Ah, thanks for the new phrase! And for clearing things up.

I guess the more important point in my response to you was that i think we disagree about the wrangling over the exhibition. Desire for control follows quite easily (in my imagination anyway) if one looks at the “restropective” as a piece of work itself, rather than a showcase to enhance his standing (the carrot he swatted away) or control his legacy. The exhibit is an extension of the artwork, not a separate PR domain.

It is easy for me to imagine, knowing the little about him that i do, that the tweaking of the museum’s administration was a gambit. Ok, a principled gambit (against “Robber Barons”), but basically a way to leverage an offer into an opportunity for work on a large scale. Something about your use of “cliche” and “reflex” did seem slightly dismissive of Conner’s obstreperousness in this situation. I think he was reasoned and insightful. And, perhaps like you, i wished he’d got away with it!

I’m not sure what the last clause means there? “paid to” = “to shame” ? I actually think that there’s quite a large helping of truth to Conner’s reaction to the proposed arrangements. His metaphor seems to have explained the failure of the negotiations concisely and accurately. One wonders if the the same thing would happen today, even after the success of BC 2000.

It seems like Conner’s approach was to treat the Museum like a gallery (intense involvement with exhibition, free admission for the public). It seems like the Museum wanted to be a museum. I think Conner’s position itself (the lines you quoted) contains a valuable, time-honored, not-yet-worn-out critique, not a reflexive defense. How does the museum serve: the artist, the curator, the public? Apparently Conner introduced several destablizing factors, messing the economic model, messing with the preservation protocols. Perhaps the question would be, how has the museum changed, if the critique has been outmoded?

One needs only the slightest familiarity with Conner’s work (and i’m certainly not an authority) to know that its full gamut included films prints, assemblages, actions, performances … and his exhibitions. Isn’t an exhibition, a show, a “work?” — just as much as any individual drawing, performance or action. I think Conner knew there was no upper bound to the Work, and wanted to work on that scale. I wouldn’t chalk it up to wanting to command his “legacy.” I think that’s a misunderstanding of his approach. The sentiment is not unlike that of the surrealists or the situationists, to make life from the perspective of art. (If you wonder about this comparison, consider that Conner, Cornell, and Debord were pioneers of the found footage film.) If you’re lucky enough for Life to include Museum Shows, or if you’re unlucky enough to live in a hypercommodified society, then you create with those means, too. This certainly can lead to or be a cover for “control freak” kinds of behavior, but there’s no denying that for an artist who works in so many media, the museum show was another kind of ‘assemblage’ to him, with unique constraints, challenges and potentials. We can only wish the administration had been more accomodating. There’s no second chance now, so it’s not really an issue for the current curators.

As Tanya wrote, Paul Clipson is to be praised for stepping in to help make those shows of his films (and the surprises) a possibility, and such a great occasion.

One thing to note about his appropriations and the accusation of “hypcritical” is that the films were made of commercial elements (music and picture), not other artists’ personal work. The performance in Cosmic Ray was unique (i’m pretty sure) in being the only piece that used work by another artist without permission. The story i was told was that Conner tried to get the rights to the music. You can imagine the cosmic comedy of Ray Charles sitting in a theater with his record label’s lawyer next to him decribing the film as a shot list, with about the least possible aesthetic understanding of what Conner was doing (celebrating). Needless to say the price was too high.

I’m thankful that local filmmaker (and resident film expert) Paul Clipson collaborated with Conner and Canyon Cinema to bring virtually all of his film shorts to SFMOMA for the two-part Conner Obscura program. After one painfully long-winded audience question, he brilliantly responded, “Yes.” I remember him dressed all in white, watching as his carefully planned surprise of a rare three projection version of Cosmic Ray unfolded. I was struck by his generosity and commitment to remastering and sharing his work on his own terms. There are people who have criticized Conner’s fierce control over his work on the grounds that an artist—known for pioneering the tradition of appropriating found footage as well as cannibalizing his own pieces for source material—was hypocritical in refusing to allow his films to be appropriated by other artists or screened without permission. I couldn’t help but love his dismissal of all the open source hype bandied about.

In the wake of his death, with YouTube bootleg videos circulating throughout the blogosphere, I began to panic over the fact that seeing his films as films in a cinema space (and not transferred to video in the gallery context) would become an increasingly rare experience. Since the Conner Obscura program, his films have been yanked out of circulation for preservation reasons and because of his own perfectionism. Sad that he allegedly began destroying his prints.

Bombhead always seemed to be an apt self-portrait for such a volatile force in art. Silent explosions occurred throughout his oeuvre, from the run in a nylon stocking to the swell of an atomic cloud. He not simply moved between media, he continually abandoned media. He refused to be identified with a single accepted body of work. Much of his best work was in turn born out of abandonment or loss: junk from razed Victorians in the Western Addition or discarded ephemeral films (to borrow Rick Prelinger’s term). The lonely forced labor of his friend Jay Defeo’s one ton painting out of the studio womb in The White Rose stands as one of the most moving portraits of an artist by another artist.

For an artist who grappled with how the art world threatened to limit how his legacy was defined, I find it a fitting tribute that Conner’s Mabuhay Gardens photographs are highlighted at the Berkeley Art Museum now instead of the favored assemblages. The series has sometimes been perceived as a separate strand of photojournalism from fine art proper. They further his important history of collaborating with musicians and share the characteristic energy, framing, and interstitial moments of his shorts. A film like Breakaway (go-go dancing Toni Basil), or De Detroit: UXA, July 10, 1978 (lying on the floor of the stage), reflect his attention to the performing body.

While North Beach will forever flaunt its Beat pedigree, there is little to no evidence walking around that a punk scene ever thrived there. Mabuhay Gardens and Bruce Conner are gone. His defiant spirit is remembered.

Tanya (Zimbardo), assistant curator, Media Arts