Snookered by Schnabel : Foes of New York Artist Take Their Revenge

Like most professional people, I lead a double life. That means separating art from social events. But it isn’t easy. People can no more resist asking me what I think of their paintings or how much their collections might be worth than they can deny themselves the pleasure of demanding that doctors at cocktail parties diagnose their ills on the spot.

My resolve breaks down around close friends and family who actually like contemporary art. So on a recent trip to New York I cheerfully accompanied my husband and a couple of friends to Julian Schnabel’s exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art. (The show makes its West Coast appearance at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Feb. 11-April 3, then goes to Houston’s Museum of Fine Arts, May 28-Aug. 14.)

I might have known this meant trouble, even though I am not a JS fan. Giving Schnabel his due--as being at the forefront of a romantic movement to return human content and a sense of history to a field that had grown formally sterile and intellectually dry--I am convinced that his importance has been overblown. What’s remarkable about Schnabel is not his art but his brilliantly managed career, perfectly tuned to the current desire for old-fashioned paintings made by egotistical artists who emulate rock stars.

We didn’t expect to love the show, but neither did we anticipate quite such a lifeless mess. The grand gestures seemed calculated, like so much hot air; the images tired and forlorn. Searching for positive attributes, one could say of the broken crockery numbers, “Well, he certainly knows how to activate a surface,” or that Schnabel has elevated art history to a new level of kitsch, but that’s a weak defense of an artist who already seems obsolete.

Feeling a pathetic urge to defend the faith, I mumbled something about the stuff not being entirely without merit. Unconvinced, my companions answered, “Oh?”

Back in Los Angeles a month or so later, our friends arrived on our doorstep with a birthday gift for my husband. They had created a thrift-shop Schnabel that they thought would be just the thing for our garage.

It’s a 16x23-inch mixed-media wall piece, permanently strewn with junk. But don’t get the idea that this is some toss-off joke. The press board backing is carefully sprayed gold and a bamboo placement is affixed at an artistic angle. The composition’s center of interest, in the upper right corner, is a yellow plastic porcupine sprouting tree-branch antlers (inspired by Schnabel’s painting, “Exile”).

The little critter sits on the edge of a big circle of red paint. Swirling around the circle are broken plates and cups; arcs of yellow, green and blue paint; ratty tufts of fur; a tube of anchovy paste and labels from cans of olives, tomato sauce and cheese.

If you detect an Italian theme, you are right. The piece is titled “Decline/Fall/Irvulla’s.” The decline/fall part is a Schnabel-esque affectation, but Irvulla’s is the name of a wonderful Jewish pizza joint around the corner that routinely dishes up pizzas called Hutzpah and Meshugenuh. We all live in fear that this local haunt will end up on some reviewer’s 10-best list.

It’s the thought that counts, but our friends put considerable effort into their Schnabel. Also money, $12 or $15 if you count ingredients borrowed from their kitchen and garage. They had to visit several stores to buy hobby paint ($1.19 a can), caulking material ($1.79) and Automobile Goop ($1.89) to stick the stuff together. They ran up a bill of $2.18 at the Boys and Girls Club of Venice for the porcupine, place mat and dishes (all in different patterns, like the plates at Irvulla’s). The cashier threw in the fur free, while the ersatz antlers were donated from a local tree.

Having recovered from the shock of a new piece of art in the house, I finally telephoned Ann and Jim to ask if they had plans for a series. Taking the phone in a manly way, Jim said, “We are considering offers from several big museums--to commit suicide instead of inflicting ourselves on the art world.

“But artistic integrity is at stake here,” he continued. “Our honor is above question, but we are open to bribes.”