That old radical Matisse

Posted on August 31, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

There’s happy news for those in, and about to visit, New York. The Matisse show at MoMA, Matisse: Radical Invention, doesn’t close until October 11th, so there’s still time to catch it. And catch it you should. You’ll need a timed ticket to get it because, as with all blockbuster shows, it’s packed. [Guess what recent blockbuster show at MoMA was one of best-attended EVER? Ready for this? The Tim Burton retrospective!] The whole timed ticket thing is a bit of a pain in the ass, but it doesn’t cost any extra and you won’t get in without it.

Boy, I love Matisse. He’s the anti-Renoir. I can’t stand Auguste Renoir, with his pastelly, soft focus greeting card art. But Matisse is the guts, man. This show is the proof. These painting were executed mid-career and don’t fit into neat categories. It was a period of experimentation for Matisse. They are some of his more abstract works.

I love this painting. The Italian Woman. Look at those fantastic angles on the left side of the canvas. Mama mia!

This painting is as creepy as anything that was in the Burton show. His eyes are black and hollow. They follow you around the gallery and know what’s in your demented little soul. Easily, the best work in the show.

Matisse at play: On the left, a table, a bowl and some apples, quickly sketched and rendered. The table and background are given a radical treatment. Remember, folks, this is around 1914! Hanging next to this is the same table, bowl and apples. This time, however, a slower, more thoughtful rendition.

The Moroccans. Matisse considered this work to be one of his most “pivotal.” I thought they were men bowed in prayer. They’re melons! I don’t know shit from shinola.

MoMA has early morning viewing hours for members before the museum opens, Wednesdays–Mondays, 9:30–10:30 a.m. You can buy breakfast with mimosas and there ain’t no crowds. If you’re in my zip code, contact me and I’ll get us in.

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Here are a few bonus paintings from MoMA for those of you who hung in through the entire post.

Gauguin’s playful Still Life with Three Puppies.

Vinnie van G.’s Starry Night. There’s always a big crowd around this painting. Do you know why? Because it’s a really moving piece of art. And, unlike the Mona Lisa, when you see this in person for the fist time, you’re not disappointed.

New York City = Crazy Town, U.S.A.

Posted on August 23, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

I’ve written posts about the crazy outdoor art installations that pop up throughout the summer. There were giant statues in the shape of famous photos, a bunch of painted pianos scattered around town and a group of models strolling on top of a big, wooden cube. But this last one is just plain crazy.

The fun folk at MacroSea have elevated the term dumpster-diving to a new art form. As part of the Summer Streets festival, they have taken clean, unused shipping containers and transformed them into swimming pools. Now, that’s recycling.

They’re set up on weekends at 40th Street and Park Avenue. MacroSea mounted an underground, unannounced version of this last year in Brooklyn and the response was so positive that they brought it to Manhattan this summer.

The area around the containers is lined with beach chairs and they have hula-hoops on hand. It’s a real festive atmosphere and there aren’t any drunken idiots there to ruin it for everyone.

Each container has a deck and a lifeguard. Swimming is free! That’s the best part of these outdoor installations. You don’t pay a cent. Wristbands are handed out on a first come/first served basis. There’s a time limit so that everyone gets a turn. That’s Grand Central Station in the background. It’s been an insanely hot, dry summer and this is just the thing for parched city dwellers who can’t escape.

All images by Inhabitat.

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I’m not one of these old school New Yorkers who bitch and moan about how the city had been sanitized and Disney-fied and robbed of its soul. I remember the dark years when it was quite dangerous to walk the streets and parks after dark and, believe me, this is much better. But I think they may have finally crossed a line.

They just opened a Pop Tarts Store in Times Square. A fucking Pop Tarts Store?! It’s called Pop Tarts World. Criminy! This is on the heels of the M&Ms Store and the Hershey’s Chocolate Store, which I kind of get, but I don’t feel good about this one.

It’s finally too much for me. Do we need a place that sells specialty Pop Tarts? Nay. I disapprove. Please take it away.

Back to the Garden of Eden

Posted on August 13, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

I see faces and traces of home back in New York City.

Back in N.Y.C.
Peter Gabriel

I might do a another post or two about my trip to Cleveland but for now let it be known that I’m back in New York. My siblings and nieces are in Cleveland, my wife and kids in New Jersey, but New York is my home and it feels good walk though Times Square again.

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This giant (26 ft./8m.) bronze sculpture is Unconditional Surrender by Seward Johnson. It’s up through August 16th. How fun is that!

It’s a replica of the famous photograph taken by Alfred Eisenstaedt of a sailor and nurse kissing to celebrate the end of World War II. It was taken on August 14th, 1945—65 years ago tomorrow.

This angle makes it look as though Jay-Z is eavesdropping on a private moment.

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It’s not often I’ll see a play twice. There are too many out there and my funds are too limited to double-up on something I’ve already seen, but I made an exception last night for David Mamet’s Race. It’s due to close next week and I really wanted to see it with its new cast. As much as I enjoyed the first viewing, this second night was even better. The original cast did a great job, but I think the new cast is an improvement.

Ad with original cast

James Spader was replaced by Eddie Izzard. I’m a huge fan of Izzard and I’ll see anything that guy does. As good as Spader was, Izzard was even better. His delivery had more punch and he seemed more at ease in his role of an attorney caught up in his own prejudices. And he seemed much more comfortable prowling the stage.

David Alan Grier was replaced by Dennis Haysbert (of 24). Again, Haysbert had better command of the role. Kerry Washington was replaced by Afton Williamson, who I saw last year in August Wilson’s Joe Turner’s Come and Gone. Her’s was an angrier, grittier performance. Richard Thomas is a holdover from the original cast. After so many months, he has a sharper focus on his character, a clueless, wealthy, white man who stands accused of raping a black girl. Is he guilty? Can the truth be found with her red sequined dress? You have to draw your own conclusions.

I checked my notes and although I’ve seen several plays since April, this is the first full-blown Broadway production I’ve attended since then. It was nice to be in a big house again. Have I mentioned that it’s good to be back?

Cringe-worthy art

Posted on August 2, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

Lever House is considered by many architectural purists to be one of the more important buildings in Manhattan. Located at Park Avenue and 49th Street, many of its revolutionary design elements were co-opted by other architects (as is often the case). There’s an emphasis placed on the public space and the skin of the building is made of a heat resistant blue/green glass that doesn’t have windows you could open and close.

Lever House acquired a fancy art collection and uses its lobby as gallery space to show it off. They have a rotation of pretty interesting exhibits but the one that’s on display now is a big, dumb, mess.

Mike Bidlo’s Not Warhol (Brillo Boxes, 1964), 2005 is up through September 11. The piece is merely a recreation of Andy Warhol’s stacked Brillo boxes. It’s a stunning display of laziness and low ambition.

Bidlo “thought it would be interesting to appropriate a work by another appropriator.” I’ve seen Warhol’s work. He’s no Warhol, if that’s what he’s trying to imply. Can you imagine? You are given a commission to do a piece in a high profile venue like the Lever House gallery and the best you can come up with is copying Warhol. Shame on you. They try to draw a thread between the original exhibit and this one by displaying a Brillo box from Warhol’s exhibit inside a Plexiglas cube.

The exhibit’s unintentionally comical bio states that “Bidlo is best known for his incredibly accurate replications of masterworks by important twentieth century artists…” That’s just lazy. It doesn’t require any original thought. During a 1982 exhibit where Bidlo made replicas of Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings, he “re-enacted Pollock’s infamous act of urinating into Peggy Guggenheim’s fireplace (which Bidlo finds relevant to Pollock’s painting technique and is related to Bidlo’s later recreations of Warhol’s urine splashed “Oxidation” paintings).” What an idiot. Why do curators fall for this crap? He also has the nerve to claim he comes from the same school of thought as Richard Prince and Barbara Kruger. Yeah, you wish.

The Lever House plaza includes a Noguchi sculpture garden where you’ll find this playful Hello Kitty sculpture. It’s not Great Art, but it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than what’s going on inside the lobby.

O Brooklyn! My Brooklyn! (with apologies to Walt Witman)

Posted on July 25, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

When I moved back to New York after 18 months of Phoenix, Arizona, I lived in downtown Brooklyn for a few years. I shared a brownstone in Boerum Hill and then had my own apartment in a brownstone in Fort Greene. I’m glad for the opportunity and feel privileged for having lived a portion of my formative years in Brooklyn. The man I am today was drawn from my experiences on those pretty, sometimes dangerous, streets.

The Brooklyn Bridge. The most beautiful stone bridge you’ll ever lay your eyes on. It has distinctive cathedral window cutouts in the stanchions.

I got mugged three times while living in Brooklyn. Again, this was many years ago when things weren’t as safe as they are now. Have you ever been mugged? It stays with your for a long, long time and the revenge fantasies to keep you up at night.

Once, I was having my haircut in Brooklyn Heights and two guys came into the salon and robbed everybody. Another time, I was walking down South Portland in Fort Greene and two kids from the projects on the other side of the park came up from behind me and mugged me. I never saw a gun but they said they had one. I took their word for it. I was wearing my grandfather’s wedding ring and they took it. It was just a cheap gold band from Italy but, of course, it had great sentimental value. The third time, two guys came up and punched me in the face. It was racially motivated. This was pre-pre-gentrification. I was the only white guy in my building and one of the few Caucasians on the block. They made a comment about the pigment of my skin, hit me, and walked away. They didn’t take anything.

The vast majority of my experiences were good ones and despite these incidents, I have a warm spot in my heart for Brooklyn. Sometimes, I miss it.

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I paid a rare visit to Brooklyn Heights and had dinner with Señor C., someone whom I’ve known for a few decades.

The brick sidewalk leading to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade; an elevated walkway over the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway with expansive, gorgeous views of Manhattan.

We walked from Brooklyn City Hall, down Henry Street and had dinner at Henry’s End. I had a big bowl of Andouille. Chicken, Andouille sausage in a Creole mustard sauce with bell peppers. Scrumptious. Jesus Christ, I wish I had a bowl right now.

On the promenade looking at the southernmost tip of Manhattan near sunset.

Once, while riding my 10-speed bike through the streets I took a corner fast and almost rammed right into Norman Mailer. Later that same summer, I almost hit Quentin Crisp in the East Village! I am a menace to the literary community.

The Statue of Liberty with the Staten Island Ferry passing right in front of her. The spit of land on the left is Governor’s Island, where I lived for three years while in the Coast Guard.

This is one of the many carriage houses that dot the neighborhood. It is exactly what the name implies. Where once carriages were stored, people now live. As you can imagine, they are meticulously refurbished inside.

The photo below is Señor C. taking pics of Manhattan. Here’s why this city is such a wonder: Señor C. has lived in Brooklyn pretty much his entire life. I don’t want to betray his age, but let’s just say he a hell of a lot closer to retirement than he is the start of his career. And even though all those decades have peeled away, he still finds New York a fit subject to photograph. That’s how we all feel out here. This place never gets old.