Posts Tagged ‘Artist Rants’
Warhol and Basquiat at the Brooklyn Museum
So maybe it’s not entirely true that a shallow thought rules but maybe immediacy and a good and true first impulse? The show at Brooklyn Museum of Warhol and Basquiat is a good example. We all rate Warhol now as the most influential artist of the 20th century. Even though he seemed to be a little out of ideas and digging through a 1960′s playbook for these late paintings from the 80′s. Basquiat was chock full of exploding themes involving black culture, hip hop and a rock out Jimi Hendrix like painting style. Andy who did so much for us in the 60′s: the invention of Pop, the Coke bottle silkscreens which just grow better and carry more import, producer of ultra superstars, and the Velvet Underground now seemed to be on cruise control tracing Yamaha motorcycles and steaks on canvas waiting for King James’ nitro energy blast.
In his last years we used to see Andy, scouring the Sixth Ave flea markets, a lime green jump-suited assistant in tow carrying multiple shopping bags filled with never to be looked at again collectibles. “Don’t care if it is Andy Warhill, he ain’t getting this for $50!’ swap venders would cry as he left their stalls on Sunday mornings in the underground garage. Read the rest of this entry »
Hot Rod King Robert Williams at the Whitney
The Voice From The Wee Gee Board. Scholastic Designation: A Manufacturer Of Parlor Games Ignorantly Produces A Doorway Into The Spirt World Where Naivists Find Their Petty Requests Answered By Being Pulled Through A Ouija Dimension To Become Sexo-Psyche Possessions.
Everybody makes fun of the Whitney Bienial. But the big surprise this time is they got a couple of things right. Like the hauntingly sad photos of the returning Iraq War vet who, blown up by a crazy Jihadist’s bomb, is returning as a monster with an awful, huge reconstructed head to marry his waiting-for-him, high school sweetheart. She, dutifully committed, does indeed marry, then seperates right away. It’s too much. You can’t really blame her and seeing the photos of his return to her from the war will stay with you forever.
On a lighter note one of our favorite artists, Mr. Rbt. Williams got in. Good for you Rbt. Williams!
Even if they did choose to exhibit some limp watercolors (or maybe Prismacolors) it’s still great to see someone who actually deserves recognition get in the Whitney. His big paintings might have been a better choice but would have put all the rest of the junk in the Read the rest of this entry »
Getting into an Art Gallery.
As an artist you are also an art salesman. Especially if you are trying to get in a gallery by going to Thursday night openings. If an art opening starts at 7 get there at 7. The owner will be anxiously milling about wondering if anyone will show up and there you are. Dress noticeably well. Look like you walked out of the pages of Vanity Fair magazine. Do not dress in a painter’s uniform of Dr. Marten’s, tee shirt and paint splattered pants. That look is over. Get a nice suit from a thrift store and have it tailored for about $14. If you are female do not show up in clothes you have made yourself. Do not try to look “interesting”. Get a perfume spritz and buy something hot at Bloomingdale’s. Return it the next day.
Fuller Building Fallout
The Fulller Building
“It all started when somebody wrote the “F” word on a canvas” the famous gallery owner snarled cleaning out his fancy digs on 57th st. “Went straight downhill from there.” And that’s that. Game over. Head for the hills, the gigs up. No teeth gnashing and contemplation here. Just run for it. Said he has hundreds of paintings, can’t give them away. And his artists are Hopper, Nolde, Charles Burchfield and David Smith. Not exactly good news for the rest of us painters.
Just exactly when did the Fuller building begin to look so empty? Like something might have happened here once upon a time, it’s now dim elevator lights, tired hallways, space available! the sign sez, rug merchants sit next to dentists with shakey hands and the kind of lawyers that you hope the other guy has.
A simple flattering comment about a Lester Johnson oil brought the sales team to it’s feet. Running. “It’s listed at 28 thousand, you can have it for 18. That’s negotiable though. How about 12?” Sizing us up they were! And filter off as they apparantly were let down by all the usual tells: shoes, watch, fingernails, that transmit breeding, financial and social position. Somehow they mistook us for gallery visitors who might actually have some dough, might against all odds, be customers. “We can reframe it if you like”
Hair and a Teletubby
And while we are on the topic of careers in the artworld this question often appears about as welcome as a bounced check; What are the odds of having a long happy creative life?
As a young painter I once got a call from Aquarious Productions for an interview and found myself looking for said Company in a grim building squeezed in somewhere way down West 42. I climbed 4 flights of stairs bothering sweaty folks in dance studios and musicians along the way to see if anyone knew where Aquarious was. No one knew. I knocked upon an old scarred door with a wierd blue/gold triangle and a painted on eyeball, kind of a dollar bill type symbol. The peephole darkened from within, a police lock was wrenched away. An overweight guy greeted me, stringy blonde hair reaching the shoulders of a denim shirt embroidered with a butterfly or maybe a mushroom on the front, the whole look skillfully pulled together by a giant bronze marijuana leaf belt buckle. A skinny kid who seemed to be in some sort of a trance, whacked a snare drum roughly every 15 seconds, or so. With a beefy wave I was invited to sit on a caved in sofa next to a dead empty fishtank with a nine iron poking out of the top. I dutifully showed my art portfolio, which at this time consisted of photos of enormous paintings of industrial stuff like screwdrivers, channel locks and power drills. Read the rest of this entry »
Industrial Real Life
Eating Pie by Philip Guston
Philip Guston must have seen these although the nice lady at the Knoedler desk said the paintings have always been in the family and not seen very much, if at all. There is a painting that depicts a bunch of boats in a harbour and it looks like one of Guston’s hobnailed shoe piles. Another of some steam stacks looks like his Klansman. Simple but reductive, nothing is not unnecessary here. Nothing is out of place, even the squiggles meant to convey bricks on a wall. Read the rest of this entry »
A Drive Through Mud
While driving a famous New York Times art critic somewhere last month we had a nice chat. Actually we had a very bitter chat. How there are no sustainable artist careers and most art parties are now filled with artists looking for mates. Rich mates who can support the indulgences of an art career. Also the critic talked about how it’s over by the time you are 35. This was a car trip like Sluggo driving Negative Nancy, if you can imagine. Me, my forced semi-pleasant composure dangerously flirting with the red line like a propane tank ready to blow. Art schools are frauds, sez the critic, diseminating lies and more lies about how to make it in the artworld. Read the rest of this entry »
Emperor’s Clothes
Yogurt Lid
At the risk of being called a Philistine* or at best an ignorant art buffoon (again) herewith an opinion. The Gabriel Orozco show at MOMA, a glorious institution whose fine reputation has again been recently sullied by the idiotic show of Tim Burton’s doodles, has now fallen prey to the Emperor’s Clothes syndrome affecting all the contemporary showcases loosely called museums and overstuffed “important” Chelsea galleries. Any art student will roll his eyes and recite the John Cage mantra- ‘art is everywhere’ all you have to do is look for it. Read the rest of this entry »
