by Natasha Bell
“I realized right away how controversial this piece would be, and I immediately phoned the New York gallery to see what they were thinking, but we decided together that we should go ahead with it,” said McGee.
Southwood’s pleas for extradition were denied and, following a hunger strike and a suicide attempt, she was held in a high security psychiatric facility in upstate New York. Heldt’s charges included using false documents to be employed, misusing a Social Security number and using false documents with intent to defraud the US. Her plea for diminished responsibility due to mental incapacity was denied, and she was found competent to stand trial. She was found guilty on all counts and sentenced to the maximum available penalty of 15 years in federal prison and a $250,000 fine. Her appeal date is yet to be set.
Exhibit A gives a gory tabloid account of a seemingly impossible stunt, but what neither of the exhibition spaces offers is any sense of why. For this, if there is an answer, we must turn to the novel-length document Southwood has produced from incarceration. Displayed in the original in the New York gallery, it has also received a limited print run. Available at both sites, it’s an audaciously fictional account of her family’s experiences from the day of her disappearance to the moment her husband found her in New York. Though in many ways it is yet another form in which Southwood has managed to deny her family their own voice, their own autonomy, even from the depths of incarceration, the document does add a heavy weight to the question: what is art worth? Attempts have been made to reach out to Marcus Southwood to tell his side of the story, but as of yet he has declined to make a statement to this or any other journalist. Left only with Amelia Heldt’s version of events, the viewer at either of the installations is forced to contemplate whether what they are devouring as art is a fair exchange for someone’s suffering.
Periodically, across the arts, a story surfaces that sends us into a frenzied discussion of right and wrong. In literature, we’ve seen Michel Houellebecq and Karl Ove Knausgård justify robbing their families of their privacy; in film, we’ve had reports of Alfred Hitchcock abusing Tippi Hedren and Bernardo Bertolucci confessing to camera about the lengths he was willing to go to produce a “real” reaction from Maria Schneider. Some will argue art needs to be controversial to make its point, that exploitation can itself be an aesthetic, or that the end justifies the means. But can art ever be worth inflicting pain? Is it an acceptable reason to break someone’s heart, abandon one’s children?
I ask these questions without the glib critic’s rhetoric readers are used to encountering, but with a truly uneasy feeling in my gut. For it is articles like this and all the individuals who queue to enter Exhibit A that will ensure Heldt’s place in the art books, thus effectively answering a resounding “yes” to all of the above.
Reinhardt Lang
Art Features Editor
A Note About the Art
Much of the work in this novel is real and I’d encourage the curious to explore.
With special thanks to Casey Smallwood for allowing Amelia to borrow and adapt her pieces.
Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the love and support of my friends and family. Thank you to my stupendous agent, Marilia, and to my wonderful editors, Jess and Hilary. For being patient enough to read early drafts, thank you to Anna, Bryony, Emma, Fran, Christine, Ban, Kate, Laura, Beth, Amy, Nat, Carole, Angela, and the Bayford Hill Book Club. For supporting me emotionally, morally and at times alcoholically through this whole journey, thank you to my York and Goldsmiths families, some of whom are mentioned above but also: Ollie, Nik, Charlie, Patrick, Neil, Chris, Beckie, Paul, Sam, Ellen, Stef, Martha, Cath, Heather, Nuala and Emily. Thank you to Alicia, Lucy, Francis, Linda, Kimmy and Casey for being excellent human beings. To my sister, my brother and my dad for always being my champions. To my mum for everything, especially her generosity about the dangers of having a writer in the family. And, finally, to Chris, for believing in me when I couldn’t.
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