Addressing the Lichtenstein Retrospective in DC

Four guys and four days ago two fathers, a single guy and a DINK set forth on this continent, to a national museum, conceived in knowledge and dedicated to the proposition that all art can be collected.

Now we are engaged in a great retrospective, testing whether dots or an artist can paint four colors and can be so dedicated that they can endure. We met at the National Gallery Museum. We have come to this destination, as a starting point, to comemorate those artists that have come before us so that we might create. It is altogether fitting and proper that we (David, David, Adrian and I) should do this.

But in a larger sense, I cannot describe, rather depict, nor round out this artist…Roy Lichtenstein. So I, as a Pennsylvanian, drove to DC with these artists to examine, give praise and admire a collection of Lichtenstein's work. Though I and my cohorts would have rather seen the retrospective in chronological order; those higher up than I decided to arrange the show by subject matter. Could it be an easy answer to showcase an artist that broke out onto the art scene at the age of 37. The comic figure subject is the first step and exemplified by the large Mickey and Donald painting centered at the entrance. This is the piece that we as artists all strive for…the break out piece. “Look Mickey” is supported by documentation and two other abstract paintings on the second floor. I'm sure Mr. Lichtenstein wouldn't mind me saying he wasn't very good at the abstract stuff.

The story goes, or at the very least it works better in my mind, that Roy made it to LeoCastelli's gallery a few days before Warhol. Leo took Roy's work in and hung the “Look Mickey” piece. A few days later Andy comes into the gallery to show Leo some of his paintings of Superman, but Andy is blown away by the accuracy of Roy’s comic strip drawings and goes back to the drawing board (rather silkscreen) and cleans up his act. The rest is history.

  

This is mytake on Lichtenstein. The show is made out to illustrate that Roy has a good sense of humor and he can even poke fun at his newfound success. Becoming confident in his vocabulary he pushes Benday dots in yellow, red, blue, white and black all over the art history books while keeping up with the times. I'm too young to know for sure but I’d think everyone was saying he was as cliché in 1970 as Kincaid is today. Yet, look at back at art history in 1970. We have Donald Judd and SolLeWitt coming to the forefront with this minimal, clean, conceptual art and Roy comes out with his mirror series. Brilliant! It is conceptual, modern, minimal, and slick but has all the essence of a Lichtenstein with a few colors. The curators break the show up into Roy appropriating other artist, then landscapes and ending with an Asian influence. I see it as an artist that developed his own language then used that language to speak his thoughts on art history and it’s simplicity via dots and lines.

If you paid the five dollars for the headset you could have heard him say, “Art is based on art history or we would all be painting like children.” Or something like that. But I digress… These artists shall not have died in vain, that this retrospective under God shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the artists, for the people, shall not perish from this earth. So if you're headed to DC to see the inauguration or the tail end of the retrospective or voting for the Oscars, remember Lincoln but see Roy.

Three Artists Walk into a Gallery

Three artists walk into a gallery. The first artist says to the other two artists… I know it would all make for a good joke but it’s all in a day’s work. Last Friday, I went up to NYC with two artist friends to be inspired, get some answers and hopefully find some opportunities, a.k.a. representation. No, that’s not the joke, that’s the work part. It is harder than it sounds. In hindsight, I’m thinking the best part of the trip was the two-hour car ride. We discussed art;  what it is, what we do, who looks at it, are we as good as we think we are and it ended with a small debate on where the art world is going. The wiser, dare I say, older sage of the group shared his view that it was on the path of exploitation. He stated that we had ventured so far as artists, that we had reached the end of exploitation and it would have to change because we had exploited all we could exploit. I, being the youngest of the group and driving, had control of the ship and our destiny…at least it’s safety until we would arrive in NYC. I exclaimed that exploitation was not at its end for Rubens had been exploiting the art market with prints for a long time. Spin it however you want but isn’t art history all exploitation? My point was made and my job was done. We arrived safely and I parked the minivan leaving the keys to our ship with some young man in the basement of a $200 million high-rise. Yes, we had made it to NYC.

We crossed 9^th Avenue and worked our way through the 20^th Street blocks of Chelsea in search of inspiration, answers and work. Each gallery could be described as heaven; bright white walls reflecting the light from above and a St. Peter behind every door seated at a desk dressed in a black turtleneck hovering over an Apple computer. I just assume he is checking his list to make sure everyone’s name is on it. I assume he is expecting us because he never looked up for identification. We entered and looked around… nope, definitely not heaven. I’m still not sure what gallery it was or what the show was but, it made me think that painting is dead and exploitation is up and alive. The show wasn’t living up to the expectations of old masters where flesh was beautiful. Don’t get ne wrong, I’m not a prude but I saw more flesh and stray hairs than I needed to. It seems like all this can’t be captured with paint anymore so the artists decide to capture the whole thing on video. I had to quickly leave the dark room in the corner for I feared it would appear on my cable bill.

Mary Boone seemed like the only gallery we visited that had paint applied to canvas. Of course the artist that applied it was up for debate. I enjoyed the brush-strokes and grandeur of the imagery. My other musketeers thought otherwise. I stayed a few minutes longer to soak in a bit of inspiration. “If I could just mimic a few of the color choices in my studio”, I thought. We continued our pilgrimage to many of the white walled storefronts looking for answers and work. We came upon a wooden door with a red awning. This was our answer. The sign on the door said, “Drunken Horse.” Three artists walked into a bar and the bartender said, “Why the long face?” We all smiled at each other and thought it was just a day’s work.

Splitting the Hairs of Perfection

If you have been keeping up with my life and my blog you may have heard about my attempt to build a shed. Since my last post, I have been to an auction where I bought used lumber, only to find out I needed more. I have visited the local big box lumber store and have bought my share of the Sherwood Forest. There is no one to blame but myself and my grandiose ideas of what a “cool” outbuilding should look like…enter my friend who graciously said he would help. I’m sure David was totally unaware of what he was getting into. David has the construction background to make this happen and the artistic sculptural background to make it look cool. I have the space and the need to build plus a secret weapon to make sure the job is completed; a home cooked meal.

One of the only differences between David and I is our version of perfection. As a painter I capture things to represent actuality or at the very least, a mere illusion of it. I have the license to leave details out while highlighting other parts of the painting to make a perfect composition. Close is usually good enough and allows the viewer to complete the image in their mind. With enough information I can create a sense of light, space, and mood. To me five fingers represent a hand…this does not translate so well in construction. As far as I knew, there were three other numbers on a ruler between five and six; five and a medium size line, five and a bigger line and five with a medium line after the bigger line which is all followed by the number six.  These same lines and numbers can be found all the way down the ruler. To a sculptor that combines precision cut steel with carefully aligned holes and screens that attach perfectly to their bolts, lines on a ruler have meaning. To my surprise there are eighths and sixteenths. All along I just thought carpenters had lisps. I was to learn quickly that unlike painting you can’t eyeball it. There are technical terms like a hair; just cut off a hair. These are things so small and fine I didn’t think they mattered. In a painting I wouldn’t paint every single hair.

It is now day three and “we” (I use the term loosely) have the floor in place, four studded walls underneath for a second floor. Up at the house dinner is served; there is enough food to feed an army. My plate is decorated with orange and green vegetables, the charcoal black lines create a diamond pattern on the steak, and my scarlet red wine clings to the glass; it’s a visual delight. Across the table David stacks his carrots and proceeds to cut his steak into eighth inch strips. I’m so happy he will be joining us for dinner next week to finish up my shed.