On The Potential Controversy of a Small Noisy Object Displayed at the Marketplace: Read if Aggravated

I have made a small and awkward object called the Lovehammer. This object is an experiment in nonmathematical physics stemming from the quaint notion that love hits like a hammer; that is, abrupt, hard, devastating, and loud. This initial energy of love leads, one hopes, to a more delicate and complex interaction with another soul.

It is an active device whose artistic or metaphorical meaning is maximized when hammered unreservedly by the participant. The device is such that the more passionately one strikes, the greater number of mechanisms are actuated. Furthermore, certain gadgets only work when struck with surprising vigor. I imagine a successful result as a high society Lady be-deckled in baubles, bangles and beads, smelling of delicate and rare perfume striking the Lovehammer with a generous and passionate fervor absent from any notion of propriety, but joy; an exciting and unguarded release of personal passion. Is this not at least one common romantic idea of love?

Now, this initial strike leads to many consequences in both the machine and in the environment. First, let me describe the mechanical aspects and then on to the more complicated contextual concerns.

The Lovehammer is modeled after the circus-type strong man sledge-hammer machine. A hammer strikes a lever that sends a sled vertically. This sled is the motor of the experience. Human power is the fuel. The first du-flatchy activated represents the community or the maintenance of friendships while in love. This crowd device requires a periodic resetting. The whole Lovehammer works whether or not the crowd mechanism is activated. Of course, the more interesting experience involves the crowd.

The second du-flatchy is surrender to the world of action and emotion. A white flag twitches like a reflex-knee hammered. It is a spastic and pathetic little movement.

The final machine of this strange object is a slowly rotating process of mind connected to the shaking bowels of Sisyphus. Here a ratchet-type mechanism affects the rising and falling of a stone via a system of connected cables and pulleys. Allowing that others will see it differently, it is love represented trough art and time. It is a silly thing.

And now for the potential controversy. If you are reading this, it is likely that you are annoyed at the obnoxious antics of your art neighbor and "this is an art fair not a construction site,” or it is possible that something about the Lovehammer's inactive and boring state left you wanting more. I will address both concerns through my assertions on the nature of art from a person of independent imagination. This is the part where we acknowledge the invention of the train wreck with the invention of the train.
First, I must address the contractual obligations between Linda Warren Gallery and Art Chicago. I am assuming that other participating galleries have signed similar contracts and are aware of their rights not to be disturbed by “unnecessary noises.” It is my understanding that a thing is artful to the extent that it challenges or highlights our sense of place in the world. We cling dear, sometimes unknowingly, to ideas not serving our individual good or the good of the group.

Given the assumption that one of Art’s higher functions is that of cultural experimentation or a shaking of the test tube of our liminal environment, the broader the investigation, the more accurate the result. In other words, art functions in as much as it expands the boundaries of the known. Also, art functions to the extent that it falls into the unknown. It is not the idea that we are trying to find truth, but that we are looking for less falseness. Therefore, what is false is unnecessary to art. Of course, one of the fantastic things about art is its subjectivity which allows for the multitude from one, but it is not my idea to deal with that here. If you are aggravated at the Lovehammer for its noise and because it distracts the audience from seeing your work or your gallery’s work, you are probably wondering what all this philosophizing has to do with you. Regardless of your level of attraction or repulsion to the Lovehammer, you are helping in an experiment to test my hypothesis that the art market is not necessarily good for art. It is an honest and sincere engagement open to discussion.

There are major art fairs every quarter. International galleries pool their collectors and become magnets for spreading the wealth. This is generally a good thing for most parties involved, from blue chip galleries, artists, and collectors, to the multitude of DIY sideshows. Shipping companies, art handlers (usually artists themselves), and local service economies all benefit from the influx of cash money over a weekend of self-medicated art extravaganzas. All the money that changes hands seeps into the art world aquifer and more people can drink. This is no doubt good for the economy, but I’m interested acknowledging the system’s effect, good or bad, on the individual work of art.

The art fair system puts a premium on new work or old work of dead masters made newly available. Thousands of new and valuable works newly displayed every three months. The fair self selects quick art. As an example you need merely look to my perceived need to write this little note to my beloved brotherhood of art-goers. If the fair context does not tolerate a silly little Lovehammer how can it tolerate the grander ideas we might perceive art to hold. And if it does not tolerate the necessary noise of a work of art in action, how can making art for sale at an art market be a worthwhile pursuit?

The experience of art, as it is to be enjoyed over and through the slow ferment of time, as a delicate peeling back of meaning accompanying the changes and challenges of life, as a shared image articulating an individual experience is receding sluggishly away, spanked by our Stentorian guards of the new. This romantic idea of art’s function is laughable at today’s art fair. To this I say if you are not willing to be ethical and idealistic about art, why make it? One would be better served to get a funny colored coat, a couple of cartons of cigarettes, and start trading futures on the floor of the board of trade. Artists, or at least this artist, do not make compelling work every three months, if at all. The art fair system encourages, through the market, art that sells at the market. This is similar to the idea that grade school testing only shows how good a student is at taking tests. The overall effect of this is that the art which is made or encouraged is the art that can sell. What is false is unnecessary to art.

The temperamental and bratty noise of the Lovehammer is the end result of the encouragement of quick art, and this annoying machine that distracts from all that is around it is a result of the individual work of art clamoring for attention and significance in a context in which all that is needed is to stand out, regardless of the depth of meaning. Thus the Lovehammer serves to highlight and understand better the relationship of the art market to what it commodifies. In other words, is the art market necessarily good for art?

One last point, I think the marketplace of ideas is a wonderful place. It is as close to a genuine meritocracy as we are likely to have. I would consider its merits proven should it allow its most dissonant elements into the folds. Therefore, if the smashing joy of the audience and the incessant abysmal noise continually disturbs the collector, gallery owner, artist-in-the stable, or concerned citizen, I would suggest one needs merely to buy the Lovehammer like it was corn futures before our wise leader’s announcement of administration sponsored ethanol investment. Hold on to it, smash it in private and on your own terms, wait for this silly little manifesto to enter the blogoshpere, and then revel in your skyrocketing investment.

With sincerity,

Conrad J. M. Freiburg
From the viewing car of the California Zephyr April 20, 2007