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AMERICAN ABSTRACT ARTISTS |
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Resnick/Reinhardt Debate New Years Day, 1961, at The Club by Geoffrey Dorfman Excerpted with permission from the book Out of the Picture: Milton Resnick and the New York School, Midmarch Arts Press, March 2003 (ISBN: 1877675474) part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | back to Texts page Reinhardt: Well, I don't know how, uh - (Iaughter) I don't know how to, uh, make that - specific. There's no question about the idea of commitment and all those terms. What I would like to ask is, what would be corrupt if the ideas that I brought up weren't so? Where would the corruption lie? What makes it rotten? Does it get corrupt by its own steam? I know it's a great trick of artists - and I'm not accusing Milton of doing this - to search out some other kind of straw man to hit out at. It's easy to attack a curator and critic, however somehow an artist doesn't do that unless he's left out or alienated or something like that. I don't really know one artist who seems to have managed the acceptance in any way. Now I don't know what he should have done. I bring all these things up as questions. It's very easy to say that all artists are alike, we're all artists, we're all in the same boat, and that outside is corrupt and everything that goes on there. This is not true in the first place. It's usually insiders telling outsiders what happens. So I'd like to keep asking: Is the proper thing to say, "Why Fight It?" especially if you're in the position of the author - Resnick: That's corrupt. Reinhardt: - of the statement? I think it's a little unfair to call a dealer corrupt in a situation in which he functions effectively. It's the artist that permits or allows it. (pause) If the corruption is not in the using and the exploitation and the accommodation and in the availability and in the openness and looseness, then I'd like to know where it is? This is in the artist, in his actions and in his work. Resnick: Well, I want to put it another way. The invisible is not corrupt. The things I can't see, I can't see the dirt on them. It doesn't show. If I bend down to pick up something dirty I can get to it. I can get rid of the dirt. I can shine it up; I can sparkle it; I can do something about it. What can I do about this invisible stuff? What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to feel about something I can't see? Why is it that I must live with corruption being implicit? There's nothing that I can do about it. Now, that's why I really feel so bad, Ad; all your words recall to me the things that I can do nothing about. It doesn't matter what I might try and do. I can't overcome it. It's this saying, "What are you, really?" "Why aren't you more open?" "Why aren't you more pure?" It's come through the years, Ad, that you and I are both in the same position, strangely. You know, because we weren't. I didn't ever agree with anybody and certainly not you. But we are in the same position about something and that is the thing you said the last time when you had some people here with you, and you said the most important thing is that we talk - here - about our art or anything. Doesn't matter whether it bores you or doesn't. It's more important that we persist; we have it out. I think I only agree with you about the words. To have it out is a feeling for the future - an anticipation of what you'll do, what you can do. Those who want that to be closed, to prevent it from possibly happening - the status quo - are corrupt. The future is the thing new. It's a little baby's ass, the future; there's nothing dirty about it. It's the only thing I can see about it; it's tender. I think all thoughts that have to do with the future are tender thoughts. They're not savage, they're not slaughterous, they're not murderous. Murderers have nothing to do with the future. I think art has to (pause) live. I don't want anyone to give me anything, because I want art to live. I don't want - because I'm an artist - anyone to give me anything. Nobody ever gave me anything. The first man who ever offered to help me - I had a mattress on the floor - that's how I lived - the first man offered me a bed. It was supposed to make me feel happy. It came, free of charge, and it was full of bedbugs. (Iaughter) It made me sick! It's true. I don't want anything to be given. People on the Project were sick at heart. They didn't want anything like it. It wasn't generous. It isn't a matter of money; it isn't a matter of attitude. It's something else. We want the future! Reinhardt: I think we can come back to the title. How can the structure or the system or the establishment be attacked? I don't know but I have a feeling that artists have sold out. I know that these words are kind of old fashioned, they're maybe out of the Twenties or Thirties, but is it true that art has been sold out? I'm saying it would be all the way down the line, too. I don't know how to separate one thing from another anyway. Is it self-abasement? Has it been an accommodation from within? Or has it been an influence from the outside? Sometimes when I've brought this up, especially out of town where I've been invited sometimes to talk - and I'm always a disappointing speaker - everybody wants to know how to make it; how to become a success. Usually, I have to take the position of - and this isn't my idea - it's some sociologist's - of failure; the idea of the nervous failure; not only the failure of nerve but the nervous failure; the refusal to compete; the possibility of complete withdrawal. Now, that makes for all kinds of personal dilemmas and I think all artists have this to some degree. I think we've witnessed in the last decade the artist moving around from gallery to gallery until you get to the right gallery or - well, that kind of opportunism isn't any different than what goes on in jobs in advertising and anywhere else. It's hard to criticize anybody for making his way, however if this business of being on the make all the time - of trying to get in on it - well, it may be an illusion. It may be tragic if you really desire that and don't get it. It makes for martyrs and for some kinds of heroes too in this society. I don't know what the answer is. I haven't said one thing about what anybody should do. I'm trying to find out why things aren't very good for a fine artist. Voice: Could I - Resnick: Just a minute. Alright. Suppose it is important to now know what to do. We begin by saying that we - Reinhardt: Don't know. Resnick: - don't know. What could it be that we could do if we began now? Let's settle a few things to begin with. If I were a jealous man, if I wanted to hog the stage of art - to be the only one - to shine more brightly than anybody else - if that were supposed to be the thing I was to try to do - the one thing I would be nervous about would be someone who says, "Look at me." There's something about art that's so complicated that to be able to see through the painting - the thing done - to the person, the man who did it, is impossible. If anything would make me nervous it would be some guy running around stealing every goddamned thing he could lay his hands on, and doing it better. Making me nervous would be coming from behind. It would never occur to me that someone could naturally be in front. It can't happen. Now, on the other hand, the point you bring up as corrupt is that they're on the make. Which means there are things other than painting that can be visible and apparent and indicate a hustling nature of a lot of artists. Well, the strange part about it is that I think they're not very good at it and the other thing is that they want something that is, well, not important to me. Certainly not important to me if what I jealously regard as important - what I think about art - in other words - if my mind is on what I did, if I'm dancing in my studio and saying, "look at that," and no one happens to be witnessing me; that's the attitude of art somehow; that I did something and I'm gloriously shining, and the whole world is lit up; then the idea that someone is busy giving a cocktail party just doesn't occur to me as being corrupt. It's maybe besides the point. It shouldn't occur to me, maybe; in other words it does occur to me as it occurs to you and to everybody, and that's what I'm getting at. That we're living within a system and this system is hostile. This system demands that you make yourself understood in a way that artists can't be understood. Reinhardt: I have one suggestion that's a good idea and if it isn't, then I think we might just as well clam up and let things take care of themselves. It's a situation where artists can stress their differences. A situation in which artists are free to attack each other, especially artists who publicly represent something, who've been made into something apart from their person. Since then they'd represent ideas they'd be more discussable. I think Milton and I dove into this trying to transcend the personal thing, otherwise you're just an individual beefing like everybody else. Artists then ought to attack each other. That would be something - Resnick: Ideal. Reinhardt: - that would free a lot of things; the emphasizing of differences. There's been too much togetherness. There hasn't been togetherness but openly there's been a fear and a kind of smothering of restlessness and resentment that legitimately should come out in the open. Now the problem is here at the Club and there is no reason for the Club to exist unless you want it to continue introducing new artists, or artists about to embark on their career - which it's been doing the last two or three years. However if it's going to remain some sort of an open forum or a free debate, and there's something about the Club that's free from institutions. You know, the Club was invited two or three years ago to take place in the Museum of Modern Art auditorium. I don"t know what it would have been if it had moved up there. There's something about writing for ARTnews or Arts - official publications saying things - that's not free. Sometimes an editor confronts you, saying, "If you have something to say, the pages are open," but the fact that it's published in a publication does something to it, too. That's why a publication like Scrap is welcome, but I think you'll agree with me it's a pretty timid publication. I only read the first issue but there was no real attack on anything. Well, I think you all know what the alternative is. I'm certainly not suggesting any sort of a program. I'm not legislating or telling anybody in particular what to do in their work; however, the only alternative is to go back to what you were doing and let things happen the way they do. And if you can make your way around good luck to you and if not, T.S. I guess. Irving Sandler: I'd like to ask a question. If you feel that art is corrupt, well, that's one thing having to do with art, but if you feel that the scene is corrupt, that's something else and that "something else" took place after an art that you think was corrupt wasn't really being looked at. In other words, that specific thing took place before this corrupt scene you're talking about, existed. Now, the thing that may have changed is selling. But I really don't know whether that's so important. Is selling really a sellout? Reinhardt: The corruption you're talking about has always existed. It's just become a mixture of forms; some people call it a dilution, a popularization of abstract art. Sandler: Would that go into the making of it? Reinhardt: There was a kind of selling out that artists did in the Thirties. The art of political content was certainly an accommodation, certainly the art of the synagogues later on, but the attempt to move an abstract art into the market and into the world is what you're talking about, and the problem is - is art the same? Is it a reflection? Or does it go hand in hand with the general situation, or not? Some writers, Harold and this fellow, felt that everything was corrupt and pretty awful, except the Museum of Modern Art, which was an oasis in all this terrible corruption. Well - is it? Or is it part of the same activity that goes on everywhere? You know my answer; that it's even worse than the outside situation. It's even more corrupt because it doesn't have the economic or political contingencies immediately. I think art can have some kind of political meaning. Somebody has called a certain kind of abstract art representative of the Eisenhower administration. Well, maybe that's so. We all agree the time isn't any good but if you think it's great then you ought to continue doing so. I'm sure you're familiar with Bill Maslin in the Village Voice writing about one of those wonderful parties, and somehow the idea creeps in that at the party there's a fellow outside in the cold and snow walking around with a watchtower sign or something like that - spoiling the party. Spoiling the fun. Somehow, everybody knows that maybe he's alright, but home is where the liquor and the good times are. Well, I don't mind sounding like a puritan. Milton and I are both part of that Hebraic/Christian tradition (laughter) and that's against all the pagan and Hindu/Buddhist metaphysics and perhaps we moved back to what we originally were. Resnick: I'm not party to that. I left it when I was seventeen. That's why I became an artist; anti-Jew, anti-Christian, anti-family, anti-love and all that; anti-raising kids and sacrificing. Artist means not - not that. Reinhardt: Well, I was only making an anti-Hindu and Buddhist statement. (Iaughter) Wolf Kahn: I heard this story about Mark Tobey, out west. He was approached by Life magazine - Reinhardt: Is this a beatnik story? Kahn: He was approached by Life magazine for that article that you're so hard on, and he said he didn't want to have his picture reproduced, only in trade journals. So, maybe that's an instance of non-corruption? Resnick: You mean his face or his painting? Kahn: His face and his painting. Reinhardt: Mark Tobey? Kahn: Mark Tobey. (confusion) Reinhardt: Well, the trade journals, I think we have two, don't we? Resnick: I think that was Edwin Dickinson. Voice: Yeh, Edwin Dickinson. Tobey wasn't - (inaudible) Resnick: It was Edwin Dickinson. Reinhardt: What I'm trying to say has been said by a number of sociologists, by a number of psychiatrists; I think there was one [David] Susskind "Open End" program, forgive me for bringing it up - but also some religious leaders like Tillich and Pike. The objection of those people to their field is exactly the same objection that I have in my field. Now. I don't like to call it a trade. I'll bring up Dean Pike who is maybe a successful man but he doesn't like all the business and all the activity, the Billy Graham activity; and he objects to religion being another gadget, another pleasure, another activity, another thing for use -for good living or whatever. The thing I like about some of the psychiatrists on some program is that they thought that the uses that psychiatry were put to in recent decades set the whole idea back fifty or a hundred years. Freud and the others were involved in an intellectual adventure, and the whole field was now reduced to a method or a means of curing; a practicality. What art has also been reduced to, is a way of making a living, a means of living a life, moving into all the areas of everyday practicality and everyday experience. Now, I'm not saying art is religion, but there is something else besides the ridiculous everyday activity. What's corrupt about the situation is that most artists know it. There is a climate of maybe even fraud, or dishonesty in which everyone expects to be exposed tomorrow, as if you might as well get it while you can because it's not going to last. Why shouldn't it last? Why shouldn't you get it if it's proper? It was a cliche once, years ago when you had artists objecting and talking, attacking - but, the expression was, after they joined Kootz {gallery}, they clammed up. This is not true of one gallery; it's true of any gallery. Why should that be? Is that all there is? The artist wants to be liked. He wants to live a good life like any other human being; especially eat. Well, all that sounds good but it's absolutely corrupt; All those ideas about the artist wanting to be a celebrity - be in the world of everyday activity - all those artists involved in institutions have those ideas; they wanted those ideas. The attempt to move art into the world was always a favorite idea of Bob Motherwell's. One time it forced me to pick a title, "Out of this World" simply because - not that I was advocating that - but that that movement had something wrong - I'm not afraid to use the word, "wrong" about it. Voice: Ad, maybe it's because we believe in democracy. Reinhardt: Well, the justification for everything is that we're all sinners, we're all human, and we're like everybody else. Voice: Say, Ad, since you're such an expert on corruption, will you give us a definition of your own honesty? Resnick: Listen - Voice: You want to make a personal attack - Reinhardt: Look, I don't mind that - Resnick: Let me get at something I want to talk about - Reinhardt: I'll let Milton answer that. Resnick: Yeah. How did religion get back? It was gone. It was done for, a hundred years ago, really. How did it get back? Now, I have a theory. I think it just suited something said about art; something started by the ideas of avant gardism. And by accident. I think that when Kierkegaard, in his beautiful way of writing, spoke about "how would he find the knight of infinite faith?" How would he find the man who truly has faith? He said, "I would exchange that - finding such a man - with the most incredible monsters of Africa." Now, that would be a real find. In other words, a man with faith, according to Kierkegaard, was a very rare person. He went on and elaborated upon that, but the idea being that he didn't count churchgoers or anything like that as very religious at all. He thought this thing like an act of faith was so rare, so highly improbable - almost impossible - that it could only exist in a form that you'd never recognize it. That's how it got back. It was something that was rare, It was something that you didn't recognize. Only one-of-a-kind. And I think when Heidegger, and people like him, with their looking for hard work, for a lifetime of hard work - it always occurs to them that if something is impossible then it could take their lifetime and it would be well-occupied, they'd be Herr Professor, and have credit for at least trying -I think in art now this religious feeling - this feeling of guilt - no one says why they're guilty. If you ask them, "What did you do?" they answer - "Well, it's this feeling I have." All this religious feeling doesn't mean you have to get up in the morning and go to church; as a matter of fact, most people don't get up early in the morning. Most people assume that someone else does and they figure "He's going to church," so they're a little respectful about it, but they wouldn't be caught dead in church. They're not like that. They want it to be single; only one-of-a-kind. It seems that's historically the role of the great art; that there's only one-of-a-kind. Well, I think that's bunk. I think it's never been true. It's always been a short synopsis, a short way of presenting a lot of very complicated facts and ideas in the person, one. It's been a way of getting rid of that long list that nobody can remember. And I think that we suffer from it terribly, right now, when we ought to feel free in every sense. We're the most victimized by historians, by system makers, by corporations; I don't know what they are but they bother me. And the only freedom I have is among artists. I want to live among artists. I want to be in and out when I feel like it, to go back to my studio and come out. But to come out means that everyone's willing, that everyone likes the idea. It doesn't mean that I have to be running around nagging, saying, "Lets talk about art." I didn't come here to do that. I just really came here to speak my mind. And attack. My idea is that I'm attacking everybody. Ad Reinhardt is much more particular; he's only attacking corrupt people, but I'm attacking everybody. Reinhardt: Let me say almost the same thing Milton's saying. For somebody to question somebody about honesty or corruption; if you think for a minute how dopey that is. What would it prove if you proved that I was a little corrupt? Or the most corrupt guy in the world? We're talking about an idea here. That exists. Now that doesn't exist because I said it, personally. lt exists and it exists perhaps among everyone. Now, to bring it up is just - well, its just dumb, that's all. Resnick: Sure is dumb. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | back to Texts page
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American Abstract Artists |
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