Recently
opened at the George Eastman House are two new exhibitions that, although not
intended to be viewed together, offer interesting insights into thequagmire of contemporary art. Law
& Order: Crime Scenes is a cross-examination of crime-scene photography
from TV; it investigates perceptions of illusion and reality (see next week’s
review of that exhibit). The other, Photography
on the Edge: Create and Be Recognized, is an exploration of outsider
photography. The exhibition has the work of 15 individuals who — either by
originally generating or by appropriating and manipulating images —
ultimately attest to an innate “compulsion to create.”
And
therein lies the rub: Are these images works of art because, for the most part,
they were never intended for public consumption and therefore comply with the
loftiest of modern art-making notions, art for art’s sake?
Take,
for example, the photographs by Lee Godie, who called herself a “French
Impressionist.” Supposedly homeless for most of her artistic career, she kept
her personal effects in rented lockers at department stores and bus stations,
and used the photo booth at a Greyhound bus station to photograph herself with
various props — a box of paints, a chalice — or wearing different outfits
— a brown and white sweater, a “fur” coat — to create a changing cast of
characters. At times, Godie later added color to select photos — a red
background here, a little eyeliner and mascara there — or text.
These
crumpled and crinkled black-and-white photographs document her temporal
transformations from one identity to another, one reality for another. But what
was her motivation? Can we, or rather, should we simply ascribe these actions
to a compulsion to create? And speaking of compulsions, was it really a
creative impulse that inspired Morton Bartlett or could it have been something
deeper, darker even?
Although
not formerly trained as an artist, Bartlett was well educated (Phillips Exeter
Academy, Harvard) and worked briefly as an advertising photographer. He was
also an orphan and never married. His photographs — small black-and-white
images of anatomically correct plaster figures of mostly little girls floating
amidst pristine ivory mats and surrounded by the requisite simple, black,
art-gallery frames — are vaguely reminiscent of Laurie Simmons or David
Levinthal. They’re also voyeuristically appealing and quite beautiful to look
at.
Yet,
there seems to be a potentially sinister or at least unnerving undercurrent to
them. (In addition to photographing these doll-like figures, Bartlett sculpted
them himself and dressed them in clothes that he also made for them. He called
them his “sweethearts.”) Perhaps that is because those of us even vaguely
familiar with contemporary art and life tend to look at the sweetness of the
past with a slightly jaundiced eye.
Then
again, maybe these photographs are all the more sweet and poignant because they
comprise a sort of family album — photographs of the family Bartlett never
had. Still, it is worth noting that not only did Bartlett refer to the act of
creation as a hobby rather than an art form, but he also allowed for eerie
innuendo when he remarked, “My hobby is sculpting in plaster. Its purpose is
that of all proper hobbies — to let out urges that do not find expression in
other channels.”
Overall,
the exhibition is technically intriguing and intellectually stimulating. In one
way or another, all of the images or objects and techniques fit into some
recognizable 20th-century “art world” directions: surrealism, dada, “bad
painting” (e.g., the work of Philip Guston), and there are multiple pop culture
references, self-exploration or autobiographical scenarios, and fantasies.
As
in much modern or postmodern art, ambiguity abounds. But of course, most of the
ambiguity comes from us not really knowing how to read the visual languages of
the individual makers. This is probably true both of the “insider” artist and
the “outsider.” Our culture is so diverse in terms of the idea of the
individual that easy reading of any personal discourse becomes quite fantastical.
Marcel
Duchamp, sometimes seen as the conscience of the established art world,
remarked once that, “It is we who have given the name ‘art’ to religious
things; the word itself doesn’t exist among the ‘primitives.’ We have created
it in thinking about ourselves, about our satisfaction. We created it for our
sole and unique use.” Duchamp was speaking specifically about our appreciation
and aestheticizing of African ritual objects and their out-of-context use in
Modernist paintings of artists like Picasso.
Outsider
art seems to straddle the edge of that place we call “Art” — as the title of
the exhibition implies. It looks like art but in some way is not. We love to
make comparisons and point out how one thing is like something else. We
homogenize and try to make familiar those things that are outside our knowledge
and understanding rather than to allow them to remain foreign or alien.
It’s
safer that way. And although the exhibition uses that catchall word “art” a
little too often, it still allows us to marvel at the creative production by
these driven individuals.
Photography on
the EdgeandLaw
& Order: Crime Scenes are on display at the George Eastman House, 900 East Avenue, through April 10. Hours: Tuesday
through Saturday 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Thursday nights until 8 p.m., and Sunday 1
to 5 p.m. $8, $6 seniors, $5 students, and $3 kids. 271-3361, www.easthouse.org
This article appears in Jan 26 – Feb 1, 2005.
