Superficial Similarities

Last week’s Recagis-related ramblings raised a brood of gabbling questions, many of which (or one, at least) I wish to attend to now, this minute, in this space right here.

The crux of the matter, as it seems to me, is this: Recagis’s 1973 exhibition, ‘Light’s Out’ bares a close resemblance to a 1971 exhibition by the Japanese artist, Kohei Yoshiyuki. The idea of the latter was, some might say, stolen by the latter. However, others (by which I mean, of course, D H Laven) have argued that the concept of ‘theft’ blinds us to major differences in the context and aims of the two artists in question. Which is to say that the similarities between the two exhibitions were, for all that, relatively superficial. Both exhibited works in a dark room and supplied visitors with torches. But here the similarity ends.

Laven’s argument has interesting implications; the sort of implications you would invite home for a cup of coffee and a small Italian biscuit. The kind of implications you would like to roll up tight and keep in your inner pocket in case of emergencies. That’s the type of implications we’re dealing with here.

Let us transpose these implications into another case study. In 1951 a row broke out amongst two Portuguese writers. One of them had just written what he thought was the first ever poem to have been carved onto the side of a watermelon. The other man thought the very same.

I say ‘a row broke out amongst two Portuguese writers’. I lie. History tells us that ‘a row broke out between two Portuguese writers’, but close inspection tells us that newspapers reported a row between two Portuguese writers. Even closer inspection reveals that newspapers invented a row in place of what was, in fact, an amicable agreement. It is perfectly true that both men carved poems onto the side of watermelons, each unaware of what the other was doing. It is not true, however, that this caused a row.

‘Why row?’ questioned the writers. ‘It is not as if we have written the same poem, after all’.

More on this, maybe, later…

Laven on Recagis

Estimable Australian art historian D H Laven has responded to a post from earlier in the week. He has, as per usual, eshewed the comments box in favour of a letter, which requires me (I fancy) to offer a brief description pertaining to colour, shape and style of handwriting found therein. Here follows said description:

The envelope and paper enclosed are both coloured pale yellow. The envelope is the size known as A6; the paper A5 and folded once across the middle. Laven’s handwriting is, as ever, taut and muscular, except when using the letters, ‘g’, ‘j’ and ‘y’, where it resembles that of a smart primary school girl.

Now, without further ado, I present the content of the letter:

Georgy, allow me – if you will – to respond to a handful of points raised by your short comment entitled ‘Torches, Torches’, in which you offer up a small and somewhat confusing comparison of Luis Recagis and Kohei Yoshiyuki.

Let me start by saying that the main point is not one with which I would disagree. In fact, I must say that am rather relieved to see you make it. Why did my article on Recagis fail to mention Yoshiyuki – or, indeed, any other artist associated, in any way, with the exhibition of artworks in a dark room? It was an oversight, certainly, albeit a deliberate one. Which leads me neatly onto my own main point.

By comparing Recagis’ 1973 exhibition with Yoshiyuki’s 1971 exhibition, one gives the impression that the two artists were aiming at a similar experience. You intimate that Recagis may have ‘copied’ Yoshiyuki. Whilst I would not go so far as to deny the possibility of Recagis having been aware of Yoshiyuki’s work, it is clear that there is something much more complicated than sheer replication going on here.

Let’s look a little more closely at the two exhibitions. Yoshiyuki’s show, held in Japan, consisted of infra-red photographs taken at night, featuring a range of procreating couples. The exhibition was clearly an exploration, if not a celebration, of sexual voyeurism.

Recagis’ exhibition employed the same tactic – allowing torch-holding visitors into a dark room – but with very different intentions. Recagis, a painter, worked by torchlight: as such he believed this the most appropriate way to exhibit his pieces. The works in question are mostly portraits of the artist’s head – and are in no sense scandalous. Though the issue of ‘voyeurism’ is of course raised by the method of exhibition (as it almost always is), Recagis had no intention of foregrounding it. His major, if not single aim was to recreate the conditions of artistic creation.

There can be no doubt that Recagis’ and Yoshiyuki’s exhibition shared a common bond, nor should we deny their palpable differences. On the same, curious, foundation they built two unique structures. To suggest, even, that Recagis was aping Yoshiyuki would be, I think, a judgment of the crudest sort.

Yours most faithfully,

D H Laven

P.S. Why don’t you ring me anymore?

(for more, see ‘”Light’s Out”: ‘The Unfortunate Art of Luis Recagis’, by D H Laven)

Torches, Torches

‘Curators would have liked to show Kohei Yoshiyuki’s 1971 series, ‘The Park’, as it was originally shown in Japan: in a dark room with visitors having to use torches‘ (from a Guardian review of a Tate Modern exhibition)

One thinks, of course, of the Spanish painter, Luis Recagis, whose 1973 show ‘Lights Out’ employed similar (i.e. pretty much the same) methods. I note, however, that art historian D H Laven (whose wonderful article on Recagis can be found here) makes no mention of Recagis’ debt to Yoshiyuki – can we presume that it was, therefore, a coincidence? Recagis’ first ‘torch-light’ painting was made, we are told, in 1971. Before or after ‘The Park’? Who can say…

What’s interesting about Recagis’ 1973 exhibition, however, is the way it was denounced, not on the basis of content, but on the basis that the artist happened to have made derogatory comments about his fellow countryman Picasso on the eve of his death. This led, Laven argues, to Recagis’ cruel omission from all histories of art. One continues to wonder whether his ‘similarity’ to Yoshiyuki might have added another apple to the swiftly collapsing cart.