Well, actually, there’s just one: The Meat Wagon, a turn through the Menil Collection’s collections by Robert Gober, which closed on Jan. 22. GlassTire has an excellent writeup.
Category: art
It’s Definitely Not The Pictures That Are Getting Small
I’ve been a big fan and collector of Hiroshi Sugimoto’s work for over 13 years now [wow. Typing that just now makes me hyperaware of the passage of time, which is par for the course for Sugimoto.] So when I had a chance to meet the artist at a preview of his retrospective show at the Hirshhorn yesterday, I jumped.
It’s really quite a gorgeous show; stunning, even, which I think is atypical of Sugimoto’s work. For all his conceptually driven series, he’s always produced extremely beautiful photographs, don’t get me wrong. And in the last few years, I’ve seen references to the importance of the old-school technical aspects of photography as well. I’m wary of reading it too much as a “Japanese” sensibility, too, even though the Japanese tradition of modernism and minimalism really is a worldview apart from that of the West; but it’s seductively easy to fall back on the myth of the Inscrutable Oriental–or worse, the pathetic, westernized Pop Zen–when praising his work.
Still, let’s face facts: the man has photographed an icon of Buddhism in Kyoto [the sanjusangen-do temple], he’s designed a Noh stage and a Shinto shrine, and his longtime profession has been a dealer in Japanese antiques. And you can’t get much more self-consciously Japanese than all that. But maybe it’s like being an American in Paris being a Japanese in New York; your awareness of difference is enhanced.
Back to the stunning, though. Sugimoto’s recent forays into architecture and spatial design are (coincidentally?) timed with a waning–or an impending extinction, to hear him talk about it–of photography as a medium for him. The recent discontinuation of his favored materials and the ascendance of digital photography are rendering him obsolete. Not wanting to go the Sally Mann route by adding another layer of meaning onto his work by choosing to homebrew his materials, Sugimoto said he’s just printing as much as he can while he can, and is looking to other mediums for his work.
The result, oddly enough: giant prints. While some of his newest work, wax figure portrait photos and those mathematical model images, were always larger-than-life-size, with this show, Sugimoto has gone back and printed older work in seductive, giant formats. There are museum dioramas, a movie theater, and, stunningly, seascapes. These giant prints are really objects now, not images; conceptually, maybe that’s always been the case, but it’s certainly a much clearer assertion of that idea than Sugimoto’s ever made. This is doubly true for the dramatically lit Seascapes in the massive, blackout gallery [the museum removed some non-loadbearing walls, and they should never put them back; this is probably the most breathtakingly sublime space the Hirshhorn has ever had.]
But I’m not sure that’s entirely a compliment. Large prints are the new market hotness, and since his most popular works, the seascapes, had long ago sold out their editions, there was little opportunity for the artist to be rewarded for his pioneering work. Now, though, he gets a piece of the action himself, and new collectors get the impressive Sugimoto-brand wall candy they crave; it’s win-win. I guess.
But then I have to look back and wonder; it wasn’t “development” who tore down the movie palaces in Sugimoto’s now-deeply nostalgic photos; it was developers. At one point, his work was not only beautiful, it was marginalized, radical, even, as well as conceptually rigorous. And now, well, this show just arrived from the Mori Art Museum at Roppongi Hills, and you can’t get any more “developer” than that. [And I say that as someone counting developers among my family and close friends. But still.]
Of all people, I’m stoked when artists have the freedom to pursue their vision, and I wouldn’t want to stick Sugimoto in the twee realm of master photographic craftsman if his interests lie elsewhere. But at the same time, when I am instantly blown away by beauty in art, I have to admit, I’m a bit skeptical.
I took an old catalogue for him to sign (Sugimoto’s actually doing a signing and a speech this evening, starting at 6, but we can’t make it), and he graciously dashed off a dramatic “S” and some illegible stuff with a silver pen. When I got home, though, I compared it to a catalogue he’d signed for me eight years ago; it was sober, meticulous cursive, as if he were signing a will, not an autograph. And somehow that seems to make sense.
Hiroshi Sugimoto at the Hirshhorn
Previously: greg.org on sugimoto
Check Out The Ass On That One
I fired off an email to Charlie Finch’s editor/wingman last night, and even though I’m a ridiculous apprentice of nothing, he graciously favored me with a reply. If only I had a nicer rack, he might’ve gotten me a group show somewhere.
From: greg.allen on behalf of Greg Allen
Sent: Mon 2/13/2006 9:26 PM
To: Walter Robinson
Subject: You really need to let Charlie go start a blog of his own
Hey Walter,
I have to tell you, Charlie Finch’s columns have been prurient and sexist for quite some time, and I’m sure it has a following among an older, hairy-eared, mouthbreathing microsegment of Artnet’s readership, but to many others, including myself and many collectors, dealers, and artists I’ve spoken with about him over the years–men and women alike, including several of the female artists who have been objectified and diminished in print by Finch’s pawing prose– his writing presents an unenlightened, retrograde blight. It’s offensive and uncalled for. It’s sexist and demeaning in a blatant way that was long ago identified as such by a civil society. Artnet’s continued publication of Finch’s writing leads one–me, at least–to conclude that you and Artnet support or at least assent to Finch’s POV, even if it is under the guise of editorial independence.
Seriously, his demeaning discussions of female artists are the gender equivalent of racist asides, the kind even Strom Thurmond eventually learned not to voice publicly; Trent Lott, of course, learned that lesson the hard way, and it cost him his leadership post and bully pulpit. It’s long past time for Finch to pay the same price. It’s not like you’ll be silencing him, of course; only disavowing his demeaning view of women and their art. I’m sure a wheel as squeaky as Finch will fulfill Artnet’s 2006 prognostication and launch a blog of his own. By his–and apparently your–criteria, the only qualifications that matter in the art world are a penis and a willingness to flog someone with it.
For now, I’ll refrain from posting this as an open letter on my own blog, but judging from the rising drumbeat online, it’s only a matter of time before headlines of Artnet Sexism and Misogyny start propagating on- and off-line. I don’t think I’ll wait too long, though, to start talking up dealers and artists about Finch and Artnet, starting with the ones I buy most regularly from–and the ones who advertise on Artnet.
Regards,
Greg Allen
—
From: Walter Robinson 7:41 am (5 minutes ago)
To: Greg
Subject: who is greg allen?
ha ha, thanks for your comments, as stupid as they are. W
Charlie Finch Sizes, Feels Up Another Female Artist
The irony, of course, is that if Walter Robinson actually had the balls to fire Charlie Finch for this kind of crap, the skeevy old skank would probably just turn around and start a blog.
Charlie Finch Goes Too Far [MAN, with a list of drumbeating links]
Previously: ACFWLF: [I think this stands for “Artists Charlie Finch Would Like To F***”]
Well Duh, Because It’s Gus Van Sant.
Finally, someone’s saying something about the inconsistencies, conflicts and caprices of the Warhol Authentication Board, which is wreaking quiet, opaque havoc on the market for Andy Warhol’s artworks. The BBC is showing a documentary on the Board tonight on BBC1 called “Andy Warhol: Denied”.
The above self-portrait, from 1964-65, for example, which Warhol gave as payment to Richard Eckstract, an important collaborator in Warhol’s films, was subsequently declared inauthentic.
Is this a real Warhol? [telegraph.co.uk via boingboing]
What If Sprawl Is The Real Entropy?
Maybe we have the whole Smithsonian entropy thing wrong.
In 2002, Artforum’s Nico Israel whined with condescension about the homogenous strip mall & fast food landscape he had to endure on his road trip from one perfectly isolated Earthwork [Spiral Jetty] to another [Double Negative].
Then, as the Jetty has re-emerged year after year, visitor traffic has increased dramatically, along with press coverage and local awareness and appreciation.
Road signs to the Jetty appear in the middle of what was once unmarked desert scrub.
Tour buses idle where once only high-clearance 4WD’s were advised to go. The Dia Center takes ownership [?] of the Jetty.
And Smithson’s widow, fresh on the heels of fabricating a piece that didn’t exist during the artist’s lifetime, mentions offhandedly that she doesn’t see how adding rocks and regrading ramps would conflict with her husband’s idea of entropy.
And now, the industrial detritus that has long defined the Jetty’s site for visitors–and, to some extent at least, for the artist himself, who chose Rozel Point as much for the abandoned oil derricks as for the water’s reddish-pink tint–has been cleaned up and hauled away, deemed “an eyesore” by the State [as if anyone had bothered to look there until a couple of years ago].
Should we care? Conventional art world wisdom holds that Smithson’s entropy dictated a hands-off approach to his work. Que sera sera, dust to dust. Nature will take its inexorable course; stopping, fighting, or reversing this [d]evolution through restoration, maintenance, or re-creation is doing a disservice to Smithson’s ideas and his legacy.
“The Spiral Doily,” picked up in Utah on
my last trip to the Jetty
But in his seminal Artforum essay of 1966, “Entropy and the New Monuments,” the examples of entropy Smithson cited weren’t ivy-covered ruins and rubble, but New Jersey, Philip Johnson and the “cold glass boxes” of Park Avenue, and suburban sprawl. “The slurbs, urban sprawl, and the infinite number, of housing developments of the postwar boom have contributed to the architecture of entropy.”
Just this week, Reuters reported on a land use study that shows Suburban Sprawl may be an irrestistable force in the US. When he sited Spiral Jetty in BF Utah, was Smithson building against New Jerseyification, or just ahead of it? Is it possible–or is it just convenient acquiescence to suggest–that roped-off “Nature”-driven degradation is not, in fact, entropy, but Romanticism? Maybe letting “civilization” have its paving, scrubbing, sprucing up, licensing, Acoustiguiding, Ritz Carlton Jettyway Weekend Packaging way with the Jetty isn’t closer to the end game Smithson envisioned?
Entropy and the New Monuments [robertsmithson.com]
Suburban sprawl an irresistible force in US [reuters]
Artnet Dorks Out Over Dorkbot
Wow, Artnet associate editor Ben Davis got just what he wanted for Christmas: the chance to write at length about art and technology. He covers the video game-inspired show at Pace Wildenstein in Chelsea last month [generally, eh] and better-reviewed shows like Bit Edition‘s multi-artist animation collaboration in Brooklyn with vertexList, and a Dewan Brothers show at Pierogi [they’re like the Harry Partch of synthesizers, very DIY.] But he saves most of the love for Dorkbot, aka Gearhacking: The Gathering, that monthly rendezvous of people doing wack stuff with gear.
Technical Knock-Outs [artnet]
Cleanup Crew: 1, Entropy: 0 At The Spiral Jetty
From The Salt Lake Tribune, 1/21/06:
Spiral Jetty cleanup: Utah officials last month removed several tons of junk from Rozel Point, the area along the Great Salt Lake’s north shore that is home to Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty.
“Anyone who has made the trip to see the famous Spiral Jetty . . . has passed through the area and certainly noted that it was an eyesore,” says Joel Frandsen, director of the state Division of Forestry, Fire and State Lands, which supervised the cleanup along with the state Division of Oil, Gas and Mining.
Workers removed 18 loads of junk and plugged more than a dozen abandoned oil wells.
I spoke to someone at Forestry for some more detail. Included in that list of eyesores are the burned out trailer, that weird amphibious tank thing, the abandoned cars, basically most of the industrial detritus that fed into visitors’ sense of Smithsonian entropy. [Todd discusses this and has pictures of the now-gone junk on From The Floor.]
And about those oil wells, it turns out the oil is quite viscous, kind of tar-like, and it pools very slowly over the years. Some might say that for Smithson, that’s not a bug; it’s a feature. Well it’s moot now.
The project took a couple of weeks and supposedly focused only on sovereign land: state-owned shoreline, which is determined by elevation [i.e., the land, below 4,201′ I think, which is about four feet higher than the Jetty itself. Depending on the terrain, a 4′ change in elevation can take you quite a ways inland, although I can’t see it going all the way up to the trailer…hmm.]
There was also talk of negotiating an easement for parking, so that visitors won’t have to park on the road or trespass when they park beyond the “end of road” sign.
I didn’t get the sense that the Dia Center was involved in the project in any way, but we’ll see. I have some queries into them at the moment. The deadline for bids for a concession to operate a capuccino-and-smoothie cart during the peak Jetty months of June-October will begin March 15. OK, I made that last one up. I hope.
SLTrib Visual Arts [sltrib.com, thanks to Monty for the heads up]
Previous greg.org-on-Jetty action
Elmgreen & Dragset Blitz London [sic]
My boys Elmgreen & Dragset are opening their show, The Welfare State, at the Serpentine tomorrow, and there’s a conference related to the show at the Goethe Institute on Friday, and there’s a fat catalogue on every day, whenever you like. [oops, actually, it’s not out in the US until March.]
Kultureflash has images from the show’s first incarnation at Kunsthall Bergen, Norway.
Meanwhile, here’s a photo they sent me from just before their Prada Marfa project opened last fall. That there’s Boyd on the left.
First You Get The Money, Then You Get The Power
As the year winds to an end, I think I can officially say it: the art world is whack. It’s all about the Benjamins, and I don’t mean Walter.
I was going to post a diatribe, but instead, I’ll just point out what I’ve already said in print: the small comparison I made between the ravenous fixation on Richard Prince’s appropriations and the parodic, poll-driven works of Komar & Melamid; my calling into question the credibility of a system [i.e., price] that persists in systematically discounting the influence, importance, and value of half the culture; a pair of artists’ self-serving embrace of that same system to overinflate the importance of their work; and the apparently unstoppable influence of the market on the conceptual underpinnings of an artist’s work after he’s gone.
Jerry Saltz hits on a lot of it in his great, biting end-of-year essay in the Voice this week. [I’m glad someone else will call BS on that hilariously embarassing Wizard of Oz photospread in Vogue last month. The idea that someone with a straight [sic] face asked the famously closeted Jasper Johns to be the Cowardly Lion? If I didn’t know how deadly serious the Vogue people took it, I’d say it was the awesomest slam ever of the whole artist-as-vapid-celebrity schtick since Francesco Vezzoli.]
Here’s hoping that in 2006, somehow the bubble will pop, the winds will change, and not too many of my friends’ livelihoods will suffer too much as a result; because I’m looking forward to seeing the art that comes out of it.
Free MoMA
I have 20 16 14 10 8 4 free passes to MoMA that expire on 12/31/05. If you’d like a couple, please drop me a line, and I’ll mail them out to you today.
[update: I ended up with 4 passes left, but now I’m out of town and won’t be back before they expire. Sorry. The Target Corporation invites you to Free Friday Nights at MoMA, though… Merry Christmas, &c.]
Yin Xiuzhen’s Portable Cities
Beijing-based artist Yin Xiuzhen’s Portable Cities series are models of cities inside suitcases, made using the old clothes that city’s residents. In her practice, she explores issues of globalization and homogenization, but also memory and transience.
In a way, her work reminds me of the nomadic Japanese artist Tadashi Kawamata, who constructs temporary structures, favelas, and whirlwind-like vortices out of scrap wood and junk he collects around the city. While they exist, they put into play issues of development and destruction and (im)permanence.
Anyway, Yin’s sewn suitcase version of New York City from 2003 includes a shimmering, ephemeral version of the World Trade Center made out of what looks like mesh or organza or something. It’s really quite nice.
via Regine, who has some links to Yin’s work at the Sydney Biennial last year. Yin was also in “How Latitudes Become Art” in 2003 at the Walker Art Center. Her NYC gallery is Ethan Cohen Fine Arts.
Zaha’s Cojones, Neto’s Ovaries
I’ve been waiting for anyone else to say it, but Zaha Hadid must have some serious cojones to show up in Miami–his own home [away from home] town!–sporting a gigantic Ernesto Neto fallopian tube sculpture. I mean, Neto’s Venice installation is like two blocks away in the Margulies Warehouse. Don’t even get me started on Anish Kapoor’s Turbine Hall. Seriously, woman, WTF?
From The Mixed Up Files Of Ms. Nikke Finke
Mike Ovitz can fight his own battles–although he’s been nothing but genial to me, I don’t doubt he can be a pretty scrappy guy. But Nikki Finke’s LA Weekly article on Hollywood-style dealmaking supposedly poisoning the art world is such a raw-yet-feeble Ovitz takedown attempt, I can’t see why it even exists.
And that’s even before you notice that the story’s so old, a veritable reportorial time capsule. The most recent anecdotes are from the early 1990’s. Julian Schnabel–get this!–has a movie about Basquiat. Up-and-coming dealer Mary Boone has revitalized SoHo’s gallery scene. One interviewee, Leo Castelli, actually died in 1999. Rather than even update the story or provide any la plus ca change context, it reads like Finke handed in an old floppy disk she found while cleaning out a storage unit in the Valley, and her editors published whatever killed story or chapter of an abandoned book happened to be on it. What’s next? Finke’s incisive report whether Waterworld‘s production turmoil will threaten Kevin Costner’s status as Hollywood’s sexiest leading man?
Lest you think the cluelessness is confined to alt-freebies on the West Coast, Artforum linked to Finke’s story with a headline and a blurb so inaccurate [“For Hollywood Moguls, Collecting Is Increasingly De Rigueur”] it’s obvious they didn’t even read the piece.
Blame Ovitz: When Art Started Imitating Hollywood [laweekly via artforum]
So A Gate And A Floating Island Walk Into A Bar
There are some posters, and some beer, and the gas for the motorboat had to cost a pretty penny, but that’s about it. Compared to the expensive (and purportedly expensive) public art it skewered, The Gate that chased Robert Smithson’s Floating Island up the East River a couple of months ago cost nothing. Now the Gate and the boat, and a documentary about the project will go on exhibit 11/18 at Redhead, the gallery of the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council.
The artists–who still remain unnamed–intended their project to ask and answer the questions, “Is public art still possible? Can a cheap stunt pack a punch? Does art make enough room to laugh at itself? Yes. When money steps aside and lets the work do the talking.”
A Cheap Publicity Stunt, 11/18-12/22, at Redhead [lmcc.net via greg.org reader chandra]
Previously: Water, Gate. The Gates Bill