Richard Serra, F*** Helms, 1990, 14×15 in. sheet, via NGA/Gemini
Election season, when a man’s heart turns to thoughts of Gemini G.E.L. fundraising print portfolios. Or at least it used to.
Fortunately, longtime greg.org hero/reader Terry Wilfong emailed a keen observation about Richard Serra’s Afangar Viðey series prints that momentarily distracts from the genocidal, climate, and fascistic calamities afoot. Like me, Terry missed out on getting any little Viðey etchings, and was drawn to the print Serra made at the same moment for the Harvey Gantt Portfolio. [Gantt was the Black opponent to one of the Reagan era GOP’s biggest bigots, Senator Jesse Helms of North Carolina.]
Terry noted that this print, titled F*** Helms, looked similar to the Viðey etchings, but it was a screenprint. It was not an etching, yet it had an embossed plate mark like an etching. What was going on there?
Cannon is one of the creative suns like East Village photographer Alex Harsley who looped Hammons into their regularly orbit from the early 1990s. In the white artworld, Hammons developed a reputation of being aloof, reclusive, evasive But the truth is, he just had his own people he’d rather be in dialogue with, and Cannon has definitely been one of them.
But I was stunned to read Julia Halperin’s cover story about Cady Noland, which tracks the artist’s rise, her apparent withdrawal from the art world—and the rumors or sniping around it—and her recent return to exhibiting her work. Noland’s dedication to the precise positioning and presentation of her work is an ongoing theme, along with the power her work derives from attention some saw as excessive.
I was stunned even though I’m quoted in the article—as “a Noland obsessive,” which lmao is going straight on my bio—stunned because though she refused an interview, Noland agreed to respond to Halperin’s inquiries. The article is thus replete with parenthetical denials of rumors and clarifications of others’ statements, as if she’s carefully correcting the position of each element in her narrative.
Noland also provided the Times with previously unpublished Polaroids. And they confirmed that the artist has been involved in the new installation of her work opening at Glenstone in less than two weeks. Also that the Raleses did indeed buy out her entire show at Gagosian. What is a collector but an obsessive with ten billion dollars?
At first glance intarsia is strange medium for portraiture, for immediacy, or for conveying information at all. But that is looking at it through the wrong end of the chronoscope. In his current show at New Discretions, I Want Your Skull, Michael Bühler-Rose uses this permanent—or at least persistent—medium to transform temporal and subjective content into objects for history.
Michael Bühler-Rose, Verso (R.R., Erased de Kooning Drawing, 1958), 2024, Wood Intarsia/Inlay: Padauk, Kadyakshe Ebony, Slate Matti, Slate matti dark, Jackfruit Wood, Orange Fruit Wood, Rosewood and Mukurche woods, 33.25 x 28.8 x 1.5 in., via newdiscretions
The large, multi-panel studiolo scene is familiar, partly because it consciously evokes the intarsia room-as-portrait of the 15th century Studiolo Gubbio at the Met, but also because Bühler-Rose has lately shown similar studiolo selfies, with different configurations of autobiographical objects.
The other three works feel like they’re doing something different. The one that caught my eye on Instagram [I have not seen the show irl yet] is the museum sticker-covered verso of Rauschenberg’s Erased de Kooning Drawing. As someone who’s been enthralled by the underseen backs of famous artworks—including this one—this feels like using intarsia’s excessive intricacy to right a historical wrong.
Puzzle for F.G.T. and R.L (Paris, Last time, 1989), 2024, Wood Intarsia/Inlay: Slate Matti, Ebony, Rubber Wood and Mukurche woods, 12.5 x 15.75 x 1.5 in., via newdiscretions
The other two works are the verso of a small Dali painting, and the front of a Felix Gonzalez-Torres puzzle, complete with puzzle pieces and plastic bag. Besides their relatively small scale, the main connection I see here is that both the artworks referenced sold at Christie’s in mid-May 2024. So intarsia turns a moment in time into timeless objects.
But maybe I’m overly fixated on differences when one clear similarity is right. there. Because all four works in Bühler-Rose’s show are based on photographs. The studiolo is self-evidently a composed still life. The Rauschenberg’s verso photo is a key part of its art historical record. The Felix puzzle is itself a transformation of a snapshot into an object, whose photograph is transformed in turn. And Dali’s verso picture, cropped for its inlay version, only turned up because the painting came up for sale. So photography put through its theorized paces.
And unlike other any other printing—or production—techniques, these photos have been fixed in a form we know could last 500 years, because it already has.
[A few hours later update: Bühler-Rose’s unparalleled side hustle, https://boot.foundation, will be having a bootlegs and books popup at Situations this Sunday, October 6th, from 12-6. A reminder to always check insta before posting.]
OK, I have not listened to it myself, but I can already tell from the links included in their post that they left in the part where I cried.
Aaand maybe where I said I quietly boycotted the Hirshhorn while it was wrapped in that Nicholas Party scrim. Love you guys!
[AFTER HEARING IT UPDATE: I llol’d that the Rabkin folks actually used the Hirshhorn clip to announce the interview on their Instagram. Love it. And I forgot that while I did acknowledge my pettiness, I also point out, I’m not wrong. Overall though, I think my favorite quote will be, “Again, with the Manet.” It feels undeniably weird to say, “listen to me!” but it actually turned out OK.]
These Afangar Icelandic Series prints were the first Richard Serra prints I ever saw, and they left a deep impression. MoMA hung these rough, craggy prints off the lobby in late 1991, and they felt very much like prints about sculpture, which is something I’d never considered before. But I resolved to get some—which I’ve failed to do, not realizing that they’d sold out long before I knew they existed—and also to visit Afangar, the sculpture in Iceland they related to. Which only took four years.
Cotter talked about growing up free range in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and picked the Met for his workplace photo. Which after so many years at the Times, is probably the place he’s written about the most.
Cotter and Schumacher did not talk about his donation of the prize money to the the International Association of Art Critics and the Forge Project, to support emerging and Native American arts writing and fellowships, for which mad respect. [As ARTnews notes, the NY Times prohibits its full-time employees from accepting cash awards, and these days a full-time arts writing job is rarer than even the most generous awards.]
Front page of the 26 Nov 2016 edition of Die Welt, with pictures guest edited by Isa Genzken
The list of things I missed in mid-November 2016 continues to grow. The special issue of Die Welt edited by an artist that year was on 24 November, and the artist was Isa Genzken.
The paper that day only had five stories to use Genzken’s pictures on, and one of them was a feature on the artist herself. Notably, all Genzken’s roughly collaged pictures included photographs of herself, and one included her with her former teacher and husband, Gerhard Richter.
Front page of Gerhard Richter’s edition of Die Welt, 5 Oct 2012
For his Die Welt guest edit in October 2012, Richter included many travel-related snapshots, and few images of his artworks—among them pictures of his third student and wife Sabine Moritz.
screenshot of the Die Welt 2024 artist issue ad pitchdeck, showing the 14 previous artist issues
But this, I knew. The advertiser pitch deck for this year’s edition gave the whole rundown, most of which I also missed. From Baselitz, Rauch, Sherman and Schnabel to Koons, Wool, Murakami, Grosse and Kiefer, it’s enough to fill a private museum. The 2024 edition was two weeks ago. Tracey Emin, which I missed.
Maybe Genzken’s newspaper actually goes on a separate, shorter list of things I’m bummed I missed.
Ellsworth Kelly, Die Welt, 2011, offset on vellum, ed. 90/100+20AP, sold at Rago in 2021
On October 6, 2011, Munich newspaper Die Welt replaced all the pictures in their daily edition with Ellsworth Kellys. They also published a signed, limited edition reproduction of the front page on archival paper. Which stays brighter longer, which is nice. But it’s only printed on one sheet, on one side. And so it misses the entire point of the project, while replacing it with a picture souvenir.
With this signed, dedicated copy of the actual paper being sold this week, Kelly gave Kasper König the best of both worlds. It was König’s invitation that led Kelly to make his first floor piece, Yellow Curve – Portikus (1990), the work which was re-realized at Glenstone in 2015. I guess they stayed in touch.
Sure König’s Welt already turning yellow, but it’s got eleven other Kellys inside it. And there’s even a recursive version of itself on the back. And Lufthansa knocking off Milton Glaser. AND Amanda Knox.
Ellsworth Kelly Unterwelt
And again, it’s an actual newspaper, not a picture of one. And that makes all the difference.
I was wondering why Wadsworth painted this—I was about to say “so big,” but if you’d spent the war painting 2,000 actual ships, 10 feet would seem like a major downsizing. Oh hey, speaking of scale, he put Little Guys with brushes in there.
But I reading the 2015 Liverpool Biennial Journal about Dazzle and its history, I now understand that it was an awarded commission to commemorate the Canadian involvement in the war. And that the Memorial Committe basically said No Modernists, No Cubists. So Wadsworth, determined to revive the pre-war manifesto of the Vorticists, made a naturalistic painting of an abstract painting project.
the main image circulating in 2013 of Barnett Newman’s Voice of Fire, 1967, 18×8 ft, as installed at the National Gallery of Canada
Even a couple of years after Wadsworth, Gerald Murphy had no trouble in communicating the scale of his 18 x 12 foot lost masterpiece, Boatdeck (1924):
Gerald Murphy’s Boatdeck (1924) trolling the rest of the US room at the 1924 Salon des Independants
The scale of which, it must be said, is rather hard to gauge from a picture of the picture alone. I once missed an eBay auction for an old photo of Boatdeck by a day. I’ve been crushed ever since.
Louise Lawler, It could be Anthony d’Offay, 1999/2000, 30×22 in., c-print on aluminum, ed. 3/5, selling where it was taken, at Christie’s, NY
At the New York preview for Christie’s Contemporary Evening Sale in May 1999, Louise Lawler made a photograph of a ghostly male figure with his hands behind his back, in front of Robert Gober’s Crib (1986) and Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Film Still #48 (1979).
She titled the photo, It could be Anthony d’Offay, wrapping the presence of one of the 20th century art market’s most recognizable and powerful figures with a bit of ambiguity.
1999 turns out to be the period of time when two different women who worked for d’Offay’s gallery in London said he subjected them to repeated, unwanted sexual advances and abuse.
One woman, then 25 and hired in 1998 as d’Offay’s assistant, who received an undisclosed settlement after leaving the gallery in 2000, described her experience on what could even have been the trip photographed by Lawler:
“He started taking me for meetings and appointments outside the gallery. He would hold on to my arm or put his arm around me. I thought it was not quite right, but dared not voice my discomfort,” she said. Her concerns deepened when he informed her that he would like her to accompany him to New York. “That’s when things escalated. He grew more touchy, and would put his hand around my waist, very close to my bum. There was no sense of boundary in respect to personal space.”
This quote, the report of these two women, plus another who complained of sex pestery and professional coercion and retaliation by d’Offay in 2004, were first made public in 2018 by The Guardian. D’Offay denied the accusations.
2018 was when Trevor Traina, the collector who purchased ed. 3/5 of Lawler’s photo, began serving as Donald Trump’s ambassador to Austria. Traina’s grandfather had also been an ambassador to Austria, in the Eisenhower era. His mother Dede Wilsey, a noted San Francisco socialite and longtime Republican donor, famously took control of the deYoung and Fine Arts Museum in 2011, after the director’s death. Traina’s Lawler was exhibited at the FAMSF in 2012, in a show titled, Reel to Reel: Photographs from the Trevor Traina Collection.
Next week Traina is selling 132 works from his collection, including the Lawler, in a single owner sale at Christie’s. “As part of an exciting and innovative partnership,” Christie’s effused, “all lots from this auction will be presented on the blockchain and offered with an associated digital certificate of ownership exclusively included with a Kresus wallet.” Traina is the founder and CEO of Kresus.
Part of the genius of Lawler’s work stems from her sensitivity art’s context, and her ability to capture fleeting moments as it moves through the world. I think it’s hard to imagine another Lawler photo—or another example of this one—accruing as much 21st century history has this one has, even before it got put on the blockchain.
Screenshot of the Bramans’ Richard Serra, Blade Runner, on Indian Creek, as seen on Google Maps
In addition to Marco Rubio, the Bramans own Blade Runner, one of the most baroque Richard Serra sculptures out there. Yet it looks even more torqued on Google Maps.
I went to the National Gallery of Art library wanting to know more about Bunny Mellon’s Rothkos and Jasper Johns’s little guys. But I left caring about nothing except this rack of Alma Thomas Pajama Pants.
A couple of pieces are both, though: like Wolfgang Tillmans’ 1995 photo of König’s bookshelf, which looks monumental, more like a Gursky than the Gurskys, but also offhand and intimate, like a Tillmans.
Of course, the most early and most iconic work has to be On Kawara’s date painting from 1967. König’s early and unflagging enthusiasm for Kawara’s conceptual projects was instrumental to their acclaim. And that support manifests in another Today Series painting, 21 Nov. 2003, which was a gift from the artist for König’s 60th birthday.
Which, how does that work? I mean, I’m sure everyone shopping for a Date Painting quietly gravitates to a date that means something to them. But this is the opposite. Are König’s birthday and the moon landing the only two events explicitly commemorated by Date Paintings?
