One on One.

Warhol/Basquiat collabs at Van De Weghe. It's funny. I don't necessarily pay hyper-attention to what's going on at this gallery, but if I'm in Chelsea I always make sure I stop by to see what's on. This would be why. A lot of people have problem with these collaborations, but I'm not one of them. People accuse Andy of playing vampire, or that Jean-Michel was doing, well, whatever Jean-Michel might have been doing . . . holding on, I guess. Whatevs. If either of those things were in the way of the work the mutual respect and the masterful skills of both artists break through it. Each artists' icons are crash worshipped by the other. It's not nice or polite, but it's an honest friendship being poured and pouted onto the canvases. I couldn't ask for more.

Sell.

Bad Abstract.

Massimo Vignelli from 1972

via the Times. This abstract map of the NYC subway system sure is perty, but I guarantee you that I'd be, like, walking into rivers and shit. Worst sense of direction on the planet, I have. 11 years living here, and I still get dizzy when I have to figure out which way is East and West. I mean that, literally. Thank the art gods that Vignelli's redesign is only for a magazine and that it's NOT making a return to the city which it originally violated in the 1972.

Hey, look! The Bivs says, "Here's a tidy article on the original from Michael Bierut." Hell. Forget the Times article. Go read the Beirut piece. It's much more fun.

Grid.

Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe, Did I Just See A Leopard?, 2008

Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe's new show opens tonight at Alexander Gray Associates. His last NYC show sent my heart into full-on a-twitter mode. Hands down one of my favorite shows in 2006. Go. Rock the grid.

Rebirch.

You won't often see me linking to something Charlie Finch says . . . so why start now. But I have to credit him for sparking a nice memory today of seeing Anthony James' work for the first time at Blum & Poe in Culver City a couple years ago. Unfortunately, I found said spark embedded in a story that had something to do with the artist getting electrocuted and losing his hearing for a few days. Ouch. Sounds like the artist is mended and getting rich though. Both good things.

And OMG. Spark. Whoops. No pun intended, I swear. Anyway, obviously I'll jump on anything that gives me an excuse to re-post three of my favorite photos from the HAA archives. Enjoy.

People, Get Ready.

There's a train, a-comin'. And they call it Zoe Strauss's I-95 show. It's become an annual event for me to get my heart split open under the overpass. And I like it. But I've already told you that. Here are the directions. And here's the set list. And, oh yeah, I LOVE ZOE STRAUSS!!!

It's Called Survival. Survival. Survival. Survival.

Jill Freedman

In jail they got a game,
And they call it survival.
--Grand Master Flash and The Furious Five

If you're like me, you received a couple excited emails over the weekend with a link to this amazing story in the Times about the photographer Jill Freedman. This is a mean old world, kids. Some people take pictures of it. Some people live it. Some people do both. The way her "style" fell out of fashion is discussed, but the bottom line is that a great eye never goes out. And if it's good enough, people come back to it. The Times article refers to a show in Wlliamsburg that the photographer's friend Ann-Marie Richard put up last year. I poked around a bit and found a link to the show. Here it is. Seriously. Don't miss this article. Don't miss this work. AND don't miss this video on the Times site.

Freedman has a show at Higher Pictures. Go.

Hat tips to . . . Robin and Zoe.

RIP, Bebe Barron (1925-2008)

Pioneer? To say the least.

Scrim.

Doll Parts.

Laurie Simmons, still from The Music of Regret

Any of you who've been reading me for any length of time know that this blog is quite simply a record of where my eye happens to fall. Ever since I started paying attention to art about 10 years ago I've had, like, stupid crazy good fortune when it comes to receiving nudges and clues that drop out of the sky. One such push came when I briefly met the multi-hyphenate artist Laurie Simmons in Chelsea last Friday. She happened to be gallery hopping with two artists whose work I love, one of whom is a pal. I was totally unfamiliar with Simmons' work before . . . until last night when I spent way too much computer time checking out just about every page, photo, and film clip on her site. Then I moved on to YouTube. Beauty. Sadness. Puppets. Meryl Streep. What's not to like? Obviously, that's a really narrow view of her work, but it's what first took me in and knocked me on top of the head. There're also plenty of doll houses, dioramas, killah photo shoots, all laced with gender and power issues. A look back in anger with a tender eye. Me likey like a muthafucka.

21.

Roberto Clemente is really the only hero I've ever had. Pretty much the only one I've ever needed. If you want to know why you should check out the excellent PBS documentary that aired tonight. Watch it online here. En español aqui.

OMFG.

René Smith, Larchwood, Iowa

Total subversion alert! René Smith's paintings will be breaking through the 5th wall in tonight's episode of Gossip Girl. As the GG billboards around town say . . . "OMFG!"

Carcass.

Tamara Kostianovsky's first NYC solo show, Actus Reus opened at Black & White Gallery (Chelsea) on Thursday night. I'd only seen pieces here and there in group shows, so it was a revelation to see an entire gallery filled with her constructions. Using thrown away clothes--and what looks to be a labor-intensive process-- Kostianovsky has fashioned a roomful of slaughterhouse blues. The ghosts of those who wore the clothes mingle with those of the butchered. It's all really wrong, but in a good way. The obvious fiction of the sculptures rubs up against the reality of death and consumption.





And yes. If you thought that this post's title was a reference to one of the greatest Death/Gore Metal bands of all time you would be correct. If you didn't then you should check out their myspace page.

Yo, Roberta.

Rosanna Bruno, Untitled, 19"x16" oil on linen, 2006

You missed one. Granted, Rosanna Bruno doesn't have a gallery show right now so she falls outside the scope of the article, but that doesn't mean she's not kicking a world of ass with her small paintings. Consider this an addendum of sorts to your article. You're welcome.

Hey! Remember this? Studio visit with RB from the HAA archives. Good times.

When The Levee Breaks.

Rob Nadeau's last show at Mixed Greens was a tightly controlled colorfest that lost control, the stacked lines of paint bleeding out when they couldn't hold steady. In his new show, Heavy Chalk, the walls have come tumbling down, punched out with a shattered energy of color, line, and full-on unpredicability. The catharsis therein feels very much of this moment. The paint is leading the way here, and it is pissed. Weep loudly.

Haircut.

I had planned to zip up to Chelsea before I got my haircut on Saturday, but due to way too much lollygagging I had to change my plans and hit some galleries in SoHo and Tribeca. It was an uneven experience. On the other hand, my haircut totally rules. Johnny is THE MAN.


After The Reality 2 at Deitch's Grand Street space was generally uninteresting, but this sculpture by Enlightenment. (Yes. They call themselves "Enlightenment".) had a presence that held my gaze for an unnaturally long time. I have to say that it was kind of perfect. Somebody should buy it, but not because of what it'll be worth tomorrow. They should buy it because they'll get to see it everyday. I know. Soooooo naive.


Around the corner at Deitch's main space was a group painting show that was refreshing, but unfortunately not because of the work. It was a revelation to see all that white in a space we've gotten so used to being loaded to the gills with art that takes an overwhelming road. (That's not a dis. I generally dig Deitch.) It's just a pity about those paintings. Aaron Young's Clubhouse was mildly interesting for about 15 seconds, but then it just went round and round. His other paintings did the same thing. Dan Colen's 53rd & 3rd (detail above) was the one spectacular exception in the show, even though it looked like caked-on bird shit. But really beautiful, involving caked-on bird shit. Seriously amazing painting. I spent as much time with it as I did all the others combined.

Unrelated to the art, this sentence from the press release should be mentioned just for its entertainment value. "This exhibition shows how today’s abstract painters are updating New York School abstraction with the energy of the streets, and the jam-packed frequencies they dispense." I dare you to read that aloud and keep a straight face.

I never go to Johnny's without stopping at Apex Art. I've found some nice surprises there over the years, but the Dave Eggers-curated exhibit of text-based art was more exhausting than anything. It's quite the feat to have 39 artists in a show and for it to feel so very one-note. It reminded me of a lunch table I sat at for a short period of time in college. From the moment we took our seats everybody tried to outdo each other with their wit and personality. It's exhausting even to remember it. That's what this show feels like. A shame because it's almost all good work, but after seeing the same note hit over and over and over again the shared perspective just feels like a shared noose. Oxygen, please.

I had one last stop to make but I didn't know it. Tune in later to hear how K8 Hardy saved the day.

I'm Not Bitter.

Spin Art.

photo copyright 2008, Cesar Llacuna

I've loved Petroc Dragon Sesti's Fluid Icon since I first saw it in the group show, Blessed Are The Mercyful, at (then) Feigen Contemporary. The great thing about this piece isn't so much what it reflects, as it is what gets pulled through its vortex from the other side. I was thrilled when Chicago's Carrie Secrist Gallery gave me another opportunity to view it at the PULSE at the end of March. I was doubly thrilled when my co-worker and generally cool, sweet and hilarious guy, Cesar Llacuna, sent me his photograph of the piece. The nature of this work makes it easy to capture pretty rockin' images depending on who or what is behind it. But leave it to one of the best set of eyes I know to capture something truly spectacular. Cesar is soooooooo the man.

Be sure to click on the image to be properly knocked out.

DADA.

Richard Pettibone's show, Paintings of Sculptures, opens tonight at Castelli. I'm not sure why, but that show title cracks me up. It's as direct and endearing as Pettibone's art. No secret here at HAA about how much I love this guy's work. His last show at Castelli didn't stop until it got the job done, which meant every single can of soup. Beauty is never the same twice.

No Hope.

This absolutely heartbreaking account of the story being told by public art in Iraq is a must read. A depressing, absolutely fucking hopeless must read. This is what we've done.