The Dark Mofo art festival in Tasmania, Australia, has canceled a project that asked for blood donations from Indigenous people, following a backlash.
Spanish artist Santiago Sierra had planned to immerse the British Union Jack flag “in the blood of its colonised territories,” according to the call for donations earlier this month.
“We made a mistake, and take full responsibility. The project will be cancelled,” reads a post on the Dark Mofo Facebook page Tuesday, signed by creative director Leigh Carmichael.
“We apologise to all First Nations people for any hurt that has been caused. We are sorry.”
CNN has contacted Sierra for comment.
The project was “open to First Nations peoples from countries claimed by the British Empire at some point in history, who reside in Australia,” according to a call for donations posted on Facebook March 19.
Those who volunteered to take part were asked to donate a “small amount of blood” to the artwork.
The project was quickly criticized on multiple platforms.
Kira Puru, an Australian musician who is of Māori descent, commented on Dark Mofo’s initial Instagram post: “What a way to reveal that there are no First Nations folks in your curatorial/consulting teams,” adding: “White people further capitalising on the literal blood of First Nations people.”
Writer Cass Lynch, a descendant of the Noongar people, who lives in western Australia, wrote a piece in Overland, an Australian radical literary magazine, which said it was “disrespectful and ignorant” to ask for blood donations.
The Noongar are Aboriginal Australian people that live in southwestern Australia.
“To ask First Nations people to give blood to drench a flag recreates, not critiques, the abhorrent conditions of colonisation,” wrote Lynch.
“It asks a community upon whose blood this Australian colony has been built, a community who die younger, sicker and more marginalised due to structural racism than anyone else, for yet more blood to make a statement that makes no reference to giving back or righting wrongs.”
Lynch emphasized that donors were not offered payment, nor did Dark Mofo mention donations to Indigenous organizations.
CNN has contacted Lynch for further comment.
Despite the criticism, Dark Mofo originally defended the project in a Facebook post Monday.
“Self-expression is a fundamental human right, and we support artists to make and present work regardless of their nationality or cultural background,” reads the post.
However, the next day the festival announced the cancellation of the project. The rest of the festival will take place as planned from 16-22 June in Hobart, Tasmania.
Sierra is known for works that scandalize audiences, including the transformation of a former synagogue in Germany into a gas chamber and paying four women he described as “prostitutes” addicted to heroin to have their backs tattooed in a single horizontal line.
There are art prizes, and there is the Turner Prize, the enfant terrible of contemporary art awards.
Founded in 1984, the Turner Prize was designed to promote discussion about art in Britain by celebrating the most outstanding pieces made by a British artist each year. Thirty years on, it's as well known for its prestige as it is for sparking debate with polarizing nominations. (Damien Hirst's winning "Mother and Child (Divided)," a cow and a calf bisected and emerged in formaldehyde, was a tabloid sensation.)
But the controversy that surrounds certain works -- Turner-nominated or not -- says as much about the public as it does about the artists.
Historically, repurposing religious iconography has been a surefire way to scandalize due to enduring cultural taboos. When Andres Serrano displayed "Piss Christ," a photograph of a crucifix submerged in the artist's urine, it was widely seen as disrespectful to Christians. It eventually earned the condemnation of conservative U.S. Senators and sparked debates around the issue of public arts funding. Twenty-four years later, French Catholic fundamentalists destroyed a print of of the photo on display in Avignon.
Though Serrano -- a Christian -- originally said that the piece had no specific political motivation, he has since suggested that it was meant to highlight the continued cheapening of the image of Christ, and the hypocrisy of those who twist the words of Christ to fit their own ends.
Marcus Harvey's 1995 portrait of child murderer Myra Hindley caused a stir when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy of Art in London in 1997. The portrait, made up of a child's handprints, created an uncomfortable juxtaposition between Hindley's crimes and the innocence associated with youth.
Protesters threw eggs and ink at it on the first day of the exhibition (aptly titled "Sensation"), and Hindley herself wrote a letter from prison imploring organizers to remove it from the exhibition because it showed "a sole disregard not only for the emotional pain and trauma that would inevitably be experienced by the families of the Moors victims but also the families of any child victim."
Chris Ofili's "The Holy Virgin Mary," a Black Madonna surrounded by cut-outs from pornographic magazines and elephant dung, was met with similar outrage, including the public scorn of former mayor of New York City Rudy Giuliani and former U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, when it won the 1998 Turner Prize. What was seen as simply another blasphemous attempt at provocation was actually a harsh look at the degradation of black women in modern society. (Like Serrano, he was also inspired by Christianity, having been raised in a religious household himself.)
What sets Turner-related controversy apart is the positive financial impact it can have on an artist's career, thanks to the award's lofty reputation in the art world. "However much they're getting (as a prize) is a drop in the ocean compared to the money that they're set to make after that," says Alexandra Kokoli, a senior lecturer on visual culture for fine arts at Middlesex University in London. "It definitely guarantees them far greater cachet and better prices at auction, whether they're interested in that or not."
But there is a negative side to notoriety. Tracey Emin's Turner-nominated instillation "My Bed" -- complete with an ashtray full of cigarettes, dirty knickers and used condoms -- sold for more than $4 million at auction, but some still consider her success illegitimate because of the controversy that has surrounded her work, and the celebrity it has inspired.
"(Emin) is not someone who worries about her finances anymore -- and that's really saying something for a contemporary artist ... but people assume she's over-valued in some ways," Kokoli says. "She's somebody who is very much begrudged her success because people in the art world and other artists feel she has had a lot more exposure than she deserves."
An artist doesn't have to dabble in sexuality or religious themes to bring about public outrage. "Tilted Arc," a metal wall installed by Richard Serra in a Manhattan plaza in 1981, was eventually taken down because the public thought it was nothing more than a disruptive nuisance. In 2003, Martin Creed's Work No. 227 -- a room in which a light turned on and off every five seconds -- also received harsh public criticism when it won the Turner Prize in 2001.
"What angers people most, whether they acknowledge it or not, is that notion of deskilling, that people are making money out of nothing," Kokoli says. "There is this big anxiety against a certain type of conceptualism that seems totally based on an artistic idea, and whose execution as an art work does not require any of the traditional artistic skills and techniques."
Arguments against deskilling aren't new. The Society of Independent Artists refused to include Dada pioneer Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain," a standard urinal laid on its back, in an exhibition in spite of the fact that its constitution required it to accept all member submissions. Fountain and Duchamp's other "readymades" (his term for an everyday object positioned as art), sparked modern discussions about what constitutes real art and, by consequence, a real artist.
What's controversial today may not be so tomorrow. While the female nude was by then a common subject for painters, even enlightened viewers were shocked by Édouard Manet's "Olympia." The presumed prostitute's almost defiant expression, directed at the viewer or an unexpected caller, and casual sexuality were considered pornographic at the time.
Almost 50 years later, Picasso's "Les demoiselles d'Avignon," which depicted prostitutes on display in a Barcelona brothel in his then-radical pre-Cubist style, was seen as outrageous and obscene for the same reasons. The idea of a woman brazenly showing off her sexuality in such a way was still unthinkable.
"Female sexuality causes problems still today, surprisingly. It's just another side of sexist culture," says Kokoli.
It's difficult to believe that John Singer Sargent's fully-clothed "Madame X" ever scandalized. But when it was first seen, viewers objected to the deathly pale skin (too morbid), the bare decolletage and perceived skimpiness of her outfit (the original had one fallen strap, which was later repainted), and the fact that the subject, Virginie Amélie Avegno Gautreau, was a well known socialite at the time. Instead of altering the image to hide Gautreau's identity, Sargent painted her exactly as she was.
Since then, public sensibilities and attitudes towards success have progressed to the point where these works have for most lost the ability to provoke outrage.