The Museum and Kitsch: Tim Burton at MoMA

From the official website of The Museum of Modern Art:

Taking inspiration from popular culture, Tim Burton (American, b. 1958) has reinvented Hollywood genre filmmaking as an expression of personal vision, garnering for himself an international audience of fans and influencing a generation of young artists working in film, video, and graphics. This exhibition explores the full range of his creative work, tracing the current of his visual imagination from early childhood drawings through his mature work in film. It brings together over seven hundred examples of rarely or never-before-seen drawings, paintings, photographs, moving image works, concept art, storyboards, puppets, maquettes, costumes, and cinematic ephemera from such films as Edward Scissorhands, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Batman, Mars Attacks!, Ed Wood, and Beetlejuice, and from unrealized and little-known personal projects that reveal his talent as an artist, illustrator, photographer, and writer working in the spirit of Pop Surrealism. The gallery exhibition is accompanied by a complete retrospective of Burton’s theatrical features and shorts, as well as a lavishly illustrated publication. 

In advance of delving into my critical analysis, I should first confess that I have no intention, (or even remote interest, for that matter), in refuting any of the information stated above.  In fact, I think it might even be useful for our purposes of critical engagement to acknowledge the validity of the aforementioned text.  So, yes, Tim Burton does take inspiration from popular culture and yes, Tim Burton has garnered for himself an international audience of fans and lastly, yes, it is also true that Tim Burton is influencing a generation of young artists working in film, video, and graphics.  

I do, however, feel obligated to address the ways in which the above text have signaled the presence of a rather large, and quite obtrusive, elephant in the gallery.   My present concern is not so much related to the message - “Come see the Tim Burton exhibition!” - as it is related to the medium of the message: The Museum of Modern Art.  And it is here, with respect to this medium in particular, a complex problem, or perhaps set of problems, arise/s, because if the medium truly is the message, then what is the “message” of a Tim Burton retrospective at MoMA?

In my attempt to decipher such a message, many questions came to mind: Is MoMA having a Tim Burton exhibition because of its potential for revenue?  How much does the potential revenue determine whether or not an exhibition will be held at MoMA?  Isn’t the work of Tim Burton a little too mainstream for MoMA?  How mainstream is too mainstream for museum culture?  Does the museum need to examine and possibly re-evaluate or critique its inclusion of mainstream (read: commercial) culture?  Does any of the work of Tim Burton even belong in MoMA, let alone an entire exhibition?   Can the work of Tim Burton even be considered art in the first place?  

At the risk of coming off as the quintessential, holier-than-thou art snob and all around fuddy-duddy, I contend that no, the work of Tim Burton does not belong in the Museum of Modern Art.  For my fellow art snobs and fuddy-duddies in arms, the reasoning behind this assertion is implicit.  In essence, the work of Burton is the epitome of Greenbergian kitsch: “popular, commercial art and literature with their chromeotypes, magazine covers, illustrations, ads, slick and pulp fiction, comics, Tin Pan Alley music, tap dancing, Hollywood movies, etc., etc.” 

As someone who came of age in the 1990s, I can attest to the inescapability of the “Tim Burton aesthetic” within contemporary youth culture.  And, for our purposes specifically, I believe that this uber-kitschy Burton aesthetic can safely be equated to that of Norman Rockwell’s Saturday Evening Post aesthetic (as cited by Greenberg). A marked example of Burton’s stylistic omnipresence in contemporary visual culture is the large amount of “Burtonesque” merchandise that is sold in the immensely popular (and obviously profitable) chain store, Hot Topic (see photos).  By having successfully appropriated and made commodities of the “Tim Burton aesthetic,” or “goth aesthetic,” or “punk aesthetic” (an aesthetic that had at one time, in its purest form, been a marker of cultural dissent and anti-consumerism), Hot Topic stands as a remarkable example of kitsch-peddling.  From the Hot Topic official website:

           

            The Birth of the Loudest Store in the Mall

It all started in 1988. A ton of teen retail accessory stores filled the malls, but there wasn't a cool music-inspired accessory store for both guys and girls. Then came Hot Topic.

As 1990 rolled around, adding apparel seemed like a no-brainer. What better way than to add the ultimate music fan essential - band tees. Imagine how our customers flipped when they were able to purchase Bauhaus, The Cure, TSOL, and Depeche Mode rock t-shirts at Hot Topic. Within a year, we had about 50 different band titles, along with rock-inspired clothing lines such as Lip Service and Serious. Today we have a growing line of apparel and accessories that includes band tees, band merch, teen retail such as shorts, swimwear, capris, pants, shoes and more.

As we expanded, we discovered that customers were equally drawn to the underground cartoon, cult movie, and comic book scenes. It was a unique culture fans could call their own, so we brought the world of South Park, Care Bears, Superman, SpongeBob SquarePants and tons of other pop icons into our Hot Topic stores.

In 1996, with about 60 teen retail stores, Hot Topic became a publicly traded company on the NASDAQ under the symbol HOTT. The cash from our public offering allowed us to expand to the over 600 teen retail stores we have today. Check out our store locator to find the location nearest you.

At Hot Topic, you'll find a passion for music in everything we do, and you'll see that our customers share that same passion. It's in our stores. It's at HQ. It's in our distribution centers. It's in our products. It's Everything About the Music.

Now that you've read about our origins, we think you're ready to shop. So where do you want to start?

They think we’re ready to shop? Ewww, right? 

Although the emergence of Hot Topic has, without question, signaled the final nail in the coffin of punk,[1] what remains to be determined is whether MoMA’s Tim Burton exhibition has signaled the final nail in the coffin of the museum.   While I certainly hold firm to my assertion that, due to its supreme kitschiness, the work of Tim Burton does not belong in the Museum of Modern Art, I am also aware that it is perhaps this same kitschiness that might be the very reason the work or Tim Burton does belong in the Museum of Modern Art.  Why? Because a Tim Burton exhibition will bring in more revenue, which in turn, will allow MoMA to (I hope) continue to hold exhibitions that are, well, not quite as kitschy and profit driven.  

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[1] For many, however, punk was long dead even decades before Hot Topic began to spread like cancer through the malls of America.   British band Crass might have been the first to pen punk’s epitaph with a song on their first LP that was called “Punk is Dead."  Ironically, “Punk is Dead,” which was released in 1978, was probably written merely a year or two after the birth of punk.  Retrospectively, the first verse seems to have been a quite accurate prediction of the inevitable commodification of punk, the byproducts of which have included companies like Hot Topic:

“Yes, that's right, punk is dead, It's just another cheap product for the consumers head. Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors, Schoolboy sedition backed by big time promoters. CBS promote the Clash, But it ain't for revolution, it's just for cash.

Punk became a fashion just like hippy used to be. And it ain't got a thing to do with you or me.” 

After Sherrie Levine, After Richard Avedon

Currently on view at SF MoMA is a retrospective of photographer Richard Avedon.  Here's the breakdown on MoMA's website: 

Whether photographing politicians, artists, writers, fashion models, or movie stars, Richard Avedon revolutionized the genre of portraiture. He rejected conventional stiff-and-staid poses and instead captured both motion and emotion in the faces of his subjects, often encapsulating their intrigue in a single charged moment. SFMOMA is proud to be the only U.S. venue for this retrospective that spans the artist's remarkable career. Featuring nearly 200 photographs along with a selection of vintage magazines, the exhibition presents work ranging from Avedon's earliest street scenes to his breakthrough 1950s Paris fashion pictures and the iconic celebrity portraits that brought him world renown. This in-depth retrospective reveals Avedon's singular ability to blur the lines between photojournalism, fashion photography, and fine art.

As a photographer primarily known for his "breakthrough 1950s Paris fashion pictures" and "iconic celebrity portraits," Avedon is a photographer working outside the strata of both art photography as well as postmodern photography (as per our discussion of Solomon-Godeau's "Photography After Art Photography").   The photographs featured in this retrospective had a very distinctive character: all were  iconographic images of human subjects, or, portraits.  Of all the conversations I overheard as I walked through crowded exhibition, not a single one was about Avedon's images.  It was clear that people were much more interested in discussing Avedon's subjects, a who's who of 20th century cultural icons.  Where much of the postmodern photography we examined in class were photographic re-presentations, Avedon's photographs were all, simply put, presentations.

After Sherrie Levine, After Richard Avedon

"Has Conceptual Art Jumped the Shark Tank?" NYT Op-Ed

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/16/opinion/16dutton.html

Serata Futurista

Last Thursday I attended at UCLA's Fowler Museum called "Serata Futurista," an event celebrating the 100th anniversary of the founding of Futurism by F.T. Marinetti.  Featuring live readings, performances and original Futurist films, Serata Futurista was intended to be a lively evening of Futurist art and entertainment.  Although I enjoyed watching the original Futurist films that were presented at Serata Futurista, I found that the live performances and readings were pretty off the mark.  As much of Futurist art and writing emphasized intense sensory stimulation, furious dynamism and hyper-kinetic activity, a event celebrating Futurism would either have to emulate these characteristics with 21st century fervor and innovation, or simply present a retrospective of Futurism that is temporally encapsulated as movement "of the past."  Yet Serata Futurist was neither, as it straddled awkwardly between presentations of original Futurist work and contemporary "interpretations" of Futurist writings.  A performance I was especially dumbfounded by was a reading of "Who's On First" that was interjected with snippets from Marinetti's 1909 "Futurist Manifesto."  I am still very unclear as to why on earth "Who's On First," perhaps the most trite, stale, tired example of archaic American comedy was read aloud at an evening celebrating Futurism.

Here's a few moments from another Serata Futurista performance "Science and the Unknown Synthesis of Syntheses":

The highlight of the evening was the screening of several Futurist films, which was what brought me out to Serata Futurista in the first place.  I think that the event would have been much more successful had it ONLY been a screening of Futurist films in that, conceptually, the live theatrical performances of Serata Futurista were extremely unsuccessful in their attempt to emulate Futurist proclamations.   Had the evening been limited to the presentation of original Futurist work and writings, the audience would have been able to examine Futurism retrospectively, as a movement that was responding to not only the many technological innovations of modernity but also the emerging political crisis of Italy's recent unification and subsequent WWI intervention.   The fervent and zealous character of Marinetti's first Futurist manifesto reflects an excitement and eager anticipation for a new era, for what is to come.  This excitement was made clear in the films screened at Serata Futurista, most especially a 1930 film by Futurist Tina Cordero entitled "Vitesse," or "Speed" (see video above).  Here, Cordero employs stop motion techniques, unconventional angles, dramatic silhouettes and other experimental production methods to create a film that truly deserves the title of avant-garde.  Yet as "Vitesse" and the other Futurist films were screened at the end of Serata Futurista, I did not enjoy them as much as I would have had they been screened independent of their awkward, modern-day counterparts.

Jack Goldstein's "The Jump"

Analog Hell: Projection Performances by Bruce McClure

Per our class discussions relating to the emergence of video art in the seventies, I made it out to the REDCAT Theatre last Tuesday night to check out the "Projection Performances" by New York artist Bruce McClure.  Using three 16mm film projectors as his medium, McClure's "projection performance" is thus created by his ability to manipulate and distort the hollow images projected onto a black screen.  McClure's performance Tuesday night was appropriately titled "Locative Enigma - Frameshape of Hard Mettles - A Personal Problem."
A personal problem indeed: MY personal problem.   The performance began without any visual gimmickry: the dimming of the house lights were followed by the projection of two, flickering white squares as well as a looped audio track of blaring (so blaring in fact that ear plugs were handed out to each audience member), repetitive, mechanical sounding thuds.   THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD (this 'beat' was continuous throughout the performance).  After my first three minutes of enduring this audio/visual assault on the senses I began to grow increasingly impatient.  At what point does McClure's artistry reveal itself?  Well, I can't answer that because I got up and walked out after about twenty five minutes.  I can certainly make the claim that my nerves were too fragile to endure another moment of what I would undoubtedly refer to as analog brutality.  What really concerns me more isn't necessarily my distaste for McClure's seizure invoking art practice, but instead, the immediacy that this distaste manifested itself.  I would imagine that McClure's entire performance lasted roughly ninety minutes, and of that ninety minutes I could only bear about twenty five before I could no longer resist the urge to exit the theatre and flee.  If McClure's intention was to test the limits of his audiences' endurance, I definitely failed this test...but I know I wasn't the only one.   As you can see in the video footage I shot of McClure's performance below, a fellow deserter is caught in the act.

Bruce Nauman's Skywriting

Connecting with his 1970s artist's book LAAIR that included a series of alarming photographs of the air quality in Los Angeles, Bruce Nauman's latest work, Untitled "Leave the Land Alone," is yet another work that calls our attention to the LA skyline.  For this work, Nauman hired a team of five synchronized jets to write "Leave the Land Alone" over the Arroyo in Pasadena from 11am-12pm on Saturday, September 12.  After I decided to skip Nauman's much lauded exhibition at the Venice Biennial (a decision based on the fact that I was totally unwilling to wait in line to enter the American Pavilion because, unlike every other country's exhibition hall, only so many people were allowed inside the at once) I was glad to hear that his next installation was going to take place over the Arroyo, which is practically my backyard.  Yet, perhaps as a result still being mildly agitated by the long line outside his exhibition at the Biennial, I had a few initial objections to Nauman's latest installation.  When I was informed by Professor Heffernan that Nauman would NOT be present when the skywriting was to be taking place, I was pretty disappointed.  You see, my initial reaction to hearing about this project was very enthusiastic.  In my utter and oftentimes oblivious naivete, I assumed that Nauman, as America's darling conceptual artist, creator, author, innovator, would surely be nestled in the cockpit, sitting alongside the pilot as his words, his art, was being written across the sky.  Not only was Nauman going to be absent from the cockpit, he was also going to to be absent from Pasadena, which, for me, called into question the connections between artistic production, authenticity, and authorship.  My other reservation about this installation was related to Nauman's as-to-be-expected Duchampian themes of irreverence and double-meaning.  As I mentioned above, Nauman 1970s artist book LAAIR was comprised of a series of photographs that documented the horrific and filthy air quality in Los Angeles, a problem that the artist is now directly contributing to.  How clever!   

Ignoring the "prime viewing positions" that were suggested by Pasadena's Armory Center for the Arts, on the day of the installation I headed instead to a vantage point of my own selection: the campus of Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy, an all girls private high school that sits atop a hill overlooking the Arroyo, and coincidentally, my not-so-beloved alma mater.  When I arrived on campus, the skywriting had already begun so I just started snapping photos of the remnants of what had just been written.  As the puffy white words created by a skywriting plane are not known for their permanence, each phrase was only legible for a few brief moments before the letter-shaped clouds began to dissipate into thin air.  Every ten minutes or so, the jets would re-write Nauman's declaration "Leave the Land Alone" over a different area, and luckily, I happened to be standing directly beneath this on one occasion and shot some prime video footage (see below).  

As a spectator, I felt Nauman's installation offered a somewhat puzzling view.  By having chosen to repeatedly skywrite a phrase such as "Leave the Land Alone," Nauman, ironically or not, is refusing to follow his own instructions.  While I don't think its necessary for me to delve into the multitude of reasons why Nauman's choice to hire five airplanes to create an art installation is environmentally irresponsible, I would however like to point out that although his choice to employ what might be the LEAST environmentally sound medium to write the phrase "Leave the Land Alone" is somewhat bothersome, it reveals Nauman's thematic coherency as an artist that embraces contradiction and paradox.  

Here's a photo I took outside Bruce Nauman's exhibition at the American Pavilion at this year's Venice Biennial:

Below are some photos and video I shot for Bruce Nauman's skywriting installation over the Arroyo in Pasadena on September 12.

  

Postscript:
Just thought I'd throw this in here, it's an email I received on 10/01/09, several days after I uploaded the above video on YouTube:

Dear Megandonovan,

My name is Michael Short and I work at Sperone Westwater, an art gallery in NYC which represents Bruce Nauman, and we wanted to ask you for permission to present you video in a lecture that Joan Simon will be giving in Chicago later this year about Bruce's work. Joan thought that you had the best version of this skywriting work on YouTube and wanted to include it in her presentation of images.

Please let us know if you can grant permission for this and if so, how you would want to be credited.

Kind regards,

Michael Short

please reply to:

michaelshort@speronewestwater.com