Drawing Conclusions - the Rise of Drawing in the Contemporary Art Scene Pt 2
Meanwhile, however, America 's East Coast was caught unawares, forced (for once) to gradually discern a nexus of creativity occurring elsewhere. While many commentators, curators and gallerists became increasingly aware that some kind of real cultural shift was taking place, others seemed slow or simply unwilling to recognize its impact or legitimacy.
Yet the growing appeal of Low-Brow and related work - especially amongst a generation of new and emerging artists - was undeniable. New
galleries
opened to deal exclusively in the genre, and Juxtapoz, along with many of its featured artists, began to acquire a cult following. Its international distribution and the broad reach of the internet helped ensure that this new sensibility filtered beyond the US .
The 'unofficial' Californian scene gathering pace in the '90s was intrinsically linked to a rejection of prevailing artistic practice - the notion, as Fred Tomaselli later put it, "...that people are a bit tired of the over-rationalism (sic) of the art world, this idea that you can get to everything through the cerebral."
Yet its ethos was otherwise hugely democratic and unifying, a statement of validity for neglected or side-lined art . There can be little doubt that its emergence provided an impetus behind the current interest in drawing.
But this interest - and with it, the resurgence of a particular kind of artistic
engagement
- was not, of course, solely confined to America's West Coast.
Elsewhere in the States, Laylah Ali's first major show of meticulously patterned, faux-naif works took place at Chicago's MOCA in 1999 (she had been featured, along with Chris Johansen, at New York's Drawing Center in the summer of 1998).
Julie Mehretu, likewise emerging towards the end of the '90s, fused painting with drawing in a myriad of complex mark-making, while Canada 's Royal Art Lodge, formed in 1996, produced
whimsical drawings, paintings and objects
reminiscent of the Mission School 's output.
In Europe , similar trends were also underway. As the 20th century drew to its close, Sweden 's Jockum Nordstrüm was gaining recognition for his beautifully rendered, twisted tableaux of far from ordinary life. Switzerland 's Marc Bauer produced vigorous drawings that exemplified the medium's strength, and in Britain the hand-drawn zine was adopted by Olivia Plender, albeit in a highly polished form.
While drawing, obviously, had never disappeared entirely from the gallery, these artists represent just a few of those contributing to its rapidly growing visibility towards the end of the '90s. A resurgence now so evident that, though prompted by certain definable factors, nevertheless seems organic, almost essential; a phenomenon that quite possibly identifies as well as answers very current needs amongst today's young artists.
And what are they?
Well to start with,
drawing is cheap
. For those struggling with the high costs of studio space and materials, it's a medium that's financially viable as well as a manageable means of production.
What's more, it's hugely inclusive. Everyone, at some point, has experienced the act of drawing at some level, a participation which affords even the most casual observer a sense of involvement in the medium; a visceral engagement in its use that conceptual art forms often lack.
Yet despite this refreshingly egalitarian glow, it also appears that much of today's output seems directed towards highly individual, even arcane expression, a practice exemplified by intricate, almost obsessive mark-making.
On the one hand, this wholly supports an ethos by which today's artists seem to demand an intimate, personal and evident engagement with their art.
Painstaking detail and labor-intensive mark-making represent
artistic endeavour
for which the artist alone is responsible. No third-party construction teams, no assistants on hand to dab a brush as directed. This art is about making in the purest possible sense.
A parallel explosion in use of craft elements - beading, glittering, collage, embroidery - as well as the growing popularity of zines and artists' books - mirrors this quest for hands-on, highly personalized involvement.
Yet more intriguingly, demands for creative ownership may well serve needs besides a revision of artistic involvement.
Art, of course, has always been about
reflecting and interpreting
the world, but the early 21st century seems to have experienced a particularly profound re-appraisal of exactly what the world involves. The outlook is an uneasy one, marked by a growing sense of schism and dislocation, and in particular, the notion of circumstance veering out of control.
To return briefly to Pop Surrealism, true to its 'surrealist' label the movement is marked by
subversion
of apparent reality. Typically, this takes on disturbing, anxiety-ridden form; bio-morphed figures inhabit scenarios laden with threat; an undertow of violence is darkly enhanced by imagery plucked from childhood.
And importantly, unlike Surrealism, which investigates the interior spaces of the human psyche, Pop Surrealism obliquely focuses on physical, actual realities. Those genetic hybrids, ruined landscapes and constant simmer of threat don't merely exist in our nightmares. They're with us now.
The movement itself may have had its day as far as the art market is concerned, but the zeitgeist it portrays is clearly here to stay.
Consider, for a moment, Jean Dubuffet's famous description of L'Art Brut
"Those works created from solitude and from pure and
authentic creative impulses
- where the worries of competition, acclaim and social promotion do not interfere - are, because of these very facts, more precious than the productions of professions. ... we cannot avoid the feeling that in relation to these works, cultural art in its entirety appears to be the game of a futile society, a fallacious parade."
Though written in the 1950s, the proclamation reads now like a perfect manifesto for the kind of anti-establishment art scene we've been discussing. Yet quite apart from epitomizing a 'purer' alternative to the mainstream, the kind of art Dubuffet describes now carries newer connotations far beyond those of his original assessment.
The 'simplicity' of naïve or folk art harks back - in popular nostalgia at least - to carefree, less complex times in which a sense of place and purpose were clearly defined. It's little wonder that its revival coincides with acute apprehension regarding our own, turbulent times.
By contrast, much outsider art is clearly associated with <em>not</em> belonging - a characteristic most evident in its embrace of art produced by the mentally ill.
Yet here again there's a definite connection. Such work often originates through its use as a therapeutic tool; a fact that throws interesting light on the intricate, involved delineation of much recent drawing and painting. Indeed, in its conspicuous efforts to order, pattern and negotiate space, such complexity provides almost casebook examples of conflict-solving Gestalt.
More interestingly still, a significant proportion of contemporary practice doesn't just seek to interpret complex realities, but actually sets out to create them through construction of highly personal, alternative worlds.
Paul Noble's well-known drawings of fictional 'Nobson Newtown' are devoid of human figures, yet imbued with visual invention and idiosyncratic textual comment. A clear purpose is to provide a complex reflection of the mind of their maker: as Noble himself puts it, "town planning as self-portraiture".
Other artists' fictional worlds provide similar arenas for grappling with issues that echo or parallel our own.
Michael Whittle, a recent graduate from the Royal College of Art, creates
intricate drawings
melding religious iconography with motifs garnered from heraldry, alchemy and science. The resulting images, snapshots of impossible states, underpin the artist's own desire to "make sense of reality" while also investigating "... man's attempts to come to terms with existence".
Camille Rose Garcia (whose practice, though largely identified with
painting
, includes much drawing) is well known for deceptively enchanting visions of what amounts to a near-dystopia. A recurring cast of characters battle to save or destroy a poisoned, dying world. The baddies, unfortunately, seem to be winning.
Art today appears to be grappling with a spiritual, political and therapeutic function that it arguably hasn't reflected quite so clearly for centuries. And the fact that drawing, the most immediate and spontaneous of mediums, forms an important part of this shift towards interpretation of a complex world should come as no surprise.
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