Arts Magazine, November 1982

The Atomic Salon

Nuclear disarmament has such broad appeal that it’s a little like apple pie and Mom used to be. “The Atomic Salon” generated optimism even in its most pessimistic expressions of doom, because it implicitly acknowledged the possibility for political action. Co-curated by the gallery and Carrie Rickey of the Village Voice, it was one of many events organized to coincide with the recent United Nations special session on nuclear disarmament.

Excerpts from Buckminster Fuller’s book Integrity answer the old saw about the antithetical nature of art and politics, and its position at the beginning of the exhibition was crucial. The Fuller quotations take the reader through a discussion of the universe and of human significance within it, the nature of design (a justification for the existence of God), an analysis of corporate power, the relevance of the ERA amendment and, finally, the significance of individual acts: “The holocaust can be prevented only by individual humans demonstrating uncompromising integrity in all matters, thus qualifying us for continuance in the semidivine designing initiative bestowed upon us in the gift of our mind.” The art was presented in this spirit.

The exhibition included Cibachrome copies of disturbing contemporary drawings by survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, along with written explanations of the events depicted in each image. These were certainly the most moving works in the show, but they related, in their childlike renderings and their inclusion of words, to much of the other art. Interwoven through the exhibit, they were a recurrent motif, a reminder of the devastating seriousness of the issue involved.

Approaches to the subject varied. The title of Joe Lewis’ Bain de Bomb is burned into a piece of rawhide that hangs behind a charred, black figure with limbs who wears a camouflage bikini and sits on a blackboard. “Je suis un artiste noir contre la guerre nucléaire” (I’m a black artist against nuclear war”) is written in chalk on the board. The allusions to skin, blackness and nuclear catastrophe interrelate and have a chilling effect.

Chris Burden’s The Atomic Alphabet presents each letter, its corresponding word (A for Atom, B for Bomb), its translation into Japanese and a suitable pictograph (for example, a hand holding a match for I: Ignite). On an accompanying record, Burden screams his alphabet at the listener.

Erika Rothenberg’s approach is also absurd and humorous. In Pushing The Right Button, she offers viewers the choice between “launch” and “lunch.” In her frequent use of forms from advertising, Rothenberg’s work relates to Barbara Kruger’s black and white photograph of a mushroom cloud with “Your Manias Become Science” written across it.

In Francesc Torres’ A Drawing Called: Atomic Blast Imprint – also known as The End of Curiosity (and/or Manipulation) – a mushroom cloud resembles a monolith, a connection reinforced by penciled words like “megalithic structure” and “Mediterranean Basin.” Placed nearby, Keith Haring’s chalk piece sparked association to hieroglyphics. Both call to mind the chronicling of cataclysms by ancient peoples.

Tim Rollins’ piece included drawings by 20 children from the South Bronx, and Jeff Gordon’s Children Fear Nuclear War is an audiotape done by second-graders. Children don’t find their way into the art world often, but this show was broad in its outlook and concerns. It included a canvas by Philip Guston, a photo documentation of a Paris window installation by Jonathan Borofsky, conceptual art, figurative and neo-expressionist painting, visual/verbal works and videotapes of performance pieces. It was as if, for the occasion, the art world put aside factionalization to unite behind a cause, and the quality of the work reflected on the artists’ belief in it. The challenge is to keep the channels open.