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Edward Ruscha, known as the father of American book art, grew up
in Oklahoma and moved to California where he studied both commercial
typesetting and printing and fine art at Chouinard Art Institute,
now Cal Arts. Ruscha was quickly disenchanted with gestural painting
and, following in the footsteps of artists like Jasper Johns, decided
to explore the world of popular culture in his art-making. Commercial
art, with its careful planning and precision, provided Ruscha with
the means to extend the boundaries of painting by forcing it into
a dialogue with diverse aspects of culture including linguistics.
His images of Standard gas stations and other commercial logos made
him a leader of West Coast pop art in the 1960s. Ruscha was fascinated
with words and did pioneering work using language and mass culture.
In his books, he eschewed the exquisite handmade artists books
of the European tradition and instead mass-produced inexpensive
books of photographs such as Twenty-six Gasoline Stations
(1963) and Some Los Angeles Apartments (1965). In addition
to signs and logos, Ruscha is interested in maps and grids. Recent
works focus on Los Angeles streets and intersections.
Ruscha made prints at all the Tamarind, Gemini and Cirrus workshops
in the late sixties and early seventies. The prints usually consisted
of single words placed in monochromatic or abstract backgrounds.
Letterforms ranged from straightforward typeface to words seemingly
constructed from ribbons to letters apparently made from pools of
liquid. Ruscha utilized foodstuffs and organic materials such as
cherry pie filling, daffodils, chocolate syrup, and axle grease
in the series News, Mews, Brews, Stews
& Dues (1970) in place of traditional printing inks.
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CRITICAL EXCERPTS
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Peter Plagans, Artforum,Summer/00
In Southern California (where, legend has it, young Ed drove
immediately after high-school graduation in 1956 with fellow Oklahoman
Mason Williams--anybody remember "Classical Gas"?), Ruscha
donned a sly faux ennui to mask his intense industriousness. His
pose may have been that of the first slacker artist avant le 7-Eleven,
but his real talent lay in his eye for everyday oddness. In the
60s, he meticulously painted stupid things thought unfit to be the
subject of fine art: simple words writ large, Standard Oil stations,
pills (yielding works with wonderful titles like Painkillers, Tranquilizers,
Olive, 1969), and more words (configured in 'spilled' liquids).
Ruscha became the poster boy for California Pop partly because the
competition--with the exception of his good friend Joe Goode--wasn't
all that formidable. Such painters as G. Ray Kerciu (emblems), Jack
Stuck (bathrooms), Robert O'Dowd (postage stamps), and Phillip Hefferton
(money), while decent artists all, weren't in Ruscha's irony league
or facility class. In fact, Ruscha was so manually deft he was perceived
within the local art world as being part of the "LA Look,"
along with the likes of DeWain Valentine (who cast the abstract
sublime in resin), Billy Al Bengston (who spray-painted motorcycle
iconography on crinkled metal panels), and Larry Bell (who levitated
mirrored boxes onto Plexiglas plinths).
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Vivien Raynor,
New York Times, 7/16/82
As the critic Dave Hickey says in his catalogue introduction,
Mr. Ruscha likes to remint words which, having been passed from
hand to hand like a buffalo nickel, have been rubbed smooth of meaning.
He does this not just through the very act of painting or drawing
them but by casting them in a typeface that either adds resonance
to their meaning - the graphic designer's stock in trade - or else
utterly contradicts it. The words, news, mews, pews, brews,
stews and dues that the artist screen printed in 1970, using
food instead of ink (it was his organic period), are in a ye olde
Gothic face redolent of the London where they were done. 'Dues,' by
the way, is not the clinker it seems if pronounced 'dews,' as it is
in England.
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