Liz Goldner, Editor

WOODSTOCK 1969 WAS A HUGE PERFORMANCE ART EVENT

August 14, 2009

Maybe you’ve heard enough about Woodstock 1969. But with the event now 40 years old and Ang Lee’s movie, "Taking Woodstock," about to hit the multiplexes, you’ll hear a lot more. www.imb.com

So why am I writing this first newsletter of Contemporary-Art-Dialogue about Woodstock?

The Music Festival may have been the first enormous contemporary art event ever – encompassing performance art, graffiti art, conceptual art, film, installation, body art and a lot more.

It occurred when modern art had been around for 100 years and maybe had worn out its welcome; while contemporary art as a movement and postmodern art as a philosophy, were taking its place. See my page on postmodern art.

Maybe Woodstock 1969 helped nudge modern art along and out a little faster than might otherwise have happened.

ALMOST ACCIDENTAL CONVERGENCE

Woodstock was an almost accidental convergence of young human beings, of intelligent, educated bodies, many of whom had grown up looking at modern art and who were maybe tired of its stylized forms, not to mention the sameness of their "Leave it to Beaver" suburbs and ersatz housewives who populated their TV's, hawking tooth paste, detergents and clean, perfect little houses.

They were ready for something different, less perfect, dirty, muddy, sensual, hazy, loud, and mind-blowing.

Maybe they were mesmerized by the warmth, the love, the incredible music and seeing Jimmy Hendrix set fire to his guitar. And yes, there was wonder and beauty in all of that.

But there was art, too, and emerging art movements that weren’t created by some mastermind PR firm or fat cats in their plush Madison Avenue offices - as too many art movements were created back then - and still are.

DERIVED FROM THE EARTH AND MUD

The emerging art movements at Woodstock 1969 were organic, primitively derived and from the earth and mud. (So was Impressionism, an art movement that was born in part from love of the outdoors and from the hearts and souls of its creators, but was originally disparaged by critics.)

Performance art started in the 60’s in the U.S. (It existed in other forms earlier, but that’s another story.) Performance art was live artistic events, and included poetry readings, musical events and film festivals. These were often called "Happenings.” See my article on The Tell, a huge photo mural that became the location of spontaneous happenings: Photo Mural

Someone dragged me to a happening in New York when I was a kid. It was in an armory, and there was a mixture of society ladies with hats and weird hippies. Andy Warhol was there, pale and wan – like death warmed over. His date was a very tall, very skinny girl/woman carrying a child’s lunchbox for a purse. Oh the performance? I forgot because the people were more interesting.

INTERNATIONAL MOVEMENT

By the late 60’s, the term, performance art was used internationally, and described live events – not theater.

There’s a lot more I could say about performance art and how it applies to Woodstock 1969. And maybe I will in the future.

The music festival also encompassed graffiti art. Also called tagging, it existed in its modern form since the mid 60’s. Think about Jimi Hendrix’s clothes. That was wearable graffiti art. There was also body art -- paint on the flesh, until the rain washed it all off. And tattoo art!

OK, I didn’t go to Woodstock, even though I lived a few hours away. Maybe I was too good. Here is part of my story about Woodstock 1969.

THE BETHESDA FOUNTAIN

1969 was my last summer of ebullient insanity. I was high on endorphins culled from the last gasp of the sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll movement.

Woodstock 1969 was as much a state of mind as an event – and the island of Manhattan was a perpetual festival – a magical place where anything seemed possible.

There were lunches around Central Park’s Bethesda Fountain, when it was difficult to carry on conversations above the beat of drums.

Walks through Washington Square resulted in a dozen friendly conversations with artists, musicians, jugglers and people of all ages.

The Cafés Figaro and Borgia, across from each other at Bleeker and MacDougal Streets, served espresso, made from old fashioned Italian espresso machines, to old beats, young hippies and a variety of hangers on.

FOLK CITY

Gerte’s Folk City, in an old decrepit building in the East Village, presented Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Richie Havens and Leonard Cohen.

But it was all ephemeral, bits and pieces of a larger reality that I wasn’t privy to. The haze I was in gave me courage to wander into places, to create an ersatz reality, a sense of belonging, a sense of place in which to rest my lonely, young soul.

That summer, I wrote: "Give me your tired spirit. You, like the huddled masses yearn to be free. You restless fingers writing, head thinking, heart beating. The gleaming shores of your mind emerge when you create. Your homeless soul, tossed in many seas, finds solace, when your heart gives birth to words."

(Derived from Emma Lazarus’ poem, “The New Colossus,” on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty.)

But the solace, too, was ephemeral. Therapy brought me back to my childhood. But identifying old demons failed to change anything. My mind, my soul were falling into a miasma. A stubbed tow in a parking lot, a missed subway train, a friend looking at me in a funny way could bring tears to my eyes.

CHOKED HIGHWAYS

As the summer came to a close, The Woodstock 1969 Music and Arts Festival was held. I planned to attend, but, like hundreds of thousands of others, I missed the event. By the time I was ready to leave, the radio was blasting dire warnings of choked highways and overcrowded campgrounds that were expected to run out of water and food imminently.

Would Woodstock have saved me? Could it?

Life became more real after 1969. I grew up, worked, got married, had kids, moved across the country three times and got over my miasma. I even came to love life.

Many of the remembrances of Woodstock I’ve been reading glorify that event, refer to it in glowing life-changing terms.

I didn’t go to Woodstock 1969. I had my own version at the Bethesda Fountain. Looking back, it was all about the art, the sculpture of that fountain, the music and especially the performance art that I lived and experienced.

Like I say in the About Page of my website, "Works by these and other artists were so filled with energy, vitality and creativity that they often uplifted my spirits. In time, learning to appreciate modern and contemporary art became my salvation."

Because this is the first installment of this newsletter, it will soon appear on my website in a slightly revised form: www.contemporary-art-dialogue.com in the category called “Newsletter Archives.”