Hardly Scraps: ASMR, Empathy, and Self-Care

In the history of Western culture, clear vision has been regarded as analogous with knowledge. Plato thought vision was humanity’s greatest gift and likewise, Aristotle regarded sight to be the noblest of all the senses. Vision’s impact on the western paradigm is still tangible in contemporary times:(1) the information age, characterized by ubiquitous screens and hand-held technologies, continues to privilege visuality and value high definition. Conceivably, the multiplicity of digital displays has furthered the division of the senses, dulling our ability to see, hear, smell, taste and touch with acuity, discernment, or confidence. In his text, “The Eyes of the Skin,” Juhani Pallasmaa criticizes an ocularcentric relation to the world and argues for the elevation of the tactile sense. By embracing the defensive and unfocused gaze, he asserts that new realms of vision and thought become possible. As such, the eyes can be liberated from their “historical patriarchal domination.”(2) Yuula Benivolski’s Scrap Pieces (2018) is an artwork that exercises our peripheral vision and non-ocular senses, an effort that is worth transmitting into our everyday experiences and lives. In doing so, we sharpen our alertness, enhance our criticality, and fortify our well-being.

Benivolski is a photographer and video artist living in Toronto who makes visually poetic work about personal and collective histories. While earlier works focused on her identity as an immigrant woman, her more recent work has turned outward, focusing on communities and individuals that are often overlooked or misrepresented. Benivolski explains that when working with others, especially in such close capacity, a certain level of mutual care, trust and intimacy is required. Developing these deep-seated relationships is integral to her practice and aesthetic.

A recent facet of Benivolski’s artistic practice has been Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR). While the internet subculture and phenomenon seems disparate and at odds with the artist’s other work, there are qualities about ASMR that resonate with her artistic approach and framework. Through email correspondence, Benivolski shares that she is attracted to the “care and tenderness” demonstrated by creators in ASMR videos. For her, ASMR is compelling for its intimacy and aesthetic, show-and-tell format, and connection to promoting health and well-being. In 2016, Benivolski created tingleheads.ca, a website (now defunct) and YouTube channel of ASMR videos. The series incorporates printed matter-related works such as a FILE Megazine issue from 1986, a Risograph printed book by Alicia Nauta and Eunice Luk, and an artist’s book by Adam Broomberg and Oliver Chanarin. Her latest ASMR work, Scrap Pieces is a sequel to tingleheads.ca. The four-channel video project uses ASMR prompts and triggers created from discarded materials from art making. The “scraps” featured in this body of work are borrowed from contemporary Canadian photo-based artists Jeff Bierk, Nadia Belerique, Celia Perrin Sidarous, and Laurie Kang. Benivolski chose to work with artists she felt had strong studio practices and whose work she had always wanted to touch. Moreover, having an existing relationship with each artist allowed her to more easily navigate their needs and boundaries. Reflecting on the experience, Benivolski explains that in touching the studio materials she felt “closer” to the artists, lightheartedly saying, “I guess making these videos almost felt kind of like a seance.”

ASMR videos have become increasingly mainstream, especially on social media platforms in the last decade, but the question remains of why. Coined in 2010, the term Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response or ASMR is used to describe the deep feelings of relaxation often accompanied by a pleasurable tingling in the scalp and other parts of the body. Commonly referred to as “brain tingles” and “brain orgasm,” these sensations can be stimulated by a person in real life but have gained popular attention through being intentionally generated through video. The academic and scientific literature on ASMR is scarce but studies have reported that the strongest responses are induced by whispering and personal attention such as hair brushing and spa or doctor roleplays. As well, the brain activity triggered by ASMR is similar to that of social bonding and musical frisson (getting goosebumps from listening to music), suggesting a desire for intimacy and emotional support. Not everyone is affected by ASMR, and for some it can be a source of physical discomfort, but research participants have expressed that ASMR videos reduce anxiety, helping them to relax and sleep.(3)

Scrap Pieces was exhibited in the A Space Gallery Windows as a part of the CONTACT Photography Festival in 2018. The work was shown in four separate vitrines on flat-screen monitors in one of the main hallways of 401 Richmond, a well-known interdisciplinary arts building in Toronto. In the exhibition text, curator Vicky Moufawad-Paul described the series as “a collaborative meditation on the physical components of images.”(4) Twenty to thirty minutes long, each video required endurance and patience from viewers. In that way, the collaboration was not only between Benivolski and the artists but also with a willing audience. Essential to the experience of this work was the audio made available only through headphones. If not informed, one could have easily overlooked the work while travelling through the corridor. Curious audiences were rewarded.

Featured on all the channels are the same pair of hands with distinct, seafoam-green nails. With a caring disposition, they smooth, caress, tickle, and gently tap various materials: photo prints, transparencies, fabric, bits of metal and silicone, dried leaves, seashells, and magazine clippings. Sometimes the hands carefully don a set of white cotton gloves, taken from a clear, clean, and crisp ziplock bag. The combined imagery and actions might evoke memories of the smell of plastic or the chemical odor of newness.

In the Belerique video, the gloved hands unravel a thick, multi-folded piece of photo paper and reveal the image of a young woman’s face. A small blank space where the nose would have been is instead a piece of torn photo paper stuck faceup onto itself. Like a scab, the finger picks at the blemished nose. As the soft cotton gloved hands run over the creased surface of the photo, the index finger scores every fold and traces outlines. Through sight and sound, the hands act as surrogate appendages, enabling the minds of viewers to reach through the screen and touch the materials.

With the rise of ASMR videos of both amateur and professional quality, contemporary art communities have simultaneously become captivated by the multi-sensory genre. Washington Post journalist Karen Heller compares ASMR videos to contemporary art, calling ASMRist “Bread Face” (a 30-year-old woman who uses her face to roll on various breads ― bagels, croissants, matzo, etc.) the G-rated Karen Finley of ASMR, a performance artist who is known for smearing food on her naked body. In her article she also cites Philadelphia Contemporary Artistic Director Nato Thompson, describing ASMR videos as “tactile work to [an] entire generation that’s entirely screenal” and also celebrating that their creators are mainly female.(5) Heller even goes on to infer that the genre could be considered feminist, a seemingly premature claim. While the intent of ASMR by creators is not generally sexual or for the purpose of seduction, the consumption of ASMR videos is less defined. Objectification of women and misogyny is still a lens through which audiences may perceive the work. In conversation, Benivolski acknowledges that ASMR can be perceived as sexual and possibly indulges the fetishes of a male internet audience, but maintains that her video work “can’t really be misconstrued in that way.” For her, ASMR does not produce sexual feelings. While some ASMR creators may cater to that kind of audience, she says, “I’m not into it personally, but people should be able to do what they want.” Nevertheless, artists like Benivolski are some of the leaders in considering what productive qualities have been generated by the video genre’s style, intent, and affect.

ASMR enthusiasts and studies maintain that ASMR videos are created with the intention of relaxation, catharsis, and alleviating stress. It seems appropriate that the video genre’s proliferation coincides with the revival of the self-care movement. Critics of self-care practices take issue with its assimilation by industry and capitalism as a means to sell beauty products and lifestyle experiences. However, it is important to remember the movement’s original premise rooted in well-being, feminism, and activism. In an examination of the concept’s history, Slate culture writer Aisha Harris posits that the “self-care” concept officially became mainstream during the 2016 US election season that concluded with Trump’s victory over Clinton. In the week after the election, Americans Googled the term almost twice as often as they ever had in past years. She explains in the article that self-care began as a way for doctors to support patients; those with mental illness and the elderly were encouraged to treat themselves and exercise healthy habits. And in the 1970s, self-care became a way for people in high-risk and emotionally labour-intensive professions to combat job-related stress. The belief was that one cannot adequately help others without taking care of one’s own physical, mental, and emotional welfare. Harris posits, it was not until the rise of the women’s movement and the civil rights movement that “[w]omen and people of color viewed controlling their health as a corrective to the failures of a white, patriarchal medical system to properly tend to their needs.”(6)

One contemporary artist in particular has made, whether consciously or not, the connection between ASMR and the political implications of self-care. At the 2018 Liverpool Biennial, artist Taus Makhacheva presented ASMR Spa, a multifaceted installation comprised of sculptural components, a video work, and schedule of performances. The performance involved a facial with beauty products infused with materials associated with traditional art production―clay cleanser, toner with gold and silver essences, scrub with stone particles, massage oil containing different woods, a plaster facial mask, and a moisturizer with linseed oil. Throughout the spa treatment, the esthetician-performer read a script of stories about artwork that had disappeared throughout history. In an Art in America interview, Makhacheva explains that part of the script’s narrative concerns mirror synesthesia, the neurological phenomenon in which you feel pain when you see someone else in pain, suggesting that a similar empathy is felt when seeing damaged artwork.(7) Those who were unable to book a treatment were able to experience the spa treatment through an ASMR video of the procedure on a screen with headphones within the installation space. Drawing a parallel between the process of a facial and art conservation, the artist’s intention was to make visitors feel like a sculptural work being restored to a more complete state. In a review of the work, contemporary art correspondent Louisa Buck purports that her experience of the ASMR Spa offered “respite” from the biennial bustle and the turmoil of current events, specifically referencing Trump’s arrival to the UK in July 2018.(8) ASMR seems to provide a form of digital refuge in our current global political climate.

In Benivolski’s video that incorporates works by Jeff Bierk, the gloved hands caress the images of mainly male faces printed on textiles or as cyanotypes and c-prints. Known for his portraiture practice, Bierk takes photographs of friends and collaborators, some of whom are street-involved people. Slowly working through the photos with ASMR techniques, Benivolski allows and encourages the audience to absorb what is presented on the screen. Together, the artist, camera, and spectator examine the physical elements of the images with the different senses. As Benivolski’s fingers carefully stroke the sunburnt cheeks, weathered foreheads, and tired eyes of Bierk’s companions, her hands appear to smooth out their wrinkles and massage their tight skin. It’s possible that the empathy I perceive in Benivolski’s work is a projection of my own feelings; however, I can’t help but think that many others also share my impulse to reach through the screen and touch the materials and connect with the people pictured. All things considered, ASMR is a collective response to a desire for digital intimacy and need for self-care in tumultuous times.

All of Benivolski’s quotations in the article were from an interview with the artist conducted by the author. She would like to thank the artist for taking the time to converse with her.

BIO

Yuula Benivolski is a multidisciplinary artist whose work explores collective memory and identity using strategies of visual archiving, storytelling and autobiography. She received an MFA from Concordia University in Montreal and has recently exhibited at Trinity Square Video, Art Metropole, Art Gallery of Ontario and A Space. A forthcoming solo exhibition The Ocean Between Us (Jan 31 – May 5, 2019) is a photo- and video-based research and installation project at the Museum of Jewish Montreal in which the artist has photographed and interviewed first- and second-generation Jewish immigrants in their homes. Benivolski is currently undertaking a research trip in Israel and Palestine, investigating decommissioned train stations that were part of an extensive railway system that made then-borderless Palestine the active connection between Europe, Africa, and Asia.

Karie Liao is a curator, writer, and community organizer based in Toronto. She is co-founder and curatorial projects coordinator of the Toronto Art Book Fair. She is also a content specialist at Snap Inc. She holds a BA in art history and cultural studies from McGill University and an MA in art history and curatorial studies from York University.

Notes

1.Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses (West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 2005), 15.

2. Pallasmaa, 13.

3. Bryson C. Lochte et al., “An FMRI Investigation of the Neural Correlates Underlying the Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR),” Bioimpacts 8, no. 4 (September 23, 2018), accessed November 24, 2018, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6209833/.

4. Vicky Moufawad-Paul, “Scrap Pieces Yuula Benivolski May 4–June 30,” Scrap Pieces at A Space Gallery, accessed November 24, 2018, https://www.scotiabankcontactphoto.com/2018/open-exhibition/a-space-gallery-scrap-pieces

5. Karen Heller, “ASMR Videos Are Edgy, Unnerving and Almost Avant-garde. Is It Time to Consider Them Art?” The Washington Post, November 6, 2018, accessed November 24, 2018, https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/asmr-videos-are-edgy-unnerving-and-almost-avant-garde-is-it-time-to-consider-them-art/2018/11/06/4842bfb2-db97-11e8-b3f0-62607289efee_story.html?utm_term=.7bd8ac8e2d08.

6. Aisha Harris, “How ‘Self-Care’ Went From Radical to Frou-Frou to Radical Once Again,” Slate Magazine, April 05, 2017, accessed December 07, 2018, http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/2017/04/the_history_of_self_care.html

7. Elizabeth Fullerton, “Beauty School: A Conversation with Taus Makhacheva,” Art in America, July 19, 2018, accessed November 24, 2018, https://www.artinamericamagazine.com/news-features/interviews/beauty-school-conversation-taus-makhacheva/.

8. Louisa Buck, “Taus Makhacheva’s Art Spa Offers a Moment of Respite from Turbulent Liverpool Biennial,” The Art Newspaper, July 18, 2018. Accessed November 24, 2018, https://www.theartnewspaper.com/blog/taus-makhacheva-s-art-spa-offers-a-moment-of-respite-from-turbulent-liverpool-biennial.

This article is published in issue 36.1 of BlackFlash magazine. Get this issue