PROSAIC ANTAGONISM

   I’m always in search of language and appropriate terminology that will help define what exactly it is that I do. “Isms” are useful. Over the years I’ve used Nepotism, Contextualism, Absurdism, Confessionalism, Post-Hepism and other similar terms, hoping something will stick. It never does. Nomenclature fails to accurately capture exercises in futility like segregating trash or filling convertibles with concrete. I love the word prosaic, meaning ordinary or lacking in romanticism. Combined with antagonism- to oppose (sometimes with hostility) seems to fittingly describe the arch of my oeuvre. As many have said before—I’m an ordinary, angry, asshole always searching for who to piss off next.

    Admitting this is a tough sell to the public—whom I’m periodically trying to engage with banal, aggressive hostility. That’s why I temper my anger with empathy and love. I’m not putting anyone on. I actually have these opposing emotions. Like most of you, I’m complex. Contradictory personality traits are not necessarily a drawback when working in the field of social sculpture. For example, ordinary metal garbage cans can be seen as “inappropriate” as municipal trash receptacles. Yet, they function perfectly and cost a fraction of the price of a park style can, which can run over $700. A neighbor may see this as sculptural hostility, while I take the risk and codify the cans within an active system of art and garbage removal; literally putting them on a concrete pedestal. The neighbor may be angry, but I’m not. The sculpture functions and looks good. The trash gets picked up. Art triumphs.

    In many ways my good standing within this insular Catskill community allows me to constantly test the boundaries of my relationships, both casual and intimate. It’s a great laboratory. I’ve always worked this way. In one painting series from the East Village in the 1980’s I appropriated the work of my friends’ who were fellow artists. If I owned one of their pieces I took the liberty of painting over it with a transparent green paint. I would only do it to one painting per artist, no matter how many I had in the collection. You could still see the artist’s hand under my green slime, but authorship was forever nullified, the painting defaced. This defacement angered surprisingly few. As a recent local exhibition confirmed I have defaced as much as I’ve been defaced. Iconoclassicism is another “ism” I’ve employed. It’s all about breaking and re-establishing relationship while stretching the boundaries of definition. How much can I get away with before the whole town calls bullshit and brings out the pitchforks and torches?

    This prickly, tightrope walk can lead to hurt feelings, bruised egos, petty gossip, and alienation on all sides. Why have I chosen this path? I don’t have a clue. Inspiration? I’ve always felt the necessity of a dynamic balance within my work. The Missionary must be counterpointed with the Dysangel (the bringer of bad tidings), the gun pointed at the street. Point blank. This duality (I hope) balances the process, yielding a more tempered product. Years ago I had a professor who, after reviewing a piece presented in a graduate school critique, suggested I join the Salvation Army or work for Social Services. He was serious. He didn’t grasp the threads I was attempting to stitch together sculpturally with my actions, feeling maybe a career change was in order. I’m no do-gooder. If a social sculpture looks to be all rainbows and unicorns on the surface, you can rest assured there is an ulterior, underlying motivation that is not so simple or apparent. True altruism should never be clearly on display. That is why I can’t join the Salvation Army. I’m wholly unqualified.

    And if over the years I have pissed any of you off, intentionally or otherwise……. $ORRY. I mean it.