The Gagosian Gallery on 23rd St. in Chelsea recently featured this work by Michael Heizer.
Negative Wall Sculpture (1992-94)
It’s a 5.7 ton hunk of black granite mounted with a metal rod (apparently, a damn strong one) inside a weathered steel frame.
You can say it’s just a rock in a box. A reasonable argument can be made that it has little to do with art. But when I walked into the gallery, it filled me with a moment of awe. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of the surrounding white walls or the fact that no one else was there. Just me and this big, stupid, imposing, beautiful rock enveloped in a thick, heavy silence. It really did work for me.
Since it’s in a gallery, I have to presume it’s for sale. I wonder how much? It’d pull the side of my house right down.
Over at the Sean Kelly Gallery is this clever eye-trick by Idiris Khan.
A feather pattern printed in white on hanging panes of glass. Stand in front of it and light streams through.
Move in close and its secret is revealed: They’re sentences.
Printed words layered until they merge into each other. I couldn’t make sense of what it said, which I imagine is intentional. The message is the pattern, not what composes the pattern. I think.
Khan also printed this large piece on a wall at the gallery entrance. [Note to self: Next time, include an object to show scale.] There’s no way to preserve this. It’ll simply be painted over when the exhibit closes.
This one includes layers of English and Arabic.
In tonight’s shocking episode of “The Andy Griffith Show”:
iiiiiiii…KNEW IT! It’s so obvious in hindsight. I always thought Floyd was a little light in the loafers. And he was the town hairdresser, after all.
I went to church a couple of weeks ago. I occasionally attend and always go with an open mind and an open heart. It meant a lot to my mom and it’s meaningful to My Bride. I want to be respectful.
The first reading was a faerie tale about how God put a man to sleep, open his chest, extracted a rib and invented women. I am astonished that people still believe this is how women evolved. And please don’t tell me it’s an allegory. If that’s the case, are there other allegories I should be made aware of? How about the resurrection?
The second reading was from the New Testament. Jesus was asked his opinion about remarrying after divorce. He deemed it tantamount to adultery. That means that my mother, a devout Catholic who spent untold hours performing charitable works in the Church’s name, is now burning in hell as an adulterer. My blood started a slow simmer.
Instead of a Gospel reading, we were treated to a video by The Most Rev. David M. O’Connell, the Bishop of the Archdiocese of Trenton. He announced the beginning of the Faith to Move Mountains fundraising initiative. The church needs cash. He said he didn’t just want us to give. He wants us to give until we feel the weight of a true sacrifice. I took that to mean we should give an amount that causes some mild economic distress to our household. This church [not our regular church] serves an affluent community and is known for its aggressive fundraising. We know someone who was called at home and told a $10,000 contribution would be an appropriate amount to give.
After listening to a load of blarney about how women were invented and then being told that, according to a strict interpretation of Catholic doctrine, my mother is no better than a common whore in the eyes of the church, they wanted me to give them some money.
So that didn’t go as well as I would’ve liked.
The next day, I read in the New York Times that the church spend $170,000,000 to restore St. Patrick’s Cathedral on 5th Avenue.
$170,000,000 for one church. Praise Jesus and his mysterious, tax-free ways.
Exile on Pain Street 