Must art be shocking to be good? Walking around the Jeff Koons’ exhibit at Tate Modern’s recent ‘Pop Life’ exhibition I found myself pondering this long-standing question. Koons’ multi-million dollar artist room, ‘Made in Heaven’, is comprised of a series of canvases and sculptures which immortalize the artist and his wife – the Italian porn star and politician known as La Cicciolina – having sex.
Possibly more unnerving than Koons’ facial expression is the fact that the Tate, an internationally renowned arts institution, has deemed such art culturally significant for our time. In more ways than one the ‘Pop Life: Art in a Material World’ exhibition leaves a bitter after-taste. Considering that the buzz words of 2009 were ‘recession’ and ‘the climate crisis’, the fragility of the ‘material world’ is more present than ever in our minds. Yet as emerging creatives, we are all too aware that art’s significance is still founded on economic value. This is exacerbated by our tireless completion of funding applications and eagerness to work for free in galleries and performance venues; we are entering a culture industry that places money-making above creative ingenuity.
To shock is not enough anymore. Art in possession of the ‘shock factor’ has lost its panache if it finds itself in a cordoned-off ‘over-18’s only’ room in the Tate Modern. The concept of ‘shock’ in art is exactly what must be questioned and contradicted if we are to achieve any creative credibility now.
But have I been too quick to judge? Is ‘Made in Heaven’ something more than cynical self-merchandising or sheer bravado? Perhaps, after all, Koons’ enigma lies at the heart of his success. It has been said that the artist deliberately rejects hidden meaning in his work, preferring to make grand statements such as “I don’t believe in judgements” and “I believe in the intensity of life”[1]. As he mockingly uses these empty profundities and adopts the quintessential rôle of ‘artiste’, he emphasizes the relentless struggle for meaning in contemporary art. Possibly this is exactly the kind of artist’s mentality we should strive to have: part charlatan, part mystery. We think we can see what Koons has to offer, but in the obviousness of ‘Made in Heaven’ lies the suggestive idea that: “the greater a chameleon something is, the greater its possibilities”[2]. The brazen banality of the artworks emphasize this point: there must be more to art than this.
The unsung hero is Koons’ ex-wife La Cicciolina. Not only is she unofficially credited with establishing one of Europe’s first green parties, but she used her overt sexuality in 1987 to gain a seat in the notoriously patriarchal Italian parliament. Claiming “I am a combative woman”, she offered to have sex with Saddam Hussein if he agreed to free European hostages during the Gulf war in the early 90s.
Ultimately, Koons and Cicciolina inspire a new question: for creative and financial success in these times, is it necessary to lose one’s morals and embrace your market?
Possibly more unnerving than Koons’ facial expression is the fact that the Tate, an internationally renowned arts institution, has deemed such art culturally significant for our time. In more ways than one the ‘Pop Life: Art in a Material World’ exhibition leaves a bitter after-taste. Considering that the buzz words of 2009 were ‘recession’ and ‘the climate crisis’, the fragility of the ‘material world’ is more present than ever in our minds. Yet as emerging creatives, we are all too aware that art’s significance is still founded on economic value. This is exacerbated by our tireless completion of funding applications and eagerness to work for free in galleries and performance venues; we are entering a culture industry that places money-making above creative ingenuity.
To shock is not enough anymore. Art in possession of the ‘shock factor’ has lost its panache if it finds itself in a cordoned-off ‘over-18’s only’ room in the Tate Modern. The concept of ‘shock’ in art is exactly what must be questioned and contradicted if we are to achieve any creative credibility now.
But have I been too quick to judge? Is ‘Made in Heaven’ something more than cynical self-merchandising or sheer bravado? Perhaps, after all, Koons’ enigma lies at the heart of his success. It has been said that the artist deliberately rejects hidden meaning in his work, preferring to make grand statements such as “I don’t believe in judgements” and “I believe in the intensity of life”[1]. As he mockingly uses these empty profundities and adopts the quintessential rôle of ‘artiste’, he emphasizes the relentless struggle for meaning in contemporary art. Possibly this is exactly the kind of artist’s mentality we should strive to have: part charlatan, part mystery. We think we can see what Koons has to offer, but in the obviousness of ‘Made in Heaven’ lies the suggestive idea that: “the greater a chameleon something is, the greater its possibilities”[2]. The brazen banality of the artworks emphasize this point: there must be more to art than this.
The unsung hero is Koons’ ex-wife La Cicciolina. Not only is she unofficially credited with establishing one of Europe’s first green parties, but she used her overt sexuality in 1987 to gain a seat in the notoriously patriarchal Italian parliament. Claiming “I am a combative woman”, she offered to have sex with Saddam Hussein if he agreed to free European hostages during the Gulf war in the early 90s.
Ultimately, Koons and Cicciolina inspire a new question: for creative and financial success in these times, is it necessary to lose one’s morals and embrace your market?
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