MILANO--
In an era of artistic doubt, it is proper to hold the
occasional memorial. At times, such memorials are personal-- elaborate rituals concerning the moribund anniversary of the passing of a favourite goldfish, a return to the lost Twinkietm source of great inspiration from one's youth. At others, however, the exorcising values of memorials are far more universal. Such is the case with this column, where I aim to address the passing of an integral influence of a new generation of art, a primordial launching pad, as it were: namely, the all but complete disappearance of the Valentine Six.
Who could ever forget the innovations these brave six brought unto the art world? Who will ever be able to say with certainty that he knew them well? These six persons guided us selflessly into the movement, and yet, now, just two short years after they came onto the scene, they have, for all intents and purposes, disappeared. Sure, there are theories; aren't there always? One member recently had an aliased opening in Milan, another was outed as a full-time conspirator in a shady anti-Hirst cartel... But where are the originators, the idealists, in all their group force today?
I, like all interested persons, do not have the answers to these and other questions, but I do wish to contribute as best I can to their further investigation with a species of personal homage, an homage through which I hope to bring a lost message to the children of a generation so infinitesimally split from my own that its sole distinction may be just this: that it was never allowed the opportunity to grow from the actual presence of the Valentine Six.
As we all know, the world of art is a world of moments. A movement will rise and fall in the length of a brushstroke, in the time it takes to decide on the ideal adjective for a given iambic line. Nonetheless, even with this minute time frame, the Valentine Six managed to leave their mark, to shape the future of contemporary art (even this mighty sextet never dared propose that they shape the future of the past), to imprint their hallmark rebellion in the very foundations of all that is Fraud. In so doing, perhaps the most important thing they have left us is curiosity. We thirst to know just who they were, why they disappeared and why so suddenly, how they came to be, and if there are any underground plans in the works awaiting us at the next obscure Eastern European exhibit.
Perhaps a bit of history is in order. I would like to begin with what, after years of research, distinguishes itself as the indubitable starting point: the Italian proto-Frauds. It is a well established fact that such literary luminaries as Italo Calvino and Umberto Eco could claim a certain measure of influence on or by the divine Fraud. Calvino, for instance, once discussed the concept of how we categorise books. He deigned to include, among more familiar, socially acceptable categories, "Books we have not read but pretend we have" and "Books we have not read but think we have." Perhaps these are not his exact words, in part because his exact words were in Italian, but nevertheless, Calvino was right on track. With this excerpt alone, he demonstrates his recognition of a great and useful truism: we need not actually waste our younger years in pursuit of expertise simply to garner the posthumous title of expert; a simple decision to present oneself as an expert from the beginning will do.
In other words, society is gullible. No matter how weakly we might unveil our personas, society will latch onto them, re-enforce them with interviews and critiques until, if only by the sheer power of popular opinion, as the annals of history show, they have become actual persons. Once this is the case, one need not justify one's arguments, for the great masses will assume that any doubts they might raise will only be cut down with snappy rebuttals, based upon facts far more obscure than those contained within their inferior internal reference libraries. Rather than embarrass themselves in front of the academic public, they prefer to bow down to the genius, citing him in their own arguments and dissertations. Such that, step one: already there.
Art is a world of moments.
A movement will rise and fall
in the length of a brushstroke,
in the time it takes
to decide
on the ideal adjective
for a given iambic line.
Eco, then, a further and more contemporary development along these same lines, enters into this movement from a different angle. Rather than talk about the false categories whose alleged "reading" qualifies as us as omniscient experts, he bypasses the concept of reading altogether, and goes straight to the more pedantic exercise of university lectures. There, as his characters would have it (in an honesty far greater than the majority of deans, professors and assistants in Academia possess today) we should enrol in such truly useless classes as Oxymorons and Splitting Hairs. Acknowledging such divergences is as integral to the development of Fraud Art as Calvino and, of course, the Valentine Six.
For our heroes, the Valentine Six, did not emerge from a vacuum. On the contrary, they matured in the radical student chaos of Italy in the early latter half of this century, migrating to New York only just before their plans for an art revolution finally, suddenly seemed within reach. There, in the now diminished Little Italy, disguised behind elaborate masks of anonymous café, restaurant, and small shop assistants, they began to weave what would, within the next two decades, come to be perhaps the most significant realisation of Fraud Art in the entire final quarter of this century.
They began with publicity, but in contrast to typical marketing schemes and shenanigans, theirs was a subtle experiment in reverse psychology. Soon, the Big Apple was literally peppered with their propaganda, which screamed for their own deaths, presenting them as bona fide public enemies, even crossing linguistic boundaries to ensure that their seemingly odious presence would be attacked not only by the nation’s dominant Anglo culture, but also by the entire world. Within a year, their black, yellow, and red signs were notorious, and public opinion was roiled up about... it knew not exactly what.
So it was that, with a fair amount of fame, or infamy, behind them, they mounted their first, intentionally disastrous show. Trendspotters from the art world over arrived at what was expected to be an iconoclastic event. Not so. The pieces exhibited were merely traditional portraits, with nods to Da Vinci, Titian and Rafael. Certainly, their execution was masterly, belying the true skill upon which the group’s innovative self-marketing rested, but in a world that increasingly valued shock over talent, the beautifully contoured hands and pensive brows, the shadowed backgrounds and fine eye for perspective were all ignored. With the waves of disappointed spectators, who left the recently-opened and soon-to-be-closed gallery far faster than they had rushed to arrive, they achieved their second goal. They had now escaped from the strangling clutches of the Art Establishment, the socialite group of Hamptons-going self-proclaimed critics who, with a snap of the fingers and an open or closed wallet, could easily determine the success of failure of any new movement or idea.
What was left then were the few truly sharp-witted admirers who, upon applying the simple two-plus-two formula of eccentric publicity and true skill, quickly realised the awesome presence before which they stood. These six artists who, blending in with the crowd of spectators, "missed" their own opening were a force to be reckoned with and one from whom we would hear again. It didn't take long.
Soon, New York was alight with their fly-by-night exhibits and notorious celebrations. Members were secretly inducted and the Valentine Six became, in actuality if not name, the Valentine 17. Of course, the driving force continued to be the original members who, with occasional visits to the fatherland, expanded the horizons of the group into the all-important playing field of Europe. In 1996, seven of their gallery shows and fifteen of their excellent and cutting-edge parties were hosted in New York. The same year, similar exhibits arrived in Milan, Florence, Nice, Munich, and Paris. There seemed to be no stopping them. Their names dangled from the tips of a hundred art critics' pens; their sly and short-lived shows were must-see events from Prague to Paris, Pensacola to Portland.
Then, suddenly, at the end of this culminating year, they disappeared. Friends in the know could no longer contact them in their former Little Italy walk-ups; scholars and dilettantes alike could no longer learn through even the most improbable means of any new show or soirée; gossip columnists began to hint at a scandalous demise.
The truth, however, is neither so dire, nor so clear. Had their end been a true collapse (of friendship, dedication or funds) the disappearance could never have been so complete. And many of their one-time admirers and patrons, including such notables as Lumami Juvisado, Samuel S. Pierce and Rrandom Bodega, have continued in their footsteps, calling upon the truer, deeper meanings of the Fraudulent legacy they left behind. Some speculate that they will return, that this, like so many of their previous acts this is but a time of planning, moving and, eventually, shaking and stirring of an art world once more on the verge of narcolepsy. We can only hope it is so, and in the meantime, remember.
--Mario Scivolo, Italian Correspondent
January 20, 1999
