James and the Lovelies

The Wicked Twins: Fame and Notoriety

2012-01-15T07:32:00.000-08:00

Looking forward to seeing all the other artists works in "The Wicked Twins: Fame and Notoriety" show at the Paul Robeson Galleries, Rutgers, Newark

Here are my works that will be in the show...

"Where are you, Etan Patz?" 40" x 30," Acrylic and mica chip on canvas, 2009

"Facebook - O.J." 14" x 11," Acrylic, mica chip, charcoal on canvas paper, 2009

"View from the Front Row," 60" x 36," Acrylic and mica chip on canvas, 2008

2011-11-18T08:08:00.000-08:00

"The Town," 20" x 20," India ink and red wine on paper

"Sneaky," 20" x 20," Red wine on paper

Inside," 20" x 20," India ink, egg yolk on paper

"Attack," 5 1/4" x 5 1/4," Acrylic on canvas paper

2011-11-13T17:49:00.000-08:00

"Last Chance," 16" x 20," Acrylic, marker on canvas

"Etc.," 16" x 20," Acrylic, marker on canvas

"The Eagle's High Heels," 16"x 20," Acrylic, marker, graphite on gessoboard

"Early Detection," 16" x 20," Acrylic, marker, graphite on gessoboard

2011-11-08T19:00:00.000-08:00

Bound Redolent Rectifier, 11 x 14, gouache on paper

Atlas Descending, 11 x 14, gouache on paper

Confident Greenhorn, 11 x 14, gouache on paper

Lindsay Vomiting Luxe, 11 x 14, acrylic on paper

School Dean Molests Children, 9 x 12, acrylic, charcoal, mica chip on canvas paper

Kim Jong-il in Ecstasy, 9 x 12, acrylic, charcoal,

mica chip on canvas paper

Dr. Death, 9 x 12, acrylic, charcoal, mica chip on canvas paper

Gallery Views of The Next Ones...

2011-10-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

Selected Artwork from The Next Ones...

2011-10-10T18:29:00.000-07:00

"Self Portrait" by Louis Riso

"Study of a Black Wall #1" by Sara Conde

"The Next Ones..." by James Horner

"Fifth Avenue Filly" by Kerry Maloney

"The Art of Soapboxing" by John Mejias

Interview with artist Peter Gerakaris

2011-10-04T09:33:00.000-07:00

"Aquarium I" by Peter Gerakaris

I recently met up with Peter Gerakaris at a group show he's in: "Hello World!" at Milavec Hakimi Gallery to discuss his work.

JH: How do you start a painting?
PG: It’s a convoluted cocktail in which raw impulse comingles with self-critique. New ideas often grow organically out of previous works and I ask myself, “what could I do better this time?” I will also get a strong impulse or vision and ask, “what am I really attempting to convey?” To prevent these impulses from becoming overwrought, I try to get the mental image down on paper as quickly as possible – to try to make some tangible sense of it. Sometimes I let ideas flow straight out through my hand onto long, non-linear accordion books. Or, if I have a vivid image(s) in mind, I work it out through a series of little works on paper in gouache, pen, ink, etc. The accordion books and works on paper often serve the dual purpose of being autonomous artworks that simultaneously percolate into larger oil paintings. For instance, I’ll sort through many small works on paper to select a composition to scale-up as the matrix for a new painting. It’s like conceiving of a mini-mural, yet its outcome ends up being far less predetermined than meets the eye. Details from the accordion books, like a honeycomb or “energy field” pattern, might also find their way into the large amalgams that are my paintings. The initial “studies” have to captivate or inebriate me enough to warrant a larger version. So the formative part of a painting is kind of like visual mixology.

JH: What are your inspirations for your work?
PG: Maybe too much fresh air as a kid up in the woods? Well, I think the inspirations are myriad. The longer I’ve been making work, the more I feel I’m just channeling the world around me, whether emotional, intellectual, conscious or subconscious. Maybe a Gary Burton recording I listen to in the studio one day happens to co-mingle with imagery from a Scandinavian Film I watch later that night, or an agitating piece I’ve read on Colony Collapse Disorder creeps into the mix. Sometimes “it” comes in dream form, like this elusive muse figure that kept appearing at dusk in an uncannily familiar, ultramarine-blue environment. Then there’s the clichéd channeling of emotion that can drive a work – but there’s some merit to that too. I also recently tried scuba diving in the Caribbean. That aroused vivid dreams of being a bell diver in a quinacridone-violet sea – I was so driven to get those images down on paper, it consumed an entire intaglio / printmaking project last summer and has now morphed into a whole series of aquatic-themed works.

I used to be more concerned with having a singular thematic impetus when beginning a work or series. For instance, I was fixated on making abstractions of poisonous plants for a couple years as an exploration of beauty’s coexistence with toxicity in Nature. I called it “Toxiganic.” By now the influences have mushroomed into something far more plural and layered. But I feel all of these previous explorations, including the “Toxiganic” phase, function as at least one constituent amidst the totality of a work. It’s a continuum. Inspirations and imagery often come to me by meditating on specific issues – maybe even dreaming about them — such as how my rural “back to the land” upbringing contrasts so sharply with contemporary urban life. So this feeling of having a Nature Deficit Disorder probably drives me to add sinuous organic forms to nearly everything I make – the botanical forms are probably an attempt to fill that void. The scuba and aquatic works undoubtedly carry over into that desire to engage with a vastly unknown natural environment. And then there’s the notion of Nature as propaganda: for instance, to ensure its own existence the Iris evolved into a multitude of colors specifically designed to attract to pollinating bees – what is the purpose of color in Nature and how does that relate to survival? If that and peacock feathers are not forms of advertising, I don’t know what is. Furthermore, I’m interested in the connection between these natural phenomena and contemporary graphic propaganda used to seduce consumers. The industrial food companies have to package meat and vegetables in all sorts of bizarre ways to help make it palatable to humans. Putting a logo on a head of lettuce is kind of bizarre. Think about it. So I am also intrigued by how surreal it can be to look at a botanical or natural form when mediated through a pop-culture lens. I try to get at that in my paintings.

I’ve also become increasingly fascinated with the notion of “manufactured nostalgia” and how it might be examined in art. You hear it constantly in music right now. For instance, many current indie artists recycle, if not outright sample, 80s music. Meanwhile, their respective youth audiences probably did not even grow up in the 80s, let alone having firsthand recollections of that time. I am curious what this, or any artificial nostalgia we respond to, says about us. In general, I’ve been increasingly interested in how images can be used to manufacture, even manipulate, a sense of place, environment and mood. I had a studio visitor last year who saw my first “MoonGate” painting (it depicts a transparent woman under a Chinese bridge), and she was convinced she had visited the actual bridge in the painting – maybe she had, I certainly hadn’t. So that’s an example of the “painting as a construction,” like a cinematic montage or physical stage set. This has driven me to fabricate imagery that juxtaposes or superimposes seemingly disparate elements – ie. flora, fauna and human characters – within stage-like environments, such as hallucinatory Asian gardens, artificial forests, galaxies, terrariums, and aquatic environs. One friend pointed out that a common thread among these might be a sense of transport, which I like.

This is just a small cross section of all the messy stuff that gets filtered into a personal cosmology we end up calling “artwork.” Whether or not the viewer cares about that is another question.

JH: Why do you include people in your work?
PG: We surround ourselves with humans, yet still cannot seem to get enough of them in art. That makes the figure infinitely fascinating and challenging. The fact that figures are probably the most recurring theme in the history of art, that art has never entirely been able to rid itself of the depiction of humans, speaks to this need. When I watch films, I often pause a scene mentally, reducing its characters to a static, “mental painting.” I know this is the inverse of how many film directors operate — but welcome to the backward-mind of a painter. This is probably once reason the figures in my paintings seem as if they were clipped from a film, transported to another dimension, and indelibly frozen in a painted world. Consequently, these figures transform into something that’s related more to the iconic, and not the literal – it’s a symbol signifying another symbol. To reinforce the interplay and slippage between figure and iconography, attainment and evasion, I might make a character simultaneously opaque and transparent. An example would be the post-modern-umbrella-girl-muse in the “MoonGate Tondos,” or the Fellini-esque man in “Giant Steps.” Sometimes the “negative space” around the figure becomes so visually implicated in the figure, they’re essentially inseparable, so the “background” becomes a surrogate figure too. I guess I’m intrigued by figures that are at once present and absent.

JH: Is spray paint one of your mediums?
PG: No. Everything is painted by hand – it’s all oil on canvas with a brush. How I get those effects, however, is my secret. I do love how a medium as old as oil paint can trump its own obsolescence by quoting and absorbing a modern medium like spray paint – ie. paint as an illusion for other paint, as you point out. Call me a postmodern romantic Luddite (I do not belong to Facebook), but handmade paintings captivate me all the more in the digital age where everything seems to have built-in obsolescence. That’s why it’s so compelling that oil paint can still riff on, or even simulate a digital aesthetic, and then ultimately eclipse it. The conflation of the appearance of different painting modes within one medium speaks to oil paint’s seemingly infinite malleability. Maybe I channeled some of the graffiti in the Lower East Side where I once lived, or the neon signs by Times Square through which I had to walk by to get to my old studio.

JH: When do you know when a painting is finished?
PG: It’s like walking a tightrope. Additionally, I feel that a dialogue with a painting should never end, despite its appearance as a “finished” object. As I’ve built up a body of work, each painting has come to represent a sort of time capsule or slice of life at any given moment. Regarding the actual process, I have a hard time knowing when to stop — you can probably tell from these longwinded responses. There is a “homestretch phase” for me in each painting when I feel the work has taken on a life of its own. There is also an ongoing dialogue with the work, where I’m questioning or perhaps arguing, “Damn you painting, tell me what else you want?!” And then I often cross that threshold of overworking a picture – it becomes evident when I suddenly feel the need to reduce various elements. This happens frequently, but oil painting is probably the most forgiving and plastic of mediums – it can be as subtractive as it is additive, and thus the love-hate relationship perpetuates.

JH: Some of your works look like they would lend nicely to sculpture. Do you ever create sculptures? PG: Thanks. However, that also sounds like a mixed-blessing. I have not really pursued sculpture seriously, but maybe that will happen sooner or later. My father is a sculptor and often remarks how he’d love to get into painting. He says he wouldn’t wish being a sculptor on me, but meanwhile, I would never wish being a painter on him, so where does that leave us? I did grow up with sculptural inclinations. Apparently, when I was a kid playing outside my father’s metalsmithing forge, I once grabbed a hot ember and was promptly burned. He dunked me in his giant slack tub and that immediately quelled my enthusiasm for metalwork. Later, during college, I made a promising plasticine bust of a friend for a sculpture class, only to have it “accidentally” discarded by a sour graduate TA. Finally, in grad school, I took a riveting sculpture seminar with Robert Morris. After submitting to him an entire semester of research and notebooks, as per his request, they too vanished. Despite all these obstacles, I do have a number of burning sculptural ideas, so I might try to confront this demon again – get back to me in another 10 years.

JH: What do you plan to do next?
PG: I want to continue exploring some current strands of work, such as the “MoonGate” and “Terrarium” series. The former places elusive, ethereal figures within circular environments, while the latter distorts botanic imagery in industrial-chrome reflections, as if the tondos were telescopic or microscopic apertures to another dimension. Having made a lot of really large paintings the last few years, I’m also interested in tackling some at a medium scale – such as 3 ft tondos or hexagons. For me it’s an extra challenge to achieve the impact I want at a scale that’s neither micro nor macro. Simultaneously, I’ve started to work on hexagonal compositions on paper and hexagonally shaped canvases. It’s a direction that seems to have endless permutations. Some are singular hexagons, while others lock into honeycomb-like configurations that I could see eventually multiplying into larger, tile-like installations. The hexagonally shaped canvas grew out of my fascination with apiary and honeycomb motifs – I had been utilizing apiary-inspired hexagonal patterns as detail elements in the paintings for several years, but suddenly wanted to turn the honeycomb inside out. As I mentioned earlier, the imagery within the framework is shifting toward aquatic, even scuba related themes, so I’m calling these pictures the “Aquarium Series” – there’s an “Aquarium Cinema,” “Aquarium Inferno,” etc. Internal details become the exterior framework, and vice versa. I’m also beginning a hexagonal diptych commission for a collector that will attempt to deconstruct my current painting language within the honeycomb by using a sparer, more monochrome approach. Going more in the monochrome direction means challenging myself with restraint. I sometimes work monochromatically to provide a kind of temporary tonic. Plus, monochrome can just be really sexy if done properly. Other recent preparatory works on paper, which might eventually become paintings, deploy a CMYK hexagonal quadrant structure, containing spinning limbs that evoke mini-kaleidoscopes. The CMYK structure alludes to the chromatic foundation of most graphic print media: Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black. Expanding upon the “umbrella girl” character, I’ve begun infusing the CMYK works with abstracted “bicycle girls”. I’m still developing this series, but I think the entanglement of limbs within a mechanical apparatus and visually extravagant context starts to evoke notions of utilitarianism vs. leisure, necessity vs. luxury. This has made me ponder our contemporary notions of luxury in relation to the material vs. natural worlds, and how I might one day examine this more deeply in my work. With the fall of utopianism and the rise of cool sarcasm, are people now spellbound by haute couture to such a degree that it has usurped our sense of awe in primeval beauty, or even blinded us to it? Or does our umbilical attachment to cities imply the inverse — that the minority who can afford a comfortable coexistence with Nature, by simultaneously enjoying the modern amenities alongside primeval splendors, enjoy the most profound luxury of all?

2011-10-01T11:51:00.000-07:00

Home Show

2011-09-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

Curating a show is tough enough, but trying to do it in your home, even more of a doozy. You have to undecorate to a more sterile pallette.

Where will I put all the furniture, bric-a-brac, wall hangings, that burgundy glass bowl with beaded fruit, the white procelain monkeys with the black fingernails, and of course my signed autograph photo from the cast of Dallas.

I need to donate that baby grand I inherited from my parents. Give everyone a bit more space to move around and the Opera Thrift Shop seemed so pleased to have another one in their store. So I know it will go to a good home. I'll probably rarely play it again.

Do I have enough wall space? I guess we can extend the show into my kitchen and maybe the bathroom; hallways will also be of use -- as will pretty much any nook and cranny available.

Eight artists so far including myself have said they would like to show some work: Natalie Wood, John Mejias, Andres Ortega, Kerry Maloney, Jonathan Villoch, Aracelis Diamanits, and Daniel Galas. Now I just need to get all their work together -- yikes!

Iv'e been bouncing around titles. Should it be a theme? I think not. I want it to be more about the artists -- how they create work and how they tick.

Stay tuned for more updates to come.

2010-07-24T16:46:00.001-07:00

2010-07-22T04:42:00.000-07:00

2010-05-30T18:49:00.000-07:00

2010-05-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

2010-05-30T18:42:00.000-07:00

Protests: Politics and Sex

2009-07-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Upon a visit to the Chelsea galleries, I took in some of the latest art work on the scene – many of the shows I saw dealt with political themes and the human figure. The political art of Aaron Johnson and Alicia Ross’ approach to portraying a female machine-like human figure caught my eye.

Aaron Johnson’s show titled Star-Crossed at the Stephan Stux Gallery, features a number of paintings on American flags that express his political views. One of his paintings, Juggler, depicts a monster-like creature dressed in a jester’s outfit as he juggles mangled heads. In a talk by Johnson, he tells us that this could be a self-portrait of himself. As a jester would give news to the king of the daily head count and what was really happening around him – Johnson is promoting to the viewer about the casualties (or head count) and the realities of the Iraq war.

Johnson’s depiction of political themes in art is not unlike any other life issues represented by other artists. Artists create works that reflect their lives – their families and friends, environments, and what’s important and happening to them. Politics are a big part of many people’s lives. Just as any other aspect of life can affect a person, so can politics.

The difference between art that uses political subject matter and political propaganda can be slight. Political propaganda is usually created to promote a politician or political regime, but it could also be seen as art by the viewer or its owner because of its beauty or significance. As I saw in the Yevgeniy Fiks exhibit – Adopt Lenin – at the Winkleman Gallery, Fiks displays Lenin propaganda memorabilia in his show as art work. An artist can create a work with political themes not only to express ideas on the subject but also for promotion of the politics. Thus, the art work could be thought of as propaganda. There is a fine line between the two and it is difficult sometimes to discern where propaganda ends and art begins.

Alicia Ross at the Black and White Gallery, depicts a number of arcane sexually-charged women in her exhibit – Sacred_Profane. She presents a series of cloth and stitching art work with voluptuous naked women. Many of the women are in provocative poses that one would see in pornography. Some of the titles of the works include the word “Motherboard,” almost making the woman into a machine, like a computer circuit board. The figures are stitched with some flesh-tones, but also greens and blacks – that might be found on a circuit board. In addition, she uses some stitching that crosses or goes away from the body and she leaves some of the cloth unstitched – or white – the color of the cloth. These aspects of her work also make the figures look like computer circuitry or pixels. Ross could be alluding to the female form reduced to internet pornography or the idea of woman as a sexual machine.

The medium she uses – stitching on cloth – resembles the samplers that women used to stitch at the turn of the century as wifely duties, and she even calls one of her series of works – Samplers. This notion of wifely duties could be another allegory for the woman as a machine. The stitching medium could also be a matronly like activity, but she mixes it with very sexually charged images almost as a pun.

The artist seems to be elevating porn into a higher status by carefully creating such detailed studies of woman’s figures that resemble photos from porn sites and exhibiting them in a gallery. She takes the viewer off guard by putting images from one environment into another.
Ross may feel that the female figure has been reduced to a machine or object for man’s pleasure and she may not be happy about that – whether be it on the internet – or anywhere else – even upgraded to a gallery. Ross’ art is possibly a way for her to deal with her angst and express protest to others in hopes of opening up a conversation.

Aaron Johnson protests the ills of American politics just as Alicia Ross promotes the female figure as man’s object for entertainment. Both artists express their anger and opinions through their art – to perhaps help them deal with their issues and awaken society to what is going on in the world. In the end, they may wish to make some sort of change in the right direction or – their direction.

Traveling the World, One Painting at a Time

2009-07-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

The Kehinde Wiley exhibit at the Studio Museum Harlem, The World Stage: Africa, Lagos ~ Dakar, opens up an explosive commentary on the culture of the United Sates and the world. Lagos – Dakar are just two stops on Wiley’s multinational The World Stage series. In this project, he is going from country to country with his open satellite studios, picking attractive native men, and painting them in poses relating to the country’s historical sculpture or propaganda. Throw in the fact that he’s African American, gay, and glamorizes the gangsters of hip-hop, and you have a cultural ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

America is a melting pot of numerous cultural groupings that have come together over centuries and taken root in different parts of the country. These groupings include Asians, African Americans, Latin Americans, and a multitude of people from European countries and Arab nations – sharing the same race, values, and beliefs. And they also may experience the same discriminations, prejudices, and political minorities. You would think that with so much cultural diversity, being African American and gay would be socially acceptable. But for some individuals or cultural groups in the U.S., it’s not. And, although the U.S. is more accepting of individuals from different cultures coming in and setting up businesses or other organizations, some countries – like China or Russia, may be less inviting. The more Wiley’s world tour gets promoted, the more other countries may protest his studios in their cultures.

The cultural demographics of the U.S. have changed over the years as more and more individuals have immigrated from many different global communities. Fifty years ago, when one thought of an “American,” they thought of an English speaking white man or woman. Now an American can also be a black, brown, or Asian person – who speaks many languages. These assemblages of multicultural individuals have changed the culture of the U.S. drastically with their ideals, beliefs, and norms. And the result is a growing of prejudice, discrimination, and political minorities among all the different cultural groupings – crossing not only boundaries related to skin color, but also sexuality and religion. Wiley and his art could be at the center of conflict amongst different groups that may not be too keen on his glamorization of gangsters with possible gay undertones. That’s what’s so great about America – he can do what he is doing because he has the freedom to do it. And although some may be offended by his art or the way he is cultivating his works – it doesn’t matter – because he’s allowed to express his views in this country.

Wiley was not the first artist to pick up subjects for his work, both in the U.S. and abroad, planting down into foreign cultures. As far back as Paul Gauguin – exploring Tahiti, then Andy Warhol – traveling worldwide with his factory of staff, and more recently – Jeff Koons invading other countries with his Puppies, and Takashi Murakami taking over the Brooklyn Museum with his cartoon art and Louis Vuitton bags; all of these artists have delved into other cultures promoting their art and selling their wares. They have long been criticized for creating art mills and sampling foreign venues for their ends. But in reality, like any other successful business, they have often helped rather than hindered the cultures they enter. For example, Murakami at the Brooklyn Museum not only supported the museum, but also increased tourism in New York City, aiding the economy.

Acceptance seems to be the determining factor which dictates the success of an artist’s or any other individual’s business ventures in another culture. How the artist is received by the people, the media, and other financially interested parties, will either make or break their expansion. So far, against many odds, Wiley has made his world-wind tour successful. He has been embraced by the foreign cultures that he has entered and continues to exhibit his work which depicts black males in heroic stature.

The Studio Museum of Harlem Magazine makes an interesting comparison of Wiley’s work – which could be mocking accepted cultural norms – to the Balls that the queer culture put on in Harlem – where they reverse accepted norms by dressing in men’s suits playing the role of American executives. In the end it’s a gas to poke fun at the doldrums of the everyday people – no matter what culture, and flip the perceived majority into the minority – as long as you don’t get called out.

Quiet but Loud

2009-07-16T07:46:00.000-07:00

The Sound Off exhibit at the BRIC Rotunda Gallery packs a lot of punch for such a small show. The show gives a voice to individuals that might otherwise go unnoticed – such as criminals, the homeless, and prisoners of the Iraq war. Several artists have donated their time and resources to the cause. Yaelle Amir and Jeanne Gerrity, the curators, succeed in overwhelming us with getting their message across through photos, videos, and watercolors. And the artists benefit too – as their art works in tandem with each other – creating a powerful experience for the viewer. Each of the artists have a unique presentation that lets them stand out amongst each other, but also blend together to form a stronger platform for these individuals to tell their stories.

When you first enter the show – which is in a small room in the back of the gallery – you are hit by Dread Scott’s three black and white photos of inmates from his Lockdown series, 2004. The photos are reminiscent of the old principle, to "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," characterized by three monkeys. One monkey is covering his eyes, the other covering his ears, and another covering his mouth. The source that popularized this pictorial maxim is a 17th century carving over a door of the famous Tōshō-gū shrine in Nikkō, Japan.

The photos are accompanied by speakers spouting interviews of the inmates’ trials and tribulations. You have to put your ear close to the speakers to hear because the volume is so low. Scott may be trying to make you pay more attention to the stories. In a talk by Amir, she tells us that Scott had very large photos that she would like to have included, but the exhibit space was too small. But the photos in the show are still very effective. Scott and his work are enhanced by being part of this show as all of the different styles of art work together, providing a multi-media experience for the viewer. It’s like a domino effect. You take in his photos and hear the interviews, then you view Daniel Heyman’s water color portraits and writings of prisoners of war, followed by Jenny Polak’s interactive website of prisoners’ cells, and then you see the rest of the show, until you come back again to Scott’s photos.

Although the exhibit is in a small room – not Amir’s choice – it almost makes the show even more effective as it relates to minimalizing the people who are never heard. The small room also seems cell like – which could also relate to some of the prisoners in the show.
Scott is a revolutionary who obtained notoriety when his work, What is the Proper Way to Display a U.S. Flag?, gained national attention when President Bush (1) declared his work disgraceful and the Senate created legislation to protect the flag. In his Lockdown series he asks government – what is crime? In one of the interviews, an inmate compares his crimes, which are forced, to the president’s, which are for luxury. Scott continues to challenge the status quo on what is right and wrong – usually those in power make decisions and get away with crime. And his work is only more elucidated amongst the catalog of the other artists’ work in the exhibit, who have similar protests and demand equal action.

Daniel Heyman’s portraits of innocent Iraqis who were tortured are the next stop for the viewer in the Sound Off show. But instead of using actual taped interviews and photos like Scott, he provides a different way to view sufferings – through paintings and writings. Upon first glance at the watercolors, you think oh -- such nice paintings, but then when you read what is written it makes your skin crawl. Heyman mixes beauty with the ills of society which makes his work more chilling – masking or hiding the torture. And this could be his point – he uses beauty as a metaphor for silence. And his work, like Scott’s, benefits from the group of other artists because it’s so different. Heyman’s colorful paintings are set next to Scott’s gritty black and white photos – offering a different viewpoint on a similar matter. Out of all of the artists, Heyman provides the only art that is one dimensional – which makes for a quite viewing – but uncomfortable and ghastly none the less.

Heyman’s work has been focused on not just showing beautiful paintings, but also educating society on what is going on in the world. He has been a strong proponent against museums and galleries only showing beautiful art work. He prefers the masses to do more than enjoy art, but also learn more about issues that affect people around the world. And in his work in the Sound Off show, he overwhelms the viewer and personalizes the Iraq war with portraits of actual people and their accounts of hardships. The way he wraps the text around the portraits make the viewer work to read the stories and pay close attention to his work. This is similar to Scott who requires you to listen closely by making you put your ear up to the speakers to hear the prisoners’ interviews.

In the end, Amir and Gerrity have reported the stories of several hushed individuals in a successful way through different medias that hit you at every angle – visual, interaction, and audio – not letting you escape. They lure in the viewer and then hold them captive in their cell to hear the horrible stories of these marginalized citizens. The show empowers the individuals that have been silenced in society while also allowing the artists to keep their individuality throughout the process. Each artist portrays their take on the issue through their own interesting style and media – marrying together to provide an integrated and concise vessel for their voices. The result – you leave the exhibit with vivid memories of the people, their intense sufferings, and the artists who portray them.

Artist + Environment = Art

2009-07-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

At the open studio visit at the Elisabeth Foundation for the Ar ts, I visited numerous artists’ work spaces. The artists showed diverse viewpoints in their work, and it showed in their studios -- which were very organized, but contained unique furnishings and belongings.

Tomas Pihl and Patty Cateura, two artists at the Foundation gave presentations on their work. Both artists had minimal furnishings – possibly so that they could focus on their work. Also both artists had great city views from their windows. But as there are many similarities in their studios – their were also some differences, which come through in there work.

Tomas Pihl’s studio had an area in the front that was closed off – probably storage for materials he would use for his paintings and sculpture. He explained that he researches and experiments the mediums that he uses in depth. And you can tell by his art. His paintings are simple and monochromatic at first glance, but as you study them more closely, you can see different colors coming through as the light and dark hits them in different ways. And this element of his work is well thought out by Pihl, as the paintings are made up of multi-translucent layers with very little acrylic pigment and excess medium that is poured.

You can also see different shapes and imperfections that permeate from the canvas. He told us that we are bombarded with images and esthetics 24/7 and his paintings are a response to this, a reduction of hysteria and creation of attention by small means. His sculptures are similar in color tonality and feeling. He uses the leftovers from his paintings to make organic looking shapes with depths of layered color. On the walls you can see sketches that he has drawn to help create his sculptures – although very simple looking, they have a different life in 3-D.

Pihl listens to classical music and I noticed he was reading The Boat by Nam Le. I could see how classical music would influence his work, as his work feels relaxing, yet sometimes loud at the same time – how I would describe classical music. This could also reflect his painting style, as the creation of the work could be messy and chaotic, but the end result is quiet, yet explosive. The Boat is a collection of short stories about people who are searching for happiness for themselves and the conflicts they face in their journeys. This is similar to looking into one of Pihl’s paintings and halting when you encounter a different color, bubble or mark at every bend.

Patty Cateura’s studio was more open than Pihl’s as she did not have as much storage space blocked off and this comes through in her work which is spacious. Her art is different than Pihl’s in that she includes shapes that reference nature – such as trees, rocks, the sun, and mountains. She melds nature and urbanity – trees and buildings – could be one in the same. Cateura also uses acrylics (mixed to her specifications) because she likes how the flatness lends to the openness of her work. And she showed us some little collages that she made out of fabric that she uses as bases for her paintings – which could relate to why the paintings almost seem like collages.

I spied a book on Joan Miró, whose mix of surrealism and color field painting are apparent in Cateura’s work. Her paintings are inspired by trips that she takes – such as the Grand Canyon. And much of her references are from memory – although she also takes photos and makes some sketches. Her paintings are frames for color, as most of the details are on each side, and then an expanse of color is the central focus – building space. She also sometimes uses small shapes that highlight the canvas and pull you in or draw you out as you follow their paths. This technique is also seen in Miró’s work. The overall impression I get from my visit to Cateura’s studio, is a confidence and ease with which she works and relates to her environment, producing paintings that reflect her esthetics and vision.

In Artists’ Studios – an article from the New York Times, January 5, 1873 – the author compares studios of several artists of the day, “As a rule, there is nothing half so cozy as artists’ studios, though their style and fashion are as varied as the works of their owners … Millais’ soft carpet, his classic vases, the flowing drapery, his pretty little piano, his soft lights, the well-balanced color of his furniture, and his flowers lying carelessly here and there, are apropos to the highest degree. Mr. O’Neil has a severer taste; but the silence distant fields and forests seem almost to reign in the admirably-constructed work-room…” It is interesting that the differences in those studios referenced are similar to the ones at the Foundation. Some are more snug and decorated than others, but all of them reflect the artists and their work – same as today.

To Shutter, or Not

2009-06-04T10:49:00.000-07:00

Filleted carcases, ghostly dogs, screaming popes, and wrestling men, all conjure up the Francis Bacon exhibit that opened recently at the Met.

Last Sunday, I decided to stop off at the museum to see the Bacon show before going into the office for a couple hours. I even splurged for a headset. I usually don't do headsets because I like to view art without dialogue, and I'm lazy and cheap. But I love Bacon and wanted to learn more about his process.

Luckily it wasn't too crowded, but just enough to see what Bacon wanted. The viewers in his art. Bacon requested that his paintings be presented behind glass so that his audience could be part of his twisted world.

As I walked though the horror show, I couldn't decide which works were more disturbing. The paintings that used shuttering, where the image fades in and out, or the works with minimal backgrounds. I decided it was the simple ones. Although the canvases with shuttering were darker in appearance and more dramatic, the brighter and lusher colors of the minimal backgrounds put the terror into the everyday realm. Pain and suffering wasn't hiding in his cluttered studio in Chelsea, but out on the streets and in the landscape of the living.

Bacon painted a number of wrestling men, possibly to work out his "affliction" as he called it or homosexuality. Homosexuality was a no, no back in his day, punishable by law. The black-widow Bacon painted his lovers, two of whom committed suicide on his watch. Most of his lovers were thieves or transients, and he met one of them while being robbed in his home. Who needs Match.com?

Some of my favorite paintings had raw canvas showing through, a technique he discovered when he would paint on the back of canvases to save money. And his triptychs are always curious and stimulating. He framed them individually to tell or not -- an allusive story.

Leaving the Bacon show, I was exhilarated with a new found appreciation of his style of the grotesque figure, material I could use in my figurative work -- but of course tailored to my own unique point of view.

It wouldn't be a trip to the MET without a stop at E.A.T. on Madison for lunch. You never know who you'll run into at eat. In the last couple of years, I have spotted Meryl Streep, Lena Olin, and Peter Boyle. E.A.T. offers delicious soups, salads, and sandwiches on freshly baked bread. I started with the carrot soup and then moved on to the chicken salad sandwich, of course with a side of scrumptious potato salad. And since it's summer -- I had to have a glass of rose wine to top off lunch and to toast Francis Bacon on his extraordinary dark engrossing paintings.