Date: Wed, 4 Nov 1998 23:45:16 -0500 (EST)
From: Cd <cw_duff-AT-alcor.concordia.ca>
Subject: Kitaj
For those of you who have the second ANQ issue, the article by Anthony Julius
is dedicated to R. B. Kitaj, an American painter who lived in England for
many years. Below, with no comment,
is an article on Kitaj from Arts and Letters.
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FORWARD : Arts & Letters
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An Expatriate Painter Packs Up His Easel
Charging Anti-Semitism, and Murder, R.B. Kitaj Heads for L.A.
By ROBIN CEMBALEST
Few are the artists who harbor ungrudging admiration for their
critics. But few loathe them with the ardor of R.B. Kitaj, the
acerbic, American-born painter of dense, figurative works laced with
literary and artistic allusions. Mr. Kitaj, who has lived in London
since 1958, has never been shy about expressing his opinion of his
detractors. When many of London's art writers panned his 1994
retrospective at London's Tate Gallery, Mr. Kitaj cast himself as an
artistic Dreyfus, branding his critics anti-American, anti-Semitic
and anti-intellectual. After his wife, Sandra Fisher, died suddenly
of a brain aneurysm a few months later, he added another charge -
murderous. His entry at last year's Summer Exhibition at London's
Royal Academy was titled, pointedly, "The Critic Kills."
While the art world has become accustomed to Mr. Kitaj's periodic
tantrums about art and life in his adopted country, even his allies
were unnerved when he unveiled his entry to the current Summer
Exhibition last week. Described by the artist as "a revenge play on
canvas," the work advances the same charges of bias and
irresponsibility that Mr. Kitaj has leveled against critics in the
past - only in a manner that many saw as more shrill, hysterical and
paranoid than anything the artist had produced before.
The mural-size piece, "Sandra Three," depicts London's art critics as
a six-legged, many-eyed monster with a bloated face, blood on its
lips and a snaking yellow tongue, upon which are written the words
"Yellow press, yellow press, kill, kill, kill." A firing squad,
painted in the style of Manet's "Execution of the Emperor
Maximilian," shoots flaming bullets into the creature's brain with
the slogan "Blood will be blood." In a corner of the canvas is
written a Duchampian phrase: "The Killer Critic Assassinated by His
Widower, Even"; in another is what appears to be a self-portrait with
a dagger marked "J'Accuse." And in another, Mr. Kitaj delivers what
he no doubt considers his coup de gr=83ce: He announced that he is
leaving London for Los Angeles.
The next day, the critics struck back. "He is held to live in a world
of self-delusions and to have suffered a total collapse of sense of
humour," the Daily Telegraph posited of Mr. Kitaj. "To blame a critic
seems a peculiar, even self-centered displacement," said the
Guardian. Several questioned how Mr. Kitaj could label Britain's art
establishment anti-Semitic when so many of its stars - Leon Kossoff,
Lucian Freud, Frank Auerbach - are Jewish. In one of his rare
interviews, Mr. Kitaj had an answer to that. "It's not a
coincidence," he said, "that I'm the only painter who wears his
Jewishness in his art."
That's hardly the case only in England, of course. Writers like
Philip Roth and Saul Bellow may inhabit America's literary pantheon,
but besides Mr. Kitaj, there is no visual artist of international
stature who so forcefully addresses aspects of the Jewish experience
in his work. (Indeed Mr. Kitaj has of late become the cover artist of
choice for Jewish-themed books, judging from the review copies
arriving at the Forward offices.) As the author of the "First
Diasporist Manifesto" prepares to head into exile once more, another
question arises: Will this iconoclastic artist, who thrives on the
sense of being an outsider, find peace - and a more sympathetic
reception to his dark allegories - in his native country?
Mr. Kitaj is not exactly going home, though: The culture of Los
Angeles, where he is moving to be near his son from his first
marriage, is nothing like his native Cleveland, where he was born in
1932 to an American daughter of Russian immigrants and a Hungarian
father. After a brief career as a merchant seaman and a stint in the
U.S. Army, he established himself in Britain, where he was credited
with coining the "School of London" to refer to psychologically
inclined figurative painters including Mr. Freud, Mr. Auerbach, Mr.
Kossoff and himself. His interest in Jewish subjects began in the
'60s, when he discovered Walter Benjamin, "who spoke to my sense of
exile of mind and heart, an un-at-homeness in great sensual cities
which might lead to an art and maybe even a Jewishness of Jewish
art." Looking back, he realized many of his portraits - of Rosa
Luxemburg, Isaac Babel, Walter Lippmann - were also of Jewish
outsiders, and he went on to read texts by Franz Kafka, Gershom
Scholem, Harold Bloom and others. He befriended - and drew - Mr.
Roth, who has explored his own uncomfortable experience as a Jew in
England.
In 1989, Mr. Kitaj produced his own text on the Jewish experience:
"First Diasporist Manifesto," in which he attempted to come to terms
with his own Jewish identity and how it manifested itself in art. "If
a people is dispersed, hurt, hounded, uneasy, their pariah condition
confounds expectation in profound and complex ways," he wrote. "So it
must be in aesthetic matters." His works from the era reflect his
preoccupations: the gray landscape of "Drancy"; "If Not, Not," an
Eliot-inspired wasteland dominated by the Auschwitz gatehouse; "The
Jew Etc," a portrait of a pensive "emblematic Jew" intended to be
"the unfinished subject of an esthetic of entrapment and escape, an
endless, tainted Galut-Passage, wherein he acts out his own
unfinish."
And now Mr. Kitaj enters the next phase of his own endless Galut,
though he is hardly arriving as a destitute refugee. He arrives in
America with an established gallery, Marlborough, and while he is not
a household name in the mainstream he has a solid reputation in the
art world: his Tate retrospective traveled to the Los Angles County
Museum of Art and to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where it
received a somewhat better reception - though far less attention -
than it did in England. But he also arrives at a time when figurative
work exists on the margins, and when, despite the endless musings on
ethnic identity from culturally diverse artists (many of whom favor
text panels as long as Mr. Kitaj's own explications), Jewish-themed
work remains the province mostly of Jewish museums.
As for how Mr. Kitaj will adapt himself to life in a Spanish-style
villa far removed from his London afflictions - and in a Los Angeles
art scene hardly known for the literary disposition he has grown
accustomed to - his indications are contradictory. "I have a deep
ascetic side to my nature," he told London's The Independent, "and I
may become a Desert Father or an Israelite Prophet whistling in the
wilderness, unheard and forgotten by the present art world, which is
OK by me."
Still, it seems unlikely that Mr. Kitaj, with his powerful obsession
with how he is perceived by others - and his equally powerful need to
bring his personal torment to public view - will disappear from
sight. In the same interview, he also said, "I seem to attract
hatred, as Baudelaire wrote Marat did. There is no talent or style or
balls or imagination in the haters. At least they've made me the most
controversial painter alive! Not a bad thing to be."
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