Bevieved vovI|s) Souvce OcloIev, VoI. 111 |Winlev, 2005), pp. 81-106 FuIIisIed I The MIT Press SlaIIe UBL http://www.jstor.org/stable/3397674 . Accessed 29/02/2012 2203 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. The MIT Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to October. http://www.jstor.org Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used* LISA PASQUARIELLO The first images seen by visitors to the Whitney Museum of American Art's recent exhibition Ed Ruscha and Photography were a set of six photographs taken in 1961 and shown for the first time in 2003.1 Each Product Still Life features a single con- sumer item-Oxydol bleach, Sherwin-Williams turpentine, Wax Seal car polish-on what appears to be a shelf, shot frontally in black and white against a solid backdrop. As exhibited, these works foretold the photographic practice treated in the rest of the small show: Ruscha went on to use such artless viewpoints to picture vernacular subjects, stripped of affect, in artist's books such as Twentysix Gasoline Stations (1962) and Some Los Angeles Apartments (1965). The books are rightly regarded as beachheads in the genealogy of Conceptual art, but a pair of the single-object photographs evoke instead Ruscha's first allegiance, to Pop.2 (A charter membership in two movements that are in many ways anathema only begins to suggest his art-historical elusiveness.) For two of Ruscha's early photographic subjects, a box of Sun Maid Raisins and a tin of Spam, reappear in paintings executed in tandem with or shortly after the photos, Box Smashed Flat (1960-61) and Actual Size (1962), paintings that established the reputation of "Ed-werd Rew-shay, Young Artist" as an avatar of West Coast Pop.3 The assessment was sensible enough: with their sign-like vibrance, depiction of mass-produced commercial items, and allusion to the strategies of advertising (picturing a product in its "actual size"), the paintings feature several of the markers * Parts of this essay are taken from a chapter of my dissertation, "'Good Reading': The Work of Ed Ruscha, 1958-1970" (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 2004). For her help and insight on that project, I am indebted to Pamela Lee; thanks as well to Scott Bukatman, Wanda Corn, and Bryan Wolf. I am very grateful to Yve-Alain Bois, Johanna Burton, Hal Foster, Rosalind Krauss, and Malcolm Turvey for their comments and suggestions on this version. 1. The Product Still Lifes were first exhibited at the Gagosian Gallery in Los Angeles in spring 2003. 2. Ruscha is wary of art-historical labels but does acknowledge his Pop sensibility: "I have more of an affinity to the Pop artists and their general attitude than to anything else.... You couldn't call me a card- carrying member of it, but my attitudes were more similar to Pop artists than any other" (Ruscha in Joe Goode, Jeny McMillan, Edward Ruscha, exh. cat. [Oklahoma City: Oklahoma City Art Museum, 1989], p. 84). 3. So read the business cards Ruscha made for himself upon graduating from Chouinard Art Institute in 1960. Box Smashed Flat and Actual Size were included in Walter Hopps's New Painting of Common Objects exhibition (Pasadena Art Museum, 1962); Box Smashed Flat was the first work Ruscha sold and Actual Size the first acquired by a museum. OCTOBER 111, Winter 2005, pp. 81-106. ? 2005 October Magazine, Ltd. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. OCTOBER A Ed Ruscha. Left: Sun-Maid Raisins. 1961. Right: Spam. 1961. All images courtesy the artist and Gagosian Gallery. that stylistically characterized Pop in both its early flush and subsequent historiciza- tion. Present too are the parodic rejoinders to Abstract Expressionism that several critics saw in Pop (Ruscha, then a recent graduate of Chouinard Art Institute, was trained to paint in an Abstract Expressionist manner, against his inclinations). The title Box Smashed lat is perhaps the most pithy summary of Greenbergian modernism yet, and the streaky run-off in the lower half of Actual Size so regular it could have been applied with a ruler; both paintings testify to the reception of Abstract Expressionism's once-unencumbered, indexical marks as shopworn and stylized-indeed packaged and packable-by the early 1960s. What is conspicuously not Pop about these paintings, however, is the impor- tance Ruscha accords to the single item and its qualities as an object. The Pop subject was typically pictured as uniform and exchangeable, whatever distinguishing proper- ties it might possess eclipsed by the growing power of the mass-cultural sign, and its multiplicity reiterated in the Pop artist's imitation or direct use of techniques of mechanical reproduction. While Pop representations of commercial products usually show exterior packaging (Andy Warhol and Tom Wesselmann's Coca-Cola bottles, Mel Ramos's Velveeta Cheese boxes), Ruscha shows interior substance, indicating crushed raisins with a smeary blot of brown paint below the lid of the Sun Maid box. Pop's most iconic subjects are serial (Warhol's rows of Campbell's Soup and Coke cans), while Ruscha depicts a single item with lavish trompe l'oeil care. And we learn from the Product Still Lifes that, unlike Warhol culling his imagery from daily newspa- pers, or James Rosenquist clipping from old magazines, Ruscha based his early paintings on actual objects. The sources of his first subjects were a single can of processed meat and a box of raisins he photographed in his studio, and Ruscha's care-what he calls a "reverence"-for the substance of his subjects, his concern to 82 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used ?R f',"i Box? Smahe ...0 Ruscha. Left: Box Smashed Flat. 1960-61. Right: Actual Size. 1962. present them as palpable things with tactility, weight, and even velocity, hallmarks his polymathic practice.4 This engagement with materiality can, I would argue, be traced through most of Ruscha's production of the past forty-five years-in renderings of both words and images; in work in painting, drawing, editions; and even in his photographic books, thought to augur Conceptual art's antagonism for the work of art as physical object. The project of the following is narrower: to use the notion of linguistic opacity-of the word as a nontransparent sign, whose materiality may be tied to its meaning-to chart some consistencies in Ruscha's word choices during his first decade of work. His notebooks indicate that he depicted more than four hundred words between 1960 and 1972, and there have been hundreds more since. Yet the acknowledgement of Ruscha as a pacemaker in the use of text in and as image, and his subsequent influence on any number of artists with language-centered practices, has been unaccompanied by an account of the particular kinds of words he repre- sents. These words are less Pop's transparent signs of something else (mass culture, the popular media, mechanical reproduction) than self-referential, obdurately physical matter. Ruscha's practice, perhaps the slowest burn in twentieth-century American art history, has long merited a sustained formal reckoning, and to 4. Ruscha in Paul Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha in His Western Avenue, Hollywood Studio" (1980-81), in Ruscha, Leave Any Information at the Signal: Writings, Interviews, Bits, Pages, ed. Alexandra Schwartz (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2002), p. 185. Ruscha remarked on the objects in the Product Still Lifes: "They were not in perfect condition ... they're ratty around the edges, and they've been kicked around, and wrinkled. I liked them for that" (Ruscha in Sylvia Wolf, "Nostalgia and New Editions: A Conversation with Ed Ruscha," in Ed Ruscha and Photography, exh. cat. [New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 2004], p. 263). Compare to Lucy Lippard's primer Pop Art: "Pop objects decidedly forgo the uniqueness acquired by time. They are not yet worn or left over" (New York: Praeger, 1966), p. 78. 83 OCTOBER demonstrate a pattern of choices based on linguistic opacity, in which words possess a material density and form is often motivated by meaning, may complicate received wisdom about signification in Pop at the moment the movement itself is ripe for critical reexamination. Ruscha's textual choices-mostly single words for the first decade of his practice, then longer phrases and sentences from the early 1970s on-are gener- ally regarded as humorous one-liners, lightweight piffle and self-evident snippets drawn seemingly at random from Los Angelean highway and movie culture: Paramount. Gas. Western. Honey, I Twisted Through More Damn Traffic Today. When critics do mention his particular selections, most do so only nominally, noting that, like many Pop artists, Ruscha represents brand-name products, or that names such as "Hollywood" and "20th Century Fox" conjure the local color of his adopted hometown; or in bemused passing, wondering if painting the word "adios" to look as if formed of beans might be some sort of a joke. This semantic lip service follows from conventional notions of signifying in Pop: its words and images were (and are) mainly considered straightforward, if oversized, inventories of an increasingly pervasive, mass-media-driven American popular culture. The issues of interest, then and now, were the level of critique intended (did these everyday subjects signal a cheerful acceptance or the grim ascent of the culture industry?) and the question of what picturing the commodity in a work of art entailed in terms of its own status as a commodity; the signs themselves were taken to be obvious, even transparent, vehicles of meaning. "The authentic Pop image exists independent of any interpretations," wrote one critic. "It is simple, direct, and immediately comprehensible."5 These presumptions of simplicity were understandable: Pop's new imagery-demotic, commercial, urban, sexual- though startling, was at least recognizable after nearly two decades of abstraction, and fast-changing conditions of artistic production and reception seemed to call out for what Leo Steinberg would memorably term "other criteria" to gauge the work. To evaluate the matter of Ruscha's words, and consider the relation of that matter to meaning, is an unabashedly formalist project, and Pop, as Steinberg suggested in 1963, had "pushed subject matter to such prominence that formal or aesthetic considerations are temporarily masked out."6 5. John Russell and Suzi Gablik, Pop Art Redefined (New York: Praeger, 1969), p. 9. Even while attempt- ing to "redefine" the reception of Pop, Gablik does not depart from initial assumptions about the straight- forwardness of its signs. 6. Leo Steinberg in "A Symposium on Pop Art," Arts 37 (April 1963), p. 39. Steinberg's recommenda- tion in "Other Criteria" (1972) that art criticism abandon formalism had already been realized in much of the earliest criticism on Pop. Most early reviewers saw little formal significance in it:Jules Langsner, review- ing The New Paintings of Common Objects, pronounced the work "insufficient esthetically," declaring, "the lack of interest generated by these works resides in the poverty of visual invention"; John Coplans, writing about the 1963 Pop Art-USA show he organized at the Oakland Museum, noted, "For these artists, the Abstract Expressionist concern with gesture, with the expressive possibilities of sheer materials, is out ... sophisticated concern with compositional techniques, formal analysis or drawing, is also out" (Langsner, "Los Angeles Letter," Art International [September 1962], p. 49; Coplans, "Pop Art-USA," Artforum 51 84 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used Most criticism on Ruscha fuses the observation that he turns words into objects with the assumption that those words, in turn, relinquish whatever immanent or referential signifying capacities they might possess; bypassed is the potential of the rendered word to be both physical thing and conveyor of meaning, at once pictorial object and bearer of linguistic resonance and association.7 Yet it is the possibility of picturing this simultaneity that animates Ruscha's practice: his material is language, but that language is material, and in giving size to things that "exist in a world of no- size," he tends to portray words as signs that can be motivated and linked to their materiality.8 He loves words, picks them carefully ("whatever I do now is completely premeditated"), and often represents text as mimetically as his scrupulous trompe l'oeil figures object.9 Ruscha's words thicken and perplex their assumed transparency by foregrounding their substantive physicality and by reproducing the look, shape, sound, and meaning of their referents, and it is this refusal of the transparency attrib- uted to the sign by historians of Pop that unites the various linguistic categories recurrent in his early practice.10 [October 1963], p. 28). Many artists concurred: "Pop seems to be all subject matter," Lichtenstein said,"whereas Abstract Expressionism, for example, seems to be all esthetic" (Lichtenstein in G. R. Swenson, "What Is Pop Art?," Art News [November 1963], p. 26). See Russell Ferguson, ed., Hand-Painted Pop: American Art in Transition 1955-62, exh. cat. (Los Angeles: Museum of Contemporary Art, 1993), for a reconsideration of the formal relationships between Abstract Expressionism and Pop. 7. Yve-Alain Bois's work on Ruscha is an important exception; he writes that Ruscha "clearly knows that one cannot escape signification. He knows that however empty (that is, noisy) the message he will retrieve from the semiological profusion of social refuse, it will always bounce back full of meaning" (Bois, "Thermometers Should Last Forever," in Edward Ruscha: Romance with Liquids, Paintings 1966-1969, exh. cat. [NewYork: Gagosian Gallery, 1993], p. 20; reprinted in this volume, pp. 60-80). 8. Ruscha in Patricia Failing, "Ed Ruscha, Young Artist: Dead Serious About Being Nonsensical," Art News 81, pt. 4 (April 1982), p. 78; reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 225-37. 9. Ibid., p. 77. Ruscha keeps notebooks in which he lists words and phrases that strike him, from con- versations, dreams, music, and books, and he writes these down even while driving. One interviewer asked about the inspirations for certain works: "Slobberin 'Drunk at the Palomino: 'That's from a Frank Zappa song.' Mysterious Voltage Drop: 'I read it in an electric manual.' Malibu = Sliding Glass Doors: 'That whoosh they make sounds like the ocean.' Talk Real: 'My kid said that once to me when he was small.' Hello I Must Be Going: 'A Groucho Marx quote.' He Busts into a Union Hall Full of Workers and Yells Out, 'O.K., What Is It You Guys Want, Pontiac Catalinas?': It came to me in a dream" (ibid., p. 81). 10. To say that language signifies transparently suggests that a word's physical features do not affect perception of meaning, that words do not mean by virtue of their materiality. "The wonderful thing about language is that it promotes its own oblivion," wrote Maurice Merleau-Ponty: "My eyes follow the lines on the paper, and from the moment I am caught up in their meaning, I lose sight of them. The paper, the let- ters on it, my eyes and body are only there as the minimum setting of some invisible operation. Expression fades before what is expressed, and this is why its mediating role may pass unnoticed" (Merleau-Ponty, The Phenomenology of Perception [1962], trans. Colin Smith [London: Routledge, 1989], p. 401). Some suggest that Ruscha's interest in the materiality of the word may stem, however unconscious- ly, from his Catholic upbringing, from years of catechism classes on how "the Word became flesh." Although Ruscha equated his move to California in 1956 with his abandonment of the church, he has acknowledged the influence: "I kind of spring from Catholicism .... Some of my work comes out of a quasi-religious thing" (Ruscha in Amei Wallach, "The Restless American: On Ed Ruscha's Royal Road," New York Times, June 24, 2001, p. 33). It is easy enough to trace a religious theme in his work, from the sym- bolism suggested by the "birds and fish" paintings to word choices such as Sin, The Catholic Church, Devil or Angel, Miracle, The Chapel Window, She Sure Knew Her Devotionals, and Bible. The utility of these connect-the- dots biographic analyses seems limited at best, however, and is at any rate beyond the scope of this essay. 85 OCTOBER Harold Rosenberg, writing in 1964 on the contemporary proliferation of "art books," diagnosed the character of recent reception as marked by a "coalescence of art and comment."ll The market boom that occurred in lockstep with the burgeon- ing of Pop art precipitated a growing interest in new work on the part of the mass media that Pop often took as subject, an enhanced cultural standing for the critic, and a rapidly expanding art press. Many did not view these developments as salutary; Rosenberg lamented that painting had "become nothing else than what is said about it," and Brian O'Doherty complained that art was being "overinterpreted, overcriticized, and overdocumented in a strangling undergrowth of verbal redun- dancies."12 New roles for the word also emerged in the register of production, in a variety of practices that supplanted the Abstract Expressionist focus on the (how- ever unrecognizable) image with an attention to language. This linguistic turn in practice would reach its apogee in the text-only work, efflorescence of artists' writ- ings, and theoretical apparatuses of Minimalism and Conceptualism, but much Pop, too, featured language prominently: its most iconic works, Warhol's soup cans and Roy Lichtenstein's comic frames, contain words, and even the labeling of Rosenquist's work (usually devoid of language) as "billboard painting" hints at a text behind the image. Together with the implosion of medium-specific practices and the dismantling of "high-low" boundaries in the 1960s, this "eruption of language into the field of the visual arts," as Craig Owens wrote, was "coincident with, if not the definitive index of, the emergence of postmodemism."13 Although Abstract Expressionism's artists and art works were hardly as nonverbal as the myths about their moment make them out to be, high modernist practice and criticism had been decidedly antilinguistic, the putative opticality, autonomy, and immediacy of the image privileged over the narra- tive, referentiality, and temporality spawned by language.14 "All pictures of quality ask to be looked at rather than read," Clement Greenberg wrote, and he inaugurated the crusade to establish avant-garde painting as "dominant" by taking up the mantle 11. Harold Rosenberg, "Art Books, Book Art, Art," in his The Anxious Object (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964), pp. 199-200. 12. Ibid., p. 199; Brian O'Doherty, "Criticizing Criticism" (1963), in his Object and Idea: An Art Critic's Journal 1961-1967 (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1967), p. 193. 13. Craig Owens, "Earthwords," October 10 (Fall 1979), pp. 122, 126. 14. As W. J. T. Mitchell notes: "Modern painting ... while it has ostensibly sought to create nothing more than the 'pure' image-abstract, nonverbal, free of representation, reference, narrative, and even the contamination of a verbal title-has in fact become more dependent on an elaborate verbal apologet- ics, the ersatz metaphysics of 'art theory"' (Mitchell, ed., The Language of Images [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974], p. 1). And Rosalind Krauss argues: "The messenger who came rushing into the art world, as into the discipline of art history, some thirty years ago [in the mid-1960s], bringing news of the recent invasion of the 'textual' into the domain of the visual, could have saved his [sic] breath. The visual arts have always battled the onslaught of a verbal production-from ekphrasis to allegory; from ut pictura poesis to iconography-that modernist art managed, briefly, to stun but never totally to silence" (Krauss, "Welcome to the Cultural Revolution," October 77 [Summer 1996], p. 83). See also Ann Gibson, "Abstract Expressionism's Evasion of Language," Art Journal 47, no. 3 (Fall 1988), pp. 208-14. 86 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used of G. E. Lessing's 1766 attack on ut pictura poesis.15 Abstraction, Greenberg main- tained, would best demarcate and purify the limits of the medium, best serve the modernist painter's crucible of eliminating "from the specific effects of each art any and every effect that might conceivably be borrowed from or by the medium of any other art."16 Foremost among the worst of such borrowings were the "effects" of words, and the flat picture plane's renunciation of perspectival illusionism meant that the avant-garde painter could get "rid of imitation-and with it, 'literature.'"17 Although the early reception of Pop art was mixed, its critics split as to whether the new work signaled a treacherous overthrow of the Abstract Expressionist ethos or the next logical stage in the organically successive march of art history, most concurred that Pop artists were (in contrast to their New York School predecessors) "eminently write-able about," as Thomas Hess put it, responsi- ble for ushering in what Barbara Rose called a "verbal feast" for criticism.18 This new care for language about art did not extend, however, to the very words depicted in Pop; early critics remained largely uninterested in what the signs of "sign art" actu- ally said or meant, and instead effectively viewed text in Pop as more or less pure pictorial matter.19 "Most of them have nothing at all to say," charged Peter Selz about the works.20 Except for the interpretations that representing a mass-produced item with techniques often cribbed from industrial production foregrounded the force of postwar American consumerism, and that such representations begged the question of the extent to which the work of art itself had become a commodity, the extent to which its meaning was its commodity status, analyses of Pop mainly grew out of assumptions that its words and images were possessed by what Roland Barthes would later call "the obtuse and matte stubbornness of a fact."21 Barthes's reflections on what he termed Pop's "facticity"-how its subjects are "stripped of any symbol" and "signify that they signify nothing," how the work itself denies that "it possesses a profound or proximate space through which its appearance can propagate vibrations 15. Clement Greenberg, Barnett Newman: First Retrospective Exhibition (Bennington, Vt.: Bennington College, 1958), n.p. 16. Clement Greenberg, "Modernist Painting" (1960), in Clement Greenberg: The Collected Essays and Criticism, vol. 4, Modernism with a Vengeance, 1957-1969, ed. John O'Brian (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), p. 86. 17. Clement Greenberg, "Towards a Newer Laocoon" (1940), in Clement Greenberg: The Collected Essays and Criticism, vol. 1, Perceptions andJudgments, 1939-1944, ed. John O'Brian (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), p. 34. 18. Thomas Hess, "New Realists," Art News (Summer 1963), p. 41; Barbara Rose, "Pop in Perspective," Encounter25, no. 2 (August 1965), p. 63. 19. Johanna Drucker is one of few scholars to note this omission: "With the advent of Pop art, the use of language as a visual form resurfaces in the visual arts, but the challenge to the boundaries of sig- nifying practice are overwhelmed by other issues in its consideration" (Drucker, The Visible Word: Experimental Typography and Modern Art [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994], p. 227). An impor- tant recent exception is Michael Lobel's careful attention to the words in Lichtenstein's comic bubbles; see his Image Duplicator: Roy Lichtenstein and the Emergence of Pop Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), esp. chaps. 1, 3, 5. 20. Peter Selz, "The Flaccid Art," Partisan Review (Summer 1963), p. 313. 21. Roland Barthes, "That Old Thing, Art . ." (1980), in Pop Art: A Critical History, ed. Steven Henry Madoff (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), p. 372. 87 OCTOBER of meaning"-are elegant, but we need not look only to poststructuralism for such appraisals.22 Gene Swenson wrote much the same thing in an early review ("an image from a sign ... is stripped of its original signification"), and Dore Ashton accused the Pop artist of having decided to "banish metaphor."23 Such disavowals of Pop's intrinsic signifying power indicate how long the criti- cal hangover of high modernist formalism lasted; Michael Fried, for example, in a 1962 review of Robert Indiana's work, wrote, "Paintings such as these could work only if the words could be bled dry, if they could be deprived of all their force as bearers of meaning."24 Critics of Ruscha's first decade of work, while mainly laudatory, not only avoid analyses of his particular word choices but seem to want to ignore his use of language altogether. "No matter how much one tries not to see it, these slick and undulating surfaces are spelling out words," Robert Pincus-Witten wrote in 1968; "it is difficult to get through them because the meaning of the words gets in the way."25 David Bourdon stated that Ruscha was not "making literary or intellectual allusions" and even that "a knowledge of the English language is not a prerequisite to the enjoy- ment of Ruscha's work."26 Ruscha's association with an emergent group of Los Angeles-based "finish fetish" artists only amplified such interpretations: from Larry Bell's mirror-coated glass cubes to Robert Irwin's opalescent white discs, from Billy Al Bengston's glossy spray paint to Craig Kauffman's Plexiglas, "object sculpture" stressed the quality and specificity of material and surface to the exclusion of what those prop- erties might signify.27 Apprehending Ruscha's words as so many "L.A. Look" objects in space necessitated the mutual exclusion of physicality and linguistic resonance: "His deceptively bland and succulent pastel surfaces can trick one into taking him as an aberrant formalist-but then there is his perversely explicit literary content."28 (The tenable objection to be raised here is that Ruscha's words elicit less a Pop framework than a Conceptual one. But this context is also flawed, and not simply because much of the work treated in the following predates the coalescence of Conceptual art in 1965-66. Although Ruscha's depiction of words without accom- panying imagery might seem to realize the Conceptualist proposal that language, and language alone, could be the matter and subject of an art work, this realization 22. Ibid. 23. G. R. Swenson, "The New American 'Sign Painters,"' Art News (September 1962), p. 46; Dore Ashton in "Symposium on Pop Art," p. 38. Ashton acknowledges that such a decision is "delusive": "Not an overcoat, not a bottle dryer, not a Coca-Cola bottle can resist the onslaught of the imagination. Metaphor is as natural to the imagination as saliva to the tongue" (ibid.). 24. Michael Fried, "NewYork Letter," Art International 6, no. 9 (November 25, 1962), p. 55. 25. Robert Pincus-Witten, "Ed Ruscha," Artforum (February 1968), p. 49. "Ed Ruscha is either a very serious young man or has an excellent sense of humor," wrote another early critic. "Let us hope the latter is more likely and that it is only the critics who ponder his productions with grim determination, probing for Significance, trying to bare an Existentialism or intricate system of semantics beneath the external real- ity of his canvases" (Judith Applegate, "Galerie Alexandre Iolas," Art International 14 [May 20, 1970], p. 67). 26. David Bourdon, "A Heap of Words About Ed Ruscha," Art International 20 (November 1971), p. 26. 27. On Bengston's work, for example, Philip Leider wrote: "It warns the viewer away from seeking in this work the kind of ambiguous, murky, but meaning-charged 'sign' for which the Abstract Expressionists so diligently searched" (Leider, "The Cool School," Artforum 2, no. 12 [Summer 1964], p. 47). 28. Elizabeth C. Baker, "Los Angeles, 1971," Art News 70, no. 5 (September 1971), p. 33. 88 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used took place in Ruscha's work on canvas, in painting; he developed a language- centered practice in the very medium rejected by many Conceptualists. ["I still remain a conservative easel painter."] Furthermore, Ruscha does not, as in Benjamin Buchloh's formulation of Conceptual art, "replace the object of spatial and perceptual experience by linguistic definition alone"; his method is more one of conjunction than replacement, his words eminently spatial.29 Conceptualism prized words as neutral and unambiguous, able to communicate independently of their aural or visual manifestations; the linguistic sensibility driving Ruscha's work is opposite the Conceptualist idea of language as described by Joseph Kosuth: "very neuter... as a medium it becomes invisible.")30 The linguistic turn taken by the discipline of art history in the late 1970s also failed to provide an adequate scaffold for understanding Ruscha's particular word choices: the project of treating the image, like other arenas of social practice, as a text proved unsuited to images that were (mostly) texts. Structuralism, following Saussure, posits an arbitrary relation between words and their referents, between things and names, and thereby marginalizes motivated signifiers. Linguistic meaning is, in Saussure's account, the product of a system (langue) of "contrastive, opposi- tional, and negative" relationships between signifiers-language a "form, and not a substance"31-and the Saussurean theoretical legacy is ill equipped to evaluate the word choices of an artist who declares, "what I'm interested in is illustrating ideas."32 (On one of his wordless black-and-white "silhouette paintings" from the late 1980s, Ruscha offered, "It's like a painting of an idea about a ship," and on a recent series of photorealist mountainscapes, "They are paintings of ideas of mountains.")33 The poststructuralist radicalization of Saussurean tenets proved an equally inadequate method for assessing Ruscha's selections; meaning (as the product of unstable oppositional relationships) remains elusive and inapproximate, and within every act of signification inheres the potential for communicative failure. Critics writing about Ruscha in the 1980s and '90s, maintaining that his word works epitomized such failures, rehearsed deconstruction's most general claims-that a speaker or writer is always at a remove (if not totally absent) from his own meanings, that no text is ever determinate, no message final. As if taking a cue from the title of his 1977 painting No End to the Things Made out of Human Talk, reviewers wrote that Ruscha's word pictures figured "the inadequacy of language and the faulty progress of human communication," bespoke "the drifting order of open signification" in 29. Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, "Conceptual Art 1962-1969: From the Aesthetics of Administration to the Critique of Institutions," October 55 (Winter 1990), p. 107. Several Conceptual artists later acknowl- edged what Ruscha's work had demonstrated since the early 1960s: that language always has a physical aspect, and that parsing words from their visual, aural, or referential components is difficult if not impossible. Mel Bochner's declaration was especially direct: "Language is not transparent." 30. Kosuth in Lawrence Weiner (London: Phaidon, 1998), p. 98. 31. Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics (1907-11; Peru, Ill.: Open Court Trade and Academic Books, 1972), pp. 117,120. 32. Ruscha in Edward Ruscha, exh. cat. (Buffalo: Albright Knox Gallery, 1976), p. 4. 33. Ruscha in Jan Estep, "Devil Coming Down the Road: An Interview with Ed Ruscha," New Art Examiner28, pt. 6 (March 2001), p. 39. 89 OCTOBER which "closure in meaning does not occur."34 Ruscha's project is "to liquidate signifi- cation," Donald Kuspit went so far as to say: In Ruscha's pictures, words have become comatose, vegetated, as though from some horrific accidental encounter with reality, which left them brain-damaged, "mindless": one feels him in the wings, waiting to pull the last life-support system of signification from them. They are at best memo- ry traces, signaling a kind of glorious meaning that has been lost forever.35 Ruscha acknowledges that he is "working with two things that don't even ask to understand each other," but to say that one intends to "illustrate ideas"36 is to work against, not exemplify, the position that, in Foucault's phrase, "word and object do not tend to constitute a single figure"; a career spent giving language weight, texture, and body does not square with the poststructuralist dismissal of the plenary sign as illusory or with its certainty that language is bound to fall short in approxi- mating reality or mediating any nonlinguistic object.37 Ruscha remains cannily guarded about his intentions vis-a-vis linguistic signi- fication: "Whether or not the work communicates anything to anyone is not important to me."38 When asked directly, "What was more important to you when you were painting words: the way it looked or what it meant?" he responds that his work is "a flip-flop between those two things."39 Those who maintain that Ruscha's words picture the potholes of signifying need only turn for support to interviews in which he discusses how words can lose meaning or fail to mean: "Sometimes I don't care about the definition of the word," he has said, and "sometimes you can study a word, like the word 'the,' and looking at that word long enough, it just begins to lose its meaning."40 But his description of his method as one of "waste retrieval" discloses an intent to lay claim to meaning before its dispersal into poly- valence. Certain words attract him, he says, 34. Eleanor Heartney, "Ed Ruscha at Robert Miller and Castelli," Art in America (February 1988), p. 137; Dan Cameron, "Love in Ruins," in Edward Ruscha, Paintings/Schilderijen, exh. cat. (Rotterdam: Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, 1990), pp. 17, 14. These deconstruction-inflected analyses persist: Peter Schjeldahl concluded a recent review by mentioning "the prevalence of our failures to communicate," and Lynne Cooke writes that in Ruscha's work, "meaning is more often suspended than dissected, filleted, and laid open to forensic scrutiny. In denying closure, deferral sustains desire" (Schjeldahl, "Seeing and Reading: Ed Ruscha at the Whitney," The New Yorker 80, no. 20 [uly 26, 2004], p. 95; Cooke, "Washington and Chicago: Ed Ruscha," Burlington Magazine 142, no. 1172 [November 2000], p. 722). 35. Donald Kuspit, "Signs in Suspense: Ed Ruscha's Liquidation of Meaning," Arts 65, pt. 8 (April 1991), p. 58. 36. Ruscha in Bernard Blistene, "Conversation with Ed Ruscha," in Edward Ruscha Paintings/Schilderijen, p. 130; reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 300-08. 37. Michel Foucault, This is Not a Pipe (1973), trans. and ed. James Harkness (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), p. 42. 38. Ruscha in Jana Sterbak, "Premeditated: An Interview with Ed Ruscha" (1985); reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 252-56. 39. Ruscha in Thomas Beller, "Ed Ruscha," (1989); reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 281-85. 40. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 192; and Joan Quinn, "L.A.R.T.: Edward Ruscha," Interview (March 1984), p. 81; reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 247-49. 90 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used Because I love the language. Words have temperatures to me. When they reach a certain point and become hot words, then they appeal to me.... Sometimes I have a dream that if a word gets too hot and too appealing, it will boil apart, and I won't be able to read or think of it. Usually I catch them before they get too hot.41 To be unable "to read or think of" a word would mean that the word had lost its purchase on reality or meaning. It may be, as Yve-Alain Bois's essay on the entropy of the "liquid word" paintings suggests, that meaning is sensed most potently at the moment of linguistic decay or dissolution-yet this is a moment Ruscha attempts to forestall, not create or prolong.42 "When I see a word or phrase, or hear one (on the radio or in the street), I have to capture it immediately," he explains. "Otherwise it will slip away from me, disappear."43 His sense of language as something one can "catch" or "capture" betrays a conception of words as tangible matter, matter that might indeed signify in concert with meaning: "I'm not trying to divorce what the word means from what I use it as visually."44 Perhaps the most succinct statement of Ruscha's project comes from a line in Shakespeare's Hamlet he has depicted multiple times: "Words without thoughts never to heaven go." The guilty King Claudius mutters this while praying; Hamlet, secretly observing, decides not to kill him, fearing he will go to heaven. But Claudius knows his prayers are ingenuous ("without thoughts"), for he is remorseless and has no plans to relinquish the effects of murdering Hamlet's father (crown and queen). The implication for Claudius, and for Ruscha too, is that "words without thoughts" do not matter, have no efficacy, that unless they connect to an idea or object beyond the words-to, in Ruscha's phrase, "the thought behind them"-they will, as Claudius laments, "fly up."45 Ruscha attempts to conjoin, not sever, semantic sense and physical form, and we can trace these attempts in his renderings of single words and objects and in his sustained attraction to those linguistic categories (ono- matopoeia, rhymes, puns) that challenge the independence of meaning from its material representation. 41. Ruscha in Howardena Pindell, "Words with Ruscha," Print Collector's Newsletter 3, no. 6 (January-February 1973), p. 126; reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 55-63. 42. See Bois, "Thermometers Should Last Forever," this volume, pp. 60-80. 43. Ruscha in Margit Rowell, "Cotton Puffs, Q-Tips, Smoke and Mirrors: The Drawings of Ed Ruscha," in Cotton Puffs, Q-Tips, Smoke and Mirrors: The Drawings of Ed Ruscha, exh. cat. (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 2004), p. 15. 44. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 153. 45. Ruscha explains his choice: "That quote was from Shakespeare's Hamlet. It was in Act 3, Scene 3: 'My words fly out [sic], my thoughts remain below. Words Without Thoughts Never to Heaven Go.' There's a base of profundity to that-the idea of words without thoughts. I might be engaged in the act of making words without thoughts ... but in the strict, public sense this phrase, 'words without thoughts never to heaven go,' is a way of saying words are important, and they're never gonna go to heaven without thoughts, without the thought behind them" (Ruscha in Estep, "Devil Coming Down the Road," p. 42). 91 OCTOBER The balloon lettering of Ruscha's Annie (1962) is instantly familiar as cartoonist Harold Gray's 1924 title for the "Little Orphan Annie" comic strip, a few frames of which Ruscha had already incorporated into his collage Dublin (1959) and then painted in a pendant work of the same name the following year. The absence of image in this work seems to exemplify the surpassing of the object by the sign in Pop, whereby the substance of the commodity item was of secondary importance to its name, and those particular names, in turn, less consequential than the products' sta- tus as tokens of a pervasive mass culture, one disseminated by the technical and industrial processes used or imitated in Pop. "In Andy Warhol," Max Kozloff wrote in 1963, "the subject is not the Campbell's soup can-which doesn't exist-but rather the commercial technique for representing it."46 But however much Ruscha's meticu- lously copied typeface here seems to have displaced the images its logo might conjure, the physical particularity of his Annie painting is impossible to disregard, not least of all due to its 72-by-67-inch size. Close looking reveals not a strokeless, gleaming Pop surface devoid of traces of the artist's hand, but fastidious brush- work, swirling, heavily wrought layers of primary paint, and small patches of exposed canvas: Annie ultimately evokes less processes of mechanical reproduction or the easy exchangeability of the pop cultural artifact than the comic strip's origin in a hand-lettered drawing and its own crafted, man-made singularity.47 Swenson commented in 1962 on the significance of the Pop subject's immedi- ate recognizability: "Our awareness is not so much of a Coca-Cola billboard as of the 46. Max Kozloff, "A Letter to the Editor," Art International (une 1963), p. 93. 47. Thanks to Scott Bukatman for his thoughts on this work. A 1966 rendering of Annie is even more emphatically material: this one is "poured from maple syrup." Ruscha. Annie. 1962. 92 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used shrunken size of the world we occupy."48 Ruscha's choice to render the Standard Oil filling station has been interpreted accordingly, as a clever acknowledgment of the consumer product as standardized and standardizing in a culturally "shrunken," increasingly homogeneous postwar United States. Standard Station, Amarillo, Texas (1963) derives from a photo in Ruscha's first artist's book. The artist claims he chose the snapshots in Twentysix Gasoline Stations from a crop of fifty or sixty photos taken while driving between L.A. and Oklahoma City, and that "the eccentric ones were the first ones I threw out."49 In assimilating Ruscha's books to the critiques of Conceptual art, critics write that they "explore the uniformity of our late capitalist age" and propose that "we learn nothing more from twenty-six gasoline stations... than from one,"50 failing to attend to the subtle variation in the photographed stations: no two are identical, even those of the same franchise, and the book records a range of gasoline pumps and building types, canopies and signage.51 Even if Ruscha is to be believed that he selected the most commonplace stations, they are not (yet) uniform or conventional-standard-and nor is Ruscha's painting, however schema- tized it first appears. He has dramatized the perspectival angle of the photo, depicted the midnight sky behind in thick expressionistic whorls, and hand lettered the tallies (all different amounts) on the pumps. And what would prove to be a fertile component of Ruscha's production, printmaking, began with an invitation from a collector to make a print based on Standard Station. The choice seems fitting: what better subject for an edition than one already "standard"? Yet in diffusing the image across multiple formats, Ruscha consistently subjects it to idiosyncratic permutation, usually indicated in the screenprints' titles: Double Standard [Minus White], Mocha Standard, Cheese Mold Standard with Olive. Though the painting's plunging upper-left- to-lower-right diagonal is reprised, each iteration is markedly distinct, and Ruscha says, furthermore, that his favorite aspects of printmaking are those irruptions of materiality-technical mistakes, color irregularities, unanticipated effects-that 48. Swenson, "The New American 'Sign Painters,"' p. 46. 49. Ruscha in Douglas M. Davis, "From Common Scenes, Mr. Ruscha Evokes Art" (1969), in Leave Any Information at the Signal, p. 28. 50. Bois, "Thermometers Should Last Forever," this volume, p. 67; Phyllis Rosenzweig, "Sixteen (and Counting): Ed Ruscha's Books," in Ed Ruscha, exh. cat. (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, 2000), p. 185. 51. Ruscha includes several photographs of mom-and-pop gas stations, then well on their way to extinction-Bob's Service in L.A., Whiting Brothers near Ludlow, California, and Beeline Gas near Holbrook, Arizona. The larger commercial stations, furthermore, rarely resemble one another: the Mobil station in Williams, Arizona is called "Mobilgas," while the one in Shamrock, Texas, bears an updated "Mobil" sign. One Texaco station stands alone, while another is combined with a restaurant, and one Conoco sign is attached to a building, while another is freestanding. A few critics have suggested that the last photograph in the book, of a Fina station in Groom, Texas, is a self-referential pun about its conclu- sion. Given Ruscha's proclivity for visual and aural wordplay, the placement of Fina as final was likely inten- tional, but few have remarked on the importance of a second sign in this image: "Say Fina. Exactly as good as the best!" This is the language of commodity standardization in the early 1960s, as consumer products became increasingly exchangeable: one "as good as" another, each as good as "the best," and all subsum- able under the sign of the brand name. The subtle but insistent materiality of, and differences between, Ruscha's gasoline stations (or swimming pools, or apartment buildings), betray an ambivalence toward- not an example of-the standardization of the commodity in postwar America. 93 OCTOBER disturb the uniformity of mechanical reproduction. Though America's highway gas stations were, by the mid-1960s, well on their way to becoming the strip mall look- alikes of the present, Ruscha's selection of the Standard brand name verges on the wry, not the literal: taken together, his stations are precisely not standard. Much recent scholarship on Pop emphasizes what its first reviewers did-the techniques of representing the mass-cultural commodity, and the relation of such techniques to the mounting commodification of the work of art itself-rather than the possible specificity of the Pop subject. By picturing commercial products in mul- tiple, and showing package and surface rather than matter and interior, Pop's best-known images thematize the almost imperceptible elision between name and thing that characterizes a successful brand. "The more we live in an 'age of advertise- ment and publicity,"' Lawrence Alloway wrote, "the more chances there are to become aware of the deceptiveness of signs and the solidity of symbols that obscure their original referents."52 Marketers and admen in the early 1960s aimed to develop brands indistinguishable from the substance of their products by unhinging language and image from expected contexts and recombining them in ways that often had little to do with the actual item being advertised, systematically "manipu- lating brand personalities divorced from the material attributes of products," as one recent semiotic analysis of American advertising notes.53 Ruscha's singular paintings of mass-produced commercial items operate differently, by distinguishing the name of the product from the actual product and by picturing specific and tangible ties between word and thing. The splatter of paint indicating crushed raisins in Box Smashed Flat is a particularly visceral instance, but Falling But Frozen and Actual Size (both 1962) also show product alongside product name. The growing force of the brand is implied by the outsizing of a small tire and can of meat substitute by the words "Fisk" and "Spam," but the full eclipse of the commodity by the commodity name that was coming to characterize postwar American consumerism and advertis- ing is not depicted; although these words have no significance apart from the products they name, the paintings' distinction between name and thing underscores the brand's basis in an actual material object. Ruscha in fact borrows from the rhetoric of branding in discussing his place of residence since 1956: "'Hollywood' is like a verb to me. It's something you can do to any subject or any thing. You can take something in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and Hollywoodize it."54 As he knows, the word "Hollywood" possesses considerable 52. Lawrence Alloway, American Pop Art (New York: Collier Books, 1974), p. 47. 53. Robert Goldman and Stephen Papson, Sign Wars: The Cluttered Landscape of Advertising (New York: Guilford Press, 1996), p. 22. 54. Ruscha quoted in L.A. Suggested by the Art of Edward Ruscha, produced and directed by Gary Conklin (Mystic Fire Video, 1981); transcript reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 220-24. Ruscha's remark about mutating "Hollywood"'s grammatical function proposes the word-turned from noun to verb-as a shifter, those words that, because their meaning is contingent on use by interlocutors in specific linguistic situations, possess some measure of semiotic motivation. In a 1970 drawing Ruscha in fact pic- tures two shifters named by C. S. Peirce in his definition of the term, This and That, and the pronominal and temporal ambiguities of several works from the 1970s (Now Then As I Was About to Say; We're This and We're That, Aren't We; She Didn't Have to do iHAT) evoke the logic of the shifter. 94 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used Ruscha. Falling But Frozen. 1962. connotative vigor: it is the sign for the town and the name of the neighborhood, but also summons cultures of film, power, and glamour with inexplicable machinations.55 ("It can be understood, too, but only dimly and in flashes," F. Scott Fitzgerald's Cecilia Brady muses about Hollywood in The Last Tycoon, and Thomas Pynchon's fictional suburb in The Crying of Lot 49, "like many named places in L.A.," is "less an identifiable city than a grouping of concepts.")56 Ruscha's multiple renderings of the Hollywood sign do call up these larger-than-life associations in their Technicolor- spectrum backgrounds and impossible vistas (the sign's letters appear perched on the crest of Mount Lee rather than set within it). But his Hollywoods do not so much encourage contemplation of the fabular quality of the place or prompt reflections on Tinseltown as they foreground the material stuff of their letters. Ruscha was initially interested in the landmark as a barometric object: the Western Avenue studio he moved to in 1965 afforded a view of it, and he predicted a day's weather based on how visible the sign was through the smog. And though he talks about the city as "full of illusions" and remembers that in deciding to move west from Oklahoma he was "attracted to the concept of Hollywood," Ruscha's various depictions of the sign emphasize the substance behind the concept.57 In one 1968 study, the letters are cut out and collaged onto the surface, braced by bold pencil 55. As one historian writes about the sign: "Constituted only of air, light, barren earth, and the name of a desire, it has come to represent not a subdivision nor even an industry but an idea, and for that reason people want to touch it, as if to touch the essence of L.A." (William Alexander McClung, Landscapes oJ Desire: Anglo Mythologies of Los Angeles [Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000], p. 184). 56. F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Last 7ycoon (1941; New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993), p. 4; Thomas Pynchon, 7he Crying of Lot 49 (New York: Bantam, 1966), p. 12. 57. Ruscha in John Pashdag, "A Conversation with Edward Ruscha," in Outrageous L.A. (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 1984), p. 9; reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 242-45; Ruscha in Suzanne Muchnic, "Getting a Read on Ed Ruscha," Los Angeles 7imes, December 9, 1990, p. 3 (Calendar); reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 309-11. 95 OCTOBER lines of support-behind-the-scenes architecture rarely pictured in other images of the four-story-high landmark and reminders that it is, in Ruscha's words, "a real thing."58 Another fanciful work pictures the sign's lop-cornered letters as if viewed from behind, representing "Hollywood" not as an amorphic abstraction but as a word composed of tangible letters whose legibility depends on their left-to-right orientation. (Ruscha makes the point explicit in the drawing Holloween [1977]: stylistically akin to the Hollywood works, the neologism is seen from a rearview, and we realize on a doubletake that it doesn't say what we expect it to.) In a 1968 screen- print, the sign repeats the gently gradated hues of the sunset-washed landscape behind, as if its two-ton steel letters are pliable matter affected by changes of light and time. "I like the idea of a word becoming a picture, almost leaving its body, then coming back and becoming a word again," Ruscha remarked, and his pictures of the word for the city of pictures-a word whose allusive force sponsors its disem- bodiment-concretize this process.59 Like "Hollywood," another of Ruscha's best-known subjects, the 20th Century Fox trademark, has more connotative power-cinematic culture, big studios, a whole host of images the company has produced-than any specific material resonance. The sign is most familiar projected flat, filtered through particles of light onto movie screens. Ruscha endows his Large Trademark with Eight Spotlights (1962), however, with a near-comic weight and presence. "It's all substance," he said about the sign, and relays a sense of its three-dimensional heft with a crane-shot, 58. Ruscha in Quinn, "Art: L.A.R.T.: Edward Ruscha," p. 82. 59. Ruscha, conversation with author, Los Angeles,July 20, 2003. Ruscha. Top: Hollywood Study #8. 1968. Bottom: Hollywood. 1968. 96 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used one-point vantage and prominent perspective lines.60 (One preparatory study describes the number "20" from various angles, as if a bodily object rotating in space.) More than eleven feet wide, the painting itself is of CinemaScope propor- tions, its 20th Century Fox trademark so concrete that, unlike most images of the logo in which light beams seem to interpenetrate its letters, the klieg light rays behind are broken and obscured by the sign itself. On the question of whether he intends to picture a connection between a written sign and its possible meaning, Ruscha is characteristically equivocal: "I find that the pictorial look of something almost always stays close to the word that represents it," he has said, but has also declared, "I am careful not to be literal, not to offer this other option to anyone. If I paint a picture of the word 'coot,' I don't use a lot of blue or other cool colors; instead, I find myself deliber- ately taking another route."61 But several early works contain what Bois terms Ruscha's "figura- tive words," words that do "offer this other option" of viewing the material embodiment of linguistic meaning.62 These calligrammatic paintings recall Ruscha's training in graphic design: the color gradations of Electric (1963) darken evenly from bright yellow to rust orange, evoking thermodynamic processes; the opacity of the letters in Scream (1962) splinters into thin diagonal slices; three versions of Dimple (1964) show individual letters indented by vise clamps. Ruscha's various depictions of fire, too, and fire's physical trace, smoke, are also of a mimetic sort, one explored multiply in Damage (1964): to paint a word on a canvas is to "damage" any pictor- ial pretension of window-on-the-world deep space, and the block type of the word itself is "damaged" by flames. The usually separate activities of read- ing and looking converge further in the liquid word series, begun in 1966. Bois puts forth these works as an instantiation of the informe: their letters (painted to look as if poured, dripped, and spilled onto the canvas) appear on the verge of entropic retreat into the spatially indeterminate reaches of their neutral backgrounds. But Ruscha is able 60. Ruscha in Conklin, L.A. Suggested by the Art of Edward Ruscha. 61. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 150; Ruscha in Blistene, "Conversation with Ed Ruscha," p. 136. 62. Yve-Alain Bois, "Intelligence Generator," in Edward Ruscha, Catalogue Raisonne of the Paintings, Volume 1, 1958-1970 (New York: Gagosian Gallery, 2004), p. 8. Ruscha. Top: Electric. 1963. Bottom: Damage. 1964. 97 OCTOBER to "catch" them (the notion is his) before word and the matter that form it dissoci- ate: Jelly and Ruby look as if made of the substances named, and Slug is spelled out in brown slug-like masses. Air is bubbly and sheer, the horizontal swaths of the thinly painted canvas below visible through its outline, while the letters of Pool have darkened outer edges, as if formed of puddled liquid. These mimetic inclinations are not limited to words; Ruscha's images of trompe l'oeil pencils both recollect a painting's origin in preparatory studies and guide the direction of our gaze by pointing. Indexicality is figured explicitly in a study for the mid-sixties "birds, fish, and offspring" series, which shows the index finger of a sketched hand mutating into a pencil. The pencil in Talk About Space (1962) points to the lower edge of the canvas, limning the actual confines of its pictorial "space" (and thus enabling us to "talk" about it), while the list-like title Noise, Pencil, Broken Pencil, Cheap Western (1963) seconds the activity of pointing by proposing an order in which to behold its four objects, positioned midway on each side of the canvas. The drawing Bull, Pencil (1964) pictures a causal link between depicted form-the word "bull"-and the tool used to render it, overtly figuring the pencil as material cause for the drawing's being. In his late 1960s "gunpowder drawings" series Ruscha moves from picturing the implements an artist uses on a surface to representing those surfaces as sub- ject. These ribbony words counter drawing's usual functions to bound form, outline object, and separate figure from ground; they look as if formed of the same stuff as the ground on which they appear. Self, for example, is drawn on the very material out of which its "self" looks to have been made. Here too Ruscha's depictions of his linguistic selections point suggestively to their meanings: the crisp ovals of the middle two letters in Pool presage the shapes of the Las Vegas swimming pools he would photograph for his Nine Swimming Pools book the follow- ing year (as if to confirm the aquatic reference, small trompe l'oeil droplets of water dot the lower half of the page), and most works in this series realize Ruscha's aspiration of "leading the viewer of my work into what the definition of Ruscha. Left: Hand-Pencil-Bird. 1964. Right: Self. 1967. 98 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used the word I've used is."63 The soft granular surround of Dusty looks dusty; the uni- formly modulated background of Flaw is itself "flawed" by a small photorealistic bubble; Strip is drawn as if formed of a strip; and the semblance of pictorial space created by what appear to be three-dimensional letter forms is an effect of Optics. Discovering gunpowder as a medium was an accident, Ruscha maintains, and he regrets his decision to acknowledge the material: "If I could do it all over again, I would not tell anybody it was made of gunpowder, because people sus- pected some kind of stunt."64 Our knowledge of his medium is of interest less for its suggestion of a possible prank than as a material whose very name imparts a hint of sonority to the presumably silent space of the painting or drawing. "I guess the idea of noise, of visual noise, somehow meant something to me," Ruscha said, and discusses art works that influenced him in sonic metaphors: Renato Bertelli's Continuous Profile (Head of Mussolini) (1933) "broke the sound barrier for me" and Walker Evans's Main Street, Saratoga Springs, New York (1931) "somehow evokes ... an aural sensation."65 The spotlights in his own Large Trademark "connote something as farfetched as trumpet sounds," and what he sought in Actual Size was "some audi- ble response from the painting, almost like when you go to a butcher store and order a pound of bacon and the butcher slaps it down on the counter."66 Ruscha seems especially drawn to words about sound, music, and speaking, and these attempts to conjure, as he put it, "noise in a painting without any noise" flag 63. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 191. As is often the case with Ruscha, how- ever, this seeming affirmation of his interest in the connection between word and meaning is followed by its contradiction: "A lot of times the words are unimportant, their definitions are unimportant. They become almost abstract objects" (ibid.). 64. Ruscha in Bourdon, "A Heap of Words," p. 27. Gunpowder is 80 percent charcoal plus sulfur and potassium nitrate. 65. Ruscha in Blistene, "Conversation with Ed Ruscha," p. 128; Ruscha, "Ten Things That Impressed Me," www.sfmoma.org/membership/formembers. 66. Ruscha in Wolf, "Nostalgia and New Editions," p. 264; Ruscha,"Ten Things That Impressed Me" (ibid.). Ruscha. Left: Bull, Pencil. 1964. Right: Strip. 1967. 99 OCTOBER another aspect of his especially material mode of signification.67 He paints the word "noise" several times in the first decade of his practice, and draws Opera, Opera Singer, Stardust, Music, and Jazz in short succession in the late 1960s. By imbuing words about sound-language that denotes the inherently nonrepresentational- with substantive materiality, Ruscha lends body, form, and permanence to the immaterial, inarticulate, and temporary: Slap, Oof, Smash, Scream. The halated white letters of Honk in three 1964 works cast sharply described shadows on soft back- grounds, as if the word's very suggestion of noise has imparted a tangibility to its form. Ruscha explains that he was attracted to what he calls "loud words" for their communicative rawness: When I first started painting it became an exercise in using, oh, guttural utterings, monosyllabic explorations of words, like "smash," "boss," "won't." I've noticed when I look back on my work that most of my early works had less of a fascination with the English language than they did with just trying to imitate monosyllabic words like "smash," "oof." They all were power words like that.... I think that I could have been involved in painting an environment for what the word sounded like and looked like at the same time.68 An emphasis on "guttural utterings"-the assonance of Ruscha's phrase betrays the very poetic sensibility he is quick to disavow-was described by Russian formalist theory as one function of poetry. Bois writes persuasively on the utility of Russian formalism for evaluating the liquid word series, and Ruscha's preference for "power words" indeed recalls V. I. Shklovskii's argument that in poetry "the articulatory 67. Ed Ruscha, "Ruscha on Ruscha" (lecture presented at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, D.C.,June 29, 2000). The best essay on sound and sense in Ruscha is Dave Hickey, "Wacky Moliere Lines: A Listener's Guide to Ed-werd Rew-shay," Parkett 18 (December 1988), pp. 28-35. 68. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 191. Ruscha. Honk. 1964. 100 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used aspect of speech is undoubtedly important. Perhaps generally a great part of the delight of poetry consists in pronunciation, in the indepen- dent dance of the organs of speech."69 Meaning is not distinct from articulation-the very utter- ance "oof' is its meaning-and the more physical work required for enunciation, the more force- fully is linguistic palpability communicated by speaker and sensed by listener. Ruscha hopes viewers of his work experience this: "They've made a test with instruments in people's throats and in their mouths with their tongues, testing the pronunciation of words when they read. I guess everyone tends to move their tongue slightly towards the back of their head when they're reading softly to themselves.... I would like to think that people looking at the painting will not pronounce it out loud, but will get this kind of throat motion."70 This "throat motion" is stimulated by Ruscha's distinct prefer- ence for words beginning with plosive (p, d) and fricative (f s) consonants, which produce audible noises when sounded and require greater physi- cal effort on the part of the speaker than do softer phonemes. Bois notes Ruscha's sustained engagement with "everything that makes it [language] into matter," and an interest in linguistic corporeality links the word works Gag, Chaw, Lisp, Tooth, Dimple, Voice, Air, Fatlip, Cut Lip, Gush, and Lips.71 A sense of letters as palpable matter also emerges in the orthographic rearrangements of Ruscha's "satin" and "stain," "war" and "raw," "lisp" and "lips." "Lisp," in addition to being an anagram of the organ with which one lisps, is onomatopoeic: pronouncing it causes one to lisp. From the Greek for "word making," the term refers broadly to some fitness between a word's sound and definition, and in rendering onomatopes, Ruscha again calls attention to those instances of semantic opacity when verbal sound is imitative of meaning, or 69. Shklovskii in Boris Eichenbaum, "The Theory of the 'Formal Method,"' in Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays, trans. and with an introduction by Lee T. Lemon and Marion J. Reis (Lincoln: University of Nebraska, 1965), p. 109. 70. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 193. 71. Yve-Alain Bois, "Liquid Words," in Bois and Rosalind Krauss, Formless: A User's Guide (New York: Zone Books, 1997), p. 127. Ruscha. Top: Gag. 1965. Bottom: Lisp. 1966. 101 OCTOBER when ties between the two collapse.72 (Like Lichtenstein, his inspiration here was the comics, and, more generally, the "Zonk! Pow! Blam!" tactics of 1960s advertising; Pop itself is an onomatopoeic label.)73 Some of Ruscha's choices are onomatopes in the strictest sense: Lisp, Honk, Ding, and Chop nearly mimic the sounds to which they refer, while others are onomatopes by association, their sounds linked to meaning by resemblance-Squirt and Gush, Flash and Smash, Gag and Slap. Still others operate at a final onomatopoeic remove: "exemplary" onomatopoeia occurs, one linguist explains, "if a word conventionally denotes a sound," because a listener or reader is "predisposed to become aware of any acoustical properties of the word which resem- ble the sound, however minimal that resemblance might be."74 Nonlexical onomatopes, the sonic connotations of these words nonetheless imbue them with a sort of onomatopoeic aura-Noise, Scream, Radio, Explosion, Voltage, Volume. Onomatopoeia is a relatively rare linguistic phenomenon; more common relations of resemblance between signifiers are found in rhymes, and Ruscha's rhythmic proclivities manifest an additional sensitivity to language as, and as a source of, material. "Rhyming words," he said, "seemed to have some power that I felt needed to be pictorialized."75 This "power" resides in the very pictoriality of these words: the urge to represent the rhyme derives from the dependence for its function on the look (and sound) of the word. As Ruscha had not yet begun to combine words in phrases and sentences, single words represented in the first decade of his practice form phonetic chains, creating strings of echoes across that body of work: Smash and Flash; Ice and Ace and Age and Space; Great and Grapes and Hey; Boss and Loss and Sauce; Foil and Royal and Spoil and Soil. And, over the course of a few years, Su, Foo, Pool, Rooster, Ooo, Zoo, Music, Dew, Soup, Kooks, and Fuel. 72. Saussure relegated such motivated ties between "sound pattern" and "concept" to the margins of language; he dismissed onomatopes along with exclamations as exceptional, "of comparatively little or no importance": "Onomatopoeic words might be held to show that a choice of signal is not always arbitrary. But such words are never organic elements of a linguistic system. Moreover, they are far fewer than is gen- erally believed" (Saussure, Course, p. 69). Jonathan Culler offers a compelling reappraisal, and reversal, of Saussure's insistence on the arbitrariness of the sign: "When Saussure defends the principle of the arbi- trary nature of the sign against motivation, the sentence in which he dismisses onomatopoeia as a delusory appearance displays remarkable effects of motivation, suggesting that discourse may be deviously driven by precisely the sort of phenomena he wishes to exclude from language. 'Words such as fouet ['whip'] and glas ['knell'],' he writes, 'may strike [peuventfrapper] some ears as having a certain suggestive sonority; but to see that this is in no way intrinsic to the words themselves, it suffices to look at their Latin origins.' Fouet and glas both strike the ear, perhaps, because whips and bells strike: the term for what words do as they make a noise seems punningly generated by the examples, or the choice of examples is generated by what words are said to do to the ear. This sentence, working to remotivate and thus link together supposedly arbitrary signs, displays a principle by which discourse frequently operates and suggests that arbitrary signs of the linguistic system may be part of a larger discursive system in which effects of motivation, demotiva- tion, and remotivation are always occurring. Relations between signifiers or between signifiers and signi- fieds can always produce effects, whether conscious or unconscious, and this cannot be set aside as irrele- vant to language" (Culler, "The Call of the Phoneme," in On Puns, ed. Culler [Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988], pp. 12-13). 73. Peter Benchley, "Special Report: The Story of Pop," Newsweek (April 25, 1966), pp. 58-59. 74. I borrow these categories from Hugh Bredin, "Onomatopoeia as a Figure and a Linguistic Principle," New Literary History: AJournal of Theory and Interpretation 27, no. 3 (Summer 1996), p. 557. 75. Ruscha in Ed Ruscha and Photography, p. 268. 102 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used Ruscha is equally gifted with rhymes that look like rhymes (Raw, Chaw, Flaw), and those that must be sounded for effect (from a sketchbook page, "waters" and "daughters"). His rhymes, he notes, usually "present us with a set of clashing sub- jects and imagery,"76 but some words partake of semantic as well as phonetic resemblance: the ribbon words Tee Tee, Wee Wee, and Pee Pee, for example, or Dusty, Gush, Trust, Tulsa, and Rustic Pines, which bring to mind the pastorality of Ruscha's native Oklahoma. Rhyme's sibling, or perhaps its offspring, is the pun. Both feature, in Geoffrey Hartman's equation, "two meanings competing for the same phonemic space or as one sound bringing forth semantic twins."77 A conjunction of two different but similar-sounding words, the pun demonstrates, like the index and the onomatope, that "there is meaning in the coincidence of the signifier, and [that] an absolute separation between the functions of the signifier and signified is impossible."78 The impulse to motivate implicit in the pun is evident early on in Ruscha: his 1962 holiday card, showing two dancing chefs, reads "Have a Soup Super Season!" and he was likely aware of the pun involved in naming two very similar works Dublin. Others are more explicit: the cover of the trompe l'oeil pulp novel pictured in Noise, Pencil, Broken Pencil, Cheap Western features "Complete Quick-Trigger Stories," such as "Son of a Gunman," by writers named "Gunnison Steele" and 76. Ibid. 77. Geoffrey Hartman, "The Voice of the Shuttle: Language from the Point of View of Literature," in his Beyond Formalism: Literary Essays 1958-1970 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970), p. 347. 78. Derek Attridge, "Unpacking the Portmanteau, or Who's Afraid of Finnegans Wake?" in On Puns, pp. 143-44. See also Culler's introduction to this volume (pp. 1-16): "What the functioning of puns reveals about language is, first, the importance of the urge to motivate, which comes to seem a powerful mecha- nism of language rather than a corruption that might be excluded. Precisely because the linguistic sign is arbitrary, discourse works incessantly, deviously to motivate" (p. 11). ' /lu .p . - J^ .:'V^ ;' V^ f /- ? p'7'5 PRSAWx-r, y: v 1't 1 : Qv.4 S : CR'^ ' X : .; * S leStS : L-r : X=a; , f . -x IW~ t ,, k r ' - i {1 F 1: 11^ ' . -v"' ..4e I Ruscha. ' :"<-i : Studio notebook, .--------- 1967. 103 OCTOBER "Tom Gun." Trompe l'oeil is itself a sort of visual pun, in the illusionistically ren- dered object's pretense of occupying the same perceptual space as an actual object, as are the bird-pencil, hand-pencil, and worm-pencil transmogrifications in the birds, fish, and offspring series. (Dave Hickey, having observed, as Ruscha likely did, that "worm" is just a letter away from "word," writes: "I've always sus- pected ... the early bird paintings to be the product of some rhyming slang, like 'birds + worms = words,' creating not real birds but birds as words who 'sign' rather than 'sing."')79 In the liquid word series, Ruscha paints both Eye (1968) and U (1969), a pairing which evokes the homophones "I" and "you," while the 1970 prints Mews and Dues echo his earlier depictions of Music and Dew. Once we become aware of Ruscha's lambent punning sensibility, it is hard not to notice how many of his words have not only protean meanings and parts of speech but also alternate spellings-Great, Steel, Hey, Air, Sure (the list is long). Here again the artist is evasive about his objectives, claiming no pun intended. "Sometimes I'll accidentally let something slip, but I've never consciously tried to do a pun," he said, "except for the word 'damage' on fire."80 Ruscha does concede that he may be punning unintentionally: "Some of these things are actually done by me unconsciously. Other people have come along and pointed out various things that have surprised me, so then I think that they maybe are really a part of my whole working habit."81 His citation of dreams as the impetus for several works, finally, recollects Freud's connection between the dream's skewed logic of indirect representation, condensation, and displacement and the mecha- nisms of the joke.82 * To conclude an analysis of linguistic opacity in Ruscha's work in 1970 is at once fitting and arbitrary. Frustrated with "the idea of putting a skin on a can- vas," he stopped painting for more than a year, and the early 1970s saw several new directions for his art: the use of organic materials as medium, the beginning of extensive work in prints and other editioned formats, and the shift from 79. Hickey, "Wacky Moliere Lines," p. 33. 80. Ruscha in Dave Hickey, "Available Light," in The Works of Edward Ruscha, exh. cat. (New York and San Francisco: Hudson Hills Press and San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 1982), p. 29. This disavowal contradicts what Ruscha's brother Paul writes about their family's attraction to puns: "From the blood-Irish influence of her love of words and poetry, and her great sense of humor, Mother left a legacy of our feast- ing on the sounds of, and often enough, the double-meanings of words. Adding to that, we always suffered the frustrations of not quite paying attention through some distraction, or of hearing each other incor- rectly; yet after our initial confusion, we would madly laugh at repeating what we thought we had heard. I feel those early trompe l'oreille, fool-the-ear miscommunications are still alive and active in us today" (Paul Ruscha, "Some Comments on Ed Ruscha's Birds, Fish and Offspring Paintings," in Ed Ruscha: Birds, Fish and Offspring, exh. cat. [New York: C & M Arts, 2002], n.p.) 81. Ruscha in Karlstrom, "Interview with Edward Ruscha," p. 157. 82. "The techniques of jokes indicate the same processes that are known to us as peculiarities of the dream work" (Sigmund Freud, Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious, trans. James Strachey [New York: Norton, 1960], p. 166). 104 Ed Ruscha and the Language That He Used depicting single words to longer phrases and sentences.83 Yet the screenprint series News, Mews, Pews, Brews, Stews & Dues (1970) also engages the idea of the nontransparent sign that marks Ruscha's first decade of work-in the relation of the words' definitions to their typeface and material; in their rhymes, both aural and visual; in the comic self-referentiality of picturing the words Stew and Brew as stews and brews-and prefigures its subsequent development.84 The rhymes continue and multiply, both within single works (Hostile Polyester, 1977) and across series (Sweets, Meats, Sheets, 1975; Metro, Petro, Neuro, Psycho, 1998), and a sense of letters as palpable persists in works that reference stuttering and stammering (Pr-Pr-Process Food, 1976; I Don't Want No S-Silicones or No Accidental S-Sideburns, 1979), that spell out words phonetically (Kay-Eye-Double-S, 1979), misspell them (Chili Draft, 1974), and parse them humorously (Elect ... tricity, 1979); that evoke colloquial speech, dialects, and slang (Wass A Guin Mo? UDig Me?, 1985); and that depict palindromes (Tulsa Slut, Lion in Oil, both 2002). What links these projects is not an intention to picture communicative failure or represent the signifier as an empty cipher, but instead to figure the word as simultaneously physical object and bearer of meaning, and to render the concretization of meaning in and as form. As Ruscha said about the phrase in a recent work, "this had to be painted so I could hammer down the words."85 Ruscha is not a Cratylist, Bois maintains, and indeed the debate in Plato's Cratylus resolved long ago on the side of Hermogenes' conventionalist position in that dialogue, that words do not resemble or embody their meanings. Yet Socrates concedes to Cratylus, and subsequent linguistic theory has shown, that instances of verbal mimesis exist, and Ruscha demonstrates a sustained attraction to such instances, as well as a consistent urge to motivate the linguistic sign by way of foregrounding its materiality, despite-and perhaps because of-the arbitrary nature of most signifying. This attention to the matter of the sign is manifest in other aspects of his work: we witness in the first decade of his practice a consid- ered inquiry into the lingering material validity of pictorial tropes (process and accident, flatness, the integrity of the picture plane) that had been emptied of resonance in Abstract Expressionism's bathetic wane, and the stubborn physicality of his artist's books resists full absorption into those histories of Conceptual art that emphasize the ontological and institutional status of the art work over its 83. Ruscha in "A Conversation Between Walter Hopps and Ed Ruscha, September 1992," in Ed Ruscha: Romance with Liquids, p. 102; reprinted in Leave Any Information at the Signal, pp. 312-28. 84. The series, made in London, was executed in typically "English" foods-chutney, baked beans, Branston pickle; the Gothic font is "an Old English type set"; and the words recall the place where they were made: Mews because "greens here are very beautiful," News because "England is a tabloid-minded country," Pews to conjure the Church of England, Brews as a reference to "English beverages-beer, stout, ale," Stews for "the idea of British cooking, with little rooms, smoky kitchens, and fireplaces," and Dues for its evocation of "the story of Robin Hood, unfair taxation, the British protest" (Ruscha in Siri Engberg, "Out of Print: The Editions of Ed Ruscha," in Edward Ruscha: Editions 1959-1999, Catalogue Raisonne, vol. 2 [Minneapolis: Walker Art Center, 1999], pp. 26, 29). 85. Ruscha, lecture at the Whitney Museum of American Art, September 26, 2004. 105 106 OCTOBER formal and perceptual components. Ruscha's preoccupation with materiality may render him unique within Pop, yet it also suggests, at a moment when the movement seems to have a renewed critical currency, the merit of considering the specificity of Pop's individual practices and the referentiality, even the self- referentiality, of its signs.