Postmodernism is the somewhat weasel word that has been described to mean the garbled situation of art at the end of the twentieth century. It is a term which nobody quite understands, because, as I see it, no clear cut definition has ever been put forward. It's use arose synonymously with that of pluralism toward the end of the '70's and early '80's, and at that point it referred to the loss of faith in the stylistic mainstream, as if the whole histories of styles and artisms had suddenly come unstuck. Since then ofcourse, the old slylistic divisions now mix, blend, and alternate interchangeably with each other; dogmatism and exclusivity have given way to openness and coexistence. Pluralism abolishes control; it gives the impression that everything is permitted, validated, questioned and critiqued with no limitation, the artist is free to express himself / herself without reproach. If modernism was ideolgical at heart - full of strenuous dictates about what art could or could not be; postmodernism is much more eclectic, able to assimilate, and even plunder, all forms of style and genre, and tolerant of multiplicity and conflicting values. Look at the Turner Prize for example. Art on the Southbank has never been so popular, or controversial. Fans of 'proper' painting and sculpture [...] that, "yer know, look proper, like something" [?] are outraged by Damien Hirst's pickled cows, Tracey Emin's filthy bed, Martin Creed's empty room. But the moaning won't change the fact that these are the direct descendants of Constable, Stubbs and Turner.Evolution has quickened to freakish speed, it would seem. But where does that leave artist's like me? - Painters, sculpter's, materialists. Is painting dead? Am I looked down upon by conceptualists. Unfortunately, attempts to identify a newer than-new generation in British art have so far, as I see it, been embarrassing; from Charles Saatchi's Neurotic Realist shows to Tate Britain's Triennials, the suggestion that the old self-congratulatory cosiness has returned to British art. In our studio's in York St John, art students who grew up with Hirst as their elder can't imagine a time when contemporary art was invisible in British culture, and too much of the newest art simply assumes the existence of an engaged public. It has the same lazy flippency as contemporary art in America - and that's not a good thing surely?
Postmodernism is the somewhat weasel word that has been described to mean the garbled situation of art at the end of the twentieth century. It is a term which nobody quite understands, because, as I see it, no clear cut definition has ever been put forward.
ReplyDeleteIt's use arose synonymously with that of pluralism toward the end of the '70's and early '80's, and at that point it referred to the loss of faith in the stylistic mainstream, as if the whole histories of styles and artisms had suddenly come unstuck. Since then ofcourse, the old slylistic divisions now mix, blend, and alternate interchangeably with each other; dogmatism and exclusivity have given way to openness and coexistence. Pluralism abolishes control; it gives the impression that everything is permitted, validated, questioned and critiqued with no limitation, the artist is free to express himself / herself without reproach.
If modernism was ideolgical at heart - full of strenuous dictates about what art could or could not be; postmodernism is much more eclectic, able to assimilate, and even plunder, all forms of style and genre, and tolerant of multiplicity and conflicting values.
Look at the Turner Prize for example.
Art on the Southbank has never been so popular, or controversial. Fans of 'proper' painting and sculpture [...] that, "yer know, look proper, like something" [?] are outraged by Damien Hirst's pickled cows, Tracey Emin's filthy bed, Martin Creed's empty room. But the moaning won't change the fact that these are the direct descendants of Constable, Stubbs and Turner.Evolution has quickened to freakish speed, it would seem.
But where does that leave artist's like me?
- Painters, sculpter's, materialists. Is painting dead? Am I looked down upon by conceptualists. Unfortunately, attempts to identify a newer than-new generation in British art have so far, as I see it, been embarrassing; from Charles Saatchi's Neurotic Realist shows to Tate Britain's Triennials, the suggestion that the old self-congratulatory cosiness has returned to British art. In our studio's in York St John, art students who grew up with Hirst as their elder can't imagine a time when contemporary art was invisible in British culture, and too much of the newest art simply assumes the existence of an engaged public. It has the same lazy flippency as contemporary art in America - and that's not a good thing surely?