The first of at least several discussions on contemporary Art.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Culture Wars:
Where have all the Artists gone, the
irrelevance of art in Phoenix
This is
a song sung so often it has become background noise. Whenever the subject of art is raised, there
is a sense of futility in the air. A
common complaint in the valley of the sun is that the place lacks any cultural
identity. The entire urban suburban
sprawl that is the greater Phoenix area has become as creatively dry as the
Sonoran desert.
Complaints,
aggravations and the ongoing search for enough currency to make art a reality,
the denizens of the cultural epicenter of Phoenix have frequently, and
publicly, have made it clear that something is amiss.
“Artistic
drought” is as harmful as any other.
Walking down Grand Avenue, which was once populated with galleries,
restaurants, bohemian bars and alternative spaces that bravely tried to be avant-garde,
and you will see a wasteland. The
galleries have largely vanished. As if a
dusty version of a tsunami had hit, the remnants look battle fatigued. Desolate
buildings, parking lots with grass creeping up the concrete, the whole area
feels less like a community in turn around and more like a science fiction
dystopia.
There
are a few mavericks maintaining an assault on indifference. By hanging on to what was
once a growing area
now held in a static holding pattern, some hopefuls linger. There is something deeply romantic about
facing overwhelming obstacles armed with a job, a dream and the monthly rent
bill that threatens to tear it all down. Shades of La Boehme can be felt. The opposing side of romanticism is cynicism,
but that has not stopped the hope that springs eternal. It is the one thing that everyone is counting
on for strength.
There is something horrific that we
are in a place and time where visual art is becoming more and more irrelevant
to more and more people.
Intellectual curiosity has become the victim of a society riddled with
more social and economic ills then there are birds in the air
Even the once affluent providers of
artistic support look upon the idea as an excuse for fundraisers and wall
decorations only. Few, very few, ever do
it in order to have a deeper, profound intellectual experience with art. As long as it is in vogue and has an
outrageous price tag, who really cares if anything truly worthwhile has been
said. The Emperor is naked. This time
there is no embarrassed monarch because shame among the well-heeled can be
written off as cheap p.r.
In the larger scheme of things, no
one really cares. No one has to the time
to invest long term with the mutterings of those without a
clue.
Intellectual
curiosity has become the victim of a society riddled with more social and
economic ills then there are birds in the air.
Profundity and free expression have found sanctuary in some Universities
and Community Colleges. Like Medieval
monks feverishly preserving the past for an uncertain future, professors,
students and the ivory tower of academia have become art’s safe haven. This is not a good thing when the only people
looking at art seriously are the few that have made it in the first place.
The blame
game runs rampant. “If only the public understood my work,” is not an uncommon
complaint. The real concern when
properly translated into English is more like “Why the Hell doesn’t someone
come along and pay for this S---.” Well,
you get the picture.
Honesty,
the disingenuous, the sincere and the phony all converged in art. Sometimes there is true innovation that is
hard to take, but valid. Then there are
the pretenders who put far more effort into image, clothes and the right smug
bored with it all expression draped in black than they ever did with the
art. The whole poetic image of a fragile
attractive men, or woman, with brush in hand painting away while lovingly
looking at the camera is a silly fiction. The reality of art making is far more
incredible than a Hollywood glorification can envision.
Most
artists know before signing up for this profession that it is not “romantic.”
To the dilettante, much of art is a pleasure ground of expression. Those that toil at it seriously realize they
are in the trenches of a gut wrenching war to bring culture, uplift and vision
to a City that does not know what it is missing is what it desperately needs.
Many on
the far right talk of the “cultural war.”
There is one. It is a war against
art, music, intellect and the value placed upon such things that it is being
slaughtered. Society as a whole is not
less or more moral than it was before talk of a culture war started. But the
dummied down culture is easily swayed by naked Emperors their sycophants who
will assault any work of merit if it brings power, wealth and fame. It has
become a conflict. A real story of good and not so good men and women.
Yes,
there is a cold war. The line between a
culture without culture and those few true rebels who feverishly keep what
little culture there is alive. It is not
about values, moral decay or lack of character.
They idea that America is a Sodom and Gomorrah because an artist showed
one painting misses the target.
The real assault on American values
are Americans. Only here can censorship and lack of an inequitable distribution
of wealth and tax burden be made to look as if Americans are lazy people.
The people are working around the
clock. That is part of the problem. All work and no time for friends, neighbors
and families makes for a vanishing middle class.
As the middle class is burdened
with carry the weight of carpet baggers and exploiters of human labor, a casualty
in the dog eat dog world American has become art. Even the upper middle class is feeling the
pain. Relief is just not arriving. It is like Katrina victims. You can shout from the rooftops, literally,
and there is no one there. But, if a
buck can be made, watch the stampede.
I have
heard too many times Mayors of Phoenix extol the virtues of art. I doubt if they ever saw one struggling. I doubt that they would not be so inclined to
greet them with open arms if they came face to face with one. Realities of art are just too messy to
contend with in any way. There is something about pressing yourself against an
artist covered in sweat, desperation and insight that just ruins a $ 3,000.00
suit.
I
like artists, but over there.
Artists
are a lot like the “ethnic neighbor” that moves into a neighborhood where everyone
shares the same pained expression trying to surpass the Jonses. Keeping up is not good enough in a world of
Kardashians and “image branding.”
Artists
are fine, we love what they do, as long as they stay over there.
Oh
well, so much time, too little talent to fill in the voids.
The
reality of art is that it needs several things for it to actual mean something.
First, it needs a place to be shown,
second it needs to have talent, third you need a tireless advocate, fourth you
need writers and theoreticians to separate the pearls from the pigs, fifth you
need a good pr person, and last, but certainly not least, patrons.
You can be as smug and as arrogant
as you wish, that will not change a thing.
Like a dog that never learns, so many players in local art keep doing
everything the same way hoping for different results. According to my definition of crazy,
reworking what has been believing good fortune will rain like manna is about as
sensible as waiting for the Easter Bunny.
This is
a rule no one made, but a sad, unfortunate reality that if you do not sell art,
your art runs the risk of being consumed by time.
Naturally,
any artist worth something has integrity.
They paint because they love it and would do it no matter what. I am sure the same can be said for the financer,
the Banker, The C.E.O, any elected official and most if not all medical
doctors, give or take a few. Everyone
may love what they do. They also expect
to be paid.
No one
would ever go to a doctor, therapist, mechanic, landlord or plumber and ask for
“freebies.” But make your bread and
butter from painting, and suddenly your work is expected to be free to any
fundraiser. It is something to be
treated lightly since it has no value. No, I am not bitter, just realistic.
No, I am not bitter, but the game is still going on and on and nothing changes
I still
believe in art, vision and integrity.
What I do not believe in are the attitudes of so many in the art
world. It is one thing to live with a
fiction, maybe desire it. It is very
much a different thing when you knowingly espouse a lie as pure, virginal
innocent untouched truth.
No one
wants to destroy a poetic illusion. Then again if you live in icy worlds at icy
altitudes long enough, the next stop is schizophrenia. This may explain why so many artists, actors,
comedians and writers are on anti-psychotics.
Surrealistic highs, the lows, the whole expression process is
awe-inspiring, wonderful and difficult.
So far
time has proven under the most difficult time, some type of art is made.
The
burning question is will it last. Can art survive in a culture that deems
intellectual pursuits as little more than the mumblings of people incapable of
living in the “real world.” Since when
did pondering, writing, creating and performing become invisible?
One
really has to wonder what a nation is like when we have funny derogatory names
for smart people. Art will go on kept from death by a fragile life support
system. As the numbers of days become
months and years, will we wonder, “Where have all the Artists gone.”
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