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Reinventing Books in Contemporary Art
The China Institute
By Ola Manana
Books are uniquely personal objects; they cannot be kept at arms length, they must be held in our hands up close as they speak to us, one on one. When a book is regarded as an art object, this tends to shift the emphasis from content to form, and as such we see the object as decorative art. There are however exceptions; this exhibition, Re-Inventing Books in Contemporary Art, features work from prominent contemporary Chinese artists who take a more nuanced look at the book as an art form in both the physical and literary sense.
The visual appearance of Chinese writing is itself an artistic feat, the tradition of calligraphy dazels the imagination. But there is something more compelling about the the work in this show; it has to do with the deep consideration given to each material and process. Herein lies the specific identity of Chinese art as distinguished from Western tradition.
In A Room of Calligraphy Model Books (1995), Song Dong has placed dozens of calligraphy model books open, side by side on a large section of the floor. Each of the books has been meticulously cut with scissors into thin strips which are held together by the spine. Two fans sit on either side of the installation, causing the translucent paper to flutter like grass in the wind. This sculpture addresses censorship, and memorializes a scholar who lived during the Qing dynasty who wrote the words, "Gentle wind, you cannot read, so why do you turn the pages?" Apparently, the regime in power at the time understood these words as critique and subsequently killed the author. Known to create "water diaries" on rocks and read blank books as a form of meditation, Song Dong looks for meaning in the transitory quality of art. In this example he uses the gentle wind of a simple fan to suggest time passing. The prescribed information in the books he has so carefully shredded has been absorbed into a different kind of meaning, one that wind, paper and ink have the ability to provide on their own.
In Birthday I, II,III, and IV, Qin Chong utilizes stacks of paper as his medium. The four precise, white rectangular stacks form blocks upon which he carves out spaces using a flame. This produces a concave burnt crater in the center of one stack, while in another, a perfect cliff is burnt into its form. Although no text is printed on the paper, there is an implicit sense of history in its presentation. The white paper suggests a future that has yet to be been written, or otherwise removed by time.
In Ink Alchemy (1999-2001), Wenda Gu comments on Chinese identity. Substituting Chinese Hair Powder for the traditional ingredients found in ink, he puts this powder through the ink making process and creates Chinese Hair Ink. The black brick of ink seems like a sacred object, its inscription, simply, reads "Chinese DNA". The complex ink making process depicted in the accompanying video shows viewer the magical transformation of hair into ink, and the subsequent creation of a uniquely Chinese object.
Hong Lei focuses on silk and things related to silk. In Compendium of songs of the Golden Lotus (2006), he uses silk embroidery to weave strange, erotic illustrations in an accordion style book. A pink, headless figure attends to a bird/human love-fest. Dragonflies buzz around. The silk material shimmers while the pictures vaguely Oskar Kokoschka, in the expressive use of color.
The show brings together some breathtaking examples of the book as an object of art, while retaining a contemporary edge that connects with today's issues.
Ed. Note: This is the first installment of a two-part exhibition that runs until November 11; part two runs from December 13, 2006 to February 24th 2007.
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Stuart Arends
Bjorn Ressle Fine Art
By Mary Hrbacek
Minimalist artists explore the forefront of the art field by excluding the illusionistic, representational references found in traditional painting; Stuart Arends is no exception. He scrupulously avoids links to landscape, still life, portraiture or any definable, recognizable subject matter. He intends his relief paintings to be regarded as objects, reduced to a few geometric shapes and surface marks, devoid of any content. This artist constructs works that speak strictly to optical, perceptual issues.
Arends' work differs from that of other minimalist artists, such as Ellsworth Kelly and Frank Stella, in terms of its small scale; his limited formal choices of surface, color, space and light affect a world of nuance. He elaborates on these formal issues, constructing volumetric objects that establish architectural metaphors correlating to the structure of the room in which the work is displayed. Arends is concerned with how the painted "object" interacts with the architectural space of the gallery, and with orchestrating the space between paintings in order to control the area of a wall by a small-sized artwork. He hones his works down to their basic elements, employing "relief" to detract from the inherent "window" effect of looking into a framed painting. The ambient light of the gallery space becomes as much an art element here as the way that a painter regards reflected light.
At it core, art is personal; the artist lives through the materials. Arends creates a rhythmic patterning within carefully designed compositions. He is interested in the act: the performance aspect of art making, in conceptual terms like Pollock in his Action Paintings. But his use of the small scale fosters an intimacy, a ready connection between the viewer and the art. Color invariably suggests the physical world; black is night, blue is sky, beige can be earth or sand. The blue changes as the light outside the window fades or intensifies. White becomes blue-gray. The color in the pictures varies depending on the angle from which it is viewed. These alterations wed the works to their immediate environment. A painting inevitably transcends the definition of an "object.
In Wedge #19, the color-space created by juxtaposed blue and white rectangles sings harmoniously; the blue area draws the viewer in while a gray shape pushes forward visually, recalling the "push-pull" technique of Hans Hoffman. In Wedge #4 (oil on aluminum), muted gray-black, tan and white define three segments that are each subdivided to produce dark and light reflections.
Arends carefully controls his artistic elements, but the atmospheric effects subject the works to constant change that results in unanticipated surprises. By grafting the pure painting aesthetic of Piet Mondrian onto the shallow depth of a wall relief, Arends devises a minimalist format of many facets. These works, with their slightly angled, luminous rectangles recall Brice Marden's sensual visual effect. There is an understated, pristine subtlety here that fascinates.
9/20 through 11/18
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Full House
Whitney Museum of American Art
By Ola Manana
Organized by chief curator Donna De Salvo, this 75th anniversary exhibition is intended to present an overview of the Whitney's formidable collection, most of which is rarely on view. The Whitney is of course best known for its focus on emerging American artists. This show is arranged into sections which focus on conceptualism, minimalism, abstraction and the museum's crown jewel, the Edward Hopper collection. Each theme is loosely fitted under its requisite title; these are rather forced phrases such as Content is a Glimpse, and What You See is What You See, with accompanying wall text that attempts to illuminate these silly epithets. Though some of this work has been brought out essentially to fill historical gaps, the exhibition surprises the viewer with less typical works which are quite impressive.
One such work, a bronze sculpture by Louise Bourgeois entitled nature study (1984), depicts a headless dog sitting on its haunches, its sinewy back curving into a tail which wraps around one of four legs before settling next to an erect phallus.
Rather than appearing monstrous, the hard smoothness of the body combined with its uniform gold color yields a believable hybrid of a male/female, animal/ human. It has the singular beauty of an idol, and as such invites a reverie about deformity, sexuality and the connection between animal and human nature, life and death.
Lucas Samaras' Dinner#15, (1965) also "serves" up a bit of the macabre. A metal plate covered with colorful glass beads is presented as an hallucinogenic dinner; one section of the plate is spray-painted in neon green, while in another section we see three severed plastic fingers. There is also a wine glass which seems to have glue all over its base. It's as if someone here wants to say, "I'm so high that this is what my dinner looks like
to me!"
On the museum's third floor, Sherrie Levine has a huge sculpture of a pool table La Fortune, (1990) which is shown in front of Man Ray's oil painting from 1938 with the same title. The pool table juts out into the foreground, surrounded by whimsical brightly colored clouds that sail upward into the grey sky. The rich color of the felt on the table is more olive than phylocyanine green, and the eerie likeness of the sculpture to the painting makes for a strong dynamic. This also opens the door to a discussion about appropriation, one of the themes of the show. Levine's Golden Knots: 1, (1987), is another strong piece in the show. A large slice of plywood is placed beneath plexiglass; upon closer inspection, we see that several knots in the wood are painted in gold of a similar value, imbuing the piece with a surreal beauty that we would not normally anticipate finding in a piece of unfinished plywood.
Nam June Paik's Magnet TV (1965) consists of a magnet clamped to the top of a battered television set, the interference of the magnetic waves on the old fashioned "picture tube" produces a strange and delicate form on the screen. A simple idea, to be sure, but effective nonetheless.
Keeping things current, this show also addresses the issue of war, from a historical perspective. Jacob Lawrence's War Series from 1946 presents eleven paintings that depict the everyday experience of a soldier; we see him setting off on a boat, smoking a cigarette, and then there is an abstraction of a pile of bodies in which the only things recognizable are black and white hands. Lawrence expresses the anonymity and loneliness of the soldier's experience with a clarity that, unfortunately, resonates today.
One should certainly not leave the museum without a visit to the fifth floor. The phenomenal Edward Hopper collection fills the entire floor, and rightly so. Some 2,500 works by Hopper were donated to the museum by his wife after his death, and these include studies, drawings and illustrations that trace the development of his style preceding the Social Realism for which he is best known.
The paradox of remembering by forgetting or forgetting through remembering is a central theme of art. What is chosen by the artist, as worthy of depiction, vs. what is omitted, is always a question, as well as what is chosen by those who organize exhibitions such as this.
In Fred Wilson's Guarded View from 1991, four brown skinned mannequins are positioned wearing security guard uniforms, they look like museum security; one bears a pin from MoMA, one from the Whitney. The artist had in fact gone to the Whitney when the work was first shown, dressed up as a security guard, and went unnoticed by staff and crew. The idea behind this escapade was to demonstrate that the lower paying, non intellectual art jobs were typically given to minorities, while the directors, docents, curators, artists and even the museum visitors were expected to be white; so ingrained were these expectations that his ruse would go unnoticed.
Today, as one glimpses the mannequin and the real security guards, not much has changed. While the inclusion of this piece indicates an awareness on the part of the museum that segregation in the mind persists, "affirmative action" for the art world doesn't appear to be in the offering.
Through 12/3
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Performance artist, Rachel Hoffman, who is active in the Miami arts scene, was asked to write for M about her everyday experiences in Miami as that city prepares to host some thirteen (and counting) art fairs next month. This is the first in a series of In The First Person articles to be published here to give readers an unvarnished, de-VIP-ed glimpse into the art world.
In The First Person
Diary of A Performance Artist
By Rachel Hoffman
October 27, 2007
I sit in an outdoor South Beach cafe my big dark sunglasses, saturated with beautiful things to look at; becoming more and more overwhelmed with art in Miami. It shows up in the most unexpected places. Everything inspires me... Que rico!
Wade Simpson, my close friend and make-up artist sits across from me. Although it is only 10 a.m., he has already pointed out three reality TV stars and a transvestite on a little moped. I snap out of my art trance with this last observation. I don't know much about reality shows, but I am stunned with admiration. The style and unique beauty of the person on the moped impresses me so much. Those long legs, the tiger print gloves, the shiny red lips and the diamond choker all seem too perfect to be anything other than a fantasy. I know that this vision will haunt me for quite a while.
It is the end of October, and even though it still feels like summer, a delicate and magical Halloween breeze is blowing. It is still bikini weather, but I plan to spend the next five days in ballerina costumes. I am preparing to do five performances at the Miami Beach Cinematheque in homage to the "GIALLI" And Beyond: Italian Horror Masters Film Cycle. For the last few months, I have been studying the provocative and stylish films of Mario Bava, Dario Argento, in order to create an installation of soft sculptures, performances, and a short movie for this occasion. Argento's violent and sexy film, SUSPIRIA, which is set in a German Ballet academy, impresses me most with all of the fantastic colors and images. Although the term "Gialli" refers to Italian made films named after the yellow ("giallo") covered pulp-fiction paperback books about crime and murder mysteries, SUSPIRIA is more like a supernatural fantasy with witchcraft. It's funny, but I seem to have avoided the color yellow on a formal level in this exhibition. This is all about the aesthetics of blood. The focus is red.
I keep catching myself chewing on my lip, because nervous energy is beginning to consume me. Perhaps I should try to relax, enjoy myself, maybe window shop, but soon I will have to begin getting into make-up, and go to meet Dana Keith, the Director and Curator of the Cinematheque, so that we can prepare for the first performance. I want to pinch myself because I feel so lucky. What a fun project! The MBC is located in South Beach on Espanola Way, and is home to the Miami Beach Film Society. This non-profit organization provides a nice intimate space for film screenings, art exhibitions, and other events. Dana is fun. He is always moving things around, changing the space, and doing the unexpected.
During Art Basel Miami Beach in December, Dana will present GIVING VISABILITY, Representations of reality and unseen worlds... with a continuing Jonas Mekas film retrospective and photography exhibition for the entire month. A showcase of five extraordinary filmmakers and video artists will be presented at The Miami Beach Cinematheque throughout Art Basel Weekend, as an open opportunity to peek into the lives of the famous and infamous. Three transparent screens with the rotating video/film work curated by Liutauras Psibilskis of Michel Auder, Candice Breitz, Gabriel Lester, Jonas Mekas, and Francesco Vezzoli will be installed all weekend, with an open-house style reception.
The occasion also marks the premiere of a Jonas Mekas Retrospective in Miami. Mekas is the legendary "Godfather of American Avant-Garde Cinema", and his films Happy Birthday To John, This Side Of Paradise, and Scenes From The Life Of Andy Warhol will be featured Art Basel Weekend at MBC.
October 28, 2006
It is the Saturday before Halloween, but almost everyone in South Beach is already in costume. Wade and I have gone back to the same cafe for breakfast. We notice that even the dogs are ready for trick-or-treats. A tiny Chihuahua with a sombrero and a mariachi guitar proudly prances by on a leash. The animal probably does not weigh more than two or three pounds, but does not seem to mind the ensemble at all. I assume the tiny dog is a male, but Wade thinks it's another cross-dresser.
I hope to make it over to the Wynwood Art District to visit Charo Oquet, my friend and curator Edge Zones Art Space, which is another fabulous non-profit organization. Many people say that it is refreshing to come to this space because Oquet shows so many different styles of work. I love working with her because, as a curator, she is open-minded, and edgy. It's really enlightening to talk with her because she has this great energy. When I am feeling nervous before or after a performance, she always knows the right things to say to build my courage and get me fired-up.
I recently asked her about her curatorial style. She told me that she chooses to "focus exclusively on the present time, introducing Edge Zones artists as clear exponents of a new cultural stage, assuming the responsibility that all experiments entail a great amount of risk." I admire Charo for her selfless devotion. She does not seem concerned with replicating galleries, or focusing on money. She shows work that pushes boundaries, and always says how Miami needs to remain open to experimentation in order to continue to grow; that Miami artists must launch challenges against "existing contaminated concepts."
Charo dedicates an enormous amount of time and energy to help other artists in Miami and abroad. She has been able to organize all sorts of projects that introduce Miami artists to international curators, writers, and artists. She empowers artists because she does not just show work, she teaches artists how to grow and survive. Last spring, she invited me travel to the Dominican Republic with a group of Florida artists to do performances and installations at the Museo de Arte Moderno in Santo Domingo, and to conspire with Caryana Castillo and Eliu Alamonte of the avante-guarde performance group "Collectivo Chocolatero" in Puerto Plata. This was a life-changing experience that enriched my work with new confidence and complexities.
In December, Charo launches the Zones fair, coinciding with Art Basel Miami Beach. She tells me that, "this year 12 fairs will come to Miami, with ours it will be 13." This peaks my interest. In the last year I have witnessed things that almost seem supernatural at Edge Zones. I know there are no logical explanations, and I am aware that my superstitious nature and over-active imagination may cause me to embellish... but the number 13 is poderosa. I don't fear it. I find it to be lucky. Edge Zones started late, but it is a really great space. I think that this year Charo's home-grown Zones fair will be different from the other fairs, and previous Edge Zones shows. It will be worth the trip! I was able to preview some monumental figurative sculptures for the building fa?ade of the space, prepared by Miami-based artist Patrick Flibotte. These enormous "inflatable twins", reveries from the artist's precocious boyhood, are meant to cause pleasure and discomfort. The artist simultaneously builds the viewer-up, and knocks the viewer down. Fantstico!
My make-up artist asks me why I daydream so much. He seems annoyed because it is his Birthday and I should be paying him more attention. He tells me he needs some time to himself, joking that he "is going back to the hotel to put glitter on his @$$!" I welcome the time alone and decide to go to the gelato place on Washington and Espanola Way. I order a cup with half-coconut and half-tiramisu. It melts quickly as I walk down the street, eating wildly. It must be all over my face by now. Because I am already in a pink tutu, men are staring, drooling almost, and cat-calling. Judging from the reactions, it becomes obvious that my pink ruffled panties are showing, but the gelato is too good.
I don't care.
October 29, 2006
Now it is my birthday... and my turn to act totally neurotic. Unlike Wade, I have no desire to sit in a hotel room and put glitter on my @$$É but then, I do that all of the time when I get bored.
Tonight Argento's TENEBRE will be shown at the Cinematheque. This is his most violent and cold film. The murder victims always wear white, probably to show off the blood. Argento uses his own hands in the place of the actor's for the murder scenes. My favorite scene in the film is a dream sequence in which a beautiful young woman dressed in white, with the exception of her sexy candy red stilettos, forcefully shoves the heel of her shoe into the mouth of the man that she chooses to torture. For me, this is more unsettling than the actual murders.
Last night got a little out of control, and after witnessing all of the wild South Beach debauchery, I think that my ballet costume is tainted. Wade recommends that I burn it, but I want to keep it for the memories. I am armed with a bottle of disinfectant and some imitation Britney Spears perfume. It smells yummy, like cotton candy. I notice stains on the pink satin waist and ribbons. I wonder how they got there. Did something happen last night? Did I forget? Was I drugged? All of the scary movies get me paranoid. I am constantly looking over my shoulder for a stalker. Maybe I am living in a real "Giallo"? Many mysterious and spooky things occur when I perform and make actions, especially in Miami. There have been many strange coincidences. Anything seems possible.
But then I remember that I went back to the ice cream place after my performance. There was a little accident during the melted coconut and tiramisu gelato frenzy. Whew, what a relief! That was probably my best performance of the weekend!
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