David Ireland

Yesterday Amalia and I went to The Oakland Museum of California. Amalia was mostly interested in the gardens, the natural history section, and the cafe in that order. I was more keen on the art collection and had a mild curiosity to see the David Ireland show. The gardens and natural history section certainly did not disappoint (terraced outdoor space for running around rarely disappoints Amalia), and the cafe was much better than I remember in the past.

As to the main art gallery, it was the usual delights and disappointments: great collection of California art, horrid lighting, a couple of goofy curatorial decisions. Using two incandecent spots on a Richard Diebenkorn Ocean Park canvas is absurd. Fortunately the bay with two magnificent canvases of the Sierra Nevada (one a view of Yosemite Falls by Thomas Hill, the other a spectacular view of King's Canyon by William Keith) are well lit, as it is a rare treat to be able to examine these paintings up close.

One of the great things about the Oakland Museum collection is the work of the Society of Six. For some reason, only a little of it is on display, along with a third rate piece by C.S Price, who was not a member of the Society, even though he was a friend. Displaying this piece does no service to Price, who did much better work.

Similarly, displaying Roland Peterson with David Park, Richard Diebenkorn, and Elmer Bischoff does nothing for his reputation. I hate to say this, as Peterson is intimately connected with the Sacramento area, and we tend to stick together (I am almost able to defend Mel Ramos on this basis, although his technique needs no defense anyway).

What was really fun was seeing the Ireland exhibit. I was expecting to hate it, as Ireland was too closely connected in my mind to conceptual artists (he was one of the first to turn Capp Street into their stronghold). We did a preliminary run-through (partially because I knew that keeping a steady pace would put post-hot dog and post-running around Amalia into nap mode, allowing me to come back for a longer look) and the first thing that struck me was how derivative Ireland is. His etchings are straight out of the Diebenkorn playbook, his early sculptures borrow from SF Funk Art, his paintings struck me with a strong familiar resemblance to Robert Ryman.

These strong resemblances struck me as interesting, given the artspeak babble cards discussing his "pushing the boundary of what is considered art, blah blah blah" (shame on you, Karen, for putting up some of the silliest artbabble of the year. Of course it is January, so Yerba Buena has probably already outdone you, and SFMOMA will soon, surely). There was one piece that legitimately pushed the boundary, and it was the only piece that struck me as silly: a pile of debris of the prior exhibit stacked against the wall, and that almost worked (with a little more work, I think Ireland could have actually pulled it off).

The thing about resemblances is that everyone has them, and the era of confusing a unique voice with a unique genre has played itself out. We no longer expect every artists to reinvent the wheel ("we" being serious artgoers. Curators and fashionable editors, however, still seem to be thinking that each artist must redefine art). In fact there are many great ideas that could use further exploration, and Ireland has done that.

Other than the one silly piece, even his most "conceptual" pieces are really concrete works of art, generally well thought-out, well crafted, and quite interesting. Particularly well done was the room showing his house (a Victorian that he completely redid inside as a living sculpture).

Before really writing about the show, I need to see it again, as there was a lot to think about and digest, but after one good, long look, I have to say that David Ireland has moved up several notches in my book.