Last night I went to an art show with my friend Nicole. While we were there we met an artist named Tory, whose work seemed at first glance like a jumbled mix. Tory was a somewhat shy, mousy lady but seemed very willing to chat once I asked her about her work. When I asked Tory where she drew her inspiration for her latest paintings, she said that she had taken pieces of her recently deceased sister's clothing and woven them into her artwork. It quickly became apparent how much thoughtfulness and precision Tory put into her work. I could see her eyes glaze over a bit as she talked about her sister, and reminisced in the memory of her. As I paid attention to her speaking while also glancing at the large work in front of me, I noticed that there were-indeed-several pieces of fabric pasted onto the canvas with other blotches and squares of color scattered around. Tory further explained that she likes to play with colors, seeing how they complement one another. The fabric from her sister's wardrobe stood out as bright and colorful, with hues of hot pink, bright purple and floral prints, complemented by an occasional bright orange and lots of dark mundane colors-like dark blues and greys. Tory explained how a good artist knows how to balance color; he or she understands that the dark greys and browns are necessary to bring out the boldness of a bright color. So it is, she said, with gardens: the leaves and brown dirt are necessary to make colorful flowers stand out. This statement made me think about life, and how different people bring out different traits in you and help you see the world differently than you might on your own. For instance, had I gone to the gallery with my friend Sarah, as I usually do, the experience would have been quite different. It is interesting to think about how different hues in people's personalities and perceptions are brought out based upon those with whom they interact, but I digress...
Rauschenberg's works contain a similar premise as Tory's works: At first glance they seem a lot like a jumbled mix. Take for instance the piece featured below (obviously with people dancing in front of it):
It is like a beautiful, scattered mess of things. When you stop and stare, though, the detail is fascinating, and you start to wonder what kind of message Rauschenberg is conveying through his work. I could try my best to discuss Rauschenberg at length, but at the moment I don't feel so inclined. However, I will scatter in some quotes from Makoto Fujimura, whose writing on Rauschenberg initially captivated my interest in this man months ago and made me stand back and say "hmm.":
His greatest contribution, though, may not be in bringing ordinary objects into museums; instead, he brought Art into life's ordinary objects. He, along with another seminal twentieth century figure, Joseph Beuys, desired to liberate art to the everyday person. His visual language of combining text, newspaper images, advertisements and objects, often in a contradictory manner, seemed eclectic and electric at the same time. He was never a profound artist: but every object was, to him, indeed profound. His art teaches us to consider every moment, every material as potential material for art. "You begin with the possibilities of the material," he has stated, "I think a painting is more like the real world if it's made of the real world."...
Art to Rauschenberg was like a truth serum, and all of what he saw, experienced, and even rejected, was blurted out on canvas. Undeniably, he wrestled with the reality of Christ throughout his career. But the way Rauschenberg wrestled was unlike the way of a traditional artist such as Holman Hunt. No, Rauschenberg's process of creativity worked like a powerfully intuitive search engine that explored the deep recesses of cultural realities. A traditional artist like Hunt focused on communicating already accepted spirituality. Rauschenberg probed deeper. And in doing so Rauschenberg's vast speculative purveyance actually anticipated how we are to experience the world in the years to come. (Fujimura, Refractions, 6/2008)
Now as I reflect back on this writing some time after first reading it, I realize that Mako helped me to see Rauschenberg more broadly than I probably ever would have-had I simply seen one of his works in a museum, or read about him in a magazine. And so it is with the complementary colors again... People like Fujimura bring out a side of art that I often do not realize, or perhaps take the time to appreciate, and thus I learn something from the hues of someone else's perception; and I live for the better because I took the time to hear what someone else had to say. Mako's perceptive artist's eye brought out pieces of reality that I could not see on my own. Intriguingly, Mako touches on this theme as well:
It could be that I see the world through Rauschenberg's eyes because I am trained to see the world through an artist's lens. But even so, to be given such an inclination is the mark and influence of a significant artist, one who facilitates the viewers' imaginative journeys. As Time magazine critic Robert Hughes has noted in Shock of the New, we will never see a cypress tree in the same way after seeing a van Gogh painting. Likewise, we may never see a worn out quilt, or the collage of competing neon signs called Times Square, in the same way after Rauschenberg. (Fujimura, Refractions 6/2008)
Others, like Mako, help me to see Rauschenberg more completely. Additionally, they help balance my opinions with others, and give me a better sense of what it means to be human and a part of this world. There is a lot more that I could discuss about Rauschenberg, and his commentary on our materialist and popular cultural, but I will leave that topic for another day.
Link to Fujimura blog entry on this topic, quoted above: http://makotofujimura.blogspot.com/2008/06/refractions-28-island-of-misfit-toys.html
Link to NYT image and article, image included above: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/14/arts/dance/14coll.html
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