Hirst famously once said, “‘Museums are for dead artists. I’d never show my work in the Tate. You’d never get me in that place.'”
What makes Hirst different is that he is not making items on commission from an aristocrat or a royal family. He works with the confident assumption that there are numerous fabulously wealthy buyers out there who will compete to invest in a work carrying the prestige of a big-name artist, whatever its intrinsic merit. Not one tsar, but many tsars.
He will also find a compliant media willing to laud such works with what is effectively advertising copy. Jonathan Jones asked gushingly in the Guardian, “What is being born, exactly? It might be the art of the 21st century.”
Perhaps worse still, Richard Dorment, writing in the Telegraph, acknowledges, “If anyone but Hirst had made this curious object, we would be struck by its vulgarity.”
How, indeed? It is a question that exercises the minds of his many detractors in the art world: how did a mouthy, working-class lad from Leeds, with hooligan tendencies, become the biggest – and the richest – artist on the planet? (In the Sunday Times Rich List of 2010, Hirst’s wealth was estimated at £215m.) The answer is long and complex, and has much to do with the radical shifts in culture that have occurred over the past 25 years or so, both in Britain and the world: the unstoppable rise of art as commodity and the successful artist as a brand; the ascendancy of a post-Thatcher generation of Young British Artists (YBAs) who set out, unapologetically, to make shock-art that also made money; the attendant rise of uber-dealers such as Jay Jopling in London and Larry Gagosian in New York; and the birth of a new kind of gallery culture, in which the blockbuster show rules and merchandising is a lucrative sideline.
At the centre of this ultra-commodified art world stands Damien Hirst, art superstar: the richest, loudest, biggest YBA of all. Except that, no longer young, he seems – at the very moment when his canonisation by the art establishment is complete – to be in a long period of transition. When I last spoke to him, in September 2009, in his vast studio near Stroud, Gloucestershire, it was exactly a year after the astounding success of Beautiful Inside My Head Forever, his record-breaking Sotheby’s auction of 2008. Back then, just before the world markets tumbled, Hirst made headlines by bypassing his dealers, Jopling and Gagosian, altogether, and taking more than £111m in sales in two days of often-frenzied bidding. Right on the cusp of the recession, the Sotheby’s auction was a pivotal moment for Hirst – a grand farewell, he told me, to the “big work” he had been making for years. He also told me then that conceptualism was “a total dead end” and said: “You spend 20 years celebrating your immortality, and then you realise that’s not what it’s about.”
With Damien Hirst it aways seems to come down to three things: art, ambition and money, though not necessarily in that order. For that reason, as curator Ann Gallagher asserts in her catalogue introduction to the Tate Modern show: “Like no other artist of his generation, Damien Hirst has permeated the cultural consciousness of our times.” What that says about us – and about Hirst – is a matter of some debate. Writing recently in the New Yorker on the simultaneous exhibition of all Hirst’s 1,500 signature spot paintings in all 11 Gagosian galleries dotted around the globe, the American art critic Peter Schjeldahl wrote: “Hirst will go down in history as a particularly cold-blooded pet of millennial excess wealth. That’s not Old Master status, but it’s immortality of a sort.”
Hirst moved to London in the mid-1980s, and for a time worked on building sites, before being accepted to Goldsmiths in 1986. There, under the tutelage of the artist Michael Craig-Martin, he realised that for the time being, at least, painting was over and that, in contemporary art, the idea was the be all and end all.
“When I arrived there, I was this angry young painter looking at all the conceptual work being made there and dismissing it as pure crap,” he says, laughing. “But I got seduced by it. Initially, I was finding pieces of wood, banging them together, and slapping the paint on. It was Rauschenberg, de Kooning and a bit of Schwitters. It had been done to death and they told me so. I went back up to Leeds and I thought, ‘OK, I’ve got to deal with the world I live in – advertising, TV, media. I need to communicate the here and now.’ I realised that you couldn’t use the tools of yesterday to communicate today’s world. Basically, that was the big light that went on in my head.”
The rest is art history.
WHAT CAN WE WAY? HIRST MAY NOT BE THE MOST TALENTED OR INNOVATIVE ARTIST, BUT HE HAD SOMETHING WHICH HAS LED HIM TO SUCCESS – TENACITY. That is perhaps the most valuable lesson we can learn from the “artist.”
Personally, I think it’s sad that so many collectors bought into his nonsensical artwork while many more talented people go unnoticed, but I see his efforts as a businessman. The fact that ART should be BUSINESS is an altogether different topic, but I know we have to become business minded if we are to make a living from our artwork.
Anyways, enjoy and like, comment and repost.