A couple of weekends ago, when I was in Kentucky, I went to Cincinnati to purchase some wood. Given the opportunity to be in the Queen City for a while, I made the trip downtown to visit the Contemporary Arts Center. Prior to visiting the museum, my Dad and I ate lunch at Izzy’s. If you’ve never eaten at Izzy’s, suffice it to say that next time you are in Cincy you must eat lunch there. Have the Reuben with potato pancake. You can thank me later.
Back to the CAC visit. The museum is architecturally spectacular and they’ve received a great deal of press in several of the national art magazines. I couldn’t wait to see what the fuss was all about.
The CAC was founded in 1939 and is one of the nation’s oldest museums dedicated to contemporary visual arts. In 2003, the new space was opened. It was designed by Zaha Hadid. My first impression walking into the museum was that it was dark and gloomy. The ground floor was just too much concrete for my tastes. Regardless, there was something about the space that attracted me and I was optimistic about my visit.
My Dad and I made our way up to the second floor and encountered two massive faux-rock formations. Each was configured as a chimney and from the sculptures some low sounds emerged (doesn’t it always?). I can’t find the artist’s name on the CAC Web site but I do recall it was a younger guy. The wall text was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo which discouraged me from an art perspective.
In an adjacent gallery the museum showed presentations of the The HOME House Project:
What if affordable, sustainable design became an important element in communities and city-housing services? How can a contemporary art museum aid these endeavors? These are some of the questions raised by The HOME House Project, a traveling exhibition of pioneering designs that address the future of affordable housing. This exhibition will include more than 100 innovative plans. In addition, there will be 13 three-dimensional computer animations of some of the entries. The goal for the project is to establish a new national housing model in terms of design, energy efficiency, environmental consciousness and cost effectiveness that can change the stigma attached to affordable housing. With The HOME House Project, a contemporary art museum can provide a forum for artists, designers and architects to address the range of issues surrounding affordable housing.
An important and interesting cause, certainly, but a display of 100+ plans was overwhelming. We moved through this section pretty quickly.
On the next floor, if memory serves me correctly, was an exhibition dedicated to The Ant Farm:
Ant Farm, a collaborative art and design group established in 1968, created inflatable structures, action art and multi-media pieces for the purpose of public display and performance. In the midst of the free speech movement and anti-war demonstrations, the group saw themselves as part of the cultural underground and set out to create an alternative architecture suited to a nomadic lifestyle: cheap and easy to create and move. Ant Farm is perhaps best known for the "Cadillac Ranch" located in Amarillo, Texas, where 10 Cadillacs are half buried, nose down, in the field as both an act of homage of the history of the tailfin and of critique of the planned obsolescence of the Detroit automobiles. The group abruptly disbanded when a fire in 1978 destroyed their studio, although sparing most of their work. This exhibition will examine the 10-year history of the artist collective that challenged the visual architecture of image, icon and power.
Having only been familiar with “Cadillac Ranch,” I was excited to see what else this group had done. From what I could tell, not a whole lot else that really mattered (I'm sure I'm wrong... but looking back at the work didn't work for me). “Cadillac Ranch” is an awe-inspiring and powerful piece, but the rest of their work seemed like a bunch of wacky kids playing around. Most of what was on the walls wasn’t worth close inspection. But, if all that play was necessary for “Cadillac Ranch” to be created, then I think it was well worth it.
The highlight of our visit to the CAC was a show dedicated to the work of Los Carpinteros:
Los Carpinteros: Inventing the World is the first major museum exhibition to survey the work of the Cuban collective Los Carpinteros (The Carpenters). Alexandre Arrechea, Marco Castillo and Dagoberto Rodrguez have been working together since 1991 when they were students at Havana's Instituto Superior de Arte. The group's name, which dates to 1994, arose from early works that were reminiscent of furniture or work done by a carpenter. This mid-career retrospective will include a selection of drawings, paintings, prints, installations and sculptures. Transportable City, a group of tents resembling famous buildings in Havana, and Watchtowers, are two examples of work possibly coming to the CAC.
Our experience of the show would have been even better had it not been for Mike. Who’s Mike? Mike is the annoying education person at the museum. When we reached this floor and walked into the first gallery, Mike approached us and immediately began telling us about the work. He told us about the artists and some of the subtle symbolism the artists use. Now, I don’t like it when a museum person approaches me unsolicited to explain the work. I mean, we hadn’t even LOOKED at anything yet. I walked straight past the guy without looking at him and began examining the fantastic sculptures and watercolors on display. My Dad, the kind soul that he is, half-engaged with Mike. By half-engage I mean that my Dad periodically responded with “uh” and “ahh” and “mmh mmh.” Mike began following us around the gallery continuing to jabber away. At this point I raised my hands and plugged my ears. Not too subtle, right? Apparently so… Mike kept talking for another 30 seconds or so. Finally, he left us to go give the same schpeel to the next visitors.
Los Carpinteros makes fantastic work. It’s beautiful and full of allusions to their oppressive homeland of Cuba. My Dad, being a woodworker, was amazed by the skill displayed in each sculpture. I was particularly fond of the missile shown above that has several drawers in it. Additionally, I really liked a large stack of drawers that was shaped like a hand grenade. Though the rest of the museum’s exhibitions disappointed, Los Carpinteros made the trip worthwhile. Unfortunately, I wasn’t done with Mike.
As we were leaving the floor – did I mention that Mike stalked us throughout the floor and made us feel very uncomfortable? – Mike followed us out and asked what we thought of the show. My Dad was between Mike and me so I thought I’d be free to ignore him. After my Dad responded with, “It was different,” Mike would not let it go. He said, “And you, sir?” Here’s the exchange that followed:
Mike: “And you, sir?”
Me: Silence
Mike: “Sir?”
Me: “Um, are you part of Los Carpinteros’ art?”
Mike: “Excuse me.”
Me: “Are you part of the art?”
Mike: “Well, no, of course not. I’m in charge of art education at the museum.”
Me: “OK, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t part of the art.”
Mike: “Well, sir, we get many visitors to the museum who say this or that isn’t art. We like to engage those people and help them understand contemporary art.”
Me: “I just want to look at the art if that’s ok with you.”
Mike: “I’m sorry, sir.”
Me: Silence
If Mike ever reads this, I’d like to offer him some advice. If you want to engage visitors, then when they enter the gallery tell them that if they have any questions to feel free to ask you. Do not bother them. Do not give them some explanation about the art before they’ve even looked. Do not stalk your visitors as if they are prey. Do not force them to talk to you if they clearly don’t want to. The fingers in the ears should be a good indication of that. Let the art do what art does. Be there for support and nothing more.
Ugh… what a tiresome experience that was. Dad and I proceeded up to the top floor where things got crazy. Before you enter the galleries, there’s a door with an upside down record player. A sign tells you to push a button. Next to the sign is something on the wall that looks like a button and I pushed it. Nothing happened. I pushed again. Nothing. Then I hear a familiar voice. Good ol’ Mikey is watching us from the floor below. He yells out to us to push the button hanging on a cord next to the door. Ah, what wonderful signage! I should have known that the cord hanging away from the sign and almost touching the floor had a button on it. Thanks for saving the day Mike! I pushed the button and the record player began to play. Fascinating.
Inside the top floor galleries were several pieces that were more childlike and playful. There was a large sculpture that had several drawers. The piece was made with visually impaired kids in mind. You pull the drawer, feel inside (some sort of texture was in the drawers) and a loud sound would play. Several of them scared me. I can only imagine the fright that a young blind kid would experience.
The most brilliant piece ever (and by ever I really mean never) was a dark room. When you enter, there are circles taped to the floor. You step on the first one (which is illuminated) and then another circle becomes illuminated. You follow the light from circle to circle until you leave the room. Brilliant! A piece of art fit for a carnival! By reading the wall text you would have thought the artist had cured cancer. Maybe the lights were really some sort of radiation… I don’t know.
Having said all of the above, my first impression of the museum is this. I think the building is really something. It seems to function well and it has a wonderful presence. I think the museum is an asset to the city. I think Mike should be relegated to a non-people-interacting position. Now. I worry that the museum tries to be too contemporary, if there is such a thing. I see a lot of "edgy" NYC art being shown here. Maybe I underestimate the Cincy audience, but even though I see a lot of art I thought a lot of what was on display was a little out there and not really relevant. Perhaps I’m stuck on my desire for beauty in art. Los Carpinteros find beauty in carpentry… it doesn’t have to be a pretty landscape oil painting. A dark room where you follow dots on the floor is not beautiful. It tries too hard. I wonder if the CAC (and Mike) always try so hard.
Hmm, what I would give for a Reuben from Izzy’s right now…
JT, okay, so we doubtlessly have different ideas about what art means. i think that's cool, and kind of what it's all about, no? this questioning?
i pulled these interviews (from the Art Newspaper in 1994) to give you an idea of some prominent contemporary art historians trashing greenberg (in their very nice ways). and i don't at all think that he should be avoided; in fact, i think he was a brilliant man, but i also disagree with almost everything he had to say.
and, quickly, i will say that in a way poetry and art are similar. not everything is on the surface; there are things to be discovered. i don't think that's what lou meant, and i think he was comparing wall text to children's books. YES, absolutely, when the education departments get out of control (which they often do) wall text is similar to picture books. but i think the point of what I am trying to say is that i believe that art and culture comprise a dyad, and that no matter what we "like" there is always a little more to understand about a work. even los carpinteros, who want nothing to do with theory, have a lot to say about their work. it's NOT just carpentery.
***********
Robert Rosenblum, professor of fine arts, New York University
How will history remember Greenberg?
He represents the purest, most absolute statement of a formalist viewpoint. And since the visual is finally the core of art, what he declared had the sense of essential truth, and that was in part responsible for his papal position, part of his grandeur. He had an extreme and coherent position and you had to deal with it, either by becoming a disciple or rejecting it. One of the astonishing things about him was the psychological power he had as the dictatorial father to a whole generation of critics who either followed him slavishly or rebelled against him, and who very often tried to be, themselves, Clement Greenberg. All of his relationships with his disciples were Oedipal and resulted in either mindless obedience or patricide.
What impact did his criticism have on you?
In the fifties, he influenced me more than any other writer about contemporary art. Decades later, I realised my doctoral thesis on aspects of linearism in Neoclassical style echoed many of Greenberg's theories about early twentieth-century painting. But I have to add that I spent the rest of my professional life freeing myself from the tyranny and narrowness of his thought. If you believed in his writing you had to exclude as irrelevant everything that didn't have to do with pure, internal, visual matters. If you liked artists that were outside of his canon, you were working on a byway, rather than the superhighway he traced. It was very straight and narrow, and became instantly a catechism.
The big divide came in the late fifties and early sixties when he couldn't deal with the younger generation of artists -- my generation. If I began to respond, as I did, to artists like Johns and Stella, Lichtenstein and Warhol, I was obviously on the wrong track according to Greenberg. I was excommunicated from his church. The issues were everything from society, to subject matter, to popular imagery -- you name it. I tended to be expansive and I liked to adulterate thinking about art with a million things, and he liked to be restrictive and pure. I couldn't tolerate that. It was just too rigid.
Linda Nochlin, professor of art history, New York University
Did Greenberg's writings influence your thinking or work?
Certainly it did in the fifties. In a sense it was impossible to think about modern art without him. He thought of modernism as having a telos, some kind of preordained goal. He was very sure of himself, and for many he represented the surest guide. I think one went into "Greenberg automatic pilot" when one was young.
What were the coordinates in which one traveled on "Greenberg automatic pilot"?
You believed that there was an avant-garde and there was kitsch, and you knew high from low very clearly; that the arts were pure and that the goal of modernist art was to refer with more and more reduction to the means of art itself, to the nature of the art process; that there was going to be more and more reduction, less and less narrative, and that modernist art, by definition, had to move away from reality into the world of abstraction and reveal itself more and more.
Do you still espouse this credo?
Even to this day, I think one ought to preserve a distinction between high and low in the discourse, though I am interested in so-called "low art." But the construction of a direction in art is far more complex than Greenberg made out. There is no telos, or inevitable direction, as we can see by looking at the history of art over the past twenty-five years. He sure made a good case for his position for a long time. But, it was a self-fulfilling prophecy in a sense: if the major figure leading the band says the music is going to sound a certain way, well, it probably will sound that way, until a new paradigm or counter-paradigm arises. That's precisely what happened. Then in the sixties, when I began to see other possibilities, I came out as the spokesperson for New Realism, something directly contradictory of his position. My catalogue Realism Now in 1968 was a really anti-Greenbergian statement.
Were his opinions borne out of his actual response to art, or did he judge works on how well they fit into his theoretical frame?
I think it worked both ways. He formulated his opinion in response to the art, and he certainly appreciated art that conformed to his theories. But I think he was very sensitive to the visuality of art in a very pure state. Much as he scorned it, there is also a certain nationalist element to his position. After all, in Europe there were abstract formalist movements that he didn't pay much attention to. Even within the abstract realm, Greenberg was making very exclusive claims to one specific school of artists.
How and why will art historians remember Greenberg?
He will be seen as the spokesman for a very rigorous form of modernist reductionism. His prose was totally comprehensible and, like Roger Fry, he wrote for a very wide audience. They are the formulators of the classic modernist position, and any other positions that come after are always taking account of them. This is what the so-called rebel groups rebel against, so, in a way, you need them.
Interviews by Jason Edward Kaufman
Posted by: laura | Monday, August 14, 2006 at 02:39 PM
Hey Laura,
I think we're saying the same things really. I agree that there is more to understand about artwork than what is just there. Sure... that's obvious. You seem to put more emphasis on the 'other,' non-visual stuff. Which is fine. I think that much like your Dad, you may look at something, not enjoy actually looking at it, but be intrigued by what's behind it. I, on the other hand, usaully will not give art more time if it doesn't appeal to me visually first. There's just not enough time to bother with it.
My position may seem in line with Greenberg at a high level, but I'm sure that I like a lot of art that he would despise. I love Minimalism... but I find it to be beautiful and I believe Greenberg didn't care for it. I think we would agree and equally despise much of the art being shown in Chelsea right now. Not only is it fluff conceptually, but it's downright ugly. Why bother with it?
One anecdote I wanted to provide that may give some insight into my position... in terms of music, I rarely listen to the lyrics. Sure, I hear it, and for me it makes up the sound of the song. But as for what it MEANS, I couldn't really care less. While I could sing my favorite songs word for word, I really have no idea what it's about. I just like the way they sound. If I don't like the way a song sounds, I'm not going to go look-up the lyrics and try to understand them.
Oh, one more anecdote. While I don't prescribe to this one as much as the person who shared it with me, it does have some merit. When you go to a restaurant and have a wonderful meal, you don't ask the chef to explain what the dishes mean. You either enjoy it or not. You either want to eat more or not. At that level, art doesn't have to be more complicated than that, and it leaves plenty of art to occupy your entire life.
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland | Monday, August 14, 2006 at 05:12 PM
I don't get why Greenberg came up here - he essentially argued that each art form should stick to what it does best - in painting's case that means flat abstraction (and what some call formalism). J.T. seems to be saying that when art relies on walltext for the "aha" moment, that work is weak.
J.T. seems to not be arguing against text in art, or mash-ups of forms, or whatever. He just want visual art to work VISUALLY.
Look, I know its hard to make things work both conceptually and visually. But for something to be strong VISUAL art, it has to. Intentions, ideas, histories, philosophies are all cool, but I believe you're better off in some other form if you can't make them work to the eye.
One could argue that beauty and formal ideas in general are suspect for various reasons, but I say thats bunk. Its an excuse for sloppy working and for not putting in the hard work of looking.
Contemporary art seems to be under the bootheels of lazy, career-driven artists and an almost bureaucratic class of curators and writers who are more in love with words than pictures. By "words" I mean their writing and explanations of why a pile of dirt or soiled diapers are essential expressions of art.
I love words too, even in visual art, but not at the expense of looking.
Posted by: wwc | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 11:58 AM
maybe we are all saying the same thing, just from different vantages. looking at something interesting only makes me want to know more about it. i will not say that i like things that are not visually appealing simply because they are smart. i think the work has to be both smart and attractive (and by attractive i DO NOT mean "pretty") to be sucessful.
the greenbergian link makes sense to me in that he was an elitist (yes, i said it), and his views were formed by his own (very limited) sense of what made the "perfect paiting" or the "perfect sculpture." i think the perfect work of art (should there ever be such a thing) would exist as all kinds of media, and grab your attention from all sorts of directions--intellectually, visually, et al.
you may not ask what the food means, but you might want to know what's in the dish you love so much.
and i listen to music primarily for the sound too, but i fall in love with the songs whose lyrics hit me.
i guess that's the diffence?
Posted by: laura | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 12:17 PM
It's elitist to have strongly held and tightly argued opinions? I don't agree with all Greeneberg's ideas either, but to say he was elitist means anyone who has opinions is. He may have been a prejudiced, pompous, tunnel-visioned ass, but elitist?
I guess you could say elitist because he thought some art "great" and other art "crap", but don't we all make that division? Was it because he spelled out his program?
I don't like that word because it get thrown about whenever one makes a value judgement. I used to edit an art/lit magazine and we had a few folks that would want everything in the magazine, regardless of how good it was, because they didn't want to be elitist. Some of us insisted we publish only the best stuff ...
It also seems to always get tossed at those of us who value some kind of formal strength in addition to whatever else a work has. If Greenberg is elitist, then so is Suzy Gablik (sp?) or any other critic who comes from an opposite direction.
Posted by: wwc | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 01:26 PM
no. greenberg was elitist because he believed that "high art" was not for the masses but for the cultural elite.
Posted by: laura | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 02:15 PM
no. greenberg was elitist because he believed that "high art" was for the cultural elite. kitch--the fake, easy bullshit--was for the masses.
Posted by: laura | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 02:16 PM
I'll have to read him again - I don't remember the "for" in there - that implies the dumb masses couldn't "get" high art, which wouldn't make sense since a lot of high art in history was FOR the masses (like most religious art). I remember him as saying that the avant garde pushed things forward, finding new and better ways to represent the world, while kitsch was there to appease "the masses". He used some Social Realist paintings from the Soviet Union as examples of kitsch.
Is he said "for"(or implied it) you're right - elitist. But pointing out the difference between something pandering to shallow tastes and something based on hard looking and thinking isn't elitist. We can make judgements about who penetrates deeper into our world without being jerks.
This might make wall-text-needing art elitist - the masses (and most everyone) need it explained to them. It needs a whole class of curators etc to get it across. Like priests.
Sometimes abstract work seems to me the MOST democratic, the least elitist, because you look at it and you see it. Thats it. A context helps, a knowledge of history helps, but neither are necessary.
Posted by: wwc | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 03:29 PM
Laura,
Could you provide a Greenberg quote where he states such? I haven't read all of his writing but I'm interested in seeing the context of his statement if he made it.
I think your food response was interesting. You say we might want to know what was in it. I'll grant that though rarely do I care. Much like I don't care if a painting is made from oil or acrylic. But I noticed you didn't say you would ask the chef if the filet mignon was a commentary on the class structure prevalent in our capitalistic society. An exploration in the have's and have not's. Etc etc etc...
You either rub your belly in delight or you spit it into a napkin. Or somewhere in between. If the food is exceptional, I'd love to meet the chef. If not, who cares?
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 03:33 PM
Someone who has their own distinct and tightly-held opinions is not necessarily elitist. What is elitist (or fascist or ignorant or whatever you want to call it) is someone insisting that THEIR opinion is the only VALID one.
Again, I think it's ridiculous for anyone to expect all cultural production to bend to their own aesthetic preferences, and that to declare anything that doesn't false (or unworthy of consideration) is an exercise in lazy, ignorant egotism.
The root issue here, in my opinion, is the willingness or refusal on the part of the viewer -- and ESPECIALLY the reviewer or critic -- to engage an artwork on its own terms.
People subscribe to varying definitions, broad and narrow, of what "works" for them insofar as art is concerned - which is exactly as it should be. Some of these reactions gut-level and some are more intellectual considerations, and neither is superior to the other. But the key is recognizing that these "likes and dislikes" are subjective. To take a personal preference and run it up the flagpole as a higher truth, a gold standard against which all things will be judged, is narcissistic. And to fault the artwork for not being in line with one's declaration of "the way art should be" is narrow-minded and asinine.
Never mind what YOU want... What is the art actually DOING? And is that what it was trying to do?
Seriously, for a blog called "Thinking About Art" there's an awful lot of resistance to actually THINKING about art around here.
(But there I go forcing my own idealism regarding the way I wish people would approach artwork. How hypocritical of me!)
Posted by: Xoro For Breakfast | Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 04:11 PM