Gallery Crawl

A Survey of Recent Chelsea Shows

By: James C. Kao

 

I experienced a lull of seeing art at galleries but snapped out of it by seeing Yukata Sone and Lisa Yuskavage at David Zwirner, Matthew Barney at Gladstone, Richard Serra at Gagosian, Do Ho Suh at Lehmann Maupin, and Tabaimo at James Cohan. Though the styles of the artists are diverse, a playful, child-like sensibility marked several of the shows.

 

This sensibility was most literal and apparent in Do Ho Suh’s Fallen Star 1/5, which I have seen before but was happy to see again. The sculpture consists of an Eastern style home crashed into a Western style home, which is opened in the middle to show the cross section inside. It’s presented like a dollhouse, though the scale is quite a bit larger than the average toy. The details of the house and rooms are amazing: there are electrical boxes on the outside of the house and plates and settings in the kitchen inside the house. The aesthetics captivated my attention, and I desired to walk over the stanchion and play with the house. Do Ho Suh’s work explores cultural identity and displacement, and thus having an Eastern house crash into a Western house depicts his own history of his immigration to the U.S. from Korea. The Eastern style house is actually a model of his childhood home in Korea. To have one crash into the other shows that cultural displacement can be emotionally jarring and even violent because one’s surrounding can be quite foreign and unrecognizable. Fallen Star 1/5 is also a nod to the story of Dorothy in Wizard of Oz when a tornado transports her house. The piece presents the dual sense of jarring and fun because the sculpture itself is playful as a large toy-like object and yet parts of the inside are destroyed to demonstrate the impact of the two houses colliding.

 

I also wanted to play with Yutaka Sone’s Little Manhattan. This sculpture is a marble model of the island of Manhattan about the size of an average coffee table, with close attention paid to the details of each of the blocks and even the paths in Central Park. In one glance you can see the height differences between all the buildings in Manhattan. Once again I imagined having little figurines and placing them onto the sculpture to play out some story, but obviously I couldn’t. Little Manhattan is impressive physically and the artist even took helicopter rides to render the island to scale. Yutaka Sone’s works explore diverse materials, both organic and synthetic, and the tension in trying to create perfection.

 

Yutaka Sone, Little Manhattan. Photo by JCK.

 

A third exhibit that resonated with me was the Richard Serra sculptures at Gagosian. The last time I was inside a Serra sculpture was back in 2007 at MoMA’s Richard Serra Sculpture: Forty Years. I had the same feelings now as I did back then. I felt a sense of glee as I walked through the winding steel forms because I am completely immersed into an unusual environment. Though metal is usually thought of as hard, obstructive, restricting, and threatening, Serra’s curved structures actually are the opposite. The slanted walls create a flowing path that occupies my senses and creates a desensitized, tranquil space. The steel walls are curved, which disorientated me, contributing to my sense of disengagement with the outside world. The sculptures at Gagosian are even more impressive than the ones I saw at MoMA. These are larger, and they were arranged to almost connect together. The experience reminded me of walking through a maze and of the child-like excitement I felt when attempting to solve maze puzzles.

 

Richard Serra at Gagosian. Photo by JCK.

 

I had stayed away from Chelsea for a while because the last time I was there none of the works had inspired me, but this visit was different. Though the artists I saw were ones I already knew and, for the most part, liked, it was gratifying to see that I continue to engage with their works, which are also evolving.

 

Ryoji Ikeda: The Transfinite

By: James C. Kao

 

I have been a fan of the art installations at the Park Avenue Armory since I moved back to New York. The vastness of the Wade Thompson Drill Hall allows for ambitious and grand projects such as Christian Boltanski’s “No Man’s Land”, which I reviewed a year ago. I saw pictures of Ryoji Ikeda’s “The Transfinite” and was intrigued by its simple yet compelling aesthetic. If I thought the photos were beautiful, they were nothing compared to my experience of the installation in person.

 

Ryoji Ikeda, The Transfinite, 2011. Photo by JCK.

 

As I walked into the hall, I saw a large screen on the floor and another that was perpendicular to the floor. On the screens were projected black and white lines that moved up and down. These lines moved smoothly from the floor to go upwards making the screens appear continuous. There was a line down the middle and the two sides moved in opposite directions. Lines and blocks changed sizes and frequencies on the screens. Visitors were encouraged to walk onto the installation, as long as you took your shoes off. The hall was also filled with ambient sounds, which could at times sound like white noise. The thumping was irregular at times, and the flashing visuals, I imagine, could cause seizures. I thought the combination of all this would be jarring and discomforting, but it was not. In fact, my experience of the installation was tranquil. The immersive visuals and the surrounding sounds obliterated my other senses and thoughts. Ikeda is inspired by mathematics, which I detected in the installation. The sounds and the lines were all precisely calculated. The Transfinite had order and pattern, but it also was infinite through the repetition and my experience of it was ethereal and beyond the ordinary. I thought that this demonstrated the power of mathematics – possibilities of infinity.

 

When I had arrived at the Armory, I was told by the box office to also walk to the back and thus I did. I expected the back would be the same as the front: that the visuals would be repeated on the other side, but I was wrong. If the front was the graphic representation, then the back appeared as if it was the coding that led to the lines and patterns. On the back screen, there were also movements of blacks and whites and changes in frequencies, but there were numbers instead of lines, which led to my association of computer coding. In the back, there were also small plinths with screens that continued this motif of using numbers to form moving images. One, for example, gave the impression that I was some deity looking down onto a galaxy in constant motion.

 

All three projects added together to form a poetic experience through a seemingly uncomplicated concept and aesthetic. Ikeda is labeled as both a composer and an artist. He composed an installation with audiovisual elements that was at once beautiful, compelling and sublime.

 

“Ryoji Ikeda: The Transfinite” runs through June 11^th

 

Park Avenue Armory

643 Park Avenue

(Between 66th and 67th Streets)

Take the 6 train to 68^th Street

Hours: Open to the public: Tues-Sun, 12-7; Thurs, 12-9; Memorial Day, 12-7

Website: www.armoryonpark.org

 

“Hueless” at Mallick Williams

By: Simmy Swinder

 

Mallick Williams is currently hosting its fourth exhibition since its recent launch in November 2010. Spearheaded by Director Jeremy Kaplan, who previously worked for Shepard Fairey’s Subliminal Projects in Los Angeles, “Hueless” draws together nineteen street artists of varying degrees of fame and popularity, from Curtis Kulig and D*Face to Lindsey de Ovies and Sam Ske.

 

 
Katsu, A Psycho, 2011, 48’‘x48’’, oil on canvas. Courtesy Mallick Williams & Co.

 

 

 Lindsey de Ovies, TAADAA!, 2010, 8’’x 8’’ x 9,” bronze. Courtesy Mallick Williams & Co.

 

Unlike many other gallery shows that strive to create a conceptual or visual link between one artwork and the next, or a retrospective exhibit that focuses on providing a range of works or one memorable work by a single artist, the works in “Hueless” are grouped by the lack of color. In addition to this shared trait, each piece is executed and presented in a well-polished, collection-ready manner. That is, though the artists are active street artists, the works in “Hueless” have an air of white-cube aspiration, and certainly placing them at Mallick Williams helps the cause. In fact, a mixed-media wall work by NTEL is reminiscent of collage work by Robert Rauschenberg or an Edward Kienholz assemblage while the photorealistic renditions by Dirk Dzimirsky and Lu Gold continue the tradition of documenting contemporary Americana paintings like those by Richard Phillips and Raplh Goings.

 

After numerous gallery shows of art by street artists, the next logical step is moving those works into the ivory tower of the art world, the art museum. Jeffrey Deitch, a longtime supporter of the street art movement, has taken initiative through his still recent appointment at MOCA Los Angeles.  His show, Art on the Streets, curated by Aaron Rose, Roger Gastman and Fred Brathwaite finally gives those artists, and those aspiring to work within the street art genre, the legitimacy and historical presence they seek.

 

 

 

NTEL, A Prestige of Materials, 2011, 40’’ x 60,’’ mixed media. Courtesy Mallick Williams & Co.

 

 

 

 

Dirk Dzimirsky, Drawn Face V (Nicole), 18.1’’ x 25.2,’’ graphite on canvas. Courtesy Mallick Williams & Co.

 

 

But this comes with a price. D*Face said in a 2008 interview with Fecal Face, “…the more aware the public becomes of street art the less applicable it seems to be.” No longer are their political commentary about advertising, consumerism and the government the crux of their message, their names and fame are. This has led the art world—which has allowed street art to prosper commercially via gallery shows—to question whether it is possible to monetize and thus privatize an art object that was meant to be seen by the public, free of cost. Street artists also face this problem; they must walk a tightrope between integrity and profitability, between being recognized for their artistry and selling out. There is no right or wrong answer because there is no moral arbiter in the art world and thus everyone shares the responsibility of keeping art, to some extent, sacred.

 

Other artists in “Hueless” include Distort, Erik Haze, Marissa Textor, Pete Watts, FAUST, Marco Zamora, Katsu, Nicholas Forker, Michael M. Koehler, Nathan Pickett, Russell Young and Skullphone.

 

 

“Hueless” at Mallick Williams & Co. runs through April 15^th

 

Mallick Williams & Co.

 

150 11th Avenue  (Between 21^st and 22^nd St)

 

Take the A,C, or E train to 23^rd Street and/or the M23 bus to 11^th Avenue

 

Gallery Hours: Tues-F, 10-6; Sat, 11-6

 

Gallery Website: http://www.mallickwilliams.com

 

"Seductive Subversion: Women Pop Artists, 1958-1968” at the Brooklyn Museum

By: Sarah Blumberg

 

Name one female Pop artist.  Go on, just one.  While men such as Roy Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol easily come to mind as the epitome of the movement, possibly with Tom Wesselmann or James Rosenquist thrown in for good measure,  women like Evelyne Axell, Vija Celmins and Idelle Weber are probably not very high on your mental list of notables, if any of their names register at all.  “Seductive Subversion: Women Pop Artists, 1958-1968,” now on display at the Brooklyn Museum, hopes to not only rectify this omission, but to expand the previously narrow definition of Pop art as well.  This means allowing for a wide array of work – some of which, while clearly influenced by Pop art, is not entirely of it – produced by a surprisingly international group of artists, many of whom are only now receiving the recognition they so clearly deserve.

 

Marjorie Strider, Triptych II (Beach Girl), 1964. Acrylic on board, 72 x 52 in. (182.9 x 132.1 cm) each. Courtesy of Michael Chutko and WikiPop.

 

Because I entered “Seductive Subversion” from the back and worked my way forward, the first work that really gabbed my attention was Marjorie Strider’s 1963 Triptych II (Beach Girl), which features three bikini-clad women with three-dimensional breasts and slightly vacant, detached looks, striking pin-up style poses. A unashamed assessment of the one-dimensional sexuality that most Pop art ascribed to women, Strider’s work is a great example of what this show does best: critiquing through humor.  Even the most blatantly hostile works in “Seductive Subversion” are notable for their use of wit as a form of satire.  Martha Rosler’s photomontages are a great example of this.  Originally distributed as Xeroxes at street protests and published in underground newspapers, these works attempt to capture the experience and expectations of being a woman during the late 60s and early 70s by pairing disparate images of domesticity and idyllic visions of suburbia with foreign warfare and pornography.   While clearly created to shock, these works are appealing precisely because of this pointed use of tongue-in-cheek humor contrasted with topically relevant subject matter. 

 

Yayoi Kusama, Untitled, 1963. Sewn stuffed fabric, cooking pot, lid, ladle and paint d.v. Dimensions variable. Private Collection, New York. Courtesy of Peter Freeman, Inc., New York and Art Tattler.

 

In addition to simply presenting a variety of female Pop artists working in almost every medium imaginable, a notable feat in itself, “Seductive Subversion” also does an excellent job of contextualizing both the works shown in this exhibition and the lives of the artists themselves.  iPads located throughout the galleries make it possible to browse Wikipedia entries to learn more about the artists while also providing instructions on how visitors can access this same information using their own mobile device.  Moreover, “Seductive Subversion” not only includes multiple examples of the artists’ work, but there are also quite a few displays of photographs, catalogues and other documents pertaining to their careers, adding to the wealth of information present in this show.  I thought that one of the best examples of this is the way in which the work of Yayoi Kusama, a Japanese artist who fits just as well into Surrealism as she does Pop art, is presented.  Included in the exhibition are video installations, paintings and multiple examples of her stuffed “soft” sculptures, which feature phalluses propagating over household objects; just the one small area of the gallery displaying Kusama’s work is like a mini-exhibition in itself.

 

Martha Rosler, Vacuuming Pop Art, 1966–72. Photomontage, 24 x 20 in. (50.8 x 61 cm). Courtesy of the artist, Mitchell-Innes & Nash, New York and the Brooklyn Museum.

 

 Much of “Seductive Subversion,” while an all-together enjoyable, coherent show, occasionally feels as though it is trying to toss as much information at the visitor as possible.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially since a lack of information is usually an issue in such a large exhibition, and the multiple forms of information do a great job of providing the visitor with the option of learning as much or as little about each artist as they want.  And isn’t that really what a show like this, and what the Museum’s Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, is all about?  Many of the artists represented here were previously unrecognized contributors to the milieu.  While they may not always provide the most iconic examples of Pop art, these women undoubtedly do deserve to be recognized for their contributions to what has mostly been represented as a male-dominated movement.

 

“Seductive Subversion: Women Pop Artists, 1958-1968” at the Brooklyn Museum runs through January 9th 

 The Brooklyn Museum

 200 Eastern Parkway

 Take the 2 or 3 train to Eastern Parkway/Brooklyn Museum

Hours: Wed, 11-6; Thurs-Fri, 11-10; Sat-Sun, 11-6

Exhibition Website: http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/seductive_subversion/index.php

 

Gerhard Richter: “Lines which do not exist,” at The Drawing Center

By: Erin Tireses

 Robert Frost said, “in a great rhyme, the reader doesn't know which word the author thought of first.” This quote applies to the creation of drawings, as well, and it is epitomized by those in the Gerhard Richter's show, “Lines which do not exist” at The Drawing Center. Each piece in the show is like a metaphor that cannot be simply digested and set aside. All the drawing in the show are full of ideas that are not easily separated. In none is it clear which line was imagined first, which intersection held the artists attention longest, or which smudge mark was the final touch. Like a fully formed world into which we enter and of which we attempt to decipher the origins, each work appears to have emerged as a whole, organically, so that the viewers can study the relationships between the spaces and lines indefinitely, and constantly realize new truths about how the marks relate to one another.

 

The first drawing that grabbed my attention on opening night was 22.4.1990, which depicts a single plane with vertical erase marks that slash the plane into seven separate sections. I stared at the piece as intently as I would read a novel, searching for a reason behind the way its patterns unfold. I could not be certain that the erase marks were conceptualized after the larger plane was drawn. The lines that comprise the plane grow dimmer from left to right, as if the artist gently lifted his pencil as he scrawled across the surface of the paper. But the weight and space of the plane seems to grow less dense between each segment than the space created by the erasures would imply, as if there was never a singular plain at all, but the artist created one segment, smudged its edge with his eraser, then started the next section from scratch. The greater plane stands apart from the blank background so boldly that it implies otherwise, but this continuity could have been formed by the smudge marks that are equally dense in each segment, and lend the piece its depth. The eraser marks – the negative space – weigh and occupy more space than the segments of the plane; causing me to feel their importance and question the one assumption I thought of which I thought I could be certain – that something must be created before it can be wiped out.

 

 

22.4.1990, 1990, graphite on paper, 8 1/4 x 11 11/16 inches. Permanent loan from a German private collection, Courtesy Kunsthalle Emden. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

 

Detail of 22.4.1990.

 

Another drawing brings together multiple planes created by horizontal lines but without erasures between each segment. In 21.5.1986, three segments are stitched together where its lines overlap, creating two other segments that are actually denser than those that combine to form them. There are a variety of angles and densities created in the segments where the lines overlap, implying a myriad of ways the spaces could relate to each other. The center could be the foreground. The left could overlap the center while the center overlaps the right. They could all bend into one another, and all the apparent overlap could be an illusion. Or the center segment itself could be an extension of the left and right as they reach for one another. These possibilities are enough to make the viewer realize that there are more ways that lines, planes, spaces and ideas can intersect than anyone can hold in their mind at a single time, but this is not enough for the artist. Richter presents two other sets of lines, slightly fainter, on top of the center segment, which cut a different direction than all the other lines in the drawing. These sets of lines act like a tangent to a central narrative, which opens that narrative to a whole new set of interpretations.

 

21.5.1986, (4), 1986, graphite on paper, 8 1/4 x 11 11/16 inches. Permanent loan from a German private collection, Courtesy Kunsthalle Emden. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

Detail of 21.5.1986 (4).

 

21.5.1986, (4) is one of three drawings that share a single ledge upon a wall which, sitting next to each other, display the huge breadth of creation that drawing can encompass, which Gerhardt Richter has executed. Each creates a different type of space, with different strokes, different intentions, and vastly different effects. With thick smudges of graphite, 31.5.1999 creates a landscape, 21.5.1986 creates a plane, and 4.4.1983 uses lines more sparsely, with more space between each and more apparent randomness, to creating subtle spaces from which the viewer can endlessly abstract. Each one is like a murky pool into which the viewers can wade and explore, and the juxtaposition of the three quickens and confuses the exploration, like a verse in terza rima that keeps its readers thinking about how the rhymes both link together and fall apart as the meter moves them forward.

 

It is rare for a single artist to evoke such a large range of experiences with such aplomb. I was reminded of Shakespeare's ability to write pitch-perfect voices for such diametrically opposed characters as Romeo and Iago, and the similarities between the artists do not end there. Richter has been criticized for appropriating all of these styles from artists of the 1950s and not contributing anything new to the art of drawing, not pushing the medium further toward another stage in its evolution. Likewise, Shakespeare never wrote an original story. Instead, both artists perfected their craft, and this in itself is an innovation that furthers every art form and pushes every artist.

 

 

31.5.1999, 1999, graphite on paper, 8 1/4 x 11 7/8 inches. Private Collection. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

21.5.1986, (4), 1986,graphite on paper, 8 1/4 x 11 11/16 inches. Permanent loan from a German private collection, Courtesy Kunsthalle Emden. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

 

4.4.1983 (2), 1983, graphite on paper, 7 1/8 x 9 5/8 inches. Courtesy of Winterthur, Kunstmuseum Winterthur, Purchase with lottery funds from the canton of Zurich, 1996. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

17 Seascapes contains seventeen drawings of the ocean, sky, and horizon in a tidy grid. Each scene varies, like a study of time. In one the clouds are thick, in another wispy. In some the seas are calm, in others tumultuous. But in all of them the horizon remains the same, a flat line dividing the ocean and the sky. They look as if the artist drew them with a ruler across all the panels and applied the same weight all the way across.

This would be an obvious element to change if an artist wanted to augment the feeling of each seascape. A shaky horizon easily indicates a storm, and a flat one indicates calm. But Richter conjures these effects while leaving the horizon flat, and the result is engrossing. The horizons give the whole piece a feeling of depth. The flat lines seems to run across the spaces between the panels and the viewers are drawn into them like most of us are occupied while lying on the beach, staring over the waves. As I peered into the drawings and saw the ocean, the truth of Richter's choice to leave the horizon flat despite the conditions of the sea and sky became clear to me. Beyond the waves there is always a horizon, always a point where the water rolls over the earth, past our view, and creates a constant line.

 

17 Seestücke/17 Seascapes, 1969, graphite and ballpoint pen on paper, 8 1/2 x 12 inches. Permanent loan from a German private collection, Courtesy Kunsthalle Emden. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

Four drawings stand on the back wall of the gallery, all taller and wider than their viewers. These works inspire awe and intimidate, like a waterfall looming at the back of a cove. But as the viewers approach them, they find that the waterfalls are frozen in time and their sublime details reflect both that natural phenomenon and Gerhard Richter's smaller paintings. Their nuances can be studied for hours. Drawing III splits the canvas in half with shading. An ominous face lingers in the darker half, like a shadowy figure submerged underwater. The other half is slightly comical, with wispy lines that reflect a cartoonishly long, stocking-ed leg. This extreme juxtaposition is exactly what someone would expect from the details of a waterfall frozen in time: the effluence of water – a random expression of the whole spectrum of life and its most disparate elements standing side by side. Where other drawings in the show emerge from their blank backgrounds with well-defined lines, Richter gives this drawing one distinct edge then intentionally smudges it.

 

Drawing III, 2005, graphite on paper, 59 1/2 x 40 3/8 inches. Collection of Donna and Howard Stone. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

There appears to be a progression in the drawings as the viewer moves clockwise around the show. The pieces on the left side of the room are more singular studies, the large paintings on the back wall split their canvases between two poles, ominous and comical, as discussed above, while the paintings on the right side of the room seem to split spaces on a smaller scale, and in a more startling way. One such painting, 18.10.1988 has faint lines curling off into one corner of the page. As they draw together, they resemble a wolf baying at the moon. Once I detected this image, its comical reflection began to emerge in the darker lines of the piece – an abstract rendition of Wile E Coyote with his hand on his chin. Intentional or not, the dual usage of the space allows the viewer to find both the most awe-inspiring and most comical interpretations of the same image in a single drawing.

 

 

18.10.1988, 1988, graphite on paper, 11 11/16 x 8 1/4 inches. Courtesy of Winterthur, Kunstmuseum Winterthur, Purchase with lottery funds from the canton of Zurich, 1997. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

Water abounds in this show. From the fluidity with which complex planes emerge from blank backgrounds, to the waterfalls captured in the back of the room, and to the delicate transitions of the last set of drawings like streams combining and separating again, The Drawing Center feels full of that life-creating element. Each painting offers the meditative experience of staring at waves as they roll onto the shore, where the sea-goer sits and  contemplates the simultaneous repetitious yet ever-changing nature of life. No drawing does this more obviously than one of the ocean itself, 1.6.1999. Dark shading creates the surface of water under the moonlight, shiftier lines depict the sky, and one erase mark runs back and forth from the horizon into the sea, creating a beautiful glimpse of light upon the water. Images of the open ocean often conjure a feeling of instability as there is no place for the viewers to plant their feet, but the craft of this drawing instills the viewers with a sense of calm. The erasure depicting the moonlight would be the calmest element of the painting, but there is a violent scribble mark over this blank space, reminding us that there is always danger beneath the surface, even in a work this well composed.

 

Writers since at least the time of the New Testament have identified the ocean as the ideal metaphor. No one can ever explore all of its depths. No one can touch the bottom of the sea or they will drown. The drawings of Gerhard Richter epitomize this metaphor, offering us dynamic confluences of lines and shadows that intensify our exploration of art and life.

 

1.6.1999, 1999, graphite on paper, 8 1/4 x 11 11/16 inches. Courtesy of Winterthur, Kunstmuseum Winterthur, Purchase with lottery funds from the canton of Zurich, 2000. Image courtesy The Drawing Center.

 

Gerhard Richter: “Lines which do not exist” at The Drawing Center runs through November18^th

 

The Drawing Center

35 Wooster Street

Take the N, Q, R, W, J, M, Z, 6, A, C, E, or 1 train to Canal Street

Gallery Hours: W, 12-6; Thur, 12-8; F-Sun, 12-6

Exhibition Website: http://www.drawingcenter.org/exh_current.cfm

 

DID YOU MISS IT? “Decameron”:David Cohen's Decade of Exhibitions at the New York Studio

By: Erin Tireses

The playful curation of “Decameron” at the New York Studio School places an abstract
sculpture next to the only photograph in the show, a photo of two naked women engaged in
sex. Next to the photo, the sculpture is unmistakably vaginal, and next to the sculpture, the
explicit sexuality of the photo fades into the background. The sensual lines between the
lovers in the emerge.

 

 
Harry Rossman, Curtain Wall Fragement and Ariane Lopez-Huici, Les Amants. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

The show is a retrospective for David Cohen, the gallery director of the New York Studio
School, who for the last 10 years has curated mostly solo shows at both the NYSS and
elsewhere, so it is no surprise that he has taken this opportunity to show off his curatorial
chops. But the thoughtful placement of certain works next to others does more than merely
display his vast knowledge of artists and what a group show can be; the juxtaposition often
adds depth to the viewers' experience with individual pieces.

An untitled charcoal drawing by Merlin James uses a minimal amount of lines to depict a
scene in a park. The lines are intensely expressive. The depicted bare branches bending in
the wind gave me the chills, and the drawing made me feel the autumn breeze. Next to this
work, a large metal sculpture by Rebecca Smith called Green Insect is bolted to the wall.
Due to its placement next to the James drawing, the lines of Smith's sculpture feel more
expressive than those of other metal pieces. The sculpture began to titillate my senses as
well. The rigidity of the sculpture was reflected back onto the drawing, lending it the sense
of permanence that metal sculptures inevitably conjure, but which is difficult for drawings
to attain. One detail in the charcoal painting is two small figures conversing with a line
connecting them. It resembles a sloppy signature and highlights an almost undetectable
element of the sculpture. Viewers become an intimate part of the sculpture as well, even
though it does not depict any human forms. In the same way that the figures in the drawing
seem to emerge and share their connection because of the lines around them, the viewers of
the Green Insect interact with the piece and share their connection because of the work of
art about which they converse.

 

 
Merlin James, Untitled. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

 

 
Rebecca Smith, Green Insect. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

Two paintings hang next to each other on another wall, and they create a study in depth.
An untitled piece by Chuck O'Conner is uniformly thick with heavy green, yellow, and blue
strokes that never overlap. Lighter colors stand in the foreground, each creating the shape of
the capital letter E. At first glance the painting feels flat without an attempt to create multiple dimensions, but upon a closer look the viewer realizes there is another figure E, and that this
E has faded into the background not because of angles, spacing, shading, or placement – the
typical tactics used to imply depth – but solely through color. Thought darker colors generally
fade into the background next to bright ones, the way this E is painted gives it a weight and
presence that competes with those of the brighter colors. Its heaviness grounds the bright
colors, creating a strange relationship of balance.

 

 
Chuck O'Conner, Untitled. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

In contrast, Per-Model, by Francis Barth uses the traditional diagonal perspective line to imply
the three-dimensional space of a typical dining room and table. Yet the table, despite being
the only colored piece in the painting, and the only space that stands out in the middle of a
room, feels like the flattest part of the work. Even the figures that sit atop it are rendered flat
by its rigidity. The viewer is reminded that sometimes simple lines can contain more depth
than elaborate colors, and next to Chuck O'Conner's untitled piece, you see that what is true
in one painting can be utterly false in another. Where color is used to make one shape stand
out in O'Conner's piece, here the table fades into the background despite its color.

 

 
Francis Barth, Per-Model. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

One small painting evokes the role of the artist in a work of art. Blow-Up by Joa Baldinger
depicts a photographer wrapped around his camera. The black, empty space of the lens sits
in the center of the canvas and occupies most of the canvas. The photographer's face is
hidden, the hair could be the hair of the lens, the fingers are connected to it in so many ways
they could be an extension of the machine, another mechanical component of the camera.
The painting made me feel as if artists and their art forms are inextricable, as if the center
of their being is their metaphorical lens, and they are constantly taking in the outside world
through their craft, be they a musician, painter or poet.

Next to this hangs another painting that depicts the interior workspace, and by extension
interior workings, of the artist. In the center of the canvas there appears to be a painting of a
wooded scene. Around this, paints, palates and brushes abound. But the edge of the painting
in the piece is so subtle that the wooded scene could also be the view from an exterior space,
evoking the feeling that all of life is a work of art and the idea that god is a metaphor for the
artist, the ultimate creator. Here, the wooded scene could be a canvas, the artist's creation,
or a window, the artist's inspiration. Inevitably, both are true. Where Blow-Up gives us an
interesting glimpse of artists from the outside, this work gives us a glimpse of artists from the
inside, equipped with the tools of their trades, both being created and creating their outside
inspiration. In this painting, one detail adds another level to this idea. There are handles on
the edge of the painting-window, as if the space that is both creation and inspiration is not
the view from a window but from a moving train, not stagnant and focused on one section
of the world, but constantly in motion. Sure enough, the curator offers us a hint by placing
a realistic painting of a train immediately next to it. This, Interior Truck View, Lough Key, by
Nick Miller, reminds viewers that both the images that inspire artists from without, and the projections they place on these images from within, are always changing.

 

 
Nick Miller, Interior Truck View, Lough Key. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

If viewers walk through the show in a natural, clockwise direction, the last dazzling piece
they see is the most experimental in the show, perhaps hinting at the way art, or at least
Cohen's curation, will head in the future. In Color Chips Folded in Half, by Clintel Steed, 6
rectangles of wood, all of slightly different dimensions, and all attached to a larger single
piece of wood, each depict a similar beach scene of sun curtains planted in the sand.
There are hues of sunsets in some, rough weather in others, and the faint skeleton of a
bridge in the background of one. For the most part, the different colors and details remain
on different panels, but some distinct colors from one panel continue into another. Once
details such as the skeleton of the bridge are specified in one, the viewers begin to imagine
them in the others. Despite the rectangles' physically separate segments, they all share a
single structure that holds them together. All of this reminds the viewers of that complex
relationship between art works, where each piece strives to assert its own individuality, but
can only do so by stressing its differences and similarities to others. This is a fitting self-
reflexive touch to the painting that says goodbye to the viewers of this group retrospective.

 

 
Clintel Steed, Color Chips Folded in Half. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

In his novels, Leo Tolstoy intimately introduces the reader to his characters one at a time,
then brings them together in extravagant scenes where their relationships are explored
through interactions, the nuance of which the reader understands only because of the way
Tolstoy introduced them. In these moments, the reader feels that Tolstoy understands
what the novel, as opposed to any other literary form, can achieve. The viewers feel
something similar about this show by David Cohen: he understands what group shows and
retrospectives, more than any other types of shows, can offer to both the artworks included
and the viewers who attended. In addition to adding depth to our experience with individual
pieces, he attunes us to nuances that exist in the world of art as a whole.

Exhibition Website: http://www.nyss.org/exhibitions/

Recent Fall Shows in Brief

By: James C. Kao

 

Since I haven’t lived in New York for a while, I had to be informed that this was the season for art openings. In keeping with the season, I visited several galleries in the past couple of weeks in Chelsea, the Lower East Side, and Dumbo. No show was terrible, though many were not memorable. Here is a brief list of the shows that I enjoyed and remembered.

 

My first evening of openings was in Chelsea, and the first exhibit I saw was the series titled “Do Not Abandon Me,” created by Tracy Emin in collaboration with Louise Bourgeois at Carolina Nitsch. Bourgeois made gouache drawings involving blob-like figures, and Emin added text and drawings on top. I liked these drawings because they were honest and raw but had a sense of humor. In an interview, Emin stated that “we both work with our hearts and what actually drives us emotionally.” I could discern which marks belonged to whom, but the drawings looked as if one person could have done them. The abstract bodies came together with the drawn figures and texts through the similar intentions of the artists. There was coherence in style and concept.

 

Later that week, I went to the Lower East Side, and one of the shows I saw was “Judith Page: Night Walk” at Gallery 1 of the Lesley Heller Workspace. There was a lot of pink. Judith Page covers drawings, paintings, and sculptures with Tar Gel, a clear painting medium with a gooey tar-like consistency. Page mixes the gel medium with acrylic paint and forms an organic looking surface. To me, Page’s work speaks of identity and the figure but with a comical sensibility that is communicated through a use of odd mixtures. In one painting, there was a toy horse on top of the canvas, contrasting with the pointed wooden sticks at the bottom of the canvas. These elements broke the traditional rectangular frame of a painting. The wooden sticks reminded me of legs, adding an anthropomorphic sense to the piece. In light of contemporary popular culture, the stakes also made me think of stakes used against vampires. The different objects she includes in her work create multiple layers of meanings and allusions to be deciphered by the viewer.

 

Judith Page, August 27 (Crossing the Desert), 2010, tar gel, mixed media, 39 x 22 x 1 1/4 in. Image courtesy of the artist.

 

The next week, I went back to the Lower East Side for the “Collective Show New York 2010” at Participant Inc. This was an exhibition of works by contemporary art collectives. I was intrigued by the idea of an exhibition of just collectives – a group show of group shows. Though when I visited the exhibition, it felt a bit jumbled to me. Still, I liked a couple of pieces. There was a collage titled Porno for Pyros by Brent Birnbaum, part of the collective Artist Accomplices, which was so over the top gaudy that it worked. All the elements came together with a carnivalesque sensibility, there were little details to discover as you look closer such as penises stuck to various toy figurines and cut outs of Miley Cyrus’ heads pasted onto various other pictures of bodies. At the night of the opening, there were also several performances. My favorite was a performance in costume by Don Kaspar of the collective Human Resources. Her outfit slightly reminded me of Chaplin, and her character was neurotic, disorganized, and completely charming. She stood on a stool and began speaking but then started shouting to get everyone’s attention. As she began reciting a monologue, she went off on a tangent and then started going through random pieces of paper, which she then later distributed to the viewing public. At first I thought the piece would fit better in a more intimate space because it was becoming lost in the opening, but then I realized that the neurotic and inconsistent energy of the character actually fit within the insanity: chaos within chaos. The haphazard but intentional way the space was arranged was unlike what I used to see at galleries several years ago, and I appreciate this change.

 

“Collective Show” opening. Photo by JCK.

 

Last but not least is “Sleeping with Strangers,” a one-night exhibition of Iviva Olenick and Robert Gerhardt’s works organized by Salon Ciel held at one of the coordinator’s apartment. Sometimes I am dubious of exhibitions held in apartments as the pre-existing arrangements can be distracting, but in this case it actually worked, especially for Olenick’s work. She creates pieces that are embroidered texts and images on small pieces of fabric. The texts read as diary entries, and the apartment setting worked with their air of intimacy. Certain pieces of fabric contain pre-existing designs and reinforce the preciousness of the work. She walks the line between being utterly honest and revealing too much, causing the viewer to be curious to see more but slightly ashamed, as if stumbling upon someone’s hidden journal. Gerhardt’s photographs of people on the subway seemingly caught unaware fits well to Olenick’s work and the night’s theme of invading personal and intimate spaces, both physical and mental.

 

Iviva Olenick, Love Fire, 2010, embroidery on fabric with fabric collage, 5.5" X 8.5". Image courtesy of the artist.

 

I was excited to go through galleries and see what New York would present for contemporary art. I remember that before moving to London the work I was seeing in New York were largely paintings and photographs, all pristinely presented. This time, there is more work that involved the space, and they were chaotic and subversive. The energetic opening of the “Collective Show” and the intimate and alternative qualities of Salon Ciel’s show were new to me for New York. I am not sure if I liked it all yet. I ran into Jerry Saltz at White Columns one evening, and he told me that the New York art world was changing. An English curator I spoke to once said the same thing, noting that one gallery he knew of represented only painters and photographers but recently signed an installation artist. I agree, and I wait to see the result of this shift.

 

Related Musings:

http://nymag.com/news/intelligencer/68379/

 

 

Exhibitions still on view:

 

“Do Not Abandon Me” at Carolina Nitsch Project Room runs through November 13^th

 

Carolina Nitsch Project Room

534 West 22^nd Street

Take the A,C, or E train to 23^rd Street and/or the M23 bus to 11^th Avenue

Gallery Hours: Tues – Sat, 11-6

Gallery Website: www.carolinanitsch.com

 

“Judith Page: Night Walk” at Lesley Heller Workspace runs through October 24^th

 

Lesley Heller Workspace

54 Orchard Street

Take the F,J,M, or Z train to Delancey/Essex

Gallery Hours: Wed – Sat, 11-6; Sun, 12-6

Gallery Website:www.lesleyheller.com

 

 

Jennifer Williams at The Homefront Gallery

By: Meredith Nelson

 

In a refreshing change from the large, often overwhelming galleries in Chelsea, the brand-new, unassuming The Homefront Gallery can be found a stone’s throw away in Long Island City. Camped out in the trenches of artists’ studios and newly built, million dollar co-ops, The Homefront Gallery is a comparatively tiny space that offers a carefully edited and meticulously curated selection of work by local artists working on what is termed the “homefront” by the gallery’s owner, Crystal Kui. The “homefront” is described specifically as a place where we “design” our daily lives. And the works, like an omakase meal, are small in number, but each indicates a high level of aesthetic consideration, finesse and contemplation.

The current exhibition of Jennifer Williams’ work fits seamlessly into this mission. Commenting on the gentrification of her Lower East Side neighborhood, Williams finds aesthetic beauty in the construction materials that litter her community, indicating the shifting demographics and the neighborhood’s growing popularity. In Stalled, her series of photographs, Williams uses closed-in views and cut-off angles to take the quotidian familiarity out of painted plywood boards and construction barriers and emphasize instead the aesthetic appeal of their deeply saturated colors and textures, seen for example in yellow.

 

 
Jennifer Williams, yellow, 2009.

Image from http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/photobooth/2010/08/jennifer-williams.html.

 

Other works, such as building 2009, emphasize the passage of time, evolution and change, revealed here in the decay of the poster attached to the plywood board over several other older postings.

 
Jennifer Williams, building, 2009.

Image from http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/photobooth/2010/08/jennifer-williams.html.

 

In the gallery these photographs face flo#4, a much larger photocollage. Compiled of images of urban elements, traffic cones, construction signs and neon orange spray paint, the collage describe the space immediately outside the calm interior of the gallery. Humming and buzzing with dirt, noise, activity and flux, the collage brings the outside in all the while emphasizing the chaotic beauty of it all.

 

 

Jennifer Williams, flo#4, 2010.Image Courtesy The Homefront Gallery.

I highly recommend taking the trip out to Long Island City to visit The Homefront Gallery. It’s a refreshing change from the larger Manhattan-based galleries and a wonderful opportunity to see how local artists are interpreting and reacting to their NYC surroundings. Jennifer Williams’ show is a small sampling of interesting and engaging work that appeals to the viewer’s aesthetic sensibilities while commenting on something familiar to New York residents.

 

Jennifer Williams’ exhibition at The Homefront Gallery runs through October 2^nd

 

The Homefront Gallery

26-23 Jackson Avenue

Long Island City, NY 11101

Take the 7 to 45th Road- Court House Sq, the G to Court Sq; the E or M to 23rd Street Ely Avenue; or the N, R or W to Queensboro Plaza

Gallery Hours: Sat – Sun, 12-6

Exhibition Website:

http://www.thehomefrontgallery.com/2010/exhibition-grand-opening/

Read the New Yorker review of the exhibition at:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/photobooth/2010/08/jennifer-williams.html.

JUST MISSED IT: Jaclyn Santos at DFN Gallery

By: James Kao

 

I heard about Jaclyn Santos’ Figurative Works Solo Show Event at the DFN Gallery from a friend. I was curious to see her own work in the flesh as opposed to the work she’s produced for the reality television show Work of Art, and so I attended the opening. The DFN Gallery is a small space in the Upper East Side, and Santos’ works did not occupy my time for long.

Santos presented a series of paintings. What I gathered immediately from them was her attempt to contribute to the discourse of gender and social issues. Untitled featured herself and a female companion sitting in men’s urinals, recalling the general and age-old discussion of the (in)ability for women to pee standing up and what that meant in relation to men. A quick Google search would yield at least five results on this issue, and it has certainly been a topic more than a few times amongst female friends. On her website, there is a drawing of the same idea – a woman standing in front of a men’s urinal. I feel that these works were not contributing anything new to the subject but were merely illustrations. Super Hero, another painting, portrays a woman on the kitchen floor, cleaning, but wearing business attire. This work presents the idea of how a woman of today can not only contribute to the family economics but also still (have to) uphold the duties of the old model of “housewife.” Again, I feel that this is a shallow illustration of a well-worn issue, and there was nothing else for me to read or feel from the painting. Her technique is solid, but not particularly striking.

One painting that captivated me slightly more was Reflection 3, which demonstrates a middle-aged woman staring in the mirror and towards the viewer. At first I felt that this piece was more honest, showing vulnerability from the artist regarding what she might feel she does not wish to turn into: someone older. A quick conversation with her confirmed it, sort of, as she told me it was a painting of her mother. When I mentioned honesty, she then swayed between it being about her fear, or perhaps irony, or perhaps something else. She sounded confused and I became confused. Also, if it does demonstrate fear, then is her fear simply of how she would look physically, or perhaps there is something more personal there? If so, I was not able to gather something deeper from the painting, which would have made the work more compelling.

One painting I enjoyed was Confinement. A figure sits in the bathtub, face turned away. The composition and the image held my attention for longer than the other ones did. To me, this piece did not attempt to speak about any specific gender or identity issues; rather it portrayed a feeling of isolation, reinforced by the white empty shape that occupies a portion of the canvas.

Santos reproduced a piece she did on the Bravo TV show and it was hung in the back. She told me that she had wanted to have people write on it, as had been done to the original piece in the show, but decided not to in the end because she feared that the gallery might be too crowded. I preferred that the piece be in the back and not a focus, as I was more interested to see her own work rather than results of the challenges.

Santos’ style and work has a certain aesthetic, but for the most part I did not feel intrigued or excited. In her attempt to comment on certain issues of American culture, I feel that she is merely illustrating preexisting ideas and discourses as opposed to presenting her own voice, which perhaps she is still developing.

 

Jaclyn Santos at DFN Gallery was a one-night event on July 22^nd

 

DFN Gallery

74 East 79^th Street

New York, NY

Take the 6 train to 77^th Street.

Gallery Hours: M-F, 11-7

Gallery Website: http://www.dfngallery.com/index.htm

“Here We Aren't, So Quickly,” at Thierry Goldberg Projects

By: Erin Tireses

 

    The burnt grass under the lasso of a naked hermaphroditic cowboy in Bronco Buster, by Hiroyuki Nakamura, absorbs viewers by offering them a hint of a world beyond the canvas. This typifies the intriuing nature of all the paintings on display in “Here We Aren't, So Quickly”, a group show at Thierry Goldberg Projects. All three artists in the show successfully engage the viewer, but each does so in drastically different ways.

  Hiroyuki Nakamura grabs the viewer with the narrative nature of his paintings. The simple detail of the scorched earth in Bronco Buster informs the viewer that the scene in the painting is merely a snapshot of a long story. All of Nakamura's paintings in this show depict dramatic moments for their subjects, and each is filled with details that challenge the viewer to form a plausible narrative. These details are so intriguing that they inspired lively discussions and debates at the opening. While lassos are normally hurled outward, this cowboy spins his around himself. Is this a form of defense or self-imposed entrapment? The headless scarecrow strapped to his back could be a reflection of the plight of a hermaphrodite living in a culture wedded to gender binaries, as the sexless body is bound to his own at every joint, in a way that he could not have tied to himself. Or it could represent his dream to be a cowboy while living on a manicured lawn behind a white picket fence, since his posture is intimidating but no one is present to be scared. He could be staring at the dark woods on the other side of the pristine fence with longing or fear. We don't know. His face is turned away from the viewer. The lack of answers to these questions might frustrate viewers in a lesser painting, but the phenomenal composition of this work makes it pleasing to struggle with the uncertainties. The figure of the cowboy is masterfully modeled, with the exception of his boots and hat, which transition into the flat style of the grass and fence. The curve of the fence seems to dance with the treeline of the abstract woods in the background.

 

 

 

Bronco Buster, by Hiroyuki Nakamura. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

 

  The works of Krisjanis Kaktins-Gorsline also absorb the viewer and beg a series of questions, not with narrative details, but with vague, unsettling images. His works are far more abstract than the works of Nakamura. Human forms exist in each of Kaktins-Gorsline's paintings, but they are broken into pieces, blurred and reassembled. Four of his paintings in the show use the traditional composition of portraiture. He paints some elements of his subjects in a photorealistic style, using his paint to recreate the pattern of light and dark that would appear on a form when photographed. But he represents the faces of his subjects in a more painterly style, creating space with the paint itself. The marks, colors, and weight of the paint engage the viewers and force them to consider the figures' relationships to the art that depicts them.

Slip Across Lad features a photorealistic head of hair, but where the face should appear, instead two hands emerge from the abstract background. Heavy chunks of paint balance the composition.  However, the hands are slightly unnerving – either one is inverted or they are both right hands—and each reaches for a wispy white line weaving down the center of the piece that neither can grasp. The viewer is left to wonder if this is because of one figure's deformity, or the inability of two figures to work together.

 

 

Slip Across Lad, by Krisjanis Kaktins-Gorsline. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

 

  In Best Boy, the ghostly image of a face is pushed back in space and its features are only vaguely suggested by the brushstrokes, while its shoulders stand boldly in the foreground. The viewer must question whether the figure is in the process of using its own arms to take shape, or if its sturdy shoulders are holding it back, keeping the details of its face hidden.

 

 

Best Boy, by Krisjanis Kaktins-Gorsline. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

 

  Kaktins-Gorline's fifth and largest painting in the show, November, presents the full bodies of at least two figures, as evidenced by four feet at the bottom of the canvas. However, similarly to the hands in Slip Across Lad, the poses seem impossible, and the viewer considers if there are more figures lost in the jumble, or if the two are horribly deformed. But like in Bronco Buster, the tension is tolerable, even desirable, because of the quality of the composition. Kaktins-Gorline uses ambiguity well. The torsos of these figures are reminiscent of the faces in his other paintings – open spaces filled with dynamic chunks of paint. The viewer wants a reason to take time to explore these spaces and decide if two human forms are being mutilated, or several people are coming together and working in harmony.

 

 

 

November, by Krisjanis Kaktins-Gorsline. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

 

  The works of Guy Ben-Ari attract the viewer with the psychology of their subjects. Odd mental states are obvious in the subjects' faces and are also physically manifested through strange objects that inhabit their otherwise familiar domestic spaces. Narcissist Seat shows us a man separated from a woman by a series of mirrors coming out of his chair, reflecting every detail of his face back at himself. The contentment in his expression is obvious, but this and Ben-Ari's other paintings are slightly less successful at absorbing the viewer than the works of the others artists in the show. The composition lacks the interesting variety of techniques deployed by the other artists, who use these techniques to explore both their subjects and the spaces they inhabit. Ben-Ari seems very interested in the faces of his subjects, but he is clearly less interested in their spaces. His rendering of patterned wallpaper and hardwood floors in Narcissist Seat add nothing to the composition, and don't relate well to the painting as a whole. The slightly boring nature of these details may attempt to reflect the boring pattern of his figures’ lives. But this idea, while interesting, has been explored before, and Ben-Ari's rendering does not add interesting nuances. The spaces lose the attention of the viewer rather than stimulate further thought.

 

 

Narcissist Seat, by Guy Ben-Ari. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

  The ability to add nuance to a well-known subject is exactly what the works of Hiroyuki Nakamura do so successfully. Like Bronco Buster, all of his paintings explore the problematic myth of the American West as a land of freedom. This idea has been explored ad nauseum, but by forcing the viewer to create a narrative with his haunting details, Nakamura literally forces us to change and re-imagine that old, American narrative.

  In My Own Private West, a cowboy with his head buried in his hat crouches in a sterile living room. A melting, long-fingered hand sits on his windowsill in a nod to Salvador Dali, whose brand of surrealism Nakamura uses to paint the window itself. Outside the window is an abstract world of zebras being herded by the Marlboro Man, who seems to have crawled down from a billboard in the distance. The billboard is now blank and its beams are exposed. Evenly spaced seams and the abstract style of the scene outside the window imply it is a painting, leading the viewer to believe that the cowboy has nailed this misrepresentation of the American West to the exterior of his suburban house. And if the viewer studies the painting closely, they will notice that the hand on the windowsill is actually that of the cowboy. His severed limb is hidden by his hat, but a stick is strapped to his stub, and that stick holds a “Rocky Mountain Marshmallow” over a fire. The marshmallows strewn across the floor are the most sensitively painted part of the whole stunning work, and as they drip off of his stick, they destroy a wooden guitar.

 

My Own Private West, by Hiroyuki Nakamura. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

 

  As in the works of John Irving, Nakamura reuses the metaphor of missing limbs as physical representations of mental inabilities. Annie Withdraws alludes to the great sharpshooter Annie Oakley and critiques the role of women in the male-dominated narrative of the American West. This is not a new critique of the myth, but again, the details of this painting argue the point in a fascinating manner. In Annie Withdraws, a handless woman holds forth a smoking gun like the body of Christ in a haunting reinterpretation of the Pieta. The woman has fired the gun despite lacking hands, and she has shot the face out of a figure who appears to be her husband. The cowboy husband is actually a cardboard cutout, yet he leaves a trail of blood, ostensibly from the injury. Annie's distant, vacant gaze is reminiscent of the many protagonists from old Western movies who stare out at the frontiers before them, yet all the details around her re-infuse the look with a new set of chilling capabilities.

 

Annie Withdraws, by Hiroyuki Nakamura. Photo by Erin Tireses.

 

  All of the artists in “Here We Aren't, So Quickly” tackle the challenge of depicting the human form, and in doing so, say something intriguing about being human. Each artist explores the nuanced relationship between figures and the spaces they inhabit, and in the process, unearths truths about our relationship with the spaces we inhabit. This relationship is often far more loaded with history, mythology, abstraction, and ideas of domesticity than we ever consider. The most successful pieces in this show remind us of this, and add new details to these old ideas. Meanwhile, by placing several such works next to each other, the show as a whole forces us to think even further. Two human forms blend together and fade into the background, challenging us to confront the idea of sharing space with another human being and maintaining our individuality; while a cowboy on the adjacent wall stands perfectly modeled except for his extremities, which flatten as he reaches for the landscape of the frontier.

 

“Here We Aren't So Quickly” runs through September 3^rd

 

Thierry Goldberg Projects

5 Rivington Street, Ground Floor

Take the J or M to Bowery, or the B or D to Grand Street

Gallery Hours: Tues-Fri, 2-6

Exhibition Website: http://www.thierrygoldberg.com/exhibitions/here/here.html