Robert Rauschenberg and Trisha Brown: A Conversation
May 22, 2000
Wexner Center for the Arts, Columbus, OH

       So I went to the Robert Rauschenberg-Trisha Brown conversation (and by the way, I have to feel bad for poor Trisha because just about everyone there came to see old Bob, and I think she got maybe one question out of a dozen at the end--maybe--but of course it was his award and therefore his show, and she really wasn't even all that entertaining anyway) and I was intending to write about this artist talk for one of these writings about artist talks. Thing is, they really didn't talk about his work all that much--I mean, I already know all about his ouevre (which is such a pretentious word for me to use, I know, especially seeing how I don't know if I spelled it right) and everything, so I could describe what he's done if I really needed to, but I'm not going to because they didn't and right now I'm writing about what they said. They told stories. Well, actually spaced in between uncomfortable silences and audience titters, Trisha would occasionally think of a story she wanted Bob to tell (that's what they called him, Bob), and with some prodding and a little more wine, that good old Bob, he'd tell it. Bob's actually a pretty funny guy (Trisha wasn't all that funny, though she tried; people just stared), he's a bit daffy, but what do you expect from someone who stuffed a goat and stuck a tire on it as a corset? Damn me, but that's pretty wacky. Of course he's going to be that way. And it was great to see that this WORLD CLASS ARTIST® was out for his kicks just like anyone else, no pretensions, no illusions, human and friendly, and according to him in response to the question that I asked him (and halfway through I realized my god I'm asking Robert Rauschenberg a question and then I felt nervous and heard the pitch of my voice change, but you know, we're always the only ones to notice these things) he said he didn't feel a damn bit more creative post-fame than he did before. My question, as you're probably wondering, was about the stories that he told about being a starving artist in NYC, and about how he couldn't afford both living space and studio space, and so lived illegally in the floor he rented out that wasn't zoned for residence, hiding, or rather disguising his bed ("it's a model stand!" he told them) and keeping his trousers always within reach in case he heard the elevator rising which might mean the landlord or building inspector or fire inspector, coming to find out his dirty secret that he was living there and throw him out of his $15 a month studio/home. So anyway, my question was in regards to that and how he's in every art history book and how has that changed him? And you saw part of the answer already (the rest is that he said fame tends to break up artist communities), an answer I wanted to hear, and it's an answer that maybe even the ones that don't believe it still give. But I met Bob Rauschenberg, I got his autograph, and I believed him.

dlf
2000

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