Nearly 13 years ago, I visited the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York City with my family. At the time, I was seven years old, and it is still shocking to me that I have such a vivid recollection of this particular day and, more specifically, the exhibit we visited at the museum. I was very fortunate to grow up around art; my parents constantly made efforts to put me into art programs and take me to museums, and I am still grateful to them for that. I’d like to think that this exhibit, in particular, made a profound impact on my continued interest in art as time progressed. It holds a place in my mind unlike any other piece I’ve come across. For years now, I have made attempts at searching for an indication as to its name and the artist who constructed it. Fortunately, I came across Maurizio Cattelan’s “Comedian”, the viral “banana taped to a wall” piece that infuriated many (including myself) at its obnoxious sale price of $6.2 million dollars. Curious if Cattelan had created anything of substance, I came across an extensive collection of provocative and unsettling installation pieces, among which rested my memento.
Cattelan’s installation, All, displayed at the Solomon R. Guggenheim museum in 2012, was a collection of many of Cattelan’s most popular, disturbing, and controversial works hung in the center of the Guggenheim rotunda. On display are a variety of uncanny hyperrealist sculptures, framed images, and even an inordinate cat skeleton. I distinctly remember my parents branching off into the other exhibits around the museum while I stood captivated at the railing of the spiral dome, catching glimpses of taxidermy donkeys on wood palettes, the pope stuck under a meteorite, and a very, very long foosball table. In my youthful innocence, I likely took his advanced social commentary for granted, marveling at what I simply thought was a humorous concoction of strange memorabilia and characters.
As an adult, my perspective on Cattelan’s work has dramatically shifted. I better understand the bleak undertones and social intricacies of even his most radical pieces. Take, for example, his sculpture “Frank and Jamie”, in which Cattelan has placed two wax New York City Police officers upside down. Standing on their heads, it is almost impossible not to laugh at such an absurd image, at least upon initial inspection. However, these jovial officers remain unsettlingly confident as they grin watchfully at approaching museum-goers. Interestingly, Cattelan chose to give them New York Housing Police uniforms, which have since been merged into the New York Police Department. I believe that Cattelan is insinuating the officers’ reckless assumption of absolute authority in an undesignated space, criticizing institutional symbols of power and giving them a more vulnerable image. It is unlikely that as a child I would have been able to grapple with such concepts, but this effectively demonstrates the influence of perspective, experience, and maturity on how art is appreciated. I particularly enjoy Cattelan’s work because it makes challenging themes accessible without aggressively confronting the viewer, broadening his audience.
While Cattelan’s expert use of satire and unconventional cultural depictions remains unparalleled, he has often faced criticism for his lack of formal artistic training. He openly acknowledges that he primarily conceives the ideas for his works, leaving the artistry and labor to skilled collaborators to bring them to life. This has sparked debate over the authenticity of his work, but I believe there is something undeniably compelling about his vision and intent. After all, his installation left such a profound impression on me that I remembered it for 13 years. If art’s purpose is to challenge, provoke, and endure, isn’t that the mark of a true artist?
Courtesy of wikiart.org
