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San Francisco Gate, CA
Nov 21 2009
Why an art critic's view can be misleading
Kenneth Baker, Chronicle Art Critic
Friday, November 20, 2009
In late October I went to Philadelphia from Manhattan for an afternoon
to see "Arshile Gorky: A Retrospective." The show will end its tour in
Los Angeles in 2010, but trusting the Philadelphia Museum of Art's
exhibition designers above those at the Los Angeles County Museum of
Art, I did not want to miss the East Coast presentation. My experience
there highlighted a critical dilemma about which I have thought often
but spoken little, until now.
I took advantage of my prerogative as a member of the art press to see
"Arshile Gorky" on a Monday, when the Philadelphia Museum is closed to
the public.
Occasionally under similar circumstances I have encountered a
colleague or a school group, but on this day, I got to view the
exhibition alone, in complete silence. (Security required that a press
officer accompany me, but she kindly kept her distance.)
I entered the show full of anticipation, already acquainted with some
of Gorky's greatest works. His methodical struggle for artistic
independence from his European heroes - Paul Cezanne, Pablo Picasso,
Joan Miro, Roberto Matta Echaurren - set fellow New York painters a
liberating example. I left feeling elated, but also shaken and drained
by the intimate view of the agony of creative devotion that the Gorky
retrospective provides.
Here lies the dilemma.
In describing my encounter with Gorky's art in Philadelphia, I will
inevitably raise among readers the expectation or hope that they will
experience something similar if they see the show.
But mine was a very privileged view, with no crowd about, no restless
children, no audio tour quacking in my ears, no interruptions of any
kind. Few readers of a review, if any, will enjoy such advantages. The
more vivid and accurate my account of what I saw, the more unrealistic
it is likely to be.
Every museum press preview of an exhibition presents a similar problem
to some degree.
The Gorky exhibition layout in Philadelphia respects both the
chronology and thematic cycles of his art.
Its early rooms show Gorky (1904-1948) mimicking the styles of his
revered artistic forbears with "almost totally self-effacing
admiration coupled with an extraordinarily competitive virtuosity," as
Robert Storr writes in the catalog.
To study Gorky's imitations of his chosen masters is to see one artist
digesting another's work, inhabiting his manner, trying to take
possession of it from within and turn it to his own purposes.
But sensing the intensity of Gorky's efforts requires time and the
sort of undisturbed focus that I was lucky enough to enjoy on the day
of my visit. Some understanding of paint media and techniques would
also help.
The retrospective tracks Gorky's search for his own artistic ends - a
personal surrealism adequate to his experience of life: his grim
youthful memories of the Armenian genocide and exile, his delight in
nature and the emotional turmoil of his own dark, solitary temper.
Following his path through a range of techniques and artistic
"masquerades," as Storr calls them, positions a viewer to feel the
full impact of a late painting such as "Water of the Flowery Mill"
(1944).
Gorky was the name that Vosdanig Adoian assumed, partly out of
admiration for the writer Maxim Gorky (also a pseudonym) before he
left Russian Armenia for America as a teenage refugee. " 'Arshile' is
usually taken to mean 'Achilles,' " the artist's biographer Matthew
Spender writes, "but unfortunately Gorky's new Christian name was at
first Arshel, which is how he spelled it until the early thirties.
'Arshel' may come from 'Aysaharel,' a word meaning 'possessed by an
evil spirit' or 'blown by an evil wind.' In short, accursed."
The wall text in Philadelphia provides just enough information to
suggest the tragic arc of Gorky's life, which ended in suicide.
The show's extreme impact on me raised afresh a central question of
critical art journalism: To what extent can the writer's experience
represent what is possible for readers? Any critic who does not appear
to live uncomfortably with this question should not be trusted.
This article appeared on page Q - 36 of the San Francisco Chronicle
Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2 009/11/20/PK0P1AJMAU.DTL&type=art#ixzz0XWsE2kJ 4
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/ a/2009/11/20/PK0P1AJMAU.DTL&type=art
Nov 21 2009
Why an art critic's view can be misleading
Kenneth Baker, Chronicle Art Critic
Friday, November 20, 2009
In late October I went to Philadelphia from Manhattan for an afternoon
to see "Arshile Gorky: A Retrospective." The show will end its tour in
Los Angeles in 2010, but trusting the Philadelphia Museum of Art's
exhibition designers above those at the Los Angeles County Museum of
Art, I did not want to miss the East Coast presentation. My experience
there highlighted a critical dilemma about which I have thought often
but spoken little, until now.
I took advantage of my prerogative as a member of the art press to see
"Arshile Gorky" on a Monday, when the Philadelphia Museum is closed to
the public.
Occasionally under similar circumstances I have encountered a
colleague or a school group, but on this day, I got to view the
exhibition alone, in complete silence. (Security required that a press
officer accompany me, but she kindly kept her distance.)
I entered the show full of anticipation, already acquainted with some
of Gorky's greatest works. His methodical struggle for artistic
independence from his European heroes - Paul Cezanne, Pablo Picasso,
Joan Miro, Roberto Matta Echaurren - set fellow New York painters a
liberating example. I left feeling elated, but also shaken and drained
by the intimate view of the agony of creative devotion that the Gorky
retrospective provides.
Here lies the dilemma.
In describing my encounter with Gorky's art in Philadelphia, I will
inevitably raise among readers the expectation or hope that they will
experience something similar if they see the show.
But mine was a very privileged view, with no crowd about, no restless
children, no audio tour quacking in my ears, no interruptions of any
kind. Few readers of a review, if any, will enjoy such advantages. The
more vivid and accurate my account of what I saw, the more unrealistic
it is likely to be.
Every museum press preview of an exhibition presents a similar problem
to some degree.
The Gorky exhibition layout in Philadelphia respects both the
chronology and thematic cycles of his art.
Its early rooms show Gorky (1904-1948) mimicking the styles of his
revered artistic forbears with "almost totally self-effacing
admiration coupled with an extraordinarily competitive virtuosity," as
Robert Storr writes in the catalog.
To study Gorky's imitations of his chosen masters is to see one artist
digesting another's work, inhabiting his manner, trying to take
possession of it from within and turn it to his own purposes.
But sensing the intensity of Gorky's efforts requires time and the
sort of undisturbed focus that I was lucky enough to enjoy on the day
of my visit. Some understanding of paint media and techniques would
also help.
The retrospective tracks Gorky's search for his own artistic ends - a
personal surrealism adequate to his experience of life: his grim
youthful memories of the Armenian genocide and exile, his delight in
nature and the emotional turmoil of his own dark, solitary temper.
Following his path through a range of techniques and artistic
"masquerades," as Storr calls them, positions a viewer to feel the
full impact of a late painting such as "Water of the Flowery Mill"
(1944).
Gorky was the name that Vosdanig Adoian assumed, partly out of
admiration for the writer Maxim Gorky (also a pseudonym) before he
left Russian Armenia for America as a teenage refugee. " 'Arshile' is
usually taken to mean 'Achilles,' " the artist's biographer Matthew
Spender writes, "but unfortunately Gorky's new Christian name was at
first Arshel, which is how he spelled it until the early thirties.
'Arshel' may come from 'Aysaharel,' a word meaning 'possessed by an
evil spirit' or 'blown by an evil wind.' In short, accursed."
The wall text in Philadelphia provides just enough information to
suggest the tragic arc of Gorky's life, which ended in suicide.
The show's extreme impact on me raised afresh a central question of
critical art journalism: To what extent can the writer's experience
represent what is possible for readers? Any critic who does not appear
to live uncomfortably with this question should not be trusted.
This article appeared on page Q - 36 of the San Francisco Chronicle
Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2 009/11/20/PK0P1AJMAU.DTL&type=art#ixzz0XWsE2kJ 4
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/ a/2009/11/20/PK0P1AJMAU.DTL&type=art