Garageland reviewer Joe Turnbull pays a visit to Nathan James' exhibition Punchlines at KK Outlet and asks: 'just because the punchline's obvious, does that make it any less hilarious?'
It has been estimated that we are exposed to over 3000
advertisements every day. Small wonder then that our brains develop certain
filtering mechanisms to deal with such a bombardment of images. Nathan
James is all too aware of this, and in Punchlines
he exploits it ruthlessly. On first glance his lush oil paintings Turning on the Water Works, Spring Break
Fo'ever and Picnic Panic depict
the voluptuous, too-perfect curves of a typical airbrushed ad or Hollywood pin-up.
It's only once you take a step back that you realise these seductive figures
are topped with grotesque cartoon faces, often contorted into guffawing poses.
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| Turning on The Water Works (2013) and Hey Girl (2013) |
The immediate response it compels in the viewer is comical; you
almost can't help but laugh. Even on the second look it's hard not to ignore the
faces. This is remarkable
given that facial recognition is hardwired into
human biology. Through these works James reveals the sheer proliferation
and prevalence of the female figure in everything from advertising to music videos
and films. He has almost managed to override a fundamental evolutionary trait
developed over hundreds of thousands of years. The pieces force us to
reflexively consider how, as both individuals and a society, we view the female
form: objectifying and homogenising it all at once.
Whilst babies are seemingly born with the ability to pick
out a human face, by the time they are old enough to take their first steps or
utter their first words, they are already the subjects of aggressive marketing. Hey Girl is an unapologetic indictment
of Disney's attempt to brand our childhoods, depicting what appears to be
Mickey Mouse's gloved hand menacingly resting on a young girl's shoulder. The image hints at a loss of innocence, or to be more precise, the raping
and pillaging of innocence by the creeping tentacles of marketing that slither
into our lives from such a young age.
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| Drugs'll Fix It (2012), Paint What You Know (2012) and Who Needs Friends? (2012) |
Indeed, with its 1950s Americana aesthetic, the show as a whole seems to be a comment on the loss of innocence surrounding the idea of American exceptionalism. The period marked America's ascension to position of global superpower/evil empire, depending on your point of view. James takes aim at the so-called 'soft power' that has ensured American hegemony has persisted into the digital age, from Hollywood to slick marketing, both have proved more effective than any other form of propaganda. The entire exhibition has a warped cartoon-like feel, and once the initial laughs subside the feeling that pervades is disconcerting and sinister.
James still finds room in his American nightmare to pass comment on
more contemporary concerns, with pieces like Paint What You Know and Who
Needs Friends, which are unabashedly juxtaposed. The former features that
same gloved hand painting the words 'I really hope my Facebook friends 'like'
this,' whilst the latter sees it playing videogames with the caption 'You don't
need friends'. It's a bludgeoning critique of the internet age, in which social
networks' marketing departments proclaim we are more interconnected than ever.
And whilst this may be true on one level, people arguably feel more alienated
than ever: our friends are reduced to nothing more than a digital currency; we
become Facebook junkies, itching for the next fix of comments or likes; computer
games represent the ultimate form of escapism from the daily banality that so
many choose to share on their 'walls'.
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| Picnic Panic (2013) (central image only) |
And it's not just American symbols of power and fortune that Punchlines lambasts, James illustrates his bristling disdain for the rich and famous on this side of the Atlantic too. Britain's billionaire poster-boy Richard Branson is depicted, his beaming smile dissolving as if he is melting under the bright light of his own reflected glory. Kate and Wills, the new national treasures, appear as a hideous pair with misshapen features. Berlusconi simply has a cock unceremoniously scrawled across his face. It's teenage toilet humour meets satire.
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| Pretty Boy Pretender (2013) and Carry On (First Class) (2013) |
James's latest exhibition is not a subtle commentary on our image-saturated society, it's a crass, brash, juvenile piss take of it, as glaringly obvious as guessing the punchline from a tortured set up. But it's brilliant. Punchlines reflects the garish and invasive nature of Hollywood blockbusters, or McDonalds' use of Disney toys to sell their fast-food. Whilst the majority of contemporary art output insists that art is at its most gratifying when meaning is concealed and hard to obtain, James proves that it is equally refreshing when an artist has the confidence to slap you around the face. For the hardcore fine art types Punchlines might be like what Hollywood blockbusters often are - a guilty pleasure.
Joe Turnbull
Nathan James, Punchlines is at KK Outlet (London, N1) from 4 October to 2 November.
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