Up The Arts

Moaning about John Reynolds Again

It’s not fun calling people names. Actually, that’s not true; of course it’s fun – it’s just not very nice, and that’s why I don’t normally do it when sober, but the time has come to call a spade a spade. John Reynolds has become an old art world whore. Lest I open myself up for litigation on grounds of libel, below are some examples of his outrageous whority of a sort not often seen outside the attention-seeking halls of AUT. I’m fairly sure they are all accurate beyond mere rumour and hearsay, but I’m happy to have errors and very egregious slanders pointed out to me for deletion – besides, it’s not defamatory if it’s truth:

• Designing the fabric for Karen Walker’s premeditated rape of the classic Swandri and thus confusing fashion designers into thinking they are artists rather than simply corporate idea factories for mass produced season-disposable rubbish worn by conformists lacking a sense of personal style.
• Taking obscenely large amounts of money from CNZ to make non-specific work intended for sale through his dealers. I’m a rabid cultural leftie (or the pink jumping on the bed variety rather than the red under the bed sort) and even I think that’s a disgusting abuse of taxpayers’ money. Shame!
• The vacuous nullity of those huckery little Warehouse canvasses with words scrawled on them from other people’s books (we await with anticipation Mr Reynolds’ future tribute to Auckland Supercity in the form of names and numbers taken randomly from the Greater Auckland telephone directory and scrawled in temporary whiteboard marker on midget canvasses piled in the form of the Harbour Bridge and Skytower – actually I made that up, but you can see it happening, can’t you).
• Said works being purchased by metropolitan New Zealand art galleries from New Zealand dealers through foreign art fairs – there is something distinctly hincky and funny handshake about that. Of course, that isn’t exclusively Reynolds’ works, but he’s an obvious example. What is going on?
• Designing the stage set for the Court Theatre production of Under Milkwood and then having the cheek to exhibit the rejects (the actors couldn’t actually use them as props) as a small show at the CAG that looked like a suicide bomber had blown up the local Bunnings.
• Gratuitous appearances in Metro and on the late, unlamented Frontseat in that stupid pimp fedora that makes him look like a honky version of Honey Bear from Starsky and Hutch (OK, I admit attacking the hat is a cheap shot, but that sort of silly affectation, like Karl Lagerfeld’s high collars and fans to hide his crepe-iguana old neck and cadaverous face, grates on my soul – yes; I do have one). The Auckland art scene is pathologically unable to tell the difference between talent and ‘celebrity’, whence the rot set in for Reynolds as early as the late 1980s. Yes, yes; look at me! Look at me! An artist’s place is in the studio. Do they still have paintings in the background on Shortland Street?
• The title of his exhibition at the Govett-Brewster: Nomadology [Loitering with Intent] – Hmmm, pretentiously striving after hipness, much? Therein he rifles (quoting from the latest North and South): “philosophy text indexes, Iggy Pop song lyrics [is there another kind of lyric?] and the New Plymouth street directory”. John Reynolds, you are a total fraud.
• And this little gem spotted by the Jimary http://overthenet.blogspot.com/2010/03/cloud-nine.html

Now the question is, is John-Boy just gobsmackingly naive and easily manipulated a la the Colonel and Elvis, or is he a money-grubbing corporate shill of negotiable ethics and poor judgment? I can’t decide and hope it is the former, but stop it at once. And a note to certain curators – he’s not the Messiah; he’s just a very naughty boy.