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Because Leon Golub's massive canvasses depict scenes most of us would prefer not to see — mercenary killings, torture, death squads — they often raise the eyebrows and blood pressures of surprised viewers. In Golub: Late Works are the Catastrophes, filmmakers Jerry Blumenthal and Gordon Quinn offer not simply a profile of a painter with a political conscience, but an investigation into the power of the artist to reflect our times — and to change the way we think about our world.
"Art has always offended," says Quinn. "Stravinsky offended; people rioted. Golub: Late Works are the Catastrophes is part of that tradition. It's not that all art has to be offensive, but a society in which art cannot offend is a totalitarian society."
The one-hour film juxtaposes scenes of physical violence and political repression around the world, statements by American politicians and others, the responses of viewers to Golub's exhibitions, and an extended sequence capturing the artist at work. In his New York studio, he creates a huge canvas that depicts a brutal act of violence-a reminder, he says, of U.S. subsidized activity in El Salvador.
In developing this work and others, Golub turns to a file drawer full of newspaper and magazine clippings and photographs of various body types, violent acts, weapons, etc. Using these photos as models, he draws the giant scene, applies layer upon layer of paint, and subjects the canvas to a time-consuming scraping process.
"We think of art as recording the acts of a civilization," he notes. "It also tells you a lot about who has power and who is getting the stick. It's a report on how things are today." But Golub didn't always feel this way. His early "existential" art featured vague, isolated figures struggling with the universe. Following his observance of demonstrations in the streets of Paris during the Algerian War in the early 1960's and his involvement in the anti-war movement here at home, his figures began to battle each other. In 1972, they became soldiers with guns, weapons, and wrinkled uniforms. Golub had discovered, he says, the "possibility of...representing in art something that actually happened." In recent years, he has come into prominence with shows at major galleries and was featured in a cover story in ArtForum magazine.
Golub's intentions are reflected in viewers' strong responses to his work. "The image goes into you," says one man, " and it may have an effect on something I do a week or a year from now." Asked whether she thinks paintings like these belong in museums, a woman says, "Well, this is life, this is the way it is now." Another remarks, "They make me feel very ugly."
One young man at a Golub show remarks, "I'm a bit tired of seeing this kind of thing on TV and in the media in general. I've seen this before and I don't really want to look at it." But as filmmakers note, "We don't feel the images of violence we see on TV because they are not placed directly, unavoidably in front of us. When you see Golub's paintings, it's confrontational. You can't escape."
"I want them to feel the pain and the fear and the terror," Golub says. "When you look at these paintings, you see it, you feel it...raw power. And I hope it makes people uncomfortable."
(2004, 80 min.)
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