Circa 114: Review
Brian Wilson: An art book
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| John McCraken, Flight, 1195 polyster resin and fibreglass on plywood, 290x52x6 cm courtesy the artist, LA Louver Gallery, Venice, California/ Four Corner Books |
There's something very touching about the idea of Brian Wilson as an organising principle of a book, or for that matter of anything: so chaotic, quixotic and neurotic in his public and private life is he, that his music is really the only trace of the Brian Wilson phenomenon that could be judged as in anyway 'rational'.
In spite of such an incongruity, Brian Wilson: An art book is a natty little tome, in which Alex Farquharson brings together the work of thirty-five writers and artists to produce a diverse reader, which aims to be creatively evocative of the big man himself. Whilst most of the visual contributions obliquely reference Wilson, the texts are direct responses and probes into his practice and outputs.
Jennifer Higgie hangs her text, Guess I'm dumb, off lyrics from Wilson's song of the same name, (penned for Glen Campbell), visually tracking what could be Wilson's miniautobiography - at the time of writing the song, twentytwo years of age, deaf in one year, on the verge of a nervous breakdown - while also demonstrating his textual gentility:
The way I act don't seem like me I'm not on top like I used to be Will I give in when I know I should be strong As to give in even though I know it's wrong
Outlining Wilson's relationship with Glen Campbell, Higgie tracks to good effect the progress of a steady decline, unthinkable in scale, inevitable in action and historic in recent popular history producing a sadly empathic little story that is also a cautionary tale
John McCracken's written contribution rolls in at just 127 words, as concise, informal yet formally elegent as his visual contributions to the book. McCracken's text is a simple elegy to Good vibrations, a personnal prose poem of sorts:
Brian Wilson is one of my favorite music people, and in particular, his Good vibrations is one of my alltime favorite pieces of music... whenever I hear it, I get a tingling sense... it suggests to me an infinite and almost heavenly space.
Gate and Aumaka are McCracken's two accompanying artworks in the book, resembling glossy planks propped up against white gallery walls, with shiny polyester resin and fibreglass 'veneer' covering their plywood interiors, appearing independent and vulnerable at the same time, a direct reflection of the alarming (and as it turned out illusory) buoyancy of The Beach Boys' image marketing.
Sister Corita Kent's two silkscreen prints from 1967 and 1965, The sea queen and Sunkist are weird yet delightful citrus outbursts, featuring dismembered slogans floating in hand-rendered yellow waves. As one might expect from a nun once based in Los Angeles through the sixties, her work is optimistic in tone and diligent in social content, combining techniques, references and text from advertising and graffiti to produce pieces that are explanatory, in part, of her roles as an artist, teacher and social activist. Her work smells like summer, in the same way that slimy coconut suntan lotions or sticky ice-pops do: initially fresh on the outside, but somewhat more complexly constructed within.
In Farquharson's preface to the publication, speaking of his motivation to set upon the task, he states, "Finally, it is about the pleasure and challenge of responding to a thing one loves." When seen together, Brian Wilson: An art book could be read as a simple celebration of a very complicated cultural phantasm, but the comprhensive and intelligent range of contributions selected ensure that, when seen together as a meaningful whole, this book adds an invaluable insight into the influence of Brian Wilson's work across a raft of cross-discplinary practice.
Maria Fusco is a Belfastborn writer and lecturer based in London; she recently edited Put about: A critical anthology on independent publishing.
London: Brian Wilson: An art book, paperback, 13 x 20 cm, 168 pp, 48 pp colour, ISBN 0 9545925 1 5, Four Corners, London
