THE Magazine - Dallas / Forthworth

What makes for good cocktail conversation in the Hamptons doesn't always make for bracing art. To articulate the obvious, we currently occupy a somewhat awkward era wherein "art is defined by context." That snippet of verbiage, canonical wisdom in the sacrosanct world of the illuminati, makes one wonder if an artist's pedigree is sufficient reason to pay homage to his prowess on each and every occasion his work is shown. Despite the gaping loophole in this assumption, people rarely venture into that particular terrain; it's an eerie no-man's-land of wonder and/or bewilderment.

Joseph Havel's current exhibit, And never at anytime have you resembled snow, at Dunn and Brown Contemporary, is a case in point. While Mr. Havel has enviable credentials, this particular exhibit offers no spark or luminosity that validates his widely lauded ability to accomplish grand and great things. The point of departure for the exhibit is the destruction of a book, John Berryman's The Dream Songs. Each piece, we are told, "is based on a word or phrase taken from the book and placed in a new context to change it's [sic] meaning."

So there we have it. Mr. Havel realigns our sensibility by giving us a new syntax, so to speak. It's no longer Mr. Berryman, but Mr. Havel re-speaking Mr. Berryman and allowing us to watch it reconfigure into his -- and our -- own story. And, interestingly, this play of remaking and reassignment of meaning is the ongoing dance one can witness in gallery after gallery and show after show. Sometimes we're given teasing confections that delight our sensibility and other times we're offered things that merely perplex. In both cases, hapless voyeurs are left with their thumbs inserted into the back pockets of their Zac Posen jeans, feeling very un-hip if they aren't blown back by the faux "genius" this sensibility is calculated to engender.

While this is a long wind-up, it's intriguing to reflect on who wears what crown and the means by which it was garnered. In And never at anytime have you resembled snow, Mr. Havel's art centers heavily on what we might make of his snipped book and subsequent musings on deconstructed memories -- but it doesn't really carry any profound meaning. In fact, "nothing" is the subject of multiple pieces. It's the second I-beam, so to speak, upon which this show is constructed. When queried about this, the gallery's representative said, "Well, when you have nothing, you still have something." When asked precisely what that "something" was, she happily countered with, "Whatever you want it to be!"

If you find this as deep as a child's plastic pool, you're not alone. Why this kind of work garners attention is the apt and legitimate question to which no one seems to have a ready reply. However, the single honest answer is: "Pedigree." Mr. Havel's is impeccable. Shows in known venues throughout the world make him a choice candidate for collectors and galleries. He also currently serves as the director of the Glassell School of Art at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. He's a modernist in every sense of the word, but that sometimes leaves outsiders, well, outside of truly connecting with his works.