I'm an artist, so, um, kapow!
May. 10th, 2006 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imomusThe question "What do you do?" used to be unproblematical. I told people I was a musician, or perhaps a singer-songwriter. And it was true; I had albums in stores to prove it, with my name and my face on the cover.
Now, though, I'm not so sure. I seem to have changed. I mean, what I do isn't really different; I still basically tell stories, just as I did on those records. But I do it in a different context. In journalism, but also in art galleries and museums. These days, I sometimes say "I'm an artist".
Last night my friend Betty Nguyen, who works at Leo Koenig gallery in Chelsea, invited me to a special event there, a "hardcore dinner" by Austrian artist Paul Renner, modelled on the last requests of death row murderers. About thirty people ate beef tartar in honor of John Baltazar, executed January 15th, 2003, chef salad without meat in honor of Stanley Baker, executed May 30th, 2002, breaded fried shrimps in honour of Henry Dunn, Jr, executed February 6th 2003, then chocolate birthday cake with seven pink candles, in honor of Miguel Richardson, executed June 26th, 2001.
I sat between some Koenig artists, painters, and some people who'd come along because the event was listed in the New York Times as a $100-a-head "conceptual dinner"; the lady opposite me worked for Pfizer Pharmaceutical, the person to my left did "political risk analysis for emerging market countries".
When these people asked what I did, I told them "I'm an artist. I have a performance piece in the Whitney Biennial at the moment. I show with Zach Feuer Gallery, just the next block up. Mostly performance..."
The Koenig artists backed me up, asking me what I was working on after the Whitney "in terms of new art projects". One of them had included a portrait of me in a canvas he'd done, and, as the evening wore on and we got drunker on champagne, bloody mary, white wine and pear schnaps, he told the ladies-who-dine: "This guy is the ultimate bohemian! I imagine you (sorry!) as the ultimate couch surfer, spending your whole life living like a parasite in other people's houses on inflatable beds in different countries, with two Asian women on either side!"
"They're inflatable Asian women, too!" I joked, adding "Wow, I wish I was the guy you think I am!"
But, you know, I sort of am that guy. I don't seem to be a musician, anyway. I didn't spend last night at the Mercury Lounge or the Bowery Ballroom, checking out a friend's band, saying hi to my tour agent and my press agent, handing out promos of my new album. I do have a new album coming out, and it's a very decent record. But who we are isn't up to ourselves alone. My new album probably won't get reviewed in important publications like Pitchfork and The Wire. It won't be legitimated by those authorities, and I probably won't tour it around the US, as I used to tour albums.
On the other hand, art world things will continue to happen. The momentum is there now, the kinetic hype-energy lacking in my music career. I'll participate in a group show at London gallery Blow de la Barra between June and September. That's significant because it's the first time my art career has shown up on the radar anywhere outside of New York (apart from one piece in a Tokyo show in 2002, a recut of a Takashi Miike film I made for the exhibition Urbanlenz).
I'm proud to say I'll also be included in Cream 4, Phaidon Press's annual "who's who of the new cream of the crop artists selected by ten of the world's most influential art critics". (Curator Philippe Vergne selected me and will write about my art pieces in Cream; thanks, Philippe!)
I don't want to act all faux-surprised and gee-whillickers about this. I've long been considerably more interested in the art world than in just about anything else. I didn't go to art school, but my best friends when I was a student were art students from Grays. My songs (like "Murderers, the Hope of Women", named after a Kokoshka performance) have tended to draw more inspiration from the art world than the world of music. In London in the late 90s I was on the art scene, not the music scene, and starting in 2000 I began to show in galleries, thanks largely to Zach Feuer, who's still my "dealer" today (except that I don't have any "prices" -- I don't actually sell art, just make performances), and to whom, more than anyone, I owe this rather interesting transformation.
I just had to draw up a list of important reviews for Cream, and here it is, the trail of legitimations (in the form of reviews) the art world has handed me since 2000, during exactly the same period that the music world has been withholding legitimations (in the form of reviews):
2000
Holland Cotter
Innovators burst onstage one (kapow!) at a time!
New York Times
November 10th 2000
(I'm so glad my first important art review had such a pop title! "Kapow" indeed!)
2003
Sukdhev Sandhu
Ludic Relish
Modern Painters Summer 2003 issue
July 2003
London
(I couldn't believe it when Cherry Red told me "We don't have any music magazines interested this time. But Modern Painters magazine wants to run four pages on you!")
2005
Roberta Smith
Momus and Mai Ueda
New York Times
July 1st, 2005
(This was an important one; if Roberta Smith likes you, you're really "in the belly of the beast".)
2006
Jeff MacIntyre
The Biennial, Unexplained
New York Times
April 2, 2006
So, I would appear to be "an artist". The art world appears to have claimed and legitimated me. I'm happy to be here. And in a sense, powerless. It isn't entirely up to us what we're perceived as. Other people also have a say, and we have to respect their views on our role.
For me, I still think the most powerful stories I tell are my songs. I think of that as my vocation. But I'm not sure if I can call it my profession any more.
I remember a conversation I once had with my brother, in a car somewhere in Scotland, years ago. I'd just told him I was "an artist". My brother didn't like that at all.
"Nobody should say 'I'm an artist,' the same way you shouldn't say 'I'm spiritual'. These things are for others to say," he warned me.
Well, it seems those "others" have finally spoken. I'm an artist, so, you know, kapow!
Now, though, I'm not so sure. I seem to have changed. I mean, what I do isn't really different; I still basically tell stories, just as I did on those records. But I do it in a different context. In journalism, but also in art galleries and museums. These days, I sometimes say "I'm an artist".Last night my friend Betty Nguyen, who works at Leo Koenig gallery in Chelsea, invited me to a special event there, a "hardcore dinner" by Austrian artist Paul Renner, modelled on the last requests of death row murderers. About thirty people ate beef tartar in honor of John Baltazar, executed January 15th, 2003, chef salad without meat in honor of Stanley Baker, executed May 30th, 2002, breaded fried shrimps in honour of Henry Dunn, Jr, executed February 6th 2003, then chocolate birthday cake with seven pink candles, in honor of Miguel Richardson, executed June 26th, 2001.
I sat between some Koenig artists, painters, and some people who'd come along because the event was listed in the New York Times as a $100-a-head "conceptual dinner"; the lady opposite me worked for Pfizer Pharmaceutical, the person to my left did "political risk analysis for emerging market countries".
When these people asked what I did, I told them "I'm an artist. I have a performance piece in the Whitney Biennial at the moment. I show with Zach Feuer Gallery, just the next block up. Mostly performance..."The Koenig artists backed me up, asking me what I was working on after the Whitney "in terms of new art projects". One of them had included a portrait of me in a canvas he'd done, and, as the evening wore on and we got drunker on champagne, bloody mary, white wine and pear schnaps, he told the ladies-who-dine: "This guy is the ultimate bohemian! I imagine you (sorry!) as the ultimate couch surfer, spending your whole life living like a parasite in other people's houses on inflatable beds in different countries, with two Asian women on either side!"
"They're inflatable Asian women, too!" I joked, adding "Wow, I wish I was the guy you think I am!"
But, you know, I sort of am that guy. I don't seem to be a musician, anyway. I didn't spend last night at the Mercury Lounge or the Bowery Ballroom, checking out a friend's band, saying hi to my tour agent and my press agent, handing out promos of my new album. I do have a new album coming out, and it's a very decent record. But who we are isn't up to ourselves alone. My new album probably won't get reviewed in important publications like Pitchfork and The Wire. It won't be legitimated by those authorities, and I probably won't tour it around the US, as I used to tour albums.
On the other hand, art world things will continue to happen. The momentum is there now, the kinetic hype-energy lacking in my music career. I'll participate in a group show at London gallery Blow de la Barra between June and September. That's significant because it's the first time my art career has shown up on the radar anywhere outside of New York (apart from one piece in a Tokyo show in 2002, a recut of a Takashi Miike film I made for the exhibition Urbanlenz).
I'm proud to say I'll also be included in Cream 4, Phaidon Press's annual "who's who of the new cream of the crop artists selected by ten of the world's most influential art critics". (Curator Philippe Vergne selected me and will write about my art pieces in Cream; thanks, Philippe!)
I don't want to act all faux-surprised and gee-whillickers about this. I've long been considerably more interested in the art world than in just about anything else. I didn't go to art school, but my best friends when I was a student were art students from Grays. My songs (like "Murderers, the Hope of Women", named after a Kokoshka performance) have tended to draw more inspiration from the art world than the world of music. In London in the late 90s I was on the art scene, not the music scene, and starting in 2000 I began to show in galleries, thanks largely to Zach Feuer, who's still my "dealer" today (except that I don't have any "prices" -- I don't actually sell art, just make performances), and to whom, more than anyone, I owe this rather interesting transformation.
I just had to draw up a list of important reviews for Cream, and here it is, the trail of legitimations (in the form of reviews) the art world has handed me since 2000, during exactly the same period that the music world has been withholding legitimations (in the form of reviews):
2000
Holland Cotter
Innovators burst onstage one (kapow!) at a time!
New York Times
November 10th 2000
(I'm so glad my first important art review had such a pop title! "Kapow" indeed!)
2003
Sukdhev Sandhu
Ludic Relish
Modern Painters Summer 2003 issueJuly 2003
London
(I couldn't believe it when Cherry Red told me "We don't have any music magazines interested this time. But Modern Painters magazine wants to run four pages on you!")
2005
Roberta Smith
Momus and Mai Ueda
New York Times
July 1st, 2005
(This was an important one; if Roberta Smith likes you, you're really "in the belly of the beast".)
2006
Jeff MacIntyre
The Biennial, Unexplained
New York Times
April 2, 2006
So, I would appear to be "an artist". The art world appears to have claimed and legitimated me. I'm happy to be here. And in a sense, powerless. It isn't entirely up to us what we're perceived as. Other people also have a say, and we have to respect their views on our role.
For me, I still think the most powerful stories I tell are my songs. I think of that as my vocation. But I'm not sure if I can call it my profession any more.
I remember a conversation I once had with my brother, in a car somewhere in Scotland, years ago. I'd just told him I was "an artist". My brother didn't like that at all.
"Nobody should say 'I'm an artist,' the same way you shouldn't say 'I'm spiritual'. These things are for others to say," he warned me.
Well, it seems those "others" have finally spoken. I'm an artist, so, you know, kapow!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
inflatable woman!!
Date: 2006-05-11 05:16 am (UTC)a story for you. this one time we got on a peniero, back at choroni, a very top of the line kind of jungle-beach'n rivers pleace of tree-trunk drummers, artists, anglo tourists and local africanos...where kids and fisherman alike run around barefoot.its so nice, really, anyway on our way to chuao, I asked the 5 year old that came along, what's you name? "yo me llamo amanartis" he said...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 06:36 am (UTC)there is a great article about reyner banham in the new frieze (may),
and also interesting to see the same ad for the alva noto + ryuichi sakamoto tour as was in the wire. an art/music crossover of sorts, but they are strangely dependant on each other for this to work: i mean, for frieze sakamoto is the musician & carsten nicolai is the artist, but in the wire his (non-sound) art is barely mentioned. interestingly, i heard from a berlin curator that his brother is more well-known as an artist in berlin...
not art related:
are you on the new hypo record, or is that the o.lamm?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 09:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 10:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 09:24 am (UTC)"There is an easy way out, the path of compromise: when the creative energy flows into us we can either enjoy it or serve it. At this point we can make things easy for ourselves and it is very tempting to do so. We have reached the point at which we have already created something and only we ourselves can decide what is to come of it. It is possible in this moment to give or to take. We can be captured by what we are doing and at the same time imagine that we are gaining and that we are the masters in control. The reality is just the opposite: we are slaves. Only when we leave ourselves out of it and serve the process can we become masters. We become true masters by making ourselves slaves, but when we try to become masters we become slaves. If we use the creative power for ourselves it destroys us. If we sacrifice ourselves in order to serve the creative power then it creates us." - J.G. Bennett. Talks on Beelzebub's Tales.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 02:50 pm (UTC)It's the quality of the work that is important, not the flagpole that it's hoisted to.
Any old legitimised artist is pretty much as good or as useless as any old legitimised anything else.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 04:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-12 04:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 01:57 pm (UTC)The grubby musician ironically is on a far surer footing, selling not to the rich and fancy but to individual punters......
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 03:40 pm (UTC)Descriptions
Date: 2006-05-11 03:58 pm (UTC)http://eyes-towards-the-dove.blogspot.com/
on the circuit....
Date: 2006-05-11 06:09 pm (UTC)I used to say: I breathe regularly, I eat, I sleep. Then I started feeling like an asshole saying that, I was being as limited in scope as the question being asked. I do think it's equivelent to asking someone you've just met how much money they make exactly.
A story comes up: A pop artist wanted his work to get into the MOMA, but he didn't want to rejected. He knew that they archived all of their received mail. So he sent his work in and it is now part of their collection and since his death they value it highly.
Many people who are creative happen to also be empaths, they fear taking those important steps. I know my response to having an exhibition was: "What? I have to submit a resume and slides like a straight person? That's not going to work for me." At the same time people say heyI want to see what you make or I'd really like to have something you did. I've never sold anything, does that make it worth less? I don't think so. I consider myself a success for just being involved in whatever it is I love. I've lost alot of work, but it's all internal- no one will ever see the experiments that went terribly wrong to get from A to B.
Every career has politics- art is the same- yes, sponsors and handlers and all, if you can manage to evade these things then you might have cultural capital, but you still have to take the trash out. You know your tour's going to leave you broke at the end yet you do it anyway because while you're broke a friend and fan offers to help you fix your car for next to nothing for a copy of your next album. Now that's real success. That's bartering as creatives have always done.
The old rule of the patron is just a little revised since the past, but really it's still here. When you say you are something I think it's funny when they return with: Oh yeah I'm that too! You can say: I'm a singer song writer: if you're meant to get along it'll be answered by music rather than words.
Fresh Cream by Phaidon: Hey, congrats. I took my copy to a book seller recently (I ended up keeping it)- their reaction to the cover- How beautiful!- their reaction to just flipping through- Eeeew that's gross!- It gave me quite a laugh. Phaidon books are great. I had their book on Feminism in Art this past Spring as a textbook- the Cream was just for my own interest.
Everyone's allowed to be contemplative sometimes; why should a person have to be funny and entertaining all the time? If they are, there is something wrong with them. It's Momus' page- I'll leave it up to him where he wants to go next.
Forget the music
Date: 2006-05-12 06:29 am (UTC)I have listened to a few of your songs that I have downloaded from limewire. Regardless of your self-perception, I think you should know that you have many adherents who know you primarily from your blog presence. For me, the songs I downloaded and listened to had much less impact on me than your regular blogs.
With your blogs, you illustrate how to educate and please aesthetically at the same time. Can that not be one of the highest goals of the artist?
I say you're an artist because of your livejournal blog, end of discussion. It contains self-expression, aesthetic stimulation, and thought-provoking ideas. What more could an artist want? The music is a historical adjunct.
Re: Forget the music
Date: 2006-05-12 09:54 pm (UTC)Login : shoben
Password : *****
Ftp open > shitetalke
Ajax upcom router > a n t a shobenkusai
File open >
Momus the musical
(The curtains rise on an empty stage, bar a single wooden table laden with literary works aside is a small rickety wooden chair. A disembodied voiceover informs us it’s a cohabiting flat in the granite city of Aberdeen circa 1978.
A khaki trousered and burgundy loose fitting sweater wearing young Momus enters the stage left in visible, student angst
A spotlight scans across the audience before singling out Momus who turns surprised to the camera,Brahms “Selig sind die Toten, die in dem Herrn sterben” begins slowly in the background, Momus begins to recite)
“Another day, studying literature, so much knowledge and musings in my mind by yet…”
lowly breaks into song
“why does nobody like me me me? because I’m Paisley born pikey ? –ey –ey –ey ”
(Momus leans over his shoulder in a sympathy seeking manner)
“or is it because of my gammy eye ? natsume soseki never had this to TRY (as crescendo builds) him him him
Login : shoben
Password : *****
Ftp open > shitetalke
Ajax upcom router > a n t a shobenkusai
File open >
Momus the musical
(The curtains rise on an empty stage, bar a single wooden table laden with literary works aside is a small rickety wooden chair. A disembodied voiceover informs us it’s a cohabiting flat in the granite city of Aberdeen circa 1978.
A khaki trousered and burgundy loose fitting sweater wearing young Momus enters the stage left in visible, student angst
A spotlight scans across the audience before singling out Momus who turns surprised to the camera,Brahms “Selig sind die Toten, die in dem Herrn sterben” begins slowly in the background, Momus begins to recite)
“Another day, studying literature, so much knowledge and musings in my mind by yet…”
lowly breaks into song
“why does nobody like me me me? <echoing> because I’m Paisley born pikey ? –ey –ey –ey <echoing> ”
(Momus leans over his shoulder in a sympathy seeking manner)
“or is it because of my gammy eye ? natsume soseki never had this to TRY (as crescendo builds) him him him <echoing as chords fade, a slight ballet – esque manover is awkardly attempted…>
Momus pulling a challenging cowl hoodie top over his head in menace, glancing to his books
“like my masters before me, I will suceed, their successes and efforts are mine to feed, to feed ,to feed <echoing>
“then the girls at the union bar, will feel the need, the need, the need <echoing> FOR ME !”
(A stereo delayed echo rises to crescendo to peak on FOR ME, Momus crashes into the wooden table angrily casting aside his studies,the music strikes into “Handals Messiah” by Wendy Carlos as the stage is swathed in strobelight, “momaiah” enters from above, singling in a vocoder angelic voice atuned to the harmony )
“Japan awaites thee chosen one, misreporting form land of sun, thine calling of mixed matephor, to finance your futahhhh…. with apple product galore !”
(A myriad of ipod nanos, ibooks, isofa’s (patent pending) whirl past student Momus on wire strings like temptation exiting stage left “en gloria”, the music darkens…Alan Mcgee appears stage right waving a huge black rubber dildo, singing in baritone)
“but first you become my art school goma suri whooooore !”
(Momus turns in a frightened forever fulfilling networking leech faustian pact glance)
“does he really mean thine sooooooooo, surely make my once-touched holes, soooooore” <to semitone>
<scene closes with blood red curtains, only to open once more on silken white screens…>
next scene highlights : Flash back to 1970, an athens beach with a 9 yr old Momus being kiddy fiddled by an aging greek fisherman named bacchus behind an aging old wooden boat painted vermillion, Momus’ mother watches on (black vieled) thinking of Sylvia Plath)