Showing posts with label art students. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art students. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Rauschenberg

So.  Rauschenberg.  When I was in community college, say, '98 or '99, (where does the time go...?) this big Rauschenberg retrospective happened in Houston.  My mind was in the beginnings of the expansion of experiencing art, in the larger sense, and Rauschenberg was something that I had only experienced through textbooks.  A group of students from San Antonio College including me got a school van and a faculty member and made the trip to Houston to knock out this city-wide show.  The Houston Museum of Fine Arts, the Contemporary Art Museum, and the Menil Collection were all part of this massive show of the Texas native.  I stood in front of Bed, the Erased De Kooning drawing, the weird kinetic and theatre based stuff, the 1/4 Mile Furlough piece, and more recent print works.  I had never been to Houston, never been to a real big, modern art museum, never stood in front of a historical, important, key work of contemporary art by a living artist, much less one from my home state, a state whose borders pretty much defined my entire world at that point.  

Rauschenberg has never fallen out of favor with me; I have never been hesitant to admit him as an influence, as an inspiration, or as being a fan of him.  It is easy, when being involved with artists, and in the art world, to take stock of the accepted pantheon and then dismiss it for the new, for the momentous.  As it is with the mission of the avant-garde, that is a vital and important tactic in the dialogue.  Let us not forget, however, that the average person who participates in this culture, while assimilated perhaps to the trickled-down ideas and imagery that one such as Rauschenberg brought forth as art, they as a whole remained uninformed about the man, the life, and the work that is responsible for it.  Artists especially should remain cognizant of the grand narrative of art history they participate in, especially if who they deem to be the protagonists of it are still alive to contribute to it.  Even if it seems their story has been told, the cachet earned in their previous contributions are legitimate criteria for evaluation of their later work.

To understand any contemporary art today, fully, and with maximum cognizance, one must understand the context that a force of nature such as Robert Rauschenberg occupied.  Anyone claiming the title of artist in the 21st century are heirs of him and his ideas, whether they know it or not.  It is this unconscious derivation of ideas that, in my opinion, cement the brilliance of those ideas, and their originators.  

 

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Commit to Making a Masterpiece Every Time

Nobody cares.  Paint on anything.  Turn anything into sculpture.  Record everything.  Do anything.  Mix oil and acrylic.  Mix acrylic and poop.  All art has one of two destinies -- the museum or the dumpster.  You can imagine the pie chart for that stat; its something like Pac-Man with his lips only slightly and seductively parted, on what would be his back, the yellow part representing the percentage of art that is dumpster bound.  Paint over the old shit, cannibalize the materials.  There is not much more liberatingly sobering than to look at was once hot with the aura of art and realize it has been reverted back to virgin potentiality again -- wood, canvas, what have you -- MATERIALS -- materials you don't have to buy. Know this.  Let the cancer of practicality grow in your brain.  You have nothing to lose.  You are an artist. 

But there is more.  Since you have nothing to lose you should maximize your gains and with each dumpster-destined piece EMBRACE THE DELUSION of your greatness as a mediator of culture and COMMIT TO MAKING A MASTERPIECE EVERY TIME.  Absurd?  Yes.  As is the entire endeavor of art making (and life itself, according to the existentialists).  Yes it's all experimentation, its all a process, one's greatest work is always ahead of them -- these practical, logical metaphors will never leave the reptilian part of your brain where all those practical things live.  But why apply a practical method to an absurd endeavor? Lead with the front of your brain and COMMIT TO MAKING A MASTERPIECE EVERY TIME.  

It's crazy, I know.  I tell my students its better to go too far than not go far enough; isn't it an indicator of intelligence to be able to hold and understand two contradictory thoughts in one's head at a time?  It is an impossible goal, an ideal, neo-platonic nonsense.  But like world peace, true originality or communism, it is a Sisyphusean task worth pointing towards, maximized only by the absurd delusion of it accomplishment.  Are not all works of art FAILED ATTEMPTS AT THE IMPOSSIBLE?  We are charged with the task of making poetry manifest -- of trying to hold the light of the moon between our fingers -- an impossible task whose attempts are left behind as telling documents of creation, frustration, exhaustion, contemplation and action.  

So that's what I think.  Right now, anyways.  First blog post ever.  There's no way I can be right about all of that.  What do you think?