in times of dire distress
Continue reading “Johns Flag On Orange Field, 2025”Johns Flag On Orange Field, 2025
Cy Twombly—Rainer Speck at Maison D’Art
Paper 1959-1987, which traveled from Bonn to Fondació la Caixa. image: Maison D’Art
I’ve been hearing about it from people in LA and seeing it on various instagrams, and the Maison D’Art exhibition of Dr. Rainer Speck’s collection and correspondence with Cy Twombly sounds like an absolute winner. It runs through May; I bought the little catalogue instantly.
Speck rolled up on Twombly in Rome in 1970 as a young collector, and the two kept in touch:
A selection of letters from Twombly to Speck is the foundation of this project. For Speck, the thrill of collecting lies in interrogating the ways that art, reading, and writing influence one another; these letters are a personal manifestation of this interest. In placing these letters alongside the ephemera and artworks they discuss, this exhibition and its publication strive to materialize these conversations and to create a tangible transcript of their relationship.
With their layers of text and imagery, Twombly’s works function as another kind of transcript, merging poetic and painterly elements and creating subtle visual palimpsests. Twombly’s works evoke the literary, mythical, and historical worlds of Western culture and interweave them with his abstract gestures and contemporary reflections. These works reveal Twombly’s artistic depth and highlight the integral role of language and literature to his process—a pursuit that resonates with Speck’s devotion to literature.
This relationship between drawing and writing, art and poetry, is an endlessly rewarding way into Twombly’s work. Poet Dean Rader talked about this last year at the Nicola del Roscio Foundation; and Tacita Dean spent part of her night in the Menil’s Twombly Pavilion trying to replicate words from his paintings. As with his photographs, bringing Twombly’s letters and books into consideration of his project feels long overdue.
NGL, the way the jpg above was cropped in my browser left me reeling as I imagined Twombly breaking out his sickest, most stripped back letterhead to write Speck the most stripped back letter: “To Rainer, Cy T.” But it turns out to be the title page dedication of an exhibition catalogue. Which is still great, but it does mean I don’t have to jump on a plane to LA this second; I can plan a little.
Rochelle Feinstein Is Over The Rainbow
In her solo presentation, The Today Show, which closed a couple of weeks ago at the Secession in Vienna, Rochelle Feinstein left blue painter’s tape around some works to reveal the process of exhibition making and encased other objects in slabs of acrylic. Obviously, I was very interested.
I was especially interested in the beautiful and slightly inexplicable object on the floor, which looked like a painting embedded in a slab of acrylic. There was no checklist, and no caption. [shoutout @voorwerk for reblogging @peabah on tumblr.]
In the press kit it is called Embedded (2024), and is described only as a “resin floor piece.” In his catalogue essay the show’s curator, Damian Lentini calls it Embedded I, and notes how its “creased, slightly-off-rainbow-coloured dropcloth…appears as an almost fossilised remnant from a bygone era.”
About 36 minutes into their pre-opening conversation with the artist last December, Justin Lieberman and Stephanie Weber asked Feinstein about the resin-embedded work [tl;dr I’m not interested anymore]:
Continue reading “Rochelle Feinstein Is Over The Rainbow”Calling it: lmk a great bit of art text
What’s a bit of art writing that you loved? That stuck with you? That made you think? That made you cringe? That made you want to see something? That made you want to say something? Something in a review? A critique? An essay? A blog post? A social media post? A press release? An auction catalogue? A wall text?
If you read an amazing, short piece of art-related writing recently, why not hold up to the light, so we can all marvel at it together?
Call the greg.org voicemail at 34-SOUVENIR (347-688-3647) and leave a message with:
* your name or handle [optional],
* you reading one brief art-related text [e.g., a sentence or two, 200 hundred or so words, a paragraph max, not the whole thing]
* the writer and source.
You can quote yourself, and if you’re sitting on a gold mine of great texts, you can call more than once, but please keep it to one quote per call. And no slop, bots or twitter.
When I get enough, I’ll edit them together and post a compilation here with links to the sources. Will that be in a day? A week? A month? Never because the idea of making a voice call is ridiculous? I have no idea!
So your recording may be used [unless it’s hateful or absolutely sucks, obv, editor’s call], but any other info goes nowhere and nothing is done with it.
For mine I’m gonna go with either a couple of lines from My night with Cy, the notes Tacita Dean made while spending the night in the Menil’s Twombly galleries, which are inserted in Cy Dear, her new book from the Menil & MACK books, or nine words I could never have imagined before, and which I now can’t imagine being without: “This copy of Ulysses belongs to me, Marsden Hartley.”
[NEXT MORNING UPDATE: After living with this expectation for a few hours, I see that it cannot be a crowdsourced panning for art writing gold, which is anxious and stressful. Instead, I’m treating it as a note to myself, a way to mark, remember, and share a good quote or idea as I find them. So if you read something that makes you think, stop, lol, or smdh, take a second and share it by calling 34-SOUVENIR.]
Hitting Frieze Like Peak Drone Strike Obama
I already mentioned it on social media, but am archiving it here for the future, but Nate Freeman calling Benjamin Godsill’s remote navigation of Frieze LA via an on-the-ground assistant, facetime, and a desktopful of preview PDFs “Peak drone strike Obama” was just about perfect. The Nota Bene boys truly are the chroniclers of this, our historic art world moment. [chef kiss emoji] [target emoji]
For History—and for Carolina Miranda—I made these explanatory graphics.
Mies Kampf
On this, the anniversary of Rosa Luxemburg’s birth, I recalled the memorial erected to her and other anti-fascists, constructed out of the bricks taken from the walls against which they were shot in 1919. It was designed by Mies van der Rohe, built in 1926, and torn down by the nazis in 1935.
I have not yet found the testimony Mies gave in front of Joseph McCarthy’s House Unamerican Activities Committee, but I did find this paragraph from Dietrich Neumann’s foreword to his 2024 biography, Mies Van Der Rohe: An Architect in His Time:
“Politically, Mies was the Talleyrand of modern architecture,” historian Richard Pommer sarcastically noted, referring to the famously opportunistic diplomat Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, who was active under different masters before, during, and after the French Revolution. And indeed, a series of projects by Mies seem to suggest his indifference to political persuasions, be they the Bismarck Memorial, the Monument to the November Revolution [above], the Barcelona Pavilion, or the design for the Brussels World’s Fair pavilion for the nazi regime. Mies’s stand was hardly a profile in courage, but rather driven by opportunism and a desire to maintain the respect of his many left-leaning friends, while keeping his options open with conservative clients or the nazi regime. In the United States, he was suspected both of being a nazi spy and questioned by Joseph McCarthy’s House Un-American Activities Committee about Communist leanings due to the Monument to the November Revolution.
Wait, what? Mies van der Rohe, whose most famous building was the German Pavilion for the 1929 Barcelona World’s Fair, also designed a German Pavilion for the nazis at the 1935 Brussels World’s Fair? Was this not mentioned in Mies in Berlin, Terry Riley and Barry Bergdoll’s 2001 MoMA exhibition on the architect’s work through 1937?
Continue reading “Mies Kampf”The Whole World + The Work = ?
Looking at some art from a year or two ago, and the irrelevance really hits hard.
Reading a 70s catalogue essay trying to make the case for a then-difficult artist—an artist whose work I love—and it sounds so banal and uncompelling. Is that what really mattered then? Was that the best you could do? Is that really what all this art history was built on, and how we got here?
The world is always changing, and art with/ahead/after it. But there are times when it shifts so much, it feels like it’s thrown the relationship between art and the world out of whack.
If You Want A Picture Of The Future, Imagine A Glass Tabletop
This 2015 sculpture, Smooth Sailing (Tan) by Débora Delman, is as perfect as Gunther Sachs’ 1969 table by Allen Jones is repulsive.
2012 for a million pounds
Meanwhile, though the coffee table in which Anthony Michael Hall’s Geek was encased is nowhere to be found,
the purported glass dining table from John Hughes’ 1984 racist teen date rape comedy Sixteen Candles was sold at a COVID compliant estate sale in Highland Park in October 2020.
h/t @voorwerk
Better Read #40: Tacita Dean’s Directions To The Spiral Jetty
Though a review of USGS historic data for water levels at the Great Salt Lake show it had re-emerged briefly in the 1980s, the first reported sighting of Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty occurred in the Spring of 1994. I saw it in August 1994, following a half-sheet set of directions and a hand-drawn map provided by the ranger at the Golden Spike National Historic Site, whose parking lot abuts the dirt road to Rozel Point.
In 1998 Tacita Dean made an artwork, Trying to find the Spiral Jetty, of directions to Spiral Jetty, which filled one and a half of two pages of a four-page fax she received from the Utah Arts Council. This edition of Better Read is an audio performance of that those now-obsolete directions, as preserved in Dean’s artwork. The fax is reproduced in Tacita Dean: Selected Writings and Complete Works & Filmography, published by the Royal Academy in 2018, which I surreptitiously photographed at Glenstone while waiting for my copy to arrive.
Trying To Find Trying To Find The Spiral Jetty
In June 1997 Tacita Dean was attending the Sundance Institute, and decided to find the Spiral Jetty, which had begun to resurface intermittently starting in 1994.
In 1998 she made an audio work—an installation and an audio cassette edition—titled, Trying to find the Spiral Jetty, and in 1999 she added a slideshow accompaniment, Rozel Point, Great Salt Lake, Utah, 1997.
I’ve looked intermittently for years for a cassette edition, and have not heard it, but I do know the cover art: a set of typed directions provided by the Utah Arts Council, which were faxed to Dean at Sundance. [According to Tacita Dean: Selected Writings and Complete Works & Filmography, published by the Royal Academy in 2018, her saved fax is also a work in its own right.]
On a recent search for the cassette, I found a 1999 interview with Dean from Audio Arts, a cassette-based art magazine, which has been preserved by Tate Modern. In it she discusses Disappearance at Sea (1998), a short film for which she was nominated for the Turner Prize, and the Spiral Jetty search and works.
I had always assumed that Trying to find the Spiral Jetty was a field recording, a documentation of the trip made following the directions across increasingly remote and rough dirt roads. But Dean explains the audio is a fabrication, an exercise of memory. She and her companion, an audio engineer named Greg, reconstructed the trip in conversation, and then constructed it anew via Foley sound effects, to augment some ambient recording begun as they approached the lake.
Especially in the earliest, uncertain days of Spiral Jetty‘s re-emergence, and based on her work’s title, it seemed that searching for the Jetty had to be at least as relevant as whether she found it. But I also think that Dean was less concerned with the experienced reality on the ground than the produced reality on the tape. At least that’s how it sounds in her interview.
And of course, the embraced ambiguity worked its way through her practice, and led [as] directly [as possible, via the inspired machinations of Jeremy Millar] to her correspondence with JG Ballard, whose writings inspired Smithson, and to JG, her 2013 anamorphic 35mm film work which circled around Spiral Jetty.
Untitled (Joyce Hartley), 2025
I have no idea why, maybe it’s the limpid blue of the unusually clean dust jacket, or the corny way he inscribed it with,
“This copy of Ulysses belongs to me,
Marsden Hartley,”
But as soon as I saw it, I wanted to make a print diptych of the cover and limitation page of Hartley’s first edition copy of James Joyce’s Ulysses.
OK, this isn’t why why, but I’m pretty sure I would not have thought of it without seeing Robert Gober Potato Prints BTS.
Oh, interesting, that was within just a couple of days of seeing these 1920s Marsden Hartley paintings.
[Also, though Arches is obviously everywhere, Verge d’Arches seems to be a term or paper type only associated with Ulysses and like two other works. Is there a backstory there?]
John Koch Devine Light
Does a John Koch painting need a touch of awkwardly sublimated homoeroticism to sell these days? Is retardataire virtuoso brushwork depictions of light dancing off of period furniture and crystal chandeliers in capacious pre-war interiors really not enough anymore?
Koch painted this portrait of Mrs Christopher (Bonaventura) Devine seated in the living room of her 20-room River House triplex in 1973, four years before his death, and twelve years before hers. After two attempts to sell it at seemingly reasonable Koch estimates, one of her grandchildren followed in her philanthropic footsteps and donated the painting to a convent.
And so now the nuns are selling it for whatever they can get, and the estimate is barely a tenth of where it started two years ago. It’s never not slightly weird, I think, to buy a portrait of someone you’re not related to. But the Devines did it; I do not think they had any family connection to the Vernon Children when they bought that 1777 George Romney portrait of them at Parke-Bernet in 1944. So maybe it’s just takes a little time.
Of course, now, after ten seconds of Googling, I learn that the Daughters of Mary are a traditionalist Catholic order who sold a Bouguereau in 2006, and then sued when they found out their appraiser was part of a consortium that flipped it a few months later for 5x the price. They lost. How this information informs your bidding strategy is between you and God.
16 Mar 2025, John Koch, Portrait of Mrs. Christopher Devine, est. $3-5,000 [update: it sold for $9,500, so the nuns’ll net $5-6k?] [kaminski’s via liveauctioneers]
Previously, related: John Koch, Portrait of Benjamin Chester (Version 1)
Everything’s Funnier When You Add ‘In Bed’ At The End
Gerhard Richter Overpainted
I just counted a thousand sheets of prints, and yet the Gerhard Richtermaxxing that kicked in around Panorama, his 2011 Tate Modern retrospective, still keeps surprising me.
There were the giclée prints of the Cage painting in the gift shop. Which led directly, I’d argue, to HENI Productions’ massive Facsimile Object operation, which unleashed thousands of Richterian objects on the world. [Including, most recently, mini versions of the Cage grid prints.] All these works are permanently installed in my head, and now I need to open another wing.
I’ve now seen three works from Museum Visit (2011), Richter’s largest series of overpainted photographs, with a provenance of Tate Modern. So were these sold to Tate friends and donors? Were they being sold in the gift shop, too? It was a veritable Murakamitown in there.
In the run-up to Panorama, Richter made at least 235 photos for Museum Visit at three locations around Tate Modern, with a different overpainting motif for each spot. They all seem to be mounted, titled, and framed identically. Marian Goodman had a grid of them in their booth in Miami in 2012, and I just assumed that was how they got out. Until now. Was Museum Visit also a fundraising project for the show? Or did Richter operate a ©MURAKAMI-scale pop-up at Tate without a peep of critical mention?
Yet it could not have been a simple cash&carry operation. MV.177, with the dome of St Paul’s peeking through the multi-colored paint, was apparently included in Richter’s 2012 exhibition in Beirut. [All the Museum Visit works were in the catalogue.] And it was one of 32 MV photos in Gagosian’s Overpainted Photographs show at Davies Street London in 2019. So it stayed close at hand.
Overpainted Photographs have this unique trajectory, created as personal, even seemingly private gestural experiments from rejected photos and leftover paint in the artist’s studio, immediately edited, then apparently given as gifts to friends, marks of connection and proximity, trickled out into the market by one local dealer, and accumulate over decades into a body of work that begins to attract critical and public attention. The early mass production series Firenze (1992) could be accounted for in the context of Richter’s artist book practice [or ignored.]
Reading Marcus Heinzelmann’s essay for the catalogue of the 2009 Overpainted Photographs exhibition at Museum Morsbroich, Leverkusen, the series emerged from the surfeit of paint and photos that surrounded Richter at the end of each studio day. Ready material, random process, and ruthless evaluation converge in a moment, and barely half survive long enough to dry. Zooming out, this museum show and Museum Visit are the moment overpainted photos broke containment, the touch of the Richter’s hand, at scale. I want to watch him make them almost as much as I hate to watch Damien Hirst wander listlessly among an acre of tables, splattering paint across 1,000 sheets that get turned into a Heni Edition.
Speaking of which, the literature citations in a Christie’s auction listing is not how I expected to find out that Heni Editions partner Heni Publishing just released Gerhard Richter The Overpainted Photographs: A Comprehensive Catalogue? The six-volume [!] box set was released in the UK in December, and in the US like two weeks ago? Curiously not called a catalogue raisonné, TOP:ACC includes four volumes of works ranging from 1986 and 2016. So nine years later, I guess this really was the last overpainted photograph? To find out, you’ll have to read the book! It is $850.
OG MoMA Screening Room @Jeu de Paume
Even though it was a film [still], The Public Enemy (1931) that brought me to Three Centuries of American Art, MoMA’s ambitious 1938 Paris exhibition, I was not prepared to find an actual screening room at the end of the 85-pic slideshow of installation photos from the Musée du Jeu de Paume. But here it is.
Continue reading “OG MoMA Screening Room @Jeu de Paume”DEI Goin’ Fishin’
While researching Arthur Dove’s inexplicably titled cow sketch, Public Enemy, I googled my way to the catalogue for Three Centuries of American Art, a labyrinthine exhibition at the Musée du Jeu de Paume organized in 1938 by The Museum of Modern Art.
The proto-blockbuster put every department of the museum to work. It included not only painting & sculpture and prints & drawings, but architecture, photography, and cinema—and Mrs. Rockefeller’s folk art collection.
Honestly, the installation shots look a bit of a mess, and the use of photography in display, including the architecture section, looks more interesting than a lot of the photography section itself. But there was actually a public screening program [more on this in a minute], and a phalanx of film stills. And let’s be real: the still from The Public Enemy (1931) would make a Renaissance painting jealous.
There was one work by Arthur Dove, and it is—oh, wait, ayfkm? It displaces Public Enemy as the instant and permanent winner of the WTF, Arthur Dove? Most Problematic Title award. It’s listed as belonging to Duncan Phillips, Dove’s biggest collector and most important supporter, and it is indeed still in the Phillips Collection, with the deracistified title, Goin’ Fishin’. [n.b. Unless they sold it since, MoMA didn’t own a Dove in 1938.]
Continue reading “DEI Goin’ Fishin’”