February 26, 2007
Graffiti is the new southwest art. Both were semi-legitimate art movements with authentic cultural roots that lapsed into irrelevance due to their success. Both are now bastardized, sycophantic forms of décor. Neither has, even in their strongest examples, seriously addressed substantive issues, preferring to putter about with color, shape, line, and composition. And while southwest “art” only vandalizes good taste and aesthetic sensibilities, graffiti art has been the bane of property owners for several decades. It’s the same thing that happened to impressionism during the last 30 years, after a million little old ladies found out they didn’t need prescription glasses or hand-eye coordination to paint, sans inspiration, like Monet. Everybody’s doing it.
Which brings me to a particular piece of graffiti that’s been bugging me lately. It’s a face. An ugly, poorly reproduced face that has been polluting my neighborhood for about 2 years now. It appears to be stolen from the Rocky Horror Picture Show (no accounting for originality or copyright law…) and the head reclines in mock hedonism. I am affected by this image in the same manner I was affected by the hokey design trends of the 1970’s: they both produce in me nausea, boredom, emptiness, repulsion, and the taste of rust. And let me just state for the record that I would rather hate this image than feel nothing.
But then, I guess empty art should make one feel empty. This face has all the meaning of late night infomercials. But to say I don’t hate it would be to deny the development of this piece in my mind and across our city. Much like an unintentional piece of conceptual art, this face has become “a kernel of condensation” upon which many thoughts, images, and ideas can be layered (apologies to Joseph Beuys…).
Unfortunately, the images condensing on this piece of crap are those of people repeatedly shelling out cash to remove this freaking obscenity from their walls… images of my tax dollars being pissed away as city crews are forced to deal with the glue that holds these artsy-fartsy Xeroxes firmly in place. It’s urban decoupage on a random scale. It’s the reason you don’t give sticker books or noise toys to preschoolers, the zen of mediocrity and mindless mantras…the insipid, vacuous “work” of someone who has never paid for a damn thing in their entire life. Also, the “artist’s” dogged loyalty, ad nauseum, to this lame image raises questions about their ability to understand aesthetics on a basic level and also causes me to question the “artist’s” originality and ability to formulate new ideas.
Then I saw it in a local gallery, hanging with all the warmth, charm, and individuality of Soviet propaganda posters. Like a morbidly obese streaker, this hack is now peddling his wares in a local gallery. It reminds me of what the late comedian Sam Kennison said about breaking up with a porn star: “ If I want to see you, I’ll go to the video store.” In other words, why would anyone buy this nasty thing when you can step outside and view it on a garbage can? Kind of like taggers who carve their name on toilet seats so it can impose a reverse image on your ass, while simultaneously claiming the toilet, and your posterior, for…whatever. Basically, it’s artistic fascism, forcing an image on unwilling viewers while offering no real ideas or insight into anything. Predictably, this “local talent” hid behind a surname and was not present to speak to people who actually live in the neighborhood he defiles. The idea of selling this image in a gallery is akin to someone “re-branding” thrown-out plastic shopping bags as “recycled decorative windsocks.”
I would like to conclude this rant by addressing the “artist” directly. We’re tired of this image. Come up with something else for mercy’s sake. And when you do manage to steal another vapid idea and hit the copy machine, choose gallery or street...one or the other. Remember when Mom told you to play outside or play inside and shut the door? Same idea…gallery or street. Pick one and stick to it. Personally, I understand that you’re trying to “keep it edgy” through the commission of misdemeanors (how very Basquiat of you…), but it’s a tired form and you’re just perpetuating visual pollution. Maybe an understanding that “postmodernism” is really just justification for artistic thievery would help. If you want to see this ugly thing all the time, tattoo it on the inside of your eyelids and spare us the misery. Maybe if you spent your time making art instead of pretending to be a guerilla artist, we’d see something relevant. Get a real job.
Shane Wiggs is an equal opportunity offender. He is also a professional hater, artist, teacher, and critic. He can be reached by homing pigeon.