Author: greg

Having recently experienced a difficult displacement and resettling himself, conceptual fragrance artist and greg.org hero Chris Rusak devotes his new studio zine to the topics of home and loss. It is titled HOME, and it is a beautifully made reminder of our connection to the people we see in the terrible news of the day.

Rusak is donating all proceeds from HOME to organizations providing mutual aid to Palestinians displaced by the war in Gaza.

Zine: HOME, $5 [chrisrusak.com]

Reader, when I say I was not prepared,

when I clicked through the BravinLee email announcement of the new artist carpet design by Rashid Johnson—an Anxious yet handsome rug that manages the sometimes tricky balance of artist’s credible aesthetic and conceptual rugness, and also manages to be “a meditation on race, class, identity and the essential human struggle with isolation, meaning and anxiety,”

only to discover I’d missed the introduction this year of a new artist rug by Willie Cole, and no, the stark but small rug with Cole’s familiar motif of an iron mark, which was released in 2019, did not prepare me,

For the 12×10 foot, hand-knotted monument that is Original Sin. Cole has gone from abstract to searing representation with the 1789 abolitionist drawing of conditions of the Middle Passage. First published by Thomas Clarkson as “Stowage of the British Slave Ship ‘Brookes’ under the Regulated Slave Trade Act of 1788,” the drawing quickly became an an abolitionist staple on both sides of the Atlantic.

The question immediately arises: do you have a space hallowed enough to put this on the floor? And I think the answer is, if you put this on the floor, you will.

In an essay excerpted by BravinLee [and published in full], noted art advisor Halima Taha rhapsodizes on the creation and impact of Cole’s Original Sin carpet:

Just as a rug lays a foundation for a room, offering a canvas for intricate designs and patterns to unfold, the thread of American history serves as a foundation for contemplation, weaving together the diverse threads of the nation’s past to create a complex and rich narrative.  Each thread in a rug represents a different culture, event, or individual, much like the various elements that have contributed to shaping America’s identity. By examining these intricate weavings of history, one can better understand the complexities, challenges, and triumphs that have defined the American experience.  The rug created by  Willie Cole, entitled Original Sin, challenges the viewer to decide if the rug should be on the wall or the floor. 

So I guess the question that should have arisen is, do you have a wall big enough to install a 14-foot carpet? Because if you do, you will be turning it into a Sistine Chapel of Black history and liberation, so don’t screw it up.

Taha suggests, though, that there can be hope underfoot. Walking on the carpet depicting this inhumane history “could also be interpreted as attempting to stomp out that pain, to reshape and transcend it, or to dance in jubilant celebration akin to Juneteenth, evoking the spirit of resilience and triumph over adversity or standing on the foundations of American prosperity.”

I think it’s obvious by now that any Richard Serra sculpture can be domestically scaled if you have a big enough house. But there is a category of Serras you could install pretty much wherever, and without reinforcing your floors.

So it’s a little weird to see this simple corner prop piece, T with two (2986) in a sale of monumental sculpture. [Which, if you find anything more surreally absurd and superfluous than a sale of giant lawn ornaments installed on pristine chateau lawns, definitely send it along.]

It’s also weird because it felt like I’d seen it before, even though it’s barely been out of Athens. But it’s because the Dannheissers had one just like it, which Elaine gave to MoMA. Same concept, different dimensions. MoMA’s two plates are the same size, while T’s are 2:1. Either way, I’d make sure my floor is level and maybe reinforce my sheetrock. And get some certified riggers for sure.

Did you know MoMA has twelve steel or lead Serra sculptures? TWELVE. And here we are, just window shopping one.

ARTnews is reporting that someone in England is auctioning off ten 1970s Salvador Dalí lithographs found in their Mayfair garage. The £300–£500 they’re expected to bring will not help much toward funding their retirement abroad, but they’re probably selling the garage, too.

Unmentioned in it all is how the Dalí print market is a fifty-year-old joke ever since it became known that the artist pre-signed thousands—tens of thousands, some say hundreds of thousands—of blank sheets of paper, which were then printed with whatever.

The printsellers at Artsy are too ingenuous by saying Dalí “accidentally sabotaged his print market” with the practice. Dalí’s manager eventually claimed the artist signed 350,000 sheets of blank paper. That takes discipline, time, a system. And a way to monetize it—if not, what’s even the point? And none of that sounds like an accident. Maybe Dalí just dgaf about his resale market, and why should he, when there’s paper to sign?

And that’s not even getting near the forgeries. During the last decade of his life, one of Dalí’s former printers went rogue and secretly flooded the market with unauthorized prints; he was joined by straightup forgers operating a network of mall and tourist trap galleries. So he accidentally sabotaged his market by being forged? Or easy to forge?

TBH, the only thing less interesting than Dalí’s print market is Dalí’s prints. What I low-key want to see is his blank paper. Where are some? Did any survive intact? Dalí had a multiyear durational performance of signing blank paper, and it has disappeared without a trace. Worse than that, it was defaced, dismembered, and destroyed, then diluted by a deluge of fakes. Unless there’s a forgotten ream somewhere, sitting unnoticed since the 70s in a British garage, waiting to make some auctioneer’s day.

Oh wait, no, it was in France, and someone’s been auctioning it off in little batches since 2022. Also, Dalí was a Hitler- and Franco-loving fascist, so never mind.

[NEXT DAY UPDATE: ok, thank you Joshua Caleb Weibley for bringing in the work of Tyler Coburn, who in 2010 showed Thumbprints and Other Takeaways, a sculpture that included a stack of blank print paper, each printed with one of the hundreds of supposedly authentic signature variants Dalí used. 10/10, no notes.]

Thanks to Jeremy Millar on Bluesky for noting the 72nd anniversary of the first public performance of John Cage’s 4’33”. David Tudor premiered the groundbreaking work in Woodstock, N.Y. on August 29th, 1952.

I recently performed it myself a couple of weeks ago, using the 4’33” app, and I posted the recording to johncage.org. It’s the first recording of the piece in Greenland, and you can listen to it here.

[update: yeah, it should be Rømer Fjord, my bad]

Actually, it’s the second recording posted from Greenland; I had made and uploaded the first recording a few minutes earlier. I was on a boat in a fjord when the wind picked up, and some tarps began clacking and thrumming in an unusual way. Rather than just take an audio snapshot, I decided to make a 4’33” recording.

The way the app works, I uploaded it without listening to it first. Playing it back, I noticed a difference, inevitable, between the stereo experience of by ears listening to the original performance, and my phone mic’s recording. But more than that, I also felt like it sounded less like an experience of opening to the sonic world around you, and more of a fixation on an unusual found sound, which, admittedly, it was.

So I set off to find a quieter [sic] place to perform Cage’s silent piece. The result, mostly wind and waves, with a few inescapable lines snapping against masts in the wind, is the one linked above. So a big 4’33” Day shoutout to John Cage, who knew that silence sounds different everywhere.

John Cage works index: 4’33” [johncage.org]
4’33” app for iPhone [johncage.org]