GIANT (pastiche): A Critique of the Art of Shepard Fairey

In a recent post, Mischa described a struggle now percolating in the cultural sphere: the tenuous relationship between ownership and appropriation, manifested by the recent complaints of the popular artist, Shepard Fairey against those he believes to be committing plagiarism. Fairey accused artist Baxter Orr of copyright infringement, sending him a cease and desist letter which demanded that Orr stop appropriating Fairey’s patented Andre the Giant image in his work. This is rather humorous, considering Fairey’s own work relies heavily on similar image-appropriation.

I can understand, to an extent, the recent criticism (and the constant cries of j’accuse!) that Fairey has engendered for his apparent hypocrisy. How could a seemingly reactionary, anti-corporate guerrilla-artist all-of-a-sudden be so conservative, so classically liberal, so defensive of property? Should not Fairey desire other artists to borrow from, comment on and re-work his own?

Unfortunately, I find Fairey’s recent liberal attitude toward protecting his property (i.e. his brand and butter) unsurprising. To me, Fairey was never a radical, transgressive artist. He was a clever marketeer. His actions and work were quite consistent with contemporary postmodern, late-capitalist cultural practice, driven less by critical standards than by a desire to market and defend his marque (OBEY) of readily accessible, immediate commodities

Some readers may be scratching their heads, noting that much of Fairey’s work incorporates socio-political (even, gasp, communist!) imagery. With such content, they may ask, how could he not be a radical? I would argue that ‘borrowing’ historical motifs for their form alone, as Fairey does to a large extent, does not necessarily constitute a conscious, aesthetic expression of dissent. Fairey’s use of communist iconography is, rather, an empty gesture, less concerned with critical sentiment than with the promotion of a salable style. To genuinely comprehend how Fairey’s aesthetic functions as a reflection of common (banal) postmodern cultural production requires a discussion of the appropriation process that underlies his method and its relation to the notion of pastiche, as distinct from parody, as advanced by Frederic Jameson.

The technique of appropriation, an increasingly ubiquitous practice in which the artist borrows and incorporates images from pre-existing works, is neither new nor revolutionary. The modern idea of appropriation was initiated by Picasso and Braque, both of whom used selected images in their construction of a new, synthetic cubism. For the cubists, the literal content of the image (of, say, a chair caning in Picasso’s Still Life with Chair Caning, at right) was less important than the context of the reproduced representation itself, qua image. The appropriated image functions as a ’symbol,’ (like a letter or musical notation) in the cubist composition, and, as such, is no more or less important in the construction of the ouvre’s meaning than those forms (both realistic and abstract) constituted from paint. In a sense, the incorporation of the photographic image in synthetic cubism was a critical move, denying a hierarchy of aesthetic value (of, say, paint over film; realism over symbolism). It suggested that all elements, regardless of material, could function in an equally emblematic and essential capacity.

Appropriation played a major role in the development of the dadaist movement in the 20^th century. By utilizing identifiable images from contemporary media and politics (the context of which was well-understood), the dadaists created wild compositions, in which the juxtaposition of recognizable but seemingly incompatible motifs engendered an ambiance of uncertainty and absurdity. Dada utilized these forms towards a critical end: the establishment of an anti-art and a visual critique of the orderliness associated with classical aesthetic culture. Apart from these revolutionary photomontage techniques, parodies of pre-established styles were also common among the dadaists. For example, Duchamp’s work, LHOOQ (at left), appropriates, and alters, Leonardo’s iconic Mona Lisa. LHOOQ’s meaning relies on a spectator’s ability to identify, first, the Mona Lisa as a representation of the Renaissance ideal (its context) and, subsequently, to acknowledge Duchamp’s mocking, cosmetic transformations. Disorderly photomontage or orderly parody notwithstanding, the intention of dada’s appropriation was always the critique and destabilization of an imposed, graduated system of cultural value.

How do we consider the appropriation process involved in Fairey’s work, sometimes referred to as ‘absurdist propaganda’ for its ubiquitous iconography of fists, guns and big brothers? Is his ‘image-borrowing’ in the same critical vein as the symbol-driven cubists or burlesquing dadaists? Not really. Fairey’s art lacks the contextual meaning (an exposition of the historical circumstances surrounding the production of the original image) necessary for the type of humorous critique, and the distancing of the subject, which lies at the foundation of parody. This point is better illustrated when we take a look at some of Fairey’s specific work.

A comparison of Fairey’s ‘Make Art Not War’ poster with its historic source reveals the artist’s unconcern with the establishment of meaning. The original poster was created in 1968, by an unknown artist at the end of the Prague Spring, a period of liberalization in Czechoslovakia under the command of Alexander Dubcek. The original depicts two events: on top, a child happily greets a Russian soldier in 1945 as liberator. On the bottom, under the heading, 1968, the soldier has ostensibly killed the child. This poster was certainly not Soviet propaganda, but, rather a fiercely critical and expressive political reaction (art) to recent Soviet aggression.

The work derives significance, first, from the separation of sequences in the composition (the difference between events in 1945 and 1968 allow the viewer to make a mediated connection between both dates, from liberation to suppression) and second, from its active, physical context, a defiant flyer tacked up during the Soviet invasion, an active, radical critique, a fist in the face of unfurling history. Fairey’s piece, by contrast, respects neither of these original considerations. The topmost segment has been pried from the total composition, leaving the image with no internal referent. Furthermore, no context has been provided which would allow the spectator to make a mediate connection between Fairey’s tweaked image and the critical intention (the implied difference of is and ought, between repression and the desire for freedom) of the original. Instead, we are left, in Fairey’s piece, to ask “Who is the soldier? Who is the child? Who is to OBEY? What is the point?” The presence of so-many ambiguities destabilizes any provocative or coherent message. As the coup de grace, Fairey incorporates, not only the OBEYGIANT text and logo, but also an equivocal remark (Make Art, Not War) which hollowly refers to a feel-good 60s mantra (Make Love, Not War), that has become co-opted by corporate America (as evinced by its ubiquitousness on t-shirts). Mark Vallen puts it best when he states, “Recontextualizing an image like the Prague Spring poster could afford an artist opportunities to reveal forgotten recent histories, linking them to current realities so as to produce instructive political insights. But all we get from Fairey is worn-out sloganeering and self-promotion.

In another instance, Fairey (mis)appropriates Ralph Chaplin’s radical I.W.W. Art, originally intended as a reaction to corporate power, and an expression of labor solidarity. In Fairey’s work, the critical and oppositional nature of the fist-icon is muffled by the inclusion of a graphically stark lightning bolt and tamped by the slogan OBEY PROPAGANDA. Prized from its I.W.W. original, the fist-form is transformed, from an expression of American unity, to a cheap, misleading, stereotypical representation of (red socialist) propaganda (below). (For more examples of Fairey’s process and works, see http://www.art-for-a-change.com/Obey/index.htm. Mark Vallen does a thorough job in critiquing Fairey while, simultaneously, providing apt comparisons between Fairey’s work and its source material.

Again, does the intentional lack of context, the ambiguity, in Fairey’s work disqualify it from being labeled parody? I think so. Ultimately, I believe Fairey’s work is better characterized as postmodern pastiche, a practice increasingly common in late-20^th and 21^st century cultural production, than aligned with the high-minded parodies of the early 20^th century avant-garde. His art is full of empty (or apolitical) expressions which have gained traction in an increasingly ephemeral and commercial world, because of their immediate ‘coolness and appeal,’ their graphical chicness.

What is pastiche? While the term shares a similar key attribute with parody, that is, the incorporation of past ’styles’ or ‘motifs’ in the construction of a work, an essential distinction exists. This differentiation is best articulated by Jameson in his seminal text, Postmodernism, or the Logic of Late Capitalism:

Pastiche is, like parody, the imitation of a peculiar or unique, idiosyncratic style, the wearing of a linguistic mask, speech in dead language. But it is the neutral place of such mimicry, without any of parody’s ulterior motives, amputated of the satiric impulse…pastiche is this blank parody, a statue with blind eyeballs.

In Jameson’s description of ‘pastiche,’ historical forms are treated carelessly, appropriated and voided of their contextual content. The resultant work is nothing but a borrowed, superficial veneer, a glossy and immediate configuration ready for consumption. Pastiche is unconcerned with the primacy of the image’s original intent or ideal. It discards the appropriated image-object’s specific place in a historical totality as useless or disruptive. The image, instead, becomes a functional tool, a cog whose sharp teeth have been whittled down, oriented (through continuous sales) towards the perpetuation of a system which ensures its harmless deployment.

Yet, the immediacy of satisfaction which pastiche lends its pacified audience undercuts one of the true foundations of the genuine aesthetic experience: reflective transcendence. In his philosophic works, Arthur Schopenhauer extolled the virtues of aesthetic contemplation. It is only through serious, mediated reflection, Schopenhauer suggested, that man is able to lift himself from a constant stream of desirous thoughts (which he identifies with the will) and comprehend reality in an objective manner (i.e. allow the self to become aware of the enduring Platonic Ideas/Universals expressed through art). This act of conscious separation, caused by the state of pure contemplation inspired by art, allows the subject to transgress the limitations of his individual consciousness and unite himself with those objects and ideas (even the elusive spiritual oneness) which once seemed distant.

In refusing context and reinforcing its visual immediacy, blind pastiche denies the spectator-subject the appropriate critical distance necessary for contemplation. Aesthetic satisfaction, once derived from mediated reflection, gives way to an immediate sensory gratification advanced by the transient image, the flashy spectacle or simulacrum.

Pastiche succeeds under contemporary capitalism because of its easy (re)production and unproblematic digestibility; its edentulous simple-mindedness encourages compulsive spending (as Jameson remarks “it (pastiche) is at the least compatible with addiction—with a whole historically original consumers’ appetite for a world transformed into sheer images of itself”). Its goal is not to criticize, to transgress or to provoke. Rather, like any commodity, its aim is to uphold itself, and the system that allows its manufacture.

In the postmodern environment, historical forms (i.e. those forms imbued with an established meaning) are constantly borrowed, blunted and refashioned for incorporation in an increasingly immediate consumer universe. The influence of postmodern pastiche is overwhelmingly evident throughout society. Postmodern architecture, in the words of Jameson, “cannibalizes all the architectural styles of the past and combines them in overstimulating ensembles” (for instance, the haphazard employment of the classical orders of Grecian columns for formal considerations only, without recognition of their original symbolic and spiritual functions). Contemporary fashion borrows once-transgressive practices, like the mohawk (or the image of the genuine-radical Che Guevara), and dilutes their critical function (as a mode of expression that seeks to exist outside of the realm of accepted discourse), transforming them into consumer-friendly alternatives, like the fauxhawk, found in ‘proper’ environments such as the home and the office. With pastiche, and the deadening of meaning in favor of the facile image or form, once-contradictory social descriptions like ‘radical chic’ and ‘bourgeois bohemianism’, ideas which somehow fuse a critical, defiant term (radical, bohemian) with a socially-affirmative one (chic, bourgeois), are rendered possible. Communist imagery can now exist, peacefully, within a capitalist playpen.

In Fairey’s case, so-called radical or progressive artists fall into the same pastiche-trap: appropriating past forms for their visual attractiveness, their ‘coolness,’ while, simultaneously, ignoring the foundational, historical content of the appropriated image. By eschewing the principal context of these historical forms, Fairey’s work refuses any clear, politically-minded, critical or subversive associations. It reveals its concern only with the immediate provocation of the senses, achieved principally through the manipulation of borrowed visual stimuli. The reflective, critical space of aesthetic experience is rendered nonexistent by the work. It denies its consumer-audience any active role in historical reflection. It rejects participation in the construction of a genuine historicity, replaced by an image-laden ‘pop-history’ constructed of style, not substance, with the ultimate goal of perpetual promotion and profit.

Here’s a prime example of Fairey’s own corporate-mindedness: on the artist’s OBEYGIANT website, there is a ‘free’ art section. The ‘free’ material, however, is quite restricted, limited to several forms and sizes of his icon/trademark Andre the Giant pattern. Consumers are encouraged to print out the pattern, make stencils and/or stickers, and disseminate the logo-image. Essentially, this is a ingenious marketing ploy, whereby Fairey (inactively) markets the OBEY brand, to a target constituency, without spending excessive advertising dollars. His audience is asked to serve a double function: as both consumers and marketing vehicles. OBEY’s goal is the same as any larger, corporate-centric entity: the promotion of brand awareness and the achievement of a high ROI on advertising expenditure.

An avowed capitalist, Fairey would probably deny none of this. Sure, he pays lip-service to the idea that the democratic nature of street art allows work to subvert the domination of traditional, moneyed-media. However, in a contradictory twist, Fairey’s work/process (of guerrilla-art, of uncritical pastiche) has become a dominant method of cultural (re)production and influence, a new mass-marketing outlet for affluent producers. This is no more apparent than in Fairey’s establishment of the design studio BLK/MRKT Inc., which specializes in (for-profit) guerrilla-marketing campaigns. Clients have included corporate giants such as Pepsi and Hasbro.

Fairey’s work is only a single example of a trend, not necessarily of pastiche, but of the growing primacy, in the cultural sphere, of appealing to a consumer-audience. Unfortunately, the once semi-autonomous sphere of culture has repeatedly come under assault from the demands of an ever expanding, reductionist and economically-minded civilization. Culture, once allowed to operate freely, to both reflect and criticize civilization simultaneously through art, to present not only the is but also the ought, has been strapped with iron fetters, and forced to bend to the constraints of the marketplace. Today, dollars inspire artists more than Utopian dreams.

In a future post, I will delve a bit more into social and aesthetic critical theory, civilization’s assault on culture, and the growth and perpetuation of the Culture Industry.