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The MoMA show homes in on the first three decades of Sonnabend’s career, highlighting the artists and pieces she was the first to show: John’s “Device”; Oldenburg’s “Tartines”; James Rosenquist’s “Volunteer”; Michelangelo Pistoletto’s impressively grand mirror painting, “Two People”; Koons’s “Pink Panther.” This might as well be a page torn from an auction catalog, a fever dream of conspicuous art consumption. Still, “Ileana Sonnabend: Ambassador for the New” avoids coming off like the visual equivalent of “Now That’s What I Call Music!”: True, it is a “greatest hits” compilation, but one that speaks to the ways in which great taste is an art form of sorts.
And the show’s centerpiece — a Rauschenberg combine called “Canyon” — is actually a fascinating case study in the possibility of aesthetic resistance to the commercial. “Canyon” is made up of oil, pencil, paper, wood, metal, photographs and fabric on canvas, plus buttons and a mirror, cardboard box, pillow and paint tube, and a stuffed bald eagle. That last element made the work unsellable, given the bald eagle’s status as a protected species.
When Sonnabend died in 2007 at the age of 92, her family found itself in a Kafkaesque predicament: The Internal Revenue Service valued “Canyon” at $65 million and demanded a tax payment of $29.2 million, even as it would be impossible for the family to convert the work into any money at all. Sonnabend had even jokingly mentioned a desire to be buried with “Canyon”: She told Tomkins, “If they build a pyramid for me… I would like it in there with me.”
The issue was resolved when “Canyon” was donated to the MoMA: The IRS dropped its tax assessment, the MoMA included Sonnabend’s name on its Founders Wall and organized a show in her honor, and everyone lived happily ever after. But if this seems like a retread of the controversy caused by the New Museum’s 2010 show, the unappetizingly named “Skin Fruit,” curated by Koons from the collection of the Greek shipping magnate Dakis Joannou, the bald eagle guards against suspicions of inflated prices: It keeps things honest.
Sonnabend made a comfortable living dealing art, but money was not the point. (She had that luxury, of course, by virtue of having money in the first place.) Her interest lay elsewhere: in discovering the new, in letting innovation challenge her conceptions of art, in sharing her discoveries with others. To that end, she often presented works that were less than commercial — most notoriously, Vito Acconci’s “Seedbed,” a performance during which the artist lies beneath a specially constructed ramp, intermittently masturbating while gallery visitors walked over him. “Ileana Sonnabend” includes footage from Acconci’s performance, but it also showcases far more financially lucrative works: Roy Lichtenstein’s “Little Aloha,” say, or Warhol’s “1947 White.” But this is the way we live now, sorting the high and the low, collecting and curating as the finest form of art. And if you don’t quite buy that, the pillow that hangs from the canvas in “Canyon” and evokes testicles is right there with you, suggesting perhaps that it’s all bollocks.
Yevgeniya Traps writes frequently about the arts for the Forward.