Art for that other ten-year anniversary

Damian Cote,  Notice: There will be no parade for this war

It was somehow culturally telling that the tenth anniversary of 9/11 became a national obsession - while the same anniversary passed for the launch of the war in Afghanistan almost without comment, at least in the United States.  (Meanwhile, in-country, the Taliban marked the date by attacking four NATO bases.)

But several local artists, coordinated by Greg Cook of the New England Journal of Aesthetic Research, felt attention must be paid.  The resulting project - a set of banners hung from overpasses and bridges on October 7 - offered homage to those who gave their lives in the war while quietly subverting the attitudes that often come bundled with the yellow ribbons we tie around our oak trees.

Or was the project a comment on the fact that this time Americans weren't tying those ribbons around those oaks - that while nursing its 9/11 wounds, the nation was ignoring the wars it had launched in response to its injuries?  Cook is a new kind of activist-critic (he recently coordinated a small, funny insurrection at the MFA), as well as a self-confessed "yokelist," a reviewer of high art who's almost more deeply concerned with popular cultural expression (he's a dedicated and talented photographer of local festivals, parades and events).  So this kind of aesthetic Trojan Horse - a political critique couched in a populist cultural trope - seemed right up his alley.

Recently I asked him about the intriguing double meaning of the work.  Were the banners meant to whisper a hint of accusation as well as respect?

"The project was just a small assertion that we need to remember and pay attention to these continuing wars," Greg replied. "After weeks of reports and reminiscences around 9/11, look at the news: No mention of the 10th anniversary of the war. The front pages offer basically no mention of war at all."  [Indeed, President Obama marked the anniversary with merely a written statement, sans any public speech or appearance.]  "I think for Americans, 9/11 symbolizes how we spontaneously, heroically rose up in the face of a sudden, monumental tragedy. But the beginning of the Afghanistan War symbolizes the government's official response to that ambush and the record is so depressing, so unheroic that we want to forget it."

Ah, but there's the rub, and perhaps one reason why people want to forget the war - can you be a hero if your war was unheroic?   But Cook sees the honor going to the fallen, while the critique should go - well, somewhere else, probably further up the chain of command.  "After the quick routing of the Taliban, bin Laden escaped - and the Bush Administration turned its attention to Iraq - even as the Taliban regrouped," he explained.  "And so the war dragged on, and thousands more Americans died or were injured. Somewhere in there we also began to torture people. And so on.  The whole effort went so badly and became so morally suspect that now Americans just want it to disappear."

Damian Cote, Sgt. White We Missed You

Damian Cote was one of the artists participating in the project, hanging several banners (at left and top) from overpasses in the Boston area.  A veteran himself, Cote has been doing work like this for the past three years, hanging memorial banners across New England as well as points further south.  Until now he has worked almost anonymously, however - and he maintains little connection to the work once it is installed; indeed, Cote has never returned to most of the banners he has hung.  But he imagines they last a while, as they usually include a tribute to a fallen soldier.  "It is sort of a taboo to take down a welcome home banner for some one that is dead . . .  it's like vandalizing a grave," he notes.

And for Cote, his own anonymity reinforces the questioning intent of the banner.  "All my work is largely about propinquity - the nearness of space, time, family, religion, etc., all wrapped up in one experience.  Our lack of propinquity to terrible events is why we don't care about them. A starving kid dies every minute, but no one cares unless there is a strong connection to the event.  I don't want to make 'a statement,' I simply want to bring such a connection closer to home - just as if I were to take a starving kid and place him or her in your living room."

Yet he's realistic about the impact of the banners.  "In the end they quickly become noise or highway wallpaper to those that have already seen them," Cote sighs. "People forget them as soon as the next text message comes in."

"In fact, the person driving the car on the highway is likely to care more about the price of gas than the war in Afghanistan," he continues grimly. "They don't care about the people that have to be hurt or die in order to shave 65 cents off that price-per-gallon. They are mostly unaware.  As a future project, I would love to take the bodies of the dead from this war and hang them from the overpasses instead of banners," he adds with dark sarcasm.  "And the ones that have been only injured - I'd love to have them pump gas.  Now that would be propinquity."

And in the end, that might be what it takes to change the status quo, for the war grinds on, even if it's winding down; President Obama's current withdrawal plan - always under revision - means American troops will remain in harm's way till 2014. Which only exasperates Cook. "If our goal was to defeat Al Qaeda," he says, "that seems to have been mostly accomplished with the killing of Bin Laden [which occurred in a different country, of course - an ally, in fact]. But it seems now we also want at some level to stabilize Afghanistan. And if that's the goal, how will we ever be able to leave completely?"

Jill Slosburg-Ackerman and Marilyn Pappas, War is Over if You Want It

The Linde Family Wing for Contemporary Art.

This week Greg Cook of the New England Journal of Aesthetic Research and I have been engaged in an extended conversation on the newly opened Linde Family Wing for Contemporary Art at the MFA.  Below is the third and final part of our discussion:

Thomas Garvey (TG): So, Greg . . . we've spent two articles diagnosing the many issues with the new Linde Family Wing at the MFA. What's our prescription?

Greg Cook (GC): Well, I think the MFA should look at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem. They’ve done a great job of mixing high art from around the world, with fashion, folk art, design and so on. They’ve done this in group exhibitions as well as in their mix of programming. They’ve also been able to do a bunch of sharp shows of Mayan art, 17th century Dutch masters, 20th century Surrealism, Joseph Cornell (!) without having hardly any examples of this stuff in their collection. But still dovetailing with the museum’s idiosyncratic past.

TG: I totally agree about the Peabody Essex; they rock. In fact I’ve been meaning to write about their current Man Ray/Lee Miller survey; it’s one of the best shows in town.

GC: Agreed. In contrast, I think the MFA has decided that its unique brand is that it’s encyclopedic. What they mean by that is that they’re comprehensive, they’ve got everything from all time. It’s not about a special vision, or highlighting your institution’s idiosyncratic strengths. It’s about acting like you’ve got everything. So maybe the contemporary collection is based on the standard history because to do otherwise would somehow say that the MFA is not truly comprehensive, not truly encyclopedic.

Donald Judd, Untitled

TG: Good point. But at the same time – the collection obviously isn’t encyclopedic, is it, so the curatorial cart is before the horse. But why not just own up to that fact? And devote yourself to filling the gaps in your backstory before spending big bucks on the latest trend? Or, if the MFA does want to compete in that arena, as you point out, the Peabody Essex and the ICA offer great lessons in how you can pull together a hot, up-to-the-minute show without having to invest in a collection to back it up.  Although personally, I think it's fine to leave the very latest fashion to others; I'd be happy with more of a coherent version of the last fifty years.

Of course, in a way the Linde Wing often feels like a first, if un-admitted, step toward that curatorial project. And as a sketch of a developing collection within that framework, it's not bad; there are striking pictures and objects on display, and it’s wrong to pretend otherwise. The Tansey actually isn't great, but the Richter and the Nevelson are very good, and the Warhol, Red Disaster, as we've mentioned, is among his most powerful. The El Anatsui is likewise terrific; meanwhile the Ellsworth Kelly is nice (below), lovely and pure, but like most Kelly, is it much more than that? The Donald Judd (at left) is better - pleasingly sleek and mysterious. But neither addresses the path from minimalism to post-minimalism, which to my mind should be key to any ongoing survey leading up to the present day.  As with the pretty-good Morris Louis on display, we can't quite feel how the Judd and the Kelly might fit together as pieces in a larger history.  So part of the back-fill project would involve a systematic curatorial approach and installation philosophy.  No more muddying the waters with pap like "Art Can Be Anything"!

Ellsworth Kelly, Blue Green Yellow Orange Red - pretty, pure, but . . .

GC: When the MFA opened the Americas Wing last November, they had a little lunch for the press in a back room in there. My recollection is that there was an even better Morris Louis painting hiding in there than the one they’ve put on the wall in the contemporary wing. I've never much cared for his art, but when I saw it, I thought: "Oh, wow, THIS is why people thought he was great." The MFA seems embarrassed by the institution's past devotion to Louis. But the museum’s online collection archive says they’ve got 34 works by him, a majority of them paintings, enough to do a decent retrospective of his work any time they feel like it. And one could make a case that it’s time for him to be rediscovered—particularly with the revival of striped abstraction and poured paint these days.

TG: Yes, I know the MFA invested heavily in color field painting - which is now thought of as an embarrassing dead end.  Which only means it will come back!  There's no reason why the focus of these galleries shouldn't shift over time.

GC: So instead of all the contemporary galleries basically being the same size, why not put in a few small rooms for single artist focuses? The Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Art Institute of Chicago have used this technique well. Here, one could be a micro Louis survey, including wall text summarizing the formalist art theories and influence of Louis’s champion, critic Clement Greenberg. It would help explain how we came to minimalism and a good amount of other art since 1960. And done right, it would immediately be the definitive place to see Louis.

TG:  In other words, fashions do change, so play to your strengths.  And why ignore so much of what you spent so much time collecting?

GC: In general, I keep wanting to re-curate the galleries with additional or different works from the MFA's vaults. I’d incorporate more fashion and design. Why not fill another small focus gallery with all the MFA’s significant Warhols (mourning Jackie O, a Mick Jagger, a piss painting) plus its rich trove of ‘60s rock posters and Richard Avedon’s psychedelic photos of the Beatles? It would indicate the span of Warhol’s work, and suggest his prescience or influence. And put him into a historical context in a way that people could recognize without having to talk down to them. And it would just look cool.

Michael Eden, Blue Bloom

TG: I’m not sure about Avedon and the urine samples, but I have to admit, that kind of gallery would pull in the public.  And I agree that one of the museum's major strengths - which should be more often noted of the MFA - is its collection of crafts and decorative arts. Honestly, sometimes I think MFA Director Malcolm Rogers is a decorator at heart – the museum’s installations always kick things up a notch when they juxtapose the art of a period with its décor.

There’s one little "decorated" nook of the Linde Wing, for instance, (with wall paper by the “Timorous Beasties”) that comes together for that very reason – it even includes a porcelain tea set by Cindy Sherman that’s quite a bit better than the photo by her on a nearby wall. And elsewhere there are equally intriguing objets d'art by Michael Eden, Brent Kee Young, and many others. I'd like to see more prime gallery space given over to whoever has been collecting this stuff; at the very least, they have a sensual power that conceptual art struggles to match. Indeed, elsewhere there's a placidity to the place that almost makes you wish for something more irritating, like a Shepard Fairey album cover or a Jeff Koons balloon dog. And would Banksy please spray paint something on the exterior of this gray-on-gray barn? Or maybe on one of the flying Borofskys?

GC: Um, well, how about saying instead: The MFA could use a more idiosyncratic vision, and it might help to turn to outside help? I’d like to believe that the Linde Wing, despite its flaws, is the beginning of something, an opportunity.

TG: You’re right. Even when you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth, you should remember it IS a gift horse! The Linde Wing is a good thing, with many good things in it.  The glass could be half full.

GC: I guess I can’t tell how much the flaws of the wing are indicators of where the MFA wants to go. Are the status quo version of history and the Art for Dummies signs positions the MFA is staking out and plans to stick to? Or are they a way to get this thing off the ground, and the Linde Wing will get more interesting as the curators develop it? During the era covered in the Linde Wing, which corresponds almost exactly with the founding of the MFA’s contemporary department 40 years ago, the MFA has trumpeted with each new contemporary curator that now it’s finally committed itself to contemporary art, only to have the program fizzle. I’m really hoping that the MFA is following through this time, now that they’ve got a contemporary curator who seems to be a decent fit with Malcolm, and they’ve re-done this building, and there seems to be some money behind the project, and new donations of art too (like the Tuttle).

TG: I know, I know! A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step; hope springs eternal, etc. And when you’re looking at the best of the Linde Family Wing, it’s easy to believe in the thing with feathers . . .

Yesterday, Greg Cook of the New England Journal of Aesthetic Research and I began an extended conversation on the newly opened Linde Family Wing for Contemporary Art at the MFA. What follows is the second part of our discussion:

Thomas Garvey (TG): At the close of the first part of this series, Greg and I had just begun to talk about our favorite pieces within the new Linde Family Wing; I'd like to continue that debate now. But I have to say right up front that as I toured the galleries, I was slightly startled to realize that in the past fifty years or so the MFA hasn't picked up a single masterpiece, and only a few truly major works. They certainly have major artists on the walls, but those artists are rarely represented by their best stuff . . .

Greg Cook (GC): I’m with you that the contemporary collection does give off the feeling that the MFA hasn’t been able to recognize and acquire masterpieces over the past couple of generations. But I’d argue that the Warhol electric chair painting, Kara Walker’s cut-paper silhouette mural, and Kiki Smith’s bronze spiderwoman are among the best things these artists ever made.

TG: Ok, I agree on the Warhol - it may well be a masterpiece - but less so on the Walker and the Smith. I love Walker’s central idea of subverting the silhouette to critique stereotype, but the execution of the racially-charged poop and sex jokes in The Rich Soil Down There (below) seems rather ironic and academic to me; it reads a bit more as a lecture than a painting.  To be fair to Walker, the work is actually a second-generation image from her original cut-outs - which may be why the enormous canvas seems slightly unfocused (I agree with you that it couldn't hold its own in the hall where it was previously hung).  So while it's certainly a worthy (and long overdue!) political statement, is it really a masterpiece? I wish it were, but I doubt it is.

Kara Walker, The Rich Soil Down There

And why be ironic or academic about racism, anyway?  Sometimes I confess I’d like to see a little unbridled horror on the walls of the MFA - American history is full of terrible things, after all.  But where’s the American Goya to honestly document our racial history? Of course Walker has earned her place in any serious contemporary collection - as I said, her concept is brilliant, and The Rich Soil Down There is certainly a solid introduction to her work . . .

Robert Freeman, Black Tie

But by way of contrast, I want to mention Robert Freeman’s Black Tie (at left), on the first floor. It's not as conceptually sophisticated as the Walker, but it's punchier - it does halt you. Plus it has a local provenance; it’s not some sardonic, ambiguous argument on how racism is constructed but rather a view of the thing itself, as it was (and is) lived in Boston. Freeman's wary faces tell you everything you need to know about the injustices his subjects have suffered; there's no theory or exegesis required.

As for Kiki Smith, I confess she often leaves me a little cold - her stuff is too psychologically in-bred for my taste; but I admit some of it is indelible. Still, you only get a hint of her bristling weirdness from the piece in the Linde Wing.  So even though I'm not crazy about her, I also simply don't agree that the MFA has a major Smith.

GC: But I’d also say the MFA’s selections from Mark Bradford, El Anatsui, Matthew Day Jackson, Doris Salcedo, Fred Wilson, Ellsworth Kelly, Anne Truitt, Sigmar Polke, Gerhard Richter, Lynda Benglis and Morris Louis are all strong works for these artists. Though we can debate whether these artists are worth paying attention to.

El Anatsui, Black River

TG: I'm certainly with you on the El Anatsui; I thought Black River (at right) was great - really gorgeous and exciting - and the Richter (below) was quite strong;  but the others, less so. The Nevelson is very good, the Kelly and Louis are solid, representative choices - but the Starn Twins piece is only so-so, and the Jackson and the Polke are blunt and obvious; as for the rest, well, I suppose they might feel stronger in a more cohesively curated setting . .

GC: Which leads me to another topic—it’s curious that despite the MFA’s talk of trying to link the contemporary collection to its historical, international collections, these galleries pretty much tell the conventional New York-centric version of the past five decades of art history. This decision makes apparent many of the collection’s limitations. But it’s also a sort of daring declaration that the MFA wants to compete in the contemporary art big leagues (and backfill gaps) despite the collection’s present weaknesses.

TG: I know what you mean about the installation being New York-centric; this is most obvious in its political content. We get Auschwitz, Nagasaki, capital punishment, the antebellum South, all in quick succession - the perspective is always progressive, but it's also so provincial that it’s like that New Yorker cartoon of the world seen from Manhattan, only this time with "Nagasaki" and "Nazis" replacing "Jersey" and "Japan" . . .  As for back-filling gaps, well, that's the key issue, isn't it – but will the MFA do it?  Perhaps. But in the meantime, the collection’s lacunae make it feel scrambled, and the Linde Wing installation doesn’t help the problem.

Because I'm afraid I disagree with you about the gallery "themes;” their Sesame-Street-level articulation (with wall text like "Art can be . . ." and "What's it about?") turned me off, way off. Is the MFA aiming for the philistine pandering of, say, PBS or Harvard’s A.R.T.? We need less of that around here, not more. Or - to put your point another way, Greg - are the dumbed-down questions deliberately designed to camouflage the fact that a sustained, thoughtful program has been missing from the museum's collecting? (Hence, perhaps, the persistent sense of an imported New York rationale pock-marked with curatorial holes?) At any rate, with both timelines and chronology of influence thrown out the window - and the very definition of "contemporary" seeming to stretch back fifty years - the galleries feel over-familiar yet conceptually messy.

Gerhard Richter, Vase

Which is frustrating given that what could truly differentiate the MFA from the contemporary-art pack is the chronological connection between art of the present day and the art that has come before. Right now the MFA seems to be making the statement that “contemporary” art begins around 1960 (I’d agree), and you can half-discern in the collection the rough outlines of two or three major (and, yes, NY-centric) streams in artistic thinking since then: minimalism and then post-minimalism, and – well, whatever you want to call the ironic pop mode that Warhol introduced. Under minimalism you could group artists like Kelly, Judd and Richard Tuttle; under the Warhol banner people like Richter, Cindy Sherman, and the “appropriation” crowd.

The cross currents between these modes are of course complex, and no installation could limn them completely. Still, the MFA doesn’t even try. Indeed, the Linde Wing's "themes" may give such connections lip service, but at the same time actually obscure the dialogue that has played out between these artists.  By hanging a Morris Louis near a Lynda Benglis, for instance, the museum seems to be saying, "See?  They're both poured," which I guess they are, but surely that's where the similarity between Louis and Benglis ends.  Elsewhere, the real aesthetic issues behind various works are left hanging.  What does Gerhard Richter's deconstruction of abstraction (above left) "mean," for instance? You can't tell from these galleries that it’s a dead-pan application of Warholian style to a “heroic” mode. And what exactly was Mark Tansey parodying about Marcel Duchamp in The Enunciation? Again, the satiric riposte of a pictorial tradition to a conceptual one simply feels opaque. Instead of being illuminated on these issues, you get to ask yourself over and over, "What does art mean to ME?" It’s like listening to Marlo Thomas lecture on The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even.

GC: Well, yeah, the MFA is making a mistake by underestimating its audience with its "Art for Dummies" wall texts and gallery themes. This stuff even underestimates philistines.

And I think the MFA’s talk of contemporary art set in the context of the museum’s historic, encyclopedic collection remains — to be generous — aspirational at this point. It’s much like the MFA calling the other new wing the "Art of the Americas" wing, but presenting hardly any art from outside the U.S. One of the few historical connections the contemporary curators make is pairing Louise Lawler’s photo of an MFA gallery with a lousy Monet painting from that gallery. Can you be more literal and simplistic? As an aside, Monet was a great painter, but why keep emphasizing his lousy painting of his wife pretending to be Japanese, which has sour racial overtones and has nothing to do with his genius?

TG: Man, I hate that Monet, too, I’m glad to hear you call it out. I guess the MFA thinks its little “kimono samurai” counts as an early instance of “appropriation” or something. But today it’s burdened by a cutesiness that reads as colonialist – and makes you feel the curators don’t really understand the Kara Walker they’ve hung only twenty feet away! And the Lawler photograph is just funny. Frankly, anything titled “Is She Ours?” plays like an in-joke at a museum that has recently had to return so much art with a dubious provenance to its country of origin. That these two misfired gambits should occupy prime real estate in the Linde Wing speaks volumes, I think, about the issues besetting the museum's new initiative in contemporary art. Greg and I will talk more about possible paths out of those conceptual straits in the final part of this conversation.

Louise Lawler's Is She Ours?  Uh . . . . given the MFA's recent track record, maybe not!

After Greg Cook of the New England Journal of Aesthetic Research and I bumped into each other at the opening of the new Linde Family Wing for Contemporary Art at the MFA, we began talking about it, both in person and online. The following three-part series is a distillation of that conversation. Discursive, circuitous, at time repetitious, we feel it nevertheless serves as an accurate introduction to the MFA's latest addition and the issues it both raises and addresses.  Below is the first part of our discussion:

Thomas Garvey (TG): The opening of the Linde Wing is big news for contemporary art in Boston - in one fell swoop, the MFA has opened up a new exhibition space for contemporary art that's actually larger than the current galleries at the ICA. And as many local critics have pointed out, the renovated wing operates as both a kind of riposte to the ICA, as well as the potential kick-off to a high-stakes local competition in the arena of contemporary art.

Which is all to the good, of course. But the success of any competition depends on the talent of the competitors, doesn’t it; and so far I haven’t seen much actual great new art arrive in town as a result of this supposed curatorial cage battle.

 In fact, I felt a slightly sinking feeling as I toured the new Linde Family Wing at the MFA last week  . . . and I think I'll start with the architecture.

If ever there was a local piece of design crying out for some sort of transformative violation, it was I.M. Pei's elegantly dull West Wing (Pei himself didn’t like it that much). But the MFA hasn't made any such architectural gesture, and so much of the space now awkwardly maps to its new program. And the changes they HAVE made are sometimes puzzling - or don't feel like much of a change at all.

They've taken out the escalator, for instance - yet replaced it with a ceremonial stair (below) that hogs space and feels like a fifth wheel. This seems to have been their way of acknowledging the museum’s former front door as a new entry for school groups (a programming decision that makes sense) – and of course the loss of the escalator makes the space quieter (a bit). But the flow here is clumsy, the scale off, and the resulting spaces exist in some sort of limbo between gallery and mall.

The MFA has transformed a ceremonial stair into . . . a ceremonial stair.

Greg Cook (GC): Yeah, it strikes me as dull shopping mall architecture too. Partly I think it’s the glass galleria (the MFA’s term), and the way the middle of the building becomes a long, awkward hall taking you past the bookstore and, uh, food court. Which is why Michael Phelan’s 2009 neon “Bless You Taco Bell,” installed above the MFA’s Bravo restaurant, is amusing. Perhaps unintentionally, it teases this mall-ness that aspires to something more classy.

TG: Yes!! “Bless You Taco Bell” is funny – somebody at the MFA does have a sense of humor . . .

GC: I keep thinking of the idea of chi—or energy—in feng shui. There’s lots of bad chi here. As you note, the stairway sits awkwardly at the end of the hall — too tight at the top and bottom (the MFA doesn’t help things by shoehorning in art at both ends), and too big of a lobby around it. Which made more sense on the first floor when it actually was the building lobby. Meanwhile the extra space on the second floor was useful as a staging ground for the Gund Gallery special exhibits. But now these spaces feel baggy. And the renovation doesn’t fix the fact that the “flow” of the second floor encourages you to pass on through and not stop to look at the walls. It became really apparent to me when I saw the Kara Walker piece in the new main second floor galleries. Now it holds the wall, but when it previously was in the second floor lobby, it didn’t halt you.

TG: The new pieces up there halt you even less, I’d argue. The whole thing actually feels a little more amorphous than it did before, and the museum has chosen NOT to do what I think any talented architect would have been itching to do - that is, ditch the stacked double circulation and smash through the existing shop for direct contact with the courtyard next door. For some reason there's also a glass classroom set in the middle of everything instead. And if anything, the new finishes – save the welcome hardwood on the first floor - are perhaps even blander than they were before (barring, of course, the occasional retro-60's furnishing). To be fair, nothing feels positively bad; it just doesn't feel enhanced; the overwhelming impression is of a new program shoe-horned into an existing space - a huge missed opportunity.

GC: Let’s talk about the art. I’d argue the curators do manage to make something out of the limited resources of the MFA’s contemporary collection. To me, presenting the art by theme is an elegant solution that allows them to conceal some of the collection’s significant flaws. If only the themes were fresher, sharper.

It's a bird, it's a plane . . . it's Jonathan Borofsky!

TG: Okay, I’m half with you there; but I’d like to start with the art that’s integrated with the architecture – which is - well . . . . let's just say I really hope someday they take down those banal, flying Borofsky dudes (left), and while I chuckled at the “Taco Bell” piece, some of the neon and flashing signs really should read "GREETINGS FROM THE MILLENNIUM!” I know the works are more recent than that, but the technique feels dated. And the Cerith Wyn Evans blinking chandelier (below right) just looks too baroquely gay now that it has gone solo . . .

GC: Yeah, those terrible Borofsky sculptures definitely heighten the mall effect. The MFA says he’s based in Ogunquit, Maine. As someone who’d like to see more locally made art in the MFA’s mix, it’s galling when curators seem determined to find lousy local art. The wall label says they were “made especially for the wide open spaces for the Linde Family Wing.” So the problem may be that the MFA commissioned these, and got the Foster family to pay for it, and so can’t back away from the bad decision.

TG: Yikes, if they were indeed a commission, then I guess we’re stuck with them! Thank God the collection in the new galleries is better - and certainly better than the ICA's - but isn't that rather a low bar?

Is Marie Antoinette sending us messages through this chandelier?

GC: It’s hard to fairly compare the MFA contemporary collection to the ICA’s because the ICA only began collecting in the past several years. It’s a bit apples-and-oranges. The ICA has picked up two strong Louise Bourgeois sculptures, the MFA seems to have none. The ICA’s Paul Chan “1st Light” projection is considered one of the major artworks of the past decade—and one of the most thoughtful high art elegies to Sept. 11. Though personally, right now, I’d put it more in the quite good category. The MFA doesn’t have anything by him—or pretty much by anyone who does tech art beyond basic video and neon. Well, after Chan, the ICA doesn’t really either. The MFA’s collection may pull ahead, though, with its works from the past decade by Walker, Mark Bradford, El Anatsui and the like, none of whom are in the ICA collection.

As an aside, you can’t help noting that the new MFA wing presents a number of artists who’ve been featured at the ICA in recent years—Bradford, Charles LeDray, Roni Horn, Kader Attia. But except for Attia, the MFA acquired these works before their ICA surveys. I mean, the MFA got the Horn in 1992 and LeDray in 1994, more than a decade and a half before their 2010 ICA surveys.

But I’d say the more telling comparisons are with Harvard or Andover or the Rose. The other day I paged through the 2009 catalogue of the Rose Art Museum collection. Look at any handful of pages and it’s apparent how terrific the Rose’s post-War collection is, and how thin the MFA’s is. If you compare what the Rose has by each artist with what the MFA has, there’s about one time the MFA bests the Rose: that Warhol electric chair painting.

TG: Well, maybe I’m just not all that crazy about the ICA collection, or its ethos, either; to me the ICA relies too often on a kind of “Ripley’s Believe It or Not” quality (to be fair, a lot of contemporary art, does too). What people seem to remember about the ICA’s art is how the cube was made entirely of pins, or that the whole room was filled with scotch tape, or the yellow powder formed a perfect cone! Uh-huh. I’m not against quirky technical perfection, but people never seem to have any opinions about the content beyond the quirk. As for Louise Bourgeois, I’m not a fan, so I’m fine with the MFA not having anything by her! And like you, I think the Paul Chan is quite strong, but hardly one of the major works of the last decade (something tells me Chan got 9/11 completely wrong); and at any rate, the MFA’s haunting new video by Sigalit Landau is nearly as good.

But I agree with you about that Warhol – it may be the most striking thing in the whole wing. And I do admit it’s unfair to compare the ICA with the MFA, because the ICA hasn’t been collecting for very long, and with nothing like the MFA’s resources. You’re also right about the gap between the MFA and the Rose – which is why I always used to forlornly wonder why the MFA couldn’t just buy the Rose collection - or at least show some of it on loan! But that’s a discussion for another day . . . literally; Greg and I will continue our chat on the Linde Family Wing over the coming week here at the Hub Review.

The MFA's one postmodern masterpiece?  Warhol's Red Disaster

Greg Cook, of the awesome blog New England Journal of Aesthetic Research, and I have been chatting recently about the recent developments at the Rose Art Museum. We thought we'd share those comments with you; below is the first installment in what we hope will be a series of similar conversations on sundry art-related topics . . .

TG: So . . . here we are, two and a half years after Brandeis University first threatened to close the Rose Art Museum and sell off its collection - and the whole storm seems to have suddenly just . . . blown over. Brandeis still has the Rose, its gallery is being renovated, and they’re looking for a new director. Meanwhile the lawsuit filed to block the sale of the art has officially reached a settlement.  And as you can see from the below abbreviation of a key paragraph of the settlement (follow link to full statement, posted by "CultureGrrl"  Lee Rosenbaum), the plaintiffs seem to have gotten Brandeis to agree to just about all their terms:

The Parties agree that the Rose is - and will remain - a university art museum open to the public, professionally staffed, and dedicated to its primary purpose of collecting, preserving, studying and exhibiting fine art . . . The Rose is and will remain an active and valued part of Brandeis, contributing to its broader educational mission . . . The programs of the Rose will continue to adhere to the overall mission of the University, embracing its values of academic excellence, social justice, and freedom of expression.  In keeping with these purposes, Brandeis will hire and employ a Director suitable and well qualified . . . the Director will have a particular expertise in modern and contemporary art . . . Brandeis fully intends to continue to maintain the Museum in accordance with these terms.  Brandeis has no aim, plan, design, strategy or intention to sell any artwork donated to or purchased by the University on behalf of the Museum.

So - mission accomplished, and for once in the art world we have what looks like a happy ending - happier than perhaps anyone might have thought possible two years ago. Indeed, I count as one of my major errors since I began writing The Hub Review the fact that I took too seriously (at first) the claims of the previous Brandeis administration. I thought the university could in fact be in such dire financial straits that selling off part of the Rose might be a necessity. I opposed the sale, of course, but it seemed to me that even floating the idea of selling the art was so crazy that any sane administration would only do it if their backs were literally against the wall. But you were always more skeptical of them – perhaps because you were following the case so closely!

GC: My sense from early on was that Brandeis administrators were panicking and threatening to sell off treasures to fill a short-term budget shortfall. It was a crazy time for everyone economically, so perhaps their panic was understandable. But it was still lousy leadership. Early on, I ran the numbers from tax filings and Brandeis's public statements, and the shortfall the adminstrators were talking about seemed to be roughly 5 percent per year. That's not the kind of financial trouble that forces you to pawn grandma's jewels to survive. And if they had hurried to sell some of their treasures then--like their Warhol--they would likely have gotten a bad deal in their fire-sale haste. (Though they probably would have gotten decent prices if they waited a bit, as the art market rebounded within a year or two.) Add it all together and the plan was so crazy that it did make me wonder, too, if their financial troubles were somehow worse than reported. Because otherwise the administrators' actions just didn't make much sense.

But I also came to suspect that when the administration talked of closing the Rose and selling the collection they were overstating things. In retrospect, I wonder if Brandeis administrators may have been floating the idea of "closing the Rose" so that they could skirt some museum etiquette, particularly concerning the sale of art from the collection, while in fact continuing to operate something relatively similar to the Rose. And I doubt they ever really planned to sell all the art - too much trouble! - just a handful of the major treasures, which would have gutted the heart of the collection, but still left a lot of art.

A Rose treasure: Willem de Kooning's Untitled

TG: Do you think the administration was surprised by the outspoken reaction to the announced sale? I’ve often wondered if they imagined the collection was more obscure than it actually proved to be. I don’t think it’s widely recognized by the public at large, but clearly within the professional arts sphere it had quite the profile.

GC: Yeah, Brandeis administrators probably thought they could get away with attacking the Rose because they sensed the museum's lack of public presence in the area. But Brandeis and the Rose has been a significant training ground for art folks who are now around the country, including Whitney Museum Director Adam Weinberg. Which gets me mulling the power of the art community. I keep thinking that the old Brandeis president, head finance guy, etc., might still have those jobs at Brandeis if they hadn't targeted the Rose. Look at all the other schools --including Harvard--that suffered major financial losses in the Great Recession. Pretty much all of their administrators remain in place. It seems Brandeis leaders didn't piss people off with their (mis)management of the school's finances -- but going after the Rose seemed to turn the tide against them; that was their undoing.

TG: Well, it seemed like such a philistine move to make – and so blatantly anti-intellectual! And so much of the criticism of post-war art is tied up with the Jewish intellectual tradition, it seemed in a deep sense like an attack on a certain segment of Jewish identity (even if many of the artists in question were not Jewish).

But it strikes me that the donor community at large may have ultimately had more influence over the administration than the arts community alone. Because I can’t believe this played well among potential Brandeis donors. Indeed, selling off the Rose collection betrayed and insulted the trust and intentions of precisely the kind of donors the university was simultaneously trying to woo! And if you couldn’t trust the administration in their intentions vis-à-vis the Rose, how could you trust them about anything?

GC: Yeah, you're dead on about this offending donors, and the repercussions of that. Just looking at the Rose lawsuit, what you see is a group of four donors fighting to preserve what they and their family members helped build at Brandeis. Jonathan Lee, who formerly ran the Rose board and was part of the group that successfully sued the school to prevent the closing of the Rose and sale of its collection, also helped talk James Rosenquist out of showing at the Rose last summer. Certainly, in the end, the lawsuit may have functioned more as a public protest than as a substantial legal case, but it helped sustain national pressure on Brandeis when the controversy could have faded away and allowed Brandeis to do whatever it wanted with the Rose. To reporters, the lawsuit represented serious, monied opposition, not just whiny art types without power, which kept the story in the Globe, New York Times, etc., and put pressure on Brandeis leaders and its pool of donors.

TG: Still, it did seem that the administration fairly quickly retreated from those initial proposals (they got the message to some degree); but then things seemed frozen in a kind of holding pattern for the last, oh, nearly two years – the kind of holding pattern you’d expect from a bureaucracy that had decided not to follow through on its plans, but was also unwilling to admit it had made a mistake. And the lawsuit likewise seemed to be floating in some sort of limbo – with many people questioning - on technical grounds - whether the plaintiffs really had a case. Then suddenly it was announced the lawsuit had been settled. What do you think made the difference?

Ellsworth Kelly's Blue White

GC: I spoke with Jonathan Lee when the settlement was announced and he argued, correctly I think, that what allowed the lawsuit to be settled was a new Brandeis administration replacing the previous one, which had stubbornly clung to its bad Rose plan, even as it became clearer and clearer how bad it was. Another sign of bad leadership. But I think that new Brandeis President Frederick Lawrence, who started work at the school in January, was also correct when he recently told me that nearly two and a half years after this all began, Brandeis is in a much more stable financial situation, and that has allowed the school to back away from its threats to the Rose. The old Brandeis leaders probably had backed away from their threats to gut the Rose months and months ago, but who would trust them when they now said they'd changed their minds? The school needed to take concrete actions to show that it was actually committed to the Rose again. The first was the renovations to the Rose this summer. Then the settlement of the lawsuit.

TG: So a change of administration, and a general improvement in the economy, together are probably what saved the Rose. Somehow I don’t find that explanation entirely re-assuring. In the second of our conversations, Greg and I will discuss what steps could be taken to help ensure the Rose’s future existence.

(To be continued . . .)

The critic as artist

My friend and fellow blogger Greg Cook seems to be branching out from art criticism to the thing itself - or at least that's how I feel after checking out a recent post on his blog, The New England Journal of Aesthetic Research. Above and at right are two images from a set of photos he took up at the St. Peter's Fiesta in Gloucester a week or two ago.

You see in addition to being a damn good critic, Greg's a kind of social documentarian; he loves stalking the natives - the kind you don't find at art galleries - and photographing them in their natural habitats, particularly when they're celebrating, or improvising their own un-self-conscious aesthetics. Which explains how Greg went all Margaret Mead on Gloucester, capturing several quite striking images of a fiesta that's half religious festival and half wacky frat party (the triumphant young gentleman above had just won the "greasy pole contest"; that's St. Peter at right, presiding over the fireworks in his honor). 

Greg has always had an eye, but these may be his best work yet - I feel like I've actually been to the fiesta myself, and several of the images are emotionally powerful yet quite complex in their bemused detail.  I'm hoping an exhibit - or maybe even a book - will eventually come out of his predilection.  (Only I've told him he can't review it himself.)

The opening everybody's NOT talking about . . .

It's all been very hush-hush till now, but if all goes well, the lower level restrooms at the Museum of Fine Arts will be, well, "flush" with art by Boston artists right about now.

With a wicked nod to desperate precedent - a famous "show" of contemporary art in the MFA men's room in 1971 (at left) - local artists will be sneaking in to install their own work in the spiffy latrines below the new atrium courtyard in "Flush with the Walls," a "renegade" show which opens - well, right about now, 7 pm on June 15, precisely forty years after that first exhibit. How long the show will last is anybody's guess.  But hopefully its brevity won't reduce its influence - after all, the Linde Family Wing for Contemporary Art is scheduled to open in September; who knows what local artists may find themselves still hanging at the MFA, only in a more public location?  For those of you who can't make it this evening, I've been told the exhibition will also include "a fully illustrated historical commemorative catalogue, subtitled Bathroom Reading."  Too funny.

[Update: Well, as I guessed, the show didn't last too long!  Provocateur/crypto-anarchist/art-nerd sweetheart Greg Cook had only just concluded his welcoming remarks to the assembled crowd (of maybe two dozen people, squeezed into the corridor to the bathrooms outside the Chihuly show) when security descended, ostensibly to clear the hallway.

A reasonable excuse, but in a matter of moments the MFA's minions had invaded the bathrooms and begun to tear the art down from the walls - and none too carefully, either.  I protested; sure, the crowd had to go, but couldn't the art stay up?  (The artists had thoughtfully NOT posted anything in the stalls, as they had in 1971; the art was confined to the sink counters and vestibule, for the protection of everyone's privacy!)  The guards just gave me that look that reads "Don't make me be a jerk, okay?," and when another gallery-goer tried to video the dismantling of the exhibit, he was told to put his phone away, because "It's a federal offense to take photographs in a restroom, sir."  Oh, dear, Dorothy, I suppose we can't go against the law, can we!  So the exhibit was down in a matter of moments, and the crowd unhappily, but still genially, dispersed.

The art I caught a glimpse of was poignant in its simplicity - a sketch of the Mona Lisa on a paper towel was typical.  (I didn't notice any artists' names on the pieces.)  The show exuded a crunchy - or maybe crusty - idealism that defiantly refused to die despite the determination of the MFA marketing juggernaut to ignore it.  Meanwhile, the museum-goers who pushed their way through the proceedings looked confused but seriously miffed, in the manner of Disney patrons who find a Greenpeace protest is ruining their visit to the Magic Kingdom.  Or was that impression due to the Willy-Wonka-esque fantasia of the Dale Chihuly show next door?  Oh, well - who knows.  Somebody bring on Veruca Salt!]