Many critics decried the rise of the multiple or editioned artwork in the 1960s as a sign that the purity of art was lost. Harold Rosenberg was no fan. Clement Greenberg, preoccupied with the notion of art for art’s sake, was most vehement in his denunciation, applying the German word kitsch to what he saw as art tainted by consumerism.
He was an egotistical grouch, but who can blame him? The man saw the birth and culmination of America’s most eminent art movement—abstract expressionism—and guided (some would say a little too forcefully) the career of Jackson Pollock.
But he couldn’t hold back the wave of artists who turned the slur of kitsch into a badge of honor. For Joseph Beuys, making works—or “vehicles” of communication, as he called them—that had numerous manifestations was one of the most powerful acts he could engage in as an artist. Andy Warhol took a more overtly opportunistic view of serial art, but elevated the status of multiplicities with his silk screens. Claes Oldenburg is another artist who has usurped the nature of the “fabricated object” and reappropriated it as art. His most recent offering was a cardboard pretzel that came in six varieties.
And now the banner of the multiple has been taken up by another wave of artists. Kiki Smith has made porcelain sculptures that would make a nice conversation piece when displayed at home on a bookcase or coffee table. Cindy Sherman created a Madame de Pompadour-themed tea service in 1990. Just last year Zaha Hadid made a sculpture in multiple to accompany a Guggenheim design show. Jeff Koons shrunk his well-known balloon-dog sculpture way down and offered it up as a kitschy collectible. Jenny Holzer inked golf balls with poetically obscure slogans.
It’s only a matter of time before Damien Hirst jumps on the bandwagon and turns his Natural History series into bookends.
As fall looms, incoming college freshmen might consider warming their cold dorm room walls with a reproduction of the painting I and the Village by Marc Chagall. For any lonely soul who has ever missed home, this painting from 1911 will reverberate with warm lyricism.
Chagall painted this evocation of self and home in France, far from his chilly childhood village in Russia, and he filled his fractured picture with otherworldly details—a pearly-eyed, green-faced man holding a bouquet; a sympathetic sheep creature; an upside-down floating violinist.
Yet the picture remains tethered to the sensual world too. Vignettes include a peasant in traditional garb trudging uphill, scythe in hand, and a woman kneeling to milk a goat. I can see the onion domes and humble homes of the Russian village in the background, and I first thought Chagall might be the green-faced man, until I noticed the beaded cross necklace—Chagall was Jewish. (more…)
A couple of days ago, I interviewed artist Douglas Tharalson at his home and studio, a 2.5-acre ranch in Agoura tucked away in the middle of the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area.
Agoura is near Malibu and several other overdeveloped pieces of California coast. Tharalson got in early and cheap on the land he now owns, and now he’s happily inspired by the mountain views and open space where he has worked there as a painter and sculptor for the past 20 years. (more…)
When smooth-talking Danny Ocean (George Clooney) strides into the gleaming office of Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) in Ocean’s Thirteen, the scene must instantly and wordlessly convey Benedict’s position as the reigning king of Vegas casinos—and therefore the only person who can bail Ocean and his ever growing crew out of their latest high-stakes snafu.
This is Vegas, land of illusions, so a slick, spacious office and a sharply tailored linen suit offer no guarantees. But there it is, hovering over Benedict’s desk like a framed diploma, that unmistakable mark of a modern-day mogul: a large, gold-flecked painting by Gustav Klimt.
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Word association games can be fun. When we think of the word “Audubon,” we associate it with birds. And birds make us think of flying, freedom and nature. The National Audubon Society, dedicated to the conservation of ecosystems, was named after John James Audubon (1785-1851), the naturalist and prolific artist of Birds of America. Audubon’s masterpiece consisted of 435 life-size prints—owls, parrots and ivory-billed woodpeckers, to name a few.
Yet Audubon’s artistic career did not take flight until he reached the age of 34. At that time, Audubon languished in debtor’s prison, his business selling dry goods in the frontier of Kentucky no longer prosperous. Drawing and painting birds—up until then a hobby—became Audubon’s best chance for financial freedom. (more…)
