Backlash: Youth and Beauty

I guess it is inevitable that even critics will get sick of the same old, same old, or in this case same youth art and ugly art that has dominated the art waves for years now. But it is still a surprise to see the actual words in print, especially in the NY Times.

Holland Cotter pens a story titled Art Makes Such Weird Bedfellows in today's paper. Of all the critics for the NY Times Mr. Cotter is not completely out of character talking about what is really happening, both above and below the surface. "Like most art world shindigs, this is an intensely networked affair. Lots of best friends of friends — artists who are the partners of curators, who are planning retrospectives of other artists, who are represented by the galleries presenting the show..." Another quote from the article ..."But the art establishment’s vacation should be over now. It has gone on too long. And artists, caught up in a New York market that prospers from a million little weirdnesses, should take a head-clearing plunge back into work and see if there aren’t some other ways to go." I hate to take just little parts out of this, you should read the whole thing.

A few pages back is Roberta Smith and Artists Leap Into the Moment where she states in the second paragraph ...“How Soon Is Now?” at the Bronx Museum of the Arts is almost nothing but symptoms reflecting almost nothing but failings." And another "Perhaps an overfamiliarity with Conceptual Art and especially the theories it inspired can leave young artists with no sense of how to make an artwork that holds together as an experience."

I am glad now I didn't cancel my subscription to the Times. This is what I always liked about their form of criticism, the big picture instead of the small, formulaic version we are so accustomed to.

BTW, Francesco Clemente will be on Charlie Rose tonight talking about his portrait exhibition at Lincoln Center. This was postponed until next week. They said something about finishing up an interview with the artist at his studio.