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+ 30 - 54 | § LUCHT (indonesian sun set and rise

+ 33 - 59 | §

We are on a 40 ft cat sailing the Indonesian archipelago. All the boys’ toys are there, diving gear, speargun, laptop with google earth, engine powered dinghy, kite and wave surf kit, chess board and a multitude of black boxed beeping and glowing navigation gear including a gps tracker.

We sleep out on the foredeck trampolines and watch the full moon, the full-on Milky Way, the sun set and rise again – forever majestic , the usual bright red and orange sash droooping along the horizon- and hoist sail, snorkel around a bit through the multicoloured coral reefs and kaleidoscopic marine life.

Indo is a hot and humid place, the sun is relentless, the 1st thing I did was get my hair cut with a pair of rusty shears by a local babu advertising her ‘salon’ on a dried banana leaf with carved letters: inside a creacking stool and a broken mirror.

On the first night we needed to have the boys talk and boozyness, reclined on the deck after having dropped Kate on shore among happy bubbly backpackers and set to it. Hours later the sound of splashing oars brought a slightly intoxicated Kate back, after having fallen into the water, losing her wallet end drowning her Iphone and attempting to cuddle up to us.

Anchored on Northern Lombok in front of a small village, had a look around, followed by herds of kids all smiling and gazing and tottering about us, making us feel rather Pied Piperish. A small boy clinging to the stem of a rising coconut tree cut some nuts of and offered them to us, helpfully chopping them clean and open for us to taste its luscious juice.  The village had seemed a quiet and restful place but a local ghettoblaster played Indonesian house music until 2 a.m. Then an hour later the dogs, both wild and domestic set  in a voluminous stereophonic opera in howls, barks, grovels, snarls and grunts. It was quite impressive: a growl on the left followed by loud and multi vocal howls on the right as the middle part barked rithmically in baritone. It lasted at least 15 minutes. Just as deep sleep was finally about to fall upon us the fisherman fired up their rattling gun like diesel engines on their wooden proas and reverberated past. Soon after the cocks woke up and treated us to an a cappela orchestra in cuckolds. This then was a sign for the immam to climb his bell tower and chant his incomprehensive and a-tonal  inshallahs. He seemed to be in jolly spirit and full of enthusiasm as he persisted until the sun reared its early rays on the Easter horizon.

Having left that behind us some days ago we are now sailing a steady 7 knots east on a calm sea and the Matheus Passion loudly playing over the onboard music system.

Sweaty greetings from 08 S, 117 E.

+ 38 - 44 | § 24 7

Programmed One morning the artist awoke to find, to his dismay, that he had been programmed overnight to paint an endless series of silly little paintings. 

I recently received the above text with a large full-colour printout of a multitude of small images, albeit not endless. I count 168 small paintings, each measuring 30 x 40 cm, and be it questionable why anyone would venture to actually sit down –or stand up- to meticulously paint 168 small, naturalistic, recognisable images, yet there is logic somewhere. There seems to be method in it.

As for silly, methinks the grunt of the metier is far too complex to be called silly, although some images do seem somewhat superfluous or wanton, I would suggest that there is no silly-ness involved, but rather ‘tongue in cheek’, a wry sense of humour or a ‘taking the piss’. 

I see before me the reproduction of 168 extremely lively and colourful images, there are definite themes discernable, 7 groups of 24 similar or clearly associated images.They are cropped tightly together, in group formation with minimal inter-space. I wonder what would happen if they are loosely dispersed on a huge wall, in patterns alternating dense with lucid, colourful with opaque, playing with the various theme’s. It would be a full 7 bar symphony in colour and themes! 

I see 24 portraits and recognise them as self-portraits by various canonical painters, Cézanne, Matisse, Corot, Goya, Ingres, Modigliani. Here the painter paints his self-portrait through reproducing the self-portraits of his examples. It is like photo-shopping your reflection in Chuck Close fashion using cut out car ads and calling it ‘AUTO’ Similarly a series of 24 landscape quotes by clearly recognisable predecessors, loosely painted in the style of the original, whereby we note that impressionism is clearly not the favoured movement. We find Corot again, Cezanne, Picasso, but also an archaic El Greco and steamy Whistler next to a wild De Rain.We find a series of sea/sky scapes, some intricate, others elaborate, or dripped and splashed upon.

The nude is represented in the form of 24 Asiatic models, probably Chinese, yes, well, I would agree that the western models monopoly on the erotic is hugely overdrawn, besides, on a less p.c. note it is probably wise to get to know your adversary.

Another series of 24 nudes are clearly based on art-history, history pieces and scenes with the intriguing constant that the actually nude is NOT THERE.The final series seem to portray 12 canonnic philosophers and another 12 portraits of attractive females. Would this be a gallery of former contacts? 

Analogous to Douglas Adams’s  ‘Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy’  I know that the answer is 168 (in this case) but what was the question again? 

I am intrigued. 

I decide to approach the artist for a guided tour of his studio.

 An hour before we are due to meet I board a subway to the South of Rotterdam, exit on an elevated platform that leads to a grubby street and stroll to the door I believe to be the entrance to the artists studio. As I extend my finger to press a small broken bell button -wires exposed and held together with chewing gum-  a hooded character growlingly offers me ‘a deal I can’t refuse’, a toothless hooker shuffles by, pairs of piercing eyes lust for my brand new sneakers. A damp smelling staircase with worn down carpet leads me to a door that is left ajar and a faint smell of ganja and turpentine wavers. Inside a bulky figure clad in dressing gown and slippers is reclined on a ragged coach, empty beer cans and bottles, squeezed tubes of acrylic and dead pizza’s scattered around . He snarls a harsh ‘fuck off’ and gestures for me to close the door.The walls are covered with images of a perfect circle on a monochrome background, the title ‘altruistic convergence’ scribbled beneath it, and, a pattern of purple criss-cross lines on a dark grey fond entitled ‘holistic doom’. There is something wrong here,  ‘Piss off”, I hear , followed by a reverberating belch. I check my notepad; ‘’Yup, wrong stop’’!

 Way overdue I arrive in Heyplaat, the pearl of the South, once a shipyard village build on socialist principles. The studio I enter is large, high-ceilinged with an elevated well heated entresol full of the latest wifi technology, a lounge and kitchen utility.The view through the large window elevated over a vast expanse of water -a harbour basin in disuse- is staggering. Gulls gawk and ducks quack as a monumental ocean liner ploughs through the horizon in the distance. On the far left the sun tries desperately not to set, turning red in despair, colouring the low hovering clouds a luminescent orange. To break the ice, and knowing my theory of additive colour - where mixing orange with blue invariably results in a murky brown- I offer that it must be difficult to paint such a view within the limits of oil colour technique.

He gives me a bemused condescending look: 

‘Not at all, landscape is one of the easiest things, as long as there is some sort of horizon, the picture will be recognised as landscape, the rest is freewheeling.Besides, truth is to be found in the confrontation between the individual and the subject, not in the subject itself,  and if you look closely, there is a certain residue of brown in the sunset you see at  this moment, as is there cyan, magenta and yellow, and all of its variations. What YOU see is not  all there is. As for limited technique;  I have always believed that a large part of the beauty of a picture arises from the struggle which an artist wages with his limited medium’ 

Feeling slightly dissed, I launch a nasty one: Your latest series of work contains a large variety of quotes or even direct copies, what is your theory on that.

 ‘I have simply wished to assert the reasoned and independent feeling of my own individuality within a total knowledge of tradition. I work without a theory and I am driven by an idea which I really only grasp as it grows with the picture.’

 The next answer is another obligatory one liner:

 ‘One starts with an object, one doesn’t start from a void. Nothing is for free. As for abstract art, it seems to me that starts from a void, it has no power, no inspiration, no feeling, it defends a non-existent point of view; it imitates abstraction’

 I realise that this interview form is going nowhere. We decide to open a bottle of wine and join forces in discussing  the opposition between autonomous and pseudo-heteronymous art, this is what we came up with: 

 We agree that during the 17th to 19th century literature was the dominant art form, and the depictive arts were largely literary in content. Modernism was an effort to reject that mimesis, yet still a painter did not put up a play in a gallery and call it a painting, or exhibit his easel and call it art. Criteria for quality were based on aesthetics and the quality or nature of suggestion of movement within the art work. Art did NOT move.Art was there to replace the mundanity of existence with something more satisfying by suggestion – through representation. 

This is definitely a lot better, we are really getting into the linear development here.

 First we have a bit of a laugh: Abstract-expressionism is arguably the last modernist stance. In the 70’s An artist called Siri produced paintings which inspired art critic Jerome Watkins to write about their ‘flair and decisiveness and originality’, Willem de Kooning found them to be; ‘ very lyrical, very, very beautiful, positive and affirmative and tense….so graceful, so delicate’. Siri is an Indian elephant! On which De Kooning responded with; ‘That’s a damned talented elephant’. 

 Of course all hell broke loose with Duchamp and his infamous pissoir, which created a new order of confusion and catapulted art theory through a dialectic process of deduction and trial and error. To a temporary state of suspension of traditional criteria. 

 Art came to be an object from which the name art cannot logically be withheld. No argument was available to refute the designation. (O thou evil spirit of alcohol, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil) The inability to deny status is a negative logic, but not necessarily detrimental to the canonical forms or to the development of the arts. The neutralisation of criteria opens up the field to a proliferation of new art forms. Warhole’s mimicry of a media conglomerate  leads to a position of post-conceptualism with the acceptance of the claim that there is an art form which is not a work of art. The notion that an event could have the same kind of artistic status as an object  

The artist becomes the post-artist, the ultimate dilettante!

  An abundance of artists of various plumage continue to chirp, croon, cackle or sway their song heedless of which egg mother hen the art critic is hatching. Art has liberated itself from art critique and is the perpetual zombie, the un-dead.

 The confusion in the arts, then, is mainly a confusion in the realm of art theory and  partly semantic 

 There is agreement that art  concerns itself with quality and that when a work of art attains a level of quality, their practical utility expands exponentially and becomes incalculable, unpredictable and indefinable. It has no purpose that can be known for certain in advance. And this unanticipated, undeclared and unadmitted purpose is what the autonomy of art is grounded on and may give it its value in constantly modernising and organising society.

 Perhaps visual (depictive) artists may simply concentrate on their own problem of quality and become less concerned with culture, and the more heteronymous culture worker may professionalise his mimesis and absorb into the broad field of design and management.

 We reach that point in the heated conversation where silence falls, there is a slight embarrassment. I look at the wall covered with 144 vivid images: Mr Breevoort seems to have come round full circle in his mimesis of modern classics. 

Trevor Pobetree  2009   

+ 22 - 54 | § IEGELup and running

15 Jan '09 - 11:57 | 10 W, 2 I | Pbreevoort | default | three comments, already

+ 34 - 47 | § rosy fingered dawn

Rosy fingered dawn at Louse point (1963) 

To anyone not familiar with art history, the above title may be taken to mean that:  ‘Rosy fingered Dawn at Lou’s Point’ , also known as Joe’s Diner, Burger Bar or Seven Eleven. Where the stunning suburb naughty Rosy intimately harassed her sweet innocent neighbour girl Dawn behind Joe’s establishment. The act obviously having taken place in 1963. The accusation may even have been mouthed at the camera by a Jerry Springer spoof, with Rose and Dawn, in their mid fourties by now, clawing at each other in the background.

  The less perfidious among us may have read it in a different manner: seeing, with Casper David Friedrich in mind, a melancholy Dawn with pink hands clasped to her face balancing on the edge of the abyss known as Louse Point.

 The truth of course is that  ‘Rosy fingered dawn at Louse Point’ is a Willem de Kooning painting -based on a view from his Long Island studio- whose stunning beauty eludes me as it is an ABSTRACT painting! Abstract expressionist to be precise, and having been made in 1963, legitimate within the timeline of art historical development. It is one of the few, and arguably the last Modernist painting with meaning, in that its beauty lies within itself without the use of depiction. It is what it is, and it is frustratingly stunning. It is to me like the peacocks tail or the human eye to Darwin.

20 Dec '08 - 22:58 | 265 W, 1 I | Pbreevoort | default | twelve comments, already

+ 36 - 33 | § khrushchev

Painting has proved itself a phoenix, the perpetual un-dead.

There is something inherently appealing and seductive about motionless depiction.

There is something strange and obsolete about painting and video and photography cannot put an end to it.

 If we were to see art as a tree;  mimesis, depiction, aesthetics and the elusive ‘Quality’ would be firmly entrenched in its root system, the trunk would consist of that which is substantial for the arts; the human condition, and the various and continually developing -isms would form its branches, and source of energy.

Artists themselves have never been overtly concerned with stigma and continually prune and clip away dead wood.

 All art forms are mimetic by nature, imitating, portraying, simulating or depicting something else. Modernism’s probe to ban literature and representation from art too can be seen as depiction, depiction of itself, a pleonasm, an image of  theory, modernism is dead wood.

 We have come to realise that running the un-elected vanguard for the ignorant masses is, after the timely demise of all other ‘Great Ideologies’, no longer a feasibility or a position to strife for. Revolution is bourgeois. 

Artist have always studied, imitated and copied each other, there has always been a great deal of  ‘inter-textuality’, art is to image what literature is to word. 

Peter Breevoort, April 2007

19 Mar '07 - 11:43 | 238 W, 1 I | Pbreevoort | default | nine comments, already

+ 32 - 57 | § she appears to be strong but does she eat? (250x366cm)

21 Feb '07 - 15:23 | 15 W, 1 I | Pbreevoort | default | six comments, already

+ 35 - 13 | § there is something strange and obsolete about painting and video and photography cannot put an end to it (250x366cm)

Begin jaren 90 telde Rotterdam een aantal kunstenaarsinitiatieven met een tentoonstellingsmogelijkheid. Zo was er galerie ‘alles voor 12 en 24 Volt’, ooit begonnen in een oude slagerij, maar helaas niet onder de naam: ‘mag het een onsje meer zijn’ al heeft dat weinig gescheeld. Av12&24V was een echte galerie, met een keur aan min of meer vaste kunstenaars. Het onovertroffen ExpoHenK leek meer een tentoonstellingsmachine waarbij de dominantie van de curatoren steeds grotere vorm begon aan te nemen, waardoor het besluit genomen werd de tentoonstelling tot autonoom object te bombarderen en in de vorm van installatie te presenteren (‘boot’: Kunsthal, ‘Bar”: Groninger museum, ‘Huis’: Caldic beeldentuin) zonder daar andere kunstenaars mee lastig te vallen. Ten slotte was er nog Dionysos -gelijk al begonnen met een spelfout- die zich meer toelegde op het verzinnen van ‘projecten’ waar naar-aandacht-hunkerende-kunstenaars bij gezocht werden om invulling te leveren. Zo was er het merkwaardige idee om een IJskasten Tentoonstelling te maken, waarbij een dozijn kunstenaars een tweedehands exemplaar aangeleverd kreeg om naar eigen inzicht de binnenkant vorm te geven. Nog onzaliger wellicht was het baksteen project, waar een groot aantal kunstenaars, (jawel: ook internationaal!) een baksteen opgestuurd kreeg met het verzoek er een artistieke draai aan te geven. Ook het ‘kijkdozenproject’ waarvoor een twintigtal medewerkers weken aan het knutselen waren met barbie poppen, Marklin bouwdozen en miniatuur LCD lichtjes, getuigde niet erg van een werelds inzicht in de uiteindelijke loop der dingen. 

Nu is het natuurlijk lovenswaardig dat kunstenaars initiatieven nemen, proberen hun eigen agenda te bepalen en zich bezinnen over hun eigen positie, iets waar volgens hedendaagse onheilsprofeten als Frank van de Veire of  Julian Spalding een steeds groter gebrek aan is.“Het zielige zwijgen der kunstenaars’ noemt eerst vermelde het; ‘Hun zwijgen klinkt, en het klinkt niet goed, het klinkt al te berekenend, ontwijkend, diplomatisch, vreesachtig. Openlijke kritiek op het kunstestablishment is fnuikend voor hun carrière’. Hij verwonderd zich erover dat hedendaagse kunstenaars van alles en nog wat zijn, en kunnen, alle mogelijke verschijningsvormen aannemen  in een groot scala  technieken maar kennelijk het woord schuwen. Ook Spalding maakt zich zorgen over de ambitieloosheid van de kunstenaar, wiens werk vaak oppervlakkig is, een oneliner, een one trick pony, en dat zich plooit naar de wensen van de tentoonstellingsmaker of curator. 

 Het zou wat pretentieus zijn een oorzakelijk verband te veronderstellen, maar terugkijkend op de wat wezenloze ‘projecten’ van de vernoemde kunstenaarsinitiatieven begin jaren negentig, kan men al wel een spoor ontdekken van een zorgwekkende ontwikkeling waarin een steeds grotere nadruk zou komen te liggen op vermaak en spektakelkunst.. En (Meaning has fled from within the work of art to the act of reception and completion in the participating spectator) de participerende rol van de toeschouwer. Een paternalistische ontwikkeling die het publiek infantiliseert. Tekenend hiervoor is de tentoonstelling ‘come and play’, een aantal jaren geleden in Tate Modern; de titel van de tentoonstelling is illustratief, waar bij het werk van bijvoorbeeld Bruce Nauman de participatie bestond in het voelbaar maken van ruimte beperking en het decontextualiseren van de kunst, werd het publiek uitgenodigd om een partijtje pingpong te spelen bij Gabriel Orozco, een glossy magazine in te bladeren in de kartonnen lounge van Thomas Hirschorn, of een frisbee te werpen in de iglo tent van Carsten Holler.  Het publiek verkoos en masse de klassiek moderne meesters op een andere etage. 

  Ook het consumeren van een gember drankje en een spelen van landjepik in het Nederlands paviljoen van Venetië een aantal jaren geleden zijn  voorbeelden van kunst die aansluiting zoekt bij de wereld, dat zich begeeft op het vlak van socio, psycho en antropologie, een vermenging beoogd van dit, dat en nog een paar andere dingen, dat mensen ‘uitdaagt’ en daar heel hard roept bij of er kekke danspasjes bij uitvoert. Ook van het recente werk van mijn ateliergenoot Erik (van Lieshout), al verdient hij een pluim voor zijn brutaliteit en grootsheid van gebaar, zou gezegd kunnen worden dat het een groot soap gehalte heeft: ‘even kijken wat gekke Erik nu weer uithaalt !’, dramatiek van twee broers die samen in een huis wonen en op datehunting gaan, en dat hij niet zozeer de straat het museum in, als wel het museum de straat op haalt.

 Een overblijfsel van de avant-garde gedachte is dat kunst kritisch dient te zijn, en dat moet het ook, niet op de maatschappij, maar op de eigen bezigheden. Een kunstenaar heeft de verantwoording na te denken over wat, waarom en hoe hij iets doet, en te proberen tot kwaliteit te komen. In haar essentie gaat kunst over menselijkheid, over wat het is en hoe het is om mens te zijn, en niet over maatschappij of intermenselijkheid.De kunstgeschiedenis is een boom, een rhizoom, de avant-garde niet meer dan een ferme tak die de stam tot voeding gediend heeft. Misschien dat de jaarringen wat aan de magere kant zijn dit decennium, maar het groeit wel degelijk door.             

15:20 | 893 W, 1 I | Pbreevoort | default | six comments, already

+ 24 - 15 | § programmed

One morning the artist awoke to find, to his dismay, that he had been programmed overnight to paint an endless series of silly little paintings. 

 I recently received the above text with a large full-colour printout of a multitude of small images, albeit not endless. I count 144 small paintings, each measuring 30 x 40 cm, and be it questionable why anyone would venture to actually sit down –or stand up- to meticulously paint 144 small, naturalistic, recognisable images, yet there is logic somewhere. There seems to be method in it.

 As for silly, methinks the grunt of the metier is far too complex to be called silly, although some images do seem somewhat superfluous or wanton, I would suggest that there is no silly-ness involved, but rather ‘tongue in cheek’, a wry sense of humour or a ‘taking the piss’.

 I see before me the reproduction of 144 extremely lively and colourful images, there are definite themes discernable, 6 groups of 24 similar or clearly associated images.They are cropped tightly together, in group formation with minimal inter-space. I wonder what would happen if they are loosely dispersed on a huge wall, in patterns alternating dense with lucid, colourful with opaque, playing with the various theme’s. It would be a full 6 bar symphony in colour and themes!

 I see 24 portraits and recognise them as self-portraits by various canonical painters, Cézanne, Matisse, Corot, Goya, Ingres, Modigliani. Here the painter paints his self-portrait through reproducing the self-portraits of his examples.

It is like photo-shopping your reflection in Chuck Close fashion using cut out car ads and calling it ‘AUTO’

Similarly a series of 24 landscape quotes by clearly recognisable predecessors, loosely painted in the style of the original, whereby we note that impressionism is clearly not the favoured movement. We find Corot again, Cezanne, Picasso, but also an archaic El Greco and steamy Whistler next to a wild De Rain.We find a series of sea/sky scapes, some intricate, others elaborate, or dripped and splashed upon.The nude is represented in the form of 24 Asiatic models, probably Chinese, yes, well, I would agree that the western models monopoly on the erotic is hugely overdrawn, besides, on a less p.c. note it is probably wise to get to know your adversary.

 Analogous to Douglas Adams’s  ‘Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy’  I know that the answer is 144 (in this case) but what was the question again?

 I am intrigued. 

I decide to approach the artist for a guided tour of his studio. 

An hour before we are due to meet I board a subway to the South of Rotterdam, exit on an elevated platform that leads to a grubby street and stroll to the door I believe to be the entrance to the artists studio. As I extend my finger to press a small broken bell button -wires exposed and held together with chewing gum-  a hooded character growlingly offers me ‘a deal I can’t refuse’, a toothless hooker shuffles by, pairs of piercing eyes lust for my brand new sneakers. A damp smelling staircase with worn down carpet leads me to a door that is left ajar and a faint smell of ganja and turpentine wavers. Inside a bulky figure clad in dressing gown and slippers is reclined on a ragged coach, empty beer cans and bottles, squeezed tubes of acrylic and dead pizza’s scattered around . He snarls a harsh ‘fuck off’ and gestures for me to close the door.The walls are covered with images of a perfect circle on a monochrome background, the title ‘altruistic convergence’ scribbled beneath it, and, a pattern of purple criss-cross lines on a dark grey fond entitled ‘holistic doom’. There is something wrong here,  ‘Piss off”, I hear , followed by a reverberating belch. I check my notepad; ‘’Yup, wrong stop’’!

 Way overdue I arrive in Heyplaat, the pearl of the South, once a shipyard village build on socialist principles. The studio I enter is large, high-ceilinged with an elevated well heated entresol full of the latest wifi technology, a lounge and kitchen utility.The view through the large window elevated over a vast expanse of water -a harbour basin in disuse- is staggering. Gulls gawk and ducks quack as a monumental ocean liner ploughs through the horizon in the distance. On the far left the sun tries desperately not to set, turning red in despair, colouring the low hovering clouds a luminescent orange. To break the ice, and knowing my theory of additive colour - where mixing orange with blue invariably results in a murky brown- I offer that it must be difficult to paint such a view within the limits of oil colour technique.

He gives me a bemused condescending look: ‘Not at all, landscape is one of the easiest things, as long as there is some sort of horizon, the picture will be recognised as landscape, the rest is freewheeling.Besides, truth is to be found in the confrontation between the individual and the subject, not in the subject itself,  and if you look closely, there is a certain residue of brown in the sunset you see at  this moment, as is there cyan, magenta and yellow, and all of its variations. What YOU see is not  all there is. As for limited technique;  I have always believed that a large part of the beauty of a picture arises from the struggle which an artist wages with his limited medium’

 Feeling slightly dissed, I launch a nasty one: 

Your latest series of work contains a large variety of quotes or even direct copies, what is your theory on that?.

 ‘I have simply wished to assert the reasoned and independent feeling of my own individuality within a total knowledge of tradition. I work without a theory and I am driven by an idea which I really only grasp as it grows with the picture.’

 The next answer is another obligatory one liner: 

‘One starts with an object, one doesn’t start from a void. Nothing is for free. As for abstract art, it seems to me that starts from a void, it has no power, no inspiration, no feeling, it defends a non-existent point of view; it imitates abstraction’

 I realise that this interview form is going nowhere.

 We decide to open a bottle of wine and join forces in discussing  the opposition between autonomous and pseudo-heteronymous art, this is what we came up with: 

 We agree that during the 17th to 19th century literature was the dominant art form, and the depictive arts were largely literary in content. Modernism was an effort to reject that mimesis, yet still a painter did not put up a play in a gallery and call it a painting, or exhibit his easel and call it art. Criteria for quality were based on aesthetics and the quality or nature of suggestion of movement within the art work.

Art did NOT move.

Art was there to replace the mundanity of existence with something more satisfying by suggestion – through representation. 

This is definitely a lot better, we are really getting into the linear development here.

First we have a bit of a laugh: Abstract-expressionism is arguably the last modernist stance. In the 70’s An artist called Siri produced paintings which inspired art critic Jerome Watkins to write about their ‘flair and decisiveness and originality’, Willem de Kooning found them to be; ‘ very lyrical, very, very beautiful, positive and affirmative and tense….so graceful, so delicate’. Siri is an Indian elephant! On which De Kooning responded with; ‘That’s a damned talented elephant’.

  Of course all hell broke loose with Duchamp and his infamous pissoir, which created a new order of confusion and catapulted art theory through a dialectic process of deduction and trial and error. To a temporary state of suspension of traditional criteria.  Art came to be an object from which the name art cannot logically be withheld. No argument was available to refute the designation. (O thou evil spirit of alcohol, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil) The inability to deny status is a negative logic, but not necessarily detrimental to the canonical forms or to the development of the arts.

 The neutralisation of criteria opens up the field to a proliferation of new art forms. Warhole’s mimicry of a media conglomerate  leads to a position of post-conceptualism with the acceptance of the claim that there is an art form which is not a work of art. The notion that an event could have the same kind of artistic status as an object  

The artist becomes the post-artist, the ultimate dilettante! 

 An abundance of artists of various plumage continue to chirp, croon, cackle or sway their song heedless of which egg mother hen the art critic is hatching.

Art has liberated itself from art critique and is the perpetual zombie, the un-dead. 

The confusion in the arts, then, is mainly a confusion in the realm of art theory and  partly semantic  There is agreement that art  concerns itself with quality and that when a work of art attains a level of quality, their practical utility expands exponentially and becomes incalculable, unpredictable and indefinable. It has no purpose that can be known for certain in advance. And this unanticipated, undeclared and unadmitted purpose is what the autonomy of art is grounded on and may give it its value in constantly modernising and organising society. Perhaps visual (depictive) artists may simply concentrate on their own problem of quality and become less concerned with culture, and the more heteronymous culture worker may professionalise his mimesis and absorb into the broad field of design and management.

 We reach that point in the heated conversation where silence falls, there is a slight embarrassment. I look at the wall covered with 144 vivid images: 

Mr Breevoort seems to have come round full circle in his mimesis of modernist artists.

 Trevor Pobetree  2007    

19 Feb '07 - 18:00 | 1761 W, 1 I | Pbreevoort | default | eight comments, already

+ 15 - 21 | § HUIS

“Een algemeen beeld van de kunstenaar, dat zowel binnen als buiten de kunstwereld bestaat, is dat van iemand met een sterke persoonlijkheid, met een bijzonder individualistische instelling en een op zijn minst impliciet aanwezige geldingsdrang. De ware kunstenaar, zo is het idee, wordt tenslotte gedreven door de behoefte om zijn eigen emoties, opvattingen of filosofieën wereldkundig te maken door middel van zijn werk. Dit werk is een puur persoonlijke creatie; het is origineel, uniek en liefst ook visionair en verdient het om met gepaste ernst en eerbied beschouwt te worden.

Dit clichématige, maar nog altijd door velen aangehangen beeld van de kunstenaar en zijn werk, wordt door ExpoHenk met regelmaat onderuitgehaald. De werken die door de gezamenlijke inspanning van de acht leden ontstaan, voldoen immers geenszins aan bovenstaande voorstelling van zaken, maar hebben alles van doen met de behoefte om niet alleen samen kunst, maar vooral ook veel plezier te maken.”

(Een verzameling beelden, Caldic Collectie Rotterdam 2005)

Met veel plezier dan ook, hebben drie leden van ExpoHenK vorige maand HUIS in het Clingenbos te Wassenaar gerenoveerd. Het huis dat opgebouwd was uit een immense verzameling oud hout, vooroorlogs glas, stukken lambrisering, oud metaal en allerhande meuk, was nodig aan een opknapbeurt toe. Lachend hebben wij, tot aan de ellebogen onder het pek, de oude verrotte daklagen vervangen door nieuwe, en gehuld in lagen gruis de verroeste staal constructie geschuurd en in de Owatrol gezet, dat overigens ook heel leuk samenwerkt met de reeds aanwezige pek en stofdeeltjes. Ook de automatische ruitenwas installatie is weer aan elkaar geknutseld met touw, kitspuit, stukjes slang en kauwgum. HUIS wordt bij aanvang van het nieuwe seizoen in de beeldentuin, na de winter, opgeleverd en voor de gelegenheid ingericht als mini tentoonstellingsruimte waar de acht kunstenaars ieder een werk zullen tonen.

  

05 Sep '06 - 22:05 | 310 W, 1 I | Pbreevoort | default | eight comments, already