Gallery Crawl

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