DAILY MAGAZINE
BLOG ON WITH NEWS, VIEWS, REVIEWS, DIARIES, EVENTS & PHOTO-JOURNALS

The metamorphosing men in twenty-nine-year-old New York-based artist John Kleckner's painstakingly meticulous ink and watercolor drawings harken back to Brecht's cynical assertion that, 'People are too durable, that's their main trouble. They can do too much to themselves, they last too long.' The minute lines, magnificent detail and portentous symbolism of Kleckner, who has exhibited extensively in New York and California, creates ink and watercolor drawings which evoke etchings by 15-century masters such as Albrecht Dürer.

The series of watercolors and small-scaled drawings, which were mounted and displayed in lightly strained wood frames, which Kleckner presented at Berlin's Peres Projects in September, were portraits of men who are not dying as much as they are bypassing death to decompose while they are still conscious that their flesh is turning into fungus. In one image, a man raises his eyes to heaven while his open mouth morphs into knotted-root and swollen-phallic mushrooms. Roots expand out from the peeled back nostrils of another man whose face is pressed against the forest floor. His lips are slack against a rock and his eyes stare blankly at the dirt, while his beard and hair dissolve into systems of thin roots digging between crevices in the soil where a plant spouting from the base of his rotting nose is taking root. Yet while these two are visibly horrified at their fates, another man‚s arrogant calm while his beard dissolves into a cluster of spores, is even more grotesque. The bodies in Kleckner's drawings are no longer durable as they confront, horror-striken, the ramifications of what they have done to themselves or the sins they have committed toward others. Like the medieval suffers from syphilis, the noses of the men in Kleckner's art have been eaten away by illness, or guilt. But though his protagonists suffer, the beauty of his images and his awe-inspiring skill as an artist provide his viewers with pure pleasure.

Kleckner will have work included in "The Triumph of Painting: Which Reality?" which will open at London's The Saatchi Gallery in November 2007 and "RAW: Among the Ruins," at the Marres Art Centre in Maastricht, which opened on 10 March and runs till 20 May.

John Kleckner, Untitled, 2006

ANA FINEL HONIGMAN: Do you think one of the social functions of art ought to be as a forum for unwholesome, or anti-social, thoughts or feelings?

JOHN KLECKNER: That is certainly a possibility that artists have explored historically--Dada & Surrealism--and continue to explore now - Paul McCarthy and Mike Kelley. Most of the art I'm interested in could be considered anti-social, subversive, or contrarian. I can't think of many artists making truly "wholesome" artworks these days. Given enough time, our aesthetic & moral standards recalibrate to consider certain artworks more wholesome and friendly, but that probably wasn't the artist's intention.

AFH: How important do you think the artist's intention ought to be in intimately. I wish there were more fiction writers writing about art. There aren't enough. A.M. Holmes and Julian Barnes are the only two who come to mind. Do you think critics can extract something valid from the work the artist didn't intend?

JK: I always think of that Duchamp quote, 'stupid like a painter'.

AFH: Or the Cocteau quote: 'An artist cannot speak about his art any more than a plant can discuss horticulture.'

JK: You spend your time developing the craft side of the work, things happen during that process on intuitive levels even you don't fully understand. It can be a very non-intellectual activity. You are in the eye of the storm and it is all happening around you but you cant really evaluate the experience or the results until it is done, and out in the world. That's when you really start seeing it from all these different angles. There is so much about my work I feel I don't know. I would love to have people introduce me to my aspects or interpretations of my work didn't intend.

AFH: So you are hoping to leave the work 'open'?

JK: Artists are always saying they want to leave things 'open' so viewers can bring their interpretation to it. It is a bit of a cliché, I guess. I am trying to tell a story about certain ideas, certain experiences and certain realities or consciousness but it's always interesting to see other people's take too.

AFH: Are there specific literary or art historical traditions you want viewers to bring into their interpretation of your work?

JK: I read a lot, so in that sense, I guess it would make sense to assume literature is part of my influences. I like to read.

AFH: Reading is alright.

JK: Very true. And I guess my art is coming from certain literary traditions. I am influenced by a whole range of different traditions.

AFH: And these traditions are not just visual?

JK: Well, they are not exclusively visual or art historical. I have been interested in films lately. Many of the works in my recent show with Peres Projects in Berlin stemmed from film sources. Usually I start with a specific point, like my face in the mirror, an image I see on-line, or maybe a still from a movie.

John Kleckner,, 'Untitled', 2006

AFH: Wasn't one of your images a post-mortem portrait of Kurt Cobain? Why Kurt?

JK: You will have to ask Kurt, "Why?" But, your question, I believe, refers to a portrait drawing I made which depicts a bearded man with a disfigured nose and an expression of worry or desperation. Actually, this is not a portrait of Kurt Cobain or any real person for that matter. Like most of my portrait drawings this is a fictitious face. The details do sometimes come from my own face by working with a mirror. The Cobain reference came through a conversation with my close friend and dealer Javier Peres. Coincidentally (or perhaps not) I began this drawing the week of the 12 year anniversary of Kurt's suicide. During a late night transatlantic phone call Javier and I, both of us being great fans of Nirvana, discussed how the face does not specifically resemble Kurt but the expression somehow conveys a bit of the shock and desperation of that moment in time. I guess it sort of made sense to us knowing the footnote of the suicide anniversary. Nirvana (and dirty-grunge-punk-noise-rock) was a particular passion of mine during high school. I followed that band and their peers with a kind of religious devotion. But, so did millions of teenagers.

AFH: Me too. I miss Kurt. If Cobain was not your inspiration, then what pop culture references are you incorporating in your work?

JK: Movies, mostly bad, obscure horror films. Argento films or zombie films or 'Night of the Living Dead' type of films. I was trying to create a series of images which articulated the connections between mankind and nature, regeneration and decay, death and eternity. Zombies, which are these figures which are not alive but not quite dead, fit these theories exactly. I found all these images of zombies really appropriate for what I am trying to say about the reality of nature on a larger scale. Once you accept what you are looking at, the gore in these films can cease to be grotesque. It transforms into something visceral, formal, even beautiful.

AFH: You mean that the costumes or the monster make-up in these films becomes beautiful if you remove it from its function as something intended to be frightening?

JK: Yes, there is an interesting material quality to the make-up they used. When I draw, I am often trying to achieve various kinds of textures with dots and lines and shading. I see the artistry in the make-up.

John Kleckner, Untitled, 2006
Ink on paper, 3" x 3 1/8"

AFH:I am actually surprised you're taking pulp cinema as an inspiration. Looking at your work, evokes an interesting inverse response to looking at the work of someone like Banks Violette or Slater Bradley where the contemporary references are so obvious they often overshadow the solid art-historical foundation underpinning their aesthetic and conceptual vision. With you, allusions to art history, particularly Durer, pop up so easily that its surprising you‚re also interested in contemporary cultural references like zombie films.

JK: Well, Bruegel, Cranach, and Bosch are important to me. I'm consciously trying to pick up the pen where they left off. We live in an era where, thanks to postmodernism, everything is so equalized and the divisions between high and low culture are so muted, that it is as relevant for me to cite Durer, as to cite 'Night of the Living Dead' or my own dreams or my face in the mirror. The look and the craftsmanship are always rewarding to me. In my own studio, I am a bit of a perfectionist. I have to enjoy that aspect.

AFH: You have to be a perfectionist, don't you? One slip and your drawings are irrevocably altered.

JK: That is true. If the pen leaks then everything has to change. After you reach a point, where you are one month or two months into a particular piece, it can become incredibly stressful. I don't want to fuck it up. Although sometimes there are little slip-ups I assume only I will notice and I just roll with them.

AFH: Why not embrace the accident?

JK: I am trying to do that more. In the more recent stuff I'm definitely trying to contrast very structured components with parts that are freer. Watercolors are very loose, whereas the pen is so tight; I like that juxtaposition. Sometimes, the pen is just too controlled and too strict. It's too on message.

John Kleckner, Untitled, 2006
Ink on paper, 2.5 x 3 inches

AFH: Speaking of, is there a message in your work that you are especially trying to express?

JK: I wouldn't say that there is a message, as much as certain themes and concerns I am trying to address. In my own life, I take environmental issues very seriously. I am a vegetarian. I have a garden. I value nature enormously and consider my connection with nature to be central to whom I am as an artist and as a person.

AFH: Is this connection part of your background or was this something you developed as you became more aware of environmental politics?

JK: I grew up in the Mid-West, in Iowa, and then moved to California. It's not as if Iowa is some sort of natural oasis or anything but in ten minutes I could be on farmland. My grandfather was a farmer and my agrarian roots are personally very important to me. As a child, I always felt a connection to growing things.

AFH: Environmentally conscious art seems to be a very significant issue these days with the Sharjah Biennial 8 using artists and the environment as its theme, artist activist groups like Adventure Ecology and a number of artists producing work using recycled materials.

JK: Yes, it is a hot topic these days.

AFH: Funny. Really though do you think art is an effective activist tool in addressing issues of global significance, like man's misuse of nature.

JK: I think art can be used however you want. But if you really want to achieve some practical changes then there are more efficient ways of doing it.

AFH: Like voting or legislating?

JK: Exactly. Making a painting or an installation allows you to potentially say something meaningful, insightful and inspiring about the environment, but it's debatable whether in a hundred years, any single artist or any single senator will have accomplished more for change.

AFH: Well it is definitely debatable whether ideological or practical changes matter more long-term.

JK: It has reached a point where environmental issues have become so unavoidable, that you can't be a person without having some kind of opinion on the matter. Whether you think global warming is bullshit, or whether you think it is the most important, pressing, concern mankind faces today, you have to take a stance. Even ambivalence is some kind of stance.

AFH: And hedonistic, over-the-top art is also, willing or not, making an environmental statement, since we're aware of the costs we all pay for others‚ self-indulgent, extravagant, expression. Don't you worry though that art is inherently in opposition to ideal environmental practice, since art has no real practical value, its function is always abstract?

JK: Performance art leaves no carbon footprint but otherwise I see your point perfectly. Oil painting is incredibly toxic. It requires heavy metals and solvents, all these highly toxic materials. Those are not good at all, but it is a tiny dot compared to the larger issues a powerful painting can spotlight. My studio is a tiny space and I try to control it in a way. Running a factory is obviously a much bigger polluter but a million artists doing these things and not thinking about them does add up. Really, the only hope an artist can have is that the power of their images will make someone think or act.

John Kleckner, 'Untitled (Corpse Pose)', 2004
Ink and watercolor on paper

AFH: Are you ever tempted to make more overtly political work?

JK: Looking at my work, I don‚t think you can read any particular stance but nature is definitely playing a key role in what I do. I hope my art can make people think of the symbiotic relationship between mankind and the natural world.

AFH: What are your thoughts on the relationship between art and commerce? Did you go to the Armory Fair?

JK: I did and I think all artists should go to an art fair just once. I think it is important for artists to see how the art-marketplace works like the frenzied money environment of a Wall Street trading floor. Artists need to see it. They can't control it and that is why it is important they witness it firsthand. I make work alone in my studio and then Javier takes it away to show it and before I know it, it is in the world and people see it. I wasn't making it for you. I was making it for me. But then it is out there.

AFH: Do you feel it was snatched from you? Are you possessive over the work?

JK: No, I usually feel like everything I've done is not quite perfect and I want to start over and try again which each new one. The old ones are old. By the time my works are finished I have been with them for so long that when I give them to Javier I'm kind of happy to see them go. Sometimes I see works I've made years ago and I feel so disassociated from them that I hardly recognize them. It's strange how artworks take on a life of their own and can become these exceptionally valued commodities.

AFH: That is particularly true for work sold at auction.

JK: Artists need to witness that for themselves. As a young artist, I can't imagine what it would be like to be sold at auction. Maybe, you're making work for yourself but once you let it go then it is a product and it is someone else's commodity. Artists should go to an art fair, take a deep breath and just watch. At least once.

AFH: Do you think it is helpful for artists to listen to the sales pitch given for their work?

JK: That is a whole other thing but, yes, I do. Having a gallery try to represent your ideas means you have to be completely sure you have gallery who understands what you are trying to do and can deal with it. They are the ambassadors of your work and your ideas. Hopefully the art will speak for itself but it is still somewhat dependent on the dealer to sell it. I am really lucky to have Javier Peres as my dealer. Javier and I have a very close relationship and he understands.

John Kleckner, 'Untitled (Man)', 2005
Watercolor, ink on paper

AFH: Javier is really one of the absolute best on every level.

JK: He is amazing. I trust him completely. We spend so much time talking about art, my art, art in general and ideas that I know he really gets what I'm talking about. My work is a slow burn. In some ways it is very different from the other artists' work he shows. Mine is subtle. Javier's personality is so energetic and intense, which creates an interesting context for my work. If it was shown in another gallery, in another context, it would be perceived differently.

AFH: Do you tend to feel an affinity towards artists whose work is aesthetically or conceptually close to yours?

JK: When I first sold a couple of my drawings and had a little extra cash, and you know how artists are always broke and then when they have a little influx of cash, they get all excited thinking that they're rich, well, the first thing I did was buy this tiny Jonathan Pylypchuk drawing. It was like $600.

AFH: That's an awesome choice.

JK: It is hanging in my house. It has two little characters - a little fat character and a skinny one flying over him. The fat guy says. 'oh, I am just pushing through this life' and the guy above him says, 'easy on the depression, fat boy.' Though his stuff couldn't be visually more different than what I do, in terms of materials and themes, I recognize his work as a touchstone for me. His work is so crap-tacular. It's just bits of fur and scraps but it is so charming somehow.

AFH: Do you consider your work morbid?

JK: No, not especially. Morbid is not the first adjective I think of to describe my work. I think there is enough dark humor, irony, and self-awareness to keep it from being literally morbid in a Gothic sense. However, since you asked, I looked up the definition of the word hoping to find out about historical usages and I came across an entry I quite like, "Characterized by preoccupation with unwholesome thoughts or feelings."

AFH: But you are, well, you're kind of the perfect example of a 'great guy'. There is no way anyone could categorize you as morbid, by any definition, though your work might be seen that way.

JK: I've heard anecdotal stories about artists being remarkably like their work or not like it, but what really matters is when the work's reputation proceeds the artist's persona. It should be about the work, that comes first. Ultimately I am making artwork for myself, following my nose to satisfy my own interests.