End of the Second Part
…
TR: So what’s this crap about the con on the front page of the New York Times?
PM: My batteries dying, so let’s try to make this quick. Donny Johnson is a murderer in solitary who makes paintings on postcards with the dyes he collects from M&M candies. He’s the latest in a long line of art world dancing monkeys, who get press as human interest types or freaks or oddities. Remember the elephant that could paint?
TR: Yeah, I remember. What was the name of the girl wunderkind you wrote about in Nashville? Nechita?
PM: Exactly. Alexandra.
TR: Where is she now?
PM: She’s about to turn twenty-one. I hope there’s still some money left. She’s still showing at fine print shops everywhere. Beautiful girl. Peace advocate. Anyway. Donny Johnson.
TR: What’s the scoop?
PM: You saw “Art School Confidential”, right? Great movie. The question is, “What do you have to do to make the news as an artist?” Slash a prison guard? New York City is still the undisputed heavyweight of the contemporary art world. The City is still a magnet for the best and the brightest artists. When’s the last time you saw one of them on the front page of the Grey Lady?
TR: Where have you been? The Times runs color. They just laid off 250 people I heard. The right-wing pundits are rejoicing. The latest affront to them is that article about the administration sending Israel bunker busters on the double. Man, finally the Times is doing its job. Breaking the story on the NSA surveillance program, the Internet records story, & then the bank records story: I’m proud of them. At least they’re not playing doormat to the White House anymore. Still, I can’t believe the echo chamber ranting about hanging the editors of the Times for treason! It’s unconscionable, not that that ever stopped Rush, Hannity, Michael Reagan, that lunatic Ann Coulter or any of the other hater hacks wrapped in the flag. What’s your point?
PM: My point is, the same thing happened down in Austin while I was there: front page story for a guy falling on his head and waking up as an artist inspired by wildlife calendars, another for an ex-con making sculptures out of newspapers. No bad on the subjects. In fact, more power to ‘em. It’s not their fault that visual art is the red-headed stepchild of the press. Every paper runs pages and pages of movie, TV and music reviews. Want to know why? Just look at their advertising revenues. Of course, they’re going to give short shrift to those poor studio artists! So what, if what they do is at the top of the free speech food chain!
TR: I’m starting to see where you’re going with this, I think. I’ve been reading that book you left, Rosenberg’s The De-definition of Art. Some of the most interesting stuff in there deals with this notion of the value of art as a vehicle for the self-realization of the artist, whose realization is shared with society through the art & otherwise, & that this process is one of the last of its kind in modern civilization. The artist awake & aware is a force to be reckoned with, in other words. So he is mocked or shunned, in the name of profits or propriety by society’s media vehicles, which are corporate-conglomerate owned. Berkeley did a great study on this a few years back.
PM: Every once in a while, you remind me why I asked you to help me with this project. So, in Marfa, you have Judd and his guys. In Austin, who do you have? …I know it sounds like I’m picking on Austin. I’m not. Austin isn’t unusual in its constriction. American cities are under duress for a host of reasons. Austin is unusual in its refusal to die of oppression, when the forces pushing at it are so crushing. Again and again in Austin, you see individuals making tough choices and sacrifices to do the right thing, against all odds. The Cantanker crew are a perfect example, and Shady Tree, and Bolm – their Father’s Day show was heavy and good - St. Edward’s and a bunch more.
TR: You did that protest in Austin, complaining about the lack of coverage, didn’t you?
PM: I did.
TR: How’d that turn out?
PM: At the time, it was a horrible drag, although the protest itself, during the East Austin artist’s zoo, I mean, Studio Tour, was extremely good crack. I think it led to some good things and was worth the headaches. What it pointed to though, as evidenced by the notes I got from the papers’ editors, was the incredible defense mechanisms of the gatekeepers in the Austin press, who short shrift the visual arts relentlessly. Corporate media vehicles are brutal in their starving of local news, though the editors of those vehicles will shrilly bum rush any poor schmuck who dares question the press’s performance. Also, the cultural politics that the heartless Right bleats about often do dominate the newsroom, and for the very reasons the sheeple cite. The New Left’s agenda does permeate the discourse on the local level because the individuals driven by ambition and agenda to occupy positions of cultural power are good at the Machiavellian dynamics of that workplace and easily forced to conform to the strictures placed upon them. They also make great straw men, as Keller’s plight illustrates. In other words, Truth, Free Speech, Art: they’re caught in a pincer movement. The question is, “Who benefits when these bedrocks of democracy are cockblocked?”
TR: Whoa. I’ve been mulling over all this for a few weeks now. It’s grim. I’m starting to feel like it’s time to bust out the rusty razor blades. I was looking at those pictures from your trip through New Mexico & Texas, of the Americano Motel & Sterling City, & it was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Look at what these assholes have done to this country.
PM: I know what you mean. Believe me. But there’s hope Tommy, all over the place. Look at that kid, Joe Romero, who had the show at Pump Projects. He’s making balls-to-the-wall paintings & they’re priced to sell. I hope Sean and Josh find a hundred more just like him, because 100 times that many are out there willing to hang their work in the arena. Over on Kauai, I met a guy name Ambrose Curry III. He gave me hope. He paints surfboards & makes art with fiberglass & he’s been doing it for decades. His stuff is on one of those discs in the envelope. Auntie Aina gives me hope. “Localize ‘Em” is her motto. A Scanner Darkly, which is an Austin-based production, gave me hope, even though they didn’t hire me for that gig. Then there’s Vincenzo, who has an Austin show coming up. He’s the one driving the Cushman around Shady Tree during the Xmess thing. He told me about a guy who figured out how to fuel an automobile motor with water. The day before, I’d read about a new Ivy League school discovery of a new desalination process that’s 75% cheaper than anything else out there. Rauschenberg, Stella and Smith are all having major shows right now. Susan Joyce at Fringe Exhibitions gives me hope. My son gives me hope. Our prayers up on Mt. Baldy give me hope. Mission Street Yoga gives me hope. My friend John K. gives me hope. Ed Moses gives me hope. Did you see that new show of his over at Bergamont Station? And then there’s Marfa. Marfa and Donald Judd and all the rest down there. In the bulls eye of La Entrada, they give me hope. I could go on and on.
TR: I’m glad you have some, ‘cause I’m all bummed out now. I don’t know most of those guys anyway. Fuck it. I’m heading to Cafe Tropical for a Cafe con Leche and a bacon, egg & cheese croissant, with lots of hot sauce. Call me later. I’ll be under the bed, mewling with my retarded cat.
