Why "Cronies"? Why Now? The exhibition "Politically Speaking: Cronies, Nannies, Fautors & Fops" is a marked departure for The Digital Museum of Modern Art. Past exhibitions have featured digital photography and textile art. Future exhibitions will include a small, select, private collection of African bronze figures; as well as the work of artists and poets from Cleveland, Ohio (a quiet, pleasant midwestern town, from the outfields of which DMOMA beams into cyberspace). "Cronies," on the other hand, is a bit out there. Some will say that the work in the exhibit is not art. "Just not worthy," will be the cry of others. Others will dismiss it for what they consider to be an unabashed political slant. Wrong. All counts. We have a hard time coming to grips with art (or is that "Art") in Western culture. Art is supposed to be Iconic. Inspirational. Anything but functional; with a heavy emphasis on painting and sculpture. And now anything vaguely "Conceptional" qualifies, including piles of rocks and single words painted with the skill of a sign-maker (so long as the artist isn't a sign-maker). Nothing wrong with any of that--except it can be a bit limiting. For visual art, the first requirement, it may be suggested, is that it should be visual. Second, it must communicate something, even if that something is nothing (the paintings of Agnes Martin may look like bedsheets to some, but they carry great peace and tranquillity for others, with no deeper meaning necessary than that--though there may be). Finally art must be created with some degree of skill. I like best the declaration of Walter Gropius: "By the grace of Heaven, and in rare moments of inspiration which transcend the will, art may unconsciously blossom from the labour of [the] hand, but a base in handicrafts is essential to every artist. It is there that the original source of creativity lies." Of course, that is subject to debate, too. Well, if those are sufficient requisites, then the work of The Wizard passes the test. It is every bit as visual as a soup can, I should think more so. And if it didn't communicate something, no one would even notice. Skill? Photoshop can be of great assistance to aspiring artists with no intrinsic talent; but that is not the case with The Wizard. Look carefully at the work. The Wizard combines good old cut-n-paste, collage technique, with painterly virtuosity. The pictures look convincing. They have a lifelike feel to them. But is it worthy? Well, it may be graphic art, but would any museum decline an exhibition of Bauhaus graphic art merely because it was graphic? Too often, a prime criteria for museums in selecting which work to show is either popular appeal, e.g. the Art of Walt Disney; or the likelihood of sponsorship, e.g. the Art of the Motorcycle, the Art of the Italian Sports Car, the Art of Couture. The political objection has merit, however. DMOMA almost passed on the exhibition, but took it on for much the same reason, I suspect, that Bruce Springsteen, Dave Matthews, James Taylor and countless other musicians have decided to join the fray. Their decision to overlook the political repercussions arises out of patriotism and love of country. As Prof. Chris Lamb so cogently points out: "Nothing is more patriotic than social criticism. . . . The First Amendment doesn't exist so that we can freely praise our elected officials, it exists so we can freely criticize them." If the work of The Wizard, and the full spectrum of other artists, is political or social criticism, then so be it. The real objection is that it is too current, not that it is too political. It is too vexing. It is too disruptive of the commercial and social relationships of this day. How can one love a rock star, musician, artist, poet, writer, historian, scientist or military general who takes a political stand passionately--if that stand contradicts one's own feelings and beliefs and business arrangements? How can we as a nation tolerate those "nattering nabobs of negativity" when we are assailed by evil forces who live in caves, but who use the most sophisticated tools of technology to achieve their abominable goals? (Although, with the familial oil connections of the current administration, one needs to question just who are the nabobs! No tomato based fortunes there.) The fact of the matter is, would a museum today think twice about mounting an exhibition of the work of Walt McDougall, a late 19th century cartoonist working for Joseph Pulitzer's New York World--at least on political terms? What Trustee would withdraw support? What corporation patronage? Would James G. Blaine raise objection? Which of his friends would rise from the dead to defend Blaine--and assail McDougall and his infamous cartoon: "The Royal Feast of Belshazzar." Yet McDougall, some claim, surely cost Blaine the 1884 election, where a mere 1,100 votes in the state of New York was enough to propel Grover Cleveland into the Presidency. And, as we will see in the curator's essay, Tammany Hall was never the same after Thomas Nast either. Artists don't always take popular positions. They are often disruptive, and take a contrary viewpoint on things. Sometimes it is only the passage of time that brings them into the realm of acceptability. Their work may be accepted when it no longer really matters. The Wizard's art isn't about flowers or moonbeams breaking through the clouds. He doesn't lionize the athlete, the beauty of Daphne, or the majesty of a soaring skyscraper. He doesn't tackle issues of cognition and perception. He does not try to put us in touch with the Divine. Yet he communicates to the American (and worldwide) public; he does so quite visually and viscerally; and he does so with a great deal of skill. His work is worth the risk of bringing it here. - W. Logan Fry, Director The Digital Museum of Modern Art August 18, 2004