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Lot Essay
“It is as though his pulsating images have already danced their way into the atavistic chambers of the collective mind, as if his characters are now somehow imprinted on ribbons of DNA to be transmitted genetically to future generations.”
(B. Blinderman, “And We All Shine On,” in G. Celant, ed., Keith Haring, Munich, 1992, p. 27)
Nothing but neon revelry ensues when animoids, droids and humanoids convene to celebrate the fourth of October 1984 in Keith Haring’s present work. Animated by cartoon movement marks, Haring’s signature imaginative forms strut, soar, leap and wiggle to an unheard beat, wreaking havoc but making space for bodies that diverge from any expectations set by leading cultural philosophy. Creatures morph from the familiar to the fantastical and back again in a singular fusion of figure and ground that belies the artist’s keen eye for strategic graphic design. The “X” on the chest of groovy Medusa in the lower left quadrant balances directly with the target at the center of the scissor-head in the lower right quadrant, which is offset in turn by the plus sign for eyes at the upper right, a sequence concluded by the triangle heart on the flyer in the upper left corner. Intervening squares and circles play their own tug-of-war with Haring’s deliberate line, both learned from and executed on the graffiti-laden streets of his grungy surroundings. Further testifying to the artist’s refined sense of composition, the character at the upper left corner saddles his whimsical beast in synchronization with the more insidious, multi-headed monster’s mounting of a kneeling human in the lower left corner. Out of this chaotic jumble of limbs and wings emerges a careful pattern of repetitive bent arms that, when traced diagonally across the canvas, insinuates a strong command of perspective while simultaneously denying the illusion of space entirely in favor of a flat picture plane. Permeated by an urgent sense of dynamism, the present picture captures the frenetic push for progress characteristic of 1980s New York City, while undercut by the looming threat of devastating disease and unstoppable technological power.
Having enjoyed a banner year in 1982 yet still coming to terms with his meteoric rise to worldwide fame, Haring spent much of 1984 traveling across the globe to adorn space after space with his iconic images, including commissioned murals at both the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne, Australia and the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. The present lot, then, sits squarely at the intersection of the artist’s growing recognition and mature style, against the backdrop of Ronald Reagan’s space-obsessed, Cold War-fatigued, drug-afflicted, AIDS-wracked, increasingly violent America. No longer the bright-eyed, New York hopeful of 1978, Haring was coming to understand the intricacies of being an unintentional spokesperson during a tense cultural moment: “I think as much as possible, an artist, if he has any kind of social or political concern, has to try to cut through those things, and to expose as much as possible what he sees so that some people think about things that they don’t normally think about. Sometimes I do that by pushing things to the extreme; in the face of people who try to close their eyes I react the opposite, by trying to be more open and deal more openly with sexuality and violence for instance. An artist putting as many images into the world as I am should be aware or try to understand what that means and how those images are absorbed or how they affect the world. I don’t think art is propaganda; it should be something that liberates the soul, provokes the imagination and encourages people to go further. It celebrates humanity instead of manipulating it” (K. Haring, quoted in S. Couderc and S. Marchand, trans., The Ten Commandments, An Interview, 16 December 1985). In such spirit, Haring devised an accessible, unmatched visual language to tell the story of his community without decrying those of others.
One such channel through which the artist sought to speak to his time was the hip-hop scene, which, by his own estimation, reached unprecedented heights during the period from 1982 to 1984. Uniting a trinity of creative pursuits, hip-hop not only required the development of gritty rap music alongside novel, muscular dance moves, but also found expression in the bold graffiti peppering the spaces in which these other arts came to exist. “A lot of my inspiration was coming out of watching break-dancers, so my drawings started spinning on their heads and twisting and turning all around” (K. Haring, quoted in J. Gruent, et. al., Keith Haring, New York, 2008, p. 236). Visualizing the present painting’s subjects engaged in an improvised rhythm section only adds to the riotous, festive effect, despite the lingering fear that these may be harbingers of a darker future. No stranger to the more academic realm of the art world, Haring cleverly reinvented familiar motifs to serve his own purpose, as in the case of the Medusa at lower left and the wriggling snake in the upper right quadrant. Long regarded as symbols of manipulative evil, both Medusa with her head of vipers and the snake itself hint at a Biblical fear of capitulating to persuasive yet dangerous forces. These unsettling forces of uncertainty were no doubt felt among Haring and his peers as the country forged ahead into the uncharted Orwellian waters of 1984 and beyond. In light of such societal context, the jubilee witnessed here stands as Haring’s humble contribution to a world in turmoil, for better or for worse: “I do not fool myself into thinking that these things I make can change the world or even make a big effect in the world. People who make wars change things. People who use ‘control’ make things happen in the world. That is not my interest at all. …It seems to me the only thing to do in this world is to ‘do’ something. …I don’t know what I want the world to be. But only I can make these ‘things’. These things that are called the works of Keith Haring” (K. Haring, journal entry, 4 May 1982).
(B. Blinderman, “And We All Shine On,” in G. Celant, ed., Keith Haring, Munich, 1992, p. 27)
Nothing but neon revelry ensues when animoids, droids and humanoids convene to celebrate the fourth of October 1984 in Keith Haring’s present work. Animated by cartoon movement marks, Haring’s signature imaginative forms strut, soar, leap and wiggle to an unheard beat, wreaking havoc but making space for bodies that diverge from any expectations set by leading cultural philosophy. Creatures morph from the familiar to the fantastical and back again in a singular fusion of figure and ground that belies the artist’s keen eye for strategic graphic design. The “X” on the chest of groovy Medusa in the lower left quadrant balances directly with the target at the center of the scissor-head in the lower right quadrant, which is offset in turn by the plus sign for eyes at the upper right, a sequence concluded by the triangle heart on the flyer in the upper left corner. Intervening squares and circles play their own tug-of-war with Haring’s deliberate line, both learned from and executed on the graffiti-laden streets of his grungy surroundings. Further testifying to the artist’s refined sense of composition, the character at the upper left corner saddles his whimsical beast in synchronization with the more insidious, multi-headed monster’s mounting of a kneeling human in the lower left corner. Out of this chaotic jumble of limbs and wings emerges a careful pattern of repetitive bent arms that, when traced diagonally across the canvas, insinuates a strong command of perspective while simultaneously denying the illusion of space entirely in favor of a flat picture plane. Permeated by an urgent sense of dynamism, the present picture captures the frenetic push for progress characteristic of 1980s New York City, while undercut by the looming threat of devastating disease and unstoppable technological power.
Having enjoyed a banner year in 1982 yet still coming to terms with his meteoric rise to worldwide fame, Haring spent much of 1984 traveling across the globe to adorn space after space with his iconic images, including commissioned murals at both the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne, Australia and the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. The present lot, then, sits squarely at the intersection of the artist’s growing recognition and mature style, against the backdrop of Ronald Reagan’s space-obsessed, Cold War-fatigued, drug-afflicted, AIDS-wracked, increasingly violent America. No longer the bright-eyed, New York hopeful of 1978, Haring was coming to understand the intricacies of being an unintentional spokesperson during a tense cultural moment: “I think as much as possible, an artist, if he has any kind of social or political concern, has to try to cut through those things, and to expose as much as possible what he sees so that some people think about things that they don’t normally think about. Sometimes I do that by pushing things to the extreme; in the face of people who try to close their eyes I react the opposite, by trying to be more open and deal more openly with sexuality and violence for instance. An artist putting as many images into the world as I am should be aware or try to understand what that means and how those images are absorbed or how they affect the world. I don’t think art is propaganda; it should be something that liberates the soul, provokes the imagination and encourages people to go further. It celebrates humanity instead of manipulating it” (K. Haring, quoted in S. Couderc and S. Marchand, trans., The Ten Commandments, An Interview, 16 December 1985). In such spirit, Haring devised an accessible, unmatched visual language to tell the story of his community without decrying those of others.
One such channel through which the artist sought to speak to his time was the hip-hop scene, which, by his own estimation, reached unprecedented heights during the period from 1982 to 1984. Uniting a trinity of creative pursuits, hip-hop not only required the development of gritty rap music alongside novel, muscular dance moves, but also found expression in the bold graffiti peppering the spaces in which these other arts came to exist. “A lot of my inspiration was coming out of watching break-dancers, so my drawings started spinning on their heads and twisting and turning all around” (K. Haring, quoted in J. Gruent, et. al., Keith Haring, New York, 2008, p. 236). Visualizing the present painting’s subjects engaged in an improvised rhythm section only adds to the riotous, festive effect, despite the lingering fear that these may be harbingers of a darker future. No stranger to the more academic realm of the art world, Haring cleverly reinvented familiar motifs to serve his own purpose, as in the case of the Medusa at lower left and the wriggling snake in the upper right quadrant. Long regarded as symbols of manipulative evil, both Medusa with her head of vipers and the snake itself hint at a Biblical fear of capitulating to persuasive yet dangerous forces. These unsettling forces of uncertainty were no doubt felt among Haring and his peers as the country forged ahead into the uncharted Orwellian waters of 1984 and beyond. In light of such societal context, the jubilee witnessed here stands as Haring’s humble contribution to a world in turmoil, for better or for worse: “I do not fool myself into thinking that these things I make can change the world or even make a big effect in the world. People who make wars change things. People who use ‘control’ make things happen in the world. That is not my interest at all. …It seems to me the only thing to do in this world is to ‘do’ something. …I don’t know what I want the world to be. But only I can make these ‘things’. These things that are called the works of Keith Haring” (K. Haring, journal entry, 4 May 1982).