Quantcast
Channel: The Great God Pan Is Dead
Viewing all 665 articles
Browse latest View live

The Sacred within the Mundane: The Art of Wilo Vargas

$
0
0
Virginia Billeaud Anderson

While previewing Wilo Vargas’s Hierophany and Pareidolia exhibition prior to its opening at G Gallery, I noticed gallery assistant Bradford Moody appeared fatigued and wondered if handling Vargas’s large canvases had done him in.

Virginia Billeaud Anderson: The art is beautifully hung Brad. Did installation cause this droopiness?

Brad Moody: Good Lord woman, it came with the canvases rolled, so we had to build stretcher bars before we could hang. Wilo and I were stretching canvas until 9:30 to10 on Friday night. After that I had to work at home to finalize the sale of my triptych, and was up late painting, up early this morning to meet Dan to discuss my show, and take promo photos for some magazine, and various other things to please people. Yes, a little tired.

Wayne Gilbert on the other hand looked rested. He wanted me to know that Vargas is a Peruvian who holds degrees in both archaeology and art, and that his acid-trip aesthetic, what the gallery publicized as “a chaotic, psychedelic sensibility,” is derived from shaman-guided use of ayahuasca, an Andean hallucinogen known as “vine of the soul.” “It’s a tool to open your vision, it brings on altered states of consciousness,” Gilbert told me. One important vision ayahuasca afforded Vargas was a spider to instruct him on how to formulate the colorful paint skeins on his canvases.

Moody pointed to their intersections and allowed me to rub my fingers across them. He described the use of small strings to create the elaborate linear patterns, which must have required obsessive layering. The paintings’ spiraling lines serve as ground for iconographic references to the sacred in other cultures, such as a Buddha figure and a Venus.

“He’s responding to Peru’s complex cultural mix,” Gilbert said, which led to a discussion about the numerous cultures that exist in Peru along with its indigenous people, and brought to mind a Quechua speaking merchant near Cusco who sold t-shirts with the image of a llama spitting into a conquistador’s face, the text below reading “two worlds collide” in Spanish.


Wilo Vargas, Venus (Greek Goddess), 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 10’ x 6 ½‘

In one of his artist statements Vargas asserted he is inspired by ancient Peruvian archeological sites, the lines and colors of which “talk to him of a parallel universe.” So I became excited about the prospect of recognizing Moche, Chimu or other pre-Inca visual language in his art. I wanted to talk to him about Peruvian archaeological sites’ mystical role, their significance in accessing otherworldly realms. “Were some paintings’ spirals derived from the Nazca Monkey’s curled tail?” I asked when I contacted the artist.

Vargas replied that although his work is influenced by the ancient cultures of Peru, there is no direct manifestation of them in the Houston paintings. He talked about what inspired this art, and also sent images of himself in the process of creating it.


Wilo Vargas creating paintings for the Hierophany and Pareidolia series

He began by explaining his series title, which came from Mircea Eliade’s Treatise on the History of Religions. "Hierophany" refers to the manifestation of the sacred in particular places. "Pareidolia" is the phenomenon of observing something sacred in ordinary objects, such as a Virgin in a cloud or a sacred animal on the wall. The phenomenon occurs today just as it did in ancient cultures.

“Modern man shares something essential with the ancestors regarding perception and interpretation of reality, with awareness affected by the experience, culture, beliefs and emotions of the observer,” said Vargas. “Those who view the paintings are involved in hierophany and pareidolia and through observation can discover icons related to their culture.”


Wilo Vargas creating paintings for the Hierophany and Pareidolia series 


Wilo Vargas creating paintings for the Hierophany and Pareidolia series

Share

Blogging ARTlies -- March 1994

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


Art Lies #1 -- 19 years ago

About a year after I began blogging about art, Houston's only print publication on art, Art Lies, collapsed. I only read the last few issues, and I can't say I was a huge fan. But it was obviously important--a whole magazine devoted to art published in Houston! I knew it had been around for a while. And the thing about a magazine is that while it's being published, it's journalism. But once it's been published, it's history. The first issue of Art Lies was published in 1994. This is quite interesting to me personally, because I wasn't in Houston for the majority of its existence. I have a vague idea at best of what was happening in Houston as far as art goes in the 90s and early 2000s. But now, thanks to the University of North Texas, I can get a glimpse of what was happening then. They have archived Art Lies electronically, and now it's accessible to anyone with an internet hookup.

So it occurred to me that I could read through this archive and educate myself a bit on this era in Houston's art history. And as long as I'm doing this, why not blog about it?

The first issue of Art Lies was published in March 1994. It's not a meaty publication--24 pages total. And it's all black and white. The "executive director" is Wade Chandler and the editor is  Don Carroll, two names I don't recognize. It has a board of directors, which suggests it was a non-profit right from the start, and the Board includes a few familiar names (Dan Allison, Margaret Bott, Benito Huerta).

The look is anchored its time--when the eye-crushing deconstructive typography of Emigre-enthralled designers. Fiona McGettigan is credited as the art director. In retrospect, it feels unnecessarily baroque, and in the case of an interview with Gael Stack, hard to read.

The issue started off with a bang--a manifesto by Dave Hickey. There were reviews of a performance by Jim Pirtle, shows at the CAMH and the MFAH, and a weird and slightly pointless dig at Coagula. There is a review by Donald E. Calledare of a show at the MFAH, Speaking of Artists: Words and Works from Houston, that hilariously neglects to name a single artist in the show. There are two reviews of Texas/Between Two Worlds at the CAMH. Chris Ballou's is unimaginative and mostly congratulatory. Harvey Bott actually questions the curatorial intent and is a bit more critical of the art--and his writing is far more eccentric.

One of the wistful things about reading an old publication like this is that some of what they write about is gone. There is a review of a show by Kelli Scott Kelley, for example. She's still around, but her gallery in 1994, the Lanning Gallery, is not. What happened to it, I wonder?

There was a degree of "Hey, gang, let's get together and put on a show!" about Art Lies with this issue, but you expect that when a publication is starting. And it seemed quite professional (unlike, say, The Great God Pan Is Dead). And while none of the criticism seems especially blistering, they weren't uncritical boosters either. It was a good start.

Share

Knife and Sandpaper: A Talk with Bud Clayton

$
0
0
Virginia Billeaud Anderson

Bud Clayton reflects on the manner in which man made objects are modified by time--a fence becomes rusty for instance or a street curb is marked by black rubber--and attempts to pictorially capture this quality of time with “distressed fields of color.” I viewed his abstractions in the exhibition On Time at Gallery M Squared through February 24, and concluded Clayton is a courageous colorist. It’s not easy to mess around with lime green or pink, and succeed. Umbers and other dark neutrals can look like manure unless skillfully applied. The arts’ subtle gradations of dark and rust tones are faded and refined. I contacted the artist and learned a few things about his paint handling, and also the reason behind the art’s planar variations and fragmentation.


Bud Clayton, Like You’ve Been Here Before, 2012, Mixed media on canvas, 24” x 24”

Virginia Billeaud Anderson: Describe your use of sandpaper.

Bud Clayton: The sandpaper is a reductive tool. There is a slim window of opportunity when the paint is curing that allows me to employ the sandpaper in an aggressive and abrasive way. That’s one of the ways I distress the fields of color.

VBA: Many of your diagonal forms have a protruding line ridge of paint at their edges, as if you scraped forcefully with a strait-edge tool. Are you using a palette knife or a scraping or flattening implement?

BC: After I’m satisfied with the under painting, which acts as the basic composition, paint starts going on thick. A flat knife is one tool I use to manipulate it.


Bud Clayton, Schedule, 2012, Mixed media on canvas, 24” x 24”

VBA: Comment on the fragmented planes and fracturing in your forms. Are you inspired by innovations in early century Cubism, Picasso and Braque’s 1911-1912 works for example? Do you look to art historical precedents?

BC: A car hit me once, as a pedestrian. The windshield just exploded. The fragmentation in my compositions is intended to appear impactful, powerful, speedy and streamlined. My work may have more in common with the Futurist Giacomo Balla since he used color, shape and rhythm to transmit a sense of energy. The painting Abstract Speed + Sound (1913-1914) could be an example. However, I also enjoy conversation with my contemporaries.

VBA: I remember slide tests on the Futurists. Balla repurposed motion and light, fractured it so it seemed to explode all over the canvas. And his titles tended to tell you precisely what he was representing. Do your titles relate to the paintings? For instance, when you title a piece Can Opener, is the image based on a can opener?


Bud Clayton, Present Flex, 2012, Mixed media on canvas, 24” x 24”

BC:Can Opener has some very large shapes that encompass negative space in acute angles and, to me, seems forceful enough to shear metal like a can opener. So, the title of that piece represents a kind of mechanical concept. Some of the other titles could be more abstract or personal but they are not random.

VBA: There are repetitive dot and check patterns in some of the paintings. Were they “free hand” or do you employ a stencil or other design tool?

BC: The repetition there is meant to be analogous to advertisement murals that become weathered, so in the same way modern advertisements aren’t “by hand,” neither are those patterns in my work.

VBA: You used the word “substrate” in your artist statement. What is that?

BC: The word “substrate” comes from the Latin sub-stratum meaning “the level below.” In the context of the work in On Time, the substrate is miter cut, kiln dried cedar, 1” x 4,” the lumber lending rigidity to Masonite.

VBA: Your statement also said “We are time travelers creeping by at a second per second only able to experience what has already occurred.” Explain what you mean by time travelers and experiencing what has already occurred. Are you talking about relativity?

BC: George Carlin said it better than me. I would like to direct you to his monologue on the subject called “Time.” It’s available by fair use on YouTube, I believe.


George Carlin on time

VBA: Is there anything you want readers to know about you or your art?

BC: I can’t wait to start a new body of work, but I’m not ready to talk about it, yet. I would just like to thank the readers for their time.


Bud Clayton, Identified, 2012, Mixed media on canvas, 24” x 24”

Share

Blogging ARTlies -- May-June 1994

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


ARTlies volume 2, May-June 1994

It was FotoFest time and a lot of the material in this issue reflected that. This was the year that FotoFest almost went under when Kodak withdrew its support. The main Fotofest event was delayed until fall, while the satellite shows (already scheduled) were on in the spring. Kelly Loftus saw the bright side of this--that after going to FotoFest, people were too overwhelmed to check out the satellite events.

The issue has a new editor, and a new stated policy of rotating editorship. Eric Schwab takes over as editor this issue, and the feel is quite different. There are a bunch of reviews, all of varying lengths (some as short as one paragraph). There are a lot of new contributors, including Bill Davenport writing a nice piece about a John Cage show at the Menil, Rolywholyover: A Circus for Museum. And there was a letters column, which included one from a guy named Michael C. Troy who wrote, "I couldn't read the Gael Stack article at all. Your fonts must have been invented by the Devil." Indeed, Fiona McGettigan's design is still overwhelming. It invites the reader to not read the magazine. Kind of an ironic approach, no? Seven (!) font designers are credited.  I want to send them my bill for migraine treatment.

The most interesting thing from the perspective of 2013 is that I am only familiar with two of the contributors, Harvey Bott and Bill Davenport. Of course, they are both very vital participants of the Houston art scene to this day. But others, like Donald Calledare (who is a writer and the subject of a review), I had never heard of. Calledare is apparently now in North Carolina, but was for a time part of the Houston art scene and is now, in a sense, part of Houston's art history.

Share

Pan Recommends for the week of February 14 to February 20

$
0
0
Dean Liscum

THURSDAY

It's Valentine's Day and what better way to celebrate love of the artistic community than with a film about Bert Long.



Go to the Menil at 7 p.m. and see Bert. You'll learn that it is possible for a successful artist to give back to the artistic community.

FRIDAY

Poisoned by romance? Reese Darby has curated an antidote in Physical Attraction: A Respite from Romance at Hardy and Nance Street Studio Complex.


Ingredients include works by Tim Gonzalez, Cecelia Johnson, Jonatan Lopez, and Patrick Turk.

SATURDAY

Book your day with three very distinct performance art pieces.



Start at noon at Del Rio st. @ S. Macgregor Way with Walk 3 of the Human Tour led by Carrie Schneider and Alex Eckstue.



At 2 p.m. at DiverseWorks in Tony Feher's Free Fall and later 8p.m. @ 2513 Holman @ Project Row Houses, see Autumn Knight and John Pluecker (JP) perform in What Is Seen As It Is Seen



Then at 7 p.m. at the Menil, catch Wura-Natasha Ogunji's live video performance Radio Kaduna. It tackles the topic of love within a Muslim-Christian household in pre-independence Nigeria.



Performance not your thing? Gallery Row's got it going on anchored by McMurtrey Gallery with The Pleasure of Ruin by Sydney Yeager.

Share

Housekeeping & Comics

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

I want to apologize for not having written very much in the past few weeks. Thankfully the blog didn't go dark due to the efforts of Dean Liscum and especially Virginia Billeaud Anderson. As for me, I've been working on several simultaneous projects (note to self--don't schedule projects so that they must be worked on at the same time). I'm still working my way through these various tasks, but I've gotten some big chunks of the work done and behind me. So I'll be resuming my regular blogging presently.

One of the big projects was putting together a show for EMERGEncy Room at Rice University. EMERGEncy Room is a small gallery space which hosts shows of emerging artists from the Houston area. But the show I'm working on is quite different--it's a selection of original comic strip and comic book art from my personal collection. The show is called Comics: Works from the Collection of Robert Boyd and it runs from March 14 to April 11. The work dates from the 1920s to the 2010s, and as such forms a kind of history of comics--an idiosyncratic, eccentric history, to be sure. I'll be discussing it a little more as the exhibition date gets closer.

Below is the poster image for the show. Certain comics fans may recognize the steady hand of Ernie Bushmiller, the cartoonist of Nancy, who it turns out was quite capable of drawing a sexy, half-dressed women when the occasion called for it.



Prior to now, EMERGEncy Room has been an institution above reproach. But now they are showing a collector's personal collection! This drags them down to the level of so many of today's museums with their vanity shows for collectors. The most notorious of these in recent times was Skin Fruit, a show the New Museum drawn from collection of one of its trustees, Dakis Joannou. But Houston's own Museum of Fine Arts has been guilty of this kind of vanity show as well. And now the EMERGEncy Room is sullying itself by showing my collection. Nobody tell Tyler Green!

Share

In the High Seat

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

Kathryn Kelly's show at at Art League, The uncontrollable nature of grief and forgiveness (or lack of), consists of very tall chairs, green wooden squares that look like picture frames, some attached to droopy black rubber structures, and a series of slats hung by fishing line from the ceiling of the gallery. The chairs are 13 feet high, but the ceiling of the gallery is only 11 feet high, so they are leaning.



These leaning chairs don't look particularly functional in this space. On the other hand, who needs 13 foot high chairs? They seem completely fanciful--except when you remember that lifeguards regularly sit in elevated chairs.



Outside the main gallery, the ceiling is higher and it is possible for one of the chairs to be displayed standing up straight. When you look closely at the chairs, you see that they have door-knobs attached.



Nothing in the exhibit looks polished or new. It all feels aged, dusty. It feels like stuff you might find in a basement or a barn or a rural storage shed. If you're a city slicker like me, sometimes you'll come across old farm equipment in an antique store, and the purpose of the equipment will be completely baffling. That is the feeling that pervades this installation. These chairs, these frames are something that has a purpose--or had a purpose--that is as completely clear to Kelly as the old mysterious piece of farm equipment was completely unmysterious to the farmer who once owned it.

Kelley provides some clues for the viewers who are seeking meaning (or at least an explanation). There are three poems written on the wall. In her blog, she calls them the source writings. For instance, one is titled "I dissolve my fabricated seatings," and the chairs and table (the free-floating slats) are inspired by it.

I have this table
bare laid built of soul
one where I repeatedly
in my recesses
draw those I love

I have them here
against their spoken wills
as I awaken I latch on to their stay
naked in heart speaking pleading
I hear my own whines

they pushed back a bit ago
not righting their chairs
nor to draw up again
yet their memory flattened
I strap upon these seatings not their own

this morning with usual effort
i dissolve these fabricated chair seatings
with straps of intimate mind musings

i set afresh the table
spilling it with sun risen scents
of just turned soils
i glide my hands
furrowing rich long runners
where water from spilled crystal
seeps still and the sun's glance
splinters gracefully
across

i flare my nostrils
with the fertile ripeness
await in acceptance of unacceptance
listening even now again
for the ever drifting scents
of the emergent

i dissolve these fabricated chair seatings
with my hands deep amid turned soil
again

The poetry seems to reflect an emotional struggle in Kelley's own life, one seemingly without resolution. She writes of forgiveness (without specifying whether she is the one who needs to forgive or to be forgiven), and she writes about how difficult forgiveness is. So it suggests that there is something between Kelley and someone else (or some group of people) that needs to be forgiven but can't be. That's as much detail as she gives in the blog.

And that's interesting, because except for occasional melancholy posts like that one, the blog is--for me at least--quite a positive reading experience. I read it in real time--as she writes it. She documented the fabrication of this show, from getting the rubber to building the frames. Other posts feature photos of her beloved dog and others have to do with teaching at Sam Houston State University. (The "WASH" she is referring to in this post is the Workshop in Art Studio and History.) The posts colored my impression of the show before I ever even saw it. Because I had seen Kelley's process of getting the materials, assembling, checking out the space, etc. (along with photos of her dirty hands--that rubber rubs off!--and smiling face), I had nothing but positive feelings about the show. So even though it apparently comes out of a personal crisis for Kelley, it feels like the end-result of a joyful, labor-intensive process.



The "bellows" are sewn rubber tubing that ends in small green frames. I admit I find these structures a bit disturbing. Frames to me symbolize portals, and these are portals into long black tunnels. They're pictures that seem likely to suck the viewer into a void (or an "abyss," which Kelly describes as beckoning to her in one of her poems). The way they droop implies exhaustion or impotence. And the fact that there are many of them suggests tentacles. They're spooky--if you encountered them in a haunted house (say the house in Mark Danielewski's House of Leaves), they wouldn't seem out of place.

If you've followed Kelley's work, then you have probably seen this "bellows" structure before. It strikes me as a highly original replicable structure, and I can see why she'd want to continue exploring it just from a formal point of view. It combines hard with soft, curves with right angles, surface with an empty opening. But there is more to it. A bellows is an ancient simple machine, but it is a machine and machines have a purpose. While we can't know that purpose--we can make some guesses based on the source poems--I believe these bellows have a specific purpose for Kelley.







The table, which is flying apart, strikes me as not quite right. The way it has been installed, it's as if we are seeing it in one instance of a process of disassembling itself. (In other words, this is the moment when she "dissolve[s] her fabricated seatings") By capturing this motion in a still installation, it has the feeling of a high-speed photograph. The stillness of the rest of the exhibit is disturbed by its implied motion--especially as that motion appears to be quite elegant and choreographed. The table is not exploding, after all. Nonetheless, it does represent the idea of a table coming apart, and since a table with chairs is where people come together, having a table come apart is a loaded, powerful image. (And it makes me want to see the chairs not as leaning but as falling over.)

I think the installation as a whole is quite beautiful, and because I saw it after reading about its construction for so many weeks, I felt a kind of joy at seeing it. But the black bellows and disassembling table ultimately express something darker than joy (as do the poems). So I end up pulled in two directions by the piece. And that's two more directions than most art pulls me--The uncontrollable nature of grief and forgiveness (or lack of) is an affecting exhibit.

Share

Blogging ARTlies -- October/November 1994

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


Things changed a lot with the third issue of ARTlies.You can see it right away with the cover--where the first two issues had been Emigre-influenced design orgies, suddenly we get a cover that has the casual DIY look of a zine. And Wade Chandler, who had been the executive director for the first two issues, was out, replaced by board member (and artist) Benito Huerta. He explains the drastic changes like so:
Artlies has changed! We have adapted in order to survive. We have cut back our production costs. We have slashed our advertising rates. We will publish an issue every two months. The writing has become the focal point of Artlies. And we are here to stay in order to critique, to raise and discuss issues, to engage the community in a dialogue, and to question everything. Why question everything? So that we may uncover any flaws in our virtues and discover any virtues in our flaws. We refuse to be a paasive memeber [sic] of a consumer society. And we challenge you, the public, to become active in our community and with this magazine.
I don't point out the typos to make fun of ARTlies (people in glass houses and all), but rather to point out how ad hoc this whole issue feels. The whole issue feels like it was put together over a weekend. There is no "design" as such--the feature "Hustling" credited to the Green Hornet is a single-spaced, full page of type (no columns) and as such is a very uninviting read. Page numbers were hand-written.

Nor is the editing very good. "La Cordillera Anamorada" by Donald Calladare manages to fill an entire page about a show called "Poison/Amor" without mentioning the names of the artists or the venue. (A little Googling tells me that it was a show at the Blaffer by Terry Allen and James Drake.)

So ARTlies seems to have devolved into a kind of blank state with this issue--no design, no editing, just writing. That doesn't mean that it's a bad issue--there is an interesting article discussing Project Row Houses (which debuted that year) by Lynn Curl, some interesting reviews including a group show curated by Aaron Parazette and a show by Perry House (coincidentally, there was a Perry House solo show and a painting exhibit put together by Aaron Parazette in 2012--the more things change...). There was a vicious dissection of the Colquitt Gallery scene by Chris Ballou which included this gem "The only thing awe-inspiring [about the work in the galleries on Colquitt] was the magnitude of boredom: tropical tourism at Lynn Goode, tired modernist geometry at Davis/McClain, competent doctor's office paintings at Hooks-Epstein, and clever one-liners at New Gallery." There were scene reports from New York, Chicago and Los Angeles. And there was a very strange piece of fashion prognostication which included paper dolls.


Art by "X-Acto"

The article, "Forecasting Spring 1995," was by Peter Doroshenko (and the paper dolls were credited to "X-Acto"). Doroshenko is now the director of the Dallas Contemporary after having worked at the Pinchuk Art Center, the Baltic Center for Contemporary Art and the CAMH. (He is currently embroiled in a controversy over selling donated artwork on eBay for insultingly low prices.)

Share

Pan Recommends for the week of February 21 to February 27

$
0
0
Robert Boyd with Dean Liscum

This looks like a full week for artlovers--there's stuff happening practically every single day. He are a few things we look forward to.

THURSDAY


Liliana Porter, still from Matinee, 2009, video

Liliana Porter, Matinee, at Sicardi Gallery, 6 pm. A video by Liliana Porter from 2009 featuring her trademark tiny little toys.


Dan McCleary, Freesia and Carnations, 2011 , Oil on canvas , 12 ¾ x 10"

Dan McClearyat Texas Gallery, 6 pm (through March 30). I always say, if a gallery needs some fast cash, put on a show of flower paintings. People love that shit.

FRIDAY


Charlie Morris, Knuckle Fucks 1, 2012, silverpoint on cotton paper, 6" x 4 3/8"

Charlie Morris: Spinning Under Trees at Art Palace, 6 pm (runs through March 20). Artist Charlie Morris explores something or other (I stopped reading when I got to the word "explores"). The art looks pretty groovy, though.

Beth Secor: Trees at Inman Gallery, 6 pm (through March 22). Isabella Courts has a bunch of openings Friday, including this one by the great Beth Secor. (Trees, like flowers, are big movers.)


Cruz Ortiz, You Make Me Speak in Lightning Style, 2012

Cruz Ortiz: I Speak Lightning at David Shelton Gallery, 6 pm (through March 30). And another show to look forward to at Isabella Courts, this one by San Antonio cartoon portraitist Cruz Ortiz.


Helen Gerritzen, the hero’s shadow, 2006, etching, spit bite, 72” x 48” (2 panels, each panel 36” x 48”)

Helen Gerritzen: Survey 1999-2013 at Avis Frank Gallery at 6 pm (through March 13). And if you want to get away from Isabella Courts, there is a nice survey up in the Heights of Helen Gerritzen's work from the last few years.

SATURDAY

Dean says "Saturday is about death: vigorously interrogated, beautifully rendered." (And here I always thought it was about drinking muchas cervezas.)

Palas por Pistolas Tree Planting: Artist Pedro Reyes plants a tree at Guadalupe Plaza Park, 9 am. You have to get up early to see this one. One of the artists included in Fotofest's Crónicas exhibit, Pedro Reyes, will be using his shovel made of melted guns to plant a tree. Houston loves (and loves to hate) tree art!


some Harif Guzman art, featuring sexy cowgirls and oil wells because Texas

Harif Guzman: Dying to Live at Deborah Colton Gallery at 6 pm (through April 30). Personally, I'm hoping for some sexy work by this artist, but who knows what to expect? His work is quite varied.

TUESDAY


The route the Art Guys will walk on Tuesday

The Art Guys, The Longest Street In Houston on Little York Road beginning at 7:00 a.m. until completed. "Beginning at the farthest east end of Little York Road at Mesa Drive in Houston and proceeding west past Fry Road, The Art Guys will walk the entire length of Little York Road, the longest street in Houston." It's curious that artists and writers in Houston keep returning to the walk as a means to experience this car-centric town.

WEDNESDAY

Diverse Discourse Lecture: Naomi Beckwith, Marilyn and Larry Field's Curator, MCA Chicago at DiverseWorks, 6:30 pm. Diverse Works is determined to get you out of the house on Wednesday nights by scheduling events and lectures at that time. Beckwith specializes in "conceptual practices in contemporary art," so her lecture could be about anything pretty much.

Share

Pan Video Parade

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

The world's laziest blog posts are those where a blogger just post a bunch of videos he found elsewhere on the web. This is one of those posts.



Kyle Chayka calls this bit from Portlandia a sketch on conceptual art, but I'd say it's more about "participatory art" (I realize this is a hair-splitting distinction). He points out how he loves how there are wall labels for all the pieces. My favorite line is the very last one.

Arts InSight is a show on PBS about Houston art. You can see a lot of it on YouTube videos that are posted to their site, if you miss it on TV.  Here are a few:



The Art Guys talk about their work. I liked this one because it seemed like they were trying to make the work accessible to someone who maybe knows nothing about conceptual art or performance art.



Many readers are pretty familiar with the story of John and Dominique de Menil, but this short video lays it out in a succinct way, with lots of video of their Phillip Johnson-designed house.

And finally, a video that appeared on Glasstire just yesterday! (Yes, I'm totally shameless.) It's from the Nasher Sculpture Center up in Dallas (just saw the Ken Price retrospective there--fantastic!). It's for a project called Xchange, celebrating the Nasher's tenth birthday (X = 10, geddit?).



Xchange will put art all over town in public spaces. The artists include a few internationally famous names like Alfredo Jaar and and Ugo Rondinone, but Houston and Dallas are resented with the inclusion of Rick Lowe, Vicki Meek and the Good/Bad Art Collective. I think in keeping with Nasher family tradition, the 10 pieces should all be sited at shopping malls.


Share

Comics Art Tidbits

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

Here are a bunch of items and links have little in common except that they have to do with comics and art.




  • "Six great but forgotten comics anthologies" by Chris Mautner (for his January 28 post in the  Robot 6 blog on Comic Book Resources) was a listicle on some of less well-remembered art comics anthologies. The ones that all serious art comics fans know are Zap Comix, Arcade, Raw, and Weirdo, and most would also include Kramer's Ergot and Mome in there, and if you read French, you would have to include Lapin at the very least. Mautner lists a few that haven't made it into institutional memory, including a single issue I edited of an anthology called Mona. Mautner writes, "Here was Kitchen Sink’s swan song, one of the last great things published before the company gave up the ghost for the more financially solvent shores of candy bar sales. Mona promised great things, but sadly was only able to get one issue out of the door before Kitchen Sink shut down. But as sad as the unfulfilled promise is, at least there’s this great first issue to gaze fondly upon." Fourteen years later, that's very gratifying to read. (But the typo on the cover--above, image by Jaime Hernandez--still nags me.)





Share

Tooling Around Dallas in a Rental Thinking About Art

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

I was in Dallas last weekend to see the Ken Price retrospective at the Nasher Sculpture Center. The last time I was in Dallas, I had promised myself that the next time, I'd make a point of checking out some alternative galleries and artist run spaces. And I didn't do that. I was even planning to go to an opening at 500X, but by the time it rolled around I was tired and just wanted to stay in my hotel room and write. Next time, I promise.

So I saw some museums and nice art spaces and wandered around a bit. Last time I wrote about Dallas and Fort Worth, I had a thesis and I pushed it hard. This time around, things may be a bit more discursive, and are unlikely to gel around any solid idea. This post is more about wandering the streets of Dallas than about making a grand statement.

My first stop was the MAC--the McKinney Avenue Contemporary. Last time around I mentioned that the big institutions in Dallas and Fort Worth mostly ignored local artists. In contrast, the MAC, a medium-sized non-collecting venue, explicit includes featuring work by regional artists as part of its mission. It was established in 1994 and is located in the Uptown neighborhood. My impression is that the Uptown neighborhood is that it is pretty high-end and very urban (i.e., mostly apartments and condos, very few lawns). It feels like a neighborhood for young yuppies. There are lots of mid-rise and highrise residential towers, including a lot of mixed use buildings. And there is a free trolley that runs along McKinney that goes from the arts district 4 miles north along McKinney. This seems like the very definition of a "toy train" (down to the cutesy old-fashioned trolley cars), but it does connect a residential area to a business area, which is what you want mass transit to do.


The MAC is extremely blue

The current show is Out of Commerce, which features Texas A&M-Commerce professor Michael Miller and a group of his former students and other alumni of Texas A&M-Commerce. I had never heard of Texas A&M-Commerce before this show. I didn't even know where Commerce was (it's about 67 miles northeast of Dallas). Now the justification for this show is that a surprising number of excellent artists have come out of this program. So many that it makes me kind of embarrassed not to have heard of it. Given the people in this show, if I were a gallerist, I'd make a road trip out to see the student exhibits every year. Because you could discover the next Trenton Doyle Hancock, Robin O'Neil or Lawrence Lee.

Michael Miller creates collaged works where the elements come out of pop culture. He blows up  images (usually drawn images) so they end up having a ragged feeling to them. The work derives in a way from street art, and perhaps also from Mimmo Rotella--the ragged nature of these pieces recall decollage even though they are collages. There is some political comment--Miller seems to be mocking the kind of capitalist effusions one might hear from advocates of the "prosperity gospel." It's a message worth satirizing in Texas, where this kind of thing is quite popular on Sunday morning.

(I failed to get the titles of all the pieces in this show--my apologies!)


Michael Miller, Happiness, 2010, acrylic and fabric on paper, 72 x 72 inches


Michael Miller, Conway Heart Loretta, 2009, acrylic and fabric on paper, 44 x 35 inches


Michael Miller


Michael Miller



Michael Miller

What was most interesting about this show was seeing Miller's work in conjunction with Trenton Doyle Hancock's. Knowing now that Hancock went to Texas A&M-Commerce (BFA, 1997) and Miller has taught there since 1982, we can guess that Miller taught--or at least knew--Hancock. And given how important collage is to Hancock's work, is this something he was encouraged to do by Miller? (Or did the influence run the other way?) There are strong stylistic similarities in the work.


Trenton Doyle Hancock


Trenton Doyle Hancock


Trenton Doyle Hancock

The other artists don't have an obvious stylistic relationship with Miller. Their inclusion is justified because of the Texas A&M-Commerce connection and because they're interesting artists in their own right.


Jeff Parrott, Composition Cloth, 2012


Robyn O'Neil, A Birth in Grief and Ashes, 2008 


Lawrence Lee, Luche!, 2011 


Lawrence Lee

And remember when I said that galleries should prowl the student shows at Texas A&M-Commerce? I'm guessing that's already a thing--Trenton Doyle Hancock was reportedly "discovered" at his BFA student show, and these artists have relationships with such galleries as MoodyGallery and BarryWhistler Gallery, which is the show's sponsor. (Does this seem a little off that a comercial gallery is "sponsoring" a show at a non-profit space?)

One thing I like about the MAC is that they have a little bookstore which they stock with small catalogs of the artists they show--even if the catalogs are from other shows. I was able to pick up a Trenton Doyle Hancock catalog from a show at the University of South Florida, a Michael Miller Catalog from a Barry Whistler show, and two catalogs from recently departed Houston artists, Daniel-Kayne and Bert Long.

When I was last in Dallas, they were still working on Klyde Warren Park. This is a park that was built over a sunken section of the Woodall Rogers Freeway. The idea here is that a freeway forms a kind of barrier between two areas of a town that keeps them for interacting organically. So Uptown, where lots of people live, wasn't really connected to downtown, where lots of people work, even though the two areas are adjacent. That damned freeway was a psychic barrier between the two, despite the many bridges across the freeway.


Klyde Warren Park with the Woodall Rogers Freeway emerging from under it

It seems overly hopeful that this little park will change things all that much. We won't know for a while, I suppose. It takes a long time for people to change their habits. But while I was there, it was obviously well-used, and the presence of multiple food trucks helped to make up for the paucity of dining options in the Art District.


Klyde Warren Park

In any case, it's sure to benefit the arts district by virtue of just being there. You can go to the museum then have a little picnic in the park. The park is right across the street from the Dallas Museum of Art and the Nasher Sculpture Garden.

But when I got out of the downtown/Uptown area, things got weird. Like, what does this sign mean?



This was on Commerce west of downtown. Is it saying that art is a con? Or advertising in some very subtle way an upcoming art convention?

And I found an awesome place to buy some statues over in the design district. Say you're a fifty-five year old Dallas man. You've made a lot of money and you have a hellacious mansion out in some rich suburb. You've ditched your wife (she was old!) and got yourself hitched to a blonde 28-year-old sorority girl--hell, you deserve it, right? So how are you going to decorate the grounds of your new mansion? Well, you'll leave the details to Amber or Missy or whatever her name is. But you want to have a statue that reflects who you are. Successful. Manly. Potent. So here's the statue for you.



You can buy this bronze stallion at ASI Art. They have a huge selection of bronze decor and statues--they claim to offer "the most extensive collection of bronze statuary and fountains in the world." It's an amazing yard, well worth checking out. And if our Dallas success story doesn't find that a rearing stallion quite captures the massiveness of his prowess, he can get exotic with his erectile symbolism.



Yes, you can buy a life-size bronze rhinoceros at ASI Art.



I was in the Bishop Arts District when I saw these two refugees from the Great Gatsby, and they weren't the only ones I saw. Was Sunday "Dress Like a Flapper" day? If so, I approve! I'll take it over Go Texan Day for sartorial flair.



Finally, I want to mention Lucky Dog Books, also in the Bishop Arts District (I think--I'm not sure where the precise boundaries are). I was able to find a bunch of interested art-related publications here, including some ancient issues of ARTLies (useful for my project to reread the as much of the original run as possible) and a relic from 1986 called Fifty Texas Artists: by Annette Carlozzi.



This well-produced survey is fantastically interesting from a vantage of 27 years later. Without knowing anything about the selection criteria, it's fascinating to see what someone then, right around the time of the Fresh Paint show, thought represented the best of Texas. A lot of names are very familiar (James Surls, James Drake, Dorothy Hood, Luis Jiménez, Bert Long, Jim Love, Melissa Miller, Nic Nicosia, etc.) and a bunch are totally unfamiliar to me. And while the art is quite varied, there is this trend of neoexpressionist painting combined with Mexican/border colors that seems to have utterly died since the mid-80s. A perfect exemplar is a Dallas painter named Martin Delabano, who had a piece called Flaming Ladder Stele in the book. Did it have lots of purple, orange and red? Check. A flaming corazon? Check. Expressive faux-naif brushwork? Check.


Martin Delbano, Flaming Ladder Stele, 1984, acrylic on wood, 82" x 36.5" x 16"

This kind of art seemed kind of funky and cool back then. Now? Oy. Delabano is still around, and you can see from his website that his art has evolved quite a long way from its faux magical Mexican neoexpressionist beginnings.

I saw a few other things in Dallas and Fort Worth, and I'll probably write about them. But the conclusion I draw from this trip is no conclusion at all--just a series of mostly random encounters. Perhaps that's the best way to see a city.

Share

Beth Secor Trees

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

In 2009, Beth Secor had an exhibit, Riffing on Langer’s Lines, at Inman Galler. It consisted of a series of portraitscomposed of brightly colored embroidered threads. It was an interesting technique--the threads seemed chaotic in both the directions of the stitches and their colors, but despite this, they cohered into very affecting portraits. And it was the obsessive stitching, which could be lickened to mark-making, that made them work.


Beth Secor, Pecan Tree, Fall 2012, 2012, ink, gouache and pencil on paper, 18" x 20 1/4"

I was slightly disappointed that the work in this new show wasn't sewn (even though I can understand not wanting to repeat what must have been a difficult, tedious technique). But the strange thing is that while Secor is using more traditional means to create these new pictures, they still look similar to the stitched pictures.


Beth Secor, Oak Tree, Summer After the Drought 2012, 2012, ink, gouache and pencil on paper, 22" x 16"

Part of this has to do with the subject matter she's chosen. Trees with blue sky showing between the branches afford her an opportunity for a surprising range of colors--blue, many greens, reds, yellows, and browns. That range is fully on view in Oak Tree, Summer After the Drought 2012 and Pecan Tree, Fall 2012. And the way she applies these colors, in little drawn marks, resembles the stitching of her earlier works.

Beth Secor, Oak Tree, Summer After the Drought 2012 detail, 2012, ink, gouache and pencil on paper, 22" x 16"

These color drawings aren't quite as audacious as the sewn drawings (for instance, Man From Photo Booth, 3/4 Portrait). The drawings of trees generally depend on local color, except for a couple that are essentially monochromatic. The sewn drawings have all kinds of colors as elements that build up into a recognizable whole (in a way similar to Chuck Close portraits, where each individual color may be unrelated to the flesh he is depicting, but it wall works out when you step back).


Beth Secor, Man From Photo Booth, 3/4 Portrait, 2007, embroidery on cloth

What fundamentally links the two bodies of work is the mark-making. The stitches in the embroidered pictures read as choppy little marks, which are also the basis for the tree pictures. Based on Trees and Riffing on Langer's Lines, you might conclude that Secor has a signature style of mark-making. But if she does, it wasn't very evident in her Project Row Houses installation, Blueprint for Heaven.


Beth Secor, Distressed Pecan 2011, 2011, ink, gouache, watercolor, whiteout and pencil on paper, 20 1/4" x 16"

This group of pictures reflects trees that have lived through the drought of 2011, which is reckoned to have killed millions of trees in the Houston area alone (I've seen estimates reported that range from 19 million to 66 million trees dead locally). Many of Secor's trees are portraits taken during the drought. And I presume Distressed Pecan 2011 is distressed because of the drought conditions. But all of her trees are alive, and to an untrained eye don't appear to be in bad shape. One might almost take away a message of resiliency from these pictures. But if you view them as nothing more than pretty pictures of trees, that's OK too.

Share

Picasso Black and White

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

Picasso was a great artist and a prolific one, whose career lasted 70 years. This is great for curators and museums because it means that every few years they can put up another big Picasso show. All they have to do is think of a hook on which to hang the show that will distinguish it from the 50 previous Picasso exhibits. The hook this time is "black and white."

The Guggenheim and the MFAH have teamed up for Picasso Black and White, curated by Carmen Giménez. The show looks great--the galleries are well-proportioned, and there is just the right amount of wall information. There is something for everyone--the early Picasso with his portraits of gaunt poor people, the analytical cubits Picasso, the synthetic cubist Picasso, the neoclassicist Picasso, the surrealist Picasso, the dirty old man Picasso, etc. And there is a beautifully produced catalog for the show. It's there we have to turn in order to find out what justifies this particular Picasso exhibit. Why is work in black, white and grey worth singling out?

There isn't a single answer. In fact, the contributors to the catalog each have a different answer, often quite different from one another. And the fact is that all of them could be right to one extent or another. Carmen Giménez locates the source in Spainish artists. She points out that Picasso loved El Greco, whose work was rediscovered when he was a young man. El Greco, she points out, is the most monochromatic of the old masters, and you can see echoes of El Greco in Picasso's early work, such as Woman Ironing (La reasseuse) from 1904. It is monochromatic (essentially black, white and gray) with a gaunt, elongated figure that recalls El Greco's Mannerist distortions. Giménez also mentions the blacks of Vélazquez and Goya (to which one could add the blacks of Francisco de Zurbarán and Jusepe de Ribera). And amazingly, a viewer has an opportunity to compare those painters to Picasso, because the MFAH is concurrently showing Portrait of Spain: Masterpieces from the Prado, which has examples of work from each of those Spanish masters. Especially magnificent and relevant to Giménez's argument is Vélazquez's King Phillip IV in Hunting Garb, which is painted in greys, browns and deep blacks. Picasso revered Vélazquez and quoted his paintings in his later work.


Pablo Picasso, The Kitchen (La cuisine), 1948, 175.3cm x 250 cm

Richard Shiff locates the origin of Picasso's tendency towards black and white in his reliance on touch more than vision. Picasso was also a sculptor, of course, but Shiff points out that drawing itself is very much about touch and contact with the canvas or paper. We think of Picasso as a linear artist, more interested in drawn shapes than areas of color (not that his color was bad). He sits on the opposite pole from Matisse, for example. A work like The Kitchen (La cuisine) exemplifies this.

Olivier Berggruen reminds us that Picasso was an artist of the 20th century and therefore spent his life surrounded by photos and films--particularly black and white photos and films. Dore Ashton comments that when Picasso had a serious message to convey (which was rare), he reverted to black and white, as in Guernica and The Charnal House. These large black-and-white paintings could be seen as reflecting (and competing with) newsreel films showing the horrors of aerial bombing or Nazi death camps.


Pablo Picasso, Head of a Horse, Sketch for Guernica (Tête de cheval, étude pour Guernica), 1937, 65 cm x 92 cm



Pablo Picasso, The Charnel House (Le charnier), 1944-45, oil and charcoal on canvas, 199.8 cm x 250.1 cm

Ashton may be right, but this exhibit shows Picasso using black and white for much more ordinary subjects as well.

(There is a Guernica-shaped hole in this exhibit. One would expect that an exhibit called Picasso: Black and White would include the artist's most famous black and white painting, but I suppose it's too precious to travel.)


Pablo Picasso, Bust of a Woman, Arms Raised (Buste de femme, les bras levés), 1922, 65.4 cm x 54 cm

Picasso was a sculptor and was influenced by sculpture--African sculptures, of course, and primitive Iberian sculptures, but also classical statuary. He may have painted Bust of a Woman, Arms Raised (Buste de femme, les bras levés) from a live model, but by virtue of painting her in grey and with empty eyes, it comes across as a picture of a statue--perhaps a Roman statue in the Constatinian style.

The exhibit also includes lots of drawings and an etching, which is a little bit of a cheat since drawings and etching are customarily black and white anyway. Still, I was happy to see them, especially the etching Minotauromachy.


Pablo Picasso, Minotauromachy (La Minotauromachie),1935, etching and engraving, 19 1/2" x 27 3/8"

Picasso really worked the plates on his etchings. This means they have some especially black blacks. Minotaromachy is a deep, dark work with a rhythm of light and dark that is astonishing. I also like that it shows an event or an episode from a story. And if you wish, you can compare Picasso's technique to that of Goya. There is a whole gallery of Goya etchings in the Portrait of Spain exhibit right upstairs from Picasso: Black and White.

This show is a bit exhausting. At the end, you long to see some bright colors--perhaps Girl Before a Mirror. After all, Picasso didn't eschew color. What this exhibit mainly demonstrates is that Picasso was so prolific that it is possible to mount a substantial exhibit exclusively out of all the work he did without color. A similar exhibit could be mounted using only of Picasso works with fairly intense colors. I look forward to that one and many more.


Share

Dissatisfaction: A Talk with Marzia Faggin

$
0
0
Virginia Billeaud Anderson

Recently two Houston critics published reviews of Marzia Faggin’s Dissatisfaction exhibition at d.m. allison art, which can be seen through March 2, and if I invoke them, it’s because they are informative. Devon Britt-Darby, writing for Arts & Culture Magazine, considered Faggin’s thirteen wall mounted three-dimensional panels to be a continuation of the work she showed at Nau-haus Art in 2011, which he described as “life-size painted cast-plaster still lifes of potentially addictive pills like Lithium, Xanax and Adderall, which she juxtaposed with equally convincing replicas of equally addictive chocolates, cookies and other sugary snacks.” Faggin’s new work, according to Britt-Darby, “keeps the same intimate, life-size scale, but ups the ante both conceptually and formally. Candies, some half-eaten; pills; and snuffed-out cigarettes now sit along expertly cast and hand-painted copies of books from Faggin’s personal library. And what a library it is: Junky by William S. Burroughs, Albert Camus’s The Stranger and Charles Bukowski’s Ham on Rye are among the volumes sharing real estate on what Faggin calls ‘details of a nightstand’ with scattered chocolates, capsules, and other bits of evidence of how the nightstand owner numbs or deflects his or her pain.”

Writing for the Houston Press, Abby Koenig described the objects on Faggin’s panels as those “one might find after a night of soul searching and debauchery,” and rightly associated the panels’ books with our yearning for meaning in life. The “hopelessness” that leads us to read Sartre, Burroughs and Bukowski, she suggested, explains our use of pills, booze, cigarettes and Kit Kat bars. The critic further noted how realistic the objects seem, “the details are so perfect; the rice crisps of the Krackel bar pop out of the plaster chocolate,” she wrote, which is precisely the reaction I had the first time I encountered one of Faggin’s panels of addictive pills at PG Contemporary in 2012.

Cumulatively the two critics provide a fine description of Faggin’s art. After talking to the artist I would like to add a tiny bit more.


Marzia Faggin, Detail of a Night Stand: Ham on Rye, 2013, Hand painted plaster (Hydrocal),12 x 12
Virginia Billeaud Anderson: Let’s get the topic of addiction out of the way, for anyone who thinks your art is about addiction, or wonders if you have had personal experience with addiction, either yours, family or friends.

Marzia Faggin: The art is not about addiction, it’s about existential angst, our need to understand human existence. I was thinking about what a lonely space a nightstand can be, the half-eaten chocolates, and other objects speak of "dissatisfaction." I have been smoking cigarettes since I was 13 and have quit at least 25 times, the longest stretch without being over a year when I was pregnant and nursing. Addiction to anything can be miserable and I empathize. Effects on the mind and body vary, but addiction can bring suffering and self loathing. I have friends without any addictions, friends who are addicts, and some are former addicts. The most common addiction among my friends is food.

VBA: Briefly describe the process of making casts - do you construct a mold from the real object, how is it done?

MF: When I began working I often incorporated pre-fabricated molds along with the original molds. For "Dissatisfaction" I constructed molds for everything except the art’s base, which I cast from a 12" x 12" pre-fabricated tile mold. I use a two-part silicone to make a mold of the objects, cast from real objects, and pour plaster into the molds. It's not a complicated process and is similar to baking. At first you follow the recipe, then you learn to eyeball the ingredients.

Collaboration with my brother Eric Faggin brought me to this. In early 2010 we worked together on a piece called Natura Morta for the group show Material and deStructure, curated by Zoya Tommy at PG Contemporary Gallery, which is now called Zoya Tommy Contemporary Gallery. We made a cast concrete frame above a bed of grass with flowers. When water was sprayed on the frame, the inscription Natura Morta, (“Still Life” in Italian) appeared. While Eric worked on the concrete frame, I experimented with materials to make the flowers, searched the Internet for materials and molds, eventually trying latex, alginate, putty, silicone, baking molds, as well as various types of plaster. About the time I decided to use Permastone, the artist Richard Soler suggested I use Hydrocal because it's lighter and whiter.

Two of my paintings in Zoya's show caught the attention of the critic Robert Boyd, who contacted me a few months later and asked me to be part of an exhibition he was curating for the Freneticore Theater Fringe Festival. The 15 plaster wall hangings I made represented my beginning in this art form.

Marzia Faggin, Detail of a Nightstand: The Stranger, 2013, Hand painted plaster (Hydrocal),12" x 12"
VBA: Do you sketch or design the composition before you create each panel?

MF: No, I don't sketch or design the compositions. I’m usually unsure about arrangement until I’ve completed the individual elements. It's like having a bunch of puzzle pieces that can be re-arranged, until I'm satisfied that the results communicate what I have in mind. For Dissatisfaction, I knew which books I would include, and also which objects - candy, cigarettes - would be “details of a nightstand,” but not the arrangement of the panels.

VBA: Are the “real” candy, pills, books or cigarettes in front of you to guide you?

MF: Yes, I have the "real" object in front of me as a guide, but I tend to make colors brighter, since I love color.

VBA: It must require precise brush handling to make plastic appear like real chocolate or Xanax. Is coloring a lengthy or tedious process? Make a comment about the brushes you use.

MF: The brushes range from size 000 to 6. Painting is labor intensive, and can take 8 hours to paint 3 chocolates, I spent 6 months painting half-eaten chocolates, so boring. I was not sure why I was doing it. A half-eaten chocolate represents something painful. Even the act of painting these chocolates depressed me.

VBA: Why do you think you are drawn to such precise manipulation of materials?

MF: I love to work with my hands, I love to paint, and I'm a "bit" obsessive. Working in 3-D suits my skills, I can more effectively express myself.

VBA: In the past when you painted, I can’t help but wonder if you had an obsessively representational style. Did your paintings and print art forewarn of the work you are doing now?

MF: I don’t know if my style was representational, but my technique was one that lacked visible brush strokes. Precision and color are very important. When I printed with Dan Allison I applied paint to some of the prints. Drawing is not my forte. But combining computer images with traditional techniques suited me because with the computer, images become objects that can be endlessly moved around, similar to the 3-D objects I create, and move around until I'm satisfied the composition expresses what I’m feeling.


Marzia Faggin, Detail of a Night Stand: Go Now, 2013, Hand painted plaster (Hydrocal), 12" x 12"
VBA: You were formally trained to manipulate images. According to your biographical material you studied graphic design at the Instituto Europeo Di Design in Milan, and paper conservation at Atelier Deltos di Simonetta Rosatelli. Surely experience in graphic design adds to this artistic expression, but do you think the chemistry you learned when studying paper conservation flavors the work with molds and cast plastic?

MF: Studying graphic design shaped me tremendously. It taught me to be precise and clean, even if I did not start out that way. The first months of school took some adjusting. I presented my exercises with fingerprints, smudges and creases on the paper and my classmates and professors were horrified. I didn't even know how to use a ruler. The X-Acto knife was suicidal, which is funny, because now the ruler and X-Acto knife are as indispensable as my hands. School taught me precision and patience. Paper conservation is precise and repetitive, patience is key in that work.

VBA: Let’s talk about the books. In our previous discussion you acknowledged their existential significance, and said you choose books that “relay the darker element of suffering.” Rimbaud, Sartre and Burroughs are bleak, but Camus! I remember dissecting The Stranger in a graduate school seminar, and thinking how perfectly its opening lines convey the absurdity of our existing as mortals within an indifferent universe. In Camus’s story, which you reproduced as a nightstand element, existence is alienated from meaning. Comment on your connection to the literature. Did you “seriously” study this literature, in an academic environment?

MF: I did not "seriously" study literature. I like to read, but don’t consider myself well-read. I gravitate toward books that question life, and entertain the psychological motivations behind behavior, reasons for hypocrisy, criminality, injustice, loneliness, violence and suffering, as well as the search for truth. I like books that make me think.

I want to say this, even if it sounds corny or lame. Ever since I was a child I've been hoarding candy, the brighter the colors, the better, for me candy is one of the most beautiful things in the world. As an adult I don’t have to hide my candy, and I have it everywhere, which is strange because I don't have much of a sweet tooth. This might seem to contradict my previous description of half-eaten chocolate bars as sad, but in my imagination chocolate absorbs sorrow, and candy seems to deflect it.
And this might be too corny, but in 2004 while living in Florence I decided to discontinue working as a graphic designer about the time of my first solo show in a bookstore called Libreria Martelli, organized by Paolo Giomi, the husband of Simonetta Rosatelli who operated Atelier Deltos where I apprenticed in paper conservation. My husband Manuel Terranova supported my decision to pursue a different career. We moved to Houston in 2006 when I was 7 months pregnant and the house we bought was near Texas Collaborative, Redbud and G Gallery, which turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. About a year after having my daughter Isabella, I started to harass Dan Mitchell Allison, Gus Kopriva, Max Boyd-Harrison, and Heidi Powell Prera, bothering them in their galleries, humiliating myself. Moral of the story: If I hadn't moved to Houston, I might not have realized my goal of becoming an exhibiting artist. Houston has been incredibly supportive, people here gave me a chance, for which I will always be grateful, and particularly to Dan Mitchell Allison and Zoya Tommy for fostering my "career."

Share

Pan Recommends for the week of February 28 to March 6

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

Here are a few things in the coming week to check out, if you have the time.

THURSDAY

Here's an old one by Jonathan Leach

Jonathan Leach, Time Does Not Exist Here, at Sonja Roesch Gallery at 6m (up through April 17). The maestro of candy-colored hard-edge painting is back with a new show, which is sure to be excellent.


Bert Long piece from his exhibit opening Thursday

Bert L. Long, Jr--An Odyssey at Houston Baptist University Contemporary Art Gallery, 6 pm (runs through April 18). It's tragic that Bert Long didn't get to see this show, which has inadvertently become a memorial exhibit. It's hard to imagine a better way to honor the memory of a Houston art great.

FRIDAY


Julon Pinkston, Baby Honey-Bee,2012, acrylic and plastic BBs on wood panel, 10 x 6 x 3 ½”

Art+New: 4 New Gallery Artists at Zoya Tommy Contemporary, 6 pm (up through March 16). First she moved her gallery to a new space, and now she's given it her own name. The first show under the name Zoya Tommy Contemporary features work by Scott Everingham, Louis Vega Trevino, John Stuart Berger, Julon Pinkston and the late Laurent Boccara.


Jang Soon, Dong-tak burns Nakyang transferring capital to ZangAn, Digital print, 40" x 28", 2011

Jang Soon: Gone Not Around Any Longer at the The Joanna, 7–10 pm.The Joanna is back with a new show by CORE fellow Jang Soon, known for his intensely colored historical battle scenes.


SATURDAY


Toby Kamps, New York, 2010, Gelatin Silver Print, 8x10" 

Toby Kamps: 99 Cent Dreams at Front Gallery ,4 to 6 pm (up through April 16). Here's my theory of critics versus curators. When a critic shows his artwork, artists are likely to shrug and say, "Don't give up your day job, asshole." But when a curator shows his artwork, artists will say something like, "Great show, sir! Your work is exquisite! I weep with joy in its sublime presence!" We'll see it this theory holds water when we see former CAMH curator/present Menil curator Toby Kamps' new photo exhibit at Front Gallery.


Share

Hillerbrand+Magsamen's Stuff

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

I was in Fort Worth looking at art, so naturally I went to the Fort Worth Modern in its beautiful, austere Tadao Ando palace. Then I walked across the street to the Kimbell Art Museum with its lovely, rhythmic  Louis Kahn vaults and saw a show of Bernini clay statues. My GPS device showed that Brand 10 Art Space was just a couple of blocks away, right in the same art district. I quickly found it.


Get some donuts and contemporary art (art available at the red arrow)

Brand 10 Art Space is in a strip mall. And this weird fact turns out to be totally appropriate for their current show Stuffed by Hillerbrand+Magsamen, whose work deals with aspects of suburban family life and in this show in particular, the accumulation of stuff that occurs in a suburban home.

(It's absolutely necessary for me to insert a disclaimer here. I not only own a Hillerbrand+Magsamen piece, I own one from this very show--specifically one of the Comfort tapestries.)

This show documents their family's accumulation of stuff, and by extension the culture we live in that encourages this sort of acquisition. Stephan Hillerbrand and Mary Magsamen have a young son and daughter, and a lot of the stuff they accumulate is kid stuff--plastic toys, stuffed animals, clothes. And young kids have a tendency to expand their stuff to fill every possible bit of space. (I should add that 49-year-old bloggers have the same tendency.) I don't have kids, but my brother's family stayed with me for a couple of months last summer, and even in that short period of time, a layer of little toys gradually spread to every corner of my house like a river's alluvial deposits. It was like a geologic process in super-fast time. That process may have inspired the floor piece Hillerbrand+Magsamen included in the show.


Hillerbrand+Magsamen, untitled, 2013, plastic toys, mostly from McDonalds Happy Meals, dimensions variable

When I saw untitled, I thought of Richard Long and his circles of slate. Long addresses geologic time with such work (slate is a metamorphic rock formed from shale, which is sedimentary), and by analogy Hillerbrand-Magsamen are addressing "mess time". They told me they could have literally filled the gallery with these little plastic geegaws. But making a circle out them is more elegant, and circles suggest infinity.


Hillerbrand+Magsamen, left to right: Comfort: Garage (back), Comfort: Garage (front), 2012, polar fleece blankets, 50" x 50" each

The Comfort series involves taking everything in a given room (for example, all the stuff in their garage), building a wall of the stuff in that room and then photographing it. But the process doesn't stop there--the photograph is then taken to Walmart, who will print your photos onto polar fleece material. I had no idea that this service was available. It's an excellent way to display these photos, because in order to do so, you have to go to Walmart, the platonic ideal delivery system for cheap plastic suburban stuff, and get one more piece of stuff made. (Five more, actually--each of these is an edition of five.)

The word "comfort"  refers to the blankets. The idea of wrapping yourself up in a warm blanket, or Linus and his security blanket from Peanuts come to mind. But the walls of stuff are about comfort as well--we buy things to make ourselves feel better. A wall makes us feel safer. The accumulation of things wards of death. I would argue that the ultimate consumers in modern capitalist America are the so-called "doomers," people who prepare for the collapse of civilization due to any number of factors (climate change, race wars, economic collapse, peak oil, the second coming, Obama--they choose a doom based on their own ideology). Such preparations inherently involve building a bunker and stocking it with stuff--guns, ammo, canned food, freeze-dried food, survival gadgets, etc. They spend ten of thousands of dollars to prepare for a day when money no longer has meaning and death haunts the land. But we are all doomers in a way--spending our way out of obsolescence and unhappiness, cocooning ourselves in the warm embrace of new stuff.

The cycle of stuff doesn't end with producing the polar fleece representations. Once they had made these polar fleece monuments to suburban accumulation, they cut them up and made clothes out of them.


Hillerbrand+Magsamen, Comfort: Ode to Beuys: Family Suiting, 2013, polar fleece


Hillerbrand+Magsamen, Comfort: Ode to Beuys: Family Suiting, 2013, polar fleece

These clothes are an Ode to Beuys in that they obviously reflect Joseph Beuy's own felt suit. The (dubious) mythology around Beuys is that he was wrapped with felt and fat when he was rescued by Tatars after crashing in a dive bomber in Russia during World War II. Felt therefore represented rescue and  salvation for Beuys. In Comfort: Ode to Beuys, it represents comfort, but also safety--not safety in a literal sense, but the psychological sense of safety and completeness we get from acquiring stuff. Jesus may have preached that one should leave all this stuff behind, but there is a reason that the "prosperity gospel" appeals so strongly to suburban America. Having stuff is important to us. These clothes reflect that.

Hillerbrand+Magsamen's art is both bourgeois and a critique of being bourgeois. As a document of their family's lifestyle, it is a picture of suburban plenty. And in a way, that is unusual. I remember reading an essay about writer William Trevor where the author said that the bohemianism of Allen Ginsberg (for example) was what you expected. You imagine an artist will not be a homme moyen sensuel. For this author, the very ordinariness of William Trevor was, in the context of artists, highly exotic.

(I want to emphasize that I know nothing of the actual lifestyle of the Hillerbrand+Magsamen family beyond what they chosen to depict in their artwork. So when I use descriptive words like "bourgeois" or "suburban," it's really about the work itself.)

By creating art like this seemingly from within this world--suburban, acquisitive, bourgeois--Hillerbrand+Magsamen are better placed to understand that world. Their critiques are gentle and not savage, but carry more weight than they would if they were coming from a place wholly outside the world of modern suburban America. Their work demonstrates a knowledge of art and an equal knowledge of Happy Meals, and is expressed with real humor.

Stuffed is up at Brand 10 Art Space through March 23.


Share

Slide Jam uses the C-word

$
0
0
Dean Liscum

These days you can't escape the c-word. Every bodies using it and everybody's doing it. Celebrities. Students. CEOs. Some call it hosting. Some call it DJ-ing. But now even the institutions that are entrusted with the responsibility of it are shining a light on their c-ing.

The CAM is the latest to do so. On February 7, 2013, it's Slide Jam series featured curators Sally Frater and Kimberli Gant. That's right. You heard me use the c-word, curators. The CAM used the program that it created to curate (and thus highlight) emerging artist in Houston to highlight the work of its profession through two regional curators.


Sally Frater preaching to the choir. Amen Sistah! 

I thought it a little odd to use one of these sessions for curators (who after all create the series) to focus on curators. In his opening remarks, one of the CAM's curators, Dean Daderko credited/blamed/pimped out Jamal Cyrus, who is officially the CAM's Education Associate/Teen Council Coordinator, as being the originator of this show. So at least on paper, it doesn't look quite as incestuous as it might sound, a coordinator curating curators rather than curators curating curators.


A photo that could easily qualify for the blog Art From Behind. More artists and writers than you could shake a oil paintstick at. 

I must admit that I attended the show full of skepticism (can you tell) because a curated series curating a show of curators sounded about as exciting and insightful as an art blog on the sexy, intrigue-filled world of art bloggers.

However, my interest had been peaked by a comment made by the writer and recent Creative Capital|Warhol Foundation Arts Writers Grant, Harbeer Sandhu, who wrote in a Facebook post on January 2013,
EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE A DJ / EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE A PRODUCER
I'm surprised that this gem from 1989 still holds true--that was a time when all the kids were trading in their guitars for turntables and mixers. So what is with all the "celebrity" DJ-ing that is still going on? Some time back I tweeted CURATING IS THE NEW CREATIVITY, and I intend to blog about this when I get my art blog up and running. It's like every jackass out there wants to be a "curator." ...
Experts say that with the information glut the internet has brought us, we are moving on from a phase where SEARCH was the most important function to a period where FILTERing will be more important. This is why we love aggregating sites like HuffPo and Boing Boing, my FB page, etc, because they scour the internet and deliver you the gems. I think this is related to the rise of curating and "celebrity" DJing (what is a DJ but a music curator?)
This post takes its title from the lyrics of De La Soul's The Magic Number and it begs the question if everybody want to be a DJ/producer/curator/or human filter, what does a curator do and how does s/he view his/her work?

It turns out that curating, as Sandhu alludes to, is primarily an act of education. The slam turned into a presentation of each curator's resume. Frater spoke first on the subject and Gant backed her up during her presentation.

Frater is currently a Core Critical Studies Fellow at the Glassell School at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. She holds an Honors BA in Studio Art from the University of Guelph and an MA (with Distinction) in Contemporary Art from The University of Manchester and Sotheby's Institute of Art.

She started out pursuing a career as an artist. She found herself drawn to curating as a consequence of her strong desire to explore and discover how other artist were addressing issues such as the Rwandan genocide, post-colonialism and post-globalism, media and its treatment of marginalized communities, homophobia, AIDS, and psychopaths, and others topics. Basically, she educated herself and then turned to share both what she learned and what she'd been exposed to to others so that they could experience and engage the subjects for themselves.

Both qualified that their mission as curator was not education in a parochial sense but education as exposure. They don't view their jobs as defining art in an if-you-see-a-white-dove-in-European context is means 'peace', but rather as an act of introduction and exposure.


A piece from one of the Frater's curated shows.

Kimberli Gant is getting her doctorate at UT Austin. She put in her time as the Curator of Exhibitions and Public Programs at the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Art (MoCADA) in New York and more recently as the Mercer Graduate Curatorial Fellow at AMOA-Arthouse, Austin, Texas.

Gant spoke most of the challenges she faced working as curator of MoCADA.



Gant discussed the challenge of curating for an audience that wasn't steeped in the New York art scene. She had to present exhibits that challenged the community that the museum served without alienating them. After all, no money, no art, no museum. At the time, she held some unorthodox events at the museum (such as renting it out for private parties) in order to get people into the museum and expose them to what it had to offer.


Kimberli Gant takes Q&A 

The Q&A session queried both curators about the challenges of working within constraints but being not impeded by them. They both acknowledged the limitations but found some solace in the fact that those constraints also worked as provided boundaries. Frater added that she found people respond to works by compressing, simplifying, flattening works so that they can digest them. In both Frater and Gant's practices, they seem to always be aware of that fact and constantly working against it because...

it's hard out here for an art pimp (a.k.a. curator)!

Postscript
I couldn't find links to sites that listed their entire curatorial resumes. However, I did find an interview with Frater on a show she curated at the Glassell and a profile of Gant on ArtSlant.


Share

Three Looks at Greg Miller

$
0
0
Virginia Billeaud Anderson

In the catalog his gallery published for Greg Miller’s Over Time exhibition, gallerist Scott Peveto said the art’s visual references to mid-20th century America engender nostalgia for a past era colored by optimism. Nostalgia might indeed be the reason I viewed Miller’s art three times. Certainly it was pleasurable to be reminded of our rotary dial phone, and the bottles of orange soft drinks we pulled from the grocer’s chest-shaped refrigerator. In those days we opened bottles with the machine mounted opener or used the hand opener on a string. On my third visit to Peveto I scanned Miller’s art for ominous content. Surely there was something cynical and dark. There was none. Here are brief observations about the twelve paintings this California artist is showing in Houston until March 9.

Their sculptural quality and texture are unexpected. Aluminum forms part of the canvas structure, onto which Miller builds up elaborate layers of collage as ground for imagery, all immobilized by heavily applied clear epoxy. The work’s dimensionality and tactile incoherence is akin to stacked disarranged Sears Catalogue sheets, or highway billboards holding decades of advertising paper. Miller is easily recognized as an heir to Schwitters and early Cubist and Dada collage artists, and like them incorporates calligraphic markings as integral components. And in the vein of Rauschenberg and pop ancestors, chooses collage elements for narrative meaning. He is known for iconic references to Hollywood.


Greg Miller, Time, 2012, Acrylic, paper, epoxy coating on canvas aluminum panel, 48 x 60

Popsicles and antiquated space rockets have visual impact in a colorful cornball way, but it was the paintings’ women that captivated me. Aesthetically these goddesses are distant from contemporary emaciated bean poles. The collaged figure in Popsicle has those 1940s pointy breasts and an Ava Gardner-Jane Russell face. Play features a beautiful long haired nude posed from behind with arms crossed over barely detectible bosom, but modestly cropped just above the ass. This doll evokes Brigit Bardot’s eroticism, and possesses early Playboy era glass-clinking glamour. Struck by the image’s polished perfection, I asked Peveto’s Leigh Manley if I was looking at a photograph. I was not. To create his large black and white dames, Miller uses an airbrush.


Greg Miller, The Maltese Falcon, 2012, Acrylic, paper, epoxy coating on canvas aluminum panel, 60 x 40

Peveto’s exhibition catalog included an extremely informative interview by Peter Frank, whose questions elicited meaningful background material that revealed personal aspects of the art, and here I’m pulling Miller’s words from Peveto’s catalog, “the images that I paint of women usually are like old photographs from back then. That’s what I found in my dad’s old shoebox, all his World War II stuff like lighters and switchblades and old photographs of girls he met, and there were these flat black and white images and I thought, I’m going to paint this stuff. I’m going to include it in my art. I have to. And I decided to go back and repaint them with airbrush, to where the women look almost like photographs. They’re almost too perfect…I’m doing this for other reasons. For my Dad, and all those guys he served with. ..because all those guys died when they were nineteen or twenty. They never got to have a family, never got to come home.”


Greg Miller, Rocket, 2012 Acrylic, paper, epoxy coating on canvas aluminum panel 48 x 60 inches

Share

Sugarman in Austin

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

I was driving east in Austin on Riverside Dr. with no particular destination except to eventually drive home to Houston when I saw this:


George Sugarman, untitled (in Austin), 1971, steel

I instantly recognized it as a piece by George Sugarman. It's in front of thoroughly anonymous industrial park at 8021 East Riverside Dr., right near the the airport. It's not a location where you expect to find art, much last art by a major American sculptor. The reason I recognized it so easily was that I had seen some of its brothers and sisters in Houston.

 
George Sugarman, untitled (in Houston), 1971, steel

This is in front of an office building on Sawyer St., just north of Memorial Drive in Houston.  Both the Austin sculpture and the group of pieces around the building on Sawyer were once part of a much larger sculpture by Sugarman called the Saint Paul Sculptural Complex. You can read the story behind this sculpture and its weird "conservation by dismemberment" by Grubb & Ellis Realty in my earlier post about them. I knew there were more of these Sugarman fragments around, so I was quite delighted to stumble across one accidentally.


George Sugarman, untitled (in Austin, another view), 1971, steel

This one has a plaque that tells a little bit of the story. What's funny is how self-congratulatory it is.



Still, I'm happy that they saved this work, even in this oddly dismembered form, and I was quite delighted to stumble across this fragment in Austin.

Share
Viewing all 665 articles
Browse latest View live