Economia
Chi ha ucciso il posto fisso Laura Marsh, The Nation, Stati Uniti. Foto di Shauna Frischkorn
La diffusione dei lavori precari è cominciata molto prima dell’arrivo della gig economy. È dagli anni settanta che le aziende hanno progressivamente eliminato i contratti a tempo indeterminato per risparmiare sui costi
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os’è successo al posto fisso? Secondo le aziende della gig economy (economia dei lavoretti) avrebbe esaurito la sua utilità. Gli statunitensi, dicono, si sono lasciati alle spalle i controlli inflessibili, gli orari fissi e la rigida cultura aziendale tipici dell’impiego a tempo indeterminato. Giornalisti freelance o tassisti, tecnici, corrieri o addetti alle pulizie: ognuno vuole scegliersi da solo orari e mansioni, “essere il capo di se stesso”, e finalmente le nuove tecnologie lo hanno reso possibile. Ovviamente quest’indipendenza ha più di qualche svantaggio. A differenza dei lavoratori a tempo indeterminato, quelli temporanei non hanno malattie e ferie pagate, e hanno un’occupazione, appunto, a breve termine, cosa che rende difficile fare progetti per il futuro. Per uno specialista che prende ricche parcelle questi sono forse aspetti marginali. Oggi, però, il lavoro autonomo è diffuso a tutti i livelli: il 94 per cento dei posti di lavoro creati negli Stati Uniti negli ultimi dieci anni rientra nella definizione di occupazione “non tradizionale”, e un terzo degli statunitensi svolge ormai un qualche tipo di lavoro a scadenza. Spesso non è una scelta d’indipendenza, visto che il più delle volte la paga è modesta: al netto delle spese, gli autisti di Uber a Detroit guadagnerebbero di più se lavorassero nei supermercati Walmart. E anche mettere insieme un buon numero di ore può essere complicato. Il nuovo libro dello storico dell’econo-
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mia Louis Hyman, Temp: how american work, american business, and the american dream became temporary (A tempo: come il lavoro, l’impresa e il sogno americano sono diventati temporanei), spiega che questo cambiamento nel mondo del lavoro è cominciato molto prima dell’arrivo di Uber o di app per chi offre lavoretti nel quartiere, come TaskRabbit. In una ricostruzione convincente e dettagliata, Hyman ripercorre le tappe di una campagna volta a eliminare il lavoro salariato e a sostituirlo con quello a scadenza. Nel periodo che va dalla nascita delle prime agenzie di lavoro interinale negli anni quaranta al consolidamento del potere della consulenza aziendale negli anni settanta, le imprese statunitensi hanno adottato nuovi princìpi e hanno cominciato a tagliare posti non solo tra le tute blu ma anche tra i piccoli dirigenti e quelli di alto livello. Il graduale smantellamento del posto fisso, sostiene Hyman, non è stato una conseguenza dei progressi tecnologici, ma di un cambiamento organizzativo che ha visto agenzie interinali come la Manpower e aziende di consulenza come la McKinsey
Da sapere
Le foto di queste pagine u Le immagini che accompagnano quest’articolo sono tratte da McWorkers, un’opera della fotografa Shauna Frischkorn dedicata ai lavoratori dei fast food. Le foto sono state scattate tutte a Millersville, negli Stati Uniti, tra il 2014 e il 2018.
spingere le imprese ad assumere e licenziare persone senza preavviso, senza alcuna considerazione per il benessere dei dipendenti o per le conseguenze sociali di queste decisioni. La conclusione di Hyman è che il posto fisso è sempre stato una conquista troppo fragile, legata a doppio filo alla crescita economica in un momento storico unico e quindi destinata a finire nel mirino dei profeti del cambiamento. Ecco perché, dice, non ha senso provare a replicare le relazioni industriali del secondo dopoguerra: le condizioni attuali impongono un tipo diverso e, secondo lui, più “flessibile” di accordo. Eppure la storia raccontata nel suo libro sembra portare a conclusioni opposte: sono le azioni delle persone a decidere qual è il significato del lavoro, quali devono essere le sue garanzie e chi deve beneficiarne. Spesso queste persone sono dirigenti e consulenti che cercano di ridurre la stabilità e la sicurezza dei posti di lavoro, ma sono anche lavoratori che combattono per un’idea più stabile ed equa dell’occupazione.
Kayla, Weis Deli
Dylan, Waffle House
Russ, WizKid
Brittany, Taco Bell
Aeronautica e automobile
Per capire com’è cominciato il declino del posto fisso bisogna partire dai motivi che hanno portato alla sua nascita, negli anni quaranta e cinquanta. L’economia industriale del dopoguerra non implicava buoni stipendi, ma comunque costringeva le aziende a valorizzare la stabilità e la programmazione a lungo termine. In un’epoca in cui la produzione era incentrata sull’aeronautica e sull’automobile, aprire una
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Economia nuova fabbrica richiedeva grandi investimenti, che ci mettevano molto prima di dare frutti. Se nel frattempo la gente comprava inaspettatamente meno automobili o il prezzo dell’acciaio aumentava oppure i lavoratori incrociavano le braccia e scioperavano, quell’azienda rischiava di chiudere. Di conseguenza si privilegiava la prevedibilità: filiere sicure, domanda costante e processi operativi fluidi. Questa stabilità non si trasmetteva automaticamente ai dipendenti, che dovevano combattere per avere la loro fetta di torta. Durante la guerra i lavoratori avevano rinunciato a scioperare, ma quando arrivò la pace i sindacati ripresero le lotte degli anni trenta e nel 1945 diedero vita alla più grande agitazione operaia della storia statunitense. Man mano che i lavoratori si organizzavano, i colossi industriali erano costretti a concedere condizioni migliori, perché “qualsiasi costo della manodopera”, scrive Hyman, “era inferiore a quello sostenuto quando le macchine restavano ferme”. Nel 1950 la United auto workers e la General Motors firmarono il cosiddetto trattato di Detroit, un accordo quinquennale che garantiva ai lavoratori una serie di scatti salariali collegati agli aumenti del costo della vita, oltre all’assicurazione sanitaria, alla creazione di fondi pensione e a una procedura per risolvere le controversie. Per ammissione della stessa General Motors, l’accordo era conveniente anche per la dirigenza, perché assicurava un periodo di calma e costi della manodopera prestabiliti. Negli anni seguenti altre grandi aziende firmarono accordi simili, fissando lo standard postbellico del posto fisso. Non tutti, però, erano entusiasti di questa nuova era. Uno dei primi a criticarla fu Elmer Winter, un avvocato del midwest che nel 1948 fondò l’agenzia di lavoro temporaneo Manpower. Winter riconosceva che
tutti i lavoratori volevano “un buon posto, salute e sicurezza”, ma pensava che fossero cose troppo costose per le aziende statunitensi. Queste avrebbero guadagnato di più affidandosi a lavoratori temporanei, che non avevano diritto a indennità e non si aspettavano scatti salariali. Inoltre, spiegava Winter, i lavoratori temporanei erano più efficienti: non avevano bisogno di formazione né di tempo per ambientarsi, non si facevano distrarre dai pettegolezzi dell’ufficio, e se commettevano un errore bastava sostituirli con altri lavoratori temporanei. Tutto questo rendeva più produttivi anche i dipendenti a tempo indeterminato, che dovevano adeguarsi ai ritmi degli interinali se volevano mantenere il posto.
Competizione costante
Era una visione spietata dell’ambiente di lavoro – una competizione costante tra colleghi – e Winter sapeva che non era facile farla accettare. Non era detto che le aziende si fidassero degli estranei, e ai dipendenti non piaceva l’idea di essere rimpiazzati dai lavoratori temporanei. Ma la Manpower – insieme alle concorrenti Kelly Girl e Olsten – inventò un sistema ingegnoso per aggirare questi timori: non c’era motivo di preoccuparsi di perdere il posto, perché i lavoratori temporanei reclutati erano donne. Le lavoratrici temporanee sostituivano le segretarie durante le ferie o davano una mano quando c’erano dei picchi di lavoro, ma non chiedevano mai di restare a lungo. Facevano solo qualche ora per uscire di casa o per guadagnare qualche dollaro per comprarsi i vestiti, o almeno così dicevano alla Manpower. Le agenzie sfruttavano anche l’aspetto sessuale, istruendo le lavoratrici temporanee a vestirsi o a comportarsi in un certo modo. Se un cliente ri-
Da sapere Più lavoro meno soldi Crescita dei salari negli Stati Uniti, %
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FONTE: THE NEW YORK TIMES
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chiedeva “una segretaria taglia 44 in grado di fare anche da modella”, le agenzie gliela procuravano. L’immagine di seduzione femminile creata dalle agenzie interinali serviva a mascherare la dura realtà del lavoro temporaneo, che diventò più chiara nei decenni successivi. Un’indagine di 9to5, un collettivo di lavoratrici fondato negli anni settanta, rivelò che lo stipendio di una dipendente con contratto a tempo serviva “per il pane quotidiano, non per il superfluo” come facevano credere i datori di lavoro. Le lavoratrici temporanee mantenevano la famiglia, e il loro lavoro era spesso essenziale per l’economia locale. A Boston le impiegate rappresentavano quasi un quinto della forza lavoro ed erano importanti per l’economia della loro città quanto gli operai delle fabbriche di auto a Detroit, osservava 9to5. A differenza degli operai, però, non avevano le tutele di un contratto sindacale. Si sentivano sottopagate, poco rispettate e imbrogliate. La presunta varietà del lavoro temporaneo era una “falsa promessa”, scriveva un’intervistata, paragonando il sistema a una “roulette”. Nel secondo dopoguerra le agenzie di lavoro temporaneo non erano gli unici ostacoli al posto fisso. Hyman dedica una buona parte del libro alle condizioni di lavoro nel settore dell’elettronica, un’industria che non ha mai adottato l’idea postbellica della programmazione aziendale. Le imprese che realizzavano semiconduttori lanciavano sul mercato prodotti e modelli molto più velocemente delle case automobilistiche, e non avevano il tempo di automatizzare i processi produttivi, che cambiavano di continuo. Perciò si affidavano soprattutto a lavoratori immigrati (spesso senza documenti) che assemblavano i prodotti a mano. Non li assumevano direttamente, ma attraverso subfornitori che gli permettevano di negare qualsiasi responsabilità per i bassi standard di sicurezza e le sconcertanti condizioni di lavoro. Hyman descrive la situazione delle operaie che avvitavano con le unghie i componenti nei circuiti stampati. Per queste persone il posto fisso nell’industria del dopoguerra era un miraggio. In seguito questo meccanismo avrebbe coinvolto un numero sempre più grande statunitensi. Hyman osserva che i sindacati e i lavoratori a tempo indeterminato fecero l’errore d’ignorare il dramma dei loro colleghi meno fortunati: “L’esperienza delle persone che sono state escluse dai posti di lavoro buoni nel dopoguerra è diventata la prova generale della situazione della
vare “soddisfazione personale” in quello che dovevano fare, e non avevano aspettative sulla sicurezza del posto di lavoro. Fin dagli inizi la McKinsey adottò una politica darwiniana del tipo “o cresci o sei fuori”: se un associato non veniva promosso nel giro di pochi anni, l’azienda gli chiedeva di andarsene. Negli anni sessanta solo il 17 per cento dei consulenti diventava socio. Per gli altri c’erano comunque buone possibilità di trovare subito un incarico ben pagato altrove.
Appagati e improduttivi
Kean, Subway Sandwich maggior parte delle persone oggi”. Nel nuovo mondo ci sarebbero stati più lavoratori temporanei e meno sicurezza anche per i lavoratori a tempo indeterminato. Se la dinamica economia del dopoguerra creò le condizioni per avere aziende e posti di lavoro stabili, la crisi degli anni settanta contribuì a far crollare tutto. La recessione e la stagnazione misero in difficoltà le grandi aziende che avevano fatto programmi a lungo termine, e tornò l’incertezza. Le imprese cominciarono a dubitare dell’opportunità d’ingrandirsi. Negli anni sessanta quasi tutte le maggiori aziende statunitensi si erano trasformate in gruppi attivi in molti settori. E per qualche anno la loro valutazione in borsa si era impennata, ma negli anni settanta, quando questo modello entrò in crisi, dovettero sbrogliare una matassa ingarbugliata. Per rimettere ordine si affidarono alle società di consulenza, che non si fecero sfuggire l’occasione di ristrutturare grandi organizzazioni secondo gli ideali di flessibilità e agilità. Per questo l’ascesa
della professione di consulente aziendale e le dinamiche interne di società come la McKinsey e il Boston Consulting Group sono elementi centrali del libro di Hyman. Le particolari culture di queste aziende influenzarono le decisioni di chi si era affidato a loro. Soprattutto agli inizi, i vertici delle società di consulenza erano dominati da giovani (maschi) privilegiati, scelti per il curriculum universitario notevole e la mancanza di esperienza. Ma tra i criteri di selezione c’erano anche la classe sociale e alcuni specifici tratti caratteriali: quando doveva assumere un consulente, Marvin Bower, uno dei fondatori della McKinsey, diceva che era importante sapere di aver scelto qualcuno con cui “sarebbe stato felice di andare a caccia di tigri”. Questi consulenti si distinguevano dalla maggior parte dei dipendenti delle aziende del dopoguerra. Lavoravano quasi sempre in autonomia e andavano in giro per le aziende scrivendo relazioni. Erano incoraggiati a “esprimere se stessi” e a tro-
Secondo questa nuova generazione di consulenti, un’azienda doveva essere costruita intorno a lavoratori fatti come loro. Le aziende erano diventate troppo grandi e troppo stabili, erano zavorrate dal costo del lavoro e dagli investimenti a lungo termine e non erano in grado di rispondere rapidamente ai cambiamenti dell’economia; i loro dipendenti erano appagati e improduttivi. “Gli scheletri dei dinosauri nei musei ci ricordano che le grandi dimensioni hanno i loro rischi”, diceva Gilbert Clee, il successore di Bower alla McKinsey. Per sopravvivere alle condizioni economiche degli anni settanta e ottanta, le aziende dovevano diventare più snelle e agili, esternalizzando gran parte dell’attività quotidiana e conservando solo i dipendenti più flessibili. Questi, a loro volta, non avrebbero svolto un lavoro tradizionale, ma sarebbero passati da un progetto all’altro. Mentre in passato i dipendenti formavano la spina dorsale dell’azienda, i nuovi professionisti dovevano “far parte dell’organizzazione solo su base individuale e a seconda dei casi”. Queste idee facevano risparmiare soldi, perché permettevano alle aziende di ridurre l’organico. Ma soprattutto, si ammantavano del prestigio che viene con il pensiero d’avanguardia e la rilevanza culturale. Era facile prendersela con “l’uomo d’organizzazione” e con le grandi burocrazie di cui faceva parte: alcuni intellettuali degli anni cinquanta gli davano la colpa della noia postbellica e la controcultura degli anni sessanta si ribellava contro di lui. I guru del business, al contrario, si presentavano come innovatori che parlavano il linguaggio della “creatività”, sfornando di continuo neologismi ed espressioni gergali. Warren Bennis annunciava per gli anni settanta l’epoca della “rivitalizzazione organizzativa”, mentre Alvin Toffler in Lo choc del futuro prefigurava l’avvento della “adhocrazia”, un sistema senza strutture predefinite, in cui i gruppi di lavoro si scioglievano e si riformavano in base ai bisogni del momento. Internazionale 1284 | 30 novembre 2018
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Economia Queste visioni futuristiche di discontinuità si sposavano alla perfezione con la concezione del lavoro temporaneo di Elmer Winter. La Manpower era partita dicendo che i lavori temporanei non avrebbero mai sostituito i dipendenti a tempo pieno, ma ormai parlava apertamente di “usare lo staff su base adhocratica” e proponeva di “assumere i migliori talenti per un particolare incarico e poi interrompere il rapporto quando il lavoro è completato”. Concorrenti come la Kelly Services proponevano un analogo modello core and ring (nucleo e anello): un nucleo di lavoratori a tempo indeterminato circondato da un gruppo di lavoratori temporanei che andavano e venivano in base all’andamento dell’azienda. Nel giro di dieci anni questo modello sarebbe diventato la norma. Alla ricerca dell’eccellenza, di Thomas Peters e Robert Waterman, è stato uno dei libri di management più influenti dagli anni ottanta, e il suo motto era che nessuna azienda avrebbe dovuto avere più di cento dipendenti nella sede centrale. Walmart voleva una “sede centrale vuota”. Nel 1988 il 90 per cento delle aziende statunitensi usava lavoratori temporanei. Allora nella contea di Santa Clara, il cuore della Silicon valley, c’erano 180 agenzie di lavoro temporaneo. La Hewlett Packard aveva creato un pool interno di lavoratori temporanei chiamato Flex force. I posti di lavoro stabili erano sempre di meno, e chi ne aveva uno spesso doveva andare sempre più forte. Hyman mostra con una chiarezza disarmante quanto l’ideale del posto fisso sia stato svuotato molto prima del ventunesimo secolo. Molto prima che i computer riducessero il lavoro d’ufficio, le aziende avevano già cominciato ad affidare buona parte delle mansioni ai lavoratori temporanei. Quasi tutti erano diventati sostituibili, i computer hanno solo accentuato il fenomeno. Per lo stesso motivo, spiega Hyman, non è stata l’innovazione tecnologica a favorire la rapida ascesa di aziende come Uber. Se dal 2008 molte persone si sono rivolte a queste app per trovare lavoro è soprattutto perché i posti di lavoro di qualità sono sempre più scarsi. L’alternativa a Uber non è un lavoro sindacalizzato ma un altro lavoro precario, come servire ai tavoli o riempire gli scaffali da Walmart. Hyman non è ottimista sulla possibilità di invertire la tendenza. Nel suo libro descrive molti tentativi di resistenza al lavoro temporaneo. Alcuni sono di tipo culturale: per esempio, riviste come Temp Slave! e Processed World, stampate furtivamente di notte usando le fotocopiatrici dell’uffi-
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cio, raccontano il dramma dei lavoratori precari. Spesso, però, questi tentativi di resistenza non sono coordinati bene. In un articolo, per esempio, l’autore racconta di aver deliberatamente fatto degli errori mentre faceva inserimento dati per la General Electric in un tentativo di sabotaggio che probabilmente non ha prodotto effetti. Altri elogiano i lavoratori lenti o i “ladri di tempo”, ma sottolineano che per ottenere anche un modesto cambiamento i lavoratori avrebbero bisogno di istituzioni capaci di negoziare per loro, come i sindacati o i partiti politici.
I lavoratori potrebbero fondare a loro volta piattaforme come Uber Le donne di 9to5 hanno aperto una sezione locale del sindacato Service employees international union (Seiu) e hanno fatto pressione sullo stato del Massachusetts perché migliorasse le normative sul lavoro, purtroppo con scarso successo. Qualche tempo dopo i programmatori della Microsoft hanno fatto causa all’azienda che li trattava formalmente da fornitori esterni anche se di fatto erano dei dipendenti, ma i 97 milioni di dollari ricevuti come indennizzo (meno dello 0,5 per cento dei ricavi annuali della Microsoft) sono stati, secondo Hyman, “un affare” per l’azienda. Più di recente, le associazioni dei tassisti hanno portato Uber in tribunale, mentre alcuni autisti hanno organizzato campagne dal basso per chiedere migliori condizioni di lavoro.
Politiche più ampie
Tutti questi sforzi hanno dei limiti evidenti. Le tutele concepite a metà del novecento, conclude Hyman, sono insufficienti in un’epoca in cui gran parte del lavoro è a carattere temporaneo e precario. I lavoratori della gig economy hanno bisogno di politiche del lavoro più ampie e di nuove forme associative. Hyman non scende nei dettagli, ma sostiene, per esempio, che i lavoratori potrebbero formare cooperative digitali e fondare a loro volta piattaforme come Uber. Il cambiamento dovrebbe passare dal sistema politico, anche se non dice con quali obiettivi. L’aspetto più sorprendente, tuttavia, è che Hyman non crede nei sindacati tradizionali e nella loro capacità di battersi per
una maggiore stabilità dei lavoratori. Sembra un’analisi superficiale in un momento storico in cui negli Stati Uniti i giovani precari stanno ritrovando entusiasmo per il lavoro organizzato e i sindacati stanno facendo grandi progressi anche tra i colletti bianchi. È vero che i sindacati non possono risolvere il problema nel suo complesso, dato che in base alle norme attuali non possono rappresentare i lavoratori a scadenza. Hyman, però, sottovaluta la loro capacità di limitare i danni, per esempio organizzando i lavoratori a tempo indeterminato non rappresentati. Con un tasso di sindacalizzazione che nel settore privato non arriva neanche al 7 per cento, c’è molto da fare su questo fronte. Hyman sottovaluta anche il ruolo dei sindacati nell’educare i lavoratori sulle strategie organizzative e sui temi del lavoro. È fondamentale che gli iscritti ai sindacati, vecchi e nuovi, costruiscano e rafforzino forme di solidarietà con i non iscritti, specialmente con i lavoratori precari. Per esempio aiutando i falsi lavoratori autonomi a essere riconosciuti come dipendenti a tempo pieno o sostenendo i lavoratori temporanei che chiedono un trattamento equo. Campagne per il salario di sussistenza appoggiate dai sindacati hanno già trovato il modo di organizzarsi al di fuori dei canali tradizionali, mentre gruppi come la National domestic workers alliance assistono i singoli lavoratori precari. Probabilmente Hyman è scettico nei confronti dei sindacati perché li considera la controparte diretta delle aziende lente e burocratizzate del dopoguerra, con gli stessi difetti. Gli sfugge però una differenza fondamentale, e cioè che i sindacati si basano sempre sul principio di solidarietà e sul potere di dare voce a istanze collettive. I lavoratori temporanei, i falsi lavoratori autonomi, gli interinali e i sottoccupati di oggi hanno un vantaggio rispetto ai loro predecessori: gli effetti della gig economy permeano la società in modo molto più capillare e visibile rispetto alle riduzioni d’organico e alle esternalizzazioni del passato. Ci sono segnali di disgregazione e d’incertezza ovunque. Oggi possiamo ordinare praticamente qualsiasi cosa – servizi di pulizia, montaggio dei mobili, pasti – spingendo un tasto senza uscire di casa né preoccuparci dell’effetto travolgente prodotto dai vari Uber, TaskRabbit, Seamless e Craiglist. Ma, immersi nelle nostre app sul telefono, siamo sicuri che il nostro posto di lavoro non stia per essere tagliato e postato su Upwork? u fas
Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition Sets Artists to Push Beyond Boundar...
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Its all about the next generation of talent,for which 12 have been shortlisted, as they all strive to push the boundaries of innovation, questioning t Its all about the next generation of talent,for which 12 have been shortlisted, as they all strive to push the boundaries of innovation, questioning the value that we place on ourselves and the world around us. The artworks presented in the 2018 edition of the Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition which has been on from May 18 to end September 30, at the York Art Gallery call into question new modes of communication, offering reSection upon the era of post-truth, where human autonomy can be reduced to calculable, predictable patterns of behaviour as they explore the wider effects of over-consumption, media stimulation and emotional disconnection, The shortlisted artists for 2018 include: David Birkin (USA); Electra Lyhne-Gold (UK); Fabio Lattanzi Antinori (UK); Jiayu
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Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition Sets Artists to Push Beyond Boundar...
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Liu (UK); Jukhee Kwon (Italy); Kenji Ouellet (Germany); Laura Woodward (Australia); Lisa Chang Lee (UK); Noémi Varga (UK); Peter Davis (UK); Reginald Van de Velde (Belgium); Shauna Frischkorn (USA). A key concept in this year’s shortlisted works is technology; Jiayu Liu’s Ocean Wave questions how far digital worlds are encroaching upon organic landscapes. Liu’s work invites audiences to reSect upon our role as human beings and our emotional responses to the planet. Following the same theme is Lisa Chang Lee’s responsive installation Laughter Project which exaggerates and copies audiences’ reactions to reSect upon the overwhelming desire to belong in today’s society. Considering the notion of individuality, Shauna Frischkorn’s McWorkers series measures the accountability of fast-food behemoths on a global scale. Through deeply emotive portraits, Frischkorn calls into question the environmental and societal impacts of the corporations behind the uniforms. Further highlighting the notion of representation, David Birkin’s Profles addresses the way that contemporary conSict is depicted. In collaboration with the NGO Iraq Body Count, the project includes photographic transparencies generated from identifcation numbers, questioning the values placed upon humanity. Running concurrently with the opening of the exhibition was the Future Now Symposium, York St John University), a dynamic two-day event that provided an imaginative platform for attendees to consider the arts ecosystem within a broader social, political and professional context. Holding talent development at its core, the two-day event was a hive of innovation and idea generation. Topics for included The Value of Design; Arts Journalism in the Digital Age; How To Get Ahead as an Emerging Artist; An Examination of Post-Truth; Risk Taking in Curation and Diversity in the Art World.l As the arts exhibition gathers momentum, a range of delegates from the UK’s leading arts organisations are in attendance including Tate, V&A, Frieze, VICE, i-D, It’s Nice That, BALTIC, Open Eye Gallery, PHOTOFAIRS, Royal College of Art and Serpentine.
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NY man with novel coronavirus recently traveled to Miami. Florida just found out Portrait of Kieran, a Subway sandwich worker, by Shauna Frischkorn, is part of the exhibit “The Sweat of Their Face: Portraits of the American Worker, Through the Centuries.”
Maybe there never will be any rest for them. Even in an exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., titled “The Sweat of Their Face: Portraying American Workers,” laborers of every kind — slaves and free people, clockmakers and Subway sandwich workers, sharecroppers and machinists — are frozen in artworks depicting their lives, landscapes and interior worlds. These are not portraits of workers at leisure or with tasks completed; these are portraits of workers at work, with all of the intensity and stress of the labor that powers American industry exposed. But the tension in the exhibit doesn’t issue strictly from the workers’ taxed muscles and worn hands. Americans are ambivalent when it comes to the role of labor and the working classes in society. “The Sweat of Their Face” emphasizes that this has been the case since the country’s founding. The very point of hard work in the United States is often stipulated as escaping the working class, or providing a path to posterity. But one’s own departure doesn’t eliminate the gulf between the extreme classes — nor does it in every case put one entirely at ease with the predisposition of the upper classes toward the lower. And ascension from the lower echelons of the working class to the upper levels of society is hardly guaranteed — it is, in fact, mathematically unlikely. Given all this, Americans are in an odd sort of bind: directed simultaneously to view work as a virtue and the working class as something to transcend, and taught to view this deeply communal activity as radically individualistic.
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The Sweat of Their Face
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Exhibition Review, National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, through September 3, 2018 by Carol Quirke on June 15th, 2018
I came in through the back entrance. It offered a clue to one
Carol Quirke
strength of The Sweat of their Face: Portraying American
Carol Quirke, SUNY Old Westbury, is the author of Eyes on Labor: News Photography and America’s Working Class (Oxford, 2012), and a forthcoming biography on Dorothea Lange.
Workers, an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, Washington, D.C. (through September 3 2018). Greeting me was Ramiro Gomez’s “Woman Cleaning Shower in Beverly Hills (after David Hockney’s Man Taking Shower in Beverly Hills, 1964)”. Gomez’s mother was a janitor; his painting was a meditation on her work, and his work as artist. A woman’s back confronts the viewer. Dressed in drab black and grey,
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her hair is pinned back for the job. She moves the squeegee downward along the shower wall. The cleaner is poised between standing and crouching, a precarious position, akin to her position in the labor market. Her worksite, the hotel room, is alive with color: teal shower tiles, a bubblegum pink carpet, and brightly colored furniture. Her dowdy garb, the pail, and plant are achromatic, as if Gomez establishes two worlds. Gomez’s title referenced Hockney’s male nude who showered. Hockney’s figure enjoys a respite, but Gomez reminds us of who maintains such refuges, underscoring labor’s invisibility. This painting’s backdoor location signals an exhibition conscious of educating visitors about multiple forms of labor, including the care labor and reproductive labor that have often been women and people of color’s domain.
Ramiro Gomez’s “Woman Cleaning Shower in Beverly
Hills (after David Hockney’s Man Taking Shower in Beverly Hills, 1964)”
In contrast, the exhibition’s entry features a paean to virtuous (white and masculine) labor, John Neagle’s monumental portrait of antebellum blacksmith, “Pat Lyon at the Forge.” Lyon commissioned Neagle to paint him “at work at my anvil…with my sleeves rolled up and a leather apron on.” Lyon’s forearm as he grabs his hammer is the canvas’s focal point, and light falls upon the implements of his trade, strewn as if he is in a whirlwind of work. Lyon, however, stands still and proud while appraising the viewer; he is subordinate to no one. In the canvas’s upper left corner lies Philadelphia’s Walnut Street Jail where Lyon had been falsely convicted and imprisoned for debts. Lyon purposefully had himself portrayed as a republican artisan who embraces manual labor, rejecting the owning classes’ status and chicanery. Neagle encapsulated an American ideal of the proud worker, critical to the nation’s democratic project, where work and independence are intertwined and rewarded with full citizenship. As the show’s superb catalog explains, in the canvas, “masculine work was in the service of nation-building.” (9) Lyon’s portrait was unusual as portraiture is traditionally considered a dialogue or navigation between the sitter and the artist. The privilege of sitting belonged to elites who were to be emulated and who could pay the commission. Lyon could be self-made in his social status, and in his representation, but industrial capitalism would soon make such image control financially difficult for most workers, according to the curators.
John Neagle’s, “Pat Lyon at the Forge”
In between the anonymous cleaner and the virile heroic craftsman, The Sweat of Their Face charts a complex portrait of labor from the Revolutionary era through today, across multiple media. The exhibition is packed with familiar images such as Winslow Homer’s agricultural and industrial workers, A.J. Russell’s photograph of the joining of the transcontinental rail
lines, Lewis Hine’s tenacious child laborers, Dorothea Lange’s “Migrant Mother,” Gordon Parks’s Ella Watson, the black Washington D.C. charwoman immortalized in a pose akin to Grant Wood’s “American Gothic,” and J. Howard Miller’s “Rosie the Riveter.” Curators also feature many lesser known gems. The late eighteenth-century watercolor of the enslaved “Miss Breme Jones,” painted by her master, shows a substantial woman delicately rendered; the “occupational” daguerreotype, Marie Boyd, (Holding a Weaving Shuttle) shows a serene woman in a flamboyant print dress, holding the tools of her trade; Francis Hyman Criss’s “Alma Sewing” for the New Deal Federal Arts Project displays an elegant black woman at her machine; the cluttered canvas includes cloth swatches, seamstress form, doll, and the artist’s own reflected self-portrait, a nod to the artist’s allegiance to labor. Edward Weston’s photograph of a cement worker’s glove provides the trace of the laborer who wore it. In Pirkle Jones’s “Grape Picker, Berryessa Valley, California,” the migrant worker holds out the grapes in invitation. His enigmatic expression suggests the costs of harvesting California’s cornucopia. In contrast, Sam Comen’s incandescent “Almond Poling Crew During Harvest Near Lost Hills, Ca. September 16, 2009,” shows a migrant brigade, their poles upright. The laborers stare implacably at the viewer, their poles weapons in a war of class and nation. Dawoud Bey celebrates a New York City barber, and Shauna Frischkorn’s “Sean, Subway Sandwich Artist,” envelopes her fast food worker in a black velvety background, akin to a Flemish painting, while the sandwich artist stares pointedly back at viewers.
Sam Comen, “Almond Poling Crew During Harvest Near Lost Hills, Ca. September 16, 2009”
The exhibition subverts traditional perspectives on the question of who labors. Whose work is rewarded with citizenship, whose work is recognized as building the nation, whose work is even seen? Many images depict care work: servants and mothers who care for their charges, African, Mexican, and Asian Americans who cook, white fast food workers, black seamstresses, black janitors and charwomen. Simultaneously, the exhibition identifies the
ideological work of visual culture. “African American Woman with Two White Children” (ca. 1860) shows a well-dressed black woman. She is self-contained, her hands folded upon one another on her lap. As with most early photography, the sitter’s expression is stern, but the children who lounge against her testify to her care work. This portrait identifies the gender and race-based labor segmentation that has persisted for more than two centuries at this point, with women of color caring for white charges. The photograph also documents multiple forms of coercion. She minds these children as an enslaved woman, but she is also the subject of coerced labor within the ideological frame, as her master casts her within the contours of a family portrait. Many of the works challenge by indicating the erasure of labor. In Winslow Homer’s “Old Mill, The Morning Bell” (1871), delicate New England farm girls head to the factory in a sun-kissed canvas. The scene in is so bucolic, work is hidden, as is the then new waged-labor industrialism.
Winslow Homer’s “Old Mill, The Morning Bell” (1871)
The curators, curator of painting and sculpture Dorothy Moss and historian emeritus David C. Ward, must be applauded for their rich display of labor, but they haven’t quite dislodged the stereotype of an aristocracy of labor that is white and male. The largest grouping in the exhibition show white men engaged in artisanal or industrial labor. In addition to Pat Lyon, we see Timothy O’Sullivan’s photographs of underground miners, Lewis Hine’s agile Empire State Building workers, Ben Shahn’s paintings of carpenters and welders, Norman Rockwell’s “Mine America’s Coal,” and Yousef Karsh’s Hollywood-like steel and autoworkers.
One artistic form, genre painting, or painting of everyday life has long been identified with workers. The neo-Marxist art critic, John Berger, argues in Ways of Seeing that genre paintings were designed to flatter the owner-commissioner by asserting, “that the poor are happy, and that the better-off are a source of hope for the world.” The Sweat of Their Face displays Lilly Martin Spencer’s “The Jolly Washerwoman,” a buxom, smiling maid whose gumexposing grin is intended to engage, even as her arms prop her body up upon the tub. The curators see her as “in command.” Spencer supported her husband and thirteen children though such genre paintings; did not the market contribute to Spencer’s evocation of ebullient labor? Similarly, Thomas Waterman Wood’s portrait of the butler, Charles Wilson Fleetwood, Jr. was commissioned for Fleetwood’s employer, John C. Brune. Fleetwood’s pose is “dignified” according to the curators. Fleetwood’s smile suggests his desire to serve, which may suit the patron and artist more than the subject.
“Kean, Subway Sandwich Artist,” by Shauna Frischkorn
A final observation on The Sweat of their Face is that workers are seen, or a subject of sight. rather than consciously fashioning their own image, as did Pat Lyon. The curators acknowledge this tension in labor’s representation. Women are similarly represented. John Berger argued “Men act; women appear,” in most art. Feminist visual studies scholar Laura Mulvey described a “male gaze,” that empowers the viewer, and disempowers the object of sight. Workers, like women, seem available to our gaze—how many gaze back at us, how many engage with one another, how many join a larger collective whole, or protest their status? Yes, the “Subway Sandwich Artist” connects with a keen stare, Ella Watson reproaches, with her mild, but direct stance, and the antebellum Bowery B’hoy purposefully displays himself. A few engage in a labor so dynamic it seems to break out of the two dimensional frame, such as Theodore Roszaks, “Study of Man Sewing” or Jacob Lawrence’s “Cabinet Maker.” But many of these workers seem quiescent—ennobled, but simultaneously inert. Have artists failed to capture the dynamic consciousness of individual workers or more
importantly, their collective efforts? In choosing genre painting over occupational tintypes or vernacular photography, did curators contribute to a view of workers as essentially passive? It is ironic that workers, certainly not docile, are in too many instances not fully present, even at their own show.
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The technological age continues to facilitate advancements in the capturing, processing and exhibiting of images, with online platforms and photographic filters manipulating the way we encounter aesthetic identity. Shauna Frischkorn contemplates how the conventions of Renaissance portraiture and photography act as a conceptual tool to evaluate the world around us. A: In 2013, “selfie” was named the word of the year by Oxford English Dictionary. How would you define portraiture today and how has technology affected its evolution? SF: Just as portraiture evolves, so too does its definition. Traditionally, the belief has been that a portrait could tell us a great deal about a subject: a window into a person’s inner character could be found through facial expressions. But not so with the now ubiquitous selfie, which has singlehandedly redefined portraiture as we know it. The selfie doesn’t really adhere to that definition. Even though my approach to portraiture is rooted in the traditional, I try to layer my portraits with meaning that go beyond the outward appearance. A: The role of portraiture has evolved overtime, initially captured in paintings. Why did you choose to adopt the conventions of Renaissance portraiture in McWorkers? SF: As I write in my artist statement: “I purposefully create an ironic yet historical dialogue between my subjects and Renaissance portraiture. Historically, the portrait’s role was to immortalise the wealthy. Conversely, my subjects are unable to make a living wage.” Through this irony, I am able to draw attention to the stark contrast between the privileged and the less privileged. The lighting style is also classic and flattering to my subjects, helping them to look dignified even when they are wearing their fast food uniforms. A: How does the McWorkers series comment upon global behemoths like fast food chains and their
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effect on the world around us? SF: The national debate in the US around raising the minimum wage to $15 per hour was the inspiration for the overall project and my hope was to bring more awareness to this issue through my portraits. The workers in my portraits cannot make a living wage, even when working full time, conversely the CEO’s for these fast-food chains make billions of dollars each year. I began concentrating on fast food workers, because they are so relatable – everyone has contact with them. A: What does the series say about identity and capitalism? SF: It is easy to see from the uniforms, that my subjects look pretty similar. The uniforms could basically be interchangeable – black shirt, visor, etc. In turn, these uniforms effectively make these workers interchangeable and invisible to the general public. My hope is to capture the individuality and the humanity of each subject, even though they are all dressed alike. A: How do you think your works comment upon the changing human condition? SF: I think the work comments on the human condition in general, and not so much about how it is changing, maybe more about how things have not changed. There have always been workers who perform labor-intensive jobs and people who profit from these workers. A: Where do you find your inspiration? SF: As a college professor, I work with young people who make minimum wage to help pay their way through college. They are my inspiration. A: McWorkers is shortlisted in the Photography and Digital Art category in this year’s Aesthetica’s Art Prize. How do prizes like this help to advance your career? SF: It is always rewarding to have curators and jurors understand what you are trying to say with your work and to get attention for what you are doing. I am honoured to be a part of this exhibition, especially since it includes all genres – not just photography. I have no doubt that having my work exhibited at such a high profile international exhibition will help promote my reputation as a photographer. A: What other projects do you have lined up this year? SF: I am currently in the exhibition The Sweat of Their Face at the National Portrait Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution. This exhibition puts my work in a broader, historical context as it tells the history of the American worker through portraiture. The Aesthetica Art Prize exhibition runs 18 May to 30 September. For more information, click here. Credits: 1. Shauna Frischkorn from the Mcworkers series.
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Looking In: Portraits and Their Stories, Feb 2018 | Susquehanna Ar...
http://www.susquehannaartmuseum.org/galleries/portraits/
Looking In: Portraits and Their Stories features a curated selection of significant 20th and 21st Century works from regional museums and private collections. The selected portraits express stories of both the artists and their subjects, reflecting movements in modern and contemporary art history. Beginning in the 20th century, wider access to photography made portraiture more available to artists as well as everyday hobbyists. As a result, painters and printmakers were free to explore outside of the boundaries of realism while depicting the human figure. Often these artists sought to express personality and emotion with symbolic distortions, non-realistic colors, and narrative settings. Using those tools, they were more equipped to express and explore the unique identities of their subjects. The thirty-three artists in this exhibition apply their observational skills to represent not only what a person looks like, but who they are as a multifaceted individual. This process is collaborative, creating a single story that includes the likeness of the sitter and the presence of the artist. Artwork in this exhibition is on loan from the Eric and Amy Huck Collection, Reading Public Museum, Samek Art Museum at Bucknell University, The David C. Driskell Center at the University of Maryland, Shauna Frischkorn, Catherine Prescott, Robert Armetta, The State Museum of Pennsylvania/Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, and the Betty Cuningham Gallery. Read Philip Pearlstein’s reflections on fellow artist Chuck Close here.
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somewhere. She is a woman in motion, painted in profile. She does not smile. The contrast between a jovial white washerwoman and a grave African American enslaved woman is one of many in the new exhibition at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery “The Sweat of Their Face: Portraying American Workers.”
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“Miss Breme Jones,” by John Rose, watercolor and ink on paper, 1785–87 (Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum, Williamsburg, Va.)
Like their subjects, the artists of these two portraits are quite different: One, a 19th-century woman who was so successful her husband quit his job as a tailor to manage her artistic career. The other, a plantation owner who painted Miss Breme as a tribute to the woman who raised his children after his wife died. Yet in their time, both artists challenged the norms of classical portraiture through their choice of subject. The challenge to academic portraiture conventions is one unifying theme of the exhibition, which features approximately 75 images of American laborers from the 18th century to the present. The show, five years in creation, kicks off the National Portrait Gallery’s 50thanniversary celebration.
“African American Woman with two white Children,” Unidentified artist, quarter plate ambrotype, 1860 4/15
(Promised gift of Paul Sack to the Sack Photographic Trust for the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art)
“We are very interested right now at the National Portrait Gallery in making absence visible,” Curator Dorothy Moss explains. “Our early collections of 18th- and 19th-century portraiture represent elite subjects who could afford to commission a portrait. The story told through the early collections is not a full history.” Nor is “The Sweat of Their Face” a full history of American labor. Instead, it is a broad look at the history of the portrayal of American laborers. It includes images of household maids, butlers, child laborers, construction workers, newsboys, cooks, seamstresses, custodians, gardeners, migrant workers, and more. Some of the subjects are named; many are not.
“Tommy holding his bootblack kit,” by Jacob Riis, gelatin silver print, ca. 1890 (Museum of the City of New York)
“The idea for the show came from my dissertation research about access to art museums in America in the 19th century and who museums are really for,” Moss explains. “That question of whether our visitors are coming in and finding a connection to their story on our walls is crucial to us. We want to represent as wide a story of American history as possible.” 5/15
This show is part of that project, she says. Though the exhibition works to address what has been missing in the museum’s collections, it has absences of its own. Most notably, enslaved laborers are underrepresented in the show, largely because they were almost never the subject of portraits. “Miss Breme Jones” is a rare exception, in more ways than one.
“Workers on the Empire State Building,” by Lewis Hine, gelatin silver print, ca. 1930. (Museum of Modern Art; Committee on Photography Fund)
John Rose, the white plantation owner who painted—and owned—Breme Jones, inscribed words from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” on the portrait. The verses he chose describe Adam’s adoration of Eve. “It’s a tender portrayal,” Moss says. “But then again, he never did free her,” she adds. Moss and co-curator David C. Ward, senior historian emeritus at the National Portrait Gallery, chose objects for this collection that tell the story of the legacy of slavery.
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“Willie Gee” (1904), a young African American boy memorialized in oil paint by Robert Henri, was the child of enslaved parents. Ella Watson, the subject of Gordon Park’s “Washington, D.C., Government Charwoman (American Gothic)” (1942), was likewise descended from enslaved people.
“Lathe Operator Machining Parts for Transport Planes at the Consolidated Aircraft Corporation Plant, Fort Worth, Texas,” by Howard R. Hollem, digital inkjet print from color transparency, 1942. (Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress)
Such context adds richness and dimension to the images in the show. Consider Dorothea Lange’s iconic photograph “Migrant Mother” (1936) which hangs in the exhibition near J. Howard Miller’s famous “We Can Do It!” poster of Rosie the Riveter. Florence Owens Thompson, the mother in Lange’s photo, never profited from the widespread use of her image. She died in poverty. The tragic irony of this story, and others like it, injects melancholy into a show that is at times jubilant and proud. There is no doubt that the history of American labor is rife with injustice and struggle, and a number of the portrayals in this show bring that hurt to bear.
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“Young Jewess Arriving at Ellis Island,” by Lewis Hine, gelatin silver print, 1905 (Courtesy Alan Klotz Gallery; Photocollect Inc., New York City)
Lewis Hine’s photographs of child laborers are particularly poignant. Hine made these images as documentary evidence of poor working conditions for children. In the context of this show, they are reframed as intimate portrayals of young school-age children 8/15
performing manual labor. The young girls in the portraits blend into the sepia-toned machinery around them—their individuality is at risk of slipping away, bleeding into the factoryscape. Moss likens this precariousness to the “constant risk of disintegration� facing the worker. The desire to retain a sense of self in the midst of difficult circumstances is, to Moss, one of the most striking themes in the exhibition.
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“Nine to Five,” by Josh Kline, 3-D printed sculptures in plaster, ink-jet ink, and cyanoacrylate; janitor cart, LED lights, 2015 (Courtesy of the artist / Photo by Grace Aldridge Foster)
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Some pieces in the show offer bleak commentary on the status of workers, such as Josh Kline’s “Nine to Five” (2015), a 3-D printed sculpture of a custodian’s body parts mingling with his cleaning supplies on a cart. But others convey dignity and defiance, often through a strong, direct gaze. Artist Shauna Frischkorn uses classical Renaissance portraiture techniques to portray Kean, a Subway sandwich artist resplendent in his corporate polo shirt and visor, with seriousness and selfpossession.
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“Kean, Subway Sandwich Artist,” by Shauna Frischkorn, digital C-print, 2014 (Courtesy of the artist)
John Sonsini’s 2011 portrait of a Latino migrant worker, “Roger,” has a similar effect. The subject stands with his hands in his pockets, gazing at the viewer. He appears relaxed, yet resolute. In an image where his parts seem to slip in and out of focus—almost like he could be any one of the group of people he represents—Roger’s eyes anchor his personhood just 12/15
as they grab the viewer’s gaze. Sonsini invites us to interact with the likeness of a person who too often blends into the landscape—and whose Latino heritage is largely underrepresented in portraiture and in museums. The activism in these portraits is reiterated throughout the exhibition. And the exhibition itself is touching viewers in unexpected ways. Moss says numerous visitors have emailed her directly to share images of their grandparents and great-grandparents at work.
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“Roger,” by John Sonsini, oil on canvas, 2011. (Smithsonian American Art Museum)
To offer all visitors a connection to their own story was part of the exhibition’s project from the outset. Yet Moss is still surprised people are making such personal connections.
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“I love the idea of people coming here and finding their history and wanting to share their own images with the Portrait Gallery,” she says. “I feel like we should do something with those images now.”
“Charlie Mah-Gow, First Restaurant Owner in Town, Yellowknife, Canada,” Gordon Parks, gelatin silver print, 1945. (The Gordon Parks Foundation)
“The Sweat of Their Face: Portraying American Workers ” is on view at the National Portrait Gallery through Sept. 3, 2018. Tags: African American, Latino, portraiture
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Art: 'Looking' at portraits in Harrisburg • •
Joseph and Barrie Ann George For The Sentinel Feb 14, 2018
Included in “Looking In: Portraits and Their Stories” is Catherine Prescott, “Reuben, You Have My Ear: Portrait of Reuben Liew Yoon Sing,” 2001. In the world of “selfies” and pervasive social media, is the artist-created portrait still relevant? The Susquehanna Art Museum at The Marty and Tom Philips Family Art Center seeks to answer that query with “Looking In: Portraits and Their Stories.” The exhibition features a curated selection of significant 20th and 21st century works from regional museums and private collections. The selected portraits express stories of both the artists and their subjects, reflecting movements in modern and contemporary art and their relation to the formal concept of the portrait. Prior to the advent of photography, the portrait was predominantly a luxury of wealthy or those whom culture deemed important. Beginning in the 20th century, wider access to photography made portraiture more available to artists, as well as everyday hobbyists. As a result, artists became more apt to explore outside of the boundaries of realism when depicting the human figure. Often they sought to express personality and emotion with symbolism, non-realistic colors and narrative settings. Using those tools, they were more equipped to express and explore the unique identities of their subjects. The 33 artists in this exhibition apply their skills to represent not only what a person looks like, but also who they are as a multifaceted individual, regardless of their station in life. The classic definition of the portrait is represented in the collection by pieces such as Albert Jean Adolphe’s “Self-Portrait,” a beautiful watercolor capturing the artist at work. Even Andy Warhol‘s “Geronimo” and “Marilyn #21” take a Pop Art approach to the classic portraits of “celebrity.” The portrait has been interpreted by major art movements of the 20th century. Drawing on the Abstract movement, portraits such as Alfred Henry Maurer’s “Portrait of a Man,” an oil on board painting, emerged. The distorted shapes in this Expressionist painting create a simple, primitive rendering of a face that appears to be only vaguely human. Charles Alston’s “Untitled (Woman)” is a product of the Harlem Renaissance, capturing a shadowy face of a woman with oil paints, oil pastels and ink. While formal in pose, the resulting portrait is a simplified form using darkened colors to compose the features. The use of symbolism to tell the story of the portrait and its subject can be seen in Salvador Dali’s “Leda Atomica.” In this portrait of his wife, Dali portrays her as a Greek queen, surrounded by a swan and floating eggs in this Surrealistic interpretation of classical myth. Lucien Clergue’s photograph, “Jean Cocteau les Baux,” finds Cocteau on the set of his film, “Testament of Orpheus.” In rugged, exotic surroundings, the French New Wave pioneer walks toward an incongruous white wing, capturing the dream-like essence of his work. Portraits of the everyday person, individuals who make an impression on the artist alone and not as a celebrity are demonstrated by Robert Armetta and Catherine Prescott. Armetta’s “Ted (Job)” is a powerful portrait of his struggling neighbor, Ted. The man’s story creates the painting’s mood, bringing the hardship and misfortunes faced by Ted to this intense portrait.
Catherine Prescott has several large oil paintings of people who also made an impact upon her. Be it their relationship to her or their life stories, “Reuben, You Have My Ear: Portrait of Reuben Liew Yoon Sing,” ”Legacy: Portrait of Val,” “Girl with a Mink Pelt” and “Lois in My Landscape” all tell soulful visual stories of their subjects as important as any socialite or royalty. The recognition of the marginalized and the outsider has a tremendous focus within the exhibition. Drawing from his “Tulsa” series, Larry Clark gives a sympathetic yet unsparing view of the underground drug culture in two black and white photographs, “Dead 1970 (Mann Aiming Gun)” and “Mann and Baby.” In a similar manner, Shauna Frischkorn’s large format chromogenic prints in the series “Game Boys” and “McWorkers” capture the young and socially powerless. In these prints, their faces are larger than life, giving the viewer the opportunity to look into their eyes in an attempt to understand, and in some ways see ourselves. “Jerry” by Scott Lifshutz is a striking oil painting on board, not of the subject’s face but instead of his back. Alluding to a society that has turned its back on the AIDS crisis, Lifshutz makes commentary on this political and public health crisis, as well as captures the dignity of the suffering subject. “Looking In: Portraits and Their Stories” is a comprehensive look at the art of the portrait in its modern form and makes a strong case for its continued relevance through its incorporation of new techniques and perspectives. “Looking In: Portraits and Their Stories” is on display until May 20 in the Main Gallery of the Susquehanna Art Museum at The Marty and Tom Philips Family Art Center, at 1401 N. Third St., Harrisburg. The museum is open from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday to Saturday and noon to 5 p.m. Sunday. General admission is $8; $5 for teachers, seniors and veterans; and free for children younger than 12. Free parking is available at the rear of the building. For additional information on the museum and exhibitions, visit its website at www.SusquehannaArtMuseum.org.
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The share of blue-collar jobs in the United States may have fallen immensely in recent years, but don’t go looking for portrayals of cubicles, suburban office parks, or the modern service industry in the National Portrait Gallery exhibit The Sweat of Their Face: Portraying American Workers. The exhibit of some 75 artworks defines laborers in the most traditional sense, as workers whose sweat pours out due to heat and physical exhaustion. Some of the artworks stretch back 200 years, but the primary focus is on the period from about 1890 to 1960, likely due to both its technological advancements in photography and the long-running attention by artists to the plight of American workers, from the muckraking of Jacob Riis and Lewis Hine to the socially engaged paintings of the Ashcan School and Depression-era artists such as Ben Shahn. Included are a few welcome surprises, like a glorious Winslow Homer painting of a hay baler and a moody, black-and-white photograph of a grape picker by Ansel Adams protégé Pirkle Jones. But one of the most notable images is one of the most recent, a Renaissance-inspired portrait of “Kean, Subway Sandwich Artist,” made in 2014. The exhibition is on view daily 11:30 a.m. to 7 p.m., to Sept. 3, 2018, at the National Portrait Gallery, 8th and F streets NW. Free. (202) 633-8300. npg.si.edu. (Louis Jacobson)
Democracy Dies in Darkness
The American Worker: Exploited from the beginning By Philip Kennicott November 20, 2017 at 12:58 p.m. EST
Once upon a time, there was a promise that man's dominion over the world would lead to shared prosperity and leisure. As we made machines to do our bidding, we would gain time to tend to our families and communities and pursue the improvement of our minds and spirit. That promise never came to pass, and today the mechanization of labor is increasing more rapidly than ever, dragging legions of once middleand working-class people into unemployment and despair. The great promise of technical mastery of the world has led to increasing inequality, and for many, penury and new forms of peonage.
And so we have exhibitions like "The Sweat of Their Face" at the National Portrait Gallery, which looks at how workers have been represented in this country since the early days of the republic. At one end of the spectrum is a dramatic 1829 painting by John Neagle called "Pat Lyon at the Forge." It depicts a ruddy, healthy, well-knit middleaged man standing at a glowing forge with a hammer in his hand, staring straight at the viewer with a look of steely, democratic selfconfidence. At the other end is a Lewis Hine photograph from around 1910, showing small girls at labor on the bare dirt floor of a tobacco barn, stringing leaves together at a crude table that is almost as tall as they are.
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Pat Lyon was a moderately wealthy artisan and entrepreneur who embraced his identity as a worker over any pretensions to upper-class refinement. The young girls in Hine's photograph are anonymous toilers, exploited and miserable. The success of America, as an ideology, is that when we think of work, we tend to think of the dignity of Pat Lyon, not the hundreds of millions for whom work is degrading, dehumanizing and destructive. The exhibition, organized by curators David C. Ward and Dorothy Moss, is more than a history of labor through pictures. It grapples with the difficulty of defining what is a portrait, and with the fact that workers were not often the subject of portraits, especially in the days before photography. And even with the advent of the camera, photographers weren't necessarily using the lens to capture workers with the same dignity, intimacy and personality that one finds in photographs of the bourgeoisie. Rather, photographers and especially photojournalists sought out types, ethnographic evidence and social data. The "worker" didn't exist within the formal understanding of portraiture throughout much of American history. Images of workers abound in paintings, but they aren't always portraits, and they don't necessarily give us much insight into personality or character. Consider the women gathered in a field in the early light of day in Winslow Homer's "Old Mill (The Morning Bell)." Are they merely decorative? Is the buxom, smiling figure in Lilly Martin Spencer's 1851 "The Jolly Washerwoman" a real person or a caricature inserted to enliven a picture dominated by the tools of her trade, the washboard, soapy wooden bucket and metal pails of wet clothes?
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The story of labor in America is mainly one of misery, from the turmoil of industrialization to the vicissitudes of the market economy with its periodic and horrendous crashes and the alignment of state power with the corporate class. The foul synergy of racism, sexism and classism continues still. Propagandists would occasionally attempt to imbue the worker with dignity, and from time to time, America would face a crisis that required it to treat workers with a modicum of humanity. So we have images such as J. Howard Miller's "We Can Do It!" poster made during the Second World War, which glamorizes the wartime factory service of women, who filled in for men who were fighting the Axis powers. And there are images made by progressive artists to assert the inviolable humanity of workers, no matter how exploited and brutalized by the economic forces arrayed against them, including Dawoud Bey's powerful and melancholy images of small shop owners in Harlem made in the 1970s.
But in several images, we also have telltale signs of the true status of the American worker, beguiled by promises of rising prosperity, seduced into the fiction that work is essential to our humanity, traduced by greed and disempowered by the close alliance of politics to commerce. Trash, seen in the foreground, becomes a visual metaphor for the worker as entirely expendable. One sees it in the crumpled paper on the pavement in front of Henry Inman's 1841 "News Boy" and in the oyster shells and discarded newspaper in John George Brown's 1879 "The Longshoremen's Noon." In a haunting photograph by Hine, made around 1910, a small, barefoot girl in an orphanage makes the connection explicit: She is in the foreground, almost tipping into our space outside the image, and she is grimy, vulnerable and forlorn, a social castoff. A quarter century later, Edward Weston photographed a cement worker's glove, cast off, torn and covered in solidified grime. The worker isn't even present. Someone has taken out the trash. It's hard to locate any golden age of the American worker in this exhibition. The early days o f the independent artisan-patriot, seen in Pat Lyon's portrait, were brief, if they ever existed at all. Images of workers during the postwar boom years of the 1950s and 1960s must be seen in the context of those who didn't share in the upper mobility, the migrant farmworkers who put the iceberg lettuce on the Formica tables and the street sweepers and janitors who swept up the McDonald's wrappers and mopped up the ketchup spatters.
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And what of our new age, this precipice on which we stand and wait for automation to displace the teamsters and taxi drivers and waiters and cleaning staff and fry cooks and fast-food workers and bank tellers and all the rest of the last residue of the old blue-collar class? And what of disruption, this idea celebrated by our new oligarchs as essential to progress, but which amounts only to more destruction of community and more disintegration of family life for so many people? In his assembled sculpture, "Nine to Five," artist Josh Kline shows us a janitorial worker printed in 3-D, dismembered and jumbled up with his cleaning brushes and detergents and Lysol bottle, a perfect dystopian image of the future. Sam Comen shows us an army of farmworkers, wooden poles in hand, about to savage the almond trees of California for the last of the harvest. Perhaps someday they will carry more than poles, but in service to what? There are intimations of anger and even rebellion in some of the last images of this exhibition, but anger is merely a force, not an idea, and it is easily co-opted and misdirected and put to purely self-destructive uses.
One wishes for some kind of utopian image to end the show, something that says: It didn't have to be this way. Something that reminds us that the market economy isn't like the weather or gravity, a given of the natural world. It could be tamed and made to serve us all better, so that we might spend less of our life working and more of it fully engaged with our true humanity. But that would be naive and a fool's dream. For as long as it was profitable to structure America like a workhouse, we had work. Now that the possibility of mass leisure is upon us, we have unemployment, opioids and death. The Sweat of Their Face: Portraying American Workers is on view at the National Portrait Gallery through Sept. 3, 2018. For more information visit npg.si.edu.
Philip Kennicott Philip Kennicott is the Pulitzer Prize-winning art and architecture critic of The Washington Post. He has been on staff at The Post since 1999, first as classical music critic, then as culture critic. Follow
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Making the Ordinary Extraordinary David C. Ward
Old Mill (The Morning Bell) / Winslow Homer / Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven / Bequest of Stephen Carlton Clark, B.A. 1903
When we think of portraiture, especially oil painting, we usually think of it as an art form that celebrates individual achievement and success; we think of the great public portraits that laud political and military leaders. Creating a portrait gives a visual gloss to successful and important lives, commemorating the “good and the great” as exemplary lives worthy of emulation. Especially before photography, portraiture had an aura of privilege not least because commissioning a portrait was expensive and the process of making one was time consuming. Portraiture was validation for success in the Western world and grew to prize individual achievement, but it necessarily failed to depict the vast number of men and women who lived and worked in quiet anonymity, invisible to History, undepicted, and uncelebrated. Nonetheless, ordinary people did not completely escape the attention of artists, particularly in the United States. An ideology of democracy meant that ordinary people would be a subject for both writers and visual artists; a democratic culture
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required democratic art. So while portraiture was always (and remains) oriented to the exemplary, exceptional lives, it can also expand its gaze to pick out and make visible the representative lives of working people, farmers, and even the enslaved. Tracing the history of these portraits of the ordinary not only provides a visual commentary on the development of the American economy but also contributes to the history of portraiture itself, as it has become more democratic, more expansive, and more inclusive.
Kean, Subway Sandwich Artist / Shauna Frischkorn / 2014 / Courtesy of the Artist / Š Shauna Frischkorn
The Sweat of their Face: Portraying American Workers is a visual survey of American workers from the late eighteenth century to the present day. The title of the exhibition derives from the Biblical book of Genesis and the expulsion of Adam
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and Eve from the Garden with the injunction that thereafter men and women would have to work for their living. The consequences of the Fall, in secular terms, resulted in both worldly toil and in the possibility of great creativity as human beings set about making the world. This divided legacy, including both terrible exploitation and monumental achievement, is depicted in The Sweat of their Face by both the subjects and artistry of the portraits in the exhibition. Crossing all genres, from grand manner oil painting to photography to installation art, The Sweat of their Face charts the transformation of America from a society of artisans and small producers into an industrial juggernaut of giant factories and corporations. It also reveals the consequences of the late twentieth century’s “deindustrialization” as the old economic centers, the so-called “Rust Belt”—lost their previously pre-eminent positions in the economy. While there have been many documentary histories of American labor and of the American labor movement, The Sweat of their Face is distinctive because it uses the lens of a fine art to survey the changing condition of labor in the United States. The exhibition includes works by such noted artists as John Neal, Winslow Homer, Lewis Hine, Elizabeth Catlett, Dorothea Lange, Gordon Parks, and Shauna Frischkorn, and others who took as their subjects, and made heroic, the ordinary people who made America.
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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WASHINGTON — The idea for “The Sweat of Their Face,” a coming exhibition at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, came from a plumber. When Dorothy Moss, the museum’s curator of painting and sculpture, was researching her graduate dissertation, she found news accounts from 1897 about a plumber who visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a break but was asked to leave because he was wearing overalls. Thinking of the plumber, Ms. Moss became interested in one of the central questions of museums: Whom are they for? “The Sweat of Their Face,” which she curated with the museum’s senior historian, David C. Ward, tries to address that question. Consisting of more than 75 portrayals of American laborers from the 18th century through today, the gallery will open in November as part of the museum’s 50th anniversary celebration. Though the selections were made months before the election, several of the exhibition’s themes are essential to today’s politics: the role of the migrant worker, the lost glory of the coal miner, the devastation of the factory. What better time than now, Ms. Moss said, to think about ordinary life in an artistic sense, and in the nation’s capital. Here are five highlights from the exhibition.
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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A slave is the subject of “Miss Breme Jones,” by John Rose, a plantation owner who was not a professional painter. The portrait is accompanied by a passage from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” — a reference to Adam’s love of his bride. John Rose, Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum
‘Miss Breme Jones’ by John Rose, 1785-1787 Ms. Moss and Mr. Ward wanted to lead the gallery with the most invisible of workers: the slave. In typical portraiture of the 18th and 19th centuries, they were features of the background. They hardly reached the status of a laborer. “Slaves are accessories,” Ms. Moss said of artwork of the time. “They’re on the periphery.” “They’re hidden from history,” Mr. Ward said. John Rose, a South Carolina plantation owner who was not a professional painter, had a reason to subvert that pattern. Breme
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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Jones, a slave, likely helped raise Mr. Rose’s children after the death of his first wife. He made the amateur painting of her as a tribute, with a passage from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” inscribed — a reference to Adam’s love of his bride. Mr. Rose’s work was one of the earliest and most significant breaks from the ways American artists depicted labor, at a time when the most famous portrait subject — George Washington — was often painted in the presence of slaves. “Miss Breme Jones exemplifies the contradiction of slavery — no matter what the ideologues said, you couldn’t deny their humanity,” Mr. Ward said. There was, however, the harsh truth of Mr. Rose’s treatment of Ms. Jones. “However tender the portrait,” Mr. Ward said, “he didn’t free her as a slave.”
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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A young shoe shiner is the subject of “Tommy (Holding His Bootblack Kit)" by Jacob Riis. Child labor is seen throughout the portrait exhibition. Jacob Riis, Museum of the City of New York
‘Tommy (Holding His Bootblack Kit)’ by Jacob Riis, 1890 Child labor is seen throughout the gallery, a reminder of the devastating effects of American industrialization. They are there with tired eyes and ash-streaked faces. “Life was harder in the 19th century,” Mr. Ward said. Jacob Riis, a renowned chronicler of urban life at the turn of the 19th century, took photographs around New York City with his box camera to remind people of the cruelty of postindustrial working conditions. Here, a young shoe shiner appears almost proud, wearing an expression of pleasure in his adult clothing. The alley he posed in, with its stained brick and decrepit windows, was his habitat. Work was everything. “There was no social safety net,” Mr. Ward said. “There was no insurance. If you didn’t have a family that was relatively well off, you could disappear. If you failed, you were dead.” Labor was isolating, forcing the children of the working class to survive on their own, without the order and group orientation that defined the assembly lines and coal mines of the 20th century. “Is there a family?” Mr. Ward said. “A community? Or are they just on the streets?”
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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“Washington, D.C. Government Charwoman (American Gothic),” by Gordon Parks, shows Ella Watson, a cleaner at the Treasury Department. The Gordon Parks Foundation, National Gallery of Art
‘Washington, D.C. Government Charwoman (American Gothic)’ by Gordon Parks, 1942 Gordon Parks, the first black staff photographer for Life magazine, made this one of 85 portraits of Ella Watson, a cleaner at the Treasury Department he tried to capture in moments personal and professional. The portrait is done in the style of “American Gothic,” Grant Wood’s 1930 painting. There is a patriotic quality to it, calling
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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attention to the dignity of looking after the halls of American institutions. The feeling of the portrait is especially acute in a city as statusconscious as Washington, where in the 1940s black laborers would mix with almost exclusively white government staffs. Ms. Moss and Mr. Ward saw the portrait as an opportunity to make a national museum feel local, to encourage visitors to think of those just outside of political Washington. “Washington became this dual-caste city, with workers coming in from Anacostia and across the river to work,” Mr. Ward said. “The charwoman is invisible, but she’s keeping the building going.” Ms. Moss said that the piece could even remind her of the responsibility of her own museum’s employees. “We’re a government museum with custodians, guards, who have more institutional knowledge than any of us,” she said. ‘Mine America’s Coal’ by Norman Rockwell, 1944 No American worker has been romanticized in 2017 as much as the coal miner. President Trump made the miner central to his campaign’s appeal, holding rallies with them while wearing a hard hat. But their elevation did not start during this presidential campaign. The power of that imagery — the coal miner as the avatar for the common, “forgotten” man — endures in Norman Rockwell’s painting, which functioned as a kind of populist propaganda tool during World War II, portraying the miner as the ideal of the
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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proud American worker. “Mine America’s Coal” was made for a poster that was published by the War Manpower Commission, urging Americans to back the country’s energy needs. After the Great Depression, during World War II, the laborer became heroic in American life. “During WWII, there was this suddenness, like, ‘We need these workers,’ ” Mr. Ward said. “He creates this image of the humanity of the worker just because America needs him.” Norman Rockwell’s portraits, Ms. Moss said, are revealing of a time when popularized images of work were part of the fabric of public life — when the coal miner was an example, not a political cliché. “We wanted to make sure that we were balancing fine art with other examples of lowbrow and mass-produced imagery that actually had a great impact on the American public,” she said.
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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“Woman Cleaning Shower in Beverly Hills,” by Ramiro Gomez, demonstrates how a worker can blend into a scene. Ramiro Gomez
‘Woman Cleaning Shower in Beverly Hills’ by Ramiro Gomez, 2013 Ramiro Gomez’s work is one in a series of portraits highlighting the role of undocumented immigrant and migrant workers. Gomez, who is from a working-class family in Los Angeles, demonstrates how the worker can blend into a scene. In this setting, a woman cleans the shower of a wealthy homeowner, part of a job in which she is anonymous, making about $20,000 a year. The piece, styled after David Hockney’s “Man in Shower in Beverly Hills”, 1964, is one of the most political — the most modern — in the gallery. “Gomez blurs the faces to make these people stand in for the whole Latino community,” Ms. Moss said. “It’s an activist message.” Much of the exhibition shows jobs that are distinct and often prideful: barber, gardener, barbecue pit master, cabinetmaker, welder. Here, there is some shame. “Her head is turned away from the audience, with her back bent and her head slightly bowed, stripping her of her individuality,” the museum notes of the cleaner. The exhibition, Ms. Moss says, is “about people who built this 9 of 10
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National Portrait Gallery Exhibition Celebrates Workers
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country who are unnamed.” “The sweat of their faces,” Mr. Ward said, “is the sweat of dignity.”
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