Last Thursday, The Art Newspaper posted this article about Damien Hirst entitled "In and Out of Love with Damien Hirst." Essentially a brief history and analysis of Hirst's career, what distinguished this piece from the kajillion other articles on Hirst is a serious discussion about his work as more than a commodity.
That's certainly how Hirst has made a place for himself in the art historical record. He's taken Warhol's statement that "Good business is the best kind of art" quite literally by mounting an incredibly successful solo auction of new work at Sotheby's last September. He's moved beyond the gallery exhibition - a work of art in itself if properly done - and onto the auction block. One could read this as the most extreme and literal demonstration of "good business as art" - the complete de-emphasis of art and supplanting it with commerce.
Yet there is a Gatstby-esque artistic statement in even this, art that ironically makes fun of its own total uselessness. What could be a more fit metaphor for the decadence of wealth than for the world's information and energy tycoons blowing their money on, quite literally, decay. Take Miuccia Prada's early fly painting which had to be removed because it reeked so much.
Yet where Ms. Thorton goes horribly and disturbingly wrong is her odd offhand comment that "Hirst’s fish...may be the artist’s sexiest representation of women." To which I must respond, What the fuck?
As noted previously Hirst is more than a little morbid. And that's okay, because it's usually entertaining and incredibly snarky. But Hirst himself admits that “When I tried to deal with sex, it always turned into murder.” Yeah, that's hot.
Thornton then continues on to say that:
Indeed, this is an apt evocation of a longstanding lesser known series of some 20 skeleton sculptures that go by the name of “Adam and Eve” and it captures the Jack-the-Ripper quality of figurative works like the bronze Virgin Mother and the marble Anatomy of an Angel. Even sweet Charity is crippled and her collection box violated.
It's almost said with morbid delight. I can appreciate the irony and even cathartic value of violence in art, but calling artistic juxtapositions of women and violence isn't sexy. It's just screwed up.
