Canal Zone Yes Rasta &c. In The Brooklyn Rail

Holy smokes, The Brooklyn Rail reviewed Canal Zone Richard Prince Yes Rasta:

Appropriation art is such an accepted part of the contemporary vernacular that some already find it passé–or at the very least no longer trendy. Gagosian isn’t exactly at the forefront of art discourse; perhaps the texts of Cariou v. Prince reintroduce the still-revolutionary possibilities of Prince’s proposition within the broader, non-art context. The court takes the role of the beleaguered parent who has just discovered that her child is having sex, to the point where Judge Batts employs pointed scare quotes in her introduction of “appropriation art” as a term.

A “scrapbook-style curiosity” that reads like a parent discovering their child having sex? I can’t really top that.
Canal Zone Richard Prince Yes Rasta: Selected Court Documents, &c., &c, reviewed by Andrea Neustein and Alex Neustein [brooklynrail.org]

Creative America

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This interior shot of Fuller/Sadao’s US Pavilion at Expo67 almost has it all: installation view of the giant paintings Lichtenstein, Newman, Warhol and Johns made for Alan Solomon’s American Painting Now; plus a giant photomural of the moon, perfect for posing in front of.
There’s another photomural, earthrise from the moon, on the other side, which was a backdrop for the lunar landscape diorama. You can see it in Carl Harstad’s photo:
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And the satelloon-like weather balloons were just out of both pictures’ edge. Fortunately, Bob Charlton’s mother captured them below:
American Pavilion - Expo '67
The underside approach for the lunar platform has this awesome installation [image from fan train’s flickr], a series of panels or canvases with abstracted elements of the American flag. It’s a little Ellsworth Kelly, a little Helio Oiticica, and a little Richard Lippold at Lincoln Center, all rolled into one piece of exhibition filler created, I assume, by Cambridge Seven.
American Pavilion
This other photo from Carl Harstad of the Hollywood section of Cambridge Seven’s exhibit features, what? I don’t know. I’d guess it’s left over from Joseph Manciewicz’s disastrous Cleopatra shoot, in front of a giant, multipanel headshot of Humphrey Bogart.
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Cambridge’s exhibition carried the overall title, Creative America, and I think it very successfully steamrolled everything–paintings, photomurals, dioramas, film props, spaceships, cultural effluvia–into a single, unified, spectacularized drive-by aesthetic experience. And it was all done by and for the US Government. As I go on about reconsidering ‘non-art’ things like photomurals and satelloons in an art context, I keep coming back to the Expo67 pavilion. At one point, it was all art, or something like it. And vice versa.
[note: I’ve seen it elsewhere, but I took that top photo from former USIA design director Jack Masey’s powerpoint deck on the history of postwar World’s Fairs, which he presented last October at the National Building Museum. I’m about to listen to his archived talk now.]

Shadows To The Left Of Me, Shadows To The Right Of Me

I’ll probably write some more about Andy Warhol’s Shadows, but I want to find more details about its creation and Heiner Friedrich’s involvement. In the mean time, though, I just came across a 1985 Richard Serra quote from the Pratt Journal of Architecture that directly relates to seeing Shadows, which extends more than halfway around the Hirshhorn’s curved wall:

i keep thinking of a very simple phenomenon that struck me when i was a little kid. i used to walk to the beach every day, down to the end of a jetty and back the other way, and it always struck me as being completely significant that the ocean was on the left when i was going down, and when i turned around, it was on the right, and i had a totally different experience just from turning around and walking the other way. i always thought this was very curious. i always thought there were two different places. everybody knows that you don’t have the same experience in turnabout – your relation to the sun has completely changed, left/right brain coordinates are off – everything is different. in fact, you probably have a side you favor as you walk. you probably think differently in each direction. your anticipation and memory change. to me, that’s a sculptural concept. if a sculpture allows for that experience, it implies self-awareness. the content of the work is that the viewer looks at himself in relation to what he’s looking at…

The no-caps is a big clue, but I found the quote in a 2007 post on Airform Archives. As in so many things, Steve Roden was there first.
thinking differently in each direction [inbetweennoise]

Rijksoverheid Rood 2

Here’s a look I’m calling Red Steel.
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The other side. These stalactites form after the panels are put away to dry, I guess by the paint settling across the surface. Then I have to sand them down before doing the next coat.
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last coat, I switched up the direction of the brushstrokes, which has created a bit of a cross-weave and stalactite thing to sand down. Plus all these bubbles, not sure how those got there.
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Seriously, this is like the most boringest thing in the world to be typing right now.

What I Looked At Today: NGA Monochromes

Well, let’s just get this out of the way: if you can only see one Warhol exhibition in Washington this year, see Shadows. The Warhol Headlines show is very slight. It’s hard to call it a highlight, but a series of three 1982 or ’83 silkscreen paintings of successive pages in the NY Post did remind me a bit of the newspaper On Kawara used to line the boxes of his date paintings. Also, the show includes the three Screen Tests where the subjects appear to be reading and unaware they were being filmed: Alan Solomon, Grace Glueck, and Arman. That really is all.
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But let’s back up because, hey-ho, did you know the National Gallery’s East Wing was built with red brick infill walls?? It’s like Long Island City up in there behind IM Pei’s Indiana granite.
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I also love that a construction worker in 1975 declared his allegiance to the Pittsburgh Steelers, practically in the Baltimore Colts’ own backyard. That was the year the Terrible Towel was invented, and when the Steelers did, in fact, win their second Super Bowl in a row. Also, I thoroughly approve of this epic-scale scaffolding. Glaze it and set it up at the beach for me, please.
Anyway, after the Warhol bust, I went downstairs for a close look at one of the NGA’s current strengths: contemporary monochromes. I’m working on some little monochrome panels right now, and I wanted to see surfaces and techniques–and to see if I’m inadvertently copying anyone I don’t want to.
I think I want a really immaculate, glassy, brushstroke-free surface, and I definitely know I want a continuity around the edge of the thin steel and aluminum panels I’m trying. So I figure setting out to study the cleanest, smoothest paintings I can find will be yield some hints.
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So first up: Byron Kim’s Synecdoche (1991-), the multipanel grid of monochromes based on various art world folks’ skin tones.

Continue reading “What I Looked At Today: NGA Monochromes”

‘Defining of Art Assailed’

I– hmm:

Pointing out that the museum’s difficulties in importing art duty free have arisen out of the present tariff law’s definition of art, Mr Packard said that it was not the function of government to define art “any more than it is a governmental function to define truth.”

Prof. Artemas Packard, Dartmouth, and researcher/consultant to the Museum of Modern Art, quoted in “Museum asks end of duty on Cubism,” The New York Times, May 12, 1936.

On The Nightmare Of The Rack

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Kriston Capps’ tweet to Powhida about art and immortality instantly reminded me of RH Quaytman’s conversation with Steel Stillman, which ran in Art in America last summer, and which upended my own comfortable memory of first encountering Quaytman’s little storage rack sculpture back in 2008:

rh_quaytman_rack_anaba.jpgSS For “Ark, Chapter 10,” which was the three-person show you organized at the end of your time at Orchard, you made paintings that related to Orchard’s history, and displayed several of them on storage racks similar to ones you have here in your studio. The display of paintings became a sculpture [From One O to Another].
RHQ I felt I needed to acknowledge–within the structure of the pieces themselves–the fact that I would be showing my own works, becoming, in effect, my own dealer. The storage racks, like the racks in a typical gallery’s back room, enabled visitors to pull out the paintings the way a dealer might, when showing them to prospective clients.
SS The racks addressed the nightmare, which perhaps all artists have had, that their work will never be seen.
RHQ Making the storage-rack pieces reminded me of the trauma of putting my stepfather’s and father’s works in storage after they died. Those experiences and the questions they raised–about artists’ estates, and about the life of the work itself once the artist has gone–left a big impression on me.
SS In 2008, you made a book, Allegorical Decoys, whose centerpiece is an essay you wrote about the development of your work. Having been your own dealer, you became, in effect, your own historian and publisher.
RHQ I realized instinctively that, in some sense, the paintings wouldn’t exist unless they were written about and collected. Otherwise, they would be like trees falling in the forest with nobody there to hear them. Writing that essay was an opportunity not just to reflect on my practice, but to locate my work within a larger critical conversation on my own terms.

[image: [From One O to Another], via anaba]
Features | RH Quaytman, June 2010 [artinamericamagazine]
Previously, Jan. 2010: Nice Rack! RH Quaytman on MoMAPS1’s blog

Autoprogettazione Items I Didn’t Win On eBay

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Mondo Patrick tipped me off to this a little while back, and for a while there, it was kind of turning my table world upside-down.
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It’s an autoprogettazione table by Enzo Mari, of course, model 1123 xE, one of the most picnic tabliest of them all, made from the original 1970s precut wood kids produced by Simon Gavina.
It was really tempting, but ultimately the condition issues–there were some split and badly repaired wood pieces on one side which would probably mean losing some of the original wood–and really, the shipping from somewhere outside Torino to, wherever really, where am I going to put a second table project on no notice? And maybe if I could wait for the euro to collapse it’d make financial sense, but–anyway, I passed on it.
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That hammered, golden patina still shines in my dreams, though. Let’s watch the European auctions for a while and see if this bad boy reappears. Meanwhile, I still have this image of Rirkrit’s chrome ghost of 1123 xE to keep me company.

But Is It Art? c. MoMA 1936

The story of Constantin Brancusi’s Bird in Space getting hung up at US Customs in 1926, which did not believe it was a work of art, is well-known. [Just for fun, here’s a story about Richard Feigen smuggling a Brancusi out of India by claiming it was a brass lamp.]
What I did not know, though, was that Customs not only didn’t learn its lesson from the Brancusi situation, it kept on flagging sculpture it didn’t believe to be “art,” and even seems to have picked up the pace.
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image via moma
You’ll never guess how I found it, but I stumbled across this photo from MoMA, which was included in Fred Wilson’s 1999 archive-diving online project for The Museum As Muse titled, Road To Victory. The site is still active and interesting, even if it does feel a bit quaint and low-res.
Anyway, it shows a veritable boatload of artwork, imported by the Modern for its 1936 exhibition, “Cubism and Abstract Art,” which, the caption says, was “rejected by the United States Customs Service Inspectors for entry into the United States as works of art.”
I mean, help a brother out here: Arp, Arp, Boccioni, Boccioni, Duchamp-Villon? Who else you got?
We’ll talk about the art handling issue after I get back from lunch.
UPDATE Well, consider that can of worms opened. There turns out to be a whole history of cases where the definition of art runs afoul of customs agents. Cubism and Abstract Art, the show and the genres, were just some of the first.
According to the NY Times, 19 sculptures out of 150 were refused duty-free entry under what abstractionists complained was a post-Brancusian reversion to a 1916 Treasury Department rule that required sculpture–but not paintings–to be “imitations of natural objects…chiefly the human form.”
This strict interpretation forced the Modern to delay the opening of the exhibit for a week and to post a $100,000 bond to release the works. I’ll post the full list of snagged works after the jump. The incident prompted Museum president A. Conger Goodyear to rally 100 museums around the country in a letter-writing campaign to have the US customs laws amended. His plan, eminently reasonable-sounding at the time, I’m sure, what could ever go wrong, was “to permit recognized museums to decide what art is.” The article concludes with a quote Fred Wilson also used:

The issue in which the Museum of Modern Art and all similar institutions are really interested is whether the government is to determine by law what is art. In this instance there is no question as to the ‘moral’ character of the objects under consideration. They are denied admission, duty free, on the sole ground that they do not completely meet the requirements established by the existing law and court decisions for ‘works of art.’ The judgment of acknowledged experts is given no weight or consideration.
We believe the act of Congress which makes this situation possible must be amended.

Cubist Art fails to get past Customs [Feb. 22, 1936, NY Times]
UPDATE UPDATE Long and short of it, it’s not clear whether the 1916 ruling was really at issue, or whether it was the 1930 Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act, which raised protectionist tariffs against wide swaths of imported goods, that contained the inadvertent language. But remarkably, the abstract art tariff discrimination continued for more than twenty years. There’s a NYT story from 1958 about Sen. Jacob Javits introducing legislation to modernize the language of the Customs art rule.
Basically, sculpture could be any material, but it had to depict “natural objects…in their true proportion of length, breadth and thickness,” which meant it tripped up African carvings, too. Painting could be anything, as long as it was “traditional materials,” which was ruled to exclude mosaic and collage or assemblage.
The Times reported that collector Donald Peters protested when his $450 1956 Alberto Burri collage was taxed 20% duty as “a manufacture of vegetable fibres” because “it had a background of burlap.” If it was “vegetable matter,” Peters argued, then it was only worth $1, “and the Government was entitled to 20 cents. Mr. Peters lost the argument.”
Which almost exactly mirrors the VAT shenanigans perpetrated by EU bureaucrats last year when they ruled that video artworks were actually electronic equipment, not art, and were thus subject to a higher VAT–but on the artwork’s price level, not the underlying hardware’s. And so it goes.
[Just as an aside, Sen. Javits: kind of a schlub? His wife? Smokin’. What was up with that?]

Continue reading “But Is It Art? c. MoMA 1936”

Swedish Splinter Camo And The New Aesthetic

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“K32 HMS Helsingborg Anchored off Gotska Sandoen, cropped,” wikipedia via tna
Every time I go back to James Bridle’s tumblr The New Aesthetic, I’m like, “The New Aesthetic! I’m soaking in it!” and remind myself to visit more often.
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For example, an awesome roundup of splinter-style camo which bears a striking resemblance to the polygonal camo applied to intelligence-sensitive sites on Dutch Google Maps [above, below] which I’ve been tracking–and promising myself I’d paint–for, hey, look at that, exactly two years now!
Anyway, Sweden in particular is still keeping the polygon faith, with their M/90 camo pattern, much sought after by paintball aficionados.
The image above is of a Swedish naval vessel, the new K32 HMS Helsingborg corvette, delivered in December 2009. I know the dates don’t match up, but it sure looks like this ship Google photographed pulling into a Dutch naval base in 2006:
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Gerhard Richter Strip Show

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Gerhard Richter: Peinture 2010-2011, installation view, Marian Goodman Paris, image via
Yes, well.
While everyone is transfixed with Gerhard Richter’s c. 2009 on-camera squeegee technique, the artist himself has moved on to a schmear of the digital kind.
Gerhard Richter: Paintings 2010-2011 is on right now at Marian Goodman Paris, and most of the work on view barely seems to meet the promise of the show’s title. There is a large glass plate structure at the center of the gallery, and there are some small poured-paint-on-glass works. And then there’s the Strip series, unique digital prints mounted under Perspex.
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To make Strip, Richter digitally mirrored/extruded vertical slices of an abstract painting–here, the description for the project’s artist book, Gerhard Richter: Patterns. Divided – Mirrored – Repeated explains it better:

The artist’s book documents Gerhard Richter’s experiment of taking an image of his original Abstract Painting [CR: 724-4] and dividing it vertically into strips: first 2, then 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256, 512, 1024, 2048, up to 4096 strips. This process (twelve stages of division) results in 8190 strips, each of which is the height of the original image. With each stage of division the strips become progressively thinner (a strip of the 12th division is 0.08 mm). Endless more divisions are possible, but they would soon only become visible by enlargement. Each strip is then mirrored and repeated, which results in patterns. The number of repetitions increases with each stage of division in order to make patterns of consistent size.

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Abstract Painting, CR:724-4, 1990, via gerhard-richter.com
The 520 page [!], EUR450 book documents 221 of these repeated patterns. Marian Goodman’s showing six. At first I expected the Strip works to be the same dimensions as 724-4 (92x126cm), but no, not at all; the Strips are much bigger, 160x300cm.
Buchloh is, as always, agog at the import and implications. An excerpt from a book-length essay as quoted in the gallery’s press release:

The status of painting in these new works is figured as exceptionally fragile, yet it is powerfully formulated in its assimilation to its technological challenges, as though painting was once again on the wane under the impact of technological innovations. Yet in its application of almost Duchampian strategies of fusing technology and extremely refined critical pictorial reflection, Richter’s astonishing new works open a new horizon of questions. These might concern the present functions of any pictorial project that does not want to operate in regression to painting’s past, but that wants to confront the destruction of painterly experiences with the very practice of painting as radical opposition to technology’s totalizing claims, and as manifest act of mourning the losses painting is served under the aegis of digital culture.

Mm-hmm. Richter has been working with photos of paintings and photos of overpainted photos for some time, so on the one hand, there is internal context for the artist’s pixel-width extrusions.
But the horizon of questions Richter’s new works open is only new if you’ve never left the studio. And how could painting, after all Richter’s work over all these years, still have it so rough? If we agree–and we have, cf., Liz Deschenes, Walead Beshty, Cory Arcangel, Tom Friedman (even), Andreas Gursky–that the aegis of painting has long since expanded in the digital culture, then can’t we welcome Richter to the party without pretending he threw it?
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Tom Friedman, Untitled, 1998, image via metmuseum.org
Gerhard Richter: Peinture 2010-2011, through Nov. 3 [mariangoodman]
Same thing, documented work by work on the artist’s site [gerhard-richter]

Off The Golden Record

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I was stoked to see [thanks to Paul’s link from the Walker’s Off Center] that Trevor Paglen included Murmurs of Earth on the reading list he shared with art21. The book is the authoritative account of the making of the Golden Record, the galactic greeting devised by a committee led by Carl Sagan and attached to the Voyager 1 and 2 space probes launched in 1977.
Designed to last a billion years in the vacuum of space, the gold-plated copper records each contain messages and information about life on Earth for whomever might come across the spaceships, which left the solar system in 2008. The disc includes messages from President Jimmy Carter and UN Secretary General Kurt Waldheim; greetings recorded in 55 languages; nature sounds; and 90 minutes of music [plus one unauthorized, scrawled greeting from the recording tech]. It also includes 116 images, in both black and white and color. The cover includes a map to Earth and instructions for playing the disc. It also includes a stylus.
Which is all great. But what I love most, beside the disc itself, which is gorgeous, is the fact that the images are all recorded in analogue. The upper right quadrant of the cover explains how to decode the rasterized data, one line at a time, into a 512-line image. Color images are encoded three times, in RGB, for reassembly.
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The images themselves are mostly information, science, nature, not art, except in the largest sense, that the entire, inspiring folly, a golden object made in a bid for connecting across time, is an artistic project. Or as Carter put it:

This is a present from a small, distant world, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours.

And there are a few images which aspire for aesthetic distinction, like Wayne Miller’s photo of his own child being born [above], which was included in Family of Man, the landmark photo exhibition Miller curated with Edward Steichen at MoMA.
For my money, though, you can’t beat the idea itself; I wonder how these objects, and how this content would be received. As objects, machines, sounds, images. I want to output the images from the disk and see what they turn out like. Maybe make some prints, even. Truth be told, I want a Golden Record of my own.
So far, I haven’t found one. You have to imagine that NASA didn’t take delivery of all the copies, did they? Aren’t there a few hanging around in the libraries or attics of Sagan’s committee members? Has there ever been a facsimile edition? [I think not.] Don’t you think there should be? [Yes.]
Copyright holders for recordings and images on the disc had originally only given permission for playback outside the solar system [seriously]. But after many years of negotiation, Sagan also managed to clear all the music and all but one image for a CD-ROM, which accompanied a 1992 reissue of Murmurs of Earth.
And so it goes that the US intellectual property industry somehow managed to outcrazy the idea of communicating with extraterrestrials by sending records into outer space. Nice hustle, fellas.
Inspired Reading | Trevor Paglen [art21.org]
Voyager Golden Record [wikipedia]
“Please note that these images are copyright protected. Reproduction without permission of the copyright holder is prohibited.” [nasa.gov]
Buy Murmurs of Earth in some format [amazon]
goldenrecord.org shows all 116 images [goldenrecord.org]

What I Looked At Today: Gerald Murphy

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Sometimes I really just am slow to put things together. I mean, I’ve written at length, ad nauseam, even, about the history of Mark Cross. Mondo-Blogo had a huge post months ago about what Superfreaks they are. There’s the whole F. Scott Fitzgerald thing. [Which, truth be told, is probably why I’ve willfully ignored them so long.]
But it’s only now, while reading Calvin Tomkins’ 1962 New Yorker profile on Gerald and Sara Murphy [thanks @maudnewton!] that I’ve taken a first, real look at Gerald Murphy’s paintings.
Well, that, and the fact that MoMA actually has their Murphy, Wasp and Pear, on view for the first time in years. It’s certainly the first time I’ve ever remembered seeing it.
The Murphys fled their uptight, US, 1920s socialite life for France, where they proceeded to invent some combination of summer, the Riviera, and modernism. Under the initial tutelage of Diaghilev designer Nina Goncharova, Gerald took up painting alongside his friends Picasso, Braque, Man Ray, Picabia, and Leger. He stuck with it for seven intense years, then abandoned it completely when his son came down with tuberculosis. Tomkins quotes him as saying that discussions with Picasso led him to realize “I was not going to be first rate, and I couldn’t stand second-rate painting.”
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Which, wow, just does not make sense. It sounds like ex post facto rationalization, or dealing with grief over his son’s death, or something but it completely ignores the fact that Picasso himself was often second-rate. I think you just never know until you do. And maybe Murphy did, and knew, but still.
The few paintings that survive [8?] of the few he made [14?] are all pretty great. The Dallas Museum has several, including Watch (1925), an amazing precisionist abstraction that measures an awe-inspiring 6×6 feet. No Sunday painting there.
I’m waiting for the catalogue from the DMA’s 2008 ominously subtitled show, Making It New: The Art and Style of Gerald and Sara Murphy. Which better have photos of Villa America, the Murphys’ pioneering modernist-ized outpost in Cap d’Antibes referred to in my favorite extant Murphy painting [top].
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And which also better have more info and more photos of what is now my favorite missing Murphy, Boatdeck: Cunarder, an 18×12-ft masterpiece which took over nearly the entire American section of the 1924 Salon des Independants. Seriously, what Modern was painting 18 feet high in 1923? That is just nuts.
[update: MacAgy originally had Cunarder in the title, and the painting was originally reported to be based on the Aquitania, but Rubin says Murphy said it was the Olympic and the Paris]

Hopping MAD

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No disrespect for DPC and whoever else he sends off with The Digital, but Jill Krementz’ photoreport from the Picasso to Koons: Artist as Jeweler show at the Museum of Arts and Design, or the MAD1 is the mad-funniest thing I’ve ever seen on New York Social Diary.
First, the concept for the show, in the words of Mrs Barbara Tober, head of the museum’s Global Initiative:

“Eight years ago my husband and I were visiting Diane Venet and her husband [noted traffic circle and corporate plaza sculpture artist Bernar Venet] in France. Diane said, ‘I have a dream. I want to organize a show of jewelry by all the important artists of the 20th century.’ And so now you can see over 200 pieces of jewelry by 20th-century artists. Her dream has been realized.”

Make that “all the important artists of the 20th century–and Lexus Burning Man hack Arne Quinze.”
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“he was able to transform his originality into a different sphere.”
The packed crowd looks to be exactly who you’d expect to see at an artist as jeweler show: Upper East Siders who can only afford five figure jewelry. They also happen to be exactly the people who you’d never in a million years expect to see on the West Side. So kudos to the Museum for luring them all the way across smelly Central Park South!
This diptych from a curatorial Q&A is the best but my no means only example of Krementz’s exquisite composition and captioning craft. She really is The Economist of society websites.
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But Krementz only keeps the confusion alive over these otherwise awesome enough bunny necklaces, introduced by Jeff Koons for Stella McCartney in 2005 [and apparently not sold out until 2009? Is that what those dates mean?]
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It’s been described both ways over the years, and you can’t trust a blog any more than you can the press release it regurgitates, so it’s never been clear to me whether these bunnies are platinum or white gold. Or maybe there are editions of each. One of which was $50,000. Assuming you paid retail, of course.
Someone was wearing one of these in a party pic recently. Where was that? The New Museum, probably.
1 Can’t we all just admit that the Museum of Arts and Design only forefronted its inferiority complex by changing its name just as the craft boom took off, and that they really should fly its craft flag high, and just come out as the MAC?