Despite his stature as a top shelf art critic, I’m not all that familiar with Dave Hickey’s writings. I am, however, aware of his reputation as a “tell it like it is” firebrand, found on full display in his recent interview in The Believer. Among the chestnuts revealed:
On the current state of art criticism: “In twenty years we’ve gone from a totally academicized art world to a totally commercialized art world, and in neither case is criticism a function. “
On teaching art at a university: “And if I take a job at a university and I’m a young person, I have six years in which I can’t express my opinion until I get tenure. Now, are you going to remember your opinions for six years? No!”
On MFA programs: “The MFA thing is an invention of the ’70s. Its raison d’être is evaporating.”
And, most reassuringly, on life: “You have all the way till you’re forty to totally f*** up your life.”
Initially Hickey comes across as a Hunter S. Thompson-type, only he’s eviscerating a world (the “art world”) that I’ve always had a hard time believing people took too seriously to begin with. Large numbers of Americans in the 1970’s still thought the governmental institution cared and deserved respect, thus making Thompson’s views edgy, but are there still people who think an MFA is necessary requirement to being an artist? Hickey’s views seem sort of obvious; perhaps the fact that they’re considered radical is the real shocker.
Link: The Believer – Interview with Dave Hickey (Full Text)
I read this interview when it was posted to the McSweeney’s website a few weeks ago. This little exchange struck close to home:
DH: What I do is I find beautiful, intelligent women, and invest them with enough confidence to leave me.
SH: And do they all leave for the same reason?
DH: I guess. That’s the chance you take if you like bitches…
In the interest of clarity I’ll point out that Hickey’s definition of “bitches” appears to transcend the mainly pejorative use of the term. The complete quote reads:
DH: I guess. That’s the chance you take if you like bitches, if you prefer women who have their own agendas and their own destinations. I like singers, writers, dancers, social climbers, and divas. So eventually, you’re passed over. Part of this is selfish, though. Writing for one is hard. Writing for two is impossible. And sitting at home writing about cowboys with cancer while Betsy Sue teaches fifth-grade music casts a pall and poses a question mark over every word you write. Living off the work of others makes you a slut or a shit. I’ve tried not to. Anyway, I get along with all my exes. We’re actually pretty close.
Yeah. You know…bitches.