Diane Arbus: the curatorial neurosis of constructing an icon
Tony Zaza
Diane Arbus, Two ladies at the automat, N.Y.C. 1966, Copyright ? 1980 The Estate of Diane Arbus, LLC.
The concept of the Wabi-Sabi is that of the beauty of the Imperfect. The aesthetic question in the work of Diane Arbus revolves around the nature of her subjects. By intruding upon the sanctity of the individual, the integrity of the object, whether consciously or accidentally, has she in any way transformed the subject into a form of artistic expression? Has the selection of the subject, then, the pointing and the composing, eliminating certain possible components in the plane of vision; has this rather spontaneous but complex decision-making process in any way changed the perception of the subject for the viewer? Having chosen subjects of questionable inherent beauty, of imperfect beauty, and of, albeit, natural, untainted, even, unexpected authenticity, has Arbus betrayed or ennobled the viewer? And has she betrayed or "enabled" the subject?
The "Diane Arbus: Revelations" exhibit, which ran through May 30 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, made iconographs not only of Arbus’s work but of Arbus. By far, the most revelatory part of this sprawling exhibit were the collections, approaching a kind of curatorial neurosis, of Arbus’ personal artifacts: diaries, notes, test prints, found objects, sketches and scribbles, formal writings and informal personal possessions. How fitting that Arbus’ own privacy has been violated, her inner-most functionalities exposed, her musings out-printed, her life spread out like a proof sheet of memories.
This show is remarkable in how unremarkable is Ms Arbus’ accomplishment. The show attempts, thoroughly and decidedly, to make the simple appear profound. No such transformation is possible. Her photos try to elevate the commonplace, but so do all photos; her work freezes the awkward moment and the precious moment, but so do all photos. Her subjects beg the question yet remain uncomplicated, nothing more than their surface, journalistic value meeting your retina.
Touted as an artist who has created, totally on her own, a new vernacular, a unique idiomatic expression reflecting the 1960s zeitgeist, one must marvel at the short-term memory loss of the curatorial staff and the contemporary audience. Anyone hear of Silvia Plachy at the Voice and the nameless interloper-photogs of the long defunct East Village Other, or Warhol’s work for his own infant InterviewMagazine, and the army of New York photographers of the same era who had almost no creative alternative BUT to opportunistically take advantage of the metropolitan freak show?
