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- <text id=93TT0614>
- <title>
- Dec. 06, 1993: The Arts & Media:Art
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
- Dec. 06, 1993 Castro's Cuba:The End Of The Dream
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- THE ARTS & MEDIA, Page 85
- Art
- Dolls And Discontents
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p>A show at the Whitney Museum highlights the flailing adolescent
- outlook and weird confessional talent of Mike Kelley
- </p>
- <p>By Robert Hughes
- </p>
- <p> Every so often the American art world labors and gives birth
- to a buzz word or an ism. The latest one--originating in Los
- Angeles and current for a couple of years now--is "patheticism."
- </p>
- <p> You might say that patheticism stands to notions of high culture
- (an ever imperiled growth in the United States) rather as the
- antics of Ren, Stimpy, Beavis, Butt-head and their pals do to
- those Edwardian gents in four-button ecru linen jackets who
- are seen contemplating San Miniato in Merchant-Ivory movies.
- To be a patheticist is to have more or less given up. It is
- to have made the discovery, always startling to the young, that
- parents lie, that politicians cheat, that moral authorities
- are hypocritical, that human society is one big sucking morass
- of dreck, and that you don't need to have much language, or
- be much good at using what you have, in order to say so.
- </p>
- <p> Recent group shows, including that landmark dud, the 1993 Whitney
- Biennial, have been full of this stuff--by Sue Williams, Raymond
- Pettibon and others. Its tacky sub-pop imagery, its dazed passive-aggressive
- stance, its fixation on teenage weltschmerz, all entitle it
- to be seen as a mini-trend, linking up with the wider American
- cult of dumb popular therapeutics. In the 1980s, American neo-Expressionist
- artists shoved their excremental clods of paint at us with the
- self-evident pleasure that eight-year-olds take in dirty words.
- Patheticism is the conceptual version of this: no paint, just
- the words. Poo-poo, caca, and screw you, Daddy.
- </p>
- <p> But before dismissing it entirely, one should go to Manhattan's
- Whitney Museum of American Art this month to see the "mid-career
- retrospective" of drawings, installations, sculpture and performance
- leftovers by the movement's chef d'ecole, Mike Kelley. In the
- past few years, Kelley has become the most influential American
- artist of his generation. This doesn't mean that he's good all
- the time or even much of it--only that he has strong lungs,
- a weird confessional talent and a lot of imitators.
- </p>
- <p> Kelley is 39, Detroit Irish and blue collar. He is an ex-Catholic
- but in some crucial respects a Catholic still, and his work
- is charged with religious references and rhapsodic diatribes
- of moral insult that verge on panic. Jesus makes frequent guest
- appearances, and so do felt banners that parody the soppy semiabstract
- devotional art of the all-but-forgotten Sister Corita Kent,
- a liberal nun of the '60s. I AM USELESS TO THE CULTURE, BUT
- GOD LOVES ME, one of Kelley's banners reads. He is as deeply
- immersed in the religious aura of his infancy, pre-Vatican II,
- as any Chicano postmodernist doing lurid Madonnas.
- </p>
- <p> There was also Surrealism, which for many Catholic kids with
- artistic ambitions was the door out of orthodoxy. Kelley's work
- is larded with references to early eccentrics from the Surrealist
- pantheon, like the suicidal dandy Jacques Vache and the writers
- Raymond Roussel and the Comte de Lautreamont. On the other hand,
- his drawing is almost entirely derived from comic strips. Both
- confessional and obscure (why else would the museum have served
- up no fewer than 17 catalog essays to explicate it?), his work
- can nevertheless pack a flailing, provincial-surreal wallop--now and then.
- </p>
- <p> Kelley is best known for his soft sculptures involving found
- objects--soiled, discarded stuffed toys, from teddy bears
- and bunnies to green plush snakes, which he sews together into
- teeming clumps or exhibits, in solitary pathos, on mats on the
- floor. You can cite a host of precedents for this, from Claes
- Oldenburg to Jackson Pollock, but the effect really depends
- on the nakedness with which Kelley presents the toys as elements
- in a free-form psychodrama about threat and vulnerability; they're
- like the dolls that witch-hunting lawyers use to elicit the
- evidence of children in abuse prosecutions. The most successful
- thing in the Whitney show is a reworking of Man Ray's famous
- Surrealist object, the wrapped-up sewing machine. Entitled Lumpenprole,
- it is a room-size afghan rug with (what else?) lumps, the size
- of children's bodies, beneath it. A burial shroud? A metaphor
- of silencing, muffling, the defeat of speech? Any of the above,
- or all, depending on your preference.
- </p>
- <p> "A raging satirist," the catalog calls Kelley, but satire, like
- revenge, is a dish best cooked by skeptical adults and then
- eaten cold, and it takes more than Irishness and a fixation
- on excrement to make a Dean Swift. Still, we need to be reminded
- that adolescence is a cultural construct, a pathological condition
- invented by and for Americans--and Kelley, at least, does
- that.
- </p>
-
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
-
-