On John
Currin Part 2 by Miles Mathis Last week, the first of my weekly
counter-criticisms on ARC was taken from a letter I sent to the New York
Times: I therefore had no chance to introduce this column. I will do that now. My writing is counter-criticism, rather than
simply criticism, in that it is a response from the artist to the critic. It is not meant as a response from writer to
writer, or from academic to academic. I
will not obey the rules of such dialogue.
I will defend art, using my pen, but I will do so as an artist. I will not strive to be impersonal or
objective. I will not attempt to be
calm or cool or to have "critical distance." Most of all, I will not pretend that I have
no stake in the game. The critics try
to give the impression that they are impartial bystanders, educating us to our
own benefit. They do this by the
omission of most pertinent facts. The
number and extent of these facts will become clearer as this column becomes
older. For now, suffice it say that
nothing you have been told for a century is true and this least of all: that
the critic is good for art.
This column is also different than anything else you have likely read
about art, in that I admit to having a plan of attack that uses every tooth in
my head. The critics and avant garde
artists and academics have slandered art without scruple for decades. There is no reason I should not talk about
whatever I want, at whatever volume I choose: no one can accuse me of
uncalled-for emotion. Now,
on to the current topic, which still happens to be John Currin. Currin was deemed worthy of two articles in
the New York Times last week. I
will likewise honor him with a second reply here; an interesting subject not
covered in the first article will allow me to broaden my counter-critique even
further. In
the interview by Deborah Solomon (Nov. 16, NYT Magazine), Currin begins
by being correct and ends by being correct—unfortunately the rest of the
article intervenes. He says in the
first paragraph, "I have not seen the will to make a masterpiece in
American art. What's here? Albert Bierstadt? He's small beer compared to the Europeans." True.
True but curious. For I have
seen Currin and I still have not seen the will to make a masterpiece. The interview is about him. What is his point? In
the last paragraph, Currin says, "Progressive ideas are just a machine for
ruining art." Yes. And refreshing it is to see him say it. But
again, how does that tie into his own art?
Currin has debased himself by accepting these very ideas. He is a cog in that machine of ruination, by
choice. Does he really not see this, or
is he showing "barbed wit" even concerning himself? Let us look at these progressive ideas, as
they are implied in the bulk of the interview, and see if we can find out. It may seem odd, but the following quote (by
the artist's father) leapt out at me above all others in the interview: he
said, in response to a comment by the interviewer that the Currin family seemed
culturally attuned to one another, "Oh, please, don't describe us as a
cultured family! It makes me
wince! I would prefer that you talked
about my heavy drinking and Nazi regalia.
That's the correct narrative."
Hmm. Kind of clever,
understandable from one point of view, and yet terribly strange. It was understandable in that you can see the
fear a successful family from Connecticut and New York City might have in being
depicted as east coast elitists, especially in an article about art in the Times. But the interviewer was nowhere near the
topic of elitism. "Cultured"
has not entered the no-no list of non-PC words, at least not until now. Besides, the interviewer said "culturally
attuned to one another." This
is not at all the same as "cultured." All this is only peculiar until one recognizes that the Currins
probably would rather be seen as drunken closet-Nazi's than as cultured:
it is closer to the norm. One suspects
that they may shop at Wal-mart from a sense of duty, and visit Six-Flags New
England as a token of solidarity. I am
only surprised that Mr. Currin, pere, did not mention "Southpark" or
"The Osbornes" as a counterweight to his wife's comments about
Debussy and Brahms. This
is not off-topic, since the rest of the article supports a reading of the
Currins, including John, as overly socialized if not overly cultured. The artist himself says, "I was trying
to be a tormented painter [in college].
I didn't want to be a nice guy from Connecticut." To be fair, many young artists go through
this posing phase, and it would be excusable if Currin had outgrown it. But he has simply traded one pose for
another. For he continues, "Part
of getting out of art school is getting over the idea that failure is an emblem
of integrity." No more being
tormented for Currin. That pose doesn't
sell anymore. That is strictly Van
Gogh, you know: old school. The pose
that sells now is the "skewer of the bourgeousie." That pose has been a big seller since the
French Revolution, and it has been the required pose for the last fifty
years, at least. To adopt that pose,
one must realize that "taste can stifle"—a fact Currin learned from
his father, according to the interviewer.
And that takes us full circle: an artist who is skewering the
bourgeousie can hardly be seen in an interview to be part of a cultured (that
is, tasteful) family. Only a family on
the furthest reaches of far-left insiderism, one so cool it can joke about Nazi
regalia, has the proper stance from which to attack the bourgeousie. From there it is no big deal to be accused
of vulgarity or vacuousness, since they are the tools of a witty and ironic
art. The only fear is being supposed to
be different, or worse, better: for then one cannot hope to become famous. Currin
admits that his career is a "quest for fame." Not a quest for great art or the
masterpiece, or even the modern substitute, relevance. No, Currin wants fame. Like his counterpart in Hollywood, he wants
a "lot of attention." By the
current standards, it is anathema to be called cultured, but being a phony is
fine. One might say it is de rigueur. For instance, did Currin choose canvases 26
x 32 because they were what he needed? No, he choose them "because that was the size no one was
doing." It was done "to stand
out." Such admissions are now
standard fare, and Currin does not even think of toning it down. His hero Richter has admitted to raw
ambition and made it work for him, so the audience is a known quantity. The audience now expects the artist to act
like the stockbroker, and so Currin's later analogy to Wall Street is a
commonplace. The executives who buy his
work could hardly be likely to understand the sensibilities of a real artist,
but a painter who will do anything for fame or money is someone they can relate
to. That the art may skewer the
bourgeousie is dismissed by such clients in one of several ways: either they
are too rich to be considered bourgeois or they are so sure of their status
that no amount of skewering can touch them.
They are like the kings who hired fools to insult them. A king can wave off any amount of abuse with
equanimity: he will still be king tomorrow.
The fool may not have his head. go to Currin Again, an article from 2008. If this paper was useful to you in any way, please consider donating a dollar (or more) to the SAVE THE ARTISTS FOUNDATION. This will allow me to continue writing these "unpublishable" things. Don't be confused by paying Melisa Smith--that is just one of my many noms de plume. If you are a Paypal user, there is no fee; so it might be worth your while to become one. Otherwise they will rob us 33 cents for each transaction. |
