The Season of Lights (and the art that comes with)

Recently, my friend Linda, from New Zealand, came to New York City for a visit. (She actually came because she's writing her master's thesis on the Peter Greenaway work/show that's currently taking place at the Amory, which I'm dying to see!) Anyway, having not met many Jews before arriving at my house on the Upper West Side, she was interested in how Christmas in NYC makes Jews feel given its unavoidable presence.

I could not and cannot answer this question for all Jews, (though I hope at least most would agree,) but for me, simply put, I love it. In fact, I'm delighted to be able to take part (if even just passively) in a religious tradition that adds meaning to people's lives. (Unless of course it involves extraordinarily loud music at sunrise, as is the case with the Christmas parade here in St. Maarten, which woke me up this morning. With that said, above you can see pictures from the balcony of our villa - despite the lack of snow, the atmosphere does make for a pretty spectacular Christmas feeling, eh?)

Anyway, back in NYC I appreciate the tree vendors who line the streets with spruces that give

the city the smell of a magical winter forest. I am awed by the creativity that goes into the production of the Christmas windows and I enjoy interacting with the many people from a plethora of backgroudns who are drawn out from their homes and onto 5th Avenue to see the elaborate displays no matter the temperature. I am proud to be American during the holiday season because people are so generous (albeit a bit consumer oriented) and grateful to have time to spend with family and friends. And I can't get enough of the lights that decorate all of the city's trees creating a spiritual, perhaps even mystical feeling that inspires strangers to offer each other holidays greetings as they pass on the street. All and all the city and its dwellers and visitors are happy and there is nothing better than that...

Linda understood just what I meant when she and I walked all the way from our dinner Caracas (favorite restaurant!) home. On our way we passed the usual, which I described above, as well as an awesome light installation in Madison Square Park that Seth had taken me to a few weeks earlier.

Prior to holiday time, and in day light as apposed to darkness, I had not thought of the installation as speaking to the season, and my guess is that it isn't intended to. However, seeing the installation in the context of my Christmas walk with Linda, made me realize just how poignant the exhibition is at this time of year, which is so laden with lights both literally and figuratively.

The installation, which is by Jim Campbell, has three components: Scattered Light, which is made up of hundreds of hanging light bulbs that are programmed to light up and dim down in a way that creates an illusion that people (or at least their shadows) are passing through the space that the lights occupy. The Madison Square Park website, which you can access through the link above, explains that the work is supposed to reflect the pedestrian experience in an urban environment. It's a shame that the MSP website doesn't shed more light on the work because that one sentence that describes the conceptual objective of the work seems to indicate that the city is much more lively, or vibrant than the people, though I like to think it's the people who make the city the exciting place that it is!

Regardless, to me the most interesting quality of the work is that depending on the angle from which it's viewed, the shadows, or silhouettes are either completely sharp, or rather abstract. (You can see this quality in the first minute of the video above.) I'm sure I've taken my analysis of this work too far, but to me, that feature serves as a reminder that during the "season of lights" is a time that we make an extra effort to reach out to our family and friends, so as not to allow them to turn into vague, distant characters.

The second part of the work is called Broken Window, but unfortunately both times I visited the installation, this work seemed to stick true to it's name, leaving me little to say about it. (Or is that the point?)

The third piece, Voices in the Subway Station, is made up of a number of glass panels that are situated in the grass and light up sequentially. After a bit of research, I've come to find that there are two interpretations of this work, so by all means take your pick: 1) The order in which the panels light up mimics the effect of a passing subway, as a person above ground would see it through the grated sidewalk out of the corner of his eye. 2) The lights are intended to represent people speaking to one another on a station platform as they wait for the subway to arrive, thus creating a "visual symphony," (how awesome is that term?).

As much as I enjoyed the installation, I can't help but wonder how much more meaning it would have if it was interactive, or tied to the actions of people in the park or on the subway below the park in real time. (Come on Jim Campbell, you engineer major at MIT, put that degree to good use! No, just kidding, in fact NYMag reveals just how complex the making was sans an interactive feature.) But in truth, the best part of the season of lights is that it's the time when people are most connected to each other - after all, the bells and whistles, or lights if you will, are simply tools to help us maintain a positive spirit so that we can achieve that goal...

On that note, the installation is only on view until February 28 (my birthday Part I!), so go check it out before it ends!

1. A photo from my dinky computer taken on the balcony of our St. Maarten villa somtime around Christmas eve.

2. Video footage of Scattered Lights along with an interview with the artist, courtesy of www.switched.com .

3. Photo of Voices in the Subway Station from www.watersideplaza.com .

Language

I'm almost through with my days at Gagosian Gallery and I will return to blogging regularly once the Gagosian experience ends, but in the meantime here's a short post to tide you all over...

My best friend Yael, who happens to be an English major and is thus invested in this sort of thing, just showed me a super cute website, www.savethewords.com , which you should all check out.

In addition to it's aesthetic appeal, the concept is "super cute," to use Yael's words. I think it's like a combination of adopt-a-high-way and dictionary.com's word of the day... Perhaps it doesn't quite relate to making art accessible, (or maybe it does by virtue of the fact that it enables people to better express themselves by bringing overlooked / esoteric words to our awareness,) but either way, I'll consider it "preservation of the arts," which is an important cause too.

Young Talent

After finishing school, I imagined that years would begin in January rather than post Labor Day, the period that marks the beginning of the academic year. But lo and behold, fall has arrived, (I guess it arrived a while ago, but it’s only now beginning to feel like fall in terms of weather,) and in my mind the new year is off to its start. With recent passing of the Jewish high holidays, including Rosh Hashana, the Jewish calendar’s new year, I’ve taken some time to reflect on this past year, and come up with some hopes for the upcoming year.

Thoughts on this past year:

In terms of art, AD Projects’ “Piles”, wins my award for most noteworthy exhibition of 2009/2010. AD Projects is an organization founded by Jillian Murphy, Abigail Merrick, and Katherine Cohen – three young women who work/worked at Gagosian Gallery. The name AD Projects stands for after dark, because all of the work that goes into producing an AD Projects show is done after regular business hours. Essentially Jill, Abby, and Kat find unused spaces around NYC (and soon beyond), get permission from the landlords to fill the spots with art, and open them to the public under the name AD Projects. They create win/win situations for all parties involved – they get experience curating exhibitions and selling art, the public get to see art for free, the up and coming artists they show get exposure, and landlords get to foster creativity through neighborhood shaping ventures.

There are a number of works from the exhibition that stick out in my mind. For example, there was a large carpet-esque spread of black alphabet noodles, which looked like letters fallen from the page of a book. At first glance, it’s hard to notice that the black void is made of tiny letters, thus referencing minimalist works by artists like Ad Reinhart, with his entirely black paintings, and Karl Andre’s copper squares that lay on the floors of institutions like the MoMA. But given that that connection is rather esoteric, I was glad creator Adam Bateman was there to shed light on the piece. Bateman said that the piece is supposed to make you question the meaning of words, letters, and symbols. When taken out of context or removed from their supposed order, they become arbitrary, or if nothing else their meaning changes entirely. More broadly, Bateman said, “My work has questioned the relationship between language and objects, especially art objects…”

A more personal/emotional work that I found interesting was a series of three pieces by artist Andy Monk. The works were floor plans of his former apartments made of matches that are stuck into plaster. After Monk moves out of an apartment, he creates a new work for the series and then burns the matches as a sort of "happening". It reminded me a lot of a pre-Passover custom to symbolically burn your sins, as a way to move forward. Clearly Monk’s old apartments aren’t sins, but the point is still the same, about closure and moving completely into the next phase, or stage. What remains of Monks works after the burning is plaster adorned with used matches, which deteriorate over time - just like the memories from those spaces fade as time passes... The work is sad, and perhaps a little bit harsh, (particularly in the case of his family home, which he moved out of after his parents' divorce,) but it’d so well thought out and filled with so many layers of meaning that I couldn't help but be drawn to it.

On that note, I try and live by the motto that I will always learn something new from, and see something new in, a work of art no matter how many times I look at it, but I must say, sometimes it’s just nice to stumble upon some fresh, young talent—to see art that truly embodies an innovative way of viewing the world…

When Religion and Art Are One...

Check this out! Architects from around the world are currently competing for most appealing sukkah design. Twelve winners have been selected to have their sukkas fabricated and placed in Union Square for all to see until October 2. Through this process, people have the opportunity to learn about different types of architecture and to think about the meaning of this ancient holiday, which in the contemporary idiom serves to remind us how lucky we are to have such bountiful harvests / so much to eat, and remind us of our obligation to help those less fortunate than us, though who might permanently live in temporary shelters... Talk about how art can be a vehicle that adds meaning to life...

P.S. In my book the 900 sukkah will always be the winner!

Performance

Jimmy DeSana, Marker Cones, 1982. Silver dye bleach print. Whitney Museum of American Art.

Yesterday Mitch and I visited the Whitney Museum of American Art, where there's currently an exhibition on performative actions captured through photo or drawing. We particularly liked Jimmy DeSana's Marker Cones (1982), which you can see above, because it reminded us of an experience of our very own, which you can see below.

I initially loved the idea of capturing the essence of a performance in a snap shot, but after seeing DeSana's work and recalling all of the laughter brought about by getting stuck in a traffic cone with Mitch one silly college night, I was reminded that a still can never capture the full range of emotions that come with an experience. I'm not sure if that revelation was disenchanting in the sense that it made the exhibition less meaningful to me, or if it just meant that the works in the exhibition were a type of art other than performance, but it certainly made me nostalgic for my good old UofM days for the first time since graduating nearly a year ago...

Meaningful Conversation

I just finished reading Richard Polsky's book I Sold Andy Warhol (Too Soon). On the whole I found it a bit kfetchy, (winy if you will), and cathartic in the sense that Polsky spends the entirety of the book recounting the history of the rising value of Warhol's Freight Wigs to ultimately make the point that he could have made more money had he been patient and not sold the one he owned so quickly. (A story not unique to the art world, after all everyone has a should have, would have could have story...)

With exception to the book's great cover, the only other part of the book I found valuable was the following line: "Most paintings are like one-liners; once you get it, that's the end of the experience. The best works of art...reveal something fresh whenever you look at them (p.237)."

On that note, Mitch and I have begun what I'm calling "virtual collections." This means we've created photo albums on Facebook that contain images of works of art that speak to us in some way - images we are happy to look at again and again because of their aesthetic, symbolic, or narrative qualities. We're hoping this idea will be contagious and that many people will start creating virtual collections...

My father pointed out virutal collections are a form of "disruptive innovation." Disruptive innovation is Clayton Christensen's theory that innovations disrupt existing markets by creating products or services that are more accessible, and though they are often less powerful they are still good enough to get the job done. So, while virutal collections may not be as moving or inspirational as seeing the real works in say a museum, for most people they might be good to get the job done, good enough to encourage them to think about art!

Perhaps the best part of virtual collections are that they can provoke conversations that start with, "Hey, I saw that new piece you posted... What do you like about that piece? What's that piece about?" As apposed to, "Saw you hit up another party last week..."

After all, there's nothing better than meaningful conversation - supposedly it's the key to happiness!

Truth

"Judaism is not about being Jewish, it's a Way to be more deeply human."

-Rabbi Irwin Kula

"Art is a human activity having for its purpose the transmission to others of the highest and best feelings to which men have risen."

-Leo Tolstoy

This weekend I stayed at my friend Caroline's for Shabbat. Caroline and I met at Camp Hillel, a Modern Orthodox sleep-away camp, and though we express our Judaism in very different ways, we have been dear friends for nearly ten years.

During a conversation about our observance levels, Caroline said to me that she often feels regretful for not being more observant than she is. When she told me this, I said "--but Caroline, you are the most observant person I know! You only wear skirts below the knee and shirts to the elbow, you observe Shabbat in every sense, pray at least once a day, keep the strictest version of kashrut, and the list goes on! You observe the halachot (traditional jewish rituals/legal practices) that make your life meaningful to you. It's not about doing everything."

"I guess," Caroline said.

Dissatisfied with Caroline's answer I channeled my father and said, "What I mean is that the point of halacha is to increase your consciousness toward all your daily activities, to heighten your awareness of what's going on in the world around you, and to thereby enhance your quality of life, halachot are tools we can use to help us live more humanly."

"No," Caroline responded. "It's not always about making life meaningful, sometimes it's about observing a law, whether you understand it or not, simply because it's written in the torah and the torah is the truth."

I understood that Caroline meant that at times the meaning of the halachot rest in surrendering, not searching for the immediate utilitarian purpose, an experience that in and of itself helps us live more humanly and ethically. However, to me, there is much more to living truthfully than following halachot, as deeply humbling and affirming as that can be.

***

I am definitely "religious." To me, being religious means being profoundly in touch with the spiritual, practical, ethical, or cultural components of one's religion.

My father is a Rabbi - in fact he's a seventh generation clergyman - religion essentially runs in my genes. My parents traditionally observe halachot like kashrut and the sabbath, and culturally speaking we're as Jewish as can be: we live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, go to Miami for Passover, love and visit Israel even though we sometimes disagree with Israeli political decisions, and schedule all activities around food, (more about that another time)... To top that off, my sister and I studied at yeshiva (Orthodox Jewish day school) through 8th grade, went to high school at a pluralistic Jewish day school, and reinforced our Jewishness by attending synagogue on sabbaths and holidays.

At S.A.R., my yeshiva, I learned fundamental Jewish values that will stick with me for a lifetime: respect, gratitude, inclusivity, devotion, and a love for learning - to name a few.

At Heschel, my Jewish high school, I learned to aggressively challenge tradition while remaining deeply proud of my Jewish heritage; I learned the importance of innovation and social activism, and I found that Judaism is not so dissimilar from other religions and thus bridges are better than boundaries.

At synogogue, I found role models in strong, high powered women who are leaders of the egalitarian movement. I also learned the importance of community and the true meaning of Bill Withers' song "Lean on Me" - in fact, my community is the tightest knit I've seen.

And in my own home I learned to integrate into my daily life all of the values I described above, and I learned the incomparable value of family.

Though some would say I am no longer halachicly observant, I do still honor all of the profoundly Jewish values I've just described.

Take social consciousness, respect, and gratitude as examples. I live those values daily through my own version kashrut. When I am in the supermarket, though I do not look for the hashkacha (rabbinical seal of kashrut), I do look at every ingredient in everything I buy to ensure my health and the health of those I am cooking for. I try to buy grass fed, hormone free meats, and organic, local produce, in an effort to respect the animals, the planet, and myself. I make an effort to eat slowly, consume food in moderation, and think about how blessed I am to have enough to eat and to have a choice of what I eat each time I sit down for a meal.

As for inclusivity, family, and community, I live those values through the ways I practice shabbat. I may use electricity, transportation, and money on the sabbath, but regardless every Friday night, I make sure to eat with family and friends. Moreover, though I have not lived with my parents in four years, I've never forgotten to call them for my blessing. (It is customary for parents to bless their children at the beginning of the sabbath.)

Regarding devotion, learning, and challenging, though I don't actively study the bible, I do read about what's happening in the world on a daily basis, I don't blindly accept what I'm told, and I put my all into any task I set out to accomplish.

***

My Bubbi Charlotte, Z"L (of blessed memory), used to always say that if you are astutely aware of the world around you, bring a sense of consciousness to everything you do, and embrace peoples' differences, you will see that everything and everyone is a piece of art.

Following with this thought, my Poppi recently taught me that the hebrew word for artist is AMN and the hebrew word for art is AMaNüt; the roots of those two words are the same as the roots of the words AMeN, which is said after a blessing and means truth, and AMüNa, which means faith.

***

To both me and Caroline, life's about bringing people together by accepting and working to understand others ("Love thy neighbor as thyself"), living ethically and bringing passion to everything we do (gemilut chasadim and avodah), and expressing ourselves in ways that beautify and help the world (tikkun olam).

Whether you consider that torah or art, we can all agree that by living out these values, we are living faithfully, we are living the truth.

Discoveries

Okay, so Eilidh Crumlish is not really my discovery - I actually happened upon her on Eyestorm, but her art is awesome, right? (For those of you who don't know Eyestorm, you should check it out; it's a cool website that makes the purchasing of art accessible by showcasing up and coming artists whose works are [for the most part] not outlandishly priced.)

I'm drawn to the colors Crumlish uses, the layouts she chooses, and her off the beat style that lies somewhere between Impressionism, Pop Art, Colorfield Abstract Expressionism, and Arts & Crafts... More specifically, she paints outdoors in Italy and Scotland, often creating large planes of solid, sometimes in-your-face colors, using plywood as her canvas, and occasionally inserting kitschy patterns.

While I could do without the wallpaper-esque patterns in some of her works, (which you can see on her website, as I'd rather not copy them into this post,) I do like the natural swirly pattern that's a product of the plywood she paints and prints on. In fact, I emailed her to see if she ever shows in NYC because I want to see what the unique wooden texture does to the feeling of the work; unfortunately, I never heard back from her so I guess I'll just have to imagine for myself, unless any of you know where I can see her work...

Having recently determined to begin purchasing original works of art, (part of the reason I want to see Crumlish's work first hand,) I have been showing Crumlish's work to friends, fellow gallery girls, and family... Here are some reactions:

"Like Rothko." (Certainly true in the case of the above work, though Crumlish's work is obviously less abstract.)

"Like Michael Craig-Martin." (Subject matter is entirely different but I do see the similarities in Craig-Martin's colors and the colors Cumlish used in the work below...)

"I don't like the telephone wires." (Okay, I hear ya, but how awesome are those colors?)

Thoughts?

Abstract Expressionism

"For me, the greatest pleasure of all, is that long standing devotion to that long, large, tall white canvas. It's a labor of love, you know, as if you are walking over the surface of this terrific continent..." -Sam Francis

It's official. Abstract Expressionism is my favorite movement. (Oh how American of me!) Color Field, Gestural, I love it all because when looking at a painting I am drawn, first and foremost, to color and motion, or movement, two defining Abstract Expressionist traits.

In what is essentially the basement of the Hirschhorn, (a museum whose space I don't particularly love, although my recent private tour of their mind blowing Yves Klein show by fellow PGC intern, and current Hirschhorn intern, Mark Rosen, did make me think otherwise,) is a map-like Ab-Ex painting that I have always been attracted to because of its beautiful colors, which rest on a defining, clean white background.

I never thought much about the artist of the painting, because, for better or worse, I often deliberately neglect to look at the text panels on museum walls. (It's part of my whole riff on empowering the viewer to have confidence in his interpretations and find value in art apart from the name of its artist.) That was until this May when a Sam Francis show opened at the Helly Nahmed Gallery, which I pass everyday on my way to Gagosian. In the window of the Nahmed Gallery hangs a large banner stating "Sam Francis". Upon my very first glance into the gallery, I learned: favorite Hirschhorn painting = Sam Francis. I tend to stay away from equating artists with their works, (or to paraphrase Rothko in RED, which I saw last night, 'I hate when people use my name as a noun,') but the nature of the sign in the Nahmed window disabled me from separating Francis from his work, thus encouraging me to learn about Francis and the light his history might shed on his paintings. (Roland Barthes, writer of "Death of the Author," would kill me for saying that...)

To start, Francis was a California boy born in San Mateo in the 20's. In the 50's he moved to Europe for a bit to study, returning to California in the 60's for the last nearly forty years of his life, which is when he produced many of his iconic works. This fact about Francis' background is apparent from one's very first glance at the works in the Nahmed Gallery show. Unlike the inspiring Francis painting from the Hirschhorn, most Fracis paintings on display at the Nahmed Gallery, have a typical 80's L.A. look - think fine art inspired by Saved by the Bell, Johnny Rockets, or a Midwestern diner modeled in that style and not updated since.

However, other Francis works, such as the one above called Blue out of White(1958), have this ideal balance between the styles of Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock. This is a controversial statement, as many believe that Francis' rise to success came from his vastly different approach to painting than Rothko and Pollock, however undoubtedly they were two of Francis' influences, and in my eyes, Francis has Rothko's profound color sensibility, (a complimentary label that the angry Rothko despised,) and Pollock's motion, his drive for action...

Unfortunately, Blogger makes it difficult to place images side by side, but if you look at Francis' Blue Out of White and then the two Rothko's I have placed near this paragraph, you will notice that they use similar, almost complimentary colors. (This example being one of many possible comparisons.) In fact, both artist's believed that their purpose was to express human emotion, which in a visual idiom can be achieved through the employment of colors.

As for the Francis/Pollock comparison, watch the video below and you will see that Francis paints much like Pollock, standing over his canvas, walking around it, using large gestures. (Scroll down to watch a Pollock clip that looks quite similar...)

Yet Francis' unique spin on Ab-Ex is the map-esque feeling he creates through his captivating white backgrounds and frequent use of blue. As the daughter of Irwin Kula, and an Upper West Side kid unavoidably influenced by Freudian psychology, I felt in my bones that that feature has symbolic, if not unconscious, value.

Lo and Behold, my inkling was partially true. (I think I should start capitalizing the first letters of the words Partial Truth, since in my family those words are practically sacred, worthy of proper noun status.)

I say Partially True because Francis was associated with a movement called Tachiste, which some people call the European counterpart to Abstract Expressionism. The movement has not been widely written about, so understanding its precise premise has been a bit of a difficult task for me. Of the movement, the Hollis Taggart Gallery's website says "Artists in the group developed a style of gestural action painting that reflected an expressive, painterly aesthetic and the artists' desire to highlight the beauty of their materials, as opposed to portraying psychological or philosophical concerns." According to this understanding of Tachiste, works produced by artist's of the movement are essentially void unconscious intentions.

However, unable to accept the notion that Francis' works have no psychological implications, I further investigated the Tachiste movement and found that the Taggart Gallery's description was not quite right. The Tachiste movement is based on the longing to express, or create the artist's mark. In fact, it's related to the Art Informal movement, which is premised on the importance of depicting the artist's inner being, whatever that might mean...

Francis' affiliations with those movements closely ties to the map-like feeling of his paintings, a quality I've mentioned several times. Francis was inspired by a Jungian therapy technique that helped him recall his dreams that often related to nature, particularly water and air, levitation and gravity.

Yet that is not the only possible meaning of Francis' paintings' earthly feelings. In an Art in America article published last year called "Best in the Studio: The Art of Sam Francis," author Darrell Hartman suggests that Francis began prioritizing negative space as a means of creating portals into new dimensions, after learning about the Japanese ma.

I'd like to suggest, perhaps more simply than other interpretations I've noted, that Francis' map-like creations stem from his conscious or unconscious recognition that his style was influenced by a number of cultures from across the globe. After all, he was born on the west coast of the U.S.; he spent time in France where he learned about Japanese culture and determined to travel to Japan to learn about different forms of Buddhism; he studied Jungian psychology, which is of Swiss origins; and his role models were Pollock who himself was influenced by Mexican and Native American cultures, Rothko who was Eastern European, and Clyfford Still who lived all over North America.

Perhaps we'll never know the answer, or perhaps this is another case of the Partial Truth, but in an effort to search, I'm off to watch the 2008 documentary The Painter Sam Francis.

1. Sam Francis, Blue Out of White, 1958. Oil on canvas. Hirschhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington D.C.

2. Sam Francis, Untitled, 1992. Acrylic on paper. Helly Nahmed Gallery, New York City.

3. Mark Rothko – unfortunately I can’t find the tombstone information for this work online…

4. Mark Rothko, Untitled, No. 9, 1948, oil on canvas.

Similies

Breaking into the art world is like an adult version of Red Rover.

Art Fun

Zach just reminded me of this interactive Pollock site via an email including nothing more than the link and the phrase "hehe," which I feel describes the fun, kitchy, silly site perfectly. I love the site because it engages people, art lovers and not, in an art related activity, however, this means of creating a Pollock defies the most major innovation that Pollock made to painting: the use of the entire body to paint! To see what I mean, and to counter balance the ridiculousness of the site above, watch the video below that captures Pollock hard at work...

Louise Bourgeois...

...passed away today, at age 98. One of the most influential, accomplished women artists ever - a feminist, a comedian, a cultural iconoclast who challenged conformity by dipping into untouched mediums and taboo subject matter, a cutting edge player in a cut throat culture... An art historical treasure.

Robert Mapplethorpe, Photograph of Louise Bourgeois with her sculpture Fillete (1968, latex), 1982.

Transcendence

These images are by an Italian artist named Alberto Seveso who I found on Behance.net. They magically create the illusion that they transcend the boundaries between photography, sculpture, painting, and textile. They are beautiful but eerily bodily. They are photographs of varnish dropping into a fishbowl. Seveso calls them Medicina Rossa. To see the blue sequence click here.

Perfect Imperfections

I found this photograph on deviantART.com, it is by an artist named Siols. To see more of her work, check out her website. In case you can't read it, the quote on the model's legs says "I am far from perfect but I will be perfect for that imperfect someone who is perfect for me."

Being Busy

During my short blogging hiatus I've been busy with several exciting things:

1. I became Annie Cohen-Solal's assistant. Those of you who don't know of Annie should definitely Google her because she's an incredibly important writer, teacher, and figure in the world of art and culture related politics. Knopf is about to release her third book, Leo and His Circle: The Life of Leo Castelli. The book has already been reviewed by countless news sources and tomorrow there will be a review of the book in the New York Times, so keep your eyes peeled! (By the way, I am now working for Annie in the mornings and interning at Gagosian Gallery in the afternoons - talk about pressure! Oh well, nothing better than a thrillingly full, and might I add hectic/stressful, life!)

2. I submitted my MoMA twelve-month internship application, (though sadly I realized that when opened on a version of Word other than mine, the link to this blog gets cut from my resume).

3. I started a new blog: www.rookietoart.blogspot.com . Unlike this blog, through which I share events occurring in my life as well as my own aesthetic preferences, my new blog will be filled with imaginary conversations that take place between me and an art rookie. The conversations intend to show ways that art can be made accessible for people with absolutely no knowledge of art at all; in other words, I'm showing how engaging art can be, even for newbies. The idea for Rookie to Art stemmed from a question I responded to on the MoMA application, which was something like 'why are you applying for this position at MoMA?' I realized that quite clearly the reason that I applied for the curatorial internship at MoMA is because I have grown up on MoMA, have a deep love for their collection, and I want to help make their artwork meaningful to others. I fear that currently modern art museums cater toward an audience well versed in art history and theory, leaving those most in need of guidance, (the majority,) to fend for themselves. So, I thought, what better way to express the sentiment that art can be brought to life for everyone than to show my ability to do so?! And next thing I knew I'd written imaginary conversations between me and art-rookies, in which I help people feel confident in their ability to understand MoMA's art, giving them a taste that leaves them wanting more... The first of my MoMA rookie conversations is the one I submitted to MoMA within my application - it takes place in the Jackson Pollock gallery. The second conversation is the one currently posted on the blog - feel free to check it out. I have many more pending and hope to expand beyond MoMA's collection one day.

On a side note, though as always not entirely, I must say that I have the most interesting conversations about art with Andrew Kurland, (the friend who introduced me to the work of J. Siegan, who I posted about a few weeks ago). He often sends me links to artists and works he finds interesting; in fact, I think he told me about Maira Kalman vis-a-vis her New York Times blog And the Pursuit of Happiness, through which she never fails to churn out the most engaging and funny illustrated, completely random stories.

Anyway, I've been thinking about Gerhard Richter lately in light of my promise to share details/thoughts on the Richter exhibition that Alexander and I saw in Florence. I haven't yet come up with a full riff on Richter, but I did find the piece below which I shared with Andrew because I find it both interesting and beautiful.

I told Andrew that I like the colors, the movement, and the silky feeling which the medium produces. He agreed, adding that it looks like an ocean. I thought for a second and said, "The ocean!?! Yeah, maybe when the plague of blood hit Egypt!" So this piece changed from conjuring the image of a child exquisitely attuned to color theory, to a plague infested mess. (Or as Andrew noted, it could be the backdrop of an 80's dance party, shoulder pads and all, but that's besides the point...)

But fun and games aside, one of the qualities I admire about Andrew is his deep effort to be psychologically aware and emotionally conscious. So, channeling Andrew as I rode the subway home today, I thought of the potential subconscious reasons I might like the piece. Call this analysis simplistic but to me this painting is a bundle of excitement in an aggressive environment, that all in all seems to be a bit of a mess, a little confused. I cannot tell my life story in one sentence, but I'd say that describes me pretty aptly right now.

1. Cover of Annie Cohen-Solal's new book Leo and His Circle: The Life of Leo Castelli, which is for sale this week!

2. Gerhard Richter, G.A.4 (21.1.84), 1984. Colored ink, watercolor, pencil, and crayon on paper. Museum of Modern Art, New York.