Toilet Humour Or Art?

We could have just ignored it, or laughed it off. But no, the contemporary art world had to tie itself in knots over Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain”, which was submitted to the Society of Independent Artists first exhibition in New York in 1917. Fountain is one of a series of “readymades” produced by Duchamp at the time.  

Duchamp later recalled that the idea for Fountain arose from a discussion with the collector Walter Arensberg and the artist Joseph Stella. He purchased a urinal from a sanitary ware supplier and submitted it – or arranged for it to be submitted to the exhibition. The Society was bound by its constitution to accept all submissions, but it made an exception to Fountain. It was excluded from the exhibition and Arensberg and Duchamp resigned from the Society in protest.

‘Fountain’, 1917

The decision of the Society seemed to run contrary to its advertised ethos of “no jury – no prizes”. Duchamp had moved from Paris to New York in 1915, and with his friends Henri-Pierre Roche and Beatrice Wood wanted to assert the independence of art in America.  

In its article, The Tate makes reference to Duchamp’s painting “Nude Descending A Staircase No.2” being withdrawn from the Salon des Indépendants in Paris in 1912. Duchamp apparently saw this as an extraordinary betrayal and described it as a turning point in his life. Thus, the submission of Fountain could be seen as an experiment by Duchamp in testing the commitment of the new American Society to the principals of freedom of expression and its tolerance of new conceptions of art.

‘Nude Descending A Staircase No.2’, 1912

So, what are we to make of Fountain? Was it part of Duchamp’s stated objective that anything can be a work of art if the artist says so? According to the Tate, the original is lost which begs the question why bother producing replicas of it and why is it considered one of the icons of twentieth century art? Artist Matthew Collings ask the question is Duchamp’s readymades all part of a ‘no skill is needed joke’? 

“It was really trying to kill the artist as a God by himself” - Duchamp, commenting on Fountain. He was keen to remove the artist from the pedestal that he created for himself. Collings describes Fountain as the measure of all irony, now preserved at the Pompidou Centre in Paris – although copies can be found everywhere including any hardware store, come to think if it. Yet when I visit the sanitary section, I never think of Duchamp. Why? 

“My idea was to choose an object that wouldn’t attract me either by its beauty or its ugliness, to find a point of indifference in my looking at it” - Duchamp commenting on his readymades. Collings sees Duchamp’s art as the first stirrings of avant-gardism in the 20th century, an avant-gardism that was not concerned with pursuing quality in art, but instead of quality. Collings believes Duchamp is responsible for the fact that no one really knows what quality is in modern art.

‘Bicycle Wheel’ - one of Duchamp’s Readymades

Duchamp’s first criteria for the art he produced was that it should amuse him, but then he thought it shouldn’t be what everyone else thinks art should be about – that is; the skill of the artist’s hand. He thought there should be something more – the artist’s mind was just as important as the artist’s hand. 

In the 1960’s, just before he died, he was asked why when he wanted to destroy art, his readymades now seem so aesthetic and so part of art, he replied “well no one is perfect”. It’s argued that Duchamp opened the door to freedom in modern art, to feel free to do your own thing. Yet, Collings argues that Duchamp’s readymades are a devastating one-liner that has us questioning if we’ve reached the end of art. “Where can you go after that?” he asks. Duchamp’s answer was to play chess for many years. 

Collings asks if Duchamp’s readymades are the sickly green light of cultures’ last meltdown. I like Collings’ description of Fountain being the asteroid of irony hurtling through artspace, a symbol of culture nowadays being empty and frivolous in the eyes of many. But he acknowledges the seriousness in Duchamp’s art too. 

But Duchamp never gave up entirely on art, he just produced it secretively. An earlier blog of mine “The Woman Who Conquered Marcel Duchamp” discusses this.  

References; 

Tate.org.au 

‘This is Modern Art’, BBC Channel 4, 1999 presented by Matthew Collings 

Two People, One Artist - Gilbert & George

The expression “don’t judge a book by its cover” always comes to mind when I think of Gilbert and George.  Described as looking like repressed 1930’s bank managers, they have been confounding the art world for over 50 years. 

Matthew Collings describes them as the Morecombe and Wise of existentialism, and admires the shock value of much of their output. But he argues that there is a precedent, the work of Francisco Goya - the “father of shocks”. Like so many artists who have explored the theme of shock in their art, Gilbert and George argue that what appears on the TV news deeply shocking every day.

George Passmore (left) and Gilbert Proesch

They describe themselves as living sculptures and annoyance and provocation lie at the centre of their work.  One only has to look at their dancing song “Bend It” featured in their 1981 movie “The World of Gilbert and George” to see  they achieved that aim.

Being ineligible for government grants and teaching posts being out of the question, they were isolated and poor and decided to turn to their only resource – themselves.  They fused their art with their identity and the world around them.

Gilbert & George singing “Underneath the Arches” (DailyArt Magazine)

They decided they were going to be ’two people, one artist’.  They claimed that when they left art school they were completely lost and needed each other, no doubt at least partly due to their total eccentricity.   The major advantage of the partnership, they argue, is that there is always someone there to answer a question.  So they never have to work in a vacuum – the bane of many artists. They speak of the loneliness of many artists – especially when their work is rejected, but they always had each other to provide comfort.  They developed the concept that ‘nothing matters’.

This may explain why their naked bodies appeared more and more in their art, including the fluids that comes out of them, during the 1990’s.  Among their targets was the bible which they wanted to ridicule, texts of which appear alongside images of their naked bodies.  For 2000 years, they argue, the bible has dictated how people should behave, including images of nudity being suppressed.  They sought to confound the viewer by presenting images of shit in a decorative, colourful way.

Blood, Tears, Spunk, Piss series 1996 (Research Gate)

They have lived and worked at 12 Fournier St Spitalfields in London’s east end since the late 1960’s. It’s now a fashionable location.  But in the late 60’s the area was populated by the homeless, poor families and ‘cockney market traders’.  There were hostels nearby catering for tramps, returned servicemen damaged by their war experiences and petty criminals, all of which provided inspiration for their art.  They first met as students at St Martins School of Art in 1967 and immediately fell in love.  Two years later they appeared as “living sculptures”, painting their faces silver so they resembled robots and singing that appalling 1930’s music hall song Underneath the Arches.

Gilbert and George are inspired by their experiences of living in London.  12 Fournier St has become a shrine for their art and their reference material is carefully and meticulously referenced and catalogued so they can easily access it for future projects.  Thousands of photographic images have been reduced to contact sheets which form the basis of their reference material.  Almost all their images are taken either in their studio or within walking distance of it.  “We never felt the need to travel to exotic locations in order to be inspired”, says George.  They love the cosmopolitan nature of the East End where everyone seemed to get along quite well.

From their Dirty Words Pictures 1977 (Schirn Press)

Their “Dirty Words” pictures of the late 1970’s were based on images taken from the immediate neighbourhood and included images of the locals photographed from the windows at 12 Fournier St.  They wanted to show images of what “the city feels like or smells like”.  London was experiencing a massive garbage strike at the time and the city looked like a waste dump.  The middle class press gave their work a caning.  They were even asked “why do you have black people in your work?” But while the media complained, the public flocked to see their work.

In 2007, they were the first British artists to hold a major retrospective at Tate Modern which featured 200 of their works – thought to be one fifth of their 40 year output at that stage.  They curated the exhibition by producing an enormous scale model of the gallery space and placing miniature images of each work just so.

This exhibition was quite a coup given the suspicion with which the British art establishment had viewed them.

New Normal Pictures, White Cube Gallery (Art Limited)

Some of their work seeks to explore the intersection between masculinity, shame, anality and art.  They draw the viewer into their work by being decorative and large scale so that by the time they realize what they are looking at, it’s too late.

In April 2021, they held the exhibition “New Normal Pictures” at White Cube. In reviewing the show, The Guardian made reference to the paradox that is Gilbert and George. They were angered by the way some people saw the bright side of the Covid 19 pandemic; saying how great it is to be able to drive across London without the traffic and being able to see the stars at night without the pollution. Meanwhile tens of thousands of people were dying in misery and funerals were taking place several times a day near their home. “They are masters of provocation and proudly right wing, but they also have a compassion that would put plenty of seemingly virtuous artists to shame.”

On The Streets - Bag Men, Photograph, 2020 (White Cube)

What keeps Gilbert and George going is the sense that they are always under attack, so they need to fight back.  They have always been outsiders, despite the 2007 retrospective.  “We were never normal”.

References;

The Guardian

This Is Modern Art – BBC Channel 4, 1999

BBC Imagine

Paul McCarthy - Art Of The Underbelly

It’s time to look at the dark underbelly of modern art, or perhaps to put it another way, to confront modern reality. The Guardian describes Paul McCarthy’s work as a relentlessly revolting vision of modern America.  He has been at it since the 1970’s.  His art depicts his nation as a crumbling edifice of pop culture, of creeping fascism and depraved, uninhibited capitalism.   “It’s a questioning of our condition,” says McCarthy, “our way of life. Look at America right now with its racism and its violence, and yet we have Disneyland.”  He is regarded as one of the most significant American artists of the last half century.

Blockhead & Dadies Big Head, Tate Modern (2003)

Born in Salt Lake City in 1945, McCarthy was initially a carpenter and labourer who produced art at night.  He describes Salt Lake City as a very patriarchal environment and with a very conditioned reality.  He believed he was abnormally sensitive to the pressure of the patriarchal institution, and by about the age of 20, he realised that he was living in a “fucked up” situation where normality was not what it seemed.  So he left.  He sees the role of art as resistance, to push back against how reality is presented and the image of the patriarch.

Rebel Dabble Babble, a collaboration with his son, Damon

He has produced large scale video works such as the 2013 ‘Rebel Dabble Babble’ which consisted of two derelict houses built inside a vast warehouse with video screens showing hard core pornography, supposedly featuring cast members from the film Rebel Without A Cause.  In 2008 he caused a sensation in Switzerland when his giant inflatable turd took leave of its moorings during a wind storm, bringing down a powerline before landing in a playground of a children’s home.

Complex Pile, Switzerland (2008)

I first became aware of McCarthy through the 1999 TV series ‘This Is Modern Art’ presented by British artist Matthew Collings.  In one episode titled Shock! Horror!, Collings asks “do you like being afraid, fed up with order and harmony and the world making sense (supposedly) and being the right way up, and you want sudden noises, horror and obscenity – try modern art.”  A strange introduction really, as the point of much modern art is that the world has gone completely insane.  Among the artists featured in the program are Tracy Emin, Gilbert and George, The Chapman Brothers and – Paul McCarthy.

A scene from Bossy Burger (1991)

In each episode of the series, Collings begins with a reference to the past.  In ‘Shock! Horror! his reference point is the incomparable Goya.  And that’s the point, if we believe that some of today’s art is pointlessly shocking and has no precedent, we need to look back to Goya – or even further back to Hieronymus Bosch.  To meet up with Paul McCarthy, Collings travels to Los Angeles “where there is always blue skies, pleasantness, bright colours and innocuousness.”  Surely nothing horrible can happen there.  Next we are confronted with McCarthy’s performance piece ‘Painter’ from 1995. Confronting to say the least – “a savage filmic assault on the values of the fine art world”, says Collings.  And then there is Bossy Burger of 1991 and Santa’s Chocolate Shop of 1997.  Watching these films, Collings describes them as “the Magic Roundabout meets the Texas Chainsaw Massacre”.  They were, and still are, shocking. 

A scene from Painter (1995)

The themes of violence and fascism, the constant questioning of the state of things have always underlined McCarthy’s work, he simply finds new ways of expressing these themes as the decades pass.  Subtlety isn’t in McCarthy’s metier.  At Hauser and Wirth in London in 2011 he exhibited animatronic sculptures of George W Bush having anal sex with pigs. “Tawdry images for dismal times”, according to the Guardian.

Train (2003-2009)

The Guardian asks has reality finally overtaken his ketchup-smeared visions of corruption?  There is an inevitability to McCarthy’s response.  “How much more absurd can you get than Donald Trump? It’s a really good example of a performance, its theatre. He’s really just manipulating a population……we’re still trying to figure out what the fuck’s going on. Even now. Like, what is going on? We’re so utterly fucked up that, if anything, we really do need these experiments into this reality.” 

WS Spinoffs, Wood Statues, Brown Rothkos at Hauser & Wirth Los Angeles (2017)

There is always a constant questioning, and his materials include sex, violence, bodily fluids and sick humour.  It’s a risky business although McCarthy’s son Damon (who collaborates with him on many projects) argues it’s not risky as there is nothing to lose.  Still, McCarthy claims to have been censored four to five times per year.

References;

Paul McCarthy and Damon McCarthy in conversation with Tom Eccles – Hauser & Wirth

The Guardian

“This is Modern Art” – Channel 4 (1999)

Martin Creed - When Nothing Matters?

What should we find in the toolbox of any successful artist?  Talent? (maybe). Networking skills? (you bet). Hard work and dedication? (of course). A gregarious nature? (it helps). And nerve? (well in the case of British artist Martin Creed – absolutely.)

There’s no point getting worked up about the stuff that pours out of Creed’s studio, he has been successful for many years and has work in collections that include the Museum of Modern Art in New York.  A composer and performer as well as an artist, Creed who was born in 1968 achieved worldwide notoriety in 2001 when he won the Turner Prize with an installation of a light going on and off in a room.  The jury praised the work saying, they "admired the audacity in presenting a single work in the exhibition and noted its strength, rigour, wit and sensitivity to the site".

Creed (on the right) with his first band Owada  (Artimage)

He has been a member of bands producing one note compositions and songs featuring minimalist repetitive lyrics such as “Nothing” and “Fuck Off”.   Creed comes from a musical background – his parents played the cello and piano.

In his 1999 BBC series “This Is Modern Art”, artist Matthew Collings argues that artists who emerged in the 1990’s (such as Creed) were accepting of the nothingness in contemporary art because their sensibilities had been formed at art school by 1980’s blankness, they found normal the ‘icy white nothingness that art had become.’

Collings takes Creed to task over the work “Screwed Up Sheet of A4 Paper”.  Creed said he wanted to make something from a piece of paper and a sphere seemed the most obvious shape.  He likes that it seems to disappear when you “put it in the world.  It looks like a reasonably well made sphere”.  Collings laughs, “No it’s not, it’s just a screwed up piece of paper”.  He asks what’s the concept, how does he make a screwed up piece of paper into a sphere and then a work of art?  Creed responds “I don’t call it a work of art, it’s a sphere – a ball of paper”.  Is Creed being disingenuous?

Creed gives all his work numbers as titles.  He doesn’t want to distinguish between any of them. He says he doesn’t have any philosophical basis to make decisions about a work of art or life, or any basis at all to make decisions.  Deciding on what coloured shirt to buy is a challenge.  He starts from nothing.

Work No 701 (2007)

Charlotte Higgins from The Guardian had her work cut out trying to discover what makes Creed ‘tick’ as an artist.  He claims to make no distinction between producing his work and life, such as buying a pair of trousers.  “It’s all about trying to live, you know”.  He finds everything in the world profound and claims not to know what art is. “It's a magic thing because it's to do with feelings people have when they see something. If the work is successful, it's because of some magic quality it has." A magic quality the artist has put into it? Asks Higgins.  "It's not in the work," he says. "People use the work to help them make something in themselves. So the work is a catalyst." 

Knowing that Creed can be brought to tears by Beethoven, she asks him if a pair of trousers can make him cry.  "No," he concedes. "But I don't sit listening to a pair of trousers for 40 minutes."  Higgins was getting nowhere.

Work No. 200 (2007)

In 2014, Creed held a massive retrospective at London’s Hayward Gallery titled “What’s The Point Of It?” This included a row of nails banged into a wall, a huge video of a penis slowly becoming erect before deflating again (for the over 18s), and if you think that’s tasteless, I’ll spare you the details of 2 other videos. There’s a Ford Focus which suddenly comes alive with doors, bonnet, and tailgate opening, radio playing, engine running – getting the power windows to operate was a work in progress. Critics argue that Creed treads a very fine line between the mindfully simple and simple minded.

Work No. 1686 (2013)

In reviewing the exhibition, the Guardian’s Tim Adams states “you can't help feeling you might need quite a low bar for knowingness, a spotless mind for innocence, a Buddhist master's understanding of joy, to appreciate it fully.”  Thus with his difficulty in making judgements, on deciding whether one thing is more important than another, Creed simply gives that ‘thing’ a number and adds it to his collection.

Perhaps a century on from Duchamp, nothing has changed.

References;

“This Is Modern Art”, BBC Channel 4  (1999)

The Guardian