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Friday, February 20, 2004

Hopper still hopping

 

I'm always interested in art as a window into the society that spawned it. These days, after listening to people snarl about Warhol and Duchamp(can you believe poeple are still snarling about them?), I've been thinking about our society that churns out people in anonymous multiples and that requires people to keep their real selves under p.c. wraps. It's a society that spurns dissent and individuality and thinking, and glorifies commercialism (yesss, Andy; you go, Marcel) (shown, Warhol's "Marilyns").

Art as a window into society drew me to a talk at PAFA (the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts), Wednesday, by Penn Professor of English and art lover Peter Conn on the urban paintings of Edward Hopper and his times (shown, "Sunday").

Hopper's an easy sell, both to the curmudgeonly world of anti-Duchampians and contra-Warholians and the post-Ab-Ex crowd. Conn pointed out the line that snaked around the block for admission to the last Hopper show he attended.

I was there for the history plus a little time to think about what Hopper was doing in his paintings.

Hopper began painting in the midst of a major social upheaval, the change of the United States into a post-agrarian, post-frontier society. How're you gonna keep 'em down on the farm? You're not. Between 1890 and 1920, Conn said, the census shows an enormous shift of population from the "scarcely populated agrarian world of the 19th century" into the cities (shown, "Eleven a.m.").

And the shift meant the loss of traditional family ties and a rootlessness. Hopper's cityscapes from the 1920s and '30s were less about the bustling crowd and more about isolation and rootlessness. Conn said that Hopper made four paintings with "hotel" in the title.

My favorite Hopper tidbit was learning that he was employed by "Hotel Management" magazine to create drawings (here's one of his covers), which Conn characterized as "carefree icons of fake happiness." Perhaps, Conn suggested, Hopper's claustrophobic hotel room paintings were his revenge on his earlier employement.


On Hopper's "Circle Theater" (shown): "He chose a subject he does not let us see," said Conn, pointing out how the subway kiosk nearly obliterates the theater marquee and entrance.


Among other Hopperisms that Conn noted were the lack of horizon line, the windows without doors and doors without handles--a claustrophobic world of isolation (shown, "Nighthawks"). Plus they're scenes that leave room for the viewer to make up stories about what has happened and what will happen.

I'm stopping here with no big conclusion, but just to say I enjoyed the info, and here's a picture of Duchamp's "Fountain," which represented the same societal upheaval in a different way.

This was part of PAFA's art-at lunch series. The next one is Feb. 28, American Abstraction in the Cold War Era--Reconsidering the Categories "Conservative" and "Radical"--Focusing on the artists included in the Academy's exhibition Radicals and Conservatives: Abstraction 1945 to the Present, Dr. Sarah K. Rich, assistant professor of art history at Pennsylvania State University, will discuss how it is now historically possible to decide upon the political motivations and effects of abstract art in the Cold War Era.

permanent link  libby 5:24 PM
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Thursday, February 19, 2004

You gotta have a system

 

My stop to see Nancy Herman's color-saturated pieces, based on music, at Silicon Gallery yesterday put me in mind of John Cage and Jeremy Blake, quilts and mandalas.

Turns out, quilts were pretty dead on, Herman having previously tried her system of translating music into color with quilted fabrics. In fact, the translation of music to color and pattern has been an obsession of hers for 25 years (shown, "Bach's Minuet in D Minor").

Herman has been looking for a system whereby each note is represented by a specific color that would then translate into an image. She's even got a color-coded keyboard.

But the thing that struck me hardest was how different her approach was in setting a system in motion to John Cage, who put forth his systems and then stuck to them, pleased with the products even if they were ungainly and unpretty.

It took Herman 25 years because ungainly and unaesthetic are not in her vocabulary. She wanted a system but then she wanted control over the results. Fabrics and paint ultimately didn't give her the degree of control she sought over exact color and range. This latest iteration of the venture--using computer technology--took her two years to perfect. And even so, as I understand it, she still tinkers with the image.

The pieces, printed by Silicon Gallery, which specializes in creating archival prints using computer technology, are saturated with beautiful color patterns--columns or squares. The columnar versions have a soothing glow and pace, and seem like a stop-action cousin to Jeremy Blake's computer art, although not as spatial or architectural, and more about the pattern. The grids are jumpier, radiating out in four directions from a center, as in log cabin pattern meets Tibetan tanka.

Each piece of music that Herman translated, she approached two different ways--with the grid/mandala versions and the horizontal-column versions. So each eight bars of music are represented by two different images--a grid and horizonal-column version--with the same predetermined colors (shown, "Mozart First Minuet").

I don't believe I could get the feel of the specific piece of music from the images, but I liked looking. The colors were a knock-out, and the obsessional quality lifts them above their decorative force. Herman hopes to eventually covering the whole history of music in color. I love the ambition.


Herman also made a video painting of a number of pieces of music, which each started out a little slow, visually, but as the signature themes got layered and increasingly complex--a reflection of what the music did--they became quite interesting.
permanent link  libby 6:12 PM
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Artshwager's Miami show

 

I'm putting up a couple of links here to comments on the just-closed Richard Artschwager show in Miami. Both appear in Miami Art Exchange.

The first post is by Miami-area artist and writer David Rohn, who wrote the piece at the request of Miami Art Exchange's editor, Onajide Shabaka; the other is by Shabaka.

While I don't agree with the overall judgment, partially because they were responding to Artschwager's 2-D work and I'm responding to his 3-D work, I thought they had some interesting points to make.
permanent link  libby 4:38 PM
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The Romantic edge

 
Post by Cinque Hicks

Hello, regular reader here. In response to the work of Richard Watson (see post below), Watson skates just on the edge between the kind of postmodern contemporary art that is embraced in a largely white art world and the kind of romantic realism that rules the roost in many mainstream black art contexts. That makes Watson a rare bird.

I'm commenting here because I've been doing a lot of thinking on this subject and in fact am in the middle of a 3-part post on this subject.

[Ed. note-- Hicks produces the blog, bare and bitter sleep, and just started a new online news source, electric skin, which rounds up interesting news about visual art from a variety of sources and delivers it link by link].

Unfortunately, the lack of infrastructure in black contemporary art circles means that most of the artists supported within the black art world are those that can command some version of that romantic quality that you picked up on. These artists then have to contend with how to find success outside of the black art world (if they want that), which is usually hostile to that same romanticism. It's easy to see that many black artists would end up caught between a rock and a hard place.

(For more, see Roberta's review of "Contemporary Romanticism" at the African American Museum in Philadelphia which featured Watson, Howardena Pindell, Louis Delsarte and Betye Saar. Image above is "Autobiography: The Search" by Pindell)

--Cinque Hicks is an artist, writer and blogger who joins us from Austin Texas.
permanent link  roberta 6:56 AM
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Wednesday, February 18, 2004

Green and blue and longing for Spring

 
I ran around Old City last weekend and found Spring on the walls, except at Temple Gallery's "Analog Click Click" where it felt like deepest, darkest, chilly, grisaille cyber-winter. (Read Libby's post for more.)


Meanwhile I was dreaming of duck ponds and marshes, algae and sand between my toes all triggered by the green and blue emanating from Becker, Artjaz and Rosenfeld Galleries.

At Becker, David Goerk's small, sculpted paintings welcome you with open arms and colors, textures and themes. The works, made of paint and encaustic over wood constructions have a "handyman special" feel to them. They wear their lumpy edges with pride. With cheery colors and shapes that refer to the real world ("skate" looks just like a skateboard deck) they are a tribe of sweet things you want to scoop up and play with (or take home). I loved best the green circle of delight ("Green Field II" pictured) which said pond scum to me but hey, I like ponds.


Two doors down at Artjaz, Richard Watson's solo show works two themes, one political, one not. Watson's oil paintings, imagined landscapes of North Carolina, (pictured in the octagonal frame) imply a romantic view of the south by an African American painter who grew up there but moved away as a child.


I remember seeing some of these paintings in a group show on romanticism at the African American Museum in Philadelphia a few years back. My take then was that the work must be read as personal not political commentary and that the artists, including Watson, were exploring their ties to land and family. It may seem radical for an African American artist to explore the past through a rosy lens but I bought it. The works are full of love.

Meanwhile, Watson has also painted a kind of romanticized view Philadelphia with slightly more edge. This untitled landscape (pictured above)has the same romantic cast as the North Carolina works, but, unlike in North Carolina, North Philadelphia's ambiance includes a prominent pile of trash in the foreground. Ah, Philadelphia.


And in the same exhibit, the artist has fashioned a group of collage works, (like the one pictured left showing his mother, father, himself and his brother), that dip into the personal but also include themes of spiritual uplift and racial empowerment. I find the aesthetic in the collages compelling. Watson uses paint to connect passages of collaged imagery and his jam-packed universes combine just the right amount of obsession and theme.


Meanwhile, at Rosenfeld, the acrylic paintings of Philadelphians Hollis Heichemer and Elsa Johnson Tarrantal make a swell pairing. Heichemer's juicy acrylic paintings are microcosms of aquatic loveliness -- yet the paintings are macro in size. (blue work above by Heichemer)

Tarrantal's acrylic landscape paintings, with their big skies and sweep of shore, are macro in subject -- but they're micro in size. (image below is by Tarrantal)


This pairing gives you a good look at the range of technique available in the polymer medium. Heichemer's loose calligraphy and thick, shiny build-ups imply oil paint. (image below is detail from another Heichemer work)



Interestingly, Tarrantal's dry brush ( seen above in the foreground) imbues the landscape paintings with a nice level of abstraction.

Komar and Melamid in their research on America's Most Wanted painting made us understand that blue was our favorite color, followed closely by green.

I just want to say...what's wrong with that?


permanent link  roberta 9:18 AM
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Tuesday, February 17, 2004

So funny I forgot how to laugh

 

Billed as a group show about comedy in art, “Ha!” at Project Room is more like “Huh.”

Several of the pieces in the show had funny bits, but overall, the show, which I took in at the opening, was paced like a night at a comedy club -- you win some, you lose some. (top image is the "Ha!" menu boards announcing artists' names and performers' times)


Desiree Policky’s letters to corporations like Dairy Queen, IHOP and Perky-Pet Brand bird food were sassy and dumb enough to be the highlight of the show.

Even without the smarmy, corporate responses to her dumb questions, her wifty initial letters produce a laugh. For example, Policky asks DQ for tips on how she can achieve a brain freeze with their product. (DQ in its letter back, steers her to the online docs at Web MD.) (sorry I don't have an image of the letters)

A few pieces make you smile, like Mike Okum’s “Motivational Speaker,” (image above) a video projection showing a goateed and wiggly-nosed Pinnochio intoning one-liners like “I am going to do it...I have never been more serious” on and on in a droning voice. I would have liked the piece without the words. Just staring up at that nose was funny.


The other video piece in the show, a loop of three segments by Guy Richard Smit, (left) installed on a monitor in the gallery’s entryway, was an odd warm-up act. Smit, who created an alter-ego “Jonathan Grossmalerman” (big painter man) performs stand up comedy about art wearing a suit and looking like he’s sweating linseed oil. I sampled two of the videos and found the angry, agitated patter tough sledding although I do admire the concept of standup by an embattled artist.


Patrick L. Carrico’s performance at 7:30 (image right) gets high marks for visuals and concept even though it had technical glitches and ended abruptly due to a machine malfunction. The piece seemed to be a dialog between a little laptop computer and a painter who was gamely trying to paint a picture, defend his painting and discuss Painting at the same time -- and kind of failing at all three.


Olav Westphalen’s two Playboy-esque cartoons spoofing “plastic cup” art openings and the College Art Association meetings seemed a little tired what with their imagery which seemed appropriated and words which were insider-y and none too great. (sorry, no image)

Elik Smith’s collage “Everything is nothing OR laughing equals crying” (detail left) was a beauty but the comedy escaped me. Likewise, Joe Duffy’s “The Alphabet” postcards had loopy, R. Crumb-like cartoons and short missives on the back. And if there was a joke here, it was so inside the beltway I didn’t get it.


Jacqueline Sarrat’s “Suicide Drawing” (detail right) was, I suppose, darkly humorous, as was Emily Vernon’s “Self-Portrait according to Degas,” (image, below) a nice, brushy painting of Barney chewing up some ballet dancers.


Others in the show are Paul Perry, Jessica Myers, Thomas Zummer, Keith Grimon, Trevor Boyle.

Art is serious business for most artists and it's hard to do it funny. As for poking fun at art, New Yorker cartoons seem to do it best and with some regularity. Just search for Picasso at the Cartoon Bank and see what you get.

Gallery hours by appointment. Call 215-413-3101.

permanent link  roberta 4:51 PM
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Monday, February 16, 2004

Seeking Paris in Philadelphia

 
Post by Martin Bromirski

Hi, Enjoying your blog. Tyler Green at modern art notes is always linking to it.

I heard from Miriam Seidel that there will be a silent auction or something at Moore College of the work of Mildred Elfman Greenberg. I can't be there but would love to read about it or anything about Mildred on your blog.

Another Philadelphia artist who has disappeared through the cracks is Paris (aka Holy Joseph). Did you ever see him? He was an OLD homeless man who used to wander around the University of the Arts area and eventually set up semi-permanent residence on Walnut St. where the nice Cuban (Alma de Cuba?) restaurant is now.

He was a black guy, wore turbans and other fantastical homemade headgear- sometimes with crosses, and made some really amazing drawings with whatever he could find, mostly crayon on cardboard.

I know I am not the only one who bought his drawings. (John Ollman and the man that has the restaurant where Magnolia Cafe was also supported him).

[Ed. note--Paris/Holy Joseph was included in the show "Found Ground" at Moore's Levy Gallery in Jan. 1991. See listing for more.]

A few years ago I was wondering about him and put an ad in the City Paper from which I received only one response. I would love to hear anything about him, know who else might have collected his work, or to have a photograph of him. Through the City Paper contact I was able to learn that he frequented a couple shelters and going there I asked about him and he was fondly remembered.

They even gave me a photo of him. But he stopped coming one day and they seemed to feel he was probably dead. They were never able to confirm a name or hometown for him. Do you know anything or is this something you could put on your blog? Thanks. -- Painter Martin Bromirski writes from Richmond, Virginia. Contact him at urgentbusiness@hotmail.com
permanent link  roberta 8:25 AM
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Sunday, February 15, 2004

Just looking at Richard Artschwager

 

I don't think Richard Artschwager (shown in a photo from 2002, and see Feb. 12 post) really wanted to address the crowd that filled every seat in the ICA's auditorium and lined the walls and the floor.

He was nervous, and his age had taken a toll on his focus, especially at the beginning of the conversation. A tall, slim man in 3-piece suit, somehow he looked less like a banker or lawyer who was trying to look professional and powerful, and more like my childhood neighborhood pharmacist who was trying to disappear behind his correct clothes--his clothes somewhat like the patina of formica on some of his sculptures.

But he was surrounded by people who seemed to care for him. They treated him kindly.

ICA Senior Curator Ingrid Schaffner, who had worked as his archivist, teased him gently as she listed his accomplishments. She recalled how she had his years of unopened mail to sort through, some of the envelopes bearing poignant notes begging Artschwager to please, please open this particularly urgent piece of mail. Here, again, I got a picture of somewone who wasn't all that eager to interact with strangers (shown right, "Time Piece," by Artschwager").

And former ICA Director Suzanne Delehanty, who gave Artschwager his first solo museum show at the ICA, never stopped smiling and nodding her head in encouragement, even when his answers didn't exactly answer the original question. Affectionately, she came back at him again, with her original query, "But what about perspective, Richard?" (Shown, an untitled "box" by Artschwager)

Once Artschwager became focused enough to answer the questions, he chose metaphorical explanations. Asked about the frames in his work, he answered that others were making big paintings that filled the field of vision, thank to the GI Bill and the surging economy and artist access to huge lofts. (A couple of days later, I read a James Rosenquist Q&A in Art in America in which he said that his paintings grew bigger as his studio space grew. Shown, a large Rosenquist, uninhibited by a frame.) So Artschwager said he went in the other direction and put frames around his work.

Somehow, that explanation seemed to fit the character of the man who sat before the crowd, framed by his dark blue suit, his shirt and tie. Neither the "explanation" nor the clothes revealed much about what Artschwager, who worked some of his life as a carpenter, was really thinking.

I don't know how he and Delehanty were able to sit comfortably up on the platform, their two chairs free-floating on either side of a glass table, no protective desk or table to lean on or to hide behind. Delehanty, dressed in a knee-length brown dress that draped loosely at the hem, was able to somehow arrange herself gracefully and modestly. Artschwager, 80, sat straight in his chair.

This put me in mind of the Robert Storr-Alex Katz talk at Penn last year. They too were exposed, but Katz (shown left) lounged comfortably where he sat, wearing drapey, rich-looking clothing--silk?, fine leather shoes, and although he's just three or four years younger than Artschwager, he projected a graceful, aggressive physicality and empowerment that matched the social milieu he often paints and the gestural quality of his nature paintings. Katz wanted you to notice what a guy he was.

Artschwager, whose art work is highly conceptual, did not want to give too much of himself away. He wanted you to look at the art and look some more until it became meaningful to you. Explanations, he felt, were not his friends. At the same time that he held back, he was hoping you'd notice how smart, insightful and funny he was.
permanent link  libby 8:51 PM
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