BY JORDAN BASS

nce the Cold War, Uncle Sam has said we can wage and win simultaneous and separate wars—isn't it time for the activists to up their ante and take on two fronts too? The Stuckism International Protest Show aims to do just that: The works included set their sights on both the artistic and political establishments. This is double-barreled dissent, bringing together works by painters who identify as anti-war and anti-anti-art— Stuckists for short.

"Creation" by Elsa Dax.

Artists Charles Thomson and Billy Childish started Stuckism in 1999, united in their loathing for critically acclaimed and conceptually abstruse Brit Art and eager to "bring back spiritual values into art, which they [felt had] been hijacked by shallow gimmickry because of elitist and commercial interests," as the press release for the Protest Show explained. The name is derived from an insult hurled by Tracey Emin— darling of influential art collector Charles Saatchi and perhaps the only person to ever exhibit her own rumpled and condom-strewn bed in a museum—an insult directed at Childish. her ex-boyfriend. She cried, "You are stuck. Stuck! Stuck! Stuck!" And a movement was born.

Stuckism spread to the States in short order, attracting other artists frustrated with recent trends. "We create art in order to create an emotional connection," show co-organizer Nicholas Watson explained. "There's such a rampant element of falseness in [conceptual] artwork. I'm very comfortable saying most of it is not for real."

"I don't think a lot of artists give a crap about what they're doing," Jesse Richards, another organizer, added. "Unless the personal satisfaction is, 'I'm smarter than you are.' Duchamp would go over to the Yale University Art Gallery and he would say, 'This is crap,' and he would go paint a picture. That's how he would react to it. 'Night Café'—anybody can look at that, it's emotional, it's not elitist. You look at a snow shovel hanging in a gallery and you think, 'Am I stupid?'"

The protest element of the show was added only recently, as war approached and the organizers found themselves increasingly preoccupied. "We were having conversations with Charles [Thomson] about the war, and we were all really upset about it, and the focus of the show changed," Richards said. "It's bad enough when you tell the UN to go screw themselves, but it's even worse when you've just gone to them for help." Although few of the paintings are explicitly anti-war, "all of the paintings are by artists who support the theme of working together internationally to create a better, more honest world," Watson explained.

The artists—16 currently have work on display, and more paintings are on the way— are an international group. Many of the founding London members are represented, as are painters from Brazil, Germany, and Kentucky. Ralph Ferrucci, of Connecticut, contributes "New World Disorder," which portrays a bust of President George W. Bush, DC '68, backed by a large swastika; it can be had for $5000.

Childish, who is no longer with the Stuckists, provides one work, and Thomson provides two, in a style that resembles pop art but which he has likened to Japanese woodcuts. Absent, of course, are tiger sharks preserved in formaldehyde, piles of chicken wire, or any other work that the Stuckists might deem meaningless and cynical. "I don't think they even know what they're doing when they're doing it," said co-organizer Marissa Shepherd, of the conceptual artists. "Afterwards they just say, 'Oh, it means this.' It's a Rorschach test. Art should convey a meaning. These paintings are by people who are trying to communicate directly and emotionally."

In New Haven, the Stuckists have faced difficulty attracting recognition. "New Haven is a strong town in terms of art, but there's a real void for people to show paintings," Shepherd said. "The galleries support conceptual art as opposed to things we're doing." Richards describes how a local gallery held the same exhibit for five years. "It's different stuff, but it's the same crap. That was played out in 1930," he said.

Financial backing for their art has been similarly sparse. "We've been completely unable to become associated or get support from state or government institutions," Watson said. However, he speaks of "a loyal following," good turnouts at openings, and claims he's touched more hearts than the conceptualists ever could. "We had an old guy in a bowler hat come up here and say, 'Man, look at all these paintings!' People don't go see tampons and teacups and wax balls on tables and say, 'Man, it's good to see that.'"

Yale has yet to lend a hand, and although the Stuckists express a restrained exasperation with the University's taste —"We haven't gone and dumped Damien Hirst's ashtrays in the garbage over at the British Art Center. I'm not saying that's wrong or right. We just haven't done that yet," Richards said—they evince interest in some sort of affiliation. Yale artists, meanwhile, seem wary at best.

"Movements generally seem foolish to me—I don't trust anything that tries to turn artists into followers—but it's good to know that some New Haven painters have found a community," Larkin Grimm, JE '04, said. "When did having skills to mix paint become better than the idea?" William Cordova, ART '04, said. "Contemporary painting isn't for the common folk, it's for a specific audience. If you mean common people then you're talking about furniture. Something that is intended to go with the couch or looks pretty."