Help is on the way.
So, I think it's pretty clear, at least to those who know me fairly well, that my three biggest passions in life are American politics, literature (American or otherwise...probably more European, but...) and this thing (for lack of a more creative term) known as "The Art World." And for the last several months, I've had a loss of hope in two of those. I see no major crisis right now in literature. I've read some amazing novels, classics and new fiction lately. But with politics, and Art, I've had some major doubts. There is a tremendous sense of fear that has grown within me, regarding the state of the country under the regime of George W. Bush, that has only very recently begun to turn into something more hopeful--after last weeks debate, I am beginning to think that there's a chance the general population has the potential to see the light of day, to see John Kerry as a real rival, an electable leader: someone who is presidential. And the state of the arts, at least in this country...well, it's been better. The Bush administration hasn't been particularly positive in supporting the more creative endeavors of the American people either... But more than that, I've found that I've become something that seemed at one time completely impossible and now no less than blasphemous: I'm bored. I'm bored with "drawing as the new painting" and even this nearly obsessive trend towards "installation art" (whatever your take on that definition may be). I can't even begin to describe how forced and just...old... everything has seemed. But a few minutes ago I
finished reading an article by one of my art world heros, Calvin Tompkins, in this week's New Yorker, a sort of profile of Mauritzio Cattelan...and I have for the first time in a long time, a sense of hope about art and the possibilities that exist within its spectrum. I can honestly say that right now I have not the energy to examine my rushing thoughts on this piece, so to do it any justice whatsoever, I'll just quote this one section from Tomkins, where Cattelan speaks of his newly commissioned installation in Paris, a life-size sculpture of John F. Kennedy, lying in a coffin:

"I see that art has a great potential
to refer to a broader debate, to go out there and reach an incredible
audience," he has said. "And if my work can't do that, wekk, it'd
useless." This time, he confided, "I've never had such doubt in
myself." He sees the fallen President as "a kind of secular saint."
Not someone to be worshipped or idolized, that is, but someone who
represented many things about America and the American life which
Europeans admired. To Cattelan, who was born in 1960, Kennedy's death
symbolizes the loss of hope. At the moment, however, he seemed to be
almost comically uncertain about the piece. "Am I doing something
wrong, because I'm not American?" he asked us. "I don't know
anything, I wasn't there, I'm too young. But still, he represents
hope. Kennedy belongs to everybody, I'm sorry."

I couldn't agree more. I think that passage is damn near poetic. And if I could say anything to the author, Tomkins, or Cattelan, or even our new (yes, I'm going to say it) incarnation of Kennedy, I would tell them that they represent hope, to me. And for that I have no qualms at all.

- posted by liz @ 10/03/2004 09:56:00 PM