Jeannene Przyblyski, claims that In the Modern and
contemporary period, in terms of – isms. there is one – ism that we should
perhaps confront directly, since, still, many of its assumptions inform our
contemporary understanding of art today.
And that -ism is Modernism as a whole. The image of
Alfred H. Barr's wonderful and terrible diagram for the exhibition catalogue “Cubism
and Abstract Art”, in 1936, that set out to try to make sense of the real
welter of influences and interventions in art practice that characterize the
late 19th and early 20th century, and to do it in such a way that it conformed to
a progressive notion of history.
That is to say that history, in teleological terms,
means one thing after another, and that those things hopefully add up to progress,
add up to a place that values improvement and what comes next, rather than
tradition and what has been known.
And, in that sense, also values novelty and newness,
as well. So, all of the sometimes contrary and competing influences and
interventions in Modernism, in Barr's view, boiled down to two possibilities in
1936. And they are sort of reassuring possibilities, in a weird way, for people
who want certainties.
That is to say
that he saw art moving toward abstraction in either case but a kind of
geometric investigation of abstraction, on the one hand, or a kind of non-geometrical
anthropomorphic investigation of abstraction, on the other hand.
This is an artificially neatened up version of
history. It's a version of history that privileges one particular perspective,
that of European and, by the mid-20th century, American artistic production and
aesthetic points of view. And it's worth saying that it is not a version of art
history that would, by and large, sit easily with artists. And so, it's not
surprising that we find, in relatively short order, the American artist Ad
Reinhardt, whose production included both abstract painting, and a pretty aggressive
and pretty interesting practice as a kind of caricaturist, illustrator,
commentator, in visual form, on the circumstances of Modern art production and
reception in the United States and elsewhere. Precisely as a rejoinder to
Barr's diagram, Ad Reinhardt pictures modern art as a sort of really unruly ancestral
family tree, with its roots in various categories of production, with Braque,
Matisse, and Picasso becoming the strong trunk from which many branches and
leaves might ensue. But all of that is weighted down with preconceptions of what
art ought to and ought not be, with the interventions of a public that is more
or less sympathetic or questioning.
And those are the circumstances of the value of
newness and novelty, as well, that an artist working to further traditional conventions
might expect a comprehending and mutually reinforcing relationship with his or
her audience or community.
But an artist and art movements that are always
looking to what's next, always looking to the future, might then reasonably
expect to encounter, from time to time, uncertainty or derision. And,
certainly, Matisse was burned in effigy at the Armory show in 1913. And some of
Barr's efforts, while they can seem really flattening and homogenizing, were
also efforts to diffuse that kind of tension around Modern art practice.
Well, so what is the self-identified Modern artist to
do in the face of the apparent contradiction between these two versions of
newness?
On the one hand, the notion of advanced thinking, of
advanced practice, of being ahead of the game, of being always on the lookout
for the newest rejoinder in a grand conversation about the conditions of
contemporary art. And on the other hand, mere novelty, the newest or merely
fashionable as nothing more than wanting the latest automobile model or make,
or the latest cut of a suit in a department store.
In that context, abstraction takes on a new value
because abstraction is precisely not the language of advertising and the
language of novelty.
The language of advertising and the language of
everyday novelty is the language of an increasingly hyper realism, the language
of commercials, the representational language that will show you a bottle of
beer, for example, and every single drop of moisture clinging to that ice cold
bottle of beer, to make you want it even more.
So, if a kind of hyperreality is the language of
novelty, then abstraction becomes, in response, the preferred language of
advanced art.
But it's not sort of like, Abstraction, it's worth
saying, is equally hard to organize as a visual field, and especially as a
painting, and it needs to have its own kind of motor force and its own set of
questions.
So, one of those questions might be the very basic
question of how do you keep a mere novelty out of the frame, especially as it
is manifested through the language of realistic, illusionistic representation, when
every time you put a mark on a canvas, you create a figure ground relationship?
You're almost always verging on the realm of representation
and, in fact, it is a really hard thing to make a purely abstract painting — a
painting that doesn't set up some kind of relationship of being something.
And so that's why, when we look at — this work is,
perhaps, one of the grandest and notorious examples of mid-century Modernism.
This is Jackson Pollock's, No. 1, 1950. Lavender Mist,
it's also called, given that title by the critic Clement Greenberg, who was a
great interlocutor of Jackson Pollock's work.
We can see these
paintings as, on the one hand, a sort of random collection of drips and drops,
and that's certainly how they were often satirized in the press.
Satirizing of Modernist practices, 'Oh, my child could
do that.' 'Oh, anybody could do that.' 'Oh, this seems to be some kind of prank
that's being played on us by those cranky and arrogant Modern artists.'
But on the other hand, one could look at these
paintings as precisely records of the great effort it takes to cancel figuration,
to negate it within a practice of painting.
So that all of that web-like criss-crossing of
schemes, of painted drips and lines, can be seen as an effort to repeatedly
cancel out those figure-ground relationships until they become absolutely
undecipherable and untangleable, until they become a kind of immeasurable and
all-encompassing, all-over kind of experience.
So, on the one hand, one can read a painting like,
Lavender Mist, as a really principled and labored rejection of the conditions
of representational painting, an effort to absolutely refuse to give the viewer
a thread of illusionism by which to anchor themselves in certainty in
confrontation with this painted field, and to insist, instead, that it was the
absolute unrepeatableness of this performance, in many ways, it's absolute
boundedness to the unique hand and body of the individual artist, that gave the
painting its authority as abstraction.
And, on the other hand, that sort of relationship to newness
was carefully managed by the artist himself.
And we see it as nowhere more apparent than in the
very well - known series of photographs of Jackson Pollock that were done by
the photographer Hans Namuth.
Photographs that insistently picture Pollock as a
heroic loner, isolated in his studio, doing battle with the canvas as if it is
a battlefield lowered to the ground to be traversed and subdued by the artist
with the mere materials of stick-like brush and bucket of house paint.
And yet, after this battle, when the painting is
elevated to the wall, a wondrous kind of optical field of infinite complexity
remains for the viewer's experience.
Yes, but that other side of newness — in mere novelty
and kitsch, haunts Pollock's work, as well. It haunts it in the incessant
caricaturing of his practice that is a part of the popular press.
This is another confrontation between the human subject
and Pollock's painted fields, not the artist alone in his studio at work, the
painting in process on the floor, but the painting finished, installed in the
gallery and become a backdrop for a photo shoot by Vogue magazine in 1951.
But why does an artist and his dealer present their
work in this way?
Well, because, on the one hand, paintings – Modernist or
not – are luxury objects in a modern economy. And it takes a moneyed consumer
to go into the upper and high-end galleries of New York, or Paris, or Mexico
City, or Beijing, or Shanghai, and come out with a purchase of substance.
So you have to cultivate those viewers, and Pollock
was willing to do so.
So, this in some ways, I have to give credit to the
art historian T.J. Clark, who introduced me to these photographs, and whose
work on Jackson Pollock I find really important. He said, 'This is Modernism's
worst nightmare, in a way”, that after all of that principaled grappling with
the very premises of painting, it becomes sort of mere wallpaper for the
fashionable set. And it does its job pretty well, in that regard. That, on the
one hand, this is a painting that could stun the perplexed viewer into a kind
of fury over what art might be.
'Does art amount
to this?'
And, on the
other hand, it can go quietly into defeat, right?
The mural wallpaper for this lovely model with her
amazing architectural dress that's colors turn out, lo and behold, to be quite
complementary to Pollock's, Autumn Rhythm.
What is it to be?
Is Modern art yet another form of novelty?
Or can it take its principal distance from precisely
the world that it must engage in to perpetuate itself in terms of the artist's
career?
It's perhaps not surprising, then, that the rejoinder
to abstract expressionism as a form of Modernist practice will constitute a
fork in the road for Modernism, if you will.
That, on the one hand, some artists will entrench in
more extreme examples of abstract work, more conceptual practices that principally
refuse to create high- value objects in their wake. And on the other hand, a
group of artists that will plot themselves, for lack of a better term, right in
the midst of this dilemma about the kitschy and the commodity form, and begin
to interrogate the status of those images in terms of both process and
practice, and in terms of subject matter. And, probably, the example of that
that first comes to mind is the work of Andy Warhol.
And this is his, 32 Campbell's Soup Cans, from 1962, a
work that says, 'Well, if art is due to be wallpaper, if there is no holding at
bay the relationship between elite culture and popular culture, then I am going
to put that dilemma squarely on the wall.' 'I am going to create works that are
not about the celebration of individual creative genius and uniqueness, but
about the factory-like replication of familiar forms.' 'I am going to refuse,
almost insistently, to have that kind of existentialist artist's struggling,
heroic personality that was so much a part of the discourse of abstract
expressionism, and I am going to fantasize that I could be merely a machine.' 'And
I am going to refuse to believe that I could make an end run around kitsch, but,
instead, I am going to confront the viewers squarely with it again and again
and again, in nearly endless repetition, to almost the point of numbness.' I do
think we can look at Warhol's, Soup Cans, as one rejoinder to Modernism's bad
dream, that is to say, the image of the fashion shoot in front of the heroic
abstract expressionist's paintings.
I also want to turn around and ask a different
question of that image of, Vogue magazine, of the image of the female model in
front of abstract expression. But I want to say this: certainly, another
dilemma that has been much written about, in terms of the rhetoric of abstract
expressionism, was the urgency with which it aligned abstract expressionist
process with a mode of creativity that was insistently gendered as male.
And I think we can see that in the real gender tension
between the Namuth photograph of Pollock as a kind of heroiccreator whose
practice is almost a form of prolifically and generatively ejaculating on the
canvas, the brush being a sort of extension of the phallus, and, on the other
hand, the negation of those modernist heroics by the positioning of the body of
the female model in front of the painting, which neutralizes it as a kind of wallpaper.
There were other female interrogators and female tests
of abstract expressionist rhetoric, and I think Pollock's wife, the artist Lee
Krasner, was perhaps one of the most illuminating, and yet sometimes overlooked.
The painting by Lee Krasner, Three in Two, from 1956, which
I think is an address to abstract expressionism and the question of how to deconstruct
figuration as a practice of abstraction, is an address to Pollock's testing of himself
against the work of the artist that he revered as a kind of master Pablo
Picasso.
And I think this is Krastner's address to Picasso, as
well. And I think, in a strange way, also, it's a deconstruction of that fashion
imagery, that test of the female proximity to abstraction as a kind of undoing
of it's painterly agency.
And so, Three in Two, is a work that allows its traces
of figuration, its traces of relationship to the body, to be seen and yet not
precisely named. It allows the painting to exist in a process of simultaneous
becoming and undoing at the same time.
A becoming of abstraction, and an undoing of
figuration. It plots it's art historical linkage to Picasso's great unfinished
work, the Demoiselles d'Avignon, and in it's fleshy tones and the kind of
pointed triangulation of the composition, it seems, to me, to have a lot to do with
the Demoiselles d'Avignon and, instead, it asks that confrontation between representation
and illusion, figuration and abstraction, fermininity and masculinity, to be
understood as completely contained and renegotiated again and again on the
surface of the painting as a matter of process, and not as a matter of a
circuitry of looks and desires.
And that circuitry of looks and desires is the
circuitry of commodity fetishism, and of the desire for novelty. And that is
not, most vehemently, what this painting is about.