Blurring the lines of fandom, art
People often say that we get the politicians we deserve. If that’s also true of art exhibitions, “Richard Prince: The Douglas Blair Turnbaugh Collection (19771988)” paints an unflattering picture of what people want in a culture that no longer understands the difference between public and private and that treats celebrities as overblown versions of ourselves.
The age of narcissistic self-exposure and voyeuristic eyeballing takes creepy shape at Edward Cella Art & Architecture, where tell-all transparency gets dressed up as art historical research yet still comes off as a shameless appeal to the gawker in all of us.
Just about everything in the exhibition belongs to Douglas Blair Turnbaugh, a dance critic, writer and artist who has worked for arts organizations, serving as director, producer, curator, consultant, fundraiser, trustee and board member.
Nearly all of the photographs, drawings and collages on display were given to him by Richard Prince, who was his next-door neighbor in New York City in the late 1970s. In the ’80s, Prince became world-famous and his works began fetching princely sums.
A few early works, including “Modern Bride Layout Proposal” and a suite of 10 pen-and-ink drawings on a legal pad, are interesting for their homemade immediacy, a quality Prince purged from the works that turned him into an artistic jet-setter.
The remaining images resemble factory seconds. They shed little light on Prince’s art, which does not sufferer from underexposure.
But that’s only part of the problem. In this exhibition, art takes a backseat to the stuff people used to keep in scrapbooks and shoe boxes: exhibition announcements, show programs, newspaper clippings, fliers, pamphlets, magazines, snapshots, even a matchbook from a restaurant Prince frequently ate at.
Such ephemera fill three large vitrines. On the walls hang photocopied letters that Prince sent Turnbaugh, along with notes, a postcard and an artist statement — all photocopied and enlarged.
The fanboy fascination reaches extremes in a wellused leather jacket that Prince gave Turnbaugh, who had it framed. There’s also a T-shirt, it too under glass and neatly framed.
Three birthday presents, which Prince gave Turnbaugh in 1982, 1983 and 1985, attest to the friendship between the two men. But rather than f leshing out that relationship, the exhibition is all about Prince.
Turnbaugh is all but invisible, turning up in a few photos. The back-and-forth between the two is neither explored nor broached.
Instead, visitors are left with mementos we might find at a high-end pawnshop. Deserved or not, that’s sad.
Edward Cella Art & Architecture, 2754 S. La Cienega Blvd., Los Angeles. Through July 30; closed Sundays and Mondays. (323) 525-0053, www.edwardcella .com