I remain amusingly undecided, however, about the entry by Brian Goeltzenleuchter, which consisted of vials of personalized scent, accompanied by an earnest advertisement for the perfumery. At first I delighted in the scent itself; my master helpfully strewed the discarded blotters upon the floor, and I rooted around in them happily. But as soon as I noticed the advertisement I became outraged at the blatant and inappropriate commercialism. It was only when I got home, and looked into the Goeltzenleuchter website, that I realized I had been had, that the artist was holding a revelatory glass before both bourgeois and bohemian pretensions. Still, too much irony can make me dizzy, and I wonder whether the artist himself may become trapped in his own vertiginous hall of mirrors.

This leaves twenty-nine pieces, however, that were at best mediocre, including many that were indefensibly dull. Most of these were echoes or reassemblies of familiar styles, some produced with considerable technical mastery, but without suggesting anything of particular interest in subject, social milieu, or artist, and with neither athleticism of paint stroke, nor conceptual vigor. The painters Ron and Vanessa Lemen, Brian Weisz, and Renee Corwin, for instance, are undoubtedly skilful, but stay cozily within the shadows of Rembrandt and Sargent while adding little light of their own. Some other artists are happy to explore selected elements from more modern styles, and yet these elements can often seem like reflective affectations rather than pulses in the blood. Mireille des Rosiers, for example, includes in her portraits swaths of expressionist color as well as random splashes of paint, but these disturbances do not significantly challenge the dominant force of stable representation. There are also a fair number of very good artists who, for this show, and for whatever reason, have produced work below their usual standard. I thought the photograph by Julio Orozco, for instance, to be surprisingly flat. And I felt the joint work by Ellen Dieter, Shalhla Dorafshan, and Richard Messenger, though of some interest, was weakened by its reluctance to exploit their usual mastery of color.

This overall ratio of success to mediocrity may not be unusual in a regular exhibit, but for a show that purports to celebrate the seismic energy of the San Diego art scene as a whole it is a mortifying statistic, and a completely unnecessary one. San Diego, like any large city, is rich in talented artists. I can think of several close to my own neighborhood of North Park, many whose front yard trees I have marked in my morning walks, and it seems strange to me that more artists of this caliber were not asked to participate. The show also had a needless uniformity in artistic media, and in what might be called “modes” of representation. Three quarters of the works presented were paintings, and a few photographs, based on more or less “realistic” modes, though as mentioned above this basic realism was often dressed in distinct styles of color, stroke, or decorative element. All the other possibilities of mimetic strategy were left to the remaining quarter, including a couple of sculptures, an assemblage, a figure in paper mache, and some few paintings in a manner less strictly representational, a surprising few considering the turbulent twentieth century legacy from Fauvism through Expressionism. Surprising too was the paucity of work in a non-representational mode, whether abstract or conceptual.

I have no interest in attacking anyone’s motives, or efforts. I am sure both artists and organizers had the best intentions, worked hard and selflessly—certainly much harder than the average dog—and are sincerely devoted to the advancement of taste. Nor is there much point in dwelling on those cursed with more ambition and industry than native genius. Still, I think it is worth asking what factors may have led to this embarrassment, if only to suggest where efforts might be better applied in future.

Some may feel that the root of the problem lies in portraiture itself, that the form has become moribund and incapable of surprise, corrupted at its heart by the injustice of beauty and the tyranny of the objectifying gaze. I do not hold this view. At its best a portrait can be an energetic dialogue between two wills of representation; on one side the artist wishes to expose the subject, or to use the subject as a mere puppet of their own vision, on the other side the subject wishes to seduce the artist, and to represent themselves before the public according to their most exalted self-image. Both these wills, furthermore, struggle within a web of fact and social signification which they reveal even as they attempt to transcend it.

There is nothing, moreover, that requires a portrait to always favor one part of the body over another; I myself rather prefer human crotches to human faces. And this thought suggests again the possibilities that exist beyond visual mimesis. Why not smell? Why not taste? Why not the cry of a lonely bitch in heat? Not that I feel, either, that visual representation has exhausted itself. Indeed, after decades of conceptual and performance art, I am ready to listen again to the promises of realism, as long as they are not founded in some nostalgic dream of a non-existent past.

I believe that the show’s shortcomings are actually rooted in something simpler to grasp—in the unfortunate choice of the “Movers and Shakers” theme itself. It is true that stupid concepts sometimes produce clever results. And though, for me, the idea of using art to celebrate gallery owners, critics, and patrons for their “moving and shaking” is at once undignified, incestuous, and pathetically premature, particularly when the common complaint about San Diego is that no one cares about art, these particular idiocies would not be a problem if the work managed to survive them. But it has not. One obvious factor is that such a theme is likely to produce diminishing returns upon repetition. I was not able to attend last year’s show, but from a glance at the website it does seem to have been rather more aesthetically persuasive. Were this year’s artists, and this year’s “Movers and Shakers,” amongst those that missed the cut last time? At the very least it would seem natural that they might feel that way. But a more fundamental issue is that this theme seems unlikely to inspire any artist to create their best work, nor is the mode of selection associated with the theme likely to produce the best artists.

The Movers and Shakers website does not state clearly how the selection of artists was done, other than stating that those involved “were invited to participate by the Movers and Shakers committee.” For the sake of greater transparency, I would have liked to see more details of criteria and process. I believe, though I am not certain, that the committee first selected the participating “Movers and Shakers,” and that the “Movers and Shakers” subsequently picked the artist to represent them. The problem here is that, though this method may seem to distribute the responsibility for selection amongst many independent experts, it begs the question of how the “Movers and Shakers” themselves were selected. Certainly that choice would necessarily have a profound effect on the art that results. It seems clear, moreover, that these “Movers and Shakers” were not encouraged to be disinterested, since in very many cases their choice of artists was aligned with close personal and professional connections. Naturally a gallery owner has a significant financial interest in choosing from the very artists that they represent, especially from those who have a clear commercial appeal, just as a family owner or friend has a significant emotional interest in choosing someone close to them.

Furthermore, when an artist is asked to make a portrait of friend, fellow artist, family member, or agent, they will naturally be inclined to flatter, and to accede happily to their subjects’ own view of themselves, particularly when the theme itself suggests that celebration is the only appropriate mode of presentation. But the history of portraiture has often been energized by a productive antagonism between artist and subject. Even when the subject was a wealthy patron, or a pope, there was usually a significant social distance, such that the artist was well inclined to analyze, to reveal, to subvert, even to openly mock. I can personally testify, for instance, how being of a different species than my master heartens me to bite the hand that feeds me without hesitation, whenever I can get away with it. But at “Movers and Shakers” one is smothered with friendship and admiration, with open smiles, and posed dignity, trapped by the subjects’ will to reveal nothing but the face they put on before the world.

All these problems, however, are potentially easy to correct. I think a yearly show highlighting the range and vitality of the San Diego art scene is a fine idea, since both range and vitality are abundant. But there is no need for incestuous self-flattery, simply to convince ourselves that everything will be ok, and that the public will soon love us as much as we love ourselves. The public does not, and should not, care about our galleries or our artists for their own sake. They might, however, appreciate good art, if they can find it, and the most efficient way to help them do so is to find it ourselves, right here at home, without excessive regard for fine sentiments, for artists’ feelings and personalities, or for what we imagine the public needs. Perhaps the best approach would be to use a panel of judges that rotates every year, judges who are clearly identified for each show, who are instructed to ignore anyone they are particularly close to, and who are encouraged to roam beyond established artists and familiar galleries into coffee houses and obscure group shows. Then advertise like crazy. But please don’t tell ‘em it’s fashionable, and never tell ‘em it’s good for them.