Disclaimer: My background in art is strictly recreational. I like going to museums and reading the occasional art book for fun. I spend a lot of time on Arts & Letters Daily. My underlying philosophy is something like: Not enough people go to museums. People should go to museums. GO TO A MUSEUM ALREADY! So. I do not claim to be any authority on this matter.
When I posted about the Tretchikoff exhibit at the SA National Gallery I mentioned that the artist faced heavy criticism for making money as a living artist and for participating in the print-making and distribution process. Those criticisms were spelled out throughout the exhibit--on the panels around the works as well as in a documentary about the artist's life.
I was unaware that heavy criticisms of the work itself--subjects, execution, mastery of media--persist today.
And do they ever. In an Art Times review piece called "More Agony than Ecstacy, the Tretchikoff Story: Now showing in vistavision at the SA National Gallery" by Llyod Pollak, every element of Tretch's work and life come under fire. The work is kitsch (Pollack compares it to Disney); the female subjects are portrayed in an Orientalist light; his tag as "the People's Painter" is populism at its worst, appealing to the lowest common denominator; he has no feel for texture, color or depth; and this collection does not deserve the seal of approval that a collection at the SA National Gallery bestows upon it.
The language of the review is evocative, with descriptors like: Dead. Prosthetic. Intellectually null. Plastic. Hammy. Commercial. Garish.
You get the idea. And yet! I found myself enjoying the exhibit. I liked the colors, though I did feel some discomfort as I saw rooms and rooms filled with the same female body type, topless, with different ethnic features or skin tones. Who knew that every woman on earth has that same Russian ballerina body and gravity-defying breasts? But it would be grossy unfair to claim that Tretch was the first, only, or even most succesful imagist to present portraits of fantastical woman-like creatures to a viewing public. I JUST REALLY LIKED THE COLORS SOMETIMES. And I'm going to stand by that.
But I do not consider myself immune to the zietgeist of art criticism. I had a visceral reaction to this piece about Thomas Kincade, and agree with every snobby, sneering quip made by Jed Perl in the book review. Shudder.
Showing posts with label selling out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label selling out. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Artistic Impressions
I had an artsy week last week, and I'd like to record some impressions here.
PJ has been going to review photo exhibits for a class this semester, and I went with him one morning to see a collection by Gary Van Wyk called Public/Private. The all photos in the exhibit were paired two-by-two, with titles evoking opposites (heaven and earth, wet and dry, up and down, etc.) Some of my favorites can be seen here.
I finally took myself to the SA National Gallery to see the Tretchikoff exhibit. I spent an hour and a half wandering around, but I feel like I need to go back. I love the color and vibrancy of the paintings; sometimes the blue-green glow around faces reminded me of the work of Frida Kalho.
Tretch had an interesting career. He was popular, and made money off his artwork, during his lifetime--and this made him suspect to art critics. He took charge of making prints of his own paintings, and became adept at this method of getting art to the masses. Again, this gave rise to criticism that he was a hack.
I don't begrudge an artist for making money while they're alive--in fact, I admire the desire to take ownership of the reproductions of the original work!
And maybe my admiration is selfish. I liked hearing that Tretchikoff and his family, upon relocating to Cape Town as WWII-era refugees, started off in a very small flat in Seapoint and gained success from there. As someone living in a very small flat in Greenpoint, maybe there's a hope for my artistic ambitions yet...
I also enjoyed two photography exhibits at the National Gallery, both honoring the cultural history of Indan South Africans. (One was a collection of photos that first ran in Drum Magazine, the other featured the work of Ranjith Kally. Some of Kally's work appeared in the Drum exhibit, as well.)
One subject appeared in both exhibits, and really caught my eye. Papwa Sewgolum was a natural-born golfer who rose from poverty and obscurity, and despite incredible odds, beat some of the world's best golfers of the 1960s. I was struck by photos of him sipping coffee in his car, because he was not allowed inside club houses. Another photo showed Sewgolum after a victory on the field; he stood in front of the shack he shared with his large family, including his aging mother. Sewgolum could not read or write.
It made me think that in a system where the state tries to regulate every action (in this case, with increasingly intrusive segregation laws), every act--any act--can be subversive. A peternatural ability at a sport can be subversive! Interesting stuff.
I spent my Friday night at the Labia Theatre, geeking out at the latest remake of Jane Eyre. I have always loved that book--I read it when I was 13, and totally identified with young Jane's out-of-control passion. I read it again when I was 16 (for summer book club at the South River Public Library), and loved the creepiness of the Brontes' English countryside. I read it for a third time when I was 19, in a Women's Lit course, and our class discussed the way Jane learns how to tell her story, over and over throughout her life, until she is an expert at explaining herself and can control the outcome of any situation. (We also read Wide Sargasso Sea, and I loved the reclaimation of Bertha's voice.) And now I'm a week shy of 25, and it felt so comforting to see that familiar story unfold. (In this remake, I liked that the terror of the Red Room was included. That was always a powerful force to me.)
So there is it--new sights and familiar stories.
PJ has been going to review photo exhibits for a class this semester, and I went with him one morning to see a collection by Gary Van Wyk called Public/Private. The all photos in the exhibit were paired two-by-two, with titles evoking opposites (heaven and earth, wet and dry, up and down, etc.) Some of my favorites can be seen here.
I finally took myself to the SA National Gallery to see the Tretchikoff exhibit. I spent an hour and a half wandering around, but I feel like I need to go back. I love the color and vibrancy of the paintings; sometimes the blue-green glow around faces reminded me of the work of Frida Kalho.
Tretch had an interesting career. He was popular, and made money off his artwork, during his lifetime--and this made him suspect to art critics. He took charge of making prints of his own paintings, and became adept at this method of getting art to the masses. Again, this gave rise to criticism that he was a hack.
I don't begrudge an artist for making money while they're alive--in fact, I admire the desire to take ownership of the reproductions of the original work!
And maybe my admiration is selfish. I liked hearing that Tretchikoff and his family, upon relocating to Cape Town as WWII-era refugees, started off in a very small flat in Seapoint and gained success from there. As someone living in a very small flat in Greenpoint, maybe there's a hope for my artistic ambitions yet...
I also enjoyed two photography exhibits at the National Gallery, both honoring the cultural history of Indan South Africans. (One was a collection of photos that first ran in Drum Magazine, the other featured the work of Ranjith Kally. Some of Kally's work appeared in the Drum exhibit, as well.)
One subject appeared in both exhibits, and really caught my eye. Papwa Sewgolum was a natural-born golfer who rose from poverty and obscurity, and despite incredible odds, beat some of the world's best golfers of the 1960s. I was struck by photos of him sipping coffee in his car, because he was not allowed inside club houses. Another photo showed Sewgolum after a victory on the field; he stood in front of the shack he shared with his large family, including his aging mother. Sewgolum could not read or write.
It made me think that in a system where the state tries to regulate every action (in this case, with increasingly intrusive segregation laws), every act--any act--can be subversive. A peternatural ability at a sport can be subversive! Interesting stuff.
I spent my Friday night at the Labia Theatre, geeking out at the latest remake of Jane Eyre. I have always loved that book--I read it when I was 13, and totally identified with young Jane's out-of-control passion. I read it again when I was 16 (for summer book club at the South River Public Library), and loved the creepiness of the Brontes' English countryside. I read it for a third time when I was 19, in a Women's Lit course, and our class discussed the way Jane learns how to tell her story, over and over throughout her life, until she is an expert at explaining herself and can control the outcome of any situation. (We also read Wide Sargasso Sea, and I loved the reclaimation of Bertha's voice.) And now I'm a week shy of 25, and it felt so comforting to see that familiar story unfold. (In this remake, I liked that the terror of the Red Room was included. That was always a powerful force to me.)
So there is it--new sights and familiar stories.
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