The Artist Under the Hood

“In the Hood,” by David Hammons. Credit Jake Naughton for The New York Times

In class we discussed the provocative and disturbing sculpture on the cover of Claudia Rankine’s Citizen.  In Citizen Rankine creates a sense of disconnect between white readers and the stories she tells with authoritative use the second person.  Hammons, like Rankine, creates a similar disconnect in his artwork.  In his latest exhibition, “David Hammons: Five Decades,” disconnection and incongruity are everywhere.

“Basketball Chandelier,” by David Hammons. Credit Jake Naughton for The New York Times

Hammons is very particular about his exhibitions; everything has a place and every decision has meaning. Describing him as “difficult” might be an understatement- “the works in [his] show differ from those in the catalogue, because Hammons dropped by the gallery at the lat minute and dictated some changes” (Schieldahl).  Hammons has never had a regular venue for his shows, but he has hosted several exhibitions at the famous Mnuchin Gallery , which is far removed from the rough environments that inspire his work. “(It’s in an Upper East Side town house, to which you are admitted by a buzzer through one locked door and by a guard through another)” (Schieldahl). The location and audience of Hammons’s exhibition create a sharp contrast with the material being exhibited, but Hammons’s doesn’t start there.  Viewers observe his work to a soundtrack of classical Japanese court music (Cotter)- further disrupting the harmony of the exhibition until the viewer is left feeling a complete notion of Otherness.

The paradoxical elements of Hammons’s work are only rivaled by his enigmatic image; Hammons rarely makes appearances at his exhibitions and hardly every gives interviews, yet his unsettling presence can be felt in his exhibits.   “We hear that he’s in Morocco,” said a partner at the Mnuchin gallery, but maybe not (Schieldahl).  “Robert Mnuchin, a collector who was a partner at Goldman Sachs, cheerfully acknowledges that his relations with Hammons are conducted, often by proxy, at the artist’s unpredictable initiative and always under his conditions. It is a tangy arrangement, strictly ad hoc” (Schieldahl).

An untitled sculpture made in part of human hair, by David Hammons. Credit Jake Naughton for The New York Times

Over his 5 decades as an artist, Hammons’s themes have remained consistent, but they have emerged at different levels of intensity.  In his earlier works, elements of racial blackness were loud and clear: sculptures made from hair swept from Harlem barber shop floors (Hammons keeps a supply to make repairs as the sculpture is damaged), “the torn-off hood of a sweatshirt hung like a hunting trophy high on a wall” (Cotter), microphones of different heights but all just out of reach(“Which Mike do you want to be like…?”), and “Basketball Chandeliers” 30 feet high, taunting the players below to dare to aim higher.   As the exhibit shows, time brought an shift in Hammons’s artistic focus from race to class.  He always had elements of race and class in his work, but his more recent work deals with class struggle more directly: fur coats scorched and coated with purple paint and a painting of clouds when viewed up close reveals the imprints of a dirty basketball made with “Harlem earth”.  Hammons’s recent work is violent and directly attacks the ideas of privilege and property.  Challenging the viewers to understand the political and social landscapes of the world they live in.

As we look at the cover of Citizen, it is important to remember the artists behind such an unsettling sculpture.  In a rare interview with art historian Kellie Jones in 1986, Hammons’s described his opinion of art: “I can’t stand art actually. I’ve never, ever liked art.”  So why does he do it? “Art is about symbol and ‘outrageously magical things happen when you mess around with a symbol’” (Cotter).  Like Rankine, Hammons disrupts symbols to unsettle our understanding of identity.

References:

Cotter, Holland. “David Hammons Is Still Messing With What Art Means.” The New York Times. The New York Times Company, 24 Mar. 2016. Web. 28 Mar. 2016.

Schjeldahl, Peter. “Laughter and Anger.” The New Yorker. Condé Nast, 21 Mar. 2016. Web. 29 Mar. 2016.