Intro
'Richard Hawkins is the kind of artist the art system finds hard to assimilate. In an expanding art world what’s expected of artists is a stylistic consistency (or, in the wider world, ‘brand recognition’) that can be at odds with the trajectory of a practice pursued with courage and integrity. ‘Trajectory’ is something you find yourself conscious of when looking at new works by Hawkins, since the interest lies as much in trying to relate them to what came before as in figuring out their current relationship to each other. He is one of those rare artists who force you constantly to revise whatever assessment of his practice you’d previously reached.
'Virtually all the work from the 1990s shares the sense of being addressed to and about an object of desire – invariably masculine, young and beautiful (often a composite of several men). At the same time the work has an air of secrecy and encourages the kind of voyeuristic guilt that comes with discovering unsent love letters in a sibling’s drawer. Many works also have the shrine-like quality of fan art, whose natural abode, depending on the mood of the piece, is either the teenager’s bedroom or a stalker’s den.
'Pieces falling in the latter category are some of Hawkins’ earliest, dating from 1991, and their main element is a ghoulish rubber mask from a novelty shop, shredded and left to hang on a single nail, like kelp or a small Robert Morris ‘Anti-Form’ sculpture. On it Hawkins has paper-clipped images culled from Heavy Metal magazines of the prettier ‘poodle-rockers’ of the time: Slaughter (1991), for example, features Blas Elias, the drummer in the band Slaughter, and Trixter (1991) the lead singer, Pete Loran. Their apparent artlessness suggests they are macabre labours of love. The shredded flesh substitute recalls a cheap special effect from a ‘slasher’ movie, as if this fan’s adoration was about to turn ugly. Given the violence that’s a part of this kind of band’s image, along with the misogynistic and homophobic attitudes that go with it, the suggestion that these permed pin-ups have a psychotic gay stalker is a darkly ironic instance of beating someone at their own game.
'More typically, though, Hawkins’ collage works are populated by film stars, male models and porn stars, while their mood, like so much queer art down the ages, is one of longing and languor. Five cinemascope collages of beautiful young men, entitled ‘Crush I–V’ (1993), feature Post-it notes that simply read ‘suffering’, ‘pain’, jealous’ and ‘regret’. With just four simple words, insistent to the point of obsession, the collages mark out a novella’s worth of emotional incident. At the same time the use of found images shifts the whole idea of appropriation away from 1980s’ debates around copies without originals and author deaths to psychoanalytic reflections on the interrelationship of individual desire and the images rolled out on the production lines of the culture industry. Hawkins achieves this by making them ‘his’ in a dual sense: first, ‘they’ – here meaning these images, these products – become part of ‘his’ oeuvre as an artist (in the manner of Pictures art); second, ‘they’ – meaning the men they represent – become ‘his’ objects of desire within the fantasy scenario that the work projects (‘his’ here meaning the artist’s self played out in the work).
'In appropriating these images Hawkins excises these men from their contexts, replacing the environments that have been art-directed within various interrelated sectors of the culture industry (Hollywood, fashion, porn) with those of his own. A slyly subversive by-product of this sexualized appropriation is that an untouchable film star – Tom Cruise or Keanu Reaves, for example – is part of the same sea of flesh as some porn star, the juxtapositions implying that a naked crotch might belong to the famous face next to it. The world within which these young guys are relocated is one with deep roots in darker chapters of the literary and artistic avant-garde: in particular the French Decadent milieu, between the fin de siècle and early Modernism, whose pantheon of aesthetes, dreamers and perverts includes Gustave Moreau, King Ludwig II, J.-K. Huysmans, Comte Robert de Montesquiou, Alfred Jarry and Marcel Proust.
'Hawkins is an artist who researches his subjects in depth, yet he doesn’t make what you might call ‘research art’ (in the manner of, say, Fred Wilson, Mark Dion or Renee Green); his approach is too eclectic and his impulses too subjective. While the thinking that informs his practice relates closely to this research, its relationship with the viewer is largely independent of it. As an ongoing project of self-analysis, Hawkins’ art practice is also a critical case study of society and culture – it understands the self as the confluence of, as well as the rebellion against, conservative social forces.' -- Alex Farquharson, Frieze
Richard Hawkins
Virtual tour: 'Of Two Minds, Simultaneously'
Further
Richard Hawkins 'Third Mind' @ the Art Institute of Chicago, October 22, 2010–January 16, 2011
Richard Hawkins @ Greene Naftali Gallery, NYC
Richard Hawkins @ Richard Telles Fine Art, LA
Richard Hawkins @ Corvi Mora, London
Richard Hawkins @ Galerie Daniel Buchholz, Koln
'Richard Hawkins' Haunted Houses' @ NYTimes
Richard Hawkins Studio Visit @ Leap Into the Void
Book: Richard Hawkins 'Of Two Minds, Simultaneously'
Richard Hawkins on the work of Aaron Curry @ Kaleidoscope
Show
Shinjuku Labyrinth, 2007
Doomed City, 1997
Crepuscle 4, 1994
Crepuscle 1, 1994
City Underground, 1997
Edogawa Rampo, 2010
Dragonfly 2, 2009
Dragonfly 5, 2009
Shinjuku Boy (#4), 2008
Shinjuku Boy (#6), 2008
Shinjuku Boy (#3), 2008
House Capriccio, 2008
Bordello on the rue St. Lazare, 2007
Stairwell Down, 2007
Last House, 2010
No Title (3), 1993/98
Untitled artist book, 1994
from Urbis Paganus, 2006
Untitled 11, 1995
Crush III, 1993
1961 to now, 1996
Boyquarium, 2004
Untitled, 2004
The Tree, 2004
Wintergarden, 2004
Wrath of the Underworld, 2004
disembodied zombie george yellow, 2000
disembodied zombie george black, 2000
disembodied zombie skeet pink, 1997
disembodied zombie george blue, 1997
disembodied zombie george green, 1997
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p.s. Hey. All is reasonably well and uneventful, and I'm starting late, so let's dive right in. ** Bernard Welt, Oh, you just wait. I swear on a stack of Bresson DVDs that I was not sculpting anything yesterday. Newt Gingrich: you mean the 'Kenyan' thing? If so, yeah, holy shit, and holy shit that no one seems to give a shit unless I'm missing stuff. ** Changeling, Hey. Ha ha, I knew you were going to say that. How's the novel, your tailbone, your day to day, your everything? Oh wait, you came back in the nick of time. You're post-festival. Boot pictures, where? Real peacocks? Where I grew up, peacocks walked the streets of my neighborhood. They were escapees from the nearby Arboretum. I think their wailing/ moany calls in the night is what made me like melancholy porn more than the huffing and puffing kind. I'm reading your new writing addictively and with considerable awe, and if I can wake myself up from my novel for more than a few seconds at the time, I'll ladle that out in lengthier words. Much love right back at you. ** David Ehrenstein, Yeah, that 'Laura' thing was an eye popper. It wasn't so much the bowing and waving but the flashbulbs and the 'one more shot' stuff that I was more than happy to avoid. Sagat (sort of) chant, ha ha. Oh, I keep forgetting to send you an email, so I'll just say right here that your most splendid guest-post will appear here on this coming Monday, the 20th. And thank you deeply for it. ** Pilgarlic, Yeah, Bob Jr. was Spin's publisher throughout my years there. I worked directly with the editor Craig Marks, so most of my encounters with Bob consisted of changes or tweaks I was told he wanted in my pieces. I hung out with him twice, once at a Spin writers retreat weekend thing in upstate New York where my only clear memory of him has to do with his lobbying anyone who would listen to get Craig to agree to do a cover story on The Cult, who were both his friends and far too long in the tooth to warrant the magazine's cover. My other encounter was in LA where he invited me to have dinner with Timothy Leary and him not long before Leary's death. Leary was pretty addled, but it was cool to meet him, and Bob was a charming host. ** Allesfliesst, Mm, in that sense of tragedy, sure. I definitely think there's a place, and I guess I think tragedy is still depicted quite a lot, it's just very often if not always blended into a depiction of ennui and the way tragedy is stanched by people's feeling that emotion is a pitfall. Tragedy is all tangled up with melodrama, which is really out of fashion. I mean, I guess I see 'God Jr.' as depicting tragedy, for instance. ** El Caimán Divino, Hey. Wow, I just followed your lead to your myspace page and listened to a little of 'Symphonie no. 2' before I had to head back to work here, and I'm incredibly impressed. I do very much like contemporary music, and I've been on Xemakis and Messiaen kicks lately. So, this is a great and amazing surprise. Hold on. Everyone, in addition to the very interesting written work by El Caimán Divino that I alerted you to yesterday, he is also a contemporary music composer by the name of Frans Ben Callado, and you can hear some of his music right here on his myspace page, and I seriously recommend that you do because it's quite something. And, whoa, you are on fire. (I just peeked at your blog). As soon as I do this and then give my novel its fair share of my brain power, I'll go back there and read to my heart's contents. Others, follow me if you like and will. No, I don't speak French fluently. I don't speak French at all, although I can listen and read a bit with a certain amount of understanding. I'll look for your books here so I can finger their covers at least. Thanks for the windfall. ** Sypha, 'Topology of a Phantom City' is one of my very favorite Robbe-Grillet novels, so, excellent choice! Ha ha, I think a lot of conventional writers are the real emperors sans clothes. Even though Blanchot gets categorized as part of the Nouveau Roman sometimes, he really wasn't. He was just an older contemporary and a distant comrade. Other Nouveau Roman recommendations: If you haven't read Robert Pinget's 'Fable', definitely it or other of his books. He's a great favorite of mine. I'll try to keep it to one book per author. Marguerite Duras' 'The Malady of Death'. Nathalie Sarraute's 'The Golden Fruits' or 'Martereau'. Claude Simon's 'The Grass'. Michel Butor's 'Passing Time'. Philippe Sollers' 'Event'. Claude Ollier's 'Law and Order'. Jean Ricardou's 'Place Names: A Brief Guide to Travels in the Book'. That's probably enough for now. ** Bacteriaburger, Hey, Natty. Oh, while I've got you, your post/gift, which is so fantastic, will appear here on Monday, September 27th. Innumerable thanks. A drawing that made you jack off! I can't remember that time I saw one of those, ha ha. Congrats. I'm glad that there's definite progress on your book, as gradual as it might feel. ** Scunnard, Oh, you're here or virtually here. Did I send you my cell number? I will (again) in just a sec just in case. Can't wait to see you. ** Alan, Mm, I suppose it's only right that I perform in 'Them' again. Incredible, I seriously doubt it. Yeah, I usually cut a ton of material. With 'TMS', in addition to the 100 or so pages that I think I'll need to cut from the ending, I've already cut 140+ pages and counting. But, like, 'God Jr.' was originally twice as long, and the amount of stuff I cut from 'The Sluts' is about three times as long as the finished book. The only novel of mine that stayed roughly the same length from start point to end point was 'My Loose Thread'. ** Steevee, I figured it was your prescription. I mean, seven years is a long time for a pair of eyes to hold their vision still. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. Not bad prizes indeed. That Electric Circus place does sound most inticingly structured. If I get to go along for the 'Jerk' gig in Edinburgh -- fat chance -- I'll check it out for sure. Otherwise, I'll just dream it up. ** Steven Trull, Cock-a-doodle-doo! Oh, and thanks for that selective rummaging you gave me over on HTMLG the other day. Worked like a charm. ** Eli Jurgen, Oh, hey. Here's that Richard Hawkins post I was telling you about. Oh, sucks about Noise Control's lack of cameras. What kind of show are they to show up not red handed? Their loss, no doubt. Here's to our one month anniversary! You take a celebratory toke, and I'll take a celebratory sip of my smoothie. ** JW Veldhoen, In return, you should know that when you type JW into Google search, this is what comes up. ** Chip, Hey, greetings, and welcome, sir. I'm more than very happy to pass along your important information. Hold on. Everyone, new arrival Chip masterminds both the invaluable blog/site The Hoover Hog and the very interesting publishing house Nine-Banded Books, and I'll let him say the rest: 'If I may interrupt the festivities only for a moment, it may interest DC's habitues to know that Peter Sotos' 2005 novel, "Comfort and Critique," is now available in an affordably priced paperback edition published by Nine-Banded Books (by special arrangement with Void Books). You can order copies here.' I'll also add that NBB also has Sotos' 'Selfish, Little' on sale via the same link. Both books are crucial greats, if I may add my two cents. ** Will Decker, Some of the young will go for the money, some won't, just like adults. Those who do will band together over there, and we'll band together over here. Barring an international embrace of either anarchy or some other anti-capitalist model, that'll be the story, I guess. "Tetro' is on my soon to be watched on a friend's leant DVD list. I'm very glad your photo file is proving to be such an inspiration. Keep your pen and paper at the ready. ** Nb, Thank God someone else noticed and cared! ** Inthemostpeculiarway, It would be entertaining just so long as the animals aren't sedated and if they have a huge claws. The sugar cookie was superb. I'm addicted to them at the moment. They're called 'Sables nature pur beurre', and they're made by a company called Biosoleil. There is something unlikeable about that one tiring friend of yours, yes. Man, I would so not want to get eaten alive by any kind of animal. I suppose you'd black out right away from the surrealism of it all, though. My day was really a big fat nothing. Well, I worked on, yes, the novel all day, so it was good for me, but it wasn't good for anybody else unless there are people out there who wish I'd disappear or something. During my cleaning crew exile, I read the parts of the last issue of Mojo that I hadn't read. Kind of interesting article on the history of Apple Records. There was a huge spider on my floor, and I swept it up on a piece of paper and threw it out the window. Spiders can survive falls from a building's third floor, right? Surely. Tomorrow I'm going to spend most of all day in a sound studio with Gisele and Jonathan recording the English language version of the 'Jerk' radio play, and my voice is going to play the part of the audience reading the texts from the fanzine aloud to themselves, and Gisele called to make sure my voice isn't too fucked up from my cold, and she said it sounded fine. A guy wrote to me to say he wants to make a documentary film about Michele Tea and me. That seemed like an odd idea, and I said we could talk about it. He made the William Burroughs documentary that's playing film festivals right now. Uh, really I just worked a lot and ate or smoked once in a while. Today probably won't be much more interesting, but I'll try to pay close attention to whatever happens and hope for the best. Your turn: Thursday. ** Statictick, Very, very best wishes for your mom. Man, that's all just too much, all that health fragility in your world. Lots of love from me. Oh, and because I'm so impossible with emails, I'll just tell you now that your guest-post, which is a total landslide of beauty and opportunity, got set up perfectly and will appear on this here blog on Saturday October 2nd. Thank you tremendously, pal. ** Alec Niedenthal, Hey, Alec! Awesome! Oh, it's cool. Look, I'm being like you, the only difference is I'm futzing with my novel rather than with this and that, but the world of every other thing I should be doing is passing me by right now, so yeah. You should write, though, don't you think? I think so. Need I reduce myself to a teeny weeny me, plant myself on your shoulder, and jab your neck with my itsy bitsy pitchfork? You don't want that. I'm okay, getting over a cold, novelizing, and not much else at all, really. ** Plexus, Intense pretty fast. Like, the good kind of intense and good kind of pretty? I guess there isn't a bad kind if pretty? You okay? You walking on air? I'm all ears, if ears are welcome. I love you too. ** Kevin Killian, Hey, Kevin! What a joy to contextualize you, my friend, my hero! Well, that's very interesting about our likemindedness re: unfinished books. Hold on. Everyone, the great writer Kevin Killian coincidentally did a post about unfinished literary works for Bookforum around the same time that I did my post here on the very same topic. I strongly suggest you add its entries and wisdom to your accumulating interest in and knowledge of this phenomenon by clicking this. (You'll need to register at Bookforum if you haven't, but it's free and simple as pie). I'm going to scour that in just a few minutes. Wonderful and thank you, Kevin. Yes, Scott Treleaven himself was telling me about your Vancouver exhibition in glowing terms not two nights ago. Are there installation shots or anything related that I can see online? I want to see your essays too somehow. Are they seeable? Yeah, what the fuck is up with Alyson? It's like a tomb over there. I don't get it. They were supposed to do my poetry book this fall, and then zip, zero, no news or anything. The economy, etc.? ** Jax, Howdy, pal. I managed to slip in and out of the premiere without incident. Yeah, I like the film. Curious to hear what you think if it ends up playing over there. Haircut this weekend, I think, I hope. And you? What's your latest, J.? Great to see you! ** Destroyed beyond emptiness, Hey, Darren! I always get confused between phew and whew. I think phew spooks me because it seems like it would be related to phooey even though it isn't. Oh, new work by you, fantastic! I won't get to savor it until I get done with this p.s., but ... Everyone, the amazing 'destroyed beyond emptiness' aka 'little foal' has some new work ready for the world, us included. If you know his work, you know how stunning his work is. Anyway, there are are some writings here and more writings here and finally some writings w/ art here. Clicking three times will reward you very handsomely. I hope the meeting at the university isn't too stressful. I suppose they'll try to talk you out of it because they think their place is awesome, but that's fair enough, I guess. Let us/me know how that goes, okay? Oh, you're absolved of your non 'Jerk' viewing crime, which isn't even a crime, mind you. No big. I'll be well if you will. Yeah, talk to you asap, I hope. ** That's it. Richard Hawkins is one of my very favorite artists, and a close artistic comrade of mine going way back, and a buddy, and much more. I hope you enjoy my show of his astonishments. See you tomorrow.
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