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if we stop rehearsing, if we stop reproducing, the very existence of the original is at
stake. It might stop having abundant copies and slowly disappear."
2
We have no difficulty raising questions about the quality of the entire
trajectory when dealing with the performing arts, such as dance, music and theatre.
Why is it so difficult when faced with the reproduction of a painting, a piece of
furniture, a building or a sculpture? This is the first question we want to clarify.
No one will complain on hearing King Lear: "But this is not the original, it is
just a representation!". Quite right. That's the whole idea of what it is to
play King
Lear: it is to
replay it. In the case of a performance, everyone is ready to take into
account the whole trajectory going from the first presentations through the long
successions of its "revivals" all the way to the present. There is nothing
extraordinary in considering that "one good representation of King Lear" is a
moment, a segment, in the career of the work of art called King Lear, the absolute
Platonic ideal of which no one has ever seen and no one will ever be able to
circumscribe. In addition, it requires no great sophistication to be fully prepared
for disappointment at not finding "the" first, original presentation by Shakespeare
"himself", but several premieres and several dozen different versions of the written
play with endless glosses and variations. We seem perfectly happy to be excited by
the anticlimactic discovery of the source of a major river in a humble spring barely
visible under the mossy grass. Third, and even more importantly, spectators have
no qualm whatsoever at judging the new version under their eyes by applying the
shibboleth: "Is it well or badly (re)played?" They can differ wildly in their opinions,
some being scandalized by what they take as some revolting novelties ("Why does
Lear disappear in a submarine?") or bored by the repetition of too many clichés,
but they have no difficulty in considering that this moment in the whole career of
all the successive King Lears —in the plural— should be judged on its merit and not
by its mimetic comparison with the first (entirely inaccessible anyway) presentation
of King Lear by the Shakespeare company in such and such a year. It is what we see
now under our eyes on stage that counts in making our judgment, and certainly
not the degree of resemblance with another Ur-event hidden from view (even
though what we take to be the real "King Lear" remains in the background of every
one of our judgments). So, clearly, in the case of performance art at least, every
new version runs the risk of losing the original —or of regaining it.
So free are we from the comparison with any "original", that it is perfectly
acceptable to evaluate a replay by saying: "I would never have anticipated this; it
is totally different from the way it has been played before; it is utterly distinct from
the way Shakespeare played it, and yet I now understand what the play has always
been about!" Everything happens as if some of revivals —the good ones— had
managed to dig out of the original novel traits that might have been potentially in
the source, but that have remained invisible until now and are made vivid again to
the mind of the spectators. So, even though it is not evaluated by its mimetic
resemblance to an ideal exemplar, yet it is clear, and everyone might agree, that,
2
See the commentaries of Péguy in Deleuze, Gilles. Difference and Repetition (translated by
Paul Patton). New York: continuum International Publishing, 2005.
108- Adam’s Veronese –Switching codes
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because of the action of one of its late successors, the genius of Shakespeare has
gained a new level of originality because of the amazing feat of this faithful (but not
mimetic) reproduction. The origin is there anew, even though it is so different
from what it was. And the same phenomenon would occur for any piece of music
or dance. The exclamation: "It's so original" attributed to a new performance does
not describe one section along the trajectory (and especially not the first Ur-
version) but the degree of fecundity of the whole cornucopia. In performance art, the aura
keeps migrating and might very well come back suddenly… or disappear
altogether. When so many bad repetitions have so decreased the level of fecundity
of the work that the original itself might be abandoned, it will stop being the
starting point of any succession. Such a work of art dies out like a family line
without any lineage. Like a river deprived of its tributaries one by one until it has
shrunk to the size of a tiny rivulet, the work has been reduced to its "original" size,
that is, to very little, since it has never been copiously copied, that is, constantly
reinterpreted and recast. The work has lost its aura for good.
Why is it so difficult to say the same thing and use the same type of
judgment for a painting or a sculpture or a building? Why not say, for instance,
that the facsimile of Veronese's "Nozze di Cana" has been replayed, rehearsed,
revived thanks to a new interpretation in Venice in 2007 by Factum Arte, much as
Hector Berlioz's Les Troyens had been given at last for the first time in London by
Colin Davis in 1969 in Covent Garden (a feat that poor Berlioz never managed to
witness since he never had the money nor the orchestra to play his original work
in full…). And yet, what seems so easy for performance art remains far fetched for
the visual arts. If we claim that the Nozze di Cana has been "given again" in San
Giorgio, someone will immediately say: "But the original is in Paris! The one now
in San Giorgio is just a facsimile!" A sense of fakery, counterfeiting or betrayal, has
been introduced into the discussion in a way that would seem absurd for a piece of
performance art (even though it is perfectly possible to say of a very bad company
that it made "a sham" at playing Shakespeare). It seems almost impossible to say
that the facsimile of Veronese's Nozze di Cana is not about falsification but it is a
stage in the verification of Veronese's achievement, a part of its ongoing
biography.
One reason for this unequal treatment obviously has to do with what could
be called the
differential of resistance among all segments of the trajectory. In his
much too famous essay, throughout a deep fog of art historical mysticism, it is this
gap in technology that Walter Benjamin pointed out under the name of
"mechanical reproduction."
3
In the case of performance art, each version is just as
difficult to produce, and just as costly, as the former one (actually more and more
expensive as time goes on and certainly more than in Shakespeare's time—just
think of the wages for the security guards and all the health and safety standards!).
It is not because there have been zillions of representations of King Lear that the
one you are now going to give will be easier to fund. The marginal cost will be
exactly the same —with the only exception that the public will know what "a King
Lear" is, coming fully equipped with endless presuppositions and critical tests
3
Benjamin, Walter. "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction." In
Illuminations, 217-51. New York: Schocken Books, 1968.