Why George W Bush is the greatest living painter
by Sam Kriss
Political violence is the continuation of art by other means. Wherever there are shock troops marching in the streets or big pyres of burning books or the sounds of mysterious gunfire near the parliament building at night, you can bet that behind it all flutters the soul of a sensitive young boy who always wanted to be an artist. Brutishness is easy; anyone can commit an atrocity in the right conditions. Violence requires a highly rarefied aesthetic sensibility.
Painters carry out wars of aggression. They’re in love with the image of things. Poets go for internal ethnic cleansing. The word must be properly spoken. Prose writers like revolutionary terror. The text is radically open. There have been fewer dictators from the other arts, but we could extrapolate. Photographers make good use of death squads; the gaze and the judgement are united in the click of a shutter. Sculptors are big on mass internment; the body is always already buried in the rock. Playwrights tend towards bureaucracy, musicians to exemplary massacre, film-makers to redistributive looting. Lenin and Mussolini wrote prose. Stalin, Mao and Ho Chi Minh were poets. Saddam Hussein wrote poetry alongside his anonymous novels. Churchill was a painter. Hitler was a painter, but he penned a few verses as well. George W Bush is a painter.
This is the void. A line of detainees goes in, shackled, shuffling along in orange jumpsuits. Paintings of dogs come out. Nobody knows exactly what happens inside, or if they do, they don’t say.
George W Bush has produced fifty paintings of dogs. For every drone strike he ordered, he has produced one painting of a dog. For every round of golf he played while in the White House, he has produced two paintings of a dog. For every million Americans left unemployed at the end of his administration, he has produced five paintings of a dog. George W Bush has produced one painting of a dog for every thirteen US soldiers killed in Afghanistan during his Presidency, one painting of a dog for every hundred Palestinians killed by the IDF, and one painting of a dog for every two thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven civilians killed in Iraq since the invasion. Bush’s art teacher told reporters that he would go down in history as a great artist. I think she’s right.
There have been a couple of critical pieces on Bush’s paintings, and they all ask the same question: what do these paintings tell us about George W Bush’s inner life, or his psychology, or his presidency? They’ve all got it arse-backwards. If you follow that line you’ll only ever end up with trite reductive analogies. The running water represents Hurricane Katrina, or Bush’s need to atone for his crimes, or his fear of death; it’s a vaguely amusing parlour game, but not much more. If you want to know the truth, there’s no point looking at Bush’s self-portraits. You have to look at his paintings of dogs. The real question is: what do George W Bush’s dog paintings tell us about contemporary society? What do George W Bush’s dog paintings tell us about violence? What do George W Bush’s dog paintings tell us about art?
Imagine a creature from another world, something impossibly old and infinitely curious. Drifting between silent stars, she picks up a single stray transmission from an unknown planet in an uncharted backwater of the Milky Way. A picture of a dog. If our alien has eyes to see, she’ll be able to extrapolate our entire world from George W Bush’s painting of a bichon frisé on a blue background. A hierarchical class society looks out from its sad round eyes, capital accumulation can be inferred from the downwards tilt of its mouth, its outstretched paws tell you everything you need to know about the long slow decline of the nation-state. Most of all, though, our history is inscribed in the featureless blue plane on which the dog reclines. In fact, it’s swarming with tiny figures: child miners coughing dust, factory workers plunging from rooftops, women with acid scars bursting across their faces, people who wake up shaking from the bombs going off in their dreams, people who wake up shaking from the bombs going off in their ears. A society capable of producing that shade of blue leaves a lot of bodies in its wake.
Spend enough time looking at George W Bush’s paintings of dogs and it all starts to make sense. The war in Iraq was little more than the geopolitical expression of kitschy sentimentality. Imperialist universalism is the logic of the dog painting extended to nations and peoples. Radical evil is the weaponisation of bad taste. We’ll be greeted as liberators: of course we will, we love our dogs. History is on our side: of course it is, we like nice things. Our war will usher in a new age of peace and stability in the region: of course it will, we leave bright colours in our wake. George W Bush’s paintings of dogs represent a new height in Western society’s struggle to decouple art from violence. (This is why his nude self-portraits are all in bathrooms: only in the cleansing ritual is nudity non-erotic, and eroticism is after all only another form of violence.) It’s an impossible task. Violence and art are inseparable; the more you try to scrub the canvas clean of everything not clean and pleasant, the more hideous it becomes, the heavier the rain of bombs.
That’s why George W Bush is our greatest living painter. Nothing expresses more clearly the horror of existence than the most hated man in the world’s loving portrait of his dog. More than any gloomy conceptualist, Bush gives us the truth, the undisguised omnicidal violence of the nice and friendly. His paintings of dogs point towards the one subject all other contemporary art shies away from: the final extinction of the human race. Bright eyes and wagging tails, cities in ruins and skies scorched black. Art kills.
Doesn’t anyone else think it’s fascinating to see George Bush through his own mind’s eyes?
It’s like I’m peering into his consciousness
First of all it is obviously amateurish, but very telling. He’s not too comfortable with faces so he went with his back and legs (From what I’ve seen) Both are nudes, implied only, but nudes nonetheless. and they’re both about cleaning himself.
He didn’t do full nude. not even a bare butt, because he always intended to show friends and/or family these self portraits, so still something of an egotist, though a vulnerable side is very prominent. Not just the fact they are nudes, but look at the size of his face in that mirror. So a decent amount of self deprecating humility is purposely there. But I might doubt he realizes just how desperate he looks in these. He’s literally trying to wash the shame away.
i don’t really agree with the idea that the art someone produces can give you a better idea of their person than their words or actions; that’s why i think the reaction to his self-portraits has been marked by something of a fetish-character. you do touch on something important though, the total absence of the Presidential Dick. bush wants to paint nudes, but his sentimentality is antipolar to eroticism, hence, bathrooms. i think that explains them better than any ‘out, damn spot’ analysis, i dunno
I agree with you here. People often believe that looking at a person’s art will give them answers—when really, it won’t.
In response to your last sentence “Art kills,” though—I can’t tell if that’s cynicism or humor—I just want to say that art can make positive differences in the world as well. Not all is lost! You know, the Martha Nussbaum idea that we can access, through art, experiences that are beyond our own lived realities and therefore become better people. (Obviously George W Bush was not active in /this/ sphere of art. I doubt he had any interest in, let alone an in-depth understanding of the details of lives that were alien to him.)
a little from column a and a little from column b really. obviously art has incredible positive potential but it’s one that’s also bound up with violence. not that violence is necessarily a bad thing
it will give you some answers, just not all answers, and often not what we think. There is such a thing as projecting into an artwork, situation, person, etc.
But the psychology of choices displayed in any medium is not to be ignored. The FBI going through your trash can tell a hell of a lot more about you than you realize. How is a personally painted piece of art different?
I remember after Karlheinz Stockhausen described the 911 WTC attacks as “the greatest work of art ever” a journalist asked him if he equated art and crime: “It’s a crime because those involved didn’t consent. They didn’t come to the ‘concert.’ That’s obvious. And no one announced that they risked losing their lives. What happened in spiritual terms, the leap out of security, out of what is usually taken for granted, out of life, that sometimes happens to a small extent in art, too, otherwise art is nothing.”
great quote. what’s always fascinated me about 9/11 is how as it was happening people kept on comparing it to a film – certain acts of extreme violence are indistinguishable from aesthetic objects
thank you for this piece