letter
from new york : : ian summers
leather
to die for
The
show of shows; the Bombdiggity of installations. This one at the Stephen Stux
Gallery. Many New York galleries have installed project rooms, where they often
exhibit the most avant garde work. The entrance was down a hallway and in relative
darkness...
There
was a raised wooden platform approximately 9' X 12'. Around the platform there
was a mahogany stained railing. Above a dais supporting a Bible flew a half dozen
strange leather beings. Several leather collages were on the walls. The overall
impression was a surrealistic jury docket from the 1920's. The tension in the
room was disconcerting. I wanted out as quickly as I entered. I left the room
and bumped into a sculpture pedestal with a wallet sized effigy of a wallet made
of the same leather on the walls. It wasn't quite right. I read the legend outside
the door to discover that the leather was human skin and the artist Andrew Krasnow
used his own skin to make his art. Suddenly a door flung open and a small man
came forth holding a photographer's portfolio. He handed it to me and said, "Here.
Look. Very weird." I stood there holding the book. Inside were photographs of
the artist in a doctor's office having strips of skin removed from his body. I
fought back nausea.
In
american skin, Andrew Krasnow has transformed the skin of white Americans
into works that examine the issues of dehumanization, iconography and taboo, arranged
to engage spectators in an exploration of America's political process and its
fixation upon the externally manifest identity of its citizens. Krasnow uses radical
materials that deliver metaphors through the ability to shock. In 1990, when the
artist turned his attention to the subject of war, he began making American flags
from skin because it seemed integral to the symbolic foundation of this work The
choice of human skin, specifically that of Caucasians, is of equal import because
of our perverse fascination with skin, and our selective use of it for myth-making,
propaganda and other orchestrated purposes to justify our aims, to gloss over
our past, or as a pretext for war.
Krasnow's
work recognizes inevitable "associations with the holocaust." In the past, he
has expressed his own fears about clinical distance, the ability of audiences
to overcome repulsion and "the process of dehumanization" that this kind of art
making requires. However, while the work does raise the ethical question of making
human skin into art, this installation critiques the predication of prejudice
and hatred upon "skin-deep" identity, and assesses the sources of cruelty, legend,
and myth-making. American Skin looks beneath America's surface exterior and questions
not only its assumptions about the classification of its citizens, but also its
claims of ethical superiority.
But
that's not the end of the story. I stopped at the receptionist's desk on the way
out and asked her whether Krasnow used his own skin for every work. Krasnow must
have a difficult time acquiring art supplies from morgues. He uses cadavers. Then
the receptionist told me Krasnow was at the gallery and if I am really interested
I ought to go back and introduce myself.
I
could see the curator seated on her desk. Krasnow was seated on the arm of a chair.
I knocked. I said, "Are you Andrew Krasnow?" Krasnow answered meakly. I told him
that I bring him great gifts.
He
looked at me skeptically. "Andrew, I want to be the first artist to donate his
skin-the body's largest organ-to art. And I want you to be the recipient. I know
how hard it must be to get supplies." I suggested we exchange business cards and
that his lawyer call mine in the morning. We shook hands and I turned to the curator.
I smiled. This gallery would be a perfect showcase of my own work. "Hey. What
do you have to do to get an appointment to show some paintings around here?" "You
just did it." She smiled back. We made an appointment to review my work.
