whose collection consists of objects described by the Center’s team as follows: Abandoned factories, landfills, aircraft graveyards, mock-up cities for military exercises, slagheaps, etc. The critic, theorist, and curator Lucy Lippard has written that CLUI is the most important successor to the conceptual art of the 1960s and 1970s; yet, it is difficult to qualify the Centre’s activity as art. The sites indicated by the organisation do not automatically become works of art, but we are undoubtedly dealing with the use of the tool of exhibition – the ‘display’ of these objects and buildings discovered in the landscape.[7] Among the related inspirations and historical references, one should mention the classic essay A Tour of the Monuments of Passaic, New Jersey by Robert Smithson from 1967, which describes the artist’s native post-industrial city as a ‘found’ sculpture exhibition in public space. Six years later, the artist became interested in the Bingham Canyon Mine, an open-pit copper mine, one of the largest man-made excavations. Amidst projects associated with the revitalisation of industrial areas, Smithson submitted an official request (which has never received a reply) to Kennecott Copper Corporation, the company managing the mine. He proposed halting mining operations and transforming the site into a work of art, reminiscent in the form of a 19th-century cyclorama. From the bottom of the mine, it would be possible to observe the process of the mine being reclaimed by plants and animals for centuries to come.
This aforementioned example leads us to another term that is useful in the context of museology in the age of climate crisis, which is ‘rewilding’, i.e. the restoration of (an area of land) to its natural uncultivated state, renaturalisation. This term emerged in the 1990s in discussions about new, more radical environmental protection strategies. It was proposed by Dave Foreman, the founder of the Earth First! organisation. Another organisation, Rewilding Europe, describes its progressive approach to conservation on its website as follows: ‘It’s about letting nature take care of itself, enabling natural processes to shape land and sea, repair damaged ecosystems and restore degraded landscapes. Through rewilding, wildlife’s natural rhythms create wilder, more biodiverse habitats.’[8] The fundamental principle of rewilding is ‘Nature governs itself’. In a sense, this is a reversal of the processes initiated by humans during the Neolithic Revolution. It seems tempting to apply this term to artistic practices that involve refraining from production and creating conditions for other species to take control of a given area. In this context, it is worth recalling the work of John Latham, an artist employed by the municipal office in Edinburgh in 1975–76 (as part of the experimental Artist Placement Group programme). Latham was commissioned to produce a feasibility study for the removal of nineteen suburban slagheaps. Since the 1860s, these heaps had been left over from the extraction of bituminous shale containing petroleum derivatives. Latham treated these heaps as process sculptures and proposed their nomination as monuments of historical, cultural and natural significance. The group of heaps was eventually protected under the UK’s Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Areas Act. The nomination of these heaps as landscape-as-art could also be interpreted as removing the dichotomy between the natural and the artificial. It also brings to mind Joseph Beuys’ enigmatic proposal (which has left few traces in museum archives and literature) for the ‘conservation’ of Dutch light. Beuys’s hypothesis was that the unique light conditions known from old paintings were finally lost at the beginning of the 20th century due to the draining of the Zuiderzee (or Zuider Zee), a former bay in the North Sea. Through artistic action, rewilding, it would theoretically be possible to recapture the sublime experience of being dazzled by the vastness of the bay.
Another related term that helps describe a large part of contemporary artistic practice in Poland is ‘occupational realism’. It was proposed by Julia Bryan-Wilson, who played with the ambiguity of the adjective ‘occupational’ in English, since it refers to both ‘professional, vocational’ and ‘taking control of something by means of military force’. The theorist cites, among others, Californian artist Ben Kinmont’s project with the poignant title Sometimes a nicer sculpture is to be able to provide a living for your family (1998–to date).[10] Kinmont runs an antiquarian bookshop with rare books on gastronomy, while nominating this activity as an artistic performance. Starting from this example, Bryan-Wilson defines occupational realism as a practice ‘in which the realm of waged labour (undertaken to sustain oneself economically) and the realm of art (pursued, presumably, for reasons that might include financial gain, but that also exceed financialisaton and have aesthetic, personal and/or political motivations) collapse, becoming indistinct or intentionally inverted.’
For many contemporary artists and institutions, the crucial question is how to define the boundaries of art in the case of such a subjective experience as a collective gathering in the Białowieża Forest, a protest in front of the parliament building, or the running of a food co-op. Art is increasingly becoming part of entirely different non-artistic systems: ecology, politics, agriculture, religion, anthropology or therapy. It constitutes a specific field of human activity, whose interdisciplinary character and blurred boundaries contribute to its vitality and adaptability. The blurring of art’s boundaries is a factor that allows art to conquer new areas, the territory ‘beyond the map of art’. In today’s institutional (and even more so in the non-institutional) art world, the separation of artistic activity from professional activity, of a work of art from an everyday object, or of artistic skills from social skills has become not so much irrelevant as secondary. In the case of 1:1 scale artistic practices, which are often extensive, long-term programmes initiated by artists, gallery presentations should not serve to ‘capture’ them by the given institution, but rather to disseminate information, to highlight certain specific skills used by artists (interdisciplinary thinking, unorthodox knowledge production, bringing temporary institutions to life, etc.), and to encourage independent escapades into the world beyond the museum.
These diverse experiences from the art and non-art fields are united, for example, under the aegis of the Consortium of Post-Artistic Practices (CPP): a broad but highly informal alliance of art practitioners initiated in 2016 during the Congress of Culture in Warsaw. Most of the actions that emerge from the group’s meetings are anonymous and relate to issues such as women’s rights, ecology and anti-fascism. The group makes explicit reference to texts by Jerzy Ludwiński and the conditions for creating art in the ‘post-artistic age’. The Consortium’s efforts are aimed at mobilisation, the exchange of ideas, the dissemination of information, the creation of networks and, most importantly, the opening of ‘channels’ through which art and other tendrils of social life can intertwine. The CPP often uses the format of historical reconstruction; in 2017, for example, they recreated the 1980 political action of the theatre art group Academy of Movement, entitled ‘Justice is a Beacon’. The group’s symbol and mascot is the rabbit-duck, an optical illusion that appears in Joseph Jastrow’s psychological tests and on the pages of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations. This drawing captures the perverse, ambiguous nature of many contemporary attitudes and artistic actions in Poland, as it represents both art and non-art, multiple things at once, eluding musealisation and capture by the language of art criticism and the art market.
Imagining a new world is a step in the right direction. Here we can see a role for artists in times of planetary change – namely, to mobilise and initiate imaginative processes which offer an alternative to the overwhelming doubt and the creeping fear that it may already be too late to do anything.
[1] Popularised in recent years by, among others, the activities of the Wrocław Contemporary Museum, which houses a permanent exhibition dedicated to Ludwiński (‘The Archive of Jerzy Ludwiński at the Wrocław Contemporary Museum is a permanent exhibition and research space, combining elements of an exhibition, an archive, and an art repository’, https://muzeumwspolczesne.pl/wystawy/archiwum-jerzego-ludwinskiego/), or in the exhibition titled ‘Making Use: Life in Postartistic Times’, Museum of Modern Art in Warsaw, 2015, https://www.mutualart.com/Article/Making-Use–Life-in-Postartistic-Times-a/EB22C232588CF4BB.
[2] J. Ludwiński, ‘Sztuka w epoce postartystycznej’ [‘Art in the Post-Artistic Age’], [in:] Sztuka w epoce postartystycznej i inne teksty [Art in the Post-Artistic Age and Other Texts], J. Kozłowski (ed.), Poznań: Akademia Sztuk Pięknych w Poznaniu, 2009, p. 57.
[3] Ibidem, p. 63.
[4] Ibidem, p. 66.
[5] Ibidem: p. 133.
[6] L. Camnitzer, ‘Where is the Genie?’, edited transcript of a lecture delivered at the conference titled The Idea of the Global Museum, Museum für Gegenwart at Hamburger Bahnhof, Berlin, December 2016 https://www.e-flux.com/journal/100/268759/where-is-the-genie/ [accessed: 10 November 2021].
[7] L. Lippard, Undermining: A Wild Ride Through Land Use, Politics, and Art in the Changing West, New York, 2014, pp. 27–29.
[8] https://rewildingeurope.com/what-is-rewilding-2/ [accessed: 6 November 2021].
[9] J. Bryan Wilson, ‘Occupational Realism’, [in:] It’s the Political Economy, Stupid!, G. Sholette, O. Ressler (eds.), Londyn: Pluto Press, 2013.
[10] B. Kinmont, Sometimes A Nicer Sculpture Is to Be Able to Provide a Living for Your Family, Sebastopol: Antinomian Press City, 2002.
