Art and America Now

What is America? Simply put, it is not just the land between the Pacific and Atlantic—it is a collection of people and their ideas, thoughts, and symbols. American history is complicated, and there is much to be ashamed of, but most of us, regardless of identifier (political, racial, sexual, or religious) are able to connect with the one unifying symbol of America. As an American, you may be fulfilled, happy—content with your lot in life. More realistically, you may be upset, angry, or disappointed with the way things are turning out during what seems to be the death throes of the American experiment. Of course, artists often see things differently. In a discussion of art and American themes, it is impossible not to consider Jasper Johns. His Three Flags, and other works involving the American flag, are perhaps the obvious subject to discuss here, but they may be too easy when considering the most important question they raise: is this a painting or a flag? To me, it is both. Sometimes searching for deeper meaning is unnecessary, as the artist may have had a simple goal to accomplish. Recreating the symbology of the American flag is easy to digest, as it is burned indelibly into our mind. But what about a map of America? In what new ways can we see America? If we are asked to picture an image of America in our head, what do we conjure up? Many of us probably picture a flag, or a bald eagle. Alternatively, many of us may picture a map. With the borders neatly demarcated, the states shown in varying shades of color. We may be reminded of elementary school, and memories of a giant map that hung on the wall. It is this image that Johns likely took great pleasure in deconstructing with his Map of 1961. By blurring the shapes and borders of the states, he offers a more realistic (and colorful) view of what America truly is—a place that is more likely defined by the spaces between the lines, rather than the convenient definitions of states. To me this suggests a hopeful outlook on the part of Johns, and with his use of bright color I feel that he wants the viewer to share in his optimism.

            If Jasper Johns’ Map is a commentary on the idea of the American melting pot, then William Wegman’s The Tilted Chair is something entirely different. The size and grandeur of the piece itself is one of its defining characteristics. Viewing the huge piece has the effect of transporting you into a fantasy version of America, where points of interest on the landscape are connected by stylized mountain ranges, rivers, and roads. These points of interest are represented by found postcards; images of smiling women in bikinis, the Space Needle in Seattle, a row of parrots sitting on a tree limb. It’s like looking at the collected memories of a middle-class family’s travels in 1950’s America. It is shiny, happy, and prosperous, and further, it suggests that the spaces between may be more representative of the American journey. The piece is marvelous, and it appeals to the world designer in me as there are a multitude of stories possibly taking place on these four panels of wood.

            Additionally, if the space between, as suggested by Wegman in The Tilted Chair, is important to consider when thinking about American values and themes, then Diane Arbus’ Xmas tree in a living room, Levittown, L.I. 1963 is most assuredly a piece worthy of reflection. Arbus once said that “a photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it shows you, the less you know”. When we look at a picture like this, the potential for teleportation to a different time in America is great. The console TV on the stand in the corner, the garish tinsel on the (probably fake) Christmas tree, the plastic covering on the lamp shade; all indicators of a curated image of a new middle-class America. The historical context of this photograph may be more important than the image itself. The Levitts were pioneers of affordable housing in America, and Levittown, Long Island represents the largest subdivision ever constructed. For veterans returning from World War II, a tract house built by the Levitt Company offered an affordable option for experiencing the “good life”. Referred to as ‘the rabbit hutch’ by some observers, the subdivision provided a transition, facilitated by generous government home loans, where GIs could start a family. These homes even included the appliances. The gap between city and rural life was finally bridged, and the middle class was born. But, is it possible that the positives of these opportunities of ready-made convenience were diminished by the nature of the sterility of their surroundings. After all, what new ideas could come of the relative ease of the cookie cutter lifestyle promoted by the idea of a subdivision? Arbus’ photograph seems to prophetically symbolize the emptiness that would later be felt in the middle-class experience of America.

            These three pieces considered together reinforce the idea of America as a place full of possibilities and potentialities dependent upon personal worldviews and outlooks. Johns’ Map is colorful and bright, a simple piece, but not simplistic. Wegman and his fantasy landscape shows an imagination run wild, and like his other works involving his dog Man Ray, it is pure whimsy. It is a chuckle in the face of over-serious viewers. Finally, Arbus’ photograph is a snapshot of loneliness and alienation. It is indicative of an empty existence, waiting to be filled with relationships and meaning. In the vacuum of that factory-built, sterile living room in Levittown, the only thing that can be produced is children, or more accurately, future consumers—cogs in the machine of the American economy.

Today, it seems that any worthy discussion regarding art and pseudo-modernism must be couched by two broad signifiers; consumerism, and the impact of the events of 9/11. These two issues stroll, hand-in-hand, across the collective psyche of America. Of course, some people (such as artists, musicians, and writers) are more sensitive to the effects and ramifications of these two cultural juggernauts, while others are happy to meander through life in a sugar and trans-fat induced walking coma.

            For his part, photographer Paul Shambroom is wide awake. His work explores the power structures of the world, especially as they relate to the realities of a post-9/11 milieu. His photograph Level A HAZMAT suit, yellow, speaks to the paranoia of a new age, but it is also an echo of the past. The bright yellow of the suit brings to mind the atomic age, and is a jarring contrast against the fertile green of the forest in the background. It is reminiscent of more than one Black Sabbath album cover, and I think that the connection would not be lost on Shambroom. Although Black Sabbath could easily be dismissed as having little value in a discussion of pseudo-modern art, it is important to note that many of their songs dealt with alienation and were often offered as a commentary on power structures. This parallel, while of arguable import, should not be ignored. Often, popular art (be it music, or visual) is more subversive than it is sometimes given credit for. Much of their music was a response to the fear of living in the nuclear age, beneath the shadow of the bomb. Black Sabbath aside, Shambrooms photo is only one of a series that deal with this new picture of America. The artist has also published a series of photographs that tell the story of America and its relationship with the nuclear bomb, entitled Face to Face with the bomb: nuclear reality after the Cold War. Until 9/11, American citizens hadn’t been required to experience the horrors of war first hand. The experience was distant, and the events often unfolded after the fact in a movie theater via the skilled performances of Lee Marvin and John Wayne. We were protected by dissociation. To that, there is a dissociative quality about this photograph, but is its goal to protect…or to warn? Is it a stretch to consider this man in the yellow suit as a faceless minion of an evil empire set on subjugation and control? Or is it just an entry in the catalog of products of the 21^st century?

            In the 21^st century the internet is a blessing and a curse. In the halcyon days before the internet, we had limited access to information. Comparatively, now we are inundated with it. It takes a keen and discerning mind to wade through the dross, otherwise one experiences overload. But in those days of blissful ignorance, the McDonalds fast food chain was still one of the good guys. You could still enjoy a Coke-Cola without too guilty of a conscience. Sure, you might hear conspiracies of the acidic power of soda pop to melt aluminum, or that McDonalds used all sorts of additives in the production of their food. Even icons of American popular culture were still immune to much of the criticism that they are subject to today. It is difficult to deny the negative effects of a fast food diet when Morgan Spurlock sacrifices his health by eating nothing but McDonalds in the 2004 documentary Supersize Me. Only in the internet age could that movie have reached such a wide audience. Today, there are no sacred cows, and that is a good thing. We can look at the art of Ron English, specifically Super Supper, as a prime example of the new power that Americans have access to. Not so long ago, Americans remained in the dark (mostly) about what a healthy diet consisted of. Thanks to artists like English we are urged to question those notions that we have lived with for so long. Is it because of our own choices that we are overweight and dying in droves of heart disease and diabetes? Or, are we victims of an advertising machine that seeks to make us fat and apathetic to the world around us? After all, if we are all fat, miserable slugs then the real horrors of the world won’t have nearly the impact that they should. English is a self-proclaimed “popagandist” and his penchant for culture jamming is boundless. It is apparent that he has a goal in mind, when a fat Ronald McDonald is depicted seated as Jesus at the table of the Last Supper with his disciples of pop culture. Have Americans crucified McDonalds? Has Ronald McDonald died for all of our sins of gluttony, greed, and sloth?

            What has become of our dreams? Why are we at such odds with “the powers that be”? And is that truly the reality? Most of us are happy to shuffle about the planet, buying things, eating things, and drinking things. We consume with great zeal the pink slime that is fed to us through the tubes of popular culture. Our lives are a performance, and Facebook is the ultimate performance within a performance. I wonder what would happen if our reality suddenly shifted, and Facebook was shut down? It is my hope that we could get back to the business of living, instead of consuming. It is likely that an artist like Banksy has similar hopes for humanity. His street art seems to portray that message. His efforts exist to shift the viewer’s consciousness, indeed to place something thought-provoking that wasn’t there before. It would be folly to think that his art is simply graffiti, for words on a wall are seldom ignored. Critics of Banksy (and his street artist comrades) are quick to dismiss street art as simple vandalism. They claim that it serves no meaningful purpose and adds to the plight of already suffering neighborhoods. Hmm? Could it be that they are just upset at the power of street art like Banksy’s to detract from corporate advertising? After all, his work isn’t terribly offensive, and indeed many of his pieces are whimsical in nature, revolutionary…but with a twist of innocence. The subversive nature of his work is likely the real issue. One piece depicts a man, his face covered with a bandana as if he were involved in a protest action, throwing a bouquet of flowers like a Molotov cocktail. It is a lovely sentiment, if slightly naïve, and it hearkens back to the message of peace postulated by the hippie movement in the 1960’s. There is a piece that seems to be more valuable, especially in regards to the focus of this essay. Follow Your Dreams is a piece of street art that appeared in Boston in the early 2000’s. It shows a simple graffiti tag stating “Follow Your Dreams”, and standing next to it is a man armed with bucket and brush, who has pasted a red “cancelled” stamp over top of the message. The man, wearing simple clothes, seems to have a guilty conscience. Almost like he was only doing his job. The piece sums up the message that many of these pseudo-modern artists are trying to get across to us. The machine of America will continue on, its citizens merely meat for the beast that must be fed. Our dreams will continue to be cancelled and replaced by the Facebook of the future. At least, that is how I have received Banksy’s message.

            In the end, we know not what the future holds. With the help of artists such as the six that have been discussed here, we may suddenly wake up from our collective coma and begin to see each other again, or to hear music for the first time from the unlikeliest of sources. Maybe as enjoyers of art we could meet them in the middle. Perhaps we can log off of Facebook from time to time, so that we can take the time to foster real relationships again. Maybe true love is right in front of us, but our realities have been replaced by the hyper-reality that Eco speaks of, and we are simply unable to appreciate it or even see it. It is easy to simply enjoy art—to delight in experiencing something new. The real challenge is being receptive to the deeper meanings offered to us by artists like Jasper Johns or Ron English, and allowing a new idea to worm its way into our brain. While there are ample opportunities for us to remain contentious and adversarial with each other and the world around us, always struggling to find a better job, a better house, a better life—perhaps it would be more beneficial for us to actually produce less and just simply be.

All images are borrowed and belong to the original artist.