February Issue 2003
A View from Down Under
on The Garden of Art Delights?
by Judith McGrath
Last November I reviewed, for the local street
paper, a Big Corporation's second annual 'open' Acquisition Exhibition
that carried a $15,000 prize. I viewed the flawless works and
wrote about what I saw; a blatant bias toward a certain style
as practiced by a select few. The exhibition was an insult to
all those fine artists who entered but were overlooked during
the selection process. I could not let this pass a second time
without comment.
The day after the paper hit the street I was phoned by one of
the exhibition organizers demanding a 'please explain' while the
editor received an e-mail from the venue's manager saying I didn't
understand the process. At a function that weekend, two participants
in the Big Corp's exhibition snubbed me. The art establishment
was attacking my reputation as a freelance writer. But my credibility
was restored when two (important) critics in separate (proper)
papers echoed my opinions, albeit in a softer manner.
So why do art critics and writers do it, tell
the truth? And why do independent art publications with minimal
revenue publish a paper no one in the establishment admits to
reading? One can only suppose it's because we are gardeners at
heart. Allow me to explain.
My neighbour Mrs. Todd is a keen gardener. Even those who don't
know her respect her because she diligently tends her garden,
which is a work of art all can appreciate. She's no sweet little
old lady who talks to her flowers; she's tall, leather skinned
and methodically tends to her plants. She'll feed, water and prune
where needed, watch the healthy, nurture the weak, find and kill
the weed in an effort to maintain an overall balanced garden.
Isn't that exactly what critics, writers and independent publications
do in the art world?
The other day I noticed Mrs. Todd examining
a rose bush; she took off her sunglasses and bent close to a bloom
to stare intently at something. Her action brought to mind my
art school days. At the end of term, students would take their
work outside into natural light to be reviewed by the lecturer
and an invited 'expert' from the art world. One particular critic
and writer was often asked to participate. He was tall, leather
skinned and methodical. He'd peruse the work wearing sunglasses,
removing them only to inspect some detail of a painting, which
he would then constructively critique. He'd accept only the best,
encourage the hopefuls, spot and dismiss the pretender. He was
hard, honest and he cared; the art world's equivalent of Mrs.
Todd.
The art critic/writer keeps an eye out for artistic equivalents
of leaf mould and root rot that could destroy the garden of art.
We encourage the growth of talent by feeding it honest words,
and prune overindulgence with constructive criticism. Unfortunately
that's where the metaphor ends. When Mrs. Todd pulls weeds from
her garden she earns approval but when art critics/writers separate
real flowers from plastic facsimiles we're pilloried. Where the
flower garden is a peaceful place, the art garden is full of Trifids
out to blind you.
The freelancer art commentator needs to have a hide as thick as
the sun tanned gardener. We're stung by insults, seared by heated
glares, frozen out and cut by careless sub-editors. Without being
attached to an academy or media group to give weight to our opinion,
the free-lance writer's words are acceptable only when they reflect
the opinions of the art establishment and deemed irrelevant when
they don't. Independent writers are a danger to the Trifids in
the walled garden of art because often we don't conform to the
opinions of the dominant species. We review the artwork in daylight
and take off our sunglasses before commenting.
Many free street papers and independent art
publications appreciate how the art garden, as a whole, is more
important then any one plant. They aim their writing to a more
inclusive audience not just the single-focused art cognoscenti,
who often feign ignorance of the publication's existence. The
art establishment will not support what it cannot control. For
years I wrote art reviews for an independent journal that no one
in the art garden admitted to reading yet they all knew what I
wrote. And when I was involved in the germination stage of two
other art journals, I witnessed first hand how the establishment
stood well back waiting to see if they would take root. One, a
hybrid, died after eight months, the other was a transplant from
another city and lasted four years before it withered in arid
soil. In both cases money was needed to nourish the roots but
like water in the wasteland, financial support is scarce in the
walled garden of art.
As a gardener in the art world I've come to realise that while
the horticulturist is respected the art-culturist is not. So why
do art critics persist in their thankless tasks? Because someone
has to aerate the soil in the garden of art. Why do freelance
writers continue to contribute to street rags and glossy mags
no Trifid confesses to reading? Because someone has to speak for
the informed appreciator who wants to learn, not just to the initiated
few who believe they know it all. Why do these independent journals
continue to operate just this side of the break-even point? Because
they know that the garden of art nurtures the roots of our culture
and if mould, mite or misunderstanding takes hold the best will
be replaced by plastic plants.
As for this particular art critic and freelance writer, I tend
to the art garden knowing that what people say lives only in memory
as an opinion and is soon forgotten. However the published word
is archived, a fact forever in future art history. It's a highly
satisfying thought.
Judith McGrath lives in Kalamunda, Western Australia. She is a freelance writer and reviewer for various art magazines in Australia. You can see more of her writing on her website at (www.artseeninwa.com).
A collection of her articles which have appeared in Carolina Arts can be found at (www.CarolinaArts.com).
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