Humor is sometimes overlooked as a significant aspect of contemporary art. But because art is so often visceral, it isn’t a surprise that wit is just as evident as violence and depravity in new artworks. Many artists today are using humor inventively, pushing the boundaries of both acceptability and standard practice. Some good examples of humorist/artists include Maurizio Cattelan, whose most recent work, L.O.V.E., is a 36-foot-tall sculpture of a hand with only a middle finger which is directed towards the Milan Stock Exchange, and Fred Tomaselli, whose brilliant small-scale collages of birds combine a love of the true typological interpretation of nature found in field guides with the ersatz promise of nature found in Eddie Bauer and Lands End catalogs.
When the subject of humor in art comes up, Scottish artist David Shrigley is often a keystone in the conversation. His iconic drawings are subtle, sometimes unsettling, and look deceptively simple. Like the best graphic novelists or most talented journalists, he is able to capture an entire sentiment or philosophy with a few brushstrokes. In his current solo show at Anton Kern Gallery, Shrigley displays his drawings, sculptures, and a black-and-white animation entitled “The Letter.” All of the works straddle the line between comic deception and boldfaced lies, and the viewer is pushed to intermittently feel uneasy, critical, depressed, and lighthearted.
Shrigley is fascinated by simple problems of morality. For example, in the video, “The Letter,” a hand slowly writes a note across the screen excusing a little boy from going to school. Although it is signed by the child’s mother at the conclusion, it is never revealed whether the note was actually written by the mother or by the child himself. Shrigley often frames questions of truth in this poignantly simple way, encouraging his viewers to question the perspective and consequences of his poorly-drawn characters’ actions.
The thirty drawings displayed in the exhibition contain many examples of Shrigley’s succinct wit and unique ability to see complex humor in simple forms. Whether he’s describing an olive green rectangle as a 19th –century workhouse or showing a man being squashed literally underfoot, Shrigley is able to condense vast ideas of language, history, and common fears into a few drawn lines. Shrigley deftly combines the wit and comically dark truths of Larry David with the nihilistic zing of a dedicated philosopher in black.
A series of sculptures accompany the drawings and video, although they are not as provocative as those shown in his previous Anton Kern show. Strewn throughout the gallery are giant ceramic gumboots, a sad white ribcage, and a series of small bronze drips and fingers pointing from the walls. The sculptures are more sad than humorous, and their weight manages to make them far more nihilistic, though less memorable, than his drawings.
While I was walking through the exhibition, an Italian woman approached me. She asked me in a thick accent, “Is this art? Why is this art?” And I explained that perhaps the show might be difficult for those who speak English as a second language, as Shrigley plays on words and common turns of phrase. She insisted “No, no. My English is good. I understand. I just don’t know why this is art.” After I explained that he’s a humorist, that he sees darkness and comedy in a few lines or a smudge of paint, she seemed content with my answer and walked away. Five minutes later, she was laughing and tugging on the sleeve of my jacket. “I get it” she exclaimed with glee. She proceeded to show me a series of drawings of boots, colors, hills, houses, and tombstones. She had finally been able to look beyond the surface of Shrigley’s work to find the brilliant, depraved wit that hides beneath.
ANTON KERN GALLERY IS LOCATED AT 532 WEST 20 STREET, NEW YORK.
David Shrigley
Untitled, 2010
Bronze
1 x 1 3/4 x 2 1/4 inches
Courtesy Anton Kern Gallery
Untitled, 2010
Bronze
1 x 1 3/4 x 2 1/4 inches
Courtesy Anton Kern Gallery
