![As promised, there are several guest review-reviews on the queue. The first comes from Annagrams.
The problem with a lot of art reviews is that the ratio of thoughtful commentary to straightforward description is needlessly low. The reviewer will mention a number of works in the show, but then only say a few words about each one, such that the assessments feel hollow and careless.
This becomes especially frustrating with Karen Rosenberg’s New York Times review of “The Seen and the Hidden: [Dis]covering the Veil,” at the Austrian Cultural Forum in Midtown Manhattan, an exhibition of work concerning the Muslim veil that features artists from the Middle East, Europe, and the U.S. There are so many things one could say about the art, but instead Rosenberg gives us terse variations of ‘I liked this, but not this.’ Anonymous street artist Princess Hijab, known for black-markering veils over women in advertisements, is “hipsterish“—Next! Iranian-born Sara Rahbar’s photographs? “Complex!”—Moving on. The one moment something more elaborate comes through is when she remarks, “Using the veil as a physical object rather than a symbol in short video performances proves to be a winning strategy.” She is referring to Nilbar Gures’ slow unwrapping of layers of scarves over her head in “Undressing/Soyunma” (2006) and a “mesmerizing game of tug of war with a length of billowy fabric” between a man and a woman in Fahreen HaQ’s “Endless Tether” (2005). But even this is an all too brief insight.
Where her brevity becomes a larger problem is in her distinction between Arab and non-Arab artists. She has few bad things to say about the art by Arab women, but she refers to the works by Austrian artists as “[not] tasteful,” and “puerile and preachy.” This would be less bothersome if she explained why these works deserved such descriptions. Instead, we are simply told that Katrina Daschner’s “Cartographies of Sex,” which incorporates burlesque and inspiration from 1940s Egyptian belly dancer Naima Akef, is badly reminiscent of “Bruno” (Get it? Because Daschner’s Austrian?), and Marlene Haring’s hair hijabs, which other reviews have predictably described as Chewbacca-like, “fare only slightly better.” For Rosenberg, “[T]he most compelling art about the veil comes from women who have some personal experience with it.”
So I’m wondering: why is someone like Princess Hijab (who, again, is anonymous) praised for mixing Eastern and Western influences, but Katrina Daschner is seen as lewd and kitschy when appropriating belly dance? I get that it isn’t an equal exchange—that history has problematized the West’s representations of the East—but it seems like Rosenberg is just reinforcing stereotypes of Arab women as demure, and, with this, denying them a degree of sensuality (which is, of course, the complaint so many Westerners have with the hijab). Rosenberg also seems to be assigning an authenticity to the Arab artists, claiming their interpretations of the hijab are somehow more meaningful than those presented by non-Arab artists. Isn’t this missing the point?
There is a lot to explore in these quickly dismissed works by non-Arab artists. Regarding Haring’s hair veils: why no mention of the significance of hair in the wearing of the veil—its ties to female sensuality, and yet, in Haring’s work its connotations of masculinity and monstrosity? What about the differences between covering oneself with cloth and with hair, of the distinction between what is the body and not-the-body?
But even Rosenberg’s praise feels inadequate. She begins the review by noting that she appreciated the extensive use of humor in the exhibition, but the only example she gives of this humor is a selection from Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis. I was excited to learn more about the show’s humorousness, but only got Satrapi, whom I adore, but is already well-known for and glaringly marked by her edgy wit. Don’t we have anything different to say about this woman? I’m sure she must get tired of being ‘that sassy Iranian-born graphic novelist.’
At least Rosenberg recognizes that covering isn’t necessarily synonymous with repression—that vulnerability and agency are about more than what’s covered and what’s not. She ends the review with a complaint that “the show doesn’t distinguish between different kinds of veils in the Muslim world: the head scarf, the chador, and the burka, to name a few.” The comment is a bit ironic in light of Rosenberg’s seemingly monolithic view of Arab artists. She wants a recognition of nuance, but she groups all the Arab artists as the tasteful and authentically knowledgeable ones, and she can’t give us any new insight into Satrapi? I mean, she titled the review “Multi-layered and Multicultural” for goodness sake. Those words are supposed to be provocative and challenging, but when topping this review they become empty formalities, just a pretty draping over her sentences without much thought given to its meaning.](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kpddgdr4So1qzcnpmo1_400.jpg)
As promised, there are several guest review-reviews on the queue. The first comes from Annagrams.
The problem with a lot of art reviews is that the ratio of thoughtful commentary to straightforward description is needlessly low. The reviewer will mention a number of works in the show, but then only say a few words about each one, such that the assessments feel hollow and careless.
This becomes especially frustrating with Karen Rosenberg’s New York Times review of “The Seen and the Hidden: [Dis]covering the Veil,” at the Austrian Cultural Forum in Midtown Manhattan, an exhibition of work concerning the Muslim veil that features artists from the Middle East, Europe, and the U.S. There are so many things one could say about the art, but instead Rosenberg gives us terse variations of ‘I liked this, but not this.’ Anonymous street artist Princess Hijab, known for black-markering veils over women in advertisements, is “hipsterish“—Next! Iranian-born Sara Rahbar’s photographs? “Complex!”—Moving on. The one moment something more elaborate comes through is when she remarks, “Using the veil as a physical object rather than a symbol in short video performances proves to be a winning strategy.” She is referring to Nilbar Gures’ slow unwrapping of layers of scarves over her head in “Undressing/Soyunma” (2006) and a “mesmerizing game of tug of war with a length of billowy fabric” between a man and a woman in Fahreen HaQ’s “Endless Tether” (2005). But even this is an all too brief insight.
Where her brevity becomes a larger problem is in her distinction between Arab and non-Arab artists. She has few bad things to say about the art by Arab women, but she refers to the works by Austrian artists as “[not] tasteful,” and “puerile and preachy.” This would be less bothersome if she explained why these works deserved such descriptions. Instead, we are simply told that Katrina Daschner’s “Cartographies of Sex,” which incorporates burlesque and inspiration from 1940s Egyptian belly dancer Naima Akef, is badly reminiscent of “Bruno” (Get it? Because Daschner’s Austrian?), and Marlene Haring’s hair hijabs, which other reviews have predictably described as Chewbacca-like, “fare only slightly better.” For Rosenberg, “[T]he most compelling art about the veil comes from women who have some personal experience with it.”
So I’m wondering: why is someone like Princess Hijab (who, again, is anonymous) praised for mixing Eastern and Western influences, but Katrina Daschner is seen as lewd and kitschy when appropriating belly dance? I get that it isn’t an equal exchange—that history has problematized the West’s representations of the East—but it seems like Rosenberg is just reinforcing stereotypes of Arab women as demure, and, with this, denying them a degree of sensuality (which is, of course, the complaint so many Westerners have with the hijab). Rosenberg also seems to be assigning an authenticity to the Arab artists, claiming their interpretations of the hijab are somehow more meaningful than those presented by non-Arab artists. Isn’t this missing the point?
There is a lot to explore in these quickly dismissed works by non-Arab artists. Regarding Haring’s hair veils: why no mention of the significance of hair in the wearing of the veil—its ties to female sensuality, and yet, in Haring’s work its connotations of masculinity and monstrosity? What about the differences between covering oneself with cloth and with hair, of the distinction between what is the body and not-the-body?
But even Rosenberg’s praise feels inadequate. She begins the review by noting that she appreciated the extensive use of humor in the exhibition, but the only example she gives of this humor is a selection from Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis. I was excited to learn more about the show’s humorousness, but only got Satrapi, whom I adore, but is already well-known for and glaringly marked by her edgy wit. Don’t we have anything different to say about this woman? I’m sure she must get tired of being ‘that sassy Iranian-born graphic novelist.’
At least Rosenberg recognizes that covering isn’t necessarily synonymous with repression—that vulnerability and agency are about more than what’s covered and what’s not. She ends the review with a complaint that “the show doesn’t distinguish between different kinds of veils in the Muslim world: the head scarf, the chador, and the burka, to name a few.” The comment is a bit ironic in light of Rosenberg’s seemingly monolithic view of Arab artists. She wants a recognition of nuance, but she groups all the Arab artists as the tasteful and authentically knowledgeable ones, and she can’t give us any new insight into Satrapi? I mean, she titled the review “Multi-layered and Multicultural” for goodness sake. Those words are supposed to be provocative and challenging, but when topping this review they become empty formalities, just a pretty draping over her sentences without much thought given to its meaning.
