‘I hate picnics – you’re always poorly seated.’ What might seem like nothing more than a joke is, in fact, Hatem Akrout’s stance on contemporary art. It expresses what many people feel but never really dare to admit. First and foremost, the provocation it contains breaks with a certain conformism linked to the commonly accepted benefits of fresh air, of a break from city life, and of a return to the simple joys of the great outdoors. For a picnic, apart from the discomfort of damp grass and uneven ground, can also mean ants, mosquitoes and the vagaries of the weather. In short, all the inconvenience encapsulated into the feeling of being uncomfortable. But the quip is also directed at the art world. Explicitly, because ‘Luncheon on the Grass’ is a subject in painting. For Édouard Manet, of course, but also – often associated with scenes of a more or less romantic nature – for numerous painters from the late 18th to the early 20th century. More obliquely, because it targets the contemporary art scene. Indeed, the picnic, in its festive form, has become so widespread that it has come to be both a goal and a pretext within the context of popular leisure activities. This ambivalence – which allows it to be regarded both as a pictorial genre and as art – could not fail to appeal to a contemporary world with a penchant for hybridisation in all directions. Unfortunately, as is all too often the case, the most extreme intellectualisation of this fusion results only in nonsense, each piece more heartbreaking than the last. We are thus seeing a proliferation – organised by associations supporting contemporary art – of topiary art projects, forest walks, ‘discoveries’ of ornamental gardens, and introductions to kitchen garden, all of them punctuated by snacks, lunches, tea times and happy hour drinks. Some even propose a sort of ‘Land art’ where the picnic takes centre stage, as the aim is to compare the state of the site before and after the event has taken place. By declaring that he hates picnics because he finds himself poorly seated, Hatem Akrout signals his withdrawal not only from these pseudo artistic botanical outings but, more generally, from all the far too really bad attended paths of so-called contemporary art practices. All the corny preachers of an art form that was young and vibrant fifty years ago dishearten him more than they impress him. A great connoisseur of paper and inks, he develops techniques and motifs, personalises them and combines them into an instantly recognisable style. Far removed from figurative bucolicism and from an avant-gardism whose only ‘cutting edge’ is its narrow mindedness, he patiently contents himself, work after work, with tending one's garden.
Read more