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PIERCED

BY DOGMA PATRICK DUEGAW

ULRICH MUSEUM OF ART APRIL 22 THROUGH AUGUST 6, 2017

This exhibition and its associated programs are made possible by major sponsorship from Emprise Bank.

Additional generous support provided by the Gridley Family Foundation, Sondra M. Langel and Richard D. Smith, Dr. John and Nancy Brammer, Alan and Sharon Fearey, Sonia Greteman and Chris Brunner, Dee and Mike Michaelis, Lee and Ron Starkel, Patricia Gorham and Jeff Kennedy, George and Eleanor Lucas, and Dan Rouser.

FRONT AND BACK COVER: Pierced by Dogma (or)

The Misguided Sword Swallower (detail), 2014.

Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with steel hardware, 108 x 90 inches. Collection of the artist LEFT: Of Flying Solo (or) The Optimistic Trapeze Artist (detail), 2016. Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas; painted wood frame, 103½ x 90Ÿ inches. Collection of the artist

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INTRODUCTION

At a time when we are collectively experiencing political, social, economic, and environmental

Bob Workman

instability, the theme of Patrick Duegaw’s exhibition Pierced by Dogma seems to be particularly

Director,

prescient. A meditation on anxiety, his art appears as an appropriate response to the tenor of

Ulrich Museum of Art

this moment. The current state of volatility can be identified as the cause of wide-spread feelings of angst that are shared by many, and this exhibition touches upon various forms of unease and malcontent that can be said to presently abound. However, what is unique about this installation is the way in which the artist, through his series of highly expressive and strikingly rendered paintings, reflects this sense of anguish back to us as viewers. Using his image as a template, Duegaw presents us with a grouping of portraits that are at once macabre, and highly personal as an extended study on the pitfalls of self-prescribed torment and prolonged emotional self-flagellation.

We at the Ulrich Museum of Art are excited to present this ambitious body of work by Duegaw, an artist who, both through his individual efforts and as a founding member of the Fisch Haus Collective, has contributed much to the arts ecology of our community and the region. We are also deeply pleased that this catalogue features an essay from the Wichita Art Museum’s former curator Dr. Lisa Volpe. Her thoughtful and rigorous piece, which contextualizes Pierced by Dogma within the trajectory of art history and the idiosyncrasies of Duegaw’s practice, opens up multiple venues through which we can engage with and contemplate this artist’s work and vision.

Wichita is fortunate to be home to a strong philanthropic arts community at the public, corporate and individual levels. This exhibition, publication and associated programs are made possible by major sponsorship from Emprise Bank. We are also extremely grateful to those Wichita arts patrons who are financially supporting our project with generous contributions; the Gridley Family Foundation, Sondra M. Langel and Richard D. Smith, Dr. John and Nancy Brammer, Alan and Sharon Fearey, Sonia Greteman and Chris Brunner, Dee and Mike Michaelis, Lee and Ron Starkel, Patricia Gorham and Jeff Kennedy, George and Eleanor Lucas, and Dan Rouser. Important additional support is provided by the City of Wichita and Wichita State University.

The arts in this community are impactful due to the women and men who believe that the arts matter. We at the Ulrich believe Today’s Art Matters. Thank you for sharing this belief.

The Shameful Calling (or) My Reluctant Monster, on Display (detail), 1997. Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas, paper; wood frame with gold leaf, 103½ x 89½ inches. Collection of the artist

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The Earnest Truth-Teller (or) A Taxonomy of Anxieties Lisa Volpe

Artist Patrick Duegaw is seated at a crowded table. The cold glass of beer in front of him sits temporarily forgotten as he tells a story. Duegaw, who wears a plain black shirt, is hunched over, his shoulders pulled up to his ears, with an exaggerated frown elongating his face, and two fingers of his right hand stiffly held in front of his mouth to mimic the posture of a smoker. He eyes each person at the table in turn, pulling them deeper into his story. “No, no, no. It’s no good,” he spits in a convincing faux accent, taking another drag from his imaginary cigarette. In a blink, Duegaw’s posture relaxes and he straightens signaling that he’s no longer playing the role of his architecture professor. He narrates, “Then, I watch as burning ash from his cigarette falls onto my architectural plans—the plans that took me days—and sets them on fire.” He continues, “So I’m slapping at it, putting out the fire, but it’s burnt a hole in my work. The plans are completely ruined.”

Then, the professor returns; Duegaw assumes the hunched posture and sour expression and drones in a bored way, “It was shit anyway.”

Duegaw is a natural storyteller. At times, his stories are disarming in their specificity, relating details that seem simultaneously particular and quotidian. The tales are drawn from his own fascinating life—his previous architectural career, days building an artist cooperative in an abandoned warehouse, the fascinating people he has met, and the odd places he’s travelled. Like his storytelling, Duegaw’s artwork offers his audience an opportunity to reflect on common threads—those worries or experiences we share, though they are often grounded in different environments or contexts. Artists, as John Updike noted, offer up themselves as “specimen lives”—examples of what its like to be human, so A Swim in Open Water (or) The Large Marine Mammal Act (detail), 1998–2014.

Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas; painted wood frame. 92¼ x 106 inches.

Collection of the artist

that we can better understand ourselves. Duegaw lives Updike’s doctrine. He transforms himself in his stories and artwork, his body acting as a conduit for broad expressions that many share. He finds his character’s passions and failings and then creates a set

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of gestures and inflections that embody them. This connection of inner life and outer formulation generates a particular kind of intensity that is mesmerizing in his narratives.

In his paintings, he demonstrates the same rare ability.

Rich in detail and presented with extreme skill but without artifice, Duegaw’s meticulously crafted works of art affirm a shared experience by articulating shared anxieties. We live in an age of global warming, racial protest, terrorism, and economic uncertainty, our unease increasing with every text, tweet, and report by the 24-hour news cycle. Yet, as ubiquitous as our perpetual uncertainties seem today, our anxious state is not new. Angst has shadowed mankind for millennia and artists—amid their “specimen lives”—have confronted apprehension through their craft. Duegaw’s project, to present commonplace anxieties in a palatable, safe way, can be traced to the eighteenth century. Though Duegaw’s own figure takes center stage in each of his paintings, his work is not strictly self-portraiture, which in our current ‘selfie’ age, carries the connotations of indulgence and self-affirmation. Instead, Duegaw’s figure is a doppelganger: an unassuming, nonthreatening guide into the uncertain psychological territory of unease. Like his stories, Duegaw’s paintings are drawn from moments particular to his life. They are processed in his mind and find articulation in his art in a manner that is both specific and relatable, a metaphorical circus of Innumerable Anxieties. As Duegaw notes, his figures “live the anxieties, so you don’t have to.”

In earlier eras, anxieties were lifted mainly through religion. The ritual and repetition of this particular form of human expression served as the methods by which practitioners gained new insight into experience and moved beyond present concerns. This alleviation of anxiety was not through abstract religious principles, but most often found through a Strange Humours (or) The Unfunny Clown (detail), 2017. Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with steel casket swingbar hardware, 112 x 101 inches. Collection of the artist

learned system of narratives. Stories about saints, seers, prophets, and saviors provided examples by which fears were assuaged. For generations, art was the natural partner of religion, not only because of its storytelling ability but also because both are expressive

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human activities. Narrative art was one tool by which religion tempered anxieties for hundreds of years.

In eighteenth-century Europe and America, a paradigm shift occurred. Religion was decentered in this secular and philosophic age. The Enlightenment emphasized reason over tradition and encouraged learning, often through art and music. Art, in turn, was no longer centered on religious expression. Despite the prevailing cultural climate of rationality, anxieties remained. Without an axiological religious outlet, fears were expressed in the realm of secular art. Perhaps most famously, Edmund Burke’s mid-eighteenth-century work, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, advocated for the creation of “whatever is fitted…to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible.”1 In Burke’s formulation, anxieties found an outlet in sublime landscape painting, which aimed to stir feelings of fear and danger in the viewer. These paintings provided a safe, contained means by which viewers could confront ideas about danger, fear, and pain. Encased within the frame of the painting, and the painting interred within a gallery, viewers were able to exercise common anxieties in an environment of safety.

In this era, the same viewers sought out emotional catharsis in another emerging artistic environment: the circus. The modern circus in the west can be traced to the equestrian shows developed by Philip Astley in the late eighteenth century. What began as an exhibition of trick riding was soon expanded to include musicians, a clown, jugglers, tumblers, tightrope walkers, and dancing dogs each enacting a narrative. In many ways, Enlightenment notions and the spectacle of the circus were at odds. Like the dichotomy emerging between science and religion, the magic of the circus was contrary to the contemporary intellectual movement. As scholar Robert Allen summarized, mimicry, spectacle, and inversions of gender and class that typified the circus subverted rationalistic ideas and empiricism.2 However, it was not the rational but the emotional that

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viewers sought under the big top. The circus provided a safe space in which audience members could exercise their anxieties through the form of secular entertainment.

At the circus, everyday anxieties found metaphorical expression not in the cannon of saints typical of religion or in the awe-inspiring painted scenes found in galleries, but in the various acts presented under the big top. The social outcast in the form of the clown became an advocate for marginalized identities, or a martyr (as Duegaw’s presents the figure in his Strange Humours (or) The Unfunny Clown, his plainspoken manner connoted in the rows of clear windows and the strict use of black and white). In other acts, a woman balancing on a tightrope dispelled fears of failure while a man finding mastery over a pack of animals presented the possibility for success in the wilds of modern life.

By the nineteenth century, more people attended the circus than any other contemporary amusement. In an age that privileged facts and the mind, the church lost its hierarchical position. Like the circus, it became a secondary arena dealing in mysticism and stories and catering to the human need for emotional remedy. Culturally, the circus had gained the same emotional status as religion as exemplified in Charles Dickens’s 1854 story Hard Times. Dickens was skeptical of religion. Thus, the moralizing character in his novel was not a religious zealot, but a circus performer. In the novel, the characters of Sissy (the circus girl) and Gradgrind (the teacher) represent the heart and the mind, respectively. At the novel’s conclusion, Sissy demonstrates that imagination and fantasy, the ingredients of the circus, are the best tools for confronting the hard times that characterize modern society.

For Dickens, the circus provided a better emotional outlet than the church. In a pamphlet titled Sunday under Three Heads, the author decried the “the saintly venom” and “intolerant zeal and ignorant enthusiasm” that characterizes many religious figures. Like Dickens before him, Duegaw is skeptical of religion and thus places his vaguely-religious characters within the imaginative and metaphorical framework of the circus. Duegaw’s

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A Voiceless Leader (or) The Self-Appointed Ring Master places the same type of venomous preacher in the guise of an ignorant Ring Master. Blind and willfully deaf through the application of an earplug in the form of a wine cork (he only needs one because Duegaw is deaf in one ear), the self-appointed ringmaster has—not a foot—but a whole leg before his mouth. Rather than a fearsome zealot wielding religion as a weapon, the ringmaster is a tragically comic figure, eliciting more pity than penance.

Duegaw’s artistic melding of church and circus is based in a shared history and speaks to the emotional value of each form of expression. Since the eighteenth century, forms of art and entertainment like the circus have provided the same emotional catharsis to their viewers as organized religion. Today, amid a growing litany of personal and social anxieties, the circus and the church continue to provide respite and relief. As psychologist Benjamin Beit-Hallahmi notes, today “people are ready to participate again and again in religious and artistic events, which provide them with the opportunities for emotional expression and ventilation.”3 Duegaw’s own nine-act series Innumerable Anxieties draws upon this tangled relationship between religion and circus performance. Like the rituals and acts of those institutions, it incites an ameliorating experience for the viewer.

Each of Duegaw’s nine Anxieties is presented in a cross-shaped frame and the figures inside dance their own tightrope between sainthood and circus act. In Pierced by Dogma (or) The Misguided Sword Swallower, the titular painting of the exhibition, a figure looks out with a glazed expression despite the shining sword that passes through his lips. Through the artistic rendering of an x-ray, the tip of the sword is visible as it pierces the figure’s heart. The stark, red curtained background and direct portrayal recall countless simplified icons of martyred saints, many of whom, like St. Thomas Becket, St. James the Great, A Voiceless Leader (or) The Self-Appointed Ring Master (detail), 2016.Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; aluminum frame with air gauge, 103¾ x 90 inches. Collection of the artist

St. Lucy, and St. Peter of Verona, are depicted with swords piercing their bodies. Most notably, a heart pierced by a sword is the attribute of a specific devotional image of the

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Virgin Mary: the Immaculate Heart. This particular depiction is utilized in meditation on the religious figure’s internal qualities and emotions: her joys and sorrows, virtues, and compassionate love. In the painting, Duegaw takes this standard religious iconography and casts it within the secular framework of the circus. Recast as a sword swallower, the figure still speaks to internal emotions, evoking the feelings of danger and uncertainty typical of that circus act. A metaphorical portrait of inner anxiety, Pierced by Dogma speaks to the fear of “swallowing things whole,” of accepting anything incontrovertibly. Any dogmas or extremisms are dangerous. They can mark us deeply, wound, scar, or in the most extreme cases, kill. Just as in the circus, these fears are offered to the viewer in a safe way. In the gallery, the painting is displayed in a crate, its lid on the floor nearby suggesting that these anxieties or dogmas can be contained.

Though the relationship between the church and the circus is based in history, the artist engages with his own time in the continued use of himself as subject. Today, the selfportrait finds its most frequent expression in the ‘selfie’: a quick digital self-portrait meant to be shared via social media. Like the figure in The Futility of Unsolicited Advice (or) The Culturally Inappropriate Fortune Teller that repetitively distributes unwanted cards of advice that come to litter the gallery floor, social media is cluttered with unsolicited selfies. These images—and the fortune teller’s advice—are forced into our lives, whether we want them or not. Though the selfie is defined equally by its photographic nature and its digital environment, the comparison between this form of self-portraiture and Duegaw’s painted portraits is a fruitful one, not only because they share a cultural context but also because selfies have come to reflect an entire range of anxieties. As Rachel Syme wonderfully intoned, “We are living in times of the peak-selfie, and therefore peak selfie-hatred.”4 As Syme suggests, the selfie is a lightning rod for anxiety, due to the prevalence of this type of imagery and evident in the innumerable critiques of this form of self-expression.

The selfie represents the prospect that who you are, your life story, is a sum total of public

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self-images. The taking of many images, connoting many facets of story, personality, or character, lightens this anxiety. Only images deemed successful in the creation of a desired identity are released into the digital world for others to see; “I know the messages I want to convey with each picture that I post, they are all arrows aimed at a big target, the one that could one day convey a larger truth about myself than any one image could,” Syme writes. With a collection of selfies, “we are writing the story of how we want to be seen.”5 Overall, the selfie explosion reveals anxieties about the meaning and uses of images and widespread apprehension about personal authorship.

Duegaw’s work reflects the selfie in the strict sense of the word. That is, like a mirror held up to this digital mode, his painted portraits invert the trend and its concerns. They express emotional honesty rather than physical perfection and suggest that we are characterized, not only by a collection of images, but by our collective anxieties. While many of his paintings contain abstracted portraits—The Shameful Calling (or) My Reluctant Monster or Performance in Front of Men (or) I’m a Tightrope Walker, Really—others are more direct, mimetic depictions of the artist. Despite their style, these painted alternate selves, are more doppelganger than self-portrait. Duegaw has never been a tightrope walker, a reluctant monster, a contortionist, or sword swallower. Just as in his oral stories, Duegaw transforms himself, his body a conduit for the expression of particular ideas. While the painted figure is not always visually similar to the artist, it is constructed to express a range of personal anxieties.

In an age of selfies, it is nearly an act of transgression to depict one’s inner self so poignantly and honestly as Duegaw does. A Swim in Open Water (or) The Large Marine Mammal Act confesses a range of insecurities: body image, gender identity, physical ability, and fear of the unknown. The flowered swim cap the figure wears is the same one that the artist donned to protect his ears from age 5 to 7, though it also acted as a catalyst for insults from his peers. While a collection of selfies is curated to show only the best angles

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of one’s face and the most flattering situations, Duegaw produces a more abstract but more emotionally honest collection of self-imagery.

Rather than mitigating anxieties about the self, these paintings embrace these anxieties, pushing them center stage in the artist’s “specimen life.” If a collection of images defines who we are, then Duegaw’s work suggests we are our anxieties. It is the multitude of worries that shadow our daily lives that make us behave, guide our actions, and characterize us.

Back at the table, Duegaw picks up his beer. Exposing his embarrassment has provided his companions with a moment of catharsis, an opportunity to laugh at a particular shared anxiety. Duegaw celebrates the value of speaking honestly about those uncertainties that are both common and hidden. In today’s culture—in which a digital stream of perfect self-portraits reigns supreme—there is a deep longing for true intimacy beyond this manufactured self; there is a desire to be accepted despite our particular foibles and anxieties; there is a desire for our real stories to be heard. Yet, even in this disclosure we crave a feeling of safety.

Duegaw’s story about his architecture professor is typical of the artist. It suggests that no matter how hard we work, how carefully we construct our lives, these ‘best laid plans’ can quickly and easily turn to ash. Yet, in Duegaw’s hands, this anxiety feels safe, even funny.

The Futility of Unsolicited Advice (or) The Culturally Inappropriate Fortune Teller (detail), 2016. Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with painted lettering; wood cabinet with painted lettering, steel hardware, and electronic card dispenser; printed cards. Latin phrase: AB UNO DISCE OMNES. Translation: FROM ONE, LEARN ALL. 112 x 88 inches. Collection of the artist

When Duegaw is weaving these tales, you cannot look away.

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NOTES

1 Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (London: N. Hailes Museum, 1824), 34.

2 Robert Allen, Horrible Prettiness: Burlesque and American Culture (Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 1991).

3 Benjamin Beit-Hallahmi, “Understanding Religion through the Psychology of Art,” Leonardo, vol. 16, no.3 (Summer, 1983), 239.

4 Rachel Syme, “Selfie,” Medium, Nov 19, 2015, accessed June 22, 2016, https://medium.com/matter/selfie-fe945dcba6b0#.fwmuia9fp 5 Ibid.

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P I E R C E D BY D O G M A

THE ANXIETIES

The Shameful Calling (or) My Reluctant Monster, on Display 1997 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas, paper; wood frame with gold leaf 103½ x 89½ inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

A Distorted Sense of Melancholy (or) Contortionist of Indistinction 1998 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with steel crank 102 x 88 inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

Performance in Front of Men (or) I’m a Tightrope Walker, Really 1998 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas, paper; stained wood frame with steel number 105 x 90Ÿ inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

A Swim in Open Water (or) The Large Marine Mammal Act 1998–2014 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas; painted wood frame 92¼ x 106 inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

Pierced by Dogma (or) The Misguided Sword Swallower 2014 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with steel hardware 108 x 90 inches Collection of the artist

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Installation view

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THE ANXIETIES

Of Flying Solo (or) The Optimistic Trapeze Artist 2016 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on canvas; painted wood frame 103½ x 90¼ inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

A Voiceless Leader (or) The Self-Appointed Ring Master 2016 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; aluminum frame with air gauge 103ž x 90 inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

The Futility of Unsolicited Advice (or) The Culturally Inappropriate Fortune Teller 2016 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with painted lettering; wood cabinet with painted lettering, steel hardware, and electronic card dispenser; printed cards Latin phrase: AB UNO DISCE OMNES. Translation: FROM ONE, LEARN ALL 112 x 88 inches Collection of the artist

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THE ANXIETIES

Strange Humours (or) The Unfunny Clown 2017 Acrylic, ink, and polyurethane on wood panel; wood frame with steel casket swingbar hardware 112 x 101 inches Collection of the artist

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STUDY

Study for Strange Humours (or) The Unfunny Clown 2017 Three-color lithograph on paper 32 x 26 inches Collection of the artist

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SET

Set Piece (or) Fisch Haus, 3rd Floor, West End, 320ยบ / horizontal 2012 Acrylic, ink, screws, and polyurethane on wallboard; aluminum frame 24 x 336 inches Collection of the artist

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The artist’s studio, represented in this twenty-eightfeet long panoramic interior painting, contextualizes a heightened sense of anxiety; lit candles are placed in precarious positions and then forgotten, embers fall onto wooden furniture, gas burners are left unattended, and numerous overly-taxed and frayed extension cords run rampant throughout the space.

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A deceptively believable, yet non-functional, fire extinguisher is mounted in the exhibition to comply with fire safety codes, mockingly suggesting that it might be available to douse a potential disaster.

Fire Extinguisher with Canadian Club Blended Whisky: Le Centre Canadien d’Architecture, Montréal, Québec (blue) 2012 Acrylic, ink, screws, and polyurethane on wallboard; aluminum frame with LED lights 25¼ x 14½ inches Collection of the artist

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© Ulrich Museum of Art 2017 All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form without the written permission of the museum.

Images © Patrick Duegaw.

Essay by Lisa Volpe

ARTIST NOTE Extra Special thanks and love to the very skilled artist friends who have helped to make this exhibition possible, Randy Croley, the other Righteous, long-haired Carpenter Stephen Atwood, the welding Strongman (minus the lion skin) Mike Marlett, the Smart-ass Tech Genius

Photography by Dimitris Skliris Design by Kim Curry Printed in Kansas www.ulrich.wichita.edu

Wess Lewis, the Finisher Russ Lambrechtse, the Driver and Muscle Marc Durfee, the Know-How and Comic Relief Dimitris Skliris, the Photography Magician—no, wait . . . make that WIZARD Torin Andersen, the Sound Conjuror Dan Racer and Mark Foley, the Masterful Minstrels My Fisch Haus Co-founders and Brothers; John Ernatt, Eric Schmidt, Kent Williams also, The unstoppable Sean Issa at the Packaging Store The talented team at Digital Brand The trusting staff at the Ulrich All those, who because they are ubiquitous, have for some reason slipped my overly-taxed mind and most most most importantly

Elizabeth Stevenson, my Rocket Ship

Ulrich Museum of Art Wichita State University 1845 Fairmount Street Wichita, KS 67260

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