[Picking up the history and development of performance art with the advent of the 1980s, Part 2 of my article will take that discussion into the 21st century and make a little prediction about its possible future. If you haven’t read Part 1 of “Performance Art,” I recommend that you go back to the previous post on ROT and pick up the background.]
During the decade of the ’80s, the media
generation, raised in the 24-hour TV world on rock ’n’ roll, Andy Warhol,
Marshall McLuhan, and the legacy of the ’60s, came of age. Performance artists of the 1980s interpreted the
breakdown of the barriers between life and art as dissolving the barriers
between art and media, that is, “high” and “low” art. Capitalizing on the media, such as TV and
video, to make their art more accessible and widespread was a hallmark of the
’80s generation, even as it further blurred the boundaries between high art and
low (that is, commercial) art and brought charges of selling out from the older
generation. (At the same time, some of the
performance artists of the early ’70s like Jack
Goldstein, 1945-2003; Michael McClard, b. 1947; Robert Longo, b. 1953; Cindy
Sherman, b. 1954; and Robin Winters, b. 1950, returned to making art objects—paintings,
photos, or sculptures—which were more accessible to the mainstream art world
and, therefore, more profitable.) Technology
also became an innate part of performance in the ’80s, a phenomenon which only
increased (and likely will continue to do so) as we gained more and more
technology in our lives. Laurie
Anderson’s United States (1982), for example, was eight hours of sound,
narrative, and illusions with hand-drawn projections and enlarged photos from
TV screens and parts of films as backdrops for songs about life as a “closed
circuit.” Anderson used electronics to
alter her voice and the performance became popular enough for her to sign a recording
contract for it in 1981; a five-record boxed set, United States Live, was released by Warner Bros. in 1983.
(Her song “O Superman,” from United
States, was released as a single and reached number two on pop charts in
Britain, and the top of other music charts there and in the U.S.) Eric Bogosian (b. 1953), trained as an actor,
began in stand-up in lower Manhattan clubs and turned actor in the solo
tradition of Lenny Bruce and Anderson with performances such as Men Inside
(1981) and Drinking in America (1985/86), cumulative diatribes against
an uncaring society. Emphasizing acting
in his performance routines, he created a series of characters like “Ricky
Paul,” a character drawn to power and profanity whom Bogosian likened to controversial
comic Andrew Dice Clay, and by 1982, he’d become accepted into the mainstream
media with TV and film contracts and Off-Broadway productions of his scripts.
The phenomenon of “mainstreaming”
performance art was largely centered in New York City, though similar efforts
to commercialize performance as a cabaret-style entertainment is also occurred
in cities like Sydney and Montreal. But
the move had been resisted in England where the notion of live art presented by
“fine artists” persisted. Stephen Taylor Woodrow (b. 1960), for example,
elaborated on the “living sculpture” work of Gilbert and George with Living
Paintings (1986), a series of works composed of three figures attached to a
wall, painted in solid gray or black from hair to shoes and socks, who remained
still through the six- or eight-hour performance except when one figure bent at
the waist to touch the head of a passer-by.
Just as performance art was informed by
dance and theater, it in turn influenced the dance and theater worlds. “Dance Theater,” a development of the New
Dance of the 1930s and ’40s, parallels movement in performance art away from the
intellectualism of the 1970s to more entertaining and traditional work,
reinforcing a renewed interest in highly trained bodies, costumes, lighting,
and backdrops as well as narrative. Several
especially innovative choreographers were particularly affected by performance
art, notably Karole Armitage (b. 1954), Molissa Fenley (b. 1954), Bill T. Jones
(b. 1952), Pina Bausch (1940-2009),
Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker (b. 1960), Wim Vandekeybus (b. 1963), and Lloyd
Newson (b. 1954). Among these prominent
choreographers, Jones, an American dance theater artist, created Secret
Pastures (1984) with a company of 14 dancers presenting the narrative of a mad
professor and his monkeys on a beach strewn with palm trees (created by former
street artist Keith Haring) to a circus-like score by Peter Gordon and dressed
in highly styled clothes by fashion designer Willi Smith. Jones’s 1994 dance piece Still/Here in
which he used the victims of AIDS as both source material and performers was
generally received as sensitive and moving, but was the center of a controversy
when New Yorker dance critic Arlene Croce wrote she couldn’t review such
“victim art” because she couldn’t separate her emotional response to the
performers’ conditions from her critical response to the artwork.
Another beneficiary of the performance
emphasis was Germany’s Pina Bausch, whose Tanztheater Wuppertal used the easygoing
vocabulary of the 1970s, from classical ballet to natural movements, to devise
visual theater on the scale of Robert Wilson.
Bausch’s dance dramas explored the dynamics between men and women as
behavioral discourses between the sexes played out over long hours. A different artist of the movement theater
was Martha Clarke (b. 1944) whose “moving paintings,” as her work has sometimes
been labeled, draw on theater, dance, and opera to present plotless dreamscapes
like The Garden of Earthly Delights (with music by
Richard Peaslee; 1984) which was inspired by the like-titled 15th-/16th-century
painting by Hieronymus Bosch. Among her
other productions are Vienna: Lusthaus (with music by Peaslee and text by Charles L. Mee; 1986), which “evokes the corruption and
excess of pre-World War I Vienna through hypnotic dance, haunting music,
electrifying drama, and images inspired by the paintings of Egon Schiele and
Gustav Klimt,” according to Variety, and The Hunger Artist (again with Peaslee’s score; 1987), a performance
mélange using mixed media to depict novelist Franz Kafka through his stories. (A revival of Garden at the Minetta
Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village in 2008 ran for five months after two
extensions. Of a recent piece, Angel
Reapers, 2011, about the Shakers using their hymns and a text by Pulitzer
Prize-winning playwright Alfred Uhry, which blurred the boundaries between
dance and theater, Uhry admitted: “I don’t know what to call this thing.” Clarke’s latest interdisciplinary work, a
fusion of theater, live music, and dance featuring American Ballet Theatre
principal dancer Herman Cornejo, prima ballerina Alessandra Ferri, and pianist
Sarah Rothenberg, with a text by playwright Tina Howe, is Cheri,
inspired by the 1920 novella by controversial French author Colette, which opens
on 8 December at New York City’s Signature Theatre; I’ll be seeing it and
reporting on the performance later in the fall.)
The decade also brought minority
artists to the fore, using art and performance as a way to explore their own
cultures and to force the mainstream public and power-structure to acknowledge
them and their “otherness.” Troupes and
artists such as Bill T. Jones and the Urban Bush Women (African Americans),
Spider Woman Theatre (a Native American company), Ana Mendieta (Cuban-born
artist), Guillermo Gomez-Peña (Mexican-born founder of the Border Art
Workshop), along with African and South Asian performance artists in the U.K.
drew on not only their cultural heritages, but the stereotypes and clichés attributed
to them to make socio-political points seldom previously examined in public
forums. During the 1980s, performance
also became a medium for gay performers to act out their issues and concerns,
particularly in the drag clubs and gay cabarets of downtown New York City and
other large cities. ACT UP (AIDS
Coalition to Unleash Power) was formed in 1987 by playwright Larry Kramer and
others to focus attention on the HIV health crisis and used radicalized performance
as one of its main tools. Nonetheless, in
the late ’80s, performance art was also adopted into the popular media in annual
festivals, magazines and journals (The
Drama Review, founded as the Carlton
Drama Review in 1955;
Performing Arts Journal, 1976, now titled PAJ: A Journal of Performance and Art; High Performance, 1978-97; Live Art Magazine, first
published in 1992 in Nottingham, England; Performance Research, founded
in 1996; Hybrid Magazine, focusing on music and film since 2000), art-school curricula (Dartmouth in
New Hampshire, University of Cardiff in Wales, UCLA), and academic conferences.
The 1986 film Legal Eagles with Robert
Redford and Deborah Winger, for instance, even cast Daryl Hannah as a
performance artist in a Hollywood mystery thriller. (This wasn’t the first movie to present
performance art, though it may have been the first mainstream film to use the name. In the 1948 comedy-drama The Time of Your Life, based on William Saroyan’s 1939 play, the
character Harry, a “natural-born tap dancing comedian,” gives a performance in
the saloon that is recognizable today as an art performance.) In 1983, the Bessie Awards (formally, the New York Dance and Performance Awards) were
established to recognize achievement in dance and performance art, further
cementing the place of performance in the mainstream, at least of New York
culture. The artists, while developing a
more minimalist presentation style, strengthened their connection with the spectators, further eliminating
the barriers such as those of gender, race, and sexuality.
Following on a virulent 1989 controversy over the exhibition of a
collection of Robert Mapplethorpe’s homoerotic photographs (Robert Mapplethorpe: The Perfect Moment)
and a photo by Andres Serrano depicting a crucifix immersed in urine (Piss Crist), conservative members of
congress, urged on by some critics and commentators, began a campaign to
restrict the funding for art of which they disapproved through the NEA and
other public agencies. In 1990,
performance art was caught in the tangle of religious, social, and political
attacks when The NEA Four were denied an Endowment grant on the basis of the
content of their controversial work (Finley’s We Keep Our Victims Ready, Miller’s Stretch Marks, Fleck’s I Got
the He-be-she-be’s, and Hughes’s World
Without End) which explored sexuality and AIDS and employed nudity and
images of defecation. Legislation to
prevent funding of “obscene and indecent” art passed the U.S. Senate but was
defeated in the House of Representatives. In 1991, Hughes and Miller were again awarded
NEA grants and in 1993, the NEA Four sued the federal government on the charge
that their grants had been improperly denied and won. During the trial, documents proved that NEA
chairman John Frohnmayer (who’d been forced to resign) had succumbed to political
pressure to deny grants to which some legislators objected. Though some onerous restrictions remained in
force after the 1990s, mostly effecting how grants were administered, the
effort to eliminate the entire NEA (as well as the NEH), or at least hog-tie
it, was averted.
Despite the political backlash on all
controversial art, the 1990s became the golden age of performance art (at least
so far), moving beyond parochial concerns to grander philosophical issues. A number of performance artists like
Anderson, Bogosian, Gray, and Ann Magnuson (b. 1956) attracted large
followings, posing the dilemma of maintaining this popularity while remaining
innovative and radical in their art. In
the early ’90s, for instance, Penny Arcade (née Susana Ventura, b. 1950), a
performance artist, actor, and playwright who got her start in the 1960s with
John Vaccaro’s Playhouse of the Ridiculous and in Andy Warhol’s films, made the
shift from pure performance art to writing plays. She performed autobiographical material
mixed with the satire of contemporary political and social themes, including
her problems with the Catholic church, anti-intellectualism, an intolerant art
and performance world, and conformity, in a trilogy of plays drawn from her own
life: Based on a True Story (1990), Invitation to the Beginning of
the End of the World (Invitation to the Beginning of the End of My Career)
(1990), La Miseria (1991). Presented at popular venues like La MaMa and
P.S. 122 in the East Village, these plays marked Arcade’s earliest steps from
solo performance to writing works for other actors (including one who played
“Young Penny”). (I reviewed the middle
play, Invitation, for the New York Native and have written an
unpublished report on La Miseria to
which Arcade had invited me because, she hoped, I could explain to her what she
was doing.)
A few years later, another downtown artist, Reno (née Karen Reno, b. 1956), hitherto little known outside New York City’s downtown performance scene (where she was already a popular cult figure), made a documentary/docudrama for HBO about her actual search for her birth mother. In June 1998, Reno Finds Her Mom, which featured such mainstream stars as Mary Tyler Moore as Reno’s adoptive mother and Lily Tomlin as her fairy godmother, was broadcast on the cable network known for airing stand-up comedy stars and sports events. Reno, whose style’s been described as “loud, freewheeling and chaotic” by the New York Times, presents satirical social and political commentary with a feminist slant, using plenty of humor, both blue and clean, in such routines as Reno: In Rage and Rehab (1989), Reno Once Removed (1991).
Through the 1990s, performance became increasingly a part of the
mainstream of U.S. and western culture, welcomed as a serious art form in
established museums, once the targets of performance artists’
opprobrium and protests. RoseLee Goldberg reports that British,
U.S., and German universities expanded their performance studies faculties and research
collections, and developed new curricula that connected performance art to
dance, theater, music, literature, and media studies. At the same time, she notes, art museums hired
curatorial specialists to mount significant exhibits of performance art and included
spaces for live art in designs for new museums and additions. More and more museums, such as New York’s MoMA, London’s Tate Modern, and Centre Georges
Pompidou in Paris, incorporated departments of performance
art in their curatorial structure. Also in the 20th century’s last decade,
after having spread from North America and other English-speaking nations
(Britain and Australia principally) to Western Europe (France, Germany, and
Belgium were especially welcoming to the art form) and around the Caribbean
basin, performance made its way into the former Eastern Bloc, where it had been
expressly rejected by the repressive communist regimes. The fall of the Soviet Union not only saw the
presentation of performance art in Eastern Europe, but performances began to
appear in China (where underground performance art had been known since the
late 1980s) and Cuba.
The ’90s also saw the incorporation of
new technologies into performance. Old
groups like Elizabeth LeCompte’s Wooster Group began using technology, from
video and CCTV to computers and electronic sound, not just as scenic
enhancements but as part of the performance texts, one of the ways the story is
told. The techniques of other fields
such as the technologies of computer design and synthesized sound were adapted
to performance use. In Quebec City’s Ex
Machina company’s Seven Streams of the
River Ota (1994-96), a seven-hour, two-part epic, Robert Lepage brought
together film projections and CGI with elements of Japanese traditional theater
forms, including Bunraku puppetry, to examine against the backdrop of the Nazi
Holocaust in Europe and the atomic cataclysm in Hiroshima the agony of horrific
tragedy and the hope of rebirth. One of
the outgrowths of the merger with technology, as we’ll see, is the blurring among
performance artists of the once-distinct boundary between live event and
performance video and recorded media.
Reflecting at the
end of the 20th century, Goldberg asserts:
Indeed, the history of performance
throughout the twentieth century showed performance to be an experimental
laboratory for some of the most original and radical art forms; it was a
freewheeling, permissive activity for intellectual and formalist excursions of
all kinds that could, if studied carefully, reveal layers of meaning about art
and artmaking that simply were not clear before.
By the turn of the millennium, performance
art had spread to all corners of the world, even into cultures where behavior
of all kinds was tightly controlled. The
availability of worldwide media, like the Internet, satellite TV, videos and
DVD’s, smart phones and tablet computers, not to mention international
entrepreneurship, spread the concept and depicted the effectiveness of
performance as a form of political protest and dissidence. Goldberg observes:
Performance was the ideal medium for
conveying the myriad ideas emanating from such vastly different places. It was predominantly visual, so translation
was not a problem; it was ephemeral and therefore the perfect medium for
evading government watchdogs in countries where artists’ activities were
considered politically subversive; it was cutting edge, in that it frequently
used technology to produce sound and image, recording and projection; and it
was timeless and accessible in its use of the body, naked or clothed, with its
universal figurative language of gestures and movement.
The writer went on to point out that
the limitless nature of performance, in subject, media, venue, and length meant
it can carry almost any message, no matter how complex or layered—plus it’s
portable, needing little or no support matrix, as the artist desires. A performance can be mounted instantly on the
streets of Cairo, Khartoum, Rio, or Minsk—and then whisked off to be repeated
in Berlin, London, or New York where it garners international attention. Computers and cell phones can carry the image
of the event all over the world immediately.
The upheavals of the late 20th century
have had their repercussions in the world of global performance. The consequences of the fall of European
communism have become the subjects of performance events by artists in regions
like Belarus, Ukraine, Russia, and the Balkans; the end of apartheid in South Africa and the turmoil in other sub-Saharan
African nations; the failure of the Middle East peace negotiations and, later,
the exhilaration and subsequent disappointments of the Arab Spring (which has
generated performances on both the Palestinian-Arab and the Israeli side); the
aftermath of the Tiananmen Square massacre and the sudden shift of the Chinese
government from Maoist communism to a sort of socialized capitalism. Even as the aftershocks of these momentous
events continues into the 21st century, the artistic reflection of the regional
and global impact, combined with the discovery or encouragement of performance
art, has had its own cultural reverberations, both at home and
internationally.
Meanwhile, artists around the world
began to use performance as a way to explore what Goldberg calls “‘difference’—of
their own cultures and ethnicities” and of participating in the wide-ranging examination
of global culture. Multiculturalism
became a significant theme and focus as minority artists began exploring not
just their own ethnicities and cultures, but how those characteristics blended
or clashed with the dominant ones. The medium had grown to incorporate multiple
styles of art and performance and the new media of the 21st century and
computer-assisted techniques. Not all
performances were hi-tech, of course: beginning in the 1990s and continuing
into the 21st century, Argentine-born Rirkrit Tiravanija (b. 1961), son of
a Thai diplomat, started preparing traditional Thai meals which he shared with
the spectators in the galleries (first the Paula Allen Gallery in New York,
then others including the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh and, in 2011,
MoMA).
By the 2010s, the feedback loop was
completed as the now-often computer-aided performance became a staple of the
Internet when a video of Interior Semiotics, in which artist Natacha Stolz (later
changed to Gabbi Colette, no dates [b. c. 1991]), a student at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, squirted SpaghettiOs out of her vagina,
received over 1.75 million hits on YouTube.
The performance, though, seems to me more like a kind of sexualized Jackass gimmick, more to attract
attention and prove the performer’s street-creds than to make a strong artistic
or social point.
Biennials and art fairs are featuring performance in their programs, the
most prominent being, arguably, Goldberg’s own Performa, slugged “the only
biennial dedicated to commissioning, presenting and exploring new visual art
performance across disciplines,” which started in 2004. Some might argue that the art form that was
adamantly “ephemeral, unsalable and uncategorizable,” in the words of the New York Times’s Carol Kino, has been
coopted by the museums and the art establishment whom the earlier generation of
artists had repudiated. For example, while performance artists have
long sold off photos or video recordings of their work, or props and artifacts
left over after the live event had passed, Tino Sehgal, in what appears to be a
first in the field, sold the rights to one of his pieces itself: MoMA paid a
reported $70,000 in 2008 for a version of Kiss
(2003), a living sculpture exhibited at the Guggenheim in 2010. Not only is this a violation of the
performance artists’ principle that their form of art can’t be sold, it also
violates the notion that it can’t be reproduced after its initial presentation. While some artists contend that the new
version isn’t really the same work, others see it as a perversion of the form’s
spirit. “Reperformance,” it seems, is the phenomenon of the 21st-century
incarnation of performance art. More
people, after all, would be able to experience the performance through
reproduction than would have been present at the original live event. “Reperformance is the new concept, the new idea!” Serbian-born
performance artist Marina Abramović (b. 1946) declares. “Otherwise it will be
dead as an art form.” Other artists
don’t agree, however.
In 2010, P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center in Queens, New York, mounted a 10-decade
retrospective of performance called 100 Years (version #2, ps1, nov 2009), conceived as a “living
exhibition” showing live art over the last century. One thing such a look back demonstrates is
that most practitioners of performance art (though not all, as the likes of Goldstein,
McClard, Longo, Sherman, and Winters demonstrate), once having started working
exclusively in the form, have stayed with it throughout their careers. Among the Dadaists, Surrealists, and even
Conceptualists, the artists who experimented with performance returned to more
traditional art forms after their flirtation.
Decades after its birth, performance art still attracts young artists,
even if they are changing the form as they work. Still, I don’t hear or read about
performance art or artists as much now as I did 30 years ago, during what might
be considered the form’s heyday, so perhaps, like the Happening, its hour upon
the stage has passed. If it has, and it
isn’t reborn or transformed, it’s had a lasting effect on 21st-century theater,
dance, photography, film and video, music and cabaret, advertising, talk shows,
stand-up, and art.
One possibility,
perhaps even a likelihood, for why performance has disappeared from the
art-news headlines is that it’s been absorbed, at least theoretically, into the
mainstream and acceptability. For
instance, as recently as three years ago, MoMA declared that performance art
was entering a period of “extraordinary resurgence” as evidenced by performance
exhibitions at the Guggenheim Museum (Tino Sehgal, January-March 2010), the
Neuberger Museum (Tania
Bruguera: On the Political Imaginary, January-April 2010), and MoMA’s own
performance retrospective of the work
of Abramović (The Artist is Present, March-May 2010)—an
eventuality that would have been unheard of just a few years earlier.
Another
explanation, according to RoseLee Goldberg, is that historically, performance
as a medium comes and goes in waves.
Every time the art world stagnates and seems to have become complacent,
the younger artists, the ones usually labeled “avant-garde,” take to live
performance to shake things up and challenge the establishment. “Yet each time that it returns,” writes
Goldberg, “performance looks entirely different, even unrecognizable, from the
time before.” Writing in 1982, 31 years
ago, Goldberg saw a period of quiescence in performance art, and perhaps now is
another such time. But when the form
reemerges, as Goldberg predicts it must, it will look completely different than
the performance art of the ’70s or the ’90s, because it will be responding to a
new status quo, a new set of circumstances.
It will also be drawing on a new set of techniques and methods, new
media, as well.
Certainly,
however, the freedom of both subject matter and material, the openness of both
creators and viewers, not to mention critics, to new notions of creativity,
will remain part of the performing and visual art scene, and artists will, as
they always have, look for new ways to create and convey messages about the
world they witness. One aspect is
probably a certainty: whatever forms performance takes in the 21st century, it
will be highly internationalized, not necessarily on subject matter, but in
audience because of the ease and speed with which events can be hurled around
the globe instantaneously. Given the
performance art thesis that, like subject matter, no medium is out of bounds,
as new materials and technologies evolve (or are coöpted), it’s also a
certainty that the heirs to 20th-century performance will find ways to use
them. By nature, performance art constantly changes and evolves,
as the artists adopt and adapt to new technologies and media, engulfing new
ideas and concepts as they pursue their aims.
It’s inevitable that performance will make use of computers and whatever
technology comes after that to pursue new interpretations of an art form that
by definition has no rules or limits.
Just as in the 1920s, Italian Futurists used machines as a symbol,
subject, and medium for their art, the performance artists of the 21st century,
coming up on 100 years later, will follow a similar, though certainly different,
path.
[I don’t know how good I am at
prognosticating, so we’ll just have to wait a decade to see if I got anything
right at the end. But I’m going to step
back, to what may have been performance art’s second golden age, and have a
brief look at two performances from the 1990s.
I mentioned performance artists Penny Arcade in “Performance Art,” so
I’ve retrieved reports on two of her plays, from the early stages of her
transition from a solo performer to a playwright who writes for ensembles. I’ll be posting my look back at Invitation to the Beginning of the End of the World
(Invitation to the Beginning of the End of My Career)
and La Miseria shortly, so log onto ROT in a week or so for a
glimpse at one performer’s take on life and art from 22 and 23 years ago.]
These two articles are a remarkable resource. It's wonderful that they'll be available to inquirers on the subject. Performance art places the claims of the present above the claims of history - in that sense it strikes me as an extraordinarily healthy development. Since live musical performances take place "at the moment," the lines between performance art and music can disappear, a point I've made in this blog about a couple of artists (Bob Dylan, Lady Gaga). That relationship is well represented in the marriage of the brilliant Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed, who sadly just died, and a great deal of whose power as a performer came from his focus on what he was doing, not over a career, but at the moment.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Kirk.
DeleteWhat a perceptive and illuminating comment. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd forgotten that you made the link between musical performance and performance art in your profiles of Dylan (8 Jan. 2011) and Lady Gaga (1 Nov. 2011). Not only do you make an excellent point, but the commentary those posts make on my surveys is worthwhile.
~Rick
In the New York Times of 4 September, art critic Ken Johnson published this review of 'Gilbert & George: The Early Years,' running at MoMA through 27 September:
ReplyDelete"If you were frequenting New York galleries in the early 1970s, you might have witnessed one of that period’s most memorable works of performance art, at Sonnabend Gallery: the British duo Gilbert & George’s 'Singing Sculpture.' Wearing suits and ties, and with their skin covered in metallic paint, they stood on a table and robotically lip-synced to an old recording of the Depression-era song 'Underneath the Arches.' A video of them, reprising their performance at Sonnabend in 1991, is included in 'Gilbert & George: The Early Years,' an engaging Museum of Modern Art SURVEY of their doings from 1969 to 1975.
"Gilbert Proesch and George Passmore met as students at St. Martin’s School of Art in London in 1967, soon after which they determined that everything they made or did in art and life would be sculpture, and that their partnership itself would be a living sculpture. Their anti-elitist slogan was 'Art for All,' but if their art was populist, it was in a peculiarly ambiguous way: While their work could be broadly comically entertaining, it was a highly sophisticated and knowing response to the avant-garde art of its time.
"Since the 1980s, Gilbert & George have been known for aggressively overbearing large-scale photomontages resembling modern stained-glass WINDOWS, in which they are depicted amid sometimes politically provocative allegorical images. This show, organized by David Platzker, a MoMA drawings and prints curator, reveals them starting out in their 20s in a disarmingly playful spirit of self-invention.
"The show features many small-scale printed works, including exhibition announcements, mail art and booklets. Like just about everything in this exhibition, the material mocks the sentimental grandiosity that tends to accrue around celebrated art and artists: 'It is our intention to bring everyone to a realization of the beauty and necessity of our sculpture,' reads an oration by the artists in a publication called 'The Ten Speeches.'
"One art-life activity to which they devoted themselves was drinking. Along with a sketchy mural-scale charcoal drawing of themselves in a bar, and a video of them drinking gin, are two funny sculptural objects: a wineglass with its STEM bent, so that it appears dizzily inebriated, and a green gin bottle, partly flattened as if it had passed out, called 'Reclining Drunk.'
"The show’s most compelling piece hinges on the association of art with religion. A triptych on artificially aged paper, measuring more than nine feet high and 25 feet wide, is titled 'To Be With Art Is All We Ask.' Nearly life-size charcoal drawings of the artists, relaxing in their customary suits and ties in bucolic settings, flank a long hand-printed text. A kind of prayer to Art, it BEGINS: 'Oh Art, what are you? You are so strong and powerful, so beautiful and moving. You make us walk around and around, pacing the city at all hours, in and out of our Art for All room.'
"It’s worth reading to the end, for despite its gently satirical tone, it truly expresses the joys, frustrations, anxieties and despairs that a life devoted to art necessarily entails."
~Rick