I have heard it said that art is dead that history is dead, and that might well be the truth, that is until one has looked upon the breathtaking and captivating beauty generated by the artworks of Arthur Sarkissian. Because Sarkissian has had such a lengthy and prolific artistic career many things have already been said and written about his artworks, and I’m not one to be in conflict whit such emanate Los Angeles writers as Mr. Peter Frank, whom has said: 
“The mediated photographic imagery Sarkissian appropriates, after all, is no less imbued with his passion than are his vigorous, often volcanic passages of the abstract brushwork. It is the passion of Sarkissian’s curiosity, his embrace of the world that prompts him to introduce photographic imagery into his paintings… We even see its textures and practices, as well as philosophical positions, reflected in the work of such disparate predecessors as Warhol, Cornell, Miro, Malevich, and, of course Picasso. Among other things, Sarkissian demonstrates that the “collage aesthetic” – the simultaneously disjunctive and conjunctive qualities that uniquely define modern composition – remains one of the most significant and enduring legacies of 20th century art.” -Peter Frank, Los Angeles, June 2006. 
And because of this fact I then think that perhaps I have nothing new to add to the discussion surrounding the artworks of Mr. Sarkissian. But then I look “Between the Images” of antique furniture, columns, figures, books, advertisements, maps, etc, and then I see that perhaps there is allot more that is crying out to be said about these works of such captivating beauty. Such as, these images of the antique are in actuality not just windows into the past they are instead portals that can transport us the viewer into the future. In my opinion this is the case because Sarkissian’s images of the historic touch the past while his use of color that is laid “Between the Images” themselves, is the energy source that is used to propel us the viewer, into the future and into the unknown.
In many respects Sarkissian’s use of paint can be said to be inspired by Jackson Pollock’s “drip style” but instead of Pollock’s depressive and muted tones Sarkissian’s use of vivid color gives the viewer a breath taking vision of ocean waves that continually crash upon the shore, only to be washed back out, then in again, then out again, and then in again. In this way his artworks are not stale or tied to the past but instead are all about movement, even though his artistic shoreline is one that is littered with the artifacts of history. The point that I’m making here is that unlike the shards of history, which serve to weigh Sarkissian’s canvases down, his strategic use of color imbues them with the inherent power to propel themselves forward into the viewer’s consciousness.
As is clear to us all, the past is already known so the only thing left open to us is the future. And Sarkissian allows us to see a glimpse of that future with his amble and vivid use of color, which in its own way serves to signify thoughts of life, regeneration, and hope. In this way, the energy encapsulated within the swaths of color continually bursts forth upon the senses of the viewer in such a way as to carry them away from the staid boring past into the beautiful color-filled future of the unknown.
Concerning my observations about Mr. Sarkissian’s aesthetic, I hope that in some small way they serve to compel you the art lover to seek out his works in order to see for yourself weather my musing possess any merit. Which you can so easily do, by going to Artology 101 Gallery, 3108 Glendale Blvd. in Los Angeles on Saturday, March 27, from 6-10 PM for the opening reception of his new works Between The Images in order to see for yourself the effect his works have upon you. If I may extend a word of caution, remember to prepare yourself for a wild and thought provoking ride into the world of color, and if you are very, very fortunate, into the future of art.

Among the many dialectics pervading the discourse of modern (and especially contemporary – or, if you would, post-modern) art, one of the most persistent is that between the authentic and the mediated. In this dialectic the purpose, the content, the message of art is defined either as real, direct, immediate experience (or the search therefore) or as received, modulated, socially and technically prefigured and predigested comprehension (or the analysis thereof). The argument between these two conditions of perception can seem to swing back and forth, favoring one and then the other. The abstract expressionists in 1950s New York and the neo-expressionists in 1980s Germany, for example, believed art manifested a firsthand account of life, and was to be as forcefully palpable as life itself, while the Pop artists of the 1960s and the appropriationists of the later `80s, both operating in several art centers at once, posited an art that reflected a world of acculturation and manipulation.

Even putting aside questions of interior and exterior critique, however, we can understand these movements, and others, as essays in an ongoing struggle to accept all experience as real and as mediated – that is, that the translation of experience into art is just that, translation, and that all communication, art or otherwise, depends upon the mediation of experience between communicator and recipient. Cognition, you might say, takes place at the mouth of Plato’s cave.

This is the message that underlies Arthur Sarkissian’s oeuvre. In Sarkissian’s paintings what-is-known meets what-is-felt within the bounds of the picture plane. What is “felt” – embodied in Sarkissian’s painterly gestures and rich coloration – maintains its integrity, and what is “known” – concretized in the images Sarkissian finds in mass media and transfers to the heart of his artworks – continues to evince its source in widely disseminated formats such as newspapers and books. But despite this obvious polarity, Sarkissian effects a remarkably easy and unstrained flow between the felt and the known, between raw brushstroke and transferred image. Each element becomes not just a foil, but a partner, for the other. A passage lifted (not literally, as in collage, but photographically, through silkscreen) from an art history textbook or illuminated manuscript or magazine still “reports” its information, but becomes at the same time a factor in a larger composition, enmeshed in painterly incident. Meanwhile, without losing the passion invested in it by Sarkissian’s hand, such painterly incident is ordered into a certain rational structure, one that echoes the lexical coherence that photographic imagery promulgates. Sarkissian’s paintings are at once wholes and sums of parts, and they “talk” to us in several visual languages at once.

Such a polyglot, polysemic art is hardly unique to Sarkissian. We see his style anticipated by Robert Rauschenberg, and before him Kurt Schwitters. We even see its textures and practices, as well as philosophical positions, reflected in the work of such disparate predecessors as Warhol, Cornell, Miro, Malevich, and, of course, Picasso. Among other things, Sarkissian demonstrates that the “collage aesthetic” – the simultaneously disjunctive and conjunctive qualities that uniquely define modern composition – remains one of 20th century art’s most significant and enduring legacies. Indeed, this collage aesthetic provides the perceptual crucible in which the dialectic described above is forged, and it defines the particular visual world in which Sarkissian finds his expression.

Above all, Sarkissian’s is an art of transition, a demonstration of the flow of human experience from the felt to the known, from the intuited to the studied, and back again. What is felt is itself important, and so is what is known – and we must note Sarkissian’s preoccupation with architectural structures, art-historical artifacts, and the visual record of various histories, in particular that of the Armenian people. From one vantage, Sarkissian’s oeuvre can certainly be seen as an examination of the relationship between his cultural heritages, Caucasian and European. It is not the particulars of this relationship, cultural or sociological, that provide the true substance of Sarkissian’s art, however, but its very nature as a relationship, that is, as a moment of transition. Does this ongoing “moment” take place in real time and space, across seas and centuries? Certainly. But more importantly, it takes place metaphysically in Sarkissian’s mind and heart, as well as in those of his fellow Armenians (and for that matter, Georgians, Azeris, and even Russians). Europe may give way to Asia in the Caucasus, but what Sarkissian paints is Europe and Asia giving way to one another in his soul.

The Caucasus has been a region of transition from time immemorial, its peoples subject to the passage of others through their realms, to subjection to foreign rule and foreign modes, to the destruction of cultural patrimony, and even to conflict among themselves. Conversely, however emotionally tied they may be to their rough patch of Eurasian soil, the Armenians have proven themselves adept at wandering, at integrating themselves into – and even making themselves indispensable to – foreign societies without losing their own identity. Transition is a given condition in Armenian consciousness, grasped even by those (like Sarkissian himself) who have never lived outside Armenia. For Armenians, transition is a stable condition, a dependably unceasing process of modulation. As the saying goes, the only constant is change.

The moods that play across Sarkissian’s paintings, with their variegated forms and mixed messages, can change as abruptly as the weather on the steppe. Just as he can transit from manual gesture to photographic document, his imagery can fluctuate in mood from lighthearted and sweet to grave and ominous, from fluid and beautiful to stark and coarse. The shifts between tonalities can be more dramatic than the tonalities themselves. This, again, is no inconsistency, nor even an expression of instability, but a manifestation of the condition(s) of change, a confounding of expectation, a sometimes-virtuosic display of different kinds – not just different levels – of passion. The mediated photographic imagery Sarkissian appropriates, after all, is no less imbued with his passion than are his vigorous, often volcanic passages of abstract brushwork. It is the passion of Sarkissian’s curiosity, his embrace of the world, that prompts him to introduce photographic imagery into his paintings. And, in turn, the abstract painting Sarkissian realizes as the basis of his style is no less reasoned than is his choice of photographs to silkscreen; as volatile as his painting method may seem, its spontaneity, while hardly self-conscious, is formally circumspect. The rightness of a particular passage, its apparent harmony with the rest of the painting, results from a process of consideration as measured as that which undergirds Sarkissian’s use of photo-images. Passionate as his works are, they result from a predetermination of image and gesture. Much rapid decision-making shapes Sarkissian’s tableaux, but blind reckoning and impulsive inclusion figure at best superficially into their making.

Many levels of dialectical opposition thus pertain in Sarkissian’s painting. How it is conceived and how it is fabricated, how it looks and how it “reads,” what it contains and what it means, who it speaks for and how it speaks for him and/or them – all these polarities and more determine the work’s compelling vitality. Elegant and raw, chaotic and lucid, expansive and deliberate, the art of Arthur Sarkissian does not so much resolve a universe of opposites as flourish in its balance.

Los Angeles , June 2006.

by Tamar Sinanian and Taleen Tertzakian (2008)

Critics’ Forum
Visual Arts
Art in the Time of Change: Contemporary Art in Armenia

In order to understand where art in the now independent Armenian republic is going, we need to look back at where it has been, especially since the fateful days of independence in 1991.The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 instigated change not only in the economic, political, and military spheres of the former republics but in the everyday freedoms of its people. The sister policies of Glasnost and Perestroika, established in the late 1980s by Gorbachev in his feeble efforts to save the Soviet structure, ultimately resulted in the beginning of the end of the Soviet era. Glasnost (meaning “openness”) promoted a spirit of intellectual and cultural openness which encouraged public debate and participation in support of the program of Perestroika (or, “economic restructuring”).
By promoting an exchange of ideas and information, a concept long foreign to that area of the world, Glasnost allowed the introduction of the western tenet of freedom of speech. Soviet citizens began to artistically and journalistically express themselves in ways that for years had been forbidden by the Soviet regime. The introduction of such “anti-soviet” concepts, and the resulting relaxation of censorship, eventually lead to the Communist Party losing its grip on the media and ultimately to the dismantling of the tight soviet
structure that had been in place for the past 75 years. Each of the former soviet republics reacted differently to this loosening of control and in their own way contributed to the eventual fall of the system.Armenia proved to be one of the more vociferous republics, as its citizens took full advantage of the changing political and social atmosphere. In 1988, soviet tanks firmly planted themselves in Yerevan’s city center, the then “Lenin Square”, in response to demonstrations against soviet policies, including religious, environmental, and political issues. People took to the streets in demonstration and some camped out in front of the Opera House, bringing attention to their cause by organizing a hunger strike. While this political and social chaos kept escalating on the streets of Yerevan, artists were in their studios recreating their art to reflect the times and documenting the birth of a new era. At this time, a small group of these artists organized a number of exhibits called “Third Floor,” named after the floor in the Artists Union where they would exhibit. At Third Floor, artists experimented with different art forms and techniques, fomenting
change while foreshadowing the creative freedom to come. The abundance of artistic styles that emerged in Armenia during this tumultuous time of rapid transition revealed the anticipated need of release the art community was struggling with. This post-collapse “fresh breath” was a long time in coming. Artists in Armenia stripped themselves of the constraints placed on them by the state-imposed genre of Socialist Realism, a style of representational art that furthered the goals of socialism and communism, and began exploring other techniques and forms of expression. No longer did artists need to restrict their subject matter and purpose when creating art.
This new-found freedom resulted in artists casting aside the stale, contrived images of tractors, workers, and other proletariat models of socialist realist art for newly discovered inspirations, forms and techniques as artists were finally allowed to openly learn, study, and discover western art. The abstract and modern schools of thought, which had streamed out of 1950s and 60s New York (abstract expressionism followed by pop art) and had taken the rest of the art world by storm became more accessible and tangible to these artists. They began studying Rauschenberg, Rothko, Warhol, and their American peers as well as various members of Germany’s 1980s neo-expressionist movement. The influence of these various schools of thought in correlation with the social and historical context surrounding the artists created a new perspective – and ultimately a new school of Armenian Art. The dichotomy of pre- and post-soviet influence is very much apparent in the art work of many of the artists who have established present-day Armenia’s contemporary art scene, including Yerevan-based Arthur Sarkissian. Like many of his contemporaries, during the 1980s, Sarkissian steered away from Socialist Realism and began experimenting with abstraction. During an interview in 2005, Sarkissian suggested, “my approach to painting developed from the desire to free myself from Socialist Realism. Abstract thought was the means of free expression. I have never given up and always experimented. So, now there are no boundaries for me; I create freely and at any desired moment I can return to abstract art, or incorporate several styles.” This notion of freedom that Sarkissian yearned for in his desire to depart from the restrictive principles of Socialist Realism can be seen in his style and technique. Often compared to one of his great influences, American artist Robert Rauschenberg,
Sarkissian’s collage-like method of painting juxtaposes silkscreen images on a canvas with painterly gestures. In his work, Sarkissian incorporates signs, texts, manuscripts, photographs, interiors and exteriors of different architectural structures, as well as images of Renaissance and Baroque art. The spontaneous placement of these images on canvas along with expressionist brushstrokes demonstrates the freedom of expression he enjoys in making his art today.In present-day Armenia, artists, such as Sarkissian, experiment with their various inspirations, moods, philosophies, and perspectives, without having to pay homage to any ideological dogma. Sarkissian takes this freedom and runs with it. And the western world is taking notice. In a review of Sarkissian’s work, Peter Frank, an art critic for LA Weekly has written: “Just as he can transit from manual gesture to photographic document, his imagery can fluctuate in mood from lighthearted and sweet to ominous and grave, from fluid and beautiful to stark and coarse. The shifts between tonalities can be more dramatic than the tonalities themselves." Like Sarkissian, many artists in Yerevan have embraced the creative freedom of Armenia’s new era and are collectively changing the historico-cultural discourse of Armenia’s contemporary art scene. With such an auspicious beginning, we cannot wait to
see where the artists, and their art, will take us.

All Rights Reserved: Critics’ Forum, 2008

Tamar Sinanian holds a Master’s degree in Contemporary Art from Sothebys Institute in London. She is
also the co-founder of T&T Art, an art consulting company.
Taleen Tertzakian is an attorney and holds a Master's degree in Russian, East European, and Eurasian
Studies from Stanford University. She is also the co-founder of T&T Art, an art consulting company.

 

As I got out of the taxi, I was greeted by the welcoming smile of Arthur Sarkissian. We walked through a tunnel which opened into a village with no paved streets. Following him up and down uneven pathways, then down stairs into his studio, I was overwhelmed by the number of paintings that were stacked up against each other. As each canvas was uncovered, the studio took on new life, filled with vibrant color, liberating dialogue, an atmosphere which took flight. As I looked around, I saw colorful brush stokes, paint applied by spatula, silk screened towns, churches, architectural details, letters written to loved ones, and photographs of families, village leaders, and home makers from generations past. All these images point to the past and bridge a gap between then and now, past and present: the family photograph from eighty years ago juxtaposed with the bright, vivid colors and metaphors of our present times. His process includes layers, silk screen, brush strokes, more color; all applied together until he feels satisfied with his creation. This process parallels the layers of generations, of times and cultures past. A world based on the past. Arthur’s works are very personal, yet very culturally and historically saturated. They are powerful, liberating; they present a joie de vivre. Each creation tells a personal and universal story. Allow yourself to explore and discover.
By Caroline Tufenkian