The United Nations of New York City
"... Amid simplicity and order rationalism is born, but rationalism proves inadequate in any period of upheaval."
– Robert Venturi in Complexity and Contradictions in Architecture
Trying to go anywhere near the United Nations Headquarters in New York in the week of the Global Action Summit during the last week of September 2019 proved to be difficult. Very difficult. First Avenue from 39th to 49th Street were off limits to anyone not wearing a light blue tag with the UN logo around their neck and, usually a dark suit. Seeing entire blocks lined with NYPD and FDNY cars of various types and sizes, and checkpoints at every street was a major letdown for me, someone who worships at the church of the United Nations. An organization that I believed to be very open, to see it be so sheltered seemed unthinkable. Of course, one needs a pass or a tour ticket to get into the actual grounds of the UN, just as I had once needed a "family" sticker to get into the Vienna branch, having been conducted into the world of the United Nations at a young age (being the daughter of an employee of one of the agencies that falls under the network that is the UN), I admit I grew up in a bubble: an international school in Vienna, Austria with kids from all over the world who only teased each other slightly about their differences in those crucial teenage years, but in the end everyone graduated with at least two things: an International Baccalaureate diploma and an understanding and an appreciation for "otherness". Seeing all the black SUVs and sedans parked in all possible ways around the building complex, it seemed like such a lie... all of it. After all, this was a summit to address climate change... did everyone have to arrive in a car?
World Atlas describes the organization on the World Wide Web like this in its brief entry. The UN was established to foster peace in the aftermath of the Second World War, out of the debris of the original organization called the League of Nations, which proved to be unsuccessful, though I fear the design of the current organisation is not very different than its predecessor and that is why it is proving to be inefficient in its endeavors. The plans and designs for an official headquarters came about a few months after the end of the war on 24th October 1945, and resulted in what we see today as a composite of three buildings that sit on Manhattan's East Side, just off First Avenue and overlooking the East River. One of the buildings, the iconic 39-storey block that can be seen from across the river, is a structure that houses The Secretariat. It adjoins the Conference building, where the General Assembly Hall and the Security Council Chamber are located and, along with a third building, the library—all are examples of "the International Style" in architecture. But just how international is it really? What makes such bland architecture international? If the headquarters were trying to be a fresh start after WWII why was blandness desired? Or was it just a peace of mind, is that what the buildings represent? To quote Robert Venturi "Mies refers to a need to 'create order out of the desperate confusion of our time' ... Should we not resist bemoaning confusion? Should we not look for meaning in the complexities and contradictions of our times and ackowledge the limitations of systems?" in Complexity and Contradictions in Architecture.
The site itself is No Man's Land—an example of extraterritoriality, even though the building sits on Manhattan island, the grounds behind the gates do not fall under the jurisdiction of the U.S. law. The UN has its own laws, though it also follows most US state and federal laws and does not provide immunity to those who break them. Six official languages (English, Arabic, Chinese, French, Russian and Spanish) represent the 193 countries that are members of the organisation. In my search for why the headquarters are actually situated in New York I landed on the conclusion that what ended up being the final deciding factor was money, in a way. The land, on which the building complex sits was donated by the Rockerfeller family. I feel the headquarters is almost the exact opposite of Times Square on the Manhattan island... or really most streets in New York. The city is the united nations, without the capitalization. It is not an organization, but you can hear so many different languages, you can see so much diversity almost anywhere you look. It is perhaps a noble gesture that the entrance to the grounds of the UN HQ is lined with the 193 flags of all the UN member states and the UN flag. But is that enough?
Is the UN just a myth? Does it actually function? And if it does, should it not uphold to the notions it tries to preach? I still abide by the notion that a public office or organisation of any kind should command a certain amount of respect and should lead by example, although in 2019 it seems like I am the only one left who does not just shrug her shoulders at the sight of ridiculous displays of what can only be called hypocrisy and absurdity. Looking at the Climate Summit it does seem almost surreal that the sixteen year old Greta Thumberg was the one making the most sense and the biggest impact.
1 October, 2019
Translations
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Translations •
Translations from the Slovak languague in independent publications
The Politikum of Life
Petra Feriancová, about the life of the artist Květoslava Fulierová, translated by Natália Tóthová, originally published in the 65th issue of VLNA magazine.
Květoslava Fulierová’s archive inhabits approximately two built-in wardrobes in her apartment. The archive is distributed in various cases, many of which are empty chocolate boxes*. Květa’s archive was the source of many post-production works by her life-long partner and conceptual artist, Július Koller. Květa would constantly document their being together, whether it was work, visits at their flat on Kudláková street or the games they would play with their grandchildren, Martin and Michal. The categories labeled on the sides of the boxes are not only chronologically ordered, year by year, but also thematically. For example: amateurs, traveling, exhibitions, Miško, Martinko etc. Parallel to Julius’s collecting, mostly ephemera, Květa took to documenting and the creation of an archive of her personal life. While Koller collected the daily press, travel tickets or postal cards, she would bring home many photographs from the community center, which he would later use in his work. Květa’s archive disposes of an ability to reverse a situation, which can appear to be commonplace and ordinary, into something significant; something that endures. It is an endless documentation that, as if, became her everyday necessity. Even when nothing as such happens, this “nothing” has the same significance to the passage of time, the same meaning as “everything”. It is a tribute to life, to being – in the most essential and most natural sense. My interest focuses on these, personal, family situations, which take place predominantly within the space of the flat, sometimes on the balcony, or at the most in front of the house of flats. This category of Květa’s archive has the most intimate dimension and it is the one, which is the least explored and the least published on. It has no intension of being anything more than it is. It is simple “Life”. The private space of the flat becomes a political one and the everyday moments become historical.
My selection of Květa’s archive is concerned with those closest to her: her mother, Marie Zavadilová, her daughter Miriam and her grandchildren, Miško and Martin. The category of my archive on maternity creates a foundation for Květa’s archive. They are black and white A4 prints mounted on wooden panels, as if wallpaper, and photographs from Květa’s archive are adjusted on top of them. The images are seemingly unrelated to one another – they do not form a narrative time line. One overlaps the other; they appear in close proximity, as if by chance, but perhaps not at all. And so our perception detracts and creates a new organization for them. It is essentially impossible to renounce an analogy with the text, stories; to renounce connections and judgments. All of this is there, even though we want to and can surrender it. To peer into an archive, to re-read an archive is as if an attempt to comprehend what liberty is; liberty into its own consequence; the liberty to be unable to grasp the limitlessness of opportunities or the existence of one entity.
From the heap of Květa’s materials Koller chooses images**, and he finds new meaning in them, which are more significant than the original ones. With regard to the complexity and diversity of Koller’s work, it is hard to say whether, the adaptation of their intimate life was his sovereign intention. Rather, I think that these images often surpassed the intention, or even the ultimate expectations. Koller is a discoverer***, Květa a precise photographer and an archivist. Perhaps the best kind of tandem. Květa’s work is very varied just as Koller’s . Apart from music, work on graphics and illustrations she also spends her time creating documentation and an archive of their life together, even though she has no ambition of finalizing it as an artifact.
It was thanks to Květa, that Koller shifted to and codified the family photography genre**** or photography, which comes about, only in passing and we only recognize its quality after a second viewing. (A slight similarity to Antonioni’s Blow Up*****) Family photography is proper to us all, but until then no one was able to conceptualize it to the degree that Koller did. Even though emotions are not a common theme in the conceptual discourse in Central and Eastern Europe, this poetry of the everyday of a relationship, formulated in such a complex way, does not have a counterpart whatsoever. It is most probably because their relationship was truly intriguing; a relationship of two fascinating people.
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*It is predominantly Mon Cheri. Květa recalls that Július would buy these chocolates for her, but he liked it so much that he would end up eating all of them quickly by himself.
**Koller would finalize his post-production work by simply pasting them on paper. It was, as if, framing, fixation of something, that can be considered an act. Even if he changed his mind later, he would not correct his work, and he would not post-produce “ready” pieces (as Stano Filko did, who constantly re-summarizes and evaluates –revolutionarily and absolutely.)
***According to Květa, Koller was not very interested in photography, if I understood correctly, he considered it to be too virtual and without a bodily existence in the moment when it was needed. He preferred collecting books, other printed material, or other residuals from the day; simply things whose physicality he could use as a medium in the moment.
**** A family album, which can bore people who are not directly related to those pictured, just as these situations, but it is these that can be art and can be found somewhere else; so interesting, and so universal.
***** In Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow Up (1966), a young photographer takes a photograph of a murder, taking place in a park in London, but he only discovers it once he is in the development process in his dark room, blowing up one shot. It is a cult film, which also deals with the conversion of post-production – its result that is not intentional.