Showing posts with label Cynthia Rodríguez. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cynthia Rodríguez. Show all posts

Thursday, March 11, 2010

The figurative rebels: The Stuckists Manifesto



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By today, everyone and their mothers know about the Young British Artists. At the highest stage of that manic episode called Cool Britannia, these kids came to terrorise the world of arts as we knew it: Tracy Emin with her crafts, her honesty and her soiled sheets; Damien Hirst, like his animals in formaldehyde, drowned in spirituality; Chris Ofili, talking about the black identity and its stereotypes with the aid of poo; Jenny Saville and her monumental paintings of monumental women; Sarah Lucas playing with food and comparing it to sex organs; and so on. We are also quite familiar with Charles Saatchi (collector in love with the movement) and the Turner Prize (which has been awarded to several YBAs through the years). They are a group against the classical notions of art. They are – or at least were during the 90s – a revolutionary combo. It’s impossible to be against the revolution, isn’t it? Against counter-culture? What would that be? Counter-counter-culture? Quite hard to pronounce, but it exists.



The Stuckists battle anything the YBAs represent. They think conceptual art is a joke. They’ve reported Saatchi to the Office of Fair Trading to complain about his excessive power in the art world. They may protest outside Tate Britain dressed as clowns, but they take themselves seriously.



One of his founders, Billy Childish, used to date Tracey Emin in the 80s. She once told him he had no future as an artist; and that his poetry, paintings, and self, were “Stuck! Stuck! Stuck!.” In 1999, Billy took this insult and shoved it up her arse.



Along Charles Thomson, he released a manifesto “against conceptualism, hedonism and the cult of the ego-artist”. Through 20 statements, they try to explain who they are, what do they aim for, and why are they so upset with contemporary British Art.



The first statement says that “Stuckism is the quest for authenticity”. Painting is their medium of choice, a way to self-discovery trough “a process of action, emotion, thought and vision”. Their model of art is holistic, a way the conscious and the unconscious can meet, without resorting to the “egocentric lie” of modern abstraction. More bluntly, they assume that “artists who don’t paint aren’t artists”, that “art that has to be in a gallery to be art isn’t art”, “the Stuckist paints pictures because pictures is [sic] what matters” and that “[i]f it is the conceptualist’s wish to always be clever, then it is the Stuckist’s duty to always be wrong”.



The Stuckists don’t care about prizes. To them, success is getting out of bed in the morning and paint. Their duty is to explore their neurosis and innocence through painting and display. Not as career artist, but rather as amateurs, unafraid to fail.
To them, “painting is mysterious. It creates worlds within worlds”; and gives us access to our unseen, inner reality, in ways that existing objects from a material world never will.



They don’t consider themselves a movement, but an international non-movement. They don’t see themselves as an ‘ism’ because they are stuck. They talk about the failure of Post Modernism, which now “has given way to trite cleverness for commercial exploitation”. Brit Art, with its powerful political and social sponsors, is not as subversive or avant-garde as it claims.



They replace the white cube in favour of musty museums and comfy homes. They swear they don’t play games of “novelty, shock and gimmick”; and give emphasis to “process over cleverness, realism over abstraction, content over void, humour over wittiness and painting over smugness”. They are also against elitism in universities, and demand that all college buildings offer adult education and recreational use to those who live in the community they are guest in.



You can agree or disagree with them, but I have this little doubt: if they swear they are not into “novelty, shock and gimmick”, why do we remember them for their protests rather than for their artwork? Maybe it’s because most humans pay more attention to sensationalism than work. We can easily recall pieces by YBAs because they are sensationalists themselves. I mean, showing off the list of people you have slept with could be fresh tabloid material. This isn’t new: everyone knows about that self-portrait where Vincent van Gogh has his ear bandaged. Why? Because he chopped it off! What about La Giocconda, by Da Vinci? What’s NOT about her! She’s surrounded by more rumours than facts! And I could go on for hours with hot gossip about “masterpieces” and “great artists”, but my name is not Giorgio Vasari.



Anyway, shall we believe this people that they are honestly all about painting and not fooling around? I just don’t know. Publishing a manifesto is an act of attention seeking itself. It’s not bad, of course. We all love our two or three seconds in the spotlight. :)

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Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Boys, Boys, Boys! /// Patterns of Beauty and Function :The Naked Adonis

Image: The Death of Adonis by Giuseppe Mazzuoli / Poster of Mystic Knights of Adonis Mardi Gras Parade.

Since my previous installment was about Venus in Art, I supposed it would be fair ( and logic) to talk about her male equivalent: Adonis, used as a synonym for any depiction of a beautiful boy. Certain formulae have been used to determine this through history.

Image: Kourós / Advertisement for Eau de Toilette Kouros by Yves Saint Laurent

We begin with the Kourói, statues that represented teenage soldiers and were based on geometrical figures. Hair and muscles in perfect symmetry, broad thorax and tiny waist. The pose was stiff; and there’s an awkward attempt of facial expression, an “archaic smile”.

Image: Discobolus of Myron / Logo for Gymnasium UNT, Argentinian high school for men

Stiffness left, eventually. With the Olympics, gorgeous man sculptures were all about action. The Discobolus was an example: twisted right before throwing the disc. Although deadpan, as if he wasn’t making an effort.

Image: Doryphoros of Polykleitos / Marlon Brando as Julius Caesar


The first proper Kanon was developed by Polykleitos. According to it, the idealistic human figure must be eight heads tall, pubis at mid-height, arms so long their wingspan is equal to height, with a certain correlation between the lengths of body parts. However, we’re just about 7-7.5 heads tall.


Image: The Vitrubian Man / Stormtrooper

Then Da Vinci drew The Vitrubian Man, or Canon of Proportions; accompanied by notes on the architect Vitruvius, who considered humans the main source of proportion in classic architecture. Everything was based on the width of palms and feet, and distances were strictly calculated.


Image: Le Modulor / Real human comparing himself at habitational unit in Marseilles

In the 20th century, Le Corbusier brought these ideas back with Le Modulor. He used him as a universal scale in construction. The first version was 2.16m tall – including raised arm, with a body shape similar to that of the kourós. Not quite realistic, yet the arm up and relaxed position are meant to leave enough room, in theory.

Today, we use any of these patterns - or a mixture of them - to represent men as units, sex-symbols, or mere depictions.

Now that we agree beauty is subjective, and mathematics aren’t always right: are they still of any use? Do we need new ones? Or none at all? / Cynthia Rodriguez

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Wednesday, February 3, 2010

She’s got it. Yeah, baby, she’s got it






Venus as an ever-changing icon of beauty in the history of art.



 Venus was the Roman goddess of love, beauty and fertility; features associated with women through the centuries. Today we’ll see her portrayal in Western art, constantly morphing according to the zeitgeist.
 Venus of Willendorf, a statuette with massive breasts and belly, was carved around 20,000 B.C. Whether made as a fecundity talisman, an anthropomorphic mushroom, or a P.O.V. self-portrait, she’s now a banner for female activists of all sizes.

Aphrodite of Cnidus, by Praxiteles, covered her genitals with a hand. The original no longer exists, but we count with several reproductions; like the armless Venus de Milo.(2) Once venerated in a niche, today worshipped as a Louvre highlight. 
 
Medieval Christianity thought women’s bodies sinful. Meanwhile, chivalry stories talked about unreachable ladies. She’s surrounded by a mandorla that keeps her away from her adorers



Reinassance brought us a plethora of Venusian paintings. Amongst the most iconic, we can find Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. (3) This redhead divinity, emerging from the sea, is recognised and parodied up to these day.

Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus is another example. The pose may presume modesty, but certain observers suggest she’s doing more than just sheltering her nether parts.

Titian made his own version, named it Venus of Urbino, and moved her from outdoors to nuptial bedroom. At her feet, a sleeping dog symbolises faithfulness.(4)
Manet’s Olympia was its 19th century answer, with a prostitute instead of a housewife. She ignores flowers sent by a fan; and at her feet there’s a cat ready to attack.
 
In History of Beauty, the last of Eco’s Venuses is Monica Bellucci (5) for the Pirelli Calendar. She’s a celebrity. No longer a deity or a whore; yet idolised as such.   Who could be the Venus of our decades? With today’s democracy and media coverage, anyone could get the place at the same time. We still have to see who’ll be our delegate in the pages of art history. Who would you propose?/Cynthia Rodríguez
 

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