At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
At the 2022 edition of the art fair Photo London, self-described as “the leading art fair for celebrating the past, present, and future of photography”, London’s JD Malat Gallery presented a stall spotlighting the work of celebrity photographer Dave Benett, serving as a time capsule for London’s glamour and party scene in the 2000s. Walls were filled with blown-up images of Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton and - most proudly - two previously unseen photographs of Kate Moss. The display soon became the exhibition Great Shot, Kid, which eschewed most of Benett’s early journalistic work documenting, for instance, the Brixton Riots, for the glitzy highlights of his time as a celebrity and entertainment photographer.
It would be easy to dismiss the curation simply as a marketing move; famous figures, after all, are ultimately more likely to generate footfall than political documentation. In the field of Visual Culture, however, research into the celebrity as an image worthy of study in itself has gained traction over the last few decades, and with good reason. At a certain level of fame, stars progress beyond simply being a product of their time and instead come to define it. The image of Kate Moss, in this case, is not just Kate Moss; instead, she serves as a figurative depiction of a specific place and time, an aesthetic signifier of the glittering party scene of London at the turn of the millennium.
The phenomenon of the star as an image in their own right is not a new one - in fact, it is arguably one that came into being practically alongside the invention of the camera. The image of Charlie Chaplin, for instance, was swiftly overshadowed by that of his ‘Little Tramp’ character, a figure who not only came to represent him in the mind of audiences, but today is synonymous with the entire medium of silent cinema. Subsequently, however, rather than the character overtaking the individual, the individual has developed into a character. It’s no secret - in fact, it’s generally expected - that, at a certain level of fame, figures such as these have whole teams of stylists, image consultants, and agents working behind the scenes to project a particular public image. Announcements of figures as creative directors, for instance, are announced with the same zeal as a brand partnership, further solidifying the idea of the individual as a commodity.
Here, the star straddles the intersection between art and commerce, acting as a collective cultural muse while simultaneously embracing the sensibility of a brand, paradoxically constructed to appear genuine. This public perception is the key factor that separates the star persona from the performance artist since the very nature of performance draws a clear line between the art and reality; no matter how arduous or personally taxing the work may be, it has a clearly defined end when the performance is over. Acknowledging the constructed nature of the ‘star’ image does not necessarily detract from it - in fact, noting that work that goes into constructing a public persona can often enhance our appreciation. Figures from Prince to Bowie to Beyoncé are celebrated just as much for their aesthetic contributions to culture as their work.
As with so many previously accepted facets of public life, the idea of the star as a spectacle was radically altered by the advent of social media, giving an impression of further authenticity albeit still manufactured; the ever-present role of publicists has not disappeared, it’s simply become more subtle. What this does allow, at least in theory, is a degree of personal agency; the psychological toll of a persona constructed by others cannot be overstated, and we only need to look at the depersonalisation suffered by Marilyn Monroe as evidence of this.
The first artist - at least in the cultural mainstream - to pick up on the star as a constructed figure worthy of study was Andy Warhol, who extended his experiments with repetition and cultural signifiers, most famously with his Marilyn Dipytch. Created soon after the actress’s death in 1962, the piece arguably celebrates the constructed image of Monroe rather than the woman herself, continuing the persona even after her death. That the image remains a key iconographic signifier of Marilyn Monroe after her death highlights not only the perseverance of the public image over the individual, but also the murky ethics of conflating the image with the figure themself.
