FOR THE LOVE OF ART

           On the 23rd of November 1977 Ruth Van Herpen, a visitor in a gallery in Oxford England, compelled in such a way by a painting by the American Minimalist artist Jo Baer, pursed her lips, leaned forward, and kissed the canvas, leaving a stamp of her lipstick on the previously white surface. She was apprehended without a fuss and fined by the gallery. Her defense: “The work looked so cold, I only kissed it to cheer it up.” (Gamboni). July 19 2007 a nearly identical incident occurred at a gallery in Avignon France; another white monochrome canvas by another artist, the American born Abstractionist Cy Twombly and a woman by the name of Sam Rindy. Rindy claimed that she was “overcome with passion” and that her lipstick “improved the white painting” adding that she believed “the canvas had been left white for her.” She maintains that “the gesture was an artistic act provoked by the power of art.” (BBC).

           The courts did not agree. Addressing her claim that the gesture was motivated by love, the judge, suggesting rape, commented that “in love, there need to be two consenting people.” The prosecutor portrayed the attack as a form of “cannibalism” or “parasitism.” These allegations stem from the assumption that Ms. Rindy, an artist herself, was only trying to capitalize on the greater artist’s fame. The owner of the painting, Yvon Lamber, demanded $2 Million, plus an additional Eu 33,400 for damages. Rindy was ultimately fined $1425, of which the owner of the painting received $711, the gallery $713, and Mr. Twombly $1 as a “symbolic” gesture. (Reuters).

           I will refer to the Rindy case much more than the Van Halpern case for reasons of both recency, and availability of information, of which there is still relatively little, however there seem to be a number of complex elements involved in both instances. What precisely occurred in these cases? A famous piece of property was vandalized, a work of art was altered without the artist’s consent, a technically easy to duplicate object valued at over $2M was damaged, all of these are inarguably true, but there are a tremendous number of other variables present. The nature of art, the nature of vandalism, the cultural value of the art market, and the public conception of the artist, all should be brought into focus from this case.

           The media played up both of these stories as silly human interest pieces, placing all the emphasis on the transgressive deed perpetrated by each of these women. Little to no emphasis was put on the nature of the paintings themselves, the artists, the history of such acts, or any of the many questions raised by stories of this nature. What is vandalism in the context of art, and what is art in the context of vandalism? The central point I wish to raise is that a piece of Art was not actually “destroyed.” That there is some value present, and we should be careful not to bury under our outrage at the violation of a “holy” work of Art. The way to get to the core of these issues is to play with the variables and judge how our own responses to the incidents change. By doing this we can isolate all the various factors and determine what elements are central to our understanding of the cases.

           When modern art can take the form of anything (see Duchamp’s readymades or our now lipstick smeared white canvases for support) the intent becomes central to the object’s art-ness, so the first set of variables to toggle is the motivation underlying these attacks. I will take the example from the book Art and Nonart by Marcia Muelder Eaton as an illustration of this point.

           Imagine yourself walking through a sculpture garden admiring the sights. You come upon an empty orange crate with a title marker next to it. You stand with chin firmly in hand and consider it’s artistic merit until the groundskeeper shuffles up and places an identical crate next to the original and begins to pull up and toss crab grass into it. You are suddenly flummoxed. What at first seemed like such an enjoyable afternoon of art appreciation has turned into a terrible paradox forcing you to choose between the few available options. You turn it over for a while and decide that there are several options available in your struggle to preserve your operational definition of Art.

1: The original crate (henceforth referred to as A) is Art, but the groundskeeper’s crate (henceforth referred to as B) is not.
2: Both A and B are art.
3: Neither A nor B are art.
4: A and B together make up a new work of Art, C.
5: A was Art until B came along.

           There is some credence to each theory and each has a representative proponent howling its praise up and down the halls of Art History, but if we are to maintain that the term “Art” is of any significance, then one of these options must prove true. Let us change the example slightly so that we may more easily determine which case this is to be. Imagine a woman (A) and a moose (B) standing side by side on a stage. The woman begins to produce a loud, odd noise. After a short interval the moose begins to bellow an identical sound. Now let us again take a look again at our options.

1: The woman is producing art but the moose is not.
2: Both the woman and the moose are producing art.
3: Neither the woman nor the moose are producing art.
4: The woman and the moose together are making art.
5: The woman was producing something we could call Art, but not with that moose there.

           The answer seems a little more clear now, but there is still some trouble arriving at it. A formalist reading, here represented by Clement Greenberg’s insistence that “the value of Art is located in it’s Form.” would suggest that we ignore all external information and only focus on the intrinsic qualities of the work. In this case we should close our eyes and only listen to qualities of the sounds, which, remember, are indistinguishable. In the case with the two crates, we should only consider the intrinsic aesthetic qualities of each box, divorced from their history, purpose, or intention in display. If this were the case we could only conclude that both crates, and both the moose and the woman’s sounds are art, since they are all intrinsically identical. I suppose we could attempt to claim that none of these objects are art, but there is quite a lot of historical precedent, set by things like urinals, bike tires, shovels, and blank white canvases that would make convincing anyone of this position necessarily difficult. Either way this is not a very satisfactory conclusion. What value is there in separating an object from every possible context? Intrinsic values are just one part of the whole of a work, object, or event. (Eaton).

           How else could we conclude that Duchamp’s “In Advance of a Broken Arm” (1915) is art while the snow shovel leaning against the wall in your garage is not? It is because they have different histories and different functions. This time it is not simply a case of celebrity fetish either; it may be one thing to own the snow shovel of Michael Jackson, just as sketches by Picasso and Rembrandt are still sold for tens of thousands of dollars, however “Broken Arm” is Art, and it’s Art-ness is due to it’s intent. “In Advance of a Broken Arm” was put up in a museum, with a very specific intention. Both Implicitly and as an object of aesthetic qualities there is no difference between Duchamp’s shovel and your own, although this is most likely the first time anyone has bothered to write about your own shovel.

           Context can and does change however; imagine Duchamp’s shovel was taken down one day and put back to it’s original intended use (shoveling snow). It returns to the role of an ordinary object with (relatively) very little friction. A new “Broken Arm” could be hung up and serve in place of the “original” piece of art. This is literally the case with Duchamp’s “Fountain” (1917, 1950, 1953, 1963, 1964) the infamous urinal signed R. Mutt which has been displayed a number of times over the years, but in the form of a number of identical urinals; the original has since been misplaced. Once “Fountain” was displayed hanging right side up on the wall of the gallery so that “children could use it,” not only an entirely “different” object, but an entirely “different” manner of display as well. (Gamboni).

           “Fountain” actually is a perfect example as it has thrice been the victim of iconoclastic attacks. Two of the attempts on it’s life were perpetrated by the same man, Pierre Pinocelli, a Parisian Performance Artist attempting to demonstrate his grasp of Duchamp’s theories. The first incident (1993) he urinated (actually just liquid provided by a pouch in his pants) on the object. The second incident (2006) he ran up and struck at the piece with a hammer, chipping it slightly. Both times Pinocelli claimed that the artist would “understand” and “support” his attacks. The other attack on the piece was by a duo of performance artists named Yuan Chai and Jian Jun Xi. They also attempted to urinate on the piece while it was on display at the Tate Modern in the Spring of 2000. The duo in 1999 had also famously jumped on the titular bed of artist Tracey Emin’s piece “My Bed.” (Binghampton.edu).

           If modern art is so dependent upon intent, then modern art vandalism and iconoclasm must necessarily conform to the same standards. Indeed many examples of established modern art were first examples of iconoclasm and vise versa. Let us look into this further. Modern art since it’s equation with the “avant-garde” has been primarily concerned with upending the conventions that preceded it. The Futurists called for the continuous destruction of libraries and museums. Marinetti: “We will destroy the libraries, the museums, academies of every kind!” Most of the history of Modern Art has been different contingents of artists rejecting the ideas of the contingents immediately preceding them. Iconoclasm has been embraced so wholeheartedly that many artists create work specifically to be destroyed. See Jean Tinguely’s “Homage to New York” (1960) which destroyed itself in a brilliant Rube Goldbergian spectacle of fire, debris, and rubble. In fact, the acceptance of destruction was so complete that the audience began to protest when the firefighters, ordered on by the artist, began to put extinguish the piece. Other artists took to smashing their own works in “happenings,” such as the Dada-esque activities of the Vienna Actionists, which were spectacles slathered in blood, guts, and destruction. Appropriation itself became a form of iconoclasm, ousting the meaning of the original by the violent imposition of the new. “LHOOQ” (Duchamp 1919) was a defacement of the sacred Mona Lisa, adorning her vaguely smiling face with a curly mustache and goatee. The only difference between this iconoclastic action and our two cases is that Duchamp’s addition does not adorn the original painting. (Gamboni).

           Let us now turn back to our cases. Sam Rindy’s identification as an artist already deals in a number of complex considerations. Ms Ruth Van Halpern had no such designation and was therefore free to kiss a “cold” painting with less suspicion, Rindy’s motives, however, are up for more debate. First of all, she does not appear to be a terribly successful artist; I could find no shows or exhibitions credited to her name, in fact, the only time her name was ever mentioned was in connection with this Twombly case. Just as anyone seems free to label anything Art these days, so too can anyone feel free to label themselves an Artist. An unsuccessful artist defiled the work of a great; the first motive that comes to mind is a desire for fame. Consider the instant notoriety; the press loves a good art vandal, to vilify, yes, but your name will be all over the news. Rindy was painted as an eccentric, if not mildly insane by the press, but there was her name, all over the New York Times, BBC, Reuters, in the same sentence as the great Cy Twombly.

           Another suspicion we may have of a lesser artist’s attack on another’s work jealousy. This is certainly a legitimate motivation for vandalism, but I feel it is the least applicable in this case. As a factor, certainly, but the paintings weren’t technically “destroyed” in either of the two cases, and regardless the motivation of jealously has much of the same effect as the motivation for fame, casting the perpetrator in a negative light. Rindy claims that she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the piece, and that it had been left blank for her, that her kiss had been an improvement, and a testament to the power of art. How does our idea of the event change with Ms. Rindy cast as a swooning exponent of our proud propaganda of the sublime and transformative qualities of art? Cast Rindy in the role of a victim with the painting forcing itself on her. How do the hues shift? Perhaps this is taking things a bit far, but then again, she only got to first base; either way, both the Rindy case and Ms. Van Halpern’s play directly into the mythology of the overwhelming and ambrosial power of art. The artist Annie Bevan swoons that “art is our memory of love. The most an artist can do through their work is say, let me show you what I have seen, what I have loved, and perhaps you will see it and love it too.” The very thing the art critics and collectors have been saying since the beginning: “Art is important because it allows us to see beauty and perfection.” In this light, both women are just acutely susceptible to the seductive nature of art; a low key version of the Stendhal Syndrome which sends those afflicted into a state of frenzy when in the presence of “great” Art. As a culture we eat up examples of this type of response. Seeing people driven to rapturous mania is something the Art world would jump all over as evidence of the claims they have been making all along.

           As an artist herself, what if Ms. Rindy was making an attempt at a profound artistic gesture? It is not my intention to put words into Ms. Rindy’s mouth, merely to explore the example, what if she had kissed the painting to show the objective nature of modern art, or to make a big ironic joke, or something to that effect? At this point the intellectuals among us start to perk up. Casting her in the light of a “true” Artist, who has something important to say much improves the way we perceive the act, even justifies it perhaps. If it is for a message or cause then so be it. She could have slashed the painting like so many others! Gamboni suggests that a possible reason for the relative abundance of art vandalism is the weight of the crime contrasted with the routine lightness of the penalties. Art is a deeply rooted cultural institution, any assault on that institution in general, or a more specific idea or figure within that institution can have quite an impact. Art sabotage is one of the most potent ways to strike at the establishment and suffer the minimal amount of consequences. Let me reemphasize that I do not suspect this to be an underlying motivation in this case, but merely to illustrate how our perceptions might change if it was.

           There is yet another motivation we can apply to this case. Imagine if the entire event was a put-on by Twombly himself. There is no evidence to suggest that these two were acquainted before the incident in question, but here we are not dealing with the reality of the situation; simply the hypothetical and it’s implications. Imagine that Ms. Rindy was put up to it by the artist. At this point we can insert and interchange all the motivations we have previously covered onto Twombly: not so much love, but certainly fame, artistic or political statement, money, etc… Does this change our position? Certainly we would have to accept the defacement of the work, since it was the artist’s own will which had it altered. We might even think him clever for having us all on. Perhaps he was never satisfied with the work, and the only way it could be altered was by a from of “vandalism.” It certainly would not be the strangest thing to ever happen to “Art."

           Having now called the Artist’s possible motivations into play, let us now switch the roles of the two players. Imagine now that Cy Twombly, or an equivalent, planted a kiss, or modified in some other way the work of an artist of equal or lesser standing. There would be some expected public outcry, but precedent would suggest that this gesture would be praised, or at the very least given some serious consideration within the Art Community. The lesser artist too, would receive a nice boost to his or her fame, having been famously smacked by the lips of an upperclassman. All parties standing would improve, and there would be little talk of damages or vandalism. Do not underestimate the power of name and celebrity in the Art World.

           Consider this example. In his book, The Great Art Hoax, John Huer, goes to great lengths to convince us of the conservative estimate for the amount of forgeries currently traded on display. That conservative estimate is something to the tune of 50%. Fifty percent! This means that despite all the expertise in the world, we are only right about Art being “Art” roughly 50% of the time. If a work is discovered to be a forgery, such as Van Meergeren, one of the World’s pre-eminent art forgers, forging hundreds of Vermeers in his time, their value will immediately drop from somewhere in the millions to, literally, next to nothing; not relatively mind you, an ex-Vermeer might fetch $5 or less at auction. And it is not only the price that plummets, once a “great,” “brilliant,” and undoubtedly “sublime” work now becomes something “amateur,” “coarse,” “unsophisticated,” and even “offensive.” Offensive because it fooled everyone, or because what literally once was great, is suddenly trash. (Huer).

           This is a fairly startling figure to throw out this far in this far along, so let’s spend a little time with it to allow it to sink in. This means that the preeminent Art critics, historians, and collectors would be hard pressed to tell you if something is a real work of art or not. How could this be? 50% is the flip of a coin. The problem does not lie in the experts lack of expertise, quite the contrary, they can, I’m sure, satisfactorily explain the history of the piece, the period it is from, speak at length about it’s composition, the use of color, the imagery, symbolism, materials and techniques used, as well as all the saucy details regarding the particular artist’s personal life. The experts truly are quite knowledgeable, let there be no doubt about that. The problem lies in their field; Art is not something one can be an expert in.

           If your criteria for something being labeled “Art” is the sum of it’s formal or subjective qualities: is it beautiful, is it moving, is it sublime, is it evocative, is it technically masterful, is it original, etc, then there is a whole body of human work that would be ejected from the domain of capital “A” Art that must be accounted for. Contrary to what we are led to believe, some of the most well-know artists are not the “greatest” or “best” within their chosen media. On the other hand, if your criteria for labeling something art is a recognizable name, your job becomes significantly easier, but you must forego all the to do about the beauty and sublime qualities of art if your sole intention is to pick up every single scrap of paper bearing the name of Vermeer or Picasso. This is the door that Art forgery slips in through, and the fact that forgery exists to the degree that it does lends considerable support to this second claim in regards to the application of the word “Art.”

           Art forgery is practiced for a number of reasons, but most simply because it is extremely lucrative. If you can master the style of a master, become technical on a level high enough to fool the experts, you can easily (relatively) cash in on someone else’s fortune. Forgery is also considerably more morally grey than robbing a bank, selling drugs, or blackmailing politicians. Until you are outed, you are simply making money off of the introduction of more “sublime,” “masterful,” and “beautiful” Art into the world. Until you are found out, that is, at which point you will be cast of into the netherworld of art consorting with caricaturists and painters of babies. However, some encouragement to the would-be forger, the truly great works disappear into the galleries and museums, allowed to take a place along side their kin in history as the “real” thing, making fools of us all.

           Quite often, forgeries are never even outed because so much money and so many reputations are at stake. It is easier to just leave it hanging, or perhaps sell it to someone else at full price quick and let them worry about it. The pieces that are suspected forgeries are no simple matter either, debates rage for years with either side on top at any given time, until some glaring discrepancy or popular opinion wins out.

           Name the crux of collectable art. How else could a scribble by Picasso sell for thousands of dollars? Not because it is sublime, but certainly because it is Picasso! Take the example of the Picasso original(s) that turned up at the wholesale chain Costco for $399,999 for a simple crayon scribbling of which Picasso constructed thousands towards the end of his career. He attempted to pass them off as a form of currency, paying for banquets and other such indulgences with quick sketches on the backs of napkins and other pieces of paper. Try as hard as you like, I will not be convinced that these ejaculations are more or less valuable than any other by any other human being, save for the name! So how much would a painting kissed by Picasso sell for? (NY Times).

           Is the well known artist more justified, or simply more able to do what they please? We would like to answer “no” to this question, but the reality does not support this. Of course there is much difficulty in making a career of destruction. Or as Gamboni put it, “the professional pursuit of disinterest.” However, look at the recent success of British prankster, vandal, and graffiti artist Banksy whose work has been shown in all of the most exclusive modern galleries and can fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars on the market. Not to mention the continuous battles that rage every time he tags a new building. Is it still vandalism, or is it art now that he’s famous?

           How can a work of art be repaired or replaced anyhow? If an artwork is cleaned up is it no longer the original? If an artwork is replaced is it no longer the original? If an artwork is vandalized is it no longer the original? In the case of “Fountain” the replicas were fine stand-ins. The sacredness of the original did not apply. In the case of a blank white canvas valued at upwards of $2M could it not be almost immediately replaced with an exact replica? If the value of an object lies in its meaning then how can its value be so tied to its form? Where does the insane value of the object originate? The value of art comes from the pathology of the “original.” That there is only one in existence and it can be owned fuels the Art Market and propels the price of collectable Art far above what the average person is willing to pay. If an original can be replaced, why can there not then be copies? Why can there not be “replicas, and why, then, can not the replicas be “real” art as well? Say all you will about beauty, art collection is just collection, acquisition, and fetish. There is no other way to explain the astronomical prices and refusal to replicate modern art.

           What is the value of this case? Why is this important? A woman, or an artist defaced a painting by another artist. Perhaps we should have addressed the importance of this first. What are the stakes? The stakes are the perception of and the coherence of Art. How are we to look at art? What does it mean to us as a culture, and how are we to experience it and interact with it? Are we, for instance, to do as the collectors and curators suggest and admire these fragments that have been surgically removed from the ebb and flow of history and cryogenically preserved for us to passively marvel at, or should we involve art in our own dialogues and experiences? Is art ours as a culture or solely the property of those who paid money for it? Does Art extend beyond the painting and the pedestal? According to the formalists, no, Art is only the colors and dimensions inherent in the object, time and history play no part, opinions and circumstance should be wholly disregarded, only the aesthetics are worth considering. What is art without history? History is the negative space that surrounds an art object, and, regardless of the inherent qualities, an object is as much a product of it’s environment as it is the components that compose it’s form.

           This is yet just another volley in a long continuing argument, but I hope to add a new spin. I neither condemn nor condone vandalism; all that I support is the liberation of art from stasis. Kissing a painting can serve this function, slashing a painting can serve this function, turning a painting on it’s side can serve this function, but just involving a painting can have the same effect. Worship no false idols. Paint on canvass is not the realization of a god, or a step closer to Heaven on Earth, it is just the ongoing dynamism of human life and creativity. Art is the nature of play and thought captured in time, not an object. Art objects are dead outside of their collective value. As Duchamp surmised, paintings have a lifespan. He proclaimed that his own “Nude Descending the Staircase” (1912) had died in its frame in spite of the fact that it’s corpse is still displayed, and like the corpse of Lenin, the only meaning it now has is in it’s history. Duchamp claimed that people seeing “Nude” now are not reacting to the piece itself, but only to what they know of the history of the painting. It’s nothing more than the excitement of seeing something we recognize. Its power to shock, amaze, and otherwise engage the viewer on it’s own terms has faded. (Rosenberg).

           On the same subject, is the Mona Lisa still beautiful a beautiful painting? Is it possible to have an objective reaction to the Mona Lisa in this day and age, or will we just be checking off our personal lists the confrontation with the physical form of another piece of cultural mythology? The Mona Lisa belongs to a different age of art anyway. And people make the mistake of thinking that just because “Nude” and the Mona Lisa are made of the same stuff that they are the same thing. Just as a lamp and a train are made of the same materials but differ wildly in their function, so do these paintings. Even LHOOQ, which has appropriated the whole of the Mona Lisa into itself, adding only a mustache is nothing like the Mona Lisa. They are speaking two completely different languages. Is there any value to be found in defacement? Is vandalism any sort of expression? Certainly so. Is some expression more admissible than others? Certainly so, but we must be careful not to fall into the realms of taste and privilege. Iconoclastic actions against works of art have a long history. Smashing images of kings and rulers during and after times of revolution. Such as in the French Revolution where a full scale attack on monuments and symbols to the old regime was initiated, destroying countless statues, paintings, and public works. This type of aggression against symbols is a very potent a far reaching form of resistance. In times of radical change the old systems must be destroyed for they are implicitly in opposition to the “new way.”

           In more than one case the iconoclasm has been appropriated by the art in a way. When a man hurled a chair through a Bouguereau painting in 1891 that he felt was “lewd” the museum displayed the mangled painting with the chair alongside it until is was sent back two months later for repairs. There is also the strange case of Man Ray’s “Object to be Destroyed” which was promptly stolen and destroyed at it’s unveiling. Man Ray was able to collect a significant amount of insurance money for the destruction of the “Art” object, and rebuilt the piece (a cutout of an eye on the arm of a metronome) a number of years later bearing the title, “Indestructible Object.” The curious aspect of this case is that Man Ray had originally plotted to destroy the object, but on his own terms, among a small gathering of his close friends. The piece got away from him however, and he became involved in a grander display of iconoclasm than he had intended. (Gamboni).

           Just as it is difficult to separate works of art from their own context, it is difficult, if not impossible to separate an action. Vandalism against art or the state cannot be condemned in total (if at all). The value of the action must be taken into account. In doing so, we may find ourselves in an oppositional position to change. Iconoclasm by definition is about change. It is the destruction of old values. 90% of the time 90% of us are exponents of these “old values.” The most we can ask of Art is to help us think.

           So who is to save us from modern art? Certainly not Ms. Rindy, or Cy Twombly, nor Ms. Van Halpern, or even Jo Baer. There is no saving from the human condition, only getting on. Who will speak to us is the more accurate question, and in that case all of the aforementioned culprits fit the bill, as does anyone else who is willing to engage us. Not the curators who wish to show off their godly bounty. Not the sycophantic critics who put all art up on pedestals and insist that it stay there; but the people, artists, thinkers, and the rest of us who bring it down and make it something real and relatable. Art that tells has nothing to say, art that speaks has much. Art and life, as similar as they seem are not one and the same. One reflects the other, and just as a mirror can contain everything in it, the mirror is not everything. So if Art and life are separate, then Art is free to be a part of life, and therefore subject to all the same rigors, changes, and dynamism as the rest of time.

           So what did kissing a canvas accomplish? It made these pieces more complex, and reconnected them with history. The creator of a word cannot control how that word is used, or even prevent it from taking on a different meaning. The author of a book, or piece of music cannot control how it is appreciated (or not). Once a piece is released into culture it becomes subject to the conditions that culture may inflict upon it. Art is the word, and words, as arbitrary symbols, can be redefined. In both of these cases the art has been redefined. Perhaps both of these pieces will recover and return to the wall as blank canvases once again. Their history may be forgotten. But perhaps they will now become “those” canvases. Canvases marked by aberrant attack; their creators some day may no longer recognize their own creations, but they will speak.


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