Author Archives: Elizabeth Brown

Nikki S. Lee and the “Hip-Hop Project”

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Within Cathy Waegner’s “Performing Postmodernist Passing,” I am struck by the ways in which Nikki S. Lee’s works use the impersonation of race as a project of “denigrating the Other.” (Waegner, 223) Lee gains access to various communities in order to document them and to give viewers an intimate look at the lives of other people. Within her “Hip-Hop Project,” Lee’s photos allow a “voyeuristic glimpse” into the world of hip hop. (Waegner, 224) In doing so, Lee uses her own body as a canvas inscribed with the iconography of the culture and in turn presents a revealing performance of race, identity and society. At once, she captures the experience and lives it as an active participant. Throughout the description of the details of this project, I return to the idea of authenticity. The willingness of the subjects, as well as the staged nature of the photographs seem to disrupt the documentary nature of the works and raise the question of how we define authenticity. While Waegner refers to this as the embodiment of “‘willed authenticity,’” I wonder how the subjects’ cognizance of the project determines what is revealed. (Waegner, 224) As Lee transforms her own body and lifestyle to experience and document various factions of society, she calls into question the static categories of identity. Authenticity—by no means a static term or concept—has been the topic of many of our discussions as we consider the medium of photography as a political and subjective tool, and Lee’s work seems to complicate the idea of authenticity by making race, identification and agency fluid terms as well.

Waegner: Citing various examples (like Nikki S. Lee or R. Kelly’s Thoia Thoing), Waegner highlights the “growing trend” toward yellowface/blackface impersonation. (Waegner, 223)

Pinder: By discussing the works of Lorraine O’Grady and the public perception of multiethnic icons like Tiger Woods, Pinder discusses biraciality in the modern world and the polyptych nature of our culture.

Black Male Body

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Within the Davis Museum’s own collection, I find Rashid Johnson and Hank Willis Thomas’s photograph entitled “Portrait of Two American Artists as Young Negro Scholars” (digital chromogenic print; 2008) to be visually and formally striking, in addition to presenting a reconsideration of stereotypical representations of black men.

Portrait of Two American Artists as Young Negro Scholars, Rashid Johnson and Hank Willis Thomas, 2008

Portrait of Two American Artists as Young Negro Scholars, Rashid Johnson and Hank Willis Thomas, 2008

As noted by Thelma Golden, mainstream images of black men typically fall into three predictable paradigms: “sex, crime and sports.” (Golden, 27) However, this works falls outside this standard prescription of the black male form. In viewing the photograph, I perpetually wonder what it accomplishes and I often return to Golden’s question of black masculinity representing a contradiction in terms. (Golden, 19) While the author uses this question to posit whether black masculinity is inherently contradictory, I wonder what contradictions this photograph presents to the stereotypical representations of black men. They are not sexualized, athletes or criminals; they therefore work against the simplified depictions of black bodies and present themselves in a distinctly different fashion (intentionally, I would argue, based upon the title) as scholars. In Golden’s red-black-green theoretical color scheme, this image occupies the red, not only challenging rampant negative stereotypes, but also proving that “there is no one black masculinity.” (Golden, 25) In stark contrast, as discussed by Leigh Raiford’s Imprisoned in a Luminous Glare, the eponymous image of Huey Newton seated in a wicker chair, gun in hand, served as a political and tactical tool for the Black Panther Party. Undoubtedly, photography served as a deeply intentional medium for the widespread dissemination of the image that came to be synonymous with the political prowess of the BPP. As noted by Kobena Mercer, the black male body is inscribed with ideological representations and serves as “a site upon which the nation’s crisis comes to be dramatized, demonized, and dealt with.” (As quoted within Golden, 19) While this image served as a political tool for the BPP, it also embodied the fears of the American media and many politicians, who framed the BPP as militant and hypermasculine. The image puts both the BPP and black masculinity under a veil of violence and therefore plays to Golden’s argument that “media fascination” telescopes its attention to representations of black men as threatening. (Golden, 27)

Throughout both the Black Male Whitney exhibition catalogue and within Looking for Langston, references to Robert Mapplethorpe perpetually raise the question of the subjecthood the men he photographs. Mapplethorpe’s Black Book (1986) relentlessly sexualizes the male body in formally stunning photographs that coalesce within his “world of splendor and sexual enthrallment.” (Golden, 33) The photographs—debated, denounced and often censored—are incredibly beautiful representations of the nude male form that have largely been countered as racialized and problematic. While Golden argues that “the controversy they provoked… speaks volumes about the fear of black masculinity,” his fascination with the male form presents decontextualized bodies who, by and large, lack subjecthood. (Golden, 33) Mapplethorpe’s approach speaks directly to the sexualization of the black body (and, in many ways, perpetuates this sexualization) while also attempting to “detach compulsive heterosexuality from black masculinity.” (Golden, 33) I would be curious to gauge class perception about whether these images are exploitative or progressive because while they strip men of their subjecthood (and their clothes), they also debunk the hegemonic heterosexuality of representations of black masculinity.

The Black Female Body

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Pariah: Pariah follows its protagonist, Alike, as she navigates processes of identity-making and belonging through personal and familial relationships.

Thompson: Though Western imagery persistently frames the black female body as simple stereotypes, the contemporary artists of Black Womanhood undermine, reconstruct and decolonize these categorizations.

Taylor: Taylor recounts documenta 11: a 2002 contemporary art show in Kassel, Germany that asserted a ‘global,’ multinational awareness.

Pariah is at once a familiar narrative and a decidedly progressive approach to the coming of age of a young woman. In the protagonist’s attempts to navigate relationships—be they familial, romantic or platonic—she reveals the raw ways in which individuals struggle to define their own conceptions of self, identity and belonging. This self-fashioning is a persistent theme of the film as Alike confronts a series of trying experiences, from rejection and complicated emotions to violent responses to her sexuality by her mother. Throughout the film, several figures use specific terminologies that incite specific stereotypes of sexuality (eg. AG, etc.) and serve as archetypes of sorts to Alike. Such monikers, in addition to the other terms used throughout the film, remind me of Thompson’s analysis of Western stereotypes and the process by which contemporary artists undermine these simplified categories to subvert and redefine the image of the female body. As exemplified by Maria Campos-Pons, the effect of such redefinition is the recolonzation and reinstitution of agency to the black female body. As noted by Thompson, the “body accepts and rejects, maintains and transforms, deconstructs and reconstructs blackness, femininity, and sexuality—based on her own terms rather than those imposed upon her.” (306) This beautiful summation is also incredibly relevant to Pariah in its negotiation and navigation of stereotypes and identity, raising the question how stereotypes alter our own perceptions of self. How do stereotypes—perpetuated by language, imagery, etc.—affect our own senses of belonging in society? How do we embrace, negate or subvert these monikers?

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Taylor: Taylor addresses the rising interest in cross-cultural and ‘foreign’ references, artists and iconographies within the Western mainstream art dialogue in the 1960s and 1970s by analyzing—as well as critiquing—the varied performance and permanent works.

Shaksari: Shaksari analyzes the so-called ‘hypervisibility’ of queer culture in Iran in the last decade and the role of the internet and social media within simultaneous processes of acceptance and rejection by mainstream Middle Eastern culture.

 

Professor Sima Shaksari’s analysis of queer hypervisibility in Iran—in addition to studies of exile—rightly shows the varied processes at work in the increasingly modern social capital of the internet and social media. By considering the trends of activism and media attention, it becomes evident that the wide-reaching scope of the internet romanticizes diasporic and queer narratives; Shaksari specifically highlights the ways in which language contributes to the public perception of these subjects. In terms of this language, the tendency to romanticize (eg through the usage of ‘diaspora’ instead of ‘exile, etc.) has the capacity to undermine the inherent struggles of global forced migration. (Shaksari, 26) Shaksari argues that the “cosmopolitanism, tolerance, and increased mobility of the Iranian diaspora” cannot be removed from their context and, as such, the use of ‘diaspora’ within queer theories and the trend toward this term (and its romantic qualities) have the power to reduce and decontextualize the powerful experience of exile. (Shaksari, 25) By problematizing the term, Shaksari draws upon Anne-Marie Fortier (2000) to illustrate that terminology can facilitate an “easy acceptance of multi-locationality, hybridity, border crossing, and multiplicity” while also replacing the authentic experience of exile with a romanticized version that simplifies its multilateral nature.

The Role of the Museum

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Both Andrea Fraser and Fred Wilson provoke a fundamental question: what role does a museum play culturally, historically and economically. By inserting themselves—as social commentators, as well as performance artists—into the hegemonic body of the museum, they undermine and re-assess institutional power and practices. Museums are, in a sense, responsible for the mainstream definition of the dichotomy between art and mediocrity: a role that curators, benefactors and staff willingly accept as powerful guards of ‘taste’ and institutional ideologies. It is this role, according to Andrea Fraser, that allows museums to perceive themselves as extricated from the nexus of art and economics. However, museums are undeniably linked to their financial backers and, as such, have a vested interest in catering to certain histories, traditions and portions of society. The presupposition that museums are distinct from this system is largely flawed and while Sensation critique condemns collectors like Charles Saatchi for his economic interest in art (and not merely art for art’s sake), museums are very much linked to the lucrative nature of art consumption.

Fred Wilson and Andrea Fraser infiltrate this model in separate ways, but to a similar effect: each artist highlights what museums choose to ignore. Mining the Museum draws on one collection to juxtapose mainstream visual traditions with the hidden histories of the American South. By placing racial and social history at the forefront, the artist highlights the historical rejection and exclusion of black history from institutional memory. By adopting the role of ‘curator,’ Wilson is at once an artist, a social critic and a voice of institutional power (selected and funded by the institutions he permeates). Andrea Fraser, as a docent, patron and performance artist, also becomes the voice of the museum by giving tours and highlighting the museum’s role within the community. By considering the context of a museum’s surroundings, patrons and historical role, Fraser calls into question the ideologies that museums create and disseminate. The artists thus raise the question of who museums cater to and which memories they disseminate.

 

Wilson: Mining the Museum draws upon the collection of the Maryland Historical Society to highlight the neglected past of African Americans, raising questions of historical and racial memory through unique juxtapositions of mainstream and hidden works of art.

Fraser: Fraser puts forth a wide spanning critique of museum politics, self-perceptions, censorship and curatorial choices through satirical tours, eloquent writings and direct communication with museum leadership.

Taylor: Taylor tracks the rise and spread of performance art from the 1960s onward, as well as the genre’s early artists.

Censorship, Patriarchy and Exclusion

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Guisela Latorre: Latorre highlights the ways in which Chicano/a artists address issues of sexuality, gender and exclusion from a perspective outside the patriarchal norm.

Alma Lopez: By depicting the Virgin of Guadalupe as a modern woman, Alma Lopez incited a great uproar amongst religious men who deemed the work sacrilegious and offensive, raising issues of context, censorship and modern identities.

Alma Lopez’s Our Lady raises distinct issues of censorship and the role of the museum. Wielding complete curatorial control over a body of works gives museums the right to choose which works are shown and, fundamentally, which are not. In regard to Silencing the Lady, critical voices vehemently rejected the appropriation of the iconography of the Virgin Mary. The so-called offensive nature of the work depended upon the way in which the artist re-appropriated the image of the Virgin Mary and depicted a modern, sexualized version of the cultural and religious icon. Furthermore, intellectual and scholarly camps voiced resounding support for both the artist and Our Lady in resistance to censorship, but also in support of the ways in which the work incorporated women into the cultural narrative. The work thus highlights Guisela Latorre’s recognition of the ways in which the patriarchy excludes anyone they deem other. This distinction therefore highlighted gender, race and class as modes of exclusion and denial. By showing the Virgin in this way, the artist complicated religious imagery, but more importantly, the image confronted and undermined the whiteness and masculinity of the offended men. In this scenario, the exhibiting museum could easily have removed the so-called offensive work, but instead opted to keep the work on display. However, in the context of the museum (and not, say, a church), the act of censorship holds no grounds.

Feminist Art

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Wark: This article considers the ways in which conceptual art served as a foundation for four feminist artists.

Nochlin: In considering the question of why there are no great women artists, Nochlin places the blame on the systematic exclusion of women from social structures and institutions.

Abramovic: In her persistent attempt to pull performance art from the moniker of alternative, this documentary traces Marina Abramovic’s path to her MoMA retrospective and “The Artist Is Present” exhibition.

Taylor: By incorporating the discourse of gender into contemporary art, Taylor questions what it is to create, view and engage “women’s art.”

 

Throughout “The Artist is Present,” I am struck by the level of audience engagement that the artist and her work incite. Marina Abramovic’s presence at her own retrospective alludes to her consistent path toward solidifying performance art in the mainstream art dialectic. Exhibiting at a palatable and massively appealing museum like MoMA places her work not only within the field of contemporary and modern art, but opens it to a large scale audience and not merely an elite viewership. Throughout the retrospective, the artist’s emphasis on performance is evident as nude artists stand throughout the MoMA engaging each other or the audience through gaze and presence. Though the emphasis on nudity initially seemed sensationalist and divisive, it is the reaction and engagement inspired in each viewer that assigns the work its weight. By demanding this sort of engagement from her audience, the artist elicits the response, involvement and immediate reaction of her audience.

This notion is very much carried over into Ambramovic’s physical involvement in the exhibition. Within “The Artist is Present,” Abramovic embodies her work and exercises a subjective agency discussed within Jayne Wark’s analysis of feminist art. Her role within the 3-month long work is dual as artist and art work. At the core of this is a human connection. Abramovic, silent and focused, engaged each sitter and transformed her own body into a work of conceptual art, visibly evoking varied emotive responses from each sitter. The work is thus entirely subjective and depends upon the audience as the interaction between artist and audience serves as the core of the performance.

Art and Black Los Angeles

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Johnson: Ken Johnson contends that Now Dig This intends to craft a sense of solidarity and thus alienates much of its audience.

Raiford: The BPP attempted to self-fashion a national perception through the instrumental use of photography, but was largely construed as a militant group of violent vigilantes by the American media and government.

Jones: Now Dig This represented the culmination of the Los Angeles art scene as an exhibition of contemporary art with the intention of uprooting ‘institutional discrimination, white repression, and racism.’ (Now Dig This, 15)

Throughout these readings, I am struck by the dialogue that images provoke. Leigh Raiford’s complex history of the Black Panther Party analyzes the ways in which the group self-fashioned iconic imagery of their missions, and in turn, engaged in a national artistic, media and political dialogue. The images countered the public conception of the BPP as a militant, violent and dangerous group and now represent the iconic imagery of the historical past.

In a very similar fashion, the reception of Now Dig This created a public and tumultuous discourse regarding the role of  “social solidarity” within art and exhibition. (“Forged from the Fires,” 2) Now Dig This, as Kellie Jones articulates, aimed to “tame institutional discrimination, white repression, and racism.” (Now Dig This, 15) This project, however, was loudly countered by Ken Johnson, who freely undermined the appropriation of assemblages by black artists and argued that the promotion of solidarity throughout the body of works fundamentally excludes much of its audience. By claiming that the postmodern art world is “allergic to overt assertions of any kind,” Johnson claims that the only approach to discussing the weighty issues of racism and institutional exclusion of black artists is in the complication of prejudice and stereotype. (“Forged from the Fires,” 3) In an increasingly frustrating manner, Johnson highlights this effective approach by claiming “you don’t have to be black to feel that.” (“Forged from the Fires,” 3) Problematic and endlessly frustrating, this NYT article embodies the notion of artistic dialogue and represents a scathing counter to the works.

Readings:

Kellie Jones, “Now Dig This: An Introduction,” Now Dig This: Art and Black Los Angeles 1960-1980, (Munich: Delmonico Prestal, 2-12) pp. 15-27. On view at MoMA: PS1.

Ken Johnson, “Forged From the Fires of the 1960s,” New York Times (October 25, 2012)

Leigh Raiford, Imprisoned in a Luminous Glare.

Asian-American Perspectives

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Kozol: The American government purposefully utilized photography – a medium perceived to be objective – in order to craft a sense of Japanese-American identity that simultaneously othered, recognized and rendered invisible those affected by Executive Order 9066.

Creef: The dominant visual narrative of the Japanese American experience within internment camps stems from the FSA, WRA and Office of War Information’s consistent interest in documenting the inhabitants of the camps, giving a face to the feared other, condemning the government’s actions and struggling to catalogue the camp experience.

Howard: In disrupting ideals of family, internment camp life overturned concepts of sexuality, gendered divisions of labor, and domesticity

Throughout these readings, I am struck by the notion of national identity, and specifically the ways in which WRA, FSA and Office of War Information photography aimed to locate interned Japanese Americans within American identity. While Professor Elena Creef speaks to the idea of the “national American consciousness” and John Howard mentions the “national family,” I wonder how national identity can represent a homogeneous, unified entity in the face of the blatant discrimination of internment camps.[1] Furthermore, many of the photographs reflected a certain American-ness and “familiarity,” raising the question of what project these images aimed to accomplish upon viewing by the government, the American public and the interned citizens.[2] Such an ideal is reminiscent of Benedict Anderson’s concept of the imagined community and the ways in which citizens imagine their nationality and nationalism. According to the author, nationalism is fundamentally imagined because no citizen will ever interact with every compatriot, but yet feels a fundamental affinity and camaraderie along national lines.[3] In this context, do the photographs commissioned by the American government work toward the conception of a national identity that includes the citizens interned during World War II? If not, what purpose did these photographs hold to their contemporary viewers? As a modern glimpse into the past, what can these photographs reveal about the trajectory of the American identity?

 

[1] Elena Tajima Creef, “The Representation of the Japanese American Body in the Photographs of Ansel Adams, Dorothea Lange, and Toyo Miyatake,” 17; John Howard. “Camp Life” in Concentration Camps on the Home Front, 113.

[2] Wendy Kozol, ”Relocating Citizenship in Photographs of Japanese Americans in World War II,” 231.

[3] For further reading, please see Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London, New York: Verso, 2006).