I was first introduced to an artist book only very recently, when I did a small presentation on Ed Ruscha’s Every Building on the Sunset Strip for an art class. The artist book is a form that, just as it was when Martha Wilson founded Franklin Furnace in 1976, is still somewhat ignored, and certainly misunderstood. One reason for this is the artist book’s incompatibility with the conventions of art exhibition. On the one hand, an artist book needs to be handled in order to be fully appreciated and, on the other hand, the more famous books (such as Ed Ruscha’s) are now valued at thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of dollars.
In preparing for my presentation on Every Building on the Sunset Strip, I was exhilarated to learn that my college library had a copy of the book and that I thus had an opportunity to experience it first hand. I sat in a corner of the library, with Ed Ruscha’s book on the table in front of me, savoring both the fact that I was holding an important piece of art history in my hands and the fact that I had accessed it so casually, as though it were just another library book. This new-found accessibility of art was thrilling—and felt just as revolutionary as it was intended to be.
Of course, the Internet has made art relatively accessible in a different way: any Google or Artstor search will yield images to satisfy fleeting curiosities. And if we want a more intimate access, every museum sells posters and postcards of their most famous pieces that we can send to friends and stick to our walls. But the original work remains on a pedestal. It is precisely this restrictive category of ‘high art’ against which the artist book rebels.
“What function does an artwork which is cheap, portable and potentially unlimited serve? It functions, as so many artists are aware, as alternative space—a channel which circumvents the exclusivity of galleries and the critical community,” Director and Founder Martha Wilson wrote in her 1978 article “Artists Books As Alternative Space.” (Full article can be read here)
Beginning mostly in the 60s, “[t]he book was recognized by artists as a portable unit which could disseminate art ideas efficiently, and a means by which to influence the general public.” Unsurprisingly, the populist dissemination of art ideas was a concept that became very important in the 60s and 70s, with Conceptual Art taking the reins on the book medium.
Whereas lines and alarms separate me from museum pieces by at least a foot, through my college library I was able to spend an hour leafing through Every Building on the Sunset Strip at my leisure. Through that interaction I began to more fully understand why the idolatry of art is an antiquated practice, something to be combated. The old art world has so effectively fabricated a holy aura to distance average viewers from ‘high’ art that we willingly acquiesce to its god-like power. Blinded by this artificial light, we fail to see that dominating art institutions have forced the entire natural diversity of the viewing experience into a unified experience of unquestioning reverence. The artist book blows this experience out of the water.
As an intern at Franklin Furnace, I was lucky enough to spend an afternoon perusing our collection of artist’s books—once the largest in the country, it was acquired by MOMA in 1993. Among the most famous artists whose books I had the chance to look through were: John Baldessari, Robert Barry, Allan Kaprow, Barbara Kruger, Sol LeWitt, Richard Long, Bruce Nauman, Claes Oldenberg, Ed Ruscha, and Seth Siegelaub.
It was exhilarating to have that experience—to be able to hold the books in my hand, a rare opportunity now that only a limited number of them can be viewed, let alone handled. And yet I’m somewhat ashamed to have been so exhilarated—to have felt special because of the rarity of the piece I was holding when the pieces were created to be widely available. Sadly, it has become impossible to experience these works as they were meant to be experienced. Now that artists like Baldessari, LeWitt, and Nauman have been assigned their coveted seats in art history, we cannot view their artist books without subjecting them to the fame of the artists who created them. But just as some artist books, now sold for thousands, were once available for under 10 dollars, so too are there now artists creating books to which the general population pays little attention but which may be worth our attention and pocket money.
Artist books were created to exist in people’s homes, on their coffee tables and in their purses. We would do well to strive to experience art this way, if for no other reason than to exercise our freedom to choose how to view and appreciate artwork. What if ‘art appreciation’ meant taking casual daily doses of accessible art instead of making special, infrequent visits to world-famous museums? The artist book, still an unconventional and uncommon art form, frees us from the confines of traditional art viewing which are, though not exactly wrong or destructive, certainly restrictive. With an artist book in hand, we might be more empowered to experiment with the viewership experience and thus widen the lens through which we experience art and the world.
-Hannah Garner, student intern summer 2010
In preparing for my presentation on Every Building on the Sunset Strip, I was exhilarated to learn that my college library had a copy of the book and that I thus had an opportunity to experience it first hand. I sat in a corner of the library, with Ed Ruscha’s book on the table in front of me, savoring both the fact that I was holding an important piece of art history in my hands and the fact that I had accessed it so casually, as though it were just another library book. This new-found accessibility of art was thrilling—and felt just as revolutionary as it was intended to be.
Of course, the Internet has made art relatively accessible in a different way: any Google or Artstor search will yield images to satisfy fleeting curiosities. And if we want a more intimate access, every museum sells posters and postcards of their most famous pieces that we can send to friends and stick to our walls. But the original work remains on a pedestal. It is precisely this restrictive category of ‘high art’ against which the artist book rebels.
“What function does an artwork which is cheap, portable and potentially unlimited serve? It functions, as so many artists are aware, as alternative space—a channel which circumvents the exclusivity of galleries and the critical community,” Director and Founder Martha Wilson wrote in her 1978 article “Artists Books As Alternative Space.” (Full article can be read here)
Beginning mostly in the 60s, “[t]he book was recognized by artists as a portable unit which could disseminate art ideas efficiently, and a means by which to influence the general public.” Unsurprisingly, the populist dissemination of art ideas was a concept that became very important in the 60s and 70s, with Conceptual Art taking the reins on the book medium.
Whereas lines and alarms separate me from museum pieces by at least a foot, through my college library I was able to spend an hour leafing through Every Building on the Sunset Strip at my leisure. Through that interaction I began to more fully understand why the idolatry of art is an antiquated practice, something to be combated. The old art world has so effectively fabricated a holy aura to distance average viewers from ‘high’ art that we willingly acquiesce to its god-like power. Blinded by this artificial light, we fail to see that dominating art institutions have forced the entire natural diversity of the viewing experience into a unified experience of unquestioning reverence. The artist book blows this experience out of the water.
As an intern at Franklin Furnace, I was lucky enough to spend an afternoon perusing our collection of artist’s books—once the largest in the country, it was acquired by MOMA in 1993. Among the most famous artists whose books I had the chance to look through were: John Baldessari, Robert Barry, Allan Kaprow, Barbara Kruger, Sol LeWitt, Richard Long, Bruce Nauman, Claes Oldenberg, Ed Ruscha, and Seth Siegelaub.
It was exhilarating to have that experience—to be able to hold the books in my hand, a rare opportunity now that only a limited number of them can be viewed, let alone handled. And yet I’m somewhat ashamed to have been so exhilarated—to have felt special because of the rarity of the piece I was holding when the pieces were created to be widely available. Sadly, it has become impossible to experience these works as they were meant to be experienced. Now that artists like Baldessari, LeWitt, and Nauman have been assigned their coveted seats in art history, we cannot view their artist books without subjecting them to the fame of the artists who created them. But just as some artist books, now sold for thousands, were once available for under 10 dollars, so too are there now artists creating books to which the general population pays little attention but which may be worth our attention and pocket money.
Artist books were created to exist in people’s homes, on their coffee tables and in their purses. We would do well to strive to experience art this way, if for no other reason than to exercise our freedom to choose how to view and appreciate artwork. What if ‘art appreciation’ meant taking casual daily doses of accessible art instead of making special, infrequent visits to world-famous museums? The artist book, still an unconventional and uncommon art form, frees us from the confines of traditional art viewing which are, though not exactly wrong or destructive, certainly restrictive. With an artist book in hand, we might be more empowered to experiment with the viewership experience and thus widen the lens through which we experience art and the world.
-Hannah Garner, student intern summer 2010
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