Sara Jordenö

How does a work of art exist? How does a film arise, how does it survive and develop? Sara Jordenö’s documentary installation The Persona Project is about a Swedish cinema classic. When Jordenö approaches Ingmar Bergman’s drama of identity, however, she finds not a completed, historic artifact, but a living work whose own form and identity appear to be subject to perpetual negotiation and shifts. In her explorations, documented in archive material, texts, and short films, another Persona emerges: a collective, multiform, multimedia work in progress that is constantly reinterpreted, re-edited, re-classified and re-populated.

Moderna Museet, Stockholm

DESCRIPTION:

The word ‘Persona’ – meaning ‘mask’ – derives from the Latin per (through) and sonare (to sound), essentially ‘that through which the actor speaks’ (early Greek actors wore masks.) Its meaning is usually understood as the voice representing the speaker in a literary work or a character in a play.

‘Persona’ is also the name of my favorite film, made by Ingmar Bergman in 1966. It is a story about an actress that is refusing to speak (Liv Ullman) and her nurse (Bibi Andersson), who cares for her in a vacation home by the sea.

Who speaks in a film? The director? The actors? The viewer, through the interpretation(a parasitical footnote) he or she makes, based on individual experiences and desires? In this project I have attempted to extract the voices in the periphery of the film “Persona”, its production and reception. I wanted to shed light on the agents not considered as authors (authorities) but that somehow still touched some aspect of the narrative. The archive consists of 7 works (7 voices) that are shown separately or together in an installation, entitled “The Persona Project 2000-2010”. 

"PERSONA PROJECT 2000 - 2010" is courtesy of the artist and Malmö Art Museum. VideoActive and Hedvig (The Set House) are distributed by FilmForm.

SELECTED PRESS: 

Moderna Museet

Jacquelyn Davis

UNT review (in Swedish)

Maria Taavoniku, Konstvetenskapliga institutionen vid Stockholms universitet (C-uppsats, in Swedish)

INDEX OF WORKS:

PP01: PREAMBLE

Glued into the first page of the workbook for Persona  (Ingmar Bergman made one for each of his projects) is a short note, a reservation, where the director admits: “I discovered that the subject I had chosen was very large and that what I wrote or included in the final film (horrid thought!) was bound to be completely arbitrary.” This note, which is printed as a preamble when the script is published in book form a few years later, surprises me: it constitutes the starting point of my project. I read that half the scenes in the film consist of retakes. With the preamble in mind, I write a letter to Ingmar Bergman asking him about the material he chose not to include. Later I decide to not mail the letter (as his answer doesn’t seem relevant to this project).

Media: Photographs of documents, 2000

PP02: VIDEOACTIVE

In a video store called Videoactive, located close to my home in Los Angeles, I find Persona on a shelf marked "Lesbian Theme". When I conduct an interview with Terry Sue Starker, an employee at Videoactive, I ask how the film ended up on that particular shelf. The store also has an Ingmar Bergman shelf. Terry Sue tells me that the film is being moved back and forth between the two shelves.

Media: Photographs and video, 2001

PP03: NARRATION

I visit the Margaret Herrick Library—part of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in Beverly Hills—and request the archival box pertaining to Bergman’s Persona . I am asked to wear white gloves when handling the contents. I choose to have two magazine clippings copied. The first is a negative review from 1967 where the author claims that the film “is about lesbians and lesbianism”. The second is a notice in the Hollywood Reporter regarding the National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures’ labeling of Persona as A-IV morally unobjectionable for adults, with reservations.  The reasoning is that the film is difficult to interpret and includes a scene with a graphic narration of an erotic encounter.

Media: Scanned documents, 2003

PP04: CINETYP

Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) announces the premiere screening of the uncensored version of Ingmar Bergman’s Persona. During the screening, I secretly film the audience watching the new version. I interview a film archivist, John Kirk, who tells me that when Persona was released in the U.S. in 1967, the English subtitles diverged from the original dialogue. It was apparent, especially in the sexually explicit scenes, that the English translation was watered down. John, who works for Metro Goldwyn Mayer, is in charge of ordering translations of the Swedish dialogue and selecting the new subtitles. Because John doesn’t speak English, I offer to comment on the new translation. The new subtitles are being burnt with a laser into the film negative by a company located in Hollywood called Cinetyp. I photograph the employees of Cinetyp.

Media: Photographs, scanned documents, video, 2001-2010

PP05: ADR

In the Automatic Dialogue Replacement (ADR) process, a voice actress re-performs each line in a new language, and at the same time tries to match the tone of voice and lip movements of the original. I find a recording where an American actress is re-performing Bibi Andersson’s (Alma’s) lines in Persona. Based on the English translation she uses, I draw the conclusion that the soundtrack was recorded sometime in the 1960’s. I try—but fail—to locate the voice actress. Instead I set up an anonymous survey on the internet, paying participants to listen to an audio excerpt and answer a set of questions about the actress’ background based on her dialect. As I don’t specify that the audio is taken from a dubbed soundtrack from a film, the majority of the participants respond as if the woman is telling a story from real life. I ask the participants to imagine what the woman looks like. I make illustrations based on their descriptions.

Media: Text, audio and manipulated video stills, 2010

PP06: ASPEN

In September 2008, in Aspen, Colorado, a judge gives the exclusive rights to Ingmar Bergman’s films to Isis Litigation LLC, which had filed a string of lawsuits against Svensk Filmindustri (SF). The lawsuits were based on financial losses incurred in connection with the Isis movie theater in Aspen, in which SF was a guarantor. SF had ignored every judgment entered against it in U.S. courts—which are not enforced in Sweden—inflating its debt to $10 million in restitution, fines and legal fees. The Colorado court appoints an agent to transfer the film rights by filing with the United States Copyright Office. I locate this agent and the documents wherein he signs over SF’s rights to Bergman’s films to Isis, a process that was completed in December 2008. When I interview Jack Smith, the attorney representing Isis, he tells me that a confidential settlement is reached in May 2009, and the rights are returned to SF. I find that Roland Barthes’ The Death of the Author was published for the first time in 1967, in a double issue (no 5 + 6) of Aspen , a cultural magazine initiated and edited by Phyllis Johnson in Aspen, Colorado. I decide to base the design of the Persona Project archive on the Aspen issue.

Media: Photographs and scanned documents, 2010

PP06: HEDVIG (THE SET HOUSE)

During the production of Persona on the island of Fårö in 1965, Ingmar Bergman decides to build a home there. When I visit Fårö two years after Bergman’s death, his estate is being put on auction, and there are wild speculations about its value. My focus is directed to another house: the film set that was built for the scenes in the doctor’s summer house in Persona. I learn that the set house still exists and that a woman named Hedvig lives there. For many years she was Ingmar Bergman’s closest neighbor. I hear that Hedvig does not like visitors. I attempt to record her house at a distance, but feel uncomfortable and decide to ask Hedvig for an interview. Hedvig is of the opinion that the tourists—who wish to film and photograph her house due to its significance in the history of cinema—are infringing on her privacy. I make a film about the negotiation that takes place between us.

Media: 16mm film

DESCRIPTION:

Diamond People is a group of works created over the course of almost 12 years (2005 - 2016) This archive of works takes its starting point my first place of work, a synthetic diamond factory in a small community in northern Sweden. I wanted to investigate a crisis that occurred in the 1980's when the factory's South African ownership became a source of controversy and conflict. But as I was working, new events such as the building of a factory in China, a change to Irish upper management, layoffs and the factory closure in 2016, added layers to the work. Ultimately, this is a story about globalization and labor, and about the symbiotic relationship between a community and an industry.

I am currently incorporating several works into an archive, which will be documented in an upcoming book. 

INDEX OF WORKS:

"Diamond People: Instructions For a Film" (2010) 

8-channel video installation and solo exhibition at Bildmuseet, Umeå. Curated by Katarina Pierre. 

"Diamonds/Are/Labor/Embodied/Crystallized" (2010)

Drawing and 3-channel animated video, part of the exhibition "The Crude & The Rare" at Cooper Union Gallery, curated by Saskia Bos & Steven Lam.

"Diamond People 2005-2015" (2015)

Installation with documents, photographs on loan from the Worker's Archive and a two-channel video, part of GIBCA: A Story Within a Story.... curated by Elvira Dyangani Ose.

"Diamond People" (2016)

30 min video and curated community screenings/discussions. Commission by Public Art Agency Sweden, curated by Lisa Rosendahl.

SELECTED PRESS:

Rachel Wetzler in Rhizome

David Everitt Howe in Modern Painters Magazine

GP GIBCA review (in Swedish)

Dagens Nyheter (in Swedish)
Samhällsmaskinen, Sydsvenskan (in Swedish)

Omkonst (in Swedish)

Kunstkritikk (in Swedish)

Norra Västerbotten (In Swedish)

 The Crude & The Rare, Artforum's Critics Pick

DIAMOND PEOPLE

Text by Lisa Rosendahl, curator, Public Art Agency Sweden

Over the last decade, artist and documentary filmmaker Sara Jordenö has returned to her hometown Robertsfors many times to document the relationship between the residents and the largest employer in the area: the synthetic diamond factory. Her efforts have resulted in a number of different works shown in Sweden and internationally. In 2015, after the announcement that the factory was to close permanently, some of the employees asked Jordenö if she could come back one last time to document their place of work before it was gone for good. The finished film begins with former employees’ personal stories and focuses on how the factory and its closing have impacted the local community.

Diamond People is the third part in Public Art Agency Sweden’s series Industrial Society in Transition, which in different regions and through different artistic practices attempts to depict the societal transformation that has been going on in Sweden over recent decades. Rather than describing the transition to a postindustrial existence through an industrial-historical focus on buildings, machines, and products from peak manufacturing years, the artworks center on people and their contemporary experiences.

In Diamond People, Jordenö invites former employees to visit the empty factory buildings and reflect on how their work and the factory closure have impacted their lives. The problems in Robertsfors mirror those in large parts of the country, and these personal stories are in many ways characteristic of the narrative of Sweden in general.

Robertsfors was a typical factory town: first came the paper mill, then came a planned community around it to ensure the existence of a workforce. This established a strong symbiosis between industry and the community, which is symptomatic of the emergence of the Swedish welfare state in general. This also created an almost unshakeable loyalty of employees toward the factory, which over time came to characterize all of Robertsfors. How is the story of a once self-evident relationship between society and industry affected when the contract of reciprocal loyalty has been broken?

The old paper mill’s patriarchal structure gradually shifted to a state-owned industry, which in turn became privately owned and a part of a multinational concern. During the last six months the factory was active in the region, employment was managed by an employment agency. The decision to close the Robertsfors factory and move its operations to Ireland was part of a global plan rooted in many other factors than just the productivity and projected profits of that specific factory. The factory was functioning well and was a world leader in the development of technology, and both factors made the decision difficult to understand. In the film, one possible answer is given by the Robertsfors Economic Development Director, who compares laws in an international perspective: in Ireland, it would have cost the company around 26 million SEK (2.7 million EUR) in employee severance packages if they were to close the factory. In Robertsfors, it was essentially without cost. How much did legislation affect the multinational concern’s decision to close Robertsfors in particular?

In Robertsfors, it is clear from the city planning how everything was once connected: the factory production enabled the building of homes as well as the presence of a school, a healthcare clinic, and a supermarket. Without a large employer in the area, the society and its various functions are at risk for disappearing. What happens to people when the obvious hub and economic engine of their community is taken away? Former employees say that it wasn’t only the jobs that disappeared when the factory was closed, but also their sense of belonging and their familiar meeting place. When they see each other again at a career development training about the digital network LinkedIn and other social media, the contrast between the conditions for public life today and in the past becomes evident. “You are the commodity now,” explains a representative from the adult education center and encourages the unemployed attendees to start blogging.

But we shouldn’t glorify the blue-collar mentality that came with secure jobs and the unquestioned possibility for many people to find jobs at the factory right after graduation, either. “When generation after generation goes to the same place, it affects your ambition,” says one of the voices we meet in the film, wondering if it might be difficult to reach your full potential, to become who you’re supposed to become, when it’s more comfortable to do the same thing everyone else does and keep on working at the factory.

In Jordenö’s portrait, people’s living memories and physical presence are contrasted with the emptiness and silence of the factory. The connection between workplace and society is emphasized by using the sound recordings from the active factory to set the tone for the camera’s travels through Robertsfors. The observer is also reminded that Jordenö’s artistic practice and the film in itself are, in a way, products of the diamond factory: this is where her father worked, where she had her first job, and where the political consciousness that later came to characterize many of her artworks was awakened.

The film premiered in Robertsfors in October 2016 and was screened in Skelleftehamn, Holmsund, and Boliden before reaching other parts of Sweden. In Västerbotten, screenings will be followed by a discussion with the director, participants in the film, and the audience. The goals are to share personal experiences of changing workplaces and together situate them within a larger historical, economic, and social perspective. How can a local community respond to a decision to close a factory when the main employer is just one piece in a multinational puzzle? What are the ramifications of the law in Sweden and internationally when it comes to a town going under because a company shuts its doors? What does it mean to become unemployed after having worked at the same place your entire life? How can we handle the great transformation from having one primary employer that unites a region to working for an employment agency, starting your own business, or turning to other careers? Can the negative experience of receiving your notice also pave the way for new possibilities and ways of viewing your existence?

DESCRIPTION

In 2011 - 2010 I worked with sociologist and criminologist Amber Horning to explore how the hidden population of pimps operates in urban territories. 85 pimps were interviewed in housing projects in Harlem, and 70 drew maps (using ink and paper) of their everyday workspace in New York City neighborhoods. While some pimps carved out workspace in a more utilitarian fashion, many found escapes, or carnIvalesque zones, where social controls were suspended. Our analytic approach was inspired by Katz’s control-excitement model (which explores risk, hedonism, and edgework) as well as psychogeographical approaches derived from Guy Debord, emphasizing playfulness and drifting around urban environments.

These maps span from the 70’s to the 2000’s and provide interesting insight into changes in New York City sex markets and into how older and younger third parties view their work within this landscape. The changing topography and socio-cultural climate of NYC sex markets were apparent in what is included in the maps, what parts of the city and what sections of neighborhoods are accessible and how third parties portray their “cognitive maps” of work over the decades. Based on the maps, I traced down the transient areas where sex work was taking place in these men's stories. I film the sites and turn them into animation using hundreds of sketches. The animations were shown next to the maps in an installation shown at the exhibition "Matter Out Of Place" at the Kitchen, NYC. Curated by Lumi Tan.

SELECTED PRESS
Untapped Cities

Presentation at "Forensic Aesthetics" at the Vera List Center for Art & Politics

DESCRIPTION:

In 2010-2011 I worked in a studio in a high-rise building in the financial district on Lower Manhattan.  I had started to work with a series of works called “Time and Motion Studies (NYC)”, exploring the daily routines of people living and working in this neighborhood. I discovered a high-security prison nearby, the federal Metropolitan Correctional Center. Amnesty International had called for a review of the Special Housing Units on the 10th floor of the building. There, prisoners were confined alone 23 or 24 hours a day and not allowed any physical contact, including speaking, with other inmates. The window to the outside in each cell had been glazed over so that there was no view and no natural light. 

Access to the building was extremely restricted, making fieldwork impossible. Instead I attempted to use my imagination to think about the prisoners conducting their daily routines only a few blocks from where I was working in my studio. I became interested in one of the few objects prisoners were allowed to touch in the SHU’s: the food trays that were inserted through the door on a regular basis. I ordered sample trays from companies who make products for corrections, which was included in an installation together with texts and photographs engraved into signage materials. 

I produced an Artist & Activists pamphlet for Printed Matter on the topic, but here I also included the story of Shantel, whom I met when she was released from a 2 1/2 year long prison sentence in upstate NY. A transwoman, Shantel had fought to complete her transition from male to female while incarcerated in a men’s prison. Her best friend Miy'asia transitioned at the same time. When Shantel was released they met again, now two young women.

DESCRIPTION:

"The Reincarnation of Rockland Palace" was a site-specific community arts project conceptualized and organized by Sara Jordenö and Twiggy Pucci Garcon at the site of the Rockland Palace Ballroom, which was demolished in the 1960s and is now a parking lot. On a hot evening in July, 2012, hundreds of members of the Kiki scene as well as the NYC art and fashion world, traveled to a trashy parking lot in Harlem, to celebrate, reload and reclaim the spirit of Rockland Palace, once the epicenter of Manhattan's ballroom culture. The Kiki ball featured elaborate effects and mindblowing performances by the youth. The project was supported by Iaspis, the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, The Hetrick-Martin Institute, The Door and Faces NY, as well as crowdfunding and donations. The event was documented in photographs and video, and was exhibited at The Kitchen as part of the exhibition "Matter out of Place", curated by Lumi Tan. It is part of a forthcoming book, which offers some further context.

SELECTED PRESS:

Africa is a country

Paper Mag

New York Magazine

An Incomplete Record (Rockland Palace Fieldnotes) 

Text by Sara Jordenö

in KIKI Fieldnotes, forthcoming, 2018), also published in Paletten (2013)

155th street. The view here is dominated by the tall red brick buildings of the Polo Grounds Towers, completed in 1968 and managed by the New York City Housing Authority. It has gained some notoriety. Twiggy and I work our way down slippery steps to the street under the arched overpass, which appears older than the surroundings. A remnant of something, it triggers my documentary imagination. Of the many histories intersecting here, my focus lies on an event that took place once a year during the 1920's and 1930's, maybe even later: The Fun Makers Ball or The Odd Fellows Ball or simply “The Faggots Ball”. The research process had been challenging. As a guest at the Joan Rivers Show, the Iconic Pepper LaBeija mentioned going to Rockland Palace. I found a scan of an undated New York Times clipping about these balls, black and white images of dancing couples (males white, females black) and a random police officer thrown in the mix. I'm surprised by the upbeat caption, which reads: “Rest Room Mix Up: Special Police detail outside men's room at New York's Fun Makers Ball detoured all impersonators dressed in women's clothing to gents' to ladies' room (above). Despite confusion, impersonators had ‘gay’ time dancing with male guests  and displaying ‘original’ gowns to judges.”

A conflicting account of this seemingly amicable interaction between attendants and law enforcement, found in an interview with a Harlem based LGBTQ activist, states that the police often preyed on the attendants, patiently waiting until the balls ended in the early morning hours. Then, when people poured out onto the streets, they made their arrests.1  With me now I have an old photo of the area (found in another obscure online collection of historical Harlem photographs) and it magically matches: on this street corner was, until its destruction in the 1960's, the Rockland Palace Ballroom. Now, in 2012, it is a parking lot, littered with trash, tools and carcasses of different kinds of vehicles. Despite the clutter, the site has a certain beauty, even glamour. You can see the Harlem River, and further, the Bronx. It is not hard at all to imagine thousands of people gathering here, sheltered from the rain or snow under the steel structured overpass. Twiggy and I linger for a while, taking it in. “This is a great place for a Kiki ball,” he says.

1 Law enforcement officers have fairly consistently and explicitly policed the borders of the gender binary. Historically and up until the 1980's, such policing took the form of enforcement of sumptuary laws, which required individuals to wear at least three articles of clothing conventionally associated with the gender they were assigned at birth, and subjected people to arrest for impersonating another gender. (Mogul, J, Ritchie, A and Whitlock, K: Queer (In) Justice - The Criminalization of LGBT people in the United States, Beacon Press, 2012