The ideal art, the noblest
of art: working with the complexities of life, refusing to simplify, to
“overcome” doubt.
- Joyce Carol Oates
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| Gerard Wickham - The Card Trick - 2018 |
In a blog entry I posted in
April, I introduced my latest major oil painting, The Card Trick, and talked about how important ambiguity has become
to my work. I noted at the end of that
entry that I had hoped to address how ambiguity functions in the work of
several major artists but, feeling that I was running a bit long, would shelve
that objective for the time being, fully intending to take it up in a later
blog entry. I had already gathered a
good number of applicable images and given a lot of thought to my topic at that
time. So the moment has now come for me
to pick up where I left off seven months ago.
Ambiguity
in art has become more common in the modern age. Perhaps this is the result of our having lost
many of the certitudes upon which prior generations structured their
lives. But all the same, long before rulers
and religion lost their credibility, some artists of the past did recognize
that the use of ambiguity could enhance their work and encourage a deeper
engagement with their audience.
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| Diego Velazquez - The Spinners - 1657 |
Many years ago when I had
just begun working at the agency where I was ultimately to spend over thirty
years, a coworker returning from a vacation in Spain gave me a postcard of Diego
Velazquez’ The Spinners that he had
picked up at The Prado. I was very
pleased. I had been an admirer of Velazquez
for a long time, and here was a magnificent work with which I was
unfamiliar. I pinned the postcard to my
bulletin board where it remained for many years to be regularly studied by me.
I could never tell for sure
what was happening in the image. In the
shadowy foreground, five women in peasant dress perform activities associated
with spinning yarn. Behind them in a
space bathed in light are five figures clothed in finery interacting in various
groupings. A viola da gamba or cello
sits in the entranceway to the background space, and one figure, gesturing
dramatically, wears armor. I always
thought that these figures were rehearsing for some kind of performance. I believed the painting to be vaguely about
the differences between the classes and the activities in which they
engaged. I liked that the plane of focus
encompassed the two workers on the right, leaving their more privileged
associates in the background to be addressed summarily. The painting truly defies expectation,
primarily concentrating on the lowly laborers in the foreground and indicating
roughly the pursuits of the higher born.
For centuries, this painting
was thought to depict the Santa Isabel tapestry workshop of Madrid.
Only after an employee of the Alcazar
Palace found an inventory
of artwork which included a painting by Velazquez, The Fable of Arachne, which matched the original dimensions of The Spinners did art historians come to
recognize that the work was based on a Roman story. There are several versions of this story, the
most well-known probably being that which is included in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The story goes like this… Arachne, a peasant girl, was an incredibly
talented weaver and wasn’t shy about boasting about her skills, going so far as
to assert that her abilities exceeded those of Athena. When the goddess got wind of Arachne’s
bragging, she took on the guise of an old woman and visited the mortal
girl. When Arachne repeated her claim
that she could “out-weave” Athena, the goddess revealed her true identity and
required that a competition be held to see who truly was the greatest weaver. Upon completion of their labor, Athena’s
tapestries depicted situations in which mortals competed with the gods in
contests and were consequently punished for their hubris. Arachne chose to show
in her tapestries how the gods misused mortals, particularly concentrating on
Zeus’s dalliances with young women. In
some versions, Athena’s and Arachne’s efforts were equal; in others, Arachne
exceeded Athena in skill; still others suggest that Athena was infuriated that
Arachne dared to expose the shortcomings of the goddess’s own father. Whatever the reason, Athena assailed the
peasant girl furiously and turned her into a spider. I think in Ovid’s version, Arachne, unable to
endure the goddess’s abuse, hangs herself, only to be brought back to life as a
spider by Athena.
Since
the subject of the painting was revealed, art historians have suggested that The Spinners represents the competition
between Athena and Arachne in the foreground and Athena confronting Arachne
afterwards in the background. I disagree
with this interpretation. First, the
figures in the foreground are not weaving; they are spinning. And, though commonly medieval manuscript
illuminations will depict two events occurring at different times in a single
image, this became extremely rare from the Renaissance onwards. I believe Velazquez is deliberately
challenging our expectations of the painting’s theme. The lowly workers are preeminent both in size
and focus, while the dramatic confrontation between god and mortal is relegated
to take place in a background niche. And
Velazquez doesn’t choose to portray the climactic moment of the fable when Athena
attacks Arachne, as did Rubens and Houasse.
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| Peter Paul Rubens - Pallas and Arachne - 1636/37 |
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| Rene Antoine Houasse - Minerve et Arachne - 1706 |
No, we’re really not sure
what is happening in the background.
Athena, the figure in armor, gesticulates theatrically while Arachne
appears disconcerted. So perhaps
Velazquez has opted to present Athena evaluating Arachne’s efforts, just
moments before losing her temper and exacting her revenge upon her. But if this is the case, the painting still
depicts a very gripping instance. Why
then are the two noble women on the right engaged in casual conversation? One of them actually glances out of the
picture plane at us, the viewers. The
painting seems to defy rational interpretation, and, I believe, this is
deliberately so.
I think we can all agree
that this painting is about the making of art.
Arachne has achieved an extraordinary skill that she believes exceeds
that of the goddess Athena. Velazquez
reminds us that tapestry weaving (and painting) is a laborious process
requiring hours of effort and the participation of numerous workers. As he emphasized the spinning process, he
must have had in mind all of the activity that precedes the painting process:
the gathering, grinding and preparation of pigments, the weaving of the canvas,
and the stretching, sizing and priming of the support. In addition to these activities, the artist
himself has spent years and years studying his craft. Velazquez doesn’t believe in the magical
spark of creativity. He recognizes that
great painting doesn’t flow effortlessly from the hand of a genius; it results
from thousands of hours of intense effort.
And it may have escaped your
attention that Arachne has chosen Titian’s The
Rape of Europa as the theme for her tapestry. I believe that Velazquez like Arachne
recognizes his own efforts and skills and, in his case, challenges us to
compare his talents with those of the Venetian master of the previous
generation. It is even possible that by
introducing the noble figure who glances out at us, the viewers, he has
dissolved the boundary between art and life, daring to establish himself on a
footing with his own god. Regardless of
how far Velazquez’s ego permits him to go, it is apparent that in presenting The Fable of Arachne he was more
interested in the moment when the efforts of Athena and Arachne are evaluated
and compared than the climactic moment when the goddess attacks the mortal,
ultimately transforming her into a spider.
Faced with the facts that
the subject matter of the painting was incorrectly identified for centuries and
that even today experts can’t agree on what’s happening in the painting, we
cannot deny that ambiguity is an essential element in The Spinners. Velazquez has
very deliberately made a conclusive interpretation of the work impossible to
attain. He emphasizes the activity of the
workers in the foreground over that of the main players in the background. The moment he’s chosen to depict is
vague. The behavior of some of
individuals portrayed does not coincide with what would be expected within any
interpretation of the fable. He has
blurred the boundary between art and life.
Velazquez recognized that ambiguity would enhance rather than detract
from his image.
And ambiguity is a tool he
turned to again and again. For instance,
in Las Meninas, why is the painter
included in the painting? Why present
this strange assortment of players in a royal portrait? What are most of the individuals depicted,
including the artist, looking at? Their
own reflections or us, the viewers? How
are the king and queen seen reflected in a mirror hanging on the rear wall
without occupying the space between the foreground group and the mirror?
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| Diego Velazquez - Las Meninas - 1656 |
Even a painting as
straightforward as The Water Carrier of
Seville seems to suggest some undisclosed drama.
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| Diego Velazquez - The Water Carrier of Seville - 1619 |
As I stated earlier, the use
of ambiguity became more common in the modern era.
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| James McNeill Whistler - Variations in Flesh Colour and Green - The Balcony - 1864 to 67 |
For instance, in Variations in Flesh Colour and Green – The
Balcony, James McNeill Whistler provides an absurd image of a group of European
women wearing traditional Japanese attire assembled on a balcony overlooking
the Thames’ industrial waterfront. Equally out of place, an array of flowers,
above which drift two butterflies, encroaches upon the lower periphery of the
painting. There can be no sensible
interpretation of what is presented here.
Whistler wasn’t concerned
that his chosen tableau was ludicrous.
He had begun to approach his art as a composer constructs music. He even gave his paintings names relating to
music: arrangements, variations, harmonies, nocturnes and symphonies. He was thinking abstractly. Color, form, contrast and brushwork were the
notes he employed to arrange his compositions.
The narrative didn’t matter; his goal was to achieve an aesthetically
perfect image. Whistler’s did not strive
for ambiguity; it simply was a natural consequence of his elevating aesthetics
above all other concerns.
Edouard Manet was actually
much more radical than the Impressionists.
The Impressionists’ revolution was mainly about technique. Manet wanted to change the way we view art,
in effect dismantling the cohesiveness of the narrative structure in art. He felt that painting had become burdened
with conventions that were established over centuries of activity since the
Renaissance. It was nearly impossible
for modern art not to quote the art of the past. But rather than resist this inclination, he
embraced it.
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| Edouard Manet - Le Dejeuner sur l'Herbe - 1863 |
In Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe, Manet is referencing Pastoral Concert, attributed to both Giorgione and Titian.
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| Pastoral Concert - c1509 |
Like Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe, Pastoral
Concert presents an image of two clothed men and two exposed women in a
natural setting. But Pastoral Concert offers an idealized
representation that permits an allegorical interpretation, while Manet does not
propose any such reading in his work. His
men are clearly dressed in modern garb and are engaged in conversation. One woman in undergarments wades in a river
in the background, while the other is unclothed and sitting amongst the
men. She is naked, not nude, and her
features are not generalized and idealized; this is clearly a portrait. Contemporary viewers were offended that this
portrayal of a real naked woman offered no comfortable association with allegory,
myth or biblical reference. Perhaps they
should have been more offended that Manet was trawling haphazardly through art
history and arbitrarily quoting from his preferences without regard for
meaning.
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| Edouard Manet - Mademoiselle V. in the Costume of an Espada - 1862 |
It is thought that in Mademoiselle V. in the Costume of an Espada,
Manet was borrowing from Goya thematically and Velazquez compositionally. In the later half of the nineteenth century,
the French indulged a taste for all things Spanish, including painting, and
Manet clearly hoped to benefit from that predilection. But once again, Manet cannot provide an
acceptable rendering of his subject matter.
He makes no attempt to disguise the fact that his espada is in fact just
a model adorned in an exotic costume. In
fact, Manet goes so far as to use for his espada a female model, Victorine
Meurent, the same model who posed nude for Le
Dejeuner sur l’Herbe and Olympia. She wears inappropriate shoes and carries a ridiculous
pink cape. The background makes no sense
spatially and is, most likely, simply a two dimensional backdrop (a travel
poster, for instance) in front of which he posed his model.
The ambiguity in Manet’s
work results from his recognition that any artwork is an artificial conception,
a hodgepodge of technical conventions, traditional references and factual
reality, which can offer its viewer no convincing narrative.
Depending on how you look at
it, Max Beckmann was either a victim or a beneficiary of the period in history
in which he lived. Beckmann was born in Wilhelmine
Germany
in 1884, and his youthful years were defined by personal growth and astonishing
professional success. Early in his
artistic career, Beckmann received first prize in the Berlin Succession
Exhibition, which included a scholarship to study in Florence.
He garnered praise from art critics and was the youngest ever elected
member of the Berlin Secession. By the
age of 30, he was married and had a son.
He was a conservative artist, publishing attacks on Franz Marc and Der
Blaue Reiter group. If history hadn’t
intervened, chances are Beckmann would have lived a very comfortable life and
we would never have heard of him.
But
World War I intruded upon his life. During
the war, Beckmann volunteered as a medical orderly, and the pointless
destruction, wanton brutality and human suffering that he witnessed throughout
his service altered his perspective indelibly.
After the war, Beckmann’s art changed dramatically, both in subject
matter and style. He adopted some
conventions from the very Expressionists he had previously criticized:
fractured perspective, unnatural coloration and the simplification and
distortion of form but used these tools, not to fashion a higher aesthetic, but
to confront his generation with the harsh realities of the human
condition. He often used his personal
biography to expose larger paradigms within his society. Beckmann later witnessed the rise of the National
Socialism in Germany,
suffered repeated attacks on his art, lost his directorial position at
Frankfurt’s Städel Art School,
was banned from exhibiting, saw his work included in the “Degenerate Art” show
sponsored by the Nazis and ultimately fled to Holland.
After the Second World War, he emigrated to the United States.
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| Max Beckmann - Self Portrait with Horn - 1938 |
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| Max Beckmann - Departure - 1932 to 35 |
Although it would be
understandable if he solely chose to record the horrors of his age and his own
personal misfortunes, Beckmann recognized that to become too literal, to expose
directly the multiple tragedies that he both witnessed and suffered during his
lifetime, would diminish the scope of his art and relegate it to play the role
of historic documentary. He used
ambiguity to disguise his observations of a transitory reality, seeking out instead
universal themes that have obsessed humans throughout their history. Often he preferred to stage his vignettes
within vaguely defined historic or mythological epochs to widen the scope of
his explorations. In his 1938 Self Portrait with Horn, is he
considering blowing this horn to warn all mankind of an impending Armageddon or
is he ludicrously peering into the instrument as if it were a telescope intent
on discerning an indecipherable future? When
in 1937 a New York
art dealer, hoping to sell one of his paintings, wrote to him requesting
specific explanations of its imagery, Beckmann responded that if that were
essential the dealer should return the painting. Shrewdly, Beckmann embraces an ambiguity that
defies resolution.
Similarly,
Paula Rego, a contemporary Portuguese artist, uses ambiguity to avoid having a
constricted interpretation applied to her work.
In most of her mature output, Rego explores gender roles and the
dynamics of relations between the sexes.
In doing so, she has to walk a very fine line. If her imagery lacked uncertainty, her work
could be perceived as didactic or illustrative, regardless of whether her
observations are valid or not. An
analysis of the specific social construct which she experienced within her
brief lifetime would be fated to be quickly forgotten. I don’t believe that Rego desires to play the
role of a pedagogue. Instead, Rego
delves into the foundations of folktales or establishes her narratives within
the confines of a broad, unspecified history.
Ambiguity permits her work to be more universal and multidimensional.
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| Paula Rego - The Cadet and his Sister - 1988 |
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| Paula Rego - Olga - 2003 |
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| Paula Rego - The Pillowman - 2004 |
French artist Balthus, born in Paris in 1908, preferred to remain
anonymous. When asked to provide
biographical information for exhibition purposes, he refused. He carefully crafted his reputation as an
enigma, which within the artworld could only serve to elicit further interest
in him and his work. One might also
suppose that Balthus had other reasons for avoiding notoriety. His work was often overtly sexual in nature,
and his paintings and drawings commonly featured pubescent girls, naked or in
suggestive poses. It’s understandable,
under the circumstances, that Balthus would prefer to keep the public’s focus
on his work rather than on himself.
Social mores are very changeable, often oscillating between liberalism
and conservatism unpredictably, and Balthus certainly must have feared a
backlash from orthodox elements within his society.
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| Balthus - The Mountain - 1937 |
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| Balthus - Nu Jouant avec un Chat - 1949 |
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| Balthus - La Chambre - c1953 |
All of that said, I think
that primarily Balthus wanted to avoid having his biography shape how his work
was perceived. It was critical that his
work remain ambiguous, permitting no definitive interpretation by his
audience. Upon Balthus’ maturation, two
major intellectual perspectives were gaining predominance: Freudian theory and Surrealism. Freud believed that all stages in human
development were sexual in nature.
Puberty represents an unsettled period of experimentation and upheaval
during which the individual undergoes a transformation from an essentially
autoerotic being into a mature sexual adult capable of establishing a
long-term, monogamous relationship.
Surrealism evolved from
Dadaism, an anarchic art movement that rejected established societal and
aesthetic standards. But the Surrealists
disciplined the Dadaist approach, applying Freudian theory to their work. They were particularly interested in Freud’s
belief in the importance of analyzing the unconscious mind in understanding the
functioning of the cognizant individual.
Freud stressed that dreams, in particular, offer invaluable evidence of
repressed memories that determine the directions of our lives and often result
in symptoms of neurosis. The Surrealists
sought to tap into their own unconscious perceptions in their work, regularly
using random patterning as the starting point of their conceptions and
developing dream imagery that did not submit to the logic of their conscious
experience of reality.
Though Balthus was never a
member of the Surrealist circle, he was certainly very aware of the movement
and his work was admired by many of its primary contributors. Most commonly, Balthus’ oeuvre is associated
with that of the second generation of Surrealists, whose work retained a
dreamlike quality while aesthetically incorporating a realist vocabulary. The work of Salvador Dali comes to mind. While Balthus remained an independent artist,
a direct participant in no major movement, it is also clear that he was very
much influenced by Freudian and Surrealist theory, perhaps explaining his
exploration of pubescent sexuality in the context of an ambiguous narrative
that defies rational interpretation.
I mentioned in my last entry
that in 1997 contemporary Norwegian artist Odd Nerdrum confounded both his
opponents and supporters alike by announcing that his work was just “kitsch”
and not “high art”. This admission must
have come as a stomach punch to his supporters who took his paintings very
seriously and embraced his art as the last vestige of true craftsmanship to be
found in the artworld. You see, kitsch
is defined as “art, objects or design considered to be in poor taste because of
excessive garishness or sentimentality, but sometimes appreciated in an ironic
or knowing way”. (Oxford Living Dictionary) Nerdrum wanted to disassociate himself from
“high art” which he sees as now synonymous with Modern Art. He was acknowledging that, because he
continues to be committed to narrative subject matter, emotional content and
fine craftsmanship, his work can never fulfill the expectations of the
Modernists. Of course, Nerdrum was
merely taking a shot at the Modernists.
I believe in truth that he would be terribly mortified to have his
oeuvre received as “kitsch”.
But admittedly his imagery
is often excessive, revolting, awkward, offensive, disconcerting and gruesome –
at times, bordering on the mawkish. So having
his work labeled as “kitsch” must be of legitimate concern to Nerdrum.
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| Odd Nerdrum - Dawn - 1989 |
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| Odd Nerdrum - Man with a Horse's Head - 1993 |
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| Odd Nerdrum - Shit Rock - 2001 |
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| Odd Nerdrum - Three Namegivers - 1990 |
Appreciating that his oeuvre
is susceptible to being labeled kitsch, Nerdrum is very careful not to get too
precise in his creations; he suggests a narrative without providing
specifics. For instance, if he were to
clearly indicate that his imaginary landscape peopled with armed warriors,
hermaphrodites and defecating women is our future world after a ruinous nuclear
war, he would expose himself to censure for being alarmist or doctrinaire; his
observations would apply to a very particular scenario and could be construed perhaps
as sci-fi illustration. The inhabitants
of his world suffer wounds and amputations, perform their daily ablutions and expurgations,
participate in vague rituals, form loose associations and resort to violence to
secure food and impose dominance, but these activities are alluded to in a
nebulous fashion. We are never quite
sure what’s happening in these works; in some instances the activities
portrayed are patently baffling. Through
ambiguity, Nerdrum invites his audience to contemplate his creations, elaborate
on his narratives and draw parallels to contemporary experience.
The Modernist revolution,
which so offended Nerdrum, was of course fated to reach a conclusion. At some point, artists could not surprise or
shock their audience anymore. Nothing
new could be conceived. Every innovation
introduced by the latest radical movement seemed a reiteration of a more
effective antecedent which had originated decades ago. Artists eventually recognized this and
stopped trying to astonish or outrage their viewers. The artwork created by this new generation of
artists is eclectic, borrowing haphazardly from styles and concepts of the
past. Often the boundary between high
art and popular culture is disintegrated.
Several disparate techniques may be incorporated in a single piece. Ambiguity and the absence of any discernible
interpretation are characteristics of this new art which was christened as
“Postmodernism”.
Neo
Rauch is perhaps the quintessential Postmodern artist. Rauch was born in 1960 in Leipzig, East Germany
and lived the first half of his life within a communist state and the second
within a capitalist democracy. After the
reunification of Germany,
Rauch chose to continue living in Leipzig,
even though creative and financial opportunity was accessible in the West. Rauch is ambivalent about his past life. Often his work harkens back to a society that
functions cooperatively, where a community of individuals gathers for a shared
purpose. In these images, the time
period is unclear; the people depicted wear clothing from diverse periods or
are outfitted in unidentifiable uniforms.
Many of his characters engage in creative pursuits; they make music,
dance, write, study, construct sculpture and paint pictures. Fire is a common theme in his oeuvre though
we are not sure if it is an element of purification, censorship or
torture. There is no consistent scale
applied to figures and objects; the laws of perspective do not apply. During his lifespan, Rauch has lived in a
cooperative society that restricted personal freedom and opportunity leading to
economic malaise and creative frustration.
All the same, communism did create a sense of common cause and provide a
safety net for those individuals less than able to provide for themselves. Post reunification, Rauch now lives in a
capitalist democracy that worships the individual and offers opportunity to
exceptionally motivated and talented members of society. Personal freedom is a feature of modern
democracies – at least a freedom only constrained by each individual’s
financial circumstances. And while many
enjoy prosperity and security, a substrata within that same affluent society
experiences deprivation and exposure to risk and illness. After residing in these two “mirror image”
societies, most probably recognizing both their benefits and defects, Rauch
seems predestined to present in his work a world of ambiguity and duality, inconclusive
and uninterpretable.
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| Neo Rauch - Vater - 2007 |
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| Neo Rauch - Der Laden - 2005 |
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| Neo Rauch - Gewitterfront - 2016 |
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| Neo Rauch - Die Stickerin - 2008 |
I should also add that Rauch
at the age of just four weeks lost both of his very young parents to a car
accident and was thereafter raised by his grandparents. Can you imagine having no recollection of the
most critical event to occur in your lifetime?
Or acknowledging that you seemingly emerged unscathed from an incident
whose consequences dramatically changed the course of your life path? Surely, this piece of his personal history
must have introduced to Rauch, even at an early age, the perception that
existence is fraught with irreconcilable contradictions and that the
possibility of cataclysmic transformation shadows every individual at every
moment of his or her existence. Rauch
has succinctly stated:
“What I want to do is catch
those few seconds before some possible excess.”
When I read this simply
quote, I was shocked at how similar it was to something I wrote for a small
exhibition I was having at a local venue six years ago:
“I examine chance and change
in many of my paintings. I’m excited by
moments when something very important might happen, when the regular course of
events may be disrupted and upheaval or drama result. I am equally interested in depicting these
moments in such a way that the viewer cannot be certain as to what is actually
happening; while suggestions of some critical activity are being made, there is
also a very credible possibility that nothing of consequence is occurring. Duality and ambiguity intrigue me greatly as
phenomena of contemporary existence.”
Of
course, my quote is very wordy and not nearly as elegant as that of Rauch, but
what interest me is their parallels. For
most of my art career, I’ve felt completely out of sync with the contemporary
artists I’ve seen represented in galleries and museums. I didn’t dislike or reject their work; I just
recognized that I was on a completely different track and could never picture
my paintings getting exposure in such a forum.
Only in recent years have I seen work and read artists’ statements that
suggest intentions that correspond with my own.
I realize that we’re experiencing a zeitgeist at this time which
acknowledges, whether for good or bad, that ambiguity and contradiction have
become inescapable elements of ordinary existence. I don’t think it’s just coincidence that
Rauch was born a year after I was.
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| Peter Doig - Night Balcony North Coast - 2012 |
Or that in Artforum David
Rhodes wrote the following about Peter Doig, a Canadian artist born the same
year as I:
“It seems that Doig is
saying that realism is negotiable and subjective. This ambiguity continues in Night Balcony North Coast, 2012:
Rendered in dark blue, green and yellow, the painting depicts an empty corner
balcony. The colors evoke twilight, and
within this nocturnal light – a familiar theme in Doig’s work, which adds to
the temporal vagueness of his painting (it is neither night or day) - it seems
as if something has passed or is about to happen. Throughout this exhibition, backgrounds and
figures interchange fluidly, and Doig makes the exotic ordinary and the
platitudinous engaging, mobilizing an ambiguity that produces a situation
without clear explanations – a lack of certainty the artist once called a
‘numbness’.”
You have to wonder why at
this time an interest in portraying an ambiguous world view has become imperative
among artists of a certain age. I have
my own theories about this.
I grew up in the
1960’s. They were radical years during
which our society seemed poised to make major changes in how it
functioned. Though only a child, I
couldn’t help but be aware of a series of fundamental actions and
transformations taking place: Anti-war protests, the Civil Rights Movement, the
Women’s Liberation Movement, the Gay Rights Movement and the Sexual Revolution. People were becoming concerned about the
environment and started to understand that the excessive dumping of pollutants,
the eradication of ecosystems and the extermination of species must not
continue. Many questioned the values
which steered our society, resulting in the development of a counterculture
that rejected rampant consumerism, commercial competition and the traditional
definition of success. People were
dropping out of society, heading back-to-the-land, establishing communes. Civil disobedience, marches and demonstrations
fashioned the backdrop of my early childhood.
To someone with literally no past experience by which to evaluate these
turbulent days, it appeared that these fitful changes that out world was
undergoing were just part of an unbroken arc that had been occurring for
millennia – that arc representing an evolution from lawless chaos to
enlightened cooperation. In spite of all
the unrest that these movements inspired, I really was certain that our society
was undergoing substantive improvement to a degree which had never happened
before in human history. They were heady
days filled with unbridled optimism for the future. I am not exaggerating.
Imagine the confusion and
disappointment I experienced during my late teens and twenties when I detected
signals that my concept of an evolutionary arc of continual societal betterment
may have been mistaken. Thousands of
small, seemingly insignificant digressions were probably occurring at that time,
but I found four developments particularly disturbing.
While I was in college,
disco music began to receive a lot of radio play and asserted a strong
influence on American culture. The music
was glitzy, bass-driven, extremely repetitive and accompanied by sparse, vapid
lyrics. It was all about shutting down the
intellect and surrendering to a simple dance beat, in many ways in opposition
to the innovative arrangements and sophisticated lyrics of earlier folk and rock
music. Disco was anti-art, popularist
and basically pablum for the ears. For
me, the rise of disco represented a decline in taste and a change in what we
expected from art.
Another change that occurred
at that time was the emergence of designer clothing – particularly formfitting
jeans. In the 60’s and early 70’s,
clothing was thought of as utilitarian.
The goal was to buy clothing that was cheap and functional and to wear
it until it was threadbare. To be
dressed up formally was akin to betraying the ethos of the era. For most of my high school years, my school
uniform was a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt. In the winter, I augmented my wardrobe with
an inexpensive, poorly fitting snorkel coat complete with a faux fur-lined
hood. So it came as a surprise when
during my college years people started wearing clothing with designer labels:
Calvin Klein, Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache, Izod Lacoste and Sasson. Clothing ceased to be inexpensive and
practical. Designer jeans, for instance,
cost about three or four times as much as standard brands. They resisted fading and would be discarded
once they showed signs of wear. And by
way of some fancy stitching and a recognizable label, they conveyed an aura of
status on the wearer. The idea that a
sexy pair of overpriced jeans could magically make an individual more “worthy”
was anathema to the values that I had adopted during my childhood years.
In 1980, Ronald Reagan was
elected president. He was pro-military,
anti-government, pro-school prayer and anti-union. A conservative, he championed states rights,
and, to lower taxes, he reduced or stripped benefits from disabled citizens
(many of whom were World War II veterans) and slashed funding for subsidized
housing, Medicaid, food stamps, the EPA and federal education assistance. During his presidency, the gap between rich
and poor widened and the erosion of the economic health of the middle class,
which continues to this day, commenced.
Reagan made Nixon look like a compassionate liberal. His election, a landslide victory in which he
carried 44 states, represented a sea change in our country’s way of thinking;
shallow, selfish, opportunistic narcissism seemed to be the order of the day.
And lastly, in 1986
Paramount Pictures released the movie Top
Gun, which went on to become a major hit.
The movie tells the story of the competition that develops between two
navy pilots, Maverick and Iceman, participating in an elite training program. The film glorifies militarism, nationalism,
macho bravado, risk taking and mindless competition. During and shortly after the Vietnam War, the
release of such a movie would have been unthinkable. In fact, back in 1968 Warner Brothers had released
The Green Berets, a film which
starred John Wayne and sought to justify America’s
intervention in Vietnam. The movie became a target of mockery, lambasted
by progressives and intellectuals and slammed by critics (Roger Ebert gave it 0
stars). Top Gun was so silly, so childish, so pandering, so gratuitous that
after seeing it I was completely dumbfounded as to its appeal. Clearly, attitudes in our country had gone
through major changes.
Obviously, these four
developments which I here note vary in magnitude from the consequential to the
frivolous, but, honestly, each was pretty much of equal significance to me at
that time. I believe that change occurs
at the grassroots level – almost imperceptibly.
The way we dress, the music we listen to and the movies we watch are potent
indicators of our beliefs, ideals and desires.
Ronald Reagan didn’t change our society; our society had changed until
someone like Ronald Reagan was acceptable to it.
Years later, while working
my nine to five, “career” job, I used to hang out with a couple of coworkers
who were about ten years older than I.
They had been full participants in 60’s culture. They attended college at that time, had
engaged in all the experimentation that the era demanded and had faced the real
possibility of being shipped out to Vietnam. I’ve seen pictures of them in which they’re
barely recognizable, so thoroughly did they adopt the guise of hippie culture. Regularly, we would end our workday at a
nearby bar to unwind, have a few beers and shoot the bull. One evening, we fell into a discussion about
the 60’s. At one point in our conversation,
I bemoaned, “You guys were lucky. When
the 60’s hit, you were old enough to have some perspective. Not me.
I was born into it and believed that progress was normal… that society
would continue to make ethical and intellectual gains throughout my lifetime. The realization that this was nonsense was
one of the greatest disappointments of my life.” And this is really the crux of what I’m
getting at. Like Neo Rauch, I’ve lived
in two distinct worlds during my lifetime.
If you happened to be born within just the right window of time (young
enough to have no prior experience and old enough to be conscious of what was
going on), the 60’s were not just another stop on the
conservative-liberal-conservative-liberal cyclical pendulum swing. They were
reality. When that reality proved to be
an illusion, I was shaken, my perception of our world was refuted and I became
interested in exploring narratives in my art that evinced ambiguity and
contradiction. I guess I have become somewhat
of a cynic.
And, much to my chagrin, at
the present time I find ambiguity and contradiction to be more prevalent than
ever before in my lifetime. We have elected
an unpresidential president who blithely presents lies as facts, unconcerned
that the most superficial bit of research will prove him a liar. He admires and lauds corrupt, ruthless dictators
and insults progressive, democratic allies of our country. The Senate voted to confirm a Supreme Court
nominee after most of them agreed that the woman who testified that he
attempted to rape her while in high school was credible and truthful. A Chicago
cop, who shot a knife wielding black teen 16 times while the kid was walking
away from him, claims that he felt his life was in jeopardy – even though the
incident was videotaped and clearly contradicts this assertion. Seems like every other day a respected and
beloved entertainer, journalist or politician is revealed to be a warped,
sex-crazed predator. Periodically our
nation reacts to another tragic mass shooting, mourning an ever-increasing
count of innocent victims, many of whom are school age children; but for all
our outrage and sorrow we are unwilling to consider any effective form of gun
control – not even for semiautomatic weapons.
Our legal system is completely arbitrary. In some states possession of marijuana by an
individual with prior convictions will result in a mandatory sentence of life
without parole, while murderers are commonly paroled after serving 10 or 25
years. The economic collapse of 2008,
which clearly resulted from fraudulent activities, caused tens of millions to
lose their jobs or homes, triggered a plummet in the stock market and saw
trillions of dollars in consumer wealth evaporate, resulted in the conviction
of just one Wall Street executive (30 months, by the way). Medicine, which once held the objective of
improving the health, relieving the suffering and prolonging the lives of
people, has become a ruthless industry whose primary purpose appears to be to
bankrupt the sick and dying before their exit from this world.
I really could go on
forever. I must admit that my list of
observations is comprised mostly of contradictions and is pretty light on
ambiguity. I guess the ambiguity results
from looking toward the future and wondering if we still possess the desire,
resolve and courage that motivated the 60’s generation to improve our society or
will we permit greed, aggression, intolerance, ignorance and sloth to steer our
nation’s course in the years to come.
Sadly, the answer to this question is not at all clear.
As always, I encourage
readers to comment here. If you would
prefer to comment privately, you can email me at gerardwickham@gmail.com.
