González-Torres taught a generation of artists that ambitious art needn’t be emotionless, and his legacy endures. Romanticism, so out of fashion for much of the 20th Century, has had a notable comeback recently – the Schirn in Frankfurt devoted an exhibition to the subject a few years back – and many artists today are much more comfortable talking about love than previous generations were. Ragnar Kjartansson, an Icelandic artist whose work will be seen at New York’s New Museum this spring, is one of the best of these new romantics; his art, which often takes the form of super-long musical performances, aches with the glory of love.
For Bliss (2011), he and a group of singers performed the final five minutes of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro, in which Count Almaviva begs for and wins forgiveness from his wronged wife, with a full orchestra and traditional Rococo costume.
And then they performed it again, and again, and kept performing it for 12 straight hours; the singers went hoarse, the musicians’ hands grew calloused and everyone needed to hydrate in order to keep going. As it went on into the night, not just the musicians but the audience became invested in an endurance contest, an effort to celebrate love at the limits of experience.
А потом они выполнили его снова, и снова, и все его выполнения в течение 12 часов подряд, и певцы пошли хриплым, руки музыкантов выросли мозолистые и все необходимы для увлажнения, чтобы продолжать идти. Как это продолжалось до поздней ночи, а не только музыканты, но зрители стали инвестировали в конкурсе на выносливость, усилия, чтобы праздновать любовь в пределы опыта.
