Cary Leibowitz Is My Co-Pilot.

I started my art fair weekend at lunch on Friday with a little trip to Alexander Gray to buy one of the best hats ever. It's officially the only hat I own with a certificate of provenance. I just knew that I needed a little vibrant art thrust atop my head to carry me through the weekend.


I'm not one of those people who hate the art fairs. I'm not an artist so it's not depressing. I'm not a dealer so it's not stressful. I'm not Glenn Lowry so I don't have to worry about Lee Rosenbaum. I just want to see art. The more the better. Hell. I even enjoy hotel shows. Mostly because of moments like this:


Rebecca Ibel Gallery, Columbus, OH at Red Dot.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After my stop I at Gray, I zipped uptown to check out the indy fair, Fountain. The first thing I saw there wasSteve Gagnon's pretty damn fabulous Around the World in a N.Y.C. Taxi. Taxi cab vantage points recorded on video were projected onto the inside of the windows of the cab while you watched from the outside. Cabbies talking about their work, the view from the back seat, out the side window. It was actually kind of touching. A still life of sorts. Plus, the piece certainly provided the best art story I've heard in a long time. When Gagnon was installing it, the taxi wouldn't fit through the door. They had to take it to a shop to have it disassembled. When they brought it back in pieces passersby who thought that somebody was jacking a cab called the police who promptly appeared with their guns pulled. (Let's face it. The best art stories almost always involve cops.) Once Gagnon showed them the card for the show and the owner's permit everything was cool. So cool that one of the officers was really into what Gagnon was doing and returned later that night to attend the opening.



I had actually heard about Fountain when I went to Nancy Radloff's opening at one of the participating galleries, Outrageous Look. Outrageous Look is one of my fave galleries in the city, let alone Williamsburg. They had an amazing Nacho Labas on the wall. It was interesting to see one of his pieces holding court on it's own without any of its siblings.


Next to OL was a gallery unfamiliar to me, McCaig-Welles. My favorite piece here was partly improvised. There was this long drip of, well, um, something red stretching down from the ceiling to where a painting was hanging. The artist decided to incorporate the long lines of the drip into his painting. I was well chuffed to see them hanging the Amy Hill paintings on pipes. Perfect.



Another fine discovery here was Glowlab. Almost too much goodness to believe. Bethany Bristow's photographs of her beautiful street interventions and the objects of intervention made of melted glass and feathers made me swoon. And speaking of which, Glowlab had some exquisite Swoon limited editions for sale. Another highlight was an artist who spliced herself into an American Idol tape and lived to tell the tale. The same artist offered up painted album covers and some cassettes with her singing songs that happened to be in her head. She then spray painted the cassettes in gold rendering them useless. Nothing like trumping the obsolete.


For dinner I met Roberta and Libby, Fallon & Rosof that is.. Always an entertaining time. Especially when they're both decompressing from a day at the fairs. God bless 'em.

More tomorrow.

Accidental bonus track: I went back to Fountain after dinner to attend the party. Um, yeah. I kind of forgot that the shindig wasn't actually in the same location as the show. Doh. I was able to get this pic through the window though.

5 Worth.

All That Money Wants.

DPC (his pic above) is on that shit, and doesn't even know it.

President Gas.

UPDATE: Gia Kourlas throws much love in the direction of Guta in the Times today (02/26/07).


I've been reading Karen Finley's George & Martha, her account of George Bush's coke-fueled night of lust with Medea whore Martha Stewart. It's been cathartic, but I still need a little more.

I've a feeling that Guta Hedewig's new work, Dog Days or "19 Ways of Looking at a Shrub" will fill the bill. Hedewig, Theresa Duhon, Kristi Spessard, and Rachel Lynch-John will be dancing to Hedewig's choreography inspired by the dumbass words of President Gas. Where do I put my hate? Right here, kids. Right here. This should be good.

Video here. See if you can remember the quote. Then be sad and pissed.

The show and the Bushisms that inspired it will be making your brain bleed from February 22-25 at Danspace, 131 East 10th Street.

Totally Appropriate.

I don't know. I think this story in the Times about Glenn D. Lowry's perks is kind of fabulous, but mostly because it reminds me of that Robby Benson and Annette O'Toole movie, One On One, without the basketball and romance. I have no ethical problems with it at all, but then again, I've been listening to a pile of Black Metal cassettes all week so my moral compass is skewing decidely south. We better leave this one up to the IRS.

I've decided to include an extra $25 check made out to Mr. Lowry with my MoMA membership this year. I'm not kidding. The Times thinks it's uncovered a scandal, but in actuality all they've revealed is an efficient machine.


Grima Morstua is all, like, "Go for it, Glenn!!!"

Immersion 2.

Second half, comin' atcha. "I'm in the milk, and the milk's in me."

Night 16
Night 17
Night 18
Night 20
Night 21
Night 22
Night 23
Night 24
Night 25
Night 26
Night 27
Night 28

Full On.

My day was made this afternoon when this link for the Jamaican Label Art site landed in my in-bin. Brilliant. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. A fine nod to the original diy'ers. The sounds and studio techniques to come out of Jamaica in the early- to mid-70's forever altered the texture and dynamics of popular music. To deny the influence of the raw beauty of the label designs that went with it would be a mistake. In Jamaica the 7" rules. Lambsbread for ya head. Do not savor. Devour.

If you crave the real deal, you need to get yourself to one of the most crucial record stores in the city: Jammyland.

Bunch Of Goddamn Babies.

I have a new post up on Fallon & Rosof's Artblog for Caleb Weintraub's show, Cloudy with a Chance of Apocalypse, at Jack The Pelican Presents. Bonus track: me being freaked the fuck out by Reed Barrow's work in the back room. Scary shit, kids.


And all of a sudden the streets were filled with cherubs and uncertainty, the stars fell from the sky, the ground broke up beneath them and all of the walls complained, 2006, mixed media and oil/canvas, 10' x 14'


This Morning I Woke up with a SoreThroat, 2006

Both images totally lifted from Jack The Pelican Presents website

Immersion.

For the last week or so most of my art blogging energy has been going into my attempt to blog Doug Aitken's Sleepwalkers on a daily basis over on my Creative Time Blog. I fell in love with it opening night, and I thought that I'd go up to see it a few more times before it ended. When I went to see it the Friday night after the opening I realized that I wanted to try to see it every night after that. I've only missed one night since then, and the piece just continues to unfold and reward.

Here. Wait. This'll make it easier.
Night 1
Night 4
Night 5
Night 6
Night 7
Night 9
Night 10
Night 11
Night 12
Night 13
Night 14
Night 15

Policy.

Tyler Green's post today reminded me of one of the best photo policies in the history of the world . . .EVER. The Tom Museum in Pittsburgh. Run by artist Tom Sarver, The Tom Museum is a project of The Mattress Factory. The Tom Museum allows you to take a photo of anything on the premises with one simple provision: Tom has to be in the picture. Sorry, but that's nothing short of genius.

Still.

Yael from Creative Time sent me these stunning pictures of Jim Hodges' Look and See in its permant home at the Albright-Knox Art Gallery in Buffalo. My post about it back in September of 2005 was one of the reasons that Creative Time asked me to do a blog for them. Hodges' sculpture was one of the reasons that I wanted to do the blog for them.

I've Been Busy.

Not here, but here. Sleepwalkers, Days 4, 5, 6 and 7. Digging in.

Jessica Rylan @ Issue Project Room TONIGHT.

Sound artist Jessica Rylan will be ripping both you and pop music a new asshole tonight at Issue Project Room. Also killing . . . the ever-open transmitter, Loren Connors, who will be collaborating with David Daniell and Greg Kelley. Don't be missin' it.

Silent Rhythm.

Here's my first post over at Creative Time about Doug Aitken's Sleepwalkers.

It Is Broken For You.

LA: Not A Circle.

Last month, in my review of Meg Cranston's show I used the line, "LA is a circle, but it's not a jerk." In the comments section a well-qualified semi-anonymous reader, V2, kindly pointed out to me that LA is, in fact, not a circle. I thought of that this morning when I read Carla Bozulich's 2006 Rewind entry in the new issue of The Wire. Granted, it's mostly about music, but its themes are the same that I hear from people working in the visual arts in Los Angeles. There seem to be two rules when it comes to discovering LA . . . assume nothing and then dig.

At any rate, this is what Bozulich had to say . . .

"Los Angeles in 2006. LA has never been for someone looking for an easy connection to the outsider art/music/politics scene. I like that about it. I like that if you want it handed to you easy all you'll get is watered down pap from the regular clubs/papers and a bellyache from whining about how lame the city is. We have pockets that spring open in unlikely places but you can't turn every corner and find a cafe with Arundhati Roy action figures and Henry Cowell blasting from the basement. You gotta get off your butt and look for it, baby . . . cuz you won't find it in the papers. Still, this year there are a few steady sight where a person can go find something unusual, hear things, freak out, lull, whatever . . . . For me the Smell and il Corral are the best. The Smell is a not-for-profit drink and drug free music hang. The punk underground lives at the Smell. The scene is really young so maybe if I wasn't such a kook I'd notice that I'm old or something but I can't be bothered with that because all I know is that new music happens there. In LA you can't go to regular clubs for that. Il Corral is the other great place--a little more sound exploration stylez. The lights are dim, couches soft, a fucked up piano and there a doggy that is really sweet. You never pay more than $5 to see a show at these places, no matter if it's Wolf Eyes or some kid's 8 millimeter orthodontic surgery video set to interpretive dance.

There are also two grown-up improvisor music series with no rules or coolness quotient. Come in your fucking pajamas if you want. The music is tops. The out of town guests are fantastic. The great jazz/Improv drummer/composer Alex Cline co-curates the Eagle Rock Concert Series the first Sunday of every month. The other, Cryptonite, is Thursday nites in LA run by Jeff Gaultier--creator of Cryptogramophone Records and a very wicked violinist. Now will you please ignore what people tell you and go have fun in your ear holes the next time you're in LA?"

Originally printed in The Wire, issue 275.

May The Cube Be With You.

Michael Brecker, March 29, 1949 – January 13, 2007

Norf*ckneasters.

I stopped by Pluto--a couple blocks from the BMA--this past weekend to grab a second look at Norf*ckneasters, a lively show of paintings and drawings curated by Nicole Eisenman. The show--which runs through February 24th--includes artists Rosanna Bruno, Dana Carlson, Andrea Champlin, Jennifer Coates, Nicole Eisenman, Sarah Peters, and Wendy White. Not only are there some wonderful pieces, but there are two slammin' collaborative paintings.

Wendy White

Andrea Champlin

You've heard me go off here in the past year about Bruno, Eisenman, Coates, and White but trust me when I tell you that the other three have some solid tricks up there sleeves. I've been a fan of Champlin's for a long time and Sarah Peters has an upcoming show at Winkelman / Plus Ultra in June.

Dana Carlson


The real revelation in the show though was Dana Carlson. This is a public admission of sorts. I've known Carlson's work for about a year or so, but I haven't gotten it at all. I always wanted it to be something else, an unusual internal gesture for me when it comes to reacting to art. I either like something or I don't. It's not a complicated thing. This got complicated. Let me pause here and say that I love how this process works sometimes. The last time it happened was with Howard Hodgkin so Carlson is in good company. Anyway, at one point over the year I started to notice her backgrounds, and then I fell in love with them. I still didn't get the paintings though. I thought to myself, "Why doesn't she just get rid of everything else and stop the painting when she's done with the backgrounds." Um, no. I couldn't have been more misguided in my thinking. When I looked at the first painting at Pluto, the background worked it's way toward me and carried with it all that was on top of it. Simple as that . . . finally. The painting had come home in all it's overloaded and slightly caustic beauty. There was only one thing to say, and it was "Oh."

Collaborations

Dougfest 2007.

It's been a total Dougfest over at my Creative Time blog lately. I even found a pair of boots to throw in the mix.


Screen grab from the January issue of Art Review

Top 10 Art Things 2006

10. The Whitney Biennial


I stopped hating this predictable train wreck last time around. It's much more fun to just embrace the mess of it all, and be done with it. That way I'm free to focus on the entertainment value of the human folly that surrounds it. Also, I get to enjoy the good art that does make it through the doors. Paul Chan, Jim O'Rourke, Robert A. Pruitt, Marilyn Minter, Zoe Strauss, Mark Bradford . . . killers all. It was a kick to run my hand over so many of the art world's exposed seams. The Biennial is a necessary vomiting of the soul, whether it means to be or not.

9. Marilyn Minter Studio Visit Via Creative Time



At one point a painter friend leaned over and whispered into my ear, "I have chills." Yep. At the very least, yo. Learning more about Minter's labor-heavy process made me love the work even more. She rules, utterly and completely.

8. The Société Anonyme at The Hammer


Easily one of the most perfectly installed and curated shows I've seen in my life. And one of the most generous, from every possible angle.

7. Robert Rauschenberg's Combines at MOCA



When I saw this show at the Met I wouldn't have thought it possible to improve upon it, and then I saw it at MOCA. The installation in LA allowed for a lively conversation among the pieces that wasn't as freeflowing when it was in New York.

6. Nicola Tyson at Friedrich Petzel


I'm sad to say that I wasn't familiar with Tyson's work before this. I mean, like, really sad. Like, crying-myself-to-sleep-at-night sad. This show of paintings was all luscious wonder and unexpected drives to the basket.

5. Bunny Love at The NY Burlesque Fest


Trust me. It was art. And it was the most cathartic bit of it that I saw all year. I had pretty much given up on any protest art carrying much power until Bunny Love and my number 4 pick came along. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream so I did all three.

4. Susan C. Dessel's Our Backyard: A Cautionary Tale at Dam, Stuhltrager


This installation reminded me of how much I hated that damn Peace Tower at the Biennial and the crushingly boring Thomas Hirschorn at Barbara Gladstone. Quite simply, this show delivered a body blow. Pun very much not intended. It affected me on a visceral level and it wouldn't let go.

3. Wendy White at Sixtyseven



The fact that Mary Boone hasn't scooped up White just tells me that the Hardest Eye In Town needs to start doing more of her own work again. This show had me giddy and muttering the word "Fu-u-uck." in the middle of the gallery.

2. Kate Gilmore all over the damn place


Group shows, a solo show at Pierogi, and one of the best damn studio visits I've ever had. I wasn't very familiar with her work until I saw her piece, Cake Walk, in a group show at ExitArt. Just like Gilmore, I fell fast and I fell hard.

1. Zoe Strauss's I-95 Show



Hell, yeah! For two hours in May--after a year of plotting--Zoe Strauss posted her photographs to the pillars underneath I-95 in South Philly and made everything right in my world. It was one of those rare times when art fulfilled every promise it's ever made to me. Nothing in 2006 reached in and grabbed me the way this installation did. The sheer audacity of it was inspiring. The viewpoint was mad powerful. It was all there: beauty, horror, compassion, anger, hate, love . . . everything was a broken wall.

Details.

You really don't need to see the Annie Leibovitz show at the Brooklyn Museum if you've seen her work in magazines. That's not a cut on Leibovitz's work. It's just that nothing is gained by putting it on a wall in a museum. In fact, taking it off the racks feels like a bad kidnapping.

However, I have to say that I loved seeing this image of Karen Finley in a larger format. My favorite detail is the paperback copy of Alice Miller's The Drama of The Gifted Child sticking out of the stack of books. The original title of the book was Prisoners Of Childhood which seems appropriate in light of Finley's take on our culture as a psycholocial organism making conscious/unconscious choices. Like a good mother Finley, patiently, has been showing us a way out of childhood. Like a tall, dumb kid we keep hitting our head on the door and passing out.