The Age of Delusion: Jerry Saltz, 2018 Pulitzer Prize for Criticism by Michael Newberry

Jerry Saltz, study for Canto 1
Dielh-Saltz-1976
Saltz circa 1976, in front of his drawings. Photograph by Carol Diehl

Those Who Can’t

“Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, critique.” And no one represents this weakness better than Jerry Saltz, winner of the 2018 Pulitzer Prize for Criticism for his article, “My Life as a Failed Artist.”

Jerry Saltz, study for Canto 1
Saltz drawings for the inside panels of a Canto I altarpiece. Photo: New York Magazine. If this was the work of a 13 year old, I would have to dig deep for encouragement. You would expect a kid to be more fearless, less worried, and less tentative. If I were talking to the kid’s parents, I would tell them that the scratchy quality and ugly color sensibilities might be a reflection of chronic doubt and dull frustration. And if I were the parents, I would encourage the teen to spend time doing something that he had talent for.

Jerry Saltz writes about his younger artist self: “In 1973, I was 22, full of myself, and frustrated that I wasn’t already recognized for my work.” But a few years later he had some great acceptance from the art world: museum purchases, a $3,000 NEA grant in 1978 money, reviewed in Artforum, exhibited with Barbara Gladstone Gallery and with Rhona Hoffman. He was ecstatic with the recognition, yet he had a nagging contempt for his art: 

“But then I looked back, into the abyss of self-doubt. I erupted with fear, self-loathing, dark thoughts about how bad my work was, how pointless, unoriginal, ridiculous. ‘You don’t know how to draw,’ I told myself. ‘You never went to school. Your work has nothing to do with anything. You’re not a real artist. Your art is irrelevant. You don’t know art history. You can’t paint… No one cares about you. You’re a fake…'”

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Blarney at the Guggenheim

CREMASTER 3, by Matthew Barney

Barney Follows in the Wake of the Anti-Art Aesthetic of the Dadaists

CREMASTER 3, by Matthew Barney

My review of a one-day visit to the Guggenheim’s Matthew Barney’s Cremaster Cycle, June 2003.

The Cremaster Cycle exhibition is a project of five films with some of the sets and props that have doubled as installations. A few unique mediums he works with are tapioca and Vaseline. A cremaster is the involuntary muscle that creates the rising and falling of the scrotum.

Jerry Saltz, art critic for the Village Voice, comments that he has loved everything Barney has done since a 1990 group show: “Suddenly, this 22-year-old appeared naked, in a videotape, climbing ropes, then lowering himself over a wedge of Vaseline and applying dollops of it to his body.” He continues: “Since then, Barney has been able to do no wrong by me, which is exactly the kind of unequivocal wet kiss from a critic I hate.”

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