24.2.19
The Artist clarifies his
environmental goals: I want to present an atmosphere—an
ambience—which is so peaceful and so beautiful that you’re
shattered when you leave. My feeling is that the only way you can
make things better is by showing how good things can be.
I like to work in a way that people mis-see. I like people to mis-see. I like puns. I like them to mis-hear. I think Arthur Koestler said something about mistakes being the route to creativity. I notice that in myself. I make a mistake—I mis-see or I mis-hear—and it’s much more creative than had I understood it correctly. If I can possibly provoke an instance for people where that can happen spontaneously, I want it to happen.
For a recent show (1980), “A Lot of Little Paintings,” Thek turned down the gallery lights, spotlit an extravagant orchid plant ringed by delicate gilt chairs, attached goose-necked museum lamps to the paintings, and stuck punch-tape labels on sham gold frames. The effect was as glamorously artificial as Marlene Dietrich’s platinum Afro in Blonde Venus, and almost as outrageous. But it was also a delicately sensual reminder that paintings do not have to be lit as if they are about to be combed for microbes; that they unfold by degrees rather than in the white light of an instant. As is usual with Thek, the message was a massage—at once invulnerably assured and naturally humble.
The Artist elaborates on his exhibition strategy and the limitations of self-evaluation: I wanted the room to look good for people. I was tired of going into galleries and feeling like I was in a lineup. They’re all so brightly lit and there’s no place to sit down, and the gallery people are all peering through their windows—what a hostile environment. So it seemed the first thing to do was to humanize the environment; then you can look at a work of art. And, of course, you do that by turning down the lights, giving people some chairs to sit on, and not having the art restricted in any way.
The Artist declares his preferences and prejudices: My favorite art is regional art. One of the things that drives me crazy is the “international style”; I find that so boring. I’d hate going to Sicily and finding the local kids doing stuff out of Nancy Hoffman or Pace. What’s happening in America now is just a lot of slapdash, tomfoolery chic. Just because, traditionally speaking, an artist is frequently the contemplative, removed from the world and devoting himself to an idealized and perfected image, doesn’t mean that art can’t be very much from the world as well. So, I believe in regional art. You do what has to be done when you’re there.
I like to work in a way that people mis-see. I like people to mis-see. I like puns. I like them to mis-hear. I think Arthur Koestler said something about mistakes being the route to creativity. I notice that in myself. I make a mistake—I mis-see or I mis-hear—and it’s much more creative than had I understood it correctly. If I can possibly provoke an instance for people where that can happen spontaneously, I want it to happen.
For a recent show (1980), “A Lot of Little Paintings,” Thek turned down the gallery lights, spotlit an extravagant orchid plant ringed by delicate gilt chairs, attached goose-necked museum lamps to the paintings, and stuck punch-tape labels on sham gold frames. The effect was as glamorously artificial as Marlene Dietrich’s platinum Afro in Blonde Venus, and almost as outrageous. But it was also a delicately sensual reminder that paintings do not have to be lit as if they are about to be combed for microbes; that they unfold by degrees rather than in the white light of an instant. As is usual with Thek, the message was a massage—at once invulnerably assured and naturally humble.
The Artist elaborates on his exhibition strategy and the limitations of self-evaluation: I wanted the room to look good for people. I was tired of going into galleries and feeling like I was in a lineup. They’re all so brightly lit and there’s no place to sit down, and the gallery people are all peering through their windows—what a hostile environment. So it seemed the first thing to do was to humanize the environment; then you can look at a work of art. And, of course, you do that by turning down the lights, giving people some chairs to sit on, and not having the art restricted in any way.
The Artist declares his preferences and prejudices: My favorite art is regional art. One of the things that drives me crazy is the “international style”; I find that so boring. I’d hate going to Sicily and finding the local kids doing stuff out of Nancy Hoffman or Pace. What’s happening in America now is just a lot of slapdash, tomfoolery chic. Just because, traditionally speaking, an artist is frequently the contemplative, removed from the world and devoting himself to an idealized and perfected image, doesn’t mean that art can’t be very much from the world as well. So, I believe in regional art. You do what has to be done when you’re there.
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