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.
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.
Whistler's gems
As much as I admire Roger Fry, I wish that I might never disagree with him. His aesthetic theory offers a balance between the appreciation of pure beauty and moral value that I embrace as well. His writing presents a man who kept learning ever year, and so inevitably altered his opinion as he reconsidered works of art in new contexts, only then to revisit them again later and change his opinion once more. I admire the flexibility of his mind and his wit.
Have I sufficiently prove to myself how tentative I am to disagree with him? Yet, here I am heart broken that he did not appreciate the later works of Whistler, which are to me precious jewels, each and every one. They are not sharp crystals in the spotlight glory of a Tiffany window. They are instead the rough cut gems that remind us that such value comes from deep within the earth, mined with diligence to uncover from the rock and the dirt something ancient and precious.
The last paintings are vague and shadowy...even more so than his well known larger nocturnes. They are covered in fog, morning mist and mood. They are small teardrops from an authentic spirit who could no longer paint fireworks but had still the tenacity to show us a vision of melancholy that asks no pity, inspiring this art lover to return many times to the room of his miniature works in the Freer Gallery of the Smithsonian. They are always there to comfort me, affirming that my existential loneliness, my poverty of means need not slip into a poverty of endurance.
Have I sufficiently prove to myself how tentative I am to disagree with him? Yet, here I am heart broken that he did not appreciate the later works of Whistler, which are to me precious jewels, each and every one. They are not sharp crystals in the spotlight glory of a Tiffany window. They are instead the rough cut gems that remind us that such value comes from deep within the earth, mined with diligence to uncover from the rock and the dirt something ancient and precious.
The last paintings are vague and shadowy...even more so than his well known larger nocturnes. They are covered in fog, morning mist and mood. They are small teardrops from an authentic spirit who could no longer paint fireworks but had still the tenacity to show us a vision of melancholy that asks no pity, inspiring this art lover to return many times to the room of his miniature works in the Freer Gallery of the Smithsonian. They are always there to comfort me, affirming that my existential loneliness, my poverty of means need not slip into a poverty of endurance.
What if?
What if art has no utilitarian value? It serves no purpose. We pretend it educates; we pretend it imitates and represents. We gain nothing of survival value in art.
But...
What if art in its utter uselessness reflects the irrelevance of our own life as made important by each of us, the artist of our own life. We tell stories about our life, the narrator of our own creation myth. But our story is irrelevant. Every life is irrelevant in that nothing matters in the great scheme of things. Where the survival of the planet, let along life on the planet, means nothing. Our mundane concerns...
What if all art is the tragic immaterial? What if it is inconsequential? Then, all we have is the instantaneous delight of our sensory perceptions, even if we don't like it. In that sense it is the most immediate thing, and worth nothing but for the moment.
But...
What if art in its utter uselessness reflects the irrelevance of our own life as made important by each of us, the artist of our own life. We tell stories about our life, the narrator of our own creation myth. But our story is irrelevant. Every life is irrelevant in that nothing matters in the great scheme of things. Where the survival of the planet, let along life on the planet, means nothing. Our mundane concerns...
What if all art is the tragic immaterial? What if it is inconsequential? Then, all we have is the instantaneous delight of our sensory perceptions, even if we don't like it. In that sense it is the most immediate thing, and worth nothing but for the moment.
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