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+ (presences of art)
„Discursul critic“ via arte este fie o viclenie interesatæ politic, prosteascæ,
însæ eficace, trebuie sæ admitem – arta este propagandæ (cf. seriile mele
de conferinfle cu acest titlu, în 1996, la universitæflile din Moscova øi Sankt
Petersburg) –, fie o retoricæ særacæ, ajutatæ de ignoranfla satisfæcutæ a „consumatorilor“,
în cel mai bun caz a flâneur-ilor, øi a mobilizærii permanente
prin culturæ, impusæ recent de puterea politico-economicæ, de cînd, în lipsæ
de ceva mai bun, ea încearcæ sæ-øi gæseascæ un drum al sæu, de reprezentare,
alæturi de complexul militaro-industrial care continuæ sæ comande
întregul. Festivaluri în loc de parade militare øi, în momente solemne,
ambele deodatæ.
Cît priveøte SUA, ele par sæ fi ieøit din iluziile lor øi din influenflele venite
din Europa (transavangardæ, arte povera, anii ’80–’90), însæ cu certitudine
nu øi din trecutul lor; aceastæ istorie oarecum biblicæ, în care mîntuirea nu
se mai poate incarna în vreo new frontier, ci ræmîne un soi de metabolism
al Pæcatului, diferit – alterat – faflæ de acela pe care, de la Sfîntul Augustin,
se întemeiazæ creøtinismul Lumii Vechi. Drept dovadæ stæ aspiraflia cætre
puritate (întinatæ) prin obsesia ræului care trebuie vînat øi izgonit: Ahab øi
Moby Dick, înainte (Thoreau), ca øi dupæ (Pound, Olson, Stevens – Ginsberg
øi el, doar cæ într-o manieræ corcitæ øi clovnescæ). Odiseea devenitæ
vînætoare a Balenei Albe øi reîntoarcerea în Itaca – o rætæcire færæ alt epilog
decît naufragiul. Cu speranfla ca un supraviefluitor („Call me Ishmael“)
sæ poatæ nara istoria (în felul acesta face Pynchon, cel puflin la început øi
pînæ la Vineland, cu evocarea anilor ’60 øi a trædærii lor succesive. Dupæ
aceea, el dæ în cartoon literar, øi îl prefer atunci pe Crumb).
Am încercat de mai multe ori sæ descîlcesc iflele acestei istorii, de cînd, cu
regularitate – se fac, iatæ, 30 de ani –, træiesc periodic în aceastæ flaræ; ultima
oaræ într-un scurt eseu, In Praise of America (Stonebrooks, Texas, 2006),
dedicat unui prieten artist, pictor, originar de-acolo. Originalitatea Americii,
devenitæ Republicæ imperialæ, rezidæ øi în milenarismele ei (e flara cargocult
cu anticipaflie), veritabile ori presupuse, într-un soi de radicalism fanatic
al extremelor la care au contribuit øi contribuie, prin reflele zærite la modul
metaforic numai de cætre marii poefli øi romancieri, în povestiri øi iluminæri
în jurul amerindienilor øi negrilor. Heart of Darkness: promiscuitatea temutæ
øi ispititoare; acesteia America, de voie, de nevoie, i-a asumat experienfla.
Existæ cu mult mai mult de învæflat citindu-i pe Melville sau Faulkner, deopotrivæ
vizionari øi profetici, în acord direct cu locurile øi istoria lor („Iar Sibila,
rostind lucruri cu o guræ dementæ øi færæ sæ rîdæ, færæ podoabæ, nici balsam,
se cufundæ prin mijlocirea zeului cu vocea ei de mii de ani“), decît din publicafliile
socio-antropologice ale Øcolii de la Chicago din anii ’50. Yankeii, mai
mult ca alflii, sînt acum pe punctul de-a depæøi trash-ul californian cu care
s-au îndopat (anii ’70–’90), isteriile ombilicale, gæselniflele gata confecflionate,
módele de import, care pe coasta esticæ, la New York, se læfæie dintr-o
galerie într-alta. Maturizafli prin criza de conøtiinflæ consecutivæ sfîrøitului
Ræzboiului din Vietnam øi læmuririle (dureroase) care i-au urmat, maturizafli
deopotrivæ de vidul european – cam de pe la moartea lui Beuys øi muzeografizarea
participanflilor la Fluxus, miøcare care îi datoreazæ mult –, ei
îmi par în stare sæ ia în seamæ depæøirea sau fie øi doar abandonarea ideii
de avangardæ, sæ realizeze cæ craftmanship øi militantism (de idei) nu fac
neapærat pereche øi sæ întrezæreascæ aspectul de împrumut, subaltern, al
metisajelor „din voia expresæ a Curflii“, nocivitatea muzeofiliei pentru creaflie,
ea care cautæ nu sæ inspire o imitare (a celor Vechi), ci sæ sugereze
improbabile afinitæfli, gen Duchamp = Leonardo, Beuys = Pico,
ing something better, it tries to find its own way, that of representation, along
the military-industrial complex which continues to rule the whole. Festivals
instead of parades and, during solemn moments, both.
As for the USA, they seems to have left their illusions and their European
influences behind (transavanguardia, Arte Povera, the ’80–’90s), but certainly
not their past, that rather biblical history, where redemption cannot hypostatize
a new frontier anymore, but remains a kind of metabolism of Sin, different
– altered – from that on which, starting with St. Augustine, the Old World Christianity
has been established. The proof is the aspiration to purity (tainted) by the
obsession of the evil which needs to be haunted and cast out: Ahab and Moby
Dick, before (Thoreau), just like afterwards (Pound, Olson, Stevens – Ginsberg,
too, but in a mixed and clownish manner). The odyssey turned into a hunt of the
White Whale and the return to Ithaca – a wandering with no other epilogue than
the shipwreck. Hoping that a survivor (“Call me Ishmael”) may tell the story
(that’s what Pynchon does, at least in the beginning and until Vineland, evoking
the ’60s, and their successive betrayals. After that, he turns into a literary cartoonist
and then I prefer Crumb).
I’ve tried many times to puzzle out this history since, regularly I’ve been periodically
living in this country; last time it was in a short essay, In Praise of America
(Stonebrooks, Texas, 2006), dedicated to an artist friend, a painter who is from
there. The originality of America, which has become an imperial republic, resides
also in its millenarianisms (it’s the cargo-cult country with anticipation), genuine
or just imagined, in a sort of fanatical radicalism of the extremes to which it has
contributed and still contributes through networks metaphorically seen only by
the great poets and novelists, in histories and illuminations evolving around the
Amerindians and black people. “Heart of Darkness”: the feared and alluring
promiscuity; the experience of which America, willingly or not, has assumed.
There is much more to learn in reading Melville or Faulkner, both visionaries and
prophets, directly connected to their places and history (“And Sybilla, saying
things with a demented mouth and without laughter, with no adornment, no
balm immersed by means of the god with her thousand years voice”: Satyricon)
than from the social-anthropology’ publications of the Chicago School in the
’50s. The Yankees, more so than others, are about to overcome the Californian
trash they’ve been feeding themselves on (during the ’70s–’90s), the umbilical
hysterias, the ready-made tricks, the imported trends, which on the East Coast,
in New York, pass from one gallery to another. Having grown-up due to the crisis
of consciousness subsequent to the Vietnam War ending and to the (painful)
explanations which followed, having also grown-up due to the European void
– approximately since Beuys’s death and the museumification of the Fluxus
members, the movement which owns it so much – they seem to me capable
to consider the overcoming or even the departure from the idea of avant-garde,
to realize that craftsmanship and the militantism (of ideas) don’t necessarily go
together and to foresee the borrowed, subaltern character of the crossings made
“out of the express will of the Court”, the harmfulness, in terms of creation, of
the museophilia which seeks not to inspire an imitation (of the Ancient), but to
suggest improbable affinities, such as Duchamp = Leonardo, Beuys = Pico,
Twombly = Tiepolo, Warhol = Tintoretto (portraitist) etc. Does anybody still
believe that the almost monochrome Guernica was a protest against the horrors
of the war in Spain, rather than a revival (brilliantly conceived, from the form
and the exclusively grey-black dosage of the palette) of the motives in Hypnotauromachia
and Vollard Suite in the preceding years, where the topics are
killing, raping, the woman, the ripped up horse, the lamp and the darkness,
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