Closing Shots From An Editor

This feature was originally reprinted in ART PAPERS July/August 1991, Vol. 15, issue 4 after having originally been published in the Fall 1990 issue of NUMBER:. 

It was three and a half years ago that the seed of NUMBER: was germinated. The product of conspirators, hatched over a few beers, winding its way through a tangled web of angry diatribe and frustrated discontent, Robert McGowan (now director of the Memphis Center for Contemporary Art), Don Estes (now board chairperson for NUMBER: ) and myself (now art critic for The Memphis Flyer) were those conspirators, the malcontents responsible for the publication that has evolved into the paper which you now hold in your hand. 

It’s three and a half years later and twelve issues have now run through the presses and the public gauntlet. In almost every one of those issues, I have used this space to enumerate my impressions and opinions of the goods and evils of the Memphis and Mid-South art microcosm-establishment and dirt soldiers alike. And while this may not be the last time you read my words in the pages of NUMBER:, it will be the last time you read them in this space, followed by the byline “Cory Dugan, Editor.” 

Before this issue went to press, I officially tendered my resignation as editor to the board of directors of NUMBER:. After three and a half years of butting my softening head against the brick wall that comprises the art hierarchy in this little part of the world, I simply felt it was time to put this bastard child behind me and get on with something resembling a real life. 

But, on the actual occasion of cutting the cord, I am naturally given pause to reflect. In those heady days of early planning and bringing NUMBER: to reality, the atmosphere was much different than it is today. I have already referred to it as a conspiracy and that description isn’t too much of an exaggeration. The original concept behind NUMBER: was the equivalent of placing bombs in the hallowed halls of the Brooks Museum and the sixth-floor offices of the hoidy-toidy Memphis Arts Council. The idea was for NUMBER: to exist as a nearly anonymous, underground rabble-rouser-to rattle some trees and hopefully bring down some of the rotten fruits in the top branches, to challenge the abysmally apathetic and second-rate art community into some sort of action. The talk was revolutionary, the atmosphere smoky and rife with rage and weltschmerz. The idea was that we simply couldn’t be the only artists who saw the need for change, that if a vehicle were provided others would naturally step forward and take advantage of an opportunity to vent their spleens. 

This was a misconception. Not that others don’t exist, not that legitimate complaints aren’t regularly voiced by virtually every member of the art microcosm. No, the misconception was that they’d have the guts to air their laundry in public, bite the hand that feeds them, and demand something better. That they would speak out for a change in the status quo, that they would join us in challenging the entrenched tastes and decaying culture that is perpetuated by our local and regional art establishment (i.e., museums, patronage agencies, and commercial galleries). To put it simply, we were wrong. 

We ended up standing alone. We ended up looking like a small minority of whiners and crybabies, while the dissidents among the establishment hid behind their cushy grants and corporate sponsors, afraid to rock the boat or stir the waters. They know who they are. 

Behind closed doors and lost in noisy bar rooms, they find their bravery and admit that the Memphis Arts Council is an ignorant bunch of well-intentioned busybodies. They admit that the Brooks is a third-rate museum dressed in new, first-rate sheep’s clothing. They willingly acknowledge that the Tennessee Arts Commission doesn’t know what goes on beyond its plush Nashville offices-and, even more, doesn’t want to know what goes on. They rail against the area art schools and universities for not preparing their students for the dismal fate that awaits them outside the ivory tower, and for giving them little more than lip service after they collect that final tuition check. 

But, given the opportunity to voice these gripes, they fall silent. They talk off the record, once the pen and the tape recorder are put away. And where did that leave this idealistic little underground arts journal? It left it with no option but to suck up, kiss ass, and join the establishment. 

Still convinced that this area needed a journal of serious art comment, criticism, and discussion, we settled for the status quo. We published fluff and lowered our initial standards to include favorable and ill-written reviews of bad art. We crawled into bed with the Arts Council and the Arts Commission and sold out for a few measly dollars. When I say “we,” I mean “I.” 

“We” would have been better off setting those bombs. 

Three and a half years later, the art scene hereabouts is a little bit better and I hope NUMBER: can claim some small credit for that fact. The principal accomplishment of NUMBER:, and one of which I am very proud, is that the art community is indeed a community; Memphis artists are no longer sequestered in their Midtown closets and unaware of what’s going on around them. Artists in places like Jonesboro and Nashville and Jackson and Tupelo and Columbus and Little Rock aren’t as isolated as we once were-we know each other, we know each other’s work, we know that none of us work in a vacuum. If that were NUMBER:’s only accomplishment, I’d feel as though all the work has been worth it. 

NUMBER: can also claim some small credit for an improvement in the general attitude toward contemporary art in this region; commercial galleries are more numerous and more aware, museums have at least been placed on the defensive, art critics published in other media have increased in their number and been forced to do their homework instead of writing knee-jerk reactions. NUMBER: can, by no means, claim all of the credit for these improvements—but we had a role to play and we damn well played it. 

Even if we didn’t always play it damn well. I am the first to admit that NUMBER: hasn’t lived up to its initial promise, and the first to take the blame. The edge is gone. And so am I. 

I challenge my successor(s) to re-examine the original idea behind NUMBER: and to bring it back to those ideals. I challenge my successor(s) to gird their loins and be willing to kick some ass instead of kiss it. Adopt some strict editorial standards and do not compromise them in favor of page count. 

Stand for something. 

An Epilogue From The Same Former Editor (May 1991) 

The above was printed in the Fall 1990 issue of NUMBER:, serving double purpose as an editorial cheap shot and as my resignation letter from the position of editor. Being an avid collector of clichés, I think of this old chestnut in hindsight: “Things are always darkest before the dawn.” 

NUMBER: has fallen into the unlucky but extremely capable editorial hands of my former assistant, Debora Gordon. It may have been another six months before the next issue was published, not a mathematically correct (“MC”) position for a quarterly publication to take, but the result was well worth the wait. (Besides which, being a fan of the British literary quarterly Granta, I seem to recall that they published their 28th issue in celebration of their 10th Anniversary, so I figure NUMBER: is in pretty good company.) 

The situation in Memphis as regards the arts has hardly improved since I wrote those nasty words last Fall; if anything, it’s deteriorated severely, consider- ing the closure of the Memphis Center for Contemporary Art early this year. But I am proud to say that NUMBER: is alive and kicking ass under its excellent new leadership. To make up for time lost over the cold, hard winter, another issue should be out well before this is published— which should get the journal almost back on schedule. 

Also, in the interim, NUMBER: has managed to acquire additional funding from the Memphis Arts Council (nearly double that of last year, despite our “irreverence”) and, miracle of miracles, hopes to have cracked, finally, the federal funding nut. (At this writing, we’re holding our breath, considering rather massive budget cuts on a state level, concerning an application to the Tennessee Arts Commission.) 

I don’t mention NUMBER:’s recent successes in the grant processes in an attempt to brag. Quite the contrary. I was afraid, in the earlier commentary, that NUMBER: had compromised itself in order to stay alive on the complex non-profit level; instead, it stepped up its inflammatory rhetoric and has, thus far, met with even greater success. I hope there’s a lesson to be learned by other such journals in NUMBER:‘s experience. Chief among the possible lessons: NEVER BECOME COMPLACENT. NEVER GIVE UP THE GOOD FIGHT. NUMBER: is not, as you may have guessed, a staid journal of academic aesthetic philosophy. NUMBER: plays hardball, gets down in the gutter and gets dirty-politically, culturally, socially and aesthetically. Its locale (Memphis, Tennessee) demands this editorial attitude; in fact, its locale defines its identity—a factor that I’ve seen ignored by too many other art journals. Hey, folks—most of us don’t live in New York and there’s no sense whatsoever in pretending that we do. 

Me? Well, after my incensed remarks of last fall, I took an additional six months sabbatical from NUMBER: and recently returned to the fold as chairperson of the board of directors. I’m refreshed, I have an excellent staff to do everything that used to drive me insane, and NUMBER: is more than ready to make up for lost time.

In the 35 years since its initial publication, Number: has not grown in size as an organization. It is still run by a small group of dedicated volunteers that bring this vital voice of the arts to the public free of charge. Many are artists or art professionals working in other capacities to keep the arts alive in the region. What has changed is the scope: starting from a visual arts focus and growing to explore the nexus with performing, literary, and conceptual arts, Number: continues to provide regional coverage of the arts throughout the South.

In the 35 years since its initial publication, Number: has not grown in size as an organization. It is still run by a small group of dedicated volunteers that bring this vital voice of the arts to the public free of charge. Many are artists or art professionals working in other capacities to keep the arts alive in the region. What has changed is the scope: starting from a visual arts focus and growing to explore the nexus with performing, literary, and conceptual arts, Number: continues to provide regional coverage of the arts throughout the South.

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Cory Dugan was a founder of NUMBER:, served for three and a half years as its editor, and currently chairs the board of directors for NUMBER: Incorporated, the non-profit body which oversees its production. He is also the art columnist for the Memphis Flyer, an alternative weekly newspaper.