- by Timothy Gawaya
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Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled - Pablo Picasso, 1984, oil, acrylic and oil sticks on metal, courtesy of Christie's
Towards the end of last year a surge of interest in the stylistic elements of Jean-Michel Basquait’s paintings occurred in the more self-conscious corners of TikTok. The focus was largely directed towards what were perceived as ‘Basquiat clones’: young amateur painters, largely men, whose artworks were reminiscent of Basquiat’s neo-expressionism. It became a meme of sorts. On the one hand, a slew of starving young painters ‘revealed’ their artworks in a bid at achieving some semblance of recognition. However, these works were often perceived as derivative, if not outright copies, acts of desperate sacrilege outmatched by Basquiat’s authenticity. On the other hand, an increasingly hostile audience of commenters lamented the lack of artistic originality. One could be influenced by Basquiat, but how this influence is evidenced remains unclear. And even in such a case, influence is always something that must be transcended such that it does not devolve into the mechanical act of tracing lines.
In the above instance, bearing too much influence impedes artistic value since the artist is perceived as rooted in the historical past. Originality, by contrast, is a means of emphasising the degree to which an artist is of their time.
Contemporary art is a moment that is simultaneously historical and a-historical. It is an institution characterised by art made today. But it permits a confluence of historical styles and motifs across periods, from classical genre painting and sculpture to new media and generative artificial intelligence. This confluence adds to its ahistorical ambience, as though time were indefinitely suspended and held between two points: a prolonged yet fleeting present and an equally present, yet somehow inexistent, past. Under such conditions there is little need for contemporary artists, especially young artists, to allude to history since we find ourselves in the paradoxical moment of being in it while also above it.
At the same time, this suspended moment where everything is permitted adds to a sense that there is nothing new (even though we feed on novelty). To the extent that contemporary art is saturated, absolute originality serves as a means of standing out. At such a juncture, being rooted in the historical feels like self-impairment.
Picasso is believed to have once proclaimed, “Good artists copy; great artists steal.” The saying is meant to convey the sense that great art is created under the condition of direct influence, but is mutated by the artist’s purposive selection and reconfiguration of preexisting elements. Influence is something deducible after the fact, after the creative act of reworking.
Elaine Sturtevant, Warhol Diptych, 1973, silkscreen inks, synthetic polymer and acrylic on canvas, courtesy of Christie's
By contrast, copying is the feeble admission of one’s inability to redefine existing forms. Unlike the selective attention of great art, understood in Picasso’s terms as theft with finesse, copying is a failure because it bears too much influence. In the copy there are lingering traces of previous occupation. It is a structure that is not entirely one’s own, where the stench of previous inhabitants distorts the senses.
Even after the upheavals of post-modernism and the recapitulation efforts of post-postmodernism (where are we now? post-post-postmodernism?) originality remains a central feature of contemporary art. If we are to take the profane view and look at things from the perspective of market conditions it makes sense to think in terms of original objects. Along similar terms, the sacred view which considers art as a separate domain valorises original objects as art’s true expression. In either case, origin is emphasised over the more tedious theme of reference and citation even though they are both means through which influence is expressed. But whereas originality treats influence as obvious through indirect allusion, explicit reference is a lower game insofar as it points out its sources.
Indeed, for contemporary artists history (particularly art history) as a framing device might appear like an anachronism since we are both inside and outside onlookers. But this leaves us in a vacuum of exception, of anomalies paradoxically claiming both continuity and singular instantiation. Yet there is also another sense through which contemporary art grounds a sense of disjointed historical experience. Dominique Cheminais’ surrealism possesses an eerieness consistent with today’s rootlessness, yet there is a simultaneous grounding evidenced by historical allusion. In her series for Kalashnikov Gallery, A Cage in Search of a Bird, her major point of reference is Kafka whose work is widely known for its themes of alienation and indefinite postponement. Historical influence is everywhere and nowhere at the same time, but it is the work of originality which bridges the gap.
If there is an unwillingness on the part of practicing artists to reference history it is because it is deemed too obvious to miss. In other words, it isn’t something spoken of as much as it is something to be recognised. If a thing is widely known it is assumed that it can remain unsaid.
Dominique Cheminais, Invisible Rehearsal (Felice), Acrylic on Canvas, R65,000.00 ex. VAT, Presented by Kalashnikovv Gallery. ENQUIRE.
How do we arrive at a place where art history becomes more than practiced forgetting? Events tend to unfold in a strange and ominous logic. Time’s arrow is aimed towards the sun. And perhaps the convenience of straight lines (with minor detours) outmatches the directionless nature of events. Although there is always something exceeding the concept which tends to burn with a brighter intensity. Straight lines are an exercise whereas curves are an artform, but even more gratifying are the random walks derived from their combination that stretch from here to eternity.
Further Reading In Articles
African Artist Directory