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- <text id=93TT2457>
- <title>
- Feb. 08, 1993: Reviews:Art
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
- Feb. 08, 1993 Cyberpunk
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- REVIEWS
- ART, Page 78
- The Princeling Of Kitsch
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p>By ROBERT HUGHES
- </p>
- <qt>
- <l>EXHIBIT: JEFF KOONS</l>
- <l>WHERE: San Francisco Museum of Modern Art</l>
- <l>WHAT: Mixed-media sculptures and wall pieces</l>
- </qt>
- <p> THE BOTTOM LINE: Koons adds a depressing footnote to Pop
- art with his self-promoting devotion to gloss and glitz.
- </p>
- <p> The Jeff Koons exhibition on view at the San Francisco
- Museum of Modern Art until next week--it goes to the Walker
- Art Center in Minneapolis in July--is a fairly grim spectacle.
- It is, so to speak, a consomme double of cliche: first because
- the work is more kitschy than kitsch, and second because it has
- been so often reproduced and discussed by a sensation-hungry and
- ideology-obsessed art world that its shock value has gone flat.
- The first time you go into a gallery and see a 7-ft.-high toy
- bear in a striped T-shirt inspecting the whistle of a London
- cop, all done in painted wood, faithful to the last hair, by
- some European souvenir manufacturer--Koons, who probably
- couldn't carve well enough to do his own initials on a tree,
- makes none of his stuff himself--the effect is, well, fairly
- unsettling. The second time you see it, it's just another Koons.
- The third time, boredom supervenes.
- </p>
- <p> By now, Koons' work is so overexposed that it loses
- nothing in reproduction and gains nothing in the original. It
- is pure stasis. Koons is the baby to Andy Warhol's Rosemary.
- There is no artist in whom self-advertisement and self-esteem
- are more ecstatically united than Koons: he makes even Julian
- Schnabel, who recently proclaimed himself to be the nearest
- thing America has to Picasso, look like a paragon of
- self-effacement. He has done for narcissism what Michael Milken
- did for the junk bond.
- </p>
- <p> Koons has, however, made a contribution to American
- culture in the form of comedy: the sight of so many critics,
- dealers and museum folk peering into the demitasse of his talent
- and declaring it an oracular well whose contents address
- issues, as the phrase goes, of class, race, money, sex,
- obscenity, beauty, power and desire. Art is short, bibliography
- long. Clearly, we are in Madonnaland, where every publicity
- hound--oops, semiotician of mass culture--must have his day
- in the museum.
- </p>
- <p> At the start of his career, about 14 years ago, the world
- was not ready for Koons. He made his first works, inflatable
- plastic flowers bought in a dime store and set in front of
- mirrors, without many people noticing. A second group of
- objects, vacuum cleaners displayed in highly lighted Plexiglas
- cases, failed at first to excite the indifferent collectors. How
- could this be? "I've always loved sales," Koons remarks in the
- catalog, "and to me, being a salesman is being very generous to
- the public because you're meeting the needs of the people."
- </p>
- <p> Thwarted in his desire to unload this philanthropic
- instinct on the art world, he spent a few years as a Wall Street
- commodities trader. But even as he languished in exile, the art
- market changed. By 1986, it was full of new collectors ready to
- believe that practically anything could be the Wave of the
- Future. The Hoovers were hoovered up. Then came some aquarium
- tanks in which basketballs floated, weighed down by a solution
- of Epsom salts and water to neutralize their buoyancy. These
- rather banal objects still strike Koons' fans as veritable icons
- of mystery and memory. "They are...dead things," writes
- curator John Caldwell, "and we realize with a shock that that
- is what they are for us as well, something from the past, our
- own youth, familiar once and fraught with memories...It
- suddenly dawns on us that we have not touched a basketball for
- many years." Gag me with a madeleine, Marcel!
- </p>
- <p> Koons' work is a late footnote to Pop art that relies on
- one obsessive device: the exaggeration of the aura of consumer
- objects, a devotion to gloss and glitz. An ice bucket or a set
- of "limited-edition" whiskey bottles in the form of a choo-choo
- train is recast in stainless steel; a porcelain effigy of
- Michael Jackson with his pet ape is slathered in bright gold
- glaze. Once in a while, Koons contrives an image of curious
- intensity, such as Rabbit, 1986, a stainless-steel cast of an
- inflatable plastic bunny, once pneumatic, now rigid and
- manically shiny, possessing some of the virtues of Claes
- Oldenburg's work 20 years before.
- </p>
- <p> In general, though, Koons' work simply repeats the debased
- polychrome baroque of kitsch religious sculpture in an inflated
- and condescending way. "Love me," the stuff says. "I'm your
- culture." Koons' way of looking radical to the highly
- acculturated is to play a tease: Don't you really prefer silly
- knickknacks to Poussins or Picassos? Don't you long for the
- paradise of childhood, before discrimination began? "Don't
- divorce yourself from your true being," he wheedles in the
- catalog, in the accents of a quack therapist. "Embrace it.
- That's the only way you can truly move on to become a new upper
- class..." One may be permitted to demur, especially when the
- call to regression comes from an artist so transparently on the
- make.
- </p>
- <p> Of late a certain desperation has entered Koons' output--or so one might judge from a series of paintings and sculptures
- titled Made in Heaven. They depict Koons having various forms of
- sex with his wife Ilona Staller, the Italian porn
- star-politician who rose to fame under the name Cicciolina. The
- results range in size from small glass figurines to a
- photo-based mural. The centerpiece is an over-life-size carving
- of Cicciolina and her swain in rapture, like Adam and Eve, with
- a giant python curled around their plinth. As pornography, these
- works are inefficiently winsome; as art, wholly inert beneath
- their gaudiness.
- </p>
- <p> In a wall label that prepares the eager visitor for the
- X-rated room in which these tidbits are displayed, the museum
- points out that "the artist and his wife function in a manner
- not unlike the vacuum cleaners," which is true, though not
- perhaps as meant. The text compares the "shocking" character of
- Made in Heaven to other once shocking works of the past, such
- as Courbet's Burial at Ornans, Matisse's Woman with the Hat and
- Manet's Olympia. And yet it adds, "All this is not to say that
- Koons' art is equivalent to the greatest work of Manet or
- Matisse, or that of Jackson Pollock..." What a failure of
- nerve! How can such slurs be left hanging in the air? At least
- the curator might have specified just which non-greatest
- Matisses or Manets Koons' work is equivalent to, quality-wise.
- Justice and public enlightenment demand no less.
- </p>
-
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
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