Fondazione Prada, Milan
11 April – 9 June 2002
www.fondazioneprada.org
Welcome to the world of
Barry McGee. In the same way that graffiti artists reclaim inner-city
neighbourhoods, the San Francisco-based artist transformed the entire space
at the Fondazione Prada in Milan, making it his own. One entered the space
through the interior of an overturned van, surrounded by the sound of an
electric drone. The walls of the space were painted almost entirely in a
rich deep red, a specific tone alluding to Chinatown, tobacco store Indians
and 1957 Chevies. A kind of stream-of-consciousness graffiti covered the
walls, intermittently sprinkled with caricatured faces of all sizes and
various found objects. At the far end of the room was another van, wheels
spinning, with a makeshift shelter built up on top. The back wall, covered
in brick-sized panels of raw, rusting steel, was illuminated by an enormous
fluorescent orange upside-down figure of an American Indian, arms open,
complete with headdress. The scale and iconic potency of this image was
reminiscent of the protective Cristo Redentor statue that overlooks Rio de
Janeiro.
At first glance, the show seemed less than cohesive, yet the significance of
almost every detail is astounding and reflects the closeness of the artist
to his subject.
McGee has taken a world with which he is familiar, that of the homeless and
destitute graffiti artists of inner-city San Francisco, and successfully
distilled it into a series of symbols that equate ‘tagging’ with identity.
Although, at times, these representations come dangerously close to cliché,
they work well when used as part of a whole. For instance, walking up to the
overturned van, a small rectangular window at the top of the shelter
perfectly framed a barren light bulb. This stark image alone recalled
Picasso’s Guernica, and works by Christian Boltanski and Francis Bacon,
amongst many others. On one of the moving wheels, McGee attached a small
metal figure of a man, spinning around and around, a slave to his destiny.
Likewise, at two points on one wall, the artist placed tiny automata
depicting painters painting over and over: a never-ending story.
The faces scattered across the walls, according to McGee,
represent ‘everyman’, yet they are also McGee’s compadres. There was
certainly an element of melancholy in this exhibition, but also one of
humour, of a closely-knit community. On the wall immediately outside hung a
group of empty liquor bottles, each painted with the face of a man: the
‘everyman’ community here defined by alcoholic prowess.
Another wall was packed tightly with small framed images: sketches by the
artist and his friends, signs from around the neighbourhood, images and
photographs of taggers. The artist seemed to be saying, ‘Come and see the
seedy reality that you deny exists in your cities. Here it is, as art.’
This street community in inner-city San Francisco is one where a distinct element of brotherhood exists, men brought together through a need to assert themselves in an environment that has taken away their sense of identity. They are succeeding in a way, creating a style of their own through graffiti, tagging, drinking together, sticking together. It is a story not only of sadness but of survival against the odds, of the struggle to retain freedom of spirit, with one another for support.
Andrea Carson