The practice of art criticism is necessarily lodged on
the consumer side of the exhibition business. In fact,
the sort of art
criticism that I myself practice is most properly described
as "exhibition criticism," since I am almost
always writing about works of art in bunches on the
occasion of
their public presentation. Criticism that deals with
art in its generality is quite properly called theory;
it is
generally produced in universities;
criticism that deals with singular works of art in
their specificity falls within the purview of historical
connoisseurship
and is usually practiced under the
auspices of museums and auction houses. The criticism that I write is written
for periodicals about what the culture offers up to be seen whenever
and wherever it is offered up. It is understandable, then, that exhibition
critics like myself, after years of dining on what the culture of galleries,
museums and alternative spaces chooses to serve, would be tempted to intervene
in the process, to move into the kitchen, or behind the bar, and whip up
exhibitions of their own. The arguments against doing so, however, are
numerous and persuasive.
First, of course, art critics habitually speak for themselves. They conceive
themselves as private citizens with singular opinions striving to be heard
within a cacophony of competing voices and opinions. They dont
decide what we see, in other words. They only argue about whether it
is worth seeing or not.
Curators, however, do decide. They include and exclude, and, as a consequence,
the eccentric, combative tastes and opinions that constitute an art critic's
abiding virtue, quickly become vices in curatorial practice. Critics have
freedoms commensurate with their lack of power. Curators have responsibilities
that
derive from their actual power to exclude, so they must always see themselves,
in some
sense, as public servants. When two curators agree, their agreement is
taken to represent a consensus of public taste. When two critics agree,
one of
them is redundant.
Thus, in much the same way that artists curated into exhibitions by theorists
risk being seen as instruments of that theory, artists curated into exhibitions
by critics risk too close an association with the eccentric visual agendas
that are a critic's stock in trade. Criticism is a tough, specific practice;
actual works of art are more protean and generous than that. Also, since
a critic without enemies is not really a critic, critics who mount exhibitions
are, in
effect, sharing their enemies with their friends. So you have to be careful
about why and where you do it. Speaking for myself, whenever I am given
the opportunity
to curate an exhibition, I try to exploit the news gathering aspect of
my practice. I think of my exhibition as concrete journalismas
dispatches from the trenches. My ideal curatorial statement, then, goes
something like this: Here is some stuff
I found. Isn't it interesting. Excuse me while I get out of the way.
When I was offered the opportunity to curate an exhibition for Apex Art,
however, I realized immediately that concrete journalism was out of the
question. So I
delayed and demurred. New York needs another curator like Vegas needs another
hooker, and, also, having been a New Yorker myself for more than a decade,
I am well acquainted with the city's tin ear for word from the outside
worldand
personally disinclined to shout into it. The inhabitants of Manhattan know
what's
best for them, and I know whats best for me, so I decided to go with
thatto
think of New York as a setting rather than an audienceto select an
artist whom I wanted to see in New York and see what happened. Christine
Siemens was
my immediate and
unhesitating choice.
I selected her first because I am delighted by, but do not understand,
her art. I have no ready words for it, so nothing I might say or might
have said
can damage
it. La Siemens possesses a critical sensibility that is passionately her
own and totally invulnerable to any sideline kibbitzing. So I knew that,
by presenting
her with this project, I was sowing anonymous seeds in alien soilthat
I would be surprised rather than reassured by what sprouted up, and surprise
is
more fun than reassuranceand more New York. Moreover, as a Canadian
transplant to Las Vegas, Siemens traffics in a brand of glamourous abjection
(or abject
glamour) that has always been part of New York's appeal for me. Her
vision of culture perpetually rising out of nature and crumbling back into
it seemed
a good match with the city which is always crumbling down and rising from
the dust.
Over the past few months, then, I have exercised my curatorial responsibilities
by
dropping by Siemens' studio from time to time to see what was happening.
What was happening was chrome potatoes, canvas chrysanthemums, disco-balls
in deshabille, bubble-wrap planets, and a tiny strobe-lit version of
the gallery
itself. When I asked what she was doing, she replied enigmatically, "Neurotic
mixology." I nodded wisely, and in a small way I think I understand.
Art making is, after all, a brand of jumped up bartending, but the stakes
are very
high.
So, think of this exhibition as an exotic cocktail made out of the anxiety
of making it. Or don't think at all, just drink it down.
Dave Hickey
©1999 |