Titling each of his paintings with a word or two meant to define the work becomes even more problematic given a September 2009 interview with Gareth Harris for the Art Newspaper. During the back and forth, Tuymans unlooses this critique of critics.

I started out as an artist to demythologize myself by giving the source material I’ve used. Journalists liked this, they knew what to write about me, but later on they hated me for it, because without any explanations, they couldn’t comment on me.

Apart from sounding needlessly smug, Tuymans comes off as relatively detached. It’s entirely possible to look at “Wrapping Paper” without its title and conclude that the painting is either an abstraction, the simplification of some form the artist saw or even a table cloth. Creating images bland enough to necessitate a descriptive title, while still a bore to look at, possess the strength to shoulder any meaning.

In his affection for words, Tuymans occasionally stumbles over his beloved history. “The Nose,” as described by the artist has some vague relation to 9/11 and how folks were seen who could pass as Middle Eastern. While that’s fantastic, and surely the Arab community world-wide thanks Tuymans for his support, the painter neglects to address Nikolai Gogol’s 1836 short story sporting the same name. In this particular instance, Tuymans leaving a work untitled would have worked towards his intent instead of obfuscating it. So, in addition to being a bit full of himself, Tuymans is incorrect. Maybe he should try his hand at prose. Of course, the world needs more authors as much as it needs more painters. It’s a moot point.

What’s still up for debate, since Tuymans’ meaning apparently is not, is whether or not his work’s worth a damn. The Stuckist Art Group will probably be better known for Billy Childish’s musical output more than any visual art he works up. But in an examination of why Damien Hirst should toss in the towel, Childish and Charles Thomson figure the following, which seems to connect with Tuymans oeuvre as well:

A dead shark in a tank of formaldehyde does not address the issue of death: it is just dead. The only possible comment that it makes is that to be dead is like being in a contemporary art gallery.

So, this newly venerated painter from Antwerp should continue painting American heads of state. It’d just be cool if it actually meant something that didn’t require fifteen minutes of explanation.