By Catherine Wagley
By Catherine Wagley
By Wendy Gilmartin
By Jennifer Swann
By Claire de Dobay Rifelj
By L.A. Weekly critics
By Catherine Wagley
By Zachary Pincus-Roth
|Courtesy of Laguna Art Museum|
This nostalgia is the key to the success of much of the 20th century's most convincing art. From Albert Speer's stagings for the Nuremberg Rallies to the wall-size "heroic" paintings of the Abstract Expressionists and the gargantuan objets du pop of Claes Oldenburg, 20th-century art (architecture's always had a handle on this gimmick) has sought to overwhelm us with its scale. This kind of authoritarianism has been decried in liberal cultural circles for many years -- through most of the '70s and '80s, for instance, Jackson Pollock's immense work was derided as symptomatic of imperialistic, macho bullying. But rather than swing to the opposite end of the spectrum -- i.e., to miniature art, presumably with opposite political connotations --painting and sculpture have for the most part hewed to a crassly commercial couch-dictated midsizing. Still, there have been exceptions.
To very little fanfare, the Laguna Art Museum is hosting a compelling small show that has been in and out of curatorial limbo for over a year. "At the Threshold of the Visible: Minuscule and Small-Scale Art 19641996," originally slated for the fall of '98 at the Santa Monica Museum, was lost in the Bergamot shuffle and rescheduled to open this July 11 at the Huntington Beach Art Center. But then, in April, Huntington Beach Cultural Services Crank Michael "His Name Is" Mudd pulled the plug on what had been perhaps the most progressive and high-profile public art space in Orange County. Announcing a radical restructuring of HBAC, Mudd cited a surfeit of "confrontational work that deals with social and political issues" as the primary reason, bolstered by a questionable interpretation of the museum's budget deficit. Plans for all scheduled shows, including "Threshold of the Visible," and a retrospective of Margaret "Really Did All of Ex-Husband Walter's Big-Eye Paintings" Keane, were scotched. By attacking the very curatorial adventurousness that had put it on the map, Huntington Beach wrote its own ticket to nowhere. And made a hero out of then-curator Tyler Stallings, who promptly resigned (along with the entire HBAC staff and board of directors), and was quickly scooped up by Bolton Colburn, director of the Laguna Museum. Colburn not only made Stallings curator of exhibitions but publicly bashed Mudd's shortsightedness, and also committed Laguna to picking up the axed programming from the HBAC. Originally, this was to begin sometime in the new year, but by some sleight of scheduling, a slot was freed up and "Threshold" opened only a month into Stallings' tenure, just a couple of weeks behind the original schedule.
This commitment to a high contemporary-art profile and creative flexibility is a sign of the Laguna Museum's attempt to re-create itself from the ashes of its unsuccessful merger with Newport Harbor Museum. Regaining autonomy last year after a seven-month gestation as half of the Orange County Museum of Art, Laguna was born again with a pile of municipal dollars and a new paint job, but no clear identity. Laguna, while a multifaceted art community, is known to the art world largely as the home of the extremely peculiar Pageant of the Masters (where locals form elaborate tableaux vivants of famous paintings), and as the kind of "art colony" in which torrid paperback romances are set. Until snagging Stallings, the Laguna Museum had operated without a full-time curator for almost a year. It now appears to have been biding its time, for with one swoop it bagged a wad of positive publicity, a cutting-edge curator with a taste for pop-cultural quirkiness, and a marvelous show from one of L.A.'s most influential yet underrated curators and cultural critics.
RALPH RUGOFF, WHO ASSEMBLED "Threshold" for New York's Independent Curators Incorporated two years ago, is known primarily for his erudite columns on these very pages for much of the '90s -- essays of "art criticism" that continually startled with their innovative angles in approaching popular culture -- both in the kaleidoscopic range of subject matter and in his ability to tease out substantive issues in the most unlikely creative expressions: the Liberace museum, manhole-cover design and the Hyperion Waste Treatment Facility, to name a few. During the same period, Rugoff curated a series of potent gallery exhibitions beginning with 1990's "Just Pathetic" at Rosamund Felsen -- a show that set the tone and standard for much of the understanding and discussion of L.A. art for the decade to come, and on which the legitimacy of Paul Schimmel's "Helter Skelter" and the '90s L.A. art renaissance was built. Yet by the time of 1997's "Scene of the Crime," a tightly conceived conflation of all that MOCA's "Helter Skelter" and "Out of Actions" should have been, Rugoff had become something of a persona non grata among the art-world powers that be -- in part because of the common perception that his interest in popular culture came at the expense of the gallery shows he should have been covering.
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