KURT at the Seattle Art Museum

Two of the most fascinating exhibits at the Seattle Art Museum of recent note are the Warhol and Cobain exhibits. The two seem to go hand in hand – Warhol’s photography dabbles in depictions of beauty and fame as art. The Kurt exhibit shows off more than just that 15 minutes of world fame, bringing a bevy of artists forth to exhibit the telling ways in which Cobain has affected us all, even since his death.

Kurt Cobain by Scott Fife

One of the most effective exhibits in the Kurt exhibition is not the larger-than-life and somewhat morbid rendition of Cobain’s cranium, by Scott Fife (2006). It was fairly impressive and haunting; with large bloodshot eyes staring through you, off into space. It also wasn’t Jordan Kantor’s Untitled (2006), a painstaking collaged rendition of crime scene photos – “perpetuating an air of mystery.” Truly, one of the most striking pieces may not be linked to Kurt at all, in that it could be anybody’s séance – Cobain, Morrison, Hendrix.

Standing Wave Séance by Hadley and Maxwell (2010) was one of the most effective pieces at the exhibit, giving the viewer a chance to enter the “pathos of Cobain’s disembodied voice” both “celebrated and destroyed by the same crowd”. It’s a conspicuous exhibit – fiberboard walls, padded with egg crate on the outside give the artwork a sort of humble appeal. Walking into the piece takes the viewer to a whole different level. A feedback loop plays through the mounted speakers next to a red Fender amp, and a microphone is the central focus, set on top of duct taped mats. This is the artist’s world, lit by a solitary bare bulb. Around the room, the viewer might find a number of artifacts, origami boxes and an accordion cut matchbook could have been a way to relieve the tension before recording or before a show. All these things represent a larger lifestyle, a lonely ascent from a “normal” reality. Clinging to that reality and to a sense of normalcy – taped to the mic stand – sits a lonely wisp of a plant in a plastic cup might suggest the artist’s rise towards the light, towards stardom and fame. The lonely little plant also suggests a wish to stay grounded. As the viewer circles the sound room, the roar of a crowd rises, replacing the feedback loop. The pressure is on, to tune up, to play a show, to impress crowds. Standing behind the mic, the viewer has a glimpse towards the gritty and well-known photos of Cobain crashing into the drum kit behind him at the Rijn. Kurt looks dazed as onlookers stand back and watch. The entire effect of the tiny sound room is haunting, even giving the viewer a sort of trapped feeling – the room is a little too small, too dark. In the background, beyond the room this exhibit stands in, Nirvana’s music floats through the rest of the exhibit with a note of tragedy.

Banks Violette - Lines of Wreckage (Love Songs for Assholes #2)

While many of the pieces in the exhibit are striking – including Banks Violette’s heavy-handed graphite work, some of the pieces seem trite and forced. They’re there as if to say “I want to ride this wave of stellar death.” What’s fashionable in art will always be copied whether through subject or technique and the topic of Cobain’s early demise is definitely still a sore subject.

Slater Bradley’s Marijuana (2004) is one such piece – taking on an air of textbook simplicity and attempting to grab the viewer’s attention through the title. It’s the kind of artwork we’d see taped to a dorm room wall, not from an artist who can get himself into the SAM with pieces like Silver I Love You So Much it Makes Me Sick (2008). It feels forced, showing off the covers of three different magazines, including High Times and Rolling Stone with the same photo of Cobain plastered across the front. The title and the subject matter show an obvious drug reference, but with all the triteness of an illogical connection between marijuana and premature celebrity expiration. It reads almost like a drug-free commercial, where marijuana is the gateway to Cobain’s death. Were the piece titled something different – Heroin, maybe – the connection would be believable. The main focus of the piece – noted from the placard on the wall is that Kurt’s face is used a number of times in different ways, with the only cannabis reference being the magazines featured. Sitting next to Silver, Marijuana definitely shows the gap in Bradley’s evolution as an artist.

Overall, the Kurt exhibit is melancholy, especially if you skip the derisive affront to Cobain’s fan base through Bradley’s elementary rendition of the passing of a rock legend. More so than not, the exhibit will leave you with a sense of loss, and loneliness representing the inner world of someone so tortured.