Note: After I posted this, the NYT changed it back and this became the lead again. Don't know if any causality was involved.
In an essay several years ago titled "Abdication of the Artists," Larry Beinhart, best known as the author of Wag the Dog, wrote of an art show in Woodstock, New York, where he lives, that there was "not a single piece was political. Or about economics or religion or the environment or mass delusion or science or the media." Beinhart effectively argued that artists have become silent on much that matters most.
Yesterday, I went to a series of open studios where I live, Mt. Rainier, Maryland. There were actual a few pieces that were recognizably "political" -- one that rather banally urged recycling and another somewhat poignantly, but predictably, denounced racism. Meaningful political art is hardly the norm, unless interesting organic forms somehow translate into political in any real sense. Of course, around the election of Obama, I saw a great deal of work that was political, but it was so limited and one-dimensional that it really felt more like agitprop than actual art. Indeed, in just a few short years, has any of that work held up?
In contrast to all this, last month, thanks to my friend the ever-vigilant Dan Beeton, I was fortunate enough to see the murals of Maxo Vanka at St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church in Millvale, Penn., not far from downtown Pittsburgh. The murals amount to a damning indictment of war and capitalism -- and a great commemoration of motherhood and community. They are a worthy artistic analogy to Julia Ward Howe's original Mothers Day Proclimation:
Arise then...women of this day!Arise, all women who have hearts!Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!Say firmly:"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,For caresses and applause.Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearnAll that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.We, the women of one country,Will be too tender of those of another countryTo allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."...
Consider this depiction of Mary, in a righteous rage, grabbing and breaking the guns of soldiers:
Or consider this mural of Croatian women grieving over a dead soldier; his mother is the seated figure with the sash across her breasts (descriptions just below images are from the website of The Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka, which features many of the murals):
Similarly, Vanka depicts the anguish of mothers in the U.S. suffering the deaths of their sons stemming from industry:
Vanka paints "Mother Croatia" as a crucified figure:
And juxtaposes that with his depiction of "Injustice" -- a figure in red, white and blue wearing a gas mask and with menacing, eagle-like eyes:
The figure, it's hard not to conclude that it doesn't represent at least the worst aspects of the U.S., values money over bread:
Indeed, Vanka has a piece with "The Capitalist" being served a feast alone by a black servant while ignoring a starving beggar (outside the frame of this picture) as an angel looks away, unable to bear the sight of him:
Early on in the Obama administration, there were some calls for a new New Deal, including for the sort of art the Works Progress Administration funded in the original New Deal. But such government funded work is quite obviously constrained about what it can and cannot say. As Barbara McCloskey of the University of Pittsburgh notes of Vanka's murals: "They also contain a moral intensity and socially critical perspective unacceptable to the idealized image of America that emerged within much of WPA art."
Of course, the Church itself and its priest at the time, Father Albert Zagar, deserve a great deal of the credit -- how many churches today would commission such pieces? And now, many with the Church are busy restoring the murals.
Ironically, in spite of his rather direct art, one of Vanka's murals urged immigrant parishioners to be silent, or at least quiet, about their views in the country they were now in. The figure is typically titled "Prudence." It's unfortunately a mantra that wave after wave of immigrants have faced, including today. It's fortunate that Vanka, unlike many of today's artists, seems not to take his own advice. Nor should we.
In an essay several years ago titled "Abdication of the Artists," Larry Beinhart, best known as the author of Wag the Dog, wrote of an art show in Woodstock, New York, where he lives, that there was "not a single piece was political. Or about economics or religion or the environment or mass delusion or science or the media." Beinhart effectively argued that artists have become silent on much that matters most.
Yesterday, I went to a series of open studios where I live, Mt. Rainier, Maryland. There were actual a few pieces that were recognizably "political" -- one that rather banally urged recycling and another somewhat poignantly, but predictably, denounced racism. But meaningful political art is hardly the norm, unless interesting organic forms somehow translate into political in any real sense. Of course, around the election of Obama, I saw a great deal of work that was political, but it was so limited and one-dimensional that it really felt more like agitprop than actual art. Indeed, in just a few short years, has any of that work held up?
In contrast to all this, last month, thanks to my friend the ever-vigilant Dan Beeton, I was fortunate enough to see the murals of Maxo Vanka at St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church in Millvale, Penn., not far from downtown Pittsburgh. The murals amount to a damning indictment of war and capitalism -- and a great commemoration of motherhood and community. They are a worthy artistic analogy to Julia Ward Howe's original Mothers Day Proclimation:
Arise then...women of this day!Arise, all women who have hearts!Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!Say firmly:"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,For caresses and applause.Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearnAll that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.We, the women of one country,Will be too tender of those of another countryTo allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."...
Consider this depiction of Mary, in a righteous rage, grabbing and breaking the guns of soldiers:
Or consider this mural of Croatian women grieving over a dead soldier; his mother is the seated figure with the sash across her breasts (descriptions just below images are from the website of The Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka, which features many of the murals):
Similarly, Vanka depicts the anguish of mothers in the U.S. suffering the deaths of their sons stemming from industry:
Vanka paints "Mother Croatia" as a crucified figure:
And juxtaposes that with his depiction of "Injustice" -- a figure in red, white and blue wearing a gas mask and with menacing, eagle-like eyes:
The figure, it's hard not to conclude that it doesn't represent at least the worst aspects of the U.S., values money over bread:
Indeed, Vanka has a piece with "The Capitalist" being served a feast alone by a black servant while ignoring a starving beggar (outside the frame of this picture) as an angel looks away, unable to bear the sight of him:
Early on in the Obama administration, there were some calls for a new New Deal, including for the sort of art the Works Progress Administration funded in the original New Deal. But such government funded work is quite obviously constrained about what it can and cannot say. As Barbara McCloskey of the University of Pittsburgh notes of Vanka's murals: "They also contain a moral intensity and socially critical perspective unacceptable to the idealized image of America that emerged within much of WPA art."
Of course, the Church itself and its priest at the time, Father Albert Zagar, deserve a great deal of the credit -- how many churches today would commission such pieces? And now, many with the Church are busy restoring the murals.
Ironically, in spite of his rather direct art, one of Vanka's murals urged immigrant parishioners to be silent, or at least quiet, about their views in the country they were now in. The figure is typically titled "Prudence." It's unfortunately a mantra that wave after wave of immigrants have faced, including today. It's fortunate that Vanka, unlike many of today's artists, seems not to take his own advice. Nor should we.
[Many links, pics, appear to be broken. Will try to remedy. In mean time, some pics here.]
In an essay several years ago titled "Abdication of the Artists," Larry Beinhart, best known as the author of Wag the Dog, wrote of an art show in Woodstock, New York, where he lives, that there was "not a single piece was political. Or about economics or religion or the environment or mass delusion or science or the media." Beinhart effectively argued that artists have become silent on much that matters most.
Yesterday, I went to a series of open studios where I live, Mt. Rainier, Maryland. There were actual a few pieces that were recognizably "political" -- one that rather banally urged recycling and another somewhat poignantly, but predictably, denounced racism. Meaningful political art is hardly the norm, unless interesting organic forms somehow translate into political in any real sense. Of course, around the election of Obama, I saw a great deal of work that was political, but it was so limited and one-dimensional that it really felt more like agitprop than actual art. Indeed, in just a few short years, has any of that work held up?
In contrast to all this, last month, thanks to my friend the ever-vigilant Dan Beeton, I was fortunate enough to see the murals of Maxo Vanka at St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church in Millvale, Penn., not far from downtown Pittsburgh. The murals amount to a damning indictment of war and capitalism -- and a great commemoration of motherhood and community. They are a worthy artistic analogy to Julia Ward Howe's original Mothers Day Proclimation:
Arise then...women of this day!Arise, all women who have hearts!Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!Say firmly:"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,For caresses and applause.Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearnAll that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.We, the women of one country,Will be too tender of those of another countryTo allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."...
Consider this depiction of Mary, in a righteous rage, grabbing and breaking the guns of soldiers:
Or consider this mural of Croatian women grieving over a dead soldier; his mother is the seated figure with the sash across her breasts (descriptions just below images are from the website of The Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka, which features many of the murals):
Similarly, Vanka depicts the anguish of mothers in the U.S. suffering the deaths of their sons stemming from industry:
Vanka paints "Mother Croatia" upon a cross:
And juxtaposes that with his depiction of "Injustice" -- a figure in red, white and blue wearing a gas mask and with menacing, eagle-like eyes:
The figure, it's hard not to conclude that it doesn't represent at least the worst aspects of the U.S., values money over bread:
Indeed, Vanka has a piece with "The Capitalist" being served a feast alone by a black servant while ignoring a starving beggar (outside the frame of this picture) as an angel looks away, unable to bear the sight of him:
Early on in the Obama administration, there were some calls for a new New Deal, including for the sort of art the Works Progress Administration funded in the original New Deal. But such government funded work is quite obviously constrained about what it can and cannot say. As Barbara McCloskey of the University of Pittsburgh notes of Vanka's murals: "They also contain a moral intensity and socially critical perspective unacceptable to the idealized image of America that emerged within much of WPA art."
Of course, the Church itself and its priest at the time, Father Albert Zagar, deserve a great deal of the credit -- how many churches today would commission such pieces? And now, many with the Church are busy restoring the murals.
Ironically, in spite of his rather direct art, one of Vanka's murals urged immigrant parishioners to be silent, or at least quiet, about their views in the country they were now in. The figure is typically titled "Prudence." It's unfortunately a mantra that wave after wave of immigrants have faced, including today. It's fortunate that Vanka, unlike many of today's artists, seems not to take his own advice. Nor should we.
Photo of Haring drawing muscle tank-man burning money with homeless man in background by Tseng Kwong Chi; from "Keith Haring: Future Primeval."
Assuming it's actually an honor and not just advertising on the cheap, it's good that today Google is honoring Keith Haring with a doodle; though sad that they passed on having a May Day doodle -- and perhaps a touch ironic considering who Keith Haring was.
I distinctly remember seeing my first Keith Haring. I was a teen. It was at some subway station, maybe Lexington Ave, maybe 7th Ave, as I transfered from a one subway train to another -- taking the grinding ride as I did everyday when I was in high school from Queens to the Bronx.
Seeing it was like pure music.
It's like that scene in the Shawshank Redemption when he plays a those two beautiful female voices that grace the dreary all-male prison.
I have no memory of what that Haring image was. And it's besides the point. The sheer genius of what he did: When an ad on the subway would "expire" -- that is when the time the advertizer paid for had ended, and if they didn't have another ad paid and ready to run -- the subway workers would put up a black image.
And that gave Haring his blank canvas, where light would sprout in the glum surroundings of the NYC subway, there would be light in the darkest black. Where creativity would manifest itself when it seemed it was starved of a place to take root.
Several years later, in college in Pittsburg, I passed an art gallery and it had a Keith Haring print in the window. I breathlessly bolted into the gallery: "You have something by that guy from the subway!" Saleswomen: "Yes, that's Keith Haring, he got his start on the New York City subway." I had no idea he'd "made it" -- I just loved his work.
Haring writes in his wonderful essay "Art in Transit" about how he realized he wanted to reach the general public and not the artistic or glittery in crowd: "I remember most clearly an afternoon of drawing in a studio that large doors that opened onto Twenty-second Street. All kinds of people would stop and look at the huge drawing and many were eager to comment on their feelings toward it. This was the first time I realized how many people could enjoy art if they were given the chance. These were not the people I saw in the museums or in the galleries but a cross section of humanity that cut across all boundaries. This group of different people living and working together in harmony has always been my prime attraction to New York."
There was a great gustiness and spontaneity to Haring. He'd say "I've come to the realization that I can draw anything I want to -- never believing in mistakes."
And it was in the vein that he started drawing on the subway: "In 1980, I returned to drawing with a new commitment to purpose and reality. If I was going to draw, there had to be a reason. That reason, I decided, was for people. The only way art lives is through the experience of the observer. The reality of art begins in the eyes of the beholder and gains power through imagination, invention, and confrontation.
"Doing things in public was not a new idea. The climate of art in New York at that time was certainly moving in that direction. It seemed obvious to me when I saw the first empty subway panel that this was the perfect situation ... and immediately [went] above ground and [bought] chalk. After the first drawing, things just fell into place. I began drawing in the subways as a hobby on my way to work."
Arrested several times for his "illegal" subway drawings, Haring was in a sense an early "adbuster": "The drawings are designed to provoke people to think and use their own imagination. They don't have exact definitions but challenge the viewer to assert his or her own ideas and interpretation. Sometimes, people find this uncomfortable, especially because the drawings are in a space usually reserved for advertisements which tell you exactly what to think. Sometimes the advertisements on the side of the empty panels provide inspiration for the drawings and often create ironic associations."
Said Haring: "I don't think art is propaganda; it should be something that liberates the soul, provokes the imagination, and encourages people to go furhter, It celebrates humanity instead of manipulating it."