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WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME NOW

2010-03-06T12:16:00.005-05:00

I am casting one last line into the fray here to say THANK YOU to those who have followed me loyally/attentively/blindly/accidentally in this forum. It has been a pleasure writing for you. More importantly, I want to draw your discerning eyes to a new blog, whose subject and substance is the upcoming exhibition ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK.

The outstanding summary below was written by my new project assistant, Sarah Humphrey. She has summed up my feelings exactly about Escape From New York. I hope you will join us at the new site:

http://escapefromnewyork.tumblr.com

ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK

2010-03-06T12:14:00.002-05:00

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that our manifest destiny on this continent has long since been fulfilled; the railroads have been built, and the shores of the Pacific Ocean from Malibu to La Jolla have been peppered with the condominiums and bronzed progeny of the Western pioneers. You’ve seen the sublime American landscape of Fredric Edwin Church and Thomas Moran, from Niagara Falls to the Chasm of the Colorado, and you’re pretty sure the terrain has been stomped conclusively into submission under the incessantly pounding feet of Dancing with the Stars. As the natural synecdoche of the rest of the nation, this also applies to New York. You know this because your once-charming pied-à-terre in Bushwick is now a J.Crew, and you’ve heard that there will soon be subway service to alphabet city.

And though perhaps you have never been, you assume things are pretty much the same in New Jersey. Empire has run its course, so to speak, so you might as well just stay east of the Hudson and suffer the congested homogeneity of a Thursday evening in Chelsea.

The exhibition ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK offers both a literal and theoretical alternative to the threat of absolute homeostasis in the artistic biology of the five boroughs. It proposes that the answer lies in moving Westward, into the historic landmarks and wide open spaces of Paterson, New Jersey, and other cities like it. It presents the work of more than 30 contemporary artists in the sprawling space of what was once a silk factory. It seeks to transform the Western fringes of New York City from a locus of exile to a haven of exodus, and to expose the artificiality of the Hudson river border.

Follow this link for previews of the participating artists, curatorial musings, and the show’s vital stats:

http://escapefromnewyork.tumblr.com

-Sarah Humphrey

Matthew Barney post up

2008-04-13T17:42:00.001-04:00

For those still frequenting this old URL, click below for my Matthew Barney spotlight.

http://olysmusings.blogspot.com/2008/04/no-shirt-no-service-vaseline-required.html

The beginning of the end of Oly's Musings Part 1

2008-03-22T23:02:00.004-04:00

Hi, everyone.

Over the next week or so I'll be making some big changes. First of all, I'm going to now be posting directly to http://olysmusings.blogspot.com

The address of http://lamgelinaoly.blogspot.com will become an archive, but all posts will still be accessible. I feel that it's time I need to take my writing a bit more seriously, and though Perez Hilton might have found fame with a goofy blogger name, I most certainly will not.

My blog's title will remain the same, because it's my nickname, and that's what I do-- "muse" on things-- But you should know that my real name is Olympia Lambert. I am an independent art reviewer in living in Brooklyn, and working in Chelsea in the art world. I'm very proud of the reviews I've written-- all while hopefully maintaining a sense of humor and directness not in the usual realm of things. It probably will be a long time before I take Jerry Saltz's job away, but I'm working on it.

In the meantime, I thank you for your continued readership.

Next week marks the return of the biggest week in the NY art scene. I will be covering as many fairs as possible, just as last year. In the meantime, feel free to check out my latest review at ArtCal's Zine of Amy Vogel at Larissa Goldston. I found it to be one of the more interesting shows to see right now. http://zine.artcal.net/2008/03/amy-vogel-at-larissa-goldston.php

Be well!

Whitney Biennial Part I -- Forget the art, what were they wearing?

2008-03-13T00:53:00.012-04:00

Truth be told, everyone's already done a blog of some sort on the Whitney Biennial, and most of them focus on the art, as rightly should. Some liked it, some didn't-- such is life. I, as well, liked some of it; some not so much-- such is life. Anyway, lately I'm finding it more and more difficult to get in my writing time. Getting those precious hours to see exhibits is difficult when you work in a gallery, but there is an added benefit-- being able to go to "opening nights" and the occasional "museum function." So instead of focusing as much on the art of the Whitney in my first post-- which was generally unanimously agreed as being totally bereft of all color other than beige and grey-- let's talk about what the people were wearing, because we all know that's what really matters in the world of art biennials!!

Of course first up there was A.A. Bronson riding in the elevator directly next to me. Little did he know that directly next to him was the girl who had given his recent John Connelly show a negative review. I hunkered down, slouching my shoulders, hiding behind my program. Either way, Bronson's beautiful purple kurta struck me quite dramatically in the sea of non-color. To say nothing of those glasses of his. Quite funky. And sure enough, down the stairwell was dealer Tony Shafrazi adorned in a dramatic purple tie with that shocking piece of white hair of his. I found it funny that I go to the ArtForum Diary, and sure enough, there he was right next to Bronson. Literally in the order I encountered him.

(Jeffrey "I'm pretty darn adorably cute and not really an ice cream cone" Deitch
care of New York Magazine, photo by Patrick McMullan)

In fact, purple was the color of the evening. Lots of dresses and boots, and platform stillettos in the hue. But leave it to Jeffrey Deitch as always to have the best suit and tie combo. Purple and white stripes. Glasses as always impeccable. True, he is NOT shaped like an ice cream cone, as Deitch's website so deceptively portrays. Could it be that they have taken artistic license with his persona? Perhaps. I did not ask him what his favorite flavor was, and instead, smiled at my slight pace behind the legend himself. There's something about Deitch that makes me want to hug him. Yes, I find his lil' mug cute, even though I can occassionally art the "trash" he shows. Ahem... cough.. Nestnnnest...nest...dsshhh...snowcone... colon cancer... Cough. Sorry, frog in my throat. Go to http://www.deitchprojects.com/ for the to-die-for ice cream cone man with music to boot.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun people watching. I enjoyed the scene as photogs blasted away taking pics of Doreen Remen (a member of the Art Production Fund trio of power grrrls) in her "message art" dress, off the shoulders, D.I.Y., very punk, very Vivienne Westwood, very WHAM! "Make it Big!". No, seriously. Where was the "Choose Life" shirts and Andrew Ridgeley? Not sure of the designer it was, but it rocked, as did the general feel of fashion taking over the art. Oh, wait. Did I say that? Oh, that's right. The two are one. Fashion is art. Art is fashion. We have osmosis. Yeah.

Certainly I don't expect these functions to communicate to the masses, because part of the biggest problem with contemporary art today is the fact it speaks only to those within its community. The "man on the street" quotient is completely obliterated. Then the gliterrati sits back and says, "Why don't people support the arts?" Well, maybe because we're putting in sculptures based on the shapes of bird shit, for one, and then calling it Giacometti. Uh... no. But alas, that's another post. Enjoy.

(DISCLAIMER. PICTURES USED HERE ARE THE EXCLUSIVE PROPERTY OF ARTFORUM INTERNATIONAL, AND THE WORK OF PHOTOGRAPHER DAVID VELASCO. THIS DOES NOT EXCUSE ME FROM POSSIBILITY OF LAWSUIT. I'M JUST GIVING PROPS WHERE PROPS ARE DUE.)

Cai Guo-Qiang-- I want to believe these cars won't fall on my head

2008-02-26T22:34:00.012-05:00

In short summation-- a show totally worth seeing, if only for the herd of Geo Metros being "bombed" up and over utilizing the Gug's atrium. It's a pretty stunning piece, especially from beneath. When you really look at how a vehicle explodes, the centrifugal forces always start with the motion of the trunk popping up vertically, then doing a somersault in mid-air. Cai Guo-Qiang uses the laws of physics and the structural weight-baring capacity of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture to his own benefit with this brilliant take on the initial impact of a suicide car bombing.

Of course there's commentary here on the "war on terror," but you realize that with the cheaply mass produced "Metro" in use, that this is more than just a war being waged on Islamic fundamentalism, but also a shot to the heart of capitalist worshippers everywhere. We're losing the economic war to the behemoth powerhouse that the People's Republic of China has become. Whether telling of emerging artists, or emerging markets, Qiang's wildly successful when he's working with the sublime.

Truth be told, I found this much more Studio 54 meets Macy's 4th of July, but hey, what do I know.

"Head On," (aka the "piece with 99 lifelike wolves running and leaping in formation up the ramps of the museum, eventually crashing head-first into a plexiglass wall)-- is a tour de force, but I was pretty darn disappointed by the guys up close. I had expected these fierce creatures who'd rip me apart shred by shred; instead, what I got was a bunch of natty-looking stuffed animals that you'd see some kid throwing a fit over inside F.A.O. Schwartz. Their faces looked almost lovable at some points, and their eyes reminded me of a teddy bear's. Except for the gummy mouths gaped open in mid howl/growl there wasn't much ferocity behind them. After all, the piece isn't necessarily about nature and man, but more on man's #1 quality of being more lemming than lemmings. "Learn from your ancestors," Qiang seems to cry. Unfortunately, no one listens. Oly herself randomly smiled and walked under the wolves admiring their anatomically correct parts.

Now I must say that I'm digging that the Guggenheim is making great strides in showing the contemporary artists of today, but honestly, I felt that the show drags a bit-- especially towards the top levels.

The gunpowder "drawings" are beautiful creations, but they don't seem to work in the very architecture of the Guggenheim itself. The ceilings seem to cramp their style. I felt that they need a much more monumental wall to hang from-- here, they felt almost secondary to the randomly placed video screenings throughout the show. Either way, you've got to enjoy the sheer pyrotechnic power of Qiang's work. But honestly, I'm more into the work of another artist who specializes in explosions-- Ms. Rosemarie Fiore.

http://www.rosemariefiore.com/

Maybe it's that side of me that craves "color" and all that jazzmatazz, but the sepia tonalities made me sink into a deep visual depression. It seemed as if I was trapped in a Buddhist temple with no way out.

Also of note besides the exhibit itself was the relaunching of the newly refurbished exterior of the Guggenheim. They really did right to do the much-needed repairs, and the facade is just immaculate right now. It felt almost like going back in time to its heyday.

http://www.guggenheim.org/

PINK EYE

2008-02-23T21:40:00.003-05:00

(cool image of pinkeye fishes by lightsight on Flickr)

Maybe it's from hanging out with too many donkeys in Vermont, but I have pink eye.

How on earth does one GET pink eye, anyway?

On "South Park" it turned people into flesh-eating zombies.

I also have adenovirus.

It's amazing, but I also have laryngitis right now as well!!

By all accounts, this art blogger should be dead.

But I still live... unlike poor Kenny.

But I shall return... hopefully, seriously, next week, when the pink eye goes away and I feel good enough to actually write again.

In the meantime, keep reaching for the stars, and Elmore and Garfield say a big hello from their barnyard.

Dust you are and unto dust you shall return...

2008-02-07T13:02:00.000-05:00

"As he was leaving the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher! What massive stones! What magnificent buildings!"
"Do you see all these great buildings," replied Jesus. "Not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down."
From Mark 13:5

Just as Jesus predicted, "All things must pass."
(*Or was that George Harrison?)
And so, too, have the Gothic churches of Poland, as exquisitely showcased in the creations of artist Joanna M. Wezyk, opening this Friday at Tina Kim Gallery. Wezyk's work takes a heart-wrenching look into these monolithic structures and the system they once supported that seemed forever ingrained in a culture so steeped in faith. But before I get into the inner frameworks of Wezyk's works and the structures themselves, let's take a look at the stage they are set on.

In January of 2007, the Archbishop of Warsaw, Stanislaw W. Wielgus, admitted to previous collaborations with the Polish Sluzba Bezpieczenstwa (s.b., or "secret police"). "Collaborations" is a multi-layered word here in this instance. For in the days of the "s.b.," this could mean anything from a briefing on what the Sunday collection was, to who might have been a supporter of the Solidarity movement. In the case of one outspoken priest's support of Solidarnosc, Jerzy Popieluszko, he was murdered in 1984. One can only imagine the level of influence to which clandestine informants helped in his demise. It's been estimated that nearly 15% of all Catholic priests in Poland during this period had some dealings with the s.b. Shortly after this revelation, Wielgus resigned in a flurry of controversy, shaking parishioners to their core. Here was a man elevated to a prodigious position of power in the nation's most populous city, and now, with the end of the John Paul II era, the church must reevaluate its own leadership and the roles they've played in the former Eastern Bloc.

Along with the ever present role that scandals have played in the breakdown of the Roman Catholic Church-- in the U.S. as well as abroad-- there are certainly other factors at work here, and first and foremost is the European Union's rapid escalation as a dominant economic powerhouse, and the secular overhaul of society at large. The church's influence on society has seen a rapid decline across Europe. Mass attendance is lower than 30% in many formerly predominant Catholic nations. Poland in particular, the very homeland of Karol Jozef Wojtyla himself, has yet to see the level of empty pews that have vanquished parishes with a rapidity not unlike the plague in the rest of Europe, but this is changing. A crisis of faith, lack of funds, and erosion of confidence is at play here as the once magnificent cathedrals sit in disrepair, awaiting a preservation that is more patchwork that total overhaul. In the case of Wielgus, here was an instance-- though long suspected-- that the very institution that helped to foster and form the gel of the Solidarity movement had in its own ranks those who assisted (though possibly inadevertantly) in the crackdown of pro-Democracy forces. And when the leadership which has long been held dear in the hearts of many Poles starts to crack, so too, do the walls of the institutions that house them.

("Earthquake in Assisi," above)

Today is Thursday, February 7th. The ranks of the faithful in Poland are awakening to the morning after their most attended holy day, Ash Wednesday. I almost have to wonder how the halls of these churches must sound with the faithful singing en masse. So many centuries of turmoil, of death, of pain; a culture torn assunder by war, genocide and political upheaval. Each of the above plays an important role in the works on display.

And so, now, the stage is set. Hopefully, readers, you're still with me. On Friday, one of the most beautifully and emotionally painted exhibits to hit the New York art world will open in Chelsea. Joanna Wezyk, a native of Krakow, absorbs all of the above mentioned elements into her paintings and more.

I recently met her at SVA's MFA open studios. But since I had already spotlighted two of her fellow classmates (Nicholas Fraser and Sarah Ferguson), I didn't want to necessarily rush into another review too soon. There's something about becoming the "go-to" blogger that can be a little risky, but I've decided that I love her work and I'd like to tell you so. And when have I ever not taken risks?

There's so much history evoked in each of her pieces. During Poland's darkest days-- and yes, where do we even begin-- the church served as a place of refuge, of safety and of neutrality. But as time goes by, as was the case of the previously mentioned Archbishop, we see not only a move towards the secular, but also a different value system taking hold-- that of the Western World and the new "almighty," currency. Given its chokehold on worshippers across the planet, suddenly these Gothic Cathedrals-- architectural marvels, hallowed halls filled with the spirits of millions of worshippers whose stories in many cases will forever be untold-- have begun their descent into disrepair, disuse, and ultimately demise.

(Detail of "Red Cherry Picker" below)

The stories to tell are numerous-- a caved-in ceiling; peeling plaster; the juxtaposition of an altarpiece next to yellow construction tape; a boom lift sitting prostrate in front of the crucifix. There's so much sadness in each of these works. The high gloss of the oil paint itself gives rise to a feeling of blurred reality. The house of the one without original sin is now being sinned against. I think back to my own feelings of sadness at encountering the wreckage of the First Roumanian-American Synogogue on Rivington Street a few years ago. My eyes immediately focused on the carnage that lay before me-- two shattered stained glass Stars of David lie next to a bulldozer, bricks lay all around-- awaiting their final resting place. Wezyk's role as artist here is so important, because not only is she making a huge contribution to the art world at large, but also serving as a documentarian of history. Because of her own experiences as a Pole, she's bringing herself and her own experiences into the work-- not an easy task in today's shock value laden world of art stars. This takes great courage and great thought.

Seriously, check out her show.

You'll be saddened, amazed, sentimental, and hopeful all at the same time.
Beautiful work from a multi-talented artist.

For more information, please go to:
http://www.tinakimgallery.com/

or check out Wezyk's website at:

http://www.joannawezykart.com/

http://www.artcal.net/event/view/1/6389

artcal-6389

Great deal on some PRIME real estate

2008-01-30T18:54:00.001-05:00

Dia Chelsea, anyone?

Jorge Pardo deinstallation fees not included.

Mega broker Brown Harris Stevens gets the goods.

Any guesses on the price range?

Yeah, I know I write an art, not food review, blog, but...

2008-01-30T00:00:00.000-05:00

...I can't help it.

Art needs a break every once in a while for that other pasttime of mine-- EATING!

So I'm giving my readers two restaurant recommendations.

1. X.O. Cafe & Grill, long a favorite of mine in Chinatown on Walker Street.

This evening I probably had the most outstanding dumplings yet from their fantastic menu.

There's nothing... I repeat, nothing fresher, more crunchy, more succulent, and scrumptious than the snow pea leaf dumpling on their Dim Sum list.
(pic of actual X.O. dumpling by Roboppy on Flickr)

I mean, look at that thing!

It has (at least I think it has) snow pea leaves, water chestnuts, black mushrooms?? and possibly garlic) stuffed so neatly inside.

It comes with this excellent, thick and sweet dipping soy sauce.

I add the hot chili oil to it, and it just brings me to tears.

So good it melts in your mouth.

Besides their dim sum, they're quite known for their hot pots (sizzling beef and veggies on your table) as well as the pretty ridonkulous fake tree in the middle of the joint.

(http://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/NoSvSAhVwUFLeqRG-gBtQg?select=GNMsc5VlPklBODfdhUwIWw)

And... and... if that's not enough, take a look at my other favorite dum'lin'... the crystal shrimp dumpling.

The shrimps are meaty, sweet, pink, and so delicious.

I love the litle orange roe on top, not unlike Christo and Jean Claude's perfect shade of orange.

The Gates, anyone?

In fact, I believe these are works of art.

Indeed.

(photo again credited to Roboppy on Flickr)

And I finished it off with my usual Taro Root bubble tea.

X.O. is located on 96 Walker Street by Lafayette Street.

It's right around the corner from the Canal Street subway station.

And second, I had my first ever Sri Lankan food the other day.

The Nirvana Cafe in Gramercy exceeded my expectations.

(a look into the spice influences of Sri Lanka-- image from Byflickr on Flickr)

I thought Sri food would be very similar to Indian.

Yeah, sorta, except imagine your spicy quotient upped to heights never before seen, and sauces that are never liquidy, but thick and rich.

I had a quite chunky mint chutney that was truly from the gods.

This sat atop my order of vadai, 4 crisp lentil patties fried to a crisp perfection.
So delicate, and yet so meaty.

There's much more influences in their food than I expected-- French certainly being one of them.

As for the spices, my mouth was on FIRE the entire night, and I just wanted more and more.

I was tempted to get the hoppers, (crispy, curved crepes, one with egg in center, served with a chili relish katta sambol and a curry*), but I knew if I ate more than the 5 pounds of food I had received so far, I might explode.

http://www.lankalibrary.com/Food/hoppers.htm
(check out this recipe for do-it-yourself hoppers-- Warning, bad joke alert, this is not to be confused with Edward Hopper)

Some interesting vegetable sides came with my order of chicken curry (Five Alarm hotness)-- softened green beans in a sweet, yet spicy chili paste; chilled collard greens with minced scallions, shallots and garlic,with shredded coconut; and piping hot sweet potatoes in a delicious peanut sauce.

Nirvana Cafe is located at 213 3rd Avenue at 19th Street near Gramercy Park.

Since most of us don't have keys to that silly park anyway, why not scarf down some good eatin's instead!

Check out their website.
http://www.nirvanacafenyc.com/

You can also use this nice menu from MenuPages as well.

http://www.menupages.com/screenmenu.asp?restaurantId=44149&htmllink=FAFB84DC211E58E91E64F7AF1F6BF7798B5F5D9FD3660349FEB02E4FF18C64EAA7F241465A0806B1&taglineid=0

Philly Road Trip!

2008-01-23T11:40:00.000-05:00

Several weeks ago, I had to get out of the city.

I felt I was chomping at the bit and just had to go somewhere... anywhere.

Stress was really getting to me, and sometimes the best thing one can do is go do something one loves, whether you have the budget for it or not, and that thing for me is travel.

My initial solution was "Go to Montreal," as I had done numerous times before, but that didn't work out the way I had planned-- an eight-hour bus drive and stomach ache from hell were huge factors.

And so I said, "Let's go to Philly instead. I love it there."

Having not set foot in the city of Brotherly Love since 1994, I figured I could use that extra dose of old brick buildings and cobblestone streets, so set apart by a successful historic preservation commission's hard work-- something New York City could use a good lesson in.

So off I went on December 30th and 31st, 2007 to close out my year-- a Sunday and Monday respectively, but not really the best time to go gallery hopping.

But it turned out I went there on just the right day.

My feet were aching terribly, having trekked all the way from the Italian Market and Bella Vista neighborhood all the way past Independence Hall, Franklin's Grave, to the Old City's amazingly transformed arts district.

Hungry, tired, and sick of seeing galleries with closed doors, there suddenly appeared a window of sheer color-saturated beauty I could not ignore.

This piece by artist Mel Davis' sat there in the window of Larry Becker Contemporary Art like my own siren's song of pulsating color rhythms pulling me in.

My nose pressed against the glass, the lights were on.

A woman came to the door.

Heidi welcomed me, the weary traveler, with a smile, into the gallery.
They weren't open, but were getting things together for the group show's launch to the public.

The exhibition, "In Light" delves into the possibilities of the color pallette; how canvas preparation and care can directly effect the viewer, playing with reality and our sense of space and time.

Mel Davis, Andrew Graham, Tom Benson and Howard Smith are a minimalist's dream quartet.

In this exhibit, there are direct references to the monochromes of Kasimir Malevich, Ad Reinhardt, Robert Ryman, and Yves Klein.

But along with the usual suspects of minimalism, monochrome painting and suprematism, each of these artists is doing something new with their respective works.

In the case of Andrew Graham, he uses color theory as a science, and plays visual trickery on the human eye.

The work must be seen in person close up and for an extended period of time.

A recent graduate of UPenn, Graham's lines of sheer color stream as if the color bars on a television set.

Utilizing artist's tape, each stripe almost blends perfectly into the other; its corresponding color at times completely unnoticeable, except upon second look.

Even when I took these pictures, I kept looking at my camera's image back to me.

Nothing was exact. The colors appear almost in motion, and no matter which setting I used, there continued to be at least a few colors that would transpose with another.

So not only do Graham's works play tricks with the human cornea, but also with digital 7.1 megapixel Canon shutters as well!

My favorite moment was suddenly noticing the tiniest band of lime green next to an earthy terra-cotta orange and pink.

It truly had escaped my eye, and I was so excited to be able to find it.

Here was my own Waldo, stripes and all, hidden in the crowded color field before me.

In Mel Davis' works, the canvas is prepared with such a gradual gradient hue, that it's again, almost unseen to the naked eye.

It is only upon deep introspection into the piece itself that the colors come out, and the different shades of blues take over.

In fact, there's such a refractive quality to the light, that you can literally see yourself in the center of her images-- giving the works an almost mirror-like effect.

I was immediately reminded of the paint on vehicles from the 1950s-- the golden age of cars-- smooth paints, sparkling almost like the fins on a Ford Fairlane.

In the same way Davis' paint application has an almost retro feel.

There are certainly elements of the color-fieldists, but she is making the work her own.

In Tom Benson's work, the paint is the process.

At first I thought they must be poured directly onto the aluminum sheets beneath, their surfaces being as slick as an ice rink, but this is quite incorrect.

Benson's brushstrokes have a true craftsmanship quality with each subsequent motion of the hand.

Only upon an extreme macro closeup photograph can you actually see the gradations from the individual brush hairs' grasping of the pigment.

Benson also develops his own paints.

On first look, this work appears to be a black rectangle-- nothing more, nothing less.

"A tribute, perhaps, to Malevich's black on black", I surmised.

But then I looked closer.

This wasn't black at all.

It is the deepest shade of green that there can be-- "Italian Green Earth" is what Benson calls this.

I imagined myself in the densest of dark forest-- old growth trees, sheltered from humanity, with no light from above, and only a soft mist caressing my cheek.

Perhaps a dark green moss lurks on the gallery floor; or overgrowing the rocks beneath.

Benson has set the mood in a way that really brought me into the works.
Mission accomplished.

This was more than just "color on a panel", but perfection in simplicity.

Here was a show tailor made for my weary, travel-logged soul, which almost accomplished a spiritual awakening.

Howard Smith has had numerous shows over the years and has an incredible knowledge of how to bring in the viewer into not only the image of the color-- each brushstroke at first glance appears to be an angry mark-making, but alas, it's not hastily made.
A long term explorer into paint as process, Smith's paint grabs each and every bead of cotton canvas, not unlike the skin of a freshly plucked chicken, seeing each bump appear where the feathers once called home.

It is quite time-consuming, and he is careful of where each stroke chooses to lie.

Take a look at this closeup, and how the hyper-orange paint rests so perfectly upon each portion of the cotton duck.

It's pure beauty in saturation.

There is no need for gessoing or sanding with his works, because the canvas itself plays an essential role to each of his pieces.

There are similarities to Smith's painting style to that of Julian Lethbridge, who had a fantastic show last year at Paula Cooper Gallery.

But here, paint intersects with the blank sheet; like two lovers intertwined in embrace.

A beautiful thing.

The exhibit runs through Feburary 16th, so I highly recommend taking your own road trip down there, or if you're in the Philly area, it's a show not to be missed.

Oh, and if you have the chance, make sure to give a big hello not only to Larry and Heidi, but also gallery cat Pink, who is quite curious with art bloggers.

Apparently not only is she adorable, soft and furry and quite cuddly, but is a bit of an art world celebrity herself, having appeared in a photo spread in Art Forum, no less!

Truly precious.

For more information, go to:

www.artnet.com/lbecker.html

Yes, Canadians can be sexy, too

2008-01-21T14:48:00.000-05:00

Untitled (3 Satyrs/ 3 Nymphs) 2007, by Theresa Sapergia.

Part of the "Captive Visions: Contemporary Canadian Art" currently on display at Eli Klein Fine Art.

Gloriously sensuous and a quite naughty piece.

Love it.

http://www.elikleinfineart.com/

Two curatorial things of mine you can check out

2008-01-20T02:00:00.000-05:00

First off, I'm not one much to toot my own horn when it comes to my activities and private career outside of blogging (I feel it's a bit improper to give away too much) but in this case, I felt it's time to give my readers a link to something special I've taken part in.

I was one of three curators for the current Winter Salon showcase at Denise Bibro Fine Art here in Chelsea.

My invitational selections for the show of artists were works by Daniel Giese, Christopher Reiger, Martha Walker, Ric Dragon, Michael Paul Miller, and Sarah K. Bean (image on left)-- all of which I can say are truly stunningly fantastic works being done by these extremely talented artists.

I also got the opportunity to select the works of several of the gallery represented artists-- Lisa Dinhofer, Carol Jacobsen, and Charles Olson-- as well as assisted in the selection of the works of Josephine Haden and the ever fantastic Joyce Korotkin.

Originally the show didn't have a theme, but I found that with each of my choices that I was starting to tell a story with the works-- man's altering of nature; an apocalyptic armageddon on the horizon; sensual lines and loops; and mastery of color, line and form.

Everyone included in the show I'm so very proud of, so I would love it if my readers could check it out.

http://www.denisebibrofineart.com/exhibition/view/1153

My other recent project is not on the professional curator circuit, but on Flickr itself.

One of my favorite things about Flickr is the ability to have a "favorites" section.

(mmmm.... I'll have a Super Roast Beef with Horsey sauce, please...)

In my case, what I've gone about doing is try to remember everything and everywhere I've ever been before-- tracking sites and places from my childhood all the way up through today-- then going and finding them by doing Flickr searches.

Sure, that's time-consuming, and could possibly take up another lifetime, but it's worth it.

Included in my "selections" are searches for the Arby's Roast Beef sign in Tacoma, Washington; the Shell Factory sign in Ft. Meyers, Florida; Bok Tower and the Citrus Tower of Central Florida infamy; a pony in Wisconsin; Queechee Gorge, Vermont; Montreal; miniature daschunds, and places I want to see-- the Stave churches of Norway, for instance.

Image at right, "Norwegian Smile" by shoko!! on Flickr.

When I saw the Arby's sign still going strong, it brought a tear to my eye, as well as the tiny A&W Root Beer mug, which is exactly like the one I drank from when I was about three years old.

If you have 10-15 minutes out of your day, I highly encourage you to check out my slide show of these "curatorial selections."

They've just bowled me over in their quality and sentimental aspects.

As a question to everyone else-- if you have a Flickr account, please feel free to share them here.
I still think it's one of the best invention ever to view amateur and emerging photographers.

Enjoy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lamgelinaoly/favorites/show/

Mandatory art video site to check out

2008-01-14T14:02:00.000-05:00

www.vbs.tv

Just some great interviews with artists there.

Check it out-- especially the Aurel Schmidt interview.

Gee, thanks, Bank of America and John Connelly

2008-01-11T18:10:00.000-05:00

The United States of America was thisclose to having an industry go under and be forced to take responsibility for their own greed and ethically abhorrent practices.

But noooooo... Bank of America (my bank, thank you very much) decided to save Countrywide's ass from total annihilation.

Way to go, BOA!

Nothing says "lesson learned" by letting the upper echelons get away scot-free, as per usual, and have millions more in profits come their way from the continued shady practices of their brokers.

FYI-- the new way for brokers to get around the approval process is to stick people into "FHA" programs who do not qualify, and are not meant for this government-sponsored program.

Be prepared for the fallout from that one in another three years' time.

In related news, last night's opening for the A.A. Bronson's Shamanism exhibition at John Connelly Presents was wall-to-wall immobile last night and stank like piss, sweat, barf, dead fish, beer and cum.

No lie.

I literally almost threw up in there, it stank so bad.

Just like Bank of America, let's compare Connelly.

(image at right from Hrag Vartanian www.hragvartanian.com)

In one of the "pieces," performance artist Michael Dudeck sat there nude, covered in head-to-toe white body paint, cradling a dead fish, perhaps wearing a long black wig, looking about as intriguingly in depth and spiritually relevant as Keanu Reeves did in "Little Buddha."

Great show, you guys.

Much in the same way that Bank of America bails out a bankrupt system of corrupt businessmen, Connelly bankrolls artists that are continuously suited for theater and theatrics rather than work that is anything but hard-hitting.

And Terrence Koh's "glory hole" bathroom stall was about as brilliant an idea as any addict in the Port Authority john could come up with.

Great stuff.

Did they watch the news or something about Senator Larry Craig and his wide stance?

Because if so, the Brad Pitt and George Clooney video spoof was 500 times better.

First exhibit of the year I've panned.

Please excuse my hate-filled vitriol, but I just can't keep my opinionated self confined when I see this type of work exhibited when so much better stuff is available.

Perhaps this means I'll be blacklisted, and I'm violating the rules of "be nice and find the good things when you write reviews,"' but what can I say, I am what I am, just as they is what they is.

So to Mr. Connelly and corporate America, (you are one and the same, no matter what your flowery press release language is) keep on the keeping on by propping up complete and total junk.

Eventually you'll learn that the stench doesn't necessarily go away when the exhibit comes down.

It lingers.

Oly, over and out.

Robert Appleton at Paul Sharpe Contemporary Art opening this Thursday

2008-01-06T20:17:00.000-05:00

'Howdy, sailors.

As I've stated numerous times, sometimes work that really gets to me the most is made by artists that are having fun with their talents and not taking themselves too seriously.

And there's few artists I enjoy more than New York-based visual and performance artist Robert Appleton.

His visual creations and theater sessions always gives me a good chuckle, whether he's performing in fishnets dancing a chorus line county fair talent show audition; portraying Jeffrey Dahmer devouring watermelon human flesh on stage; painting mustachioed sailors who'd make any Village People member proud; or simply creating whimsically deviant sailor puppets in multiples.

In the past decade, Appleton has well-honed himself as a storyteller-- highlighting characters who might have downed a little too much of the 90-proof, if you catch my drift.

These are well-lived souls, with plenty of battle scars to show for it.

Appleton always gives an interesting take on their plights-- soon to set sail, a battle ahead, a life quite likely soon to be taken and sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Of course, many times his subjects have been society matrons, who truth be told can drink any sailor till he's weak in the knees, dropping them to the poop deck in crisp piles of Blue Jean Collars with bell-bottomed trousers.

You certainly do not need to be 'In the Navy' to knock 'em back.

If they give posthumous honors, Judy Garland could be a Navy Rear Admiral, for Christ's sakes.

It's a delight to see Appleton premiering his new sailor series at Paul Sharpe Contemporary Art in Chelsea based on portraits of actual sailors from 1750 to 1849.

Each one has lovingly been given his own personality.

In many cases, each subject seems to not necessarily look like he's very comfortable with his choice in careers.

Take a look at this poor fellow below.

After all, who would want to go to sea for months straight in those times?

You can literally read the dread on the sailor's faces.

Below is another fresh-faced foppish youngish chap.

His decorative hat is a nice embellishment-- but just what is that on his forehead, hmm?

Perhaps an in-joke, or perhaps not.

I do have to say I love the slight-of-hand subtlety in Appleton's pieces.

His questioning of sexual identity (bottled-up searing young masculinity cooped up in tight quarters for extended lengths of time) is a hoot, and quite truthfully spot-on.

Whew, it's getting a bit hot in here, isn't it?

Appleton possesses an almost cartoonish-style in his brushstrokes, giving his subjects these huge eyes, smeared lipstick, with hauntingly lit backgrounds.

It's almost as if Karen Kilimnik has met Toulouse Lautrec and they're tossing a few back while at port with Carol Channing and Napoleon.

This is one opening I will not miss.

Too bad it's not also Fleet Week, because that would be the icing on the cake.

Paul Sharpe Contemporary is located at 547 West 27th street on the 5th floor.

The opening is this Thursday, January 10th, from 6-9pm.

For more information, go to:

http://www.paulsharpegallery.com/

Let's start the new year off with a bang

2008-01-01T16:22:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, everybody!

Hope you all have sobered up and are ready for another year with The Musings.

Just got back from a fantastic, but quick, trip to Philadelphia.

More on that later-- I have a great exhibit coming up for your perusal from Larry Becker Contemporary Art.

But first, a quick spotlight on an artist I met at SVA's recent MFA Open Studios.

Her name is unforgettable-- Sarah Ferguson-- and her work as well.

Though she has immediate identification with British royalty, she instead spotlights our own royalty of American politics, the Queen herself, Hillary Clinton.

Imagining and juxtaposing herself into "photo-ops" with Hillary-- whether that of advisor, trusted confidante, or loyal friend-- Ferguson's work is not to be missed.

I love the humor in this-- the imaginative quality.

All of us at one time or another wishes we could have the ear of those in power, just to give them our own two cents' worth.

What also strikes me about Ferguson's work is her great ability to document the humanity behind the public image.

In the case of Hillary, far too often what we see so often is a manufactured being; stripped of her own femininity, and pandering to the lowest common denominator-- the "American voter."

But what Ferguson gets at is raw vulnerability through her paintings.

You can see the pain of a life lived-- and lived in its fullest, with emotional pain and baggage hidden and underscored by a brilliant mind, wrapped in powerhouse packaging.

In the nude at left, Ferguson imagined Hillary's makeup from pieces of different women's bodies.

After all, what Hillary represents at this time in history is is an amalgamation of the "American Woman."

Interestingly enough, if Hillary Clinton wasn't "Hillary Clinton," wouldn't the momentus occasion of a woman running for President be received quite differently?

Ferguson will soon have her Master's from one of our nation's top MFA programs.

I dare any gallery not to consider her work for its timeliness, its stunningly creative humor, and emotionally dark underpinnings.

Great one to watch in the year ahead.

Check out her blog at http://hillaryrealandimagined.blogspot.com/ and her Flickr page to see more great examples of her "photo ops" collection.

http://flickr.com/photos/shferguson/

Wishing all my readers the best in the coming year,

Oly

I usually stay away from the big guys, but in this instance....

2007-12-11T22:44:00.000-05:00

Okay, truth be told, I don't think I've ever NOT liked a work by painter Ross Bleckner.

Scout's honor!

There's just something so perfectly linear, eternally graceful, organically significant, masterfully executed and luxuriously layered to all of his work.

I honestly dare you to find something truly negative to say about these pieces.

They're BEAUTIFUL.
BEAUTIFUL.
BEAUTIFUL!!!

When art takes on a sense of calm, of peaceful tranquility juxtaposed amongst all the hustle and bustle of "society" at large and avoids the "urgency" and pitfalls of the commonplace, and just "is," this is the definition of your standard, "run of the mill" pieces of Ross Bleckner.

His eye is brilliant in terms of color theory, of exploration into the subconscious, and the designs and formations that a "drifting off" accomplishes.

Close your eyes.

Relax your body, your mind, your soul.

What do you see?

I bet you see a bubbling out of reds, and lighter oranges from a dark-hued center, most often navy blue, or dark in nature.

I bet you might happen to see images of the still lifes of the 1800s come alive in a 21st Century motif, modernized, but not forgotten.

Each petal, each leaf of the botanicals takes on a new meaning.

The fresh dewdrops falling upon the petals is just the same as it were hundreds of years ago.

In much the same way Bleckner has taken these Rorschack-type creations and made them his own.

These pieces would be so at home in an evironment unakin to the everyday or commonplace art collector-- perhaps as a backdrop to a botany course in a freshman student's college courseload or a five-star lodge in the outskirts of the northernmost reaches of Saskatchewan.

I can't help but keep staring at these pieces.

In fact, when I saw them in person, I just stood there-- absorbing; their monumentality serving as almost an altar-like deity for me, taking it all in.

I wished my body could literally open a door to the visions of light; to the creations of new organisms, and absorb them into myself.

The floral arrangements take on an almost human-like quality to each of the pieces.

I did my best to imagine them in my own home, but alas, my checkbook is far too small and ceilings much too low.

I hope these works go down in Bleckner's encyclopedia entry as what they are-- new developments heavily researched and accomplished in an already full career.

Mary Boone should take it upon herself to stop focusing so much on her uptown space, and not forget the people who made her "Mary f'ing Boone."

Ross Bleckner is one of them.

A true modern living legend worth his weight in the gold standard.

This exhibit is NOT to be missed.

It is up until December 22nd and honestly will transport you into a new dimension.

Stay awhile in front of each piece.

It's well worth the break.

In honor of Xmastime, I've made up a song to sing along to...

"You're a bad-ass,
Mary Boone

You're the top of
every list

You're as charming
as a Prada heel

You're a hot mess mama
with delicious deals

You're a triple decker
delectible dish

You're the pride of
every collectors' dream

Mary Boone
it's Christmas, Javier Bardem is calling,

You've paid your dues
and you're no grinch"

(okay, so I'm not a lyricist, but I can direct you to the main site to check out more details, and that's no stealing XMas joke!!)

http://www.maryboonegallery.com/

The Nakeds and the Nudes-- the art of Francien Krieg

2007-12-02T23:19:00.000-05:00

Take a good long look at the image on the right by Dutch artist Francien Krieg.

Many of you will be instantly reminded of the famed Leigh Bowery portrait by Lucien Freud.

But while the Freud piece captured Bowery's persona non grata, the woman at right has much more to lose in her fully exposed form.

Nudity is at its base form the very definition of exposed vulnerability.

The model's largesse is literally starting to hide what defines her feminity; the genitalia fully hidden by the abdomen's rolls of skin.

But while previous generations may have viewed her as a "fertility goddess," or been termed "voluptuous," modern society frowns upon her, and hides her from view.

We are in a new era of shunning.

In fact, few artists today cover the human form in this manner, unless it's in the endless "snapshot aesthetic" of contemporary photography.

(Thank you, Nan Goldin for sending us down that dark and dreary path.)

But truthfully, I myself have never been one much for the full monty.

In fact, my first memories of being confronted with nudity were usually of my family-- and I didn't think twice about what it all really meant, nor did I care to.

Then, at about age 8, my mother took me into a B. Dalton bookstore.

For some reason I think my little mind hadn't yet grasped that not only was my family naked under their clothes, but also-- (drumroll)... OTHER PEOPLE as well.

And boy, did I get the crash course.

While mother thumbed her way through some Patti Boyd biography, my tiny hands picked up a copy of a John Lennon tome right next to it.

Then, opening the paperback to the center, I got my first real taste of NUDITY.

Not just nude, but NEKKID.

Not just NEKKID, but ARTISTIC NAKED-- i.e., John and Yoko, in all their flaccid, hairy, pasty glory, together, with little air separating their bodies.

My little mind felt immediately unclean.

But now I find myself, years later, typing reviews on a regular basis of artists that focus on highly-charged sexual content, or the dreaded "nude" word.

And truth be told, rarely do I bat an eyelash at the imagery.

I've seen just about every orifice in close-up form in some way or another.

From the Polaroid cock-sucking self-portraits of Terry Richardson, to David LaChapelle's plasticized shrines to well-endowed shemale Amanda Lepore, nothing seems to phase me; "Bores me," yes.

But for some reason, I've continued to have a disrespect for artists who ONLY choose to cover the human form.

But now that I've been doing some intense research of artists' web pages, I'm beginning to truly appreciate a finely-crafted and different type of nude.

Krieg's work is quite different than anything I've seen.

Her stunning use of foreshortening and manipulation of perspective truly makes these individuals come alive--flaws and all.

Maybe it's that hand shake I got when I happened upon Terry Richardson himself a few weeks ago that's made me rethink my opinion of blatant in-your-face sexuality.

He's didn't seem that bad of a guy, in fact.

But with Krieg, these are not necessarily sexual in nature.

Hailing from The Hague, Krieg's subjects are not your standard Vogue cover models.

Many are extremely obese, or at least can call cellulite as a dear friend.

They are real in every way-- you can see the veins lying close to the skin.

The bodies appear to be well-worn and lived in.

Stretch marks appear throughout the bodies.

You can tell that there's stories behind each face through the direct confrontation of the viewer, but while nudity again represents vulnerability-- you cannot pierce through their emotional shields.

In the image directly below, I especially love how the skin of the elbow is so rough and red.

Here is a woman who has experienced some hard times, and her eyes seem to challenge as if to say, "Yeah? So what? What are you going to do about it?"

Krieg is not represented by a gallery yet here in New York, but I bet it won't be long before someone takes notice of her seriously amazing work.

All art doesn't have to be beautiful, after all-- but there is a beauty in raw humanity.

For more information on Francien Krieg check out her web site at:

http://www.francienkrieg.com/

Richard Eagan's trip back in time

2007-11-20T00:10:00.001-05:00

Recently I had the pleasure of gaining the acquaintance of Richard Eagan, a Brooklyn-based artist whose topical work really struck home.

One of the reasons I chose to move to New York City was because of its rich and layered history.

The neighborhoods were a marketing major's wet dream in "branding"-- Little Italy, Chinatown, the Lower East Side, Brighton Beach, and of course, Coney Island.

I remember as a freshman at B.U. how excited I'd get when I'd look across Commonwealth Avenue and see our very own short-lived franchise of weiner prestige, Nathan's Famous.

Now my own knowledge of Coney Island was not very well-versed, but I did have those legendary postcards of pop culture floating in my head-- rickety ferris wheels with cars swinging to and fro; bathing beauties and Vaudevillian sideshows; leopard-leotard burlesque girls with the Betty Page bangs; tatooed muscle men bench-pressing iron with their well-oiled bulging biceps heaving in the salty air.

Fast-forward to 2007. Things are quite different.

Mega-developer Thor Equities' stunning purchase of Astroland Amusement Park has given us an endless drawn-out saga "Was this past season the last hurrah, or will there be one more? Stay tuned."

With all the back and forth, it's as if we're being held hostage by these land-grabbers.

The only survivors-- the Parachute Jump (in some incarnation), and if spared the executioner, the Cyclone.

In the meantime, while the city, local community groups and business owners try to hammer out incorporation of the logistics of all this, Richard Eagan's work is a truly excellent way to reconnect to what once was.

I found it to be a true delight in its sentimental journey back in time.

Eagan has a rich and storied history himself.

A long-time Brooklyn resident himself, in the late 1970s he suddenly found himself having repetitive dreams of Coney Island and his childhood.

For years Eagan had crafted meticulous cabinetry and woodworks in his cabinet shop.

But suddenly things began to take on a new look.

A studio was emerging, as well as an artist.

Eagan delved into creating sculptural-like assemblage pieces which blended elements of the everyday along with the fantastic.

At the same time, along with artist Philomena Marano, in 1981 Eagan formed the Coney Island Hysterical Society-- a collaborative that worked to spotlight the ever-forgotten landscape of yesteryear.

Multiple artist projects were undertaken, including a mural, carousel and an actual haunted house/by-way-of-art-gallery carnival ride, the "Spookhouse. "

Looking at some of Eagan's earlier works, you can almost hear those echoes of "Step right up! Step right up!"

At left is "Fred's House," a piece done in 1982.

In the background is the haunting image of the dearly missed "Thunderbolt", a Coney Island staple for 75 years.

I really found this piece to be quite moving-- the soft-lit crescent moon in the distance.

After all, where else can you go to see the sky so well at night in the 5 boroughs, other than the Coney Island boardwalk?

It leaves me silent-- for I can find no words to express the sadness at never having been able to witness it in its heyday.

After the passing of his wife, Eagan took time away to regroup.

Once again, the boardwalk came calling.

But this time, Eagan also began to express himself with an alter-ego, Kay Sera-- a proper lady, if I ever did meet one, with style and elegance to boot.

She has had an immensely positive influence on Eagan.

Much in the way the chrysallis serves the butterfly, her creation has allowed Eagan to emerge from his cocoon, with wings outspread.

In fact, many of Eagan's pieces involve a starburst-like central creature, exploding from within.

The wooden shards, though they can appear quite dangerous, exist only underneath in a cage-like structure.

In some ways, it is guarded-- a protection mechanism, if you will.

But just who is Eagan protecting: the viewer, or the self?

I also am enthralled by the minute details of the work at right.

In this-- a wooden mock-up of the haunted-house ride previously mentioned-- you can see the tiny wooden planks of a boardwalk.

The saloon doors are perfect in their detail and weather-beaten quality.

The salt-laden air erodes the latex, leaving its mark.

Even the slight spaces between the boards are brilliant in their disalignment.

For Coney Island currently DOES lie in a state of disrepair.

The boardwalk's tens of thousands of wooden planks are deteriorating by the day.

But this fine city is more interested in the amount of funds that it will receive from the monolithic Thor rather than put new wooden planks in for people to enjoy the walk.

Below are images of "Kister's Hotel" and "Open All Year Round."

Again, there is a quiet to these works that I have a hard time describing.

In each, Eagan again reaches out-- windows into another world-- but it is to our detriment that they might not be there for much longer.

For more information on Richard Eagan, go to the link below.

http://www.440gallery.com/

Is there room at the inn for Kara Walker?

2007-11-05T17:19:00.000-05:00

This isn't a review of Kara Walker's retrospective at the Whitney, nor her new solo show at Sikkema Jenkins & co.

No.

This is a post where I'm going to bring up something that the art world continually ignores.

No, it's not the "feminist artist" mystique, or whatnot.

And truth be told, if I hear of one more gathering, conference, or "artist talk" put on by priviledged WASPY MFA-educated, gallery repped mid-20s to late 40-something women screaming and complaining of how they're "underrepresented" in the art world, I just may take up arms.

In this case, no, what bothers me MUCH more than any "under-representation" of the female is those of color.

I just got back from a trip to West Virginia, and truth be told, I witnessed more faces of color there than I ever do at a Chelsea gallery opening.

That is UNLESS those of color happen to be like Ms. Walker-- doing work that questions issues of "identity."

Let me say this, if Ms. Walker, perhaps, were doing work more along the lines of the Elizabeth Peytons, Karen Kilimniks, Dana Schutzs or Cecily Browns of the world-- would she have ever gotten to the status where she is now? (I.E., a Whitney retrospective?)

Would Walker have ever been giving the carte-blanche acceptance that Ms. Emin was graced with after "All the men I've ever slept with?"

Highly doubtful.

She would have been crucified.

Because Walker continues to crank out pieces that address what the Caucasian-dominated art glitteratti feels a "black artist" SHOULD be concentrating on, she's been elevated to something not unlike that of a modern minstrel herself, sans tap shoes.

I find it a hell of a lot more disgusting that the few top-publicized artists of color that I can name on my fingers-- Ofilli, Odita, Walker, and Pope L.--are only accepted because their work addresses "being black."

Pardon me while my blood pressure rises just a bit more, but it's not like MFA programs are asking the Schutz's of the world: "Can you have your work address what it's like to be young, white and immediately well-off financially?"

I dare the art world to elevate one artist of color to the forefront whose work might concentrate on color, line, form; political upheaval and protest; optical illusion; or experimental installation.

This is not to say Ms. Walker is not one of the more talented individuals continually making controversial and well-received work; as well as all those artists I've previously named.

I'm thinking of the recent beautifully painted show by artist Julie Heffernan.

I looked at each of her pieces and noted the skill and precision it took to paint those-- as well as the alabaster skin of each of the "self-portraits."

Could a black female artist have been given that type of reception as well?

I have a wish for the art world's eye of the needle to expand just a little beyond the tragic historical past of a people and perhaps more on the triumph of living in the today, as well as opening up the rosters to more of the least expected rather than "Here we go again."

Over and out.

Ryan McGinness IS an art movement

2007-11-04T17:24:00.001-05:00

His button below may directly disagree with my assessment, but in the battle of the similarly named Ryans of "art star" calibre, McGinness beats McGinley hands-down.

Of course the two simply cannot be compared due to their vastly different mediums, lifestyles and genres, but with these works, McGinness has proved to me once again he's worth the hype surrounding him.

Maybe I'm truly going out on a limb here, but I must say he just may be the second coming of Aubrey Beardsley at his recent inauguration of the new Pace Prints space in Chelsea.

See my example of "compare and contrast" below of one of Beardsley's intricate and luxuriously printed Art Nouveau children's book illustration work next to the sinuously flowing eroticism of McGinness' engraved skateboards that strongly utilize the color wheel.

This exhibit just closed at Pace Prints' new Chelsea headquarters truly blew my mind in terms of the artist's use of color play and decorative pattern work.

But truth be told, McGinness' strongest suit yet was his collection of humorous pins.

It brought back to mind my own youthful days as a merch girl for many of Boston's indie rock bands in the early-to-mid-'90s.

It also is a nice nod to being a child of the 1980s.

Certainly the subject matter is a bit mature, but our friendship pins, bracelets and sticker collections were like our generational equivalent to the Summer of Love crowd's medallions.

Here, McGinness deftly combines the two, taking a glance backwards towards the Decorative Arts movement, all the while combining it with psychedelia at its finest, with a final mix of Atari Generation and skater punk thrown in for good measure.

Fun stuff.

Enjoy.

http://www.paceprints.com/exhibitions/exhibitions-H.asp?XS=C

Dear Nicholas Fraser

2007-10-25T01:27:00.000-04:00

Dateline:
Thursday, October 24, 2007
Brooklyn, New York

Dear Mr. Fraser,

Greetings and salutations!

How nice to meet your acquaintance.

Upon Googling myself this evening-- (because this is what one does when one navel-gazes to check on one's blogging successes and failures)-- I found out that I recently did a review on your artwork last month.

Thank you kindly for the memory jog-- sometimes... in fact, many times, the names of who I choose to review slip my mind.

In fact, I just wanted to let you know I truly enjoyed reviewing your work on September 4, 2007, here at the Musings.

I found your work to be provocative, insightful, and well-thought out.

I find it fantastic that you've been able to attain solo shows at John Connelly Presents, Moti Hasson and Yossi Milo Gallery all in 2007 alone.

That is no small undertaking.

But in all seriousness-- dude, seriously, I can't remember who the hell you are, nor can I remember reviewing you.

I do like that your work delves into plageurism and the problem facing current artists today in regards to getting attention for one's work.

**WAVES!!!!***

I certainly like the DIY punk rock nature of you placing yourself into multiple galleries' press releases and saying it's your own.

But silly man, (or woman, whoever you be)... like, seriously, I did this trick back in 2003 when I first moved to NYC, mass-mailing everyone "news story clips" from WNBC, NY1, etc., where I'd replace names, towns, accidents, etc., with false info for whatever prank victim who would fall for it.

So kudos for sharing the brilliance of being able to Control A, Control C, Control V, and then typing to replace words.

Keep on keeping on.

Oh, and PS-- Next time you want me to write a review of your "work," why don't you just ask?
I might just bite.

Cough...

And if you're cute, who knows what else?

Your friend in guerilla art and blatant self-promotion,

Olympia Lambert
author of Oly's Musings

For more information to see if you, your gallery or art review blog is a victim of Mr. Fraser's deceptive ploys, go to:

http://nicholasfraser.com/index.html

TOUCHE!

Oh when the penguins.. oh when the penguins... go marchin' in... go marchin' in... oh when the penguins go marchin in...

2007-10-12T16:33:00.001-04:00

Oh, yeah, baby!

It's time for the march of the penguins, those lovable little tuxedoed tricksters whose favorite song certainly must be Five For Fighting's "Superman."

But barring their similarity to bowling pins, and our ever growing fascination with them-- "Happy Feet," "Wallace and Gromit," "March of the Penguins," Opus, etc., they're good little soldiers.

Follow the leader is not a game to them, but a way of life.

They also take care of their own, huddling together for warmth and protection.

And this is just what artist Nicolas Touron uses them for in his fantastic exhibition, "Circus," at Virgil de Voldere Gallery.

Setting their obedient little bodies against a backdrop of jetliners crashing into military helicopters, Mr. Touron obviously has taken the cute factor out of the equation; note THEY HAVE NO EYES.

Much in the way of our current administration-- from BOTH parties-- and the complacency that is 2007 Americana, we are definitely marching together as one, but have no clue as to where we're going.

I couldn't help but think of this exhibit once more upon the beginning of my work week, as the L train's staircase at 8th Avenue deviates into two-- one portion going left, one right.

Both staircases end up in the same location on the next platform up.

But interestingly enough (it never fails) the crowd always continues to the left, as I take the road less traveled to the right.

Perhaps group mentality is impossible to overcome, but I find it humorous how the blind just follow so succinctly.

Throughout Touron's exhibit, the theme of his "circus" comes into play-- a three ring one, mind you-- with the exhibit split into three separate "rooms," if you will.

With all the animals locked into warplay here at left-- ("moose-uzi" anyone?)-- you have to wonder just what the artist was thinking when these subjects were grouped together.

I also like the visual monstrosity of the intestinal-like ribbons that run throughout his works, to say nothing of the captive audience of penguins, once again taking center stage.

There is a sculptural centerpiece that is quite eye-catching-- two deers, with antlers permanently interlocked, top-to-bottom, and never to have one triumph over the other.

In much the way we realize the current war we find ourselves in to be unwinnable, with media circuses left and right to provide our poor little soggy brains with feel-good distractions.

"Quick!!! Click on Andy Samberg's newest digital short once again!!! Shit man, it will totally make you forget your wife leaving you, your dad dying, that slipped disc in your herniated back, your third cousin twice removed getting his brains blown to bits on a Ramallah highway, your dog just dying, or the fact the earth is probably going to end in 20 years' time."

After all, this is what America is now currently all about-- a muddled mess of intersecting highways, brought about by "technology."

I love how Touron's so subtle in his references, but it really makes you think.

The exhibit is up until October 20th.

For more information, go to:

http://www.virgilgallery.com/v2/

or

http://artcal.net/event/view/1/5547

Martha Walker at 440 Gallery

2007-10-07T22:55:00.000-04:00

All right, now, class; first lecture of the fall season: New York art scene 101-- Chelsea, Soho, Williamsburg.

Now let's follow that close behind by Dumbo, South Bronx, Red Hook, Park Slope...

SCREECH!
Apply the brakes.

Wait-- Park Slope?

Everyone sing along now... "One of these things is not like the other..."

The quaint little neighborhood that is the cradle of all that is held dear by the stroller mom community?

But yes, indeed.

Recently I found a heretofore undiscovered gem located on a quiet block of Sixth Avenue, the artist-run collective 440 Gallery.

In its current show, "Undercurrents," sculptor Martha Walker takes leaps and bounds over the "sculpture community," creating amorphous formations that seem to take on a new life of their own.

There is a power to Walker's work that is immediate.

The structures she creates certainly display elements of the natural realm, (such as the giant conch shell, as above) but there is more at play here other than three-dimensional representation.

There is a true gothic sensibility to these works.

Walker is making work that expresses herself and her vision through a means that I feel currently is woefully under-represented in the gallery scene-- steel sculpture.

With the current focus on installation and the newfound "rediscovery" of painting, I find it seldom where I can find a show that brings back a genre that throughout history has helped to define art and the next pathways it will choose to go.

Unless we're commiserating on giving a retrospective to Serra and his mass-scale, I can't imagine in today's market where a sculptor like Rodin would go to be displayed.

Walker's works bring to mind an otherworldly realm-- much as if the kelp or octopi from the seabed uprooted itself; primordial ooze once again retaking the land.

Walker elegantly captures the motions of these structures in each steel loop and bend.

In the work at right, there certainly is ancient tribal art on display.

It brings to mind a ceremonial offering, if you will, or a tribute to the fertility goddess.

I found myself analyzing each and every curve and the dramatic texture of her works.

Painstakingly creating each steel droplet from above, dripping freshly from the blowtorch not unlike a candle making a wax seal, it forms a rudimentary surface similar to that of a freshly erupted volcano.

In this case, the hot lava bubbles up and out, leaving behind a rich and storied texture.

In the central piece of the show, Passion Unfurled, many will certainly see a central vulva, as well as a tongue-like nature to this work with its many bends and loops.

In some ways, Walker's dark and gothic sci-fi oeuvre is at war with the blatant sexuality of this piece.

I like how Walker highlights feminity, not necessarily using it for exploit, but instead creating a new creature with undulating motion.

Even the creature's feet have a whimsical notion-- looking not unlike something straight out of "Lord of the Rings."

In contrast to the more controversial Passion Unfurled, in her work at left, Pearl, the cherished treasure contains an almost fetal-like element which can be removed from the central structure and stand alone.

When docked in its "mother ship," if you will, it is caressed and cared for not unlike a small child in its mother's arms.

There's something about the craftsmanship of this piece that makes you almost fear for its safety as it goes out into the new world-- will it survive?

Only time will tell.

I also cannot help but also be reminded of the dominance of male artists in the New York art world, and how that little "pearl," if you will, could also represent the obstacles that female artists face when getting their work on display.

Great piece.

In the case of Walker's art, you certainly could classify it as one of the more dangerous undertakings of the different art mediums, for working with steel certainly is not one for the faint of heart.

The heavy structures are certainly not a simple duty in their formative stages.

Lifting and manipulating several hundred pounds of molten metal as it is super-heated to thousands of degrees is a painstaking task that requires sheer determination and will of heart.

What I liked the most about Walker was her true passion for her subject matter and dedication to the task at hand.

She actually records and keeps track of the hours spent on each piece-- some taking months to construct.

It is extremely time consuming, especially given the highly intricate detailing of her structures.

Take a look at this close-up of Passion Unfurled.

Each and every droplet and branch has been formed by the piece being on its back.

Walker's blowtorch superheats the steel from behind, and the liquified droplets with the assistance of gravity make a new formation-- not unlike the volcanic lava formations of the South Pacific.

In the case of Passion Unfurled, the piece weighs over 700 pounds and only came about in its current structure after originally meaning to be a river bed.

Walker realized when the piece cleaved in two, it transformed into a formation of rollicking sensuality at play.

Even though Walker's work certainly has a gothic undertone, given its "all black all the time" quality, (something we here at the Musings have been a bit obsessed with as of late) it is truly embracing the organic realm.

In some ways her work reminded me of my recent review of the fantastic painter Janaina Tschape, who concentrates on embryonic structures.

It's almost as if Tschaipe's structures have leaped off the canvas into sculpture formations.

Much of Walker's structures as well take on a honeycombing effect, or that of seed pods.

The open loops appear to be so delicate, you can barely imagine that they started off as steel bars.

I enjoyed examining how each branch connects seemlessly with the next.

There is such a unique flow to her work.

In her own words, Walker states how the process of creating these works is "meditative" for her.

I think the viewer will find this as well.

Walker's work will be up through Sunday, October 14th.

440 Gallery is located at 440 Sixth Avenue in Brooklyn, just a few blocks from the F train stop at 7th Avenue.

For more information, go to: http://www.440gallery.com/

or you can check out more of Walker's work at: http://www.marthawalker.net

Let's wrap up the loose ends, shall we?

2007-09-27T22:51:00.000-04:00

Here at the Musings, I must say, I've been a tad bit busy as of late.

In just the past 3 weeks, I believe I've been to 19 openings and visited somewhere around 30 galleries and completed one one-on-one artist studio visit.

I'm accumulating so many art cards, press releases and gallery photos on my Cannon Powershot Digital Elph, that maybe I should call in a professional organizer-- maybe one like the creator of my fave piece of the entire past year-- found entirely by accident while walking the streets of Williamsburg.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you Emcee C.M., (AKA Colin McMullan) and his interactive "Neighborhood Junk Drawer," a part of the just recently completed Conflux Festival.

I laughed my ass off with this one.

Truly, deeply, I love it.

And apparently the neighborhood does as well.

Buried inconspicuously into the plywood fence around yet another "abandoned lot," the drawer fits perfectly and can be slid in and out quite easily.

The items in the drawer are finding nice new homes throughout Williamsburg.

People give and take-- a nice yin and yang.

Let's check out a few of the current contents:

Lifesavers, anyone?
Need an extra spoon?
Here's your opportunity.

If anyone knows Michele, you might want to tell her where her I.D. has ended up.

For more info on Colin's hilarious undertakings, I implore you to check out his website.

He's got to be one of the best things I've ever seen in art today in terms of humor and true creativity.

http://www.emceecm.com/

Check out his "moving" movies and "corner library" pieces as well.

Anyway, so, though I'm finding it a bit difficult as of late to keep up with regular highlights on the blog, I wanted to share with my readers as best I could some of the top Billyburg choices for viewing over the next week.

First up, a group show I mentioned a few posts back, "The Fall Season," at Jack the Pelican Presents.

I'm including for my readers what I consider to be the two best works in the show.

This work at left created by Chinese artist Li Wei is a photo that is so immersed in peril, I can barely describe or look at, given its subject material.

There's such panic and rapidity of motion through this work.

In many ways this classic horor movie staged piece reminded me of artist Charlie White's prefabricated alternative realities shot in an almost documentary format.

But instead of a pitifyingly tragic creature like "Joshua," Mr. Wei inserts this figure that's eternally between a rock and true impossibility into each of his pieces.

Fatalistic, and definitely nightmarish.

It's not often that a piece brings such a lack of control into focus-- something I think more artists should focus on, rather than trying to FORCE viewers into a fairly unhealthy lectured-to environment.

This just needs no explanation, and is what it is.

Moving to the next piece, and this just took my breath away.

Artist Graham Guerra here does a nice dissection of the modern human-- in terms of the realities of sexual "freedom," modern technology, brutal physicality and looming skies of doom all around us.

A show with a very nice take on where we currently find ourselves.

I believe the press release stated just that-- how the burgeoning gentrification of Williamsburg/Greenpoint puts it all into play, of how "the walls are literally crumbling around them."

It says a lot about the times of excess that we find ourselves in.

We are now in a retro Gordon Gecko-Dynasty laden reality on one side; "Mean Streets" redeveloping on the other.

Who will win out in the end?

Falling can be literal-- and certainly is at the forefront in each of these works-- but can also be figurative as well.

For the rapid rate of condo-ization mixed with abandoned lots around Roebling and Driggs, we are failing to keep development in check, yet with each new construction, we lose a piece of history and ourselves.

The back and forth of luxury condos being built directly next to public housing is truly maniacal-- and seems so forced.

I like that Jack the Pelican is trying its own version of a commentary on the situation it now finds itself in.

By the way, I also felt that the syringe and champagne glass are a great juxtaposition to include.

The exhibit runs until October 7th.

For more information, go to:http://www.jackthepelicanpresents.com/

****
Changing gears here, how about we get ourselves a nice cup of tea?

After all, it was 4pm on a Sunday afternoon from whence this visit came.

(again, hint to readers, Williamsburg galleries are open on Sundays. You CAN sleep in and still get up to see some great work)

Above, "Park Seed Mystery," acrylic on canvas

Take a look at this beautiful, glorious light infused piece by Wanda Taylor Remington at Ch'i Gallery on Grand Street.

Her stunningly beautiful exhibit, "Tall Tales and Love Songs," achieves so much in terms of bringing the viewer into her pieces, letting you experience such tranquility and lush detail.

Gorgeous flow and color here-- it brings to mind the most detailed tapestries of the orient, and/or a floral arrangement that I could find in the sunniest of sun rooms.

I liked this work because it was so simple and decorative, almost like a late summer's garden in England.

When did art stop being about beauty, anyway?

This is a nice throwback.
Great piece.

I believe Ms. Remington's pieces also have such a calm nature to them, and she reflects that her grandchildren have been a great inspiration to her as well.

Though the art at Ch'i certainly tends towards the conservative, and my own personal tastes usually do not, I just loved every bit of this show.

Take a look at this closeup of the intricacies and patterns at play...

For more information, go to:

http://www.chicontemporaryfineart.com/

The exhibit is up through October 8th.

***

Next, let's go to the Hogar Collection gallery, and some nice paper sculptures with unique color combinations.

This is artist Michelle Forsyth's first solo exhibition in New York.

In many ways, almost an origami-like abstraction; in others, I feel like this could be a trophy on a pedestal, or more aptly, the Golden Snitch that flies through Quiddich games, tempting the persuer onwards, always onwards.

Victory certainly awaits Ms. Forsyth, and rightfully so.

Her pattern making and earth tone combinations are a great team here-- and in many ways, the dimpling of the piece reminds me of a soccer ball.

Perhaps the World Cup is still on my memory's surface, but I really liked the angles achieved here.

I also loved the mosaic tile inlay patterns in the wall prints.

Fantastic detail here.

Once again, let's just say I enjoyed this exhibit as well, because-- lo and behold-- it brought beauty back into art.

Now, don't yell at me just yet for stating that art "should be about beauty," because I know it serves a much greater place in today's world and rightfully so.... but truthfully, well-made "statement" art is getting harder and harder to come by.

And I also have noticed how many of the pieces I've reviewed over the past 10 months have been primarily "statement" based.

But honest to god, what is wrong with art that is well-made, requires great trade skill, is colorful, sensual, lovely, quaint, eye-catching and there's that word again-- beautiful?

I say, NOTHING.

So there.

None of these works addressed societal ills, abandonment, protest, complacency, or the far-reaches of iced over hearts, but man, did my face light up when I saw them.

For more information, please visit:
http://www.hogarcollection.com/

The exhibit will be up until October 15th.

I found Hogar to be quite a charming little space, very off the beaten path, but well worth the venture.

A day in Williamsburg can certainly be life-affirming, in terms of getting one back into what art is all about-- seeing as much as possible, and learning as much as possible from your experieces.

On a much different note is artist Mark Stillwell's takeover of Front Room.

Now, I won't say much here-- because I've seen exhibits similar to this before, but any man who can make a living, breathing, darling robot out of a box of KOTEX has truly won my heart.

Maybe I've lowered my standards, (I always vow to not like "garbarge art") given that this has about as much to do with my previous choices as liver and strawberries, but hey, diversity is the spice of life.

As much as the previous artists I've mentioned in this post have been about letting go of control, intricacies of pattern and a sheer forray into beauty, this exhibit is all about fun.

Take a look at just a few of the whimsical creatures and world of miniatures that Stilwell has created.

Even his name (Stilwell, like the main Beach Road) conjures up imagery of fantastic weekends spent at Astroland amusement park at Coney Island.

If you go, check out the water bottle centipede-- it's truly creepy.

Now, if only little American boys grew up with Excellence, by L'Oreal, army tanks of mass destruction, the world just might be a better place.

After all-- how much harm can it do?

Make your hair have extra shine, body, and brilliance?

I say sign me up for this brigade pronto!

And who wouldn't want to go for one more ride on the Wonder Wheel before Thor Equities changes the Coney Island we've all loved through the ages for good?

For more information, go to:
http://www.frontroom.org/

Art as statement and functionality

2007-09-21T22:31:00.000-04:00

Mechanical engineering on display in the art world?

Alas, you say, can it be?

Currently showing at Dam, Stuhltrager Gallery in Williamsburg, kinetic sculptor Mark Andreas utilitarian "sculptures" that mix agricultural need with scientific functionality and brings to mind issues of instability.

Experimentation is the way we have learned so much regarding technology-- The Wright Brothers, Henry Ford, Isaac Newton, even Leonardo... the list goes on and on.

But before an inventor can reach the level of mass production and manufacturing, in each case throughout history they have had to experience multiple failures to get to the point of a working model.

I'm thinking that Mr. Andreas must have gone through many different designs, crashing and burning, before he finally found one that worked to his liking.

After all, I can't image it's an easy task assembling a 400-pound mass of steel, dangerous blades and springs, all while lying flat on the ground, hoping against hope that this time it wil work.

I couldn't help but think of the Model T by Henry Ford and its crank engine when I saw this exhibition in Williamsburg.

Other things it brought to mind-- a mechanical Grim Reaper, a harbinger of a gothic death watch; a design model that is truly part science project part agricultural innovation.

Let's take a closer look at the "Seed Spreader."

This piece initially creeped me out.

It reminded me of those spider creatures in the Matrix, for instance; or just a big old walking stick come to animated life.

The creature has even been given feet.

Andreas has rigged this machine to whirl around like a helicopter's blades at just the right moment in time.

A small twig is placed in the "engine" contraption, after a physically laborious "cranking" by the artist.

The pressure of the cranking weighs down upon the wood, which absorbs all the pressure, and eventually upon reaching the treshold of its own strength, snaps.

Upon the snapping of the twig, the contraption, which has been loaded with grass seed, then lifts up, and helicopter blades spinning, equally distributes in a circular fashion.

It is perhaps a science project each of us has at one time dreamed of creating...
'Let's see... if I do X plus Y-- will this equal Z?"

Though truth be told, it's not often that our own projects worked out that way.

How many parents intervened at the last minute when our volcanoes didn't spew their vinegar and baking soda lava, or our bug collection fell off its pins?

The thing I liked about this exhibit was Andreas' obvious devotion to perfecting his project.

I can't imagine how many countless twigs and ice cubes (to say nothing hundreds of bags of sand) he must have gone through before knowing if these experiments would "work" or not.

This is not to say that they are continuously successful now.

This work, "Transcendence," with its three armed/legged appendages that are supposed to collapse upon the eventual sand in the central "hourglass" depository shifting of the object's weight by the sand depositing underneath-- just might go before its time.

Given the object's inherent instability-- especially of the sand-- I noticed how any weight shifting, by a viewer stepping even close to the piece, upset its precarious balance.

You could hear the vibrations in the metal, and walking upon the sand made you feel as if you had worn high heels to the beach-- you were sinking into the gallery's floor.

I hoped against hope that I wouldn't mess this project up by watching the pieces fall over due to my own clumsiness, so I took an immediate step backwards.

It certainly is not be goal to be a "part" of an art project, but I couldn't help but be concerned regarding that cardinal rule of "You break it, you buy it."

At right is another interesting piece, "Hanging in Balance," powered by an ice cube.

Again, the cube is placed in the contraption's central motor to balance the piece and absorb the pressure.

Of course, the fleeting nature of ice does not a reliable construction component make.

Eventually, going back to its H2O form, the sculpture's arms and legs collapse upon itself.

I like what Andreas is saying here with this project.

Though as humans we're always talking about issues of safety and security, nothing is ever a sure thing.

Everything eventually degrades and breaks, no matter how strong we build it, or think it's stable (buildings, countries, armies, marriages, political systems).

It's a nice take given we are immersed in a time of U.S. history when our infrastructure is literally crumbling around us and we run so scared into the night, obsessed with terrorists, celebrity, and the boogeyman coming instead of the real issues under the surface.

Very cool project indeed-- though I wouldn't recommend it for a collector who's not a brave soul or of the faint of heart.

These things will poke your eye out!

For more information, go to: http://www.damstuhltrager.com/

Or Check out:

http://www.artcal.net/event/view/2/5491

Anna Druzcz: The Makings of New Lifeforms and Constructions

2007-09-17T18:53:00.000-04:00

This past Friday at Like The Spice Gallery was the launch of a new exhibit, "Endemic Constructions" by artist Anna Druzcz.

It is in many ways not just a new show, but a new forray into an uncharted realm.

Over the past 15 years, digital art has taken a strong foothold in the art world, but most have been the usual suspects-- CGI, explorations into video art, mechanical, and/or basic photo manipulation.

But in this case, the artist, who possesses a strong background in painting as well as photography, combines the two into one-- creating, if you will, new landscapes previously undiscovered to the human eye.

At Like the Spice, Ms. Druzcz's combination of multiple disciplines-- painting, photography, set design and, yes, the power of Photoshop-- blends so well, that at times you cannot believe you are simply looking at a C-Print.

In fact, many viewers will need to do a double-take to make sure that these are indeed not paintings, or light boxes, given their luminescent quality.

Much like Mary Shelley, Druzcz is producing her own Frankenstein monster through intricate combinations of natural and mandmade worlds.

Her unique choice of multiple image overlays collaged from previous on-site photographs she has taken on the outskirts of Rochester and Toronto appear almost seamless in their combinations.

I'm enclosing above a detail of her work in magnification.

Druzcz starts each piece by painting on canvas, which she then photographs and manipulates in Photoshop, replicating layer upon layer, until the correct level of underpainting is achieved.

You can also see little tears and threads attached to each piece of fabric.

The backdrop now being set, from here she begins to choose which pieces she will combine to create her work.

Druzcz is particularly engrossed with the unique processes in which humanity takes to control the organic.

Nurseries cover or protect their product-- trees, shrubs, flowers-- and envelop them much in the way we blanket our own newborns.

Saplings under wrap in this piece seem to appear as if they are mummified, or ghost-like in appearance.

In an artist talk she gave this Sunday in Williamsburg, she noted how she believes what distinguishes us between the animal world is our use of "tools," and how we "construct" new worlds and identities through our control over nature.

Her "constructions" are built from the ground up, taking elements of her photographs of rural nurseries, lily beds, bales of hay, portions of highway construction and topiaries, juxtaposing them into new realms of the underworld.

With the advent of industrialization and subsequently the power of globalization at a moment's notice we can go down to our corner flower shop and purchase plant "hybrids"-- for the power of modern science and horticulture has let the process of natural selection go by the wayside, as we create new living beings.

Even though science has now found out that there can be no "black tulip" (it is inherently impossible), somehow we doubt this, given the advancements of technology.

It brings to mind genetically modified strawberries; crops with inherent immunity to certain pests; new species that will be the edible future of our ever-growing population's need for sustainable harvesting.

Our actions as residents of planet earth are having a direct effect on changing how nature operates on a daily basis; Druzcz' s works only emphasize the rapid pace at which we currently are operating.

As well as a direct commentary on humanity's ability to alter nature, these pieces also appear as if in a whimsical, dreamlike state.

We never really can truly remember our settings of dreams; (We combine strange lands that we know we've seen before, but when we awake we realize that they do not exist.)

In many ways, Druzcz is a cinematographer of new possibilities.

Each piece confronts us as if it were a still frame of a motion picture.

I feel a strong pull in many of her works that leads me to a comparison of a "Wizard of Oz" land of imagination and wonder, though with a strong evil undercurrent much like "The Matrix."

In the work above, I could imagine a flying monkey, or two, or three, if not Trent Reznor greeting me as well.

Or perhaps this is more of a nod to mystical lands of Tolkien, where the hulking Treebeard comes out from hiding and starts speaking to us from inside the frame, not unlike the hallowed halls of Hogwarts' portraiture.

The most interesting part about this image of "gigantic" trees and their massive exposed root systems is the fact that they are actually close-up photographs of bonsais digitally manipulated into large scale.

I found this to be one of the biggest surprises about the artist's mastery of space, manipulation of scale and how perspective can be dramatically altered by the digital realm.

Druzcz in many ways is playing "God," in the creation of worlds that do not exist, but we almost wish they would.

I'm enclosing this Hieronymous Bosch work, "The Last Judgment," for comparison in the way Druzcz also seems to have such a hierarchical structure in her works' makeup.

A feared underworld lurks below-- the skies opening to the heavens above.

In the image below, Druzsz' work is again quite Boschian in its makeup-- a feared underworld lurking beneath; a heavenlike dreamstate above.

The Dutch master was perhaps centuries before his time in many ways-- much like I believe Druzcz is as well.

Throughout art history there has been such separation in imagery-- the color fields, if you will, of Rothko-- where the horizon separates from the earth; above and below.

Yet Druzcz's imaginative piece seems to float in mid-air over the burial ground plots-- or more than likely trenches being dug for new plantings.

What's so interesting about this work, though, is how each and every piece has been painstaking crafted by Druzsz, then photographed in isolation.

Only upon her choosing its new location, (small conical structures she made in her studio, then photographing them, manipulating their light and texture), and thereby adding layer upon multiple layer of pristene lawns, winterized burlap fields and topiary plantings, does she showcase these elements of beauty and despair.

The evergreens seem to take on a new life, reaching new heights in her golden backgrounds.

The sepia tonalities of each image gives an almost antique quality to her work.

Here, we see the combination of roadside concrete drainage pipes juxtaposed with an endless horizon of bales of hay.

Much in the way of her previous topiary works, Druzsz again takes the route of multiple terracing.

Though Druzcz is referencing how man continues to exert control over nature, there is a stark dark element that is at play, but does not completely envelop the work.

When I first saw this work at right, I couldn't help but have my own preconceived notions of what the image stood for.

The tree wrapped in its "protective" blanket, if you will, sheltered from the elements, instead takes on a far sinister presence, looking quite similar to a Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.

This is not an image to be taken lightly.

Again, the star-scape backpainting gives it such a dream-like quality.

The cool-white light envelops us much in the way the blanket wraps itself around the nature.

As Druzcz mentioned in her talk, she is "Very comfortable with breaking those boundaries" of the everyday and commonplace and combine very unusual elements into something new.

With this exhibit she certainly has accomplished that, and much, much more.

For more information, go to http://www.likethespice.com/

The exhibit runs until October 7th.

Williamsburg Roundup-- Part 1 of 2-- The Misses

2007-09-14T22:49:00.000-04:00

Here at the Musings, I've never claimed to be a hipster, or defender of the Williamsburg kind.

In fact, though I call Brooklyn my home (and have now for the past 4.5 years), I have rarely ventured to that 'nabe where all the "artists" or "galleries" be... why?

A little something known as I don't like commuting an hour and a half just to go somewhere in my same borough.

(Thank you, Mr. Turn-of-the-Century subway designer who made sure I had to go to another island to go back to my same one. Makes sense, don't it?)

And that literally is my main reason-- it has nothing to do with me being anti-hipster; or because it's always hot there and there's no trees or shade; or because it's really polluted; or because there's always construction; or because the few darling little brick buildings they have, they knock down; or because there's more investment bankers there now than artists; or because there's only 1 place I can get good Pierogis by the L train; or because I'm a non-smoking girl who prefers the taste of fine wine over PBRs and Camels.

NOOOO.

Anyway, I don't claim to know how many of you might be fans of "Jimmy Kimmel Live," but I certainly hope you will enjoy my version of Guillermo's always fabulous, "Hollywood Roundup."

Instead, my take is, "Williamsburg Roundup."

Billyburg roundup
Billyburg roundup
It's my.... Billyburg roundup.

Of course, above were the many reasons I don't go to Williamsburg very often-- and let's just add the current show at Parker's Box to the list.

Skulls.

Artist Fabien Verschaere has a fascination with cartoonish expression mixed with political statement.

Black and white.

Yeah.
Huh?????

SPPPPOOOOKY?

Should I be scared or laugh?

Is this supposed to be about "black oil," primordial ooze, death, destruction, the onslaught of the apocalypse-- or, is this an aversion to the skull scarf fashion trend that Lohan and the Olsen twins started in Spring 2006???

Okay, from skulls, to clowns.

Yes, CLOWNS.

Stephen King, "It."
Right?

Fangs, blood, disembowelment... Demon spawn.
Frustration, drippy-dippy.
Pseudo-surrealism in flat format and full length of room "Last Supper/Guernica" format.

I'm hot for you.
Let's do it.
I'm on fire.

Zombies.

Mickey Mouse LSD trips.

Commercial capital-- we are capital-- we are capitalists-- we are consumers-- we are consumerists... this will destroy us.

I get it.

OOOOOOhhhhh.... and I think somewhere in that scene I see a heart-appliqued Robot.

BOXES.
Death.
Impailment.

If the goal of Verschaere is to have me go into a visually-induced LSD trip, he's doing well.

At the front of the exhibit lay black protest signs with gel pen statements propped against the wall with various sarcasms stated from the art parade earlier in the day.

From whence we came, we want back into the womb.

Oh, dark soul, fulfill me.

I will say this once and only once more-- PLEASE, dear artists of the world, realize that black combined with white does not necessarily art make.

And clowns do not, will not, and have never been a good choice as artistic subject.

They're not funny, never have been, nor will ever be, and people have phobias of them.

Does Verschare really want to have my friend go into shock?
Literally she has a debilitating phobia of them, and for good reason.
I just may never enter Parker's Box again for fear that I will be eaten by a black and white clown.

Parker's Box, do you have no shame????

Can we just agree that this exhibit has absolutely no focus, the artist has too many things on his mind, is trying to say too much, and by doing so ends up saying nothing about anything?

NEXT!!!!

Jack the Pelican Presents.

A completely forgettable front room solo show with some dude... oh, yeah, Matt Hansel (no Gretel in sight), "Youth is Wasted."

I agree, Mr. Hansel-- so is your talent.

The show has something to do with hipsters rediscovering nature in blurry-painted forests, clad in Brooklyn Industries hoodies and Chuck Taylors-- juxtaposing nature and modernity; wistful appreciation for a land too far away to visit daily, yet bringing to mind each and every day what we're missing out on; and FALL, glorious FALL, with leaves.

Needless to say, people stepped all over Hansel's installation of painted paper leaves and human cut-out form, 'cuz no one knew it was a piece of art and last Friday's opening was too crowded for people to realize where they were stepping.

Below, disaffected youth blowing smoke.

Mr. Hansel's background is his strength, but if he is trying to connect the viewer to his subjects, they appear just as directionless as the rest of the L train.

Part 2 shall come next, "The Hits."

The very same gallery-- Jack the Pelican Presents-- Back room-- THE SHOW OF THE SEASON, "The Fall Season," with two of the best pieces I've seen all year long.

Also, Capla Kesting's fantastic showcase of Travis Lindquist, and Like The Spice Gallery's TRIUMPH of a solo show in digital czarina Anna Druscz.

Until next time, keep reaching for the stars, and stay away from hoodies and clowns.

For more info on these shows, or to see them yourselves... (remember, my opinion is just that, an opinion), please visit...

http://www.parkersbox.com/

http://www.jackthepelicanpresents.com/

A peek into the split personality of Jim Torok at Pierogi 2000

2007-09-09T00:44:00.000-04:00

Some days I find myself looking in the mirror and thinking, "Hot damn. God, I'm gorgeous. Just look at those lips. Lucious, full, plump; just the right tonality of pinks mixed with fleshy earthiness. Why, with those big green eyes and raven hair, I could pass for Ms. Jolie's sister, right? Right?????"

Rigggggght.

The very next day, the same mirror looms overhead, and I think, "My God. Look at you. Why do you even try? Your days are numbered. You're past it. There's no hope. Why go on? No one will ever see the things in you that you wish them to see."

It's that very duality of thinking-- the yin and yang, manic depression, or polar opposites that puts the drive into Jim Torok's "Recent Work" exhibit, which just opened in Williamsburg at Pierogi 2000.

I was immediately floored by Torok's honesty and extreme openness about the mental anguish that he deals with on a daily basis.

Success-- just what does it mean to us, as individuals, or as artists?

To each, it can take on a different meaning.

Does it mean hobnobbing with the Mary Boones or Jeffrey Deitches of the world, a vodka tonic with Tom Sachs, a Roberta Smith review, or does it mean having our friends beside us as we celebrate our work, and hopefully sell enough to maintain representation, and get just enough press coverage to maintain or pique interest.

In this case, with Torok, he has the devil on one shoulder, and angel on the next, and they're locked in a caged deathmatch like Ann Coulter and Maureen O'Dowd with no exit till blood has been spilled.

In Pierogi's front space lies the "negative" thinking mode of Torok.

All the self-doubt and frustration you could ever imagine is there for our examination in hilarious cartoon, or comic strip format.

Very pop, very now, very "cutesy," very in fact wrong.

Many days we all feel the same way about ourselves.

"What's the use?
Why go on?
Do we really matter?"

We see our efforts falling by the wayside in terms of making a real difference in the world.

There seems to be a daily barrage of "bad news," or factoids, snippets of how useless our little humanoid specs of matter are to the big picture.

With so many faces and bodies gathered at the front, I thought-- "Well, this is it. This is all there's to it."
Little did I know what lurked around the corner.

As such, I've seen this type of work before-- and many artists right now are bringing up the issue of "Just what is our value" in the greater scheme of things.

I'm thinking of William Powhida's great take on creating his "ArtStar" alter ego at his Schroeder Romero show last Spring.

But with all the focus on Pierogi's front room, it's actually the back room where Torok's true talent lies, exposing brilliantly executed small drawings and paintings of his subjects, including a stunning self-portrait (not shown here).

In many ways I felt a great kinsmanship with Torok's delectable sarcasm, wit, and failure to connect on a greater level that he highlighted with his "cartoon pieces."

But the fact of the matter is Torok is a genuinely gifted and talented artist.

The cartoon imagery does not reflect the steadiness of hand and eye and skill that true "art" has always represented throughout history.

Torok's hyper-realistic sketches and paintings (quite small pieces), are filled with such great detail, sense of color and luminescense, that I could barely believe that this indeed was the same artist.

And here is where the duality of this show can be negatively construed.

Does Torok's exposing of his inner doubt take away from his ability as an artist, or is it merely a self-expression needing to take root and blossom?
I'm unsure.

I find that the very layout of the exhibit at hand is what bothered me, because in this case, the doubt has triumphed the talent.

Self-confidence is a huge factor in the success of an artist, or any individual.

It truly does not matter how much nacent ability you possess, what school you went to, or how many names you can drop if you do not believe in your own abilities.

This is something that Torok must work on in the future if he is to continue to prevail.

This is not to say I certainly didn't enjoy these pieces of self-immolation to a huge degree, but there's a large portion of this exhibit that left me with unease.

In a sense, I'm absorbing the artist's exposed nakedness here, as are all the viewers.

What qualities in ourselves can we change so that we do not relegate our greatest works to the "back room" of our lives, or the galleries we contract to?

Some quite serious issues to consider when we put ourselves out there for judgment, or in this and other artists' cases, literally "for sale."

Torok has taken a big risk here, and I salute him for it.

BUT I do hope that he eventually conquers these doubts that are so in the forefront of his mind, and continues to do the work he is so skilled at-- bringing to life these images of acquantances and subjects.

I truly felt at any moment that these tiny people would leap off their paper or boards and start speaking to me.

With such an amazing ability to capture the human essence of his subjects' personalities as well as physical trailts, one can only hope that he continues on this path instead of navel gazing despair and self-deprecation.

The exhibit runs until October 8th.

For more information, go to http://www.pierogi2000.com/

Thomas Lendvai at Winkleman

2007-09-04T23:18:00.001-04:00

Contruction Worker #1:

"Yo.

Ya hoid' about Tommy?"

Construction Worker #2

"Yeh. I hoid' about Tommy.

He's going places, I tell y'ez.

Pass me an Amstel. Gonna need one for this job."

Many will view Thomas Lendvai's new exhibition at Winkleman Gallery, "Between Pain and Boredom," as strict textbook minimalist art mixed with optical illusion, or merely inventive modern installation, but I beg to differ.

That would be woefully underselling the magnitude of what this exhibit says about our culture, our own hearts, and our own thought processes (or lack thereof) when relating to our surrounding support structures (both literally and figuratively).

Sure, Lendvai wears his influences on his sleeve, echoing such greats as Gordon Matta-Clark, Donald Judd, and the earlier work of Richard Serra, but that's just the tip of the iceberg for his exciting Fall 2007 Chelsea premiere.

You see, Lendvai is more than just your typical artist-- he is a worker at his core with an old world ethic to match.

Not driven by a need to create and self-promote like far too many of his contemporaries, Lendvai instead has had visions of lumber, table saws, and power drills pulsing through his veins since his birth.

A product of a family encsconsed in the construction industry, Lendvai has been raised from little on to understand its inner workings.

While most boys his age were still playing with their Transformers, Lendvai was sitting atop the eaves of homes in Eastern Long Island, assisting his father and learning to master his craft.

It is of no surprise, then, that with his studies and higher education, that he has developed into a "sculptor" of a different realm-- one that continually surrounds us, but yet doesn't come immediately to mind as your standard "art form."

With this exhibit, Lendvai combines "architect" with "construction worker."

For too long, one has reaped the benefits and accolades, while the other languishes in obscurity.

In the process of working full-time and pursuing his art career, Lendvai has mastered balancing a duality so few can pull off-- establishing a well-earned reputation as an art installation/crater and contractor, as well as continuing his own quest into breaking the boundaries, and perhaps the walls, of our perceptions of what is real and what is "constructed."

For many gallery-goers and collectors, with the advent of the Fall 2007 season upon us, the fresh-hewn seams of newly formed walls pass us by with barely a notice.

"Was that there before?," we ask with puzzled faces, as each gallery looks "different" with each launch of a new exhibit.

Though Lendvai holds a Master's degree from SVA, his true secondary education has come about in the trenches of the art world.

When you see the work in many of Chelsea's top contemporary galleries, though you may be viewing the artist's initial vision, you are more often than not the worksmanship of Lendvai himself.

I will not name names, but there are several artists who currently are getting major reviews who owe Lendvai a huge thanks for not only "assisting them" with their installations, but creating much of their works from their initial conception to completion.

But now it's time for his work to take front and center stage.

This is the exhibit of the Fall 2007 art season, and I make no qualms about my own cheerleading here, for the real reason I love this work so much is because there is so much heart and soul of the artist himself put forth into his creation.

Taking the skeletal framework of a "new room" created specifically for this exhibition at Winkleman, Lendvai has made it appear that the walls (or perhaps ceiling in this case) literally cave in on us.

Feeling as if you must duck to avoid total annihilation, wooden beams jut out at perfectly spaced 16-inch intervals, much as a pitchfork through a bale of hay.

Making it appear as if a battering ram has come through Winkleman's 27th Street headquarters, the teeth of each wooden beam violently pushes forth, arching out and over as it makes its way into the gallery's main space.

In many ways, it appears Southwestern in its appearance, not unlike the exposed beams that are common in the pueblos of the desert southwest.

http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/93/16/22811693.jpg

http://www.fostertravel.com/nmarts102web.jpg

But references to a certain style of construction is just part of this exhibit.

Lendvai does not sketch his structures prior to their building, nor does he call Autocad a close friend.

Instead, he utilizes the same methods that his Hungarian father taught him from childhood.

He carefully analyzes the weight-baring capacity of each stud in the walls' framework utilizing plumb bobs, and makes adjustments accordingly to the exact location of where the beam will rest.

Each measurement must be completely precise to leave no space or portion exposed.

Much in the way that Gehry's buildings create waves of movement, so, too, does Lendvai's work-- with each raising and lowering of the beams crossing the viewer's path, a sense of motion is created.

Of course when standing amidst the work, your own perception is relative.

Whichever stature nature has blessed (or cursed) you with, you will view this exhibit differently than the next.

This is what makes the work so unique.

In many ways, art today is a given... "THIS is what the artist means here. Here's the DEFINITION of this piece."

I have to say that I feel fraudulent for even trying to interpret this work, but it's simply something that I feel I must do.

Lendvai, a great fan of Arthur Schopenhauer, is specifically referencing humanity's different states of being.

Are we currently in a mode of "boredom," (distraction, inactivity, rest, complacency, squirminess, 'meh) that eventually will swing the pendulum right back to "pain," (anger, frustration, misunderstanding, entrapment, cultural ennui, or loss) that is essentially the eternal calling card of the human condition.

A bit unsettling to think about, given the heavy beams overhead, (or under arm) but truly a nice play on philosophical thinking mixed with the reality only a solid mass such as this could bring.

The last thing I will touch upon for this exhibit is the anonymity of those in the field of construction.

For every author, painter, filmmaker, or actor, there is a name left for historical reference.

"Here lies XXX, writer of XXX..."

But those who toil in construction are anonymous authors, if you will; innovators whose greatest creation lies on the inside, forging a reality the mad creations of the Santiago Calatravas of the world, molding the hidden skeletons that support us every day.

From the 22nd Floor of our Manhattan skyscrapers, to the basement hidden below Winkleman's terminal warehouse trenches, to the third floor of the 100-year-old oak framed Victorian bedroom where I now type, we rarely acknowledge what actually goes into making our least thought about ally-- a "support system," that continually props us up while at rest, in thought, at play, in love, or in a moment's passion.

Who were these men and what were their stories?

We tend to forget when we look upon the Empire State Building, in this case, or the great Pyramids, and call them the "Wonders of the World," as if some magician came along, or greater being waved his hand and said, "Thy Will Be Done."

Perhaps with the mountains, land or the sea, but in the case of structures, it is all manmade.

In this case, no Allah, G_d or Jehova created this, just "Tomi from Ronkonkoma."

Great exhibit with possibilities of legendary historical proportions.

The exhibit runs until October 6th, and opens tonight, September 6th, from 6-8PM.

For more information, go to http://www.winkleman.com/

Long, long ago in an art studio far, far away...

2007-08-21T20:32:00.001-04:00

Bummm.. Bumm....
bump... bump... bump... bahm bum.
bump... bump... bump... bahm bum.
Bump Bump Bump PAAAAA.

Un parte Trois, Tres, Tri... get ready, everyone... It's the premiere of The Musings' first ever...TRILOGY!!

Mind you, this comes very late in the game, but let's just say things have been shifting around quite a bit as of late, and I'm trying to hold onto some footing.

Either way, at the end of July I had a fabulous visit again with Johnny LeValley (at right in legendary Keith Richards mode) at his majestic 75 Greene Street studio space in Soho.

I watched him hard at work on some interesting new creations, and got the opportunity to once again look at some of my own personal faves of his that I had previously overlooked.

LeValley is also taking on an even greater role in not holding back on cultural and political commentary.

Much of his current work highlights how our nation-building destructive tendencies have overtaken the globe, with the onslaught of the good old U.S.of A. bringing globalization to each and every front door, whether invited or not.

There is no part of the studio space that is untouched by art-- even the toy soldiers take on a different meaning, given their placement on the mantelpiece to protect and destroy anything that crosses their path.

Also, this time around I took a really good hard look at Ksenia Hovden's paintings, and I must say her work is truly beautiful in its mastery of light, shadow, and in-your-face "fuck off" message.

Giving the finger never looked so good than at right.

Her hues of cold blues and purples here bring to mind a Bram Stoker nightmare, perhaps with some extra Eduardian cuffs-- that is, until you see the background of a LeValley work in the back.

It's a nice inclusion of a "piece within a piece," and highlights how Hovden and LeValley have such an ease and respect for one another in their working relationship as well as private.

Congratulations are in order for the couple, as they shortly will return to New York from their Norwegian nuptuals.

Also accompanied everywhere by Luna, the small grey gallery cat, the hour whizzed by as we discussed the meaning of art "scenes," the inspiration for his work, and his future plans for the reviving of Le Jungle.

If my mind moved literally 10% as much as LeValley's, I might have taken over the world by now, but alas, it woefully does not.

For Christ's sake-- check this pic out-- even the freakin' cat is an art lover!

(of course, canvas does hold heat in pretty well, I'm certain, so she's fairly comfy)

After this visit, I must state that the best quality about Mr. LeValley is his wide-eyed enthusiasm for art, and I keep looking, but can find no pessimism or bitter taste taking root, even if he has had some previous unfortunate experiences.

There is some serious positivity going here with him, and this is part of my fascination with him, his work, and the artists he surrounds himself with.

During our visit, this darling young lady-- Dory Disaster is her name-- came by and serenaded us with her ukelele and stunningly beautiful singing voice.

Where else in New York City, or this planet, can you go for a gallery/studio visit and also experience an impromptu concert?

10 stars for her, by far, (I loved her and her music) and am anxiously awaiting my next run-in with the young star in the making.

Sorry for the aside here, but that's what you can expect when you get to know LeValley and his traveling troupe of troubadours, court jesters, and art types of all backgrounds.

It truly is like Warhol's Factory has been recreated-- except this time the leader's not gay, far better looking and surrounds himself with down to earth beautiful people who take far less drugs.

But let's get back to the art.

Once again, as in this previous work from the past above, LeValley's strength is in layering and framework.

Take for instance, his interesting new series of works that utilizes a peacock symbol against a sunny, day-glo background with pinks and golds that seem to be a commentary on how our society trivializes serious subjects, such as war, famine, and death.

I love how LeValley frames the work with the crisscrossing lines.

It's a nice way to emphasize how there's many different viewpoints from whatever way you look at a subject-- whether it be a piece of art, or an issue of our culture at hand.

For instance, though our goverment continually says it wants peace, our actions speak much louder.

Again, the peacock shows itself as a facade for something much darker underneath the brilliant colors.

Nice job by LeValley with this series.

He's fast becoming an expert at storytelling with his pieces-- showing how pop culture takes over, and glosses over the ugly underbelly of corruption and hypocrisy with a candy-coated sheen.

Though the peacock may be a bird of visual beauty, it has a fairly violent temperament.

A Goddess of War, perhaps, as she seemingly floats over the desert, preparing for her next battle.

Next, let's look at my favorite work of Ksenia's.

I'm unsure of the titles of these works-- I'm hoping LeValley will provide them for future editing purposes.

In this piece, Hovden excels at transmitting the sheer visual power of two lovers locked in sensual embrace.

But though their bodies seem to coalesce as one, they are behind bars; a nice take on no matter how intimate our lives can seem, there's always something caging us in, whether it's self-inflicted or imposed through other means.

There's also quite a voyeuristic aspect to this work as well-- especially living in New York, where many of our bedrooms have these mechanisms to "protect" us and our belongings, or more accurately, "fence us in."

I also like to look at this piece and view it as a commentary on the beauty between two people in love.

Is modern city living making us view closeness as "trapping us in," or love as a "prison of the heart?"

Hovden is an expert at giving a nice flow to line of the bodies, totally at peace with one another, and grasping hands tightly in a moment of sheer passion.

Another nice piece of Hovden's is this little kitty work at left.

For some reason, with the exclusion of the head of the female homosapien variety, it is truly comical.

The expression on the cat's face is truly priceless as well-- "Get me out of here! Let me down!"

The only sexualizing here truly depends on your point of view.

The body here is quite muscular, and the athletic build of the thighs gives the viewer a bit of a surprise for such a suggestive image.

The shifting of the body to one side is also an aggressive stance.

Cat-calling, "Here, kitty, kitty," just might get the living crap beat out of you by this female.

Great piece.

LeValley and crew recently launched their new website for LeJungle and all the artists they have exhibited.

Check out the new site fun at http://www.loveisoriginal.com/

To view the previous trilogy posts...

http://lamgelinaoly.blogspot.com/2007/05/sex-cells-at-49-grove.html
(I like to call this the 'Sequel')

http://lamgelinaoly.blogspot.com/2007/02/intriguing-new-gallery-in-soho.html
(The original)

Brooklyn Kaboom

2007-08-17T13:54:00.000-04:00

It's been an admittedly slow end of August here at Da Muusings.

I apologize to anyone here for new reviews.

I certainly can promise that by September we'll be up and running as per usual.

In the meantime, I leave you with....

DESTRUCTION!!!!

KAPLOWEE!

DING!

Last week we had the tornado move through my beautiful 'hood of Ditmas Park.

Thought I'd share with you guys some of the better photos I took.

As amazing as art installations can be, nothing can match the destructive power of Mother Nature.

Enjoy, and watch those branches overhead!

Upcoming reviews next week include Part III of my Johnny LeValley trilogy, and my take on performance artist Robert Appleton's "Midnight at the Oasis" one-man show at Dixon Place.

Talk soon!

Dirty Deeders Dash Snow and Dan Colen Not So Snow White at Deitch

2007-08-06T12:30:00.000-04:00

Back in 2004, on a fairly regular basis, Ms. Lamgelina took part in something called the "Antagonist Art Movement," a collection of East Village neerdowells supposedly committed to "art at all costs."

At least that's what they put in their press release and "mission statement."

Needless to say, I found them in the end to be more committed to basement/bathroom/kitchen hijinks with the NY gliterrati rock scene and a certain snow white substance than to "art" by any means.

Each and every Sunday, I would take part in open mic readings, and a shadowy figure would appear in the rafters, taking up residence for the rest of the night in the kitchen.

Sometimes he would put on puppet shows through the plate pick-up window, or shout out a "Cray-zee" one-liner that would leave me in stitches.

He could always sing a good Beatles tune along with the drunken crew, and pick out some notes on the guitar.

This person was Jack Walls, (pictured above in his artist studio by Erik Foss, courtesy http://www.supertouchblog.com/) former Robert Mapplethorpe lover/model, and a true NYC institution.

Eventually I became so comfortable with my status in this boys club as to be the only female allowed in the kitchen to share a certain type of wacky tobaccy with Mr. Walls and friends.

Days later, my namby-pamby ass ended up in the e.r., losing 13 pounds in 6 days, and pretty much retired from that "art scene."

Keeping up with the Joneses is never advisable to a small town goody-goody, especially if the Joneses happen to be the Dash Snows of the world.

It was on that last trip when I remembered a certain long-blond haired scary looking young man tagging along with Mr. Walls, as well as a fellow-lanky pretty boy shaggy-haired trust funder.

Of course, what do you do when the top of the art world also suddenly starts elevating this "scene," and calls it "art."

Fast-forward 3.5 years, and I find that this trio is 2007's newest art world sensations-- Ryan McGinley, Dan Colen and Dash Snow-- who cite Walls as a "muse," or "cultural influence."
Sorry... excuse me for a second as I hold in my laughter.

Mind you, I love Jack-- He's truly awesome in every sense of the word "awesome."
Funny as all get out, intelligent, and gives it as good as it gets.

His demeanor apparently has even been spoofed through Tracy Morgan's legendary skit, "Brian Fellows' Safari Planet" on SNL. (see above stolen image, courtesy of Broadway Video, NBC)

But "artistic muse?" I don't think so.

Debauchery, treachery, and catty-comment brilliance, yes, but modern contemporary art laid claim to him?

Hmm.

Out of the holy trinity of artists listed above, only one of them can truly lay claim to TALENT, let alone superiority (that being the amazing photography of McGinley).

The other two are embarassingly sub-par artists of the variety of "Entourage's" Eric and Turtle.

So upon hearing of the "artistic influence" that Jack has supposedly had on Dash and Dan, I became highly suspicious.

Second bananas to McGinley no more, this week finds reviewers in a tizzy over Snow and Colen's coh... cool... KOH... COLA-BORE-NATION... (sorry, frog in my throat)... I meant "COLLABORATION."

What exactly is this "collaboration?"

Deitch Projects' "Nest" exhibition of Snow and Colen's infamous habit of "nesting," in various hotel rooms from their jet setting across the globe to high-end galleries and art fairs.

It's a fantastic concept when you think about it.

Binge drink in competition with your best buddy, do as many drugs as humanly possible, f*&* as many orifices as possible, piss all over yourself and each other, have other bodily fluids coalesce into a nasty paste, rip up phone books, bibles, or whatever paper you can get your hands on, use a magic marker to tag and trash your hotel room like the S.O.B.s you are, and become so freakin' out of it that you envision you're a "hamster."

Wow.

Deep.

You know what else can be deep?

Frat boys.

Because truth be told, I can find absolutely no separation between the culture Colen and Snow embody than your average University of Michigan hazing ceremony.

One of the historic separations between artists and the "regular population," (i.e., the sorority girls, the frat boys, the establishment), has been the loner, outsider quality of artists; or perhaps, sensitivity of deep thought and commitment to higher values of what art can accomplish.

This exhibit is not only debasing the value of what art is and can be, but through their coat-tailing of McGinley, eventually dragging down the value of his work as well.

Whereas McGinley shows heart and passion for his subjects, and places so much of his work in documenting those closest to him, Colen and Snow appear to be the ones who simply won the lottery in the networking department.

Since when does being the "best friends and roommates" of someone equate with being worthy of top gallery roster addition, let alone solo show?

Mr. Deitch, this is probably your worst show yet.

And I do worship Deitch-- and have long held it high in my regard, even though I know his two spaces go whichever way the youthful wind blows.

But in this case, it's a sad state of affairs.

The only thing it accomplishes is a coronation for these children of wealth and prestige, and gives them more wealth and prestige for doing the least possible work.

Mind you, it wasn't Snow or Colen who shredded 30,000 phone books-- no, it was those "30 volunteers."

The "artists" came late one night, spent their hard-earned drug money, pissed in the corner, laughed, and left.

Then they returned for a second night with more beers, more drugs, and more "creation," because of course they must have been "over budget."

Then they had top djs come in for the celebratory opening, along with a newborn baby girl arrive to Snow's cover girl model girlfriend, whose tiny belly at right on the invite at almost 8 months along says a lot about who these people really are.

This is probably the first exhibit that's really made me angry, but maybe that's what they're hoping to accomplish.

"Let's see just how much we can get away with before they put a stop to it."

Mind you, this is something truly lacking in these boys' lives, because this, after all, is what they are--permanent pre-pubescents who have never been required to grow up, and are being offered a silver platter for debasing space that could be used for much greater good.

Peter Pans out of control, and those in charge are reaping in the benefits of the collective destruction.

In closing, the final summation for these top gallery owners who keep up this charade... seriously, go to a rock show. Go see a real band. No, really.

Because you and I both know what natural milquetoasters most gallery owners, dealers and collectors truly are.

When faced with newbies such as a Snow, or Colen, or whoever, they immediately spring to mind, "This is so cutting-edge. So fashion-obsessed. So new. So ROCK and ROLL."

Spend a night with Rob Pollard of Guided By Voices, or Lee Ranaldo, or perhaps even play some soccer with James circa 1994, or share a beer with Marty Wilson Piper of The Church.

You will understand what rock and roll is really about, and understand a phenomenon called "Poseurs."

Colen and Snow are truly the Fall Out Boys of the art world.

Sadly disappointing, but definitely expected.

For more "cutting-edge" debauchery, go to http://www.deitch.com/

(All images here courtesy of Deitch Projects website, "Nest" exhibition, Dan Colen and Dash Snow, all rights reserved.)

(The opinions expressed above are those of Lamgelinaoly, and Lamgelinaoly alone.)

Banks Violette at Barbara Gladstone

2007-07-29T16:07:00.000-04:00

"No, seriously... How do you really feel about the exhibit?"

Okay, here it is-- my long-awaited Banks Violette review.

I've been tempted to post a photo of a steaming pile of oil-laden excrement juxtaposed on a snow white background backlit in halogen to express my feelings as to this show, but unfortunately, I could not get a shade of shit nearly dark enough to go with the porcelain bowl contrast--Ahem.

So instead, I leave you with the image at left randomly stolen from the internet to voice my displeasure.

Mental anguish + disaffected Scandinavian youth + black and white combinations do not an "art" exhibit make.

Shockingly saturated pigmentation + blinding light+ pseudo-Gregorian chant a-la lo-fi white noise from a fairly poorly executed U.S.-Based via L.A. and NYC drone metal band that specializes in the music of neer-do-well Norwegian youths...add a quarter teaspsoon of crystal meth addiction, call it "cultural documentation" or "artistic IMMERSION"...add a smidgeon of classic good looks with nice tats, a Columbia MFA, mix it all up, and you gots da Violette.

This is not to say that I find the work of Banks (Banks? Really? That's your name? More like Bonds... a la such legendary media manipulators as Barry) Violette-- the current art world sensation because of his back story, and fairly smart as shit business decisions-- personally offensive. He actually is an immensely talented artist, although a bit uninspired to put his OWN heart into his work to add a personal touch.

Instead he copies "things"-- ideas, massive stage sets, Stave church frames, auras, and backgrounds. So, no, in this case, my problem is not with the artist--It's more the fact that the rest of the art world has basically swallowed (not spit,) bent over, and said with no arrow needed-- "Insert here."

I, too, stepped into this exhibit excited for what I was about to experience.

And it's true, Violette has an uncanny ability to definitively set moods and give gallerygoers the opportunity to experience a subculture that it normally would not partake in (i.e., drone metalheads on suicide/murder watch.)

I felt curiously at peace with the low hum throughout the gallery. At the same time, I also felt perplexed and discombobulated-- almost like a sonic boom was pulsing through my veins, and I felt underwater, trapped in a submarine-like vessel, with no cabin pressure.

Is that a body in the corner, or is just dry ice for the fog machine in load dock?

Images of Marshalls and Peaveys dance in my head-- but where are the roadies?

The sound guy must have left his audio board in the case by accident.

Alas, did they miss the van?

At any moment I'm awaiting the exploding drummer, or a dwarf Stonehenge descending from the rafters with Nigel executing a fingertip bleeding riff.

ROCK.

There's a Manson-like obsession with death in the Northern lands, with alcoholism rampant and rates of depression quite unheard of in the West.

24 hours of sunlight in the summer, or 18 hours of darkness for months on end in the winter-- I might be able to understand Darkthrone now.
(see http://www.darkthrone.no to understand)

The music scene of these youths is a chance for them to take part in a collective something; anything, to make connections with the outside-- whether it be the love of ear-splitting levels of high-frequency treble with low-bass modulations or grunts and groans that take on "meaning."

Yes, meaning.

I'd like to know one thing from Mr. Violette... Just what exactly IS the meaning of this exhibit? Where does HIS story fit in with his work? What is it about this subculture that intrigues him?

My main problem with his storytelling is his lack of an ability to critically comment as an insider.

There is no part of the artist given to this work. It is plain observation-mixed with shock value, and at this point, it's troubling to me that so many artists can spoon so easily within each other's work to being indistinguishable from the next.

Steven Parrino, Violette, Gardar Eide Einnnarson-- they really do all look the same.

Also, since when did Team's roster dictate what Barbara Gladstone shows?

I think it's more than okay to be influenced by Dan Flavin, Franz Kline and Ad Reinhardt, but where does the artist deviate from the image in these collective works?

Where is the quote/unquote "individuality," not to harp on this blog's title, but seriously-- where is it?

The recent Flash Art International May '07 edition had Violette and Terrence Koh discussing their work's similarities and raison d'etres.

Whereas Koh seems to know exactly where he's going-- and deviously takes comfort in sharing his blatant whoredom, making no qualms about his motivations-- Violette takes the shy guy routine. He seems to be going about things in a more disconnected manner, letting the pieces "create themselves," for instance.

I'm not buying it. Knowing Violette's personal story of drug addiction (specifically meth, the hardest of all drugs to quit) and conquering the demons he encountered along its dreary path-- whereupon did the substance abuse fall off, and suddenly fluorescent lights, black oozy oils and shiny floors with the purest forms of snow white sea salt converge?

Let's see more in ten years. I'm interested to see where he breaks off from pack mentality and the real artist emerges.

The "show of the summer" can be seen at Barbara Gladstone Gallery on 24th Street until August 17th. This is the one with the SunnO))) "music." I can only describe Mr. SunnO))), Stephen O'Malley, as someone who desperately needs to take a load off and maybe go swimming in the Caribbean.... either that or take a laxative.

If your druthers are of the non-sound variety, you can check out Team's version as well.

http://www.gladstonegallery.com/

http://www.teamgallery.com/

Danielle Lamberti and the resurgence of '80s innocence

2007-07-20T16:55:00.000-04:00

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York-- It certainly doesn't bring the term "artist" much to mind, nor does it bring much of anything to mind other than the best pizza you can find in the tri-state area, the wildest World Cup celebrations, and all the grottos you could ever find in a 1 block radius (I had a friend in college inappropriately term them "Virgin Marys in a bathtub.")

But out of this backdrop emerges a talented artist truly obsessed and quite knowledgeable of 1980s Saturday morning cartoon culture, Danielle Lamberti

(see montage of work at left, including "Shy Me" (in Velma-worthy eyewear).

Danielle's paintings are irreverent reworkings of sentimental faves that us early 30-somethings grew up with, such as Rainbow Brite, Strawberry Shortcake, and the Care Bears.

But there is nothing cute about this imagery, except for the colors and fashion-influenced backdrops.

There is a strangely dark quality beneath her candy-coated pop-culture surface.

Take, for example, the suffocating affection shown by this polar bear, in her work, "Beastiality."

With only one eye visible, the bear is attacking the pretty young thing from behind, and with a title such as this, she is no innocent little lamb, but perhaps a cunning young thing who just happened to get in over her head.

But there's something about the way Lamberti paints the eyes of her characters.

In this case, they seem to have a pleading quality to them-- "Help me," uttered in baby voice or a soft feminity that's far from a shout, but a hoping someone will hear her.

Besides the overt sexuality at play here, there's something else afoot-- specifically a tongue-in-cheek nod to global warming, and perhaps the bikini-clad girl represents humanity enjoying its' fun effects ("Woohoo! Let's go to the beach!"), while the polar bear is literallly swimming for its very survival.

Interesting take on a serious subject, blending a comedic setting with a dramatic flair.

Next, let's try being buried alive with "Dig Me Deeper," below.

Certainly the aspect of that is no "day at the beach."

We all loved taking our pails and shovels to the beach as children and started digging a moat, in hopes of protecting our castle or finding buried treasure.

Our friends are there along with us for the ride-- but every once in a while, we have to give up control, and let the Alphas of the group take over.

In this scenario, it certainly looks like the burial victims are having second-thoughts-- the "digger," in this case, also seems a bit confused as to her next step.

It almost has a sorority-initiation feel to it, or a hazing ritual.

Disturbing-- and those turned-up noses remind me of Miss Piggy mixed with Nancy and Sluggo (always scary cartoon characters).

Here, again, is Mr. Polar Bear with his BFF, in "Shrug if Off."

Truly he's Bella Karolyi, egging his young protege onwards, ever onwards.

(Now everybody, in your best Eastern European accent, "You can do it, Kerri!")

But again, I'm not sure about how the girl feels about his over-obsessive tendencies.

He's like the jealous boyfriend who keeps calling to check in on your whereabouts and will kick any guys' ass who looks at you.

Truly creepy polar bear!

I'm including a few more images, just for their sheer beauty of color and depth.

I like how Lamberti has made these works with such high gloss, giving them an oil-based quality, but each of the works displayed here are all acrylic.

She has an unusual style, and utilizes texture and depth much more effectively than the standard Superflats of Murakami and his Anime/Manga disciples.

The show, entitled "The Rainbow Room," is up through August 4th at Merge Gallery, an adorable little gallery space located in the heart of Chelsea.

Owner Cass Zielinski has a great enthusiasm for his artists and his space and definitely stopping in was a highlight of my afternoon.

Merge makes it a priority to highlight the work of some very interesting emerging artists.

Definitely check them out, and while you're at it, have a coffee at the equally fantastic Cafe Grumpy across the street-- it's a definite afternoon of enjoyment and fun.

http://www.mergegallery.com/

205 West 20th Street New York.

Hours: Tuesday through Saturday 11-6pm.

More sad polar bears and fun below... Enjoy!

"The Color Line" at Jack Shainman Gallery

2007-07-17T19:36:00.000-04:00

Listen closely...

What do you hear?

That sound you hear is the crackling of cash; of bank accounts getting fatter and fatter with the sales of young, white 20-30 somethings with fine pedigrees, some prodigies, and so few sans master degrees in today's global art market.

Besides the financial benefits globalization has provided, it also has provided the side-effect of giving a voice to those who previously have been rarely heard.

A fine example of art's power as cultural statement is currently on display at Jack Shainman Gallery.

Curated by Nigerian-born artist Odili Donald Odita, this is truly one of the most heart-wrenching exhibits I could ever imagine.

("Soundsuit" at left by artist Nick Cave with Mario Cravo Neto's photography in background)

And given the fact that so much of the art world is too busy over the summer vacationing in the Hamptons, or checking out the corpulent mess that is the European biennials, here is a show that may go unnoticed.

But in no uncertain terms should it be overlooked or missed-- this is the strongest work I have seen to date in 2007.

Capitalism's reign over modern society has taken a chokehold, and left many by the wayside, especially the population of the African continent.

With the timetable of Western colonization now going back through several centuries, our attention spans seem to be held for only so long; After all, there are only so many tales of starvation, of famine, genocide, female mutilation, cultural obliteration and religious manipulation that we can handle, right? Wrong.

While the art world's own corporate profits continue their upward track, how many faces of color will be able to break through the color barrier to share in the profits?

Not only is there a glass ceiling, but the current art collector or gallerist is far from color-blind.

Just looking at the rosters of each of the top galleries, it's rare to see a face that looks physically different from the rest.

Of course not only do top galleries ignore the work of artists of color, but there are few opportunities in many of these countries for those with artistic bents to be able to develop their talents, given the daily struggle for mere survival being a top priority.

Taking this into account is an astonishingly harsh dose of reality by Dutch artist Christiaan Bastiaans, "Korper Zur Beobachtungsstation II," from 2004.

As the conflict in Darfur continues to rage, we're faced with the doomsday scenario of an entire nation, as our leaders continually turn their backs to focus on more important issues-- 2008 campaign fundraising, or Paris Hilton's lack of underpants, for instance.

This work by Bastiaans shows us that these victims are anonymous to us here in the west; a shroud covering them up-- the dirty, the unclean; they are modern lepers, if you will.

It certainly is a difficult image to look at for too long, but this is reality at its most powerful.

A society whose only guilt has been to find themselves in the wrong country at the wrong time in history-- a time of the Janjaweed running rampant, with a world willing to turn its back as the genocide continues to rage on.

Brilliant piece.

Another great work is at left by Surianmese-Dutch artist Remy Jungerman, "Nobody is Protected," from 2000.

It focuses directly on world media, and individual cultures' interpretation of the message.

Currently all the world is a stage-- here the setting is a press conference-- with a multitude of microphones awaiting a leader who perhaps is late, or unwilling to speak.

The shoddy makeup of the wooden platform emphasizes our own questioning of society at hand.

Will we continue to accept what images are thrown to us-- given the nature of pr's influence on our nightly news?

I like how the wires just lay in a pile at the front-- awaiting to be sorted out one by one.

It's definitely speaking to methods of communication-- are they effective, and how does each society interpret their own "sources"?

At right, "Stay Black and Die," from the series "Things I Need to do."

Artist Rashid Johnson is posing quite an intense question-- Is being born black a death sentence?

As AIDS continues to ravage a cash-strapped continent in desperate need of salvation, can identity of color literally mean a choice between life and death?

Assimilate, and you will survive.

Stay "black," and in this case, you will perish.

Issues of race identity boil to the surface here.

Is being what we commonly perceive as black merely a skin color, or a choice?

Is Johnson commenting on the phenomenon of the Uncle Toms and Condoleezas of the world, if you will-- who become part of the white man's world, and achieve quote/unquote "success."

Stay in the ghetto, and you shall die by the sword?

A tough question, with no easy answers.

http://www.jackshainman.com/

The exhibit runs until August 3rd at 513 West 20th Street.

Empty stomachs in the ghost town that is Chelsea

2007-07-15T11:10:00.000-04:00

Since the entire art world has pretty much abandoned their weekend hours for the next month and a half, I thought I'd show a fairly often visited location in the Chelsea art scene.

It's value is far under-appreciated.

Yes, I'm talking about the Kwik Farms gas station/convenience store.

Since the city of New York and the developers who have overtaken Chelsea have decided that we continuously need more galleries and more living space, but apparently do not need FOOD, this is where we buy our iced teas, our sodas, our emergency gallery toilet paper supply and snacks.

After all, Prada doesn't make a size 12--Who needs to eat?

In all actuality, we really only have Bottino's as an actual take-out lunch option.

Everywhere else is sit-down.

For every "commercial space available" advertisement I see on the cross streets, I cross my fingers with anticipation-- maybe... just maybe... a coffee shop???

How about a bagel place?

I mean... crap... even a STARBUCK'S?????

Do I ask too much?

Of course the same holds true for many other areas-- Long Island City, for example.

Realtors and developers clamor for space-- then the new residents move in, but there's nowhere to shop, to eat, to LIVE.

District zoning is fine-- but why is it that NYC has to cluster everything in one area-- i.e., galleries must be in Chelsea, Indian food can only be found from Park-Lexington, 26th-29th streets, retail clothing stores must be on 5th Avenue?

Barry Hoggard and James Wagner were mentioning the other day on their blogs regarding an added benefit to an opening in the Lower East Side... "at least there's places for us to eat."

Wouldn't that be nice?

All they have to do is build one take-out eatery and I promise you us gallery workers and artsy types will patronize your establishment.

Oh, and need I say how convenient it could be for those with art blogs to have a location other than the cave that is Chelsea Market to write in? I promise I'll buy a coffee to usurp your bandwidth.

And don't forget your wasted 27th Street club hoppers-- they need food to absorb the alcohol STAT.

But please hurry-- I'm starting to feel like Britney Spears with all her gas station visits (but of course I wear shoes).

Oh, and here's the 100% abandoned 24th Street yesterday.

Banks Violette exhibit, I guess I will have to wait for thee....

Probably no greater tribute to the artistic spirit...

2007-07-11T15:37:00.001-04:00

A lot of times artists are thought of as innovative, fearless, or just plain crazy.

Well, in this case, I think plain batshit crazy is the word for it.

Perhaps including commentary on an armchair ballooning afficionado is a bit outside of my usual Chelsea/New York art blog realm, but I can't resist reposting this story from ABC News.

This has to be my favorite story in years a la Darwin Awards Hall of Fame material.

Below is the story, but here's a link from Cluster Balooners for "If you want to try this at home."

Fly high at your own risk!

http://www.clusterballoon.org/

From ABC News...

July 11, 2007

When the mischievous children's book monkey Curious George wanted a lift, he simply grabbed onto a bunch of brightly colored balloons and sailed away.In real life, an Oregon man has followed his lead — and added a lawn chair.

Kent Couch traveled nearly 200 miles and more than nine hours in such a contraption Saturday, with little more than a pair of sunglasses, a radio and a parachute at his side.

He attached more than 100 helium-filled balloons to his lawn chair and took off from his gas station in Bend, Ore."

It was serene, just like you're on top of a cloud laying there," Couch said on "Good Morning America" today. "

It was just like being on ice, nice and smooth."

Couch traveled as high as 13,000 feet as he floated eastward toward his intended destination of Idaho.

He said he heard cattle and children as he drifted among the clouds, using water jugs to control his altitude.

This fanciful odyssey had an inspiration: Couch had once seen a television show about how such a feat could be accomplished.

The episode was inspired by Larry "Lawn Chair" Walters, who floated over Los Angeles using weather balloons in 1982.

Couch and his supplies weighed about 310 pounds, and each balloon weighed about 5 pounds.
He used approximately 200 pounds of ballast to keep him anchored at the appropriate altitude.

Couch's wife, Susan, and friends helped him build the flying lawn chair."

I was terrified, but I was being supportive," Susan said.
"I know once something gets in his mind he's not going to forget it."

But it wasn't all smooth sailing.

The 47-year-old said just when he began to question what he was doing, the makeshift aircraft ran into turbulence.

Couch touched down in a field near Union, Ore., not quite making it to his Idaho target.

The father of five said he would love to take his lawn chair for another flight, this time ending in Idaho.

But, he said he is unsure whether his wife would allow him to do so — helium-filled balloons, in turns out, are very expensive.

Mike Erickson and Jason Coates

2007-07-06T11:00:00.000-04:00

Currently on view at Denise Bibro Fine Art, Virginia Commonwealth University's MFA program, "So Inclined."

I'm including the work of my 2 favorites-- Mike Erickson's "Angry Little Watering Can," and Jason Coates', "Corn."

The little tyrant is certainly shaking his fist in the air with all his might-- rebelling at the world around him, along with his masked guerilla face.

(I'm including another "little tyrant" of history below in same pose...)

He's a gardener of domestic bliss, perhaps a Martha Stewart after prison... mad as hell and he's not going to take it anymore!!!

It's certainly without a doubt that these two artists share a unique sense of humor and perspective.

It's also even better to find that both of their studios were directly across from each other.

I must say that it's very interesting when you see how schools of thought influence each other-- in this case, a sarcasm and wit unlike many-- How often do you see an exhibit that makes you break out in laughter?

Not very often.

Coates' Corn Amry of pissed off kernels jumps out at you right away-- though I have to say they might be under the influence a tad-- based on their blurry eyes and angled husks reaching out almost as if they were bayonettes.

Perhaps its all the farm subsidies that they're getting mad at, or the pesticides used on them-- "Give us organic or death!"

These two are destined for greatness in the future.

The exhibit is up until July 14th.

http://www.denisebibrofineart.com/

529 West 20th Street, 4th Floor.

Just two days left-- hurry for Tobias Putrih exhibit

2007-06-27T17:37:00.000-04:00

Been a hugely busy past couple of weeks.

The six-day, dual career work week has been lulling me into complacency as of late for reviewing time, but soon I will be having some nice new imagery/reviews up in the next coming weeks.

Summer always gives us a nice opportunity to check out that field known as "emerging" artists, or the new guard, or youth troops; group shows; tributes; and the dreaded "group show," a.k.a., "Filler."

But before we delve into the depths of summer, summer, summertime... let's reflect on master wood draftsman Tobias Putrih.

Much in the way of an Ikea do-it-yourself project gone horribly awry, or the classic link-in-log sets you used to play with as a child, Putrih has taken over the window of Max Protetch Gallery.

Even though previously I discussed the Yue Minjun exhibit, the Putrih piece is NOT to be overlooked in the Project Space.

I love how the formation takes on a life of its own-- kind of a living being, a Burning Man for indoors, a plywood behemoth brought to life.

Minimalism at a crossroads with the power of mathematical combinations.

Which shapes or forms can you construct?

Too inumerable to count!

I also find that it's also a nice take on consumerism-- because once you buy one piece, you'll need more to complete the project, the quote/unquote "vision."

Just be careful-- you know how cheaply made those prefab furniture sets are.

This is only up until Friday the 29th-- HURRY!

www.maxprotetch.com

Janaina Tschape at Sikkema Jenkins & Co.

2007-06-15T17:13:00.000-04:00

One of my current favorite shows right now is Janaina Tschape at Sikkema Jenkins & Co.

Her work brings to mind sea-like organisms tossed amidst luxurious fabrics and organic formations, such as a jungle in a strange land inaccessible to the human touch except through the subconscious realm.

Each of Ms. Tschape's abstracted works tend to be nature-focused in their makeup.

Take for instance, the honeycombing effect so prevalent in her backgrounds.

With "Cosmicomics," the work at right--I cannot help but be reminded of hollow seed shells left tumbling by the roadside in the backwoods of Vermont.

Compare the intricacies here to a natural rock erosion formation in New Zealand at left.

(Picture courtesy of motheater2 on Flickr.)

The strong color saturations bring to mind the earlier works of Inka Essenhigh-- 2001's in particular, with its Walt Disney-fied blue hues.

I also cannot help but look at this work at right and see an instantaneous recognition of the tentacles of jellyfish or sea anemonies reaching out through the kelp gardens.

Sometimes nature can be found in the most surprising of places-- even in a show that states "accidents, blots or splashes are problems to be fixed, made coherent by instinctive aesthetic judgment."

(at least according to the press release)

Yet looking at the work at right, "Early Afternoon," compared with the image below, I cannot help but see many similarities.

There is a beautiful motion to her work-- soft, flowing out from center, much in the way the group of delicate sea creatures untangle themselves from their underwater gardens.

My favorite work is below, "Thicket."

I wouldn't find Bambi here... more likely an anaconda-- Tarzan lost amidst so much modern complexity.

The show will be up through June 23rd at Sikkema Jenkins & Co., 530 West 22nd Street.

http://www.sikkemajenkinsco.com/

http://www.janainatschape.net/

(Tschape's Images courtesy of Sikkema Jenkins & Co.)

Andreas Gursky at Matthew Marks

2007-06-14T18:54:00.000-04:00

German ingenuity.
Scale + focus outside the body + mass + frigid cold =
Andreas Gursky

I'm less inclined to talk about the work at right than to highlight the person in front of it.

Let's just say with my camera I can prove to be a dangerous reviewer.

If not for my Canon Powershot's songbird chirping introduction, I'd most likely never be discovered by galleries with my stealth habit of snapping away.

Perhaps this is unethical of me-- especially since I'm posting the image of this person at right without his knowledge-- but what the hell, I'm going for it anyway.

Even though the current Gursky exhibit seems to not be causing much of a stir in the art review world (tepid, at best)-- again, as I always say, the measure of success for an artist is not always necessarily in a thumbs-up or thumbs-down from Holland Cotter, but more along the lines of, "How long does the viewer linger?"

In this case, the man at right (in perfect "David" pose here, might I add) lingered a good three minutes-plus in front of the work.

To me, that's a success.

Here's some more imagery-- I know for many it is a "been there, done that" issue being the biggest connection problem for Gursky and his audience.

Seriously-- he's done so much-- what else is left?

I have purposely left out the Formula One racing photo that's been highlighted so much in the press with the blonde in the short-shorts, the brunette model at the back, and the press corps with bulbs-a-popping crowding above pit row.

I felt it added absolutely nothing to this show whatsoever, and was more or less a Gursky-by-the-way-of-LaChapelle image-conscious piece of B.S. (wait... soooo how do I really feel about that piece?)

Marks' back room housed Gursky's aerial photos of the South Pacific.

They are quite nice, giving an immediacy with the viewer-- convincing me to believe I was in a hospital setting--perhaps a "Footprints in the Sand" poster was lurking nearby.

Gursky's German ingenuity is once again at hand here--- cold, ice cold, even with Tropicalia in close grasp.

Now I know that I denegrate art descriptions to many base terms quite often here at Lamgelina.

Perhaps it's my lack of a propert art educational background, or my not giving a shit when it comes to big words a la "The Brooklyn Rail"-- seriously, you guys put me to sleep with the academia talk-- but the work at left looks exactly like the chocolate marble cake my grandma used to make.

And if art can make me hungry for cake and let me eat it, too, well, then-- I ain't complaining.

(big word alert here for some "big" art)

"Schadenfreude" be damned.

http://www.matthewmarks.com/

Exhibit is up through June 30th.

The "Happy Buddha" himself, Yue Minjun

2007-06-05T18:14:00.000-04:00

There's something to be said for an embrace of humor.

A smile can say many things.

Artist Yue Minjun (at left) has been doing his sort of self-portrait/tongue-in-cheek portrayal of modern day China through his Post-Tiananmen Square filter for over a decade now.

You will see advertisements for his work continuously in ArtNews, Artforum, FlashArt International, etc..

In fact, I cannot think of an issue I've purchased in the past 12 months that has not featured a gallery or international fair highlighting his works.

Since the early 1990s, Minjun has had this smiling figure at the center of his work-- whether in his paintings or installation work.

Looking at the makeup of this particular group of multiples-- hands clasped tightly together with outstretched arms--I cannot help but think of the solitary figure standing up to the tank in the legendary photo from the student uprising.

Perhaps Minjun's commentary here is that there truly is "strength in numbers."

But upon closer look at his version of the Terra-Cotta Army, you can see subtle differences at play.

Are those hands clasped together in defiance, or celebration??

Perhaps they really are showcasing a newfound freedom in the undercurrents of the invasion of capitalism-- look closely at the denim jeans each "soldier" here is wearing.

After all, in a good stretch, "taking a breather," you can visualize yourself leaning back, arms outstretched, palms expanding and feeling a true sense of peace.

Of course, laughter can bely other elements beneath the surface-- the phrase, "Laughing all the way to the cleaners" comes to mind.

Minjun's work does not sell for peanuts, after all.

The societal implications of "cultural revolution" in 2007 are quite different for modern-day China and its contemporary artists, especially with the out-of-control market at hand.

These terra-cotta warriors will not be buried in hiding for a millenia with an emperor, but most likely held in vast art storage facilities as the $ value continues to expand.

Interesting take on history in the making.

The Minjun show is up through June 23rd at Max Protetch on 22nd Street.

http://www.maxprotetch.com/

All images courtesy of Max Protetch Gallery, Chelsea

Mayhem... Someone Trashed Barbara Gladstone Gallery... and she's fine with it!!

2007-06-01T16:54:00.000-04:00

"Arte-junk-era"... my new terminology of cutting-edge trust fund "artists" who specialize in the 'junking of gallery space'.

Where do I begin?

Okay, so I remember last year my first education in the new "gang of cool"-- Banks Violette's opening night at Bortolami Dayan Gallery.

I waded through the sea of Karen O. look-a-likes desperately searching for some air.

No, seriously-- Not only did this humid July night gallery opening reek of body odor, but also the smell of poseur-- As Dolores O'Riordan said so succinctly back in the early '90s... it "lingers," truthfully.

Today, amidst the ranks of the Violettes, Kohs, McGinleys, Snows, et. al, you can really get lost in the glory and glamour of it all.

Youth run amock, making a statement... but just what IS the statement other than pure eye candy?

I have many of the non-art "regular folk" I interact with on a regular basis question my taste in contemporary art.

(for instance, why do I find the "Ellie Fart" image at right to be worthy of posting?)

In fact, just the other day, my darling 19-year-old intern came up to me and said, "I love art. I'm going to own a gallery someday. But I can't stand this whole... 'Let me wipe my ass in some white paint, shit on a canvas, smear it in by rubbing real hard and calling it art.'"

Chick's got quite a point there-- and I don't even think she's seen the Koh exhibit at MoMa.

I also find the whole "collaborative" effort thing to be a bit tired as well as of late.

Something about today's profit-geared system makes partnering with your competition feel forced, as if it's "expected," but something the participants are certainly not enjoying.

And so we come to Kai Althoff and Nick Z.'s takeover of Barbara Gladstone's 24th Street headquarters.

Mind you, Barbara is probably used to it by now, given her regular roster of the cutting-edge.

But this exhibit truly IS all over the place-- literally, and figuratively.

There can be such a thing as "too much."

First, let's start with the floor-- a tacky teal insulation rubber foam that's been brought in and topped at some points with junk throw rugs (yes, the kind you'll find in East New York for sale in exchange for crack money).

Interesting juxtaposition-- sealing the exquisite shiny concrete polished floors with things that are not pretty-- I get it. "Bring in the ugly."

Then, the overly tired references to childhood.

Scattered throughout the gallery are memories of our kid years-- certainly the plasticeen 1980s come to mind-- mini-shopping carts with trikes for the tykes.

Video projects on the walls-- small paintings-- small thoughts-- cartoon objects-- then, at the entrance, the well-made graffiti standard of Nick Z.-- a tag that I'll need for my friend Kezam to decipher.

Well-painted, as a three-dimensional standard tag with the usual blues, greens and purples of eye-catching local art, but having seemingly nothing to do with each other.

If I wanted this, I'd go to 5Pointz in Long Island City any day to see this type of art.

Moving on-- we have our sturdy "fort" built with rubber throway panels, a few broken fans, a tarp of unknown filthy dirty fabric.

Does this illustrate the nature of parental protection-- or is our place to hide from reality of the grown-up world?

Unsure.

Certainly the most striking of all the assembled objects of this show is the broken wall hanging in limbo imagery.

Looking as if Optimus Prime himself came barrelling in unobstructed, this is by far the biggest strength of the exhibit.

It certainly could also reference "Enter Sandman" at any point as well.

All the cutesy "Elliefart" Post-Its in the world can't add up to the power of this single work.

I look at this and I think of the wall as the "establishment", and the artists' breaking down of barriers (what little there are left).

Breathtaking, if you ask me.

Truly, if the pieces in the show would have more storylines connecting them to each other, the exhibit would have been far more powerful.

Unfortunately, this is a Ritalin nightmare waiting to happen.

Just like a play-date that's been extended too long, Ms. Gladstone should have put her foot down at the 25-cent cigarette jar at the assistants' counter and offered Dum-Dums instead.

I also have to say that this exhibit is kind of risk-based, especially if you are one of a clumsy nature.

The lighting is very dark in places, so be careful where you step-- seriously, there's stuff everywhere in parts of the gallery that you least expect to jump over!

Althoff and Z might be "better friends for it," but I don't know how much the gallery workers will be happy with the clean-up of this nightmare.

Gotta love artists.

I'd give you a link, but there aren't any images up on the site right now.

So sue me for using mine.

Enjoy!

All images courtesy of Barbara Gladstone Gallery, Chelsea, New York, NY--

Kai Althoff and Nick Z "We are better friends for it."

The Rise of Optical Art: Ricci Albenda at Andrew Kreps

2007-05-30T18:27:00.000-04:00

It wasn't too long ago I had my first close-encounter with "Op-Art" in the form of sculptor Robert Lazzarini "skulls" at the Whitney's "Bitstreams" exhibition in 2001.
(image at left taken from Pierogi 2000, all rights reserved)

I was taken aback by the strange carving that lay before my eyes, making me think that I either had accidentally consumed some peyote, or the brain tumor behind my right eye was REALLY starting to grow unimpeded.

Taking the last few years into account, Mr. Lazzarini has made a nice mark for himself in the realm of contemporary art.

But more importantly, it's opened new doors for other artists playing with visual perception-- including my own current personal fave, Brooklyn's own Ricci Albenda.

Albenda's work is truly stunning in its mastership of optical trickery.

Are his pieces caving in or pushing out?
Is this recessed or jutting forward?

I like to stand in front of Ricci's pieces taking in the subtle transitional shadings between each variant of brilliant white.

It really can give one a splitting headache at times-- kind of like a Bridget Riley work, except with full-fledged three-dimensionality coming into play.

For this show at Andrew Kreps, Albenda takes some of his recent mural work experience (including a great piece in Chicago) and transforms an entire wall of the gallery into a tromp l'eoil fantasy.

Where does visual perception begin and end?

Can we adjust ourselves to our surroundings by literally transforming the background into a different dimension?

I like how these works differ from his usual more phallic imagery, (along with a sort of sunken-in fortune-cookie shape).

This time around, I feel as if Albenda is taking into account a gamer's world-- each solid geometric form, each hallway could be a background right out of "Final Fantasy."

I can just see the running valiant soldier hiding behind one of the walls while he waits to go into the next room.

It certainly also takes imbedded cultural imagery, such as "2001: A Space Odyssey" final scenes, into account.

But the use of the blinding white in Albenda's pieces makes it more than just about gradient shading, or turning corners into hidden lairs-- it's more of a gradual increase as the eye moves from left to right in each image.

Albenda's piece included in the Fall 2006 new Boston Insitute of Contemporary Art's "Supervision" exhibition was marred by a cramped space-- too much artwork in not enough square footage.

I felt he had to battle it out with the Kapoors and Hatoum pieces just to get attention-- even though his piece was by far the best in show.

I think Albenda's work is much more suited to a larger, open space such as the special dual room built for the Kreps show.

Take in the close-ups here.

The show will be up until June 16th, 2007.

For more, go to http://www.andrewkreps.com/

28 Days Later for Jerry's Kids

2007-05-20T17:31:00.000-04:00

For the past month or so, out of sheer force of habit, I've kept getting my weekly copy of The Village Voice with the knowledge of, "Hello!! You know he's no longer there. Why are you still getting this rag?"

I think I've been unable to come to terms that my free midweek treat is no longer there to accompany my sushi dinners on 17th street.

So truth be told, as of this afternoon, (it's been a bit of a holy grail quest for me over the past few weeks-- with each newsstand and store having NO COPIES) I picked up my week-old copy of New York Magazine for one reason-- to see venerable art critic Jerry Saltz's work.

(Jerry checking out the tunes photo at right credited to http://www.uudam.net/)

Since Saltz departed the Voice's key reviewer position for his April 2007 magazine launch, I find it kind of humorous that I have fallen victim to such standard marketing science-- that an audience always follows wherever the star ends up.

But I must say, also out of loyalty, I've kept reading the Voice.

But truly the Voice has never felt so dead than it has in the past month and a half since Saltz's departure.

It's like his immense shoes to fill might have been proven irreplaceable.

Each of the reviews since have been truly uninspiring.

I find that they are now tending for the more "uptown" or museum shows, or a bit more conservative.

So the $3 per issue of New York might be worth it-- Saltz already nailed the Ririkrit Tiravanija/Matta-Clark exhibit at David Zwirner last week.

(My own review of that show has been forthcoming for over a month now-- a mixed bag, I originally thought, but Saltz once again is able through persuasion to make me rethink my own opinions with his keen eye, utilizing the multiple layers of experience he possesses.)

So what does Saltz's move mean in the long-term for the Voice?

Less out-of-the-way galleries to be given the spotlight?
Female artists highlighted in decreasing numbers?
Critical market demand no longer balanced with artistic credibility?

I think it remains unclear, given the fact art readership probably doesn't play nearly as an important a role as I'd like to think it does in circulation.

But it will be interesting to see how it affects New York Magazine's own reputation and readership in the upcoming months.

I've always thought of New York as a bit highbrow; concerned more with the fashionista socialite sect than the downtown crew.

I had my own Saltz close encounter not too long ago-- being that I was the last human being allowed in to the Warhol retrospective at Gagosian not too long ago.

There was Jerry getting a private tour right next to me.

I watched how he examined each work, noting his 100% attention to the task at hand.
His bespectacled eyes never deviated from the large-scale works hovering above his tiny frame.

My weeks without Jerry in this interim period have been boring indeed.
It felt nice to have an old love back in my paws.

Cheers to NY Mag for seeking out the world's best.

Bring it on, Jerry.

Sex Cells at 49 Grove

2007-05-16T17:41:00.000-04:00

There's a certain element to NYC's club scene I've always found to be disingenuous.

Perhaps it comes from my own firsthand experience in the club world as a youngster that has soured me to the mixed drinks, the dark lights, the velvet ropes, the kohl-lined gamin street urchins and silky fabrics.

I'm not one much to venture out for much of anything these days except for the occassional quick gallery peek, or milk and cereal at the store.

So I do declare that at 49 Grove I was a true fish out of water.

I mean, this is the kind of place where you'd most likely encounter Sienna Miller on a back banquette sipping a Vodka Campari w/grapefruit with a Swedish fish at the bottom.

Most likely your dj would be James Iha, or someone even less accessible.

The Sean Lennons and Bijou Phillips of the world all unite under one roof.

So I didn't stay for long, but truth be told, I didn't come for the drinks-- $10 for a really bad chardonnay.

I came (but of course) for the art.
My tense of "come" here, to be fair, is a play on words, for the title of this show--
"Sex Cells"-- is tongue-in-cheek at best, but overall the exhibit is jarred by being woefully undersold in presentation.

A mix of some fine female photographers focusing on the feminine mystique are at the forefront.
Unfortunately, I felt the exhibit doesn't match its surroundings.

The club is all about a celebration of the now, the luxxxe, confidence, extravagance... and definitely having FUN.

The exhibit's finest pieces are in truly dark direct contrast-- a red alert of what happens to naughty little girls and the jarring consequences of being "bad."

In this case, excuse my manhandling of a Pete Yorn album title, it's truly "Music for the Morning After... PILL."

Let's start with the tragic hero of Sebrina Fassbender.

The beautiful redhead in her works signifies such pain and desperation; a last resort; a final cry for help.

I don't think anyone can relate unless they, too, have ended up on a bathroom floor.

The cold porcelain brushing against your skin is a harsh wakeup to reality at hand.

Sebrina tends to specialize in work that displays junkies' sad fate.

Not only do I feel for this girl-- her cascadingly thick hair clumping together while she holds her face in her hands-- but I also can relate to her isolation.

Yes, too much self-reflection can warp a critique, but I find that I'm able to relate best to work that focuses on soul-searching based only on what time can provide-- distance and experience.

"Ding-dong the witch is dead"-- her ruby red slippers and legs in the forefront here are corpse-like.

No munchkins in sight-- but I'm sure towards the end of the night there was dancing.

The Wizard behind the curtain, Johnny LeValley and his Dorothy, Ksenia Hovden, (both of my previous reviewed Le Jungle Gallery Fame) do a great job again with showcasing artists not afraid to take risks.

Yana Toyber is unique in her focus.

Her work feels like an intimate look inside the boudoir of Madame Bovary.

It's amazing that context can influence perception to such a great degree.

Who's to say this woman isn't just a housewife having fun playing dress-up, but the maturity she possesses, the confidence in her sexuality as she brushes her hair showcases she's up for a night she might want to forget.

I can't be certain of the age of the model at hand, but she seems more "experienced," shall we say.

Great piece.

Next, Fumi Nagasaka.

Ms. Nagasaka is a world traveler who spotlights the fashion industry.

Here, she removes elements of glamour and focuses on serenity and peace.

I like how the girl here seems so removed from everything in her dream state.

Her gloriously perfect skin is in direct contrast to the hard-living club scene.
Of course, once again, this could be the day after a night out.

Much as a parent looks with devotion upon their child, so, too, the viewer is pulled in by this photo.

I find myself truly caring for this girl-- worrying if she's okay.

Who will be there for her when she wakes up?

It's something to think about, and I like how Nagasaka uses narrative to tell an untold story.
Beautiful.

Finally, Tracey Anopolous, an NYU student.

Gothic beauty-- a bit of Coco Chanel mixed in with some Siouxie Sioux.

I actually don't find this image here to be sexual in the least.

The makeup is great-- theatrical, stagelike, and runway ready.

But I can't say that this image is developed as much as I find the other photographers' work

Perhaps Ms. Anopolous is showing her age here-- but I think she'll do fine work in the future with more career development and focus.

Overall, once again, a delightful creative forray by Hovden and LeValley.

Unfortunately, I don't think a club atmosphere suits this exhibit as well as a gallery would, for one big factor-- lighting.

I noticed other patrons struggling to view the works just as much as I did.

The only light came from my Powershot's far too strong flash-- I apologize immensely for the image quality here.

In a sense, I felt the club was undervaluing the art at hand-- pushing the drinks and atmosphere before creativity.

It will be interesting to see how subsequent shows might go at 49 Grove, but this initial visit might have spoiled it for me.

Back to my cave of solitude I go.

To view some more great work of the artists above, please go to:

http://www.yanatoyber.com/

and

http://www.fuminagasaka.com/

Myung-Ock Lim at Denise Bibro Fine Art

2007-05-11T15:31:00.000-04:00

Much has been discussed recently on the rise of the international art market.

In many cases, currently we're dealing with a futures market, with investors heavily trading on (hope against hope,) that the work at hand will increase tenfold.

Unfortunately, in many cases most of the newer collectors are speculative at best.

That's why when I evaluate an artist-- I take into account more than just the current work at hand, but look for a gradual career progression and most important of all-- master craftsmanship.

Whether a sculptor, painter, or installation artist, there must be proof in the pudding.

I believe that with age comes expertise.

I also have found that upon numerous viewings, Korea is stepping up with almost unmatched talent.

With this thought process in mind, I come to my newest review, Korean artist Myung-Ock Lim's modernistic take on light, space and technology.

The minimialist exhibit "A Living Being" at Denise Bibro Fine Art represents her own take on life and its many elements through "filtering."

In this case "filtering" is experience through light.

The artist's belief is that life is made up of many parts that become whole.

In much the same way, Lim's works reflect this structure.

Within each of her sculptures, the individual glass plates are hand-painted in varying degrees of gradient color.

Each work--with their majestic arching of angles-- comes to signify something particular.

Dimensions are all variable; each work taking on a new and different meaning, and reflection.

When light hits each work, filtering through the multiples panes, it forms a prism-like effect-- reflecting back upon the viewer.

In her artist statement, Myung states she is fascinated with inner peace and solace-- and wishes to translate that to the viewer through her work.

The shapes are stunningly simplistic in their geometric makeup-- much in the way you look at the clear-cut lines of Fred Sandback or Donald Judd.

But there is the added benefit of the works being on a much more human-scale that some of Judd's greatest works.

I like also how the display shelves or pedestals are clear-- enabling the work to be viewed from mutiple angles-- within each framework exists a different piece.

Multiples pieces together as one.

The exhibit runs until June 9, 2007.

For more info, go to:

www.denisebibrofineart.com

Karina Wisniewska at Sara Tecchia-Roma

2007-05-02T18:14:00.000-04:00

There's a song callled "Simplicity is Beautiful" on the great Juliana Hatfield cd, "Only Everything."

You can also apply these very words to painting as well.

Most of the time I find with so many artists that they take on the personas of court jesters-- doing anything and everything just to get your attention.

It's similar to what happens when you walk into a daycare.

Upon entrance you're greeted with cartwheels, frantic jumping up and down; performers ALL-- "Look at me! Watch me! See what I can do?"

But more often than not, the best artist is the shy kid in the back, fingers deeply stuck in the paste, eyes focused on the work at hand.

The artist currently on display at Sara Tecchia-Roma Gallery on West 20th Street has mastered the power of understatement.

Form, line and color all play a direct role in the success of Karina Wisniewska.

But what makes Wisniewska's work different from plain minimalism is the addition she adds--quartz sand-- which forms new pathways through her works, branching out in so many different fabulous directions.

Rather than a distraction, it is a perfect complement.

It calls to mind memories of the intricacies of chocolate truffles in the display case, perhaps; or luxurious wedding napkin designs at the finest boutiques.

I find that each work highlights magnification as well.

Looking closely, you might see the make up of fabric, almost like linen fibers under a microscope.

There's a familiar grid pattern; organizing, categorization, overlay, framework!

Much in the way a tennis racket's gut strings can be manipulated to and fro with your fingers, I see the pathways she was taking to get her work to this point.

The show runs until May 26th.

www.saratecchia.com

Modern Cubism and Mark Napier

2007-04-26T17:30:00.000-04:00

In Graham Greene's legendary short story, "The Destructors," a group of neerdowell pre-teen boys set off upon the task of taking Mr. Thomas' (aka Old Misery) 200-year-old home, a Sir Christopher Wren masterpiece-- the sole neighborhood survivor of the Nazi blitz-- and obliterating it piece by piece, making it a shell of its former self.

In a sense, you could say that they were junior Matta-Clarks awaiting their "slicing" moment, but instead taking the weakest portions of the frame structure, destabilizing it, and then like a grand piano falling down a staircase, bring it down in an enormous collapse.

Post-9/11 America is self-destructing in a piecemeal fashion, too-- layers upon layers are newly revealed.

And so, too, in this way Mark Napier's digital art is breaking new artistic boundaries.

It is impossible to look at his take on the Empire State building and not think of that fateful day.

Napier makes it appear to painstakingly collapse upon itself in quite the standard cubist manner.

And with 9/11 at the back of our memories, any exhibit combining imagery of massive architecture and deconstruction brings to mind many painful thoughts.

The building seems to take on a human elemental form-- the fleshy and earth-toned colors; a kind of homosapien skin peeling away and showcasing the Pennsylvania steel underlayers in mirrored stained glass fragmentation.

Much in the way of a Georges Braque, Napier is a genius at creating new visions of hard forms.

The building, in this case, is the nude descending a staircase.

The stately obelisk suddenly feels like a deflated balloon-- in pure motion with the wind, or perhaps just barely escaping Kong's grasp.

Walking into Bitforms to view this exhibit I felt a sensation unlike most gallery visits.

It was a true inspiration-- and lovely in its harsh concrete feel, manipulated by computer software.

Autocad design for the future.

I do have to say that the lighting in the gallery could have been less prominent-- and would have showcased the video piece at the far wall in a far better manner.

But all in all-- one of the best shows currently in Chelsea during a Spring unlike no other.

Is it still winter?

Is it summer?

Let the lonely giant of 34th Street and 5th Avenue peel back its many layers-- shedding its past, and looking to its future.

Lovely indeed.

The exhibit is up through May 19th, 2007.

Definitely check it out.

See more at:

www.bitforms.com

Celebrating cute garbage

2007-04-23T18:41:00.000-04:00

I couldn't think of a possibly more offensive title than what I've come up with to describe "Suupaa Pop," currently on exhibition at the American Intitute of Graphic Art's Design Center at 164 Fifth Avenue.

Perhaps I've just grown tired of the subgenres of anime, manga, Japanimation, Harjuku Lovers, Cibo Mato, Shonen Knife, and maybe, just maybe, even Yoko herself.

In no uncertain terms-- here is what's left of the after-effects of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.........

Cuteness everywhere!

Even on our garbage!

And that, my friends, is what in a nutshell graphic design for "product" is.

It's making trash "cute."

I guess you could say that if you have a bottle of tea or snack food that's this funky, this tongue-in-cheek, this... uh... "pink hippo cutting-edge," you might be placated to "save," uh... or "display."

Come on!

Who am I kidding?

We all know it's going to end up at Fresh Kills, or somewhere of the like.

We are now entering the post-Yoshitomi Nara and Murakami era.

I want to just take these cute animals, and fluff, and puff, and whatnot and stuff it up these corporations' asses.

I'd prefer any day to go rent a copy of "Robotech" (greatest anime ever) and see this creativity in its finest mid-'80s timepiece, but all we are left with now is the remnants.

I'm hoping design eventually will take elements of reality into consideration, rather than mere "cartoonification."

But truth be told, there's nothing more bright, more sellable, more perfect for consumption (and truth be told, eye catching) and that's all that matters.

The dazzling array of color explosion here is organized so neatly, shelf by shelf.

Who wouldn't want a mini-tub of ice cream with the orange hued saturation at left?

Hence, here's my first really bad review of a show.

I think it's visually stunning, but truthfully 100% empty-- just like the packages themselves.

Once the product is drained, all you're left with is plastic.

A celebration of plastic people, plastic culture-- a great tie-in for 2007's first review post-Earth Day.

I guess this is what we've come to.

Enjoy the "cuteness" while it lasts, because truthfully it's just elevated garbage for now.

Truly disappointing show for one reason-- it says nothing about where design has been or is going.

Visuals are great-- but there must be some substance behind them.

http://www.aiga.org/content.cfm/exhibition-suupaa-pop

Lamgelina over and out.

The painterly style of painting

2007-04-18T18:06:00.000-04:00

If that's an actual way to describe a manner of painting, well, I'm going to use it to depict my feelings on Julian Lethbridge's works currently on display at Paula Cooper Gallery.

Much in the same way that I find a Bryce Marden work able to transport me into another dimension, I found a huge sense of calm take over me with each subsequent work.

Born in Sri Lanka, yet raised in England, I believe Lethbridge's natural cross-cultural lineage has greatly influenced his style.

I couldn't help but think of the sea snakes of the Indian Ocean; of ancient temples and their intricate carvings; of soft pallettes of earth tones mixed with a sudden brilliant swath of red, or gold.

All the same, there's certainly elements of on-the-surface conservatism of the British Empire.

Perhaps the patterns are too perfect-- not disjointed enough; holding back before reaching the point of no return.

Each subsequent application of paint begins to transform the work into layers of new dimensions.

I also can't help but think while looking at the magnified image of the work at right that each stroke reflects wavelike formations not unlike a raging Indian Ocean.

Enjoy these images-- I'm hoping these photos do at least some justice as to how beautiful these works are.

The exhibit is up until April 28th.

For more info, go to http://www.paulacoopergallery.com/

Carla Klein at Tanya Bonakdar

2007-04-13T15:15:00.000-04:00

Much in the way acrylic changed the face of art history, so, too, has modern photography.

Many of today's most widely known painters are not burdened by the easel and the sheer physical exertion that in the past it has required to be a landscape painter.

Instead, a good percentage of artists utilize what has been around for more than a century-- the camera; and now, even more conveniently, the digital camera.

In many ways, the ISO speed and "panoramic" settings have replaced what the hand and eye can do so naturally on their own with issues of perception.

In the case of Carla Klein, though, she is able not to be a slave to a mere contraption, but rather strongly exerts her own vision.Each work is devoid of humanity; an emptiness; a "last man standing" phenomenon not unlike the famed "Twilight Zone" episode, "Time Enough at Last."

(Image at right, all rights reserved, Cayuga Productions)

In this episode, Burgess Meredith plays Henry Bemis, a mousish little man whose only desire is to be left alone with his books; to not be bothered or nagged; to be alone.

Then he gets his wish, the hands of the clock frozen in time.A landscape appears before him of abandonment-- total destruction-- but his dream fulfilled as stacks and stacks of books lay before him.

Of course, the twisted hand of fate intervenes, leaving his myopic self with eyeglasses shattered-- forever negating his dream-come-true, so close to fruition.

In the same way Klein takes scenery not unlike this Armageddon scenario-- an abandoned parking lot; an empty airstrip; the salt flats of Utah, with endless horizons and no civilization in sight-- and makes it appear as a new world with actual possibilities.

The muted greys and charcoals of her work catch the eye with a gentle softness.

I like these images the best-- again, as I recently posted, looking in the car's rearview mirror.

There's something to be said for art that focuses on the subject of "looking backwards."

In many ways, we focus too much on the past, relegating the future to these visions of horrifyingly complex and nightmarish scenarios, a la the Twilight Zone.

Instead, Klein here is showing that there's beauty and peace in solitude, not necessarily something to fear.

Truly breathtaking work, and a beautiful exhibit, even if it has origins in photographic imagery.

Go to http://www.tanyabonakdargallery.com/ more images.

Enjoy your weekend, everyone, and happy Friday the 13th.

Rent a DVD of the Twilight Zone.

A perfect companion for today's grey NYC skies.

Fia Backstrom and Kelley Walker Just Kickin' It

2007-04-11T20:37:00.000-04:00

Part 2 of "Just Kick It Till It Breaks, currently on view at The Kitchen, 512 West 19th Street in New York.

A kinder, gentler conglomerate has been emerging ever so slightly in the past decade.

Fortune 500 companies are rapidly implementing policies of "social and ecological" sensitivity.

One in particular to note, BP, (formerly known as British Petroleum.)

See this caption below taken from the BP website.

(try not to sue me, I'm giving you guys credit here....)

Helios Power-- Our renewed commitment to make things ‘a little better’ for customers at our gas stations, through a new look, feel and fresh appeal
Find how we're doing things 'a little better'

Yes, even big oil is coming around to the new society of the 21st Century.

Or are they?

Artists Fia Backstrom and Kelley Walker make an absolute mockery (and deservedly so) of this newfound turnaround of corporate sensitivity and gives it a quick kick in the bum.

Taking the sunburst BP logo and uniting it with imagery commonly found in the currently treasured house and garden heart of America-- Ikeas, Crate & Barrels, and Pottery Barns of the world should take note.

After all, for all the plastics that they sell-- furniture, dishes, shower curtains-- what component is a main ingredient?

OIL.

And make no qualms about it, these colors have been selected by the designers for a reason.

Green:

From

http://www.princetonol.com/groups/iad/lessons/middle/color2.htm
"Green has taken on a very strong connotation as the color representing ecology and concern for the environment, however, it also conveys meanings associated with money and the suggestion "to go ahead" which is obviously derived from traffic lights."

From Wikipedia:

Yellow:
Sunlight, joy, happiness, earth, optimism, idealism, wealth (gold), summer, hope, air, liberalism, cowardice, illness (quarantine), hazards, dishonesty, avarice, weakness, greed, femininity, gladness, sociability, summer, friendship, Taurus, Leo (golden yellow, star signs), April, September, deceit, hazard signs, death (Middle Ages), mourning (Egypt), courage (Japan).

What better way to sell (and perhaps deceive) a naive public than to use "pretty colors."

I took this photo below the other day in Brooklyn to help illustrate the point.

BP is makings its stations more user-friendly; more home-like-feeling, "a little better."

I had to almost break into a guffaw here, for how much does pumping gas remind you of homemade pumpkin pie-- it truly is All American.

"A little better," of course-- at $3.17 a gallon.

I personally would suggest a decomposing cartoon dinosaur melting into a pool of black ooze to illustrate a more "at one with nature" marketing ploy-- Little boys would love it!

But it is a sign of the times when corporations are finally using the billions in their marketing budgets to promote something a bit different than mere consumption; in this case, they're also selling "an experience."

Backstrom and Walker are also showing something to the viewer that's not easily recognizable-- the constant barrage of images of daily seduction-- "buy this, wear this, eat on these, sleep on these, cuddle up in this.”

And all of the above companies certainly do justice to deception at its finest.
Brilliant work by Backstrom and Walker.

I just hope they don't get sued for copywright infringement by the suits, but you never can tell when someone is making a point-- and a very strong one at that.

More reviews to come this week.

In the meantime, enjoy the below websites.
Walker is represented by Paula Cooper Gallery.

http://www.fiabackstrom.com/

http://www.thekitchen.org/

http://www.paulacoopergallery.com/artists/kw/kw.html

Now Kick It... Into Shape... Shape It Up... Get it straight...

2007-04-10T17:59:00.000-04:00

JUST KICK IT TILL IT BREAKS.

Interesting show title and exhibition currently at The Kitchen.

I chose the image at right by artist Adam Helms to illustrate a point.

Revolutionaries or guerillas in 2007 might seem to be an era of the past (at least in the Western World.)

Our current living environment is more likely to have groups form based on commonalities of apathy or disaffection-- think MySpace (millions of members and counting), the mass popularity of "American Idol," or middle America's belief in fiction-as-fact through "The Da Vinci Code."

But what I liked the most about this work was how it drew me in gradually.

From afar it seemed harmless enough... then I got closer.

The interesting thing about revolutions is how slowly (or rapidly) they can develop.

Most rapid-moving revolutions throughout history have been led by charismatic, diabolical masterminds of public persona.

The more slow to form always seem to have "fighters in the jungle," or those cloaked in secrecy.

Think of the Phillippines' current Abu Sayyaf rebellion (see image of Martin and Gracia Burnham at left, missionaries abducted in 2001 while celebrating their 18th wedding anniversary at Dos Palmas Resort.)
The masks give this image an even greater sense of urgency; one that was followed with great tragedy-- the death of Martin in a gun battle with the Phillippine army to rescue him and his wife.

Helms' image confronts our fears of what lies beneath the masks.

Empty and hollow eyes; soulless bodies with minds bent on one thing-- united by the achievement of their common goal of revolution.

What this image says to me more than anything else-- we are currently emrboiled in a society neck-deep in guerilla warfare; a war for our hearts and minds, using modern day media manipulation.

Dave McKenzie directly addresses this manipulation with his work.

After all, this is not only a battle fought with weaponry, but also a war for our hearts and minds.

This piece attracts our attention not through a cluttered newsstand with images of Britney and Tom and Katie and Anna and Justin and Tori and Brooke and Brad and Angelina and Jen and... (you get the drift)... but instead a single issue of "Yesterday's Newspaper" laid out on a wooden platform.

For me, this image provokes massive feelings of guilt: "Of course this is IT! I get it. Even HE gets it. This is how we, together, could change things."

But upon exiting The Kitchen, you will face once again the frailty of mankind-- most of us possess an attention span not unlike that of a 3-year-old with its Easter basket; certainly myself included.

Isolation is a technique that is quite effective in terms of focusing the mind.

McKenzie truly makes a fantastic attempt at capturing just a tiny piece of what we have to offer emotionally as well as intellectually and guides our eye to the floor in what may well be the easiest to configure, yet strongest piece of the exhibit.

Next up, a bit more flash for your buck.

The modern comic book-- "Infinite Crisis" series DC Comics, to be exact.

Making a logo leap freshly off the page of a multi-issue 2005 edition into installation readymade, Gardar Eide Einarsson makes a literal translation of our current state.

If there is no one who will stand up for what is right in this world, where do we find ourselves?

Oh, Superman, where are you now?

Once again, the issue at the center of this exhibit comes to the forefront: what direction are we going? What can get us "into shape?"

Have we truly yet hit the lowest of the low points-- the "breaking point"?

Perhaps a good swift kick to the pants might help-- including this great exhibit.

Part 2 to come tomorrow.

Yutaka Sone at David Zwirner

2007-04-08T20:05:00.000-04:00

"No two are the same."

In this 21st Century-- an age of mass commodification, individualism is certainly something that "sticks out".

In many cases, the individual has been supplanted by "the greater good," or a terminology better known as "society at large."

4 out of 5 dentists recommend;

37% of Americans rate Bush's job performance as poor;

Over 30 million of you voted tonight, and the winner is... Sanjaya Malakar.

Seacrest out.

At David Zwirner this weekend, I encountered work unlike anything I've ever seen, for it was a celebration of the individual-- in this case, the "individual" being a snowflake.

Yutaka Sone's crystal sculptures represent something so miniscule, only through the manmade creation of the modern camera lens could we ever have discerned nature's own multiplicity-- in this case, each tiny arm branching out to reach into new connections and patterns.

Sone crafts highly detailed works carved from solid crystal through his studio in China.

This exhibit brings to mind so many elementary school arts and crafts projects that we all go through-- taking construction paper, folding it into multiple parts, then cutting holes to our heart's content with the round-tipped scissors.

But there was nothing craftlike about this exhibit.

You can almost feel your lungs choking on the fine dust particles from Sone's chisel.

In many ways, stepping into the blindingly bright crystal snowflake room felt much more like entering Superman's Fortress of Solitude; or perhaps the final room of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The snow white walls transform visual perception into optical trickery.

The only color to be noted in the room is from one's self.

Your skin tone, the colors of the clothes you're wearing, your own jewelry sparkling amongst the prism-like light reflection from the crystals.

In many ways, Sone is putting the focus back on the individual amongst multiple 'individuals."

I took this photo from this angle to demonstrate a point-- as far as the eye can see, new pattern formations.

Each pedestal is placed in a corresponding location-- you could almost feel the outline of a snowflake being formed as your footsteps trace the pathways between the columns.

I really liked the feeling of post-Apocalyptic vision that this room created.

A new ice age we might encounter in post-Industrial society.

Sone also created this marble sculpture based on a ski trip outing he took in the Rocky Mountains.

The snow-capped trees brush against the skiers as they inch along the lift to the mountain's peak.

Quite a nice trip away from the ordinary, and quite pertinent on an especially cold Spring weekend.

The exhibit runs until May 5, 2007.

For more information, go to:

http://www.davidzwirner.com/

Road dangers and musician artists

2007-04-06T14:33:00.000-04:00

It being a holiday weekend and whatnot, since millions of American are "on the road" this weekend, I thought I'd post a few pics from about a month ago that I took on I-75 in Tampa, Florida.

They tell you so many times in life not to drink and drive, but how about not to totally art nerd out and drive?

Or more "getting a great shot in motion with your Canon Powershot awesome digital camera in any way, shape or form that you can."

So there were a few swerves and near misses-- (bah)-- but I must say, for someone who's taken subways for the past 15 years, I did quite well with my Nascar driving skills.

My goal is to restart this blog next week.

I need to get a new memory card for the camera and get to the galleries tomorrow for some subject material.

Here's some new thoughts-- Artist/Musician.

I've known so many great ones, and thought it would be a great topic next week to focus on just a few... (David Byrne and Patti Smith notwithstanding, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.)

My ones are names more on the fringe than the Jim Lambie's of the world (hello, Teenage Fanclub masterpiece worker).

I'm thinking more on the lines of Mikey Welsh, former bass player for Weezer;

Nic Dalton, former Lemonheads bassist;

and Marlon Richards-- son of Keith).

Just a few to think upon as the pretty clouds and palms pass us by.

Review to come.

Stay tuned as Lamgelina gets her act back in gear.

Dry spell this week

2007-04-03T17:42:00.000-04:00

One of the things that this blog has enabled me to do is look backwards while still focusing on the future.

I thought I'd use this photo of my rental car view of a Florida sunset to illustrate my point.

Until I go to more galleries and more shows, I'm going to be a bit on the dry side here.

I have a million things to do right now, (work and personal life) and taking care of myself is priority numero uno.

Of course, please feel free to comment on any review.

I really like to see who my readers are.

Also, if anyone wants to give any recommendations on my writing here, and what I can do to improve, (or to start actually getting published in journals, sites, etc.), would be greatly appreciated.

I doubt I'll be postless for very long-- it's my goal to do this each and every day, but for right now, it's just something I can't handle.

Thanks for your time, as always.

Olympia (aka Lamgelina in this case)

F Word Part Deux

2007-03-30T17:11:00.000-04:00

Ah, yes. Where was I again?

Oh, right... "The F Word" and its many meanings and interpretations.

At right you're looking at Susan Paul Firestone's "Daphnae" work.

This is a segment of her assemblage that really caught my eye.

Firestone has laid little trinkets in a plexiglass box, and swaddled them in a glorious red fabric.

It's always interesting when you see art in miniature.

In this case, she's putting elements from her childhood into a box.

There's something about how we collect things and then put them away for "safety's sake."

The porcelain make-up of this work seems quite fragile compared to its basis, Giambologna's legendary "Rape of the Sabine." (see below)

Placing an image of such grandiosity into miniature once again removes the imposing threat.

I've commented before on how size influences interpretation, and this certainly does not lie.

The other beautiful thing about Firestone's placement is how the stark white and tiny shells brings to mind evolutionary elements-- from the sea we come-- the nakedness of the bodies forcing their way up and out, much like Venus from the seafoam.

A truly beautiful piece-- the sensual reds and whites in perfect unification.

Next up, work that really struck home, Gina Gibson.

I've done several conceptual exhibits myself before on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder-- specifically "Hoarders."

The minds, in these cases, cannot control a compulsion of "collecting"; always needing more, and not being able to separate what is needed from what is not.

These examples here are much more an accumulation of "Things" or "Stuff."

The disorganization is heart-wrenching, as well as the artist's and her fiance's family members in the photos.

As opposed to Firestone's safely-encased and well-laid-out mementos, you feel so much might be damaged or lost here-- clothes and books left precariously out in the open-- soon to be beyond repair.

As a child of a hoarder, this hits home very hard, but I must say Gibson does a fantastic job at capturing the 1970's wood-panelled dark interior along with the light flooding from the windows.
Stunning work that captures familial pain and its elements of souls lost amidst endless clutter.

Next up, my first photo posted from the other day, the video piece of Janet Biggs, "Amanda on Top, Twins Below 1996."

I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her undwater takes of the twins frolicking in the pool together-- inner tubes keeping them afloat; waists turning; legs kicking back and forth in fruition.

I was reminded of so many times as a child where the kids of the neighborhood would put on their swimsuits and do handstands at the bottom of the pool and compete to see who could do the best synchronized swimming, like little Ethel Mermans cavorting about.

I feel it is a beautiful and somewhat romantic vision of tiny ladies that cloaks the dangers of what may pass.

Finally, I don't want to say that as a reviewer I bow to outside pressure, but since I got a wonderful comment from one of the many fine ladies in this show, I'd like to also include her work at right.

This is Brenda Oelbaum's "Osama's Bin Degraded," a 2004 photograph edition of 5.

I have to admit, at first glance I didn't think much of it given its political nature (I tend to roll my eyes at statement art) but upon closer look, I like it less as that and think of it much more as a homage to the tacky.

In this case, "tacky" is 9/11's 24/7 media coverage mixed with a cheap "throw" rug-- one that will be stepped upon, and the cheapening of the woman at right.

Freshly waxed legs, blood red polish-- (most likely Maybelline, judging by the bottle.)

It feeds into multiple female stereotypes and spits them back out at us in defiance.

The woman takes the place of the terrorist here-- assaulting Bin Laden's self-created God-like image.

She is a one-woman soldier bent on disobeying the Taliban's or Islamic fundamentalist view of what a woman should be.

Yet perhaps her independence is a fraud itself.

For how can a woman truly be independent when she plays into our own society's version of what a woman should be-- soft-legged, artificially enhanced or made-up?

I feel that it poses a lot more questions than answers, but this is what I like the most about this work.

Art that challenges is always the best.

For that, I give Barbara a two thumbs up and a "You Go, Girl."

Forgive me for my 1999 references, but alas, it's been a long week.

Enjoy the weekend, art lovers!

Lamgelina Over and Out

What F Word? There's usually only one...

2007-03-28T18:18:00.000-04:00

The "F Word." It brings many connotations to mind-- primarily that of something unspeakable.

Interestingly enough, in the art world, just as in many other "occupations" there's the glass ceiling for those lacking a certain... well... how do you say... "something."

Curated by Carol Cole Levin, "What F Word" brought together some of the top young female artists in the art world today at Cynthia Broan Gallery in Chelsea.

Broan, a gallerist I met during the Scope New York fair, struck me as a woman with a mission.

She has a liveliness about her that when she speaks of her artists and the art exhibited at her gallery, you know it's coming straight from the heart.

(Image above right, video still of Amanda Biggs "Amanda on Top, Twins Below, 1996)

Interestingly enough, earlier the same day I went through about 10 other galleries.

Only two had employees who would even DARE to acknowledge my existence.

As a former gallery assistant, I find it interesting in many ways how members of the art scene cluster around in a certain clicque, yet I find it hysterical that as soon as the wallet is opened, or the designer digs drape upon the body, those people behind the desk take notice.

Cynthia, on the other hand, is there for the art-- nothing more, nothing less.

So this exhibit had a special significance for me in several ways.

I am a woman in a man's world-- the financial world, to be precise, for my day job-- but through this blog I find myself dabbling in the art world on its outskirts, trying to make my way in through tiny increments.

I think this show could be one of those increments for the artists involved as well.

Let's start off with the quirky mixed media work of Jennifer Viola.

A 2002 MFA from School of Visual Arts, Viola takes the "F" word literally, with her works translating into universal sign language for "F WORD" spelled out.

Jennifer has a unique sense of humor about her.

I like how each of these works takes on issues of feminitiy and mixes them with cartoon-like mirth.

Viola seems to always be quick with a comeback and has a sharp eye for detail with her other work-- ceramics that literally have fingers stretching out like abandoned apendages from a Tim Burton film.

It was a nice chance for me to see some of her more illustrative work, and she definitely came out as one of the best of the entire show.

Next up, another 2002 SVA grad, video artist Kate Gilmore.

I'm never quite sure of what to expect with her work-- sometimes I relate quite easily to her subject material and can understand where she's going with it.

Her videos usually place her into situations where she finds herself either in danger of being physically hurt, or does impossible tasks that are futile in nature.

Something about them screams Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or trying to prove one's self against great odds stacked to the ceiling (literally, in some cases, where she's climbed precariously up mountains of chairs; or rollerskated up a wall dripping in chocolate to reach a cake prize).

But this video was fairly simplistic-- eating a mound of cut raw vegetables-- carrots, peppers, tomatoes-- and then spitting them out at the camera.

For the first time, I didn't really "get it."

Was Gilmore commenting on eating disorders? Bullemia? Images of women starving themselves for acceptance?

Or was it once again a task of "futility" as Cynthia mentioned?

I wasn't sure.

So for this time, I'll have to get it two thumbs sideways-- just because my brain began to hurt while trying to comprehend.

Next up, how about a little protest action, a la Che Guevarra?

Shay Nowick's "F It."

Here there is a holy book, and a transferring of a key-- perhaps a key to a safe, to someone's heart, or the key to existence?

Again, I'm on a literal sense myself here, but the thing I like about this the most is its criminal element and the power it possesses behind it.

They are the 21st Century Converse All Stars Thelma and Louise, and I like it... I do.

The only thing I would change is there must be a Mexican Wrestling Mask in there somewhere waiting to make an appearance with their next heist.

Great stuff.

Part two of my review will have to come on Friday-- since that male dominated day job is taking up a lot of time this week-- but there's still lots more to come from this group exhibit.

Enjoy!

www.cynthiabroan.com

Back and ready to roll, here comes Andrew Sendor

2007-03-27T17:10:00.000-04:00

Every once in a while an event happens in your life that makes you take stock of everything you've ever known, experienced, or hope TO experience.

I've just gone through a personal loss in the past week with my grandmother's passing, but there's lots of art still to review in my own future.

I thought to myself, "Which should go first?"

Well, this was a no-brainer, given the artist's subject material.

At left, Andrew Sendor's brilliant foray into childhood melancholy, "Is there more to life than bread, blood & bicycles?" at Caren Golden Fine Art.

I was immeidately struck by Sendor's ability to juxtapose the commonplace sorrowful faces of turn-of-the-20th century photography with modern pop colors and design.

Each child is so precious, it actually brings to mind my own grandmother's pictures as a child.
(See image at right.)

There's such a loss of innocence throughout life.

These images capture such a moment that is fleeting.

Sendor's strength is definitely in his ability to encapsulate that moment of true purity; a quiet, wide-eyed enthusiasm for the future.

The little girl above seems all dressed up, but with nowhere to go.

Rothko-like gradiants of color beam about her, enveloping her very soul.

In this image below, Sendor again designs images of children similar in the ways the old Spanish masters would, (Think Velasquez's "Las Meninas") and makes us think of them as "lost little souls" in a dark, lonely and foreboding world.

Check out more of Sendor's work at Golden's website.

I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

http://carengoldenfineart.com/index.asp

Tuesday March 27th the blog returns

2007-03-26T19:42:00.000-04:00

Until then, I leave you with this legendary photo of my grandmother in her prime.

Just to let everyone know, thank you for the kind wishes you've emailed.

Your support means everything to me.

You can check out more fun at my flickr page in the meantime...

www.flickr.com/photos/lamgelinaoly

Lamgelina

Death in family

2007-03-21T00:05:00.000-04:00

Hello, readers.
Unfortunately, I am currently unable to make new postings for the forseeable future.
I am on the road for a family emergency.

Lots of reviews to come-- Saturday was a huge gallery visit day-- so please continue to check back-- most likely Sunday or Monday will have my next post.

In the meantime, please keep my grandmother in your thoughts and prayers.
She always encouraged me with my own art and writing, and had great taste in art herself.
She is the reason I am who I am today.

In Loving Memory, Conale H. Lambert, July 1, 1917- March 19, 2007
Lamgelina Oly-- aka (Olympia Lambert)

Gallery opening of the week-- Christopher Tanner

2007-03-15T17:59:00.000-04:00

Opening tonight, Christopher Tanner "How High the Moon" at Pavel Zoubok Gallery, 533 West 23rd Street.

6pm-8pm

Review to follow.

One of those "loose ends" I promised

2007-03-14T19:11:00.000-04:00

Running short on time today, but I wanted to remember to post regarding an artist I cannot believe I left off my Pulse review.

Frank Breuer's work struck me as some of the best in terms of its images of abandonment and stark loneliness.

Visions of a post-Cold war utopia gone wrong-- but on U.S. soil.

Backs of containers, close ups of "Big Box" architecture-- all-encompassing structures that from certain angles begin to take on new dimensions.

In this case, I see a different reality--perhaps an old covered bridge in Vermont, or barn in the midst of a field.

The eye is playing tricks on you.

There's such a palpable disconnect to his work-- visions of huge lines in giant warehouses waiting for the last loaf of bread.

Perhaps his take on a heavily feared Armageddon waiting to happen.

Breuer is repped by Fiedler Contemporary from Cologne, Germany.

These photos were all taken in New England-- Massachusetts in particular-- during Breuer's tenure as a visiting lecturer on Visual and Environmental studies at Harvard University.

At left is an area of Somerville best described as desolate, towards the Charlestown and Chelsea lines.

It is best left to the imagination what goes on at night. in this parking lot.

Some troubling work that doesn't let me sleep well upon second look.

Ode to the memory of Providence's Fort Thunder

2007-03-13T18:01:00.000-04:00

It seems just like yesterday a group of 20-something Bostonians descended one late Saturday night down I-95's New England corridor in an overpacked Nissan for some scenester action in good ol' neighbor Rhody's backyard.

I like to term this the era of not just Sebadoh, but Sentridoh, and more Folk Implosion album releases than Brooklyn has 99 Cent stores.

Over the past few years, I've found bits and pieces of websites that paid tribute to one of the most interesting collaborative art spaces to ever exist--Fort Thunder.

Unfortunately, most of the links are now outdated, so here's what I've been able to piece together.

Initialized by a renegade group of RISDI students, it became known as THE place to go to see the best underground indie music and edge-scraping art.

I'll never be able to do the visuals proper justice, but imagine for a second if you will, the darkest of old brick mills-- a 200-pound steel door echoing a sonic boom upon your entry.

You are led up 5 flights of stairs-- at each stoop, groups of rail-thin youth clad in bell-bottom cords and Silver Apples t-shirts greet your entrance.

Suddenly we turn to the right-- we enter a recording studio and loft that houses no less than 1,200 overgrown plants reaching to heavens of the 20-foot tall windows.

There's a small hallway.

You walk further... you encounter a ceiling drooped low with thousands of mangled cupie dolls in various stages of undress-- wigs and hair fall at your being-- you can easily touch each tassle that brushes against your skull.

You're led into a new room... this one, the "bicycle room"-- again, hundreds of bicycles and their parts in permanent levitation awaiting your gaze.

Next, there is a small wooden platform.

You walk and walk... and suddenly you realize it is a ramp upwards to the ceiling... you crouch... you hunch over... your back hurts.

Inching along, you are the White Rabbit in a Wonderland lit with solitary lava lamps... crawling ever so slowly, you are enveloped in a mesh tunnel-- the short walls seem to close in around you.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel-- you enter a hole no bigger than 2 feet wide. You must stretch your arms out first, and push your way through.

(I'm guessing the Providence Fire Department didn't approve...)

You are now within a black light illuminated teepee with dayglo tribal masks staring back at you, scaring the living bejesus out of you.

Upon your hastened exit, you must go back through the rabbit hole, inching your way down until you have numerous tapestries and a plastic slide launch you out the exit, now back to the very beginning.

Much in the way children take their cardboard boxes or bedroom sheets and make them into hideaways, Fort Thunder seemed to grasp the excitement enjoyed by the element of hide and seek in ways we can't begin to imagine.

Eventually Fort Thunder's artist/performance/noise art/musicians formed a collaborative known as Forcefield, and stomped through the 2002 Whitney Biennial, leaving its board of directors aghast and bad boy director Maxwell Anderson without a job.

Anderson ruffled a lot of feathers during his tenure, but in my opinion he's probably the best director they ever had-- see Bitstreams link.

http://whitney.org/bitstreams/

I personally do not think much of artists' imaginative abilities when they use baby dolls, primary colors, "junk heaps," hair, sheets and general disarray as the basis for their work, but something about Fort Thunder was able to make each of these elements gel and not feel cliched.

(Hello every album cover from 1992-1997-- Riot grrls, you're wanted in this regard-- Barbie girls in a Barbie world-- or setting fire to the like.)

Unfortunatley, I just recently missed an ode to this fantastic era at RISD, "Wunderground."

http://www.risd.edu/museum_exhibitions.cfm?type=upcoming&onview=museum_onview_92.cfm

I highly recommend clicking this link and taking the slideshow tour, including the fabulous poster works of Mat Brinkman and Jim Drain.

("Ceylon Mange" by Mat Brinkman, 2001 at right)

It really captivates and is able to transport you back to an era that many of us early to mid-30 somethings look fondly upon.

Sad to reveal, but nowadays the old grounds of Fort Thunder only hear the sounds of lead-footed soccer moms instead of distortion pedals-- it's a strip mall.

Enjoy the time portal.