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Art Without Cease, or Desist
At Gaea, Works That Cut a Satirical Path Across Someone Else's
By Jessica Dawson
Special to The Washington Post
That adage about artists being thieves -- it's true. The 20th century ushered in a new era of barefaced visual sampling: Marcel Duchamp slapped a mustache on the "Mona Lisa" and called the piece "L.H.O.O.Q."
How come? Leonardo wasn't around to sue Duchamp, and even the most generous copyright laws don't cover 16th-century Italians. But what if an artist working today swipes images from the living or the copyright-protected corporate icon pool? Stringent intellectual property laws enable some to cry "Thief!"
Allegedly stolen goods are the subject of "Illegal Art: Freedom of Expression in the Corporate Age," an exhibition at the Gaea Foundation's Resource Center for Activism and Arts. (The center was established for "the exploration and expression of often forbidden and suppressed ideas, topics and points of view.") Curated by Carrie McLaren, founder of the corporate and media watchdog magazine Stay Free!, the exhibition is a touring show of recent works that thumb their noses at intellectual property law. Most of the show's artists -- whether their work is video, audio, painting or drawing -- can't help themselves: Corporate iconography and the work of other artists are ripe for comment and satire, and gosh darn it they're gonna use them. What do we get? Painstakingly rendered graphite drawings posing the likes of Barney Rubble and Goofy in macabre scenes; multiple heads of Colonel Sanders taking the circular shape of a mandala; a Warhol-like portrait of Liz Taylor made from $1 bills. The point: Copyrights meant to protect creators are now protecting corporate revenue and inhibiting freedom of expression.
So how come "Illegal Art," which opened here last week and was previously seen in New York and Chicago, hasn't been shut down? Because the work on view isn't unlawful. Most of it falls under the definition of "fair use," which allows the use of copyrighted material as long as you're critiquing, satirizing, reporting or teaching it -- and not making money off its reproduction.
The fact that you could buy one of these works raises some stickier issues, issues that get resolved in court on an "erratic, case-by-case" basis, according to McLaren. A number of artists in this show received "cease and desist" letters. Artist Natalka Husar's reworked Harlequin Romance covers generated a letter from Harlequin Enterprises accusing her of violating the moral rights of the company's authors, writers and editors. Husar calls the allegations cockamamie and vows to fight. Photographer Tom Forsythe, who makes pictures of Barbie dolls stuffed into blenders and cocktail glasses, has been sparring with Mattel ever since the company filed a copyright complaint in 1999. Defended by a pro bono team of ACLU lawyers, Forsythe won in federal court in August 2001. Mattel's appeal is pending.
Not every artist fights. Intimidated by legalese or unwilling or unable to pony up the dollars required to fight the Big Boys -- even when they believed they were in the right -- many have given in to corporate harangues. Says Gigi Sohn, president of the nonprofit advocacy group Public Knowledge: "It's completely about intimidation. And it works 99 percent of the time. When presented with a cease-and-desist order, you're not going to litigate."
Even fighting doesn't guarantee a win, of course. On view in "Illegal Art" is the now-rare album cover from an early case of music industry intimidation: this one between obscure alternative band Negativland and Irish mega-rockers U2. In 1991, Negativland released "U2," a single that not only included a 35-second sample from U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" but also spelled out "U2" in giant letters on its cover. U2's label, Island Records, feared confusion among unsuspecting U2 fans -- "Achtung Baby" was due to be released around that time -- who might mistakenly divert revenue to Negativland. The company sued SST, Negativland's label -- and won. "U2" was pulled off the market and unsold copies were destroyed.
You could say that Negativland was asking for it. It was. As are most of the artists in this show. But their chutzpah and sass are winning. What's not to love about artist Packard Jennings's convincing mock-ups of Pez dispensers for his proposed "PEZ: Fallen Rappers" series memorializing Tupac Shakur, Eazy-E and Biggie Smalls? On a wall nearby hangs correspondence between Jennings, writing under the pseudonym Michael Durham Sculpture, and Pez Candy Inc. Laura Thompson, on behalf of Pez's consumer relations department, politely delivers the bad news: "Unfortunately our audience is geared to 3-to-6-year-olds and therefore your proposal for the 'Fallen Rapper' PEZ series would not fit our criteria."
Text -- mostly in the form of wall labels -- proves critical to this exhibition's impact. When artists employ images as political tools, the back story is often more interesting than the objects themselves. Here, each label details past and pending litigation and intimidation. Bring your reading glasses, but don't despair. The text is mercifully succinct.
An excellent program of "illegal" film and video is shown alongside the exhibition during open hours. The lineup offers a rare opportunity to see the acclaimed 43-minute Todd Haynes film "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story." The 1987 release by the director of "Far From Heaven" and "Velvet Goldmine" was looking for trouble -- and multiple lawsuits: Barbies enact the life and death of anorexic singer Karen Carpenter against a soundtrack of unlicensed Carpenters tunes. The lucky few who saw it -- before the Carpenters' label, A&M, halted distribution -- raved. The rest of us have been waiting. Until now.
Illegal Art: Freedom of Expression in the Corporate Age, at the Resource Center for Activism and Arts, 1611 Connecticut Ave. NW, Wednesday-Sunday noon-2 p.m., 5-7 p.m., 202-299-0460, through June 7.
? 2003 The Washington Post Company
Art Without Cease, or Desist
At Gaea, Works That Cut a Satirical Path Across Someone Else's
By Jessica Dawson
Special to The Washington Post
That adage about artists being thieves -- it's true. The 20th century ushered in a new era of barefaced visual sampling: Marcel Duchamp slapped a mustache on the "Mona Lisa" and called the piece "L.H.O.O.Q."
How come? Leonardo wasn't around to sue Duchamp, and even the most generous copyright laws don't cover 16th-century Italians. But what if an artist working today swipes images from the living or the copyright-protected corporate icon pool? Stringent intellectual property laws enable some to cry "Thief!"
Allegedly stolen goods are the subject of "Illegal Art: Freedom of Expression in the Corporate Age," an exhibition at the Gaea Foundation's Resource Center for Activism and Arts. (The center was established for "the exploration and expression of often forbidden and suppressed ideas, topics and points of view.") Curated by Carrie McLaren, founder of the corporate and media watchdog magazine Stay Free!, the exhibition is a touring show of recent works that thumb their noses at intellectual property law. Most of the show's artists -- whether their work is video, audio, painting or drawing -- can't help themselves: Corporate iconography and the work of other artists are ripe for comment and satire, and gosh darn it they're gonna use them. What do we get? Painstakingly rendered graphite drawings posing the likes of Barney Rubble and Goofy in macabre scenes; multiple heads of Colonel Sanders taking the circular shape of a mandala; a Warhol-like portrait of Liz Taylor made from $1 bills. The point: Copyrights meant to protect creators are now protecting corporate revenue and inhibiting freedom of expression.
So how come "Illegal Art," which opened here last week and was previously seen in New York and Chicago, hasn't been shut down? Because the work on view isn't unlawful. Most of it falls under the definition of "fair use," which allows the use of copyrighted material as long as you're critiquing, satirizing, reporting or teaching it -- and not making money off its reproduction.
The fact that you could buy one of these works raises some stickier issues, issues that get resolved in court on an "erratic, case-by-case" basis, according to McLaren. A number of artists in this show received "cease and desist" letters. Artist Natalka Husar's reworked Harlequin Romance covers generated a letter from Harlequin Enterprises accusing her of violating the moral rights of the company's authors, writers and editors. Husar calls the allegations cockamamie and vows to fight. Photographer Tom Forsythe, who makes pictures of Barbie dolls stuffed into blenders and cocktail glasses, has been sparring with Mattel ever since the company filed a copyright complaint in 1999. Defended by a pro bono team of ACLU lawyers, Forsythe won in federal court in August 2001. Mattel's appeal is pending.
Not every artist fights. Intimidated by legalese or unwilling or unable to pony up the dollars required to fight the Big Boys -- even when they believed they were in the right -- many have given in to corporate harangues. Says Gigi Sohn, president of the nonprofit advocacy group Public Knowledge: "It's completely about intimidation. And it works 99 percent of the time. When presented with a cease-and-desist order, you're not going to litigate."
Even fighting doesn't guarantee a win, of course. On view in "Illegal Art" is the now-rare album cover from an early case of music industry intimidation: this one between obscure alternative band Negativland and Irish mega-rockers U2. In 1991, Negativland released "U2," a single that not only included a 35-second sample from U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" but also spelled out "U2" in giant letters on its cover. U2's label, Island Records, feared confusion among unsuspecting U2 fans -- "Achtung Baby" was due to be released around that time -- who might mistakenly divert revenue to Negativland. The company sued SST, Negativland's label -- and won. "U2" was pulled off the market and unsold copies were destroyed.
You could say that Negativland was asking for it. It was. As are most of the artists in this show. But their chutzpah and sass are winning. What's not to love about artist Packard Jennings's convincing mock-ups of Pez dispensers for his proposed "PEZ: Fallen Rappers" series memorializing Tupac Shakur, Eazy-E and Biggie Smalls? On a wall nearby hangs correspondence between Jennings, writing under the pseudonym Michael Durham Sculpture, and Pez Candy Inc. Laura Thompson, on behalf of Pez's consumer relations department, politely delivers the bad news: "Unfortunately our audience is geared to 3-to-6-year-olds and therefore your proposal for the 'Fallen Rapper' PEZ series would not fit our criteria."
Text -- mostly in the form of wall labels -- proves critical to this exhibition's impact. When artists employ images as political tools, the back story is often more interesting than the objects themselves. Here, each label details past and pending litigation and intimidation. Bring your reading glasses, but don't despair. The text is mercifully succinct.
An excellent program of "illegal" film and video is shown alongside the exhibition during open hours. The lineup offers a rare opportunity to see the acclaimed 43-minute Todd Haynes film "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story." The 1987 release by the director of "Far From Heaven" and "Velvet Goldmine" was looking for trouble -- and multiple lawsuits: Barbies enact the life and death of anorexic singer Karen Carpenter against a soundtrack of unlicensed Carpenters tunes. The lucky few who saw it -- before the Carpenters' label, A&M, halted distribution -- raved. The rest of us have been waiting. Until now.
Illegal Art: Freedom of Expression in the Corporate Age, at the Resource Center for Activism and Arts, 1611 Connecticut Ave. NW, Wednesday-Sunday noon-2 p.m., 5-7 p.m., 202-299-0460, through June 7.
? 2003 The Washington Post Company
