ART CRITICISM IN TIMES OF PANDEMIC

Marek Bartelik

This text was written in response to a questionnaire about the state of art criticism during the COVID19 pandemic sent to the author by the Polish-language art magazine “Restart” published by the Academy of Fine Arts in Krakow. It has been included in its inaugural issue (https://restartmag.art).

RESTART: How does the current pandemic affect the work of art critics? Do the cultural activities and exhibitions that have moved online provide inspiration for critics or do they limit them? Some critics have been retreating from traditional publication toward new methods of communication. For example, Jerry Saltz and Waldemar Januszczak are very active on social media. How do you see such initiatives as they relate to lasting trends that will set the course of future criticism? 

MAREK BARTELIK: Discussions about the future of art criticism have been going on for years, not only on the state of criticism at a given time, but on its very definition.

Is art criticism a profession? If so, it’s more like a part-time job. But nowadays it’s not even that. While serving as President of AICA international, I joked that it was an organization of 4,500 “unemployed” in 63 countries — for the vast majority of its members do not support themselves by writing reviews or essays on art. It might be argued that today an art critic is a “weak” participant in the discourse on contemporary art. His/her place has been taken by institutional or self-proclaimed “curators” or academic professors. In the past, artists treated critics with respect, although sometimes also with resentment or distrust. (I experienced this attitude myself once at an opening in New York, when an artist, having learned that I was contributing to “Artforum International,” said to me: “I feel sorry for you.”) The influence of critics today cannot be compared to that of such authorities of the past as Clement Greenberg, Rosalind E. Krauss, or Lucy R. Lippard, to mention the names of only a few stars of 20th-century American criticism. Their unfavorable opinions were feared, because, indeed, they could be very harmful.  

Photo Gabriela Motawetz; © Marek Bartelik

Photo Gabriela Motawetz; © Marek Bartelik

Globalization has increased the number of reviews and other writings on artists from previously overlooked countries, but at the same time it has contributed to the “rat race”: now a critic has to fight for attention, and often “attention” has nothing to do with the quality of the art. In the era of “post-truth” hardly anyone is looking for insightful thought. It is enough to have something written on one’s art, no matter if it’s right or wrong. 

The pandemic has deprived art criticism of — or at least limited its access to — its most important inspiration: in-person contact with artworks. Images of art online simply do not show the subtleties of the works. Of course, experiencing art from reproductions is nothing new. If I am not mistaken, Mark Rothko’s fame in Poland began with the publication there of poor-quality black and white reproductions of his art in books. It took an incredible act of imagination for Poles to feel the uniqueness of these works. But things are different now: the photos that we see posted on the web are often enhanced to excite our senses to the maximum. This kind of contact with art reminds me of “speed dating.”

Personally, I have no interest in visiting virtual exhibitions, or in Zoom discussions. The pandemic has given me the opportunity to go on sabbatical, to isolate myself from the hustle and bustle of the contemporary art world. I now have time to reevaluate what’s important and what’s not. I don’t have to draw quick conclusions. I don’t have to deal with deadlines. I am writing a book about Aegina, where I currently reside, and about my dachshund, Toby.

It is often said that we need to get back to normal, But I think the very notion of “normality” must be questioned — at least when that means our common experiences of art in recent years, when stardom has dominated the scene and the art market has run amok. By the way, I believe that we deserve the “stars” among the artists and critics that we have.

As for the new means of communication between the artist and the critic — why not? After all, technology is moving forward, whether we like it or not. During the AICA Congress in South Korea in 2014, a Dutch filmmaker  presented a video that showed a surreal conversation about art, in which there was room both for rhetorical questions and silence. It wasn’t a quick, YouTube-type of production, but a professionally made para-documentary. But do you have to be a “professional” critic for this type of communication? We may also begin with the premise that at the basis of our discussions about art is the word. In Paris, on the occasion of the annual AICA meetings, there were competitions in which 10 critics, using the Pecha Kucha format and with the same time limit, each presented an artist of his or her choice. Both emerging and established critics took part and the auditoriums were packed. This to me was a celebration of an art criticism where each word counts. Verbal communication is very important to me. In fact, a direct contact with the public gives me the most pleasure  — be it a group of art students in the auditorium of the Academy of Fine Arts in Cusco high in the mountains, or a group of artists in a private apartment in Bangladesh, in Dhaka with its surrounding marshes. 

Unfortunately, I do not know Waldemar Januszczak’s activities on social media. My understanding is that instead of following the latest trends in art he has turned toward discussions of art from the past that have been validated over time. I believe that we need the idealism of the past, which has been dismissed too quickly as undemocratic. On the other hand, Jerry Saltz understands the effectiveness of satire in his discussions of art, and he uses it intelligently — in the “stand-up comic” tradition. However, does this kind of criticism bring anything significant to our understanding of art? I’m not sure. I think it may only reassure us that there is really something to laugh at in today’s art. But observing the so-called “artworld” is not always funny.  

I cannot predict the future of art criticism, or the future of art. However, I hope that instead of moving towards unrefined entertainment, gossip reportage or academic discourse, we will approach a lively, partner-like dialogue with the artist. This is what the artists themselves must want – and critics will become wiser when they deal with wise art. Pandemics pass. With this in mind, we must be careful not to be overwhelmed by fear. History shows that tragedies do not always lead to radical change. Sometimes they force us to move backwards. Will it be different this time?

Aegina, April 2021

Marek Bartelik, Honorary President of AICA International. Served as President of AICA-USA, 2009-2012, President of AICA International, 2011-2017. Taught art history and cultural studies at the Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science an Art, Yale University, MIT. Between 1992 and 2013 regular reviewer for Artforum International; also published in Art in America, ARTNews, CAA Art Journal, American Art – Smithsonian Institution, Cultural Politics, and others.

The Pace of a Broken Heart

Elisa Rusca

Heartbroken –– that’s how I’ve been feeling for the last months.  Sure, due to the global situation of ecological collapse, political uprisings and social injustices, I had already been overwhelmed by a giant wave of instability, but that in itself hadn’t been enough: the outbreak of the pandemic smashed the remaining crusts of my Millennial heart. The remainder of fragmented, scattered pieces are like the crumbs at the very end of a packet of Doritos chips: restlessly, I have been trying to find one big enough for a last scoop of (hot) hope, but unfortunately anything left over was too small and frail.

 

The cracks between the crushed pieces of my heart where soon filled by questions about my life and my future. Writing and art appeared to suddenly be the useless toys of a spoiled brat, and reality hit me hard: I was drowning in the numerous projects popping out like mushrooms after late-summer rain, a boom of online productions, Zoom webinars, art fairs’ online viewing rooms, live streaming with critics, curators, artists. . . and then, 3D tours of exhibitions, Covid-19-proof studio visits, as well shows and texts there were officially inspired by the sanitary crisis. Among the virtual and physically distanced cultural offer during the late spring of a post-lockdown Berlin, my confusion was only growing larger — until a whisper came to my ears: listen to a heart’s beat.

 

‘Listen to a Heart Beat’ was the title of a group exhibition presented at Thomas Schulte Gallery in the German capital from May 23rd to July 11th 2020, with works by Dieter Appelt, Angela De La Cruz, Paula Doepfner, Rebecca Horn, Alfredo Jaar, Maria Loboda, Michael Müller, Yoko Ono, and Francesca Woodman.

 

Situated at the corner between Charlottenstraße and Leipzigerstraße, just a few blocks away from Checkpoint Charlie, the gallery also boasts two street-level vitrines that at that time hosted another show, a selection of 400 screenshots from Allan McCollum’s archive An Ongoing Collection of Screengrabs with Reassuring Subtitles. The presentation, titled Everything is going to be OK, gathered still frames from American TV series and movies and printed them on canvas, with each showing subtitles such as ‘Don’t worry, Babe’, or ‘It will be OK’. The works’ display materialised, on one hand, the cacophony of media at the beginning of the pandemic outbreak with its repetitive, meaningless statements – the absurd, motivational rhetoric that encouraged everyone to maintain a positive attitude in front of the crisis; on the other hand, it showed a tight connection, both visual and semantic, between a screen’s interfaces and Leon Battista Alberti, the Italian Renaissance humanist who first thought of the painter’s canvas as a window depicting the world.

 

To pass over this crowded narthex and proceed into the gallery’s space was to advance into a more quiet and intimate setting. In a dim light, Rebecca Horn’s The Lover’s Bed (1990) was the first piece that captured the eye. The German artist, who has always explored the human condition and the consequences of human actions, transforms personal experiences into universal ones. In fact, The Lover’s Bed, composed of a kinetic sculpture together with an image on the wall, refers to both, her own convalescing period, and a character from her movie Buster’s Bedroom, from which the framed photograph is taken. The metallic, cage-like looking hospital bed is covered by small mechanic butterflies, graciously agitating their wings. Death is present, of course, and it also echoes the AIDS crisis, the period in which this piece was created, but there is more: the piece has an aura of loneliness, absence, isolation, and fragility. The butterflies, which for certain cultures are symbols for the spirits of the deceased, evoke delicacy and vitality, but also remind us of the vulnerability of life. How to better to describe the global context in which this exhibition took place?

‘Listen to a heart beat’, installation view, Galerie Thomas Schulte, 2020. Photo: Stefan Haehnel. Courtesy of the artists and Galerie Thomas Schulte, Berlin

‘Listen to a heart beat’, installation view, Galerie Thomas Schulte, 2020. Photo: Stefan Haehnel. Courtesy of the artists and Galerie Thomas Schulte, Berlin

On the wall next to The Lover’s Bed one could see You and Me (Atemzüge eines Sommertags) (2016-2017), a large drawing by Paula Doepfner. The abstract ink signs are fragments of a tiny alphabet that the Berliner artist links, letter by letter, into lines of movements, at times more densely, at times more freely. We see them connecting, intertwining, and diverging on the surface of the thin Japanese paper, as if notes of a progression in a sheet music. Doepfner’s work, carrying the title ‘breath of a summer day’, is about closeness and intimacy; it also reminds us, however, of the physicality of breathing, its vital necessity, and of the materiality of what it can carry with it: invisible, dangerous agents. From these particles to more particles: in Hearing the Omniabsence, (2019), Polish artist Maria Loboda deposits fake snowflakes on a Hi-Fi audio system. They have the texture of the oxidation debris of technology, but they might as well be dust or ash, bringing us to another aspect of the pandemic, which is the frozen moment of the lockdown. The ‘omniabsence’ in the empty streets, the silence of closed shops and cafes, the void of knowledge about the possible end of the situation: these were the sounds evoked by Loboda’s piece in my head. Overall, the silent and inexorable passage of time progressing, despite everything – and yet, the sudden tension derived by longing in the feeling of suspended time for too long: in Angela de la Cruz’ Bloated (Mud) (2012) it’s a body that cannot be contained anymore, similar to a giant insect that wants to break free from its cocoon. Between the two sculptures, Beat Piece (1963), the Beat poem by Yoko Ono which lends the exhibition its title in the line: ‘Listen to a heart beat’, called to mind the rhythm of our life as cadenced by regular breaks in our pulse.

‘Listen to a heart beat’, installation view, Galerie Thomas Schulte, 2020. Photo: Stefan Haehnel. Courtesy of the artists and Galerie Thomas Schulte, Berlin

‘Listen to a heart beat’, installation view, Galerie Thomas Schulte, 2020. Photo: Stefan Haehnel. Courtesy of the artists and Galerie Thomas Schulte, Berlin

On the opposite wall, after the consciousness of sickness and the suspense of the lockdown, we could breathe again: a series of 12 photographs by Dieter Appelt Der Fleck auf dem Spiegel, den der Atemhauch schafft (1977), meaning literally ‘The Mark on the Mirror Made by My Breathing’, which focuses on the action of breathing. A work about ephemerality and mark-making, as well as the revelation of the invisible, its title refers to a quote from 1910 novel Impressions d’Afrique (Impressions of Africa) by French author Raymond Roussel. Unable to stop myself from mentally repeating: ‘der Atemhauch schafft’ – ‘the breath makes it’, what I intended as a play on words in German, I suddenly was struck by the thought of George Floyd’s life, taken only two days after the opening of this exhibition. I could breathe, where others tragically could not. Not only Corona patients die of asphyxia, and not only in 2020. With this in mind, the sentence ‘Teach Us to Outgrow Our Madness’, a large neon piece from Alfredo Jaar towering in the last exhibition’s room, appeared to me as the only possible ending. Two small black and white photographs from 1979 by Francesca Woodman completed the room. They show stolen scenes that one could easily associate with life in the new normal and within the changed paradigms of proximity and distance, inside and outside: the interior of a flat reverberating the ennui of quarantine; a portrait of a woman framed by signs recalling physical separation.

‘Listen to a heart beat’, installation view, Galerie Thomas Schulte, 2020. Photo: Stefan Haehnel. Courtesy of the artists and Galerie Thomas Schulte, Berlin

‘Listen to a heart beat’, installation view, Galerie Thomas Schulte, 2020. Photo: Stefan Haehnel. Courtesy of the artists and Galerie Thomas Schulte, Berlin

Cleverly crafted, this exhibition majestically captured the fragility of life, the fear of the sickness, the disorientation mixed up with the pandemic outbreak, and the desire to grasp tools for a new normality. As curators and writers, we should bear in mind that living in the present doesn’t automatically makes what we do ‘contemporary’, namely the ability to enact an immediate, relevant dialogue with those who share their time with us; indeed, ‘Listen to a Heart Beat’ at Thomas Schulte Gallery Berlin succeeded where many others failed only by gently showing a new pace to a broken heart.

Chair of the Digital Strategies Committee at AICA International and member of the AICA Swiss section, Elisa Rusca is a curator and writer based in Berlin.

www.galeriethomasschulte.de

Home for the Holidays, the COVID-19 edition by Jean Bundy (AICA USA)

Bisa Butler, Dear Mama, 2019

Bisa Butler, Dear Mama, 2019

I’ll admit holidays are weird this year. Husband Dave and I sadly decided to weather the Pandemic at home, relying on Zoom to make appearances with family, who are strewn across the country in their own household-bunkers. Two artists, Bisa Butler and James Lancel McElhinney, made my present ‘Groundhog Day’ lifestyle more cheerful, as when ‘The Wizard of OZ’ went from black/white to color, as a kid.

Art Institute of Chicago’s exhibition, ‘Bisa Butler: Portraits’ (ticketed in situ; and www.artic.edu -through April 19, 2021) is about ordinary people cut and appliquéd onto fabric. Spectators may think of Yinka Shonibare’s 3-D works, which reference Colonialism, or Nick Cave’s headless humanoids crafted from thrift shop clothing, Butler’s counterpanes are fabric-collaged, then sewn onto patterned cloth. Apparently, some quilters have complained her methods/materials are not true to the quilting genre. Art has no correct methodology!

I interviewed Hawaiian fabric artist, Mary Haunani (‘Senior Voice Alaska’, June, 2010) and she told me Native Hawaiians preferred to appliqué local flora, rather than cutting cloth into squares and adopting Colonial designs, once insisted upon by New England Missionaries.

Butler uses contemporary and vintage photographs as inspiration. Unlike home sewing machines, a large industrial arm is free to stitch the tiniest swatches without bunching-up layers of material. Like painter Kehinde Wiley, her compositions have no ground; they become timeless and belong to every place. Butler wants her bodies to transcend race and culture, so skin tones are also psychedelic. Viewers are meant to ignore ethnicities and focus on the

inner-self portrayed. By varying fabric colors and textures, immaculately dressed bodies come alive and appear to dialogue, while exuding self-confidence. Butler’s finished pieces are delectable and lessons in how to juxtapose tessellated color, like the celebrated Bauhaus instructor Johannes Itten (1888-1967).

Bisa Butler, I Know Why the Caged Birds Sings, 2019

Bisa Butler, I Know Why the Caged Birds Sings, 2019

‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, 2019’, shows four late-Nineteenth Century African- American Southern women conversing. Butler used a photograph of Atlanta University students, 1899-1900, pioneers in getting graduate degrees. Their self-assurance is underscored by this work’s title taken from Maya Angelo’s classic 1969 book, which addresses courage and survival. Like Sargent’s painting of Mrs. Phelps Stokes, 1897 (Metropolitan Museum), Butler’s women are dressed in garb that hints of masculinity, suggesting the emerging modern woman. As my grandmother, of that period, remarked, ‘a touch of the masculine is very becoming’.

‘Dear Mama, 2019’, shows a mom and young daughter stylishly dressed, coifed and at loggerheads over triviality. Butler has embroidered the background cloth with a repeating pattern of verbiage about a mother’s love and appreciation of her daughter, in spite of a momentary meltdown. Butler’s colored swatches vibrate towards their complements as the two jousting bodies, engaged in stubbornness, pop from their contrasting background. Recycling material to make new art is great for supporting Climate Change too.

The artist James McElhinney is a visual raconteur: artist, and oral historian. His mini-tome ‘Sketchbook Traveler’ is a backpack-able, 5x7 inch, art book that explodes with information. McElhinney’s message: there is a relationship between writing and drawing. The key is to forget longing to be a Leonardo or a Hemingway—throw caution, have fun. McElhinney regales, “Drawing is just a form of writing that employs a visual language (Mc11).” By developing the art of curiosity, and looking from ordinary to breathtaking, you’ll stretch your capabilities. McElhinney insists travel can be real or in the imagination, a useful tool in the age of Coronavirus, when most of us have prudently chosen to stay home.

‘Sketchbook Traveler’ begins by enticing readers to write and/or sketch as did past journalists: William Clark, Alexander von Humboldt, and Hokusai. McElhinney writes, “Take your time. Drawing is a slow art, a form of meditation, a way to graduate from looking to seeing....Drawings are just collections of straight lines and curved lines—movements and measurements filling the page (Mc 13).” McElhinney resides in New York’s Champlain Valley and is an expert on the Hudson River, which begins in New York’s Adirondacks and meanders 315 miles into New York Harbor. The river is a metaphor for the American experience, as it has witnessed Colonial warfare, Indigenous persecutions, and the Industrial Revolution with its excess river traffic that caused uber-pollution. Folksinger Pete Seeger, with his sloop Clearwater, became an early crusader for restoring the Hudson.

Sketching the great outdoors can be daunting. Unlike indoor studio space, boundaries are endless—where to begin? McElhinney invites would be and seasoned draftsmen to experience how he approaches an outdoor composition. A close look reveals he draws with a red pen then fills in the countryside with a limited palette: red, yellow and blue. He has no qualms about writing notes all over sketches either. Having traversed the Hudson’s banks, McElhinney realistically drafts the granite, shale and limestone that jut out in specific points along the river. Large vertical slabs of basalt resembling a stake-wall of Hershey bars can be viewed from Manhattan’s Hudson banks, forming New Jersey’s Palisades. His book discusses nature conservancies, walking and biking trails that now parallel the river, allowing residents and tourists to embark on alternate ways to vacation beyond the many museums unique to Gotham. McElhinney instructs readers how to pack lightly, dress sensibly, and be environmentally respectful. As these Hudson area suggestions can be applied to hiking in the Rockies or in Alaska, it is good to do homework and know dangers: wild animals pop-out, steep terrain can be slippery, and cold/ hot temperatures can shift. McElhinney writes, “The mission of the sketchbook traveler is to devote as much time to engaging with their surroundings, not struggling with bulky box easels, umbrellas, and any gear other than a small messenger bag, or multi-pocket travel vest (Mc 114).”

James McElhinney, Jersey Palisades from below the Cloisters

James McElhinney, Jersey Palisades from below the Cloisters

‘The Jersey Palisades from Below the Cloisters’ is a good illustration of ordinary spaces disclosing a myriad or textures and angles. Fabricated rock wall contrasts with the natural stone. Trees along the river banks frame the mercurial Hudson, calm in this picture. Unkempt foliated trees oppose weathered wooden benches, inviting onlookers to metaphorically sit and absorb a view that has captivated artists, specifically the late-Nineteenth Century Ashcan school.

James McElhinney, Lower Cataract, Kaaterskill Creek

James McElhinney, Lower Cataract, Kaaterskill Creek

‘Lower Cataract, Kaaterskill Creek’is an example of using one color (red) and relying on a variety of heavy to light lines, going in a multitude of directions, to focus viewers on the falling water, craggy rocks and spindly trees. Kaaterskill Falls is situated in the Eastern Catskill Mountains and continues to attract the curious. A modern day Thomas Cole (1801-1848) McElhinney moves beyond Nineteenth Century American Romanticism, with its tropes of Manifest Destiny, and presents landscape as something to be protected in light of Climate Change. You might surmise McElhinney depicts vacancy, like Edward Hopper (1882-1967) but his watercolors don’t appear melancholy, just keenly observational.

Whether you’re a beginner or need to jump-start your abilities, McElhinney and Butler not only fuel creativity, they become uplifting in these uncertain times.

`Mine Sleuth: ‘Bisa Butler Portraits’ Ed. by Erica Warren and ‘Sketchbook Traveler’ by James Lancel McElhinney are available on Amazon.

Jean Bundy is the Climate Change Envoy for AICA International

THOUGHTS ON DOOM

by Eleanor Heartney · April 05, 2020 ·

Art Critics on Emergency is a real-time collective diary by AICA-USA members about the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on art critics, artists, arts institutions, art education, and the arts at large. AICA-USA members are invited to submit journalistic reflections and critical observations about this moment as it unfolds.

From the coronavirus to the Australian fires (now already receding in memory) along with assorted earthquakes, hurricanes, floods and droughts, current events are placing Doomsday in the forefront of our minds. While I don’t claim to be a seer, last year I published a book titled Doomsday Dreams: The Apocalyptic Imagination in Contemporary Art. I was interested in how religious ideas derived from the Book of Revelation and other apocalyptic narratives frame our responses to calamity in ways that may prevent us from finding actual solutions to real problems. READ MORE

FULL YET EMPTY

Earth seems to be standing still on its axis
As Coronavirus rages across latitudes ...un-nerving , unforgiving
Attacking all the man-made worlds, First , Second and Third

Without bullets, bombs and nuclear arsenals
Bodies become carriers ... cough and sneeze the deadly weapon, proximity the kiss of death, intimacy toxic

Standing armies , stand down as do spy agencies and propaganda corps
Drones , bombers and tanks have all been parked

Frontlines are now manned by doctors, nurses and medical staff
Farmers, food distributors , janitors, emergency workers ... are the ones who will see us through

hospitals without beds , without respirators , without medicines, without the capacity to heal ,
Turning back too many without hope
full yet empty .....

Elderly who built the countries , have no place among the chosen survivors
The future is all that counts as we erased the instinct to protect the vulnerable
Our millennium dreams never planned for the past

Where did we take the wrong turn...
Forget those with a heartbeat to build laboratories of war and power, stocked commodities and currencies, amassed endless land, begin to recognize concrete tall as the pinnacle
Only to find out ... it’s just the heartbeat , the healthy lung that we need to keep alive ... to feel alive

Niilofur Farrukh
April 4, 2020
Karachi

AUJOURD'HUI DEMAIN - RIGHT NOW TOMORROW

Une lettre de Chantal Pontbriand, présidente de AICA Canada

A letter from Chantal Pontbriand, president of AICA Canada

Le 25 mars 2020

 

Cher.e.s ami.e.s et collègues,

   Au fur et à mesure que les choses avancent, quelques mois pourraient s'écouler avant que nous puissions vraiment échanger des informations "normales". Me voici donc, ressentant le besoin de partager quelques réflexions avec vous.  Cette lettre vous apparaîtra peut-être un peu longue, je m'en excuse d'avance. Peut-être en viendrons-nous à apprécier ce temps long que la crise actuelle nous apporte...Nous traversons une période de changement planétaire. À l’heure actuelle, 40% de la population mondiale est en confinement. Cela nous amène à réinventer nos modes de vie, nos modes de travail et d'être ensemble. Être ensemble tout en étant séparés. Peut-être est-ce plus que jamais l’occasion de se demander comment vivre l’en-commun. En 2000, avec PARACHUTE, nous avons publié trois numéros sur l’idée de  communauté,  avec la parution du numéro 100. Déjà, cela semblait être le principal enjeu du nouveau millénaire. Cela sonne encore plus vrai aujourd'hui. . . lire la suite


March 25, 2020

 

Dear friends and colleagues,

As things go, a few months might go by before we can really exchange any "normal" kind of news. Soooo, here I am, feeling the urge to share some thoughts with you just now. We are going through a planet-changing period . At this moment, there is 40 % of the earth’s population in confinement. This leads us to reinventing our lifestyles, modes of working and of being together. Being together while apart. And possibly questioning ever more so how to live together. This is the main issue of this century if not this millennium. In 2000, with PARACHUTE, we put out three journals on the Idea of Community starting with number 100. It then appeared to be THE question for the 2000s. It is  more so today. . . Read more