‘Radicalism has lurched to the right, and ...... challenges sophisticated art’s presumption to the crown of American culture, .............. awkward for those whose careers depend on rich collectors and elite institutions, sitting ducks for plain-folk resentments.’ New Yorker, mar 27
One art writer I try to read is Peter Schjeldahl, a contributor to every third or fourth New Yorker, and he’s one articulate hollow horn. Clear and confident, he applies a wry and astute observation founded in a vast familiarity with every sort of art there is, entertaining and informative. Sorry to say he’s an elitist and proud of it, explainer for big art, big money, and the elevated sensibility of the one percent Bernie’s been hollering about, warning us against. Oh, they hide their big houses behind security gates and avoid the public eye in skyboxes, but they parade in tiaras and silk ties for art.
They think they own the show. It’s just something else they stole along with all that money. Now I shouldn’t fault the rich, but I’m gonna. I got me a case of the ‘plain-folk resentments’ up to here. Rich people’s art is another example of too-much-money tribalism, not just members-only at the club but a taste in art no common working person would care to follow, a brand-name fetishism tinged with silly and ugly, and expensive beyond belief. I, for one, don’t believe it.
Does all that money bend reality, it sure tries. When it comes to art, those big names get traded around like poker chips, bought at auction and donated for tax credit to the complicit museum director, champagne all around. Academics emulate, defensible from every angle, and downtown gallery directors troll for social aspirants in from the countryside citing a long listing of official approvals, testimonials, and previous price points. It’s become a whole industry, but down on the ground, far from urban penthouses, strip mall galleries find it difficult to unload the product. Like one of those multi-level sales schemes in which the higher-ups make millions, if you believe it, but garages fill with unsold herbals, the galleries in satellite cities are full of expensive art no one wants to buy, while they sit and sigh about the common tastes of the customer.
This really isn’t difficult. Rich will be going out of fashion soon. Oh they won’t lose their money, but suddenly it won’t seem so cool to be draining resources away from the ‘plain folk’ just to spend fifty million for a yard of painted fabric, break out the champagne -- not so fast. Resentment, maybe some is due, but I wouldn’t care for that art any more than today’s minor leaguers looking for their shot, meanwhile rolling in grant money. Plain folk, as it turns out, have more respect for art and the effort it takes to produce it than the filthy rich and all those who want to be like them. Life experience, can’t beat it when it comes to looking at art, and the tilt of recent economic trends has more people experiencing life more directly, now that most of the comfort has drifted upward, if you get my drift.
To ease the change in your own life, look for art you find personally appealing, you’ll find some solace there. Don’t pretend an interest, nodding with furrowed brow, in front of the fabulously famous and morbidly expensive sign-making on display in major museums everywhere, made possible by generous donation of some renowned foundation or wealthy couple, wink. The real revolution is in the head, everyone’s head at once, and it seeks human value that can’t be bought and sold, but can be expressed through art. Time to buy some.
*** for a graphic illustration of how the same facts can support opposite conclusions, consider ‘the case of the 330 million dollar finger,’ posted 1/16/14 on 'owning art,' a discussion of the financial crisis in Detroit and the issue of selling the collection of their art museum. Schjeldahl's rebuttal, from the magazine, are included in comments.
One art writer I try to read is Peter Schjeldahl, a contributor to every third or fourth New Yorker, and he’s one articulate hollow horn. Clear and confident, he applies a wry and astute observation founded in a vast familiarity with every sort of art there is, entertaining and informative. Sorry to say he’s an elitist and proud of it, explainer for big art, big money, and the elevated sensibility of the one percent Bernie’s been hollering about, warning us against. Oh, they hide their big houses behind security gates and avoid the public eye in skyboxes, but they parade in tiaras and silk ties for art.
They think they own the show. It’s just something else they stole along with all that money. Now I shouldn’t fault the rich, but I’m gonna. I got me a case of the ‘plain-folk resentments’ up to here. Rich people’s art is another example of too-much-money tribalism, not just members-only at the club but a taste in art no common working person would care to follow, a brand-name fetishism tinged with silly and ugly, and expensive beyond belief. I, for one, don’t believe it.
Does all that money bend reality, it sure tries. When it comes to art, those big names get traded around like poker chips, bought at auction and donated for tax credit to the complicit museum director, champagne all around. Academics emulate, defensible from every angle, and downtown gallery directors troll for social aspirants in from the countryside citing a long listing of official approvals, testimonials, and previous price points. It’s become a whole industry, but down on the ground, far from urban penthouses, strip mall galleries find it difficult to unload the product. Like one of those multi-level sales schemes in which the higher-ups make millions, if you believe it, but garages fill with unsold herbals, the galleries in satellite cities are full of expensive art no one wants to buy, while they sit and sigh about the common tastes of the customer.
This really isn’t difficult. Rich will be going out of fashion soon. Oh they won’t lose their money, but suddenly it won’t seem so cool to be draining resources away from the ‘plain folk’ just to spend fifty million for a yard of painted fabric, break out the champagne -- not so fast. Resentment, maybe some is due, but I wouldn’t care for that art any more than today’s minor leaguers looking for their shot, meanwhile rolling in grant money. Plain folk, as it turns out, have more respect for art and the effort it takes to produce it than the filthy rich and all those who want to be like them. Life experience, can’t beat it when it comes to looking at art, and the tilt of recent economic trends has more people experiencing life more directly, now that most of the comfort has drifted upward, if you get my drift.
To ease the change in your own life, look for art you find personally appealing, you’ll find some solace there. Don’t pretend an interest, nodding with furrowed brow, in front of the fabulously famous and morbidly expensive sign-making on display in major museums everywhere, made possible by generous donation of some renowned foundation or wealthy couple, wink. The real revolution is in the head, everyone’s head at once, and it seeks human value that can’t be bought and sold, but can be expressed through art. Time to buy some.
*** for a graphic illustration of how the same facts can support opposite conclusions, consider ‘the case of the 330 million dollar finger,’ posted 1/16/14 on 'owning art,' a discussion of the financial crisis in Detroit and the issue of selling the collection of their art museum. Schjeldahl's rebuttal, from the magazine, are included in comments.
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