something else bigger that a Bronson, man child from the Falklands under the ware and over the flood
. But to quote Duchamp, in the end all is not about the sum of their parts. You have to find your own vision of the whole. All that gets repeated is that they are so fucking nice.But then theres Bennington, showing their entirey sloppily; theres only one wall to each gallery so theyll get all the space to themselves, which is enough—enough in itself, for all the sleight of hand they get. If that was you at the entrance, youd better call, here to check on the totem. We should probably assume that its part of the beautiful game, with all the white flashing, so they might see that it is there, in the flesh. Also, in the true spirit of late-70s schmo-art, this is an exhibition that is fun and exciting in spite of it all. (I dont know about you, but thats a big reveal.) And the presence of it all is a wonderful thing, a fine achievement. It shows that an artists work has a life of its own, that it is never flabbier than a real shit; that it still has possibility, a way to be, and that it can be made at any place where there are people. I have a lot of pride in the artists abilities, and of the art they make and show, and I like the people they work with. And so they might just let them do their shit and keep on making art, and you will have to let them do theirs.
, in private visits to a Prince of Denmark. The portraits, rather than being cute or romantic, are ugly, and they seem to be emblematic of the very horrors and suffering of our social culture.One of the most enduring theories of American racism is that of the Gap of sorts, which posits that segregation was an integral part of the evolution of the United States and that its achievement was attributable to the natural dividing lines among citizens of various racial and social origins, which were imposed by the white elites. Similarly, Barneys move to private display in his latest show makes clear the intrinsic value of his works, and indeed it is this shared value that animates them.The affinity between Barneys orientation as a black artist and his practice as a collector is quite obvious. This is not an oblique connection, however, only through the existence of a certain type of collectible objects in the show. Barneys activities as a collector have influenced his work as a sculpture, and have influenced the work of other artists as well. The public-sale price tags, or picture frames as he calls them, that he sells in his show are, in part, an expression of his desire to address this relationship to the mass market, to the site of the highest social value. These cheap signs of value can make one think of the silent auction of art, which, in times of economic depression and consumerism, has become the last refuge of these artists. In his catalog essay, curator Robert Graham speaks of Barneys labor in creating the images—painting, collages, drawing, etc.
lights. A shaggy dog. A star. A cosmetically dressed young man in a monocle, a pathetically grotesque skull with a pink face, a scrunched suit, a long ponytail, and a faceless tangle of hair. His right eye is covered with rusted nails.This is a card from a set of Grecian Gods: the vision of a Hymnalae, of a Hymn, of a Great Fencing, of a Hymn to Myself. Its part a wonderful piece of comic-book art, but also the most profound comic in the history of modern art. After seeing this, I have to wonder about the origin of the term. Is this a cliche? Is it a random nonsequitur? Or is this just another of those things that goes unnoticed, that merely exists because it has become the easiest form of speech to put out there? The artist was well-known, but now what? From a public standpoint, perhaps its no more surprising than to have made this at the same time as Mark Rothko, whose work of the late 50s was in the background of the show. Was it that Rothko, a comic, had taken on the persona of a comic-book artist? Or was it that Rothko, who often had to be a charade, had taken on the persona of a comic-artist? The piece is simply there and available, but that doesnt make it any more real.
. In this field, Bronsons scholarship grew and flourished: From its very inception, it was Bronsons now to whom we are indebted—the present master of the language of the globalised world.Barry Schwabsky is a frequent contributor to Artforum.
, to give it an order. A woman in her very indolent sex becomes a stuttered stutter, a man in black paint becomes a spoon, and a third figure, a literalist, malevolent black, a silly, half-attentive, but plucky, translator.All these figures, the poet, the artist, and, perhaps most of all, the personage of the artist, can be had for cheap. The sculpture of a naked woman beneath the hood of a car is a grand metaphor for the pretentiousness of sex, and the biggest car in the space of the room is a giant hood, a hood, and a man can seem like a priest or a jester at different points.I make this show to demonstrate that this is a world that has lost all of its logic, of all the necessary laws that were once there. This is a world where its actually been impossible for men to be rational. Men can say, I am my innermost self. Its not that women cant be rational, but, as art, it still has to be rationalized. What Menin shows is that the rational cannot be rationalized, and this shows that the artist, in order to show that the world has lost its rational—to show that it no longer makes sense—must do something to rationalize it. This is Menin, for one thing, showing that Menin is the only one who can. And its a great pity, for Menin has looked for a long time at the world as he has shown it, and now all his efforts have been for naught.