Long before Klaus Kertess was announced as curator of the 1995 Whitney Biennial, the handwriting was on the wall: next time around, it would be a painting show. His appointment confirmed that instead of a multiculti blitzkrieg we would be presented with a show of "sensibility." The barrage of advance press reported on the studios Kertess visited, what he liked and what he didn't, and announced time and again his foggy organizing principle: the central role of metaphor in art. After the opening I went out looking for fans of the 1995 Biennial. I didn't find many. Aside from the usual gripes attendant to the event that we all love to hate, the general sense on the street was that the exhibition amounted to a predictable lull after the pre-event press storm. Kertess himself, on the other hand, has plenty of fans, and many of his admirers happily indulged his peculiar predilections and personal tastes. He is a connoisseur in the traditional sense, and for that his friends pay him respect. His affinity for certain styles and attitudes is well known, as is his unwavering loyalty to particular artists. His inclination is for the retinal rather than the conceptual; for the poetic rather than the polemic; for comfort rather than critique.
Even if something more sedate and refined than a blitzkrieg was anticipated, this didn't preclude some serious noise and spectacle. While less boisterous than the preceding Biennial, Kertess' exhibition isn't exactly quiet. Its most aggressive feature: Rirkrit Tiravanija's installation - a plywood hut equipped with electric guitars that visitors are encouraged to play - resounded with …
No comments:
Post a Comment