It could be said that one of the great
perennial themes of painting has been to show what is visible
as an entity, precisely perhaps because what is visible can
not actually be captured at a glance. The visible withdraws
as much as it advances. Mick Finch's N17 series (1993-4) emphasized
this theme, in its attempts to synthesize random and contradictory
visual information, in the face of the impossibility of any
totality. He confronted the impossible task of generalizing
from repeated journeys from Senlis to Paris. These trips fragmented
vision, gave it an imprecision bordering on the picturesque
despite the absence of anything overtly picturesque in the outlying
areas of Paris and continually pushed at the confines of a specific
location. Here was the journey as a testing ground of space
by time and displacement through a field of vision, as a testing
ground also for that sought-after unity. In subject only, Mick
Finch was consciously placing himself within a landscape tradition
which is a strong if not abiding influence within British art
(Reynolds, Constable, Turner, Henry Moore, Richard Long). Herein
lies one of the 'justifications' for Finch's work as a painter;
it entails a critical questioning, a mise en abîmenot only of
tradition (painting is a practice that he learnt and teaches)
but also of certain assumptions and criteria, whether aesthetically,
theoretically, or ideologically based, that form and influence
our ways of thinking about reality and apprehending it, and
its presentation and representation.
Finch's most recent series of paintings entitled Closer than
you think, appears at first glance like an odd articulation
of pop-like iconographic elements (stencils or sections of Mickey
Mouse's head), motifs moving towards abstraction (camouflage)
or washes of paint covering the surface which interfere with
the image. Depending on the strategies employed for each work
and the varying scale of the interweaving of the elements present,
the stencil figure is sometimes swamped by the coloured mesh
of the plane, sometimes revealed against the amorphous backdrop
of camouflage. The title 'Closer than you think' suggests a
proximity that is magical in that an observer does not see or
suspect it - a motif to upset the eye that is so ignoble, it
is hard to imagine it present, lost as it is in a trellised
surface with its a priori abstraction. There is also a suggestion
of fear- what type of closeness? Are we being threatened? It
is as if a threat had to be warded off, avoiding any insistence
on a motif that is so familiar and resonant. The guess is that
the presence of the toon isn't simply a joke, a bit of sentimental
kitsch, and that our easy recognition of Disney's offspring
is not an accident and requires analysis. So it would seem that
a critique is being made, in an allegorical and occasionally
in an ironic mode, of our habits and ways of seeing.
This hypothesis has to be checked against what is today's
ideological context is terms of a relatively common discourse
on art. The writer Louis Calaferte's "contemporary art has as
its supreme désinvolture to fragment" but we have to say that
apparently those times are over. The contemporary art that is
handed out for us to appreciate today has little to do with
that type of art - an art of separation and sublime detachment,
from neo-plasticians to abstract expressionism - that Claferete
seemed to rejoice in. To listen to the most prevalent discourse,
art has to do nothing other than establish strategies for approaching
and relating to the public with the aim of restoring a pact
and a lost link. No need here to refer to the ideology of interaction
and communication, even if, as we can sense, it is a target
for Finch's highly critical painting. The series closer than
you think is first and foremost a critique of minimalism and
that within it seems to be a first step toward the rhetoric
of relationships.
At the core of this lies a suspicion concerning the Gestalt
theory which Robert Morris proposed as a working method. What
is there to say? That the work should offer itself up in its
inarticulate, indivisible completeness; a presence in the world
on a phenomenological pediment that guarantees an impersonal
and public mode of perception. Anyone confronting an object
made according to the psychological principles of Gestalt -
immediate identification of the form shown or a totality in
terms of one of its visible parts - is confronted by a number
of implicit ideas. This method of approaching the onlooker,
proceeds by the induction of virtualities contained in the work
that need only then be named. By changing the tables slightly
one could suggest that such practice has only maintains an ideological
and aesthetic programme, width the rehabilitation of notions
of identification and recognition. It is here moreover that
the strength of Gestalt lies which, according to Morris, is
a "constant, known form," that does not allow for disagreements
as to interpretation. Gestalt is powerful because it prohibits
any deviation of understanding.
One day, above the Eurostar tracks at Waterloo station Mick
Finch came across an advertising panel which showed a huge close-up
of an eye - expressive as any eye can be - of Mickey Mouse.
Though only a detail, recognition of the cartoon was instantaneous.
It is a process that is used often and to great effect in advertising
(a fragment of the typographical arabesque of Coca Cola, the
concentric circles of Lucky Strike, etc.) and it stems from
Gestalt theory. Such processes have an undeniable power over
our ways of seeing, subject as we are to having signs and cultural
and symbolic images structure our imaginations and our relationships
with reality. The Disney advertisers play heavily on clever
tactics, and here their keenness to 'take us in' with an impersonal
totality of desire is underlined by the slogan that reads "The
magic is closer than you think" (read "Eurodisney is a just
stone's throw away from Eurostar") -- as if Gestalt was written
around the eyeball.
Appropriating the Mickey motif, for the past two years Finch
has made a series of pictures that are a double 'mise en abîme',
questioning both the iconic dimension of the cartoon and still
more, formal and visual unity according to Robert Morris. In
a certain way Finch puts his finger directly on the weakest
part of minimalism: desire for an impersonal relationship with
the public entails use of a totalitarian, even totalising method
(identification of everything by one of its highly significant
parts) and of an exploitation of signs of recognition (virtual
pre-existence of a possible relationship). Of course Morris
is not Disney and his human-scaled columns are nothing like
Mickey, but a similar, dubious intention lies behind both. Dubious
because it instils the idea of an undifferentiated trade in
signs, objects and images, a commerce that is moreover, subordinated
to a totalising visual structure which sanctions our habitual
ways of seeing.
Mick Finch's current painting is thus a response to minimalism
not from the point of view of a particular aesthetic (warm expressionism
to counteract the supposed stylistic coldness of minimalism)
but from a political and anti-ideological viewpoint. The procedures
he uses in his work also take account of this viewpoint. There
emerges an idea of a multiplicity working at the very heart
of the picture surface, with the use of strategies of camouflage
and 'interference' like an allegory of combat, a conflict between
heterogeneous and contradictory elements. If we can talk of
allegory here, the notion has none of its connotations of the
vanities that we find in Warhol's pop art (effigies die too)
or of Smithsonian entropy (metaphor of a failing system). Finch's
allegorical pictures are so in terms of a critique within the
surface, of procedures and of a belief in the impersonal and
indivisible unity of signs and of observation.
In common with other artists since the pop art era, Mick Finch
cannot be satisfied with the comforts of 'painting for painting's
sake', which extols a sublime retreat from the world. His painting
is painting as well as a critique of painting as well as critique
of the history of painting as well as critique of the discourse
on painting, with the assumption that such critiques make sense,
beyond the specificities of medium, in terms of the combination
of aesthetic, theoretical and ideological discourses on art.
It is no small matter, since it is nothing less than a matter
of being lucid.
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