There is peace and serenity in The Light

Posted on February 4, 2016 by Exile on Pain Street

Enough ranting about racism disguised as serious theater and Asset Management douche bags. Back to art galleries and woeful tales from my past.

Instead of eating lunch, I took the C train down to the Bortolami Gallery in Chelsea for the Ann Veronica Janssens exhibit. There’s more than one kind of nourishment.

Janssens’ primary medium is light. For sheer trippy spectacle, it’s going to be impossible to top James Turrell’s MoMA show from two years ago but Janssens has a few nice ideas here.

Untitled (gamble)
Fluorescent light connecting two spaces
Dimensions variable

It looks like a light saber. This is a single, eight-foot fluorescent light. A hole was cut in the wall dividing the gallery lobby from the main space and the light passes through which, I reckon, links the two spaces. It’s nice enough but I don’t think it’s too far removed from the fluorescent lights that illuminate the gallery.

gambie3

See what I mean? You could almost say this is derivative of Duchamp’s readymades. The gallery rep pointed out that Janssens’ light is far brighter than the ceiling lights (which is true) but sometimes a light is just a light.

Untitled (blue glitter)
Blue glitter
Dimensions variable

Untitled (blue glitter) is exactly that. A pile of blue glitter on the floor. It’s sparkly under the gallery lights.

She took about 12 pounds of blue glitter, poured it into a mound on the floor and then just kicked it a few times. How it lays is how it stays. The floor is her canvas. I wish I could’ve watched her install this piece. I’d have given it a kick or two myself. There are indentations in the glitter where people have poked it. You can’t blame them. It’s practically begging to be touched.

Attention all artists: don’t call a piece Untitled and then provide a parenthetical title. That’s the title. I see that a lot and it’s a distraction. Knock it off.

Untitled
Seven spotlights; artificial haze
Dimensions variable

On the far side of the gallery, a warm, red glow beacons to you.

You enter a small room that has misty air and seven spotlights arranged just so.

It’s a “haze sculpture,” which I liked quite a lot. You slowly walk around the room and the shape changes with the angle you view it from. This view is dead-on.

This view is from the back wall facing the entrance. I like the geometry of this angle.

I wish I still smoked weed. I’d dig out my bong or roll a big fatty and go back for another look.

July 27, 1995

I got a call from home. Iggy died. [Note: Iggy was my pal Barry’s dog.] They kept Iggy tied up in the garage whenever they went out for the evening. The garage door has three windows about half-way up. Last week, while they were out to dinner, Iggy took a running leap and jumped through the center window. The leash wasn’t long enough for him to reach the pavement so he hung himself. They came home late and as the car pulled in, the headlights floated up the driveway, across the house and alighted onto Iggy’s corpse hanging out the garage door window. Jeff [Note: Barry’s younger brother.] started screaming. It was a terrible scene. They don’t know if he died from asphyxiation or if his neck snapped.

Molly is leaving. Her company in Bayonne is closing and she’s taking a job in the Philadelphia office. I feel nothing. She had me over for dinner once. She took a few pork chops, doused them in ketchup and then broiled them. It made me sad. I told Austin and he said, “That’s poor people food,” which is horseshit. We were poor but mom was a spectacular cook. A Master Chef. We made out for a bit after dinner and it wasn’t very inspiring. There’s no subtlety in her kiss. It was like having too big a piece of yellowtail sashimi in my mouth.

The last time I was in Cleveland I met her mom. Oh, holy Christ. She reminded me of the Chicken Lady from The Kids in the Hall.

[Note:]

She stuck her big, homely face a few inches from mine and shrieked, “I heard you’re dating my DAUGHTER! How do you LIKE HER?!” It was awful. Her breath was blowing my hair back. All I could see was Molly 40 years from now. Next.

“My people! My people!”

Newark, NJ. Sunday, January 31, 2016, 11:00 p.m.

Yoko and Me: Healing the Universe

Posted on January 21, 2016 by Exile on Pain Street

Currently at the Andrea Rosen Gallery in Chelsea is The Riverbed by Yoko Ono. The exhibit is comprised of three interactive installations; Mend Piece, Stone Piece and Line Piece. You should always beware when you see the words “interactive” and “installation” used in the same sentence.

Mend Piece is choking to death on metaphors.

It’s about healing and making peace with the damage in the world. A table is strewn with broken cups and saucers. Yoko provides glue, string, tape and other bonding materials.

The idea is to repair the broken pieces. As you perform this, you are instructed to be mindful of the mending that’s needed elsewhere in the universe (not to mention your own tumultuous life). It’s actually a very sweet notion. I found her kind, gentle intent admirable, although a bit too New-Agey for my tastes.

The big surprise is how incredibly creative some people are. Finished pieces are displayed on white shelves along all four walls of the gallery. (Click for detail.)

Some very impressive assemblages were created.

A caterpillar in a cocoon hanging from a thread

riverbed12

It reminded me of an Andy Warhol or Roy Lichtenstein piece whereby the artist provides the inspiration and materials but relies on other people to execute it. It’s like all of the fat with none of the calories (for the artist).

After mending a cup, you are invited to enjoy a (free) macchiato. It’s served in cups with cracks in them; imperfect but still whole. Just like you and me.

While sipping my macchiato, I heard a loud *POP* a few feet away from me. Someone had taken their macchiato and THREW it against the wall. The cup shattered and the liquid streamed down the wall. I think it was done in the spirit of it being an interactive installation but it wasn’t appreciated.

When the young gallery hottie came running over (ALL Chelsea galleries employ young hotties) I said I thought it was kind of interesting. She snapped, “You wouldn’t think it was so interesting if you had to clean it up.” I said the wrong thing. That happens a lot.

I’m glad I’m not a stone in Stone Piece.

Seat cushions are placed on the floor around the perimeter of a second gallery with smooth stones stacked in front of them.

It’s a meditative exercise. The idea is to hold a stone and transfer all your negative energy into it. I tried to play along but I couldn’t find a boulder large enough to absorb all my fear, angst and self-loathing. Yoko has written on some of the stones. I picked one up, turned it over and it said “Dream.” So I dreamed about having a gigantic, multi-room flat in The Dakota. Dream big or go home.

In Line Piece, we are instructed to “Take me to the farthest place in our planet by extending the line.” Yoko provides string, hammers and nails. People pound nails into the wall and connect string across the room.

The gallery is crisscrossed in a web of string. Traversing the gallery is a bit of a challenge. You have to walk low to the ground.

Pencils are provided and you can draw on the wall but I didn’t see anything as fetching as what was done with the broken china.

riverbed2

The installation evolves over time. You can visit it each week and there’ll be new sculptures, drawings and maybe even a macchiato mess to clean up.

The Opposite of Healing the Universe

I’m assuming that most of you are not blessed wih a local tabloid newspaper. Our hometown tabloids, the New York Post and New York Daily News, are at their finest when screaming a headline. Here’s a fine example from this past week. Enjoy!

This is Picasso’s Brain on Drugs

Posted on January 6, 2016 by Exile on Pain Street

Picasso after his morning coffee.

Another cup and a bong hit.

A second bong hit and a psilocybin mushroom.

A third cup of coffee and a tab of LSD.

Admittedly, that last one looks like a big glop of plaster. But if you look at the progression, you can kind-of/sort-of see where he was going with this. He kept pushing the boundaries until the form was contorted beyond recognition. He did that with paint, too. I can’t say I like that last one, but it gives me a warm glow to have a vague understanding of it.

These are courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art’s landmark and smartly-installed Picasso sculpture exhibit. It’s being hailed as the last time you’ll see such a complete gathering of his sculptures under one roof. I didn’t understand a lot of it, but it was a thrill.

More tales of women in my past.

bins

June 25, 1995

I didn’t make an entry last night because I was out all night with Maureen. I had planned on going home to watch the Yankees beat-up the Indians. I asked her out for a beer and it turned into an all-nighter. It was fun. She and I talk so easy. I wish I were attracted to her and that she had some social graces. She’s yet another tormented, temperamental artist. This town is choking on them. Their torment is so tedious. I thank God that I’m not cursed with talent. It seems to drive some folks over the edge. We made out once and it was kind of a disaster so now I keep a respectful distance.

Sedaris’ book is out in paperback and is doing well. See that. Sometimes the good guys win.

I met an interesting girl at the Gilberto Gil concert in Central Park. She was a pretty, blonde green-eyed French girl who lives in Toronto. She had a soft accent and a gentle, wispy air to her. She works for the largest French bank on the planet in their Toronto office. She grew up in rural France and was given the choice of transferring to either Jakarta or Canada. She didn’t want to live in a Muslim country so Canada won the contest. Smart girl. She visits New York every few weeks to see her boyfriend who’s an Analyst at Lehman Brothers.

(The Indians are on the radio in the background having their asses handed to them by the Yankees. Good God, will this torment ever end?) [Note: Apparently, not.]

Anyway, her boyfriend had to work, which is what all Financial Analysts do on Sunday, so she was by herself. Her work life is similar to his. She’s routinely in the office until 8:00 or 9:00 at night. Young professionals sacrificing their today for a better tomorrow. They hope. I didn’t feel like flirting because of the insurmountable odds, which was actually kind of liberating. Talking to a girl without having an agenda is always a pleasure.

She’s got a hell of a gene pool. Her sister is in Vietnam conducting a study on how the jungle is being affected by the developing nation. Her sister’s boyfriend is so in love with her that he quit his job in France and followed her to Vietnam. Isn’t that romantic? She complained for a while about how dull Toronto is and how much she loves New York. I know how you feel, sister. She said she can see the Empire State and the Chrysler Building from her boyfriend’s bathroom window, so she leaves the curtain open and looks at them while taking a shower.

Typically, I would’ve been torn to pieces with envy over all this but I was strangely serene. We were sitting on a bench and a couple across the way started making out. It was like watching a softcore porn movie or an instructional video on sexual assault. We watched with a detached fascination. We decided they’d just started dating and were in that phase when you can’t keep your hands off of each other. It wears off sooner or later but it’s nice when you’re in that space.

When we spoke, she looked at me hard, like there were some things running through her mind, but I swear she wasn’t interested in that way. I could tell. I made her laugh a bit and when it came time for her to go I didn’t say or do anything stupid, like follow her out of the park or try to kiss her. This is progress. She had to catch a plane back to Toronto, so she left and that was that.

I go to these Central Park Summerstage concerts exactly once a year. I’ll go to one early in the season, realize how miserably crowded they are and swear off them until next season. I made an exception in this case because Gilberto Gil doesn’t tour this way very often. And it was free.

Come to New York and live like a caged animal.

I called to check the price (because I had to) and you can rent a 360 sq. ft. micro-apartment for $2,750/month.

27th Street IS a fabulous block, so you have to take that into consideration (along with the imminent loss of your sanity).

I’m published in an arts + lit journal

Posted on December 20, 2015 by Exile on Pain Street

Once upon a time in a charming corner of San Francisco, a print and design sensei named Johnny Brewton started the X-Ray Book Co. He owned a letterpress and wanted to publish fine and limited edition books, chapbooks, broadsides and ephemera.

The first issue of X-Ray Magazine, a literature and arts journal, was published in 1993. There were 10 issues in total. Each printing ran anywhere from 100-225 copies—an extraordinarily low limitation. Over the years, many greats graced its pages. Charles Bukowski, Billy Childish, Allen Ginsberg, John Cage, Jamie Hernandez, etc. etc. The pièce de résistance is the cover art for Issue No. 4, which was created by Hunter S. Thompson. Thompson took a photo of porn star and Ivory Soap shill Marilyn Chambers, shot it full of holes with a .45, put on lipstick (Chinese Red) and kissed each one. He did that 226 times; one for each copy.

Issue No. 1 originally sold for $7. The covers are made from actual x-rays. When a copy comes up for auction (which rarely happens) it usually sells for +/-$1,000. Brewton has produced work for Tom Waits, Mark Mothersbaugh, Barry Gifford and a host of others. His chapbook for Hunter S. Thompson, Mistah Leary – He Dead, is one of the crown jewels in my collection. That guy is the real deal, kids.

The chapbook was a eulogy for the recently-departed Timothy Leary. It included a sheet of blotter with Leary’s face. Do not drop, indeed.

X-Ray Magazine ceased publication in 2004 and from its ashes rose Bagazine. It’s a magazine! In a bag! Bagazine is an assemblage of hand-made original works of art. Bagazine No. 6 was just published and I’m happy and honored to be a contributor.

Issue No. 6 is limited to 100 copies. The stipulation was that all contributions had to be hand-assembled. I submitted a prototype back in June which was accepted and I spent all of July assembling 103 pieces. (100 for publication + 3 press copies.)

I made a small chapbook containing a poem I wrote many years ago about a conversation I had in an elevator. I had five rubber stamps made and used two colors. Each book required six strikes. Many strikes weren’t useable. I made close to 800 strikes in total.

I set up a print and production shop on my suburban backyard patio. I’d spend warm summer evenings and weekends cutting, stamping and binding. My fingers would blacken with ink and I constantly poked myself with a sewing needle. The Daughters would sit and watch, always begging to help. We’d listen to Ray Charles, Patsy Cline, The Platters, Johnny Cash and The Beatles. I filled their ears with the good stuff.

The book is two leaves; a heavy cover stock and a lighter grade paper for the text block. I printed the cover graphic in red and the title, poem, byline and limitation in black.

The two leaves were scored with a bone folder (yes, there’s a proper tool for folding paper) and saddle stitched with bookbinder’s thread (Wild Rose 18/3).

If you want to read the poem, click on the pics.

Also included in this issue is my old pal, Jim Camp, proprietor of the synaesthesia press. A long time ago, Jim and I published a chapbook for Bruce Springsteen and Nick Hornby. Artistic differences caused a time-out in our friendship that lasted a few years, but we have since reconciled. I still mourn the lost time.

Jim’s piece is a vintage black and white photograph tipped into a single-leaf chapbook. As he explains, “…everyone is a photographer…but nobody has any pictures.”

Each book contains a different photograph, making each copy totally unique and, therefore, totally awesome.

My payment was one copy. I’ve been paid a lot more to do work that wasn’t nearly as gratifying. I’ve been a fan of the X-Ray Book Co. for a long time and am genuinely thrill to be included. Hell, yeah, Merry Christmas.

It’s time for a holiday break. I don’t want to get all Oprah on you guys, but 10,000 thank-yous to everyone who took the time to visit, read, like and comment over the past year. Time and attention is your most valuable commodity and I am flattered that anyone would spend some of theirs here. Writing is a source of tremendous joy in my otherwise ordinary existence. If it weren’t for this outlet I’m not sure where I’d get my jollies. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Patience and Fortitude with their wreaths standing guard outside the New York Public Library on 42nd and Madison.

Or is it Fortitude and Patience? All these years and I still can’t tell one from the other.

The Horror. The Horror. More Art Auction Results.

Posted on December 6, 2015 by Exile on Pain Street

Here’s another batch of results from the November contemporary art auctions at Christie’s and Sotheby’s. While some of these pieces are quite striking, I don’t know that you can consider ANY of them worth what they sold for. They’re trophy pieces that say more about the purchaser than the piece itself, which I believe is by design.

Here’s one of Louis Bourgeois’ beautiful spiders. Christie’s always exhibits a giant sculpture at the entrance. It’s usually one of Jeff Koons’ balloon animals but this wild arachnid does nicely. Another inspiration from the animal kingdom.

Louise Bourgeois
Spider
Estimate on Request
Sold for $28,165,000

It was unintentional, but I like the juxtaposition of the spider looming over a submissive Modigliani hottie. That’s a pretty raw poster for a public sidewalk, don’t you think? It’s right across from Rockefeller Center! There are little kids all over the place!

Speaking of…Here’s another Modigliani beauty. The painting reproduced above fetched +$170 million. This one, a modest +$42 million. Modigliani died when he was just 35 from meningitis. He was flat broke.

Amedeo Modigliani
Paulette Jourdain
Estimate on Request
Sold for $42,810,000

Time for some whimsy. Guess what this is? If you guessed an 85 inch (216 cm) piece of yarn painted three colors and tacked to the wall, give yourself a cookie.

sandback3

Fred Sanderback
Untitled Wall Construction
Estimate: $60,000 – $80,000
Sold for $106,250. Exceeded expectations. Must be quality yarn.

I can’t say I’m crazy about this piece but I have a lot of respect for the effort that went into it. You probably think it’s a tapestry but you’d be WRONG. Give the cookie back.

This is made from tiny, *tiny* glass beads tacked to an aluminum panel.

Scroll back up and look at the first photo. Imagine the physical act of constructing this. It’s big. 72 x 36 inches (183 x 91 cm). What exacting, tedious, painful work.

Liza Lou
Ofensive (sic)/Defensive
Estimate: $200,000 – $300,000
Did Not Sell. What a pity.

Balloon swan! C’mon. You’ve got to like this stuff. It’s so NOT serious. Barely qualifies as art, really. That comes as a great relief to me sometimes. Too much serious art gives me a pounding headache.

Jeff Koons
Balloon Swan (Yellow)
Estimate: $15,000,000 – $25,000,000
Sold for $14,725,000

Here are two spectacular Rothkos. There’s such a sameness to his work that you’d think I’d grow tired of looking at this stuff but I never do. I’m convinced you all think I’m nuts but you have to see these Rothkos in a gallery setting. These canvases GLOW. My photos are crap. Don’t trust them.

Mark Rothko
No. 6/Sienna, Orange on Wine
Estimate: $20,000,000 – $30,000,000
Sold for $17,610,000

Especially this one. It was set off in a dark corner. The walls surrounding it were painted black and the lighting was perfect. This thing throbbed. I stood there a long time saying hello and goodbye.

Mark Rothko
Untitled (Lavender and Green)
Estimate: $20,000,000 – $30,000,000
Sold for $20,410,000

This is one of the last Blue Period Picasso paintings in private hands. Personally, I think it’s kind of ugly although Christie’s insists it’s “striking.” Picasso was broke when he painted it. (He didn’t stay broke for long.) Like many broke-ass painters, he used both sides of the canvas.

picasso_gommeuse1

Christie’s mounted the painting so you could see both sides. You had to walk around a wall constructed in the center of the gallery.

The verso illustration was painted upside-down from the front so they set up a mirror that allowed you to view it right-side up. This is Picsso’s friend and flatmate Pere Mañach. It was considered too ribald by Picasso’s early dealers and covered up. This second painting wasn’t discovered until 2000.

Pablo Picasso
La Gommeuse
Estimate on Request
Sold for $67,450,000

A piece of stone held up by two iron brackets. On the stone is a little pile of bread, a little pile of sugar and some water. That’s it.

Giovanni Anselmo
Trespolo
Estimate: $100,000 – $150,000
Sold for $122,500

Hey, remember Claes Oldenburg’s giant typewriter eraser from the previous auction report? Well, here’s his giant clothespin. Number two from an edition of three. Maybe the fact that there are only two others makes you feel better about spending +$3,000,000 for a giant clothespin. I make fun but I like it.

Claes Oldenburg
Clothespin Ten Foot
Estimate: $1,200,000 – $1,800,000
Sold for $3,637,000. Well done, Claes.

Hey, remember the piece of yarn from above? Same guy. I’m not talking about the yellow cube on the white pedestal. That’s a different piece by a different artist. I’m talking about the piece of red yarn tacked to the floor and wall.

Curious. It doesn’t have a title. Can someone suggest a title for this piece?

Fred Sandback
Untitled
Estimate: $200,000 – $300,000
Sold for $221,000

I was so thirsty. I turned the corner and was happy to see a water fountain. What a relief! A nice, cool drink…oh…wait…not so fast. It’s made of graphite. Like a pencil? That kind of graphite? Is this like one of Duchamp’s readymades? So lazy.

Adam McEwen
Font
Estimate: $100,000 – $150,000
Sold for $293,000. Well above the estimate. Imagine that.

This is from Picasso’s Blue Lobster period. Ha. See what I did there? I only included this painting so I could crack that joke and sound clever. But I do like it. Blue lobsters are rare but real. There’s an aquarium on a New Jersey boardwalk that has one. They’re beautiful.

Pablo Picasso
Le Homard Dans un Panier
Estimate: $1,500,000 – $2,500,000
Sold for $2,165,000

Oh, dear. This is Damien Hirst’s medicine cabinet filled with drugs. In his “Pharmaceutical Heaven,” he described the piece as like a body. Originally, he was going to place the remedies for your head on the top shelves, the guts in the middle and those for your feet at the bottom.

In the end he went with a pleasing color scheme. That’s what I would’ve done, too.

Damien Hirst
Lies
Estimate: $400,000 – $600,000
Sold for $545,000

It has occurred to me that most of the pieces in this review can be considered a joke. Actually, art being subjective, ALL of them could be considered a joke. I usually try to mix the good with the bad but pointing your finger is such delicious fun, isn’t it?

We trimmed our Christmas tree. These two ornaments are my favorites.

shakespeare

Exile on Pain Street

Straddling the Hudson River. One foot in NYC, the other in suburban New Jersey.

Category Archives: Art

There is peace and serenity in The Light

Yoko and Me: Healing the Universe

This is Picasso’s Brain on Drugs

I’m published in an arts + lit journal

The Horror. The Horror. More Art Auction Results.

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