February 6, 2002
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Charles Giuliano is a Boston based artist, curator and critic. He is a contributing editor of Art New England, and Nyartsmagazine, and the director of exhibitions for The New England School of Art and Design at Suffolk University. A review of the ICA fashion show, Maverick 53, is included in the current on line issue of Retro Rocket.

Not So Desperately Seeking Mark Kostabi
Stefan Stux Gallery
529 West 20th Street, Chelsea, NYC
Through February 13

Don’t get me wrong. I have never met Mark Kostabi. While I have followed his career and its conceptual manner of hiring young artists to make the works he signs and sells as his own, truth be told, I have never actually seen an "original" Kostabi.

But I have seen illustrations in arts publications and have been a devoted fan of his advice column in Art Net.Com. His hints for young artists, responses to numerous and sincere letters, have ranged from hilarious to right on. They are in fact the best material in Art Net which has become progressively less interesting. In fact I have actually forwarded some of his columns to friends and have even, on occasion, made it required reading for students in my avant-garde seminar at Boston University.

When the invitation to his current show arrived, with the artist’s smiling, not particularly attractive face collaged onto the Mona Lisa, I was disappointed that I was not scheduled to visit NY during the run of the exhibition.

Not that it actually makes any difference. Arguably actually seeing the work is unlikely to change one’s opinion of the work itself. Or what the artist is about. Or whether or not you actually do or do not appreciate what he is doing.

This is in fact a rather familiar concept. Virtually any snow shovel leaning against a wall, in the proper setting and context, will serve as Marcel Duchamp’s seminal found object, "In Advance of the Broken Art." It is the work because the individual or institution displaying it claims that it is. In another example, the National Gallery of Canada, "owns," the Carl Andre work that consists of a row of fire bricks. It is a no brainer to install the piece. But only the Ottowa based museum has the exclusive authority to claim that this is a work by Andre. What however would prevent me or anyone else from cloning the work and claiming it as an original. These are issues that Walter Benjamin explored in the seminal essay, "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction."

So, while I regret missing the Kostabi show, perhaps it doesn’t make any difference. And I will proceed to "review" it anyway. What the heck. Because, let’s face it anything I might say on the subject can be no better or worse than what Ken Johnson wrote in his alleged review in the New York Times (February 1, B37). While he actually spent some time in the gallery, which I have not, I can see no evidence that he has a better understanding of the work than I have even though I have clearly stated that I have never in my entire life actually looked at an original Mark Kostabi work of art.

Some of this does and does not surprise me. Consider the individual and the source. Again, I have never met or interacted with Ken Johnson. And I am sure there are those who love and admire him. But, given my druthers I would rather spend an evening chatting with Ken than sucking up to Ken. At least Mark has a great sense of humor. While, Ken just comes off as a prig and a stiff. Just what you would expect from a Times art critic.

After taking too much space in a rather brief review to sketch in the artist’s prior social and political issues in which he was, "ostracized by the serious art world," Johnson later states that, "Mr. Kostabi is still knocking on the door, however. He still desperately wants to be the next Duchamp, the next Warhol, the next Koons. But his ideas are so hackneyed."

Is this art criticism of social commentary? This cheap psycho babble seems more like Jerry Springer and Geraldo or Talk Radio than serious art criticism in the old gray dowager the Times. When did the arts desk start psycho analyzing the artists who exhibit in New York.

It is that word, "desperately," that bugs me. That assumes a familiarity with the artist. That, perhaps they spent a long and emotional night weeping in their beer. Oh, what price glory. While intentionality is indeed a fascinating area of speculation what exactly are Johnson’s alleged qualifications to practice psychotherapy on exhibiting artists.

Not that taking cheap shots at artists is unfamiliar to me. I am guilty of similar
infractions to be sure. I have dissed my share of artists. But I have never assumed to know what they were thinking or feeling. That cuts to motive and I have no skill or training in that area. Nor do I feel that this is an appropriate arena for art critics. I have avoided it in my own critical writing and have trained my students not to engage in this approach. For example, I have encouraged students to look at the work of van Gogh and not at his ear. To discuss the symptoms and psychosis of the artist is to diminish the accomplishment of the work. It cheapens the discourse but obviously works in making the torment of the artist more attractive in terms of selling the work. It makes the anguished artist more marketable. We want to feel the pain.

And, while it is a part of the mix of our understanding, perhaps it is given too much weight and balance. So I do not presume to be Kostabi’s shrink. Just his critic. And I am less concerned with his troubles and status in the art world than with his accomplishments which frankly I admire and find amusing.

There is after all a great tradition of the workshop. Think of Raphael, of Rubens, or Rembrandt or Koons or Kostabi. Is it any different? There is work that has left their studios, produced by workers, technicians, collaborators, apprentices, under the signature of the master. What happens when the Man in the Gilded Helmet, from Berlin, or the Frick’s Polish Rider, prove not to be by the hand or Rembrandt? Are they any less interesting now that they are demonstrated not to be by the master? Isn’t the Polish Rider still a terrific picture? Even though we all now boldly say that there was always something wrong about the horse.

Perhaps one of those "Kostabi’s," will turn out to be by a yet to be fully appreciated now starving artist willing to sell his soul to the devil. Excuse me, I meant Mark Kostabi. That strikes me as a better gig than waiting on tables or cab driving. In that sense Kostabi deserves credit for supporting young artists. As did Rubens and Rembrandt and Warhol (The Factory got to eat on the tab at Max’s Kansas City but Andy never paid anybody except the occasional full timers like Gerard). And everybody claims to have given Andy his best ideas. Valerie unloaded a few rounds in his guts over alleged copyright infringement. So maybe Mark should get fitted for a vest. This stuff can get real emotional.

What is annoying is that Johnson, because he writes for the Times, is going to decide whether or not Kostabi gets admitted to that door he is, "knocking on." Why should be assume that the Times Club is any better than the ones that you and I habituate.

Frankly, Mark’s club seems like a whole lot more fun. Just ask Groucho.

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