historic mural and the emoji totem -- dumber

At the university they’re advocating the destruction of a historical mural depicting ideas they find offensive in a modern context, while at the same time, with great fanfare, they’re installing a stack of emotionally color-coded emojis somewhere on campus, at first glance age-appropriate for three year olds on a playground. Visually it’s pretty ugly unless you happen to like extruded plastic in bright toy colors, art fabricated in a sign shop somewhere. Its message runs perhaps a quarter of an inch deep, check your mood via emoji -- it isn’t art for adults. Overall, this is not a forward play.

It’s art that tells the story of consciousness, that’s its job, that’s what it is. If it’s impossible to see in the present, history can be pretty graphic. The smartest people in the epic called western civilization were the greeks, who flourished slightly before the christian era, and we know about them through their art. It’s their thinking that rules the world today, specifically Aristotle, the legitimate father of all our communication systems, and everything else we do, building bridges, writing laws, and seeking success in our daily lives. How did they get so smart?

Seems it must have had something to do with art, how they used it, and to what ends. The quickening of the greek mind likely began when a few gifted artists began to express their intelligence in marble statues, all that remains, and from their example ordinary people began to realize capacities they didn’t know they had. It’s amusing to note that in their democratic state, attendance at theatrical examinations of human frailties and conceits was mandatory. The state insisted its citizens ramp up, contend with complicated thoughts and get smarter. We’ve never heard their music, and their painting has mostly vanished, but what has survived in stone is intimidating. Contractors with modern machinery struggle to restore the Parthenon, and no one today could build a new one.

Of course, they were conscious of what they were doing, favoring human intellect over the unseen supernatural, and art was their instrument. The element communicated that went deeper than the myth depicted, was the level of thinking that could translate the story into stone. It’s still pretty awesome. Seems pretty crazy, really, that after all the centuries between, our government buildings, stately houses, and important churches all have greek columns serving no structural function whatever. The ancient greeks represent a lofty aspiration, and our last reminder of their intellect and grace is the face we present to the public, an artificial facade. Yet, better still are the vestigial columns of past glory than the demoralizing triviality of pop culture, non-offensive plastic public art.

collecting or self-discovery -- investing vs owning

As a child I remember seeing the famous seminal magazine cover with face of Jackson Pollock over the question, ‘is he the greatest living painter in the United States?’ It was a most provocative question, and I’ve been thinking about it off and on ever since. Even at that age I’d already had direct experience with mid-western angst and insecurity transformed into rage and mayhem by saturation in copious amounts of alcohol, and Jackson Pollock’s art never seemed all that mysterious to me, each painting a feckless tantrum by a talent-challenged bum. Can’t be kind, don’t know why. Invoking Freud to justify his betrayal of consciousness was the same sort of rogue genius all alcoholics use to explain the girlfriend’s black eye, a fender crushed against the wheel, why the boss is a jerk. Seeing Jackson riding up in the front coach, I just never got on the train, and modern art chugged away and left me.

Somewhere down the line the uptown dealers turned the enterprise of art into a game of competitive acquisition, and the resume indicating consensus approval became more important than the art, a revolting development. Along came artists like Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst, less concerned with art than arousing the sodden attention of the ultra wealthy with just the right whiff of novelty, the lot of them too jaded, too insulated, and too complicit to comprehend art about real life, it would burn their eyes. Even out here, far from that penthouse paradise of social ascendency, those who presume to officiate good from bad art, your exhibition and grant committees, the critics and writers, along with cadres of academics at all levels, follow the lead of the major metros at about a ten year interval, another form of trickle down.

I don’t care enough about million dollar art to not like it, no more concerned than the average citizen, since we all know the rich are different from you and me. In museums, in galleries and pawn shops, I’ve seen paintings that made me respect and admire some person I’ll never meet, perhaps someone no one has ever heard of, and I just don’t have time for the trademarked gold-chippers, none of them capable of recognizing their own work from a fake. If the world survives all that stuff gets recycled, but visual art about how the world can be seen will be needed once again to show us the way, to help us find ourselves.

sight vs words -- visual conversations

Sight is universal, and all humans understand pictures, just as we can see the extinct animals our ancestors painted on cave walls, but language is tribal, the grunts, whistles, and clicks all learned associations to real objects, a true exercise in abstraction. There are political implications here, but rather than point them out, perhaps it would be more convincing to consider how various systems of political order respond to visual art. The most repressive governments just round up all the artists and imprison or kill them, case closed, but others employ various forms of censorship, harassment, or, in the case of democracies, systematic exclusion. How did it happen here?

The saga of the Rivera mural at Rockefeller Center, in the early nineteen thirties, was a confrontation between referential visual art, representing universal human understanding and solidarity, and the raw power of dynastic wealth seeking the fragmentation of society into manageable camps competing against each other. Well, it’s pretty clear big money kicked visual art’s ass, blasting universal understanding to pieces using jackhammers, and posting armed guards to prevent any photographs ever being taken of Rivera’s finished mural. (The mural was later re-created by Rivera in Mexico.) This was followed by the both private and government sponsorship of mute, non-objective painting, in the media, with grants and prizes, and with recognition and prestige. Big abstract paintings went up in all the big banks in New York. (late in life, Nelson Rockefeller attempted to make amends by offering reproductions of his own collection of european masters, in his mind and by his words an altruistic gesture, in a self-financed gallery on fifty-seventh avenue.)

Once you’ve seen an example of the signature art of the so-called ‘modern masters,’ you’ve seen them all. Beyond that, I also don’t care about ‘conceptual art,’ and it’s not about not understanding. The statements on the wall are dense, self-referencing, and it requires a ton of effort to squeeze any of that meaning out of, or into, the thing there on the floor, perhaps suspended or free-standing. It’s ugly, or perhaps best to say not visually compelling, and they’re pretty emphatic that it wasn’t meant to be. That's not the point, since off-hand and unskilled makes it more real don’t you see? I’m all for artistic freedom, but why are we, all of us, paying for this stuff? Why does the government, along with major corporations and tax-code surfing agencies of all stripes, seem so interested in promoting art without visual content that mostly fails to interest all but the smallest segment of society?

Art needs to find its voice, up from the ground, in a time when forces from above are seeking to keep us distracted, to trivialize and demean us, and keep us at odds with each other. The current political polarization of the entire nation is about fifty-fifty, a tribute to their algorithms, but we don’t have to take it, anymore. More people are painting, more people are looking, and when more people start owning original art, conversations will become more civil, points of view will broaden, and truth and character will be easier recognize, trust me. Somewhere there’s a painting that seems to evoke the same bridge, a similar pot of flowers, an evening light that you already have in your head, and regardless of your knowledge of art, perhaps in spite of it, you’ll find yourself assessing it, comparing it, maybe even wanting to own it. In any case, people who like the same art you like are potential friends, and a community becoming aware of its own artists is likely to discover bridges never crossed before. They’ve kept representational art at bay for seventy-five years with government cash, producing a mountain range of art no one wants to look at, but as part of larger societal transitions, the visual side of the mind, humanity’s common ground, is about to assert itself, again.

the mural -- seeing wrong

A historic WPA era mural on campus depicts kentucky’s agricultural and frontier past, and it makes some folks uncomfortable in a modern context. So, which is more important -- the message as a work of art or the work of art as a message, and wouldn’t it be better to separate the two. 

As a work of art, it’s a pretty nice mural. Probably not as dynamic or intense as a Diego Rivera, but like his work, it references the real world and captures part of it. As a message, it’s very difficult to look back and know the intent without understanding the artistic tenor of the time. The very element the students find most objectionable, people of color in menial occupations, could have been a truth revealed, raised to consciousness, the point made that labor for the benefit of others was unfair. Given the times, the artist probably thought of herself as progressive, with a cause and a message, just not the message the student think they see there today, but that was long ago, a different time.

What’s left is the art, humanity’s heritage, and it’s a shame when it’s disrespected. The Taliban in Afghanistan destroyed eight hundred year old buddhas carved in sandstone cliffs because the message of peace and tranquility offended their religion, and Isis in Syria reduced antiquities to rubble, mostly because it appalled the rest of the world, but we sorta wish they hadn’t done it. During the middle ages painters illustrated stories people no longer believe, who cares about virginity and how important is immaculate conception these days, but rather than destroy it, the art is respected because it’s a great accomplishment to be able to paint that well, and it’s enough.

Closer in John Hunt Morgan on his horse, a locally renowned confederate general, has withdrawn from the courthouse to be among his fellow confederates in their section of our stately cemetery, and for his own safety and social order generally, it's a prudent retreat. He's been accused of representing an early twentieth century social order known as ‘jim crow,’ an institution of racial repression, rather than portraying the flower of southern chivalry, a point of view in sharp contrast with those who commissioned the statue in the first place. This is a case, once again, of the message outrunning the art, and it’s a different message this time around, but the same work of art. Perhaps this is art's major attribute, that it doesn't change. It may acquire a patina, may dim with time and incense smoke like the Sistine Chapel, but art is essentially permanent, made to outlive generations, while how it's seen changes with the times.

Maybe the message, fickle as the wind, isn’t as important as the enduring work of art, watching generations turn while remaining a testimony to the human ability to render subtle nuance in molten metal, converting intention and thought into material form. It was a year in the studio before it went to the foundry, and every detail was captured in the pour. Historically speaking, it has the face was of a local businessman and his horse, Bess, was transitioned to male -- it was never more than a lost age’s fantasy, anyway. As an embodiment of historical accuracy, it had its flaws, but it was less about the truth than an excuse to cast a big chunk of bronze. As a work of art it seemed a pretty impressive lawn ornament, there in front of the courthouse, and as for meaning, however it was meant originally, homage to a colorful local hero or elevated symbol of oppression, let it go. It's meaning in a modern context is just a sticky non-verbal fake baby best avoided. 

This mural was part of the building, and was mostly responsible for the character of an otherwise prosaic hall. Removing it smacks more of red guard excess than reasonable civic conversation, and actually seems dangerous and unsettling to the notion of free expression. Instead apply your fervor and intensity to present time and its deficits. That way it’s possible to respect, even admire the art already here, and always feel free to make something better if you're dissatisfied, the real way art moves forward.

art of exclusion -- wealth recognizing its own

Seems among commercially successful artists there’s a disproportionate number born wealthy, some probably poor artist noted. May not have been a scientific survey, but sounds plausible. Obviously, a first advantage is the convenience of being funded. So much nicer to have a comfortable studio, maybe with a small kitchen and shower, why not? It’s also good to have enough room to stretch really large canvases, and just having all that canvas, along with tubs of paint, good brushes, and adequate lighting, all paid for in advance sure sounds swell. These advantages could make the life of an artist a shade easier, but they don’t, by themselves, guarantee commercial success.

Growing up among rich people, now that’s an advantage that’s difficult to duplicate. Someone’s unused storeroom can be rented cheap for a studio, and canvas by the foot and occasional bargains for paint and brushes may cost a few meals out, but anyone is free to paint anything they want, right? Still, in the real world no one can deny there’s a distinct ‘wealthy person’ sensibility, and the artist seeking to enter the market knows their work has to appeal to this rarified aesthetic. Typically, wealth prefers an art that projects exclusivity, that implies an insider’s secret knowledge and an elevated sophistication the hired help see through in a minute. This mute international style is brandname conscious and consensus driven, but just because an artist becomes adept at off-hand and arbitrary color placement doesn’t mean the established order will let them in. A few rich relatives conspire to launch a career, just how rich people business is done, and this secret ingredient won’t be mentioned on the resume, but can usually assumed all around.

Without such olympian intervention, artists from the middle class fall back to teaching on college campuses where they continue to practice rich people’s art on a salary, and teach it to students, round and round. Ordinary citizens who work for a living don’t seem much interested in this kind of art, and that’s just fine with with the industry. They cast their nets for larger fish, overstuffed with inherited wealth and tax-evading cash. Everyone lies. Their sales pitch revolves around sky-rocket fame and uncharted earning potential, rather than the visual character of the non-objective place-holder going into storage. So the question is, what normal person really cares about multi-million dollar speculations on the repetitive relics of modern art, with its unreal values and mass distortions?
 
Let’s start over with a visual mode that each person can assess from their own lived experience, and build a visual vocabulary that expresses the aims and attitudes of an emerging public awareness based on commonality and inclusion. If this sounds like art populism, it is. Original art has weight and influence. It can evoke both maturity and progressive thinking in offices and waiting rooms, enhance fond memories of food and familiar surroundings in pubic establishments, and help make a home into a private sanctuary, a source of solace and rejuvenation. To do all this, it doesn’t need to look like it cost a million bucks.

agony and art -- dancing partners

Some wag facetiously asks if making art requires suffering, and the answer is, probably, but only as practice, spiritual conditioning, the getting ready to make art. No way around it, the original part of art causes stress, in fact making anything that wasn’t there before is experienced as non-specific discomfort, and it’s a universal human condition. Life may get you ready, but at the moment of creation the experience is one of mild to severe unease, and that applies to landscapers, and engineers, and entrepreneurs, anyone who asserts their own ideas about anything, and makes something new.

Getting good at anything that requires skill can be fun, and following recipes or copying from examples, with instructor at elbow or hours of practice alone, breeds satisfaction and contentment. Diligence is rewarded, and in due time friends and acquaintances might be impressed, but any wrinkle, any flavor, or any progression of notes that wasn’t there before has a cost. I’m appealing to the reader’s personal experience for verification of this simple formula, aware that many of us avoid even rearranging the furniture just to escape it. It also seems true that very creative people sometimes attempt to assuage the anxiety they accrue with drugs and alcohol, evidence of the high price that’s paid, eventually.
 
Art is all of human endeavor distilled down to an essence. Someone has been able to compress their own aspiration, disappointment, everything they’ve ever experienced into a picture of something, and you have the ability to decipher the depth and awareness they applied when making it, it’s like a miracle or something. Really it’s a level of awareness all humans possess, but it’s also a room hardly anyone enters, waylaid by digital media, and confused by the ‘famous for being famous’ world of art. Accept that we recognize more than we realize, and that we can tell internally when the art we’re looking at resonates with our own experience, with our own angst and its resolution. Someone made this picture, and in these unsettling times, you might find it’s a comfort to have so much in common with a stranger.

showtime -- big art’s thin disguise

On Friday evening, Gagosian director Sam Orlofsky tweeted about the sale, boasting that the gallery had “set a 7 figure world record for an artist within three hours of the artwork being revealed, and the purchaser never seeing it in person.” from artsy magazine online
 
The painting in question is a dark smeary mess, but extremely large, millionaire size, and destined for storage, since who would care to look at it for more than ten seconds, or in this case, at all? Hey, all you winners, do us all a favor and toss art out the window of your limo as you zoom by, and buy yourselves some time -- you never understood or cared about it, anyway. That brand-name ‘signature art’ you auction back and forth, artificially inflating enormous prices, reveals just what barbarians you really are.

Your usurpation of art as a cover for money laundering and tax evasion, beyond the cheap hustle of peddling fake culture to new money, will eventually find you out. An afternoon’s scrawl, pulling millions at auction on the evening news, is perhaps the most blatant and visible affront to working people you could devise. If you continue to bait them with your privilege and excess, they’ll become belligerent and unreasonable, even irrational and willing to sacrifice their own interests just to expressed how pissed they really are. It seems their voices will finally be heard, even if it takes electing a civic saboteur as president to get their outrage across.

The collapse of your empire of brand-name blue-book art, warehoused fortunes reduced to dust, would mean a great liberation for art itself, and for common people. The malaise may recede when the citizens begin to see themselves and their commonalities more clearly through the medium of the art, both accessible and attainable. Of course sooner or later, newly empowered, they’ll come for you, alter the tax code and pull the plug on your philanthropic write-off racket. (As soon as some city council bolts, so starved for resources that it puts the museum’s collection of modern masters on the market for cash, it’s all over, and their true market value will be revealed. This almost happened in Detroit a few years ago, until so-called philanthropic entities rushed it with a fat donation to the trash collectors union. Actually happened, see owning art jan 2014 -- https://owningart.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-case-of-330-million-dollar-finger.html, and also read its rebuttal.)

Visual art can become a great solace to common people, a verification of personal autonomy and worth, first as an example of value beyond models of mass consumption, and of an expression too individual and personal for algorithms to grasp. The fair price of art is its value to the person who intends to own it and make it a part of their life, negotiated against the time, skill, and vision of the artist, which should be a reasonable and rational bargain in a regional market increasingly aware of its own art and artists.