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

Chain Chain Chain

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

(Originally published on Glasstire.)


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

Katie Wynne's A chain of non-events at Lawndale is an installation of various bits of crap semi-connected to one another. I don't say crap in a pejorative way. I use it in the way that Karen Archey did--in identifying a genre of art she called "combining crap with crap." The term both opens up a lineage stretching back to Duchamp's assisted readymades to Robert Rauschenberg's Combines and Gluts to Jessica Stockholder's painted bits of crap and consumer products. It is Stockholder's work that A chain of non-events reminds me of most, but in general it can be seen as part of a tradition that is now 100 years old (Duchamp's first assisted readymade Bicycle Wheel was originally made in 1913).


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

When you walk into the Project Space at Lawndale, the work is stretched out more-or-less in an arc around you. The elements are not all physically connected, but there does seem to be an intent for viewers to follow from one to another. So starting from the left, we have a floor-element that consists of a rectangular wooden central part with two large rectangular end pieces. The end pieces are designed to hold a pair of oscillating fans so that the face up. The fans are on and blowing, but their wind is blocked by a nimbus of brightly colored scarves on each fan. I suspect that the fans were meant to blow the scarves more than I observed here, but perhaps there were too many scarves on each fan. In any case, they did puff up a bit due to the blowing air.

I liked the wooden structure which was simultaneously absurd and purposeful. But the scarves were too discordant a visual element. The colors in any given scarf were acceptable (if a bit loud), but all of them combined created a chromatic cacophony that detracted from the solid homemade virtues of the wooden fan-holder.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

Continuing to our right, there is another wooden structure, this one bolted to the wall. It has painted pieces of fabric and cardboard  hanging from it on strings. The paint is a light blue-green and orange--a very pastel, slightly Southern Californian color scheme. The painting reminded me of Jessica Stockholder and the cardboard reminded me of Robert Rauschenberg. It is significant that the cardboard is ripped, not cut. It gives the piece more of a junkpile feeling, less deliberate than a Stockholder assemblage.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

This section in the corner is the busiest. In the left of the picture above, Wynne has mounted a shoeshining machine to the wall, where it spins hypnotically. Cheap motorized household machines appear to be important parts of the Wynne work I've seen (she contributed an extremely simple, elegant piece to The Big Show last year that consisted of a motorized tie-rack and a rectangle of blue satin cloth. Her use of these devices recalls Jean Tinguely's art. Tinguely was another master of crap on crap, gleefully scouring junkyards for old motors and debris with which he built his kinetic sculptures.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

Wynne reprises the use of shiny satin-ish cloth in the drawer assembly. The gold cloth hangs over the edge of the open drawer. Underneath is another oscillating fan, covered with a single scarf. A paintbrush sticks up from the back of the fan into a slot in the drawer, where it swings back and forth.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

The drawer is lined with the gold cloth which is covered with a thin layer of dirt. The curved slot for the brush is lined with gold cloth, so it almost looks like a smile peeking through the dirt. It's cleverly wrought and in a way reflects her earlier untitled piece in the Big Show, but it feels like too much is happening here. I don't see how the elements belong together, why there is dirt and satin here. The stuff on top of the table--string, yarn, tape, torn bits of painted cardboard--feel more unified than the seemingly more carefully planned and constructed drawer element.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

There is another wall-mounted wood structure which leads the viewer to a more-or-less freestanding structure made of stool parts (?), painted cardboard and other crap.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation

While the rest of A chain of non-events sprawls wildly, this one keeps it all close in. It looks like it wants to explode and fling its crap wide, but it's not ready. This made me think of The Rape of the Sabine Women (1574-82) by Giambologna. This sculpture is identified as being an immediate precursor to the baroque and to Bellini's extravagant creations. The overt emotionalism and dynamism seem baroque, but the way Giambolgna keeps it all tightly contained in a narrow cylinder of space marks it as still a Renaissance sculpture.


Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation


Wynne could have taken the bits of crap she used in this object and spread them across the floor or up the wall. But like Giambolgna, she constrains it.

The problem with A chain of non-events is that while there are interesting passages here and there, it fails to cohere. The elements are too independent, but many of them don't stand up on their own as individual works. But the virtues are an interesting use of materials, color, and space. And it helps to see this as work in line with a long tradition. Overall, it reminded me a bit of Rauschenberg's The 1/4 Mile or 2 Furlong Piece. This is another large piece (very large) that consists of many individual elements. The elements don't really come together, though. Perhaps that is in the nature of "crap on crap." Because of the disparate origins and natures of the materials, extra effort must be paid to giving them a sense of unity. The element that works the best for me in Wynne's installation is the stool piece--it feels the most like a single autonomous piece of work. With its human-sized volume and excellent colors, it's my favorite "non-event" of A chain of non-events.

Share

Pan Recommends for the week of April 18 to April 24

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

Here is some of the art we'll be checking out this weekend.

THURSDAY


Forrest Bess, Dedication to Van Gogh, 1946, Oil on canvas, 15.6" x 17.7"

Forrest Bess: Seeing Things Invisible at the Menil Collection, 7 pm (on view through August 18). This is the show I have been waiting for. In addition to a selection of his paintings, it will also incorporate the Robert Gober curated mini-exhibit that originally was seen at the last Whitney Biennial. To get you primed, we recommend this personal remembrance by Bess's last studio assistant, this excellent page devoted to Bess (lots of pictures and a reprint of the incredible Texas Monthly article about Bess), this Facebook page and this episode of Antiques Roadshow.



The 50th Annual Student Exhibition at the Rice Media Center from 6 to 9 pm and in Sewell Hall at the Matchbook Gallery from 8 to midnight. Features film and video at the Media Center, followed by art over at Sewell Hall both up in the studios and in the Matchbox Gallery. Hard to believe that this has been going on for 50 years!



 woodcut print by Josh Bernstein from the exhibit

The First Aid Kit, an boxed edition of prints by Seth Mittag, Nick Barbee, Josh Bernstein, Emily Link, Mike Beradino, Massa Lemu, and Galina Kurlat, at the Emergency Room in Sewell Hall at Rice University, 8 pm. Sales of this portfolio by artists who have had exhibits at the Emergency Room will benefit the space--a cause I wholeheartedly support!

FRIDAY

The SHILO Group, Untitled, 2012. From the series Timoschenko’s Escape

Timoshenko's Escape or the first step to the exhibition on Mars: A performance by The SHILO Group (Vlad Krasnoshchok, Sergiy Lebedynskyy and Vadym Trykoz) at FotoFest, 7–8 pm. I don't know what to expect, but if it involves blurry naked Ukranians on Mars, I'm there!


George McNeil installation at Peveto

GEORGE McNEIL: The Beginnings of NeoExpressionism, 1960 – 1969 at Peveto, 6 pm (on view through June 1).George McNeil (1908-1995) seems to have undergone a similar transformation as Philip Guston--from abstract expressionist in the 40s and 50s to a return to figuration in the 60s forward.

SATURDAY



Houston Indie Book Fest at the Menil Collection, 11 am to 6 pm. Not exactly a visual art event, but one I look forward to every year. And after you check out the books, magazines and zines, you can go see the Forrest Bess show!

FRIDAY TO SUNDAY



The Galveston Driftwood Festival & Best of the Beachorchestrated by Bill Davenport at the Galveston Artist Residency; Friday April 19th, 1pm to 3pm - Media and public preview at GAR; Saturday April 20th, 10am to noon - Adult workshop on driftwood painting, 1pm to 4pm - Children's workshop and crafts, 6pm to 9pm - Opening of Best of the Beach in GAR gallery; Sunday April 21st, 1 to 3pm - Ask the Experts, a team of experts will evaluate different beach finds. Galveston Island's beaches are a magnet for the Gulf Coast's crap, so why not make art out it?

Share

A NSFW Pan Art Fair--Dallas Memoir

$
0
0
Robert Boyd



In 1951, 16-year old Juanita Dale Slusher appeared in a hardcore stag film called Smart Alec. She soon started stripping under the name "Candy Barr" in Dallas. She befriended Jack Ruby, was busted for pot, became Mickey Cohen's girlfriend, went to prison, was paroled, talked to the FBI about Ruby after the Kennedy assassination, and eventually was pardoned by Governor John Connally. She went back to stripping and appeared in Oui magazine in 1976 (at the age of 41). In 1972, poems she had written in prison were published under the title ofA gentle mind ... confused. The title poem goes like this:
Hate the world that strikes you down,
A warped lesson quickly learned.
Rebellion, a universal sound,
Nobody cares, no one's concerned.

Fatigued by unyielding strife,
Self-pity consoles the abused,
And the bludgeoning of daily life,
Leaves a gentle mind . . . confused.
That's also the name of a 45 rpm record that was on view at the Pan Art Fair, which was a hotel room "art fair" I put on in Dallas. The single was produced in a limited edition by Michael A. Morris, and it features his grandfather giving a stentorian reading of Barr's poem.


Michael A. Morris, A Gentle Mind Confused


The Pan Art Fair is so high-tech!

Morris is represented by the Oliver Francis Gallery, which was one of the exhibitors at the Pan Art Fair in Dallas last weekend. Gallery director Kevin Rubén Jacobs not only brought the single--he brought a portable turn-table so we could play it in the suite I had rented at the Belmont Hotel.


The site of the Pan Art Fair--Dallas--a suite at the Belmont Hotel.

The first time I wrote about art in Dallas, I wrote about the big institutions--and the municipal/business power brokers that shepherded them into being. I was looking at the Dallas of businessmen, corporate technocrats who are highly concerned with Dallas's image and branding and how that related to "the arts." I suggested that there must be another Dallas, a Dallas of artists who worked through alternative structures. If the downtown Arts District and North Park Mall and Dallas Cowboys Stadium represented the respectable Dallas of the business oligopoly, what were the artistic counterparts to the less respectable aspects of Dallas--the Candy Barrs and the Jack Rubys, the Peter Gents and the Hollywood Hendersons, the Dimebag Darrells and the Robert Tiltons, the Bonnies and the Clydes of the Dallas art scene? Finding this alternative Dallas was one of the purposes of the Pan Art Fair in Dallas.

As I did with the Houston Pan Art Fair, I scheduled this one to coincide with a larger, more mainstream art fair--the Dallas Art Fair, held downtown in the Arts District.  Unlike the Houston version, the Dallas Pan Art Fair only lasted one day. I didn't have the time and logistical wherewithal to do a multi-day fair. And it turns out that one day was fine--attendance was pretty good and I even sold some things. Plus it gave me the opportunity to go check out the Dallas Art Fair on Sunday.



The metaphor of "outlaw Dallas" vs. "establishment Dallas" came to mind because we had several artworks that related to the bad boys and girls of Dallas--the Candy Barr poem above and several pieces related to Bonnie and Clyde by Michelle Mackey. The three paintings Mackey showed came from the Star Service series, "based on a gas station in West Dallas where Clyde Barrow's family used to live." The amazing thing is the gas station is still there--boarded up now and only accessible by trespassing. But from that starting point, Mackey creates what seem like completely abstract paintings that deal with the mythology of Bonnie and Clyde. (One of them is based on the pattern of the bullet holes in the car in which the pair were ambushed and killed.)

While she was there, we talked about the popular mythology of the pair. I am pleased to note that I introduced her to the classic country song "The Legend of Bonnie and Clyde" by Merle Haggard.


From left to right, top row--two pieces by Jim Nolan, a painting by Michelle Mackey, and two more Jim Nolan pieces. The round things in front are individual pieces by Christine Bisetto.

Houston artist Jim Nolan also participated in the fair and I decided to display his work with Mackey's because they had a similar palette of silvers and greys. Nolan is doing a residency at Centraltrak, which seems to be one of the main engines of the Dallas art scene. I had a chance to visit it the day before the fair. The weird thing about it is that the artists live in their studios. Their "bedrooms" are in lofts above the kitchen in the open-plan spaces. The studios feel a little like post-graduation bachelor pads.


left, Jim Nolan; right, Michelle Mackey bullet hole abstraction; bottom center, Chris Cascio's portfolio of small pieces.

Nolan is the one who suggested I contact Mackey, Nathan Green and Oliver Francis Gallery. I was familiar with Green's work from exhibits at Art Palace, but I didn't realize that he had relocated to Dallas from Austin. (Yes, Austinites--people move from Austin to Dallas.)


Nathan Green (top row) and Christopher Cascio (bottom row).


Nathan Green (top row) and Christopher Cascio (bottom row) with some Christine Bisetto paintings on the floor.

I also brought up some work by Christopher Cascio, including his giant blowup images of drug baggies. He had a whole wall of these at the UH MFA thesis show. It was overwhelming.


Against headboard: a painting by Michelle Mackey. On the bed: photos by Emily Peacock and Christopher Cascio.


work by Christine Bisetto.

Christine Bisetto is a Fort Worth (I think) artist who was recommended to me by Christina Rees. She brought over a ton of small pieces (and one larger piece). The paintings are of words she says to her children.

Her disc-shaped pieces (a few photos up) were actually rolls of tape unrolled, sprinkled with holes from a hole-punch, and rolled up again. I joked to Jim Nolan that these pieces were so grungy and abject in their materials that they made his work look precious! I think he took that as a challenge.


work by Christine Bisetto.

The tape on the floor piece (above)  kept coming undone during the course of the day. (Future conservators take note!). The string pieces were meant to be displayed on a wall, but we couldn't drive tacks into the hotel wall so I showed them on this end-table.


Work from Re Gallery--top: Kristin Cochran; middle: Ricardo Paniagua; bottom: Kelly Kroener

On the day before I was set to leave, Wanda Dye called me up. She runs a new gallery called Re Gallery which will be showing work by Benjamin Terry, who I was already showing. I knew the suites were big, so I said yes. So she showed a variety of small work by Kristen Cochran, Ricardo Paniagua and Kelly Kroener (and Benjamin Terry, of course). In retrospect, I wish I could have come up with a different display concept than putting the work in this window--it tends to put the art in a shadow (the effect of which is exaggerated by this photo).



Oliver Francis Gallery, left to right: Arthur Peña (the bubble wrap piece) and Keith Allyn Spencer (three pieces).

Oliver Francis Gallery's other work (by Arthur Peña and Keith Allyn Spencer) was displayed on the ironing board that came with the room. I liked this because it reflected the "make do with what you got" attitude of the gallery. (Over on Main Street in Deep Ellum, Oliver Francis Gallery had three temporary shows up at three vacant storefronts. Apparently they had made an arrangement with the landlord.) The ironing board turned out to be perfect for these small objects because it brought them high up off the floor. You don't have to bend over very much to see them. (That said, Arthur Peña wasn't satisfied with the placement of his piece. He took it and balanced it on the doorknob of the closet. Artists are very particular about this sort of thing.)


photos by Emily Peacock.

The suite had two very comfy daybeds. I took all the cushions off to make big flat display spaces. Emily Peacock's photos were displayed on them. (Emily Peacock, Christopher Cascio and Jim Nolan are all veterans of the first Pan Art Fair in Houston.)


Benjamin Terry


More Ben Terry.

Benjamin Terry had three pieces in the exhibit. I had encountered his work before last summer at Cohn Drennan Contemporary. I liked how alike the three pieces were while also being very different. The self-portrait with triangles piece shows that he is an pretty skilled draughtsman. So it's funny that the other two pieces are so minimal and devoid of drawing (one has a ghostly remnant of a portrait). In a sense, I feel like they were three approaches to the same subject matter, but this is just a guess on my part.


I wanted to have a small item to sell or give away for the show, and it was too late for me to make T-shirts. So instead, I made a zine containing my earlier blog posts about Dallas. They are badly "typeset" and feature the worst low-grade photocopying possible. This hand-bound zine shows a callous disregard for craftsmanship. Dallas is the inauspicious start of a possible series of zines called "Panphlets." I'm a committed blogger, but what can I say? I still have a nostalgic love for physical books and magazines and zines.


I think this is the Oliver Francis Gallery table at the Fallas Art Fair. In any case, this guy with his hand on the chair is Kevin Rubén Jacobs

After the Pan Art Fair officially shut down at 8 pm (and the last attendees were ushered out at 9:30), I went over to the other alternative art fair, the Fallas Dart Air, held in a barbeque restaurant called Mama Faye's over in Deep Ellum. It consisted of various art organizations, both non-profit and otherwise, including Centraltrak , Mai Koetjecacov Editions Wichita Falls, Oliver Francis Gallery, Semigloss Magazine, Shamrock Hotel Studiosand Studio DTFU.


I don't know what was in the jars at the Shamrock Hotel table. Art, I suppose.

It seemed like a lot of the Dallas Art Scene was present, many of whom I had met earlier in the day at the Pan Art Fair. There was live music and it was a very social atmosphere.


Centraltrak's table.

The purpose seemed less about showing (much less selling) art than about raising the flag and having a good time. But I did actually buy something--a copy of a local art magazine called Semigloss. I haven't read it yet, so I can't say if it's actually good. But it looks beautiful.


Semigloss magazine.


Arturo Palacio, Pierre Krause and the hand of Jim Nolan at the Fallas Dart Air.

But aside from that, I mainly drank beer, ate barbeque, and fruitlessly tried to follow people's conversations (such as the one in the photo above with artist Pierre Krause, who did one of the Main Street installations that Oliver Francis Gallery hosted). But it was loud and I was tired. I went back to the hotel and collapsed. A long, fun exhausting day.

Is there something different about Houston and Dallas? The two cities are very similar. Dallas is much more like Houston than either city is like, say, Seattle or Boston. But I go back to the piece Christina Rees wrote for Glasstire, "Dear Young DFW Whippersnapper Artists." She wrote, "There is no real economy for your art being made here in DFW. Almost none. Not enough to make a living. And there isn’t a mainstream press, like there is in NYC and London, to cover your career if you made a commercial leap anyway." But this wasn't seen by her as a bad thing necessarily. Instead, she wanted the artists to take it as license "to fuck things up." She was calling on artists to be outlaws.

So maybe this is the difference. Houston artists have so many opportunities. There are all kinds of spaces here to show work--including work that is challenging and uncommercial. Lawndale alone puts on something like 12 shows a year--or is it 16? When I saw Kevin Rubén Jacobs' three shows in the disused retail spaces on Main, I was envious. Why don't Houston artists do stuff like that? But then when I thought about it, why should they? In Houston, Pierre Krause wouldn't need an abandoned storefront. She could put an installation in Lawndale's Project Space--or any number of places around town.

But this is just a superficial reading of the situation. When I visit Dallas, I hardly see a lack of opportunity--on the contrary, I rarely can visit every art space I want to for lack of time. There's a lot of them! So probably I'm pushing the metaphor too far. Nonetheless, it makes me happy to think that there is an outlaw Dallas art scene, and that the Pan Art Fair brushed against it for a moment.

Share

Bits and Pieces

$
0
0
Robert Boyd



Have a fantastic Texphrastic day.Harbeer Sandhu got a Creative Capital grant to start his art blog in December, and has now rolled out the blog, Texphrastic. The title is a play on the word "exphrasis." Sandhu explains, "Ekphrasis, or ekphrastic writing, is writing which is done in dialog with visual art. It may or may not even refer, explicitly, to the visual piece it speaks to." But so far, he has written about specific artworks, specifically artworks that have been displayed and are done, never to be seen again. Texphrastic doesn't aim for currency.
"I will be publishing one or two posts per week. I do not intend to keep up with current shows. I want to make a hard distinction between Art (with a capital “a”) and art events. This is a place for art criticism, not for show reviews. [...] If you want timely reviews of current shows–there are many other publications already doing that. I aim to write long-form criticism and independent ekphrastic responses of literary quality–I aim for depth, not breadth, and certainly not currency–and I hope these essays will remain pertinent and interesting long after the artists they discuss have moved on to new projects." [About Texphrastic]
This is quite different from my own approach. Occasionally we'll discuss art that is not currently on display, but generally speaking, if there is an exhibit that I'm interested in but which has closed, I won't write about it. My thinking here is that I want readers to have an opportunity to see it and form their own opinions.

But the internet has a long memory. Shows I wrote about in 2011 continue to get hits today (literally). So even when I write about now, I know I am also writing about the past. Sandhu is just a little more honest about it.



Now you know. Jon Hamm and Elmo explain what sculpture is.

 
Johnny Marr

Rock star has good taste. "Which painters inspire you? Uh, well, Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns — the obvious people, I guess. I very much like people from the sixties: David Hockney and Lucian Freud. I like Susan Hiller. She did some really interesting things. I like the example they set: that you do work come rain or shine, because that’s what you do." ["Johnny Marr on Going Solo, Turning 50, and Fond Memories of the Smiths," Nisha Gopalan, Vulture, April 20, 2013]

 

Now you know, part 2.Harold Rosenberg, the great critic who coined the term "action painting," created Smokey the Bear.



Now you know, part 3.Carol Tyler drew a massive three-part comic memoir called You'll Never Know (published as You'll Never Know book one: A Good and Decent Man, You'll Never Know book two: Collateral Damage, and You'll Never Know book three: Soldier's Heart.) She gave a talk at the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism at USC which was recorded. This video is long--an hour and a half--but it is astonishing in the detail it goes into about how she constructed the book, how she constructed each page--even how she mixed the colors she used.


Share

Pan Recommends for the week of April 25 to May 1

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

Lots of stuff happening this weekend in the Colquitt and Montrose galleries, but also in spaces we don't hear from that often. Here are a few of the things that caught our eye.

THURSDAY



Nnnnnnnnooooooooooooo by Carrie Cook at the Project Gallery at the UH School of Art, 6-9 pm. I liked her work at the MFA Thesis show, so I expect that this one will be pretty good as well.


Untitled, Victor Vasarely, 37.5" x 38.875", silkscreen

Optical Spaces: The Art of Victor Vasarely at the Museum of Printing History, 6 pm.Vasarely was an artist whose work seemed destined for the walls of dorm rooms. Cosmic eye-candy to be sure, and fun to look at for that reason.

FRIDAY


Tom Huck's THE HILLBILLY KAMA SUTRA at Burning Bones Press, 6 pm. I'm not sure I can add much to what Huck says in this video except to recommend you crank up the Southern Culture on the Skids and check this show out.


Marcelyn McNeil, Lemonworld, 54"x52", oil on canvas

Marcelyn McNeil: Lemonworld at Anya Tish Gallery at 6 pm. I like the way McNeil balances geometric abstraction and expressive brushwork. Her paintings have a beautiful rough-hewn feel.


Anastasia Pelias, Elaine, for Elaine (shade grey, translucent yellow, payne’s grey), 2013 oil on canvas, one painting in two pieces, 72 x 144 inches

Anastasia Pelias: Ritual Devotion at Zoya Tommy Contemporary, 6 pm. And if you need more abstraction, go across the hall to Zoya Tommy and check out New Orleans painter Anastasia Pelias.


University of Houston School of Art: Annual BFA Student Exhibition at the Blaffer Art Museum, 6 pm. You saw the MFA Thesis show--now come out and see what the undergrads have been doing.


still from Latham Zearfoss's “Myth of My Anchestors”

Stinky Pinky: a Screening of Experimental Queer Shortsfeaturing films by Kristin Anchor, Rahne Alexander, Zach Meyer, Dorian Bonelli, Tessa Siddle, Chris Vargas, Matt Wolf, & Latham Zearfoss at Skydive from 8 to 11 pm. Skydive is back with a short film program.

SATURDAY


Burning Bones Press & AIGA's: It Came From The Bayou! featuring Tom Huck, Cannonball Press and Dennis McNett, Sean Starwars, The Amazing Hancock Brothers, Workhorse Printmakers and Burning Bones Press at The Continental Club , noon to 6 pm. Printmaking demos, lots of prints, and the sounds of DJ PsychedelicSexPanther--sounds like a high energy event.


Russell Prince, The Silver Chair, 2012, mixed media collage, 20X30”

Russell Prince: Pastmodern at Front Gallery 4–6 pm. Collagist Russell Prince is a show curated by Jay Wehnert from Intuitive Eye.



Kelley Devine: Face Face at Winter Street Studios Gallery, 5-9 pm. Giant faces give viewers cold appraising gazes in the art of Kelley Divine, on view at Winter Street.



Obscure Workings: Anthony J Suber at Commerce Street Gallery, 6 pm. An artist I have never heard of, but I liked the artwork on his website.


Troy Dugas, Falstaff, 2009 Beer labels, 60 x 60" -- this old piece will probably not be in the show, but it's typical of Dugas's work  

Troy Dugas: Modernized for Mildness and Rusty Scruby: Sink Sketches in the micro space at McMurtrey Gallery, 6 pm. Two artists who take printed material, cut it up, and make visuallydazzling new things out of it--they seem like a natural pairing.


Share

Eye Candy at Inman Gallery

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

My New Year's resolution was to strictly limit my sugar consumption. No M&Ms, no Jelly Bellies, no Gummi Bears, etc. I've pretty much kept to it, but I have to say that exhibits like Open Other Side by Robert Ruello at Inman Gallery make it hard.


Robert Ruello, Unknown Adventures in Unknown Places #11, 2013, acrylic on canvas

These canvases please the eye in the most basic way possible--with arrangements of super-saturated super-bright colors. They don't project any obvious emotion or meaning. Nor do they exist in a cultural space where they could be read as part of a particular movement or in a dialectic with some other theoretical approach. At first glance, they just are.


Robert Ruello, Unknown Adventures in Unknown Places #10, 2013, acrylic on canvas

That was my first impression when I looked at Robert Ruello's paintings. I'm not going to now tell you that I've discovered that they have hidden depths that I initially overlooked. But there is a common feature in all of these paintings that interests me. It's the grid of roughly round dots that more-or-less forms the ground of each painting. The dots are not uniform in size, shape or color. In #11, they are bright orange except for a section where they are light purple. And the orange dots seem to expand into a hairy shape in the middle of the canvas. In #10, they are dark blue, blue-grey and light blue in various places in the picture plane.


Robert Ruello, Unknown Adventures in Unknown Places #12, 2013, acrylic on canvas

In commercial printing, reproduction of images that have shades of grey or color is done through a process called "halftones." This is a way for one color ink (black for instance) to be printed in such a way that it appears to have various shades of grey. Photographic halftones started appearing in print in the 1880s. Typically, they create their grey tones with a grid of tiny dots of ink--smaller dots for lighter shades, larger dots for darker. Ideally, when you look at a halftoned image, your eye sees it as a continuous image, not as a grid of dots--similar to the phi phenomenon that occurs when we watch a movie that allows us to see it as a continuity of motion rather than a series of separate images.

If you look at a halftoned image with a magnifying glass or printer's loupe, you will see the dots. And depending on the absorbancy of paper they were printed on, they may appear quite ragged and irregular. (This is known as "dot gain.") Newsprint, because it is so absorbent, soaks up the ink of a halftone dot screen to create really rough dots. Because of this, the "screens" (how many lines of dots per inch) for newsprint halftones are not very dense. These dots hover right at the edge of being visible without a magnifying glass.

Artists in the 60s found this fascinating. Obviously Lichtenstein comes to mind, but his recreation of the dots used to create color in comics didn't acknowledge the imperfections of printing halftones onto the crappy, low-grade newsprint that all comics at the time were printed onto.

Warhol and Rauschenberg blew up newspaper images to gigantic sizes, which made the imperfections of the printing process highly visible. And since that time, designers and artists have been using that technique to create arresting images.


Robert Ruello, Unknown Adventures in Unknown Places #8, 2013, acrylic on canvas

I think this is what Ruello is doing with his dots. According to the information supplied by the gallery, the paintings start out in Photoshop, a powerful photo-editing application. I suspect that Ruello is scanning in halftoned images from a newspaper or other print publication and blowing them up thousands of times so that the image is completely lost--and all he sees are the halftone dots, the ink soaked into the paper in a particular pattern.


Robert Ruello, Unknown Adventures in Unknown Places #6, 2013, acrylic on canvas

If printed halftone images are Ruello's source, then each of these images is constructed from a fragment of another image. That's interesting to think about, but doesn't change the basic fact that these are eye candy. They're beautiful, rhythmic tasty pieces of eye candy.  Seeing them gave me pleasure. I like art that challenges me, that expresses something in the artist, or embodies something in the world.  I like art that is tentative, filled with doubt and false starts. I like art that makes me think more about the room that it's in or about how I need to go pick up my laundry. But I also like art that is pretty, that is visually exciting. These paintings are pure pleasure.


Robert Ruello, Unknown Adventures in Unknown Places #5, 2013, acrylic on canvas

When you allow that a piece like #5 is about the pleasure it gives, you can move on to admire its composition, the brown intrusion from the right, the transparent white box, the nail-polish-like blue dots, etc. These are well-designed paintings. Hal Foster wrote a book called Design and Crime (And Other Diatribes)where he calls out  beautifully designed things (in the book he uses the examples of modern "starchitecture" and art nouveau objects) as being a way that capitalism trivializes art and hypnotizes people. It's a version of the old Frankfurt School argument against beauty (and against popular culture) because they are all just ways that capitalism psyches out the masses. But I personally reject that kind of Marxist puritanism. I selfishly want to live in a world where I am allowed to enjoy paintings like Robert Ruello's.

These paintings are on view at Inman Gallery through May 11.

Share

Some Thoughts about Eric Fischl

$
0
0
Virginia Billeaud Anderson

The fact that they have stomachs that protrude further than their breasts does not stop some women from unmercifully going topless on a beach. Eric Fischl records this indecorous quirk by exaggerating the sway-back on a topless female in a beach scene he is showing in Cast & Drawn at McClain Gallery through May 11. More absurd than the bikini bottom-wearing fat woman is the swishy brush stroke-loose skin on the nude males who stroll self-importantly across the sand. Narrative ambiguity is as much a part of Fischl’s artistic practice as figurative distortion. He leaves the viewer unsure of what is happening. Some thoughts about Fischl inspired this short essay.

Eric Fischl, Untitled, 2013, Hand painted collage with pigment and poured resin, 40” x 60”

The gallery’s press release sparked memories of my first encounter with Fischl’s 1981 Bad Boy. For an instant my eye was drawn to the parallel lines of light reflected through the window blind, and to the still life in the corner. It quickly became clear that the nude woman lying spread-legged on the bed was exposing herself to the young boy stealing from her purse. When examining this erotic and mysterious composition, the viewer is left uncertain if the woman is the boy’s incestuous mother or an indecent adult with whom he is associated. Either way, something disgraceful is taking place in that bedroom.

In 2011 Fischl lectured at the Glassell School and MFAH’s lecture announcement cited the source of inspiration for paintings such as Bad Boy. It said the artist’s “suburban upbringing provided him with a backdrop of alcoholism and a country-club culture obsessed with image over content. His early work thus became focused on the rift between what was experienced and what could not be said.” Fischl received critical attention, it added, “for depicting the dark, disturbing undercurrents of mainstream American life.”

In other words Fischl’s art savagely exposes American middle-class pretensions. He is fascinated by middle class striving and hypocrisy, and called it “tragic and compelling.” Framed against his words, the beach scene figures’ grandiose poses constitute genteel desperation.


Eric Fischl, Tumbling Woman II, 2007, Bronze, 25.5” x 47.5” x 26”, Edition 6/9, 2AP

It’s impossible to see Fischl’s 2007 bronze Tumbling Woman II and not think of Degas’s brand of voyeurism, and from the beginning Fischl has been critically linked to Degas. John Russell’s 1986 New York Times invocation of Degas is unequivocal: Degas “sets up a charged situation with his incomparable subtlety of insight and characterization, and then he goes away and leaves us to figure it out as best we can. That is the tactic of Fischl, too, though the society with which he deals has an unstructured brutality and a violence never far from release that are very different from the nicely calibrated cruelties that Degas recorded," Russell wrote.

I find similarity between Degas’s 1874 Interior (The Rape) and Fischl’s Bad Boy. The Venetian blind light patterns that fill the room in Bad Boy mimic closely the floor boards in Degas’s Interior. Bad Boy’s lady’s purse relates to the open suitcase in Interior. In both paintings the male figures’ hands add to our unease, the boy’s hands are behind his back removing an object from the purse, and Degas’s man’s hands are hidden in his pockets in a gesture of discomfort. Most importantly, the paintings have the same degree of psychic tension, Fischl’s with the suggestion of child abuse, and Degas’s with the emotional distress of the undergarment-clad kneeling woman.

The art historian Edward Huttinger wrote that there were two components in Degas’s art which permeated each other: “the great western tradition of Classicism, plus his passionately direct interpretation of the essential phenomena of his own present existence.” This fits Fischl.

Tumbling Woman II follows a line of sculptural works the artist began after New York was attacked. When he first exhibited this art he suffered grief because New Yorkers found the sculptures too painfully derivative of 9/11 victims. The work found acceptance, though--the pieces all sold.

In 2009 Alfred MacAdam wrote in ARTnews that one of Fischl’s bronzes “looks like a Pompeii casting of a person killed by the volcano.” The critic found the sculpture’s surface interesting, noting bronze fragments seemingly chipped off the figure. He also compared some pieces to Baroque religious statuary.

Crossing over from painting to the three dimensional, Fischl captures movement with the same sharp-eyed observation as Degas.

 
Eric Fischl, Bad Boy, 1981, Oil on linen, 66 x 96 

Share

Linkarama

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


What else is there to say? More like this can be found at panels2ponder.com and even more at the Panels2Ponder Facebook page. Compiled by Frank Young, co-creator of The Carter Family: Don't Forget This Song.


Forrest Bess, untitled (The Crowded Mind/The Void) (1947), oil on canvas, 10 x 11 3/4 inches

There's a Forrest Bess show up at the Menil, and I wrote a review of it. That review is not on this site (at least, not yet), but you can go over to Glasstire and read it. In fact, I insist!


facebook farm, pg version from Dark Blood on Vimeo.

Whenever Mark Flood has a new show, he makes a new song with an accompanying video. This one is called "Facebook Farm." This is the PG13 version, which strongly implies there is an x-rated version out there... The exhibit is at a gallery in Birmingham, Alabama called Beta Pictoris.


For some reason, people love creating pastiches of the Death of Marat by Jacques-Louis David. I found Helen Mirren doing it in Painted Lady, and Vik Muñiz did one made of garbage, and last Sunday Garry Trudeau did it in Doonesbury. It seems that Marat just won't die.


Cody Ledvina, mural on the side of E.J.'s Bar.

Cody Ledvina has begun painting murals in Montrose because there are not enough murals and especially not enough murals of grotesquely elongated cartoon dachshunds. Swamplot reported this, as they often do with things like this, and Swamplot's devoted commenters chimed in for a little art criticism, not just of Ledvina, but of Houston art in general.
  • From commonsense: “too much shitty visual culture”, says the guy that drew a giant cartoon dog with a paint roller? And people wonder why I have zero respect for “artists”.
  • From montrosechica: I love the Vermont Street mural! Not only has that building gone through some wonderful renovations recently, but now I break out in a smile every time I see the cat sitting on the edge of the pool looking towards downtown.
  • From Northsider: You must be one boring SOB to hang out with @commonsense.
  • From windows95: @commonsense I highly doubt that anyone wonders why you have zero respect for artists.
  • From Harold: I have zero respect for most Houston area artists as well. Most of the “art” that I see at galleries is frankly, garbage, such as facial portraits with genitalia painted on them. Sorry, but the people buying these orange stucco Mcmansions are the same idiots plunking down $2,000-3,000 for this junk.
  • From commonsense: To each is own, I’m entertained by discussing business and politics, some people are entertained by malcontents with a paint bucket.
  • From Tom: The mural on Dunlavy is hidieous. The owners did a good job on the buildings renovations and ruined the whole look with the amature.
  • From Shane Tolbert: Montrose is lucky to have Cody Ledvina. What is with the negative criticism? What are YOU doing to beautify a neighborhood and build a sense of community? Thank you Cody!
  • From windows95: Some people just don’t like art, which is fine but for some reason art is unique in that the naysayers always feel entitled to make value judgements on the entirety of art. I guess visual art is just an easy target. As to the penis art, nobody hears a shitty band at one of the 100 Little Woodrows in town and declares all of Houston music dead.
  • From Robert Boyd: I disagree, Harold. I love facial portraits with genitalia painted on them, and I’m really pleased that this genre of art has become associated with Houston. I was just remarking on this the other day to a fellow malcontent at an exhibit at the Watercolor Art Society of Houston over on Alabama. The theme of the show? Facial portraits with genitalia painted on them, of course.
  • From longdoglover: This is one of the best things that has recently happened to Montrose. Keep up the excellent work, Mr. Ledvina! Thank you for bringing some genuine human charm to this new wave of quickly drowsying urban “development”.
  • From Gene Morgan: Once every fifty years you get a facial-portraits-with-genitalia-painted-on-them painter of Cody Ledvina’s talent.
  • From Tom: If you really think the cat on the lake or whatever it is looks good then your sense of aestetic is obviously out of whack. That “mural” is out of place and poorly done. I actully like some of the fun graffiti art on buildings around Montrose…. but not that horrible mess. It looks like an art project from a kindergarten class. Im sure some of the paragons of “art appreciation” would howl if the next store neighbor painted their house hot pink with polka dots all over it……etc.
  • From doofus: Um, a giant weiner dog painted on the side of EJ’s is hilarious. I love it. Nice to see camp return to Montrose!
  • From miss_msry: If it’s going to be a public mural, get a professional muralist.
 
Paul McCarthy, Complex Shit (partially deflated) (Getty Images)

I wonder what the critics of Cody Ledvina at Swamplot would think of Paul McCarthy's Complex Shit. I can think of many sites in Houston that would be improved by having this inflatable sculpture on them--Reliant Stadium, George Bush Park, the parking lot of any Walmart, etc.




Share


DFW to Houston: We're #1!

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


Our art is better than your art

"RR," a blogger from the DFW area, writes a very succinct post about a trip to Houston he made to check out the Forrest Bess show at the Menil. He made 14 stops altogether to check out art--a crowded day of art viewing. Here are a few highlights:
  • #1 stop at Bill Davenport's "Bill's Junk" in the Heights. Always a priority when I go to Houston. 
  • #5 stop - Paul Fleming at the most unfriendly gallery in Texas Barbara Davis Gallery followed closely by Holly Johnson Gallery in Dallas. I should have skipped this one. I will never step inside this place again.
  • #6 stop at one of my favorite galleries, Inman Gallery. You can't go wrong here. Robert Ruello was a pleasant surprise and the first time to see Jim Richard's work in person. Not disappointed.
  •  #9 stop - Devin Borden Gallery, we didn't even bother ringing the bell.
  • #11 stop - A long time favorite gallery of mine - Betty Moody, the friendlist gallery in Texas representing important artists. Helen Altman (wall) and Lisa Ludwig (table) in the back gallery.
(Note to gallerists: don't be rude. Someone might blog about you.)

The kicker after these 14 stops? RR's conclusion: "This trip proved to me that the best art coming out of Texas right now is from North Texas. But I will try again in the fall."

My first thought was outrage. How dare RR draw such a conclusion after visiting two museums, 11 commercial galleries and Bill Davenport? Maybe the art on view in those places at this time doesn't represent Houston very well. One needs to see what's happening in artist-run spaces, in the smaller, funkier galleries, in the schools, etc.

But then I checked myself--I am totally guilty of the same behavior. Every time I go to Dallas/Fort Worth, I find myself drawing big conclusions about the area based on my brief visit. There is something about DFW that brings this out in me. But the fact is that a brief visit to a place can provide a suggestion of what the place is all about at best.

RR might be right. I was mighty impressed the last time I was in Dallas. And even if he is not right, I like the fact that the age-old rivalry between DFW and Houston continues to be played out even in the arena of art. But I don't think that visiting 14 galleries and museums over the course of a weekend (a day?) gave RR an accurate picture of Houston's art scene.

So RR, here is my proposition. The next time you come down for a visit, email me. I'll be happy to show you the best of whatever happens to be up.

Share

Continuum Live Art Series, Second Night (might be NSFW, depending on where you work)

$
0
0
Dean Liscum

Before Continuum's Live Art Series, Second Night on January 4, 2013 had even officially begun at Avant Garden, I almost committed an act of performance art myself. Heading east on Westheimer, I whipped into the parking lot and my headlights focused on a guy sweeping the parking lot. I stopped before I completed "Pedestrian crash test dummy", but just barely. At most venues, I would have wondered WTF? and probably said something to the guy. But this wasn't most places. This was Avant Garden, where nothing seems out of place. So, I took it in stride and headed inside for a pre-show drink.

Inside, the organizers are still organizing, so I take my drink to the back patio and there's the sweeper.


Daniel Bertalot

He pushed the pile of potting soil and twigs across the patio and then fashioned it into perfect square. Once he perfected it, he extracted a note book from his jacket and recorded the measurements.Then he began pushing it across the courtyard.


Daniel Bertalot squaring dirt

I later learn that he was Daniel Bertalot and this was his performance piece Control/Intervention. Nevertheless, I was ready to believe that he was Avant Garden regular and this was just what he did on the first Friday of every month.

Bertalot wasn't the only one competing for attention in the courtyard. Another guy, artist Joshua Yates, had strung twine about 2 ft off the ground between two poles. Trundling under the tables and chairs and along the edges of the courtyard, he was methodically scavenging specimens from the court yard.


Joshua Yates

He then placed his collectibles: small rocks, leaves, dirt, detritus into small plastic zip lock baggies (a.k.a. dime bags). Finally, he clothes-pinned each bag on the twine to complete another portion of his piece, Aggregate.


Dime bags as an art medium



I kept waiting for someone to shout "dude, that's my rock! I marked it with my pee last week."

These were "durational" pieces. My experience of them was before the show officially started. But they both persisted with their performances through out the night.

The evening officially began when someone shouted into the patio that a performance was starting up stairs. As I headed up stairs, I caught a glimpse of the schedule on a dry erase board propped up on the piano and Jonaton Lopez told me that Julia Claire was the host. I very quickly realized that Julia Claire was the most passive-aggressive host I'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Not once did she call us to order or draw our attention to an act (OK may be once but sotto voce without a microphone just doesn't work in a bar.) There was a lot of pointing, and people not-Julia speaking for Julia and introducing shows as if to suggest that "Julia recommends..." or "Julia would prefer..." or "Julia commands your attention...", but Julia would be damned if she'd actually say that. Pine for Julia's firm direction as I might, I never experienced it, directly, and yet performances happened.

I entered the upstairs performance space to witness Kelly Allison duct tappe a box of Brillo pads to her crotch and one to her ass. I immediately assumed this piece protested the practice of removing all ones pubic hair and how that played into the prepubescent female\pedophilia sexual aesthetic that permeates the culture. Then she said "I am your mother," and walked back and forth as if she were on a n imaginary runway. I just smiled Freud like.


Do these Brillo pads make my butt look big?

Allison picked up two pails, declared "I am your mother," and walked the invisible rope.


Kelly Allison NOT returning from Fiesta, but she could be

She wrapped herself in a flag. "I am your father." Then in a series of taping and declarations and runway walks, she affixed to herself toy rifles, teddy bears, cables, and with each new taping she declared "I am your brother;" "I am your sister;" "I am your stuff," and  "I am your sons and daughters." Allison put on fins and struggled to walk the walk. "I am your anxiety."



She draped a tire around her neck. "I am your shame." Finally, she placed an egg-shell helmet over her head, which amplified her labored breathing, and walked the runaway one more time. "I. Am your pride."


performance art or Japanese game show

She de-burdened herself, neatly piling up the paraphernalia, and stated, "I am your friend."

I Am... worked for me, but in what became something of a theme in the evening's performances, it kept on working after it made it's point. By the time Allison became "my pride," my attention was checking out the crowd. The end of the piece, in which she deconstructed her costume, brought me back.

The bystanders that distracted me turned out to be the next act, Buddha Slain, which consisted of RainDawg and a two other artists. They gathered in the middle of the stage and started to chant individually "Me!"


Buddha Slain

After a few refrains, the artist disbursed among the audience and shouted in randomly selected members' faces. "Me!...Me!...Me!"


Me-ing with member of the crowd

Some shouted back, "Me!" Some backed up, there bodies signalling 'yeah buddy, it's all you and then some.'


aMErica

The chorus of Me's crescendo-ed, and then suddenly all three feel silent. The other two performers turned toward RainDawg and he screamed out "a-ME-rica."

Simple, short, and spot on. If they'd have wrapped themselves in Allison's American flag, they could have entitled the piece "a-ME-ricaN Politician".

RainDawg yield the stage and David Collin's green doppelganger took it. How do I know it was green? Because I, and everyone in the crowd, could see all the green. He was completely nude and armed with a guitar.  


Did you have dreams of Kermit like this too?

I must admit I got a little excited. My pulse quickened as I thought 'Aww, he's going to sing "It's Not Easy Being Green".' Or, I figured he was going to sing a political ditty supporting the Green party, which he represented in last year's election for the U.S. Senate.

Much to my chagrin, he didn't burst into a Kermit classic. Instead, he asked if anyone in the audience was from out of town. Crickets. Then he broke into a song about nudity declaring among other things:
  • He was not naked because this was art. He was nude.
  • Male nudity is viewed as "threatening"
  • Female nudity is viewed as an "invitation"
  • Labia rhymes with Scandinavia
The performance was an interesting take on a public service announcement, but I don't expect it to replace Conjunction Junction anytime soon.

After the song, the performance veered off course. Collins offered anyone in the crowd $50 if they'd would get naked and join him on stage for an interview. At this point, the performance lost its rigidity, shall we say.


The price is right format with a green twist.

No one got naked (Did I mention it was cold? Notice how in all the pictures everyone is wearing their heavy winter coats.) However, someone did join him on stage. Collins meandered through the interview as if he hadn't prepared the questions. Finally, he called on 5 more clothed volunteers to the stage to help him play a game that resembled the "Price is Right" using true values instead of monetary ones. Collins would ask the interviewee a true or false question and the volunteers would hold up signs saying "truth" or "bullshit." Are you confused or disinterested yet? I was both and was ready for him to get his green ass off the stage. And he did eventually but long after the impression of the cleverness of his performance had been eroded by the grating annoyance of the game show.

Julia made some sort of subtitle motion and then one of the Continuum members announced that the performances were moving to the courtyard. I stepped out on the back patio and almost onto this guy that was sprawled out on the floor. The situation wasn't really noteworthy except that it was kind of early for people to start passing out. A couple people were staring at the prostrate man. I took a second look and noticed that he was wearing only short-sleeves and that he was perfectly positioned for a steady drip of water to land in the middle of his back.


Be sure to tip your bartender. Those drinks are a knockout.

The regular bar crowd was also starting to peak, which can make things interesting. Part of the intrigue or at least some inadvertent humor of these shows is that during them Avant Garden continues to operate as a bar. Most of the patrons are there for the show, but a few literally walk cluelessly into a performance.


Ryan Hawk complete with water soaked back

The artist, Ryan Hawk, continued to lay motionless as his shirt became drenched with what I can only imagine was frigid water, which I assume was the choreography of his performance. He also lay motionless as various bar patrons cussed and belittled him and placed an ashtray on his back, which I assume was not part of the performance. On both fronts, it was an extraordinary display of self-discipline.

As Hawk persisted motionless on the terazzo, a woman in the courtyard started ringing a hand bell. As she rang it, she approached the patio. A man produced an identical hand bell and began ringing in tune. Then another person began ringing bells in unison with the other two. Then another. One bystander in a fashionable wool pea coat said to his date, "I think we walked in on a jingle bell flash mob." 


Jingle-bells flash mob...

The ringing intensified as the ringers moved closer together. It happened so organically and then proceeded so quickly that it was almost over with the ringers in an orgiastic heap before I knew that I'd witnessed a performance, Bells of Folly, by Jonathan Richie and Molly Brauhn.


or jingle-bell orgy?

Ryan Hawk cannot be tempted.

Belled out. It was time to move inside for a Jim Pirtle and Nestor Topchy performance. Having been disappointed by their performance in the first Continuum series, I approached the stage with low expectations. Then one of the members of their ensemble rolled in a motorcycle through the side door and Jim Pirtle took the stage as Stu Mulligan with Nestor Topchy accompanying him on stage playing a leaf blower.


Amanda playing the motorcycle

Stu in his pseudo-eastern European accent burst into a version of "Silent Night" or "Sound of Silence." I made out about 3 words of the entire performance. After Pirtle's opening line, Nestor kicked the leaf blower into high gear and Amanda, playing solo motorcycle, revved her engine. There appeared to be some sort of musical composition or progression guiding the musicians, but I'll be damned if I could identify it.


Look! It's Mick Jagger and Keith Richardson on the leaf blower

Stu slurred and shouted into the microphone, plowing through the lyrics with a dramatic inevitability that was matched only by his enthusiasm. Strutting the stage like a Honey BooBoo in need of an attention fix, he lost his wig.


Let me put my microphone next to your 2-stroke engine.

Nestor faithfully accompanied him on the leaf blower, blowing him, blowing the groupies lined up along the stage, blowing the fans foolish enough to fill the front row.


Topchy blowing his fans away.

Stu croned. Stu crowed. Stu even yield the microphone and his spotlight to the motorcycle for a brief solo.


Industrial Strength Blow Jobs

Pirtle and Topchy played their parts to a "T". Their lampooning of pop idols and performance art had me belly laughing. This was Pirtle at his best, analytical and satirical of the culture at large and himself in the confines of an intimate bar with electrical outlets and a wheel chair ramp up to the side door.

BlackMagicMarker took the stage next. His performance started with him quoting a bible passage, Isaiah 66:6 (I'm a fan of the King James version.), which basically talks about divine retribution.



BlackMagicMarker

His performance has a familiar trajectory. Bible passages, guitar feed back, and then he ends up shirtless and covered in blood. One of the refrains, "Christ understands," contradicts the passage of retribution, but it works well within his portrayal of Christ as both a martyr and a sympathetic figure.


reverbernation

Personally, I'm thinking he should rock this show at Lakewood Church.


Joel Osteen after the fall?

After the fake blood was cleaned up / smeared into the floor, Jade and two other performers in 1960-70s hippy-esque attire took the stage. Jade held a colorful sign with a peace symbol on it and positioned herself between the two male performers. They began "singing" or as any middle school choir director would describe it, chant-yelling "peace", "happiness," and "love". They did this for a while and I was never quite sure if it was a command or an offering or a complaint or a flower child with Tourettes as it seemed to be random and unfocused. They stole their ending from the spontaneous bell ringers and simply collapsed into a funky peace-love-happiness pile.


Time Parallels

I'm not sure if I got it in the first 15 seconds or I just never got it at all. If it was a re-enactment of a peace protest, it didn't have nearly enough drama to compete with the Vietnam War reenactment, The Battle of 11th street, for verisimilitude or audience participation. If it was a post-modern appropriation of the peace protest as art, I could have done without the Al Jolson stunt.


Black face and Peace as the new gang sign

By the time they were done, so was I.

Next, we moved outside to the back patio where Koomah and Misty Peteraff (Sway Youngston) began ...and it consumes me.


call me Misty Peteraff

Koomah removed his clothes, neatly folded them, and placed them in a stack next to him. Koomah stopped at his black bikini briefs and revealed a chest wrapped in saran wrap.


Koomah modelling my Summerfest attire

Sitting on the cement tile floor of the patio, he placed black firework snakes on his legs and lit them.


This usage of black snakes is not recommended by the manufacturer.


I watch cartoons.

Meanwhile, holding a bucket with the words "What consumes you?" written on it, Misty P. ascended a chair. She would call out "What consumes you?" and then extract a slip of paper from the bucket and read its inscription: "sex," "fashion is pointless," "you," "anxiety," "I watch cartoons," and others.


"The gentleman with green skin is concerned that your knee is on fire. Here let me Instagram that."

The piece ended unceremoniously, not with a bang or a whimper. Peteraff quit reading and Koomah matter-of-factly dressed. The two parts of the piece never fully congealed into a whole for me. Still, I liked them both, individually.

The group went upstairs to hear Aisen Caro Chacin, Tyson Urich, Melanie Jamison and Alex Tu do a sound performance entitled Rococo.


The cookie monster after hours.


Aisen and band

I'm not a music critic or a sound performance aficionado, but I felt the monostatic buzz. It was a musical progression of not chords but noise: screams and blowing into glass cylinders and spheres, and banging pots.

After Aisen's session, the noise reverberated throughout the room. Then, Jajah and friends began to perform Old Yet New Beginnings. The piece begins with African music, yoga poses, and the pacing an flipping of an officious yellow legal pad. Then Jajah weaves in a creation narrative, "In the beginning..." His beginning is perfection, filled with 4 elements: wind, earth, water, and fire.

He discusses the concept of reciprocity. To paraphrase him, it's what you do to survive: balance, rotation, balance, sing, be what we were, be what we are. Does that description seem disjointed? Good. Because it is disjointed, like walking into the middle of a ritual.


Jajah with Mother Earth in the background

Then he shifted into capoeira style dance with another performer. That was pure Brazilian ballet.


Capoeira


more badass capoeira

The piece ended in a game, a fight for a dollar. According to Jajah, the dollar represented man or his life. The first combatant to pick up the dollar with his mouth won the game of life. I didn't even notice who won because it was such a beautiful game.

Getting Beattie with it.

The final performance of the evening was conducted by Unna Bettie. Dressed in tie-dyed smock and tights, which she could have stolen from Jade's performance, Bettie proceeded to disembowel a mattress. She extracts ice blocks from the mattress and molds them into a green brain-like ball. She then climbs into the mattress, forces stuffing and ice in a manner that resembles feces. I can't help thinking of both Josephy Beuys and his relationship to felt and when Han Solo stuffed Luke Skywalker in to a Tauntaun's stomach.


Bettie does bedding.

After Bettie emerges from the mattress, she stands it up against the door so that lights shining through the door illuminate the mattress. Continuing to disembowel the mattress, she sheds ice from her tights. (Apparently, it was there the whole time.) She then wedges / hangs / suspends the ball of ice in the middle of the mattress, and it glows like entrails from one of those human body educational toys.


Tag still on. Warranty in tact.

And then it was time to go to sleep and discover the meaning of all that I'd seen. Only not on Unna Bettie's icy entrail furnished mattress.


Share

Pan Recommends for the week of May 2 to May 8

$
0
0
Robert Boyd& Dean Liscum

Here are some but not all of the art events happening this weekend. Curious coincidence: there are three openings featuring artists named Regina or Regine (not to mention an artist named Reis, Portuguese for "king").

THURSDAY


Regina Foster, 2, oil on canvas, 12 x 12 in

Ted Flicker and Regina Foster: Recent Works at Wade Wilson Art, 6–8 pm. Not your normal Wilson works: traditional sculptures of females paired with still lifes by two Santa Fe artists. (The video intro to Ted Flicker's website has to be seen to be believed.)

FRIDAY


 art by Regina Agu

An Echo, A Trace by Regina Agu at Darke Gallery, 6-9 pm. Bring your brain. The work addresses contemporary cosmologies, futurism, and storytelling.


We don't know what art will be shown at Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co., but here's a video by Hilary Scullane called meaning-less
 
ALL IN FORMS: Group Show featuring Almendra Castillo, Rochelle Kornas, Yma Luis, Nikki Thornton and Hilary Scullane at the Buffalo Bayou Brewing Company, 6-9 pm. Five women artists explore dreamscapes, personal trials, social issues, and femininity. Newish venue, newish artists, good old art.


Julia Claire Wallace at the second Continuum Live Art Series back in December

Continuum Live Art Series, Closing Night at Avant Garden, 8 pm - 2 am. It will be everything you imagine and fear performance art will be...and then there's a party afterward. (See here, here, here and here for much more.)

 
Steve Brudniak piece that may or may not be in this show,

Steve Brudniak: The Science of Surrealism at Avis Frank Gallery, 6–8 pm. In case you're wondering what it would be like to live in the video game Myst (I'm dating myself), I suspect being surrounded by a bunch of Steve Brudniak objects would be a good approximation.

SATURDAY

 
Harald Schmitz-Schmelzer, Diskos 7, 59 x 18 cm. I do't know if any of these "Diskos" pieces will be in No Paint, but I hope so! 

No Paint featuring Aldo Chaparro, August Muth, Mario Reis, Harald Schmitz-Schmelzer, Regine Schumann, and Hills Snyder at Gallery Sonja Roesch, 5–7 pm. Paintings without paint. Is this exhibition these artists' version of the emperor's new clothes? Come see for yourself.

 
Tuyet Ong-Barr, untitled 17, acrylic on canvas, 40"x 36" 

Tuyet Ong-Barr at d. m. allison, 6–8 pm. Get your Helen Frankenthaler/Sam Francis/color field fix with Tuyet Ong-Barr's paintings.


Not sure whose art this is, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be in the Joanna's upcoming show

Ana Villagomez, Dylan Roberts, and Miguel Martinez at the Joanna, 7–10 pm. To quote the Joanna "This show will be different from the others. It will be really really really good.” And if not, there's always beer for a small donation.

Share

Forrest Bess at the Menil

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


Forrest Bess, untitled, 1957, 9 7/8" x 14 1/4 inches

Forrest Bess (1911-1977) lived a hermit's life in a cabin in Chinquapin, Texas. In the catalog for the exhibit Forrest Bess: Seeing Things Invisible, Robert Gober writes, "Forrest Bess lived a life of profound poverty and solitude, working for most of his adult life as a seasonal bait fisherman in a series of camps and homes built from scavenged detritus on a tiny spit of a treeless island on Chinquapin Bay." The only problem with this description is that there is no Chinquapin Bay that I can locate (a fact that Gober acknowledges in a footnote). There is a small community (approximately 30 people) who live on Chinquapin Road where Live Oak Bayou enters East Matagorda Bay. This community is decribed as having been wiped out by hurricane Carla in 1961, and slowly rebuilt. Bess's cabin was also destroyed by Carla. There is also a Chinquapin Reef that extends out into East Matagorda Bay which includes several tiny treeless islands. Perhaps it is one of these that Bess lived on.

It is an isolated spot, but people live there and fishermen are well aware of the spot. Working as a bait fisherman implies selling the bait. And he must have made it into town (Bay City is about 24 miles away) from time to time to time for groceries and supplies. After Carla, he moved back to Bay City, where he had family, and stayed there until until he died, except for a stay in a mental hospital in San Antonio.

Bess was an abstract artist in a community that had no museum, no tradition of art, and certainly no understanding of avant garde art. Additionally, Bess was homosexual. In a big city, he could have found many places to meet other gay men, but one doubts that Bay City in the 40s, 50s and 60s was a particularly welcoming place for gay men. But Bess could have moved to New York City. After all, he showed his work there in the Betty Parsons Gallery. I don't know why he didn't leave, but I suspect his isolation went way beyond being an artist or being gay. He developed a strange belief that if he made an incision at the base of his penis, he could become a pseudo-hermaphrodite, gain access to the hidden knowledge of his unconscious, and become immortal. He had a "thesis" on this subject that he laid out in voluminous correspondence with many people, including Karl Jung, art historian Meyer Schapiro, and sex researcher John Money. Money was quite interested in Bess and co-wrote an article about him for Journal of Sex Research. This article is accompanied by some disturbing photos of Bess's mutilated penis.


Forrest Bess, untitled, ca. 1950, oil on canvas, 6" x 7 3/8"

The symbols that permeate Bess's painted work come from his visions, the mental world he hoped his auto-surgery would help him better access. In Untitled from about 1950, Bess paints the symbols like graffiti on a wall in an spare spooky landscape. In this painting, they feel like petroglyphs. As a reader of Jung, he must have known about the idea of the "collective unconscious." Therefore the idea that the symbols he saw in waking visions would be found as petroglyphs makes sense. The catalog has an explanation for many of the symbols he employed. But it is incomplete--few of the symbols in Untitled are included, for example.


Forrest Bess, untitled (The Crowded Mind/The Void), 1947, oil on canvas, 10" x 11 3/4"

But whether we understand the symbols or not, they tell us one very important thing--Bess was no formalist. He isn't trying to arrange colors and shapes in an interesting, aesthetically pleasing way. I see his work as a compulsion, a need to get what he was seeing in his mind down on canvas.

 
Forrest Bess, Untitled (No. 31), 1951, oil on canvas, 8" x 10"

The bicycle shape in the center of Untitled (No. 31) is an upside-down representation of a symbol that Bess identifies as "bell-glans penis." Hovering in an indistinct gray space, where animals (dogs? herd animals?) gather, it feels primitive, the work of a neolithic shaman who equates his own sexuality with the multiplication of the flock.

This kind of painting--symbolic, Jungian, mythic--was almost a movement in the days before Abstract Expressionism rose. Artists like Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko dabbled in this sort of primitive surrealist symbology. Think of Pollock's Male and Female (1942) or The She Wolf (1943), for example. It's hard to say that Bess was a part of that tradition since he was so isolated, but the works have a lot of similarities. Pollock and Rothko moved on. For Bess, contending with his visions was a life-long pursuit.

 
Forrest Bess, Untitled (The Void II), 1951, oil on canvas, 8 5/8" x 15 5/8"

Because his symbolism is so personal, one is thrown back into viewing his work as expressive arrangements of color and form. You can't easily enter Bess's mind, despite all his voluminous correspondence and attempts to explain. And even when you start to think you have a grip on the artist, the art itself remains mysterious.With The Void II, there are two rectangular spaces with the same form in each--a downward sloping space at the top, a rough, rounded rectangle in the center, and two parallel horizontal lines at the bottom. The colors are reversed, like a photographic negative. But what struck me, and what is hard to see in this jpeg, is the buttery yellows on the left and deep purples on the right.

The work contains subtleties that can't be photographed. Bess's impasto and the swirling colors he uses with it are hard to see flattened into a jpeg. Sometimes, as in the painting Bodies of Little Dead Children, he has areas of glossy color next to areas of matte color for a certain effect--which is also hard to convey in photos. The paintings are very small, and the Menil has put them in a low-light gallery with grey walls. To view them, I suggest you walk around the gallery for a while, letting your eyes adjust, looking at the paintings from a distance. Then go up to each one and lean in close.


 Forrest Bess, Untitled (No. 12A), 1957, oil on canvas, 12" x 18"

Often you will see an artist's work and feel that the artist is in a dialogue with other artists--particularly his predecessors. You rarely see this with Bess, although there are a couple of paintings that directly refer to Van Gogh. I thought No. 12A might also be a painting about Bess's relationship with other art. The two rectangles seem to recall the severe work of Malevich, whose suprematist paintings Bess could have seen at MOMA in one of his visits to New York. That kind of work conveys a kind of spirituality on a platonic, non-physical level. But Bess's spirituality was related to the body--hence the pink wedge on the right side. It looks like a piece of raw meat or mucus membrane. Juxtaposed with the rectangles, it is a disturbance. To me, it represents the messy spirituality of Bess, which seems at odds with the odorless purity of Modernist spirituality.

This might be why Bess has something to say to the artists like Robert Gober who came along after the edifice of Modernism collapsed in on itself. Part of this show is a selection of paintings, but the other part is a collection of documents gathered by Gober dealing with Bess's writings, his auto-surgery, his pseudo-hermaphroditism, his gallerist Betty Parsons and John Money. These documents were originally displayed at the last Whitney Biennial as part of a tiny Bess exhibit within the larger exhibit. Gober's essay represents Bess as a profoundly isolated man, a hermit living in "the loneliest spot in Texas," according to the great newspaper columnist Sig Byrd. I think Gober does valuable work making this side of Bess known (although it wasn't hidden--the first time I ever heard of Forrest Bess was in a great article about him in Texas Monthly in 1982, and it spoke at great length about his auto-surgery, his philosophy, and his isolated island cabin).

The hermit practicing strange alchemical sexual surgery on himself is a good basis for a new myth. Knowing this, one can't but look at his art differently than if one didn't know it. That is what Gober intends. But Bess was also a man who lived in Bay City from 1961 until he died. He had friends and acquaintances, many of whom are interviewed in the movie Forrest Bess: Key to the Riddle. According to Bess's friend and assistant, Michael Senna, "Forrest took the neighborhood teens under his wing, letting us all hang out at his house, eat his food, play chess, watch t.v. or box out in the front yard." (Senna said that Bess looked down on Senna's adolescent love of the paintings of Frank Frazetta, but adds that Bess was a fan of Star Trek!)


Forrest Bess, The Penetrator, 1967, oil on canvas, 18" x 24"

Forrest Bess the mystic who operated on his own penis is Forrest Bess the neighbor who played chess with the local teenagers. But the reason we remember him is because of these paintings, with their ambiguous spaces, as in the Penetrator (which I read as a flag when I saw it in reproduction but read as a room when I saw it in person for the first time), their seemingly simple colors that hide a subtle richness, their impenetrable system of personal symbols.  There is no key to the riddle. Knowing Bess's biography allows us to get closer to his mind as an artist, but the way through is still shut. The riddle is enough.


Forrest Bess, The Prophecy (Sputnik), 1946, oil on canvas, 6" x 7 1/2"


Share

Pan Recommends for the week of May 9 to May 15

$
0
0
Dean Liscum& Robert Boyd

Groove to a DJ set, get in-vigor-ated, join a parade, and get strung along all in the pursuit of art. Here are some but not all of the art events happening this weekend.


THURSDAY

Sound Proof by Peter Lucas at MKT BARArtist talk at 7 p.m. DJ set 7-9 p.m.
Lucas took the pictures and will DJ, but did he make the fresh baba ganoush next door at the deli counter?

PRH Curatorial Lunchtime Talk series with Marcela Guerrero at Project Row Houses at 12 p.m. Guerrero explores art of the Caribbean and Latin America using Glissant’s theories of creolization. Bring an appetite for knowledge.


FRIDAY

VIM AND VIGOR works by Brandon Araujo, Chris Fulkerson, and Mauricio Menijvar Curated by Paul Middendorf, 6-8 PM at Fresh Arts
Fill up with vim and then get all in-vigor-ated. They promise it won't hurt...much.


Round 7 LAWNDALE 6:30 – 8:30 p.m., Artist talks at 6 p.m.
If you're not overwhelmed, you need to get your whelmed checked. Exhibitions include...

Round 7 • DOMOKOS / FUTURE BLONDES 0.0.0.0., Nancy Douthey & Patrick Turk

I'll Send The Message Along The Wires by Justin Boyd Halls

without walls, room to feel in. The door awaits,your return within. by Abhidnya Ghuge

PRECARIOT by Massa Lemu


SATURDAY

The 26th Annual Art Car Parade from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.
During the paleolithic period, men made art on the walls of their dwellings. During the oil age in which man practically lives in his car, men make art on the side of theirs. Cars roll at 1 p.m.

TUESDAY

A Length Of String by The Art Guys beginning at 9:00 a.m. until they reach the end.
Starts at White Oak Bayou beginning at near Tidwell at West T.C. Jester, walking south along the bayou to toward I-610.
If the Art Guys were attending this event instead of performing in it, would they bring scissors?

Nothing About the Art at Frieze

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

I spent six hours on Thursday at Frieze in New York. There was art worth looking at and thinking about. But this post is all about people watching.




Here's what I want to say to the people on preview day at Frieze--YOU LOOK GOOD.



You look so good that you should buy a piece of art that tells you so in 3 foot letters.


Well, you don't all look good. Like this guy who has carefully constructed a Charles Bukowski look going, checking out a Mark Flood.



There were some amazing shoes at Frieze







When you're rich enough, you can wear dirty white shoes with no shoelaces or socks because who cares what anyone else thinks? That was the theme of much of the fashion at the fair.









Even Chuck Close doesn't care what you think of how he dresses.



(Besides, you're probably two busy having your mind-blown by his Segway-style wheel chair.)


See, this guy's jacket which says "fucked by the system" is ironic because he's actually supremely blessed by the system.



To quote David Cross, a jacket like that is like a big "fuck you, poor people!"



I expected to see nine other clones.






Look at the F%@&ing hipster.


I can tell you, there is a LOT of walking at Frieze. This woman played hurt--an inspiration to us all.


Frieze, where even rich people wait in line

 
Check out her blouse.


It's ironic because Mao was a psychopath who killed millions of people in the ironically named "Great Leap Forward". And now it's on a shirt wearing a priest's collar.


Please stand on the art.




Please stand on the art, part 2.





Look, it's Jerry Saltz walking in front of a giant blow-up of Walter Crane's ‘The Vampire’ (1885), which is ironic because Frieze is a bazaar devoted to selling super-expensive luxury items to very wealthy people.


He was headed for the can as far as I could tell.


Selfie.











Frieze won the prize for best people watching of the four art fairs I attended this week.

Share

Richard Stout's Last Home Show

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

In my attempts to understand Houston's art history, I usually see Fresh Paint at the MFAH in 1985 as the turning point--the last gasp of the dominance of expressionist painting in Houston. Richard Stout was in that show, of course. But he has expressed that he sees the inflection point in Houston's art history at the beginning of the Core program. Core brings in new artists to Houston every year, some of whom stay and end up teaching locally, who don't have any history locally. Each batch of new Core artists represents a rupture.

But an older artist like Stout, who has stayed in Houston painting and sculpting for so long, is a continuity. He has had dealers (Meredith Long Gallery and W.A. Graham Gallery both show up frequently in his cv), but for the past few years Stout has been showing art out of his home. It makes sense--if you stay on the scene long enough, and produce work of certain quality, a gallery becomes an unnecessary middleman. (Apparently, Michael Tracy and James Surls also do this now.)



On May 3rd, 4th and 5th, Stout had his last home show. Subsequent shows will be in a gallery. There are personal reasons for this move, but I was a but saddened by it because Stout's house in Montrose is such a beautiful setting for his work The white cube is a good setting for art--relatively neutral and unobtrusive--but there is something about seeing art hung in a home that is quite different.



Of course, it helps if you have a home as distinctive as Stout's. It's filled with simple wood furniture and rich painted walls. It is the ideal setting for his artwork--something he will lose by showing in a gallery.

Richard Stout, Evening, 2011, watercolor, 6 x 18 inches

For example, Evening is beautiful with it's violets and reds floating above a dark green horizon. But put its frame in a dark purple hallway, and it's a different experience. One thing the minimalists were completely correct about is that art inherently has a relationship with architecture. And that is true even if the architecture we're talking about is nothing more than the color of the paint on the walls. A collector acquiring Evening would be well advised to consider purple wall paint.


Richard Stout, About Knowing, 2009-2012, acrylic on canvas, 60 x 36 inches

Also in the purple hallway was About Knowing, a landscape with an unusually philosophical title. Putting this landscape against a dark color makes it pop out quite dramatically. The scene itself strikes me as typical of the Texas coast--vast and flat. When Burke and Kant wrote about the sublime, they imagined paintings of mountains and massive waterfalls. But I think the 20th century has recognized the sublime in the idea of absence or emptiness. Malevich's black squares or Rothko's highly abstracted landscapes. There is something breathtaking about a flat, uninterrupted horizon.


Richard Stout, Shoal, 2011, acrylic on canvas, 36 x 60 inches

But if one is going to attempt to capture the sublime in painting--a project fraught with risk for a painter in 2013--seascapes are an obvious choice. They've been doing the trick since J.M.W. Turner and Caspar David Friedrich. And anyone who has been down in Glaveston or elsewhere on the coast--or offshore on an oil production platform--watching a squall come in from the horizon knows about the terrifying visual power of nature, which I think Stout is trying to convey in Shoal.


Richard Stout, Rollover Bay, 2011, acrylic on canvas, 26 x 60 inches (with several small sculptures in front of it)

Rollover Bay brings the world into the picture even more directly than the other paintings--we see a view of a bay, but this time through windows. The viewer is inside looking out. But despite the presence of the four panes of the window, Stout keeps it fairly abstract. You don't see detail--that is not the point. That would detract. The reason for Rollover Bay is to experience a feeling.


Richard Stout, On Fyn, 2012, acrylic on canvas, 30 x 60 inches

At a certain point, a painting can be so abstracted that the only thing in it that suggests a landscape is the horizon line. That's what I sense when I look at certain Mark Rothko paintings, and that is the case with On Fyn. All of Stout's work is painterly, so it feels strange to call out a particular piece as being especially painterly. But for me, the act of painting is more evident on the surface of On Fyn than in many other works in the show.


Richard Stout, Madge, 2012, oil on canvas, 24 x 18 inches

Not every painting in the show is a landscape or seascape. There are a group of faces in the exhibit, including Madge. Stout's faces suggest what Jim Nutt's women might look like if he were an expressionist painter. Their structure is influenced by cubism, but the colors are something altogether different. They remind me of the Chicago painters--Nutt, Roger Brown, Ed Pashke, etc.  Madge is a face lit by neon or the TV screen--there is no hint of natural light here.

In addition to the paintings, Stout exhibit several small bronze sculptures, including Ariel.


Richard Stout, Ariel, 2012, bronze unique, 15 x 19 x 7 inches

The sculptures use folded planes to form their shapes--they almost seem like bronze origamis. Some, like Ariel, suggest robed figures but at the same time recall flowers. Sometimes they retain the natural brown colors of the bronze, and sometimes Stout adds white paint. Their expressionism is consistent with his paintings.

I've been at art fairs in New York this weekend, looking at literally thousands of pieces of art--much of it quite clever and thoughtful. But there are few painters doing the kind of work that Stout does represented in these fairs. To see this kind of work now, you have to turn to the large format photographers. They seem to have taken up the challenge and the risks of trying to portray the sublime. Stout is one of the last of a generation of artists for whom these risks and challenges were met with paint on canvas.

I know the phrase "the art history of Houston" sounds slightly absurd, like "the coast of Nebraska." But it does have a history--one that certain people and institutions struggle to record and preserve. Stout is a key figure in that history. And we have the good fortune to be able to tap his memory and see new art from him, for which I'm grateful.

Share

Villagomez, Roberts & Martinez at the Joanna

$
0
0
Robert Boyd


Miguel Martinez, I Knew You Were No Angel

Is there a trend among painters to think of painting itself--the spreading of gooey colored media onto a surface--as unnecessary? I can't tell if I knew You Were no Angel by Miguel Martinez is actually painted or not. But it feels like a painting. (Tellingly, the hand-written list of work provided by the Joanna, which is hosting an exhibit by Ana Villagomez, Dylan Roberts and Miguel Martinez,  provides no information about the media of the pieces.)

Maybe painting/not painting is not really an issue for these artists. Many artists working today feel no particular loyalty to a given medium, and given the amazing variety of stuff that one can make things out of, medium doesn't seem like all that important or interesting category. It's just as good to go to Home Depot, Radio Shack and 99¢ Only for art supplies as Texas Art Supply. I am going to assume that the silvery foam around the edge of I Knew You Were No Angel did not come from an art supply store (but who knows?).


Miguel Martinez, Good Girl Gone Bad

But it's important to me to have some idea whether to think of Good Girl Gone Bad as a painting or not. The tradition of painting is so rich, so powerful. It was the primary visual art of the Western world for centuries. So my feeling is to think of these artworks as paintings. Some of them just barely, though.


Miguel Martinez, Same Park, Different Trailer

For example, Same Park, Different Trailer features 10 painting-like objects attached to a garden lattice. They each look like an abstract design on stretched canvas. But when you look closely, you realize that these are pieces of printed fabric wrapped on canvas stretchers. They aren't painted, but they pay homage to painting in their form and appearance. They are in the same trailer park, but in a different trailer. (Painting's got the super-fancy doublewide furthest away from the septic tank.)


Ana Villagomez, Easier For

Ana Villagomez, at least, is usually clear about what she is doing. Easier For is not a painting. Instead, it's a kind of collage. The phrase is meaningless by itself--it seems to have been taken out of the middle of a sentence, perhaps Matthew 19:24: "And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." The way it's portrayed is like a it of recorded speech repeated so that it becomes rhythm, as in a Steve Reich tape loop piece.  The meaning it may have had (or at least implied) gets lost in the course of repetition. If it does refer to Matthew 19:24, it may be a commentary about how this radical message gets softened through repetition.


Ana Villagomez, Arthur Drawings

That said, Villagomez does display a variety of paintings of the cartoon character Arthur, each slightly different (the differences seem to be variations in skill and degrees of finish).


Ana Villagomez, Cat Paw

Of course, if there is anything contemporary art has taught us about painting, it's that you don't have to paint it yourself. Outsourcing in painting is just as legitimate as outsourcing in manufacturing. With Cat's Paw, it seems that Villagomez has (perhaps) outsourced her painting to her cat.


(in front) Dylan Roberts, 3 untitled paintings; (behind them) Ana Villagomez, Large Trash Bag and Medium Trash Bag

Dylan Roberts is the most painterly painter of the group--he doesn't appear to be playing any conceptual games with his paintings (but without knowing his process, one can't be certain). The question I had seeing this arrangement of Villagomez's photographic trash bags on the wall with Robert's paintings hanging in front, was this a function of the Joann's limited space, or was this a deliberate statement about painting vs. non-painting. The paintings have a strong presence, floating in front of the trash bags, their colors are brilliant in contrast to the black and white trash bags. Their placement almost reads like a vote in favor of the continued importance of painting. (This thesis would not work if the paintings were terrible. They are crude and bizarrely colored, but they sneak up on you in the same way Nathan Green's paintings do. Roberts' painting shares some qualities with Green's and Cordy Ryman's.)


Miguel Martinez, What did I say about going into Georgie's room? 

Miguel Martinez is the artist who skates the painting/not painting boundary closest. I could claim that that's why I like his work best of the three artists, but to be honest, I think it's because the colors appeal to me most.



Miguel Martinez, Cry Me a River, Tears on My Pillow

Because once you get past thorny concerns of liminality or deskilling, and once you acknowledge that as a viewer, you are little more than a cloud of cultural, psychological and neurological biases, you are left with visual appeal. That's what worked on me at the end. I liked Villagomez and Roberts and especially Martinez because in my eyes, this work looked good.


Share

Earth Drawings: Some Questions for Bob Russell

$
0
0
Virginia Billeaud Anderson

His graphite pencil lines were sparsely elegant. Expressivity entered by way of painted gestural forms, light and smeary but deliberately applied. Collage elements were graceful rather than disruptive, and all was balanced on a ground of recycled brown paper. Instantly, my mind went to Malevich and Schwitters. In 2011, Bob Russell showed eleven memorable drawings in The Modernist Thread exhibition at Williams Tower, and although his art was based on computer generated satellite imagery of the earth, it stylistically linked to early century masterworks, making it an unexpected response to organizer Sally Sprout’s curatorial theme of modernism. I’ll never forget graceful passages of crimson, cobalt and green against neutral-toned paper.

Russell lived about two feet from the Menil Collection, so it was fun to imagine him scrutinizing the Suprematists and Tanguy and Ernst. “The art was influenced by my studies of the works of Ernst, Miro and Schwitters, along with many of the Russian pre-war artists,” he told me at the time.

He continued to expand the series and on May 2 opened Earth Drawings / Subduction Zones at the Jung Center, a show of forty artworks of satellite images refashioned into lovely quasi-abstraction that is stylistically conversant with major trends in modernism. Upon seeing the art I contacted Russell to ask a few questions.


Bob Russell, Untitled, 2012, Mixed media on paper, 12” x 12”

Virginia Billeaud Anderson: I would have assumed art made with grinding technological advancements would be aesthetically uninteresting, but you made a fool of me. Tell me about it.

Bob Russell: When I first started working with Google satellite images, I did a series of thirty 30" x 44" drawings on paper using oil pastels, graphite, and pencil, which were unlike any of my previous works because they were true to the actual satellite images, they were very representational. From those I did a whole sketchbook of abstracted studies, using the same vocabulary as the satellite series, but simplified. I used the same shapes, the same vocabulary of space and juxtaposition of forms, but abstracted and reworked. Two of the large black and white drawings at the Jung were large scale versions. For the earth drawings I decided to cut up the brown paper I had been saving.

VBA: The brown paper suggests important innovations in modern art, evoking Schwitters, Picasso, numerous others. My mind likens its insistently neutral tonality to Malevich’s 1913 dark geometrics on white backgrounds. Let’s talk about the paper.

BR: It is old, used paper. I pinned it to my studio walls to protect them from errant marks when working. It’s been used in several studios and it was wrinkled, folded, torn and rerolled hundreds of times. It was stored under a bed when we lived in the small space on Alabama, and I nearly threw it away but decided I liked the marks and pushpin holes, so I cut it up and used the marks and pin holes as a starting point, choosing like Duchamp in some of his work to let these marks, overruns of color and pin holes, serve as the genesis for these drawings. I call the marks erratics, as in Geology, they were not there originally but were placed there by unrelated circumstance. So I responded to the irregularities on the paper. I cut some into smaller sections.


Bob Russell, Untitled, 2012, Mixed media on paper, 12” x 12”

VBA: In some works you collaged in the actual satellite images, but their minute size requires a very close look to recognize that grid patterns and unordered organic forms are in fact aerial photographs of land plats, shore lines and cloud cover. Yet my psyche cannot accept your art as landscape. Ambiguity and non-representation removes it from objective reality and locates it in the realm of emotion. If here I’m insufferably poetic, at the very least you’ll agree you’re using symbolic language to speak of the Earth’s forces, which you stated definitively at the Jung.

BR: Yes, I connected the dots, or in this case pin holes, to generate drawings of geometric forms that became a symbol of man’s footprint on the Earth. To me the forms were reminiscent of surveyed plats of property, farms, states, and countries, boundaries made by man. The wrinkles, marks, tears, creases and folds affected each drawing and added texture that related to the geology of the earth. I purposefully left tape and any foreign material on the paper. In the aerial perspectives my eye was drawn to the movements of rivers and their formation of oxbows, lakes, and changes in directions. Since reading John McPhee’s book Annals of the Former World, a geological tour of the continental U. S., the work has become more involved with those forces inside the Earth which are beyond our control, yet affect us immensely. So the drawings represent the aerial perspectives, but I allow that perspective to become blurred and altered, just like our earth. The art is an attempt to understand and reconcile the relationship between man and nature.


Bob Russell, Untitled, 2013, Mixed media on paper, 11 1/2” x 8 1/2”

VBA: Did you digitally modify the satellite images?

BR: Since the brown paper series was abstraction of the original drawings, I felt free to occasionally alter the colors. If you look at many Google images, you will see that some are done with different types of filters which change the natural colors of the Earth, but remember most of the color was already on the paper from the old drawings.

VBA: Inconceivably, you aesthetically blasphemed technology, hinted at interiority and feeling, while unerringly mimicking stylistic veins of modernism. I attribute this to significant art historical knowledge. Besides early twentieth-century painters, from whom do you take inspiration? I’m actually wondering about influences closer to home, because just last week I had the opportunity to see Stout’s recent works, and glean his Romanticism in your art. You would have had the opportunity to watch him up-close when you did your graduate school teaching.

BR: I would say that I was fortunate to have studied with a diverse group of artist and architects, but Richard Stout really inspired my drawing, and was instrumental in making me see things from so many different levels. Others who influenced my work were Donald Barthelme, and Bob Lindsey architecture, and James Surls, John Alexander, Gael Stack, Ed Hill, and Sal Scarpitta. All of them taught in the University of Houston fine art department.

VBA: What other contemporary artists do you look to?

BR: I like the work of Julie Mehretu, and Terry Winters.

VBA: Bob, I think you are in harmony with Mehretu because of your love of architecture. When I read about the large mural she did in Manhattan, I learned it has a layer of architectural renderings beneath painted abstraction. She has said her interest in geography and architecture inspires drawings that look like aerial views of cities, and she uses the computer as a drawing tool. Her art has been associated with Malevich, Kandinsky, and other early century Russians, as well as Picasso and Mondrian.

BR: And remember I’m inspired by Miro, Ernst, and Yves Tanguy.

Bob Russell, Untitled, 2011, Mixed media on paper, size unknown, Exhibited in the 2011 The Modernist Thread at Williams Tower

Share

Pan Recommends for the week of May 16 to May 22

$
0
0
Dean Liscum& Robert Boyd

There's a lot going on art-wise in Houston this weekend. Here's some of what we're interested in checking out.

THURSDAY


Clarissa Tossin, Brasília by Foot, 2009. Archival inkjet on cotton paper. 20 in. x 30 in.


Study for a Landscape by Clarissa Tossin at Sicardi Gallery, 6 pm (with an artist talk on Monday at 7 pm). Keep the International Festival's Brazil theme going with former Core fellow Clarissa Tossin's work. (Also, don't forget to check out her Milam Street window installations.)

FRIDAY


Delio Delgado, Untitled #1, Mixed media print, 13” x 13”, 2011

The boat is a floating piece of space featuring Charles Campbell, Delio Delgado, Erika DeFreitas, Dionne Simpson and Stacey Tyrrell at the Houston Museum of African American Culture, 6:30 pm. Work by Canadian artists of Caribbean descent. Frater and the HMAAC continue to deliver. Miss this and miss out.


Former Houston Chronicle art critic Devon Britt-Darby can't stop explaining art to us--even his own art.

Lots of stuff at the Art League starting at 6 pm, including:
  • Cocomirie by Adela Andea in collaboration with Markus Cone and Ian Travis, who will be doing a musical performance at the opening (artist talk at 6:30 and performance at 7:15)
  • Art Criticism and Reporting by Devon Britt-Darby (artist talk at 7 pm)
  • New Work by Giovanni Valderas (artist talk at 6:15)
It's another Jenny Ash and company Art League orgy. Prepare to be overwhelmed.


Andy Coolquitt, Red Blue Stick (detail), 2011, lighters, acrylic rod, epoxy

andy coolquitt: attainable excellence at the Blaffer Art Museum, 6 pm. This Austin artist has shot up to the big time with his grungy assemblages of weird old crap (including crackhead's plastic lighters). Come prepared to be slightly perplexed and mighty intrigued.


Jeffrey Dell knows what the public likes!

Jeffrey Dell: Follies and Linda Post: Igvonne at Art Palace, 6 pm. I have two words for the two shows at Art Palace: Iggy and Cake.

SATURDAY



Incorpus Articum by Nestor Topchy 7 to 10 p.m.  at George H. Lewis and Sons Funeral Directors, 1010 Bering Drive. Art, embalming fluid, alcohol and Nestor Topchy. Bring it!

 
This is what Kerry Adams showed at the Spacetaker ARC Gallery in 2011

Box 13 Artspace presents:
  • Darcy Rosenberger and Guillaume Gelot show D+G, a “festivitiy of love.”
  • Kerry Adams’ Reality of Memories 
  • Ann Wood’s Pyre
  • Shelby Shadwell’s, A Universal Picture
from 7 to 9 pm. Love, memories, a pyre (or two) and drawings of dead cockroaches...and Topchy thought he'd have a lock on morbidity this Saturday night.


Share

Duchamp in Arkansas

Big Five Oh, part 1: Cutlog

$
0
0
Robert Boyd

So I just turned 50 last week. My nephew, Ford, has the same birthday as me, and he just turned 21. Given this coincidence, I thought I'd treat him to his first trip to New York. I was there to see art and he had my permission to do whatever the hell he wanted to. But for the first couple of days, at least, he stuck close to uncle Robert, perhaps because he didn't feel comfortable wandering around New York alone.

Our first stop was Cutlog, a French Art Fair that was having its first U.S. version this year. I got in on the preview Thursday because they gave me a press pass. (I'm grateful for that, especially since Frieze denied me one!) Of all the art fairs I went to that weekend, this one had the funkiest location, The Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural & Educational Center Inc. The space was fairly ramshackle and galleries had no idea if they'd be in a room with a piano or next to people practicing capoeira. As for the art, it was very hit or miss, but I saw art here that was unlike any that I saw in the other fairs this weekend. Here's some of what I saw and liked.


Marion Tampon-Lajarriette at Galerie Dix9

I think my favorite gallery was Galerie Dix9, which had several works by Marion Tampon-Lajarriete. A couple were paintings based on night-vision photos she took that have that spooky, security camera look.


Marion Tampon-Lajarriette at Galerie Dix9

But my favorite was a video, Antichthones 1, where she took a first person tracking shot from an old movie and inserted herself in. What I liked was how she contrasted the color her image with the old black and white movie.


Marion Tampon-Lajarriette, still from Antichthones 1 at Galerie Dix9

Gallery director Hélène Lacharmoise was working on getting a piece by Sophia Pompéry up and working when I was there. Apparently part of the video sculpture had arrived late, and she and her assistant were scrambling. 


Sophia Pompéry, Lighting Up, Burning Down, 2009, video installation on television, colour, sound, 0'20'', loop

But Lighting Up, Burning Down by Pompéry was on view, and I liked it quite a lot. It's the perfect video art gift for your workaholic friend.

Another space I liked wasn't really a gallery space, but a space devoted to Ray Smith and friends.



Ray Smith Studio had three large drawings in it, each a "jam" drawing between Smith and various visitors to the studio. They had a real alternative/underground comics vibe--this is what happens when you get a bunch of cartoonists together in a bar or coffee shop. The only difference was the scale.


Ray Smith & friends jam drawing


Left: Ray Smith's daughter. Right: my nephew Ford

Ford really liked these pieces a lot. I did, too, and I also was charmed by the fact that the booth was manned by Smith's daughter. She told us how Smith's studio was flooded by Sandy last year, and that they were still recovering from that. I found it very interesting and commendable that Cutlog gave him a booth--art fairs usually don't allow artists to buy their own booths, presumably out of fear of angering galleries (who are, after all, the real clients of an art fair). And the fact that his booth was being worked by his daughter gave it a humble feeling; Cutlog was in general very unpretentious compared to the other art fairs I saw this weekend. (Smith showed work in Houston at Peveto last year, but it was quite different from the Cutlog pieces.)



And part of that lack of pretense was forced on the fair by the physical location.  Maybe Galerie Céline Moine would have preferred a clean white booth, but they got this instead and it really looked great. The big ink wash Thomas Henriot drawings wouldn't have looked nearly as good in an uncluttered white box.

Thomas Henriot at Galerie Céline Moine

But here they felt like they were literally spilling out of a closet, which made you feel almost like you were in the artist's studio.

Right across from Ray Smith Studio was Galerie d'Aléatoire, which was showing work from an abecedaria by Ivan Yazykov.


Ivan Yazykov, The Book of Letters "Я"

Of course, since Ivan Yazykov is Russian, The Book of Letters is a Cyrillic alphabet.


Ivan Yazykov, The Book of Letters "Щ"

I loved the beauty and cleverness of these drawings, and I also loved how atypical they were for an art fair. Charming illustrational works displaying high levels of craft and skill are not the norm in contemporary art. But they should be included in the mix, which was why I was glad to see these here.


Ivan Yazykov, Rebus



Another space that wasn't an art gallery was be poles. They publish lovely little pamphlets of photographs by a given photographer of a given city in a series called Portraits de Villes. What drew my eye to them was their beautiful display cases.



They also doubled as shipping cases (I assume) and were thus probably quite economical. The pamphlets themselves were beautifully produced--excellent paper and printing, saddle-stitched with thread, embossed covers--and the photos were lovely, too. I picked up Buenos Aires featuring photos by Jacques Borgetto. (be poles was one of the few booths in any art fair that was selling relatively inexpensive items.)

Some other pieces I liked:


Chris Burden, Untitled, 1974, lithograph with hand coloring, 20 x 16"

Chris Burden at Cirrus Gallery.


 Diane Carr, Mountain (top) and Branches (below), 2013, oil on canvas, 24 x 18"

Diane Carr (I can't remember what gallery she was showing with).


The Hole with Holton Rower paintings

Holton Rower's "Pour Paintings" at the Hole.


Holton Rower's Pour Paintings


Jean-luc Cornet, Tribut Telephone Sheep, 1989, installation, 60 cm high

Jean-luc Cornet's sheep made of old telephone parts at Gama Gallery.


Makiko Nakamura, Before a Sweet Rain--Autumn, oil on canvas, 35.5 x 35.5 inches

Makiko Nakamura at Edward Cutler Gallery (I think).

I can't say I actually liked Piers Secunda's Taliban Relief paintings (paintings made of the impressions of Taliban bullet holes on walls) at Per Partes Projects. I found them a worrying aestheticization of war. But considering the paltry responses of artists to our wars lately (wan "protest" art, for the most part; photography is the big exception here), Secunda's pieces were an interesting if unsuccessful attempt to capture the power and brutality of war.


Piers Secunda, Taliban Relief Painting


Piers Secunda, Taliban Relief Painting

Cutlog showed many artist projects and had performances running through the whole weekend. I missed the performances, but here are some of the projects interested me.


Marni Kotak, before photo


Marni Kotak, after plaque


Marni Kotak, Calorie Countdown

Marni Kotak achieved infamy a couple of years ago by giving birth to her son in a gallery. Frankly it felt a little old hat--the fictional artist J.J. from the Doonesbury strip gave birth to Alex Doonesbury as a performance on cable TV in 1988.


Garry Trudeau, Doonesbury, November 29, 1988

For Cutlog, her performance was Calorie Countdown, where she would ride a stationary bike at certain times to try to lose some weight. If she really wanted to lose weight, she should have done what I did--spend hours walking around every art fair in New York, as well as all through Harlem, the Lower East Side and Bushwick. I am not exaggerating when I say that I had to literally tighten my belt after this trip.


Timofey Radya, Figure #1: Stability


Timofey Radya, Figure #1: Stability


Timofey Radya, Figure #1: Stability

Nice use of the riot policeman shield medium by Timofey Radya.

 
Mark L. Power, Plate War, 2012, plastic

I can't tell if this piece by Mark L. Power is just a stack of plastic plates or a sculpture of a stack of plastic plates. And I like that I can't tell.

After all this, Ford said he had really liked it a lot, but he didn't understand one thing--why was all the art so expensive? 

Next stop on the big five oh tour--the monster: Frieze.



Share
Viewing all 665 articles
Browse latest View live