Your counselor, hard at work.

Do you think that contemporary art pieces that are controversial or seem to have required little effort contribute to the opposition of government funding of the arts?

The way your question is phrased makes me think you already had an answer in mind when you wrote, but I’m going to play the naïf and take it at face value (to begin with, at least) and simply answer no.

What does contribute to the opposition to government funding of the arts? Historically, it’s been individuals and groups not directly involved in the arts who, for various religious, political and ideological reasons, feel that they are entitled to dictate to us all what art is and should be. Others seem to be opposed to government funding of pretty much anything strictly on the basis of their desire not to pay any taxes. So there’s your query answered, right?

Andres Serrano, Piss Christ,1987. Cibachrome print mounted on Plexiglas, 23.5 x 16 in

But underneath my innocent demeanor is a deep concern that you’re blaming the victim. “It’s controversial, so it was asking for funding cuts,” sounds to me like grossly flawed reasoning. Do you really think that poor old Piss Christ should take the blame for the funding cuts to the NEA? Or should we blame the politicians like Jesse Helms and Al D’Amato who worked tirelessly on a campaign of misinformation and propaganda to create a culture war in order to promulgate wedge issues that to this day keep an emotionally unstable populace distracted from issues like racism, sexism, the economy and war? The artworks cited in the struggle to limit funding for the arts are red herrings used to conceal what are, in fact, simple political agendas.

Further, you cite a nebulous group of works that “seem to have required little effort” and I wonder what effort has to do with any of this. How would we even begin to decide how much effort went into a work of art before it could receive government funding? Should there be a Department of Homeland Artistic Effort? Remember that Marcel Duchamp signed a name to a urinal and exhibited it as a sculpture, an act that was so pivotal that we’re still talking, writing, and arguing about it nearly a hundred years later. Sometimes the simplest ideas turn out to be the most potent.

Marcel Duchamp, Fountain, 1917, original destroyed. Porcelain, dimensions unconfirmed, approx. 360 x 480 x 610 mm

Right now I am taking a course that introduces students to the images and works that artists in the “contemporary art” sphere are producing. I realize I may be alone in this opinion, but I can’t help but feel discouraged watching piece after piece flash onto the overhead-screen. When I produce a painting, drawing, photograph, or even a poem, it is often a painful process and the final product is always emotionally charged. Placing something so personal and painstakingly meaningful in a gallery of chocolate Jesus sculptures, diamond skulls, dot paintings, Piss Christs, and dead animal tanks just doesn’t seem appropriate. This class makes me regret the decision to major in studio art (a seemingly meaningless and ridiculous discipline) and has ruined all positive connotations the title “artist” used to carry. So my question is: Am I the only person who thinks pieces of the contemporary art world are demeaning and deprive art of any credibility? Where’s the challenge and talent in art if all you have to do is make use of repulsive, explicit, and/or offensive media?

Oh, those teenage years. Here you are, driven by hormones and angst, searching your soul deeply in order to artistically express your vital emotional states which no doubt ping-pong between the pit of despair and the mountain’s peak of elation.

I am sorry to hear that you find your coursework disheartening, but I’m sure we can all agree that it’s better for you to find out sooner rather than later that contemporary art is not your cup of tea. Really, that’s what the undergraduate experience is all about  and you’re always free to change your major to a subject you find less painful, like kinesiology or microeconomics.

Piero Manzoni, Merda d’artista, 1961. Mixed media, edition of 90.

Obviously you are not the only person to have these sad thoughts about contemporary art (c.f. Jesse Helms, above), so I’m going to assume your first actual question is hyperbolic for effect and not because you are a simpleton. However, your second and final question warrants some deliberation: if “all you have to do” indeed is make repulsive, explicit, and offensive art, why don’t you try it? Certainly art created in this manner carries an emotional charge that you might find cathartic. Also, I would love for you to explore the process of making this kind of art and attempting to have it funded and exhibited. You might find the answer to your entreaty for challenge and talent.

Luckily for you, you will never ever be asked to place your emotionally charged and painstakingly meaningful work in the same venue with the diamond skulls, dot paintings, or dead animals in tanks that you deplore. I guarantee it! And good luck with the rest of your adolescence.

Installation view of Wafaa Yasin's 'Aesh (Livelihood),' 2008.

DS: You’ve been writing about the relationship between politics and art for a little while, not just at Art Practical, but in other publications. How did you come to the topic?

Matthew Harrison Tedford: Originally, I studied political philosophy, so I’m indebted to that discourse. Personally, however, I became disillusioned because I felt the conversation was disconnected from reality. So I began to look at art through this lens. It’s not that art is really any more concrete, but there’s something about it that’s helped me to clarify my questions about politics. There are other avenues for this: becoming an activist, becoming a politician, for example. But, for someone interested in the arts, like myself, looking at political art is a way to engage as an activist or a politician might, without having to martyr yourself to a profession you might not be interested in.

DS: Were you an activist? Or an artist?

MHT: I tried to get involved with campus politics, but I found it frustrating. There was this mentality where if you raised a legitimate question, you were attacked for somehow being counter-revolutionary. It seemed very superficial and reactionary. So in that proto-radical, post-adolescent scene, I became withdrawn, but this wasn’t something I was happy about. I was left with a question about how to be involved with politics, given the unappealing experiences I’d had. Which is not to say that all political groups are like this, or that even most political groups are like this! I just didn’t want to be part of a group that wasn’t open to being questioned.

DS: Do you feel like there’s a lack of conversation about the relationship between art and politics?

MHT: No. Certainly not. My personal interest is to clarify this relationship, to make it more concrete. I think sometimes works are seen as political just because they have political content. For instance, just because it’s a painting of George Bush, it’s seen as political. For me, I need the definition to be more meaningful. My goal has been to really define what makes a work of art political, or when does art function as a political phenomenon versus just an artwork?

MIchael Heizer's 'Levitated Mass' on the move, 2012. Photo by Will Brown Hernandez.

DS: What conclusions have you drawn? What makes a work political?

MHT: Answering for myself — as there are a lot of different approaches — I had to say forget art, what’s politics? I was looking at [philosophers] Hannah Arendt and Jacques Rancière, and for them, something is political if it involves a plurality of members of a given society. If it engages a large group, people of different perspectives, and not a homogenous mass. Secondly, if it’s doing so in a way that creates debate or dialogue among these people with regard to the structure or function of their society. For me, something’s not just political if it creates a debate alone — we can debate about whether a table is hard or soft — but really, it becomes political when the debate is about the way in which we live and structure our society.

DS: Would you consider Piss Christ (a photograph of a crucifix in the artist’s urine, a copy of which was recently smashed in a London Museum) a political work?

MHT: This recent attack was interesting. I don’t know if this is too cynical, but you could choose to look at the fact that it was smashed as ‘debate.’ On the other hand, you could say that it was just smashing an artwork. I don’t know, but I have a sweet spot for iconoclasm.

DS: But when it’s just one individual, that doesn’t constitute a plurality, does it?

MHT: No, but the fact that this work and works like it are so often attacked — not just physically, but via funding or visibility — indicates that there is a larger debate happening. So yes, you could say that this is acting as a political work of art. The unfortunate result is whether or not this means a work of art is more political if it has more celebrity? I don’t want that to be the case, but then again, if I have this brilliant work of political art, but it never leaves my studio…

Andreas Serrano's 'Piss Christ,' 1987, after being smashed with a hammer at the Lamber Collection Contemporary Art Museum in France.

DS: How much is artist intention involved?

MHT: Well, even if the work has no political intent, if it raises the kind of debate I’ve mentioned, I would consider it political. To do this accidentally — it’s complicated. So much is contingent on what happens. Really, any artwork has the potential to be political, depending how it enters into the public arena.

DS: Besides creating debate, does a work need to be effective in a particular way?

MHT: No, I don’t think it does. An artist creating a political work probably wants it to be effective, but it doesn’t need to be. Take voting, for example. It’s a political act, but even if you vote for someone who loses, you’re still engaging in politics. So, no, I don’t think the efficacy of something is tied up in whether it’s political.

We kick off this week’s coverage with John Pyper’s Fear and Sacrilege in South Beach.

Edgard de Souza Untitled (Mesa Ninho). All photographs courtesy of John Pyper

Sometimes I feel bad for right wing politicians. So much smut in this world and so little time to rail against it. They have to spend their time fighting for tax breaks for the type of people who can afford to buy the offensive art from the secular temple of economic gluttony that is the December art fairs in Miami. The heathen fairs all have their own heretical personalities and yet its easy to glaze over and think that they all look the same. White walls, no ceilings, tired smiles on gallery employees dressed in nice suits wishing they could sit down and eat something.

The mental state that visitors bring to these fairs matters quite a bit. I entered the week thinking about the controversy surrounding the removal of “A Fire in My Belly” by David Wojnarowicz from Hide/Seek: Difference and Desire in American Portraiture at the National Portrait Gallery, and it colored my view of what I saw exhibited at the fairs.

Which of these works are offensive enough to be the next banned work? Are there any that the Portrait Gallery should replace Wojnarowicz’s video with? Here is a short list of available candidates that the Catholic League can pick on next:

Edgard de Souza’s untitled sculpture of two tables in physical relations. Is this the hope that Obama voters fell for? Anthropomorphised tables having at it?

Andres Serrano–  Baby Black Jesus. Seems inoffensive and even pretty, but who the hell knows anymore.

Jenny Holzer– These Enhanced Techniques. In the age of Wikileaks, we have to worry about lefty art types leaking classified information?

Wim Delvoye-- Double Helix Crucifix Alternating Current

Wim Delvoye– Double Helix Crucifix Alternating Current or Cement Truck (maquette 1:6) One offends the Christians and one offends good blue collar workers.

Allora & Calzadilla– Petrified Petrol Pump. Gasoline is the life-force of capitalism. Fighting against it is anti-American.

Kris Martin‘s untitled sculpture of a catholic saint holding a burnt cathedral in his hands. This throw away work would probably be fine if a protestant saw it, but the Catholic League would have a kitten.

Li Zhanyang-- The Goat Fucking the Dog

Li Zhanyang– The Goat Fucking the Dog. I’m not sure why the goat and dog are having sex, but they have to be some form of coded meaning against baseball, apple pie, and/or mom.

Mounir Fatmi’s entire existence and body of work. This time he was showing a group of prayer rug collages and skateboards covered with prayer rugs. It’s like cartoons selling cigarettes. It’s a gateway drug to Jihad.

Malia Jensen– Salty. A video of cows licking breast sculptures made of salt? Repugnant liberal media.

Malia Jensen-- Salty

John Waters– Rear Projection. This sick homosexual ruins everything.

Sandow Birk– American Qur’an. I’m sure that the American Qur’an will be an official book for students now that Obama is in the White House.

Al Farrow‘s sculptures of synagogues and mosques made of bullets and guns. This seems to fit the messianic war that the right wing is waiting for in the Middle East.

Michael Scoggins‘ gigantic notebook paper attacks against Christianity. Christianity and Islam are not the same thing and this guy is just starting religious conflict for no reason.

Michael Scoggins

Steve Mumford– Empire. Again, the era of wikileaks.

Spunk & the Orange Kittens‘ installation of a couch and photographs of people have sex on it. Disgusting. Who would buy a couch that has documentation of people having sex on it?

Paul Chan– The Body of Oh Girl (truetype font). It starts with “fuck me Jesus so hard there, yes more keep going…” Is someone calling out to Jesus, or is Jesus doing the fucking? It’s hard to tell, and luckily this wasn’t for sale.