Eyes Wide Open
It may not be evident—at first glance—that one of the influences on my painting is that of the art of Margaret Keane (1927-2022). Margaret Keane is known for her paintings of children (mostly) with unnaturally large eyes. Critics are silent (mostly), about her work, or deride her body-of-work as formulaic and cliché. Her celebrity as an artist, and commercial success, are both as irrelevant to the discussion of her painting as is the scandal involving her legal struggle with her husband. As everyone now knows, for a long time the spouse posed as the actual, painter. The ruse was ultimately exposed in court.
Without taking sides in the controversy, there are, arguably, two sides to it. This observer cannot speak to the difficulties all women certainly face in all aspects of life, except to hypothesize that the husband had, originally, encouraged Margaret to show her paintings in public. It was never her intention to show her work. Consequently, it might be argued, the husband is indeed to blame for what might be characterized as (at least), a publicity stunt, as well as (legally-speaking), fraud. It was also, unarguably, a long-running daytime drama in art collecting circles. Without the husband's prompting Margaret Keane might well have been content to remain an amateur her entire life.
She was "put up to it." That in itself constitutes exploitation, both of a woman, and of an amateur artist. There are countless amateur artists diligently practicing painting in the privacy of the home. I have met many. I have learned not to ask, “Why don't you show your work? It's quite good.” We have come to an understanding that the query is both patronizing and condescending. It is the dismissal of “amateur” status—as opposed to professional—and is insulting. It need not be repeated that neither is selling the definition of “professional.” Hold in the highest regard the sincerity of amateur artists. It is a virtue lacking in the vast majority of pedestrian artists who do exhibit.
A dirty secret is that many—if not most, and possibly all—art teachers are, frankly, voyeurs of amateur talent. If an art student listens in class (as well as looks), the student may hear teachers confess to genuine admiration for a student's work. As with any teaching and learning, teaching and learning art is meritocratic, not reward-driven. Passion for art makes all the difference. I admit to having peered with envy—as a student, myself—at the learned achievement shown by classmates, in the classroom. That's one of my reasons for not teaching art. Envy is a vice. It leads to the sin of copying (a big no-no), in art.
That disclosure should, hopefully, contribute to a better understanding of my choice of subject matter. I'm not satisfied with conventional subjects. At the same time, I have no taste for un-conventional subject matter, of a style better left in the closet. It is to her credit Margaret Keane consented to her husband's entreaties to show her painting, even if (as I argue) the husband, and partner-in-crime, had to play at the charade of con-artist. It's nice work and, by now, legendary. If both Keanes' creation did not directly inspire my own painting, it gives me confidence to reveal my own, weirdly creative, artistic self-expression. I am, and will always be, an admirer of mannerism in art. Mannerism is, nominally, an established taste in art. It confers legitimacy on all deviant art. It complements the new genre of Pop art, or, "Camp."
What, then, are we to make of the art of Margaret Keane? With wide, soulful eyes, Keane's figures gaze intently (directly) at the viewer. It is the art of a woman looking into a mirror, at her “vanity mirror,” to be precise—where she applies her “make-up” (cosmetics)—and “pouts” (makes faces) at her reflection. It is here, at her mirror, that a woman consoles herself for disappointments. It is a private scene—not one to display in an art gallery—and it is this which makes the art of Margaret Keane's “big eyes” provocative. We viewers are, thus, voyeurs. The word carries a certain load of (controversial) connotations, but unlike, let's say, a “peeping Tom,” I would characterize it as "collaboration," in the original, political sense. It's no crime. It's just a bit weird.
That's a private affair, dammit! Enough, now, about the private matter. What does the viewer of Keane's Big Eyes paintings see? Innocence—most of all—and the implicit accusation of the betrayal of innocence. The effect is magnetic. The viewer is either inexorably drawn to the image, or, repulsed by it. I, for one, have no qualms about indulging the ruse. Nobody can deny the effectiveness of Keane's ploy for sympathy. It's heartbreaking, sympathy being the gold standard of the emotions, in which everybody wins. How many artists make a play for sympathy and get none? It is a difficult part to play. Hold the tears for the end of the performance, please, it's my scene.
My own paintings, on the subject of homelessness, choke me up with emotion. The specific occasion for this “artist's statements” blog post is progress on a new direction in my studio work: generic portraits of homeless people. Until now, my concentration has been on prostrate figures, which—as viewers have noted—do not show faces. I have excused myself as protecting the privacy of my figures. To be honest, I always intended to show their faces; but, until now, mastery of a technique which at once expressed—and protected—the personality of my derelicts was wanting. Now, I have it. The subjects' faces are effaced by my scraping process. The effect is both expressive, and sets the subject of the painting back a step, which I liken to the Fourth Wall of theater. It is a stage show, and not in the audience's face, so to speak.
I have written previously on The Fourth Wall, and about what it means, to me. Yes, I admit my work is drama. Perhaps that's what disqualifies it as “fine art.” It is theatrical. The sad part is that my paintings of homeless men will never hang in an art museum. They cause too much consternation. That is a problem for museum crowd control; “Keep moving; don't touch the art.” That, too, is by design. It is my choice. I don't care if one of my paintings never hangs in an art museum. I hope my work hangs in private. Hang one of my paintings of derelicts as a mirror of your sympathy for them. Let my painting serve as a spotlight on your own, personal, vanity.