Ryan McGinness Thinks You're Looking at Art Wrong

Ryan McGinness

When I visit his studio of 19 years, McGinness is shipping a series called #metadata, which is all about how people often look at art wrong—or at least see it incompletely. When you see a JPEG of a painting, he argues, you’re missing texture and the nuanced quality of the paint. But his cynicism comes hand-in-hand with a solution. “That’s why I use fluorescent, pearlescent, and metallic paints, because they’re qualities of pigment that have to be experienced in person. They can’t be reproduced on a screen,” he tells Creators.

Videos by VICE

More than a decade after his self-explanatory show, The Fine Art of Corporate Sponsorship/The Corporate Sponsorship of Fine Art in 2003, #metadata is a response to McGinness’ many frustrations with the way we consume culture. He occupies a space along many of the art world’s borders, including branding with the likes of Supreme and Hennessy, hosting themed soirees for a project called 50 Parties, and running his own merch store. But these deviations from the white cube norm are just one part of his attempt to deal with perceived flaws in the art world.

At the point in his career where his work is instantly recognizable as a symbol of taste and status, McGinness is in the process of pulling an Andy Warhol and turning his career into a work of art. Whether it’s a painting from his Women series, Black Holes, Mindscapes, or Art History Is Not Linear, he has become frustrated by the commodification of his practice. “Some people express interest in just wanting ‘A Ryan McGinness,’ so the work in those cases just serves as a symbol or placeholder for whatever ‘A Ryan McGinness’ means to them,” he says.

McGinness takes this frustration with the humor you’d expect from a guy who spent his youth falling off a skateboard onto concrete all day. He gets right back up again and puts it into the art. #metadata acknowledges that his are paintings being used as status symbols by literally turning paintings themselves into symbols in his paintings.

Furthermore, his work is of the sort that, “you might not want on your living room wall.” Not only are they often painted with a color palette meticulously designed not to go with anyone’s drapes, but many of McGinness’ symbols are pretty subversive. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting images of people fucking skulls and fucking each other and hanging themselves and performing autoerotic asphyxiation—which are all in my paintings—in their house,” he says.

This topic has been thoroughly considered, as is every aspect of the studio that operates around McGinness. Every item has a place. The paints are chromatically-organized, each a unique recipe perfected by McGinness and his staff, like a magic potion. His calendar is full of notes, sketches, deadlines, and arrows: the potential energy of an exhibition incarnate. Dozens of paintings and silkscreens are stacked along the walls in neat rows. More hang on the walls, filling the space, but not making it feel cluttered. “When we reach for a hammer, that hammer better be in its place,” he says. Two decades of time spent inside the same four walls have made them his castle, as much an extension of the artist as a paintbrush, an arm, or a smartphone.

“If at all possible, try to stay in one spot,” he advises artists on the up. “The efficiency is exponential over the years by not having to move, pack up and rearrange. If you need more space for older stuff, use offsite storage.” This is a mature, pragmatic recommendation, spoken with the wisdom of someone who has published 17 books about his art and creative process. His first book, flatnessisgod, is known to be beloved by Japanese artist Takashi Murakami. His penchant for simplification and wry use of symbolic language permeates skate and streetwear staples, but when I ask him to speculate about his influence on emerging artists, he draws a blank.

“Real influence, in the way I’m influenced by people, has to do with being inspired by work ethic or what different people are investigating in their concepts in their work,” he says. His work ethic was first driven by the competitive nature of skate culture. If he couldn’t keep up with the the best of best skaters, he could create the designs they emblazoned on their boards and tshirts. “I experienced the work being appreciated,” he says. “That’s an intoxicating and empowering feeling.”

Today, he’s driven by a more Sisiphysian motivator: his own creativity. “I feel like I’m three years behind myself,” he explains. “Three years behind all the sketches and outlines in my notebooks. The drive is just to catch up to myself. I hope I do, one day, and then I can rest, then I’ll be done. But that’ll never happen.”