Quick post of images from William Christenberry's solo show at the Katzen. I don't have much to say about the show. The back area that resembled an art storage facility made for cool pictures. The last image below shows what to me what the most striking installation component to the show.
Before my time in NYC comes to a close at the end of the month, I wanted to be sure to visit as many of the art museums I could. I flew up early on Sunday and made my way from museum to museum. Here's a rundown of my visits:
1) The Whitney
Sometimes I wish that I could see into the future. That way, I would know whether or not to read reviews of shows that I may or may not see in the future. I wasn't sure that I'd be able to see the Picasso and American Art show at the Whitney, so I read several negative reviews of the show. I wasn't expecting much and I didn't get much. While it was certainly a crowd pleaser, the show felt flat as could be. WHat I found interesting about this show was that given the large number of people present, you could find the most interesting work by going to the paintings no one was standing in front of. I found this guide rule worked wonderfully and implemented it the rest of the day. It did not disappoint.
I wandered down to see the Kiki Smith show, "A Gathering." Prior to this, I had only seen a Smith here or there, and never been very impressed. Well, all that changed with this installation. An entire floor was dedicated to Smith's work, all made between 1980 - 2005. All I can say is that the show was disturbing, full of emotion, and beautiful. It shocked me greatly how she could coax so much from her work. Each piece seemed to inform the next. It was installed remarkably well and her "dark" work looked incredible on the dark floors of the Whitney. This is the type of show the Whitney should be doing. Give a single artist an entire floor and let them make their case. I'm now a fan of Kiki Smith, and if I had never seen this show, I doubt I would have become a fan. I have a much greater appreciation for her work now.
The next show I saw at the Whitney, working my way from top to bottom, was "Albers And Moholy-Nagy: From The Bauhaus To The New World." I've never been consciously aware of Moholy-Nagy's work but I do know Albers'. Well, I thought I did. Whenever I see a single Albers, I usually like it. I respect what he was doing. I thought there was merit to the work. While I still think Albers has merit, this show knocked him down a bit in my estimation. The paintings looked bad. His other (design) work felt like really old design. Which it is. But time has not treated it well. I expected more from the show and more from the work.
Lastly, there was an installation by Terence Koh on the first floor. A super bright light shining through the lobby. It hurts your eye to look at it. The Web site states about Koh:
In Koh's immersive, typically monochromatic environments -- in which minimalist and baroque aspects of his sensibility vie for dominance -- a seemingly unknown ritual is about to take place, where a sense of loss simultaneously suggests regeneration. From drifting powder silencing rooms, and constellations of cryptically linked objects that move from literally disjunctive realms (upstairs/downstairs, inside/outside, dark/light) as well as more conceptual ones, to pristine, perfectly crafted containers that become coffins for shattered glass and mirror, the glitter of black beads, burnt objects, residing within -- Koh's gestures evoke isolation and secrecy, but also protection and ecstasy.
I should have taken this as a warning as it doesn't discuss THIS installation at all. It uses Koh's body of work to justify the installation. It's a super bright light that hurts the viewer's eyes. Wow. And thanks.
2) The Met
I didn't visit the Met with any particular installation in mind. I hoped that Scully's show was still up, but it was not. Fortunately I was able to see 6 or 7 of his paintings still hanging in the space before being crated. I liked what I saw and regretted that I missed the show. What struck me most was Scully's color. I had to view the work from above and fairly far away, but the paintings glowed. I would have loved to have gotten closer so that I could see how he does it.
I spent more time than ever before in the Asian art galleries. It was an amazing experience but also disheartening. I was in awe of the beauty of these objects. They were hundreds and thousands of years old. This is what was disheartening. I was overwhelmed with the sense that art has gone downhill from those times. If these objects were made today, I feel like they'd be the best art around. That we've had so long to grow from these works, to advance, to improve... and that we haven't, is disappointing. But it's also a challenge. Not only are we challenged to make better art than our peers, not only are we challenged to make better art than the artists in our recent history, but we are also up against ancient cultures. We've got our work cut out for us, don't we?
3) The Guggenheim
Fortunately I have a corporate ID that allows me free entry to all of these museums, otherwise it would have been an expensive day. At the Gugg was Spanish Painting from El Greco to Picasso: Time, Truth and History. Yeah! More crowd-pleasing Picasso. And boy was the museum packed. I was a bit tired of Picasso at this point, and I didn't like fighting the crowds, so I didn't really give the work the time it deserved. I'm sure it was great, but I don't regret skimming the show. And my rule of looking at those works that no one else was looking at was successful again. I saw some great paintings that only had one pair of eyes on them... my own.
Also at the Gugg was Lucio Fontana: Venice/New York. There is an obvious connection between my work and Fontana's: the hole. But I think the similarities stop there. Honestly, I found this show to be a disappointment. Fontana had some gaudy taste apparently with the colors selected and the texture created. I remember only one painting that struck me as beautiful, and it was also the most minimal. It was a large canvas painted a shade of brown. The canvas and been cleanly cut 3 or 4 times. In that one piece, Fontana's ideas about space were most clear. I could have done without the rest.
So that was my Sunday. A busy day for sure, but I have to take advantage of my time here. If you're a fan of Kiki Smith already, you'll enjoy the show. If you aren't a fan of her work, you should go see it anyway... it may change your mind.
Blake Gopnik chimes in with a wonderful review of a Morris Louis retrospective in Atlanta. He seems to really like Louis' paintings and that thrills me! I love Louis' work too and wish a DC museum would pick up the show at a later date. Why wouldn't the Corcoran do that? Or the SAAM?
Anyway, there were a couple of quotes in this must-read article that I wanted to call out:
The museum is consumed with a wannabe blockbuster called "Louvre? Atlanta," and there's no love left to give to a has-been abstract artist.Judging from the splendors of "Morris Louis Now" and its engrossing oddities, that "has-been" ought to be an "is."
Hmmm, Gopnik brings Louis' work into the present and praises it at the same time. Is this the same guy who constantly tells us that painting is dead? If some other artist were to create equally beautiful (but "original") abstract paintings today, would Blake praise them for their beauty or dismiss them? This quote makes me question what Blake's been preaching about lately.
These echo the passages of pastel color in the "stain" paintings of Helen Frankenthaler, which Louis saw on a rare, career-changing visit to New York in 1953. (That was when his Washington colleague Kenneth Noland introduced him to the painter and her new techniques, as well as to Clement Greenberg, her lover and the most influential critic of that time. He became Louis's great champion.)
We talked a while ago about the impact of visiting large metropolitant areas on one's art. Blake asserts that a visit to NYC in 1953 was "career-changing." Maybe Louis would have met Frankenthaler and Greenberg in D.C. eventually, but he didn't. He met them in NYC and it helped push him to make great paintings. Would he have done so otherwise? We'll never know... but we do know he went and he did.
On Saturday I visited the Katzen Arts Center at American University eager to check out the five new shows on display. The Katzen is an amazingly beautiful building and even if sometimes the art does little for me, the experience of visiting the museum is always rewarding. On Saturday this was particularly true.
Hungarian Revolution, 1956
When you enter the first gallery, you are greeted with far-from-uplifting collection of photographs documenting the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. Without question, these photographs are very important from a documentary perspective. I didn't really spend a lot of time with them individually... it was raining out and I knew that the Leipzig paintings wouldn't do a whole lot to brighten my mood. My one concern with the show, and a thing that put me off a bit, was the presentation of the photographs:
Each black and white photograph was framed in a black oxidized metal frame and matted with a creamy (almost yellow) mat. The walls were painted gray. In my opinion, the creamy yellow mats were an awful choice. The photographs were pulled from black and white to off-white and gray/brown. The subject matter of the photos is incredibly powerful but the mats really brought the images down. It was distracting trying to reconcile so many different colors when all I really cared about was the image. Fortunately, this was the low point of the day, and it wasn't even really that low.
Eberhart Havekost: 1996-2006 Paintings from the Rubell Family Collection
I'm not very familiar with these German artists so I'll lift some text from the Katzen Web site:
This unprecedented exhibition traces the past decade of work by one of Germany’s most watched painters, Eberhard Havekost (b. 1967), who is based in Dresden and rarely shows his pieces outside Europe or New York. Havekost paints images based on his altered and manipulated photographs and video clips. Although his subjects are mostly bland urban details such as office windows, automobile windshields and the sides of buses, as well as contemporary figure groups and portrait heads — the precision and simplification of his technique create a sense of mystery, otherworldliness and anxiety.
Much to my surprise, I really enjoyed several of Eberhart's paintings. Below is a selection of images from the show.
Totale Idylle, 1996
This painting intrigued me before my visit as I had seen it on the Katzen's site. In person, it was mysterious and compelling. I appreciated the minimal amount of information in the painting yet that it still provoked many questions. Beyond the more obvious, daunting questions (such as, why is he about to shoot the other guy), I was curious why the windows are bright blue. And are they walking in a creek?
Two views of the same installation... one ground level and one from above. This is an example of the fantastic options a curator has for installing a show. This particular installation caught my eye right off and encouraged me to consider the individual paintings. My favorite of these was the viewpoint from an airplane's cockpit. It's an excellent perspective and the composition is exciting.
This quartet of paintings was probably my favorite of all of Eberhart's works. Cubist in nature, Eberhart has broken down a single image into four distinct views. However, prolonged looking melts the images together creating one view. Sure, we put the scene together in our own head with the limited information provided, and we'll never know if we got it right, but it's a fun exercise regardless.
Mindy Weisel: Words on a Journey
Weisel's expressionistic paintings in glass occupy the light-filled area of the museum that seems to be home to more obscure mediums (such as the broken ceramics from earlier this year). The Web site states:
Mindy Weisel’s heritage as the only daughter of Holocaust survivors has long spurred her work as a painter, author and lecturer (currently at the Corcoran School of Art and Design). In this exhibition, the Washington-based artist premieres works in an entirely new technique, fused glass. Weisel, an AU alumna, began working in glass two years ago almost by accident, taking an informal class near where she makes prints. There she discovered the medium’s “ability … to hold the moment, the memory, the feeling” more effectively than painting. Weisel starts each piece by writing calligraphic marks and then manipulates, improvises, stains and sometimes breaks up several pieces of the molten material to fuse and layer into a single composition. “Words on a Journey” (borrowed from a poem) refers to Weisel’s journey through life as well as the implied meanings within each piece. In one work, her father’s concentration camp number and mother’s love of the color blue fuse into a luminous, emotionally charged commentary on memory and loss.
Here's an installation image:
And a single piece:
I'm not sure what to make of these pieces. On one hand, I think that if these were paintings on canvas, they'd be overlooked even at Art-o-Matic. And I wonder if as glass pieces they are much/any better than what I've seen as castoffs at the Washington Glass School's periodic fundraising sales. Clearly, based on the artist's quote above, she has found something special in glass as the medium for the work and she is tackling some big issues. Apparently, the work holds "emotionally charged commentary on memory and loss." I don't know. I just see pretty, shiny objects that frequently looked like they could be composed much better. I'm surprised to see this work enjoying time in a museum exhibition.
Life after Death: New Leipzig Paintings from the Rubell Family Collection
Most of you are probably much more familiar with the historical background of the Leipzig painters than I am. Some background:
For its only mid-Atlantic showing, this nationally touring exhibition at the AU Museum focuses on a much discussed, often controversial development in contemporary art — grandly-scaled paintings that echo traditions of social realism, particularly as it was practiced in East Germany. After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the seven artists represented — Tilo Baumgärtel, Tim Eitel, Martin Kobe, Neo Rauch, Christoph Ruckhäberle, David Schnell and Matthias Weischer — eschewed video, photography and installation art and chose to study figurative painting at the conservative Leipzig Art Academy. They persisted, creating a “school” that blends dream-elements of surrealism and a modernist spatial sense and matter-of-fact narrative.
I was only familiar with Neo Rauch prior to seeing this show and I honestly dreaded seeing his work and six other artists who I thought would look just like him. In fact, though I did dislike Rauch's paintings, I was able to find many that I enjoyed quite a bit.
Unfortunately I neglected to jot down the accompanying names for these paintings (these above and the ones to come). Regardless, the two tiny paintings (maybe 10" x 10") immediately caught my eye even in company with so many large pieces (the Germans do paint big and the Rubells buy big too!). I found these two paintings to be quite delicate.
Minimal forms. Cloudy colors. Somber subject matter. The Leipzig painters do an amazing job of creating tension in their compositions. The figure opposed to the heavy concrete wall creates two distincts spaces. We're there with the man, but we're watching him from afar.
This painting stood out in opposition to what I expected (Neo Rauch colors). Bright, bold and exciting, this painting makes a plain chair look fun. You can't see it in the photo, but the artist has done some great things with the surface. A texture is created by sporadic clumps of paints. There aren't a lot of them, but just enough to remind you that you are viewing an object that depicts an object. A subtle thing, but powerful.
Yep, I told you the paintings are big. Artist John M. Adams is seen in the photo. He's about 6' 3" if that helps you with the scale of the paintings.
Another excellent installation of paintings. These too can be seen from straight on or above.
My favorite piece currently up at the Katzen, this painting will make you dizzy as you feel you're about to walk into a rickety old wooden covered bridge. The perspective acheived in this large painting makes this sensation happen, but even more, are the subtle details. In the lower right corner, where the wall of the bridge feels like it wraps around you, the artist has allowed some plants to pop through the cracks. Though the painting may seem to be about the interior of the bridge, we are drawn to the landscape outside by following these plants. They unite the two spaces. Also of note, each board of the bridge and each flower are painted separately. This causes the painting to feel unstable (like the bridge) in that thousands of individual parts are brought together in one cohesive composition. The bridge feels like it could fall down at any time, and though we'd be sad to see the old bridge go, we know that an unobstructed view of the landscape would await us. And that wouldn't be half bad.
When I think of Germany I think of instability (not so much now but in recent history). This painting seems to take an optimistic view of that history. Germany's past may not be great, but it is the country's history and it contributes to the country today. There is cause for hope by looking at the beauty all around. One must either walk all the way through the bridge (at your own risk) or wait for it to fall.
Athena Tacha: Small Wonders
One of the initiators of site-specific architectural sculpture, Athena Tacha premieres a new group of small scale works reflecting her abiding fascination with nature and space. Made variously of sand and stones, epoxy, grey slate, lead, aluminum, vellum and a host of other natural and synthetic materials, the 15 sculptures on view, none more than two feet high, invoke canyons, caves, a glacier and, frozen in mid-air, a waterfall, wave and volcano. Photoworks are also in the exhibition, including 14 compositions, each a grid of photos tracking a single detail from nature through time — a stone strata, tide pool or snow crack, for instance — in areas where the artist, an incessant global traveler, has visited. Two films (five and six minutes) revisit nature-based works made by Tacha in 1969.
A perfectly nice show demonstrating a passionate interest in nature and amazing sculpture skills, this show didn't wow or disappoint. The indivudual sculptures were much more interesting than the photo collages, but it's a tight, very well presented show.
Volcano
copper sheet and black hot glue
6 x 16.25 x 11.25 in.
2003
Volcano, and all of the other small sculptures, were presented in vitrines with dramatic lighting that heightened the impact of the colors and forms.
Snowcracks - New Zealand
Digichrome prints
27.75 x 42 in.
2005
Now is a great time to visit the Katzen!
Wrapping up my visit to Iowa, below are some images from my visit to the University of Iowa Art Museum:
There's not much better in the world than Jackson Pollock's "Mural" from 1943 and a pair of super comfortable chairs. If you've seen the movie "Pollock" with Ed Harris, this is the large mural painting that Peggy Guggenheim commissioned for her entryway. She donated it to the University of Iowa Art Museum and for a while in the 60's in hung in the school cafeteria.
The next 5 images are from a small show about appropriation in art:
Peter Feldstein: Drawings 2000-2006
Peter Feldstein draws and paints marks, symbols, and icons on sheets of film, then scans them and uses software to manipulate them on the computer into complex systems of pattern. Feldstein is interested in creating a visual cultural language that people might recognize as connected to past memory or experience. Through this process he engages in a personal quest to understand his physical and psychological place in the world.Professor Feldstein recently retired from the UI School of Art and Art History after teaching photography for over 30 years. He is an Oxford, Iowa, based multi-media artist.
Mauricio Lasanksy
Lasansky apparently was a professor of printmaking for 39 years at the University of Iowa. In an out of the way gallery the museum showed a wide selection of his prints. Below is my favorite (one image by me, the other from his site).
Sol y Luna (1945)
Edition: 25 (first state)
15.87 x 20.87 in.
40.1 x 52.9 cm.
Intaglio: engraving, gouged-out white areas, etching, soft ground, aquatint, scraping, burnishing.
One plate: one copper plate. Printed in black.
[from Lasansky's Web site]
While in Iowa over Labor Day weekend, it came to my attention that the University of Iowa recently constructed a new art building. All of the things I heard were fantastic so I was eager to see it for myself. After tailgating before the Iowa/Montana football game, we walked over to where the art buildings sit. I was taken by the building immediately as I was walking down the street. Below are some photos of things that caught my eye.
The building was designed by Steven Holl Architects in New York and is based on Pablo Picasso's Guitar sculpture:
Now, the building:
Yes, that is a picture of the bathroom. I really appreciate architecture that takes into consideration all areas of the building. The bathroom was so bright and clean, and had wonderful lines. You can tell that those details were not overlooked.
The building includes what appears to be a state of the art library (it wasn't open) and some big, bright classroom studios. There were a couple of new media labs that looked wonderful as well. On the first floor there is a gallery that currently holds lackluster faculty work as part of an online benefit auction.
I found this building to be completely beautiful and I imagine it will be a fantastic recruiting tool. The winters in Iowa are incredibly cold, but it'd be fantastic to be in this building's library or studios watching the snow fall outside.
Kudos to the University of Iowa for undertaking such a wonderful project!
Up next: a discussion about the Univerity Art Museum's current shows.
Last weekend I visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art. While there, in addition to seeing the permanent collection - the contemporary art galleries remain weak - I got to see three special exhibitions.
Dreaming in Black and White: Photography at the Julien Levy Gallery
Dreaming in Black and White was a very traditional and unfortunately stale show. Packed to the brim with photographs by important photographers of the 20th century, no individual photo was able to just forward. Here's what the Web site has to say about the artists included:
Works by more than sixty photographers exhibited by Levy are represented, including American masters Walker Evans, George Platt Lynes, Lee Miller, Man Ray, Charles Sheeler, and Ralph Steiner. Artists working in France and Germany are particularly well represented, including Henri Cartier-Bresson, Dora Maar, Roger Parry, Maurice Tabard, László Moholy-Nagy, and Umbo. Mexican artists Manuel Álvarez Bravo and Emilio Amero round out the international roster. One of the pleasures of the exhibition is work by little-known artists Arthur Gerlach, Samuel Gottscho, William Rittase, Thurman Rotan, and Luke Swank.
Five days later I find myself trying to remember a single photograph from the show but I just can't. I do remember a small room painted in a bright red that had photos installed salon style. Big names, valuable prints, but very little impact.
As an aside, the museum does a really poor job of posting images from their shows online. But to their credit, they do have a four-part podcast available for this show at the link above.
Summer Vacation: Photographs from the Collection
Stuck in a dark, awkward hallway in the basement is another photography show. I imagine this exhibition is just supposed to be something fun for the summer visitors. For me, however, this was the best show I saw all day. Fun, playful and engaging, I was introduced to many new photographers. The Web site states:
Summertime! Long days, hot pavement, loud music... Summer stirs up memories of the smell of cut grass, the sound of ice clinking in a glass, and the sensation of cool water on bare toes. This exhibition of more than fifty works from the Museum’s considerable collection of photographs reflects the sizzle of the summer season from a variety of perspectives.A selection of sailors, swimmers, and sunbathers are featured in pictures by Harry Callahan, Elliott Erwitt, David Graham, and Ray K. Metzker, while the pleasures of the playground, pick-up baseball, bike riding, and gardening are seen in the photographs of William Klein, George Krause, William Larson, and Danny Lyon. Camp, carnivals, cookouts, and company picnics are also depicted in works by Robert Adams, Barbara Morgan, and Burk Uzzle. This exhibition is a perfect way to kick off your own summer celebration.
The work of Robert Adams is what struck me most, specifically his Summer Nights series. Here are a couple of my favorites from the show:
Additionally, there was a really nice Sally Mann photo in the show as well as one of my favorite Zoe Strauss' (below). My favorite piece, however, was an image of an amusement park and bubbles floated in the foreground. I assumed that I would be able to find the name of the photographer online. Wrong!
If this show can do so well in a hallway, just imagine what it would like in the galleries devoted to Dreaming in Black and White. I, for one, would have been just fine with the swap.
Ellsworth Kelly: Paris/New York, 1949–1959
This is the show that I most looked forward to seeing. Forgive me for copying all of the accompanying text from the Web site but I think it provides good context:
In 1948, following his military service in World War II, the twenty-five-year-old American artist Ellsworth Kelly moved to Paris, where he lived for six years before moving to New York in 1954. The paintings, drawings, and collages in this exhibition illustrate the significant changes in his work during this formative period, when the artist experimented with strategies that would prove to be instrumental to his artistic development. It was in Paris that Kelly abandoned figuration and easel painting, made his first shaped wood cutout canvases, embraced white monochrome and then primary colors, and developed the intensely felt abstraction for which he is known.
Although Kelly’s works do not appear at first glance to make any reference to reality, they are rooted in his close observation of the world, as seen in his drawings of plant forms and in his renderings of the buildings and bridges of Paris. Kelly began to employ chance in the composition of his works, and at the same time started to use the grid—devices evident in his collages from 1951. In the 1950s, Kelly made an important shift from small object-like works toward larger-scale paintings that command a wall. The titles of these later works often reflect the artist’s growing emphasis on the formal qualities of his compositions.
Kelly’s work resonates with earlier painting and sculpture in the Museum’s collection by artists he knew and admired. His playful use of the grid and black, white, and primary colors in his compositions recall those of Piet Mondrian, and his interest in chance connects to the work of Marcel Duchamp and Jean (Hans) Arp. While in Paris, Kelly visited Constantin Brancusi’s studio, among many others, and he was particularly drawn to the sculptor’s abstract interpretations of observed reality, which have clear connections with his own work. The Museum’s fine collection of Juan Gris paintings has particular importance for Kelly, who once saw a number of Gris’s small compositions hung together in a manner that suggested the possibility that a single painting might consist of several separate panels.
The works in this installation trace Kelly’s remarkable artistic path in the early stages of his career and demonstrate why he is today considered one of the most eminent artists of our time.
The image shown above was easily the best piece in the show. It wasn't even a contest. I saw the image prior to my visit and pictured the piece to be a large, wallsize piece. Instead, it's a small collage measuring 20" x 6.5". The rest of the show was very familiar to me. No, I hadn't seen the work before. Instead, I had a sense of what Kelly was going through at the time. I imagine that being a time of experimentation. I envision him thinking of a great idea (at the time, at least) and executing it. Then he comes up with another idea and executes it. The individual pieces are all quite different and the quality, honestly, is poor.
But these works are incredibly important as they provided the foundation for his art and where it would lead. Take the collage above, it feels like a Kelly, doesn't it? You can make out his progression from all-over-the-place works to a mature style. The show itself isn't much to look at, but it's fun to think about where it all would lead.
When I think back to the paintings I made in college and my first couple of years in D.C., at the time I had no idea where I was going. I thought each piece was great at the time, but now looking back I can't bear to look at much of it. Regardless, it's fascinating looking back and seeing how it evolved into holes drilled into wood and circles/lines drawn on paper. Is this a step to something else, something greater? Or is this what I'm meant to do?
Only time will tell.
Last night I took advantage of the Corcoran’s late hours to check out the newest installation of redefined: Modern and Contemporary Art from the Collection. I also took the opportunity to see the Robert Weingarten show, as well as “The Eyes of History.” “redefined” is an brilliant, big show. I’ll talk about it last. But first, the other two.
The Weingarten show is a disappointment on many fronts. The Web site states:
Robert Weingarten’s photographs of artists’ palettes bridge the gap between realism and abstraction, presenting details of both saturated pigments and the visual landscapes of artists’ studios. These images allow a microcosmic view of the materials and methods of more than twenty contemporary painters, including Chuck Close, Jasper Johns, Ed Ruscha, Robert Ryman, Wayne Thiebaud, and Lisa Yuskavage.
First of all, the large scale digital prints are inadequate for capturing such texture of paint. The walltext (gasp! I read it!) states that the artist’s work also addresses the divide between painting and photography. Well, duh. It demonstrates that it simply cannot hold up. The image quality is cheap and flat. Even worse, the presentation of the images kills whatever greatness the subject matter may hold. According to my eye, the printouts are mounted to foamcore and hung floating away from the wall. If it’s not foamcore, it looks very much like it. I couldn’t help but think of a middle school science fair presentation about color and light. I certainly did not think about fine art. We’ve all noticed the fascinating splatters of paint that can be found in our studios. It does not merit a solo museum show with poor presentation. It – the whole package – just looks cheap.
Unfortunately, the poor presentation bug continued on upstairs, and honestly, this is unforgiveable. In “The Eyes of History,” a press photography show, otherwise excellent documentary images are ruined because of pure laziness. In no time at all, I began noticing that on the walls, behind the photos, the viewer could still see the pencil lines used as guides for the installation. There were marks noting where an image’s edge should be, how high it should be, etc. Worst of all, a row of approximately 5 photos is marred by a pencil line running horizontally across the wall behind the images. Whereas the others marks were relegated to behind the photo (unless seen from the side), this line streaks across the wall in blatant view. Here are some questions:
1) Why do you need a long line such as this to hang the photographs evenly? After all, don’t you just need a single mark for where the nail goes? That’s how I hang my work and it’s far more complicated.
2) How on Earth was this line, in addition to the others, not erased prior to the show opening? To me it speaks to a lack of attention to detail. Moreover, it speaks to a lack of care. We know the building needs a lot of repair and those things can’t be done easily. But, erasing a pencil line is extremely easy. How could it not be done? At a time when I’m hearing some scandalous stories coming out of the Corcoran, this is just unacceptable.
The Corcoran rights itself with the redefined show, however, though it is not left without some serious questions. I was unable to get through the show completely a second time for note-taking, but I’ll share my thoughts about what I could jot down.
The first room I entered was one of the strongest galleries in the show and informed me that the Corcoran has some large, strong pieces. The first room, holding Kenneth Noland, Ellsworth Kelly, Gene Davis and Morris Louis (among others) spoke to me about the impressive impact of scale. Most of these paintings were HUGE. Noland’s enormous diamond shaped painting altered the way I saw the wall on which it hung. Though seemingly in poor shape, the piece still had a presence that was unmistakable. Moving clockwise, another wall held a bright, bold Ellsworth Kelly titled “Yellow with Orange Triangle.” The piece simply pops off the wall in a way that could never be captured by a jpeg. Next is a tall Gene Davis called “Black Popcorn.” The stripes mesmerized me in a big way. The painting reaches up to 10’ on the wall. While no piece dominates the room, this one comes closest. Next is Thomas Downing’s “Ring Three” which rounds out the room, followed by Morris Louis’ “2-69” whose straight, poured lines provide direction to the rest of the show.
I believe there was another abstraction gallery next, in which the only thing that stuck out to me was an awful Frank Stella construction painting. Hideous. Next up was a gallery entitled “Pushing Paint.” Though not significantly moved by any piece in there, it was nice to see D.C.-artist Maggie Michael represented with a large canvas. The winner in this gallery though, for me, was Cy Twombly’s “Synopsis of a Battle.” It was a large example of his chalkboard paintings and it stole the room.
The next room was a nice installation of mysterious, figurative works. The subject matter didn’t do much for me but I recall seeing a couple of Andres Serrano photographs and a Kehinde Wiley painting. Wiley continues to disappoint in general, but looks the best I’ve seen him in this crowd.
The following gallery strikes hard against the emotional, figurative room before it. Titled “Minimal Tendencies,” this gallery surprises in the strength of minimal works held by the Corcoran. A lovely little Joel Shapiro holds it’s own across from a Richard Tuttle mounted cloth piece. Anne Truitt’s “Flower” from 1969 seems to rise up out of the wood floor. Its tan/orange color merges perfectly with the coloration of the floor. The effect is marvelous and we must be thankful the Corcoran didn’t install the piece on an awful white plate like SAAM. The Dumbacher brothers show “Line 91” that appears from right behind the Truitt. Similar to Truitt, but completely different and more contemporary, the Dumbacher piece is comprised of two tall columns of compacted pigment. It’s quite nice. In the same corner was a small Byron Kim painting called “Belly Painting: Prussian Blue.” The artist built up (apparently) a big heaping of paint that was smoothed into a form similar to a pregnant woman’s belly. Again, simple and nice. Perfect!
The “Minimal Tendencies” gallery is fantastic. A large, early Anne Truitt piece called “Insurrection” guards the door leading out of the gallery. Next to it is a medium sized painting called “The Beach House” by Mary Heilman. Simply an expressive blue box painted at the top of a white rectangle, the piece tantalizes with its there and gone effects. At the time I was viewing the Heilman, I noticed something great. In a line were the Heilman, the large red and purple Truitt, and a large Linn Meyers (a D.C. artist) in the next gallery. The Heilman blue and Meyers blue played off each other wonderfully, while moving across the stoic Truitt.
In the Meyers room, another fine dialogue appears. This time, it’s a Vik Muiz ink drawing/painting/photograph, the Meyers and then an interesting David Jung. The quality of line across the three was different but somehow consistent, to three different ends. While I didn’t think much of the Muniz and the Jung individually, being joined by the Meyers elevated them nicely.
At this point the guards (some of whom would stalk you, others would chat on their phone and play with their nails never looking up) began to rush us out. I jotted down works by Brandon Morse, Sally Mann and del Rosario. The Sally Mann in particular was something unique – a color print of a beach scene from 1999. It had many of the same qualities as her B&W work and while less “out there” it was a nice image. The rest of the show was strong but without notes I couldn’t even begin to describe it.
I mentioned earlier that I had some questions and really it’s just one question about multiple pieces in the show. redefined is billed as a show of modern and contemporary art pulled from the Corcoran’s collection. Given that, I began paying attention to when and from whom the museum acquired the work. Included in the show is the work of many D.C. artists and I think that is fantastic. I couldn’t believe the museum had already acquired so many works from young local artists so I eagerly checked to see where the museum got them. I’m paraphrasing here, but the Linn Meyers piece was labeled “Courtesy of the artist and G Fine Art.” The Brandon Morse video was labeled “Courtesy of the artist and Conner Contemporary Art.” The del Rosario was labeled “Collection of Martin Irvine, courtesy of Irvine Contemporary Art.” I had noticed that most of the other works were labeled as “Gift of so and so,” “Partial and promised gift of so and so,” etc. So, I’m curious why the pieces I mention above, and there were several more, aren’t labeled more specifically as being in the Corcoran’s collection. Were the works gifted to the museum by the artist and gallery, or are they on loan? The labeling suggests that the pieces are on loan. If I remember correctly, the del Rosario piece was just very recently in a show at Irvine. That would be a quick acquisition.
So, to sum up, are these works in the collection? If so, why are they labeled strangely? If not, then why is the show billed as work from the museum’s collection?
Lastly, can someone please go erase those marks in the photography show?
A couple of weekends ago, when I was in Kentucky, I went to Cincinnati to purchase some wood. Given the opportunity to be in the Queen City for a while, I made the trip downtown to visit the Contemporary Arts Center. Prior to visiting the museum, my Dad and I ate lunch at Izzy’s. If you’ve never eaten at Izzy’s, suffice it to say that next time you are in Cincy you must eat lunch there. Have the Reuben with potato pancake. You can thank me later.
Back to the CAC visit. The museum is architecturally spectacular and they’ve received a great deal of press in several of the national art magazines. I couldn’t wait to see what the fuss was all about.
The CAC was founded in 1939 and is one of the nation’s oldest museums dedicated to contemporary visual arts. In 2003, the new space was opened. It was designed by Zaha Hadid. My first impression walking into the museum was that it was dark and gloomy. The ground floor was just too much concrete for my tastes. Regardless, there was something about the space that attracted me and I was optimistic about my visit.
My Dad and I made our way up to the second floor and encountered two massive faux-rock formations. Each was configured as a chimney and from the sculptures some low sounds emerged (doesn’t it always?). I can’t find the artist’s name on the CAC Web site but I do recall it was a younger guy. The wall text was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo which discouraged me from an art perspective.
In an adjacent gallery the museum showed presentations of the The HOME House Project:
What if affordable, sustainable design became an important element in communities and city-housing services? How can a contemporary art museum aid these endeavors? These are some of the questions raised by The HOME House Project, a traveling exhibition of pioneering designs that address the future of affordable housing. This exhibition will include more than 100 innovative plans. In addition, there will be 13 three-dimensional computer animations of some of the entries. The goal for the project is to establish a new national housing model in terms of design, energy efficiency, environmental consciousness and cost effectiveness that can change the stigma attached to affordable housing. With The HOME House Project, a contemporary art museum can provide a forum for artists, designers and architects to address the range of issues surrounding affordable housing.
An important and interesting cause, certainly, but a display of 100+ plans was overwhelming. We moved through this section pretty quickly.
On the next floor, if memory serves me correctly, was an exhibition dedicated to The Ant Farm:
Ant Farm, a collaborative art and design group established in 1968, created inflatable structures, action art and multi-media pieces for the purpose of public display and performance. In the midst of the free speech movement and anti-war demonstrations, the group saw themselves as part of the cultural underground and set out to create an alternative architecture suited to a nomadic lifestyle: cheap and easy to create and move. Ant Farm is perhaps best known for the "Cadillac Ranch" located in Amarillo, Texas, where 10 Cadillacs are half buried, nose down, in the field as both an act of homage of the history of the tailfin and of critique of the planned obsolescence of the Detroit automobiles. The group abruptly disbanded when a fire in 1978 destroyed their studio, although sparing most of their work. This exhibition will examine the 10-year history of the artist collective that challenged the visual architecture of image, icon and power.
Having only been familiar with “Cadillac Ranch,” I was excited to see what else this group had done. From what I could tell, not a whole lot else that really mattered (I'm sure I'm wrong... but looking back at the work didn't work for me). “Cadillac Ranch” is an awe-inspiring and powerful piece, but the rest of their work seemed like a bunch of wacky kids playing around. Most of what was on the walls wasn’t worth close inspection. But, if all that play was necessary for “Cadillac Ranch” to be created, then I think it was well worth it.
The highlight of our visit to the CAC was a show dedicated to the work of Los Carpinteros:
Los Carpinteros: Inventing the World is the first major museum exhibition to survey the work of the Cuban collective Los Carpinteros (The Carpenters). Alexandre Arrechea, Marco Castillo and Dagoberto Rodrguez have been working together since 1991 when they were students at Havana's Instituto Superior de Arte. The group's name, which dates to 1994, arose from early works that were reminiscent of furniture or work done by a carpenter. This mid-career retrospective will include a selection of drawings, paintings, prints, installations and sculptures. Transportable City, a group of tents resembling famous buildings in Havana, and Watchtowers, are two examples of work possibly coming to the CAC.
Our experience of the show would have been even better had it not been for Mike. Who’s Mike? Mike is the annoying education person at the museum. When we reached this floor and walked into the first gallery, Mike approached us and immediately began telling us about the work. He told us about the artists and some of the subtle symbolism the artists use. Now, I don’t like it when a museum person approaches me unsolicited to explain the work. I mean, we hadn’t even LOOKED at anything yet. I walked straight past the guy without looking at him and began examining the fantastic sculptures and watercolors on display. My Dad, the kind soul that he is, half-engaged with Mike. By half-engage I mean that my Dad periodically responded with “uh” and “ahh” and “mmh mmh.” Mike began following us around the gallery continuing to jabber away. At this point I raised my hands and plugged my ears. Not too subtle, right? Apparently so… Mike kept talking for another 30 seconds or so. Finally, he left us to go give the same schpeel to the next visitors.
Los Carpinteros makes fantastic work. It’s beautiful and full of allusions to their oppressive homeland of Cuba. My Dad, being a woodworker, was amazed by the skill displayed in each sculpture. I was particularly fond of the missile shown above that has several drawers in it. Additionally, I really liked a large stack of drawers that was shaped like a hand grenade. Though the rest of the museum’s exhibitions disappointed, Los Carpinteros made the trip worthwhile. Unfortunately, I wasn’t done with Mike.
As we were leaving the floor – did I mention that Mike stalked us throughout the floor and made us feel very uncomfortable? – Mike followed us out and asked what we thought of the show. My Dad was between Mike and me so I thought I’d be free to ignore him. After my Dad responded with, “It was different,” Mike would not let it go. He said, “And you, sir?” Here’s the exchange that followed:
Mike: “And you, sir?”
Me: Silence
Mike: “Sir?”
Me: “Um, are you part of Los Carpinteros’ art?”
Mike: “Excuse me.”
Me: “Are you part of the art?”
Mike: “Well, no, of course not. I’m in charge of art education at the museum.”
Me: “OK, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t part of the art.”
Mike: “Well, sir, we get many visitors to the museum who say this or that isn’t art. We like to engage those people and help them understand contemporary art.”
Me: “I just want to look at the art if that’s ok with you.”
Mike: “I’m sorry, sir.”
Me: Silence
If Mike ever reads this, I’d like to offer him some advice. If you want to engage visitors, then when they enter the gallery tell them that if they have any questions to feel free to ask you. Do not bother them. Do not give them some explanation about the art before they’ve even looked. Do not stalk your visitors as if they are prey. Do not force them to talk to you if they clearly don’t want to. The fingers in the ears should be a good indication of that. Let the art do what art does. Be there for support and nothing more.
Ugh… what a tiresome experience that was. Dad and I proceeded up to the top floor where things got crazy. Before you enter the galleries, there’s a door with an upside down record player. A sign tells you to push a button. Next to the sign is something on the wall that looks like a button and I pushed it. Nothing happened. I pushed again. Nothing. Then I hear a familiar voice. Good ol’ Mikey is watching us from the floor below. He yells out to us to push the button hanging on a cord next to the door. Ah, what wonderful signage! I should have known that the cord hanging away from the sign and almost touching the floor had a button on it. Thanks for saving the day Mike! I pushed the button and the record player began to play. Fascinating.
Inside the top floor galleries were several pieces that were more childlike and playful. There was a large sculpture that had several drawers. The piece was made with visually impaired kids in mind. You pull the drawer, feel inside (some sort of texture was in the drawers) and a loud sound would play. Several of them scared me. I can only imagine the fright that a young blind kid would experience.
The most brilliant piece ever (and by ever I really mean never) was a dark room. When you enter, there are circles taped to the floor. You step on the first one (which is illuminated) and then another circle becomes illuminated. You follow the light from circle to circle until you leave the room. Brilliant! A piece of art fit for a carnival! By reading the wall text you would have thought the artist had cured cancer. Maybe the lights were really some sort of radiation… I don’t know.
Having said all of the above, my first impression of the museum is this. I think the building is really something. It seems to function well and it has a wonderful presence. I think the museum is an asset to the city. I think Mike should be relegated to a non-people-interacting position. Now. I worry that the museum tries to be too contemporary, if there is such a thing. I see a lot of "edgy" NYC art being shown here. Maybe I underestimate the Cincy audience, but even though I see a lot of art I thought a lot of what was on display was a little out there and not really relevant. Perhaps I’m stuck on my desire for beauty in art. Los Carpinteros find beauty in carpentry… it doesn’t have to be a pretty landscape oil painting. A dark room where you follow dots on the floor is not beautiful. It tries too hard. I wonder if the CAC (and Mike) always try so hard.
Hmm, what I would give for a Reuben from Izzy’s right now…
Seeing as I had never been to the SAAM/NPG, I figured why not attend the grand public opening on Saturday. Sure, 18,000 other people decided to do the same thing. And sure, I wouldn't really be able to see the art. But it would be fun, right? Yep, it was.
Below are some quick thoughts on my two hour visit. Remember, I can't compare it to the old museum as I never saw it.
1) The building is incredible. I loved everything about it, well, except for the stairs from floor to floor. I just couldn't find them easily enough and walked far more than necessary trying to find them.
2) What I think I like most about the first two floors are the doorways into the galleries. They are normal size, meaning that only one person at a time can pass through. It felt more personal, like I was entering a private viewing room each time. What I didn't like though are the not-all-that-smart people who liked to stand IN the doorway and chit chat.
3) The layout of the space doesn't make much sense at all, at least in such a large crowd. For me this was a positive because I didn't know what to expect around each corner. Sometimes I was pleasantly surprised, other time disappointed.
4) The contemporary art (let's say post WWII) is thin, or feels very thin. Honestly, I can't remember much of what I saw. Well, I can remember a huge, flashing montrosity (or two). What I remember most is watching young guys come into one of the rooms, see the single video monitor (out of dozens? hundreds?) that showed a naked woman's breasts. Come on guys... don't be so obvious. You can look at that in the privacy of your home if you have a computer.
5) I appreciated a room dedicated to the Washington Color School but felt it should be bigger and more significant. I know this is a national museum, but let's throw a little more love to our beloved Washington artists. On a related note, I had no idea that Anne Truitt's palette ever went this bright. Man, I almost had to pull down my sunglasses.
6) William Christenberry. Eh... it was ok. I see why he is an important art and all but little of his work got me excited. Some of the bigger photographs struck me, as did some of the timeline grids of photos, but overall is was quite forgettable. Perhaps I've seen too much.
7) William Wegman. Surprisingly better. I could stand with never seeing another photo of a dog but what struck me most about this show was the paintings that use postcards as jumping off points. Wegman takes postcards that don't seem to relate at all, mounts them on canvas and constructs an image around them that somehow ties it all together. The actual painting isn't so hot but the end results are pretty neat. (I'd love to provide links and images of this stuff but their Web site is a wreck... I can't find squat)
8) Sean Scully? I thought he was Irish, not American. What's he doing here? A quick internet search reveals: "Sean Scully was born in Dublin in 1945. He grew up in London and works in New York and Barcelona." Sounds like a bit of a stretch for him to be included in the SAAM... but wait, I see he is having a show at the museum in 2007. Huh? Then I found this about the upcoming exhibition: "The exhibition presents the artist's generous gift in 2001 of a master set of his prints to the Smithsonian American Art Museum, which is the only complete set in an American museum." Color me confused.
9) Did I miss the Minimalism? I remember a few pieces but Minimalism of the 60s seems to be a VERY American thing, no?
10) The storage bins displaying approximately 3,000 pieces of art are pretty neat. Honestly, I'm not sure what I think about them. It's great that another 3k works are on view, but at what cost? It's hardly a glowing view of the work. Tim Tate and Margaret Boozer each have pieces on display but they feel so reduced. Might it be better to somehow display 100 of them at a time but rotate them more frequently?
11) The conservation lab will be quite a hit though I bet it will often be like watching paint dry. When I was there I could see a frame (gasp! a frame!!!) that was in the process of being restored. I also saw a large Gene Davis stripe painting being worked on. I think though it will be one of those things to go look at for 30 seconds or so and then move on.
12) The Portrait competition was interesting. Like Blake said, none of the work is very groundbreaking but it all very nice stuff. I was ok with the winner, but I think I liked this more (came in 3rd). I also was a sucker, like everyone else, for this. The scale is what made it for me - it's 60" x 77".
Ultimately, I really like the museum based on first impressions. I can't wait to go back when it is less crowded and really get to look at some things. I can't think of many better places to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon.
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