Mark Flood, Canceled Account, 2014, archival ink on canvas, 203.2 x 177.8 cm, courtesy Peres Projects
Mark Flood, is the American painter whose work and anarchic humour mixed with a disturbing vision of contemporary culture has graced us for the past two decades. His art can be crude and it’s a satirical answer to the effects of consumerism, capitalism and celebrity culture, often through found signs and graphic images. We met the artist during his London show “American Buffet Upgrade” at Helmet Row to talk about getting his art defaced and set on fire, crushing people’s normal reality, and having light as his muse.
Sleek: have you ever said: “Do you know who I am” to someone? Mark Flood no. Back in the day, I wrote a book on etiquette, and I came up with a line that I use to resolve almost any interpersonal problem. That line is: I’ll cut you, bitch.” Nowadays my managers and handlers do the talking if anyone is giving me shit. I believe their standard line is: I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.
Mark Flood, TLDR, 2015, archival ink on canvas, 243.8 x 508 cm, courtesy Peres Projects
Is there a prevailing ideology for you right now?
I defer to Duchamp’s idea that all politicians are idiots, and best ignored. I don’t like art that attempts to influence people’s minds on political/economic issues. I’m interested in art that analyses or short-circuits that sort of propaganda. I live in a Rene Girard world, where everyone is both victim and persecutor. I work in a Julian Jaynes world where texts and certain visual forms convey authority. Mostly I try to inspire the viewer with a visceral shock-and-awe attack that crushes their normal reality, without making any suggestions about what they should do with that crushed reality.
When did you figure it out that you can start cashing in?
When I quit the “real” job in 2006. I wasn’t that successful, and I had no NYC or European gallery. But I thought I could eke out a living selling lace paintings out of my studio. I traded a lace painting to a developer for one year’s rent on this teardown house and I became gainfully unemployed.
How do you know when to stop working on a successful work?
I’ve experimented with overworking and underworking. Nothing really matters. When I was younger, I would develop a piece until it felt like Great Art to me, which meant it reminded me of some artwork I liked. Nowadays I develop the work until it enters unfamiliar territory.
Mark Flood, Coiffure, 2015, acrylic on canvas, 182.9 x 121.9 cm, courtesy Peres Projects
Mark Flood, black light, 2015, archival ink on canvas, courtesy Peres Projects
You once said: “All the people an artist wants to avoid come to his opening. Glommers, creeps, parasites, and wannabes. Inevitably, they say the stupidest, most hurtful things possible. They look around and say: your art reminds me of myself, now you owe me! Of course, no one buys anything at the opening.”
Yes! An artist puts a lot into a show, and it’s inevitable that one has crazy expectations in the back of one’s mind. There’s almost nothing anyone can say at an opening that is an adequate response to the struggle of an artist. “Congratulations!” is the traditional comment, and it’s tolerable, if you can’t say “Here’s a million bucks, you’re a genius!”
The worst comment wasn’t a comment at all; it was people attacking the art. I’ve had people knock my paintings off the wall, tear off collage elements, draw on them with ballpoint pens, pour beer on them and set them on fire. I often had art stolen. One time they substituted a simulacrum with a cryptic note on the back. One time a guy faked a lace painting, dated it 1964 and brought it to show me at an opening, claiming he found it in a thrift store.
Sometimes when I confronted people who were defacing my art, I learned that my art had inspired their behaviour, and they thought I would approve! So I suspect that somehow I was always complicit in making the vandalism things happen.
Mark Flood, The Nature Conservancy, 2015, oil and acrylic on plaster on burlap, 121.9 x 188 cm, Courtesy Peres Projects
Is money your muse?
Light is my muse. And other people’s art… Money is my amuse and my bemuse.
Who is more disgusting: Rich or poor people?
It’s just as interesting and difficult to make terrible art as it is to make good art. It’s the exact same question, only with a negative sign thrown in. It can be so refreshing to try to be truly terrible.
And finally who are some of the upcoming artist you like at the moment?
Art develops best when you ignore it, like some slow-growing black mold in the refrigerator drawer.
Interview by Katja Horvat
Mark Flood’s “Greatest/Hits” will be at The Contemporary Arts Museum (CAMH), Houston, in April 2016
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