What does art stand for? In his famous 1961 statement, “I Am For…”, written as part of the catalogue of the Environments, Situations, Spaces group exhibition at Martha Jackson Gallery, American sculptor Claes Oldenburg delivered a powerful reflection dictating his thoughts on the early days of Pop Art. Known for diverting everyday life objects into large-scale outdoor installations, Claes Oldenburg was at the forefront of a new movement when he presented The Store from 1961 to 1964 in New York, where he created and sold sculptural works evoking commercial products as well as symbols of consumer society. In 1965, Oldenburg orchestrated a series of performance art happenings entitled Washes inside the swimming pool of Al Roon’s Health Club, attended by the likes of Andy Warhol and Elaine Sturtevant.
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I AM FOR…
I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.
I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art given the chance of having a starting point of zero.
I am for an art that embroils itself with everyday crap and still comes out on top.
I am for an art that imitates the human, that is comic if necessary, or violent, or whatever is necessary.
I am for all art that takes its form from the lines of life, that twists and extends impossibly and accumulates and drips and spits, and is sweet and stupid as life itself.
I am for an artist who vanishes, turning up in a white cap painting signs or hallways.
I am for art that comes out of a chimney like a black hair and scatters in the sky.
I am for an art that spills out of an old man’s purse when he is bounced off a passing fender.
I am for the art out of a doggie’s mouth, falling five stories from the roof.
I am for the art that a kid licks, after peeling away the wrapper.
I am for an art that joggles like everyone’s knees, when the bus traverses an excavation.
I am for art that is smoked like a cigarette, smells like a pair of shoes.
I am for art that flaps like a flag, or helps blow noses like a handkerchief.
I am for art that is put on and taken off like pants, which develops holes like socks, which is eaten like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt like a piece of shit.
I am for art covered with bandages. I am for art that limps and rolls and runs and jumps.
I am for art that comes in a can or washes up on the shore.
I am for art that coils and grunts like a wrestler. I am for art that sheds hair.
I am for art you can sit on. I am for art you can pick your nose with or stub your toes on.
I am for art from a pocket, from deep channels of the ear, from the edge of a knife, from the corners of the mouth, stuck in the eye or worn on the wrist.
I am for art under the skirts, and the art of pinching cockroaches.