Fireworks Are Cool.

Even when they're photographed badly.

Happy 4th

The Speed Of Might.

A couple years ago I bought an issue of Art Review for the sound art feature on the cover. Little did I know that I would find the path to what was to become one of my favorite galleries in the city, Nyehaus. The gallery's owner, Tim Nye, was profiled and it was pretty clear that his heart and his eye were in the right place (Not to mention that he was the guy who was smart enough to put out Luna records.).


Everything I've seen at the gallery since then has been topnotch, but this time out Nyehaus has outdone itself. The show, Invisible Might, includes one of my favorite Robert Irwin pieces, Untitled. There's also a sculpture, Light Column, in the same room casting shadows and light into all the right corners of the heart.



Upstairs is a strong James Turrell only predictable in its greatness. It starts as something beautiful and illusional, but in its sure stillness transforms the viewer into one big question mark of perception. I won't say any more than that.



Also upstairs, two John McCracken paintings that were a last minute addition to the show were a revelation to me. I wasn't familiar with his work, but I've been watching surf and skate films lately so the pump had been primed.


Fine works by Larry Bell, Craig Kauffman, and Fred Sandback round out this utterly perfect show. It's been extended through July 14th so you have a couple weeks left to be crushed by it's luminous might.

Rust. Still Not Sleeping.

The Flan Man has three nice pieces in this show, all exploiting the upside of decay and destruction. He had them at work the other day and they are some kind of sweet.

Gimme Some Neck.

Stumbled across this Neckface on the way to my haircut on Saturday. It's hiding on the edge of Chinatown on Walker just off of Lafayette.

My Mommy Told Me I Was Special.

Seriously, kids. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried (Plus, it wouldn't be as much fun.). I overheard this conversation last night when I was leaving the opening for Wild Girls at Exit Art. Comedy gold, my friends. Comedy gold.

Clearly An Important Fellow (with bluster): Excuse me. Can my driver come in? I have a driver outside.

Woman at Front Table (knocked a tad off-balance by request and bluster): Well. Yes. Of course. This is a public event. Anybody can come in.

Clearly An Important Fellow: OK. (hold for the beat) I'm from Artnet.com.

You Got Me So I Don't Know What I'm Doin'.

SWOON, Smith Street, Brooklyn.


I'm pretty helpless when it comes to SWOON. It was love at first sight when I first saw her work in Coney Island last summer.


I was thrilled when I found a SWOON in my neighborhood last summer. A couple months ago I realized that it had deteriorated into nothing, so I was thrilled all over again when this appeared a couple blocks up the street from that one. One side effect to swooning is this: Everytime I walk by the wall that held last summer's SWOON I notice it. That surface was invisible to me before, and now it holds some phantom pleasure. Hell, I can't wait for the new one to fall apart. Delicious.



And a note to the taggers in Carroll Gardens . . . if you're going to tag something as good as Swoon, you really should try not to SUCK. Too late for that here. 'S okay. SWOON overcomes.

Wild.

Jenny Dubnau's painting, Self-Portrait with Red Cloth, will be included in the Wild Girls group show at Exit Art from June 24 through August 26. Damn! I like this painting. Wrap me up.

NOTE: This show is in no way related to the recent Girls Gone Wild ruckus in the Mennonite stronghold of Ephrata, PA. And did the local paper, The Lancaster New Era, actually use the phrase "flash their goods for the camera" or was I dreaming? Gosh. I really miss that beacon of prehistoric jouralistic light.

Words with a P This Time.

Per PD's request, oxidation paintings from my recent trip to The Warhol.

Sorry about the dearth of text lately. Bronchitis has been making an unwelcome visit. It's on it's way out the door now though.

No Dali From Pittsburgh.

OK. So. I took a frightening number of pictures when I was at The Warhol in Pittsburgh last week. I'll be posting them, room-by-room, over the next few months. One of the great things about The Warhol is that it's never the same museum twice. Their deep inventory leads to a heavy rotation. We win.

First up: a roomful of Mao!

Always Returning.

More shots of Doug and Mike Starn's Absorption + Transmission at the Wood Street Galleries in Pittsburgh. The brothers Starn never fail to make me think of one the most perfect songs ever recorded, Brian Eno's Always Returning. Quite simply, it's the circle made aware of itself.

Disappearing.

Pittsburgh was full of surprises last weekend. I found the first one when I got off The T Friday morning and saw a sign for a show by Doug and Mike Starn, Absorption + Transmission, at the Wood Street Galleries. Sweet, as my nephew would say.

I first encountered the Starns' snow imagery in their excellent show at Castelli in December. In the top floor of their installation at Wood Street, they implode and explode the snow images repeatedly. The overlapping photographs move from unidentifiable blocks of color to pristine flakes and then recede into nothing.

The transition from digital fullness to nothingness is mesmerizing. The rhythm of disappearance that the Starns strike seems to correspond with our bodies, with what our bodies know. We're going away, and that's alright. In fact, it's beautiful.

Pop Sickle.

Another wonderous visit to The Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. More to come once I recover from the weekend. But seriously, the place is on fire right now. The Downtown Show, The "F" Word, and Pittsburgh kids curating and hanging their work next to Warhol's. Oh, and then there was this . . .

Warhol and Keith Haring's wedding gift to Madonna and Sean and the Thank You note.