"Looking at Lichstenstein's work up to the age of 40 yrs. old, there seems to be so little sign of anything to say, whether in purely formal terms or in content - no skills or discoveries made, no developing voice, no evidence of the struggle of means towards realisation - and this seems quite extraordinary to me. How can anybody be in this world for 40 yrs. without having something of their own to say about life and how can an artist not show evidence of the struggle to express it? It seems that Lichtenstein was experimenting with form and theory - the constructs of currently acceptable styles - which were not suited to him. Without the inspiration of having something to say, form and theory are empty vessels.
His discovery aged 40 of the potential of representing cartoon imagery as 'fine art' was a giant leap in the appropriation of existing genres legitimised in terms of irony or, more grandly, 'cultural criticism'. Artists have always appropriated the work of others, but seldom previously in such a dedicated manner - as an end in itself. It occurs to me that irony is perhaps not really critique enough: it is a secondary position, dependent for its context on the status of that which is being criticised. It may suggest a fine sensibility, but there is an element of cowardice in relying upon it for one's entire proposition."
I didn't publish the blog at the time as it is my usual negative rant, and I should only write blogs when I am enthused - as I was during a recent visit to the current "Masterpieces" exhibition in the new galleries at the Sainsbury Centre where there is a wonderful range of work to marvel at. I've also just re-read 'Middlemarch' - now there is a fine sensibility. It does not lack irony, but it is so richly layered that the irony strengthens rather than predominates the text.
Nemesis, terracotta.
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