Yesterday at the Fogg Art Museum at Harvard I was looking at a show on Joseph Beuys. There’s always been something about Beuys that really interested me, ever since I came across him in an Art History class. I didn’t know what it was but he seemed so mysterious to me, like delving into his work would unlock some essential secret about art. I tried reading a book about him back then but it was so over my head. The more I read the more confused I get, and I can’t help but feel let down when I read all of the generic phrases describing his art. I feel like I understood more before some heavy thinkers over-analyzed it for me. I f that’s all there is to it, there’s nothing in his work that could directly benefit my own. I’m still amazed by him though. In Berlin he is like an art god. But looking at Beuys is not like looking at Beckman, where I’m blown away by the actual piece and each one can stand on its own. I get more from looking at old pictures of Beuys than his actual work. I realized at that show it’s actually the idea of the artist as this legendary figure, a type of art god/mysterious genius that amazes me. When I think of Beuys I don’t think about a chair with lard on it, I think about him with that hat and vest on, talking to a rabbit about art. Of course that was one of his performances and technically is his work, but you get the point. The best part of the show was a picture of Beuys laughing, surrounded by security guards/police or something. When I think of Beckman I think of his self—portrait. Even then, it’s still about the image of the artist. Maybe I need to do a large self-portrait. Too bad I cut my hair.
I’m getting this image for a painting of Beuys at the top of a mountain with a rabbit, looking down at their insane followers.
“I’m not entirely in control of the subject matter.”
-Claes Oldenburg
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