Look, See

In early February I began quoting short reviews that Donald Judd wrote for Arts Magazine in the late 50's and early 60's that were eventually compiled (February 13, 2006) with some explanation of context and my attraction to the writing. Certainly, Judd's writing could be terse and his judgments harsh, but what I found attractive was his dense use of form and language and his willingness to say what he thinks. I thought it was a useful example; the New Yorker magazine does something similar each issue: paragraph-sized reviews say a fair amount in few words, the difference being from Judd's that the judgments aren't typically as severe, and instead are a little less decisive and more open-ended. Many of the essays I have written in the past year have been well over one thousand words, many approaching two thousand or more. I wondered if I could effectively write in a shorter form, and write about more exhibits.

On February 18 I made the rounds of the downtown San Francisco galleries. Quite often, this is an experience that leaves me feeling dissatisfied because it seems to me much of the art misses its mark. At the same time, I think I usually have a pretty decent ability to look into work and see what mark it is supposed to hit, to see what someone is honestly trying to get at. I assume that, for the most part, just about every artist has some honest intention, even if the artist can't articulate it, or the intention is barely apparent, and even if the art doesn't work- otherwise, why bother? So I thought, "Why not write about that?"

With Judd in mind I walked the SF galleries, and as I looked I began to wonder what would happen if I removed any filters I have, or as much as I could, and simply said what comes to mind about the art, and also about the places where it's shown, the milieu. Isn't that as much a part of the art? Contemporary art is a minefield of judgments and nuance, earnestness and sleight of hand, attempts to fly and splat landings. Is the artist sincere or ironic? Does skill matter or doesn't it? Does a body of work in a show have to look like a product line or not? What is the place of craft and care these days? What is the appeal of photography? Does drawing matter? Are certain forms of art dead and gone? What are my biases considering my generation, my education, my background, my art, my day job, the number of hours I have in a week? What exactly is the thickness and vulnerability of the membrane between what I think art's purpose is and it's place in the commercial world? What are the contradictions regarding art's purpose in a commercial setting? What comes first, form or theory? Why are there so many artists? Why is there so much photography and drawing that looks to me like illustration? What is the effect of an attractive gallery's interior over one less attractive? How does the friendliness of staff or the gallerist affect judgment? If I'm hoping to show at a gallery will I pull my punches? Don't I really just want to be friends?

I wondered: what if I consciously remove the filter that can make for manners, and kindness, and wanting to say something nice, and just let myself write, let myself say whatever came to mind? What if I shot from the hip, went with my gut, wrote from impulsive first impressions and memory? What could I have to say after seeing over twenty shows within three and a half hours or so? What if I wrote about what I saw with no chance to go back and look again, or perhaps even to look that closely to begin with? What if I deliberately avoided being easily positive, or a cheerleader, or failed to see the effort in someone's work? What if I just didn't care if people judged me for the way I thought of the art I saw?

It is curious to me that, for the most part, this review format led me to some quite negative writing, sometimes hard and dismissive, other times flip and dishy. I'm not entirely sure what to make of this. Certainly, it has something to do with the art I viewed, but I think it goes deeper than that. I think it has to do with a general unhappiness with what I see in commercial galleries. Perhaps it has to do with an unhappiness with the whole enterprise. Perhaps it has to do with an unhappiness with myself (even though I swore off writing about myself personally in a weblog many years or so ago). Maybe I just felt like reveling in a little dirt.

Or maybe, it's all just a little arbitrary. Maybe it's simply too easy to go one way or another. Does it really matter? What if, if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all? What if I rewrote my reviews and gave them a little nicer spin? There's a good way to blow one's credibility, if it isn't already gone after all this curmudgeonliness.

Below are the reviews, before and after. On the left is the original review I wrote, and on the write is a cleaned-up, nicer review.