This book supplies something
missing: substantial discussion of "new British art." This is the art
that came to prominence with and around the almost infamous Damien Hirst. (If
someone does not recognize Hirst’s name, there is still a good chance they will
recognize who is meant if they are told that he is the "shark guy" —
Hirst’s most famous piece is a dead shark suspended in blue liquid in a white
minimalist cube under the moniker "The Physical Impossibility of Death in
the Mind of Someone Living.") There are other book-length treatments of
the "Brit art" ‘movement,’ such as it is, but none that I’ve seen
accomplishes what Stallabrass’s book does: it takes the art seriously. And it
does so without falling into histrionics or bombast, shrill critique, or, for
that matter, the tabloid pontificating that fuels the very notoriety it
presumes to destroy. The fact that Stallabrass takes his subject seriously allows
him to avoid the Scylla and Charybdis of most treatments of Brit art — the
useless and annoying posture of knowing cynicism on the one hand and the
ingratiating chatter of fashion-magazine puff-piece writing on the other. This
alone makes the appearance of High Art Lite a welcome relief. It is
impassioned, but is not a screed; it does take its subject seriously but shines
with wit. He does not simply stamp works and artists with approval or
disapproval, but explains what it is he is evaluating and the evaluations
themselves. There is an important difference between, on the one hand, simply
declaring that a work or body of work is a failure, and, on the other, making
clear, as he does, how and why it fails and how it could nonetheless capture so
much attention, and so much gallery, museum, and column space. His explanations
are not off-the-cuff, but the result of an honest effort to understand. Even if
some readers may not agree with his analysis, they will have to admit that he
has earnestly labored to provide answers to the questions this work raises.
And, given that most books on the "new British art" do not even
recognize that such questions can be raised, High Art Lite stands out
markedly from the rest.

The book’s Introduction (Ch. 1)
opens with these words:

Once upon a time, not so long ago,
some of us involved in the art world thought all would be well with
contemporary art if only it were less elitist, if a little air could be
admitted into the tight circle of our enthusiasm, if the public could be persuaded
that the products of this world were not some con, dedicated to providing
assorted posh types with an easy and entertaining living. For, aside from this
glaring fault, some of the art seemed worthy of people’s attention, being
radical, serious, surprising, and having the potential to change those who saw
it and thought about it. … In the 1990’s, by contrast, this earnest pursuit has
come to shine with some of the reflected glory of the fashion, film and music
industries — a bright if sometimes distant and minor satellite in the
firmament of mass culture. … the artists have become a focus for curiosity as
personalities, as stars. Yet now that contemporary British art has become quite
popular — it’s hard to open a newspaper or magazine without running into the
art and its attendant personalities — the cultural utopia that some had hoped
would unfold with wider participation has not come about (1-2).

And, this being said, Stallabrass proceeds — over the
course of the book — to provide some answers as to why this sad situation came
to be, and what exactly it is that makes it the disappointment it is.

The book’s ten chapters shed light
on every aspect of the "new British art": what exactly this "new
British art" is, simultaneously introducing us to its main figures, or,
rather, celebrities: Damien Hirst, Gary Hume, Tracy Emin, and Gavin Turk (Ch. 2
— others treated elsewhere include Richard Billingham, Jake and Dinos Chapman,
Mat Collishaw, Gilbert and George, Marcus Harvey, Sarah Lucas, Martin Maloney,
Steve McQueen, Chris Ofili, Fiona Rae, and Sam Taylor-Wood); the special
circumstances of its "artist curators and the ‘alternative’ scene"
(Ch. 3); its generally anti-theoretical, or, as it almost always turns out,
aggressively nihilistic stance, and its ambivalent (sometimes dishonest)
relationship to criticism and conceptual art (Ch. 4); its goal of
simultaneously selling to the high and low market, and therefore its
exploitation of (and often dependence upon) tabloids, popular entertainment,
and the topics of sex and death (Ch. 5); its place in new state-sponsored arts
institutions (Ch 6); the powerful presence of Saatchi behind it and the show
that brought his collection of "new British art" to the wider world,
namely, the Sensation show at the Royal Academy (Ch. 7); the question of
the "Britishness" of the "new British art" (Ch. 8); the
comfortable place for "new British art" in art criticism which has
lost its place (Ch. 9); and, finally, some musings on its ultimate value and
the question of what possibilities art still has, returning to the basic
question, What can art do? (Ch. 10). Even if one does not agree with
Stallabrass’s evaluations — and, in general, I think he convinces –, his
discussion offers much hearty food for thought. Indeed, in some ways writing a
short review does not seem like the right response to the book; new kinds of
artwork, another engaging book, a new search for inspiring and challenging art,
or a series of perceptive articles might be more appropriate ways of answering
its challenges and spurs to thought.

Certainly one response which is
appropriate to High Art Lite is to hunt down a friend to read an
especially telling passage out loud, for the book is well-written, greatly
enjoyable, and, more often than not, spot on. Take for example his evaluation
of Louisa Buck’s book on the "new British art," Moving Targets
(put out by the Tate Gallery in 1997):

An art often gets the literature it
deserves, and this publicist’s art, as it is drawn into the mainstream has in
this respect been exemplary. Louisa Buck’s recent book, Moving Targets,
which is meant as a user’s guide to the current scene, actually does tell you
everything you need to know, though not it quite the way that she intends. With
its relentlessly upbeat tone, the book is a digest of the current hype, never
missing the opportunity to deploy some journalistic chestnut, and as one reads
more and more of it, the suspicion grows that the hype is all there is (218).

These remarks struck a special
chord for me because, when I had read Moving Targets myself earlier on,
my own notes included these observations:

Her bubbly prose exhibits an
unrelentingly cheerful and chirpy attitude toward whatever it discusses. …
Buck’s book is not necessarily a bad place to begin, simply because, whatever
its faults, it does offer thumbnail sketches of most everyone involved … even
the fabricators (a group almost never touched upon). … Nonetheless, given her
often extremely grating pep-rally writing style, even reading short passages of
her book can be excruciating, leaving the reader feeling irritated and,
furthermore, insulted.

Stallabrass’s remarks on Matthew Collings’s 1997 book on new
British art, Blimey! From Bohemia to Britpop, are just as accurate and
just as telling. Anyone familiar with the art world, I suspect, will also find
herself shaking her head in agreement as she reads High Art Lite. Given
that such things are so rarely expressed (especially not at book-length!), the
feeling one has seeing them in High Art Lite is not bored familiarity,
but a one of release, or triumph, in seeing that they have finally found
expression. Another indicator of Stallabrass’s attitude and sense of humor can
be gleaned from the empty white rectangles that appear from time to time in his
book. Stallabrass’s answer to the galleries which refused to let him show his
readers the works under discussion was to provide white boxes containing the
words, "Permission to reproduce denied," in the place of the missing
illustration. If nothing else, they certainly testify to the fact that his is
an independent voice. For the time being, that is a rarity.

And then there is Stallabrass’s
term, "high art lite." "High art lite" is not just the
title of the work, but also the general name he gives to "the new British
art" ("young British art," "Brit art,"
"yBas,"etc.). At first, Stallabrass’s labeling the new British art in
this way could come off as snotty or arrogant. Indeed, it is initially
confusing when he explains that this obviously proscriptive term "has the
virtue of being descriptive"! It become clear soon enough, however, that
by "descriptive" he means that his term, as opposed to "new
British art" (and all the other common names one sees), indicates what the
work referred to is, as opposed to a phrase which merely labels, or
indeed, advertises it (besides which, Stallabrass reminds us, "new British
art" only has a limited newness, isn’t always by British artists, etc.).
As he puts it, his term refers to "an art that looks like but is not quite
art, that acts as a substitute for art. The term "high art lite" also
suggests that the phenomenon is not confined to Britain, though the particular
form that it has taken here will be the focus of the book" (2).
Nonetheless, the use of such an obviously loaded word might seem to preclude
any objectivity on the author’s part. A number of things should be said on this
point.

First, it should not be forgotten
that the art in question has been backed by a great amount of money and a
marketing effort of great power, if not arrogance. Stallabrass is working, in
some way, to counter that machine. Second, though in the end I do not think his
term indicates snottiness (rather, I would say it shows his conviction), it has
to be admitted that his term serves as a counterbalance to the unmitigated
snottiness of much, if not most, of the new British art crowd. (Stallabrass
points out, too, that the distinction between art and artist is harder to wield
as a defense in the case of artists who insistently make their own identity and
celebrity a part of their work.) Finally, there are certainly works by the new
British art group or their close associates that he can appreciate. But one can
also ask, Is a purely "descriptive" treatment of this artwork
(assuming it were possible) something we should want? Given that much of its
P.R. material pretends to be objective, hearing about the same work from a
principled opponent serves to balance the scales and allows for an evaluation
with fewer blinders. Much less does High Art Lite suffer from a lack of
objectivity than that it gains all the more from having a stance in the
first place. His is not a mostly rhetorical reaction (for that, one could think
of, say, the New York Post‘s dependable superficiality, sloganeering,
and forced alliteration in its treatment of new art) but a questioning and
critical position supported by detailed considerations of every aspect of the
various contexts — of history, of criticism, of marketing, of academic
background — in which the works find their meaning.

Stallabrass’s title and term,
"high art lite," however, immediately raises an important question.
If the new British art is high art lite, then what does Stallabrass
propose art to be instead? What does he believe art is when it is not
"lite"? Or what is it supposed to be? The answer to these questions
is two-tiered. First, though Stallabrass does not lay out a detailed statement
of what he takes art or fine art to be, let alone a manifesto for future
artists, he has clear ideas about, if not what art is, then what it could or
should be. Over the course of the book, a number of detours and asides give
examples of works that he sees as embodying the better side of what art can
realize. Some of the artists he finds promising or successful (whether
associated with the new British art crowd or not) include Rachel Whiteread,
Tomoko Takahashi, Christine Borland, Gillian Wearing, Keith Piper, Michael
Landy, Fiona Banner, and the Bank artists’ collective. (It is telling that
discussions of Rachel Whiteread often disassociate her from the new British art
crowd precisely because her work is seen as possessing some quality.) From this
list alone it is clear that Stallabrass’s book cannot be reduced to mere
reaction or undifferentiated negativism. One thing is for sure: Stallabrass
believes that, whether art needs to be critical or not, it can certainly do
more than pretend to radical critique while nihilistically embracing a market
that that depends on the very absence of that critique.

And, whatever one makes of
Stallabrass’s own idea of art, it has to be remembered that his term "high
art lite" is also a response to the image the new British art projects of
itself, namely, that it has taken over the helm of the avant-garde. "High
art lite" only makes sense as a name for new British art because,
Stallabrass underscores, new British art comes packaged and sold as high
art. Therefore, it could justifiably be said in Stallabrass’s defense that his
term rests less on a positive program of art than a meticulous negation of new
British art’s own implication that it is the cutting edge of fine art, and that
it leaves the rest — the old, the stuffy, the elitist, the idealist, the
formerly new, the once-revolutionary, the now obsolete art — behind.

It would be hard to give Julian
Stallabrass’s High Art Lite a higher recommendation. In a prose marked
by conviction, wit, and reason, he probes, weighs, investigates, and offers
answers to all the important questions that new British art raises. On the face
of it, it may seem that an art so flashy would not merit such serious
consideration — but what Stallabrass reveals is just this, that only the
surface glitter of Brit art suffices for a superficial consideration. Such
superficial treatments, he convincingly argues, are just the sort of treatment
its promoters needed to hide behind.

            In a recent
article in the Los Angeles art magazine, Cakewalk, on the decline in art
criticism ("In Defense of Artforum"), Lane Relyea points to
the fact that a single issue of the Artforum from the good old days —
namely, the June 1967 issue, which fetches upwards of $200 on Ebay — could
serve as the basis for an entire graduate seminar. (That single issue, he
reminds us, contained inter alia seminal pieces such as Michael Fried’s
"Art and Objecthood" and Robert Morris’s "Notes on
Sculpture.") Pick up a recent issue, he challenges, and "[t]ry
building a single cogent conversation" around it. "Hence the typical
refrain: the old Artforum was a magazine you read, while today’s Artforum
is a magazine you only look at." But he contends that this move from
substantial critical pieces to short notices and CD reviews, though undeniable,
is merely a reflection of the present state of the arts. He concludes: "Artforum
is still hugely consequential … [and] has experienced one its biggest jumps in
overall print run… We kid ourselves by thinking that Artforum has failed
to remain adequate to the scene around it … Artforum is perfectly
adequate. It’s precisely the magazine we currently deserve. Artforum
gets it just right."

            Stallabrass
responds to the question that Relyea’s ambivalent term "adequate"
suggests: Is unreflective reflection the only option we have? Stallabrass’ answer is a
heartfelt "No." It may be that the present art world encourages work
that benefits only from puff-pieces (as we have seen, he is well aware that art
can get the press it deserves), but his own book is a concrete example for his
contention that such a correspondence is not all that can be said and that
there are other, more engaging, more substantial — and, in the end, more
hopeful — possibilities for engaging with today’s art.

 

©
2003 C. E. Emmer

 

C. E. Emmer, visiting assistant
professor of philosophy at Miami University (Oxford, OH)

Categories: ArtAndPhotography, Philosophical