Friday, November 04, 2005

Resistance Is Futile

I've been around long enough to watch a curious phenomenon in the art world, namely that, genuine atrocities/inequalities aside, the culture of one's childhood is often idealized (or at least seen as normal) by each new generation, even when that culture seems ripe for criticism to those one generation older. There's an acceptance of one's culture, as is, without judgement, in the eyes of a child, and for the budding artist, that world becomes, warts and all, relatively neutral grist for the mill.

We're seeing this now in the way pop culture references whose use automatically signified irony a generation ago are increasingly being used sincerely (specifically the assimilation of what had been seen as low culture or failed philosophy...I'll explain this more fully below). It serves to generation gap us older folks, but again and again in studio visits, I'm hearing younger artists say they're really (and neutrally) invested in what during my youth was considered obviously wrong or totally disposable. In some instances I think the artists are actually making a Warholian statment via that, and sometimes I don't think so at all. In the end, though, I'm starting to realize that what threatened me in my youth, because it was new or crass and seemingly superficial, has in many instances actually absorbed significance, taken on a life of its own, for the generation after me.

It's tempting to dismiss this when I see it as shallowness (these poor kids, don't they have anything richer than that to mine?), but it's dawning on me (I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier) that each new generation is a clean slate, or, actually, a clean sponge, and they absorb the signifiers around them, and those signifiers do in turn absorb (or become imbued with) significance.

What prompted me to share this now was the juxtaposition of two studio visits I've made recently. One, with an artist slightly older than me and one with an artist much younger. I suspect both of them will recognize themselves in the following description, but I hope they appreciate that this isn't a commentary on their work as much as it is a simple observation. Both are very good artists, and the fact that their work seems to undercut each other's only suggests there are no simple answers here.

The artist slightly older than me is exploring the lost promise of Modernist utopian ideals. More or less the work demonstrates how those ideals are doomed to failed, human individuality finding a way to express itself through any system. (I'm struggling to get to the gist of the idea here without describing the work, so bear with me.) Among other things, we discussed reports of fussy architects who voiced annoyance that the workers in their buildings had personalized their works spaces, destroying the architect's desired sight lines and overall intended tone, assumedly expecting them to never settle in or smudge up the place. This artist concludes, reasonably, that people will always personalize their environments...personal expression will find a way, undercutting the ideal. And because of this, essentially the Modernists one-size-fits-all solutions are bankrupt.

The artist much younger than me, however, starts with the failed Modernist utopian ideas, and rather than judging them--but simply absorbing them as is--explores their significance neutrally. There they are, warts and all, nonthreatening. There's none of the sense of loss or outrage or irony seen in the older artist's work. It's a foregone conclusion the ideals are bankrupt: "And so...?"

Now I know this might be interpreted as suggesting the older artist should be put out to pasture...that "they've served their purpose, but now it's time for their students to take the lead and push futher," but the truth of the matter is, although the younger artist shows incredible promise, the older artist's work is more nuanced and confident. Neither one should stop what they're doing. More than that, there's still the possibility that both of them are wrong or only seeing a small portion of the total picture.

But back to my central point. There's a prevailing assumption, call it classicism, that there are certain standards, ideals, even proportions and approaches with regard to art-making, that transcend the ages and disposable fashions of our day. My namesake, Johann Joachim Winckelmann, was a relentless advocate of such notions and, being somewhat obsessed with him for a while, I had thought he had something there (no one with that name could be wrong, eh?). Now however I'm realizing that indeed resistance is futile. Assimilation of contemporary culture is responsible for all significance (even the ancient Greeks had to start somewhere). Which doesn't mean you can't/shouldn't react against something new. Just that your reactions will have more lasting value if you assume a generation from now this newfangled thing will be far less threatening and actually, through osmosis with humans, will have absorbed much more worth exploring.

I realize I'm rambling now...consider this a rough draft for an ongoing discussion.

16 Comments:

Anonymous Auvi said...

Interesting topic, looking forward to more discussion of it. My take is: critical distance is not something anyone is born with. It develops through experience, so it is more likely to be found in older artists.

Over time, one becomes familiar (or, overly familiar) with the belief systems that are the underpinning of all activities in our culture. One also comes to develop a healthy skepticism towards one's own beliefs.

Critical distance is for the old. True belief is for the young. Neither one is superior; great art has been made from either viewpoint.

11/04/2005 11:16:00 AM  
Blogger Edward_ said...

I think there's a lot to what you're saying, Auvi, but it seems to go beyond that somewhat too. What I mean is that when I was in college, me and my friends were politically opposed to some of the ideas that seem to be considered somewhat neutral by students today. It's as if they've been de-politicized.

11/04/2005 11:38:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

can you give us an example of an idea that is considered somewhat neutral?

11/04/2005 11:56:00 AM  
Blogger Edward_ said...

Sure. I'll reveal who this is to some folks, but there's an painter I know who had a series that used the philosophy of the Star Wars films as sincerely as the Ab Ex painters used previous mythologies. How that became un-ironic was that for him the Star Wars films were his mythology.

The philosophy of Star Wars for me was a rehashing of ideas I had already gleaned from earlier sources (including older cowboy movies), so I focused on the special effects/cheesy one-liners aspect of them (i.e., the more superficial aspects of them) when considering them as subject matter for fine art, but this artist disregarded that (and rightly so, even the ancient Greek mythology passed down to us is full of cheesy one-liners) and focussed on the philosphy conveyed via those "superficial" aspects of the subject.

It took him "growing up" with Star Wars to achieve that sincerity about it. I couldn't see that.

I could see a sincerity about the mythology of America's old West, though, for example, that I'm sure previous generations would have seen as crass, cheesy, etc.

11/04/2005 12:06:00 PM  
Blogger Hungry Hyaena said...

Edward,

This topic is all too pertinent. At the risk of sounding like an egotist, I feel I'm something of an exception to the rule. With the exception of comic books and the syndicated daily "Calvin & Hobbes", I always bemoaned "what had been lost." I almost certainly inherited this bleak outlook from my father and my mom used to worry that I was unable to share anything with my peers. Fortunately, I think I'm more tolerant of popular culture today than I was at eighteen.

The "critical distance" that Auvi mentions also allows us to differeniate between the corrosive trends and those that are merely new embodiments of existing modes ("I Love Lucy" replaced by "Friends," for example, or, more dramtically, the transformation of Greek/Roman gods into fairies, pans and other frolicking mischief makers following the formal conversion of Rome to Christianity).

Star Wars is a particularly interesting example of a rehashing, though, because it represents a marriage of similar, but distinct cultural and religious ideals. Lucas borrowed from Joseph Campbell and Campbell borrowed from everybody to create his "Hero With A Thousand Faces." In the era of globalization and technological acceleration, I think more and more people will turn to established authortarian narrative to quell their fears - I'm thinking of the resurgence of fundamentalist belief, in particular - and rely on disposable pop to provide a numbing haze. I do worry that too many young artists - my generation - are accepting the disposable pop as something more than a fog. The much sought after 18-34 demographic is relatively de-politicized and I can't help but feel that this is a result of poor visibility.

Anyway, I'd love to more fully engage this topic, but work is hell today...

11/04/2005 02:11:00 PM  
Blogger Dan said...

> We're seeing this now in the way pop culture references whose use automatically signified irony a generation ago are increasingly being used sincerely...

This New Sincerity is a tricky thing, shedding the skin of hard irony yet retaining a vestigial wink and nod. It finds today earnestness and cleverness, belief and incredulity, pastiche and parody all messily bound up together. Think John Currin. Or, taking a trip back into the already-forgoten cultural memory banks of 2003, think The Darkness.

Inasmuch as it is a matter of generational shift, I think it bespeaks a slide from the classicism you write of into a more refractive, variegated baroque. Mostly, though, it's just a refinement on what's come before, as I think such doubling playfulness is generally inherent in the ironic impulse to begin with.

11/05/2005 02:19:00 PM  
Blogger Bill Gusky said...

There's a prevailing assumption, call it classicism, that there are certain standards, ideals, even proportions and approaches with regard to art-making...

I'm with you but would add that standards and the Rule Book should sit on a shelf and used only when you are without response to a work and must have one for some ridiculous reason. Responding from the gut is the only way I can see to arrive at new aesthetics, unless we want to replay the whole post-modern era again.

This New Sincerity is a tricky thing, shedding the skin of hard irony yet retaining a vestigial wink and nod. It finds today earnestness and cleverness, belief and incredulity, pastiche and parody all messily bound up together. Think John Currin.

With regard to Currin I'd say that sincerety doesn't enter the picture; the works I'm familiar with deal in the irony I think you're talking about. But the day for that irony I believe is past. It's an old joke; whenever I see it I hear the words, "A guy walks into a bar, see? ..." I really like to see sincerety in painting, artists really having a good time without the smart-ass gags. The whole New Sincerity thing rings false to me, as a bit too stylish and superficial, although I would suggest that perhaps its messy mixture you write of stands a chance of being a crucible for something new.

11/06/2005 07:58:00 AM  
Blogger Dan said...

I wouldn't call Currin sincere either (but I also wouldn't call him flatly ironic in the sense of the slightly older form of the stuff Edward seems to be writing about). Still, plenty of others have said he's just that.

Responding to the 2003/2004 Whitney retro, Peter Schjeldahl wrote:

Currin is important philosophically for calling the bluff of postmodern theorists who reject myths of progress in art while maintaining avant-gardist postures that lean on those myths. If, after all, we are not striding a hallelujah trail to Utopia—if the past, far from being left behind, inundates the present, and high and low culture defy being separated—why not directly avail ourselves of whatever, having once pleased, may please anew? Currin, like two of his contemporaries, the exciting figurative painters Elizabeth Peyton and Lisa Yuskavage, dispenses with irony—the nervous signal that, of course, one is smarter than some antique or vulgar material at hand would suggest. Currin is sincere. His motive in a given work may be palpably sentimental, hostile, slaphappy, self-loathing, or otherwise miserable. It doesn’t matter, as long as his artistry takes over.

Jerry Saltz called bullshit on this (mostly), while still acknowledging Currin's cunning Janus face:

Writers gush that Currin is "sincere." Yet most artists are sincere these days. Praising sincerity is like praising beauty or truth: It sounds good but doesn't say much. It's also a sneaky way of saying, "Irony is dead"—and let's hope no form of humor ever dies. In truth, Currin's paintings are nothing if not double-edged. What distinguishes his work is not its sincerity but how twistedly and wickedly insincere it is. Currin is sincere the way pornography is sincere: The line between what's feigned and unfeigned is blurred. When he's on, Currin opens a fascinatingly disquieting psycho-visual space. As with pornography, when he's off, his work turns unintentionally silly.

I'm very much in agreement with Saltz on this, but would add that Currin seems to have an uncanny knack for being everything to everyone, so opinions vary as to just what he's up to. My point, I think, is that he goes about this (as do others, as well) in a way that renders something like the irony/sincerity binary mostly inopperative. At the very least he is something like "post-ironic", his motives unclear, very often offering up equal parts ridicule and reverence.

And, while I'm certainly not familiar with the Star Wars art Edward writes of, I honestly can't imagine taking such work seriously if it indeed is, really and truly, 100% dead serious about its subject without at least a hint of tongue in the cheek, however well-concealed. And I, too, "grew up" with Lucas' universe as one of many formative pop culture mythologies. But, anyways, I suspect (sight unseen) that it has got to be otherwise—something a bit more conflicted, let's say.

11/06/2005 08:39:00 PM  
Anonymous Auvi said...

Edward, when you say ...when I was in college, me and my friends were politically opposed to some of the ideas that seem to be considered somewhat neutral by students today. It's as if they've been de-politicized....not sure that I am reading you correctly, but it seems like you are holding younger atists responsible for their particular politically apathetic Zeitgeist.

An idea to consider: "every artist reflects the qualities of her time; the stronger the reflection, the better the art, because more is revealed about our world the way it is right now." If you accept that idea (not sure if I do), then artists who live in less interesting times have a disadvantage, through no fault of their own.

If you don't accept the idea...well, then maybe the discussion becomes even more interesting...

11/06/2005 11:36:00 PM  
Blogger Edward_ said...

"every artist reflects the qualities of her time; the stronger the reflection, the better the art, because more is revealed about our world the way it is right now."

I'm not sure today's youngest artists actually are politically ambivalent. I think what they're concerned about is simply different subject matter. Few artists when I was in school were sincere about gay rights in the way that virtually every younger artist I know today is, for example. Oh, if pressed they'd say they supported them, but they didn't have a sophisticated enough view on what that meant to really express it. But political issues, like hot-botton topics, isn't the only measure here...the big one is sincerity about what's seen as low culture.

If, after all, we are not striding a hallelujah trail to Utopia—if the past, far from being left behind, inundates the present, and high and low culture defy being separated—why not directly avail ourselves of whatever, having once pleased, may please anew? Currin, like two of his contemporaries, the exciting figurative painters Elizabeth Peyton and Lisa Yuskavage, dispenses with irony—the nervous signal that, of course, one is smarter than some antique or vulgar material at hand would suggest. Currin is sincere.

I think Schjeldahl wins this round, Dan. I think he hit's on it. One is smarter than some "antique" material at hand, that material which "having once pleased, may please anew."

Why I think he's right is when you look at material that's been rehashed for literally thousands of years now (the ancient Greek mythology), much of it is painfully kitschy and even by today's standards hokey. We allow its age to imbue it with significance and "sincerity" but that's artificial. Why not let today's equally kitschy and hokey subject matter play the same role?

I'll confess my thinking on this is somewhat muddled, but I just can't accept, to put it rather ineloquently, that all older ideas are automatically better ideas.

What complicates my thinking here all the further is the notion that Yuskavage and Currin, et al. never really stood a chance against the irony-seeking missiles like that represented by Saltz's critique because we've been trained to bring irony to such work. An artist no longer has control over whether his/her work is seen as ironic. As Sloterdijk argues quite convincely, cynicism is the inescapable mindset of our time. We see it in everything...think David Letterman.

11/07/2005 07:23:00 AM  
Blogger Dan said...

> I think Schjeldahl wins this round, Dan. I think he hit's on it. One is smarter than some "antique" material at hand, that material which "having once pleased, may please anew."

I think you read that wrong, Edward.

Schjeldahl writes that Currin and his contemporaries refuse to nervously signal that they are smarter than their material—they refuse to let on that they know better than to engage it naively. Currin, he's saying, doesn't pretend to be more "advanced" than the Cranachs he apes. That would be the ironic crutch Currin et alia dispense with.

I think he's right, but I don't think I'd necessarily characterize this as "sincerity."

And, as much as Saltz may be seeking out the ironic (though I'm not convinced he is: "his paintings present a complicated case to friend and foe"), I think Schjeldahl may be groping for it's demise. But, then, certain critics have long been looking for an approaching wave that'll wash away this drek of irony and negativity (most recently, in the wake of 9/11).

I like how Schjeldahl signs off his review:

[Currin] announces a situation in which artists, wielding art, trump critics who enforce ideas. If his paintings are to be effectively countered, it must be by other, newer, better paintings.

Currin refuses to play into the unambiguous irony demanded by the cynical zeitgeist you mention. Viewers may be conditioned to read it along those lines, but he offers an odd warmth that belies it. He withholds his wink-wink-nudge-nudge and engages his material in a way that is far from flatly dismissive. More than that, though, he runs discursive circles around anyone who tries to corral him. He refuses to be pigeonholed. But this isn't exactly sincerity in the sense that we typically think of it.

If this is honesty at all, it's only such because it honestly admits to ambivalence.

11/07/2005 11:03:00 AM  
Blogger Edward_ said...

I think you read that wrong, Edward.

arghh...that's what I get for blogging so early in the morning before coffee...

I'm so wrapped up in this idea that subject matter is always created equally, I did indeed read Peter wrong...thanks for pointing that out so gently.

If this is honesty at all, it's only such because it honestly admits to ambivalence.

It can be read as even more complicated than that (or perhaps just stated another way). Starting with Sloterdijk's idea that we're fully aware just how cynical we're behaving but because we're helpless to change things and have lives to live (bills to pay, only so many hours in the day to fight the system), we go along with it anyway, meaning perhaps the most honest thing is to participate fully in the charade. To embrace it, because whether we can see through it or not, for all intents and purposes, it is our reality.

11/07/2005 11:15:00 AM  
Blogger Dan said...

Ah, and playing off of Edward's latest post, how would one characterize Eric Doeringer's John Currin bootlegs on the irony/sincerity axis?

Again, I think we've got a wily artist who's capable of giving the slip to the sort of automatic cynicism Edward objects to above.

Further, how would one characterize his mole tattoos? Is this just conceptual goofing, or is it also somehow touchingly human?

A quick trip into the Googlesphere, searching for "new sincerity," offers a good taste of what I'm getting at:

Cory Arcangel and Jason Mombert both deploy irony to explore how artists can use the dominant language of contemporary art to express themselves in ways that are sincere, devoid of the nihilistic cynicism common in much post modern artwork. This isn’t wholly apparent in Arcangel’s video installation, "Data Diaries," where text files are run through Quicktime to create colorful, abstract video footage. Arcangel’s most compelling piece was his Powerpoint and electric guitar performance at the exhibit’s opening, where he gave a self-reflexive, deadpan presentation on Eddie Van Halen’s guitar soloing techniques. Arcangel was so completely absorbed in the subject he performed three specific Van Halen solos, offering the crowd his bloody finger tips as evidence of his hard work mastering the solos. Any sense of smirking irony was banished, though Arcangel used preemptive humor to deflect the audience from sensing the absurdity of the performance. Mombert’s piece consists of a pink room that is equal parts altar and party den, housing a video installation emblazoned with the title "New Sincerity." Twin white televisions present what looks like a video of an art school party, except for a central figure dressed in a white suit serving champagne and pop tarts. Each partygoer then demonstrates some talent until they smash their champagne bottles on the cult-like leader. Mombert’s claim to sincerity is not quite as obvious as Arcangel’s because he applies his irony liberally; balloons, a faux wood floor, and a slowed down hip-hop soundtrack negate any sincere gestures between the characters. Mombert takes reality TV, cults, hip-hop, video, and performance art, and tosses them into a blender with little narrative structure. Both Mombert and Arcangel are trying to invent a new sincerity out of constructive irony, but Mombert’s sense of the absurd is darker and more nihilistic than Arcangel’s. The fact that neither artist presents overblown, mythic nonsense in their attempts at sincere expression is in itself refreshing.

Such strategies can be literally disarming as they confound our standard discursive toolkit.

11/07/2005 11:36:00 AM  
Blogger Dan said...

Any English Sloterdijk links for us?

11/07/2005 11:37:00 AM  
Blogger Edward_ said...

Not that get too far into the tomb, Critique of Cynical Reason, unfortunately...but here's a nutshell version of the central idea. And here's the must-take-away idea:

He defines cynicism as enlightened false consciousness—a sensibility “well off and miserable at the same time, able to function in the workaday world yet assailed by doubt and paralysis”

11/07/2005 11:42:00 AM  
Blogger Bill Gusky said...

from Dan: Currin seems to have an uncanny knack for being everything to everyone, so opinions vary as to just what he's up to. My point, I think, is that he goes about this (as do others, as well) in a way that renders something like the irony/sincerity binary mostly inopperative. At the very least he is something like "post-ironic", his motives unclear, very often offering up equal parts ridicule and reverence.

I'd simply accepted Currin's cynicism at face value, and in any case wouldn't care to credit him with being as forward as I would hope post-ironic art would be. I can see your 'all things to all people' statement -- maybe that's where my sense of him comes from.

Fact is I've had a great deal of trouble connecting with the new mannerists since and including Fischl. Their work seems like so much cartoonery, drawn conceptually from musty bins. When I see Currin or Yuskasavage, I feel Botero. To me that's the core of their cynicism: it says there's nothing new worth pursuing.

It's interesting to me how we interpret artists in terms of their performance on the game board we choose to observe. The more closely observed artists seem to play several games at once. Maybe this is one reason why art criticism has gotten as dismal as it has; artists play too many fields.

11/07/2005 07:57:00 PM  

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