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Mr. Brainwash's designed a record cover for Madonna's greatest hits album last year.

French artist and filmmaker Thierry Guetta has developed a devoted street art following under the name Mr. Brainwash. But is he serious?

“I’m like a machine, I create and create and create,” Guetta explains, standing in the center of the Meatpacking District event space he rented for a new exhibition of his art made under his unsettlingly blunt moniker. The show was set to open in a few days. Paint was splattered across his pants; canvases, many wrapped in plastic, sat around him, waiting to be hung on the walls; and at least a dozen assistants, many smoking cigarettes, scurried about, finishing pieces.

“It has been two years since my last show because when I do a show, I really do a show,” said Guetta, who looks like a scruffier, skinnier John Belushi, as he walked us through the cavernous space. He’s also been busy, designing an album cover for Madonna’s Celebration release last year (which features the singer in a paint-splattered portrait that is an unapologetic copy of Andy Warhol’s iconic Marilyn Monroe work), following street artist Bansky for the unusual street-art documentary Exit Through the Gift Shop, and periodically stenciling his own pieces around Los Angeles. His origins are largely unknown. Some have speculated that in fact he is the street artist Banksy, who masks his identity even throughout the documentary, while others say he comes from a wealthy French family. (He and his representatives, on the other hand, maintain that he “mortgaged his home” and sold his belongings to pay for the current exhibition.)

Mr. Brainwash, Yves Saint Laurent, 2010

“The definition of art is: no limits,’” Guetta said proudly as he showed the dozens of square, silkscreen portraits he has had printed with the faces of celebrities. There was a series of fashion designers printed in silver and another series of technology entrepreneurs like Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, and Mark Zuckerberg printed in gold. “That’s the guy who founded Twitter!” said Guetta, excitedly singling out one of the works. As we walked around, a man followed us with a video camera, recording the entire interview.

The exhibition spills across the two floors of the warehouse-like gallery. One whole wall is devoted to prints of Kate Moss, which have been splashed lightly with neon paint. They are near-identical copies of Andy Warhol’s silkscreens, but Guetta acts offended at that suggestion. “Andy Warhol didn’t do a portrait of Kate Moss!” he said. “If I wait until Andy Warhol does it, I’m never going to see it. Just because Andy Warhol painted portraits, does that mean I can’t do it?”

There are also huge mock spray cans, some as big as ten feet tall, scattered about, bearing labels for Hershey’s chocolate, Pepto-Bismol, and Campbell’s Soup. “These things bring you memories,” he said of the brands. “They touch your heart.” Elsewhere, a taxi cab was parked inside gigantic plastic toy packaging, like a Matchbox car. Other work in the show was even more remorselessly banal. There was a portrait of Benjamin Franklin wearing large headphones and a vest emblazoned with Louis Vuitton buttons — “I just try to be kind of funny, with no limits,” Guetta said — and a portrait of the band Kiss made out of broken shards of vinyl records. Guetta does not hide the fact that most of his work is fabricated by his assistants, with his role limited to occasionally doing quality-control touchups, for instance adding an extra bit of vinyl for a Kiss member’s eye. However, he declines to go into detail about his operation. “I don’t want to explain it,” Guetta says. “It’s like cooking. If you go to a famous chef, he might let you taste his famous sauce, but he will not tell you how he made it.”

The artist motioned to a large, wooden paint can, perhaps ten feet in diameter. “When I build installations, why do I do it?” he asked. “It’s not going to make me money.” Is it for sale? “It’s not for sale, but if someone wants to buy it, why not?” Asked to pick his favorite piece in the show, Guetta demurred. “Each one is my favorite when I’m working on it,” he said, before finally settling on a larger portrait of Charlie Chaplin, emblazoned with a pink heart. “I want positivity in everything I do,” he said. He noted that his proudest work was an earlier painting that featured Einstein holding a sign that read “Love is the answer.” Says Guetta: “I think that was a big statement for me.”

Much of Guetta’s work is so unredeemably shallow that it has led some to suggest that the Mr. Brainwash persona is part of an elaborate performance art project, a cynical conceptual experiment to see if, with the right friends (Shepard Fairey has provided a guarded endorsement: “Not all the work was magnificent, but it improved steadily…”) and the right marketing (the Brainwash show is being promoted by Nadine Johnson Inc., one of New York’s most formidable public relations companies) it is possible to sell anything.

At the packed opening a few days later, with a crowd that was more fashion than art-heavy (and which featured a bevy of strikingly tall, afro-bewigged models dispensing vodka drinks), that question seemed to have been answered. Red dots popping up next to works in the show suggested people were buying. According to Clemence, Guetta’s young, omnipresent assistant — “She’s like my mother,” he said during the interview, “she wakes me up and tells me to do more interviews” — the portraits were priced from ten to forty thousand dollars, and rumors abounded that some of the largest installations had sold for as much as $120,000.

Mr. Brainwash represents, in a sense, an art critic’s worst nightmare: a complete leveling of culture, with every exhibition celebrated with a round of cheap applause and a fresh infusion of cash — the more derivative the work, the better. His art embodies the old fear that Duchamp’s readymade will be read not an aesthetic challenge — to make meaningful art when all things are suddenly allowed — but a license for complete triviality: it’s art because someone says it is, and it’s all equally wonderful.

These are not concerns for Mr. Brainwash, though. “Art is not something difficult to do,” he explained nonchalantly, when asked why he did his work. “You just need to pick up a brush and do it.”

By Andrew Russeth
Source: ARTINFO