[The 1993 Whitney Biennial still retains some notoriety. Looking just at the art, it probably seems tame today. But the critical response was unusual, even for a Biennial. Usually somebody defends the Biennial, but in ‘93 there was almost unanimous condemnation. Daniel Martinez’s metal collar tags stating ‘I can’t imagine wanting to be white’ irritated some, certainly. But, for me, Gary Hill’s “Tall Ships” still resonates thirty years later as one of the great works of video art. For that alone it was a great Biennial.] October, 2023.
Two events: the Whitney Biennial, which I visited recently, and a nice traveling show of 16th-, 17th-, and 18th-century Roman drawings which will soon open at the Ringling. What follows is not a review of either. I didn't take notes at the Whitney, and we will include an informed review of the Ringling show in our next issue. But I have a special interest in both these subjects. I was actually in the 1981 Biennial, and 16th-17th-and 18th-century topographical art informed my work as an artist for many years. Still does.
The Biennial is always a curators’ show. The Whitney curators make a point of singling out what, in their opinion, is the last two years' most noteworthy work in all media. Importantly, it is supposed to be a national show, not just a show of New York artists. New York artists have an edge, though — proximity. To be chosen is a great blessing, even for a New York artist. An ambitious artist, if he or she is consistent (not all so chosen are), can parlay inclusion into a whole range of benefits; shows, residencies, fellowships, even grudging respect from one's parents. It helped me, certainly.
One important fact, however; biennials are seldom popular with critics and art writers. Curators and journalists seldom share the same values. Both deal with art on a day-to-day basis, but curators deal with artists as well, much more so than writers who are mainly concerned with the finished product — the art itself-and their angle on it. It is possible to review artworks without knowing the artists, but curators of contemporary art inevitably have a lot of contact with them. Artists are always angling for a show, writing proposals, sending packages, making telephone calls, explaining what their work means and why it is important. John Hanhardt, curator of Film and Video at the Whitney, knows every practicing film and video artist personally, has had lengthy conversations with them, can tell you all the basic facts about their work, held their hands in moments of crisis, coaxed efforts out of them that they didn't know they had. Basically, he is on the artists' side — he wants them to succeed. I believe most contemporary art curators feel the same. If they don’t, they should.
Writers, on the other hand, do not usually have the same stake in an individual artist's success. There are exceptions, Clement Greenberg for example. But Greenberg came under heavy fire for promoting (and coaching) "his" artists, an activity that many felt was not an art writer's job. For most, good or bad, it's all grist for the mill. Some art writers, for example, are never so happy as when they are doing some poor artist in.
So, the Whitney Biennial is ritually panned every two years, and I must say that, in pure art terms, this one is not a great biennial.
But it is a bellwether biennial, a very important one. Rarely has didactic art been given such a broad showcase, demonstrating convincingly that, for young artists and the curators who service and exhibit them, didactic political art is an important current in the visual arts. Because it deals with large issues, it appears to have the power to make art important to Americans, though that may be illusory.
It began in the 1960's and early 70's with such artists as Hans Haacke, Adrian Piper, Martha Rosler, the Guerilla Art Action Group, the Bread and Puppet Theatre, the Art-Language Group. It has been around now for 25 years, gathering strength all the while, not just in SoHo, Tribeca, and L.A., but in the art schools as well; Cal Arts, for example. This kind of art, fueled by the Civil Rights Movement, Viet Nam, Nixon, Reagan, Helms, AIDS, gay rights, feminism, has appeared with increasing frequency in Whitney Biennials since the early 80's, as art school graduates emerged in the artworld. But 25 years is a long time for an art movement today — has it peaked? Too soon to tell.
I write this because I know that the various art worlds devour ideas and artists like the Ogre devours Englishmen. Particularly an artworld that is so immersed in the media culture with all its vagaries. It was Andy Warhol who demonstrated that a successful artist today has not only to be a competent artist, but a media personality, a publicist, an adman, a great manipulator of public consciousness, a mystery, and it doesn't hurt if he or she is good-looking, as well. But Warhol's fame lasted his lifetime. Today's artist must be prepared to grasp his or her moment when it comes, use it for all its worth, then get a good job teaching when the inevitable decline in interest occurs. How soon they forget! Years of faithful pursuit of excellence in the finer points of sculpture or painting may win a Guggenheim or the Prix de Rome, but not enduring fame.
There was one particularly beautiful piece in this year’s Biennial, however, Tall Ships by Gary Hill. Hill is an artist known to me, although almost every moment we have shared has been an uncomfortable one, so I can't be accused of promoting the work of my friends. We have disagreed philosophically on many points, but Hill has more than paid his dues, making art of superb quality for years, and emerging as one of today's great practitioners of video art. I'm sure we would both agree on that, at least! Tall Ships is an interactive piece skillfully using the characteristics of laser-disc video. It is one of those pieces that occurs in a dark art space, and part of the piece is coming to understand how to interact with it. This kind of work owes something to the early work of Peter Campus (whoops, I'm going to be in trouble with Hill again if he ever reads this!). Inside the dark space are 12 video images projected at an angle from above the viewer's head, spaced a few feet apart along opposite walls. The images are either black and white or have the chroma turned way down. Each image is of a different person, male or female, some standing, some sitting, located quite far back from the picture plane.
As you approach them, however, they rise and walk toward you. They come very close. You go very close to them. It is a definite confrontation of personalities, very powerful. Sometimes they back away. As you turn to go, they retreat, rejected perhaps, back to their original positions to await a new viewer.
In all the Whitney Biennial, with its noise, crowds, and so-so political art, this one artist, for me, evoked true magic.
My God! I forgot the Roman drawings! Next time.
DG/end