FROM DAVE EGGERS to BARRY Mcgee an Ongoing Series of Profiles, Where One Interesting Person Connects Us with Another
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CHAIN LINK PROFILE FROM DAVE EGGERS TO BARRY McGEE An ongoing series of profiles, where one interesting person connects us with another. Author Dave Eggers explains why he chose artist Barry McGee: “I’ve been following Barry’s work since he was a graffiti artist in San Francisco known as Twist. Then his work started appearing in galleries. Then museums. And every step of the way, he got better. With every new platform, every grand new stage he stepped onto, he nailed it, expanding his scope and broadening his range. He is a great draftsman, painter, colorist, and wit.” words chris a. smith photography carlos chavarría 61 CHAIN LINK PROFILE LIFE MIRRORS ART McGee has two studios, one warehouse space in the city and one at home for paper-based art and photos. As he puts it: “I like working so much that I don’t even like finishing. Does that make sense?” Barry McGee has been thinking a lot about I try to absorb it and take on that same spirit, on an old radio in the back. McGee’s work garbage lately. you know?” is everywhere—stuff from previous shows, It’s everywhere in San Francisco, in every It’s a rainy spring day, and I’m standing stuff that’s still percolating, paintings stack- possible permutation. Clothing scattered with McGee on his studio roof. Between ed against the tables and walls, paintings across the sidewalk as if its wearers had just storms, the sun is luminous behind the stacked in the bathroom. been raptured. Or, after the rains, a mattress clouds. McGee directs my attention to the On the floor sits a large work in pro- and a futon counterbalanced against a couch street. His Chevy Astro van is parked down gress, a mosaic of smaller pieces inside one to form a waterlogged ziggurat. Or a red there, stuffed with surfboards and papers, large frame. There are multi-hued, geometric warehouse door, tagged and painted over in but that’s not what he’s focused on. He points designs, some of which recall the visual black and then tagged again—this time in to a few old paint buckets, bright white illusions of optical art (op art), others the white—its surface a running argument over against the creeper vines on the freeway wall. rainbow fractals of a kaleidoscope. There are who, exactly, gets the last word. He likes the composition of the buckets, tries shout-outs to the 1980s graffiti writing crews As McGee sees it, there’s something of to imagine the trajectory that brought them in which he learned his craft: “DFW” (Down the sublime in this stuff. He encounters to their current resting place. for Whatever), rendered in bright, chunky plenty of it on the short commute from his He returns to these ideas frequently. letters. And there are some of McGee’s home to his studio, in the city’s Mission “How did this thing get here?” he asks. “It’s signature portraits, which combine precise District. The studio faces a two-story cement like it landed overnight. Sometimes I think draftsmanship with a slightly cartoonish wall covered with creeper vines. Highway 101 people are just setting it up for me. It’s like style: two views of a guy with burly sideburns, is just beyond. The freeway cuts off this aliens—if there were aliens arranging things, a couple of chins, and tired eyes—Bill section of the neighborhood, giving the place they’re doing it this way.” Clinton as a teamster, as I see it. an end-of-the-line vibe, the quiet broken only For decades now, McGee has been trying A few of the piece’s grids are still empty, by the ambient roar of traffic. It makes for an to translate his finds on the street into art, but McGee says it’s never been closer to irresistible dumping ground. in one way or another. The unseen, the un- completion. “It’s a 10-year commission,” he McGee, a 50-year-old artist and elder wanted, the ugly (at least by conventional says, then reconsiders. “Maybe a 12-year statesman of the graffiti world, takes an standards)—this all interests him greatly. commission.” Later, with a laugh: “Don’t tell anthropological view of the garbage. Let’s And at the moment, that means he’s on the him that it’s still not done.” say a wealthy newcomer moves in down the lookout for junk. By now, he figures he’s At this point, McGee is one of the street and remodels. Soon, the home’s old taken 40,000 photos of random crap, whether best-known artists of his generation. He’s door will appear on the sidewalk and, a few strewn on sidewalks or thrown down ravines exhibited at the Venice Biennale, and his days later, McGee will notice that it’s become or barfed across paint-splattered walls. “You work has shown at prestigious acronymed part of a homeless guy’s shack under the know how you just fill up iPhones with museums from SFMOMA to LACMA to freeway. Eventually, after the cops break up photos?” he asks. “Mine are of trash.” MOCAD. The New Yorker profiled him, and the encampment, he’ll spy a sliver of the old the Times’s style magazine showcased his door on the side of the road. — fashion aesthetic (a “no-frills” vintage-store “I’m interested in how things move McGee’s studio, a low-slung warehouse, is vibe, it decided, which seems accurate). along and have a life like that,” he says, his an amiable visual cacophony. Over the His images, meanwhile, adorn everything voice a whisper crossed with a murmur. doorway, a dozen-plus surfboards rise in a from drinking glasses to bike seats. If you McGee’s speech unspools slowly, full of tight and clearly not earthquake-proof stack skate, surf, or pay attention to “street oracular pauses and hunts for just the right toward the ceiling. More boards—some for culture,” as the marketers call it (McGee word. “All these forces are in effect, moving riding, some painted for his art—are winces at such terms), you’ve definitely seen things around, and there’s care and not-care. distributed liberally throughout the space. his work. His portraits—often men with That’s what I’m trying to get into more. Off to the right are two office-like rooms sad, baggy eyes, like skid-row Droopy I don’t know what that means to my art, but devoted mostly to art books; NPR burbles Dogs—are everywhere. 62 WORKS IN PROGRESS Opposite Panels on the floor of McGee’s studio: a patchwork of geometric patterns, kaleidoscope-type fractals, and his signature portraits. “When I look around here I know where everything’s headed,” he says. “It’s simmering. It’s kinda mapped, but certain things need attention at certain times. I know what’s on the way out. I know what’s coming in.” It all began with graffiti. McGee grew up the antithesis of contemporary art world to reconcile art and mammon. Grants and in South San Francisco, and one of his first slickness. The scene came to be called the gallery sales help keep him afloat just like any brushes with tagging came when he Mission School, after the San Francisco other artist. By virtue of his street cred, was nine or ten years old. On a family trip neighborhood. he can also tap into a network of sponsor- into the city, McGee has said, he saw an Things got big, fast. Huge crowds and ships, collaborations, and corporate one-offs image of a pig painted on a wall, accompanied massive hype, pitches from wanna-be-hip (RVCA, Adidas, Beats by Dre). A little backlash by the slogan “Fuck Cops.” He didn’t really companies, a starring role in a traveling exhi- is probably inevitable. A 2008 collabora- understand the message, but he knew bition with an indoor skate bowl. Fans often tion with Oakley sunglasses, for example, a deliberate provocation when he saw one. stole McGee’s pieces from his shows, which prompted online comments like “guy is a It impressed him. he found funny. Soon, due to both theft and walking contradiction. He has said he hates As McGee got older, the message began graffiti abatement, little of McGee’s work coprate [sic] america and the consumer to make sense. The Reagan era was an insur- remained in the wild. The only remaining nation we have become but he uses graffiti to rectionary time in San Francisco, and McGee pieces in San Francisco, he says, are buried sell adidas and oakley!?” McGee says he feels gravitated toward shit-stirrers of all stripes: deep in the subway tunnels, like a modern- good about most of his decisions, but trade- punks, skaters, surfers, and, of course, day Lascaux. offs come with the territory. “It’s always taggers. He was doing the fine-arts thing, While McGee still occasionally tags someone paying for something.” going to art school, but graffiti spoke to him. abandoned cars or couches bound for the McGee has also attempted to bridge the It was anti-authoritarian, anti-corporate; as dump, it’s been a long time since he mounted divide between the streets (where graffiti is Norman Mailer put it in a seminal 1974 essay a clandestine mission. He’s both too vandalism) and the galleries (where it’s art). on the subculture, graffiti was “the herald of famous and too old for that stuff, and his His methods tend toward the playfully some oncoming apocalypse less and less far continuing association with “youth culture” subversive.