Spring and Arnaud at Doc North

“…film as catharsis…”

Spring and Arnaud (2013) was screened at Nipissing University last night as part of Doc North. It’s a film about waiting for the other shoe to drop. In this documentary directed by Katherine Knight and Marcia Connolly, Canadian artists Spring Hurlbut and Arnaud Maggs take stock of life five years into Maggs’ diagnosis with cancer.

The underlying focus may be impending death, but luscious cinematography balances it by capturing the preciousness of life. We see sunlight bathing ceramic jugs in the heritage home they own in France and fog rolling through densely treed hills. We see Maggs carry a picnic basket to a flea market, play harmonica while Hurlbut dances, and read Emily Dickinson to her in bed. We also see them at work, making new series, rifling through their archives, and embracing so tightly in a gallery that Maggs’ arm flails. Evidence of the artists’ lifestyle, critical success, and happy marriage prompts the audience to believe Maggs when he says, “It’s [life has] been a great time, I’d say, for both of us.”

Hurlbut knew of Maggs’ work before she made his personal acquaintance. Based on its austerity and toughness, she confesses she thought, “I never want to meet this guy.” Nonetheless, she was charmed when they crossed paths at a birthday party. Hurlbut tried to call the whole thing off on the second date. Although the film doesn’t specify, perhaps it was because of age: Hurlbut was 35 and Maggs was 60. Maggs recalls having to rectify the situation quickly; he suggested a good-bye kiss. Tugging lightly at the tablecloth with his fingers and giggling, he says, “I put everything I ever learned into that kiss.” Hurlbut adds, “It was like good-bye, hello!” By the end of the third date, they were engaged.

Hurlbut and Maggs’ mutual support is the backbone of their relationship but it’s not flogged in the film. He says of her, “She blows my mind” and she says of him, “When he’s landed one of his ideas, he’s quite unstoppable.” There is a risk that the film could come off as pretentious, for as Hurlbut says, they are both fixated on “me, me, me, me.” What saves the film from self-importance is a scene involving a misunderstanding, because it leads to explanation. Hurlbut tells Maggs that she wouldn’t be interested in him if he weren’t a notable artist. He initially interprets her comment as tongue-in-cheek, which compels her to explain that she must be with someone she can respect who is driven by the need to communicate an idea, to have rich conversations, and to be engaged—as she is, so much so that reflecting on times when the engagement wanes causes her to sigh heavily. Maggs agrees that he couldn’t be in a relationship with a bad artist and reveals that he can’t separate his feelings for her as an artist and his feelings for her as a partner.

Hurlbut knew from a young age that she would be an artist, while Maggs made the transition unexpectedly at age 47. She tends towards sculpture and he to photography. Although their styles are distinctive, there is overlap in their approaches. Both love history and collecting, and both have embraced mortality as a theme on more than one occasion. For example, in Notification xiii (1996), Maggs, who deals with systems of identification, photographed 192 envelopes from French flea markets announcing a person’s death. Traditionally, this mourning stationery contained an x-mark in wax along the edges of the envelope. “It’s like crossing out the person,” he remarks. To see the series installed (as I have) is to be engulfed by grief. In a series of self-portraits taken at age 85 as “a record of my [his] existence,” he holds one of these lettres de deuil with a sad expression, dressed as the deathly pale French mime, Pierrot. Hurlbut also has a penchant for amassing antiques. In Le Jardin de Sommeil (1998) she installed 140 empty cradles and bassinets, which are strikingly empty. An even more direct statement about loss is Deuil (2005-06). These photographs document ashes from cremated human remains that the artist has arranged into constellation-like patterns. Fascinated by “what remains after death,” she began these unconventional portraits with her father’s ashes, and then used the ashes of other individuals. Ultimately, they became a way for her to cope in advance with her role of widow. She says initially she wasn’t clear about whether the series could even be considered art, which also cancels out any pretensiousness in Spring and Arnaud. Just as the photographic series developed out of necessity, the audience is able to see the film as catharsis, and not just as a tribute to their artistic legacies.

When Maggs met the artist Joseph Beuys, Maggs described himself as having all the time in the world. The film, in capturing the vivaciousness of the octogenarian, almost makes it feel that way. Two months after his retrospective exhibition ended at the National Gallery of Canada, Maggs died on November 17 of last year. He was 86.
Image: reproduced in 2019 via fair use/dealing. Source: http://firstrunfeatures.com/presskits/boxart/springarnaud_flat.jpg

David Carlin at Alex Dufresne Gallery

“The work then becomes a living entity…”

North Bay artist David Carlin is at once serious and silly: when we toured his mixed media exhibition, INTRANSIT, at the Alex Dufresne Gallery in Callander, Ontario, like a seasoned self-promoter, he made sure to mention his exhibition, Caged, in Englehart at the Englehart and Area Historical Museum with Lionel Venne. “My work is in two museums,” he said in a serious tone. He followed the comment with, “I must be getting fossilized,” and his giggle turned into a snort.

After a celebratory pasta dinner with much giggling, I strove to get David back into serious mode with the following questions.

H-You work in painting, printmaking, ceramics, video, collage, and probably some media I have overlooked. Do you have a favourite?

D-Not really...all the media are becoming integral factors in my work, although presently, I am enjoying video, which I find to be a medium consistent with my tendency to layer in non-video works. In recent years, I have developed a schedule of working on rough ideas for video, cutting blocks, and proof printing in Havana. Then in May when I return to Canada, I print and work on ceramic sculptures. In June, I begin the integration of the prints, sculptures, and painting into mixed media works. I also begin the final video pieces at that time.

H-Your opening is the first I’ve attended with Aboriginal drumming and smudging. When we initially spoke about that choice, you said that there is spirituality [present] before you make something. Do you see yourself as something of a facilitator of images that already exist and are just waiting to materialize, or did you mean something else by the comment?

D-The ceremony is a blessing and a way to give thanks for life...for creation. It is an important act. I think the seeds of my images grow from my life experiences. In the multitude of physical actions used in creating a work, a multitude of associations are being made. The work then becomes a living entity, one which is always changing and prompting its creator into developing its life form.

H-This is a follow-up question: when you looked at the piece, Mothman Transformation, you said, “The more I look at it, the more I wonder if it could be a self-portrait," as if the genesis of the image were somehow out of your hands. Is curiosity a critical component in your assessment of your own work?

D- Yes...sometimes...actually, oftentimes...I ask, “What is this?”  It may be months or years before the work speaks to me of its meaning.

Q-On occasion, you've referred to your works as ‘things’ and said, “I’m just a maker of images.” Is this democratization of art-making the result of years of working as an art teacher?

D-I think that “ART” and “ARTIST” in the eyes of many, if not most, are elevated terms that set them above others...but most people, in some way, are creators, are thinkers. I am a creator of images and a thinker. Most of my images pose questions not only to the viewer but to me as well. (I have included some commentaries in the show about me...visionary...etc.)

Although I taught “art,” I strove to make people think, to ask questions, and to evaluate.  A couple of years ago, I received a small wooden sculpture and a card from a former student. The card said, “To a great teacher who challenged us to think outside the box.” This was an important gift for me. The sculpture hangs on a wall in my studio alongside the card as a constant reminder to me...our artists, scientists, engineers, gardeners, mechanics, politicians with vision all have to think outside the box...at least sometimes!

H-You revealed that as a child, you enjoyed looking at clouds when you were bed-ridden while recovering from several operations and that even now, you look for images and associations in nature. Do you feel an affinity with Frida Kahlo [who had a long convalescence]? Do you feel an affinity with any other artists in particular and how so?

A-I did enjoy looking at clouds and also at knots in the knotty pine boards in the house that my father built. It was probably the birthing of my “surrealness.” I have an affinity for many artists from Paul Nash to [David Alfaro] Siqueiros.  Paul Nash was a poet, Siqueiros a revolutionary*. My tastes are quite eclectic. I have an affinity for Frida Kahlo's pain.

H-My favourite work in the show is An Interesting Conversation before the Emperor of the Sun (pictured above). You reworked this piece at the eleventh hour, after a brash comment from your wife. It’s an interesting anecdote, because she's also demonstrated great support for your work. Do you care to comment on how the dynamic of your relationship impacts your work overall?

D-This is a large work done in a small space. When I put it up at the gallery, I went, “Aaaarrrgh!” It was not working, and Judith [Carlin’s wife] implied that it was not a conversation with the viewer, but bullshit, and we had a good laugh. I repainted it on the wall! We joke around a lot. I will say things like, “Judith, inspection time” or, “What do you think?” I value Judith’s opinion and sometimes I even listen! Hahaha.

H-You split your time between Canada and Cuba. How do the technical challenges impact your creative process?

D-I love my studio in Canada because it allows me to make ALL the components of my work. Facilities are limited for me in Cuba. I work on printmaking in the Taller Grafico de Guanabo in Havana with Norberto Marrero and Janette Brossard. While in Cuba, I also concentrate on video where I have a small green room for video production.

H-How do reactions to your work differ between Canada and Cuba, especially in light of the fact that the emperor (and arguably by extension, totalitarianism) is a recurring motif in your work?

D-My work has always had underlying and sometimes blatant social commentaries. So does much of Cuban art. The reactions are not much different.

H-Next on your plate is Entrevistas, an installation that includes painting, video, and sculpture for the exhibition Reel Northern 2 at White Water Gallery in North Bay. What’s next after that?

D-Rest! I intend to work on oil paintings in conjunction with printmaking, video, and drawing.

*Carlin studied mural painting with Siqueiros in Mexico. He and his first wife, Sheila Elspeth McRae (a classmate from the Ontario College of Art), lived in Cuernavaca and Taxco in 1968.

INTRANSIT closes August 24.

Bedtime Stories for Halifax Wildlife: D’Arcy Wilson at Point Pleasant Park

“…a powerful message.”

"To crack a nut is truly no feat, so no one would ever dare to collect an audience in order to entertain it with nut-cracking. But if...one does do that and succeeds in entertaining the public, then it cannot be a matter of simple nut-cracking." ~ Franz Kafka

After driving two eleven-hour days to Halifax to celebrate our wedding anniversary, my husband and I were in dire need of a long walk. It was fortuitous, then, that we spotted a poster for D’Arcy Wilson’s performance art hike through Point Pleasant Park on our first night there, July 31.

Wilson is an interdisciplinary Halifax-based artist and Point Pleasant Park artist in residence who is concerned with the lack of connection between humans and animals. In Bedtime Stories: Tucking in the Wildlife of Point Pleasant Park, she led a small group of adults to various locations in the wooded park, where she read children’s stories aloud to the wildlife at nightfall. In doing so, she tapped into a long line of artists like Joseph Beuys and Richard Long; the former interacted performatively with a live coyote and a dead hare, and the latter walked extensively through the wilderness. At the same time, Wilson tapped into the 21st century trend of relational aesthetics, the non-object-based experience of art where community is key. A quotation from the recent book, Spheres of Action: Art and Politics (Tate Publishing) comes to mind. Maurizio Lazzarato, in describing Kafka's character, Josephine, singing and piping for the mice people, says, "Josephine does not measure herself up to the list of artist traditions, but she plugs into the outside, into what happens. She makes art as much with small events as she does with large ones."

Wilson’s first destination was a pond surrounded by vacant picnic tables; at that hour, aside from a few dog walkers, we had the place to ourselves. We sprawled on the grass and she kneeled down, perched in such a way that her voice was directed at the water and not the void above it. She began reading Arnold Lobel’s tale of Frog and Toad and the missing button with enunciation befitting a children’s librarian or primary school teacher. Ribbits sounded throughout and conveniently, after her final goodnight wishes.

The photographer and videographer both had a privileged viewpoint, because they were able to move around and position themselves opposite the artist, who always read with her back to the audience. Documenting performance art is necessary in terms of enriching art historical research, enhancing artists’ grant applications, etc., but for the participants—the ones who, in Wilson’s words, made a big commitment by coming out—there is a trade-off. The documentation will surely convey tranquility, not capture tranquility tempered by the distraction of documentation.

Since adults are no more accustomed to being the audience for bedtime stories than animals, some of the distraction is our own doing. One individual, for instance, was spotted checking a cell phone. Folks, please power down in the face of nature and culture! I don’t mean to suggest I was a perfect audience member. When Wilson pulled out a megaphone for one of the stories, I stifled a giggle. Rather than blaming the performance for my waning attention, I chose to dig deeper and question whether I might have lost my sense of wonder. How would the child version of me react in my place? Rapt, undoubtedly. And that is a powerful realization.

Wilson, in contrast, was not short on wonder. She delivered the stories in her shoulderbag in a cheerful tone and was exuberant as she guided us from site to site. With her hair swept up in a bun, it was easy to see her expressions in profile as she marvelled at her surroundings. At one point, she gestured to the sunset and whispered, “So pretty!” As night fell, she took to reading by a headlamp, and the pages assumed a magical glow.

When the performance was over, a group of complete strangers made their way through the dark forest. Personally, I spent most of that stretch feeling grateful that I had never watched The Blair Witch Project. Finally, we arrived to the parking lot, and said goodbyes in hushed tones. Seconds later, five motorcycles careened through the street, making excessive noise. The fact that I bristled is an indication that I was indeed charmed. Image: Poster detail advertising event. Reproduced in 2019 via fair use/dealing. Source: https://www.darcywilson.org/recalling-your-presence-while-calling-your-name/jtuzkmi2d103eksc1mz17tec3os1r1

Art Girls Are Easy

“...suitably tame for a young adult audience…”

I’m not the biggest fan of flying. Compared to the alternatives, it’s expensive and bad for the environment. Plus, my gut indicates it defies all laws of physics (and my brain cannot disagree because I never took physics in high school). On my first flight ever, as a teenager, I read a scary novel to distract myself. I was taken back to my teen years earlier this week on a flight to Regina, with a tale of budding artists at summer camp.

Thrown off by the title, Art Girls Are Easy (2013, Poppy) and the fire engine red lips on the cover, I accidentally pre-ordered a young adult novel from Amazon. Alas, I suppose I will donate it to the library at the high school where my husband works. As it turned out, light reading was the perfect prelude to two days of reflecting intensely on how recent changes to copyright law affect academic institutions. Another upshot of reading below my level is that even though I waited until boarding to crack open the Julie Klausner novel, I got through the conclusion at the baggage claim.

When I say ‘conclusion,’ I should really say ‘improbable conclusion’: the prospect of a 15-year-old breaking into the New York art world is as hard for me to buy into as the concept of flight. The characterization of protagonist Indy Hamlisch as a prodigy seems far-fetched because she has the whole package. Her advanced technical skill seems plausible, but the conceptual sophistication of her projects (like her pre-pubescent appropriation of Andy Warhol’s Electric Chair prints using patio furniture and Christmas lights) does not. While her peers are into Dolce and Gabbana, Indy idolizes artist duo Gilbert and George. Granted, she is introspective as a result of her mother dying when Indy was six years old, and she has been exposed to performance art through her performance artist stepmother, but still! I will concede that it’s better to set the bar too high than too low for aspiring artists reading the novel. It’s also exciting that Indy recognizes she is talented and is disinterested in masking it to fit in socially.

Although the novel is endorsed by comedian Amy Poehler, I never found myself laughing out loud at my reading material like my seatmate did with hers. A friend from my Art History Masters who now hails from the library world, she observed that my book looked racy. In actuality, it is suitably tame for a young adult audience. The only x-rated content is a theatrical performance about a sex worker, with Hamlisch’s BFF in the lead role. Kalusner may open the novel with Hamlisch thinking about sex, but she doesn’t go further than kissing. A flawed character, she makes out twice while drunk: with a boy from another camp she doesn’t even like, and with a much older camp instructor she really likes. In a jealous rage over said instructor, she cuts herself intentionally, and takes the studio blowtorch to his painting for revenge.

What Indy discovers after her pyromaniac stint is that personal expression and creativity trump romance (or at least ill-advised romance). This theme is interwoven with the female equivalent of—pardon the vulgarity—‘bros before hoes,’ which gives the novel a surprising feminist twist. Image: reproduced in 2019 via fair use/dealing. Source: https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/?s=art+girls+are+easy

Out of Print at Modern Fuel

"I knew that I wanted to touch upon...instances where Kingston was directly mentioned (such as an article addressing the burning of General Idea’s Miss 1984 Pavillion)."--Kevin Rodgers

 I was delighted to make good time between Toronto and Kingston earlier in the month to attend a series of presentations at the Agnes Etherington Art Centre about the exhibition, A Vital Force: The Canadian Group of Painters (for which I copy edited the catalogue). Arriving early meant I got to visit Modern Fuel Artist-Run Centre, which has an interesting exhibition of art publications on display until June 15. Artistic Director, Kevin Rodgers, is interviewed below.

H- As a former art librarian, I was delighted to see gems like the Dennis Tourbin catalogue in Out of Print. How did you curate the selection of materials on display?

K- I should provide a bit of background first. In December 2012, I started my position as Artistic Director at Modern Fuel. At the time I noticed the collection of print material (magazines, artists’ books, etc.) that were casually placed on a row of shelves in the offices. As someone who has an interest in print material, I was curious to see what was actually there (at that point, there were no records that I knew of that indicated what the contents were). This row of shelving was officially called the Nan Yeomans Resource Centre, and it was a recent initiative of the gallery.

Over the next few months, I began going through the contents. Some items I was familiar with, and others were completely new to me, such as the Dennis Tourbin books.  I could tell after a few hours of going through the material that there were some rare and quite wonderful artists books and items, and I wanted to exhibit them. I wanted people to know what we had on hand.

The selection of works was rather organic: I knew that I wanted to touch upon the political publications of the late 1970s and early 1980s (Red Herring, Incite), some conceptual practices (N.E. Thing Company) and instances where Kingston was directly mentioned (such as an article addressing the burning of General Idea’s Miss 1984 Pavillion). These were the starting points.

H- When did Modern Fuel begin collecting catalogues and books for the Nan Yeomans Resource Library?

K- The Nan Yeomans Resource Library was created in 2006. It was the name given to the collection of material that had been accruing in the offices--either by subscription, sought out by former board members and staff, or donated. The material dates back to 1977, the founding of the KAAI (Kingston Artists Association Inc.).

H- The postal system has really networked Canadian artist-run centres over the years and ARCs continue to have an impressive catalogue exchange system. Is that how the majority of items in your collection were amassed?

K- There are numerous items that were acquired through the catalogue exchange system. I would say many of the items from the 1990s were acquired this way, although I’d be speculating on how the majority of items were amassed. Part of the pleasure of looking through this stuff was thinking about how it came to be here, and there are many that remain mysterious.

H-Some of the items on display are showing their age. Was the value of the material discovered or agreed upon only recently?

K- I don’t think the contents of the Library had really been gone through for some time. My understanding is that there was an awareness of the value to some of the material, and acknowledgement of this by transforming the collection into a Resource Library.  However, many items were poorly stored and one of my initiatives is to get this material properly catalogued, preserved, and displayed.

H- Did you find any interesting inscriptions while going through the materials?

K- There were not a lot of inscriptions that I found, surprisingly. Some signatures, some dates. Even those are few and far between. Mind you, I am slowly working my way through the collection, so I am sure there are still some to be discovered.

H- How would you say the role of an ARC library differs from that of a larger institution? The reason I ask is that you have displayed the catalogue for Joyce Wieland’s (landmark) show at the National Gallery, who would have preserved the catalogue already in a climate controlled facility and promoted access by cataloguing it.

K- This is a very interesting question, and I’m not sure I have a satisfying answer. I would like our Library to be a resource, but also a place to see print works displayed in conjunction with the exhibitions. So for each exhibition, selections would be brought out from the collection to complement the artwork, to provide another angle for meaning and to activate histories. This is one way that perhaps it differs from the collection as archive, removed from context so to speak.

Artexte in Montreal is an amazing facility for collecting artists' books and material, and I appreciate the type of exhibitions that they put on in relation to their collection.  Modern Fuel has a completely different mandate, and much less material in our library. What we will do is still something to be seen, but the spirit of Artexte is one that I’d like to keep in mind.

H- Agreed: Artexte is a wonderful model. My first impression of their space was admiration of their journal collection. Speaking of journals, can you tell me about Matriart? I had no idea that Canada used to have a feminist art journal!

A- Matriart was a publication out of the Women’s Art Resource Centre in Toronto, and lasted for eight years.  We have about six issues, including the first one launched in 1990. Each issue was organized around particular thematics, such as Empowerment and Marginalization, or Women in Prison. It is a journal that I was unfamiliar with prior to finding it in our collection, and one that I’m also interested in looking more into.

H- Are there any plans for the Nan Yeomans Resource Library that you’d like to reveal?

K- While I’ve mentioned a few ideas throughout my answers so far, the main change will be when Modern Fuel moves to our new location at the Tett Centre in the summer of 2014. In that new space, we will have a proper display area for the material, and visitors will be able to access the collection easier. We are also reinstating subscriptions, and reconnecting with galleries for print exchanges. I certainly think there is a resurgence of artists interested in producing books and multiples, and I’d like to see our Library be a place (again) where this type of work is encountered and supported.

H- Best of luck with your move, and thanks for your time, Kevin!

Image: reproduced in 2019 via fair use/dealing. Source: http://www.modernfuel.org/art/programming/event/618

Renegotiating the Body: Feminist Art in 1970s London

“Jemima Stehli undressed and redressed in front of male members of the art world…”

As a librarian, I must admit that it’s difficult to be unbiased about a book that (1) thanks multiple librarians in its acknowledgements and (2) in its introduction, highlights the importance of converting private knowledge into public information (via artist interviews). But here goes…

In Renegotiating the Body: Feminist Art in 1970s London (I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd, 2013), Kathy Battista strives to redress the dearth of feminist art scholarship in Britain by younger academics.

As Linda Nochlin urged in her well-known article, “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” (1971), Battista doesn’t just cite examples of talented artists like Mary Kelly. She looks at the conditions that discouraged or encouraged their professional success.

Battista is clear that her account is not meant to be encyclopedic. Her introductions of artists are fairly extensive, and once the reader is familiar with each artist’s oeuvre, she weaves them in and out of the book, bringing them back into the discussion just when you assume that is the last you will read of them. Since it would be unnatural to suggest that each artist only relates to one of the myriad themes she explores, it allows the reader to appreciate the web of connections as the artists resurface.

As for the title, Renegotiating the Body, Battista notes that prior to the second wave of feminism, “[t]he only female presence within the public space of the museum was the female model, often nude” (p. 18). Women artists in Britain needed to work around the existing system. They found alternative spaces to public museums to show their work (Bobby Baker, for instance, used a mobile home). With painting having reached something of an impasse with Jackson Pollock, female artists used unconventional materials in their work. The most available to them was their own bodies. The body was not so much a theme as a vehicle to address more complex ideas in performances. Some artists chose to keep their clothes on (Rose Finn-Kelcey recalls the unstated question about when she would take her clothes off) while others addressed the female-as-muse trope head on (Carolee Schneeman dressed and undressed repeatedly while giving an art history lecture).

The issues in London’s 1970s feminist art scene mirror those elsewhere. For instance, one artist says that wearing makeup was considered a cardinal sin. I recall that it was also a bone of contention among America’s feminist artists (Hannah Wilke was pro; Judy Chicago was con). Through archival research and personal interviews, Battista uncovers many examples of relatively unknown works that reveal an international web of influence. For instance, there was a British reinterpretation of Womanhouse (a Californian student installation spearheaded by Judy Chicago) organized by Kate Walker with such memorable images as a woman in bridal attire half submerged in a heap of garbage.

Given Battista’s position as Director of Contemporary Art at Sotheby’s Institute of Art in New York, it’s unsurprising that she demonstrates how recent British art was influenced by the 1970s, whether consciously or unconsciously. For example, Jemima Stehli undressed and redressed in front of male members of the art world and displayed photographs of them photographing her, which relates to Carolee Schneeman’s aforementioned art history lecture. Another example is Tracey Emin’s My Bed, which harks back to Judy Clark’s display of tissues from 28 days of sex with her partner in Semen in Boxes. My, how times have changed: Clark was delighted to be offered a solo exhibition the night she unveiled this work yet Emin’s piece sold to Charles Saatchi for £150,000. One of the factors Battista attributes to more women being in the limelight now is increased male support, like megastar Damien Hirst promoting Sarah Lucas. Gentlemen readers, please take note.

The book contains a bibliography, notes, and an index. Images are in black and white, but it would be helpful to see them in colour, especially with works featuring blood, fecal matter, etc. since their shock value is lessened in this state. Also consider the loss of impact in Jemima Stehli’s Strip Series. When one of her male subjects wrote about the shoot in The Guardian*, he noted the bright red wall and the professional black suit he wore. Here, we lose access to those details.

*Adrian Searle, “Why Do I Feel Naked?”, The Guardian, July 15, 2000, http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2000/jul/15/books.guardianreview4

Image: reproduced in 2019 via fair use/dealing. Source: https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/renegotiating-the-body-9781848859616/

From the Feminist Lending Library: Becoming Judy Chicago

“…an art critic...told her that she would have to choose between being an artist and being a woman.”

I first encountered Jen Kennedy and Liz Linden’s book swap... in a private tour for Bibliography Week attendees of the Center for Book Arts exhibition, Brother Can You Spare a Stack? (January 18-March 30). I made a note to self to bring an item to put into circulation the next time I was in Manhattan. Since the intention of the book swap is to facilitate community-based knowledge production in the face of university and library privatization (1), the most appropriate book in my collection seemed to be a 1976 reprint of Our Bodies, Ourselves. In this landmark publication by the Boston Women's Health Book Collective, women shared intimate details of their reproductive health and sexuality, forming an incredible resource in the pre-Internet era.

In exchange for donating Our Bodies, Ourselves, I picked up a biography of the artist Judy Chicago by Gail Levin since I enjoyed her biography of Lee Krasner. Becoming Judy Chicago (Harmony Books, 2007) may sound like a familiar title since a book called Becoming Georgia O’Keefe was published recently. Back to the books in the FL, coincidentally, Our Bodies, Ourselves is mentioned twice in Becoming Judy Chicago: once as a book on Chicago’s reading list for students, and again in a quotation accusing Chicago of never moving past the Our Bodies, Ourselves era with her subject matter of vulvas, birth, and other ‘female subjects.’

The biography I took home to Canada is actually a publisher’s proof, which is interesting from an editorial standpoint (for instance, the photos the text references are absent). As much as Levin might cringe at the thought of an uncorrected proof falling into hands for which it was never intended, she’d probably also dig the serendipitous visual effect shown in this photo (see left). She opens the book with several paragraphs describing the cover photo, in which the artist is posed as a boxer in the same ring where Muhammad Ali trained, mocking the machismo of the art world. This publicity stunt marked both a change in gallery representation and her name (from her married surname to a nod to her hometown that doubled as a divestment of “male social dominance” [2]). The orange ‘give a book, take a book’ stamp of the Feminist Library on the inside front cover frames her face and when the light shines through, it looks a bit like a halo and a bit like her face has been reproduced on a coin. Either way, Chicago’s greatness is implied. It’s fitting, considering that Levin champions Chicago, for example, in calling her a pioneer of minimalism and in defending her collaboration, The Holocaust Project: From Darkness into Light.

Personally, I struggled with Chicago’s self-importance in her first autobiography and never made it to her second one. Levin points out that bristling against her chutzpah is both common and unfair, and is rooted in the genius label seeming mismatched with a woman. Indeed, an art critic Chicago dated once told her that she would have to choose between being an artist and being a woman. Fortunately, Levin balances Chicago’s fearlessness and pride articulated in her personal letters and diaries—which are quoted extensively—with a measured tone. She delves deeply into her past, but not at the sake of credibility: it was impressive to read that Levin interviewed a female lover of the otherwise straight artist and that she, like the two lovers, agreed to protect Chicago’s identity. She does, however, fill in a number of gaps from Chicago’s autobiographical writings, providing names where Chicago did not.

Chicago has had a very full life. She was raised in a secular Jewish household watched by the FBI for her parents’ communist politics. On her father’s deathbed—when she was 13—he explained why he was a communist, which contributed to her own social justice advocacy over the years, encompassing the civil rights movement and feminism. She began taking art classes at the Art Institute of Chicago at age five and although she dropped out of UCLA briefly to join the New York art scene, she still received her Masters of Art at age 24, at which point her work had already been covered by Artforum. (Even with the aid of dextroamphetamine, the timing is remarkable.) But she was just getting started: Chicago formed the first feminist studio program at an academic institution (at Fresno State College and later the California Institute of the Arts, where she organized Womanhouse, a student installation that captured the nation’s attention). Eventually, she took time off as an instructor to focus on the monumental collaborative installation, The Dinner Party, which finally has a permanent home at the Brooklyn Museum of Art in the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art. She has been married to three artists—widowed by the first when she was 24; divorced from the second after ten years of marriage; and happily married to the third since 1985. She reinvested all of her finances in her art, waiting until she was in her fifties to purchase a home (a former railroad workers’ hotel that she and her husband renovated along with professionals).

The book breezes through the later years, making it feel like Levin's coverage of Chicago's life needs to be divided between two volumes, like her own take on her life. All in all, though, it’s a good read.

(1) http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/eascfa/feminist_art_base/gallery/Kennedy_Linden.php?i=2937)
(2) Qtd. on p. 2