By Chris Lane
By Jef With One F
By Chris Lane
By Olivia Flores Alvarez
By Angelica Leicht
By Jef Rouner
By Jef With One F
By Jef With One F
There's an elegant series of sculptures created from number two pencils and lyrical drawings produced by the ephemeral traces of burnt fuse marks and smoke bombs. Evident throughout is an appreciation of craft, not to mention a commitment of time, labor and endurance. Take, for example, the World of Wood, a shelf filled with painstakingly whittled objects, including a hammer, book, knife and sandwich. Penny Column is a graceful line from the floor to the ceiling made of pennies. Then there's the notorious "Appropriations" series of objects surreptitiously stolen from art world luminaries between 1991 and 1994.
The Art Guys have performed product tests by dragging a suitcase from Houston to San Antonio. During one seven month period, the duo applied 1,000 coats of paint to 12 objects -- a teddy bear, a telephone and a baseball glove, among other things. They've sat around a Denny's for days at a time and peddled newspapers on freeway off ramps. In all of their performances, the Art Guys display a dogged determination to continue, no matter how inane the task they've set for themselves. Obsessed with the concept of quantity, the pair gathers materials that are economically cheap, things so ubiquitous that they've become invisible -- toothbrushes, food items (carrots, Pringles, Tang), birdhouses, cigarettes.
But if literalness is their favorite tool, silliness is their strategy. They shave off other people's whiskers or their own, attaching the hair to each other's faces. They fabricate a giant nose and rig it to sneeze; a reflecting pool set beneath safely catches the snot. At CAM, a gum machine located on the reception desk invites viewers to contribute their chewed wads to the Bubble Gum Chair, a work in progress. Two giant googly eyes installed on the front facade transform CAM into a fun house for those "wacky artists."
Without a doubt, their exhibition has been playing at CAM with the all-purpose glee of a carnival. The show presents the Art Guys on a scale that we've never seen before; it certainly displays their talent for taking art as near to the pleasure principle as it can be taken and still remain art. The Art Guys are culture-vultures who ransack both the avant-garde and trash for morsels of inspiration. But despite their penchant for boyhood juvenilia and slapstick humor, they aren't dumb artists. Show curator Lynn Herbert describes the pair as fools in the classic sense of the word. "Historically, fools were employed by a royal court or a household," she writes in the "Think Twice" catalog. "Their role was to provide their masters with humorous entertainment, which, more often than not, commented upon the politics and social mores of the day. The tradition lives on today; fools have simply been modernized to adapt to changing times."
Traditionally, fools have been highly opportunistic, and the Art Guys, following suit, are shameless self-promoters. Still, some viewers may feel as ambivalent about the whole affair as I do. My response, I'm sure, is partly sour grapes at seeing a cult enthusiasm become an official taste. The artist as hero is long gone from American culture, and the artist as social critic is ineffective. Even so, the Art Guys, with the examples of Dada and Fluxus behind them, plus a slackly debased culture all around, have identified themselves as exemplary figures of the idiot-loser class. What's more, they're very good at this particular sort of put-on, producing art so dumb that you can't guess whether its dumbness is genuine or feigned.
It's been 13 years since Galbreth and Massing first beguiled the Houston art community with their tongue-in-cheek performances. Although they met at an exhibition in 1982, their collaboration wasn't made official until a year later when they shook hands for "The Art Guys Agree on Painting." Galbreth and Massing each stuck their right hand into buckets of discarded paint and shook hands over a white canvas. Thus the Art Guys were born -- and they show no hint of fading away.
Certainly, the signs of a hype machine at full throttle were there from the outset. Critics have placed the pair in the context of Marcel Duchamp and Andy Warhol; they've also positioned them alongside William Wegman, Claes Oldenburg and Jeff Koons -- artists who've not only questioned the function and value of art, but have also filled austere, self-referring works with narcissistic quirks.
Surely, the Art Guys' tradition is one that includes the ephemeral and subversive qualities of performance art. Especially in its most extreme early 1970s manifestations, this phenomenon included the belief that any act or event, no matter how fleeting, could be classified as art. Some of these acts were seeringly memorable -- such as Chris Burden having himself shot in the arm. Others were absurdly mundane -- such as Vito Acconci following strangers through the street. Performance art often laid bare the personal forbearance and psychological stamina that is considered synonymous with the creative act -- albeit in purified or, at its worst, infantile form.