by Jerome du Bois
If one Googles "Amy Silverman Phoenix" my recent post on her cover story about Phoenix's mythical "inferiority complex" still hovers near the top of the first page. This encourages me, because just as her piece was not really about Phoenix, but her, my piece was not really about her, but Phoenix, and I want to keep that conversation alive. Which is why I ended my post this way:
. . . I myself answer the [Silverman title] question this way: No. No such complex.
But Phoenix has inferior cultural leaders. Besides those we've mentioned in our series [including Kimber Lanning, the subject of this present post on mediocrity], the management at the Phoenix New Times are prime culprits and have been for years. Fourteen years ago, when I covered art for them, I told them they needed to create a staff position for a professionally-trained arts writer, so that the professional art world would take both Phoenix and New Times more seriously. Someone who could dig, travel, schmooze. But they never have taken the plastic arts seriously. After all, look who they trot out to cover them: Amy Silverman, Benjamin Leatherman, some new clowns. If the reader can stand it, go check out the first couple of sentences of Douglas Towne's squib on the "Wet" Show at SMoCA. And then go read the first couple of sentences in Niki D'Andrea's tiny review of the Rezurrection Gun Show. Filthy talk, eh? You're reading the future of art writing in Phoenix. Read it, as we say around here, and weep.
Since the beginning of this blog we've had a category, and purpose, called "Elevating the Local Discourse." We satirized the insipid talk and writing of local artists, for example, to get them to really think. It didn't work, because all the responses we got were ad hominem attacks or general claims without justification. Still, we continue, sometimes seriously, sometimes tongue-in-cheek. But always to make Phoenix better. (Check out The Collective I, or the recent piece on the nonexistent Arizona Art Blog.)
Now, same as it ever was, we get the following comment early yesterday morning on the Silverman piece, from the pseudonymous "anotherphoenician."
Comments:
Although Silvermans article was insipid, Jeromes vitriolic criticism was simply tasteless as well. Jerome once again throws arrows from his ivory tower revealing a life full of self-hate and loathing. Oh yeah, you got the clothes and eat the good food: I'm sure to assauge the feelings Jerome has for being p*ssywhipped into the being he is today.
Well --I nearly fell off the floor. I'll fisk this weirdness after the jump, but first . . . Catherine and I have reread this note several times, and talked about it, and we think we know who wrote it, so we will address anotherphoenician as she; also, we think it was more than the article, and the Pride of Phoenix Series, which prompted these words. It was re-stimulated by something that happened two days ago, out in public. Catherine looks fabulous, doesn't she?
(Since I always pay close attention to word iconography, I note that anotherphoenician follows the common pomo practice of the lower-case lifestyle. Such as "modified arts" or "eyelounge." To me, it's a psychological tell: don't stick out, keep your head down; please don't think I'm important or anything.)
Anyway, the comment begins:
Although Silvermans article was insipid, Jeromes vitriolic criticism was simply tasteless as well.
I call Amy Silverman all kinds of names, but I sure do justify them from within her own article. For example, she doesn't mind ending her article with a kind of burglar's calling card, when she and her boss, Rick Barrs, compare the neighborhood around NT as a "complete shithole." (But I'm tasteless.) For that I call her jaded, cynical, shallow, self-centered, priveleged, arrogant, and a lot of other things, and I'll stand by them all.
Remember, I don't know this woman; I've never met her. Everything I know about her comes from conclusions I have drawn from her own writings, and reasonable inferences about her behavior. Reader, if you think I'm misrepresenting her, step up with something besides generalities.
Jerome once again throws arrows from his ivory tower revealing a life full of self-hate and loathing.
The jaw drops. For one thing, she's got the hate direction wrong. For the last five years, for the first time in my life, I love and nurture myself. I hate some people, damn right, and I won't apologize for it, and I don't mind adding ourselves to new enemies' lists. I'm also angry at a lot of the hell we live with, and I'll attack that, too.
Another target: we loathe mediocrity, which Silverman embodies and advances in her article. She's a bad example of a Phoenician, and a lazy, unreflective person. She went away to New York City for years, and all she brought back was the same person that left. Hence my counterbalancing post.
But I love life, and Catherine, and every morning. That's all I need. And if I had arrows, I would shoot them from a bow or crossbow. Who throws arrows? And "ivory tower" implies academia, a realm very very far from us, thank God.
Oh yeah, you got the clothes and eat the good food: I'm sure to assauge the feelings Jerome has for being p*ssywhipped into the being he is today.
I can see how she would know about our style, having seen us around, but how does she know about the good food? We don't go out to eat that often, but when we do, of course we go first class. And I've posted only one recipe so far, even though we both do serious cooking at home. That's part of what I mean about loving life. And what's wrong with nice clothes and good food? Answer: they are not mediocre. To repeat the phrase Catherine coined: People Love Mediocrity Best. (That's what we're changing around here.)
But it's the p*ssywhipped part that floored me. This woman seems to think that Catherine has me cowed in some way, and that I am weak. First, Catherine and I are partners. As for weak, I rather think my electronic profile comes across as combative, cantakerous, obnoxious, honest, sometimes even noble, funny, broken-hearted, often long-winded, consistent, damned well-written, and, above all, consistent. But never wimpy.
Then, there's the sexist aspect, which I'll expand on below. Trying to sting anyone with this minimizing epithet, no matter the gender of the sender, is sexist as hell.
Also, there's a hint that anotherphoenician knew us both very casually awhile back. And here I'll adopt Ms. Silverman's trope and tell a true-life story, mainly for local readers, one I don't think I've ever told before, about Catherine and I and Kimber Lanning and mediocrity.
There was a time, way back when I was working the music department at Borders, and making art on the side, that I was determined to do the best job I could at the store, and that I would try to be the best person I could in my daily encounters with people there. I was a nice guy, ask anyone.
Those times are over. These days, I trust nobody and keep everybody at a distance. I walk around armed. No hay problema. I know where I live, and I know our position in this city. We've pissed off artists, Muslims, some educators, and illegal immigration activists, so far.
Four years ago, Catherine publicly represented me before she began doing her own art again, and before our King & du Bois collaborations. One day as I left for work, I asked her to call a gallerist, Kimber Lanning, and cancel a show of my word art I had scheduled for a couple of weeks later at her second-rate venue, Stinkweeds Records in Tempe. It would have been my very first show in the Valley. I had two reasons for changing my mind, but I asked Catherine to mention only one: I thought my stuff was at least as strong as anything at modified arts; that was the more proper gig, not a record store. Well, Catherine finally got through to her, late in the afternoon.
I'm going to slow down and expand on this conversation, which reveals a lot about Kimber Lanning. First, when Catherine announced herself as my representative and told her about the cancellation, Lanning got all huffy and up on herself, saying things like "This just isn't done" and "Who else do you represent?" and "Can't he speak for himself?"
Reader, ask yourself, would she say those things to a male art representative? Honest answer: no. Sexist as hell. At another point she said, in what Catherine, a veteran teacher, called "a classic nyah-nyah sneer," "You're just mad because you haven't found a gallery with the right fit." Talk about fits. This was a professional phone call, people. At least on Catherine's side. Again, would this woman, who didn't know Catherine, say the same thing if a man was talking to her? I detect the markings of an alpha bitch with an imposter complex threatened by a strong woman, and a stranger to boot, someone out her ken, someone she didn't vet..
She told Catherine my stuff wasn't as strong as the stuff down at modified. (I had to jump through some hoops, in other words.) When Catherine asked to come down to modified so Kimber Lanning could explain the strengths of the works down there, Kimber Lanning declined.
A few minutes after the phone call I got home from work, and just as Catherine was telling me about it, Lanning called back. I said hello, listened for several minutes as she repeated her last call, but to me, and then I said, "Okay, bye," and hung up.
And that's the last we've had to do with Kimber Lanning, face-to-face, but she seems like the kind who needs to get in the last word, so you never know. And, given her side of the conversation, and her controlling mindset, she might very well have thought that Catherine had me p*ssywhipped. You see where I'm going here?
Most of our other public encounters, and there haven't been many, are recorded on the blog. Odd, but true. It's part of maintaining the integrity of the public electronic profile. In none of these, nor in any emails, do either one of us come across as weak, vacillating, spineless, or compliant. Quite the opposite.
So that's why I'm implying that Kimber Lanning and anotherphoenician are one and the same. If I'm wrong, correct me, but the two personalities line up to my satisfaction.
And I'm not a "being," I'm a mensch.
The second reason I changed my mind about that exhibition had to do with an earlier visit to Stinkweeds, months earlier, when I picked up my portfolio. At that time, Lanning asked me to work on more stuff, and then come back. She had nothing specific to say about my work.
This was the third person I'd asked to examine my portfolio, and so far they all gave it back mum, no comment. So this time I asked Lanning what she thought of my work, which features larges depictions of words, phrases, and sentences, like --well, look for yourself at six examples. (Catherine uses words in her artwork, too.)
Lanning said she really liked the colors, the graphics, the layouts --but she could do without the words. She felt like she was being lectured at. I considered what she said for a moment, and then silently reflected that I had been studying and making art longer than this woman had been alive. I thanked her and took my portfolio home.
Words form the heart of my artwork, as the reader can see. I'm good at surrounding them with beauty, but I'd never make a completely wordless piece. What for? There are plenty of beautiful natural images to get lost in. That's not what my stuff is about. Even Iscillation, which uses the shortest word I can think of, reverberates with psychological and intellectual significance. (She didn't see all of these pieces, but she did see most of them.)
Having to think while looking at art seems to intimidate Kimber Lanning. My words --my ideas and challenges-- bothered and scared her. Sure. They ask people to stand up and be counted. Later, when I got to know her public persona better through written media and visits to modified --Lanning prefers small, quiet, crafty, oblique, twee artworks-- I decided that was a good sign. And later still, when my stuff hung in two different places for two months without a single word of feedback, I decided those were good signs, too.
My work asks people, myself included, to do some serious thinking and feeling, and to rise above themselves. Not popular in Phoenix, which seems to want to skate, and Lanning embodies the vibe. At any rate, I wasn't about to let my work be hung anywhere near her. And that's why I cancelled my show. (It is also, I claim, the seed that grew into a blackball. If I'm wrong, someone step up and deny it. And this piece isn't sour grapes, but it does taste of the water that already went under the bridge.)
This woman, like Beatrice Moore, is a so-called cultural leader, or at least spokesperson, for downtown Phoenix and its so-called coming boom. But, like muppetsmom, she acts only to keep the playgroup she leads in a state of arrested development.
Supposedly, she's all about promoting the promise of "the bright young people," but I think it's the reverse. She wants to keep her present kid loop rotating. From a recent letter from Kimber Lanning to the NT about the Silverman piece, let me quote two paragraphs:
But it's the "squishy stuff" missing from Phoenix that Joel Garreau referred to that makes a place home. How do we develop culture, tradition or pride when all of our best young people are scratching and clawing to get out of here as soon as they're out of high school? Lately, I've noticed a slow, steady tide of young people moving here with great enthusiasm from places like Seattle and L.A. I hope this is a sign that the hemorrhaging of bright young people from Phoenix to other cities may be slowing.
It isn't realistic to assume that just because the census says people are moving here means everything's okay. Young, creative entrepreneurs are not the same as middle-aged couples with young families who want to live in the suburbs. One is not necessarily better than the other; I'm merely pointing out that the numbers do not betray the horrific problem lying underneath: We are losing our greatest assets --young people-- by the truckloads because we cannot figure out how to make them feel rooted here.
The first time I read the first paragraph, it reminded me of something Amy Silverman wrote in her article. I'll reprint it, along with my comment:
No one wants to live in Phoenix.
Of course, that's not true. People are streaming in here like crazy. They're also streaming out, not as quickly, but they are. And I've always noticed that smart people seem to leave the fastest.
[My fisk] Those first four sentences are just filler, unsupported and therefore stupid, irrelevant, meaningless, and unedited. Give us some figures or leave the statements out. The last sentence conjures up for me the fantastic image of Amy Silverman, like the troll goddess of exodus, multiplied like a squinting avatar at all exits, checking everyone who's leaving town for their, you know, smartness level, and conveniently calculating it all for us peons: yep, jest as I thunk, the smart ones leave the fastest.
Was Kimber Lanning the source for Amy Silverman's statements? ("I stood in Stinkweeds . . .") If so, neither "expert" has provided any figures. But I will say that if "bright young people" are leaving in droves, Kimber Lanning is one of the ones driving them away. (Is she running out of volunteers, maybe? Only tweakers left?) She talks big, loud, and long about culture, tradition, and pride, but her latest venture at Central and Camelback is just as skanky as her poster-laden, blasted-looking modified arts, down in the Dead Zone, where the obedient Zombies arise the First Friday of every month. She is a brake upon the imagination and energy of this city, not one of its champions, and certainly not one of its sources.
[Quick aside with two questions: What's wrong with young people running off for awhile? Been doing it forever. When they come back, unlike Amy Silverman, they usually bring some gifts for us. Second: What's so great about young people, anyway? Lanning dismisses middle-aged couples and thirtysomethings as being somehow different than young creative entrepreneurs, stagnant or burned out or dull. Tell you what, genius; go figure out the average age of the people who developed SpaceShipOne, and then go suck some rocks.]
Finally, let me end on a rather nasty, personal note about Ms. Kimber Lanning. I don't like being called p*ssywhipped. No one strikes me with impunity. Another reason young people might be leaving her presence in droves is her own personal style. When Catherine saw her two days ago out in public, she reported to me later:
"She dresses like a high-school business teacher of ten years ago. The Junior Achievement Mentor. Plain black shell --the same one I've seen Kathleen Thomas wear in a dozen pictures-- and cropped khaki slacks, clunky black shoes. She dresses like the Governor. Her hair? In style, cut, color, and attractiveness --completely modified. Do you think she goes out to music clubs looking like the school counselor? Didn't she say in her letter that she drove visiting musicians around town? Imagine meeting her. Maybe she's driving them out of town."
My point exactly. Why don't you go ahead and call us mean in advance, but still we insist:
How can a so-called curator and gallerist and music maven have no fashion music in her head? Like NYC not rubbing off on Amy Silverman, like the words in my word art bouncing off her head, like the moldering facade of modified, like the blank screen face of her stinky record store, like the last thirty years of fashion never happened, Kimber Lanning, like rotating vinyl, goes round and round, droning the same mediocre tone, getting nowhere.
Some may say: easy to be cruel. I answer: Easy for you --too easy, that's the problem-- and Catherine and I know it.
Posted by Jerome at June 15, 2005 12:40 PM | TrackBack