Big Fair, Who's There?
Big contemporary print fair, a thousand participants between artists and galleries, the media run the advance story. Who's in the show? Well, there's Picasso. His work is worth a mint, as you know. Then there's Andy Warhol. His 15 minutes of fame are dragging on a bit. Then we have Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko. They're household names and secure investments. Not to mention Francis Bacon. He's sure to catch the public eye. He's got that funny last name and is work is, well you know, weird.

What do all these stars of the show, leading lights of contemporary art, have in common? Admittedly all of them were wonderful artists while they were still on this earth but, with all due respect, today they're all dead. Today, more than artists, they are objects of speculation. How is it that they still cast their collective shadow over the contemporary artists who are still alive, still vibrating, still innovating and still trying to pay their bills in order to continue to create?

One of these artists actually replied, only half jokingly, to a colleague at the Big Print Fair who was complaining that the middlemen were banking more money for the deceased than the living, "Your problem is that you're still alive!"

The Causes
The causes of this grotesque phenomenon are various. In the first place, there have been artists who blazed so brightly during their lifetimes that their auras linger on. Then there's the "good-investment" factor. In the increasingly mercantile world in which we live the work of famous artists has become legal tender. And there are not a few individuals and institutions out there dedicated full time to turning the crank on that necrophile money spinner.

But the principal reason, I think, for this anomalous state of affairs has to do with the media which generally lack the interest, the professionalism and the sensitivity to give contemporary art -and the work of live artists- the considered coverage it deserves. I say "generally" as there are exceptions, but they mostly serve to confirm the rule. On the other hand, why should they make the effort to find out what artists are doing today and report on it thoughtfully? It's so much easier to drop a few "brand names," quote a few fabulous auction prices and, with that, dupe the public into thinking they've been informed on contemporary art matters.

This lapse of professional responsibility is certainly due to a lack of art knowledge, but it's also a sign of the times. It's not easy to fit meaningful art commentary into the prevailing Power Point format. Knee-jerk name dropping and price quoting, on the other hand, square quite nicely with the reigning bulleted brand of communication.

What to Do?
So what can a living artist do against this disloyal competition from beyond the crypt? First of all, he has to do wonderful work. If he doesn't do wonderful work he may as well start looking for a job in banking. Nobody asks that his plumber be in the top one per cent of plumbers, nor that his bank manager have any special don, but we all require our artists to be geniuses. That is perhaps as it should be, but it leaves them with an exceedingly tough row to hoe, even without having to go up against the ghostly legions of artists past. (Not to mention the undead artists who are still technically alive but who have been repeating the same oeuvre since 1961…)

At bottom I think what we're up against here is a question of public education. What is the purpose of art, if it even has a purpose? What is the artistic experience about from the point of view of the observer? Is anybody bothering to inform the public (or should I say "the market") that real art offers meaningful experiences that transcend even the joy of compound interest? Unfortunately those of the art-specialty press, the ones you would logically expect to address these issues, are not much help in these matters. Most of them are pretentious, unreadable and unbearable, real exercises in the Theatre of the Absurd. One might as well read the phone book.

Writing, it seems, for Victorian drawing rooms, their real game is snobbery, not aesthetics, and they have done untold damage to the cause of legitimate contemporary art. Thanks to them and the rest of the art establishment half of the population of the known world is afraid to walk into an art gallery for fear of being sneered at by an art snob. But then, we must never lose sight of the fact that they are up to their necks in the high-art-biz shell game, as well. One can't really expect them to clarify anything.

Where Were We?
Where were we? Ah yes, what to do with an art-buying public with it's collective head stuffed with brand names and catch phrases, investments and fads? It reminds me of the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. There is real intelligence and sensitivity in there, but first we have to clean out the straw. Shouldn't we start by telling them that the experience of contemporary art is certainly not about snobbery and furthermore that it's not only about visual, intellectual and emotional delight. Shouldnt we tell them, that it's also about discovery and, ultimately, about solidarity?

We all love the intense personal satisfaction of discovering a restaurant, a wine, a book, a beach or a country. What then of the joy of discovering an artist? One can discover a dead artist, of course. (I'll never forget the experience of discovering Grünewald, for example.) But most of these have already been freeze dried, packaged, labelled and marketed. And almost none of them need the money any more.

What about the experience of discovering a live artist? There he is, you can shake his hand. You can sense the living, breathing, palpitating process of creation. You can commune with his aspirations, participate in his project. And, if you buy one of his prints, paintings or sculptures you can actually contribute to his creative progress. You can, in your own small way, help to make art history.

There are a lot of demanding and dangerous professions out there. I don't suppose that miners or lumberjacks or Wall Street lawyers have it easy. But their jobs are kids' stuff compared to that of the full-time artist trying to walk the knife edge of pure creation and to make a living at the same time. And though it is a truth which is buried under tons of strident and interested rhetoric, if anyone is going to save the human race it's surely not going to be the politicians, nor the industrialists, nor even the scientists. (Look around you.)

It's going to be artists. Just as the whale, the lynx and the penguin deserve our ecological solidarity, so do living artists. They're an endangered species of the first order. How can we best express that solidarity? It's easy. Buy a print, frame it and hang it on the wall. Cherish it. You've just done your part towards saving our imperilled planet!

This is not a joke.