During the occupation of Afghanistan by the United States, a George W. Bush high on his war machine spoke constantly of the international terrorists that were hiding in the country. The term “international terrorism” appeared to be the key to explaining what had happened on 9/11: it gave a name to the enemy. Other politicians, such as the then Spanish prime minister, José María Aznar, quickly supported this strategy of lumping all terrorism together under one label and considering it a great evil with international ramifications and with each group supporting the rest. At the extreme of this lack of any differentiation, some of the right-wing media in Spain even went as far as to state that Colombia is the country most affected by the phenomenon of international terrorism. So the Colombian guerrillas, the drug barons, ETA, Bin Laden, the Khmer Rouge, the Chechnyan armed factions and the Tutsis are not only all terrorists: they are one and the same and they all share a space called “international terrorism”. The strange thing is that in order to put an end to this international terrorism, specific countries must be attacked.

The conspiracy paranoia that affects some of today’s politicians certainly seems rather naïve – a bit like a video game – and does not stand up to any rigorous historical or political analysis.

The problem with the term “international terrorism” as used by George W. Bush is that this supposed international dimension eliminates any possible analysis of the facts in their specificity in favour of a generality of doubtful operability. Bush has not understood (or does not want to understand) that “international” no longer exists, because nations no longer exist, and there is only “global” as an extension of “local”. At the extreme of that simplification so beloved by certain politicians it seems that the words global and globalisation have become assimilated with international in an attempt to keep up with the fashion but without having to change the ideological garment.

This confusion between international and global also seems to affect art. Bush was talking about “international terrorism”, and in art the word “international” has been appearing everywhere: “international biennial”, “international exhibition”, “international curator”, “international artist” and, to cap it all, “young international artist” – in other words, “INTERNATIONAL ART”. If “international terrorism” is that utopian place in which all evils meet, then “international art” is also a kind of utopian place of art, artists and their national delegations. Indeed, it has often been said, for example, that Spanish art is still not international, or that in Spain there are no international artists; which presupposes that 1) there is a Spanish art and Spanish artists, and 2) there is an international art.

Mainstream! Who said afraid?

As in other sectors of the economy, the immediate effect of globalisation in art has been its expansion: the appearance of exhibitions, art centres, museums, biennials, artists’ associations and collective initiatives for art all over the place. And above all, for the first time art is not merely a matter for Westerners (one symptom, for example, was the irruption of Chinese artists in the 1999 Venice Biennale). At the same time, the idea of a capital of art from which the mainstream emanates has disappeared. If, very succinctly, the most academic description of the twentieth century was the transfer of the capital of art from Paris to New York during the Second World War, perhaps the transition to the twenty-first century can be exemplified not by a change of capital but by the disappearance of the concept of “capital” in art.

If it is hard today to speak of a capital of art, this is because we have to speak of many capitals. Which is not so much the negation of the idea of a capital of art as its multiplication. In other words, if today we are unable to speak of the Paris School or the New York School, it is not because we are obliged to name a kind of floating international school but because the schools have multiplied – and  to such an extent that what is becoming of greater importance is the contextual dimension of the work in art.

In fact, art has always occurred in specific contexts (as Paris and New York were almost exclusively), extending over a longer or shorter period of time but characterised by intense relations. The negation of the artist in a glass dome not only means that he is immersed in a social context but also in a specific society, which is the society of intense relations that generate a rich intellectual breeding ground. Context is not only the social and political context on which certain artists may or may not reflect; context is, above all, intellectual context.

What are we talking about otherwise when we say that art is an intellectual activity and not a mere expression of individual subjectivity? Implicit in the assertion of the importance of context is the consideration of artistic practices as a discursive activity.

Arthur Danto has described Andy Warhol’s Brillo Box as a piece that demarcates a context in which it is recognised as an object of a different quality from all other packets of detergent. This context is not necessarily a museum or a gallery: it is the context of an open, fluctuating mass of people who construct it daily on the basis of challenges. Danto said that to be an artist in the world of art means taking up a position in relation to the past and to one’s contemporaries who have a different position vis-à-vis the past. The work of every artist is therefore a tacit criticism of what preceded it and what follows it.1 This discursive quality is made up of questions and answers and refers to discussion, to the act of arguing. Because how otherwise is it possible to think? From where does one think if not from a play of opposites, of responses? This is a logic that invades the work in art (and almost the whole of life): the awareness of what has been done and the need for a response to one’s contemporaries; an awareness that is both diachronic and synchronic.

It is precisely this discursive principle that describes artistic practices and that determines the formulation of judgement. It is one of the fundamental points of the thinking in art, not only because it generates discussion; it also avoids falling into an egalitarian nothingness and it reinforces value.

This play of vis-à-vis, at times a play of complicity or assertion, of following and negation, is more intense in a specific context. Today, the only difference compared to other periods is that the settings have multiplied and are no longer recognisable at first sight, as Paris and New York were.

But this makes them ripe for art and it is how intense settings are formed: at times extremely local, occasional and isolated, in a certain exhibition, for example; or sometimes more the product of a specific situation, as is the case with Berlin, brought about not only by the city’s attractiveness and its historical and geographical position but also by the low cost of living that has drawn people to it; at other times smaller and more limited, such as those generated in a specific place by a school of art, a gallery or a space that generates encounters; and still others that are more extensive and are formed of multiple debts, references, conflicts and relationships. Barcelona is one of these contexts, a setting that can at times be intense to a greater or lesser degree, precarious to a greater or lesser extent, but one in which it is possible to trace different currents, from the conceptual artists of the “working group” to Mabel Palacín’s reflections on the image in contemporary society. It is a context that can be expanded synchronically, to embrace Pep Agut, Ignasi Aballí and others, and also diachronically to include the generation of Tere Recarens on the one hand and Dau al Set on the other.

And it is here where the references – of artists, exhibitions, publications, etc. – appear and where discussion begins.

However, the context has nothing to do with a local defence of the work in art. To a certain extent, in a list of debts and reference points that shape a working context such as that of Barcelona we can find significant names and exhibitions that have nothing to do with the city itself. It would be like admitting that in some way Jeff Koons or Rirkrit Tiravanija are significant artists in the Barcelona scene.

From the outset I have portrayed the idea of “international” as a poor ideological dressing for the phenomenon of globalisation. In a world that is under the effects of globalisation, in art the idea of a single capital has given way to a multiplicity of places and of periods of intensity. At the same time, one of the features of globalisation is interconnectivity. The pyramidal model of the world is gradually being replaced by a network model (not, however, an egalitarian model but one full of faults, voids and extremes). And so the contexts are basically configured in relation to each other, and artistic practices emerge not only from intense contexts but also from the wider, global association and flow of information that we are experiencing.

This kind of vague idea of “international art” is close to George W. Bush’s idea of “international terrorism”; basically because of its naivety, because it shuns a more complex explanation of the facts and, like Bush, under a conservative mantle it assumes a false modernity that drains art of its commitment. A superficial generalisation of this kind can only be made by avoiding the deeper artistic, cultural, social and political implications of art and remaining on a formal surface.

Art has very often occurred in intense intellectual contexts brought about by a proximity that is now rejected by a supposed internationalism formed of low intensity products.

Bush has not wanted to admit that the “international” no longer exists because nations no longer exist, and vice versa, and that there is only the “global” as an extension of the “local”. In art we have a responsibility in this respect. And I suspect that the comparison with Bush could be taken further, particularly if we consider that in fact the only “international terrorism” that exists is the terrorism that affects the USA (and its interests).

I said economy, stupid! (Bill Clinton)

At all events, when faced with any doubt as to the concept of internationalism we can always resort to the economy in order to try and reach some conclusion. For it seems that the economy has become a factor for explaining almost everything. And it will most likely be the economy that provides a key to the internationalism of art. If not an international art, though, it will perhaps be possible to speak of an international market for art.

Of the entire cake that is the art market, modern and contemporary art only represent 4.4%. By countries, Spain accounts for 0.7% of the world art market; the Netherlands, Australia, Switzerland and Hong Kong have 1% each; Italy 3.7%; Germany a miserly 4.3% compared to France’s 9.3%; while the United Kingdom moves 28% of art sales. Against these figures, the United States has a 41.6% share of the art market – almost one half. The figures for the USA and the UK together amount to 69.6%.2

If what is vaguely called “international art” is in fact the world art market, and if this market is dominated by the United States and therefore, by extension, the Anglo-American world, we should stop speaking of international art and refer purely and simply to the American or Anglo-American art market.

It is certainly odd that the world political stage should be redrawn, and that the United States in conjunction with the United Kingdom and a couple of other guest countries (who are trying to grab a slice of the economic cake – or in the case of the Spanish prime minister, Aznar, the ideological cake) are able to invade another country by proclaiming themselves to be an international peace force.

To talk of “international art” is to use a false euphemism. For what is really meant by “international art” is in fact the market – an eminently British and American market. It is ridiculous to perpetuate this confusion, because this is a market that works, and one that, for example, does much to ameliorate the precarious life of artists and to reaffirm the value and the appreciation of art. In gratuitously using the term “international” in art, we are avoiding any analysis of the specific facts, by employing a sweeping statement that overlooks the fact that art is an intense intellectual activity; that there are different working contexts that generate and seek to generate connections between each other; and that it is as difficult to speak in national terms in art as it is to speak in terms of internationality. And so, for example, it is quite simply meaningless to ask why there are no international Spanish artists, because neither the one nor the other exist; but interconnected contexts of work do exist.

These are indeed political arguments: they start from the premise that if the international does not exist then nor does the national. A rebellious attitude can only decry both the one and the other:

“God save the Queen,
and her facist regime”

1. Arthur Danto, Después del fin del arte, Barcelona, 2002.
2. Lola Garrido, Compras luego existes, “Suplemento Dinero”, La Vanguardia, 6 de febrero de 2005.
3. Sex Pistols, God save the Queen, 1978.