Back to Articles

The Cult of Celebrity
originally published in GASNews, December 2000

           Recently, I was on vacation in the south of Florida, about as far away from the clammy, gray Northwest winters as you can get and still be in the continental United States. I was at a hardware store talking to the clerk, and in the course of conversation it came up that I was a glassblower. “Like that Chihuly guy?”
            I was taken aback.  Usually, it runs more along the lines of “Like they have in the shopping mall/state fair/flea market?” It turns out that Dale’s video is still in heavy rotation on PBS and the name recognition of Tacoma’s favorite son has penetrated to Beltzer’s ACE Hardware of Boca Raton, Florida.  The conversation didn’t go much further than that, but I was impressed by the extent of Dale’s celebrity status.
            In much of the world but perhaps in America to a greater degree, we live in a culture of celebrity, so it should come as no surprise that it infects our small glass subculture.  Perhaps this has always been true, but it seems that as the Studio Glass movement gains momentum, attracts more artists and collectors, establishes more galleries, and publishes literature, we move more and more into the cult of celebrity.  What is that cult?  When the person is celebrated—held to public notice—independently of their work.  When artists are famous for being famous, and who knows if we’ve seen any work from them—much less any new work—for years.  When checklist collecting gives an artist suspect incentive for an endless “series” of dubiously unique work.
            As many of you must be aware, last spring Josiah McIllheny’s work was on display at the prestigious Whitney Biennial.  This is a milestone in that it is the first time, to my knowledge, that an artist who was educated, apprenticed and active in the Studio Glass movement has received this imprimatur of mainstream success.  He has entered the celebrity sweepstakes.  This isn’t to take anything away from Josiah’s real achievement. His artwork is deeply quirky, endearing, and asks sophisticated questions about authenticity, authorship and history. But I’m willing to bet that for the next few years, people will know him as “the guy who got into the Biennial,” with no visual reference to his work.
            This peculiar brand of myopia is in play at invitational shows, where the invited artists are nearly identical to the ones ten years ago.  It’s the phenomenon behind the programs of summer schools that are clogged with name-brand faculty who are either stagnant in their own careers, badly fatigued from too many years of teaching, or both.  This isn’t to say that all of the well-known names from the last thirty years are resting on their laurels. To cite only two examples: Lino Tagliapietra continues his restless search for innovative form and pattern with impressive energy; Steve Weinberg’s new work represents a real departure from the proven, commercially successful sculpture of the past. But there are far too many examples of blue-chip artists whose current work is virtually indistinguishable from their work of the ‘80s. They are a brand name and any development of their work is beside the point.
            I can’t honestly say that celebrity doesn’t affect the programming of our own conferences.  While trying to avoid the worst of these cases, we do book well-known artists with an eye towards the recognition they have received in the past.  (To be fair, they often have something new to show us.)  But we also make a real effort to provide different content by drawing heavily from the local communities for speakers, panelists, and demonstrators, and providing a platform for emerging and unrecognized artists.  So take a look at the G.A.S. 2001 conference program in Corning in the pre-conference brochure coming this month. I think you’ll find some names you haven’t seen before: perhaps the celebrities of tomorrow.

TOP