I have a friend who has been working in the studio continuously trying to complete the work for his upcoming show. Everyone has been banned except for a few, and his temperament has slowly deteriorated as he becomes sleep deprived and blind to his own progress.
He was also earning a living by teaching so he would occasionally leave the enclave to supervise the budding skill of others. He picked up some commission pieces and quickly lost his mind juggling all the work. The bubble of the studio became the only safe place in which to operate because the rest of the world was such an extreme distraction from the mental space necessary to be continuously producing creative work.
Friends forgot how often he used to enjoy going for a drink.
Family wondered why he never answered the phone.
Food came from a delivery man rather than a market.
And eventually...he went 52 hours without sleep, refused to see anyone for a week and completed the show miserably disoriented but at least a little satisfied.
Had I listened to anything said about the work in the weeks leading to the opening, I would have feared for his sanity and the success of the show. Instead, I took it as a bit of melodrama. In other words, ignore artists before a show.
You will hear the artist say something like: “Hang the show. I quit. I want to be a car mechanic.” Ignore it. He is unlikely to quit it all to become a mechanic, plumber, hairdresser, or join the family business–ideas that I have heard from various artists at different times. If one decides to move to Nepal, do not look into plane tickets.
All of this is so concerning of course, because stuck in the studio, you never do hear any news. When what you hear is that the work is terrible and Abu Dhabi is their next destination, it can be a trifle concerning.
Leave them to the studio and it will work itself out. If you are ignored, do not take it personally. The studio becomes a sacred space and only those involved in the sacrifice may be permitted to enter. It isn't pretty and the cost of entry is your blood and brains.
Wait for the show opening, where the work can glow without your sweat, where the artist can rhapsodize about an experience mostly forgotten in the swell of speed that heightened the last effort. Some memories are best left to the silent walls of the studio.
A Penny or Two
When I was modeling in Santa Fe, I had the great joy of working with Lyndall Bass. I was recently in contact with her and discovered that she won the design contest for the new penny! That is right. Look in your wallets and pockets and her design is there. The prize is a two-sided joy. On one hand, she worried, she might forever be known as the penny lady. On the other hand, it provided her with the ease to work on her own pictures.
Lyndall is mostly known for her flowers and still-life pieces, but when I was working with her she was working on a series of mythic women. We used to call me the moon-faced girl because any photographs she took to use when I was not sitting made me look so flat, like some chubby lady squashed in the moon. She would take them nonetheless. Sometimes there was something she could work from. Sometimes, I returned later that week or the following week to find out she hadn't been able to do anything and we could not converse because she had to keep working on my chin.
I really enjoyed working with Lyndall because though we were sometimes silent, we also talked about our families, mythology, the steps to figuring out life. One of the joys in working with someone over several sittings is the relationship that develops. I am glad that Lyndall won the penny contest, but mostly because now she can do her own work without worrying about scrounging for pennies.
Lyndall is mostly known for her flowers and still-life pieces, but when I was working with her she was working on a series of mythic women. We used to call me the moon-faced girl because any photographs she took to use when I was not sitting made me look so flat, like some chubby lady squashed in the moon. She would take them nonetheless. Sometimes there was something she could work from. Sometimes, I returned later that week or the following week to find out she hadn't been able to do anything and we could not converse because she had to keep working on my chin.
I really enjoyed working with Lyndall because though we were sometimes silent, we also talked about our families, mythology, the steps to figuring out life. One of the joys in working with someone over several sittings is the relationship that develops. I am glad that Lyndall won the penny contest, but mostly because now she can do her own work without worrying about scrounging for pennies.
Sticking to Art
The Stuckists, with their traditional techniques, appear to produce precisely that work that the Dadaists might have rejected. But they are appealing, as Dada did, to be heard over the meaningless expositions of the powers that be. The Stuckists dismiss the hierarchy of museum, curators, and free-wheeling theorizing. This situation requires a regrounding, they claim, insisting that a work of art can be valued for reasons other than its idea. And thus, they fly in the face of the art establishment, particularly as it is represented financially in the United Kingdom.
Post Modernism, in its adolescent attempt to ape the clever and witty in modern art, has shown itself to be lost in a cul–de–sac of idiocy. What was once a searching and provocative process (as Dadaism) has given way to trite cleverness for commercial exploitation. The Stuckist calls for an art that is alive with all aspects of human experience; dares to communicate its ideas in primeval pigment; and possibly experiences itself as not at all clever!
-from The Stuckists, 1999
The making of art informs much of its meaning. Art that isn't made or paid for by experience has no meaning. In 1915 the Dadaist joke was urgent and outrageous: as a statement of Post Modern irony it is dull beyond belief.
-from An Open Letter to Sir Nicholas Serota, 2000
The Stuckists refer to Dada in two of their initial manifestos suggesting a connection. Since many Stuckists do not like each other’s work, the alliance among them as a group is loose at best, and not dissimilar to the Dada, or others in these historical avant-garde groups. That the founders refer to Dada in the manifestos strongly suggests their understanding of a relationship, but this does not extend to other Stuckists. Nonetheless, it would be an interesting project to trace the relationship between Dada and Stuckism.
Post Modernism, in its adolescent attempt to ape the clever and witty in modern art, has shown itself to be lost in a cul–de–sac of idiocy. What was once a searching and provocative process (as Dadaism) has given way to trite cleverness for commercial exploitation. The Stuckist calls for an art that is alive with all aspects of human experience; dares to communicate its ideas in primeval pigment; and possibly experiences itself as not at all clever!
-from The Stuckists, 1999
The making of art informs much of its meaning. Art that isn't made or paid for by experience has no meaning. In 1915 the Dadaist joke was urgent and outrageous: as a statement of Post Modern irony it is dull beyond belief.
-from An Open Letter to Sir Nicholas Serota, 2000
The Stuckists refer to Dada in two of their initial manifestos suggesting a connection. Since many Stuckists do not like each other’s work, the alliance among them as a group is loose at best, and not dissimilar to the Dada, or others in these historical avant-garde groups. That the founders refer to Dada in the manifestos strongly suggests their understanding of a relationship, but this does not extend to other Stuckists. Nonetheless, it would be an interesting project to trace the relationship between Dada and Stuckism.
Dada art in day to day
Dada art was an intentional disruption of the status of art. According to Peter Burger, in Theory of the Avant-Garde, they are responding against the distribution system of art and the status of art.
The salons, the critics, the galleries had already become important to the success of an artist's work. Dada revoked their rule by producing shows in unexpected places, by undermining traditional means (hence the collage or use of daily material) to which critic's might knowingly respond, and not producing work that was for sale but could only be experienced in the spontaneous production (Dada shows). This flaunts l'art pour l'art by taking it to its conceptual extreme. It also ridicules the philosophy's tenet of purety by showing its actual meaninglessness in actual life.
This relation to life is not insignificant since Dada's use of everyday materials is intentional. By introducing the mundane into the, so-deemed, heightened sphere of art, it actually questions whether art is necessarily so removed or whether art may not have a concordance to, what Burger calls, the praxis of life.
Dada art could not maintain this constant rupture, and hence the slow development of surrealism, which nonetheless continued to put in question form and content (that is another discussion altogether). But in questioning the institution of art, it (and, in Burger's argument, the other historical avant-garde movements) establishes two things about the development of art in bourgeois society:
1- the progressive detachment of art from life
2- the distinct sphere of existence that becomes the realm of art
Given that brief overview, I am even more intrigued to consider the incorporation of Dada art into museums. That Dada art saw itself as subversive art expands the definition of art clearly but then inherently undermines itself as subversive. Thus, Dada art becomes a part of the aesthetic tradition and so belongs in museums.
It seems as if it ushers in ideology (of an aesthetic, political, social, philosophical, etc) over artistic means. This is something also to be addressed (and Burger does) but I can't help but think that other artists had done this before in style or content (eg, Hieronymous Bosch, Manet, Seurat). I guess the difference is that they stayed on the canvas, whereas Dada questioned the canvas too–though surrealism would not. The artistic means then become the central point of contention, and by changing the means the content too changes. For now though, I still think that these others were provocative as well and became part of the establishment against which Dada would revolt, making Damien Hirst's "Flies" not so very exciting but a mere extension of the historical avant-garde. Hirst then becomes a part of art history, and the Stuckists' revolt against him and the museums becomes the revolt against the revolting.
The salons, the critics, the galleries had already become important to the success of an artist's work. Dada revoked their rule by producing shows in unexpected places, by undermining traditional means (hence the collage or use of daily material) to which critic's might knowingly respond, and not producing work that was for sale but could only be experienced in the spontaneous production (Dada shows). This flaunts l'art pour l'art by taking it to its conceptual extreme. It also ridicules the philosophy's tenet of purety by showing its actual meaninglessness in actual life.
This relation to life is not insignificant since Dada's use of everyday materials is intentional. By introducing the mundane into the, so-deemed, heightened sphere of art, it actually questions whether art is necessarily so removed or whether art may not have a concordance to, what Burger calls, the praxis of life.
Dada art could not maintain this constant rupture, and hence the slow development of surrealism, which nonetheless continued to put in question form and content (that is another discussion altogether). But in questioning the institution of art, it (and, in Burger's argument, the other historical avant-garde movements) establishes two things about the development of art in bourgeois society:
1- the progressive detachment of art from life
2- the distinct sphere of existence that becomes the realm of art
Given that brief overview, I am even more intrigued to consider the incorporation of Dada art into museums. That Dada art saw itself as subversive art expands the definition of art clearly but then inherently undermines itself as subversive. Thus, Dada art becomes a part of the aesthetic tradition and so belongs in museums.
It seems as if it ushers in ideology (of an aesthetic, political, social, philosophical, etc) over artistic means. This is something also to be addressed (and Burger does) but I can't help but think that other artists had done this before in style or content (eg, Hieronymous Bosch, Manet, Seurat). I guess the difference is that they stayed on the canvas, whereas Dada questioned the canvas too–though surrealism would not. The artistic means then become the central point of contention, and by changing the means the content too changes. For now though, I still think that these others were provocative as well and became part of the establishment against which Dada would revolt, making Damien Hirst's "Flies" not so very exciting but a mere extension of the historical avant-garde. Hirst then becomes a part of art history, and the Stuckists' revolt against him and the museums becomes the revolt against the revolting.
Picturing Proust
Proust uses so many artists in his grand work that there was recently published a book, Paintings in Proust by Eric Karpeles, providing the images Proust directly mentions, or offering possibilities for the ones to which Proust only alludes. Swann loves Odette through Botticelli. The pregnant kitchen maid is Giotto's Charity. Bloch is seen as Mahummet II. Charlus likens his young friend Morel as a Bronzino. The list continues so that all characters are eventually attributed a pictorial relation. Even his perfect mother.
There are even wonderful academic articles on Proust's mention of art...and that is astounding and a joy because scholarly journals are not known for their prose style.
Proust translated Ruskin into French (with the help of his mother) and wrote articles in the Gazette des Beaux Arts on artists and shows, in Paris or abroad. He wrote poems as a young man based on paintings. He was always passionate about art, going to see his favorite Vermeer when it was being shown in Paris despite his current illness. He transformed his museum visit into the scene in In Search of Lost Time where Bergotte (the novel's author character) must see Vermeer’s View of Delft because of a critic’s having written about a little patch of yellow. The color is indeed perfect and Bergotte dies in the gallery, wishing he had written with a few more layers of color, like this little patch of yellow. Proust would die shortly thereafter, having already been ill and having gotten worse from the trip to see the painting.
Proust is largely depicted as a homosexual with an Oedipal complex, compulsively writing alone at night, after years of being a social climber. But there is a Proust who can not appear in any photographs because he is only visible in his writing on the arts. There he is glorious, strong and secure in his own passion. For this reason, among others, I prefer to avoid psychological readings of his work, dismayed at how easy it is to debase the heights he climbs with language.
There are even wonderful academic articles on Proust's mention of art...and that is astounding and a joy because scholarly journals are not known for their prose style.
Proust translated Ruskin into French (with the help of his mother) and wrote articles in the Gazette des Beaux Arts on artists and shows, in Paris or abroad. He wrote poems as a young man based on paintings. He was always passionate about art, going to see his favorite Vermeer when it was being shown in Paris despite his current illness. He transformed his museum visit into the scene in In Search of Lost Time where Bergotte (the novel's author character) must see Vermeer’s View of Delft because of a critic’s having written about a little patch of yellow. The color is indeed perfect and Bergotte dies in the gallery, wishing he had written with a few more layers of color, like this little patch of yellow. Proust would die shortly thereafter, having already been ill and having gotten worse from the trip to see the painting.
Proust is largely depicted as a homosexual with an Oedipal complex, compulsively writing alone at night, after years of being a social climber. But there is a Proust who can not appear in any photographs because he is only visible in his writing on the arts. There he is glorious, strong and secure in his own passion. For this reason, among others, I prefer to avoid psychological readings of his work, dismayed at how easy it is to debase the heights he climbs with language.
The Letters of Dora Carrington
Dora Carrington was a painter, affiliated a bit with the Bloomsbury group. Though their eloquence sometimes made her uncomfortable, Virginia Woolf is known to have rushed to hug her upon learning that Dora's long time companion, Lytton Strachey, had died. Woolf was not prone to enthusiastic physical embrace so it speaks to Carrington's gentle nature that she would do so.
Through her paintings, I became interested in her and so started reading her letters. She included drawings in so many of them. Some humorous, some to replace words, others to illustrate the text. This first drawing shows how Carrington's drawings could tackle a topic painful to her and her friend.
Given that she was first an artist, a successful student of the Slade School of Art, I wonder that her letters are not more often seen as an extension of her artistic oeuvre. They are relegated to biographical and historical relevance rather than being seen as participating in her relationship to art.
There are many more that I could have posted but this last
one best shows how the nature of printing her letters loses the artistic quality of her letters. Though the text presents her first line in black and white, the words danced around her drawing before continuing through the letter.
As such we lost much in the collected edition of her letters, chosen by David Garnett, because the letters are printed and not reproduced. At any rate, I am grateful that he managed to include some of the visuals to give us a flavor of her work. I hope one day to go to Austin where they are held.
Through her paintings, I became interested in her and so started reading her letters. She included drawings in so many of them. Some humorous, some to replace words, others to illustrate the text. This first drawing shows how Carrington's drawings could tackle a topic painful to her and her friend.
Given that she was first an artist, a successful student of the Slade School of Art, I wonder that her letters are not more often seen as an extension of her artistic oeuvre. They are relegated to biographical and historical relevance rather than being seen as participating in her relationship to art.
There are many more that I could have posted but this last
one best shows how the nature of printing her letters loses the artistic quality of her letters. Though the text presents her first line in black and white, the words danced around her drawing before continuing through the letter.
As such we lost much in the collected edition of her letters, chosen by David Garnett, because the letters are printed and not reproduced. At any rate, I am grateful that he managed to include some of the visuals to give us a flavor of her work. I hope one day to go to Austin where they are held.
Over Thinking It
Over the course of the latter part of the 20th Century, an attitude of belittlement, destruction, and dismissal produced by extensive philosophizing became the focus of art marketing and art itself. When Marcel Duchamp said that every work of art is finished by the audience, among the things his statement implied, he actually permitted the viewer to have their own experience of the work of art, favorable or not, as opposed to the current belief that art must always be explained by an idealogue, the curator or critic. The dominant voice in art today is no longer the formal bourgeoisie but the pedantic art academics who dictate the terms of the discussion in language that often makes Dada poetry appear the height of clarity.
That a contrast has been made between figurative and conceptual art is dismissive of the amount of conceit involved in producing a figurative work of any quality. Figurative art is not inherently better than conceptual as can be seen by the endless pages of academic painters and their boring still lives. But figurative art has been dismissed entirely to the perplexity of all but the curators and gallerists, who appeal to some secret knowledge and vocabulary in expounding the virtues of the mess they are selling for thousands, if not millions...and always with a large percentage rate for themselves.
That a contrast has been made between figurative and conceptual art is dismissive of the amount of conceit involved in producing a figurative work of any quality. Figurative art is not inherently better than conceptual as can be seen by the endless pages of academic painters and their boring still lives. But figurative art has been dismissed entirely to the perplexity of all but the curators and gallerists, who appeal to some secret knowledge and vocabulary in expounding the virtues of the mess they are selling for thousands, if not millions...and always with a large percentage rate for themselves.
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