Judith Bernstein in Conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist: The Power of Humor, Rage, and Resistance

Judith Bernstein by Max Montgomery for HUNGER MAGAZINE

For over five decades, Judith Bernstein has been a fearless voice in contemporary art, addressing issues of war, gender, power, and politics with raw, unfiltered energy. Emerging from the feminist art movement of the 1970s, Bernstein quickly became known for her provocative imagery – particularly her bold phallic drawings and sexually charged compositions that challenge patriarchal structures and expose the intersections of sex and violence in American culture.

Deeply rooted in protest and satire, her work channels rage and humor in equal measure. Series like Vietnam Salute and Gaslighting offer searing critiques of militarism and political manipulation, while pieces such as Fun Gun and Cockman turn the macho symbols of war into grotesque, absurd caricatures. With her signature graffiti-style lettering and unapologetic language, Bernstein reclaims vulgarity as a tool for resistance.

A member of the historic A.I.R. Gallery and a longtime advocate for other female artists, Bernstein has experienced both censorship and celebration throughout her career. Yet she has never relented from her commitment to honesty, confrontation, and subversion. Today, her work is more relevant than ever – a testament to the power of art that refuses to be silenced. Hans Ulrich Obrist, Artistic Director of the Serpentine in London and one of the most influential curators of our time, paid her a visit and they talked glass ceilings, censorship, humor, and more.

President, 2017

Judith Bernstein: Look, I made a book called Dick of Death. The title actually comes from army slang – it’s what they used to call franks and beans, hot dogs. It’s also the name of the first show I did at A.I.R. Gallery. It was an incredible community. When women artists came to New York back then, the art world was closed off to them. There definitely was a glass ceiling. So they came together and founded A.I.R.

Hans Ulrich Obrist: I was very close to Nancy Spero, one of the gallery’s founding members. You must have known her.

Oh, yes, she was brilliant – sharp, talented. I once suggested they name the gallery TWAT – “Twenty Women Artists Together.” But it didn’t fly. I guess I was ahead of my time.

Always.

What’s great about Dick of Death is that it includes work from different decades, and even some poetry.

So you write as well?

I wouldn’t call myself a writer, exactly – but I do have a deep love for humor. It comes naturally to me, almost like being a comedian. But the work is serious, too. There are powerful pieces in there about Vietnam. One reads: “It gets VD, not VC” – venereal disease, not Vietcong.

You faced censorship with some of this work, didn’t you?

Oh, lots of it. But the book also includes a petition demanding that my censored work be shown. There’s a piece with a list of all the signatories – really impressive names.

People like Alice Neel, Linda Nochlin…

Exactly. They all signed it. Under black light, the text glows. It’s a black-light catalogue.

That’s fabulous. A visual timeline.

And I was truly young back then.

You still are.

So true! It’s an artist’s book, but also includes interviews – one with Maurizio Cattelan, for example. I can send you some copies.

Money Shot - Blue Balls, 2017

Birth of the Universe #4 (Space, Time and Infinity), 2012

In the book, you describe feminism as the fight for women’s equal access to the system.

That’s right – equality. The work also critiques masculinity and the macho glorification of war. Years ago, I thought if women were in charge, things would be different. But I don’t feel that way anymore. Women also carry rage and can be just as aggressive and problematic as men.

And your titles – do they come from your writing?

Humor is key. If something’s funny, it stays with you. It resonates. My work has dark themes, but there’s always some humor in there – it’s not just doom and gloom.

Humor gives your work impact. It reminds me of Alice Herz-Sommer, a Holocaust survivor who lived to 108. When I met her, I asked her her secret, and she said: “I laugh. People in my building think I’m going to die soon, but I laugh.” And here you are saying laughter keeps your art alive.

It’s true – laughter is like a sexual release. It’s so powerful, so life-affirming. It keeps you going.

You use a lot of slang in your work, too – Uncle Sam Balls, Viet Cock, The Fun Gun…

The Fun Gun is one of my favorites. Paul McCarthy owns that piece.

He’s a big collector of your work.

Yes – first it was Bill Copley, then Paul. The Fun Gun is a phallic piece – masculine, violent. I glued 45 bullets onto it and hammered them flat. They didn’t go off, thankfully. It was shown at the New Museum. Originally, the screw was my signature – then it became my name, literally.

So handwriting plays a role in your work?

A big one. One of my favorite pieces is Birth of the Universe – about time, space, infinity. It combines cock imagery, confidence, and raw energy.

Energy is your medium – in a post-medium world.

Exactly. Another piece is Moral Injury – a phallus violated by an American flag and numbers around it. It’s about the death tolls, costs, and horrors of Iraq and Afghanistan – graffiti on paper, in three parts.

Horizontal, 1973

In Evil We Trust, 2017

Cockman, 1966

In the 60s, you created the Cockman.

That’s right. And he keeps coming back – especially when Trump came into power.

Cockman always rises.

[Laughs] Exactly. The original Cockman was inspired by a conservative Alabama governor. Later, I did Trump’s Cabinet of Horrors and put that drawing at the center.

Have you made work about the current election?

I had a whole show called Money Shot. The title speaks volumes. One piece shows a dollar bill with the phrase “In Evil We Trust.” Another is a hydrogen bomb with the presidential seal. It critiques gaslighting, propaganda, American exceptionalism. One of the central images is a spread eagle. When I first made it, people said, “Oh, give Trump a chance.” But I knew he’s a Nazi. And I was right.

What inspired the Gaslighting series?

It references the classic film Gaslight with Ingrid Bergman. Her husband manipulates her into doubting her sanity. But that dynamic isn’t limited to gender – it’s a psychological manipulation that exists across many kinds of relationships.

Fun Gun, 1967

Money Shot - Yellow, 2016

Vietnam Salute, 1967

Gaslighting (Pink Ground), 2019

In a conversation with Helen Molesworth, you talk about war. Pieces like Vietnam Salute 67 and ISIS Gone confront sexuality, rage, and taboo. Can you speak to how war recurs in your work?

It never ends. Humanity is aggressive and endlessly angry. We always want more – more power, more money, more war. No art can be as brutal as war. When I exhibited at the Drawing Center, I feared World War III. I made Poo Shlong and a portrait of Kim Jong-un – small pieces, but potent.

These are active figuration?

Yes. A lot of masturbatory content. The term “active figuration” actually came from Walter De Maria, he was a dear friend. He suggested I use it. And I did.

What advice would you give to young artists?

Art is tough. You have to keep going, no matter how many rejections you get. When someone says no, find someone else who might say yes. That’s how it works. Don’t take rejection as the end. Just keep moving forward.

Fucked by Number Mural (ICA London), 2013

VD not VC, 1967

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