The Silence of History
A medley of art stars, political figures and fast food icons beam out from an imaginary history - a backwards-looking future moment that pay tributes to the visionaries of 21st Century American capitalism. Here are the leaders who brought us into a golden age of consumption, one that - according to Nick Graham - culminates in no less that the wholesale acquisition of our sovereign nation. From the holy trinity of Pop Art - Father Warhol with Hirst the Son, and Koons off to the side, jester or Holy Ghost - to Father and Son Bush staring vacantly or squinting blindly at the havoc surrounding them, we are presented with the protectors of American culture who freed us from the burden of production and guided our great nation into excess and debt. While our children grew bountiful and complacent licking the lead off their Happy Meal™ toys, these innovators beckoned us toward greater heights of acquisition and convenience, all the while selling our franchises and our self-interests out from under us.
In Graham's Popaganda, the commercial and political actors currently colliding into each other (as the line between news and corporate interests grows ever more blurred) are further juxtaposed against the propagandist paintings of Maoist China. While he is trafficking in ready icons and tropes - the symbols of prosperity and free expression commingled with those of oppression and the party line - Graham is not simply substituting capitalism for communism. Nor is he scolding us with a morality tale, warning against the giddy embrace between the two. In mixing icons and ideologies, he recognizes that all myths and fables possess the same elements; the intrepid hunter and the big bad wolf can easily exchange places depending on the story told and who is doing the telling.
For example, an outsized vision of Al Gore looms above the frozen tundra, arm raised in salute, mouth open, commanding the fleet of Hummers below, and either halting them to stop or urging them onward. Does he really want to save the world, or does he want to be the one who gets to say “I told you so.”? It is an almost immaterial question; Gore's bases are covered; he will be the Great Prophet if the world comes to an end and the Great Savior if it doesn't.
Perhaps it is still too early to poke fun at the Oscar-winning Nobel Laureate. We have shared his pain for the past seven years and are still a bit tender. However, while Graham is reminding us to view the world with a bit of brevity, he is also wondering what do we care of history if we do not remember it? There is the silence of the past: after the clamor of the parades and the rallies, the speeches and the campaigning dies down, what are the words that linger? Perhaps for that reason, Graham retains the faces of the anonymous workers, who somehow become more eternal than the politicians and art stars juxtaposed amongst them. In our age of consumer convenience and immediate obsolescence, the voices of the latter become trapped in a particular moment; they begin to speak from a distance too far away to heed.
It is the same distance occupied by a future looking back into the present, the point at which optimism becomes naiveté. These images are the artifacts of our current moment, seen from a perspective that appears wiser only because it knows what remains relevant and who has faded to obscurity. They successfully operate as such because our cultural icons have become so apparent to be rendered mute. We do not need to linger with them to understand what they are telling us - a passing glance is enough. But caught in that glance and refusing to be overlooked is the golden beaver; the ultimate anomaly, a symbol of industry in an age of drive-thru delivery. Is he taunting us or imploring us? It remains too soon to tell.
PATRICIA MALONEY 2008
A medley of art stars, political figures and fast food icons beam out from an imaginary history - a backwards-looking future moment that pay tributes to the visionaries of 21st Century American capitalism. Here are the leaders who brought us into a golden age of consumption, one that - according to Nick Graham - culminates in no less that the wholesale acquisition of our sovereign nation. From the holy trinity of Pop Art - Father Warhol with Hirst the Son, and Koons off to the side, jester or Holy Ghost - to Father and Son Bush staring vacantly or squinting blindly at the havoc surrounding them, we are presented with the protectors of American culture who freed us from the burden of production and guided our great nation into excess and debt. While our children grew bountiful and complacent licking the lead off their Happy Meal™ toys, these innovators beckoned us toward greater heights of acquisition and convenience, all the while selling our franchises and our self-interests out from under us.
In Graham's Popaganda, the commercial and political actors currently colliding into each other (as the line between news and corporate interests grows ever more blurred) are further juxtaposed against the propagandist paintings of Maoist China. While he is trafficking in ready icons and tropes - the symbols of prosperity and free expression commingled with those of oppression and the party line - Graham is not simply substituting capitalism for communism. Nor is he scolding us with a morality tale, warning against the giddy embrace between the two. In mixing icons and ideologies, he recognizes that all myths and fables possess the same elements; the intrepid hunter and the big bad wolf can easily exchange places depending on the story told and who is doing the telling.
For example, an outsized vision of Al Gore looms above the frozen tundra, arm raised in salute, mouth open, commanding the fleet of Hummers below, and either halting them to stop or urging them onward. Does he really want to save the world, or does he want to be the one who gets to say “I told you so.”? It is an almost immaterial question; Gore's bases are covered; he will be the Great Prophet if the world comes to an end and the Great Savior if it doesn't.
Perhaps it is still too early to poke fun at the Oscar-winning Nobel Laureate. We have shared his pain for the past seven years and are still a bit tender. However, while Graham is reminding us to view the world with a bit of brevity, he is also wondering what do we care of history if we do not remember it? There is the silence of the past: after the clamor of the parades and the rallies, the speeches and the campaigning dies down, what are the words that linger? Perhaps for that reason, Graham retains the faces of the anonymous workers, who somehow become more eternal than the politicians and art stars juxtaposed amongst them. In our age of consumer convenience and immediate obsolescence, the voices of the latter become trapped in a particular moment; they begin to speak from a distance too far away to heed.
It is the same distance occupied by a future looking back into the present, the point at which optimism becomes naiveté. These images are the artifacts of our current moment, seen from a perspective that appears wiser only because it knows what remains relevant and who has faded to obscurity. They successfully operate as such because our cultural icons have become so apparent to be rendered mute. We do not need to linger with them to understand what they are telling us - a passing glance is enough. But caught in that glance and refusing to be overlooked is the golden beaver; the ultimate anomaly, a symbol of industry in an age of drive-thru delivery. Is he taunting us or imploring us? It remains too soon to tell.
PATRICIA MALONEY 2008
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