Kitschy Coup

Ask any art lover and he or she will tell you that kitsch has taken hold of our culture. There are Van Gogh desk calendars, Frida Kahlo coffee tables, Modigliani lamps and vases. And you know what? A lot of this so-called kitsch is available for purchase at exorbitant prices in the "gift shops" of virtually every major metropolitan art museum in the world.

The definition of kitsch is almost as broad and subjective as the definition of art. What is art? Who's to say? One person's art is another person's kitsch, and vice versa.

But kitsch, in the general and commonly used sense, connotes the bastardization of high art. It's quite a snobby concept, implying, at best, art that can be appreciated and understood for its decorative value, or by the the general public (as opposed to the cultured elite)and, at the worst, low-brow representations of "real art"--i.e., "dumbed down" for the masses.

Are kitsch and pop art similar, then? Well, to paraphrase Bill Clinton, it would depend on how one defines "pop art" and, to extend it even further, how one defines both "pop" and "art." Convoluted? Extremely.

The generally accepted difference between even the best kitsch and the worst pop art is the intended effect. Pop art may be ugly, crude, simplistic, insulting, erratic--but it is not created to elicit a predicted response. For instance, Andy Warhol's Campbell's Soup cans. They're in MoMa. They've become iconic. And, now that they're iconic, they're something else. The very reaction that is elicited by the fact that they're now icons of an era has rendered them kitschy in the eyes of some--yet, when they were first created by Warhol, they were "art" as opposed to "kitsch" because they were created for the sake of creating, not to elicit a particular reaction. Even if you believe that the original Warhol creations are art--as most people, even pop-art naysayers, do--you have to admit that the Warhol Campbell's Soup can refrigerator magnets they sell at the MoMa gift shop are...kitsch. If you're confused, join the club.

I have an appreciation for art, but I also appreciate kitsch, as "defined" above. For instance, when I was last at MoMa, I saw an exhibit that actually made me mad. It was a bent, rusty nail hammered into a broken, splintered two-by-four. I don't remember the name of the "artist." It certainly is not kitsch--but it is, in my opinion, garbage. I have several canvas transfers--Botticelli, Van Gogh, Munch, Modigliani, and even Picasso. The fact that they are inexpensive reproductions of "the real thing" makes them kitsch in the eyes of art snobs, I know. But they make me happy. Like my son's drawings of everything from Hulk Hogan to our dog, Mojo.

By the way, I also have an original abstract painting in brilliant colors of a psychedelic Lab who looks just like Mojo--painted by an unknown (and very talented) Brooklyn artist. I can't help touching it every time I pass it in the living room--it clashes with everything, and that's one of the things I love about it. It makes me smile. Sometimes it makes me laugh. Is it art? It is to me.