The ageless quotidian. Why artists should (and shouldn’t) steal from one another.
I suppose it shouldn’t be of any great surprise to see some sculptures, instantly recognise the artist, and then realise you are wrong. Why shouldn’t artists steal from one another? If I saw a two paintings of a girl on a chair, I would look for the unique voice of the artist. I would look at the style, the composition, the texture, the colour. I would compare and contrast. And that’s what I had to do last night at the opening of “Young Talents in Contemporary Art III” organised by Alejandro Gallery at the Renaissance Hotel.
Clearly trying to appeal to the younger crowd, the “list and wrist” twist was charming. I’ve never been to an invitation only opening before, and the lovely woman who gave us our wrist-bands was delighted to point out the areas to see the art and, more importantly, where the cava was being served. We clinked our glasses and wandered half way down the stairs to see five works by Joan Mora. No, sorry. Five works by Lluc Baños. Everyday objects, in marble. The mistake was easy enough to make. Here were three squashed water bottles, a brick, a megaphone, an anvil and a football. Deflated. Which is how I felt, once I twigged that there were not by Joan Mora. These works were not quite so polished, both literally and figuratively. I don’t know if Baños knows the work of fellow Catalan, Joan Mora, but he should. Though to be fair, he was in Italy learning his craft when Mora had his last exhibition at Artur Ramon. And he’s not the only artist taking Carrara marble and using it as a medium to make us question our notions of consumerism, society and art. But I can’t approach this work without my prior knowledge. Nor would I want to.
So what does the young Baños bring to the table that’s, well, new, fresh, exciting? I’m afraid to say, not much. I’m pretty comfortable with my level of consumption, my socialist beliefs, my understanding of the historical lineage of Michelangelo to, well, really? Baños? I get the joke, but I heard it a while back. It’s just not so funny any more. And the iPhone? with the authentic cracked corner? In the glass vitrine? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Very good. But do you really think I can salve my consumerist conscience by spending a month’s salary on an object that will add to my consumerism, and give me little pleasure after a couple of hours? A witty talking point at dinner, for sure.
But what I want, as ever, is something that will capture my attention, and hold it. For a lifetime. Something by Jan Monclús, for example. My first impression of the first painting of his I saw was, well, muddy. Muddy colours, muddy thinking, mud. And no golf courses please. “The Resistance” (2014) purports to be a clubhouse graffitied with anti golf symbols, set on a green, with mountains in the background. Listen to Monclús talk, however, and you are told that it is none of these things. It’s paint. On canvas. It’s pictorial process. The paint informs the painting. And after three glasses of cava, there’s something fascinating about it. But I’m not sure that I haven’t been seduced. By the cava, by the comfort of the sofas in the lounge bar. By the invite-only list. By the artist himself self-deprecatingly unexplaining his work. By the deliciously flirty wait staff who went to find me some cheese.
Maybe it’s simply that Monclús has something to say. He just doesn’t know what it is yet. And like his idol Luc Tuymans, I’m not sure he ever will. And that. That is the reason he paints. Unlike Baños, who has thought of a funny story to tell, Monclús is tongue-tied, desperately looking for the works to express his feelings. And it’s the reason I found myself perched on a barstool or sprawled on the sofa looking and looking and looking again.
There is something compelling about the work. It’s inhospitable, especially in a five star hotel, with the TV in the corner showing a visually distracting loop of publicity of Renaissance Hotels. The poor lighting, the brown walls which sucked what little life there is from an untitled painting of a rock with two tufts of grass. The glare of the light on “The Stage”, a painting in a painting makes you question the appropriateness of exhibiting work in a hotel at all. But rather than seeing this in the clinical perfection of a white cube gallery, I could imagine this work in my home. And I could imagine being confused and fascinated by it for the rest of my life. Here are eternal symbols, and rather than updating them, or making them quotidian, Monclús has made them ageless.
