Any place I hang my art is home

Just recently, I was speaking with a friend and fellow artist, and I mentioned that because of the way we had rearranged our lounge room, I was now able to hang a rather large painting of mine I was about to pick up from an exhibition.  He said that my house might become like his; that is, filled with examples of our own work.  To which I immediately responded with an emphatic ‘no’.  I’ve never really hung my own work in my own house, a fact that other people have always told me is a bit odd, but I’ve never really understood why I didn’t want to.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve come to this conclusion, I’m a bit of a snob.  Let me explain.

Viewing art is a wonderful thing.  A good work of art can teach us something new every time we look at it.  It can hone our minds and make us more worldly, intelligent, and even better people. And I want everything hanging in my house to do just that.  This is also what I expect when I go to an art gallery, but I have a different set of guidelines as to what I think belongs in a gallery, and what should be hung at home.  Not everything that belongs in a gallery can be hung in a home, and vice versa.  The best way to describe this is to tell you about two paintings I have in my home. 

The first is a painting that is quite clearly in the ‘gallery’ camp.  It’s a painting by Grant Stevens titled Short Time Only (2002).  I’ve owned this painting for quite some time, but it still gives me pleasure to see it in my dining room every day.  It’s a fairly minimal painting, a white background with the title text roughly stencilled across the surface in a deep red.  The reason it’s a gallery piece is that it’s part of a critical practice designed by the artist to make a statement.  It wasn’t designed specifically as a piece of decoration, it just so happens to appeal to my particular taste.  It conjures up ideas of parking signs and late night infomercials.  Being told what to do with our time, but only by those authorities we largely ignore.  When we have visitors, they’ll often ask us what it’s about, or give us their own interpretation of the painting (these have ranged from “I don’t think it’s finished” to “an existential comment on the fleeting nature of life”).  This is where the value of this and other ‘gallery’ works lay.  I’m not talking dollars here, I mean the intrinsic value, their purpose for existing in the first place.  They make you think.  Grant’s painting creates a situation that forces you contemplate something.  He chose that exact, ambiguous phrase for that very reason.  Not everyone thinks about the same stuff, but he makes you think nonetheless.

Quite a lot of art is designed to only be seen in a gallery context.  I’m not sure how many people really want one of Damien Hirst’s dissected and preserved animals in formaldehyde as a coffee table, or one of Jeff Koons’ huge, bordering on pornographic photo prints as a conversation starter in their lounge room.  Sometimes there are parts of regular life or non-art that creep into a gallery, like the Art Gallery of Ballarat’s excellent 2010 exhibition of memorabilia of the band Queen[1], but these are slices of the everyday that have been carefully selected to be held up to a higher standard, they’re not just Aunt Mildred’s LP collection Blu Tacked to the wall.

The other painting I’ll describe is one that I treasure just as much as Short Time Only.  It was painted by my son, Colin, at day care using paint-coated wool on a cheap, ready-made canvas.   I love it, but does it belong in a gallery?  Is it art?  Well... no, and only sort of.  We often hear people say things like “my toddler could do that”, and in this case it is quite literally true, my kid did do it, and it looks a bit like contemporary art, but you will never visit it in a gallery.  The purpose of this painting is to look cool, and to be a touching reminder of his development.  Just because it’s slightly Pollock-esque doesn’t make it an Abstract Expressionist masterpiece.  And here’s my point in all of this, things you hang in your home should be something you’re willing to live with day in and day out.  They don’t have to be a carefully considered message.  Much of the time, the best things on someone’s wall have nothing to do with art at all.  They can be sentimental, or decorative, or mood-inducing, or anything you want, really.  And overwhelmingly, these don’t belong in a gallery, because they’re not really artworks.

Sometimes, there is a crossover between these two categories, works that were designed for a gallery, but are attractive enough (in any sense) to be hung in your home.  And this is where my aversion to hang my own work in my house, and my snobbery, come back in.  I’m quite attached to my own paintings, I think they work well on a conceptual level, but I don’t think they’re pretty enough to look at every day.  I’m also a bit of a perfectionist, so I’ll constantly be disappointed with the minute details I don’t like.  It’s just too frustrating, so I don’t often do it.

I don’t like paintings of pretty stuff just for the sake of being pretty.  I understand that a lot of pictures that get sold at markets and homewares shops might take a lot of technical skill, but that’s all it is.  I’ll concede that other people think it’s art, but only just.  If you’re on holiday and you buy a painting that will remind you of that time, go bananas!   If the oversized Buddha head print from Target will look great with your couch, do it!  Just don’t call it art in the same way you would an Andy Warhol painting or a Donald Judd object.  It may be artistic, or technically well-produced, but it hasn’t actually been created with the purpose of being ‘gallery’ art (nor does it make the creator of the picture an artist… there’s a whole other can of worms…).  It’s kinda like meeting an Olympic marathon competitor and introducing yourself as a fellow runner because you ran to the shops last week for a bottle of milk and a Chiko Roll.  I guess it’s true, but it’s a massive stretch of the truth.  I don’t like to call that kind of painting art, and I don’t really want to hang it in my home.

So, I’m snobby.  I’m not going to apologise about that.  But what I will say is this, the most important thing to think about when choosing something to hang in your home is, “will I be happy to look at it every single day?”.   It doesn’t really matter whether it’s art or not, it only needs to make you happy.   If you get half of the enjoyment that Grant and Colin have given me, then you’re doing something right.

Grant Stevens is represented by Gallery Barry Keldoulis

www.gbk.com.au

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[1] Art Gallery of Ballarat. 2010. Queen - The Unseen Archive. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.balgal.com/. [Accessed 04 August 12].

Don't fence me in...

Art’s a traditional game.  Thousands of years of refinement have created an intricate, ever-evolving interplay of language and images that can capture our imagination and teach us amazing and wonderful things.  Traditions of making and viewing art have been born and distilled to the point we have now, with our current system of galleries, museums, and exhibiting artists.  Even the most radical and inspiring innovations in delivering the arts are just part of this history and part of its continua.  It’s quite similar to the way dogs have been bred over millennia to become pedigree breeds, creative culture has been bred to the point where visual arts has become its own beast.

Unfortunately, just like the poor King Charles Spaniel whose brain is too big for its skull (no, really)[1], we’ve bred in some rather odd deformities into the art world.  Although these art world abnormalities aren’t causing violence inducing headaches or are as gross as a perpetual stream of drool, they do present, as I see it, three real barriers to the everyday punter who wants to enjoy some time appreciating art.  The first of the major barriers is one I’ve mentioned in my previous post, language. 

The language of art has become very complicated and intense.  The way artist statements, art journals, and exhibition didactics (that’s the handy blurbs stuck near the artworks at a gallery) are written is a very specific type of language, one that takes a long time to learn and use.   That’s not necessarily a bad thing, it takes a rich and in-depth to and fro between artists, critics and institutions to keep art vibrant and cutting-edge; the problem is the perception that’s developed that you need to be a part of that and to use that highfalutin language to have a relevant point of view or interpretation.  As a viewer of art, it’s pure bunk to think an opinion isn’t valid if it’s not eloquent.

The second barrier that’s evolved in art is one that puts a lot of people off.  Confusing art.  Art can be confusing or confronting for a lot of reasons.  It could be that it looks like it was simplistic or ‘unartistic’ to make, like Carl Andre’s Equivalent VIII (1966) which is made of an arranged pile of white bricks, or any of the ‘drip paintings’ from Jackson Pollock.  It could be confronting like the work of Tracey Emin who publicly listed all the people she had ever had sex with in Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995 (1995).  It could be just plain old weird, read: anything from Joseph Beuys (that guy was bonkers).   People seem to get really shirty about this stuff.  My wife and I were once approached by a woman at an exhibition who, without even knowing who we were, launched into a rant about a particular painting saying that it was rubbish, that her two-year-old could have painted it, and that it didn’t deserve to win the prize it did.  I’m quite sure that the artist didn’t paint his big, ugly, grey, swirly painting to cheese her off, but it did anyway. 

When you enter an exhibition of contemporary art, you really need to go in with an open mind.  The work you see may not fit your particular view of what art should be, especially if that’s pictures of horses and flowers and sunshine, or velvet paintings of Elvis.  We need to remember that the work is part of that evolutionary process, and if you haven’t been exposed to quite a bit of art history, it’s kinda like walking into a movie halfway through and expecting to instantly understand everything that’s going on.  The artwork might be confusing, confronting or weird, but it took a long time to get like this, and you may not ‘get it’ straight away.  That’s cool, just know that it is, in fact, art and it probably does deserve to be there. No skin off your nose, so don’t get worked up about it.  In fact, one of the fathers of confusing art, Marcel Duchamp said that “art may be bad, good or indifferent, but, whatever adjective is used, we must call it art”[2].

The final barrier, or consequence of breeding, I want to mention is the way we all stay quiet when we’re in a gallery.  I’m not sure why this has become the standard, or when, but it does irritate me.  If you’re taking the time to visit a gallery, and hopefully you’re with somebody else who you want to talk to about the work, it really does make it awkward when you’re bound by the unspoken rule that you need to speak in hushed tones.  Now, I get quite excited when I’m with someone and we start ‘talking art’, and the thing I don’t need is being haunted by the spectre of a hair-in-a-bun, horn-rim bespectacled librarian shushing me right when I’m getting into it.  Why I’m imagining stereotypical 1960s librarian is probably a whole other blog...  I guess social conventions like this are just perpetuated because ‘that’s the way it is’ type thinking, but it doesn’t really need to be like that.  A visit to an exhibition will be made all the more richer and entertaining when you’re actually talking to one another.  I’m not advocating yelling and shouting, but I highly doubt you’d be escorted from the premises for holding a rational conversation about the art that’s been presented for you to look at in the first place.  In fact, you may even give a hint to the other punters around you.

I guess I should wrap this post up with a recommendation.  Instead of going to an exhibition and quietly shuffling past artworks that make you cringe or just weird you out, and avoiding reading the catalogue and didactics because they’re pretty wanky; walk in with your head up, talk with your friends and family about the art and get their opinions.  If you really don’t understand it, ask the gallery attendant to explain it a bit more, that’s what they’re there for.  And do it all at a regular volume.  I guarantee that you’ll enjoy it a whole lot more.

And spare a thought for those poor King Charles Spaniels.

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[1] The Independent. 2008. The Big Question: Is the breeding of pedigree dogs leading to cruel abnormalities?. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/this-britain/the-big-question-is-the-breeding-of-pedigree-dogs-leading-to-cruel-abnormalities-902853.html. [Accessed 16 July 12].

[2] Duchamp, M. (1957) The Creative Act. In: Stiles, K. and Selz, P. eds. (1996) Theories and documents of Contemporary Art: A sourcebook of artists' writings. 3rd ed. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Let's talk about art, baby!

I recently went to an exhibition at my local regional gallery with some members of my family.  In particular, I was with my sister-in-law and her partner and my two and a half-year-old son.  It was an invitation entry prize, featuring some of Australia’s best contemporary painters, including Ben Quilty, Victoria Reichelt, and Kate Shaw.  The $50000 award was won by 88-year-old indigenous artist Sally Gabori with a very impressive (and huge) abstracted depiction of a view on Bentinck Island, of which she’s the custodian.   It’s a beautiful painting which prize judge Julie Ewington even called “life-affirming”[1].  Amazing colours, fine composition, overwhelming proportions, a deserving winner.

Now, my extended family is quite intelligent, scary smart really.  A couple of PhDs, Masters degrees, and Bachelor degrees like they’re napkins at McDonald’s; but it felt like they were defaulting to me to provide a clear explanation as to why it won because I was the one to study art at uni.  The big question was why did a painting that, from first impressions, seems to be almost wholly abstract and “easy to paint” win over other works that were astoundingly well-crafted, labour-intensive objects of beauty.  It turns out that I was all too keen to provide a possible insight (mainly because I’m a bit of a show-off...), but what about those people who don’t have ready access to a smart arse like myself?  Do they feel inadequate or not worthy to offer up thoughts on artworks because they’re “not arty people”, even if they’re actually very intelligent?  I’d say yes, they probably do feel unable to voice an opinion or comment, but it’s not really a feeling of inadequacy, it’s more a feeling of being illiterate.

Art is like a language.  I don’t mean that there’s an agreed list of symbols that artists use to spell out specific messages (like if you paint a skull you mean death, or if you paint a squirrel on the northern side of an oak tree you want to marry your first cousin), but that an artwork can give you clues to what the artist may have been on about when they were making it.  These clues may not lead you exactly to what the artist intended to say with their artwork, but it does let you have a good discussion about the artwork or the artist or just stuff in general.  Surely that’s one of the main objectives of art, considering that most people aren’t going to drop $50000 to brighten up their lounge room wall. 

But back to this awful unentitled or illiterate feeling.  I believe that the reason people feel like this in a gallery situation is that they think you need to have expert knowledge and a ridiculous vocabulary to speak about art to other people, and that you need to be able to explain the artwork in its entirety.  Wrong.  It’s true, there is an “art world” full of people who can talk the talk, write the essays, and pour on the attitude, but none of that is really necessary to have a very intelligent, in-depth conversation about an artwork, its message, and its impact on the people looking at it.  It certainly helps to have a healthy understanding of art-making and art history, but in my mind, it’s the obvious comments about an artwork that say the most, and lead you to the best understandings.

When I look at an artwork, I like to go with my very first thought as my first clue in sorting out what I think the artwork is saying.  If it gives you a certain feeling, think about why it makes you feel like that, and then maybe why the artist wants you feel that way.  If it’s just a beautiful artwork, why do you think so?  It can be even simpler than that though.  Sometimes you think something like, “Bloody hell, that’s a lot of red paint!”, so why did the artist use so much?  Having a kid with you can be pretty handy to start the ball rolling.  The first thing to come out of my son’s mouth when he saw the winning Gabori painting was, “That’s big!”  And you know, he was right, it’s massive.  But that leads you to think about why the painting needed to be so big, why wasn’t it smaller.  It’d be easier to move around, look after, and install if it was half the size... why so big?  Well it seems to me that a huge, imposing painting is telling a story of a huge imposing landscape.  The painting seems to wrap around you, filling your entire field of vision.  Then you start thinking about the wild colours and how they’re drilling into you as you stand there.  It makes you feel small, and that you’re standing before something that demands your respect.  I can only imagine that Bentinck Island does the same, and if your entire culture and heritage is connected with the land, that’s a very humbling experience indeed.  Well done, my boy!  Spotting that the painting is gigantic wasn’t rocket science, but it started a great story!

The simple observations that we all make are the best way to create a dialogue with an artwork.  Dialogue is a bit of a wanky way of describing the process, but it does tend to be the best word for it.  It irritates me when I hear people saying things like, “I think the artist is saying that ...” or “This artwork means ...” Three things are happening here: firstly, they’re assuming that they fully understand the artist’s intention with the artwork; secondly, they’re reducing the impact of an artwork to a single sentence or comment; and finally, they sound like a tosser.  We shouldn’t try to sum up an artwork in an instant, it kinda seems a bit disrespectful to the artist.  It really is like a conversation between the artwork and the viewers, you figure things out as you go along, adjust what you thought before, and maybe come to a conclusion or at best an easy place to end the chat.  Do you have to have the whole thing figured out? Not at all.  Some artworks will remain a mystery to you, while others seem straightforward. 

The idea that art can only be talked about by artists and critics is stupid.  Let’s head out to a gallery, say some obvious stuff, and have a great time!

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[1] Art Almanac. 2012. Sally Gabori wins The Gold Award. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.art-almanac.com.au/2012/06/sally-gabori-wins-the-gold-award/. [Accessed 08 July 12].