In a Clutter of the Digital made Physical, Tiny Diamonds in the Expanding Ruff

November 12, 2014 · Print This Article

At the end of September, Richard D. James released his first album as Aphex Twin in 13 years. The resulting work, Syro, makes up for the long wait between albums. It is rich and complex, as every past album of his has been. But where Drukqs and previous albums have pummelled the listeners ear, Syro allows for listening at the passive level (something that had become completely absent in his work) and easily allows for intensive listening at the same time. Each track stands alone as a complete work, yet effortlessly bleeds into the next. It is nothing short of a masterpiece.

 

A masterpiece is proof of one’s ability and rank within a creative system. It is a career benchmark, so one should suppose each subsequent masterpiece produced by a person must be of equal or greater value to the one before it. By definition, masterpieces are selective while contingent upon factors both fluctuating and rigid (an artist’s personal navigation of a media, rules, techniques, history, etc.). The masterpiece is a defining moment, and defining moments are encapsulations of the past and a clear break with the present. Information moves at such speeds that while defining moments are there they can easily get lost in a sea of lesser moments, all of which are digitally archived before most of them can be absorbed. We are constantly scrolling downward in news feeds, seeing the more recent posting mixing with that of a few days before. Anything else is unearthed through keyword searches. Time is not experienced in the same way as it once was. According to Boris Groys “The archive is the site where past and future become reversible.” 1

Haynes Riley, Homie Sapiens

Haynes Riley, Homie Sapiens

 

Consider a cell phone video posted on instagram as a legitimate artwork: it likely favors one specific idea or thought as opposed to consideration of everything available (how the shot is composed, camera angle, what is in the background, etc.) The lack of multiple edits means that it is one moment frozen in time, infinitely repeatable, and as in a gif, the format is the infinite repetition. It is a defined moment, but one that was chosen, specifically plucked out of the waves of information and content and chosen to become something new or reconfigured, sent out again into the sea of information.

Crimson Tide Towels Feminist towels that allow you to celebrate sun time and moon time at the same time! Bask in your inner Shark, Wolf, Beaver, Bitch or Pussy Cat glory any time of the month!

Alex Tsocanos, Crimson Tide Towels
(Feminist towels that allow you to celebrate sun time and moon time at the same time! Bask in your inner Shark, Wolf, Beaver, Bitch or Pussy Cat glory any time of the month!)

 

 

More often, the works that may have only lived in the artist’s studio in the past are coming out to the gallery — physical or virtual. Sometimes they gnaw at us, as we try to understand why we are so attracted to their roughness or incompleteness. Like any content on the internet, hierarchies in the art can be made, but are open to interpretation, as for everything seen there are at least three things missed. There is always more, and the more we see the more aware we are of how much we miss. Smaller artworks in this way will still define moments, but as the moments get smaller, or more compressed, they begin to reach the actuality of the present. In this way, artworks become possibilities for the future, not just manifestos. As possibilities have a more approachable conversational tone to them, a more casual art going experience that also allows for more works, more choice emerges and is less prohibitive because there is more available. Art becomes more democratic this way, while still remaining part of a market structure, playing at a more inclusive level.

Steph Norberg

Stephanie Norberg, Untitled

 

So with more content being produced and disseminated, more masterpieces are being produced as well. Some of them we won’t realize thats what they are for a few months or years. We are likely to look back at many of these more intuitive and immediate works and one day see them as masterpieces in their own right. So often, they are more arresting than the planned works that undergo revision after revision.

Kari Cholnoky, Harmless

Kari Cholnoky, Harmless

 

Earlier this week, Richard D. James released 30 modular synth tracks and unreleased material for free on soundcloud, calling it “a fucking racket”. It is more noise than defined compositions, but what results are fragments, and reinterpretations of Syro’s tracks, spontaneous recordings and serendipity. They are a small part of the whole of James’ work, and more than providing an insight into his process, inform the whole by isolating individual ideas that have carried on throughout his career, as well as providing gems we would have never knew existed otherwise. Sometimes, a masterpiece can only happen through the seemngly cast off, the incremental, the undefined, the immediate or the unfinished.

 

  1. Groys, Boris, “The Loneliness of the Project”, New York Magazine of Contemporary Art and Theory, Issue 1.1, 2002

 

Many thanks to the artists who generously provided images for this essay, and apologies to those that I could not include. Thanks also to Haynes Riley via Ron Ewert for bringing the Groys article to my attention.

haynesriley.com

goodweathergallery.com

www.alextsocanos.com

www.campmossandsticks.com




Middle Class Aspirations in the Studio

August 13, 2014 · Print This Article

It must have been some late summer day, when there was finally enough to eat and most of the larger predators were sleeping in the shade still digesting lunch, that some enterprising neanderthal looking for a new hovel chanced upon something exciting and new, yet strangely familiar, the whole of which stopped him cold. It was this image, stained on a cave wall and linked to his life and the place, in his position in the neanderthal community and relation to larger game that held him captive. It was not the realism, as at this time realism was a bit too frightening. Instead it was the sensitivity, the unconscious awareness that touched his soul ­­ made him even consider such a thing as soul, Not just any painting, but the best painting ever to grace a cave wall, better than the Lascaux ones 100 times over. Stuck with such beauty from human hands, an instinct for ownership kicked in. Surely he could convince the artist to move to a smaller cave in the ever increasing slums of the neanderthal community, perhaps something in its commercial farming district? Filled with views of majestic mastodons being felled by hunters, or images of open fields, which will surely inspire generations of painters, from madness of Van Gogh to the rigidity of Grant Wood. A few days after the Studio was born, so was the Art Collector. (Although, at this time, they were referred to as Art Gatherers.)

In the Middle Ages, an abundance of artists meant specialization had to happen. Credibility already became more important than style, and as Lane Relyea said in regards to artists of the 21st century, the studio “gives the artist a mailing address and a doorstep”1, enabling apprentices to find him as “master” and patrons to buy the work by the stacks. His vision of art could proliferate and survive and later mutate, thanks to the studio. During the Renaissance these spaces became an integral part in the life and production of art and artists. Before the ateliers were replaced by the academy, EVERYTHING was linked to the place of creation.

Recreation of Francis Bacon's Studio, Dublin City Gallery the Hugh Lane, Dublin, Ireland

Recreation of Francis Bacon’s Studio, Dublin City Gallery the Hugh Lane, Dublin, Ireland

Despite what any “studio­based” program may claim, the academy and the studio have always been at odds. Strict adherence within the art world to keeping the academy intact is important for the survival of so many within it. The academy takes the studio’s place for learning in order to continue some pedagogy and profit from an unending and ever increasing line of hopefuls. These schools usually advertise the amenities of space and equipment at hand for the learning artist. But the student is always aware that upon graduating, that studio will no longer be available to him or her. Artists working in their studios are romanticized, and the elusive space becomes mythologized.

To create work inside the institution walls provides the kind of affirmation most artists struggle for, so to work on projects as the venue and funding becomes available as opposed to paying monthly rent hoping for an exhibition solves a lot of problems. Post Studio approaches also allow the artist a certain nomadic ability, able to shed the baggage of their own half­wrought and failed art cluttering their studio. Able to constantly see with fresh eyes, artists working in this way can potentially advance their own work further than if they were tethered to one location, surrounded by the last works they made. The post studio is also at home in the digital age, where physical space seems to shrink while at the same time we experience an expanding of virtual space. In the real world, this virtual space can take place as flexible real estate: a space that is available not as a permanent residence but as a temporary space. One that is not specialized but an open floor plan to accommodate many uses. Pop up, mobile, nomadic, freelancer, etc., all seem to correlate to this approach, yet within a post studio practice one is quite likely to have a permanent studio of some sort, and the idea of working within the public or real world as opposed to the isolation and comfort of a fabricated world is what often separates the two. They are not at odds as much as they seems as they still hinge upon 1) having or taking the time to think about art’s creation, and 2) the execution of an artwork(s) for display and/or sale.

In 1971, Daniel Buren wrote “The Function of the Studio” a polemical essay which not only defined his practice since, but has influenced many artists to move away from the traditional studio. Perhaps its worth the read, but contains holes. If, as Buren seems to say, that the work of art loses “its ‘truth’, its relationship to its creator and place of creation”2 when it leaves the studio, than photography would be nothing but lies unless the photograph was always and only shown where it was taken; film would be nothing but a series of lies, reinforcing each shot as a deeper falsification, and that the art collector merely enables the artist to justify stripping their work of any truth or “essence”.

Also in the essay, he asserts that the studio, mimicking the shape, lighting and proportions of the gallery and museum, attempts to ready or position the art to be produced for this framework. As the neutralized space of the institution is completely sterile, the work that is produced with it in mind is reduced to the same banality and sterility. The artist is forced to go to this generic space in their mind while creating the work to allow it to occupy just about any space. A residency is one example of a studio that challenges his assertions. It is a transient space for the artist, aligned with the workings of a post studio approach, but often incorporates the artist’s modes of production through a proposal to attend. It is by nature also linked to the incubation network of the academy, often connected to the art world through curatorial scouts or exhibition opportunities. Artwork made at a residency may stay at the space through lack of resources to move it or as a site specific piece to mark one’s time in the place. The work may return with the artist, or it may have been produced for an exhibition already in the works. Depending on the residency, the studios an artist may encounter may be the sterile imitations of the exhibition spaces Buren derides. They can easily be more ad­hoc spaces with as much charm as function. They may be the woods, the desert, the ocean, etc., so that while Buren could be right that the work takes its form from the spaces in which it is made, these spaces need not be sterile or banal at all. Everything is STILL connected to its place of creation, but we understand that place is experiential and movable.

Studios are a place for quiet contemplation, where artists can escape the pressures of everyday life to create and dream, become or forge something new; a bourgeois space for leisure time. Historically, we find master artists working with many assistants, apprentices and journeymen in order to meet the demand of their collectors and patrons. Buren states that the studio is a place for the production of art as a commodity, as a “convenience to the organizer”3 and a “boutique where we find ready­to­wear art.”4 These functions are both linked to functioning within, or aspiring to the middle class. Ben Davis clarifies class distinctions quite brilliantly in “9.5 Theses on Art and Class”: “class position relates not to how much one happens to be paid but to the kind of labor [sic] one does and how this labor relates to the economy”5. The Middle Class would then include people whose labor gives them authority over others and themselves. It is the desire of the Middle class to “maintain [sic] their autonomy”6. This desire is not linked to monetary gain but to a set of ideals within the execution and formation of their labor. It is by creating or developing a certain product or output that is unique that this autonomy can be best sustained, allowing one to be the sole keeper of his or her commodifiable talent. The artist is part of the middle class by creating work that is to have a life outside of their studio ­­ in a collection or exhibition ­­ that affirms their uniqueness and position as well as (hopefully) feeding them. When their leisure time (perhaps as members of the working class as an employee of someone else) is manifests itself in consumable works, they enter the middle class. The studio then could be an entryway into the middle class.

A studio and formal education are similar, in that they confer authority on those who have them. As artists we use each for our desire to be taken seriously, just as we hope they will help us make the work we want to make. We take on the studio in transient forms from the start of our education, because it doesn’t matter as much to where we are, but that we are. Responding to a set of circumstances or constructed parameters like rules in a game, we negotiate our lives with our art, looking for ease of movement between the concerns of our stomachs and the desires of our spirit. No surprise, then, that we will move between classes multiple times. We’ll get kicked out of studios just as we got booted from that cave 40,000 years ago, but we can also build again.

If some dank cave dimly lit by a fire served as the first studio, future studios may be strictly digital, the art illuminated by LED pixels created not in a “space” at all but between two or more computers communicating together. A world will be reflected, and in the flickering of the light, the incompleteness of awareness, mixed with the details of contemplation and discovery, the reflected world will be totally new, yet familiar. The objects of that world will work together to create a language around everything vital to it, what is known and what is not. In the reflection we find ourselves, and in the transmutation of matter, or light, whatever, we discover more about ourselves and existence as reality. Regardless of form, the studio is an opportunity we allow ourselves to reflect on an ever present, fluid, wholly immersed, infinite reality transcending time, matter and consciousness.

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1 Lane Relyea, “Studio Unbound” in The Studio Reader: On the space of Artists ed. Mary Jane Jacob and Michelle Grabner, (University of Chicago Press, 2010) 349

2 Daniel Buren, “The Function of a Studio”, first published in October (Fall 1979), 57

3 Ibid, 52

4 Ibid, 52

5 Ben Davis, 9.5 Theses on Art and Class, (Haymarket Books, Chicago, 2013), 13

6 Ibid, 14




She’s Not a Monster: the work of Chanel Von Habsburg-Lothringen

July 9, 2014 · Print This Article

The work of Chanel Von Habsburg-Lothringen speaks of violence and abjection through the trauma of abandonment. Using photographic collage, she creates claustrophobic spaces to intensify painful experiences. Memory blends with filmic reference, blurring reality so the viewer temporarily loses their footing within the works, leaving them floating briefly like the figures collaged in the print. Focusing primarily on She’s Not a Eunuch! (Re-Birth of Venus) and Postpartum depression – I don’t want to do the nurturing anymore, one can see several correlations in the works, with an overall sense that what protects us most from pain and suffering may be the walls we put up.

 

Regarding the images at face value, we are presented with collaged compositions of the female body in actual, idealized and costumed states. The figures are denied a concrete spatial relationship, existing in expansive close ups of skin and hair. These images are further flattened through the lack of strong shadows, the abundance bright lighting and a minimalist color pallette. Impossible to ignore above all else is the repeated use of a plastic mask found at an arts and craft store that has been painted to match the model’s skin tone. This mask, in conjunction with two different wigs, disturb the scenes. While somewhat humorously, they are overall menacing, evoking terror in the domestic space. In Postpartum depression, the cheap wig spills all over the image, its wild yet fragile acrylic locks evoke Bridget Bardot or Jane Fonda after a restless night’s sleep, as shimmering cornsilk flows everywhere. She’s Not a Eunuch!  features a shorter wig, which combined with the mask, immediately calls to mind Christine (played by Edith Scob), from the classic Georges Franju thriller Eyes Without a Face.

Postpartum depression - I don’t want to do the nurturing anymore

“Postpartum depression – I don’t want to do the nurturing anymore” Digital C-Print, 2014

The title reference to eunuchs is not just of physical castration, but of a lower social status. As the Re-Birth of Venus, the role as goddess of divine beauty, responsible for both sexual and spiritual awakening, the denial of castration is met with a new order in sexual and spiritual awakening, one that may ultimately challenge a traditional viewpoint, yet may be more inclusive. A contrapposto stance with cream sneakers as a clamshell, floating over a sea of skin, caught by the current — the trail of stocking — adds visual correlation. All eight of the four figure’s feet float in space in Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, denying their grounding as in Chanel’s photographs.  Likewise, a significant flattening of the work is evident: from Venus overtop the clamshell, the other figures appear right next to her in a line, the water extending upwards behind them instead of extending back, and the unreal meeting of the land to water, where the land attempts to recede awkwardly in two directions. This nod is not merely to one painting, but to an awkward and slow move towards full spatial perspective, one that acknowledges a transition in understanding as well as tastes, that insists on a certain adolescent stage that is crucial to development that should not be ignored.

 

She’s Not a Eunuch! (Re-Birth of Venus)

“She’s Not a Eunuch! (Re-Birth of Venus)” Digital C-Print, 2014

The flatness of the image, coupled with the extreme close ups, are confrontational, brightly lit and without strong shadows to help distinguish contour, space or form. In this we are unable to look away or deny the abuses on the child by the parent, or ignore that baby does see, that the future self sees, recognizes and is still shocked. In this tightening of space there is little room for anyone, and so the child gets pushed out; they hide behind a mask to create a private space for themselves that aims to protect them and hide their pain, as pain is often punished with more pain.

 

Trauma is often revisited by the victim through some sort of reenactment. Often in photographs and film, we view restaging of events both real and fictional. Our ability to imagine an event that we have no knowledge of can be shaped through filmic events. As I correlated one filmic character to Chanel’s figures, another can be drawn from Lee Geum-ja (also a victim) in Park Chan Wook’s Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (2005), and again, Scob can be seen in Chanel’s photo Postpartum depression, as the limo driver inLeos Carax’sHoly Motors (2012), where Scob briefly reprised  her famous role in Eyes Without a Face by donning a similar mask. A reenactment from a scene from a film could allow one to try to live out a situation, making it real, though it remains an encapsulated fiction within reality. If one cannot relate to the trauma depicted through events in their own life, the filmic knowledge of it may step in. It may be that the events we live sometimes seem so surreal that we correlate them to a film, possible to remove ourselves from them. Perhaps also are the ways we remember events, taking on nuances from various filmic scenes collaged together. This is one example of universal trauma, though it is imagined through the viewing of film. In this way, Chanel allows another entry point into her work, while at the same time calling to mind elements of art history. Which is why the relation to Eyes Without a Face is not just perfunctory: Christine was a victim of her father’s abuse, repeatedly inflicted on her physically and mentally, all the while claiming he was helping her, and that the abuse was love. She was a monster, but only through the eyes and actions of those who claimed to love her.

 

Still from

Still from Georges Franju’s “Eyes Without a Face”, 1960

A second universal trauma, one that is directly experienced, is the abjection of the body. As the body excretes, exudes and decays, it fails our perception of the perfect human, one that is young, beautiful and immortal. Abjection is inherent in trauma, as the traumatic deteriorates and degrades its victim, lowering their understanding of themselves within the world. Trauma can displace the victim as to radically change the perception of the self, especially due to the severity. The lack of ground in the photos is a displacement through trauma and abandonment. Abjection in the photos also takes place in the skin, not merely through the nude body, but also through its whiteness. The mask, the baby, the stockings, cream shoes and blonde wigs are signifiers of whiteness: blending in, the status quo, innate privilege and authority; but whiteness is also demented, sinister and anxiety-ridden. Coupled with nudity, it seethes into a sticky underbelly, one guilty by association. It suggests a malevolence in how it swallows the space of both photographs, consuming the figures.

 

The Gaze is represented fairly straight forward in She’s Not a Eunuch! — she gives it right back to the viewer knowing she is being watched, coyly playing the part in a humorous way. In Postpartum depression, abuse is acted out for the viewer, but as the abused is the abuser, the gaze is also directed inward towards the self. The cycle of violence spins around forever within the claustrophobic picture plane, to be revisited again and again. The gaze stays within the image, and travels around it in a triangle, from the large close up in the background, down to the self with child, they shoot their eyes to the larger baby whose hair has been cut, whose eyes we can’t see, but its positioned towards the background close up. The format recalls countless horror movie posters from the 1960’s, both classic and cult, foreign and domestic. It is a language of conflict within the individual; the individual made outcast by the family or society. Beyond a lack of understanding, we create monsters through unconsolable differences.

 

To live new and become another is one possibility within the mask. Sometimes it merely hides one from themselves. In Chanel’s work, the most space offered in the images is between the mask and the wearer’s face. If there is any breathing room, it is here, in the gasping humidity of hurried breath where the world is contained, as everything outside of this is an ever tightening space of abject horrors replayed.

 

Chanel Von Habsburg-Lothringen is a recent recipient of the Toby Devan Lewis Fellowship. Her work described above was featured in “Tools of the Trade: Cranbrook Academy of Art 2014 Graduate Degree Exhibition”. She received an MFA in Photography from Cranbrook Academy of Art in May 2014.

 




Crying in Public Part 3: Losing the Faith

April 16, 2014 · Print This Article

This article is part 3 in a series of stand alone kvetching about the state of the artworld. The opinions expressed within are held by a big baby, and not the blogs they are found on. There is no need to read them all, but if your beverage of choice is Haterade, then part 1 can be found here, while part 2 can be found here.

 

…And if you don’t like Haterade, then this one is totally positive, dude.

 

action_stitch3

G.U.L.F. (Gulf Ultra Luxury Faction) protestors intervention in the Guggenheim, February 22, 2014. With intrepid planning, the coalition drew attention to the Guggenheim’s direct, yet denied involvement to the promotion of debt bondage in the Middle East.

 

 

“Art is an antidote to consumerism…. At a fair, art is connected to the weakest part about it… the fact that it has to sell.” — Matthew Collings, during a the Saatchi Gallery Debate: Art Fairs Are About Money Not Art  (billed as a partisan debate by one of the biggest money making galleries in the world, whose namesake gained his fortune in advertising, and whose moderator, Simon de Pury, is both chairman and co-founder of the art auction house Phillips de Pury & Company, one of the largest in the world. Just sayin.)

 

We have become so obsessed with the money revolving around art that it has become a part of contemporary art. Often, when writing about art, we are writing about money. We look at art and we are looking at someone else’s accumulated wealth. Art no longer expresses ideas and possibilities, but also speculations and commodities. We exist in a system that exchanges money for services and goods for money. To say art must be free from the trappings of money says that artists should never get paid for their work. Art and money will always be connected in a capitalist system, and even most artists would not have it any other way.

 

But what happens when, increasingly, the art work loses its meaning and autonomy and becomes a status symbol for the rich and uber rich? It turns the artist into a stock which can be dumped at any time at the whim of a few collectors. It can draw hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars overnight. Most of the money does not go to the very few artists showing at this capacity, but towards the building of worldwide art institutions and vanity museums, promoting the monumental legacies of a few rich douchebags. The bulk of the cash stays circulating in the hands of the super rich, like a global game of Keep Away, where Big Money always wins. The few artists that can participate in this market become instant celebrities — images of people instead of actual people — their art, no longer truly representing anything other than the continuation of extreme capitalism, becomes the measure to which all other contemporary artists must relate their work to, and the greasy environment where art exists.

 

We tolerate these excesses and abuses within the art world because we see it to be the defender of the truth — the faith that is art history; a white male dominated Eurocentric history that means nothing at all in the real world. Denying the importance of Germany invading Poland in 1939 would be criminal, as arguing the importance of Jackson Pollock creating Action Painting would be just as ridiculous. That Pollock revolutionized Painting, or that Marcel Duchamp did the same for the object, matters little in understanding the world. What is part of art history is as much anthropological as it is a collection of tastes and values by those with the money and moral authority to maintain such collections, further edited by subsequent generations of taste. Every artwork must position itself somewhere among all other “important” art of all time, even though this is an incomplete picture built on the individual and collective tastes of the past. A past that is far removed from our present. It is beautiful, rich and moving for sure, but is just one purposefully incomplete story, and so is just fiction.

 

We will not be able to erase Art History, nor would we really want to, as we come to art in seriousness drawn by its history. Gaining the title of artist takes for granted the likelihood of a degree or multiple degrees in the practice, so the academic, by definition, relies on history — separating this is impossible. Instead, what I imply is a freedom to move alongside the history, conventions, dealings, markets, establishments and modes of art. Because if art history, no matter how grand, doesn’t matter, then neither does the rest.

 

While Social Practice is often some white asshole trying to help minority communities by their assessment of what “these communities” need to relieve their own guilt (liberal imperialism). But there is something within Social Practice that still offers a possibility of a freer art, a freer artist and a more inclusive public. It is within its socialist spirit, within a redefining of ownership, and the fluctuation of time and space. To be clear — there is nothing wrong with objects or images. To describe my love for a perfectly strange object or image as anything less then every neuron firing at once, effectively liquidating my brain, so that the pink goo drips out of my skull, down my spine and into my feet; the tingling sensation of this confused with the pissing and shitting of my art pants, while my eyes bug out and tongue extends to the floor, drooling like a cartoonish wolf over abandoned lambs; time stopping as I am taken out of my mortal body and able to claw at some other realm beyond comprehension just to be thrown back into reality– still does not adequately state my feelings towards the visceral power in the physicality of art. I am fortunate that I am consistently in the presence of great art, from established to emerging artists, who create work in this form. These are visceral responses we have to color, form and composition, becoming even more meaningful in their cultural context. The sprawling utility of much social practice tends to ignore aesthetics or, at the very least, subjugate them to the back burner. (Not that all art need be aesthetic.)

 

A revolutionary tool of Social Practice has quickly been diffused by the art establishment — that art can exist outside of the constructs of a capitalist white walled art environment — quickly became subjected to the art environment in order to give the work authority. No longer a revolutionary tool, it is instead a case study. Why can’t the next wave of Social Practice address this need for object and image? Completely within its reach, it has not through its determination of institutional critique while trying to court the institution. Socially engaging works with more interesting stand alone artifacts, not documents, may provide this. Keeping to the revolutionary fervor within the core of Social Practice is really what allows for its potential, and that is why, in general I am so frustrated by it. The key to this new art world may lie there: an art world with a stronger relationship between artist and audience, both able to fluctuate to the needs of the work.

 

Instead of molotov cocktails, what is needed is backroom maneuvering for the proletariat. Like minded collectives with a purpose. Alternative spaces without fixed addresses. Fine art blending with design and craft and consumer objects. Price ranges for the masses, marketing at a small scale. More art shares, art lending libraries. Personal networks that build the backbone of a new art community. Community involvement and investment through education, public programming, parties, entertainment. Invest in audiences if you want them to invest in you. Realize that you are going to be turned into a product against your will in the art world so you should brand yourself instead. Stage your own biennial. Crash fairs. Create new art spaces, like The Suburban was or Good Weather is, both suburban garages which bring great art to the average person. Trunk Shows, internet only galleries existing on facebook, and other ephemeral spaces that question the nature of art space and geographic space in the 21st Century.

 

If we can even make small advances with the public, we’d gain more viewers and supporters. We would find new markets and create new demand. We would sell more modest priced works more frequently. Instead of the nearly impossible goal of selling in the 5 and 6 digits exclusively, we’d find the more attainable goal of being able to put food on the table and clothes on our backs from the sale of our art, instead of a job we don’t care about. It would offer younger critics and curators to gain recognition for their work. Art would still be a joy, but it would be a joy shared by many instead of the few. Perhaps this art would look vastly different than art today. Perhaps this more democratic art would present new alternatives, new perspectives and new ideas, perhaps its influence could extend into politics and social justice. How much effect can art have in a closed off niche group being bought by the people within power in order to control its ideas and subvert them in to a high end commodity? The spectacle that is swallowing the art world could start to disappear. Money would still be a part of art in this alternate art world, but it would spread out a little more evenly with a lot less glare distracting one from the work. It would actually address some of the real debt that most artists have found themselves in, instead of floating around the Blue Chip Gallery satalite branches showing the same product worldwide. Maybe I’m just dreaming, but it seems to me that it is time to affect real meaning in art.

 




Truth Within the Selfie

December 18, 2013 · Print This Article

Miley Cyrus is growing up in a fishbowl, where every awkward moment and undeveloped thought is on display for the world to see, react to and comment on, endlessly. As a country, we construct the cult of Miley sometimes even more than she, her publicist or record label does. Miley Cyrus has become an avatar, just as Hannah Montana was, as customizable as a Scion and as real as an American Girl doll. As we have a hand in creating her personae, her personae is a reflection of us, or our fantasies. Therefore, no matter how much she rebels against the mainstream, she can only help define it. The more she destroys her past image as teenage Miley, the more she canonizes it. The more she rebels, the more rebellion we want, even as it looks a lot like Low Sodium Rebellion in a can. We act shocked though we really aren’t, because we too are playing a role, just as she.

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We love celebrities who represent the idyllic American: Beautiful, powerful, strong, intelligent, talented, with the same moral standards as us. We shower them in wealth in order to see how they use it, and so we can have it vicariously. We want these celebrities to act out roles in their real lives, not just in films. They appear on late night interviews promoting their films, on the Red Carpet and charity events as they pose for us. This isn’t enough, so thankfully, we also see them walking their dogs, eating out, drunk at clubs, entering and exiting Hollywood parties. We see them grocery shopping without makeup, with their kids, with other celebrity lovers, in court, hungover, and having sex in grainy cell phone videos. We have so much footage of their lives “off the screen” that they don’t need to exist otherwise.

When we actually come face to face with a celebrity, it is a collision of our lived world and our media world. It is a revelation of mutual existence: that they exist in our space, they can see us as we can them, and so we exist as well. Needing proof for ourself and our friends, that they exist, and that we exist too, a cell phone photo of them is imperative. This must get uploaded to the internet immediately, and now we have returned them to their natural habitat: the media world. Just as they primarily exist in the media world, we only exist in their world as long as we tweet, post, like, share and comment. By uploading a selfie to our facebook feed, we are attempting to insert our lived reality into the media world, used as a mirror to prove our existence, to define our character and how it fits within the pantheon of American myth. It is pedestrian cosplay and hipster role playing.

Its human nature to internalize our faults and dwell on them until they manifest into something larger and looming overhead. The past decade has seen serious changes to our country’s image: warmongering, weakened, bankrupt, obese, fragile, homeless; as well as a growing rift between the working class and the capitalist class, almost completely obliterating the middle class, which is far smaller than any politician will ever admit. While these perceptions have been there since the 80’s and 90’s, it took until 9/11 for us to see them. Global media, 24/7 coverage of war and a need to understand why anyone would want to “attack our freedom”, has led to a breathtaking reflection and reassessment of who we are as a culture, through the Biggest Loser, RuPaul’s Drag Race, Extreme Couponing, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, Lost, Breaking Bad, Weeds, etc., etc. We don’t even consciously understand it, but we have seen ourselves as the underdogs, the unabashed scum, those who can break free of their past, those who can overcome and those who will crumble. Ordinary people who set out with good intentions but became greedy and selfish monsters. Yet as we assess ourselves through the entertainment we consume, we lose a true basis for assessment. It is calculated recycling of American myths, regurgitation of roles and tropes, filtering of current events that are replayed as fiction in order for us to learn how we feel about them. As we gravitate towards the fiction to teach us, and blur the lines of what is real and entertainment, it all starts to become real, in some way.