Autonomie Projects (Los Angeles) press release for “A Book as a Work of Art for All” opening 4.17.2015

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March 14, 2015

Vincent Johnson: 818-430-1604
Chelle Barbour: 424-274-1512
Autonomie Projects, Los Angeles, CA

A Book as a Work of Art for All
A group show of books turned into art
LOS ANGELES, CA — Autonomie Projects, which is located in the Mid-City area of the burgeoning new gallery corridor, along West Washington Boulevard in Los Angeles is pleased to present its spring 2015 exhibition, A Book as a Work of Art for All. Each artist in the exhibition explores their remarkable capacity to transform a book, which in itself is a found object and a contemplative objet trouvé that is altered and transformed into an extraordinary conceptual art piece. The works are beautifully well-crafted and may appear to perform as fantasies coming to life and seeming to be conjured from the book’s inner pages.
The exhibition includes distinguished artists from around the globe whose works have been exhibited in prominent museum and gallery exhibitions worldwide.
The historic significance of books as an art form can be traced back to the early 1970s Book Arts movement and further, to ancient Greece where scribes created an innovative reusable surface on the manuscript made from animal hide, which facilitated the production of new texts (sometimes the previous text would surface, creating a palimpsest). In the Victorian era, people pasted ephemera such as magazine images, family photographs and other personal treasures they wished to preserve. The exhibition A Book as a Work of Art for All, offers Los Angeles a rare opportunity to see the cultural production of leading artists working in the book arts genus of contemporary art, and emerging artists venturing into new territory in this expressive and invigorating art form.
Reception: Friday, April 17, 2015 Exhibition runs April 17, 2015 through May 16, 2015.
Beverage Sponsor: Jai-Ho Beer, Houston, TX

Participating Artists:
Banoo Batilboi (Mumbai)

Chelle Barbour (Los Angeles)

Vincent Johnson (Los Angeles)

Adrienne DeVine (Los Angeles)

J Michael Walker (Los Angeles)

Buena Johnson (Los Angeles)

Derrick Maddox (Los Angeles)

Glen Wilson (Los Angeles)

Servane Briand (San Francisco)

Karen Kinney (Los Angeles)

Jody Harvey-Brown (New York)

Dawn Rosenquist (Los Angeles)

Karen Chu (Los Angeles)

Jacqueline Rush-Lee (Hawaii)


Nicolas Jones (Australia)

Hagop Belian (Los Angeles)

Steven Jones (Illinois)

Heisue Chung (Los Angeles)

Colin Roberts (Los Angeles)

A. Mimura (Portugal/UK)

Madison Webb (Los Angeles)

Autonomie Projects Los Angeles’ Upcoming Exhibition is Inspired by Great Art Made from Books opens April 17, 2015

Emerging artist gallery Autonomie Projects in Los Angeles is inviting artists from all corners of the globe to participate in their exciting upcoming exhibition The Book As A Work of Art for All

The exhibition will include an online component as well as an electronic catalog. Visit for complete submission and exhibition details.

The exhibition is curated by Autonomie Projects director Chelle Barbour and The Book As A Work of Art for All exhibition project co-curator Vincent Johnson.

Exhibition dates are April 17, 2015 – May 16, 2015

Thanks for your interest in this upcoming important Los Angeles exhibition.

Vincent Johnson is an artist and writer, author of Fireplace Chats art blog

If you have any questions please feel free to contact me at


 "Alexander Korzer-Robinson’s amazing antique book art."

“Alexander Korzer-Robinson’s amazing antique book art.”




Book art by Brian Detmer


“Artist Brian Dettmer created this book sculpture from an altered set of encyclopedias.”


“Kyle Kirkpatrick is a British artist who is creating topographical landscapes out of old texts.”

Book art by Robert The


Book art by Nicholas Galanin.


 About the co-curator and artist Vincent Galen Johnson:
Inline image 1

Vincent Johnson is a Los Angeles’ based artist and writer, and co-curator of Autonomie Projects.

Vincent Johnson received his MFA in Fine Art Painting from Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California 1997 and his BFA in Painting from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 1986. His work in both photography, painting and sculpture engages unnoticed or forgotten histories. He is a 2005 Creative Capital Grantee, and was selected for the New Museum of Contemporary Arts Aldrich Art Award in 2007 and for the Art Matters grant in 2008, and in 2009 for the Foundation for Contemporary Art Fellowship, Los Angeles. His work has been reviewed in Artforum, The New York Times, the Los Angeles Times and Art in America. He has shown at Soho House (curated by ForYourArt) and at Palihouse (curated by L.A.N.D.) both West Hollywood, and most recently at Another Year in LA gallery, West Hollywood. Johnson’s work has appeared in numerous venues, including The Studio Museum in Harlem (Freestyle (2001, The Philosophy of Time Travel, 2007, and The Bearden Project, 2011); the PS1 Museum, New York; the SK Stiftung, Cologne; the Santa Monica Museum of Art, LAXART; Las Cienegas Projects, Los Angeles; Boston University Art Museum; Kellogg Museum, Cal Poly Pomona; Adamski gallery of Contemporary Art, Aachen; both Lemonsky Projects and Locust Projects, Miami; Banff Center, Canada and Plug ICA, Winnipeg. Johnson’s work has been published in a dozen exhibition catalogs. His work was most recently exhibited in the inaugural Open Project exhibition at the Palace of the Inquisition, Evora, Portugal.

In early 2015 Johnson will show work at the Incognito benefit exhibition at the Santa Monica Museum of Art.

The New Museum Triennial 2015 New York City – exhibition photos and reviews


‘2015 Triennial: Surround Audience’ Exhibit Features Artists Not Afraid of 3D Printing & Contemporary Technology

logo (2)An edgy exhibit at New York City’s New Museum truly has a realistic idea of what’s going on in contemporary art and design today — as they make a statement about the future — featuring compelling evidence as to how technology like 3D printing gives many artists and designers new ways to experiment as well as manufacture their own designs for prototyping and selling.

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The artists being featured are early in their artistic careers, and will have their work displayed in the exhibit, titled 2015 Triennial: Surround Audience. Spanning the globe with artists from 25 countries, 51 young creators have work in the show, including Josh Kline, Juliana Huxtable, and Oliver Laric, whom we have covered previously regarding a show he did with 3D Lincoln Scans at the Usher Gallery.

“Many of the works in the show look really closely at our present moment, a time when culture has become more porous and encompassing,” explained New Museum Curator Lauren Cornell, who is co-curating the exhibit with artist Ryan Trecartin. “The metaphor that Ryan [Trecartin] and I use is, ‘Surrounded.’”

While the show has a comprehensive mix of political and social statement, 3D printing certainly made its presence known as a new and viable medium, and was centered especially in Frank Benson’s Juliana. Benson, a New Yorker himself, chose to make a stunning statement with his entirely 3D printed piece, which is the third in a series of nude sculptures. Juliana is a striking statement with Benson’s use of 3D printing coupled with the complete nudity of transgender artist Juliana Huxtable — who is also featured in the show as an artist, with her self-portraits in the exhibit.

Full-sized, iridescent, and pushing boundaries with both technology and sexuality, the piece was originally not planned as a nude, but Benson wrote and asked her tentatively if she would consider allowing him to portray her like so.

“I was nervous of what she might think of that, so I sent her this intense email full of historical references,” said Benson.

Benson made sure to convey Huxtable’s personality, even in the buff, paying special attention to her braids and makeup.


“I want the sculpture to exist as a completely finished entity inside the computer,” Benson says. “The 3D model is its ultimate version and the print is the real-world manifestation of it.”

3D printing features extensively in the exhibit, with a mind-blowing display of creativity and mastery of various mediums, as well as technology. These artists are not just painters or sculptors, but true craftsmen and artisans with technical skill. They are building artworks, installations, and entire rooms of mixed media impressions and concepts.

Daniel Steegmann Mangrané’s work, Phantom, also integrated the Oculus Rift into his work as viewers entered a virtual reality 3D forest. Casey Jane Ellison made a 3D printed USB containing her stand-up comedy routine, which has with a surreal slant. Artist Josh Kline made use of 3D printing for props in a dramatic installation featuring a room filled with riot police bearing Teletubby faces.

Aleksandra Domanović mixed up media to use 3D printing for the Belgrade Hands, robotic hands, in her installation, SOHO (Substances of Human Origin). Again bordering on surrealism and horror, the design is from robotic prostheses straight out of the movie Demon Seed.

“Technology has changed all of our lives so dramatically, and really changed how art is being made, too,” said New Museum Director Lisa Phillips.

Have you used 3D printing in any artwork or mixed medium pieces? What do you think of the ideas behind the exhibited pieces? Tell us your thoughts in the 2015 Triennial: Surround Audience Exhibit forum over at




Meet Juliana Huxtable: Star of the New Museum Triennial


Photo: Courtesy of Juliana Huxtable / @julianahuxtable

Tuesday night, amid a sea of black beanies that constituted the crowd at the opening of the New Museum’s 2015 Triennial, one cotton candy–color fur bomber jacket stuck out like a fabulous sore thumb. Its oversize chrome buttons, shaped like the letter “J,” stood for Juicy Couture, but they also announced the woman who was wearing the piece—the photographer, painter, poet, DJ, and downtown sensation Juliana Huxtable.

Huxtable is by turns the subject and author of five separate works installed at the second-floor galleries of this year’s Triennial, “Surround Audience,” which was collaboratively curated by Lauren Cornell and Ryan Trecartin. Four inkjet prints by Huxtable herself (two poems and two self-portraits from her lyrically titled series, “Universal Crop Tops For All The Self Canonized Saints of Becoming”) hang in front of a new 3-D Frank Benson sculpture for which Huxtable is the model. (It’s called Juliana.) Since the show opened Wednesday, both Juliana and Juliana have become Insta-sensations, hinting that we might see as much of them on social media this spring as we saw of Kara Walker’s A Subtlety last year. The New Museum also chose one of Huxtable’s self-portraits, Untitled in the Rage (Nibiru Cataclysm), as the Triennial’s holding image on the museum homepage. To put this in Hollywood terms, an analogy not unbefitting today’s art world: If “Surround Audience” were a film, Juliana Huxtable would be its star.


Photo: Benoit Pailley; Courtesy of The New Museum, New York

Born to a Baptist family in what she describes as a “conservative Bible Belt town in Texas,” Huxtable has been drawing, collaging, and painting since a young age but only began a career in art after graduating from Bard in 2010. “I’ve always kept a notebook,” Huxtable says, “but it was never a cultivated practice in the way that people studying studio art develop.” Brought up as a boy named Julian (Huxtable has transitioned in adulthood), she drew pictures that “were always high-drama, high-fantasy images of idealized women—like angels flying through the air,” she explains. “Now, I’m becoming those women.”Operating out of a “diaristic impulse,” Huxtable’s work uses her own life experience as a point of departure. Her best known pieces, including the two self-portraits in the Triennial, depict Huxtable as a character derived from imagery of the Nuwaubian Nation. (Nuwaubianism, which Huxtable describes as “technically a cult,” was a religious organization inspired by Islam, Ancient Egypt, and extraterrestrial theories. Huxtable has no affiliations with the group.) “From the standpoint of mythology,” Huxtable explains, “I think it’s brilliant. It was like the Animorphs before there were Animorphs.” Painting herself in toxic shades of sage green and violet, Huxtable makes photographs that blend the visual languages of comic books and hip-hop in a way that looks like an Internet meme made by aliens.

Huxtable describes her pieces as “self-imaginings” and, it seems clear, views her art in the first person. “My works are avatars for the constantly growing list of references in my head,” Huxtable explains. “Some of them are political ideas, some of them are aesthetic ideas, but to me the clearest way I can translate them is through portraiture and through text.”

Frank Benson saw a photograph of Huxtable’s first Nuwaubian persona two years ago and asked her to model for him around that time. “Actually, that is how my body looked about a year and a half ago, when I got 3-D-scanned,” Huxtable says, describing Juliana. “The proportions of my body have changed at a rapid pace. Frank’s sculpture is a sort of pastiche of me at different points.”

It would have been hard for Huxtable to imagine this moment four years ago. In 2011, she was working as a legal assistant for the ACLU’s Racial Justice Program and keeping up a number of side hustles—hosting parties, baking and selling marijuana edibles, and DJing—to make ends meet. Most tellingly, she was part of the catering staff for the New Museum’s 2011 Spring Gala honoring Gilbert & George. These days, Huxtable still models (for DKNY last year and Eckhaus Latta this past season) and DJs—“I don’t see that as unrelated [to my art]”—but now also fields offers from dealers and collectors, in whom she doesn’t seem to have much interest. “Being in this show,” Huxtable says of the Triennial, “I never thought in a million years it would happen. It doesn’t have any sense of finality, but it definitely feels like a big step.”


Trans Artist Juliana Huxtable Is Owning the New Museum Triennial

Huxtable New Museum


Pictured, above: Untitled, Juliana Huxtable (2014)

Photographer, painter, poet, DJ, and OUT100 honoree Juliana Huxtable has created a series of artworks currently on view at the New Museum’s Triennial. The 27-year-old artist, who transitioned into a woman in adulthood, is in turn the author and subject of five pieces displayed on the second floor of the museum.

Huxtable New Museum

The centerpiece of the installation is a 3D sculpture by Frank Benson entitled Juliana. It represents Huxtable nude, revealing her breasts and penis.

Juliana Frank Benson

Huxtable, who’s been vocal on her blog about the discrimination she’s faced as a trans woman, was also recently featured in Vogue and the Wall Street Journal.

Frank Benson saw a photograph of Huxtable two years ago and asked her to model for him around that time. “Actually, that is how my body looked about a year and a half ago, when I got 3D-scanned,” Huxtable told Vogue. “The proportions of my body have changed at a rapid pace. Frank’s sculpture is a sort of pastiche of me at different points.”

In addition, the New Museum features one of Huxtable’s photographs, Untitled, on its website home page.

New Museum Triennial, on view through May 24, 2015.

Photo: Courtesy of New Museum



New museum feature

The New Museum’s Triennial Forecasts a Bleak Future

By Sehba Mohammad on February 25, 2015

Considering the New Museum’s technical savvy, one would expect its third triennial exhibition, Surround Audience, featuring post-internet, emerging artists tapped into global culture, to be rife with emoji art, glitchy videos of internet porn, and at least some of the 2014 Whitney biennial’s shock tactics. Especially since the triennial’s co-curator Ryan Trecartin is an artist known for his campy, over the top artworks which have been likened to Facebook having a nightmare. Instead the five floor exhibition,  featuring 51 artists from 25 countries , is understated and idea driven, consisting of muted works with dark undertones.

Most of the works on view traverse perceptions of the body in today’s technologically saturated, globalized world.

Middle Eastern artist Sophia Al-Maria’s three channel video installation Sisters (2014), shows ghostly repressed bodies freeing themselves through dance. Paranoia about militarism and regimes of control, most apparent in Josh Kline’s installation Freedom 2015, including sculptures of Teletubbies dressed as policemen, credit card trees, and a computer generation of Obama, are also prevalent.

The future, however, is the triennial’s most dominant feature. A considerable number of the show’s sculptural installations, as well as the abstract digital prints and Middle Eastern videos works that intersperse them, are portents of what could be. Their subjects vacillate from dystopian and suspicious to utopian and hopeful, presenting various imminent realities in the guise of art. Here, then, are the most futuristic works from the New Museum triennial.

Daniel Steegmann Mangrané’s Phantom, 2015

Daniel Steegmann Mangrane

Tucked away in the second floor is Catalan artist Daniel Steegmann Mangrané’s Phantom, 2015. From afar, the virtual installation seems simple: an Oculus Rift virtual reality headset dangles unassumingly in the middle of two concentric circles. Once you put on the headset things get exciting. The artist used 3D laser-scanning software to map a lush spot in Brazil’s endangered Mata Atlântica rainforest. The work allows viewers to explore the forest as if they are walking through it. As you move around, look up and down; different elements of the indigenous Brazilian landscape reveal themselves, albeit a grainy, colorless, digitized version of the forest. The artist’s pervasive viewing experience highlights the idea that reality is dependent on people’s perspectives. It also makes one ponder on the future of nature and how new ways of seeing and experiencing the world will effect our reality.  

Nadim Abbas’ Chamber 664 KubrickChamber 665 Spielberg, and Chamber 666 Coppola, (all 2014–15)

nadim abbasi

Three grey bunkers, sealed by screens, protrude from the gallery wall. Rubber gloves protrude in and outside a clear vestibule which resembles incubators for quarantining hazardous bodies. The bunkers are filled with familiar domestic objects: toilet rolls and pillows; making them inviting, alarming, and unbearably intriguing. Created by Hong Kong-based artist’s Nadim Abbas the works have an element of post-apocalyptic Hollywood to them, touching upon popular dystopian themes of biological warfare and highly contagious diseases. They are also a personal comment on modern day intimacy.

Juliana Huxtable’s Untitled in the Rage (Nibiru Cataclysm), 2015


Perhaps the most colorful works on display are inkjet self portraits by artist, DJ, and performer Juliana Huxtable or the “cyborg, cunt, priestess, witch, Nuwaubian princess,” as she calls herself. The prints belong to the artist’s series “Universal Crop Tops for all the Self Canonized Saints of Becoming,” depicting the queer, former legal assistant in guises based on black mythology. Surrounded by surreal landscapes with fantastical color palettes, she effectively mixes club kid aesthetics with deeper poetic insights. Her works are precursors of an emerging identity in which categories such as gender, race, sexuality, and age are fluid and open.

Ed Atkins’ Happy Birthday!!, 2014

Ed Atkins' Happy Birthday!!, 2014

This eerie six minute video centers around a melancholy computer-generated avatar with 2016, and other dates, tattooed to his forehead. He utters mysterious numerical phrases and his body continuously degenerates. The work is a meditative piece on our increased immersion with life-like digital images and how this alters what we know of ourselves and the material world. It reminds us to take note before it is too late; that realistic HD images no matter how exact, don’t really exist.

Antoine Catala’s Distant Feel (2014-15)

Antoine Catala's Distant Feel

The French video artist, previously preoccupied with incorporating human traits such as confusion and humor into machines, created an advertising campaign for a basic human emotion instead of a product, an act that seems logical in our increasingly commercialized world. In collaboration with agency Droga5, the artist created a a new symbol for empathy—EƎ, two E’s facing each other. A sculpture of the symbol, meant to be a generational update on the peace sign, is submerged in a fish tank with live coral growing on it, an attempt to inject life into the work.  Catala’s new project has an accompanying website  with more details


Adam Lehrer Adam Lehrer Contributor

I write about New York’s art gallery system and museum structure.

Opinions expressed by Forbes Contributors are their own.

Lifestyle 2/25/2015 @ 11:00PM 2,045 views

Six Pieces That Stuck Out at the New Museum’s Triennial

The primary criticism towards the New Museum’s Triennial is that it it, quite simply, A LOT to take in at once. This criticism is fair, but it also might be missing the point. As I skulked around the opening last night, snapping photos on my sad point and shoot camera, I was overwhelmed with sensory and hyper aware of the setting. Trying to navigate through swarms of people, from young New School students to the elder statesmen of the art world, was like trying to escape from a straight jacket. The venue was packed, and there were hundreds of good looking artsy types adorned in fashionable clothing of one style or another that were clearly feeling the density of the production as well. Attendees were more often found schmoozing and boozing then taking in any single piece for any length of time.  It was a little uncomfortable, a little unnerving, and perhaps that was the entire point.

Scenes from the Opening of the New Museum Triennial

“Surround Audience” was aimed towards exploring the way we live in this mega-connected and technological world. And in this world, we are overwhelmed constantly. Even if we wanted to unplug, most of our jobs wouldn’t let us. It’s hard to appreciate beauty when you are plugged into the Matrix. The exhibit explores that notion teetering on sensory chaos. That being said, there were some pieces that sucked me right out of the pandemonium. Curators Lauren Cornell and Ryan Trecartin could certainly have kept the exhibit tighter; showing 51 artists at once is no easy accomplishment. But these six pieces took me out of the chaos; for a moment I could look closely and appreciate.

Frank Benson “ Juliana”

Frank Benson, "Juliana"

Judging from some of the press, it appears that the Virginia-based artist Frank Benson’s “Juliana” is a crowd favorite at the Triennial and with good reason: the sculpture of Benson’s friend, transgendered artist Juliana Huxtable, is beautifully rendered and clearly made in loving homage. Perched in the center fold of the museum’s second floor, the image cuts through the crowd. It’s dazzlingly life-like. Those that don’t know the subject of the piece before looking at it find themselves shocked when they look up and down the beautiful female form only to find a penis between the object’s legs. The piece forces you to recognize the world’s changing standards of beauty.

Josh Kline, “Freedom”

Josh Kline, "Freedom"
Philadelphia’s Josh Kline thinks about the way humanity has been commodified and controlled through various means of technological surveillance, and judging from his piece at the Triennial, he has a lot of fun doing it. “Freedom” consists of sculpted and life-like stormtrooper-looking police each equipped with their own screens attached to their bellies. Almost as if the guards are protecting him while watching the audience, a screen projection of an Obama lookalike giving a speech plays in the background. Standing from the corner of the room, it looked as if the museum attendees were blended into a crowd with the cops.

Antoine Cala “Distant Feel”

Antoine Cala, "Distant Feel"

French artist Antoine Cala examines the gadgets of the information age and illuminates their decay, darkness, and essentially, their life. In his piece, “Distant Feel,” he examines the issues he’s interested in with humor, with an object that resembles a fish tank. Of course, there are no fish. But looking at the piece you get the sense that life exists within the space. It’s bright neon colors highlight the ugliness and rotten appeal of the mold growing within the tank. I’m always a sucker for neon.

Aleksandra Domanović, “SOHO (Substances of Human Origin)

Aleksandra Domanović, "SOHO (Substances of Human Origin)

Conceptually, I couldn’t quite grasp the statement being made in Yugolsavian artist Aleksandra Domanović’s, “SOHO (Substances of Human Origin), but I loved looking at it and walking through it. Apparently, she was making a statement on the history of the Internet in her country and celebrating the women who helped make it happen. The installation, with prosthetic limbs derived from the model of the Belgrade Hand (the first robotic hand) and gorgeous rafters that must be walked through to get to them, takes on a life of its own.

Avery K. Singer, “Untitled”

Avery K. Singer, "Untitled"

Benjamin Sutton is one of my favorite art critics these days, but his statements about New York’s own Avery K. Singer and her piece, “Untitled,” couldn’t be more unfounded in my opinion. How could something so beautiful only be meant to take up wall space? The fact that her monochrome paintings stuck out to me more so than the larger-scale installations speaks to the piece’s striking beauty. Singer is a painter that uses technology as a tool rather than a medium: she uses Google SketchUp and projects images onto a canvas and then uses spray paint to bring the piece to life. The results are gorgeous; shadowy figures floating in an infinite space.

Njideka Akunyili Crosby “And We Begin to Let Go”

Njideka Akunyili Crosby "And We Begin to Let Go"

Nigerian painter Njideka Akunyili Crosby’s “Thread” strikes personal for me. For one, I love to see an artist just show his/her talents for painting and collage. I still believe that few objects can be more evocative than a gorgeous painting. In this painting, we see Crosby kissing her American husband’s back in bed. The husband is painted realistically, while she is made up of a collage of Nigerian imagery. Being in a relationship with a woman of a different cultural background myself, I certainly empathize with the sentiments at hand. Through the act of kissing, Crosby imparts her husband with her knowledge, experience and identity. Together, their two cultures form a new identity. A new way of viewing the world. Bi-cultural couples are not a new idea, but are not often explored enough contextually. There is no better way to spread culture than through the act of intimacy and love.


‘Digital’s Bitches’: The New Museum Triennial


DIS, The Island (KEN), 2015. Photo: Heij Shin/New Museum

Some inventions are mastered instantly. The earliest adapters of oil paint, including Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden, are still among the best who ever lived. After the invention of the electric guitar, early recordings confirm that Les Paul, T-Bone Walker, and Sister Rosetta Tharpe (followed soon thereafter by Jimi Hendrix) were immediate maestros, and some say the novel has never gotten better than Don Quixote. But the internet is not like these inventions or genres. We are 25 years in and we still have no van Eyck, van der Weyden, Hendrix, or Cervantes. In part, that’s because nothing endures online; commerce and novelty topple all idols (even new ones); and today’s links are already decaying and may be useless in the near future. But we have no new masters also because digital technology is more than an invention, tool, or genre. It is a whole new landscape, a new biology, one that is changing us as much as we are changing it — and could one day live on the moon or inside us. Either way, we are digital’s bitches.

And have been for a while. Since everything changes but the avant-garde, art exhibitions about digital technology date back to at least 1968, and London’s Institute of Contemporary Arts’ “Cybernetic Serendipity” examination of “computer art. Most such shows are spectacles of interactive keyboards, whiz-bang effects, listening stations, impossible-to-navigate websites that do little more than give visitors who touch them colds, and wearable helmets that project distorted cyberscapes. Now comes the New Museum’s generously plentiful, frustrating but worthy-of-attention 2015 triennial, “Surround Audience.” This is the museum’s third triennial, each of which is devoted to “early-career artists” and is meant to be “predictive, rather than retrospective.” This year’s building-filling extravaganza is devoted to current art by newer artists who examine “the social and psychological effects of digital technology.” The exhibition has been adroitly co-curated by the New Museum’s Lauren Cornell, who made me happy when she said “media lounges have failed,” and happier still when she said she loathes “techno gimmicks.” Her co-curator is one of the best artists of his generation, 34-year-old Ryan Trecartin, someone who has narrowed the space between objects, images, digital manipulation, cultural narrative, millions of colors, and layers of sound to a supercharged splinter.

“Surround Audience” purports to examine “a world in which the effects of technology … have been absorbed into our bodies and altered our vision of the world … visual metaphors for the self and subjecthood.” Before you bristle — Excuse me, all art does this — not only are there no keyboards, workstations, or websites here, and only one helmet (Daniel Steegmann Mangrané’s fantastically alluring depiction of layered linear space), there are, thankfully, no darkened rooms with portentous videos that make you wonder if curators are human beings aware that they’re spending fortunes while abusing the curiosity, patience, and humanity of their audience. That’s a big leap for the art world. These curators understand, finally, that there’s no such thing as “digital art” (certainly no variety that could be defined by the machines it’s made of and through), only art that might be inscribed with its ethos. And while the show includes a tad too much arty-adolescent apocalyptic dystopianism, there’s, happily, no annoying, New Age–y, utopian-Zeitgeist babble.

More important, it is full of artists thinking past objects of the digital era and addressing the much weirder experience of actually living in it and recognizing, all the while, that this landscape is already authored by and is us anyway, that there’s little distinction anymore between inside and outside, and that engaging with technologies doesn’t have to involve a computer, mouse, or iPhone. Even William Gibson, the man who invented the term, recently wrote, “Cyberspace, not so long ago, was a specific elsewhere … Now cyberspace has everted. Turned itself inside out. Colonized the physical.”

I knew only a small percentage of the 51 artists and artist-collectives on hand, which is refreshing when many exhibitions look like they’ve been concocted in the curator-industrial complex, where all shows are made to look similar. Cornell and Trecartin abandon the lockstep curatorial love of preapproved, postconceptual academic practice, meaning installations with a little text, possibly photography, video, a sound file, booklets, and/or found objects displayed haphazardly or carefully in a vitrine or on a shelf. (This default international curatorial style not only marred the 2012 triennial, it infects most museum shows of contemporary art.) In many of the artists they’ve chosen to highlight, we glimpse a generation coming to terms not just with technologies that they’ve been immersed in since childhood, but with what it means to try to create change from within a system only to see that system closed back down again. These are artists comfortable with reconfiguring information and refusing refuge in vaunted Romantic terms like timelessness or cynicism.

Take Josh Kline’s epic third-floor installation, which includes replicated elements of Zucotti Park, benches, Teletubbies riot police standing guard, and communication towers, which suggest that all of this is being monitored and broadcast at all times. The work is titled Freedom and contains one of the most far-reaching videos I’ve seen in some time — a digitally manipulated President Obama delivering his first 2009 inaugural address, as reimagined by Kline and former Obama administration speechwriter David Meadvin. In this version, the words heard are those dreamt of by tens of millions of people for the two years leading up to Obama’s 2008 election, and we see Obama sharply taking aim at those who deny global climate change and calling for immediate action, pointedly holding corporations responsible for the financial collapse, calling out cynics and pundits who profit from fearmongering, and challenging bigots, homophobes, racists, and sexists. On the night of Obama’s 2008 election, thinking about how the politics of “hope and change” might be gutted by governmental dysfunction and pragmatism, I wrote on my Facebook, “A generation must now learn to be disappointed in new ways.” That did not happen.

After this vertex, don’t miss Lawrence Abu Hamdan, who enlisted Cairo sheikhs to deliver real sermons about noise pollution; it’s fantastic to listen to the religious tenets of the Koran used to understand adverse effects of noise. (A sub-theme of the show is how the organism of the internet landscape allows old systems and filters to be adapted.) Also excellent are Lena Henke’s large, three-dimensional JPEGs, which make you grasp how artists are using old tools to dig deeper into new ones. To see a steel frame wrapped in a transparent photo, and have that clunky thing become a thing with no dimensions at all, titillates. Casey Jane Ellison takes the old form of stand-up comedy or talk shows to explore states of hypervisibility on social media and the earnest failed ways we try to communicate; Frank Benson presents a hyperreal rendition of the trans body of one of his fellow “Surround Audience” participants, Juliana Huxtable, which includes her breasts and penis. To be both bodies at once, to unveil the enigma and beauty of both, is radical vulnerability, while the new sculptural persona achieved via scanning and what looks like 3-D printing turns this most physical thing vividly, paradoxically immaterial. Speaking of which, also get a load of Steve Roggenbuck’s mad poetic video ramblings of a self looking inside and outside at the same time.

As probing as these and other works are, I won’t recommend seeing this show without a serious warning and complaint. As with the last triennial, “Surround Audience” has way too many lengthy wall labels explicating multi-level backstories, histories, sciences, rationales, philosophies, various lores, myths, art history, and personal narratives. Wall labels like these are epidemic in museums. The problem isn’t reading. It’s that what the text claims the work is “about” is rarely actually in the work itself, and is only on the wall label or in the artist and curator’s flimsy imaginations. The label next to Velázquez’s Las Meninas is a tiny fraction as long as those accompanying most contemporary art in museums. Long labels like these are a triumph of pedagogy over the object, a breaking of faith with art and its audiences. Worse, they evince institutions and artists armoring themselves in ridiculously obtuse, implacable language to hide the fact that their ideas are skin-deep, masturbatory, lazy, and banal.

And it’s not just labels. The art world as a whole is enamored with work that withholds some backstory — intellectual, biographical, material, or influence-based — to be delivered only upon request, through conversation with a gallerist, a curator, or the artist him- or herself. It’s really elitist. When one is told the secret, we are meant to feel a tingle of personal insight (“I see. His mother was kidnapped.”), even when the story doesn’t add up to much or seem to be actually present in the work. While the phenomenon isn’t entirely new, it does connect with the logic and language of the internet, which is this triennial’s subject. Namely, the way the internet prizes secret or arcane understandings — links that only you’ve found, cults that you visit while still in your bedroom — even while making all information instantly accessible, though often without real understanding. The internet may radically flatten hierarchies of knowledge, but it also builds little tribal moats around particular ideas. Most important, it doesn’t even recognize either of the paradoxes or contradictions contained in that approach. (See most Zombie Formalism, and much of the above-mentioned neo-conceptual practice.) As good as it is in places, I left “Surround Audience” convinced that museum labels shouldn’t be longer than three inches. With that in mind: Only read the last two lines of any label, rejoice in curators gleaning the digital as a new landscape, garner activism inside disappointment, and don’t miss “Surround Audience.”

*This article appears in the March 9, 2015 issue of New York Magazine.



Slide Show|7 Photos

‘Surround Audience’


It is early 2009. Hope and change are in the air. President Obama stands before the camera delivering his Inaugural Address, but within seconds something seems off. The speech is not the pragmatic one he gave on that cold January day but a fiery message in which he excoriates “peddlers of hate whose stock-in-trade is xenophobia, homophobia, racism, sexism and isolationism, and who define America by our differences rather than our common bonds.”

As he speaks, his face seems to be slipping digitally — and disturbingly — around his skull, and you suddenly realize it is not the president but an actor who has had the president’s portrait software-mapped uncertainly to his own face. The video is the creation of Josh Kline, an influential 35-year-old New York artist. And his Philip K. Dick vision of an alternate past wishfully conjuring an alternate present provides a fitting window onto the ambitions of the New Museum’s 2015 Triennial, a show that will take on the widely debated and often misunderstood ideas of “posthuman” and “post-Internet” art as squarely as any American museum has.

Opening Feb. 25, the exhibition includes Mr. Kline and 50 other artists and collectives from more than two dozen countries, many of whom have never shown in the United States before and whose work casts a queasy science-fiction eye onto an ever more digital, more automated, more omniscient society. The show, the third iteration of the museum’s emerging-art triennial, has been highly anticipated in part because of its two curators — Lauren Cornell, a former director of Rhizome, the Internet-focused art organization; and Ryan Trecartin, one of the most admired artists of his generation, whose video work has always seemed to exist at least a dozen years in the future, where identity, language and humanity itself have become as gleefully anarchic as a 14-year-old’s social-media feed.

The triennial is titled “Surround Audience,” Mr. Trecartin’s effort to capture that sense of a wired world in which, as Ms. Cornell puts it, “technology and late capitalism have been absorbed into our bodies and altered our vision of the world.” For many of the show’s younger artists, the Internet and the digital revolution are no longer just the tools and delivery system for their work but the air they breathe and the world they see before their eyes. That also means that while the digital might not be formally present at all in some of the work, it still hovers sociologically and politically on every side.

“I think I look at the way things are changing more from an optimistic standpoint, and Lauren tends to see it more from a dystopian one, but the older I get the more complicated my own views get,” said Mr. Trecartin, 34, who told The New Yorker last year: “Everything we do is going to be captured and archived in an accessible form, whether you want it or not. It’s going to change all of our lives. We are a species that can no longer assume a sense of privacy. It’s not an individual decision, and I feel that’s exciting to explore — or something.”

In an essay for a show last year called “Art Post-Internet” at the Ullens Center for Contemporary Art in Beijing, the curators Karen Archey and Robin Peckham tried to find some consensus about the kind of art that Mr. Trecartin and other young artists have brought to attention in recent years, writing that “post-Internet refers not to a time ‘after’ the Internet but rather to an Internet state of mind — to think in the fashion of the network.”

And by that definition, most of the artists in the triennial seem to be fully in a “post” world, one without much abstract painting (there is none in the show) but lots of representations of bodies yearning to leave human form, in ways that science-fiction novelists and philosophers have been imagining for years. The posthuman has become more prevalent in pop culture, too — in movies like “Her” (man falls in love with operating system) and “Transcendence” (man becomes one with the Internet), but 21st-century artists can move with a nimbleness that often puts them in touch with the implications of technological change before the culture at large.

Casey Jane Ellison, a Los Angeles stand-up comic and artist in the triennial, creates video routines using digital avatars that vaguely resemble her but sometimes look more like Max Headroom. Antoine Catala, a French artist working in New York, has made previous work consisting of drones that fly around a space, analyzing the images in it and reciting descriptions of them in a mechanical voice. Daniel Steegmann Mangrané, a Spanish artist working in Brazil, has conceived an installation in which New Museum viewers will wear a version of the Oculus Rift virtual-reality headset and be transposed into a representation of the rapidly disappearing Mata Atlântica rain forest in Brazil.

There will be paint on canvas in the show, though most of it by artists deeply immersed in the digital, like Avery K. Singer, a figurative painter in the South Bronx who often depicts comically simple robot-like figures that she creates in virtual 3-D space using a SketchUp animation program.

And there will also be work by artists that addresses the technological revolution only by seeking to deny it as thoroughly as possible. Eduardo Navarro, an Argentine artist who has worked with meditation and trance, is creating a work called “Timeless Alex,” in which a performer will meditate for days to try to enter the mind-state of a turtle and then wear a handmade turtle shell and creep across the city. Mr. Navarro, who describes turtles as “the opposite of the Internet,” explained one recent morning in a studio adjacent to the New Museum, where he has been creating the turtle shell, that part of the aim is to suggest a conception of time probably always inconceivable to humans but now certainly so.

“If it’s boring to watch, I think that will be better because watching a turtle can be very boring,” he said, speaking quite slowly, as if already trying to get on reptile time. “I like the idea that turtles are not even aware of their own longevity.”

In a recent interview at the museum, after travels that took her, non-virtually, to more than two dozen countries in search of emerging artists, Ms. Cornell, 36, said: “I think there is this kind of expectation, because Ryan and I are the curators, that the show is going to be all holograms and that we’re going to fly in on U.F.O.s. But it’s because there are still pretty simplistic ways of thinking about art in the digital age. That kind of online-offline binary that used to exist about art made with technology or the Internet as a factor doesn’t really exist anymore.”

Mr. Kline is one of many artists in the show who plumb the darker depths of contemporary society — surveillance, identity theft, government coercion, the commodification of “the most literally intimate aspects of life,” as the show’s catalog says — with an unabashed political edge. For “Hope and Change,” his Obama-inauguration piece, he hired David Meadvin, a veteran Democratic speechwriter and strategist, to rewrite the address in a way that imagines change from within the political system being possible.

Calling his creation a “kind of simulated open-source Obama,” Mr. Kline said: “Obama campaigned as a transformational candidate and once he got into office, here was this very pragmatic, efficient technocrat. This is definitely about trying to actualize the presidency that people voted for.” For the triennial, Mr. Kline has also created a piece in which he uses face-mapping software to morph off-duty uniformed police officers, whom he hired for the occasion, so that they come to look like civilians. In this transfigured state, the officers recite words from the social-media feeds of the civilians they have been made to resemble, as if their job entails not only monitoring the lives of others but also almost supplanting those lives. Similarly, Nadim Abbas, an artist working in Hong Kong, has built a artwork, commissioned by the New Museum, in the form of a kind of biohazard bunker that feels like a cozy apartment, an attempt to show how “violence has been sublimated into the fabric of the everyday,” as he said in an interview.

But others in the show play around the idea of an emergent Big-Brother-capitalist-military state in much more ambiguous ways, making it tough to tell which side they are on — or suggesting that sides are just so depressingly 20th century. K-Hole, a New York collective that makes work in the form of brand research (in 2013 it coined the term “normcore,” which took the fashion world by storm) has made its work for the triennial in the form of an advertising campaign for the show itself, which will soon begin showing up on buses and the streets.

The ad slogans, written with input from Mr. Trecartin, tweak the suspicions and fears many people seem to harbor about the kind of art the show will feature: “No Past, No Present, No Problem” and “Nothing Lasts Forever” (Mr. Trecartin’s suggestions included “Meaning Needed,” “Triennial Season 3” and “Pay Me in Feelings;” he wrote to K-Hole explaining that the aim of his slogans was to “get high school and middle-school kids to come see the show on their own inspired terms.”)

Probably the most visible and provocative piece in the show, in the glassed-in lobby gallery, will be by the New York collective DIS, which over the last four years has pushed questions of where art ends and fashion and merchandising begin to a kind of breaking point. The triennial work will be an installation in the form of a surreally combined kitchen and bathroom, made by the collective in collaboration with the high-end German fixture manufacturer Dornbracht.

“We like that it is going to be extremely confusing — some people are going to read this as a product showroom,” said Lauren Boyle, one of the collective’s members, who explained that the group became interested in the company after seeing its “hyper-real imagery” on Pinterest. “Google brought us to Dornbracht through Pinterest, in a way, through this weird sort of feedback loop. And so I guess we wanted to create another kind of feedback loop and bring the actual thing into the art world.”

A performer in the kitchen-bathroom will shower as visitors watch, merging the role of performance artist and showroom model. But Ms. Boyle, evincing no hint of irony, said the group also dreamed of inviting Gwyneth Paltrow to take part in the project, to add to it in ways they could not imagine. “Basically to do anything she wants to do,” Ms. Boyle said, beaming, “because she’s amazing.”

The phrase “Surround Audience” sounds like it could be the name of an EDM party, a function in a home theater system, a Quickmeme caption, or Michael Fried’s worst nightmare. It is actually the title-cum-motto-cum-slogan of the 2015 New Museum Triennial, which at first glance appears to be some mixture of these descriptors. The current Triennial, curated by Lauren Cornell and the artist Ryan Trecartin, is the third installment of an event that has quickly realized its ambition of becoming New York’s leading exhibition of on-trend global contemporary art. As if this weren’t enough, the current Triennial aspires to expand into a kind of aggregative platform: hosting performances, publishing a poetry collection, and sponsoring residencies, research projects, and a web series.

Visitors to the Triennial will indeed feel themselves surrounded, even overrun by competing appeals for their attention. These bids are so numerous and elaborate that at times the show seems less like an art exhibition than a tech convention or a curated Tumblr. To be fair, such heterogeneity is endemic in biennials, which tend to be at cross purposes in trying to craft a cohesive, timely statement from disparate works chosen for divergent reasons. Depending on one’s age, taste, and stimulus threshold, this tension might be a distracting nuisance, or perhaps a problem worth reflecting on. Those of selective, delicate, or “critical” dispositions should by all means visit the Triennial, but are advised to regard it as three more or less separate exhibitions; these are described below in ascending order of their presumable appeal to such an audience.

The first of these is loud, shiny, cool, and young. It basically amounts to a trend forecasting report, which is not surprising given the participation of the soi-disant collectives K-HOLE and DIS, which unapologetically compare or even equate their art to consulting, advertising, and merchandizing. This ploy arguably has less to do with Warhol, who flirted with tragic irony, than with the more purely cynical Jeff Koons or Damien Hirst. K-HOLE’s ad campaign, which is somehow more inane than their pseudo-trend normcore, features slogans like “HATRED OF CAPITALISM,” which in this context is so ludicrous as to almost be an insult to capitalism. While the ads are easily enough ignored, at least once inside the museum, the same can’t be said for the DIS contribution, The Island (KEN) (2015), in which a stress-relieving luxury shower will doubtless serve as a popular selfie station, as well as a platform for the Red Bull-sponsored DIScourse (sic) of invited theorists, some of whom openly identify as Marxist. #accelerationism #srsly?

In a feat of curatorial legerdemain, this part of the Triennial showcases post-internet art without actually using that now unfashionable term. If this art and much of the debate around it were deservedly criticized as forms of self-promotional branding, they also promoted the McLuhanite fantasy that The Internet Changed Everything, ignoring the ways that digitalization has reinforced existing socioeconomic divisions. The problem was not that post-internet is a utopian notion, but rather that its dystopianism was merely atmospheric or gestural. It is one thing to surround an audience with reminders of its immersion in techno-spectacle; it is another to explore why this matters.

As an artist, Trecartin has taken such inquiries further than some critics realize; the scrappy, Ritalin-addled character of his work can disguise its perverse genius. As a curator, he and Cornell have chosen some works that can’t quite live up to his example. Daniel Steegmann Mangrané uses a VR gaming headset to immerse viewers in a laser-scanned rendering of an endangered Brazilian ecosystem (Phantom, 2015) without seeming to register the flagrant contradiction between these environments. Josh Kline does some clever things with face substitution software, only to brandish it clumsily in an installation that recalls the overtness of Ed Kienholz (Freedom, 2015). The most interesting and problematic of such practices belongs to Juliana Huxtable, whose four prints from the series “UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING” (2015) are coupled with a life-size 3D-printed sculptural avatar of her body by Frank Benson (Juliana, 2015). While Huxtable’s work provocatively integrates the histories of Afrofuturism, black militancy, and cyber-feminist theory with the contemporary efforts of transgender activists, it also exemplifies the contradictions of a post-Fordist identity politics in which self-styling, no matter how radical, can simultaneously produce value through the commodification of difference.

The second “exhibition” within the Triennial, while much less conspicuous, forms the bulk of the show and consists mainly of work by emerging artists born outside the North Atlantic. Given that New York remains the most provincial and self-obsessed of the art world’s major centers—witness the New Museum’s 2013 show “NYC 1993”—this is welcome, even subversive. That said, the selection skews toward artists working in the EU and within familiar, market-sanctioned modes. Beijing-based Guan Xiao juxtaposes repurposed camera equipment with constructed artifacts to track the emergence of new techno-animisms in The Documentary: Geocentric Puncture (2012). The Indian artist Shreyas Karle has mined the Bollywood imaginary to produce the Daniel Spoerri-esque Museum Shop of Fetish Objects (2012), which casts a sly eye back on the exoticizing impulses of its host institution. Georgian-born Ketuta Alexi-Meskishvili contributes a captivating suite of semi-abstract photographs; these stand out in a show where abstraction, painterly or otherwise, is noticeably absent. However, although such works are perfectly well executed, they often fail to problematize their status within the emergent, increasingly dominant category of Global Contemporary Art, in which artworks tend to present their own singularity in paradoxically generic or universalizing terms.

It is only in our third hypothetical show-within-the-show that such contradictions are engaged thoughtfully and productively. One can imagine re-curating the Triennial into a tighter, more powerful exhibition featuring the work of about a dozen artists. Some pieces would engage new technologies from a position of critical immanence. These would include Li Liao’s Consumption (2012), in which Li worked 5 weeks of 12-hour shifts at a Foxconn plant, earning just enough to buy one of the iPads he was helping to manufacture; Aleksandra Domanović’s SOHO (Substances of Human Origin) (2015), which proposes an alternative genealogy for technicized embodiment through 3D-printed sculptures patterned after the Belgrade Hand, an early prosthetic developed in 1960s Yugoslavia; and Exterritory’s Image Blockade (2014), a research project based on neurobiological experiments with conscientious objectors from an elite Israeli military intelligence unit. (One can’t help but notice that this piece, easily the most confrontational one in the Triennial, is installed in what must be the most inaccessible location in the New Museum, in the far corner of the topmost floor.)

A second strand would comprise moving-image work made in speculative or essayistic modes. While such an approach is hardly uncommon, especially in Europe, its still-considerable potential is demonstrated by artists like Nicholas Mangan, who re-narrates the recent history of resource extraction in Micronesia from the perspective of a limestone pinnacle (Nauru, Notes from a Cretaceous World, 2009), or Oliver Laric, who locates a surprising degree of pathos in the transformation of animated characters, updating classical myths of metamorphosis in a moment of Tindr romance and imposed vocational “flexibility” (Untitled, 2014­–2015). Especially noteworthy is Basim Magdy’s marvelous short film The Dent (2014), which nods to Alexander Kluge in its parabolic style and its subject (circus elephants), interweaving references to ecology and biennialization with lustrous double-exposed shots of clouds, forests, and construction equipment.

The last group one might wish to extract from the Triennial includes artists working in a more poetic mode, favoring obliquity, facture, and restraint. Olga Balema exemplifies this orientation in her untitled contributions: two large plastic sacs containing rusting rebar, decaying images, and water (both 2015). It is easier to trip over these unprepossessing floor sculptures than it is to grasp their quasi-abstract, semi-organic form, which seems to equally recall tidal pools and IV bags. Kiluanji Kia Henda’s prints combine the idioms of conceptual photography and traditional Angolan sona drawing to suggestively indicate the vicissitudes of global development (Rusty Mirage (The City Skyline), 2013). And in one of the Triennial’s most memorable pieces, Not How People Move But What Moves Them (2013–ongoing), the Czech artist Eva Kotátková has covered a large wall with pottery, architectural fixtures, and wire sculptures of unclear origin and function. These elements become props in a obscure and bewitching tableau vivant, which transforms the precedents of Jirí Kovanda and Rebecca Horn into a compelling drama of constrained movement. In such moments, the phrase “Surround Audience” assumes a markedly different connotation, one that the Triennial only intermittently endorses. Here, it is not a meme or a brand; rather, it becomes a problem, an injunction, and above all a point of departure.

Andrew Weiner is Assistant Professor of Art Theory and Criticism in the Department of Art and Art Professions at NYU-Steinhardt.

View of "Surround Audience," New Museum, New York, 2015.

1View of “Surround Audience,” New Museum, New York, 2015.

View of DIS, The Island, 2015.

2View of DIS, The Island, 2015.

View of K-HOLE, Extended Release (detail), 2015.

3View of K-HOLE, Extended Release (detail), 2015.

Daniel Steegmann Mangrané, Phantom, 2015.

4Daniel Steegmann Mangrané, Phantom, 2015.

Josh Kline, Freedom (detail), 2015.

5Josh Kline, Freedom (detail), 2015.

Juliana Huxtable, Untitled (Destroying Flesh), from the series "UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF-CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING," 2015.

6Juliana Huxtable, Untitled (Destroying Flesh), from the series “UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF-CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING,” 2015.

Guan Xiao, The Documentary: Geocentric Puncture, 2012.

7Guan Xiao, The Documentary: Geocentric Puncture, 2012.

Aleksandra Domanović, SOHO (Substances of Human Origin), 2015.

8Aleksandra Domanović, SOHO (Substances of Human Origin), 2015.

View of "Surround Audience," New Museum, New York, 2015.

9View of “Surround Audience,” New Museum, New York, 2015.

(Left) Nicholas Mangan, Nauru, Notes from a Cretaceous World, 2009. (Right) Nicholas Mangan, Dawiyogo's Ancient Coral Coffee Table, 2009-2010.

10(Left) Nicholas Mangan, Nauru, Notes from a Cretaceous World, 2009. (Right) Nicholas Mangan, Dawiyogo’s Ancient Coral Coffee Table, 2009-2010.

Basim Magdy, The Dent, 2014.

11Basim Magdy, The Dent, 2014.

(Left) Olga Balema, Untitled, 2015. (Right) Olga Balema, Untitled, 2015.

12(Left) Olga Balema, Untitled, 2015. (Right) Olga Balema, Untitled, 2015.

  • 1View of “Surround Audience,” New Museum, New York, 2015. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.
  • 2View of DIS, The Island, 2015. Mixed-media installation, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.
  • 3View of K-HOLE, Extended Release (detail), 2015. Advertising campaign, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York.
  • 4Daniel Steegmann Mangrané, Phantom, 2015. Virtual environment and Oculus Rift DK2, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of Mendes Wood DM, São Paulo, and Esther Schipper, Berlin.
  • 5Josh Kline, Freedom (detail), 2015. Mixed-media installation, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.
  • 6Juliana Huxtable, Untitled (Destroying Flesh), from the series “UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF-CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING,” 2015. Inkjet print, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York.
  • 7Guan Xiao, The Documentary: Geocentric Puncture, 2012. Mixed-media installation, three parts, 230 x 280 x 210 cm each.
  • 8Aleksandra Domanović, SOHO (Substances of Human Origin), 2015. Mixed-media installation, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.
  • 9View of “Surround Audience,” New Museum, New York, 2015. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.
  • 10View of “Surround Audience,” New Museum, New York, 2015. (Left) Nicholas Mangan, Nauru, Notes from a Cretaceous World, 2009. HD video, sound, color, 12:27 minutes. (Right) Nicholas Mangan, Dawiyogo’s Ancient Coral Coffee Table, 2009-2010. Coral limestone from the island of Nauru, 120 x 80 x 45 cm. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.
  • 11Basim Magdy, The Dent, 2014. Still from super 16mm film transferred to full HD video, sound, color, 19:02 minutes. Image courtesy of Gypsum Gallery, Cairo.
  • 12View of “Surround Audience,” New Museum, New York, 2015. (Left) Olga Balema, Untitled, 2015. Water, steel pipes, acrylic paint, dimensions variable. (Right) Olga Balema, Untitled, 2015. Water, steel pipes, acrylic paint, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of New Museum, New York. Photo by Benoit Pailley.


Quickly Aging Here: The 2015 Triennial

After six years and three installments, is the New Museum’s Triennial entering middle age? An odd question for an exhibition devoted to “early-career artists,” as the museum’s press release describes them. But compared with its predecessors, the latest rollout, which is called Surround Audience, frankly isn’t all that audacious.

There’s a lot to see — the exhibition, which was organized by New Museum curator Lauren Cornell and the artist Ryan Trecartin, feels crowded in spots — but that doesn’t translate into the knockabout energy that characterized the earlier versions. This may be a byproduct of the curatorial focus, which grounds the show in a context of technological interconnectedness. From the press release:

We are surrounded by a culture replete with impressions of life, be they visual, written, or construed through data. We move through streams of chatter, swipe past pictures of other people’s lives, and frame our own experiences as, all the while, our digital trails are subtly captured, tracked, and stored.

The statement puts contemporary culture at a remove from reality (“replete with impressions of life”) as it underscores the distractions that derail us from true engagement with art or each other. Accordingly, as if not to crack the veneer of a network thrumming with interrelated ideas, most of the artworks seem content to reside on the periphery, surrounding the audience but not grabbing attention for themselves.

The air of reticence, even politeness, encountered here feels like a deliberate step away from the rambunctiousness of the earlier iterations, The Generational: Younger Than Jesus in 2009 and The Ungovernables in 2012. That may be a sign of maturity for the Triennial as well as for the artists (more than one have already breached the age of 40), but it doesn’t really make for an exciting show.

Paradoxically, the emphasis on daily life’s immersion in technology as a curatorial premise seems to work against the exhibition’s cutting-edge intentions. Technology is so much a part of who we are, regardless of age, that to remark upon its ubiquity at this point feels dated and even a little clueless. Video, photography and digital devices may abound in this show, which also features lots of sculptural objects and a handful of paintings and drawings, but its look and feel aren’t markedly different from other surveys.

Which is another reason why the exhibition seems middle-aged. The first two Triennials, by dint of their age restrictions, felt front-loaded with a sense of discovery. While the current show is filled with just as many fresh faces, the work on display appears more generic, more tried and true, as if it belongs in the Whitney Biennial instead of the distinct niche that the New Museum has carved out for itself with the Triennial. Even the title is bland and hard to grasp, unlike the artist-centric handles of the previous two. Priorities have shifted, it would seem, from the individualistic to the atmospheric, the unruly to the phlegmatic.

A case in point is “The Island (KEN)” (2015) by the collective DIS, which, at the press preview, featured a performance by a fully-clothed woman who lay beneath a horizontal shower stall for about ten minutes before silently emerging, soaking wet, to turn off the faucets.

This piece may be among the most arresting in the show, but it felt like a retread of Chu Yun’s far edgier “This is XX” (2006) from the first Triennial, in which volunteers (after ingesting what was described in the wall text as “sleeping aids”) would lie in bed asleep during viewing hours, creating a discomfiting power imbalance between the conscious and the unconscious — an aesthetic experience inextricable from voyeurism.

Still, thankfully, the dreariness afflicting the last couple of Biennials is nowhere in evidence. There is enough variety to sustain interest, even if the assortment does not ultimately hold together, let alone add up into a sum greater than its parts.

Among the more fractious works are Geumhyung Jeong’s video “Fitness Guide” (2011), which includes an attempt by the artist to outrace an out-of-control treadmill; Nadim Abbas’s isolation chambers dedicated to three American filmmakers: Stanley Kubrick, Steven Spielberg and Francis Ford Coppola; Shreyas Karle’s fetish objects; and Juliana Huxtable’s incantatory poetry and quasi-mythic self-portraits, which are installed in dialogue with Frank Benson’s meticulously rendered sculpture of the transgendered Huxtable’s nude body.

Like the earlier Triennials, there is at least one breakout work to fix the exhibition in memory. And like such showstoppers as LaToya Ruby Frazier’s searing domestic photographs and Keren Cytter’s demonic video “Der Spiegel” (2007) in The Generational, or Adrián Villar Rojas’ towering sci-fi golem from The Ungovernables, Eva Koťátková’s performance/installation “Not How People Move But What Moves Them” (2013) is a confluence of personal and cultural histories, a repurposing of selective traditions into a bracing new configuration.

Writing in the exhibition catalogue, Rachel Wetzler describes Koťátková’s art as ingrained with elements of Czech avant-garde theater, Art Brut and Surrealism, set against a backdrop of the failed states of Communist Czechoslovakia and the Prague Spring.

“Not How People Move But What Moves Them” is composed of a large yellow wall outfitted with a door and shelves, and hung with framed collages. The shelves hold a variety of sinister/funny objects made from wire, steel, thread, terra cotta, leather and other materials, all of which will presumably be “activated,” to use the term found in the piece’s wall text, by performers at various points during the run of the exhibition. Larger examples of these structures, all of which are meant to constrain the body in some way, sit on the floor.

The objects are both props for the performers, who silently pose — standing or lying on the floor — with the pieces attached to their bodies, and persuasive works of sculpture in a funky-Minimalist mode. The collages, which are squarely — perhaps a little too squarely — in the mold of John Heartfield and Hannah Hoch, depict painfully fanciful applications of the objects on variously deconstructed human bodies.

The catalogue entry states that Koťátková’s sculptures derive from “disciplinary systems as a point of departure, ranging from those found in the family home and schools to psychiatric institutions or prisons.” These repressive tactics are conjoined with a highly specific art historical lineage that evokes the prewar work of Alberto Giacometti, such as “The Cage” (1930-31) and “The Palace at 4 A.M.” (1932); the infernal machine from “The Pit, the Pendulum and Hope” (1983) by the great Czech animator Jan Švankmajer; and the Eastern European Surrealist dread suffusing the Quay Brothers’ “Street of Crocodiles” (1986), a stop-action animation freely adapted from the stories of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz.

What is most compelling about Koťátková’s “Not How People Move But What Moves Them” is that it is activated not only by the performers, but also by the viewers’ imaginations. What will be done with the clay pots, we might ask, and why is there an undulating wire construction resembling an elephant’s trunk attached to a hole in the door? And why is the door leaning against the wall rather than set into a jamb? One question leads to the next, as the mysteries embedded in each detail draw us deeper into the piece.

“Not How People Move…” represents the kind of interactivity — not digital, but intellectual, physical and emotional — that many of the works in the Triennial lack. It doesn’t attempt to surround the audience; instead, its tough materiality and formal elegance inch their way across the threshold of consciousness until they lodge, uninvited, in the brain.

2015 Triennial: Surround Audience continues at the New Museum (235 Bowery, Lower East Side) through May 24.



New Museum Triennial: Art for a Digitalized World

New Museum Triennial exhibition highlights wide range of ‘exuberant’ works by young artists

A performers in the activation of Eva Kot’átková's work ‘Not How People Move But What Moves Them’ at the 2015 New Museum Triennial. ENLARGE
A performers in the activation of Eva Kot’átková’s work ‘Not How People Move But What Moves Them’ at the 2015 New Museum Triennial. Photo: Mark Abramson for The Wall Street Journal

On a recent morning in a studio on the Bowery, talk-show host Casey Jane Ellison had a pressing question for a panel gathered in advance of the New Museum Triennial opening Wednesday.

“What is the most insane thing about art?” she asked her guests, two other artists and a patron. “Is it the money? Is it the content? Is it the people?”

Her tone suggested that she thought it was all three—and that insanity might be a virtue.

Special episodes of Ms. Ellison’s web series “Touching the Art,” now in its second season online on the Ovation network, will screen on a loop in the lobby of the New Museum, as part of its triennial exhibition titled “Surround Audience.” They are among works by 51 young artists and artist collectives hailing from 25 countries.

The show defines art broadly, including sound, dance, comedy, poetry, installation, sculpture, painting, video, and yes, a web-based satirical talk show. Half the pieces were commissioned for the exhibition, which runs through May 24.

Artist Casey Jane Ellison is projected on a monitor as she hosts her talk show ‘Touching The Art,’ part of her exhibition at the New Museum Triennial. ENLARGE
Artist Casey Jane Ellison is projected on a monitor as she hosts her talk show ‘Touching The Art,’ part of her exhibition at the New Museum Triennial. Photo: Keith Bedford for The Wall Street Journal

At the shooting for a particularly reflexive episode of Ms. Ellison’s show, the topic under discussion was the significance of triennials and biennials—curated roundups of new art—in an age of abundant, often hypercompetitive art fairs.

“What is a triennial?” asked Ms. Ellison, 26 years old, in a deadpan manner that signaled her sometime persona as a standup comedian.

“It’s kind of like a sports competition, definitely not like the Super Bowl,” said the artist K8 Hardy.

“What is the Super Bowl?” Ms. Ellison asked.

Visitors preview artist Josh Kline's new installation ‘Freedom’ (2015), at the New Museum Triennial. ENLARGE
Visitors preview artist Josh Kline’s new installation ‘Freedom’ (2015), at the New Museum Triennial. Photo: Mark Abramson for The Wall Street Journal

The exhibit, said co-organizer and New Museum curator Lauren Cornell, is “very exuberant and very surreal.”

In it, artists address life in an increasingly digitized, hyper-aware world through topics such as virtual reality, drones, avatars, product design and advertising. One work by the artist collective K-Hole takes the form of an ad campaign for the triennial, doubling as both genuine marketing and conceptual critique.

Other chosen works poke provocatively at notions of gender, race, nationality—and the relationship between artists, their identities and their audience.

“We were thinking about people who are assuming a spot in their own audience or allowing for different vantage points to come at their work that they didn’t intend,” said video artist Ryan Trecartin, who co-curated the triennial along with Ms. Cornell.

New York-based Juliana Huxtable, for one, said most people who know her “are aware of me as a night life and Internet figure, so I’m happy [the curators] understand all the aspects of what I do and the connections between them.”

Artist Juliana Huxtable poses in front of her artwork at the New Museum Triennial. ENLARGE
Artist Juliana Huxtable poses in front of her artwork at the New Museum Triennial. Photo: Mark Abramson for The Wall Street Journal

The exhibit includes self-portraits of the 27-year-old transgender artist posed in digitally enhanced settings with fantastical colors and editing effects that make her look, at times, like an online avatar.

Is she excited to move her art off the Internet and onto museum walls?

“I think I’m really excited,” Ms. Huxtable said. “It’s not about privileging that over other ways of creating, but it’s an opportunity to translate the work I do for different people. Not everyone relates to or understands the world of Tumblr or social networking.”

José León Cerrillo, an artist from Mexico City, achieved a different effect with a minimalist sculptural installation that plays tricks on the mind and the eye. The works, which define space with a skeletal metal framing, greet viewers right off the elevator, arranging the room with what seem like visions into extra dimensions.

“I think of them as screens into the act of looking,” Mr. Cerrillo said. “The idea was to point into the void.”

For a series of dance performances that will be presented throughout the triennial, Niv Acosta —who grew up in Washington Heights and the Bronx and now lives in Brooklyn—drew inspiration from the portrayal of the black American experience in science fiction.

“I’ve been thinking about…how it’s translated into being like an alien culture,” said Mr. Acosta, 26. “Often the people in these projections are female-bodied or female-presenting, bodacious and dancing.”

Artist Niv Acosta performs an excerpt of ‘DISCOTROPIC’ in the Sky Room at the New Museum. ENLARGE
Artist Niv Acosta performs an excerpt of ‘DISCOTROPIC’ in the Sky Room at the New Museum. Photo: Mark Abramson for The Wall Street Journal

For his piece, Mr. Acosta and three other dancers will take over the New Museum’s theater and gallery spaces to interpret “The Star Wars Holiday Special,” originally made for network television in 1978, and now viewable online.

He said his favorite scene features the African-American actress Diahann Carroll singing inside a machine called the Mind Evaporator.

“It’s a super-pervy but also majestic moment,” Mr. Acosta said. “It’s exciting for people who are queer-identified and also black to think about what our lineage is in the terms of sci-fi and disco. These are our ancestors in a way.”

The exhibition, in all its analytical energy and cultural commentary, is particularly suited for New York, said co-curator Mr. Trecartin, himself a Los Angeles native. “It’s so much a city for showing things in their final state…a place for things to go to be presented and judged, and I like that there’s a city so exhaustingly all about that.”


New York – The New Museum Triennial: “Surround Audience” Through May 24th, 2015

March 3rd, 2015

Frank Benson, Juliana, via Art Observed
Frank Benson, Juliana, via Art Observed

If the New Museum Triennial is to be believed, 2015 might in fact be the year that artists put the pervasive notions of “cyber-dread” to death in the contemporary discourse.  Curated by Ryan Trecartin and New Museum Curator (and former Rhizome head) Lauren Cornell, the exhibition combines aspirational commodities, linguistic play and digital microcosms into a fascinatingly deep exhibition, one that feels particularly appropriate as the 21st century turns 15.

Works by Anna Graff, via Art Observed
Works by Ana Graff, via Art Observed

Trecartin’s particular blend of digital maximalism was jarring by nearly all accounts when it first breached the art world over ten years ago, but as his breakneck editing and hyper-commodified landscapes gained a certain degree of palatability in recent years, so too did the work of his contemporaries: the Dis collective, poet/artist Juliana Huxtable, critic and writer Brian Droitcour, and a range of other artists in the orbit of the downtown New York art community, each of whom took their own respective viewpoints on the development and embrace of contemporary life within hyper-mediated spaces.

Josh Kline, Freedom (2015), via Art Observed
Josh Kline, Freedom (2015), via Art Observed

Verena Dengler, via Art Observed
Verena Dengler, via Art Observed

The Triennial, as a result, feels like something of a victory lap, a recognition of their particular approach to capital and consumption in the millennial era.  Throughout, mechanisms of production are bound up with their distribution and practical use, or perhaps vice versa, as illustrated in the marketing and social media campaign devised by K-Hole, including a selection of social media “stickers” users are invited to adorn Instagram photos and share, and a lighthearted poster series with phrases like “I’ll Triennial Once,” that invites publicity as a space of play and innovation.

Eloise Hawser, The Bride's House, via Art Observed
Eloise Hawser, The Bride’s House, via Art Observed

Performers at Eva Kotatkova's installation, via Art Observed
Performers at Eva Kotatkova’s installation, via Art Observed

A certain sense of generative practice sits at the heart of much of the work, embracing new modes of expression within older forms as a point of departure.  One highlight is the dizzying glow of Antoine Catala’s Distant Feel, a new emoticon and website platform developed by the artist as a method to express empathy online (expressed as “E3″).  Placed in a tank, the immense scuptural rendering of the icon is used to grow coral and other sea-life, a space for the maintenance and sustenance of new life within the cold linguistic confines of the digital.  On the ground floor, Dis has produced a gleaming horizontal shower/fountain, complete with a beverage tap, in which a performer lies down, inside its clean lines, fully clothed, while enjoying what appears to be a mint julep from.  The sheer excess of the work walks a fine line between critique and fetish. One wonders if the object merely pushes luxury beyond practicality, assuming the role of art object, or if is this goal merely propels it to a new level of commodity capitalism.  Several floors up, artist Lawrence Abu Hamdan has created a sonic environment exploring the critical noise pollution of Cairo, where cabs, bustling markets and mosque sound systems have created one of the most densely sonorous spaces in the world.

Lena Henke, via Art Observed
Lena Henke, via Art Observed

Guan Xiao, via Art Observed
Guan Xiao, via Art Observed

In other works, this same sense of playfulness and exploration turns its eye towards the archive.  The work of Eva Kotatkova, for instance, places performers among a selection of sculptures that vaguely reference early twentieth century surrealism, but are placed into interactions with a pair of performers, turning their intersections into a constantly shifting relationship with the works’ own historical references.  On the fourth floor, spatial intrusions by José Léon Cerrillo, Verena Dengler and Tania Pérez Córdova interact to create a drastically reformatted flow of movement, utilizing pop imagery and familiar sculptural forms to reformat the space of the museum as one of physical encounter.  Close by, Oliver Laric’s hypnotic video, depicting copied transformations of characters in varied animated television programs worldwide, proved an early favorite, inviting meditations on the structure and definition of bodies in media representation, and the willful desire for fluidity among them.

Dis, The Island (KEN) (2015), via Art Observed
Dis, The Island (KEN) (2015), via Art Observed

Yet the exhibition doesn’t shy away from the darker corners of digital modernity, either.  In the ground floor gallery, bitingly close to Dis’s aforementioned installation is Consumption, Chinese artist Li Liao’s performance work in which he assumed a position at a Foxconn-operated plant, creating components for iPhones and iPads, finally saving up enough after 45 days to buy an iPad himself.  The sheer scale of labor to merely own this icon of digital consumption is sobering.  But for sheer shock, few works can escape Josh Kline’s Freedom, a dystopian environment populated by shock troop mannequins, all masked with the faces of Teletubbies.  Nearby, the artist’s face-mapped performance as Barack Obama features a speech the artist longed for the president to give during his tenure, decrying corporate greed and calling for citizens to take back their government.

Li Liao, Consumption (2012), via Art Observed
Li Liao, Consumption (2012), via Art Observed

At times sprawling and surreal, at others powerfully concise, the New Museum’s current exhibition is a deep look at a disparate series of practices, united by material and political concerns that gradually emerge throughout the show’s five floors.  Almost impossible to properly summarize, the Triennial takes the polymorphic formats of digital circulation and places them into a free-flowing exchange, one which shifts from every perspective.

Surround Audience is on view through May 24th.

Aleksandra Domanovic, via Art Observed
Aleksandra Domanovic, via Art Observed

— D. Creahan

Read more:
“Review: New Museum Triennial Casts a Wary Eye on the Future” [New York Times]
“New Museum Triennial: Art for a Digitalized World” [Wall Street Journal]
“The 10 Most Interesting Works From the New Museum’s Triennial” [Bloomberg]
“Meet Juliana Huxtable: Star of the New Museum Triennial” [Vogue]
“Where Virtual Equals Real” [New York Times]
New Museum Triennial [Exhibition Site]



travel & leisure


Travel Blog

Advising the Curators of the New Museum Triennial


The 2015 New Museum Triennial<br /><br />
Not So Charmed

The 2015 New Museum Triennial:
Not So Charmed

Does the third edition of the New Museum Triennial, Surround Audience, struggle amidst curatorial conceits? Brienne Walsh reports

For the third edition of its triennial showcase for early-career and emerging artists, the New Museum claims a light curatorial touch. Entitled Surround Audience, the show professes to explore the tension between new forms of freedom in contemporary culture and threats to such freedom — embodied by social media, extremist states, the corporate sovereign entity, and the cult of self, to name a few examples. What the exhibition emits in execution is a sort of self-driven approach to both art making and curatorial practice.

Exploring themes such as sexuality, racism, nationalism, and consumerism, most of the works — by 51 artists from 25 countries, many of who identify as poets, dancers, designers, writers, and filmmakers rather than artists — are highly personal. But instead of connecting with one another, the pieces stand within the museum walls as cloistered units, reading like individual manifestos. The effect is somewhat like reading a blog composed of posts examining completely disparate topics. ‘It was really important to encourage the artists to do what they wanted to do, and not impose too much,’ says video and performance artist Ryan Trecartin, who co-curated the show with New Museum curator Lauren Cornell. ‘I just drop out of that shit if someone tries to do it to me.’

Casey Jane Ellison, IT’S SO IMPORTANT TO SEEM WONDERFUL, 2015 (still).
Video, sound, color. Courtesy the artist

Antoine Catala, Distant Feel, 2015. Production still

Staging a show that reads like an art fair, where many exhibitive displays are offered in a single forum, wasn’t the intention of the curators. According to Trecartin, the museum was meant as a ‘jumping off point into the world rather than a place where things are put into.’ In the context of other exhibitions, such as Crossing Brooklyn: Art from Bushwick, Bed-Stuy, and Beyond,which closed at the Brooklyn Museum last month and truly did extend off-site with works such as Pimp My Piragua, 2009, a coco helado cart that artist Miguel Luciano drove through the neighbourhood during the course of the show, Surround Audience is fairly unexceptional.

The show’s pervasive sense of alienation is introduced by Casey Jane Ellison’s Touching the Art, 2014. Presented on a television in the museum lobby, the ongoing series of videos features the artist in discussion with various cultural workers on the state of the art world. ‘I’m in a death metal band, and I’m only in the art world by accident,’ states musician and performance artist Kembra Pfahler. ‘I think we all are,’ replies Ellison.

DIS, Studies for The Island (KEN), 2015. Codesigned by Mike Meiré. Courtesy the artists and Dornbracht

Frank Benson, Juliana, 2015. Digital renderings of painted Accura® Xtreme Plastic rapid prototype. 54 x 48 x 24 in (137.2 x 122 x 61 cm) (approx.). Courtesy the artist; Andrew Kreps Gallery, New York; and Sadie Coles HQ London

Freedom, 2015, by Josh Kline well embodies the cult of self that runs throughout the Triennial. In a black box, life-size figures dressed in riot gear sport Teletubby heads and stomachs implanted with screens offering remarks on the culture’s proliferation of violence sourced from social media. These surround an HD video that depicts a digitally rendered version of President Barack Obama giving an inaugural address authored by the artist. ‘People who love the country can change it,’ says the facsimile, echoing a sentiment that galvanised the 2008 presidential campaign, now deemed as rhetoric unable to survive 21st-century political realities. As a dream of what could have been in the face of what is, the work reads as naïve rather than insightful.

Despite wanting to shed the label of artist, all of the show’s practitioners are keenly accomplished at creating art objects. There isn’t a work in the exhibition that doesn’t appear entirely at home in the museum galleries. The Island (Ken), 2015, by the collective DIS is a mash-up of kitchen and bathroom fixtures designed by the German luxury goods manufacturer Dornbracht. Commenting on the confluence of high-end design and fine art as systems that rely on one another to appeal to potential consumers, the piece will be the site of various performances including product demonstrations, cooking lessons, and a lucky few participants taking actual showers. Without its interactive component, however, the work, which resembles a tanning bed, remains quietly hermetic. Antoine Catala’s Distant Feel, 2015, is a pair of facing letter Es constructed from living aquatic plants encased in an aquarium. Pulsating with life, the work is the result of a collaboration between Catala and the advertising agency Droga5 that attempts to re-brand the concept of empathy. Regardless of its conceptual intent, its hard not to see it simply as a mind-numbingly beautiful object.

Left: Juliana Huxtable, Untitled in the Rage (Nibiru Cataclysm) from the “UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING” series, 2015. Inkjet print. Courtesy the artist; Right: Juliana Huxtable, Untitled (Destroying Flesh) from the “UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING” series, 2015. Inkjet print. Courtesy the artist

And aesthetically, the show appeals. Frank Benson’s Juliana, 2015, is a regal, nude statue, painted in shimmering tones of green and purple, of artist Juliana Huxtable, who is represented by her own self portraits as a comely female force with whom anyone would be lured into reckoning. Museum Shop of Fetish Objects, 2012, by Shreyas Karle, is a cabinet of curiosities that examines the culture of Bollywood with the clinical air of an anthropologist. Njideka Akunyili Crosby’s And We Begin To Let It Go, 2013, is a collage of thread, Xerox transfers of advertisements and women’s fashion images, and paint, that depicts the artist kissing the back of her husband. One could potentially spend hours before it, detangling its many references.

With people taking to the streets globally to protest injustice, the Triennial’s stab at cultural commentary will likely have little lasting impact. It reflects rather than leads, which is a shame given the potential for art to shape perceptions in society. ‘For some, it will be more traditional than expected, and for others, it will be a lot weirder,’ says Trecartin. The stance of being impervious to the reaction of others might be necessary for an artist to take to make bold work. But if Surround Audience is any indication, curatorial indifference to viewer experience only has the effect leaving both artists and visitors cold.

Main image: Frank Benson, Juliana, 2015. Digital renderings of painted Accura® Xtreme Plastic rapid prototype. 54 x 48 x 24 in (137.2 x 122 x 61 cm) (approx.). Courtesy the artist; Andrew Kreps Gallery, New York; and Sadie Coles HQ London


New Museum’s Generational Triennial: wired for the future

The 51 young artists in the New York gallery’s show are exploring the frontiers of digital technology, from the surveillance state to gaming culture

Surround Audience
Surround Audience: digital worlds explored. Photograph: Benoit Paley/New Museum

“Almost everybody wakes up and does something they don’t like – we can do better than this! … You are going to die: Make something beautiful before you die!” Screaming manically, alone in a damp Maine forest, the euphoric intensity of internet poet Steve Roggenbuck is balanced with humour in his 2012 video Make Something Beautiful Before You Are Dead. Roggenbuck embraces the cosmos and encourages us to do the same: “Back in my grandfather’s day they didn’t have #yolo! We have #yolo! We have to harness this gift,” he yells.

He is one of the 51 artists and collectives included in Surround Audience, the New Museum’s third Generational Triennial, which opens on Wednesday. The exhibition is hotly anticipated, largely because of its two curators: Lauren Cornell, a former director of Rhizome, a New Museum-affiliated organisation that has been promoting digital art for almost two decades, and Ryan Trecartin, the artist wunderkind whose work has been received rapturously by critics since he emerged on the scene in 2006.

Surround Audience

Frank Benson’s Juliana in the installation foreground. Photograph: Benoit Paley/New Museum

Because of their shared engagement with new digital technology, the exhibition is expected to be future-focused (“predictive, rather than retrospective”, according to New Museum director Lisa Phillips). People are eagerly awaiting the outcome of Cornell and Trecartin’s shared endeavour, which brings together artists from countries including Jordan, Qatar, South Korea, China and India, as well as Europe and America: “We’re expecting to be wowed by the breadth of interesting new work,” says collector Mihail Lari, who, together with his partner Scott Murray, has provided support for the exhibition.

“I think we are lucky to have a lot of artists in the world right now who are truly trying to invent and establish a unique creative freedom. Artists are reaching,” Trecartin says. Most of the artists in the exhibition are digital natives, born into an age of rapid technological change. While artists have always used the tools available to them, those in the triennial are particularly agnostic about medium. Their work is a mash-up of different materials and digital platforms, from PVC, nail polish, jade powder and oil paint, to works incorporating 3D printers, Google Earth and HD video.

Surround Audience
A performance on the first night of Surround Audience. Photograph: Benoit Paley/New Museum

For many of the artists, the medium is merely the means of expression, not the subject. The exhibition focuses on artists who, Trecartin says, “are creating new realities through their transformative thinking. They aren’t concerned with the somewhat parochial thinking about what an art practice can or should encompass right now. It’s hard to meditate on potential futures when we are still transitioning out of a period that has been culturally obsessed with defining the past through acts of rejection or fetishization. There are many artists today who are not only looking past older entrenched ways of thinking about art, they are actually behaving past it.”

The wired ways in which we receive information today – a lot of it all at once – is suggested both by the kaleidoscopic range of influences evident in the exhibition, and their compression. The artists eddy around a swell of subjects from art history to sci-fi fiction, from the surveillance state to gaming culture, from racism in America to issues of self-identity – with their evident paranoia tempered by a healthy dose of humour.

Surround Audience

Dowiyogo’s Ancient Coral Coffee Table by Nicholas Mangan. Photograph: New Museum

Many of the artists in the show express a sense of invasion, whether by technology, political systems or the effects of late capitalism. Several deal with the environment, such as Lisa Tan’s Waves, which uses Skype footage, HD video and Google’s virtual Art project. Taking Virginia Woolf’s experimental novel as its cue to explore language and consciousness, the work is also “a poetic imagination of how technology affects the planet,” Tan says. Meanwhile, Australian artist Nicholas Mangan’s Nauru, Notes from a Cretaceous World is based on his expeditions to Nauru, a once-booming, phosphate-rich Pacific island that has been mined to the point of destitution. “A lot of my work is about finding materials that open up stories – stuff to do with our human mark on the world,” he says. His work is far removed from digital technology. “I’m totally against social media. I find it exhausting. I guess I’m making a considered decision to move in the opposite direction. I’m much more interested in tree-ring dating – it’s like Google in reverse.”


Other artists use new media to address centuries-old concerns, such as German artist Peter Wächtler. His work, whether stop-frame animation, charcoal or video, centres around the existentialist problems of being human. Sweetly melancholic and slightly absurdist, Wächtler’s art deals with “change and the impossibility of it, the lie of it and the idea of another self”, creating “a looping environment with characters fixed and paralysed by the wish for personal change, unable to perceive that you are still the same idiot watching a different sea.”

The search for self, or loss of self, manifests in different ways: the intricate still-life works by Nigerian artist Njideka Akunyili Crosby speak to the liminality of the immigrant experience; Avery K Singer’s figurative paintings of robot-like people created with a Sketch-Up animation program suggest a sense of disassociation with the body; the avatars in Ed Atkins’s videos point to the post-human possibilities long imagined by the sci-fi fiction community.

Gender identity and body politics are the focus for artists including Frank Benson, showing a 3-D sculpture of the transgender DJ and artist Juliana Huxtable (who is also a Triennial artist), or trans dancer Niv Acosta whose Discotropic performance will deal with race and queer identity.

Other works simply ask us to imagine being somebody else. A twice-daily performance piece by Luke Willis Thompson will take visitors on walks, pursuing one of his cast members and collaborators through New York in choreographed routes. “You never really know which narrative you’re going to be immersed in,” says the New Zealander. “Some of them lead home, or to an idea of home, while others are designed to disorientate the audience.” The work emerged from time spent visiting New York. “When I first came Michael Brown was still alive and when I left he wasn’t, so there is this sense of social change the cities are going through which I felt strongly had to be part of the work.”

The quest for meaning leads to new connections, and this is really what the show is about. Bringing together scores of artists from around the world, the meshing of so many ideas and intentions mirrors the way in which we consume information and create meaning. Indian artist Shreyas Karle, who is creating a museum-within-a-museum dedicated to fetish objects, which is about the impact of cinema on Bombay (and vice versa) and the idea that censorship and licentiousness are “two sides of the same coin”, is looking forward to the exchange. “My wife keeps telling me to focus on my own work, but I’m not really like that. Being asked to exhibit in the triennial, it’s less about me than it is about being part of something dynamic.”

Armory Art Fair Week New York 2015 articles


Art Attack: L.A. Galleries are Invading New York

The city has a stronger showing at this week’s major East Coast art shows than ever before

March 5, 2015 Art Add a comment

New York City is gearing up for the arrival of thousands of pieces of modern and contemporary art (and perhaps just as many gallerists and art collectors) from around the globe, as the city on the Hudson will be playing host to several major art fairs all at once over the next several days. Although west coast dealers have always been willing to brave Manhattan’s freezing temperatures in order to place their artists’ work in front of new eyes during “Armory Week,” Los Angeles gallery representation at the city’s annual March shows is more extensive than ever this year.

The biggest of the Armory Week fairs is the The Armory Show (March 5-8) itself, with 199 total participating art galleries, including 15 from Los Angeles, showing work at Piers 92 and 94 on the west side. “The L.A. art community is really having a moment right now,” suggests the Armory Show’s Executive Director, Noah Horowitz, “from a flourishing gallery and institutional scene to a huge number of artists who have recently taken up residence throughout the city. [Our] exhibitor list this year absolutely reflects that trajectory.”

Although the Anat Ebgi gallery, situated on La Cienega Boulevard’s gallery row, has participated in other New York art fairs before, gallery director Paolo Di Stefano says the “much broader scope” of the Armory Show, where it will be exhibiting for the first time, “opens us up to be seen by a lot more people. It’s not just for young, emerging galleries and young, emerging artists.” Ebgi, Hollywood’s Various Small Fires, and M+B of West Hollywood are among 21 international galleries less than ten years old that are showing work by one or two represented artists in the Armory Presents section of the fair.

Several prominent Los Angeles galleries are bringing work to the Armory Show’s main Contemporary venue. “New York brings a lot of collectors from all over the world,” Cherry and Martin gallery director Michelle Pobar affirms,“ and a lot of them are excited to see what’s coming from Los Angeles these days.” Even OHWOW, which has generally eschewed art fair participation in the past, will be showing up for the first time. “Face time with collectors in New York is important,” acknowledges OHWOW partner Al Moran. Otherwise, “some people don’t even see the work [they buy] until it gets to their homes.”

Marc Selwyn Fine Art and Louis Stern Fine Arts are representing L.A. in the Armory Show’s Modern section, showcasing twentieth century art. A veteran Armory exhibitor, Louis Stern says “it’s always been a positive experience. We’ve always left the fair with a lot of optimism.”

Just a few blocks south of the Armory Show, the SCOPE New York art fair’s 55 exhibitors will include six Los Angeles galleries. Described by co-founder Alexis Hubshman as “the X-Games of the art world,” the SCOPE franchise, which includes fairs in different cities throughout the year, defines its mission as “tapping into the cultural psyche to present only the most pioneering work across multiple creative disciplines.”

Soze Gallery director Toowee Kao describes this weekend at SCOPE as a “sneak peek” at the seven or eight artists who will be having solo shows in Soze’s West Hollywood space in the coming year, though all of the pieces she’s bringing to New York “were made specifically for this fair.” Gallerist Lawrence Cantor, based on West Adams, describes his participation at SCOPE as an opportunity “not so much to make money as to meet people. It gives me a voice in a cutting edge, young market.”

Further downtown, in the Chelsea art gallery district, Independent New York is “a little funkier” than some of the city’s other fairs this weekend, suggests Kurt Muller of the David Kordansky Gallery on South La Brea. “It’s a great way for us to show something more atypical or radical” to the New York art world, “something unexpected.” The Hannah Hoffman Gallery and The Box will also be there.

Four L.A. galleries will be showing work at Volta NY on Pier 90, right next to the Armory Show. Distinguished in part by its emphasis on one- and two-artist exhibitions, the Volta event is not quite as slick, not quite as polished as other fairs in town, according to participating Santa Monica gallerist Richard Heller. “The people there are super cool, and it’s all a bit more collaborative.”

Other Armory Week art fairs with a Los Angeles presence this year include PULSE New York, where Venice’s De Soto Gallery will be in attendance; Art on Paper, with Edward Cella representing L.A.; and the tony Art Dealers Association of America event at the original Park Avenue Armory site, where the Kohn Gallery is showing work by California artists.


Armory Week 2015 News

Bad Weather Be Damned! Cold Collectors Raid Chelsea’s Independent Art Fair

Work by Timur Si-Qin at Société Presents.

Another snowy, terrible New York City afternoon (a people-watching game to play with younger fairgoers is “snot bubble or tiny septum piercing?”) was no deterrent for a flock of art enthusiasts descending on today’s Independent art fair in Chelsea. Some of them were even too eager to speak: “There’s a time to look and a time to talk, and I’m looking right now,” collector Mera Rubell said in the fair’s opening hour. At least at Independent, there is a relatively (compared to the harrowing Armory) manageable amount of stuff to see.

Hanging out at the booth of Berlin’s Société gallery is a giant lightbox photograph by the German-Mongolian artist Timur Si-Qin approximating the aesthetics of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad campaign. In the photo, two absurdly hunky young white male models share a draped American flag around their oh-so-broad shoulders.

Si-Qin has in the past worked with materials as disparate as swords and Axe Body Spray (side note: we look forward to that inevitable moment when Axe Body spray sponsors an art fair), so for him to take on the aesthetics of an Abercrombie campaign fits nicely in line with his style as an artist, which for now is represented by a Yin-Yang crest with the words PEACE in all-caps below it, a signature that can be seen in the corner of his work on display at the Independent and on most of his works.

Sculpture by Stefan Tcherepnin, presented by Real Fine Arts.

New York’s Real Fine Arts brought to the fair a giant Cookie Monster-esque sculpture by the artist Stefan Tcherepnin, originally made for a movie included in the artist’s recent exhibition at the gallery. “It had a Buckminster Fuller geodesic dome in it as a setting,” said RFA cofounder Tyler Dobson, explaining the video, “so they were walking around in this atmosphere, and a few sculptures came out of that film.” Dobson described the flick as having a “dystopian, abstract narrative,” and although actual actors donned the suit in the movie, at the Independent the monster was merely stuffed.

In order to reach the piece, one has to navigate a series of very small sculptures by Sam Anderson (on display at Tanya Leighton), a perilous path guarded in part by Dobson and a very attentive security guard. The guard stationed in front of Anderson’s miniatures is probably in for a very long shift. “I’m gonna have a heart attack myself,” she said after seeing a visitor nearly stomp a small sculpture of a dog wrapped in some sort of sheet. (Canada Gallery’s Phil Grauer, perhaps noticing a reporter’s slack-jawed fascination with Tcherepnin’s monster, offered a pithy explanation of the work his gallery had on display: “This booth is very serious art, it might not work for you, move along.” The art in question was from the deceased first generation conceptual artist Gerald Ferguson, hailing from—incidentally—Nova Scotia.)

Martos Gallery's installation. (Photo by Katherine McMahon)

A less stressful installation came from Karma, tucked in a corner by a window, showing photographs by the sculptor Robert Grosvenor—sexy cars, large-scale toy ships, a gorgeous pair of green doughnuts floating, Ophelia-like, on water. Another piece, not on view, unfortunately: a rat surfing on a life preserver. The works are a kind of preview for a show opening Friday at the gallery, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE ARE FLOATING IN SPACE,” which features Grosvenor and some of his contemporaries, like John McCracken, Brice Marden, Charlotte Posenenske, Robert Smithson, Ken Price, and Anne Truitt.

Speaking of floating around up in space somewhere, there was Jose Martos, owner of Martos Gallery, displaying Jory Rabinovitz’s copper installation, EEB. Trimmed in oxidized-green fabric tubes, copper squares missing penny-sized holes are mounted as a sort of conceptual shrine to the lowest denomination of the American dollar. The missing copper, like indulgence change, is scattered just below the Ur-plates of metal. Martos was quick to summarize the history of the American penny to a willing listener—how it was once made of pure copper, until the government switched to a bronze alloy of copper and zinc and the actual material worth of the coin dropped. He compared a set of white steps scattered with pennies to Fascist architecture, and his eyes lit up.

Tyson Reeder, "Untitled."

“I love Fascist architecture,” Martos declared. “And Futurism.” We also learned that he admires Alfred Hitchcock’s fastidious eye for design, particularly the cavernous theaters in Spellbound; periodically, he goes through and rewatches Hitchcock’s entire filmography. The James Bond series receives equal attention. He asked if we’d like to meet his assistant, claiming she was much better at talking than him. That’s doubtful.

Tyson Reeder, represented by Canada Gallery, had a few paintings on view courtesy Brussels’s Office Baroque; one of them, Untitled, depicts a spirited longhaired rock band jamming out in front of an artificial brick wall. Elsewhere, Matthew Higgs, director of White Columns and one of Independent’s co-founders, was discussing a forthcoming vinyl LP produced by White Columns of the noisy and not entirely musical Piano Party—pretty much exactly what it sounds like—Reeder threw at Canada earlier this winter. (Today, however, Higgs was selling records out of his booth by Emily Sundblad and Matt Sweeney, which were, according to Higgs, “Much more conventional.”) Higgs also had a work on view by the dealer Gavin Brown. Brown was a floor above, selling watercolors by the German, L.A.-based artist Silke Otto Knapp. Brown’s piece was a rendering of his own hands, one spray-painted neon pink and the other black, each mounted on a circular mirror. Small world.


For more Armory Week coverage, go here.

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The Armory Show Contemporary Opens With a Flurry of Sales

Mickalene Thomas’s “Portrait of Qusuquzah #6,” 2015.
(Courtesy of Susanne Vielmetter Los Angeles Projects, photo by Elisabeth Bernstein)

The V.I.P. promenade of the 15th iteration of the Armory Show, taking up the bird filled halls of Pier 92 and 94 alongside the frozen Hudson River, opened today with a seasonal flurry of sales.

Leaner and meaner this year with “just” 199 galleries from 28 countries, the larger and more heavily trafficked contemporary component aptly demonstrated that art fair fatigue has been placed on hold or those still suffering from it have entered rehab. Before a line was formed for checking coats and bulky bags, sales were clicking along at Paris/Salzburg Thaddaeus Ropac.

 A handsome, woven, glass beaded and patterned abstract canvas by Liza Lou, “Ixube 3” from 2011, sold for $495,000 and Jules de Balincourt’s rather edgy and new protest scene at a posh ski resort, “US as in you me and them” in oil and acrylic on wood panel, measuring 82 by 55 inches, sold for $175,000. On a smaller scale, Robert Longo’s “Study for Chevalier” from 2013 and part of his shiny armor series, as in Medieval Armor, and scaled at 18.5 by 15.8 inches, in ink and charcoal on vellum, sold out of the back room (aka closet) for $48,000.

Nearby, at London’s Victoria Miro Gallery, a large-scale and exotic landscape by Chris Ofili, “Last Light, First Flight” from 2008, in paper collage on canvas, sold in the high six figures. “It sold right off the bat,” said director Glenn Scott Heron, noting that the recent New Museum Ofili survey “finally got people past the dung paintings of the ’90s.”

Museum exhibitions definitely stoke the market for recently featured artists as also evidenced by Kehinde Wiley’s “Portrait of Natasha Zamor” from 2015, at New York’s Sean Kelly Gallery, which sold for $125,000. It was scaled at 72 by 60 inches and features one of the street found models Wiley sources and celebrated at the current Brooklyn Museum show of 40 paintings. The gallery also sold Antony Gormley’s standing, 74 inch-high figure “State XIII” from 2012, in cast iron for £350,000 and Marina Abramovic’s horse mounted “The Hero I” from 2001, a framed color photograph for €90,000.

Still in the relatively low price point video/photography sphere, David Claerbout’s edgy “Oil workers (from the Shell company of Nigeria) returning home form work, caught in a torrential rain” from 2013, a single channel video projection, HD animation, color, silent endless (as the description goes), sold two editions at €65,000 each.

At New York’s Jack Shainman Gallery, another new gallery artist, the Iraqi painter Hayv Kahraman, currently enjoying a solo there in Chelsea, was represented at the stand with “Hapool Meshkhor,” a new painting scaled at 100 by 79 inches in oil on linen and exclusively focused on a female figure, went for $75,000. The more established and first-rate Kerry James Marshall, ”Study for Bed Man” from 2013, done in ink wash and collage and depicting a nude black man on a fur covered bed with an African flag, in a kind of brilliant reprise of the famed Goya “La Maja desnuda,” c. 1797-1800, quickly sold for $42,000. The gallery also sold Nick Cave’s spacey and post-Spock-like “Soundsuit” from 2011, in mixed media including shopping cart, buttons, upholstery, metal, and mannequin, for $125,000.

In those early V.I.P scouting hours, the general atmosphere was calm and bubble like, without much hysteria, apart from one observed moment in the wake of an upset collector who very much wanted dibs on a hard to source Mickalene Thomas painting at LA’s Suzanne Vielmetter, where Thomas’s “Portrait of Qusuquzah #6” from 2015, set in rhinestones, acrylic, oil, and silk screen on wood panel, sold to an otherwise unnamed American institution for $65,000. It was one of the standout pieces in the fair, showing the artist’s expanded use of collaging and painting on the surface in a kind of Cubist styled approach, capturing a woman in profile. The dejected suitor made a loud fuss but moved on.
The mood was lighter at New York’s 11 Rivington, which experienced a small avalanche of early sales in the comfortable price range of approximately $5,000-20,000 and ranging from unique, small scaled laser toner on paper abstractions by Marsha Cottrell, such as “Spectral Sun” from 2014, to Volker Huler’s large-scale, 74 by 52 inch etching “Lost in the Stars V,” from 2014, and Evan Nesbit’s acrylic, dye, and burlap abstraction “Untitled,” from 2015. The Lower East Side gallery also sold works by Mika Tajima in spray enamel and thermo formed acrylic in the $13,500-20,000 range.
Concentrating on more emerging artists, at least on this promenade, there was more activity at New York’s Fredericks Freiser, as recent Yale grad Mark Thomas Gibson, currently better known as Kara Walker’s ace studio assistant, had three text based paintings on view, including “Search Light” from 2015, which sold for $8,500. In stenciled-like letters and mashed up with other poached images, the painting reads “Some monsters loom large,” a great phrase for the current market. The gallery also sold photo-realist styled, faux Surreal works on canvas by Jocelyn Hobbie in the mid-$20,000 range, including the sexy “Kitten,” from 2015, at 36 by 24 inches.
Fitzrovia dealer (as in London) Josh Lilley enjoyed great success with his stand of still underknown artists, including a sassy, Louise Bourgeois-like floor sculpture by Kathleen Ryan, “Bacchante Reclining” from 2015 and aggressively potent in concrete, marble, and stainless steel. The silvery blue grouping of balloon-like forms tethered together like convicts on a chain gang sold for $18,000. Lilley also sold a group of figurative paintings by Aliza Nisenbaum, who was recently featured in a White Columns show, with works depicting Central American families the artist befriended in Queens. The evocative portraiture mix of Diego Rivera and Alice Neel, perfumed to the plight of paperless but hard-working immigrants, injected a heady gravitas to the work. “Gloria, Angelica, Jessica,” executed in oil on linen from 2014 and scaled at 51 by 33 inches, sold for under $10,000.
Amidst the low-octane hubbub, a performance artist gracefully skateboarded along the aisles on an electric contraption resembling a flying carpet, complete with fringe — the performer was decked out in a skull cap and caftan-like costume. It added a light and enjoyably Surrealist touch to the Armory Show.
The Modern section will be covered here on Thursday.


The 10 Best Contemporary Artworks At The 2015 Armory Show

Posted: 03/05/2015 1:42 pm EST Updated: 03/05/2015 1:59 pm EST

This article originally appeared on artnet News.
By Brian Boucher


El Anatsui at Jack Shainman.

The VIPs were out in force at the preview of the Armory Show on the Hudson Piers on Wednesday. We spotted Neil Patrick Harris, fresh off his Oscars hosting performance, chatting with none other than George Lucas in the aisles. REM’s Michael Stipe was seen picking up lunch with Bill Arning, director at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston, and some other friends. Museum directors like Glenn Lowry were on the prowl.

Nearly 200 galleries from around the globe are offering their wares. We took a quick run through Pier 94, where the contemporary galleries are, and found 10 works we especially liked. (Ben Davis has this to say about the show: Less Neon, More Dead Animals at the Sprawling, Exciting Armory Show 2015.)

Aiko Hachisuka’s large sculpture Couch caught our eye at Eleven Rivington (New York). It’s a large, comfy-looking couch covered with stuffed clothes, all bought at a yard sale from a single family. It brings to mind Mike Kelley’s work with stuffed toys, as well as Yayoi Kusama’s furniture sculptures covered with soft phallus shapes. The gallery’s Augusto Arbizo (see 14 Young New York Art Dealers To Watch) points out that it’s actually more closely inspired by early works by John Chamberlain. By the time we got back to the office, it had sold to someone for $20,000. Only that person will get to sit on it, so don’t try to sit down.

An array of ceramic sculptures by William J. O’Brien, each on a custom-designed stand, makes for a dramatic presentation at Marianne Boesky’s booth. The Ohio-born artist lives in Chicago and he’s 37. These zany sculptures in all sorts of colors dominate the booth to great effect, each standing a couple of feet high. Some depict partial figures, some are angular and abstracts, some show crazy heads. In one, showing a figure from thighs to elbows, the hands sport fingernail polish.

I don’t know the work of German artist Michael Müller yet, but you can’t help but be drawn into the stand of Aanant & Zoo/Thomas Schulte, in town from Berlin. The artist has lined the floor with pink carpet and the pink wall with text of his own writing. There are sculptures throughout the booth, including a creepy one showing a man sitting in a shower stall, with nothing where his genitals should be. Another, Relaunch at the Museum Shop, has an aluminum cut-out of German artist Albrecht Dürer atop a plinth, with a Louis Vuitton–style handbag emblazoned with the artist’s own logo of a D nestled within an A.

I can’t get enough of Martin Wong. His painting Iglesia Pentecostal, 1986, shows the whitewashed façade of a church on Avenue B on New York’s Lower East Side, with the metal security gates closed. Wong, a Chinese-American artist who died from AIDS, has been deservedly in the spotlight in recent years, with the Museum of the City of New York mounting a show of his street art collection and Danh Vō devoting his Hugo Boss Prize show at the Guggenheim to a display of other items Wong collected. This painting, to me, delightfully plays with the notion of a flat picture plane and of shutting the viewer out, while depicting a bombed-out Lower East Side that’s unimaginable today. It’s showing at P.P.O.W Gallery, New York.

Edge of Arabia Projects (EOA), London, hosts an endearing project by artist Darvish Fakhr, who is dressed in a flowing garment and a fez, like a whirling dervish (yes, his name has the same root), and is riding a magic carpet around the fair. It sits atop a motorized device and, echoing the motor’s sound, is called Whirring Dervish. He won’t be hard to find. Just watch for everyone smiling and directing their iPhones his way as he cruises by. On a break at EOA’s booth in the Focus section, devoted to galleries from the Middle East, North Africa and the Mediterranean, he told me he hopes to lighten things up and deal with a troubled part of the world with some humor. When I asked if I could try it out, he said, “I don’t know, can you ride longboard?”

London’s Moving Museum, one of the nonprofits accorded a tiny booth, introduced me to a fine project by Soheila Sokhanvari, an Iranian artist who somehow managed to smuggle some crude oil out of Iran. She used the substance to create monochromatic drawings based on photographs from pre-revolutionary Iran. The works couldn’t be more timely, with Iran’s nuclear capabilities on the front page as Israel’s Benjamin Netanyahu was invited by Congressional Republicans to give a campaign speech in Congress this week, slamming Obama’s still-in-negotiations arms deal.

Ryan Gander has a fine sculpture at Berlin’s Johnen Galerie that gooses Donald Judd, which can only be a good thing. He’s arranged a series of IKEA shelves in a column, just like Judd’s iconic “stack” sculptures. Atop them rests a potted plant, as if to turn some of the most beloved exemplars of minimalism into nothing more than interior decor. (It reminded me of a fine piece by David Scanavino at Marlborough recently that similarly tweaked the famously prickly artist by treating his chairs in ways that probably wouldn’t have pleased him.)

Wael Shawky’s drawings at Lisson Gallery (London, Milan, and soon New York) are a delight. He’s shot a series of videos that use marionettes to tell the tale of the Crusades, as he puts it, from the Arabs’ perspective; they’re now on view at MoMA PS1 (see Puppet Jihad at MoMA PS1 Puts Burlesque Into Extremism), along with the marionettes. The drawings are subtler, but the fancy that infuses the puppets and the videos is also on display here.

Nara Roesler, with galleries in São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, has a great sculpture by Julio Le Parc, with hundreds of little yellow panes of plastic hanging in a giant globe from the ceiling, making a mesmerizing avant-garde sun in the fluorescent-lit gilded trenches of the piers. The artist, born in 1928, has been showing at biennials since Venice in 1966 and São Paulo the following year, and has stood up to repressive military regimes in Brazil and participated in collective artistic acts of protest against fascist movements in Chile, El Salvador, and Nicaragua.

El Anatsui has received plaudits for institutional solo shows like the recent one at the Brooklyn Museum, which opens soon at the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego. A giant wall hanging at Jack Shainman’s booth is tagged at $1.5 million and incorporates hundreds of aluminum remnants from liquor bottles to create a great, swirling black curtain. (See El Anatsui’s Exciting New Work Is Even More Majestic Than Ever.) Roberta Smith, in the New York Times, once wrote of his sculptures, “Their drapes and folds have a voluptuous sculptural presence, but also an undeniably glamorous bravado.” That bravado is on plentiful display here.

  • Darvish Fakhr, Whirling Dervish, 2014. Photo Brian Boucher.
  • Aiko Hachisuka, Couch (2011). Photo: Courtesy of Eleven Rivington Gallery.
  • Michael Müller. Photo: Courtesy of Galerie Thomas Schulte.
  • Julio Le Parc at Galeria Nara Roesler.
  • Martin Wong, Iglesia Pentecostal, 1986, acrylic on canvas. Courtesy of The Estate of Martin Wong and P.P.O.W Gallery, New York
  • Ryan Gander, I Am Broken, 2011. Galerie Johnen, Berlin.
  • Soheila Sokhanvari, drawings in smuggled Iranian crude oil, at the Moving Museum, London. Photo Aaron Sherman.
  • William J. O’Brien, Untitled (2014). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York.
  • Wael Shawky, Dictums: drawing 15 (2014). Photo: Courtesy of Lisson Gallery.


artnet News is the world’s first global, 24-hour art newswire, dedicated to informing, engaging, and connecting the most avid members of the art community with daily news and expert commentary.

The NY Observer Guide
An Opinionated Guide to the Art Fair Avalanche of NY’s Armory Week
By Alexandra Peers and Ryan Steadman | 03/03/15 7:00am
An illustrated guide to the fairs of Armory Arts Week 2015. (Photo: New York Observer)

An illustrated guide to the fairs of Armory Arts Week 2015. (Photo: New York Observer)

Don your Prada and grab your sunglasses, the art world is coming. Over the next few days, you won’t be able to walk around Manhattan without stumbling into an art fair. A dozen of them showcase their wares through March 8, in neighborhoods all over town.

Here’s our guide:

Art Dealers Association of America: The Art Show
Now in its 27th year, this jewel box of a show on the Upper East Side is one of the first of the week to open, and it features a curated slate of 70 veteran powerhouse galleries like Acquavella, 303 and Brooke Alexander. There’s some fine young art here, but, at its core, this elegant fair offers blue-chip art for blue bloods.

Park Avenue Armory
Park Avenue at 67th Street
Open March 4-8; VIP preview March 3
Wednesday-Friday 12 p.m.-8 p.m.; Saturday 12 p.m.-7 p.m.; Sunday 12 p.m.-5 p.m.

The Armory Show
The largest Modern and Contemporary art fair in New York, and one of the largest in the world, this year’s edition boasts big-time galleries like David Zwirner and Victoria Miro as well as a host of hot young spaces like Various Small Fires and Bischoff Projects. You’ll spot all the big collectors (Eli Broad, David Geffen), the alleged-but-beloved art flippers (Aby Rosen, Peter Grant) and the MoMA folks (director Glenn Lowry, drawing followers like the Pied Piper), all shopping a century’s worth of paintings and sculpture—plus a conga line of art advisors.

Piers 92 & 94
12th Avenue at 55th Street
Open March 5-8; VIP preview March 4
Thursday-Saturday 12 p.m.-7 p.m.

Art on Paper
Brought to you by the team behind the popular Miami Project, the inaugural Art on Paper Fair just south of the Williamsburg Bridge provides a mix of drawings, photographs and prints, so there may be bargains. The opening night party benefits the Brooklyn Museum.

Pier 36
299 South Street on the East River
Open March 6-8; VIP party March 5
Friday-Saturday, 11 a.m.-7 p.m.; Sunday 11 a.m. -6 p.m.

Usually one of the more interesting fairs, this one for cutting-edge heavy-hitters (Gavin Brown, Balice Hertling) opens the old Dia Center space up to well-considered installations rather than sales booths (or so they say). If past is a predictor, expect big crowds and bigger sales at the Independent’s last appearance in this historic space.

548 West 22nd Street
Open March 6-8; vernissage March 5
Friday-Saturday 12 p.m.-7 p.m.; Sunday 12 p.m.-6 p.m.

New City Art Fair
And now for something completely different: New York’s only fair for Contemporary Japanese art, now in its fourth year, will bring a tight-knit group of Tokyo, Sapporo and Nagoya galleries from their island to ours.

529 West 20th Street
Open March 5-8
Thursday-Saturday 12 p.m.-7 p.m.; Sunday 12 p.m.-6 p.m.

Still lively and experimental in its 15th year, this fair bills itself as a venue for “the discovery and acquisition of cutting-edge Contemporary art.” Its preview brunch on Thursday is among the more crowded see-and-be-seen events of the week.

The Metropolitan Pavilion
125 West 18th Street
Open March 5-8; preview brunch March 5
Thursday 1 p.m.-6 p.m.; Friday-Saturday 11 a.m.-8 p.m.; Sunday 11 a.m.-5 p.m.

This well-established satellite fair, which was showcasing emerging and performance art before some of its rivals were even paying attention, moves to a new and convenient location this year not far from the blockbuster Armory Show.

Scope Pavilion
639 West 46th Street
Open March 6-8; preview March 6
Friday 6 p.m.-10 p.m.; Saturday-Sunday 11 a.m.-8 p.m.

Spring/Break Art Show
If an art fair can inspire affection, this scrappy, sometimes delightful and often inexpensive one, with a “hang it on the wall and see what sticks aesthetic,” can be said to be loved. Here, curators choose the art, not galleries, which results in some of the week’s most interesting projects.

Skylight at Moynihan Station
Northwest Corner, West 31st Street & 8th Avenue
Open March 4-8; preview March 3
Wednesday-Sunday 12 p.m.-8 p.m.

Moving Image Fair
Here, video art is taken seriously by those who know and love it. This critically acclaimed fair is back with the promise of “allowing moving image-based artworks to be understood and appreciated on their own terms.” This fair is a good, thoughtful, even restful, choice when the sales buzz of its rivals overwhelms you.

Waterfront New York Tunnel
269 11th Avenue between 27th and 28th Street
Open March 5-8; opening reception March 5
Thursday-Saturday 11 a.m.-8 p.m.; Sunday 11 a.m.-4 p.m.

Volta New York
Now on Pier 90, snuggled up next to its corporate big brother the Armory Show, this is a generally smart and particularly thoughtful invitational fair of solo artist presentations. (Carribbean artists are particularly strong this year.) Shoppers take their time here, and the “Volta Salon” also generally offers a good lecture/panel program.

Pier 90
West 50th Street at 12th Avenue
Open March 5-8; vernissage for the public March 5
Thursday 6 p.m.-8 p.m.; Friday-Saturday 12 p.m.-8 p.m.; Sunday 12 p.m.-7 p.m.

Salon Zürcher
Possibly the smallest fair you’ll go to this week (six galleries), this LES salon actually takes place within the gallery space of one of its exhibitors, Galerie Zürcher. If you’re someone who gets easily overwhelmed, then this might be the place for you.

33 Bleecker Street
Open March 2-8; Opening March 2
Monday 5 p.m.-8 p.m; Tuesday-Saturday 12 p.m.-8 p.m., Sunday 12 p.m.-5 p.m.

(un)Scene Art Show
There are many ways to draw attention to your art fair, but free ice cream is perhaps the most laudable. That’s what the folks behind this event did at their last venture (the unFair), and this time they promise a “happening.”

549 West 52nd Street
Open March 4-8
Wednesday-Sunday 11 a.m.-8 p.m.

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Mar 4, 2015

'Oona' (2006), Alex Katz. Courtesy of Galleria Monica De Cardenas Milano/Zuoz

Highlights from The Armory Show 2015

The Armory Show, New York’s leading modern and contemporary art fair, opens to the public tomorrow at Piers 92 & 94. As the extravagant centrepiece of the city’s Armory Arts Week, it plays host to the world’s most influential dealers, and some highly significant works of art. Highlights this year range from Barbara Hepworth’s polished abstract sculpture Six Forms on a Circle (1967) at Osborne Samuel (the modernist sculptor is the subject of a major retrospective at Tate Britain this June) and On Kawara’s I WENT at mfc-michèle didier – a great example of the obsessive conceptual cataloguing for which the artist is famous. Chantal Joffe’s recent portrait of a Woman in a Blue Coat on Green (2014), and Alex Katz’s Oona (2006) are eye-catching, enigmatic images of women; while American modernist Marsden Hartley’s Finnish-Yankee Wrestler (c. 1938–39) and Jim Dine’s Self-Portrait from 1970 are no less arresting explorations of male identity. We’ve picked out a few of our other favourites below.

The Armory Show is at Piers 92 & 94, New York, from 5–8 March.


The 2015 Armory Show in 23 Superlatives

The Pommery Champagne Bar at the 2015 Armory Show (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

The 2015 Armory Show delivers pretty much what you’d expect of the 2015 Armory Show: some quite good art, some pretty bad art, and a lot of completely harmless stuff in between. The long-running fair feels, for better or for worse, quite set in its ways, and its ways are those of the traditional art fair; no secret bars or booths-turned-totally-wacky-installations here.

There can be a certain charm in that — or, if not quite “charm,” a certain amusement, predicated on accepting the fair for what it is and letting it entertain and wash over you. In that spirit, I decided it might be nice to hand out accolades this year, to salute the galleries and artworks that — for better or for worse, among the hundreds of others (in the Contemporary section; I did not visit Modern) — moved me to stop and take their pictures. Here they are.

Most Bookish Booth: mfc-michèle didier


Muntadas, "On Translation: The Bookstore" (2001) (click to enlarge)

Given that mfc-michèle didier is a publisher, it’s not entirely surprising that the booth focuses on printed objects like books. Still, it was a good booth. In addition to Allen Ruppersberg’s binder book The Novel That Writes Itself (which collectors could buy their way into for the right price), the booth has a wall of imposing tomes by On Kawara, comprising a documentation trilogy of the artist’s daily conceptual exercises: I GOT UP, I WENT, I MET. In sharp relief to these precious objects is a funny photo series by the artist Muntadas, which documents the interchangeable nature of some of our beloved bookstores.

Best Booth to Linger In: Gallery Espace

Work from Manjunath Kamath’s ‘Miniature’ series (2014), gouache and acrylic on paper, 5 x 7 in each, at Gallery Espace (click to enlarge)

Chitra Ganesh, 'Cat Women' series (2013), mixed-media collage on handmade paper, 12 x 12 in each (click to enlarge)

Gallery Espace has, I think, put together one of the best booths at the Armory Show. It could be easily missed, because there’s nothing very flashy in it, but if you visit, you’ll be rewarded. Quirky, imaginative collages from Chitra Ganesh’s Cat Women series (2013) hold court in one corner, resonating with nearby Ritual Drawings by Manjunath Kamath — who also has a series of Miniature paintings (2014) on view around the corner. The artists share a playful surreality grounded in traditional figuration, and their work in small series connects them to Zarina Hasmi’s eye-catching black-and-gold collages that dominate the back wall.

Best Art-Fair Art: Zipora Fried at On Stellar Rays


On Stellar Rays is exhibiting in the Armory Presents section of the fair, which features solo or duo displays by galleries less than 10 years old. Artist Zipora Fried gets the whole booth, but this work is really all you can see. Nothing says “art fair” like a gold-tinted mirror propped up by a shitload of baseball bats.

Best Art Object Likely to Be Mistaken for Trash: Gavin Turk at Ben Brown Fine Arts


… Because, you know, it’s a lifelike trash bag! This one had all the eyebrows raising and the smartphones shooting today. Good thing it’s probably too heavy for security to accidentally throw out.

Best Ass and Air-Conditioning Combination: Andrew Kreps Gallery


The painting is Robert Overby’s “Summer Fram” (1977–86). The air-conditioning unit I couldn’t find wall text for. Is it art? Your guess is as good as mine.

Best Recycling Project: Bade Stageberg Cox, Street Seats


This is the fourth year that the Armory Show has asked Brooklyn architects Bade Stageberg Cox to design the fair. One of their standout projects — not new this year, but still great — is Street Seats, for which the firm salvaged pieces of furniture from the the sidewalks of New York City, repaired them, and painted them taxicab yellow. The chairs and tables would be cute regardless of their origin, but their recycled nature and connection to the city make them excellent design.

Best Oversize Christmas Ornament: Berta Fischer at James Fuentes


I couldn’t quite figure this thing out. I’m going with Christmas ornament because it’s colorful and hanging, although you’d certainly need a big tree. Barring that, maybe it’s hospital art? It does resemble a tangle of in-patient wristbands blown up and gone haywire.

Best Art That Looks Textured but Isn’t (Got Ya!): Amir Nikravan at Various Small Fires

Work by Amir Nikravan at Various Small Fires

These paintings by Amir Nikravan seem to be one of two things: either tantalizingly textured paintings or extremely well-Photoshopped prints. They are neither! In fact, Nikravan has a very elaborate process that involves using objects to create a pattern on a wood panel, then stretching fabric over it, then vacuum sealing the whole thing, then spray-painting the fabric, then removing it and mounting it on aluminum. Photoshop is so 2004.

Most Underwhelming: Michael E. Smith & Franz Erhard Walther at KOW

Work by Franz Erhard Walther and Michael E. Smith at KOW

There is a place for both of these men in art, but that place is not here, together, comprising a booth so dull it makes your heart hurt.

Best Amalgamation of Things You’d Find in Your Home: Rachael Champion at Hales Gallery


Champion injects new life into a category of art I thought had been laid to rest in 2009.

Best Art Befitting Its Gallery’s Name: Nick van Woert at OHWOW


How do all those rocks stay balanced? How does this thing not topple over? Wait, wait, it’s made of copper? Oh wow!

Best Art That Is Also a Functioning Slot Machine: Andrew Ohanesian at Pierogi Gallery


Those who can’t buy, gamble.

Most Photogenic Art with No Discernible Meaning: Glenn Kaino at Honor Fraser


According to the explanatory materials on offer at Honor Fraser, “the form [of Glenn Kaino’s ‘A Shout Within a Storm’] appears to change relative to our experience of the position of the viewer, suggesting a set of contingencies that reflects our experience of the world.” I really couldn’t tell you what that means, but this thing sure is fun to photograph. See?

Glenn Kaino, "A Shout Within a Storm"

Best Lumpy Ceramics: Benedetto Pietromarchi at Josh Lilley Gallery


Surprisingly, I didn’t see any other lumpy ceramics on view at the fair, so this may be an unfair contest. But I do enjoy these pieces by Benedetto Pietromarchi; they strike just the right balance between beautiful and weird.

Best Immersive, Color-Coordinated Booth: Michael Müller at Aanant & Zoo/Galerie Thomas Schulte


I didn’t honestly have enough time to spend in this booth, reading all the text and taking everything in. But a short walk through suggests that it’s worth spending time with. The booth feels like a rarity at an art fair: a complete presentation that foregrounds the artist’s vision.

Best Thing Sewn Together from Other Things: Aiko Hachisuka at Eleven Rivington


The only thing wrong with this is that you’re not allowed to sit on it.

Best Selfie Bait: Jeppe Hein at Johann König


I’m not sure what reason this could possibly have for existing besides selfies. Editions for every night-club bathroom in Chelsea!

Best Donald Judd Remake for the 21st Century: Ryan Gander at Johnen Galerie


Because Ikea shelves are the building material of the 21st century, and if their assembly is DIY anyway, why not stack them? The plant is an especially nice touch — a domestic rejoinder to the austere machismo of Minimalism.

Highest Art: Jessica Stockholder at Kavi Gupta Gallery


There are most certainly fewer women than men represented at the Armory Show, but at least the women who are there will not allow themselves to be limited by silly things like booth walls. From afar, this nifty sculpture by Jessica Stockholder seems to climb over Kavi Gupta‘s wall; close up, it dangles madly. I appreciated that it was literally the highest art I could find.

Jessica Stockholder, "Celestial Season" (2015), plastic baskets, wire ties, chain, lights, driveway mirrors, paint, 96 x 70 x 70 in

Most Striking Photographic Portraits: Valérie Belin at Galerie Nathalie Obadia


There are a lot of photographic portraits at this year’s Armory, many of them excellent: a booth devoted to George Dureau, gorgeous pictures by Zanele Muholi. But these two by Valérie Belin at Galerie Nathalie Obadia — which so unsettlingly toe the line between artifice and reality — stayed with me.

Best Thing Masquerading as Art: Gilles Barbier at Galerie Vallois


It’s certainly some kind of sculptural super-someThing.

Best Kehinde Wiley: Kehinde Wiley at Galerie Daniel Templon


With an exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum and his work on offer in at least three booths at the Armory Show, Kehinde Wiley is the man of the moment. I often feel like, once you’ve seen several Kehinde Wileys, you’ve seen them all, but this piece feels a lot richer and more thoughtful than his mega-portraits.

Biggest Abstract Painting: Secundino Hernández at Galerie Forsblom


When you can’t paint better, paint bigger.

The 2015 Armory Show continues at Piers 92 and 94 (West 54th Street at Twelfth Avenue, Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan) through March 8.



No Art Fair Lull as One Gallery Sells $1 Million in Three Hours

11:53 AM PST
March 5, 2015

William J. O'Brien Sculptures

by Katya Kazakina
11:53 AM PST
March 5, 2015

William J. O’Brien Sculptures
Glazed ceramic sculptures by William J. O’Brien at Marianne Boesky gallery sold for $12,000 to $16,000 in New York. Photographer: Katya Kazakina/Bloomberg

(Bloomberg) — Sean Kelly Gallery sold more than $1 million of sculptures by British artist Antony Gormley in less than three hours on March 3, as a week of art fairs in New York opened with a flurry of purchases by wealthy collectors.

The gallery pulled in another $1 million for works by blue-chip and emerging artists the next day at the Armory Show, the city’s largest contemporary art fair that anchors about a dozen concurrent shows and countless exhibition openings.

“These Gormleys go up 20 percent to 25 percent a year,” Kelly said about the cast-iron blocks evoking human figures shown in his booth at the Art Show at the Park Avenue Armory. “You can’t get 2 percent from a bank.”

New York is the first major stop this year on the global art fair circuit that continues in Hong Kong; Maastricht, the Netherlands; and Dubai later this month. In recent years, fairs have become one-stop shopping malls for the mega-wealthy seeking to diversify their stock portfolios with paintings and sculptures by brand names and hot young artists.

Many galleries are participating in five to 10 art fairs a year, hopping from one time zone to another, according to dealers and fair organizers.
‘More Intense’

“It gets more intense every year,” said Marc Spiegler, director of Art Basel, the contemporary art fair whose Hong Kong edition opens next week. “The time-crunched new wealthy collectors aren’t going to spend weekends going to every gallery in town. They go to art fairs.”

In 2014, 204 fairs specialized in fine art and design, up 32 percent since 2007, according to Skate’s Art Fairs Report, with 80 events representing 95 percent of all business. Last year, 65,000 people attended the Armory Show, which has 199 galleries from 28 countries.

On March 3, 2,600 people braved the snow and sleet to show up for the gala opening of the Art Show, which featured 72 top American galleries. Select guests included ex-Goldman Sachs Group Inc. partner Jonathan Sobel, AllianceBernstein Corp. Chairman and Chief Executive Officer Peter Kraus, and Barnes & Noble Inc. Chairman Leonard Riggio.

Petzel gallery mounted a minimal installation by Wade Guyton with small, black-and-white prints displayed on a bright yellow surface inside five long, custom-made vitrines. A set of 15 vitrines with 146 prints was reserved for a U.S. museum, the gallery said. Asking price: $750,000.
Turned Corner

Dominique Levy gallery exhibited works by Japanese artist Tsuyoshi Maekawa, whose roughly textured, creased oil-on-burlap canvases looked like a cross between painting and sculpture. The largest one, “Work” (1963), priced at $425,000, sold within the first 10 minutes of the opening.

Droves of collectors hit the Armory Show at two hangar-size piers on the Hudson River on March 4. Guests included CIT Group Inc. CEO John Thain, Tishman Speyer Properties chairman Jerry Speyer, this year’s Academy Awards host Neil Patrick Harris and actors Tobey Maguire and Mike Myers.

“The Armory Show has officially turned a corner,” said New York dealer James Fuentes, who sold a neon Plexiglas sculpture by Berta Fischer for $15,000 to New York collectors Zoe and Joel Dictrow. “It doesn’t have the baggage of a fair people aren’t interested in anymore.”
Another Try

Several prominent galleries including Metro Pictures, Galerie Lelong, Andrew Kreps and Kamel Mennour returned to the fair after years of absence.

“We stopped because it wasn’t sexy,” said Kamel Mennour, the owner of the Paris-based gallery that mounted a solo show of Daniel Buren, whose signature vertical stripes have appeared on pavements, palaces and paintings. Like other dealers, Mennour said he was persuaded to give the fair another try by its director Noah Horowitz.

“He has a precise vision,” said Mennour. “He sees it as not only the market, but also the content.”

Mennour returned with Buren’s works from every decade starting in the 1960s. There were paintings on wood, canvas and plastic. A sequence of black and white stripes on marble sold for 150,000 euros ($165,405) during the first hour of the opening.

First-time participant OHWOW gallery from Los Angeles did brisk sales throughout the day, said partner Al Moran.

“We are testing it out,” he said. “So far it has exceeded our expectations.”

The gallery’s sales included Luis Gispert’s assemblage made with glossy black rocks and fake gold chains for $24,000 and two large canvases covered with bark by Nick van Woert for $35,000 and $40,000.
Ceramic Sculptures

Actor Christian Slater joined a mob of collectors snapping up glazed ceramic sculptures by William J. O’Brien at Marianne Boesky. The gallery sold 18 of O’Brien’s 27 pieces, priced at $12,000 to $16,000. An ephemeral wall sculpture made of fiberglass by Diana Al-Hadid went for $85,000.

“We could have sold it three times,” said Adrian Turner, the gallery’s senior director.

Jack Shainman’s booth, anchored by a large, shimmering, black tapestry by El Anatsui, attracted New York collectors Susan and Michael Hort and Madeleine Grynsztejn, Pritzker director of Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.

Canadian collector Robert Rennie, who has a private museum in Vancouver, inquired about a work on paper by Kerry James Marshall depicting a nude black man in an odalisque pose. Priced at $45,000, it was already sold. So was Nick Cave’s white sound suit, priced at $125,000.
Tougher Sell

While lower-priced works went fast, pieces at about $1 million were a tougher sell.

There were no immediate takers for the Anatsui tapestry priced at $1.5 million at Shainman; for Buren’s 1966 canvas, offered at 850,000 euros at Kamel Mennour; or Chinese artist Yue Minjun’s $800,000 signature smiling man painting at Galerie Daniel Templon.

“There’s no frenzy, but very consistent traffic all day long,” said Augusto Arbizo, director of Eleven Rivington, where the Horts picked up an abstract painting by Evan Nesbit priced at $16,000 and Dallas-based collector Howard Rachofsky bought Aiko Hachisuka’s multi-patterned couch sculpture for $24,000. “There was no lull.”


Six years ago, when it started out, the art fair called Independent really was sort of that. It had a cool guerrilla buzz. In the former Dia headquarters on West 22nd Street in Chelsea, it was tiny compared with the cattle-call Armory Show. More rebelliously, admission was free. And the look was new. Instead of booths the size of stockyard stalls, there were wide-open prairies of exhibition space on all three floors. Within these democratic vistas, you could hardly tell where one gallery ended and another began.

Democracy is fine and independence is fun, but they don’t pay for the farm, so things changed. Now there’s an entry fee ($20) and many more partition walls than there were of yore, enough so that some gallery spaces are all but self-enclosed. Despite such bows to convention, though, one thing is the same: Independent still feels more like an art experience than a shopping experience, and that sets it apart from the competition.

What accounts for the atmosphere? For one thing, less-is-more is the prevailing style. Sparsely hung spaces at least suggest that you’re looking at art, not inventory. Traces of neighborliness linger on. You have to pass through galleries to get to others, which means you see pretty much everything in the show whether you mean to or not.

The relatively relaxed and uncompetitive vibe encourages a degree of visual subtlety. The black-on-black North Atlantic landscape paintings of Silke Otto-Knapp at Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, for example, might have been swallowed up on the Piers: Here they do just fine. So do the abstract, delicately detailed sculptures of the young Los Angeles artist Matt Paweski at Herald St., one of six London galleries this year.

Possibly the geographic breakdown of the fair’s 50 participants might make a revealing study in art fair demographics. New York, of course, dominates, but Berlin, with 11 galleries, comes in a strong runner-up. Is it significant that Los Angeles has only three galleries and Mexico City the same? Or that no African, Asian or Australian galleries are in the mix at all? To my eye, at least, such statistics mean little, since, in an era of global pluralism, everything here could come from almost anywhere within a Euro-American sphere. This gives Independent a somewhat clubby look — there may be galleries from 14 countries, but everyone speaks the same visual language — which is the not-so-fabulous flip side of neighborliness.

Anyway, in the end you’ll come away with memories of what you liked best (or least), some of it familiar, some not. On the second floor, JTT, a young gallery from the Lower East Side — and one of 16 first-time Independent exhibitors — opens the show on a solid, no-nonsense note with a beaconlike sculpture made from a truck tire balanced on a column of stones by Charles Harlan. Nearby, Elizabeth Dee, who founded the fair with Darren Flook, has strong pieces by three veteran artists Mac Adams, John Giorno and Julia Wachtel. And the Box, from Los Angeles, highlights 1960s work — tiny, vaguely sinister assemblages of seashells, broken dolls and severed bird wings — by Barbara T. Smith, an early West Coast feminist artist who should be far better known in New York than she is.

Further on, at Canada, another undersung figure, the conceptualist painter Gerald Ferguson, who taught at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design for decades and committed suicide in 2009, has what amounts to a full-fledged show of late abstract landscapes done in black house paint on plain canvas. Galeria Agustina Ferreyra Gallery, from San Juan, Puerto Rico, goes for high color and high energy in a wraparound installation of paintings by Adriana Minoliti, from Buenos Aires. Closer to home — Greenpoint, Brooklyn — Real Fine Arts, a stimulating place, mixes intensely marketable abstract painting (Jon Pestoni, Ned Vena) with more interestingly kooky and no doubt harder to sell sculpture: a life-size, purple, faux-fur Cookie Monster-ish figure by Stefan Tcherepnin and bust-length heads combining alpaca wool, metal spikes and “nonorganic garbage” by Mathieu Malouf.

Plan B, a gallery with branches in Berlin and Cluj, Romania, has made an impression at the Armory Show in the past and is worth a visit on its first Independent appearance. The gallery has brought just two artists. Navid Nuur, originally from Tehran, now living in Europe, makes both modular sculptures and crusty, glowing paintings that swirl with calligraphic lines. These are complemented by the paintings of a younger artist, Achraf Touloub, born in Morocco, who turns similarly swirling lines into tree trunks and branches that look both realistic and unnaturally continuous, like arabesques.

Old and new, alike and different, are braided together on the third floor. Labor from Mexico City and Supportico Lopez from Berlin — share a space and a single artist, Jan Peter Hammer, with Labor also representing the estimable Pedro Reyes and Nicholas Mangan, who is in the New Museum’s 2015 Triennial. Two other galleries connect “outsider art” dots both from across the Atlantic and from opposite sides of the fair’s third-floor space. Galerie Susanne Zander/Delmes & Zander in Germany are showing cosmic diagrams by the psychologically troubled German artist Harald Bender (1950-2014), while Chelsea’s own White Columns has a cache of erotic Rapidograph fantasies by the New Yorker Anthony Ballard (1945-2008), who was schizophrenic and exhibited at Fountain House in New York.

Mendes Wood DM, a gallery from São Paulo, has a solo by the Brazilian artist who uses the gender-free moniker f.marquespenteado (full first name: Fernando). He says that he works best when permitted “to occupy an entire space.” And so he does here, creating an environment of paintings, drawings, embroideries and collages that serve as a stage set for a multicharacter narrative about masculine stereotypes and how they thwart the path of true same-sex love.

A debut Independent appearance by the Mexico City gallery Kurimanzutto brings a rare visit from the long-expatriate American artist Jimmie Durham in the form of a 2007 installation, “The Sacred, the Profane and Everything Else.” The piece, which incorporates seven metal oil drums, suggests a combination of altar and industrial no-go zone and refers to, among other things, death, Rome (where it was first shown) and the worldwide battle for fuel. A couple of battered suitcases folded into the mix read as stand-ins for the artist himself, politically alienated from his homeland and always on the global move.

On the fourth floor, you’ll find some of the quietest work, and some of brashest. Ms. Otto-Knapp’s penumbral landscapes are here. So is a geometric corner mural painting by Lydia Okumura, its form made three dimensional by strings stretched, like drawn lines, between two walls at Broadway 1602. Not that a sculptural extension in painting is necessarily abstract. The same gallery has a 1963 Pop picture by Marjorie Strider (1934-2014) of a pinup model with a seductive smile and 3-D breasts. Directly across from it, at Thomas Erben, is a large pieced-together text painting by Mike Cloud, color-rich, rough-surfaced, annotated and argumentative. And not far away in a niche-like area occupied by the Modern Institute from Glasgow, murals by Nicolas Party — huge Modernistsquiggles and a gargantuangrisaille version of Picasso’s 1904walleyed “La Celestine” — cover the wall from floor to high ceiling and are themselves covered over by superimposed pictures of stilllifes.

What Mr. Party’s installation is exactly about, I can’t say, but I remember with some pleasure another he created at Salon 94 Freemans on the Lower East Side in 2012. That one was called “Dinner for 24 Dogs” and featured a big round table with two dozen customized place settings in an every-inch-painted room. With respectful nods to Matisse, Judy Chicago and Rirkrit Tiravanija’s cooking-as-art, the piece was artful, eye-catching, conservative and companionable, all of which Independent is, too.

March Fair Season Highlights

THE ART SHOW continues through Sunday at the Park Avenue Armory, Park Avenue at 67th Street;, 212-488-5550.

THE ARMORY SHOW runs through Sunday at Piers 92 and 94, 12th Avenue, at 55th Street, Manhattan;; 212-645-6440.

INDEPENDENT 2015 runs through Sunday at 548 West 22nd Street, Chelsea;

Many other satellite exhibitions will take place during March Fair season. Here are a few recommendations:

ART ON PAPER, featuring work by artists who use paper as a major influence in their sculpture, drawing, painting and photography, runs through Sunday; Pier 36, 299 South Street, Lower Manhattan;

PULSE NEW YORK, a showcase for cutting-edge contemporary art, runs through Sunday at the Metropolitan Pavilion, 125 West 18th Street, Chelsea; 212-255-2327.

VOLTA NY, which focuses on solo-artist projects, runs through Sunday at Pier 90, next to Piers 92 and 94, the platform for the Armory Show;

Whatever ills you diagnose in contemporary art, you can usually find a way to link them to the art fairs. With the market in perpetual boom, fairs have taken on such outsized importance that not only collectors but also curators, artists and exhausted critics spend more time than ever in the tents and barracks from Basel to Bogotá. There are now more than 200 of them, and I am ashamed to say how many I’ve been to.

Art fairs have taken the rap, especially for the rise of dull, easily sellable painting, decades after the medium was (wrongly) declared passé. So I went to New York’s art fairs this week to see how painting was faring – and was pleasantly surprised. The most important of them, the Armory Show, has 199 exhibitors and all the craziness of the biggest fairs: copious champagne, pop-up restaurants, an Instagram-ready prank of a performance artist on a magic carpet. The Art Show, the more blue-chip fair organized by the Art Dealers Association of America (a professional organisation for galleries), tends to soberer and more historical presentations. At both of them, painting is in fine fettle.

A deal is struck at the Armory show.

A deal is struck at the Armory show. Photograph: Zuma/Rex

The Armory Show fell on hard times a few years ago, and when London’s Frieze Art Fair decided to open a New York outpost, the future of the Armory Show was truly in doubt. Yet under Noah Horowitz, Armory’s sharp young director, the fair has been swept clean of some of the lower-tier galleries that had been gumming up the aisles; better European galleries, both established and younger, are here these days, and there’s a strong Middle Eastern focus.

ADAA’s Art Show, by contrast, was once for blue-haired Upper East Side matrons but has rebalanced itself as a tighter, more contemporary event, where many galleries mount booths devoted to a solo artist: especially pleasant for those of us who aren’t keen on cash-and-carry art.

A sculpture at the Armory show.

A sculpture at the Armory show. Photograph: Zuma/Rex

In the last year a whole passel of art critics – and not a few dealers too – have been complaining about the rise of “zombie formalism”, a term that describes safe, predictable abstract painting, almost always by men, that repeats postwar innovations in purely decorative fashion. The term was coined by Walter Robinson, a great and incisive figurative painter who also works as a critic. For Robinson, “these pictures all have certain qualities – a chic strangeness, a mysterious drama, a meditative calm – that function well in the realm of high-end, hyper-contemporary interior design”. Easy to sell, easy to reproduce in jpegs or on Instagram, these zombie paintings have glutted art fairs and galleries in recent years – suggesting that it was only the market, and not any deeper aesthetic ambition, that contributed to the revival of painting in the 21st century.

And there is a share of zombie formalism on display at the Armory Show. On the booth of Paris gallery Praz-Delavallade, the Los Angeles painter Joe Reihsen has offered bland abstractions of squiggly gray lines over irregular grids: a sort of Laura Owens-lite. The gratifying surprise of this year’s Art Show and Armory Show, though, is how much good painting, figurative and abstract, the dealers have brought to market. Fairs are never going to be the place to go to see the entire terrain of contemporary art. But if painting is going to be the medium our oligarchical collectors favour above all others, so be it – at least we mere art lovers can have something to look at.

Duane Zaloudek, Monitor, Armory

Duane Zaloudek, Monitor, Armory Photograph: Jason Farago for the Guardian

On the booth of Monitor Gallery, with branches in Rome and New York, the paintings of 84-year-old Duane Zaloudek turn pure paint into a burningly erotic enterprise. He paints hard-edged abstractions whose shapes of rods and ovals have obvious sexual resonances, but whose intensity derives from the simplest arrangements of color and form.

Kukje Gallery, from Seoul, has two excellent paintings from seminar figures of Tansaekhwa, a movement in Korean art of the 1960s that favored spare, methodical, usually monochrome abstraction. Lee Ufan’s simple blue squares made with an ultra-wide brush, or in Ha Chong-hyun’s organic gray networks on untreated canvas, burst the fiction that abstract painting has exhausted himself, and prove that even the most rigorous techniques have room for experimentation, personality, and beauty.

Stanley Whitney, Galerie Baronian, Armory

Stanley Whitney, Galerie Baronian, Armory. Photograph: Jason Farago for the Guardian

Stanley Whitney, on the booth of Brussels’ Galerie Albert Baronian, has painted a knockout canvas whose regions of undifferentiated colour, arranged in imperfect and off-kilter grids, have the improvisatory artistry of great jazz. Royally plush red seethes next to a wash of forest green; stripes of hot orange and Mediterranean blue make the composition fly. It’s uncalculated and winningly confident, an object lesson for young painters who need to learn how to think with their hands as much as their brains.

Over at ADAA’s art show, the knockout booth comes from David Zwirner Gallery, who mounted a restrained but deeply emotional showcase of the paintings of Forrest Bess. A self-taught painter from Bay City, Texas, Bess made his living as a fisherman and underwent frequent spiritual visions – so intense that he mutilated his own penis in order to merge what he called the male and female aspects of his personality. Bess’s small, tender paintings, of an irregular red star on a dappled black background, or a pale orange sun swallowed in an inky night sky, you can see the vision of an artist for whom painting was much more than a question of form, but a violently concentrated exercise of body and soul.

Saloua Raouda Choucair, CRG Gallery

Saloua Raouda Choucair, CRG Gallery. Photograph: Jason Farago for the Guardian

And CRG Gallery, a New York dealer has devoted its ADAA booth to the Lebanese painter Saloua Raouda Choucair – who at 99 years old is finally receiving the attention she deserves for her cunning, almost musical abstract paintings. Visitors to London’s Tate Modern recently had the opportunity to see her landmark achievement in the development of Middle Eastern art, but here in the US we’ve been too slow to embrace her nimble, beautifully composed artworks, which display the influence of her teacher Fernand Léger but also are indebted to Islamic decorative arts. They serve as a reminder than modernism is not a unitary phenomenon, but a global network of only partially overlapping styles, methods and beliefs.


LA Artworld Now 2015 and Its Beginning – articles collection



Eli Broad’s Love Affair with Art

Anselm Kiefer’s Deutschlands Geisteshelden (Germany’s Spiritual Heroes), 1973, another of the Broads’ works by the artist, is painted on burlap mounted on canvas

Eli Broad with a piece from his collection—Maginot, 1977–93, by Anselm Kiefer, an acrylic and emulsion woodcut mounted on canvas.
The Broads’ collection also includes Anselm Kiefer’s Laßt 1000 Blumen Blühen (Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom), 1998, which uses mixed media on canvas

Much like the collection of paintings he has so carefully amassed, Eli Broad’s passion for contemporary art and the city of Los Angeles has certainly not lost its luster. Talking with the larger-than-life, self-made entrepreneur and philanthropist is like being at a one-man TED conference titled, “The history of art since the 1970s, and why LA is the best.” The collector has an encyclopedic knowledge of modern and contemporary art history and is a fascinating storyteller, recounting not only the inside dish on which artist almost went bankrupt (revealed only off the record) but also how Downtown’s Grand Avenue continues to transform the cultural landscape of the entire West Coast.

Although Broad could be seen as just another wealthy trophy hunter, spend a little time with him and it’s immediately clear his obsession is much more about culture than commerce. He has famously rescued local institutions LACMA and MOCA from the brink of financial ruin and is currently in the midst of building his own museum, The Broad (on—you guessed it—Grand Avenue). As the fall art season of annual events heats up, we sat down and talked to Broad about losing his innocence with MOCA, why Los Angeles is currently white-hot, and the excitement surrounding the highly anticipated 10th edition of Art Basel Miami Beach (ABMB) next month.

You and your wife, Edythe, made your first major art acquisition of an 1888 van Gogh at Sotheby’s in 1972. Was this the catalyst for everything that was to come?
There was no catalyst—it was sort of a progression. If one looks at art and looks at various periods, you move from one period to the next for various reasons. [After the van Gogh], we also bought a 1933 Miró—a very large Miró that had belonged to Nelson Rockefeller—that we still have. So it was a great progression. In 1979 my innocence ended as a collector. Why? Because I became the founding chairman of The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles (MOCA).

Why do you say your innocence ended then?
[Former New York Governor] Nelson Rockefeller once said, “I learned my politics at the Museum of Modern Art.” When you’re dealing with a diverse group of trustees from all kinds of backgrounds— some are very nice ladies who have never been engaged in an organization and never attended the meeting of a board—you try to keep everyone happy, and I find it to be quite a chore.

You, Maria Bell, and Jeffrey Deitch have done unbelievable things at MOCA. It’s the darling of the art world right now.
If you go back and look, MOCA had lost its way. We weren’t showing a permanent collection and so on. So three years ago, the attendance got down to 148,616. This year it will exceed 400,000—triple what it was. We’ve had balanced budgets in 2009 and 2010, with no debt. We’ve added about 25 new and returning trustees since December 2003 and raised some money. David Galligan was at the Walker Art Center for 17 years, and he is now here as executive vice president and COO, allowing Jeffrey to do all the things he’s good at, which is being an impresario for visiting artists and collectors, doing what he does down at Art Basel Miami Beach, and all that stuff.

Can you expand more on the progression of your personal collecting?
After several years—this is going back now 27 years—our walls were filled at home. And we became art addicts and wanted to keep collecting. So I said, “You know what? We are going to create a foundation. And it’s going to be a lending library for museums and universities throughout the world.” And as you may know, we’ve made more than 8,000 loans to nearly 500 institutes worldwide.

And you’re building the new museum now to house your collection, correct?
Yes. For years we said we’d rather find a place where we can have most of the storage and archives together in climate-controlled conditions. The building is 120,000 square feet with 50,000 square feet of galleries, which is more than the Whitney. And we had an architectural competition for it.

So why were Diller Scofidio + Renfro chosen to design the museum? I mean, why not, say, Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa/SANAA or Sir Norman Foster?
What was the challenge? We’re right next to Walt Disney Concert Hall. How do you do something that doesn’t clash but isn’t anonymous? [Diller Scofidio + Renfro] came up with a fascinating idea, this veil type of building. It’s an interesting answer—a complex answer.

Is starting your own museum rather than giving the collection to another art institution about having as many people see the collection as possible?
Absolutely. In fact, I talked to Glenn [Lowry, director of New York’s Museum of Modern Art] and I said, “Glenn, if I gave you our collection what would you do?” He said, “Don’t give it to me. I’d only show 20 or 30 things—the rest we’d put in storage.” The same thing would be true at any other major museum. I’ve been involved in Downtown for a long time—MOCA since 1979, then Frank Gehry’s Walt Disney Concert Hall. I got involved after many people thought it was dead and would never happen.

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The Broads’ collection also includes Nürnberg (Nuremberg), 1982, in which Anselm Kiefer introduces straw to add visual complexity to his piece

Eli Broad in front of another of Anselm Kiefer’s works, Alarichs Grab (Alaric’s Grave), 1969–89
The Broads’ collection of Anselm Kiefer pieces includes Das Balder-Lied (The Balder Song), 1977–88, a photograph superimposed with mistletoe and mounted on treated lead

You are referring to the Grand Avenue Project?
Grand Avenue, yes. I created the Grand Avenue Committee together with people from the city and the county and others saying, “We need to have a master plan for all of this or else they’ll screw it up, piece by piece.” I finally got the city and county, who do not like one another, to form a joint-powers authority.

You wanted your museum to be Downtown because of critical mass?
I believe every city in world history or today needs a vibrant center for the same reason people from the other boroughs come to Manhattan from Connecticut or Westchester or New Jersey or wherever. It’s because there is only one place where you have sports, entertainment, culture, etc. And by the way, Los Angeles has the performing arts—no one has a better symphony or symphony hall than we do. We have more theatrical productions than New York or London. So Grand Avenue is the place. And on Grand Avenue within three blocks, there are going to be works by [architects] Wolf Prix, Frank Gehry, Arata Isozaki, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, and a couple blocks away, Thom Mayne. I can think of no city in the world with that.

It is amazing. And what is the date for the opening of your space?
[It should open in] 2013.

You say you only attend three art fairs—Art Basel, Art Basel Miami Beach, and Frieze Art Fair. For someone as passionate about art as you, why do you attend only those three fairs? Every city in every country seems to have some kind of art show now—what does ABMB specifically have that attracts you?
The difference is quality. There are so many fairs nowadays that you could travel for an entire year just going from fair to fair, but they’re not all created equal. It’s important to focus. The Art Basel fairs and Frieze Art Fair have strong material and sophisticated participants.

And you started going to ABMB from the beginning, 10 years ago?
From the beginning.

What is it that you love about ABMB? How do you think it has differentiated itself from all the other fairs?
There is a lot going on. It’s a party town, and I love going to see Martin Margulies (The Margulies Collection at the Warehouse) and other collectors when I’m there, and everyone has dinners, and so on. It’s a way to get reacquainted and have fun. It’s a big social event.

Do you attend the parties?
We go to some of the parties. The beach concerts held at The Raleigh are the most consistently impressive. This year MOCA LA will present a performance at The Raleigh by 2manydjs and their band, Soulwax. Jeffrey Deitch is a great impresario, and he can always be counted on to put on a spectacular event.

Is The Margulies Collection your favorite of the private collections?
Yes, the Rubell Family Collection also. They’re the two—oh, and also Norman Braman’s collection.

Have you ever purchased a piece at the show by an emerging artist you weren’t previously acquainted with?
Not that we weren’t totally acquainted with. We bought a Roxy Paine from James Cohan’s gallery. We just loved the work.

Do you have a favorite program, like the artist conversation series? Or do you go to the satellite fairs?
Some, if we have enough time. I haven’t spoken at the artist conversation series in a few years. I was on a panel with David Rockefeller a number of years ago selling Los Angeles as the new contemporary art capital.

I think you were the perfect person to do it!
That was fun.



Paul Schimmel and Hauser & Wirth pick downtown spot for arts complex
This early 19th century old flour mill building on east Third Street will be renovated to become the new Hauser, Wirth and Schimmel Arts Center in Los Angeles. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)
By Deborah Vankin contact the reporter

Paul Schimmel, formerly of MOCA, joins with Hauser & Wirth to plan an arts complex for DTLA
Art, events, food, coffee; an immersive experience. That’s what’s planned at a seven-building compound in DTLA

Former Museum of Contemporary Art chief curator Paul Schimmel and international gallery powerhouse Hauser & Wirth will officially announce on Friday the location for their ambitious, multidisciplinary arts center: a former flour mill complex in the downtown Los Angeles arts district.

The 100,000-square-foot, seven-building compound at 901 E. 3rd St. — which includes a Neoclassical bank building, a five-story mill structure and a 20,000-square-foot interior courtyard — will open as Hauser Wirth & Schimmel in January with a two-month pop-up group show before closing for renovations. It’s scheduled to reopen permanently in early 2016, offering “a new paradigm for the 21st century art gallery,” organizers said in a statement.

Hauser & Wirth, which shows contemporary and modern art and has exhibition spaces in London, Zurich and New York, has long been planning a Los Angeles outpost. Last spring it signed Schimmel as a partner and set about scouting for a location.

The arts center will be a for-profit business with intimate rooms as well as wide-open warehouse spaces for what organizers said will be “museum-caliber” exhibitions, at which art will not be for sale, as well as commercial art shows, project spaces for art-making and public events. A restaurant and bar will be on site.

The center foresees three to five exhibitions on view at any one time, turning over multiple times a year, by artists from around the world and not necessarily affiliated with Hauser & Wirth — though the gallery will also show its own artists, including a heavy L.A. contingency.

“More of our artists live in L.A. than in any other city. They’re a diverse, multigenerational group whose work informs our international program and shapes contemporary dialogue,” said the gallery’s president and owner, Iwan Wirth. “It seems particularly fitting to launch our third decade by creating Hauser Wirth & Schimmel and pioneering a new gallery model in the city known around the world as a place for imagination, reinvention and new forms of cultural expression.”

Schimmel, who will run the L.A. arts complex, spoke about his vision and programming plans for the space, which he calls “a magical place that time has not touched.”

Why did you choose this particular neighborhood for Hauser Wirth & Schimmel, and did you look elsewhere?

The neighborhood, I have to say, was the center of where we were looking. It’s remarkable the changes that’ve been going on there, a real groundswell of people moving into these live-work spaces and the creation of this sort of Lower Manhattan. It’s transformed, almost overnight, into this serious urban center. It’s also a couple of blocks from the Gold Line. But we looked all over, on both sides of the river, in West Hollywood, the Wilshire Corridor.

First on my mind was to find a unique space where we could show different kinds of work, simultaneously. Here there are seven different buildings, built over a period of 40 years and built around a courtyard. That meant a great deal to me. Artists love the idea of sitting outside and having coffee and looking at something. It was really the unique assembly of buildings — and there were simply more of them in this area.

You envision the arts center as a sort of exhibition-gallery-event space hybrid with free admission. What would you compare it to, physically and programming-wise, in Los Angeles right now?

I’d compare it to the Geffen, in terms of scale and that it’s downtown. It’s a little like Mass MOCA [in Boston], one of the children of MOCA, in that it’s in an industrial area in different buildings. It’s of that lineage.

Hauser & Wirth is a major international gallery with a very strong representation of L.A. artists, so that’s one kind of programming. The commitment is to do both historical exhibitions, like you’d see in museums, that really explore things thematically, generationally, conceptually. It will also be a space that will invite artists with whom Hauser & Wirth has no affiliation, or maybe have never even shown in L.A., to come and make projects, so it’s a project space too. It’s a facility that’s really a destination — a strong educational component, with exhibitions, events, a restaurant and bar, and places for people to linger and experience art in a more casual manner.

Will it be anything like Hauser & Wirth Somerset, the arts complex set to open in southwest England next month?

There are similarities. But Hauser & Wirth Somerset is very bucolic, two hours from London. It is the romantic 19th century version of this, which is, in some ways, coming out of the early 20th century industrialization.

Tell us about the debut show planned for January, prior to renovations. Will it include Hauser & Wirth artists such as Mark Bradford, Paul McCarthy and Sterling Ruby?

It’s a group show, artists who have emerged in the last 15 years. There may be some lesser-known names and quite a few well-known names. There will be five or six artists, and each will have their own building. So five or six gallery-sized, one-person exhibitions, with people from the gallery and people who have never shown with Hauser & Wirth previously. But all with a connection to L.A. I wanted to start with work made by artists working here and now. I wanted it to be relative to the 21st century, rather than, say, the 1980s.

I remember when PS1 opened years ago in New York. It was quite special that they invited artists to come in and make works that would go on display in a building that was untouched, a raw space. [In January] we will have made none of the improvements to the space yet. It will have 100 years of history in it. We’ll put up lights and it’ll have security and the art will be safe from the elements, but other than that, it will be untouched, the way it looked in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

What’s the commitment, financially?

It’s a very substantial commitment in terms of the capital improvements to the facility. And it’s a very serious, long-term commitment overall. We have a 10-year lease with two five-year options after that. So it’s something that will evolve, organically, over many years.

You’ve described the courtyard as one of the largest in downtown L.A. What do you plan to use it for — and will you commission new art for the space?

It will start with Day One. There will be sculptural works there, some amazingly large-scale works. The first one is new; I’d describe it as a small temple, but I can’t say who it’s by. I suspect you’ll see a beautiful, Louise Bourgeois spider there and possibly a Paul McCarthy monumental bronze work.

I think the courtyard will be both part of our exhibition program and sometimes it will stand alone. It’s surrounded on all four sides by buildings and it’s quite large, like a courtyard in a monastery, so it has a kind of wonderful, isolated meditative quality. Who knows — maybe one day we’ll have a sound piece with nothing to look at, just art to listen to.



LA’s Art Wave

Upgraded spaces, secondary spaces and new galleries, Jonathan Griffin reports on Los Angeles’s growing contemporary art scene

By Jonathan Griffin

Things move fast in Los Angeles. Enterprises bloom, seemingly overnight, and then wither without warning. Careers too. The city is in a perpetual state of emergence and disintegration; a young settlement that is already older than people imagined it would ever be when they perched their stilted wooden homes on dusty hillsides in the early decades of the twentieth century. Someone recently told me that the hundreds of towering Washingtonia palm trees that were planted to prettify the city for the 1932 Olympics are now at the end of their natural lifespans, and will start keeling over any minute. A compelling image; also totally untrue, it turns out. LA was built on imaginative fictions, and they continue to be the city’s major export.Los Angeles’s art community is eyeing the eastern horizon with a mixture of anticipation and scepticism. We are witnessing an influx of commercial galleries and midcareer artists, many arriving from New York. Two significant new institutional hires – Connie Butler, chief curator at the Hammer Museum, and Philippe Vergne, director of the Museum of Contemporary Art – relocated from the East Coast. (Butler has ties to the city, having served as curator at MOCA from 1996 to 2006.) The idea that LA’s artworld needs fixing from outside is not a popular one, although most would concede that in order to resist stagnation and complacency, a continuous supply of fresh personnel is vital.

The idea that LA’s artworld needs fixing from outside is not a popular one, although most would concede that in order to resist stagnation and complacency, a continuous supply of fresh personnel is vital.

Plenty is happening from within, too. Three of LA’s prominent galleries – David Kordansky GalleryMichael Kohn and Various Small Fires – have chosen 2014 as the year to upgrade to bigger – and/or better-placed – buildings, adding to the gallery district that has emerged in Mid-City around Highland and La Brea Avenues. Across Grand Avenue from MOCA, in Downtown, the distinctive latticed ‘veil’ designed by Diller Scofidio + Renfro for philanthropists Eli and Edythe Broad’s museum is now mostly in place; the porous structure will provide a foil to its brash and shiny neighbour, the Frank Gehry-designed 2003 Walt Disney Concert Hall, when the Broad opens in 2015. Fans of the city’s irreverent new art fair, Paramount Ranch, organised by newbie gallerists Alex Freedman and Robbie Fitzpatrick with artists Liz Craft and Pentti Monkkonen, are waiting to see whether it will become a regular fixture in the art calendar.

To equate Los Angeles’s short-term, mercurial dynamic with the abundance of chutzpah among its creative and entrepreneurial classes would be to see only half the picture. Rarely has a city developed with such scant regard for its own future. The institutions that flourish here – and I include certain successful commercial galleries alongside art schools and major museums such as LACMA and the Hammer – do so because of their farsighted commitment to the ongoing cultural life of their community. It was not always thus. LACMA’s atrocious Art of the Americas building was completed in 1986 in a half-baked attempt to augment its existing galleries; it is already in a state of dilapidation. The museum recently unveiled a proposal by Swiss architect Peter Zumthor to bulldoze most of its campus and replace it with an elevated black building whose liquiform footprint rhymes with the site’s prehistoric tar pits.

Drivers are still confused by signs around Downtown pointing to the Temporary Contemporary – the huge warehouse space adopted by MOCA in 1983 and renamed the Geffen Contemporary in 1996, after it proved too popular among artists and visitors to relinquish. Hopes are high – though cautious – that Vergne will shore up the museum’s financial and scholarly foundations after they eroded under previous directors Jeremy Strick and Jeffrey Deitch. Both discovered, to their grave cost, that LA’s philanthropic class is not easy to mobilise in the service of high culture. At the lowest point of Deitch’s leadership, commentators looked on in anguish as even the museum’s own board hesitated to part with the necessary funds to save the institution. Following desperate discussions about the possibility of subsuming MOCA within another, more solvent institution, the endowment soared, passing $100 million in January this year.

Noncollecting, kunsthalle-style nonprofits have traditionally been LA’s weakness. In January of this year, attempting to redress this deficit, curator Cesar Garcia opened the Mistake Room, an exhibition space in a warehouse south of Downtown that pledges to focus on underexposed artists working outside the United States. Hearts sank when Oscar Murillo was announced as the first artist to get a show. Such slavish adherence to current market trends has been the failure of other nonprofits, such as LAXART (where Garcia used to work). The Santa Monica Museum of Art, the region’s foremost kunsthalle, will move into a new and expanded building when a light-rail station, connecting the east and west sides of the city, opens at the redeveloping Bergamot Station Arts Center in 2016.

Despite this instability, there are votes of confidence in LA’s institutions from the art market. A host of new commercial galleries are coming to the city

Despite this instability, there are votes of confidence in LA’s institutions from the art market. A host of new commercial galleries are coming to the city, many of them secondary spaces for galleries established elsewhere. Sprüth Magers, of Berlin and London, will open an LA gallery helmed by Sarah Watson – formerly director of the defunct L&M gallery that opened in Venice, California, in 2010 – towards the end of this year. Alongside local hero John Baldessari, who is unrepresented in his hometown, the gallery already boasts a range of West Coast artists, including Thomas Demand, who recently relocated here from Berlin. This spring, Martos Gallery will complement their current New York programme by opening a gallery on LA’s Washington Boulevard, next to Michael Thibault Gallery – where Jose Martos’s project Shoot the Lobster presented monochromes by the fictional artist Henry Codax in January.

Gavlak Gallery, which has operated from Palm Beach, Florida, since 2005, will move in June to a building on Highland Avenue, directly between Regen Projects, Redling Fine Art and Hannah Hoffman Gallery. Founder Sarah Gavlak will return to her Palm Beach space during the busy Florida winters, but will benefit, for the rest of the year, from being nearer to the numerous Angeleno artists on her roster, Lisa Anne Auerbach and Mungo Thomson among them.

Construction is already under way on Michele Maccarone’s LA outpost, a large warehouse next to 356 S. Mission Rd, the gallery opened by Gavin Brown specially for Laura Owens’s blockbuster solo show in January 2013, now operated jointly by Brown and Owens. (Maccarone’s choice of location echoes her decision, in 2007, to move next door to Brown in the West Village.) She is following two of her artists, Oscar Tuazon and Alex Hubbard, who recently moved to California, and aims to open in spring 2015. Team, also from New York, plans to open an LA space in September 2015 with shows by Cory Arcangel, Ryan McGinley and Gert & Uwe Tobias.

The really big news, of course, is that the widely respected Paul Schimmel – chief curator at MOCA until he was unceremoniously ousted by Deitch and Broad in 2012 – will himself be partnering with Zürich-based gallery Hauser & Wirth in 2015. Although details have yet to be announced, Hauser, Wirth & Schimmel is expected to set up shop in the district of Downtown close to the Box, the gallery owned by Paul McCarthy and run by his daughter, Mara. McCarthy is thought to be a major reason for Hauser & Wirth’s expansion westwards, alongside other locally unrepresented gallery artists Thomas Houseago, Rachel Khedoori and Sterling Ruby (the last of whom also happens to be affiliated with Sprüth Magers).

Before we get carried away with hyperbolic proclamations about LA’s cultural efflorescence, it may be worth remembering that the city’s history is littered with futures that failed to materialise

Before we get carried away with hyperbolic proclamations about LA’s cultural efflorescence, it may be worth remembering that the city’s history is littered with futures that failed to materialise. One could even cast as far back as 1948, when artist William Copley and his brother-in-law opened a gallery in Beverly Hills showing surrealist art by Man Ray, Max Ernst and René Magritte. Due to the indifference of the local customer base, it closed the following year, as did the nearby Modern Institute of Art – an underresourced, proto-MOCA that lasted only two years and makes the latter-day museum look like a financial triumph. During the late 1980s, Luhring Augustine had a short-lived foothold in Los Angeles, in partnership with Max Hetzler. Between 2005 and 2007, New York dealer Zach Feuer ran an LA outpost, partnered with local gallerist Niels Kantor. Last summer, L&M closed its Venice space after just three years in the city. Most recently Perry Rubenstein, who moved his entire New York gallery to a large, handsomely renovated space on Highland Avenue in 2011, filed for bankruptcy in March this year. These enterprises all failed for subtly different reasons, but the moral remains: LA’s promise of boundless opportunity may simply be another one of those fictions that it is so successful at exporting.

None of the gallerists I spoke to claimed to be moving for commercial reasons; although there are serious collectors in California, there are not enough to support even a fraction of the businesses located here. Galleries sell their wares far and wide in order to maintain bricks-and-mortar programmes under the SoCal sunshine. Meanwhile, their clients also travel far and wide in order to build international-quality collections. There is nothing chic about provincialism.

Rather, galleries want to be close to their artists. Inexpensive real estate, skilled fabricators and a low-key (though intellectually serious) social scene provide near-perfect conditions for artistic production. Not to mention the magnificent landscape and great food. Those artists who move here – whether to study or teach, to step into the limelight or out of it – rarely seem to leave. Made in LA 2014, the second of the Hammer’s biennial exhibitions, this time curated by Michael Ned Holte and Connie Butler, will open in June. It promises to reveal what Dave Hickey, reflecting on the California Minimalism of the 1960s and 70s, describes as ‘a flowing stream of interests, passions, proclivities, and occasions – a fluid micro-chronicle of the artist-as-citizen, coping with paradise [… with] a sequence of tactile, visual solutions to specific visible occasions that take place at the blurred interface of the artist and the world.’ That flowing stream, today, seems more like a river delta.

This article was first published in the May 2014 issue. 



Arts & Entertainment

The L.A. Art Boom

How pomegranate-juice magnates, billionaire museum builders and celebrity-packed boards are turning the city into a world-class art center

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  • Updated Oct. 29, 2010 12:01 a.m. ET
    On a crisp evening on Wilshire Boulevard, pop star Christina Aguilera is leading the parade down the red carpet. Tom Hanks and his wife follow, along with actor James Franco, reality TV fixtures Nicole Richie and Kim Kardashian, Disney Chief Executive Robert Iger and Hollywood power broker David Geffen.They aren’t here for a film premiere. The crowd is celebrating the opening of a new building at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the Lynda and Stewart Resnick Exhibition Pavilion, named after the Fiji Water and POM Wonderful billionaires who donated $45 million to Lacma in 2008.

    The L.A. Art Boom

    The $54 million structure, designed by Renzo Piano, the go-to architect for major museum commissions, is the latest symbol of Los Angeles’s art boom.

    It’s an art world with its own unique structure and rules. Billionaires don’t just donate to museums, they build their own. Hollywood agents, media personalities and studio executives pack museum boards, alongside traditional philanthropists. And contemporary art—a market that’s fluctuated wildly in recent years—is the only art that really matters to many top collectors and museums.

    New art buildings are springing up around the city. Lacma has added about 100,000 square feet of gallery space since 2007 and increased attendance by 50% to 905,000. Nearly 7 miles away is the site of a new museum that art collector Eli Broad is creating to display pieces from his collection of 2,000 artworks. Art dealer Larry Gagosian has doubled the size of his Beverly Hills art gallery and recently bought a midcentury-modern glass house once owned by Gary Cooper for $15.5 million in nearby Holmby Hills, where he will host an art party to coincide with next year’s Academy Awards.

    The Los Angeles Power List

    “L.A. is more than catching up to New York—in some ways, it’s moving past it,” says Agnes Gund, a prominent New York-based art collector who used to run the board of trustees at New York’s Museum of Modern Art and served on the board of Los Angeles’s J. Paul Getty Trust for 12 years until 2006.

    In June, Jeffrey Deitch, one of New York’s most powerful gallery owners, relocated to Los Angeles to become the director of the city’s Museum of Contemporary Art, a rare move from the private art-dealing sphere to the museum world. The owners of the Armory Show, New York’s largest art fair, are putting together a major art fair to debut in downtown L.A. next fall.

    “The art world is a very fluid place, but there is no question that L.A. is very hot at the moment,” says Glenn Lowry, the director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

    To be sure, L.A.’s transformation into a world-class contemporary art city is an overnight sensation several decades in the making. It has long been bolstered by rich cultural institutions like the museums of the J. Paul Getty Trust, and by its leading art schools. The city still doesn’t possess the extensive collections of older art found in New York, Paris and London, but it does boast a cadre of notable contemporary artists and powerful collectors.

    One of the most active figures in the art scene is Mr. Broad, the 77-year-old billionaire who revived MOCA in 2008 with a $30 million infusion after it teetered on the edge of a financial crisis. In August, Mr. Broad announced that he would build a museum in downtown Los Angeles to display works from his art collection, which includes a 22-foot-tall Richard Serra torqued ellipse and a nearly 12-foot-high Jeff Koons balloon sculpture. Designed by architects Diller, Scofidio + Renfro, the museum, called the Broad Collection, will boast 36,000 square feet of gallery space—more than the entire Whitney Museum in New York. A spokeswoman for Mr. Broad said that the new museum will help make his works accessible to the largest possible audience.

    Building a museum of one’s own is also in keeping with local tradition. In the past few decades, private collectors like industrialist Norton Simon and petroleum magnate Armand Hammer have opened some of the area’s most prominent museums—long after families like Whitney, Frick and Morgan launched a golden museum era in New York.

    The directors of L.A.’s museums have been moving aggressively to tap into the wealth of collectors in the entertainment and tech industries. These days their boards look quite different from those of their New York counterparts, which are largely composed of traditional philanthropists and established financiers.

    Since Michael Govan moved from New York’s Dia Art Foundation in 2006 to take over Lacma, he has added 30 trustees to the now-49-voting-member board, transforming its makeup with new additions like Dasha Zhukova, the girlfriend of Russian oil billionaire Roman Abramovich; fashion designer and restaurateur Eva Chow, and David Bohnett, the Internet entrepreneur who created He has also added Willow Bay, the newscaster wife of Mr. Iger, and Terry Semel, former head of Warner Bros. and Yahoo.

    Maria Bell, the head writer of the daytime soap opera “The Young and the Restless,” became co-chair of MOCA’s board of trustees last summer and immediately began working with Mr. Broad to recruit new members. MOCA has added 19 new trustees since December 2008, including London diamond dealer and art collector Laurence Graff and newsprint mogul Peter Brant, who lives in Greenwich, Conn. Last year, MOCA raised more than $4 million from a gala where Lady Gaga performed. Next month, it will host another gala, curated—down to the food—by video artist Doug Aitken with contributions from musicians Beck, Caetano Veloso and Devendra Banhart.

    Eli Broad at home in L.A. (Johns) “Flag,” 1967 copyright Jasper Johns/VAGA, The Eli and Edythe L. Broad Collection

    Ann Philbin, who moved to the city a little over a decade ago to run UCLA’s Hammer Museum, took in just over $100,000 at the museum’s 2002 fund-raiser. Now, the event raises more than $1 million each year. Her board of overseers numbers five executives from major talent agencies, including Bob Gersh of the Gersh Agency and William Morris Endeavor Entertainment’s George Freeman, who represents Catherine Zeta-Jones and Russell Crowe.

    In the auction world, Christie’s says consignments from the Los Angeles region have tripled in the past year. Next month, Christie’s plans to auction three major L.A. estates, including those of actor Dennis Hopper and art dealer Robert Shapazian, a collector of Marcel Duchamp and Andy Warhol who helped Mr. Gagosian build the L.A. outpost of his gallery. This past spring, the auction house sold the estate of “Jurassic Park” author Michael Crichton for $93.3 million, including a flag painting by Jasper Johns that sold for more than $28 million. Some in L.A.’s art world have complained that collectors here are more likely to have their estates auctioned off than to bequeath them to museums.

    Marc Porter, chairman of Christie’s Americas, says he used to travel L.A. three or four times a year to pay visits to clients. In the past year, he flew here twice as often. “After Manhattan, L.A. is my top priority,” Mr. Porter says.

    Lacma’s Resnick Pavilion Amanda Friedman for The Wall Street Journal

    Still, Los Angeles has yet to develop its own auction scene. After opening a salesroom in Beverly Hills in 1997, Christie’s closed the outpost two years ago, finding that its auctions there weren’t generating significant revenue. Now, it focuses on consigning works from L.A. collectors to sell at its other salesrooms.

    “Rather than putting together a $5 million sale twice a year, it made more business sense to nurture collectors and go after $50 million worth of art to sell elsewhere in the world,” says Andrea Fiuczynski, president of Christie’s, Los Angeles.

    Los Angeles collectors overwhelmingly focus on contemporary art, and the city’s art scene owes much of its rapid ascent to the upswing of prices for the genre, which soared during the art market’s boom years. In 2000, Sotheby’s sold $157.8 million worth of contemporary art world-wide. That figure rose to $1.48 billion by 2008 before falling to $442.8 million in 2009, after the art market crashed. Prices are now stabilizing, although industry experts say that they likely won’t return to astronomical precrash levels.

    The volatility of the contemporary art market—as well as the overall economy—shook up some institutions in L.A., in particular MOCA. MOCA’s 2008 federal tax returns showed that the museum had drained about $24 million of its reserves to cover operating expenses after a spate of overspending. It was saved by Mr. Broad’s donation.

    A Nancy Rubins sculpture outside MOCA Amanda Friedman for The Wall Street Journal

    Still, as prices for contemporary art rose, so did the value of art created by many of the elder statesmen of L.A.’s art scene. Pop artist Ed Ruscha, a MOCA trustee known for his deadpan images of parking lots, gas stations and L.A. architecture, now sells pieces for $3 million to $6 million at auction; he didn’t come close to crossing the $1 million barrier before 2002. Works by John Baldessari, a conceptual artist and former UCLA instructor whose signature style includes overlaying historical images with opaque colored dots, now fetch more than $1 million.

    The city also boasts an ascendant community of younger artists, many of whom came to Los Angeles for the city’s art schools. Michigan-born Mike Kelley moved to L.A. to attend the California Institute of the Arts, where he studied with Mr. Baldessari, and decided to stay on. Now his pieces, from comic-book-style drawings to sculptures that incorporate found objects like plush toys, are shown in museums like MoMA and the Whitney in New York.

    “You cannot talk about contemporary art today without taking into account what is happening in L.A.,” says MoMA’s Mr. Lowry.

    L&M Arts, a blue-chip Manhattan gallery that sells work by artists from Picasso and Matisse to Warhol and Rothko, opened its first Los Angeles space last month on Venice Boulevard, a central thoroughfare in L.A.’s beach neighborhood. It was a big shift for a gallery that in New York resides in a classic-looking townhouse on the Upper East Side.

    MOCA director Jeffrey Deitch and artist Doug Aitken at Mr. Aitken’s Venice Beach studio. Amanda Friedman for The Wall Street Journal

    “In New York, we largely did prestigious historical shows, but we wanted to be more involved with living artists,” says Robert Mnuchin, a former Goldman Sachs banker who co-owns L&M. So far, the gamble has paid off: Within a week, all the Paul McCarthy sculptures on view at its inaugural exhibition were snapped up. The sculptures cost between $2 million and $5 million apiece.

    Matthew Marks, another New York dealer, plans to follow suit. Mr. Marks, who last year purchased a house in the Hollywood Hills to accompany his new gallery space, says many artists on his roster—which includes Ellsworth Kelly, Peter Fischli and David Weiss—rarely showed their work in L.A. in the past and now seek more exposure there.

    Veteran L.A. dealers Timothy Blum and Jeff Poe say they have also profited from the explosion of demand. The duo opened their 500-square-foot gallery, Blum & Poe, in 1994. “Back then, there was no market here to speak of,” says Mr. Blum. “The change has been tectonic.” Blum & Poe currently occupies a 22,000-square-foot building in Culver City.

    While contemporary art is booming, other sectors still lag behind. That is why Lacma’s Mr. Govan, after a spate of building projects and contemporary acquisitions, has branched out to areas like costumes, Oceanic arts and tribal art.

    “We’re done growing,” Mr. Govan says. “We’ve done the quantity. Now it’s about quality.”



    • 12/11/2014 at 11:19 AM

    Maurizio Cattelan’s L.A. Art Tour, With a Stop at Jim Carrey’s Painting Studio

    Maurizio Cattelan with Jim Carrey at the actor’s art studio in Los Angeles. Courtesy of Jim Carrey.

    Fueled by kombucha, sprouted raw almonds, Whole Foods sushi, and chocolate-covered espresso beans with a very special ingredient, we traveled all over Los Angeles visiting nine artists and 14 galleries in four-and-a-half days while the majority of the art, fashion, and PR worlds flocked to the other side of the country for the annual mayhem that is Art Basel Miami Beach. After dodging the initial inquiries — Are you going to Miami? So, you’re not in Miami? Why aren’t you in Miami? — we began our quest in earnest to see what happens in L.A. when “everyone” is in Miami. (Our expedition was from November 30 to December 4.) The answer: artists inspired by Hollywood, anarchy, pop culture, the body, animals, vegetables, minerals, and a recurring theme of Surrealism, which reinforces the notion that anything goes in L.A., a city where artists feel free to take risks, fail, and experiment without the dark cloud of the market hanging over them.

    Day 1
    Our first stop (directly from LAX) was New York artist and gallerist (47 Canal) Margaret Lee’s exhibition at Team (bungalow) in Venice. The second exhibition at the gallery’s new West Coast outpost featured one chrome banana and one rose atop a chrome plinth set on softer-than-soft alpaca. It was raining, an extremely rare, newsworthy event, and it continued to pour for most of the week. During a brief respite from the weather, we popped in on Venice locals Liz Craft and Pentti Monkkonen at their home/studio compound. They showed us around their gallery space, Paradise Garage, and Nathalie Jones’s installation in the window on the back alley. Craft gave us a sneak peek of her new, life-size marionette-like ladies that she’ll be showing at the hip, new gallery Jenny’s in Silver Lake next year and her giant bronze teepee with eyes in the yard. During the visit, Mexican artist and Venice local Gabriel Kuri stopped by with his kids for a play date and some pizza. Craft and Monkkonen are both sculptors who met while studying at UCLA (she was his TA and their teacher Charles Ray played matchmaker) and are key figures in the L.A. art scene as artists, gallerists, and co-founders of the coolest art fair ever, Paramount Ranch, which runs from January 31 through February 1 of next year and takes place on an old Western movie set in the Santa Monica Mountains.

    Margaret Lee, “Do You See What I See (Banana and Rose)” 2014. Steel, chrome, plastic, platinum rose, alpaca fur; 2 pedestals, each: 16 x 16 x 57 inches. Photo: Courtesy of the artist and Team (bungalow).

    Day 2
    The next evening we popped in to see painter Alex Becerra at his Venice studio where he had been laying down some tracks with a friend. Becerra recently had his first solo exhibition of his so-bad-it’s-good, gooey, and irreverent paintings at L.A. gallery LTD and there were several finished or nearly complete paintings in the studio including one of a naked lady playing the tuba, an office chair on a studio floor, and the tour de force Rex-Goliath (2014) depicting a naked black man lounging in a pose reminiscent of Manet’s Olympia, his orange-and-yellow robe splayed open, an empty bottle of Rex Goliath wine on one side. The figure lies on a white ground built up with thick gobs of paint over two years. Becerra also showed us his handmade tattoos that he applies himself (except for hard-to-reach areas) and that cover his legs, arms, chest, and elsewhere. Becerra compared them to prison tattoos — very DIY — and told us how he started out as a self-taught tattoo artist and referred to the crude style as “bad lines, good intentions.” He also showed us a giant book of his sketches — scanned, copied, and bound at Kinkos; thick as a phone book — that featured every good, bad, weird, and funny drawing he’s made in the past few years — a taste of his process and source imagery for the paintings.

    Jim Carrey in his art studio, Los Angeles. Courtesy of Jim Carrey.

    Next stop was Jim Carrey’s studio. Yes, that Jim Carrey. He’s been drawing and painting since he was a kid. And for several years now, Carrey has been making art that is as expressive and emotive as his work as a talented funnyman. One technique he has devised involves applying wet paint on top of a layer of dry paint and then scraping it off — it creates the look of a silkscreen from the lifting of the bottom layer of paint and remnants of the top layer. His imagery ranges from portraits of women to self-portraits, as well as pop icons like James Dean as a child, a baby gorilla, a mad elephant, and more. He often incorporates text and occasionally disrupts the paintings with slashes that he later stitches back together. His energy is boundless, and he’s clearly having fun testing the boundaries of painting and sculpture. Carrey is also gradually inserting his art practice into his Hollywood persona — if you didn’t catch it, he debuted a new piece, a Jeff Daniels puppet, on Jimmy Fallon, and it’s a must-see moment.

    Jim Carrey with his puppet of Jeff Daniels. Courtesy of Jim Carrey.

    After visiting Jim, we stopped by LACMA to see the sublime Pierre Huyghe show, a mind-blowing exhibition, filled with evocative beauty and wonder. The show is also quite groundbreaking for its open floor plan and meandering installation, which left us a little starry-eyed (L.A. will be its only American venue). And we caught Larry Sultan’s inspiring show, which reveals a master lensman’s ability to capture lives that exist behind closed doors.

    Day 3
    Despite the heavy rain, we started off with a visit to L.A. native Aaron Sandnes, who showed works in progress incorporating bullets, gleaming auto-paint paintings, bullet-wound drawings, and even a custom motorcycle. Very relevant. The studio is a boy’s dream come true — it’s filled with toys and weapons. Sandnes was bursting with ideas for ambitious works like a spinning-neon-hands sign. Definitely someone to keep an eye on.

    Next up was a visit to Jonas Wood’s exhibition of large paintings of ceramic pots and plants at the new home of David Kordansky Gallery in mid-city. We almost didn’t get inside because of the rain (leaking was a prominent theme of the trip — keep reading). In typical L.A. fashion, we drove across the street to what is arguably the city’s most beautiful gallery, Kayne Griffin Corcoran, to see Mark Handforth’s sublime exhibition of new sculptures, including an old-school telephone-receiver light sculpture, a turquoise star and giant coat hanger in the courtyard, among other works. Gallery partner Maggie Kayne set us up in the James Turrell perceptual cell for a little dose of Zen and then took us on a tour of the gallery’s back room where we saw new resin works by Romanian artist Daniel Knorr.

    Next, we ventured to the new downtown gallery scene (actually more like east of downtown, not an easily named district). First stop, Night Gallery to see the new show, “Paris de Noche,” featuring new Michael Jackson–face wall reliefs and truck paintings by Monkkonen (the exhibition’s curator), Amy Yao ladders, and Andrei Koschmieder’s corrugated fence paintings. A few buckets that could have passed for art revealed yet another leaky roof. Across the parking lot (this time we walked), we visited Francois Ghebaly Gallery (more leaking) to see the partially de-installed exhibition by L.A.-based artist Sayre Gomez with works in the back by another local, Joel Kyack. One highlight — his truck-nuts chair, which we tried on for size. We continued our journey through the rainy streets of industrial warehouses to see Christina Forrer’s brightly colored, hand-woven tapestries at the new gallery Grice Bench (co-founded by artist Jon Pylypchuk). Here the leak came from under the front door, so buckets were useless. Forrer’s weavings featured varying textures demonstrating her unique take on the traditional craft with startling imagery of dark fairy-tale-like imagery of girls and boys behaving badly and a portrait of a gypsy woman, among others.

    Maurizio Cattelan with Frances Stark (left) and Ali Subotnick (right) at Stark’s studio. Courtesy of Frances Stark.

    Then a visit to Frances Stark’s Chinatown studio; we met up with Stark and her muse/protégé Bobby Jesus. After an adventurous and drenched trip to Little Tokyo for lunch, which culminated in two flat tires, Stark showed us works around the studio and we watched her recent video of photos from her Instagram feed (What Goes on @threalstarkiller, 2014) as well as parts of her revealing video Osservate, legette con me (2012), which features Skype conversations between Stark and online paramours, set to Mozart’s Don Giovanni. And before calling it a day, we stopped by to see the “Support/Surface” exhibition at 356 Mission Rd. (more buckets) and got a preview of Jay Chung and Q. Takeki Maeda’s show of new photos in the basement gallery. The space, which pioneered the new downtown scene and is run by Laura Owens with Ethan Swan and others, is one of the most active, dynamic, and exciting venues in town, featuring exhibitions and programs that rival the local museums. Legendary book- and art-wares shop Ooga Booga set up an outpost in the front of the space so we couldn’t help but browse the merchandise. We also met up with Joel Kyack, who, because his studio in the building next door had been flooded, gave us a run-through of his work via a slideshow on his laptop that he made for a recent talk at Pomona College. He showed images and recounted his outlandish performances, several fountain pieces, videos, and multimedia paintings. The works are multilayered, humorous, boyish, and complicated, mixing survivalism and Surrealism in unconventional ways.

    Day 4

    Kaari Upson holding the mattress she is going to cast for Cattelan, which will be a hanging sculpture made entirely of silicone. Courtesy of Kaari Upson.

    After a visit to the Hammer Museum to see shows of Robert Heinecken, Jim Hodges, Frances Upritchard, Yuri Ancarani, N. Dash, and Mario Garcia Torres, we made a drive-by visit to Marilyn Monroe’s burial site across the street, Pierce Brothers Westwood Village Memorial Park, where Farrah Fawcett, Don Rickles, Truman Capote, John Cassavetes, and Heather O’Rourke (of Poltergeist fame) were also laid to rest. Heading east, we stopped at Matthew Marks Gallery to check out a couple of flower drawings and two new sculptures by artist and UCLA professor Charles Ray (stainless-steel sculptures of a mime on a cot and a compacted car). We touched the art. Then we headed to the Koreatown studio of Kaari Upson, whose stellar show is currently on view at Lower East Side gallery Ramiken Crucible. Upson made us green tea and pumpkin pie and showed us her molds for her recent work. With her large-scale installations, esoteric videos, layered narratives, soft sculptures, and intuitive drawings, Upson could be the bastard child of Mike Kelley and Paul McCarthy, with a strong feminist bent. As the rain became lighter, we headed to Silver Lake to see Max Hooper Schneider’s new show at newish gallery Jenny’s. Inside we found a popcorn trolley turned aquarium filled with live snails, a retrofitted ’80s treadmill with snakeskin printed on leather, and intricate drawings of amoebalike shapes in bright colors, sandwiched in Plexiglas and suspended from the ceiling. The show is entitled “The Pound” and is a precocious, strange, and compelling work.

    Max Hooper Schneider, “Aral Spring Trolley,” 2014. Modified popcorn trolley, live freshwater ecosystem, genus Pomacea snails, submersible filter. Photo: Michael Underwood/ Courtesy of Jenny’s.

    Moving on, we headed across town to the Culver City gallery district (no buckets there). We started at Susanne Vielmetter to see Dasha Shishkin’s new large-scale, strange, and colorful drawings of people from another world and time, reminiscent of the turn of the last century (you can almost taste the absinthe) as well as new abstract paintings by Angel Otero. We drove (rain clouds hovering) to L.A. powerhouse and Culver City pioneer Blum & Poe, to look at new photographs by Florian Maier-Aichen — more fantastical imagery with impossible landscapes and digital drawings. We then walked (!) to Cherry and Martin to see new video/paintings by Brian Bress (Surrealist inspiration with a mix of Hollywood, humor, and art history) and discovered, whilst strolling down La Cienega, Jeff Colson’s tromp l’eoil overfilled storage unit, Roll Up, at Maloney Fine Art. New York–based UCLA grad Sanya Kantarovsky’s new video Happy Soul (2014) at nonprofit LAXART brightened things up with its infectious soundtrack and inventive animation projected over a wall with a painting, which plays an essential role in the video. Next, we saw an eclectic group show about collage, “Saying Yes to Everything,” organized by former Hammer curator Corrina Peipon at Honor Fraser Gallery, and we finished the tour at China Art Objects Gallery, where new paintings of semi-biblical semi-mythological scenes, ethereal landscapes, and abstracts by JP Munro (husband of Christina Forrer) were on view. Whew!

    Day 5
    Our journey culminated in a visit with Dan Finsel. His studio walls were filled from floor to ceiling with large drawings of two-by-fours, photo stands, and an organic, exotic image of something like a pear with a butt and a vagina. Finsel showed us some video clips and detailed his plans for his upcoming show at Richard Telles Fine Art. The work stood out for its weirdness, originality, and intensity.

    A view of Dan Finsel’s studio. Courtesy of Dan Finsel.

    What did we learn on this expedition? The rain was gone, the sun was out, and the bright-blue sky returned the city to its normal state of endless summer. L.A. is teeming with inventive, creative minds exploring universal issues, telling stories — fictional and not — and sharing their trippy worldviews with the rest of us. Who needs an art fair?

    Dan Finsel and Maurizio Cattelan. Courtesy of Dan Finsel.



    About Town

    Art Scene Booms in Hollywood: Inside L.A.’s New Gallery Row

    Industry collectors are flocking to the art world’s burgeoning Hollywood epicenter as it matures with a major new player, LAXART, and a 2015 booming with blockbuster shows

    Akil (left) and Firstenberg were photographed Jan. 2 at LAXART’s new Hollywood digs. Inset: The building’s exterior features a work by Daniel Joseph Martinez.
    Claudia Lucia

    This story first appeared in the Jan. 16 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine.

    When Phil Lord — co-director of The Lego Movie and 22 Jump Street — isn’t busy creating box-office hits, he finds time to serve as co-vice chairman on the board of LAXART, one of Los Angeles’ most innovative art spaces (7000 Santa Monica Blvd.). Now he’s among a high-powered group of supporters who have donated to launch a new chapter for the exhibition hall, founded in 2005 by director Lauri Firstenberg. “LAXART fills the gaps between larger art institutions and the for-profit gallery scene, presenting new and original work that often wouldn’t be supported otherwise,” says Lord.

    Read more ArtBasel Miami Beach Opens With $3 Billion of Art and a Booth Designed by Baz Luhrmann

    On Jan. 10, LAXART, known for commissioning pieces by on-the-rise contemporary artists, will open in a former Hollywood recording studio, Radio Recorders, where Billie Holiday and Elvis Presley sang. The quirky space — built during the late 1920s and housing a warren of rooms perfect for staging multiple shows — is more than double the size of LAXART’s former home in Culver City.

    Oysters by Lily Stockman; her Gavlak show opens Jan. 10.

    The nonprofit’s arrival in Hollywood adds a player to L.A.’s latest hot arts district, clustered within a few blocks of the intersection of Highland Avenue and Santa Monica Boulevard. Long populated by film production offices, the area now is home to 20,000-square-foot gallery Regen Projects, which moved from West Hollywood in 2012, Various Small Fires, Hannah Hoffman, Redling Fine Art, Gavlak and Kohn Gallery, which opened in the spring with a blockbuster Mark Ryden show. The neighborhood lacks a proper hipster coffee shop but boasts a landmark artwork: a colorful abstract mural by Sarah Cain alongside the headquarters of public-art nonprofit LAND (Los Angeles Nomadic Division). Nearby restaurants include Trois Mec, Mud Hen Tavern, the Mozzas and Ammo. “Regen Projects is amazing — it’s like a small museum,” says Brillstein Entertainment Partners manager JoAnne Colonna, an avid collector. “And I like this artist, Amir Nikravan, that Various Small Fires recently showed. The area is going to be a real destination.”

    Regen Projects is exhibiting the works of British artist Gillian Wearing through Jan. 24.

    See more LACMA Art + Film Gala: The Top 10 Best-Dressed

    LAXART — whose shows have included a buzzy interactive Walead Beshty installation in which visitors walked over safety glass, creating a cracked reflective landscape — will reopen with a suite of exhibits, including one that will look back at the influential L.A. art collective Deep River. Says LAXART board member Mara Brock Akil, creator of BET’s Being Mary Jane: “LAXART is a place where new voices can be discovered and validated. It’s also a safe place for established artists to try something new, that allows them out of the box that commerce sometimes forces them into.”



    Los Angeles
    January 8, 2015
    Art of The Possible: A Reappraisal Of The Eugenia Butler Gallery
    Matt Stromberg

    For a few years at the end of the 1960’s, Eugenia Butler exhibited some of the most exciting and important artists of the period. Between 1969-1971 her eponymous gallery on N. La Cienega Boulevard in Los Angeles was a cradle of non-object oriented and conceptual art, showing pioneers like John Baldessari, Joseph Kosuth, Allen Ruppersberg, and Richard Jackson among others. Despite her brief but cutting-edge career, her name is seldom mentioned when discussing this period. If it is, it is often with a mythical reverence based more on her larger-than-life persona than on real knowledge of her actual contributions. Her influence and continuing legacy on the L.A. and international art scene is revealed through interviews with artists and others who knew her, as well as archival research.

    Born in Bakersfield, CA in 1922, Eugenia Louise Jefferson grew up in Los Angeles. During WWII she became a nurse sergeant in the Marines, where she met her future husband James G. Butler who was a fighter pilot. After the war, James went to law school on the GI Bill and became a prominent lawyer, handling many high profile class action suits, including cases involving thalidomide and airline crashes. The two were committed to civil rights. “They were considered extremely left wing at the time,” remembers their daughter Cecilia Dan, and Jim helped found an NAACP chapter in Compton where they lived when they were first married. As Jim became more successful, they moved into a stately house on South Rimpau street and had eight children. Although they appeared on the surface to be the picture of the post-war American Dream, the Butlers were interested in pushing boundaries — social, cultural, and artistic — and shared a passion for challenging art. Eugenia Butler’s future business partner Riko Mizuno recalled the important role that art played for the couple when they were courting, before Jim became successful. “She told me they used to date, but didn’t have much money, so they’re going to museums, galleries,” Mizuno said. “That’s how she loved art, so that’s kind of beautiful.”

    The L.A. art scene of the 1960’s was much smaller and more intimate than it is today. Curator Hal Glicksman noted in 2011 that “there was so little audience, outside of the artists and a few collectors, and so little money and so little support, that the artists formed a self-supporting community. It wasn’t all done with an eye on the market, or on the critics either for that matter…things here were just what artists and their friends wanted to do, support each other.” New York City was the center of the art world then, which gave artists in L.A. a certain amount of freedom. “One of the nice things about that period was that L.A. was so intimate. The lines between dealers and collectors and artists were permeable because everyone was making it up as they went along and they didn’t have a bunch of established predecessors…like in New York,” notes writer Hunter Drohojowska-Philp. The community of serious collectors was just beginning to form, so sales were not expected. “It was fun in the sense that money was not an issue, and the joke used to be that if anybody sold anything you must be doing something wrong,” remembered artist John Baldessari in 2011.

    There were only a handful of galleries of L.A. at the time, but the one that is perhaps best known is the Ferus Gallery, which was active from 1957 – 1966 on N. La Cienega Blvd. Founded by Walter Hopps and artist Ed Kienholz (who would soon be replaced by the suave salesman Irving Blum), Ferus brought to L.A. the kind of serious art that was being shown in New York and Europe, including Andy Warhol, Frank Stella, and Jasper Johns, as well as kick-starting the careers of a number of L.A. artists. These ranged from assemblage artists like Kienholz and Wallace Berman, to So Cal light and space artists like Robert Irwin and Larry Bell. The Ferus scene was glamorous, cool, and macho. They expanded the boundaries of what was being shown in L.A. at the time. But in a lot of ways, they were still adhering to a conventional model of showing and selling painting and sculpture. By the mid-1960s, a few forward thinking artists and dealers were showing work that was not confined to physical objects. One of these was Eugenia Butler.

    Galleria del Deposito, Genoa, Italy

    Galleria del Deposito, Genoa, Italy

    Beginnings: Galleria del Deposito, Riko Mizuno and Gallery 669

    Although her gallery was only active for a brief period, Butler had been involved with contemporary art for a number of years. In the mid-1960s, she served on LACMA’s Contemporary Art Council and New Talent Award Committee, through which she met many young artists, and began collecting art. Her interest in the cutting edge drove her to look beyond the confines of the small L.A. art scene at the time. “The special thing about Eugenia and her husband Jim is that they were avid collectors, but both extremely intelligent, extremely articulate, and they wanted more from art than what was being given to them here in L.A. at that time,” recalls gallerist Rosamund Felsen. “So they went to Europe a lot and intellectually and conceptually the Europeans were further ahead that what was going on in L.A.”

    On her European trips, she was introduced to the Genoa-based artist collective Galleria del Deposito (1963-1968) whose members included Lucio Fontana, Victor Vasarely, and Eugenio Carmi among others. In their opening newsletter from 1963, they proclaimed their intentions: “These people have got together in a kind of co-operative society; by forming an association of this type they mean to stress the fact that the gallery is not to be run on a profit-making basis. The common purpose is to bring the public’s attitude to the modern visual arts up to date.” According to LAND director Shamim Momin, this sort of un-orthodox model proved attractive to Butler: “Deposito is interesting because it was kind of like an artists-run collaborative so to speak, making art more accessible to the public, and they were in an old ice factory or warehouse of some kind, and really predicated a lot of artist practices, and she of course with similar kind of prescience, just kind of understood that this was a great vein in which to move.” In 1966, she became an L.A. representative of sorts for Deposito. Later that year, she briefly worked for trailblazing gallerist Virginia Dwan.

    Butler then partnered with gallerist Riko Mizuno, who had been running Gallery 669, located at 669 N. La Cienega Blvd., for about a year. As Mizuno recalls, it was people associated with LACMA, specifically then-curator Maurice Tuchman, who suggested the two would make a good team. Both women were interested in work that wasn’t then being shown in Los Angeles. Butler’s boundless energy would prove to be a foil for Mizuno’s reserved nature. “Riko Mizuno was an unusual dealer,” recalled the late artist Jack Goldstein in the 2003 book “Jack Goldstein and the CalArts Mafia” by Richard Herz. “She never did anything; she sat in the back and drank coffee. She had an interesting persona, somewhat inscrutable with her broken English, and was very laid back.”

    Mizuno remembers Butler’s enthusiasm: “She’s very active, alive. I used to tease her, ‘you look like vitamin’… I never met a person like that, so much energy. I’m sleeping behind the gallery, I have a kind of apartment, so she knocked on door from early in the morning ‘Get up, get up!'” In 2011, John Baldessari summed up a sentiment repeated in a number of interviews: “Incredible energy, incredible enthusiasm, I can’t remember her ever sitting still.”

    The pair presented a number of important exhibitions, showing L.A. mainstay Ed Kienholz, as well as then unknown painter Richard Jackson (who would later become Butler’s first gallery assistant). The gallery was best known for Joseph Kosuth’s groundbreaking 1968 exhibition “Nothing,” the pioneering conceptual artist’s first solo show in the U.S. Before the year was out however, tensions between the two women led to the dissolution of the gallery. “I think if you knew the two of them, you would know it would not work. They’re just too independent,” recalls Felsen. Mizuno even broke out with a bad case of hives that she attributes to their conflict. Mizuno kept the space, renamed the Riko Mizuno Gallery, and Butler opened her own gallery just up the street at 615 N. La Cienega. According to Mizuno, the two never entered each other’s galleries after that.

    Installation view of "Joseph Kosuth: Nothing," at Gallery 669, October 1968. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Installation view of “Joseph Kosuth: Nothing,” at Gallery 669, October 1968. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    The Eugenia Butler Gallery

    Right from the start, Butler was dedicated to showing work that explored new directions, that was in opposition to trends of the time, work that she felt passionately about regardless of its financial viability. “She was brilliant, she had energy, she was fearless,” said Felsen, “and this is what she thought should be done, and she went ahead and did it and it was challenging, and it was challenging for her, challenging for the viewer.” Butler was not interested in the more established painters and sculptors of the Ferus scene. Instead, she was attracted to a number of artists whose work would come to be labeled conceptual art. Curator Anne Ayres offers an excellent description of conceptual art in an essay from “Arc of an Idea: Chasing the Invisible,” a 2003 Otis College of Art and Design catalog to an exhibition of work of Butler’s daughter, also named Eugenia Butler, who often worked in this vein: “In fact, pioneering conceptual art was the very definition of exhilaration — passionately argued, greatly contested, and thus never monolithic, as the following partial list indicates: language propositions; detailed record keeping of personal activities; serial and other pedestrian formats; all sorts of documentation, graphs, and photographs; erasure of individual touch, the pretense of artist anonymity, and the elevation of the viewer as part of an expanding environment; social and political deconstructions; concern with space, time, duration, absence, removal, and invisibility; a search for new materials (words, electricity, gasses, steam, light, odors, mental operations, and so forth) – while erasing (dematerializing) the (visual) art object (perhaps better to say the devisualization of the art object) as a locus of aesthetic delectation.” Butler was not limited to exclusively showing conceptual art, but her focus on dematerialized and non-object oriented work prefigured much of what was to come, both in L.A. and worldwide.

    “When you look at work that comes out of L.A. in the early 70’s…it’s intellectually oriented, it’s conceptually oriented, it’s photographs, it’s text, it’s the antithesis of what happened in the 60’s,” remarks Drohojowska-Philp. “It’s all about non-retinal art, art that’s about ideas, art that’s about experiences.”

    Absence, the void, performance, interaction, the invisible, the temporary — often with a dash of irreverent humor: these were the hallmarks of the Eugenia Butler Gallery. She opened the gallery by giving Allen Rupperberg his first solo show for which he presented “Location Piece” (1969). “There was nothing in the gallery except the address of an old office building on Sunset Boulevard where I’d installed a big theatrical sculpture,” the artist told the Los Angeles Times in 1993.

    Later that year James Lee Byars — an enigmatic artist who was a favorite of Butler’s — built a wall around her office, separating it from the rest of the gallery. The work was called “Shutting up Genie.” According to the press release: “Her name comes down from the front of the building, and ‘Shutting up Genie’ is lettered in red on the wall directly behind the Gallery window, visible from the street. Eugenia Butler is forbidden by the artist to enter the Gallery exhibition space during this five-day period.” For his piece “Wall Shadow,” Eric Orr built a cinder block wall in front of the gallery, painted its shadow on the ground and removed the wall, leaving only a trace of the light it blocked. For a 1970 exhibition Robert Barry simply locked the gallery doors and put a sign up that read “From March 10 through 21, the Gallery will be Closed.”

    Eric Orr, “Wall Shadow,” 1968, brick wall, light shadow. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.
    Eric Orr, “Wall Shadow,” 1968, brick wall, light shadow. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Butler was also one of the first gallerists to show the work of then-unknown conceptual art godfather John Baldessari. She held his second gallery exhibition ever in 1970 after he left his previous dealer Molly Barnes. Their relationship was also significant for the fact that Butler was the first person to sell one of Baldessari’s photographs. It is typical of her vision that she ignored the traditional distinction between high art and photography, then considered a lesser artform.

    “At that moment, photography and art were pretty much ghettoized. I mean photographs were shown in photography galleries but not shown in art galleries. They were literally two different worlds, and very distinct art histories for both,” recalled Baldessari in 2011. “So I had some documentation of a work, called the “Ghetto Boundary Project.” I remember her calling me, she said, ‘You won’t believe what I’m going to tell you, I sold the photographs.’ You don’t get it now, but you didn’t sell photographs at art galleries. That was my first breaching of boundaries I guess.”

    One of the most notorious exhibitions at the gallery was Ed Kienholz’ 1969 “Watercolors” show, commonly referred to as “The Barter Show.” Each hand-printed work stated on the face what Kienholz wanted in exchange for it. These ranged from various monetary amounts, to a Rudi Gernreich dress, a Timex watch, an artwork by Baldessari, and so on. They were otherwise identical, the same size, each framed the same, and authorized with Keinholz’ thumbprint. It was “an early acknowledgement on the cult of celebrity and the commodification of art” reads the exhibition text from the 2012 LAND exhibition, “Perpetual Conceptual: Echoes of Eugenia Butler.” The work directly addressed the very notion of art as investment — and confronted collectors with this idea — in a way that meshed with Butler’s love of controversy.

    Installation view of “Ed Kienholz: Watercolors,” at Eugenia Butler Gallery, March – April, 1969. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.
    Installation view of “Ed Kienholz: Watercolors,” at Eugenia Butler Gallery, March – April, 1969. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    “She wanted art that would make people mad, and it was a perfect fit with the Kienholz watercolors. He knew that they would make everybody angry… yeah they should have, that’s what they were for,” recalled Glicksman in 2011. “They weren’t for Dwan or for Ferus or for any other regular gallery, that he had to have someone who was really up for strange ideas…well because it’s under this heading of institutional critique. People weren’t used to that, of having their face rubbed in the idea that they were collecting art because it would become worth money.” According to rumor, the city tried to shut the show down, arguing that the barter system evaded sales tax.

    Even more groundbreaking than Kienholz’ barter show was Swiss/Icelandic artist Dieter Roth’s 1970 exhibition “Staple Cheese (A Race).” Although Roth had been exhibiting in Europe since the early 1950’s, this was his first U.S. gallery exhibition. Roth filled the gallery with 37 suitcases full of cheese, leaving them to rot in the L.A. summer heat. As the show progressed, the smell filled the gallery, wafting out into the street. Maggots and flies filled the gallery.

    Dieter Roth, “Staple Cheese, A Race,” 1970, Cheese stuffed into 37 suitcases. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.
    Dieter Roth, “Staple Cheese, A Race,” 1970, Cheese stuffed into 37 suitcases. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    “Everyone talked about it, it was probably one of the more talked about exhibitions in town. People were a combination of outraged and intrigued by it. My reaction to it was wow,” recalled artist Ed Moses in 2011. “It was very powerful and as I said as you walked along this alley into the gallery, you could smell it from La Cienega and it was a good hundred yards back to the gallery.”

    The health department tried to shut the show down, but Butler’s husband, the class action litigator, successfully argued to keep the gallery open on the grounds of the work’s artistic merit. Although the L.A. art community was small at the time, it would prove to be an influential show to all who saw it.

    “The Dieter Roth show was just important to see, period, and to see one of the European artists that you admired, to see a work here, and have it be such a memorable and important work,” remembered Ruppersberg in 2011. “I think it’s one of the main works that was ever shown here in L.A., period, and certainly is in all the memories of the artists who were there at the time.”

    In addition to exhibitions at the gallery, Butler organized important shows off-site, such as 18’6″ x 6’9″ x 11’2-1/2″ x 47″ x 11-3/16″ x 19’8-1/2″ x 31’9-3/16″ held at the San Francisco Art Institute in 1969. The group exhibition included many of the seminal practitioners of conceptual and non-retinal art: Michael Asher, Robert Barry, James Lee Byars, Eugenia Butler, Douglas Huebler, Joseph Kosuth, and Lawrence Weiner among others. The work featured in the exhibition was consistent with Butler’s gallery program in its radical break with previous forms of art-making. Often this involved gallery staff creating the works based on instructions from the artists, as described in a printed supplement to the exhibition. Byars played a tape loop on speakers outside the gallery on a certain day. Exhibition texts note that Stephen Kaltenbach “submitted a series of proposals. The one chosen by the gallery staff was carrying out of Mr. Kaltenbach’s proposal to paint the south wall of the gallery gray…The wall was painted gray.” Jim Rudnick blocked out the skylights and gave out flashlights for visitors to use. Barry Le Va drew a line from the gallery office door to the SE corner of the space. The area to the west of the line was sprinkled with flour. Eugenia Butler (the younger) simply “requested that the plate reading ‘Congruent Reality’ be placed at the entrance to the empty gallery on two alternative Wednesdays.”

    “Congruent Reality,” 1969, Time-based Perceptual/Conceptual Event, (Conscious Presence within the Continuum of Time), text on aluminum plate, | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Eric Orr, "Wall Shadow," 1968, brick wall, light shadow. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Eric Orr, “Wall Shadow,” 1968, brick wall, light shadow. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Eugenia Butler as Art Dealer and Count Giuseppe Panza

    More than simply championing and exhibiting challenging, conceptual art, as a dealer Butler created a market for artwork that was often represented in the physical world by nothing more than a certificate. The idea that you could sell air, or an experience, or an energy field was radical. She counted among her clients the L.A. haberdasher and collector Monte Factor, and influential Italian collector Count Giuseppe Panza, one of the first Europeans to seriously collect postwar American art. Panza’s impressive collection covered abstract expressionism, pop, minimalism, and conceptual art. He was an early supporter of art in L.A., visiting the city twice a year to find new artists and new work. He remarked to the Los Angeles Times in 1985 that “history will regard Los Angeles as a great center of the art of this century.”

    A letter dated January 22, 1970 reveals that Butler sent Panza information, prices and visuals of work by a number of artists she showed including Douglas Huebler, Baldessari, Stephen Kaltenbach, Kosuth, Robert Barry, Paul Cotton, Eugenia Butler, and James Lee Byars. From this selection, Panza ended up purchasing four works of Huebler’s composed of photographic documentation of actions and signed descriptions of the works. The description of” Duration Piece #12″ (1969) reads:

    In March, 1969 a small quantity of sand was removed from the ocean beach at Venice, California and taken to the ocean beach at Plum Island, Massachusetts.

    There it was placed where it would be carried into the Atlantic Ocean by the outgoing tide. A similar quantity of sand was, at that time, removed from the Plum Island location and taken (May 1969) to Venice where it, in turn, was carried into the Pacific Ocean.

    Another exchange will mark the same sites in 1979 and so on: once every ten years until a total of eleven markings have been made at which time (2069) the piece will be complete. (It will be the responsibility of the owner to arrange for the next ten such exchanges).

    One photograph of each site and this statement constitute the form of this piece.

    Huebler’s original action, while certainly poetic, was distinct and finite. By holding the purchaser responsible for the fulfillment of the work, he stretches this singular act well beyond the lifetimes of artist and collector, and at the same time calls into question traditional roles of creator and consumer. This is typical of the kind of challenging work that Butler promoted. It is significant that she not only exhibited work like this, but was able to place some of it into one of the most important collections of the 20th century.

    "Congruent Reality," 1969, Time-based Perceptual/Conceptual Event, (Conscious Presence within the Continuum of Time), text on aluminum plate, | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    “Congruent Reality,” 1969, Time-based Perceptual/Conceptual Event, (Conscious Presence within the Continuum of Time), text on aluminum plate, | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Art, Life and Performance

    For Butler, art was not just something to be looked at and collected, but a force that permeated every aspect of life. To the intimate L.A. art community of the time, the Butler family house on South Rimpau provided a sense of community and support. It was as significant a gathering place for artists and art lovers as the gallery itself. It became one of a handful of important social spaces for artists, along with the homes of Elyse and Stanley Grinstein (who had founded legendary printmaking workshop Gemini G.E.L.) and noted collector and dealer Betty Asher. “Eugenia and James’ house, that was a social hub, that and the Grinstein’s house,” remembered Baldessari in 2011. “I even think sometimes they competed with each other [to see] who could throw the biggest party.”

    The line between party and performance was often blurred. One such occasion was a fashion show Butler hosted featuring works by designer Rudi Gernreich, whose clothes she wore almost exclusively. Gernreich was perhaps most famous for the topless monokini he designed, often seen on his muse Peggy Moffitt. “I remember one party she had for a fashion designer, Rudi Gernreich, where these people came down the staircase nude and that was quite a radical thing in the fashion world,” recalled Moses in 2011.

    “She was wearing these Rudi Gernreich clothes that were outrageous,” remembered the late Stanley Grinstein in 2011. “It’s like good art, sometimes you say, ‘what the hell is that?’ and you gotta get used to it. She was that far ahead.”

    The dissolution of the barrier between art and life that Butler’s gallery embodied was also celebrated in the work of Paul Cotton, who would often dress up in outlandish outfits for performances, including a bunny costume with the crotch cut out. He was arrested at the opening of the LACMA’s Art & Technology show in May 1971, at which he arrived with Butler. He had planned to present museum visitors with marijuana joints on a platter as part of a performance, but was denied entry. “There were real joints on the tray and I intended to go into the show and just be there as a sculpture for people to take joints if they wanted to and experience it as a living sculpture,” he recalled in 2011. Much of Cotton’s work dealt with relationships between people, not simply the visual experience of looking at a static piece of art. “I think that the whole civilization is a dysfunctional family. Part of my impulses is to heal that dysfunction. One of the dysfunctions I see is seeing people as objects, and seeing art as objects to be bought and sold. The two things go hand in hand, is to only see things of value in terms of their commodity,” he said in 2011. Cotton had one of the last exhibitions at the gallery.

    After the Gallery

    The Eugenia Butler Gallery closed in mid-1971. As artist Barbara T. Smith recalled in 2011, the rent had been raised on the space. Compounding this, the Butlers’ marriage was unraveling and James Butler had withdrawn his financial support of the gallery, according to their daughter, Cecilia Dan. Larger economic forces were also at play. Although the avant-garde conceptual art that Butler exhibited would continue to be a vibrant part of the L.A. art scene for years to come, there was a growing fiscal conservatism in the city that extended to the art world. In a 1971 Los Angeles Times article, critic William Wilson attributed this to national economic woes, and described a new attitude “not now attuned to the exhilaration of risk.”

    Butler continued to be involved with art, however. Instead of promoting the art of others she passionately believed in, she worked to turn her life into a kind of performance. It was around this time that she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. She staged a “living wake” at her house, and invited all of her friends to participate in a performative funeral. “We lent her a limo here for her wake-up her funeral, when she got the cancer originally, so she did a whole thing at her house of a funeral, and she called it the wake-up,” recalled Grinstein in 2011. “We lent her the limo, we had a black caddy limo with big fins.”

    She began an affair with Cotton and moved with him to the Bay Area, leaving her family behind. In 1972, she arrived at Documenta, the influential art exhibition held every five years in Kassel, Germany, riding a white horse, in the nude. It was there that she impersonated her daughter Eugenia, and tried to pass the younger Butler’s work off as her own. Periods of mental instability and familial turmoil would characterize her life for the next thirty years. Although she never had another gallery, what she accomplished in a few short years would have an outsized impact on the L.A. art world and beyond. As Drohojowska-Philp notes, “L.A. really was a hotbed for the development of conceptual and non-object oriented, dematerialized art throughout the 70’s, the validation for that in part could be said to be in part with Eugenia Butler who endorsed it.”

    Installation view of "Ed Kienholz: Watercolors," at Eugenia Butler Gallery, March - April, 1969. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Installation view of “Ed Kienholz: Watercolors,” at Eugenia Butler Gallery, March – April, 1969. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Reframing Everything: The Legacy of the Eugenia Butler Gallery

    Despite the seminal role Butler and he gallery played, her influence is under-recognized today. “Once you start to make the connection you realize ‘all the shows I cared about, that I learned about, were at her gallery, but I don’t know her name.’ Isn’t that so incredibly strange,” says LAND’s Momin. “Looking back, turns out that she was probably one of the most important galleries, certainly up there with Ferus who we keep talking about, but it turns out she should have had equal billing,” noted Baldessari in 2011. The conventional narrative of 1960’s art in LA is dominated by the Ferus Gallery and their roster of hyper-masculine painters and sculptors. One reason for this is that Irving Blum, the suave New York transplant who ran Ferus with Walter Hopps, was a consummate salesman and promoter. The glamorous “cool school” image he promoted for himself and his artists was a tidier, more digestible story than Butler’s complicated and problematic narrative. “It’s a very complex personality and that doesn’t always parse so well for historical telling,” notes Momin, “especially for women.” In a 2012 LA Weekly article, writer Catherine Wagley cautions against letting the drama of Butler’s life divert attention from her contributions to art: “Focusing on the Butler mythos threatens to pigeonhole her, to turn her legacy into the short-lived, haphazard achievements of an eccentric.” Further complicating her history is the absence of her archives, which were destroyed by James Butler, and later by herself, after they divorced.

    To correct this historical omission, Butler’s granddaughter Corazon del Sol and LAND’s Momin put together a 2012 exhibition, “Perceptual Conceptual,” as part of the Getty’s massive Pacific Standard Time initiative. The show began with one box of archival material that del Sol came across, (“It’s just like a cardboard box and it says like ‘archives’ on it. It had two boxes of slides, a few super 8 films, a few small artworks,” she notes), and grew as they conducted extensive interviews with artists of the period. They also utilized the archives at the Getty Research Institute to piece together the timeline and events surrounding the gallery. It was an important step in restoring Butler’s legacy. “I felt so happy that I put my grandmother back in the world because she’d been written out of history…because she was crazy or she was a woman,” said del Sol, “when in truth her story kind of reframed everything.”

    The work that Butler championed was about finding the exceptional in the everyday, finding meaning in space, in words, in actions. “It’s all art of the possible. It changes you,” says del Sol in Wagley’s 2012 article. Counter to the notion of conceptual art as being heady and opaque, “these projects are really silly and sincere and about trying to figure out how to communicate things…this was conceptualism that was very human,” says Wagley. Barbara T. Smith recalled in 2011 a scene from an Easter party at the Rimpau house after the Butlers had divorced. Eugenia had returned from Documenta and was planning a performance at the party. “A fat woman with pink teased-back combed hair wearing a tight baby blue double knit suit complained that her life was utterly empty. With great focused intensity, Eugenia turned and said, ‘You have to look for it. It’s there all the time.’ Pink hair then said, ‘I’ve been searching.’ Then Genie said ‘I don’t mean search, I mean see. You put your own clouds over your eyes.'”

    Dieter Roth, "Staple Cheese, A Race," 1970, Cheese stuffed into 37 suitcases. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Dieter Roth, “Staple Cheese, A Race,” 1970, Cheese stuffed into 37 suitcases. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.
    Paul Cotton and Eugenia Butler, Tokyo, Japan, March 1970. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.

    Paul Cotton and Eugenia Butler, Tokyo, Japan, March 1970. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate.
    Installation view of "Perceptual Conceptual: Echoes of Eugenia Butler," at LAND, January 25 - April 21, 2012.

    Installation view of “Perceptual Conceptual: Echoes of Eugenia Butler,” at LAND, January 25 – April 21, 2012.
    Paul Cotton and Eugenia Butler, Berkeley, CA 1971. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate

    Paul Cotton and Eugenia Butler, Berkeley, CA 1971. | Image courtesy of the Eugenia P Butler Estate

    Ayres, Anne. Eugenia Butler – Arc of an Idea: Chasing the Invisible. Los Angeles: Otis College of Art and Design, 2003. Exhibition catalog.

    Baldessari, John (artist). Interview with Corazon de Sol, March 25, 2011.

    Barry, Robert (artist). Interview with Corazon del Sol, July 27, 2011.

    Cotton, Paul (artist). Interview with Corazon del Sol, April 13, 2011.

    Dan, Cecilia (daughter of Eugenia Butler / art dealer). Interview with the author, Malibu, CA, May 29, 2014.

    del Sol, Corazon (granddaughter of Eugenia Butler). Interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, February 6, 2014.

    Drohojowska-Philp, Hunter (writer / art critic). Interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, February 22, 2014.

    Edge, Doug (artist). Interview with Corazon del Sol, May 18, 2011.

    Felsen, Rosamund (gallerist). Interview with the author, Santa Monica, CA, April 19, 2014.

    Galleria del Deposito. Mostra N. 1 – Sedici Quadri Blu, November 23, 1963.

    Glicksman, Hal (curator / preparator). Interview with Corazon del Sol, September 14, 2011.

    Goldstein, Jack. “Chouinard and the Los Angeles Art Scene in the Late Sixties,” in Jack Goldstein and the CalArts Mafia, by Richard Hertz, 18-28. Ojai, CA: Minneola Press, 2003.

    Grinstein, Stanley (founder, Gemini G.E.L. Graphic Editions Limited). Interview with Corazon del Sol, April 5, 2011.

    Kavanaugh, Gere (designer). Interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, March 1, 2014.

    Kienholz, Lyn (art organizer / ex-wife of Ed Kienholz). Interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, February 17, 2014.

    LAND. Perpetual Conceptual: Echoes of Eugenia Butler. Los Angeles: LAND, 2012. Exhibition text.

    McKenna, Kristine. “ART : ‘Stuff’ Is His Middle Name : Conceptual artist Allen Ruppersberg surrounds himself with odd books, strange posters and other knickknacks. So how does all this ‘stuff’ help him make sense of the world around him and then become art? It just does,” Los Angeles Times, November 21, 1993.
    Mizuno, Riko (gallerist / former partner). Interview with the author, West Hollywood, CA, April 21, 2014.

    Momin, Shamim (curator / LAND director). Interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, March 18, 2014.

    Moses, Ed (artist). Interview with Corazon del Sol, August 16, 2011.

    Newhouse, Kristina. She accepts the proposition: Women Gallerists and the redefinition of art in Los Angeles, 1967-1978. Los Angeles: Sam Francis Gallery, 2011. Exhibition text.

    Ruppersberg, Allen (artist). Interview with Corazon del Sol, May 19, 2011.

    Smith, Barbara T. (artist). Interview with Corazon del Sol, June 1, 2011.

    Sommer, Danielle. “Eugenia is Coming: LAND shows off Eugenia Butler in ‘Perpetual Conceptual,'” Daily Serving, January 31, 2012.

    Tran, My-Thuan. “Giuseppe Panza di Biumo dies at 87; art collector legitimized MOCA.” Los Angeles Times, April 25, 2010.

    Wagley, Catherine. “Eugenia Butler: How a Wacky Gallerist Inspires the L.A. Art World Today.” LA Weekly, February 16, 2012.

    Wagley, Catherine (writer / art critic). Interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, February 12, 2014.

    Wilson, William. “Is L.a. The Place For More Panza Works?” Los Angeles Times, February 6, 1985.

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    Top Image: ©Malcolm Lubliner, 2015
    Art of The Possible: A Reappraisal Of The Eugenia Butler Gallery
    About the Author



    Los Angeles Stakes Its Claim as a World Art Center

    Axel Koester for The New York Times

    Frederick Eversley’s untitled work, left, and “Red Concave Circle” by De Wain Valentine, right, at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, part of the massive Pacific Standard Time art festival.

    LOS ANGELES — For the next six months, Southern California will be awash in celebrations of Southern California art: close to 170 separate exhibitions at 130 museums and galleries stretching from San Diego to Los Angeles to Santa Barbara. Pacific Standard Time, as this festival is known, is an exhaustive accounting of the birth of the Los Angeles-area art scene, but it is also a statement of self-affirmation by a region that, at times, appears to feel underappreciated as a serious culture center.

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    Ed Ruscha’s “Standard Station, Amarillo” at “Crosscurrents in L.A. Painting and Sculpture 1950-1970,” an exhibit at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles.

    Courtesy McKee Gallery, via Reuters

    “Freeway” (1966), a canvas by Vija Celmins, at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles.

    Courtesy of artist, Asco,1972/Harry Gamboa., Jr.

    “Birds Wave Goodby” (1972), by the Chicano performance and Conceptual art group Asco, in a retrospective at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

    Readers’ Comments

    Readers shared their thoughts on this article.

    This multi-museum event, in all of its Los Angeles-like sprawl, suggests a bit of overcompensation from a city that has long been overshadowed by the New York art establishment, a place that — arguably unfairly — still suffers from a reputation of being more about tinsel than about serious art, and where interest in culture starts and ends with movie grosses and who is on the cover of Vanity Fair.

    “It’s corny,” said Dave Hickey, an art critic and a professor in the art and art history department at the University of New Mexico. “It’s the sort of thing that Denver would do. They would do Mountain Standard Time. It is ’50s boosterish, and I would argue largely unnecessary.”

    Still, for many Los Angeles artists and critics, Pacific Standard Time: Art in L.A. 1945-1980, is a long-needed accounting of the emergence of the region as an art capital in the same league as New York, Berlin and London. Indeed, Los Angeles these days has more than its share of ambitious museums, adventurous art galleries, wealthy collectors, top-notch art schools and — perhaps most important — young artists drawn here by relatively cheap rents, abundant light and an atmosphere that encourages experimentation.

    “Since 1980 the art world has become global — New York is not the epicenter,” said Peter Plagens, a painter and essayist who has worked extensively in Southern California and who was here for some of the openings. “So L.A. is kind of doing this joust: ‘We want our art history to be in the books.’ ”

    The shows cover the postwar outpouring of art from the Southern California region. The festival will run for half a year, and just as well: art enthusiasts intent on seeing all the exhibitions are approaching this as the art world equivalent of an Ironman Triathlon.

    “I am going to treat it like a graduate course in art history,” said Jeffrey Deitch, the director of the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles.

    For less determined mortals, highlights can be seen at the Getty, which features works by Los Angeles sculptors and artists like Ed Ruscha and George Herms, from 1950 to 1970; the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, with an exhibition of California-inspired modern furniture design and a retrospective of work by the Chicano performance and Conceptual art group Asco; the Museum of Contemporary Art in San Diego, with a light and space exhibition; the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, with a display of prints; and the Hammer Museum at the University of California, Los Angeles, with work by local African-American artists.

    In many ways, this multi-museum extravaganza goes against type, or at least stereotype. “It’s a coming of age for a city that sometimes doesn’t think of itself as having an art history,” said Michael Govan, the executive director of the county museum.

    That novelty alone seems likely to feed curiosity about what is taking place here. “Los Angeles just presents itself as a fresh and new story — people will be interested in hearing some different narrative they haven’t heard before,” said Thomas E. Crow, an art historian. “And because so much of the art is really, really good, that will sustain the interest in these new narratives.”

    No one is suggesting that Los Angeles is about to supplant New York as an art capital; it is not lost on people here that the executive directors of three of the four biggest museums in Los Angeles came here from New York. James Cuno, the president of the J. Paul Getty Trust, which is financing the event, noted the abundance of galleries, auction houses and money in New York.

    “It’s understandable that artists and collectors would find their way there,” he said. “In the art world, the world tilts to New York. New York has been dominant and held our imagination since the late 1950s. That has cast everyone else in the shadows.”

    There are certainly obstacles here to the establishment of a thriving art scene. The sheer sprawl of the city means that it is hard to have the kind of concentrated art district that has characterized New York over the last 50 years, though there has long been an influential colony of artists out in Venice. And there are obstacles that come with living in this part of the country: Curators talk about the difficulty of encouraging people to walk indoors for anything but a movie in a city that has glorious weather so many months of the year.

    But increasingly over the decades, there has been an abundance of art produced here and no shortage of people who want to see it, even if it is not necessarily the old masters exhibition your parents might have taken you to see at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A show devoted to graffiti at the Museum of Contemporary Art downtown set a record for the institution by drawing 201,352 visitors before it closed in August. A Tim Burton show at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, organized by the Museum of Modern Art in New York, has also brought overflow crowds.

    The draws for young artists are particularly compelling now, including renowned art schools, among them California Institute of the Arts; the University of California, Los Angeles; and the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. And the sheer size of the city means that there are plenty of large spaces to rent for relatively little money.

    “I drove around Echo Park, Silver Lake, Highland Park, and a lot of this reminds me of New York in the 1970s, where artists lived in real interesting neighborhoods near each other, and the rents aren’t really that high,” said Mr. Deitch, director of the Museum of Contemporary Art. “Compared to New York City, compared to London, the rents here are affordable. A studio space that in Brooklyn would be $6,000 a month you can get here for $1,000.”

    “There is now enough critical mass of galleries, of places where artists meet, blogs, magazines,” he added. “There is enough of a strong community in places for artists to see each other’s work that it now makes sense to be here. L.A. is increasingly central to the art dialogue.”

    Mr. Cuno said his perception was that people in Los Angeles did not really spend a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of them. “I don’t feel or hear any ‘second city’ mentality here,” said Mr. Cuno, who came from Chicago, where that kind of talk is common. “People in Los Angeles are pretty happy with their position in the world and needn’t get the confirmation from elsewhere.”

    This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

    Correction: October 14, 2011

    Because of an editing error, an article on Thursday about the Pacific Standard Time art festival, at 130 museums and galleries in Southern California, misstated at one point the name of the Los Angeles museum where Jeffrey Deitch is the director. As the article correctly noted elsewhere, it is the Museum of Contemporary Art, not the “Los Angeles Modern.” (There is no museum by that name.



    The Brockman Gallery and the Village

    “Success always leaves footprints” is a statement famously attributed to Booker T. Washington. In 1967, two years after the Watts uprising in Los Angeles, artists and educators Alonzo and Dale Davis realized this dictum when they opened the Brockman Gallery in Leimert Park, a Los Angeles neighborhood affectionately referred to by residents as “the village.” The Brockman Gallery was founded during the heyday of the so-called Black Arts movement. Though numerous galleries opened in Los Angeles and across the country in the 1960s and 1970s with the aim of advancing the notion of a black art form, the Brockman Gallery — a commercial gallery in the midst of community focused ventures — was unique for the time period. Through their gallery Alonzo and Dale Davis provided early exposure to a number of artists who today are widely acclaimed, including Betye Saar, David Hammons, and John Outterbridge.These artists, along with other Southern California artists of the era, were included in the notable 1989 exhibition “19 Sixties: A Cultural Awakening Re-evaluated,1965-1975.” Recently, a renewed interest in black Los Angeles artists active from the mid-1960s to the late 1970s has spawned their inclusion in a variety of noteworthy exhibitions.Growing Up in the ‘Old South’Alonzo and Dale Davis grew up in Tuskegee, Alabama, a small southern community of self-made residents not necessarily tethered to the more traditional jobs held by blacks in larger northern or western cities. The history of entrepreneurship among African Americans is inextricably intertwined with the history of segregation and Jim Crow laws, which limited black people’s mobility and restricted their access to services. As children, the Davis brothers were greatly influenced by the pervasive attitude of self-reliance that was commonplace in the tight-knit college community where they lived. Higher education and self-sufficiency were highly valued at Tuskegee Institute, a place where one could witness numerous manifestations of black achievement. Founded by Booker T. Washington, Tuskegee Institute was a model institution held up by the U.S. government, as well as major corporations, to illustrate that blacks could excel in American life if given the opportunity — even under segregation. Despite a dark smudge on its history — the notorious syphilis experiment executed in the 1930s by the US government 1 — the institute became world-renowned as the training ground for the Tuskegee Airmen, another government-sponsored experiment, and served as a bastion of higher education and an example for the many dignitaries from different parts of the world, especially those from African and Caribbean nations, who made frequent trips to the campus.Alonzo Davis was born in Tuskegee in 1942, just one year after the famed Tuskegee Airmen took to the air. 2 Dale was born in 1946. The Davis brothers grew up on Bibb Street in a community of educators who worked at the institute. Their father taught psychology, and their mother was a librarian at the college library. During the final years of the war, the boys left Tuskegee for St. Paul, Minnesota, where their father completed his Ph.D at the University of Minnesota. When they returned to Tuskegee, their father was made dean of the Education Department. Alonzo remembers a childhood of privilege, summers spent lying in the shade of a stretching magnolia tree in the mid-1940s in front of his house, participating in campus-sponsored activities such as swimming and tennis, and lounging on the flat clay soil at Dead Man’s Peak, a popular meeting place for the community children. Renowned entertainers and other luminaries frequently visited the campus. The institute was an insular community, aware of but situated away from the demeaning Jim Crow laws in the town of Tuskegee.

    Interior view of the library reading room at the Tuskegee Institute ca. 1902 | Photo: Courtesy of Library of Congress

    Interior view of the library reading room at the Tuskegee Institute ca. 1902 | Photo: Courtesy of Library of Congress

    When asked about the influences that contributed to his artistic and entrepreneurial sensibilities, Alonzo recalls that his first job was collecting and selling pop bottles back to the Flakes Store and coat hangers to Reid’s Cleaners. On Saturday mornings Dale worked at sweeping out Le Petite Bazaar, the small women’s clothing shop owned by Mrs. Dawson, the wife of William Levi Dawson (1899-1990), the celebrated composer, choral conductor, and professor. Dale also liked fishing and befriended local fishermen, selling them worms and crickets so that they would take him out with them. Away from his friends, Alonzo grew zinnias because he liked their bright colors. His friends teased him when they found out, so he began tending his zinnias on his way to play baseball — a move that quelled some of the teasing. Working with zinnias made Alonzo more interested in color and inspired him to take art classes from Elain e Freeman (Thomas), who later became chair of the Art Department at the institute. Freeman’s father, who was paralyzed, painted with his toes. Alonzo and Dale often visited Freeman’s family home to look at his work and watch him paint. Alonzo remembers his most rewarding art experience taking place at the institute’s Chambliss Children’s House School, an elementary school where practice teachers taught classes on everything from drawing to gardening to the children of the institute’s employees as well as the townspeople’s children. Winning an award there for a landscape painting encouraged Alonzo to pursue art.

    For Alonzo, artistic endeavors were just another part of an active childhood, mixed in with the 4-H Club, the Boy Scouts, and Saturday-morning visits to the ROTC shooting range to fire a .22-caliber rifle. His schedule of varied activities was typical of most institute boys in this academic yet rural environment, often described by the college staff as “a ship in a rural sea.” Alonzo and Dale also had many experiences unheard of for other black youth.

    By the time Alonzo was ten years old, the Tuskegee Airmen had made a name for themselves, and he was taken for a ride in a Piper airplane flown by Charles “Chief” Anderson, famous as the first instructor of the Airmen and for taking First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt for a plane ride in 1941 (Alonzo boasts that since then, he’s never feared flying).

    Because their father held such an esteemed position at the institute, Alonzo and Dale had ample opportunities to meet dignitaries and be exposed to people from the African and black diasporas. Visits from these international figures often resulted in invitations for students from their home countries to study at Tuskegee, so the Davis brothers were accustomed to mingling with foreign students from a young age.

    In addition to their exposure to people from the African and black diasporas, the Davis brothers met members of Tuskegee’s Jewish faculty, many of whom had fled the Nazis before settling in the United States. Historically black colleges and universities worked with various organizations to place recently emigrated Jews in colleges and universities around the nation, regularly opening their doors to the displaced scholars. This was especially evident in the art departments on these campuses. Artist and art historian Samella Lewis has discussed the important role played by Viktor Lowenfield in the art department at Hampton University in Virginia, and artist Mary Lovelace O’Neal has likewise stated her respect for Ronald O. Schnell, who was recruited from Stuttgart, Germany, in 1959 to the art department at Tougaloo College in Jackson, Mississippi.

    At Tuskegee Institute, a diverse group of writers, musicians, and other creative people visited and worked on the campus, including Dawson, who Alonzo insists made him “listen to another voice,” the creative voice in his head. Alonzo came to view Dawson as a kindred spirit, someone who understood “creative spirits — those of us who were into other things besides baseball and football.” He continues, “I wasn’t academic in the way my dad was, and Dawson picked up on that right away.”

    Like one of his friends, the painter Aaron Douglas, Dawson was interested in the development of African American musical forms. His Negro Folk Symphony had its world premiere under the direction of Leopold Stokowski conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1934, the same year that Douglas painted his Aspects of Negro Life murals at the New York Public Library’s 135th Street branch in Harlem. Both composer and artist explored parallel themes in these works. Dawson’s symphony was composed of three symphonic movements (“The Bond of Africa,” “Hope in the Night,” and “O Let Me Shine”), while Douglas’s mural consisted of four oil-on-canvas panels (“Aspects of Negro Life: The Negro in an African Setting,” “An Idyll of the Deep South,” “From Slavery through Reconstruction,” and “Song of the Towers”).

    Portrait of William Levi Dawson ca. 1926. | Photo: Courtesy of Emory University

    Portrait of William Levi Dawson ca. 1926. | Photo: Courtesy of Emory University

    Influenced by the nationalistic views of Anton Dvořák, Dawson traveled to West Africa in 1952. His exposure to African music inspired him to revise his symphony to include African rhythms. 3 Dawson’s interest in African culture was proudly displayed in his home, just a few houses down from the Davis home on Bibb Street. There the Davis brothers enjoyed Dawson’s personal collection of African and African American art, including works by Douglas, August Savage, and Hale Woodruff. Beyond their neighborhood the Davis boys had several other opportunities to view artwork, from the George Washington Carver Museum (named for the famous scientist and artist who was an important presence on the Tuskegee campus) to Lifting the Veil of Ignorance, Charles Keck’s monumental public sculpture of Booker T. Washington with a kneeling former slave. “One of my most memorable experiences was spending time in the George Washington Carver Museum looking at the brightly colored vials containing samples of his experiments and displays of his work,” Dale remembers. 4 A local gallery specializing in ceramics — a medium that would become an early focus for Dale’s art practice — also fueled the brothers’ desire to pursue art.In 1956 Alonzo and Dale’s parents separated, and the boys took the Super Chief passenger train from Chicago to Los Angeles with their mother. In 1948 restrictive real estate covenants had been lifted in Los Angeles, allowing black people to buy property west of Western Avenue. The Davis family did so, though moving into the new neighborhood was a cultural shock for the brothers. In Tuskegee the Davis brothers had lived in a closed community of black educators. The area where their family settled in Los Angeles was much more diverse. Alonzo remembers the student population at the new school: “It was comprised of black kids whose fathers worked at the U.S. Rubber Company, white kids [whose] parents worked at USC and wanted them to ‘toughen up’ in public school, and Japanese kids [who] had been in internment camps.” 5 In Los Angeles the Davis boys were exposed to a more racially diverse group of children than they had experienced in the predominantly black and insular Tuskegee.

    Both of the Davis brothers entered and graduated from colleges in Los Angeles. Alonzo remembers that while in college they never learned anything about Africa or African Americans. For them, the seeds of their African heritage — a heritage that would later inform the naming of their gallery — had been firmly planted during their youth in Tuskegee. “We had spent our formative years in what people now refer to as ‘the Old South’ — Birmingham, Montgomery, Atlanta, and Durham, North Carolina. These were places we visited with our family, and even though young, we were very aware of the issues of segregation confronting the South,” says Dale. 6 By the time they began giving serious thought to opening a gallery, Alonzo had graduated from Pepperdine University, and Dale was an art student at the University of Southern California.

    In 1966 they embarked on a cross-country road trip along I-20 in a Volkswagen Beetle, stopping off to visit with local artists along the way. Reconnecting with their southern roots, they visited colleges and universities, found vibrant art programs, and talked to students and faculty. In Washington, D.C., they met Topper Carew, who opened the New Thing Art and Architecture Center in the late 1960s. Carew inspired the brothers’ vision of a gallery as a place to at once enliven the black community and generate revenue. Before leaving the East Coast, they drove to Philadelphia and met with Romare Bearden in New York City, circled back to upstate New York, and continued into Canada, returning to the United States through Detroit. They returned to Los Angeles in 1966 after participating in the Meredith March, billed as “a march against fear,” which Alonzo says “test[ed] [our] resolve and commitment to be a part of a national response to the racism issues of the time.” 7 Within nine months of returning to Los Angeles, Alonzo and Dale found a building in Leimert Park Village. After talking with family members, who discouraged the brothers from doing it, they spoke with a lawyer and leased the building. While the brothers both taught art in high school, their main focus was on opening their gallery. Alonzo was twenty-four and Dale was twenty.

    The corner of Degnan and 43rd in 1968, 1 year after Alonzo and Dale Davis opened Brockman Gallery. In the background the art deco Leimert Theatre, now the Vision, originially designed by the architectural firm Morgan, Walls & Clements | Photo: Courtesy of Los Angeles Public Library

    The corner of Degnan and 43rd in 1968, 1 year after Alonzo and Dale Davis opened Brockman Gallery. In the background the art deco Leimert Theatre, now the Vision, originially designed by the architectural firm Morgan, Walls & Clements | Photo: Courtesy of Los Angeles Public Library

    The Village

    Opening in a location on Degnan Boulevard, the main commercial strip in Leimert Park Village, the Davis brothers felt that they had secured a commercially viable space in a growing black community. Leimert Park is a village at the foot of the “Hills” — including View Park, Baldwin Hills, and Windsor Hills — which offered sweeping views of the Los Angeles basin and the Hollywood Hills to the east and the north, as well as Marina del Rey, Venice, Santa Monica, and Malibu as they stretched to the Pacific Ocean on the west. Leimert Village, with its small triangular park at 43rd Place, is one and a half miles square, bordered by Crenshaw Boulevard, Leimert Boulevard, 43rd Street, and 43rd Place. The village was developed by Walter H. Leimert in 1928 and designed by Olmsted and Olmsted, brothers and sons of Frederick Law Olmsted (1822-1903), one of the two designers of Central Park in New York. They designed two-story Mediterranean-style buildings — a favored style for many communities in Los Angeles — for the commercial strip running through the center of the block.

    Leimert envisioned his village as a self-sufficient community for upper-middle-class families with comfortable accessibility to schools and churches. The tree-lined streets and hidden utility lines created an oasis — an ideal atmosphere for families. It was no secret that a legal provision forbade selling property in this ideal family enclave to black families. In 1947 the neighborhood made headlines when the bisected and mutilated body of Elizabeth Short, the victim of the notorious Black Dahlia murder mystery, was found in a vacant lot in the 3800 block of South Norton Avenue. The area was in the news again one year later in 1948, this time for the lifting of the racially restrictive covenants that had prevented blacks from moving to the neighborhood. Free to move farther west, black middle-class families began settling between Western Avenue and Crenshaw Boulevard, soon to be a core area of black business achievement of the sort that was previously found near Central Avenue. Wealthy black Angelenos gravitated to Leimert Park and to the Hills. Leimert Park Village became one of the first communities in Los Angeles to have a homeowners association. To maintain an integrated community, blacks and Asians — with a few whites — founded the Crenshaw Neighbors Association in 1964. The Davis brothers believed that this community of black wealth was ripe with patrons for their gallery. As more black families moved into the area, whites moved farther west.

    In 1965, a few years before the Brockman Gallery opened and in the midst of increased white flight, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) separated from the Los Angeles County Museum of History, Science, and Art (founded in 1913) on Exposition Park and moved to the Miracle Mile neighborhood on Wilshire Boulevard. This left many blacks with few options to see and experience fine art from other parts of the world. LACMA’s move to Wilshire Boulevard meant that most of the communities of color that encircled Exposition Park had to travel farther to see artwork. Residents of communities in the Hills, many of whom were already patronizing shops on the far west side of Los Angeles, generally embraced the move.

    A Spanish style apartment house in Leimert Park. | Photo: Courtesy of Los Angeles Public Library

    A Spanish style apartment house in Leimert Park. | Photo: Courtesy of Los Angeles Public Library

    The homes in this tree-lined neighborhood — typically furnished with Provençal furniture and grand pianos — created a comfortable environment for wealthier blacks, in stark contrast to life in the sprawling black communities farther east and south in Los Angeles. Before the Davis brothers embarked on their cross-country journey, in 1965 the Watts uprising erupted, and the National Guard set up a no-cross line on Crenshaw Boulevard at the foot of the hill communities. The residents of Leimert Park, situated on the east side of Crenshaw Boulevard, must have felt a pronounced sense of vulnerability. Alonzo was in Europe, sitting in a Paris café, when he heard about Watts. He recalls people he met in Paris asking him: “You’re from Los Angeles. What are you going to do about this?” 8

    In retrospect, Davis observes that it was for the best that he wasn’t there at the time, since he was “hotheaded” and likely would have found himself in trouble. Of course, he knew many artists who actually lived the experience, watching Watts and South Los Angeles burn as fires continued to spread, with no end in sight. Many artists were livid about the destruction, the police brutality, and the poverty that sparked the uprising, and in the aftermath of the rebellion their frustrations manifested in their work. The Davis brothers met a number of these artists before the uprising — including Noah Purifoy, Judson Powell, and John Riddle — when their work was exhibited at the Watts Recreational Center, the site of the Watts Summer Arts Festival.

    Alonzo met artist Dan Concholar in a park where he often went to read. With so many contacts in the arts scene, a lack of local venues in which to experience art (resulting from LACMA’s move), and the artists’ passionate desire to do something in the aftermath of the Watts uprising, the Davis brothers had all the motivation and resources they needed to open the Brockman Gallery. Alonzo notes: “After the Watts riot, there were a lot of artists doing works that were politically significant. They were making statements that were social. We filled a gap and a void there. We just opened a window that had never been available, especially on the West Coast.” 9

    The Brockman Gallery opened in 1967 at 4334 Degnan Boulevard in the center of the Leimert Park Village shopping district. The gallery was named after the brothers’ grandmother Della Brockman, whose maiden name was also Dale’s middle name. Della Brockman’s father was from Charleston, South Carolina, and was of mixed race, the child of a white slave master and a black female slave. He was indentured, and when he left the plantation, he married a Cherokee woman in the Charleston region. The family has never been sure why, but it is known that he eventually returned to the plantation. In the late 1960s, as blacks and African American organizations actively adopted African names, the Davis brothers decided to use the name Brockman in honor of their great-grandfather, the mixed-race slave who married the Cherokee woman. By celebrating their southern roots rather than their more distant African ones, they hoped to display that they were comfortable with their family’s history and felt no need to deny their slave and racial heritage. Such an outright embrace of a slave name ran counter to the position of some black nationalist groups. “When we adopted Brockman as our name, we took heat [for the] slave name because it was a time of Black Nationalism in Los Angeles. We were respected [for our efforts] but we had a slave name,” recalls Alonzo.

    Starting the gallery in 1967 was not easy. Alonzo was teaching art at Manual Arts High School in South Los Angeles on Figueroa Boulevard, less than fifteen blocks from where Dale was completing his undergraduate degree in art at the University of Southern California. Recognizing a need in their community and driven by a longing to go into business for themselves, they established the gallery as a private enterprise rather than a nonprofit entity. Even though they were community-minded, they viewed this opportunity as a career path and from the beginning focused on selling art as a commercial venture. They joined the Art Dealers Association of Southern California and received help and ideas from the professional organization. A number of people in the art business at that time were members of the Jewish community, and they wanted to see Brockman Gallery succeed. One such person was Benjamin Horowitz, who founded the Heritage Gallery on La Cienega Boulevard in Los Angeles and was well known to the Davis brothers because of his early promotion of works by Charles White, David Alfaro Siqueiros, and Jose Clemente Orozco. In 1965 Horowitz authored Images of Dignity: The Drawings of Charles White, a text that helped make Charles White wildly popular. 10

    Alonzo Davis with printmaker Ruth Waddy | Photo: Courtesy of Brockman Gallery Archive

    Alonzo Davis with printmaker Ruth Waddy | Photo: Courtesy of Brockman Gallery Archive

    Another of Alonzo and Dale’s allies was Joan Ankrum, founder of the Ankrum Gallery, established in 1960 (to 1990), also on La Cienega. She showed the work of Bernie Casey
    for many years. Both Horowitz and Ankrum sensed that while the Davis brothers lacked a working understanding of the art business, they possessed a strong desire to fill a void in their community. Alonzo and Dale also credit William “Bill” Pajaud, artist and curator of the Golden State Mutual Life Insurance Art Collection, as an “active participant in the growth of our experience as gallerists — he was very focused on our contributions [to the black arts community] and challenged us to maintain a very professional business model — Bill was [a] dynamic and forceful challenger,” according to Dale. Alonzo remembers, “[We] learned by the seat of our pants — bookkeeping, consignment, and setting up a business account, sales and recordkeeping — [we] had no formal education.” Both brothers contributed to the daily management of the gallery, including conceptualizing and implementing the diverse programming that became a signature of the Brockman Gallery.

    Alonzo and Dale found themselves caught between the model of community involvement embodied by Topper Carew and the strictly business model informed by lessons they were learning from other art dealers. Shortly after the Brockman Gallery opened, Suzanne Jackson opened Gallery 32 on North Lafayette Park Place near MacArthur Park and the Otis and Chouinard Art Institutes, not far from downtown Los Angeles. Jackson’s approach to running a gallery differed from the approach favored by Alonzo and Dale Davis. Her gallery, much like Carew’s space, was a vehicle for community activism and change, a place where artists gathered to discuss politics and society. As young entrepreneurs running a for-profit business, the Davis brothers made difficult business decisions that some community-minded artists did not favor. Frequent comparisons were made between the commercial example of the Brockman Gallery and the nonprofit example of Gallery 32; the former was often derided for pursuing a business model, while the latter was celebrated as a site where social change could be effected. Despite such criticisms, the Brockman Gallery hosted the Black Artists Association (BAC), offering a forum for dialogues on the work of black artists. Nevertheless, the Davis brothers experienced some backlash from artists represented by the Brockman Gallery who felt that Alonzo and Dale were taking advantage of them.

    Interior of Brockman Gallery, unnamed John Riddle sculpture and <em>Portrait of Paul Robeson</em>, by John Scott | Photo: Courtesy of Brockman Gallery Archive

    Interior of Brockman Gallery, unnamed John Riddle sculpture and Portrait of Paul Robeson, by John Scott | Photo: Courtesy of Brockman Gallery Archive

    Some artists believed that the brothers should share more of their profits. Artists who thought that they should receive more than the standard percentages that other art dealers were awarding began to sell their work independently of the Brockman Gallery, although the Davis brothers continued to promote the artists’ works. Some artists, however, were endowed with a keener understanding of the art world and the challenges faced by the Brockman Gallery; in any case, the Davis brothers had no shortage of talent to represent. John Outterbridge recalls many of the artists who came through the Brockman’s doors, including Timothy Washington, Ruth Waddy, and Samella Lewis. Lewis and fellow artist Bernie Casey also founded Contemporary Crafts Gallery in 1970, and Lewis opened the first African American-owned art book publishing house, Contemporary Crafts Publishers, Inc., in the gallery.

    As a result of the Watts rebellion, more attention was focused on LACMA’s need to service a broader community with its programs. In 1968 the BAC, founded by its black employees, advocated for and organized a black cultural festival in conjunction with the exhibition “The Sculpture of Black Africa: The Paul Tishman Collection.” In 1972 Robert Wilson became their first black board member, and in 1976 LACMA became one of the first museums in the country to organize an exhibition of the work of African American artists: “Two Centuries of Black American Art,” curated by artist and art historian David Driskell. Also in 1976 Samella Lewis founded the Museum of African American Art in the May Company Department Store building on Crenshaw Boulevard, just blocks from the Brockman Gallery, and the California African American Museum, chartered by the state in 1977, opened its doors in its new forty-four-thousand-square-foot building designed by black architects Jack Haywood and Vince Proby during the 1984 Summer Olympic Games in Exposition Park, the same park where LACMA once operated.

    List of artists who exhibited at the Brockman Gallery or participated in Brockman Production programs | Courtesy Brockman Gallery Archive

    List of artists who exhibited at the Brockman Gallery or participated in Brockman Production programs | Courtesy Brockman Gallery Archive

    These new institutions signaled the promise of a healthy black cultural scene for Los Angeles. After opening the Brockman Gallery, Alonzo left his high school teaching job to enter graduate school at Otis Art Institute. Though it had been difficult to sustain the business, the Davis brothers calculated that by 1970 the gallery could survive on its own. But the challenges from the black arts community continued to swell, ultimately obstructing the brothers’ desire and ability to fully implement the business model they had developed. Finally, they decided to form a nonprofit. As a nonprofit, the Brockman Gallery could receive grants from the city, state, and federal government for programming and educational projects. While the Brockman Gallery focused on exhibiting artwork for sale, Brockman Productions was established to address the social and artistic needs of the community. Brockman Productions received funding for film festivals notable for a number of important screenings, including “Child Resistance” by UCLA film student Haile Gerima, and one of the earliest screenings of Larry Clark’s film “As Above, So Below.”

    In the 1970s Brockman Productions screened the films of UCLA film student Ben Caldwell. Caldwell and fellow film student Charles Burnett, director of “To Sleep with Anger,” joined forces to focus their cinematic attentions on L.A.’s black communities, setting up shop in Leimert Park Village. With other creative professionals moving into the area, the neighborhood soon became a black cultural Mecca. The Brockman Productions mural program included muralists such as Richard Wyatt, Judy Baca, Kent Twitchell, and Frank Romero. The Brockman music component introduced the music of instrumental group Hiroshima and offered frequent music happenings with Horace Tapscott and the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra at free concerts. When the Brockman Productions programming became successful, the Brockman Gallery began to attract emerging artists from other parts of the state and beyond: Mildred Howard, Carrie May Weems, Joe Sam, Maren Hassinger, and Martin Payton, among others. Many established black artists also exhibited there, including Elizabeth Catlett, Charles White, John Biggers, Jacob Lawrence, and Romare Bearden. Dale attributes Brockman’s success as a nonprofit to a cultural shift that offered new, broader opportunities to cultural centers in the area. The Davis brothers’ exposure to art and culture as young children impacted their view of the art world, their sense of aesthetics, and their investigations beyond image-based art. In the gallery, they offered high school and college students internships to help them learn the business of art and become familiar with some of the issues associated with community-based and for-profit galleries.

    Horace Tapscott with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra | Photo: Courtesy of Brockman Gallery Archive

    Horace Tapscott with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra | Photo: Courtesy of Brockman Gallery Archive

    Initially, events put on by Brockman Productions were not actively promoted; the Davis brothers mistakenly thought that they were in a financially stable neighborhood and assumed that if they developed events, the population in the Hills and beyond would support them. However, the wealthier Hills residents were looking westward, and that is where their income went.

    Though some collectors purchased from the Brockman Gallery and attended Brockman events, their support was limited. Realizing that they could not rely solely on the black community to sustain themselves, Alonzo and Dale expanded their support base, reaching out to Hollywood and Jewish communities that in turn brought in another group of clients and made residents in the Hills community more responsive. Like Gallery 32, the Brockman Gallery featured black artists — though not exclusively. To expand their support base, the Davis brothers also featured Hispanic, Anglo, and Japanese artists who had grown up in the area and had gone to school there and were still part of the surrounding community. While Alonzo was at Otis, he convinced his artist colleagues to exhibit at the Brockman Gallery, which was viewed as an alternative exhibition space. Because of the diverse roster of artists promoted by the Davis brothers, a community joke circulated that the Brockman Gallery showed non-black artists more than the white galleries showed black artists.

    After Dale married in 1980, he became less involved at the gallery. Though he continued to marginally participate in gallery activities, he became much more active in the nonprofit side of the business, Brockman Productions. Later Alonzo left the for-profit side of the gallery in 1987 to become the interim director of the public art program for the city and county of Sacramento:

    Part of leaving Los Angeles and relocating to Sacramento was trying to find my identity as an artist and move from other artists pulling at me, wanting more of my time and resources for community-oriented programs — [as an artist] I wanted to do my own thing. The community was so hard and expectations were so great and you were only seen in one direction and not as a multi-directional person — it just wasn’t working.

    Debbie Byars, a former student of Dale’s, became acting director while Alonzo was away. As an artist and administrator, Alonzo continued to pursue his personal interests. After his stint in Sacramento, he was awarded a six-month fellowship at the East/West Center in Hawaii. On his return, Alonzo realized that the gallery was failing and that his and Dale’s interests lay elsewhere. In 1990 they decided to close the gallery. They turned over their lease to Mary and Jacqueline Kimbrough, who opened Zambezi Bazaar. Mary and Jacqueline come from a politically active family and, along with their brother Alden, collect books, ephemera, and recorded music, as well as many other objects that help tell the story of blacks in America. At the time, the Brockman Gallery consisted of four storefronts: for twenty years the Davis brothers had worked to build an artistic village, and they had several artist-in-residence spaces. Dale remembers their creation as an icon of cultural pride, entrepreneurship, and the power of vision, common purpose, and determination.

    A close up view of Alonzo Davis and Brockman Gallery as part of the historical tableau (alongside Horace Tapscott and Richard Fulton of 5th St. Dicks) on the mural behind the Vision Theater | Photo: Alvaro Parra

    A close up view of Alonzo Davis and Brockman Gallery as part of the historical tableau (alongside Horace Tapscott and Richard Fulton of 5th St. Dicks) on the mural behind the Vision Theater | Photo: Alvaro Parra

    In the 1990s, just after the Brockman Gallery closed, “the village” experienced a cultural rebirth, with new businesses popping up in Leimert Park. Along with the Kimbroughs’ Zambezi Bazaar, the new crop of businesses included Brian Breye’s Museum in Black (specializing in the exhibition and sale of African art and artifacts and of black memorabilia), Marla Gibbs’s Vision Theatre Complex (formerly the Leimert Theater, built in 1930 as a joint venture between Walter H. Leimert and Howard Hughes), Gibbs’s Crossroads Art Academy (a provider of arts programs for youth), Babe’s and Ricky’s Inn (a club that relocated from Central Avenue to the Village), Kaos Network and Project Blowed (which offered creative adults and young people a meeting place and focused on new media technology; it was created by Ben Caldwell, who had worked at the Brockman Gallery in the 1970s), and Kamau Daaood’s World Stage (a venue for spoken word readings, jam sessions, workshops, and performances, founded in 1989 by drummer Billy Higgins). The Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, established in 1961, continued to be an active cultural presence in the village.

    Although homeownership in Leimert Park remains high, many businesses in the village, a
    prime piece of Los Angeles real estate, are leased. Village rents steadily rose, and many businesses lost their leases between 2000 and 2010. New cultural footprints have begun to take hold in the area. Artist Mark Bradford has opened a street-level storefront studio in Leimert Park on the site of his mother’s hair salon (where he was a stylist before going to art school at the age of thirty). In 2010 Eileen Harris Norton founded the Leimert Project, a promising new space, next to the Zambezi Bazaar in one of the same storefronts occupied by the Brockman Gallery during its years on the block. 11

    Today Los Angeles is experiencing a resurgence of interest in its art scene, and artists every-where — including black artists — increasingly participate in a transnational art dialogue. Decades ago Alonzo and Dale Davis planted an entrepreneurial cultural seed that continues to manifest in Leimert Park Village. That seed germinated many miles away in a small, predominantly black college community founded on Booker T. Washington’s affirmation of the virtue of self-reliance, a notion that was reinforced by the boundaries of racial segregation. Though society has come a long way since the days of Jim Crow, the story of the Davis brothers reminds us that it is more important than ever to acknowledge how viable community examples and business models can nurture desired outcomes and affect the way a community thinks about itself.
    Author’s Note

    Although Alonzo continued his art practice, it has suffered due to the time he has devoted to running a private gallery. After closing the gallery, he reestablished himself as a visual artist without, as he says, “having the chain of the gallery holding me down.” He was an artist-in- residence at Lawrence University and then became a visiting artist at San Antonio Art Institute in Texas before taking a position from 1993 to 2002 as academic dean at the Memphis School of Art in Tennessee. He had gained a great deal of business and nonprofit work experience with the Brockman Gallery, so arts administration was an easy transition, and he was at ease in a creative environment where fresh and innovative ideas could flourish without the restrictions of racial expectations. He has also been a fellow several times at the Virginia Center for Creative Arts and now serves as one of its advisers. After leaving Memphis he continued his entrepreneurial activities, opening his own artist residency, AIR, in the artist community of Paducah, Kentucky. Most of the year he spends his time in his studio at Montpelier Art Center in Laurel, Maryland, and he exhibits widely. Dale still resides in Los Angeles, not far from Leimert Park Village and the site of the former Brockman Gallery. Dale taught art at nearby Susan B. Dorsey High School in Leimert Park until he retired from teaching in 2002. His mixed-media art practice has continued without interruption, and he is exhibiting more due to the renewed interest in LA artists. He also continues to be involved with Brockman Productions as a board member.



    1 In 1932 the US Public Health Service and the Tuskegee Institute
    enrolled four hundred poor black men in a project to study untreated syphilis, known in the local community as “bad blood.” The men actually had syphilis.

    2 According to the Tuskegee Airmen website, “The black airmen who became single-engine or multi-engine pilots were trained at Tuskegee Army Air Field (TAAF) in Tuskegee, Alabama.”

    3 See Eileen Southern, The Music of Black Americans: A History (New York: Norton, 1983), 419. Dawson knew Douglas, and when I visited Dawson in the early 1980s, he had examples of Douglas’s art in his home. Southern states, “According to the composer, a link was taken out of a human chain when the first African was taken from the shores of his native land and sent into slavery.”

    4 Dale Davis, pers. comm., February 28, 2011. Additionally, George Washington Carver, the scientist and artist, is known for his cultivation of amaryllis bulbs, which he shared with the institute community. He also developed printers ink from surplus
    peanuts. The ink was of particular interest to the campus print shop.

    5 Alonzo Davis, interview by author, March 27, 2011.

    6 Dale Davis, “Brockman Gallery,” photocopy, February 2011.

    7 The Meredith March was named after James Meredith, who in 1962 became the first black student to attend the University of Mississippi after federal courts ruled that blacks could not be denied entry based on their race. Meredith continued his graduate studies at Columbia University, and on June 5, 1966, he and a few companions began a “march against fear” walk from Memphis, Tennessee, to Jackson, Mississippi, to register black voters. On June 6 he was wounded by a shotgun blast.

    8 Alonzo Davis, interview by author, March 27, 2011.

    9 See Jeannette Lindsay, dir., Leimert Park: The Story of a Village in South Central Los Angeles, 2006.

    10 See Heritage Gallery, (November 23, 2011).

    Special Thanks to Duke University Press. You can find the article in its original form here:

    Lizetta LeFalle-Collins, “Planting A Seed: The Brockman Gallery and the Village,” in Nka: Journal of Contemporary African Art, Volume 3, no. , pp. 4-15. Copyright, 2012, Nka Publications. All rights reserved. Republished by permission of the copyrightholder, and the present publisher, Duke University Press.


    Mark Bradford’s Art + Practice to bring art, social services to Leimert


    Carolina A. Miranda


    ntemporary art gallery, opened its doors on the same block.


    The eastern side of Degnan Boulevard and West 43rd Place in Leimert Park at first glance seems like just another crestfallen Los Angeles block. Doors are closed. Gates are shut. Plywood obscures the windows on an ornate Art Deco-era structure topped by a stupa-like tower.

    But walk closer and you’ll hear a hive of activity in storefronts along the block as workers sand, paint and debate where the light switches will go. A singular art and social services collaboration is being constructed.

    Art + Practice, as this unusual project is called, will showcase museum-grade contemporary art exhibitions, while also offering services for youth in the city’s foster care system.
    Art and Practice: Eileen Harris Norton and Allan DiCastro
    Spearheaded by artist Mark Bradford, Art + Practice will bring a unique combination of contemporary art, as well as social services for foster youth, to Leimert Park. A+P co-founders Eileen Harris Norton, left, and Allan DiCastro check in on construction of a gallery space. (Christina House / For The Times)

    “This is the bookstore,” says Allan DiCastro, the organization’s interim director, as he walks through an empty Degnan Boulevard storefront being lined with wood panels. “We’re adding a second floor right there — that’s where the lectures will be. And we’re adding oak shelves. It will have a nice, warm feel.”

    Behind him follows noted art collector and philanthropist Eileen Harris Norton, one of A+P’s founders, who on this brisk Friday afternoon stops to admire the day’s work. “It’s going to be an incredible space,” she says, as she takes it all in.
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    When it opens in February, A+P won’t be a typical community arts center. The Hammer Museum is providing curatorial muscle to stage exhibitions. The RightWay Foundation, which moved its headquarters in August to A+P, provides job training and mental health services to foster youth. And the bookstore is the venerable Eso Won Books, which will leave its Degnan Boulevard space for a storefront in the A+P complex.

    Providing inspiration and guidance throughout is co-founder Mark Bradford, whose work has been shown at the Hammer, New York’s Whitney Museum and Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts. Bradford is also a 2009 recipient of a MacArthur Foundation fellowship.

    “No one in L.A. County has a program like this,” says RightWay founder and director Franco Vega. “In fact, I don’t think anyone in the country has a program like this. There’s a program in Boston that mixes sports and mental health services, but not art.”

    A+P is a result of the concerted efforts of Bradford, DiCastro and Norton, a close-knit, easygoing crew. DiCastro and Bradford have been a couple since the late 1990s. And Norton met Bradford in the early 2000s, just before the artist’s the historic 2001 exhibition “Freestyle” at the Studio Museum in Harlem.
    Art + Practice Street View
    On South Leimert Blvd., A+P is teaming up with the RightWay Foundation to offer job training and mental health services to L.A. foster youth. (Christina House / For The Times)

    “I was the first to buy from him,” she says. “He was a struggling artist. He’d finished CalArts but was still working at [his mother’s] hair salon. I had my hair done by him — back when I still had hair.”

    A+P is a long-held dream for Bradford and DiCastro.

    “For years, Mark and I have been talking about how we can do something that crosses volunteerism and art,” says DiCastro, who has a banking background and for nearly a decade helped run the Mid-City Neighborhood Council. “So much of what happens has to do with kids not having enough to do. So how can you change that?”
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    When the Art Deco building at Degnan and West 43rd Place went on the market a couple of years back. DiCastro says they found their place: Leimert Park, around the corner from where Bradford’s mother once operated her hair salon and where Bradford long maintained the studio where he began to produce the expressive, abstracted works for which he’d become known — works that, in their early days, contained the paper end wraps used in perms.

    Once complete, the A+P campus will consist of half a dozen buildings housing not just the art gallery, bookstore and RightWay offices, but space for artist studios.

    Bradford and DiCastro supplied a majority of the seed money to launch A+P, which has allowed the organization, a privately operated 501(c)3 foundation, to purchase some of the real estate it is occupying — including the graceful building at Degnan and West 43rd Place that will serve as the art gallery.

    The project is also covered, in part, by a $600,000 grant from the James Irvine Foundation, as part of a Hammer initiative to create programming and increase arts access to residents of African American communities in South Los Angeles.
    No one in L.A. County has a program like this. In fact, I don’t think anyone in the country has a program like this. – Franco Vega, founder and director, RightWay Foundation

    “Almost every department in our museum is engaged in the process,” says Hammer director Annie Philbin of her institution’s relationship with A+P. “Whether it’s administrative helping with a budget or public relations supporting them on marketing and publicity. The expectation is that we will support and guide them in not-for-profit practices, but it also brings the museum out beyond our four walls.”

    Bradford, unavailable to join DiCastro and Norton on this day’s tour, adds in a short statement, “Annie has been a supporter of Art + Practice since the inception.” He also notes that it’s a natural collaboration with an institution that has shown his work for almost 15 years. (The museum also honored him at its annual gala in October.)

    DiCastro and Norton took me on a tour of the in-progress spaces. The gallery that will be housed in the Art Deco building is still raw and un-primed, with wires and pipes poking out dangerously from an uneven cement floor. (They are awaiting permits from the city to begin construction.) But the social services offices — a couple of well-appointed storefronts on South Leimert Boulevard — are not only complete, they are already in use, boasting a tidy computer lab and a training center.

    For DiCastro, one of the most crucial aspects of the project was getting the social service component just right. He and Bradford conducted extensive research on what sorts of services the neighborhood might need.

    “In doing our research, we realized that in this ZIP Code, there is an epidemic of kids in foster care,” he says. “So it became important to us to focus our efforts there.”

    In fact, L.A. County has the largest foster youth population in the nation (almost 30,000 kids), says RightWay’s Vega. A lot of that population resides in South Los Angeles. Dorsey High School and Crenshaw High School, both less than two miles from A+P, have the city’s highest concentrations of foster youth.

    Vega, a former foster child himself, says that when he was approached by A+P, he was intrigued by the model — which not only has the potential to expose foster youth to art but the art world to the challenges faced by Los Angeles’ foster youth.

    “I remember, [Mark] called me about a meeting,” he says with a chuckle, “and I was like, ‘Who is Mark Bradford?’ But we had the most relaxed conversation ever. He was asking me, ‘What do you want do do?’ ”
    Mark Bradford at Hammer Gala
    For years, artist Mark Bradford maintained a studio in Leimert Park, where he is now involved in establishing A+P. He is seen here in October at the Hammer Museum gala in his honor. (David McNew / AFP/Getty Images)

    The next day Bradford approached him about meeting with the A+P board. Vega says the session went so well he not only decided to participate, he moved the RightWay Foundation’s headquarters to A+P’s Leimert Park campus. Since late summer, the organization has been providing life-preparedness classes for foster youth at its A+P location, which has a new computer lab. RightWay’s service include clinical counseling, resume building and job training. (The organization regularly places foster youth in jobs at places such as the Staples Center and USC’s Galen Center.)

    “Everything they have promised us has come through,” Vega says. “And you couldn’t pick a better location. When the Metro is finished in 2019, you won’t be able to make it easier for youth than this.”

    The bonus: RightWay gets two years’ free rent as part of the deal.

    The Hammer’s Philbin says that the time and care that A+P has put into finding strong partners has been important to the museum, too.
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    “Mark and Allan are very serious and thoughtful,” she says. “They’ve done a lot of research on foster care issues and their approach is not springing out of nowhere.”

    Equally important to all of this is Leimert’s Park history as a center of African American culture.

    The neighborhood, home to Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles and other important African American figures, is where brothers Dale and Alonzo Davis ran the Brockman Gallery, L.A.’s first African American-owned commercial gallery. It was part of the community from the mid-1960s to the late 1980s. And for a time, Norton ran a space on Degnan Boulevard called Leimert Project. Last February, Papillion, a contemporary art gallery, opened its doors on the same block.
    Eso Won Books space
    Longtime Leimert Park culture outpost Eso Won Books will have a new store within the A+P space. Eso Won owners James Fulgate, center, and Thomas Hamilton, right, visit the under-construction shop on Degnan Boulevard with members of A+P. (Christina House / For The Times)

    “I have a foundation, and the issues I’ve been concerned with are families in underserved communities,” says Norton. “But the art component is very important to me, too. This area has so much history. Brockman helped bring them all in. This helps keep the arts here.”

    As part of its mission, A+P will provide studios to three artists in residence, terms that already began in August. Among the first artists to participate: Dale Brockman Davis, founder of the famed Brockman Gallery, who is using the space to work on his archive.

    The public lecture space will be programmed in collaboration with the owners of Eso Won Books, James Fulgate and Thomas Hamilton. Since the 1980s, their bookshop has been a gathering place for African American authors and the community. (In 1995, the shop played host to a little-known activist by the name of Barack Obama, who was promoting his book “Dreams From My Father.”)
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    And, of course, there’s the exhibition program, which will include a wide range of shows managed by Hammer Museum curators. The first exhibition, opening Feb. 28 in A+P’s remodeled, two-room gallery space on South Leimert Boulevard, will showcase new work by L.A.-based conceptual artist Charles Gaines. This show will be in conjunction with a Hammer survey of early works, “Charles Gaines: Gridwork 1974-1989,” which goes on view at the Westwood museum on Feb. 7.

    “It all fell right into place,” says Norton. “He’s local and he’s having a big show at the Hammer and he was very enthusiastic. It was an opportunity to show some new works.”

    Among the new pieces at Gaines’ A+P show will be a 12-part series that combines a 1911 Manuel de Falla opera with a 1964 speech by Black Panthers activist Stokely Carmichael. Gaines will combine music and text to draw attention to class and race issues.
    In the A+P computer lab
    A+P co-founders Norton, left, and DiCastro, stand inside the computer lab operated by the RightWay Foundation at A+P. The lab allows underserved youth to check email, apply for jobs and do research. (Christina House / For The Times)

    Subsequent A+P exhibitions will feature L.A. assemblagist John Outterbridge and mixed-media artist Njideka Akunyili Crosby.

    Michelle Papillion, who operates Papillion gallery, couldn’t be more thrilled by A+P’s imminent debut.

    “People want culture,” she says. “They want things that they can participate in and go to in their own neighborhood. And then go home with that information and continue to sort it out in conversation in their own circles.”

    DiCastro’s hope is that A+P can honor the history of Leimert Park, while offering its residents fresh moments of discovery.

    “The idea is to enhance what is already here,” he says. “Mark has spent so much time here. This is his way of giving back.”




    Mark Grotjahn Credit Monica Almeida/The New York Times

    LOS ANGELES — It started out as a lark. After long days in the studio making his labor-intensive “Butterfly” paintings about a decade ago, Mark Grotjahn would unwind by taking empty supply boxes or beer cartons and gluing on toilet-paper tubes as noses. Then he would paint crude eyes and mouths.

    The cardboard sculptures offered him a chance to “get dirty and messy, to be expressive in a different way,” he said, unlike the densely layered “Butterfly” canvases, which have been compared to Barnett Newman’s “zips” for their focus on a single abstract motif.

    He did not intend to exhibit what he called his masks and gave several away as gifts. The bathroom humor was obvious.

    But intentions can change; the art world has a soft spot for a certain amount of nose-thumbing irreverence; and these days, even Mr. Grotjahn’s clownish sculptures — now cast in bronze before being painted — are getting serious play.

    Early works from the series, introduced at Gagosian Gallery in New York two years ago, were bought by the Guggenheim and Broad museums, among others. Newer and larger examples are now heading to the Nasher Sculpture Center in Dallas for Mr. Grotjahn’s first museum exhibition of sculptural works, opening May 31.


    Works in Mark Grotjahn’s studio headed to the Nasher Sculpture Center. Credit Monica Almeida/The New York Times

    “I think the masks are fascinating objects and also important as painting surfaces that allow for tremendous freedom and experimentation,” said Jeremy Strick, director at the Nasher. “You could see it as a way for Mark to give himself license to do things he wouldn’t ordinarily do, to paint in different ways.”

    On May 1, Blum & Poe, his longtime gallery in Los Angeles, opened a space on the Upper East Side of Manhattan with a survey of the “Butterfly” paintings, through June 21.

    The May shows represent two extremes of this artist’s work that are not always easy to reconcile. What is a rigorous abstract painter doing making funny faces out of leftover Heineken cases, works that he himself compares to grade-school art projects? Has he lost his way as a painter, or discovered an important second act as a sculptor?

    What becomes clear from a recent visit to his sculpture studio is that Mr. Grotjahn has found a second act in his personal life, having stopped drinking about a year ago. And he has begun giving back to the art world, donating money to the Mike Kelley exhibition now at the Museum of Contemporary Art and joining the board there as its youngest artist-trustee, at 46. The move surprised many who didn’t see him as much of a joiner, and Mr. Grotjahn, who is married to the painter Jennifer Guidi and is the father of two young girls, called it a personal first.

    Sitting in his studio, a large space that used to be an embroidery factory, he looked fit and relaxed, with his graying beard neatly trimmed and his pale blue eyes clear. “I was a binge drinker; I drank when I traveled,” he said with a bit of a surfer-dude drawl and some expletives for emphasis. “From what people say, I look a lot better and a lot younger than I did. It’s a completely different way of living your life.”


    “Untitled (Circus No. 1 Face 44.18)” in his “Circus” series, 2012. Credit Douglas M. Parker

    Mr. Strick, director of the Nasher, said what strikes him about Mr. Grotjahn right now is “his amazing productivity,” as he works on several new paintings and sculptures spread out over two studios.

    One room of the sculpture studio is filled with a small army of the boxy, rough-and-tumble figures heading for the Nasher. Many look as if they were attacked with pencils or knives, poked and ripped, before being cast in bronze and painted.

    Most are finger paintings, though done with gloved hands for protection.

    Of the sculptures’ primitive look, Mr. Grotjahn said: “I think my masks reference artists who reference primitivism. They’re not directly connected to tribal arts. I think they look more like third-grade art projects.”

    “There’s obviously a lot of phallic humor and toilet humor,” he added, looking at a tall, skinny bronze mask smeared with red and yellow paint. “But it also comes out of some of the art I was thinking about when I first moved to L.A.: artists interested in the pathetic,” he added, mentioning Mike Kelley and Paul McCarthy.


    “Untitled (Orange Butterfly Blue MG03) #1″  in his “Butterfly” series, 2003. Credit Douglas M. Parker

    “And just because the masks started out casually or were fun personally doesn’t mean they’re any less serious,” he said.

    The masks have been growing more complex, featuring double noses or incorporating some tools used in lost-wax casting into the structures. They are also becoming more painterly, with one mask in a loose, Impressionistic style that makes Mr. Grotjahn think of Monet’s water lilies, he said. He sees echoes of Cy Twombly and Julian Schnabel in the dense looping scrawls on another. Others recall Jackson Pollock.

    Today, Mr. Grotjahn’s paintings often surpass the million-dollar mark at auction (with a record $6.5 million for a work bid up by Mr. Gagosian at a charity auction). And selling one “Butterfly” painting from his own stock enabled him to make a down payment on a house in Los Angeles.

    But he was hardly an overnight success. Born in 1968 in Pasadena, Calif., he grew up in Mill Valley, a suburb of San Francisco “that was all hippies back then,” he said. “We were dirty kids on dirt bikes.”

    After getting his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in art, he settled in Los Angeles in 1996. For a year or so, he ran an art gallery in Hollywood with a friend from the University of California, Berkeley.


    “Untitled (African, Gated Front and Back Mask M34.b)” is a 2014 bronze based on a cardboard box and tubes. Credit Monica Almeida/The New York Times

    He also pursued his own art projects. For one series, he replicated the signs of small businesses in the area and then gave business owners his painted signs in exchange for their real ones. For another, he began drawing or painting perspective lines converging in a way that made the surface itself seem to bulge and recede.

    He had his first solo shows with Blum & Poe, then a promising small gallery in Santa Monica, in 1998 and 2000. He remembers selling only one artwork from the second show, pocketing $1,750.

    “Selling only one piece for a year and a half of work was a bit of a whipping,” he said, noting wryly that Jeff Poe, one of the gallery’s owners, called the show “a critical and financial disappointment.” Mr. Grotjahn turned to poker for income, spending the next 10 months playing Texas Hold ’Em in a casino in the nearby city of Commerce. “I played like an addict, maybe 13 or 14 hours a day, seven days a week,” he said, picking at a snack of vegetables on a tray. “I wasn’t playing to win but to lose myself.”

    During this period, he began the “Butterfly” paintings, so named because of the way their lines radiate from a central, vertical axis. The first one started as a colorful perspectival painting in which nested V’s radiate from the horizon line, like a sunset and streetscape.

    But he wasn’t happy until he flipped the canvas 90 degrees: “I found that rotating it took all the landscape out, so it became a nonobjective painting.“

    Douglas Fogle, an independent curator who organized the “Butterfly” exhibition for Blum & Poe, calls this series Mr. Grotjahn’s breakthrough work. He notes that the artist’s off-kilter, hand-painted geometry — unlike the hard-edge look created by applying and peeling off tape — places him in “a tradition that goes back to early abstract painting by Mondrian and Malevich,” adding, “I see his ties with Constructivist painting.”

    Mr. Grotjahn stopped painting the “Butterfly” works in 2008, after tearing his rotator cuff and breaking a shoulder bone in a ski accident. He found he couldn’t paint for more than two hours at a time. Since then, he has discovered physical therapy and looser, less intensive ways of painting. One resulting series, the “Face” paintings, feature almond-shaped, Picasso-like eyes peering out from wild skeins of color. When reviewing the work in 2011, New York magazine’s art critic, Jerry Saltz, responded to the images’ untamed or “shamanic” power, calling it “the best show by a midcareer painter that I’ve seen in a long time.”

    Mr. Grotjahn has since turned his attention to the so-called “Circus” paintings, which are close in spirit to the “Faces,” though the ropes of paint look even more tangled — almost braided — and the almond eyes have morphed into larger leaflike structures. These new paintings will be shown starting May 16 at the Kunstverein Freiburg, a swimming pool turned exhibition hall in Germany.

    He painted both the “Face” and “Circus” series on cardboard mounted on linen, a clear link to his cardboard sculptures. “It’s all connected,” he said. “When I started the masks, I left them in my studio where I painted. I looked at them all the time. And now, I’m watching them become more like traditional paintings. I think you’ll see them influencing my painting in the future. I’m sure of it.”

    Correction: May 18, 2014
    A picture caption last Sunday with an article about the visual artist Mark Grotjahn referred incorrectly to the titles of three of his works. The painting in his “Circus” series is “Untitled (Circus No. 1 Face 44.18)”; the painting in his “Butterfly” series is “Untitled (Orange Butterfly Blue MG03) #1”; and the bronze sculpture is called “Untitled (African, Gated Front and Back Mask M34.b).” These works were not untitled.


    The sculptor Thomas Houseago was practically bouncing off the walls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art late last month as he toured some of the treasures on the first floor. He unleashed a torrent of praise — “insane,” “unbelievable, “crazy,” “weird,” “wicked” — as he pinballed from an ancient Greek grave stele to a striking series of squatting Aztec and Maya figures.

    The British-born Mr. Houseago lives in Los Angeles but knows the Met’s collection well, and some of the Central American pieces directly inspired one of his best-known works, “Baby,” a huge crouching figure in plaster, wood and iron that was shown in the Whitney Biennial in 2010.

    He stopped in front of a 19th-century wood house post figure from the Indonesian Sentani people with a wide, carved grin. “He’s smiling at death,” said Mr. Houseago, whose bright blue eyes were blazing beneath his fiery red hair. “Sculpture beats death.”

    Coming from him, it made sense: the high-energy Mr. Houseago (pronounced HOWZ-a-go), 42, sculpts as if his life depended on it.


    Works on the wall at Thomas Houseago’s studio in Los Angeles. Credit Sam Comen for The New York Times

    And according to him, it does. “My practice sustains me,” he said. “If I don’t work, I get socially bizarre and agitated. I need my practice to kind of keep me good with the world.”

    His intensity has propelled him on an unusual path, from a modern version of a Dickensian childhood in Leeds, England, and then 15 years of struggle — from bankruptcy to boozy binges and a car accident that had him “hanging off the edge of a cliff,” in his words — to art world success.

    As late as 2006, he was working in construction to make ends meet in Los Angeles; now, he is represented by two of the most powerful galleries, Gagosian and Hauser & Wirth. And he tore through a succession of other top dealers to get there. This week, Hauser & Wirth in Chelsea debuts a single large installation, “Moun Room,” which Mr. Houseago calls his “first truly American piece” — he holds dual citizenship — and his “first proper New York show.”

    Mr. Houseago made his name with towering, hulking figures and masks that draw on ancient art as well as the tradition of Picasso, Rodin and Brancusi. The plaster pieces have rough-hewed surfaces, with the iron rebar that holds them together exposed in places, giving his work a sense of vulnerability at odds with their size. Wood and other materials are also incorporated, and he often draws on the sculptures.

    But “Moun Room,” an architectural installation rather than a figure, is something of a departure for him.

    He called the work, a 36-by-45-foot environment with 12-foot-high plaster walls and a progression of different spaces, “a visual maze with a spiritual dimension.” In this case, the gallerygoer who enters it provides the human figure, not Mr. Houseago.

    The name is meant to blend a reference to the moon — the walls have bas-reliefs and voids in circular shapes — with the name of his girlfriend, Muna El Fituri, a writer and translator. Mr. Houseago is getting a divorce and has two children, and he said that his new relationship had opened a chapter for him. “ ‘Moun Room’ is a piece about light and life,” he said. “The future.”

    With its rough, primitive air, “Moun Room” is of a piece with Mr. Houseago’s earlier work. His friend the actor Julian Sands, who is also from the Leeds area, said, “I expected to meet the Minotaur in the center.” Mr. Sands, who went through the piece when it was assembled in Mr. Houseago’s Los Angeles studio, added, “It was like walking through the Labyrinth.”

    If the details get sorted out, Mr. Houseago said, he hopes to debut a large, long-planned work at Rockefeller Center next spring: a series of five large masks that the public can walk through, in the same location as Jeff Koons’s recent “Split Rocker.” Few artists work big as Mr. Houseago does. “It might be the reason you like the work, or the reason you hate it,” said Helen Molesworth, the chief curator of the Museum of Contemporary Art Los Angeles who has written about Mr. Houseago. “It could feel like aggrandizement.”

    She admires the way “his work at a big scale has the intimacy of drawing.”

    When it comes to materials, Mr. Houseago is fairly old school. He usually sculpts in clay and then casts the pieces in plaster or bronze, or both. “I started working with clay because it was cheap, but there’s something about making sculpture from the earth,” he said. “There are so many religious and ceremonial associations.”

    Mr. Houseago works with a crew of about 20 people to make the sculptures, which are so large they sometimes fall apart as they are born — which he said he did not mind.

    “I believe in these broken sculptures,” he said. “I love that. Sculpture is a constant dance with gravity. In my case, anyway.”

    The blustery sincerity in Mr. Houseago’s work and approach makes him an odd man out in today’s irony-rich art world. The South African artist Marlene Dumas, one of Mr. Houseago’s tutors from his time at the Amsterdam art school De Ateliers, wrote in an email that her former student “makes warm work in cold times.”

    “Art without a face-lift,” she added.

    She contrasted him with Mr. Koons, a comparison other critics have also cited. “Thomas works like a force of nature,” she wrote. “If Koons is (clinical) Culture, Houseago is (disastrous) Nature.”

    A childhood surrounded by poverty and violence in Leeds took Mr. Houseago to the edge of disaster many times. “It left me with a fight-or-flight response to the universe,” he said.

    But Mr. Houseago declared himself as an artist at an early age, and by the time he attended Jacob Kramer College (now the Leeds College of Art), he was already testing the limits of expression. “I had a Chris Burden-esque phase,” he recalled, referring to the artist who had himself shot. “I went into the forest, set myself on fire and then leapt into water, and photographed it.”


    Thomas Houseago’s “Baby” (2009-10) at the Whitney Museum of American Art. Credit Chad Batka for The New York Times

    He attended Central St. Martins College of Art in London at the time of the “Young British Artists” phenomenon, though he felt at odds with their polished approach. When he saw a show of late Picasso work at the Tate in 1986, something clicked. “I came away thinking, ‘That’s what I want to do,’ ” Mr. Houseago said. “I saw the cosmic freedom that comes from a life dedicated to art.”

    After studying at De Ateliers, he moved to Brussels. It was a hard-partying period he described as “eight years of lost weekends.”

    Having had little luck making a career of art in Belgium, Mr. Houseago ended up in Los Angeles, where he eventually found the first dealer with whom he found success, David Kordansky, and his first serious patrons, the Miami collectors Donald and Mera Rubell. The Rubells, known as tastemakers in the art world, showed up in a studio that Mr. Houseago had borrowed. “The work was incredibly powerful, and we bought the entire contents of the studio,” Mr. Rubell said.

    Ms. Rubell said they were taken by his fearlessness. “Thomas takes on all of history, with a vengeance,” she said. “He doesn’t apologize. He says, ‘I’m going to stand up to Picasso, and sit at the table with all the greats.’ And he does.”

    The same ambition that fueled what Mr. Houseago acknowledged was a “violently fast” rise also incurred some casualties, like his relationship with Mr. Kordansky.

    “He went through a whole bunch of galleries,” said Mr. Kordansky, who is now close to Mr. Houseago again. “That can be perceived as a game of steppingstones. But he wouldn’t even deny that. Only a few galleries can work with monumental sculptures. He wants the best for his art, and that’s something I respect.”

    Mr. Houseago said that being represented simultaneously by Gagosian and Hauser & Wirth was “extremely complex,” and that he often self-funds his large pieces. “I have a new power I’m enjoying,” he said. “It’s my work, I paid for it. And it’s the privilege of having a market.”

    His “Moon Figure I,” a bronze, sold for $269,000 at Christie’s last year. Hauser & Wirth says that his figurative sculptures sell for up to $1 million. The fact that large pieces rarely make a big profit, since they are particularly time consuming, does not deter Mr. Houseago. “It’s physically difficult to be a sculptor,” he said. “So if you’ve already made that leap, you’re already really comfortable with the absurdity.”

    He added: “The tradition I’m coming from is not pleasure. It’s a certain shamanistic excess.”

    He was smiling broadly as he said it.




    The New Dealer

    David Kordansky might not be the biggest player in the L.A. gallery scene, but his manic enthusiasm and seemingly genuine determination to draw attention to underappreciated artists make him the most interesting by far.


    <strong>INNER CIRCLE</strong> Kordansky (center) with several artists he represents, from left: John Mason, Rashid Johnson, Kathryn Andrews, Jonas Wood, Mary Weatherford, Elad Lassry, Anthony Pearson, Ricky Swallow, Thomas Lawson and Lesley Vance.
    INNER CIRCLE Kordansky (center) with several artists he represents, from left: John Mason, Rashid Johnson, Kathryn Andrews, Jonas Wood, Mary Weatherford, Elad Lassry, Anthony Pearson, Ricky Swallow, Thomas Lawson and Lesley Vance.Credit Elena Dorfmann

    There is little in the world that David Kordansky enjoys more than talking about art. According to the artists he represents and the collectors to whom he sells, this is his gift. The artist Rashid Johnson, whom Kordansky has represented since 2009, said he can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he and Kordansky have spoken about sales. There is no doubt that Kordansky, who is 37, can sell art like few other dealers, but he prefers to leave the closing of the deal to his staff. The venality of the current art business dismays him. Even in the 11 years since he opened his first gallery in L.A.’s Chinatown, the market has become bloated beyond recognition, he said, especially in the auction houses of New York and London. “I believe in art much more than I believe in the art world,” he told me last summer in the kitchen of his home in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles, where he lives with his wife, the artist Mindy Shapero, and their two young children.


    10 of David Kordansky’s Top Cultural Influences

    As he christens his new space in Los Angeles, he shares his creative touchstones — including several artists he doesn’t represent but admires nonetheless.

    In person, Kordansky is almost compulsively candid, by turns hectoring and vulnerable, outspoken and shy. “He wears his heart on his sleeve,” is the phrase I heard over and over again from the people who know him best. Candor can, of course, also be a form of performance. Collectors who enjoy the company of artists appreciate his eccentric, intimate manner, which make them feel like the chosen few.

    Beneath his gym-fit, boyish exterior and positive, Californian outlook, his persistence and gritty ambition are evident still. He may disdain aspects of the art market, but the success of his business is obviously a source of pride. “I didn’t come from money. I’ve bootstrapped every step of the way,” he said.

    Kordansky’s latest gamble is on a 12,705-square-foot gallery — designed by Kulapat Yantrasast, head of the architecture firm wHY — which recently opened in a nondescript midcity neighborhood halfway between the L.A. art hubs of Highland Avenue and Culver City, where his last two spaces were situated. With its bow-truss ceilings and abundance of light, the former martial arts studio and car dealership now exudes an ambience of cloistered calm. Comprised of two equally sized galleries, a viewing room and on-site art storage, the space also boasts a lounge for artists and their families, and private gardens for staff. Kordansky has always aimed to create “a culture of ownership” among his gallery’s employees. In return, he receives a degree of loyalty rare in the notoriously factious and gossipy gallery world.

    Kordansky was born in Biloxi, Miss., to American Jewish parents; his father was a doctor and his mother a family therapist. In the late ’90s he was accepted at the small but esteemed Hartford Art School. In 2000, he moved to the West Coast to study in the graduate art program at the California Institute of the Arts under conceptual artists including Michael Asher, Charles Gaines and Martin Kersels. (Kordansky now represents the painter Thomas Lawson, the dean of the art school.) After college, he continued to make installations, perform and curate exhibitions of friends’ work with his classmate, Jeff Kopp. From the outset he approached running a gallery as a creative project, perhaps more like an artist than a businessman, and soon became known as the primary dealer for what has been called “the post-Mike Kelley generation.”

      Washington, D.C.-based artist whose paintings, spanning the 1960s to the present day, had been much neglected prior to Kordansky’s interest. ‘‘Wide Narrow,’’ 1972. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      Israeli-born artist who often appropriates or digitally modifies images, transforming them into something more like sculpture. ‘‘Untitled (Boot A),’’ 2013. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      One of the Californian artists whose work helped bring ceramics to museums in the late 1950s. Sculptures from the exhibition ‘‘Crosses, Figures, Spears, Torques,’’ 2013. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      Known for his colorful, flat interiors, often depicting his own Los Angeles studio, as well as for paintings of boxers and basketball and baseball players. ‘‘Kitchen with Aloe Plant,’’ 2013. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      Artist who refers to aspects of African-American culture in paintings and sculptures made from materials such as black wax, mirrors, zebra skins and shea butter. ‘‘Un-American Idol,’’ 2014. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      Painter whose abstract works, made by building up thin washes of paint and attaching strips of neon, are inspired by California’s coastal landscapes. ‘‘Neptune’s Net,’’ 2013. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      Australian-born artist who casts his small sculptures, made from cardboard and rope, in painted bronze. ‘‘Magnifying Glass with Rope No. 1,’’ 2014. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
      Los Angeles-based painter whose small-scale, luminous abstract paintings are inspired by traditional still lifes and landscapes. ‘‘Untitled,’’ 2014. Courtesy of David Kordansky Gallery, Los Angeles, Calif.
    Full Screen

    Stories abound from those early days of Kordansky’s limitless, sometimes maniacal enthusiasm for his artists. The collector Mera Rubell remembers meeting him in 2006. Kordansky was determined to show her and her husband, Don, the work of a young artist he was representing, Aaron Curry, while Curry was on vacation. Reached by phone in Hawaii, Curry gave them permission to break into his studio, where Kordansky was soon pulling sculptures out of boxes and expounding on the artist’s ideas. The following morning — at 6 a.m., while shuttling the couple to the airport — Kordansky took them to meet Thomas Houseago, another sculptor he had recently begun to champion, who laid out his work in a studio borrowed for the occasion. Rubell says she was “blown away.” She and her husband later invited the two artists and their dealer to visit their museum in Miami. The trip was an inspiring and formative experience for the three men, who stayed up late into the night, drinking and arguing about Picasso, classicism and figuration in sculpture.

    Kordansky’s passionate nature has not always worked in his favor. His professional relationship with Houseago buckled under the weight of its own intensity in 2009, when the artist left David Kordansky Gallery — a loss Rubell described as “a huge wake-up call” for the young dealer. Houseago finally settled with the international powerhouse Hauser & Wirth in 2011. “There was this abundance of youthful energy bouncing off each other that, in the end, was bigger than both of us,” Kordansky said ruefully. (Houseago agreed, but noted, “I can confidently say my career would not be where it is now without him.”)

    The majority of his artists have stuck by Kordansky, however. His very first exhibition in Chinatown included Matthew Brannon, Patrick Hill, Will Fowler, Lesley Vance and William E. Jones, all of whom continue to show with the gallery. Brannon told me that Kordansky’s often blunt manner can be an asset, despite artists’ often fragile egos: “My therapist loves Dave. He says, ‘You always know where you stand with this guy; he treats you right, he’s telling you the problem.’ ”


    Kordansky (seated at center) with a group of his artists in Los Angeles.
    Kordansky (seated at center) with a group of his artists in Los Angeles.Credit Elena Dorfmann

    Kordansky now represents over 30 artists and counting, hence the need for space. He is still far from being the biggest fish in the L.A. pond — nor, perhaps, would he want to be. He prefers to avoid competition with his neighbors, who include Regen Projects near Highland Avenue, Blum & Poe in Culver City, Overduin & Co. in Hollywood, Marc Foxx, also a stone’s throw from the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and the power players Gagosian, Matthew Marks and Hauser Wirth & Schimmel, the last of which will take over a former flour mill in Downtown in 2015. When asked which galleries he feels a kinship toward, he instead looks across the Atlantic: to Johann König in Berlin, Standard (Oslo) in Norway or Herald Street in London. The art world loves youth, and Kordansky currently occupies the sweet spot between blue-chip establishment and cutting edge.

    In contrast to his imposing new gallery space, Kordansky’s home is modest, perfectly scaled to a family of four and designed for living, not for entertaining. Kordansky grows kale, Meyer lemons and Persian cucumbers in the garden. He gave me the tour with the eagerness of a child showing off new toys. Succulents exploded from earthy ceramic planters made by Robert Maxwell and David Cressey on the deck outside the kitchen. In addition to pieces by artists Kordansky represents — Valentin Carron, Larry Johnson, Elad Lassry — the interior was furnished with Brazilian and Mexican Modernist pieces in rosewood and leather, and ceramics were displayed beside rows of art books on floor-to-ceiling shelves. A painted sculpture of a nude trapeze artist by the Japanese Pop artist Keiichi Tanaami sat on a coffee table, and drawings of outlandish figures by the Chicago Imagist Karl Wirsum hung on one wall.

    Kordansky appreciates the Californian tendency to disregard hierarchies between creative disciplines; his gallery represents artists such as Ruby Neri and the Geneva-based Mai-Thu Perret, who both work in the tradition of John Mason, one of the Californian artists who, in the late 1950s, first brought ceramics into contemporary art galleries. (Mason, now 87, joined David Kordansky Gallery last year.) About half of his roster is made up of Angelenos, and a Californian sensibility infuses the program — not only in its emphasis on the region’s art-historical legacy, but also, more broadly, in its bias toward esoterica and marginalia, domestic themes and profane materials.

    Kordansky likes to talk about “curating one’s life.” Shouldn’t we consider the architecture, the objects we handle, the furniture we sit on and the artwork we look at all as part of a unified aesthetic experience? He showed me a shelf of tiny Doyle Lane vases, each glazed a different color and texture. He would always rather stand in front of an object than look at a screen, and is particularly skeptical about what has recently been labeled “post-Internet” art — work made from Internet memes, online avatars, stock photos, patents and 3D scans. “We don’t even want to talk about the world any more,” he said. “We’re disconnected from core emotionality.”

    In other places, talk of lifestyle is always related to an embarrassment about class, but in L.A. it’s an ongoing philosophical discussion. “The exterior of my life kind of runs itself,” Kordansky admitted over a lunch of grilled chicken and kale salad. “Now it’s about the interior, the spiritual. It’s about getting at the core of my existence — which is about my family.” There is little distinction in his mind between his professional and personal lives, or between his tastes in art and his philosophy of being. “It’s about having an open, holistic view rather than a myopic view,” he said. “Here culture is more attached to nature.” The greenery beyond the wide window, the home-grown salad and the stoneware planters seemed to reinforce his point.

    Two years ago, Kordansky undertook a pilgrimage to the D.C. studio of Sam Gilliam, an 80-year-old African-American painter of the Washington Color School. Gilliam never achieved the level of recognition that his peers from the 1960s such as Kenneth Noland and Morris Louis did, in part because the art establishment didn’t know what to make of a black artist who refused to make work about race. Kordansky had been a fan of Gilliam’s radically innovative, unstretched, stained canvases for years, and had shared his enthusiasm with Rashid Johnson when they first met in 2009. (Johnson, who didn’t know many dealers — let alone young white dealers — who were interested in Gilliam’s work, was impressed, and agreed to join Kordansky’s gallery himself.) The pair asked Gilliam to do an exhibition in L.A., which Johnson would curate. They feared they were overreaching, and when they put their proposal to Gilliam in his studio, they thought he was laughing at them. In fact, they realized, he was crying.

    As Kordansky told me this story, I saw that he was also close to tears. Since first working with Gilliam, he has placed his paintings in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Rose Art Museum in Massachusetts. Without Gilliam, he said, the new gallery would probably not have been possible. There is nothing Kordansky is prouder of than having been able to bring him back into the spotlight. “The work has done for other people what it did for us,” he said. “There is no money in the world that can buy an experience like that.”

    Correction: September 21, 2014
    An article last Sunday about the Los Angeles art dealer David Kordansky, which recounted the key role he played in bringing the paintings of the 80-year-old African-American artist Sam Gilliam back into the spotlight, erroneously included a product among the types of things Gilliam bartered his work for at a lower point in his career. While he exchanged art for services such as dental work, he never traded art for laundry detergent.



    The L.A. Art Invasion

    Sun-soaked isolation seems just the thing to spark inspiration.


    From left: <strong>Sam Falls</strong> at Hannah Hoffman Gallery, “Untitled (Venice, Palm 4),” 2014. <strong>Jordan Wolfson</strong> at David Zwirner, “(Female Figure),” 2014.
    From left: Sam Falls at Hannah Hoffman Gallery, “Untitled (Venice, Palm 4),” 2014. Jordan Wolfson at David Zwirner, “(Female Figure),” 2014.Credit Right: courtesy of the artist and David Zwirner.

    When Thomas Demand and Ryan Trecartin relocated to Los Angeles in 2010, they added momentum to the city’s burgeoning status as an art capital to rival New York, London and Berlin. Of course, its abundant light and space have always drawn a certain kind of artist — members of the Light and Space movement, for instance, like Bruce Nauman and James Turrell. But now, with new gallery neighborhoods in Hollywood and Downtown, the endless expansion of LACMA and the impending arrival of the esteemed FIAC art fair, it seems that everyone, major figures and young guns alike, wants to call L.A. home. In the past two years, David Benjamin Sherry, Sam Falls, Gabriel Kuri, Silke Otto-Knapp, Amalia Ulman and Jordan Wolfson have relocated to the Southland, while others, like Liz Craft and Amy Yao, have returned, choosing its sprawl over more cosmopolitan art meccas.

    L.A.’s appeal lies in “the possibility of disappearing,” says Ulman, an Argentine who previously worked in London and Spain. “I’m so autonomous here,” Wolfson adds. “I have my studio, my house and my small life.” Both artists create work that explores isolation: Ulman shoots selfies in airplane bathrooms and five-star hotels; Wolfson’s scantily clad robotic dancer at David Zwirner caused a sensation this spring. “In L.A., artists can test things out without the glare of the spotlight,” says Ali Subotnick, a curator at the Hammer Museum, who moved from New York in 2006. “The proximity to the entertainment industry guarantees that the art world will never be the main industry in this town, so artists are able to work on the sidelines.” Anonymity has become its appeal: Like no other place, L.A. offers artists the ability to be alone, together.

    A Primer on L.A.’s New Arrivals


    <strong>Liz Craft,</strong> “After Dark,” 2014.
    Liz Craft, “After Dark,” 2014.Credit Courtesy of the artist and Nathalie Karg

    Liz Craft
    Arrived from: New York City
    L.A. gallery: none
    Style: Craft’s fantastical, dreamlike sculptures often veer in the direction of nightmares: they include glossy, upended spiders, functionless house-like constructions, goopy unicorns, baby carriages and assorted monsters.

    Sam Falls
    Arrived from: New York City
    L.A. gallery: Hannah Hoffman Gallery
    Style: Falls creates sculptures and paintings that he exposes to the elements, then takes photos of them to document how they change over weeks, months and sometimes years.


    <strong>Gabriel Kuri</strong> at Regen Projects, “Credit Becomes Retail,” 2014.
    Gabriel Kuri at Regen Projects, “Credit Becomes Retail,” 2014.Credit Brian Forrest, courtesy of Regen Projects, Los Angeles

    Gabriel Kuri
    Arrived from: Brussels
    L.A. gallery: Regen Projects
    Style: Kuri’s playful sculptures repurpose materials from the manmade and natural worlds, combining them into forms that frequently comment on the role of commodities in society.


    <strong>Silke Otto-Knapp</strong> at Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, “Stage With Boats (blue and silver),” 2013.
    Silke Otto-Knapp at Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, “Stage With Boats (blue and silver),” 2013.Credit Courtesy of the artist and Gavin Brown’s Enterprise

    Silke Otto-Knapp
    Arrived from: Vienna
    L.A. gallery: none (shows with Gavin Brown’s Enterprise in New York)
    Style: Otto-Knapp applies soft, ethereal layers of gouache and watercolor to produce muted representations of performance and place.


    <strong>David Benjamin Sherry</strong> at Salon 94, “Climate Vortex Sutra,” 2014.
    David Benjamin Sherry at Salon 94, “Climate Vortex Sutra,” 2014.Credit Courtesy of the artist and Salon 94, New York

    David Benjamin Sherry
    Arrived from: New York City
    L.A. gallery: OHWOW
    Style: Sherry photographs grandiose American landscapes and tweaks them with vivid, monochromatic tints.


    <strong>Amalia Ulman</strong> at LTD Los Angeles, from left, “Catastrophe #1,” “Catastrophe #2” and “Catastrophe #3.”
    Amalia Ulman at LTD Los Angeles, from left, “Catastrophe #1,” “Catastrophe #2” and “Catastrophe #3.”Credit

    Amalia Ulman
    Arrived from: London and Gijon, Spain
    L.A. gallery: LTD Los Angeles
    Style: Ulman has riffed on contemporary decorations: Ikea paintings, aphorisms spelled out in romantic scripts and those wavy willows people stuff into vases. Lately, she has also documented cosmetic procedures via social media.

    Jordan Wolfson
    Arrived from: New York City
    L.A. gallery: none (David Zwirner in New York and Sadie Coles HQ in London)
    Style: Wolfson makes films, videos and installations that merge a cartoonish love for aesthetic variety (and cartoons themselves) with an underlying nihilism. This year, his animatronic stripper wearing a witch mask has become an art-world lightning rod.


    <strong>Amy Yao</strong> at 47 Canal, “Skeleton, no. 2 (basic needs and the right to the pursuit of a good life),” 2013.
    Amy Yao at 47 Canal, “Skeleton, no. 2 (basic needs and the right to the pursuit of a good life),” 2013.Credit Joerg Lohse, courtesy of 47 Canal, New York

    Amy Yao
    Arrived from: New York City
    L.A. gallery: none (Canal 47 in New York)
    Style: Yao’s work spans virtually all mediums: painting, sculpture, photography, performance. But it’s her objects — umbrellas adorned in funereal garb or a top hat and sequins; folding fans with attached pearls or cigarettes; brightly colored sticks with equally brightly colored hair extensions — that offer a through-line in their crooked anthropomorphic qualities, suggesting serious jokes about contemporary life.

    Correction: September 3, 2014
    An earlier version of this post misspelled the surname of a curator at the Hammer Museum. She is Ali Subotnick, not Subotnik.

    How James Turrell Knocked the Art World Off Its Feet

    Photograph by Benjamin Lowy/Reportage, for The New York Times. Video by Leslye Davis/The New York Times.

    At the Guggenheim, a Vision of Light: A look at James Turrell’s major installation that will occupy the atrium of the Guggenheim starting June 21.

    It was a beautiful Thursday morning in May, and everything was going wrong. James Turrell had six days to prepare for the biggest museum exhibition of his life — 11 complex installation pieces at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art — but he didn’t have a single work finished, and he was missing crucial parts.

    Chuck Close for The New York Times

    James Turrell

    Florian Holzherr/James Turrell Studio

    “Breathing Light” (2013), currently on display at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, is part of Turrell’s Ganzfeld series, which requires of viewers a sense of surrender.

    Florian Holzherr for The New York Times

    Roden Crater, on Turrell’s ranch outside Flagstaff, Arizona.

    The topography of Roden Crater.

    Florian Holzherr/James Turrell Studio

    The Sun and Moon Space at the Roden Crater.

    Florian Holzherr for The New York Times

    The Alpha(East) Tunnel, which connects the Sun and Moon Space to the East Portal, features a lens that focuses light on the stone slab.

    Florian Holzherr for The New York Times

    Stairs that lead from the East Portal to the crater’s exterior.

    Florian Holzherr/James Turell Studio

    The Crater’s Eye, which is open to the sky.

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    He shuffled into the office of Lacma’s director, Michael Govan, and flopped into a chair with a sigh.

    “I’m pretty concerned,” Turrell said. “You know, the computer that came back from Russia was completely wiped.”

    Govan tapped a foot underneath the table. The computer was essential. Much of Turrell’s work consists of special rooms that are infused with unusual light, and the computer helps run the show. It had been in Russia for another exhibition, but something went awry in transit.

    “There’s nothing in it,” Turrell said. “Nothing’s in it at all! Nothing.”

    Govan shook his head calmly. “That happens in Moscow,” he said.

    Turrell shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I guess,” he said. “I don’t have a piece that’s finished yet. You know, it’s getting late on everything.”

    “Has the lens left Frankfurt?” Govan asked. This was another essential part.

    “No, it hasn’t left Frankfurt,” Turrell said.

    “I thought it did,” Govan said.

    “No, no,” Turrell said. “It has not left Frankfurt. I don’t know what’s going on.”

    Now it was Govan’s turn to sigh. “You should have been a painter,” he said. “Five years of planning, three months of construction, and there’s not one work of art.”

    The plan had been simple on paper: Turrell would open three major shows inside a month. As soon as he finished the Lacma pieces, he would race to Texas for another huge installation at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, and then to Manhattan, where he is opening a show at the Guggenheim next week. Taken together, the three-museum retrospective is the biggest event in the art world this summer. As the curator of the Houston exhibition, Alison de Lima Greene, put it, “This is the first time that three museums have mounted exhibitions of this magnitude in conjunction, all devoted to a single artist.” In total, the retrospective takes up 92,000 square feet.

    Assembling any Turrell show is a complicated affair. Unlike a show of paintings and sculpture, every piece must be built on site, and even more than with most installation art, his work requires elaborate modifications to the museum itself. Windows must be blocked off or painted black to obscure the outside light; zigzagging hallways are constructed to isolate rooms; and each of the rooms has to be built according to Turrell’s meticulous designs, with hidden pockets to conceal light bulbs and strange protruding corners that confuse the eye. Even the drywall must be hung and finished with exacting precision, so that each corner, curve and planar surface is precise to 1/64th of an inch. It can take hundreds of man-hours to finish a single room; he was erecting 11 at Lacma.

    Turrell at 70 is a burly man with thick white hair and a snowy beard. He tends to dress in dark clothing, like Santa Claus in mourning. We had been spending a lot of time together as he prepared for the shows, and I had followed him to Los Angeles to see the final stages. After the conversation with Govan, I retreated outside and found a bench in the shade to do some reading. I expected to be there a while. Two hours later, I looked up and saw Turrell standing there with a smile. “Well,” he said, “we’ve got one ready. Come on, let’s take a look.”

    I followed him inside the building, and we rode an elevator to the second floor. We stepped into a dim lobby filled with construction equipment. “This way,” he said, turning into a dark hallway. I walked behind, my hands groping for the walls. Turrell stayed a few steps ahead, muttering directions — “forward now, another step, this way, and turn” — until I rounded the final corner and saw the piece materialize before me. It was a looming plane of green light that shimmered like an apparition. The rush of blood to my head nearly brought me to my knees.

    It is difficult to say much more about the piece without descending into gibberish. This is one of the first things you notice when you spend time around Turrell. Though he is uncommonly eloquent on a host of subjects, from Riemannian geometry to vortex dynamics, he has developed a dense and impenetrable vocabulary to describe his work. Nearly everyone who speaks and writes about Turrell uses the same infernal jargon. It can be grating to endure a cocktail party filled with people talking about the “thingness of light” and the “alpha state” of mind — at least until you’ve seen enough Turrell to realize that, without those terms, it would be nearly impossible to discuss his work. It is simply too far removed from the language of reality, or for that matter, from reality itself.

    The piece that day at Lacma, for example, was one of his “Wedgeworks” series. The room was devoid of boundaries, just an eternity of inky blackness, with the outline of a huge lavender rectangle floating in the distance, and beyond it, the tall plane of green light stretching toward an invisible horizon, where it dissolved into a crimson stripe.

    I suppose it would be fair to say that all of this was an illusion. The shapes and contours I saw were made entirely of light, while the actual walls of the room were laid out in a way I could never have guessed. When, after a few minutes, a museum worker accidentally flipped on a bright light, I was surprised to see a small chamber in the back, with a workman’s ladder propped against the wall. Turrell lurched toward the doorway in a panic, crying out, “What the hell are they doing?”

    Other pieces by Turrell are even more disorienting. His “Dark Spaces” can require 30 minutes of immersion before you begin to see a swirling blur of color, while some of his rooms are so flooded with light that the effect is instantly overpowering. Stepping into one of his “Ganzfeld” rooms is like falling into a neon cloud. The air is thick with luminous color that seems to quiver all around you, and it can be difficult to discern which way is up, or out.

    Not everyone enjoys the Turrell experience. It requires a degree of surrender. There is a certain comfort in knowing what is real and where things are; to have that comfort stripped away can be rapturous, or distressing. It can even be dangerous. During a Turrell show at the Whitney Museum of American Art in 1980, several visitors to a piece called “City of Arhirit” became unsteady in the bright blue haze and tried to brace themselves against a wall made of light. Some of them fell down. A few got hurt. One woman, who broke her arm, sued the Whitney and Turrell for more than $10,000, claiming that the show made her so “disoriented and confused” that she “violently precipitated to the floor.” Another visitor, who sprained her wrist, sued the Whitney for $250,000. The museum’s insurance company then filed a claim against Turrell, and although a member of the Whitney family put a stop to the suit, Turrell still gets sore thinking about it. He spent $30,000 to defend himself, but it’s not the money that bothers him the most. It’s the lingering feeling that the work didn’t . . . work.

    “On some level,” he told me, “you’d have to say I failed.”

    We were at his townhouse on Gramercy Park in Manhattan. Like Turrell’s other two homes, in northern Arizona and eastern Maryland, it was furnished mostly in the Shaker style. The walls were cream, with very little hanging art, and the furniture was all in cherry. Turrell sat at the center of a dining table and began to describe other incidents. One of his friends had taken a tumble at the same Whitney show. “He was just standing there,” Turrell said with a shrug, “and he leaned back and fell.” At a show in Vienna, another visitor took a running start and leapt into a Ganzfeld room, perhaps expecting to land on a bed of pillowy clouds. She smashed into a wall. And then there were the “Perceptual Cells.”

    The Perceptual Cells are Turrell’s most extreme work. The visitor approaches a giant sphere that looks like an oversize Ping-Pong ball and lies down on something like a morgue drawer to be pushed inside. When the door is shut, the lights come on, so bright that it’s almost pointless to close your eyes. As the colors shift and morph, you begin to see things that aren’t there, like tiny rainbows floating in space and crisp geometric forms. It turns out that what you’re seeing is the biological structure of your own eye, which, in the blinding intensity, has turned on itself.

    Even Turrell describes the Perceptual Cells as “invasive” and “oppressive.” Some of his most avid fans prefer not to see the series. Andrea Glimcher represents Turrell at the Pace Gallery in Manhattan, but when she visited Lacma for the opening in May, she declined to view the Perceptual Cell. “Just thinking about it makes me want to press a panic button,” she told me. When one of the curators of this year’s Guggenheim exhibition, Nat Trotman, viewed the Perceptual Cell at Lacma, he wrote me to say that it had “rewired” his thinking and was “very aggressive and very hallucinatory.” Before viewers climb into the Perceptual Cells, Turrell makes them sign waivers to certify that they are 18 years old, sober and sane.

    The joke among Turrell’s friends is that, to see his work, you must first become hopelessly lost. Though he is routinely listed among the signature artists of his generation (in 1984, he and Robert Irwin became the first visual artists to receive MacArthur “genius” grants), he has never enjoyed the widespread recognition of artists like Donald Judd, Jasper Johns and Chuck Close. In fact, Turrell has not held a major museum show in New York since the Whitney exhibition of 1980, or in Los Angeles since 1985.

    Much of his art is located in the far corners of the earth. There is an 18,000-square-foot museum devoted to Turrell in the mountains of Argentina, a monumental pyramid he constructed in eastern Australia and an even larger one on the Yucatán Peninsula, with chambers that capture natural light.

    Turrell’s greatest work and lifelong fixation is an extinct volcano on his ranch in Arizona, where he has been developing a network of tunnels and underground rooms since 1974. The volcano has a bowl-shaped depression on its top and is known as Roden Crater. Turrell has never opened the crater to the public, and he is guarded about who sees it. An invitation to visit Roden is one of the most coveted tickets in American art.

    “It has become, even unfinished, as important as any artwork ever made,” Michael Govan said. “I know I’m going out on a limb here a little bit, but I think it’s one of the most ambitious artworks ever attempted by a single human being.”

    Turrell’s obsession with the crater is the stuff of legend, but he prefers not to analyze it. For a man driven by such a monomaniacal artistic impulse, he is startlingly uninterested in himself. Through dozens of conversations in multiple cities over perhaps a hundred hours, I found him willing to examine almost any idea, so long as it didn’t require any self-reflection. I would ask, for example, about his place in the art world, or his faith, or lack of it, or how he feels about the crater as he grows older and the forces of obsession and mortality collide — and each time he would nod and frown and say something like, “Well, you know, you just have to accept things as they are.” Then he would launch into a 30-minute dissertation on the geometry of sailboat hulls. The more questions you ask Turrell, the more elusive he seems. Growing up Quaker, he was always being told to nurture “the light within.” At 70, he seems more interested in the light without.

    Some of Turrell’s contemporaries view the mystery around him with a measure of envy. One day this spring, I stopped by the studio of Chuck Close in Lower Manhattan. There was a large, incomplete portrait of a woman hanging from one wall, with its lower half descending through a narrow gap in the floor. Close, who has been in a wheelchair since an arterial collapse in 1988, raises or lowers the canvas in order to reach the spot where he’s working. A few years ago, Turrell invited him to visit Roden Crater.

    “I was shocked when I got out there,” Close said. First, that Turrell had made the crater wheelchair-accessible. “He proudly put me in this four-wheel-drive golf cart and drove me all the way up into the thing.” But when they reached the top, Close found another surprise. Turrell has spent years shaping the rim of the caldera in such a way that it seems to distort the contour of the sky. He calls this “celestial vaulting,” and he helped Close lie down to experience the phenomenon. Staring up, Close was struck in equal parts by the power of the illusion and its subtlety. “He’s an orchestrator of experience,” Close said, “not a creator of cheap effects. And every artists knows how cheap an effect is, and how revolutionary an experience.”

    Close is among the most famous living painters, but when he looks at an artist like Turrell, it sometimes makes him skeptical of his own fame. “It makes me wonder if I’m making pabulum for the masses,” he said with a laugh. Close described how, in the 1960s, artists like Turrell and Robert Smithson and Walter de Maria “wanted to go in the desert and dig a hole or ride a motorcycle in a circle, or dig a ditch, or put a bunch of spikes for lightning to hit. It was about not making a commodity. Not making it something that would go in a gallery.” Many of those artists criticized Close for working in a more conventional medium. “I’ve been arguing with Mel Bochner for years,” he said, “because Mel gave me tremendous grief for making stuff that hung on the wall, like I might just as well have been a prostitute inviting people up to my room.”

    Close pointed out with a wry smile that most of those friends have since found a way to show their work. “After a while, they thought, Oh, no one’s going to see this stuff!” he said. “So then they take photographs. Then they frame the photographs and put them in a gallery.” Still, he sometimes wonders if they were on to something back in the ’60s — and if Turrell, in his work at the crater, still is.

    “I may be known by more people, but I’m often known for all the wrong reasons,” Close said.

    For his part, Turrell has begun to think more about what he’ll leave behind. On a recent drive across the desert to see the crater, he turned to me and said, “I was absolutely going to get this project done by the year 2000, so I’m a little embarrassed by it. There have been periods of euphoria. There have been times that I’ve been discouraged, and times when I’ve just gone out and enjoyed the place — and realized that maybe this would be it. Maybe it wouldn’t get any further.”

    We were approaching the crater through a field of impossibly picturesque cattle, their long, straight backs and thick conformation the envy of any rancher. Turrell bounced along at the wheel of the truck, smiling at the herd. “We’ve learned a lot about livestock,” he said, “but the biggest thing is learning about personnel. You know, you’re not going to want artists to take care of your livestock.”

    When Turrell first spotted the crater from an airplane in 1974, he had no intention of buying the land around it. He just wanted to dig into the volcano. He persuaded the Dia Art Foundation in Texas to purchase the site on his behalf. When the foundation spiraled into financial trouble a few years later, Turrell scrambled to take over the title. He applied for a loan, but the bank told him the ranch wasn’t big enough to turn a profit. 
“They said, ‘This will just be a gentleman’s ranch, and you’ll lose money,’ ” Turrell said. “Which I now understand is true. They said: ‘But there’s one ranch over that’s now for sale. If you buy that one, and you buy the one in between, we think we could negotiate — we won’t loan you a little, but we’ll loan you a lot!’ ”

    Turrell by then was married with young children, and his wife opposed the purchase. “My wife said at the time, ‘You’re mortgaging our children’s future,’ ” he said, “and for that and other reasons, she left — and I took the loan.”

    By the time Turrell had signed the note for all three ranches and leased the public land between them, he was the proud, solitary overseer of a 155-square-mile property that could be supported only with livestock. He was 36 years old and had never raised a cow in his life.

    Turrell was brought up in Pasadena in a devout Quaker family. “It was like the conservative Mennonites,” he said. “I come from a family that does not believe in art to this day. They think art is vanity.” Even as a child, Turrell was skeptical of the family’s old-fashioned mores. Little things, like his mother’s refusal to use household appliances, bothered him. “My mother did not have a toaster oven and would toast bread in the oven, which I thought was stupid,” he said. “They didn’t do cars and electricity, that kind of stuff.”

    One of Turrell’s aunts, Frances Hodges, lived in Manhattan and worked for a fashion magazine. When Turrell visited, Hodges would take him to concerts and museums, expounding upon the virtues of engagement with modern life. “Her whole thought,” Turrell said, “was doing something society would contend with. That was her purpose in fashion. She didn’t care if it was a vanity.” On a trip to the Museum of Modern Art with Hodges in the 1950s, Turrell discovered the work of Thomas Wilfred, who experimented with projected light in the early 1900s. Turrell remembers staring at one of Wilfred’s “light boxes,” in thrall to its shifting lines of shadow and color. Today, his home on Gramercy Park is next door to the one where Hodges lived.

    In 1961, Turrell entered Pomona College to study math and perceptual psychology, but on the side, he continued to indulge his interest in art. He took courses in art history and signed up for studio classes. After graduation in 1965, he enrolled in a graduate art program at the University of California, Irvine. That wasn’t to last. In 1966, he was arrested for coaching young men to avoid the Vietnam draft. He spent about a year in jail, and after his release in 1967, moved into a shuttered hotel in the Ocean Park section of Santa Monica. Over the next seven years, he would make a series of artistic breakthroughs that define his work today.

    Turrell had discovered a strange optical effect in one of his projects for grad school. By placing a slide projector in an empty room and pointing its beam toward the corner, he found that he could make a cube of light that seemed to occupy physical space. As he settled into the rooms of the Mendota Hotel, he began to explore variations on the idea. Soon he was using colored slides and moving the projector around the room. He discovered that he could make pyramids and rectangles of light, which seemed to lean against the wall or float halfway to the ceiling. After a few months, he switched the bulb from tungsten to xenon, fascinated by the subtle difference in its effect. Over the next five decades, he would become an expert on light-bulb varieties, studying the distinctive character of neon, argon, ultraviolet, fluorescent and LEDs. For his 70th birthday last month, a friend gave him a bulb he’d never used before; Turrell was ecstatic.

    By the late 1960s, he was also experimenting with outdoor light. He painted the windows of the hotel and scratched lines in the paint, allowing narrow slits of light to enter the room. He found that he could create patterns and illusions, much as he had with the projector. He called the series “Mendota Stoppages,” and he felt they had at least one advantage over the projection series: Because the light came from outside, there was no machinery in the room. He had created a gallery in which the art was made entirely of light.

    Turrell wanted to keep the room empty but fill it with electric light. He realized that he could modify the walls to create hidden chambers for the bulbs. He called these pieces “Shallow Space Constructions” and tried a dozen permutations. In some, he tucked bulbs along a single edge of the room; in others, the whole frame of a wall glowed with brilliant color. One of the earliest Shallow Spaces, “Raemar Pink White,” is currently on display at Lacma. After 44 years, it still has the coruscating radiance of something from a future world.

    By the early 1970s, Turrell was exploring another phenomenon with natural light. Instead of scratching paint on the windows, he cut large holes in the walls and ceiling of the old hotel to create a view of the open sky. With the right size of opening and the right vantage and some careful finish work, he found that it was possible to eliminate the sense of depth, so the sky appeared to be painted directly on the ceiling. Then he pointed electric lights at the hole, marveling at the dissonance between the light coming in and going out. He discovered that when he changed the color of the electric lights, he could change the apparent color of the sky. He called the series “Skyspaces.”

    Turrell’s studio at the Mendota Hotel had become a locus for artists, curators and gallery owners who passed through Southern California. The founder of the Pace Gallery, Arne Glimcher, offered him a show. Turrell agreed, then changed his mind. The Italian collector Count Giuseppe Panza di Biumo stopped in to ask if Turrell would cut a Skyspace into his villa near Milan. Turrell promised to do it soon. All he really wanted to do was stay in the old hotel, cutting his holes and building his walls and bathing in his light. But in April 1974, the hotel’s owners threw him out. A terse note ordered Turrell to “dispossess, quit, and surrender the premises.”

    A few years earlier, he had scraped together enough money to buy a small airplane, which he kept in a nearby hangar and maintained himself. He’d also received a Guggenheim fellowship, which gave him some financial freedom. He packed his belongings onto his airplane and took off. For the next seven months, Turrell canvassed the Western skies. Each evening, he would land the plane wherever he happened to be, unfurling a bedroll to sleep beneath its wing. In the morning, he was back in flight, scanning the desert floor. He wanted to find a small mountain surrounded by plains, so the view from on top would resemble that of flight. Inside the mountain, he planned to carve tunnels and chambers illuminated by celestial light. He would bring together all his previous work in a new studio that no one could take away from him.

    The day he spotted Roden Crater, he knew it was the one. The land wasn’t for sale, but he persuaded the owner to let it go, and soon he had set up camp at the base of his own private volcano. By day, he traipsed the surface with a pile of surveying equipment, drawing topographic maps to guide his work. At night, he lay on the top and studied the stars. He tried to imagine how he would bring their light inside the mountain.

    Even at a distance, it’s easy to see why Turrell stopped at Roden Crater. The silhouette on the horizon is stunning, a topless pyramid floating on a sea of amber grass. As you draw close, the color begins to fill in, piles of deep red and charcoal cinder in heaps around the core.

    Over the last 30 years, Turrell’s ranching operation has only grown. What began as a concession to economics has become a private passion. The ranch now spreads across 227 square miles — roughly 145,000 acres — with a black angus herd of nearly 2,500 head. Most are certified “natural” and will produce prime-grade beef. “When you’re O.C.D.,” Turrell said, “you want the most beautiful animals.”

    The ranch has also become part of the viewing experience at the crater. In the same way the eye must adapt to darkness in some of Turrell’s museum pieces, the endless drive across the desert prepares a visitor for the singularity of Roden. Distance and isolation come naturally to Turrell, but he has also learned how valuable they are to his work. One of my favorite Turrell pieces is the Skyspace “Tending (Blue),” which is inside a small stone building behind the Nasher Sculpture Center in Dallas. To reach the piece, you pass through a Renzo Piano-designed building filled with northern light, then you cross the clean, clear lines of a landscape by Peter Walker. By the time you enter the Skyspace, the city of Dallas is long forgotten. I once lost the better part of a day inside, staring up as clouds lofted and flattened against the ceiling. But last year, a mirrored skyscraper went up nearby, reflecting glare into the building, killing plants in the garden and looming into view of the Skyspace. The museum had to close it.

    At Roden Crater, Turrell has no such problems. The nearest town, Flagstaff, is home to the Lowell Observatory, and the city government has maintained “dark sky” ordinances since 1958. It is illegal to shine a searchlight in Flagstaff, and it has been for 55 years. In 2001, the city was selected by the International Dark Sky Association as the first “Dark Sky City.” Several years ago, Turrell joined forces with local and Navajo leaders to tighten the laws even further. Currently most of the outdoor lighting in the city and surrounding areas has to be shielded.

    We were pulling around the base of the crater and began to climb the side. Halfway up, we turned into the parking area of a small lodge. The lodge is built mostly from local stone and leftover materials from the crater project. There is a small kitchen, a large common area and four bedrooms tucked into the back. Someday, Turrell hopes to build additional lodges and rent their rooms, so visitors can spend the night at the crater.

    A few of Turrell’s staff members had gathered inside the lodge, and the curators of the Guggenheim show, Nat Trotman and Carmen Giménez, had flown in from New York. Trotman and Giménez made an amusing pair. Trotman is tall and bulky with a tangle of dark hair, and is so well spoken that he sometimes seems to be reading from a script. Giménez is slight, energetic and impulsive. She is from Spain but speaks English with a French accent. Since 1989, she has been the museum’s senior curator of 20th-century art. The two had been to the crater together once before, in the rain. Now they were back, as Trotman put it, “to still our minds and immerse ourselves in what he’s doing.”

    Trotman really did wonder what Turrell was doing — for months it had been a mystery. The show at the Guggenheim includes a piece that no one has ever seen. It is also Turrell’s largest installation piece, and one that’s difficult to classify: a 79-foot tower of light in the museum’s central rotunda.

    Any Turrell show asks a lot of a museum, but the tower, called “Aten Reign,” is in a league of its own. Nothing quite like it has ever been assembled in the Guggenheim, and neither Trotman nor Giménez could be sure what it would look like.

    In simple terms, the tower is made from a series of metal rings, which are spaced 11 feet apart and wrapped in flexible plastic to form a cone. When it has been fully assembled in the rotunda, it will hang from the atrium ceiling, with the bottom edge dangling about 10 feet from the floor. Viewers will walk underneath the cone and look up at a show of light. In a sense, the piece is a Skyspace, because the light may enter through the glass roof; in another sense, it is a Ganzfeld, because the effect will be one of indistinct space and gloaming light. But in truth, nobody knows what it will be, except maybe — hopefully — Turrell.

    “When you work with an artist like James,” Giménez said one day as we stood in the center of the rotunda, “the most important thing is to stand aside and make things possible for him.”

    Trotman was trying to maintain the same perspective, but it wasn’t easy. While Giménez spent most of her time in Madrid, he was responsible for coordinating the plans and logistics for a huge installation piece that he couldn’t quite imagine. He had drawn renderings of the tower, but they were only speculation. Basic details were anybody’s guess. It was unclear, for example, whether Turrell would leave the atrium window clear, or allow a small circle of light through, or block it off entirely. Whatever light did filter into the piece would change throughout the day, but Trotman had no idea how that would affect the color of the piece. In fact, he had no idea what color the piece would be. He hoped that Turrell would use a series of shifting hues that blurred from one to the next, but he didn’t know if that would happen, and he didn’t expect to know until a week or two before the opening, when the tower was in place and Turrell arrived to light it. When someone asked Trotman about the piece, he would usually shrug and say, “I really don’t know what he’s going to do.”

    To build the tower, the Guggenheim fabrication team rented a warehouse in New Jersey, and I joined Trotman there one afternoon for a look. The warehouse was a huge, grimy space lighted with fluorescent bulbs. In the center, the top portion of the tower dangled from hooks on the ceiling. A skin of white plastic was stretched around it, and a small crew of lighting assistants milled about, blasting different colors inside. Turrell’s chief lighting expert, Matt Schreiber, stood below, looking up into the cone. Periodically, he would call out instructions, like, “Can you make it cold white, and then start bringing it down?” or, “You know, the easiest is red — when in doubt, make it red.”

    Trotman stood to the side. During a pause, he approached Schreiber and asked, “Do you have any way to know how bright it’s going to be?”

    Schreiber shook his head.

    “You know,” Trotman said, “depending on what time of day it is, the light is going to change.”

    “Yeah,” Schreiber said. “If we have time, we could make a night setting.”

    Trotman smiled. “That would be good,” he said.

    Schreiber called out, “Make it blue,” and stepped to the center of the ring. He turned to an assistant and said, “This other blue, when you look at it next to a normal blue, looks white.”

    Every curator who has worked with Turrell has been through an experience like Trotman’s. It was a story I heard in museums and galleries all over the country. Richard Andrews, who ran the Henry Art Gallery at the University of Washington for 20 years, told me about his own introduction to Turrell. It was 1981, and Andrews was a young artist himself. Like many artists, he was distressed that the galleries in town were not showing much contemporary work. He and his friends decided to rent an exhibition space of their own. It was a cavernous three-story warehouse with unfinished interiors, and on a whim, they asked Turrell to open their first show. To their shock, he agreed.

    Turrell flew up to Seattle and began to help renovate the warehouse. He put together a list of pieces he wanted to show on the first floor, but as the months ticked past and the opening drew closer, he still had no plans for the upper level. “I kept saying to him, ‘So, what are you going to do?’ ” Andrews recalled. “And he basically, for months, said, ‘I don’t know.’ ”

    Finally, with only a couple of weeks remaining, Turrell had an idea. He asked the group to help him build a wall in the center of the room with three large rectangular holes. Then he climbed through the holes and began to hang fluorescent lights on the back of the wall. Andrews and his friends watched. They had no idea what Turrell was doing — until at last he turned off the main lights and flipped on the ones he had installed. The rectangular windows exploded with brilliant light: an ethereal pink on the left, and a deep blue on the right, and in the middle a mélange of both colors that Andrews still can’t quite explain. “I can really only describe it as fog,” he said. “These two extraordinary colors moved toward each other and through each other, and it was just crazy.”

    Today Andrews serves as the president of Skystone Foundation, a nonprofit organization that Turrell created to manage Roden Crater. One big part of Andrews’s job is to raise enough money to finish the crater. Finding donors in the recession has been a daunting task, so Andrews has spent the past five years preparing for a future drive. One of the first things he knew he would need, if he wanted to raise several million dollars, was to know exactly what “several” means. When you’re trying to solicit large amounts of cash, it’s helpful to explain where the money is going. Earlier this year, Andrews and Turrell completed the first full set of blueprints for the crater — detailing every screw, bolt, rod of reinforcing bar and cubic yard of concrete that the project will take.

    Now that Andrews has the blueprints, he can estimate the costs; what remains is to grab the attention of the public and donors in a way that Turrell never has before. With so much of his work scattered across the globe, it can take years for a potential fan to discover Turrell. Even the best photography doesn’t begin to capture the immersive experience. For those inclined to travel for art, the exhibitions this summer present the first opportunity to take in so much of his work at once. For Turrell, what his newly raised profile allows, maybe, is a chance to complete the crater, his life’s work.

    The afternoon sun was beginning to descend over Roden, and we left the lodge and followed a short path to the main entrance, a pair of high metal doors. As we stepped through, it was instantly apparent that none of my expectations had been right. For one thing, the room was several times larger than I had imagined. For another, it was as perfectly finished as the most elegant Midtown hotel.

    We were in a circular room, with a slightly convex top, that Turrell calls the Sun and Moon Space. At the center of the room, a massive sheet of black stone rested on its edge. An eight-foot-diameter circle had been cut from the center and replaced with white marble. The seam where the two colors met was perfectly flush. One side of the slab faced the doors where we entered, which was precisely the direction of the rising sun at summer solstice. The other side faced the opening of a long tunnel, which rose gently into the distance. This was the direction of the moonset at its southernmost point in the lunar cycle. Every 18.61 years, the moon would align perfectly with the center of the tunnel, and Turrell had installed a five-foot diameter lens at the midpoint to refract its image onto the white circle. The next such occasion would be in 2025.

    One by one, we walked up the tunnel. It was 854 feet long and 12 feet in diameter, with blue-black interior walls and ribs protruding every four feet. At the top, a great white circle of light beamed toward us. Or so it seemed. As we drew closer, the color changed from white to blue, and the shape began to shift, elongating from a circle to an oval and rising overhead, until it was clear that what had seemed to be a round opening at the far end of the tunnel was in fact an elliptical Skyspace in a large viewing room. A long, narrow staircase made of bronze ascended through it.

    We climbed onto the top of the crater and stepped into the sun. Once again we were surrounded by a Martian landscape of crushed red stone. A cold wind blew across the caldera, and we lay down to view the sky, the clouds streaking overhead as the heavens vaulted.

    Dusk was coming. We got up and followed a narrow ramp into another Skyspace. It was round, with a narrow bench around the perimeter. Turrell calls it “Crater’s Eye.” We took seats on the bench and stared through the opening in silence. The color of the sky was deepening. It was rich with blue and darkness. It seemed to hover on the ceiling close enough to touch. No one spoke for 30 minutes. I glanced over at Turrell. His hands were folded in his lap, his eyes smiling at the sky. Whatever else the crater had become for him — a job, a dream, an office, a persistent reminder of his own mortality — it was clear that the Skyspace still had the power to lift him up from earth.

    When the last hint of blue had vanished into night, Turrell and the others wandered outside. Trotman and I crept back into the crater. We passed the bronze staircase, glimmering in darkness, and we turned down the long tunnel toward the Sun and Moon Space. The white disc at the bottom glowed with ambient light, and Trotman walked toward it like a man in a trance. He disappeared from view. I stopped for a moment to stare down the tunnel. Then I turned around to face the sky through the ellipse. Something flashed at the corner of my eye and I glanced up. There was a tube of white light hovering in the air above me. It was thick and sturdy and looked as though I could grab it and climb into the stars. It streamed down the tunnel to the gleaming stone.

    Back at the lodge, I took a seat beside Turrell at a table made of plywood. A few of his friends from town were preparing a dinner of beef from his ranch, and Turrell had brought several bottles of wine from another friend’s vineyard. They all were whispering excitedly about what they’d seen. Turrell sat silently and sipped his wine. He didn’t ask what I thought of the crater, and I didn’t volunteer. It seemed as if we both knew that it was better not to say. The crater was perfect, and incomplete, and his time to finish it was winding down.

    “You know,” he told me earlier in the truck, “I’d like to see it myself.”

    Wil S. Hylton is a contributing writer for the magazine. He last wrote about artisanal tobacco.

    Editor: Joel Lovell


    Los Angeles Times
    The Mistake Room brings global view to gritty downtown L.A. art scene


    The Mistake Room is a new nonprofit art space downtown with big plans
    The hard launch of Mistake Room will feature an exhibition by artist Korakrit Arunanondchai
    Gallery owners question Mistake Room’s arrangement with collectors

    Construction workers hammer away in a warehouse near the southern edge of downtown Los Angeles. A buzz saw hits fever pitch, screeching in the background; the air is thick with dust.

    Art entrepreneur and curator Cesar Garcia, who is turning this former garment factory into a nonprofit exhibition space called the Mistake Room, rushes out from the back in a black dress shirt and Italian loafers, giddy if a bit frazzled. He cradles an armload of loose items — a leather binder stuffed with to-do notes, a cellphone, a tape measure, an envelope that needs to be mailed.

    “Oh my god, I’m learning so much about sheetrock and construction,” the 28-year-old says, laughing. He shifts the bulk of the objects into the crook of one arm, freeing up the other for a handshake. “Welcome!” Then he turns and leads the way straight into the drywall dust storm. “Lemme show you around.”
    This place is a dream, a long time in the making. – Cesar Garcia, art entrepreneur and curator

    The Mistake Room is the newest art space in a burgeoning but still gritty art enclave downtown. By night, the dark and deserted area bound by 20th Street, Washington Boulevard, Long Beach Avenue and Santa Fe Avenue is studded with lively pockets of art-going foot traffic. Night Gallery is around the corner, as is Francois Ghebaly Gallery, 2nd Cannons Publications, which puts on art shows, and the nonprofit research and exhibition space Fahrenheit/Flax Foundation.

    Garcia, formerly associate director of the Culver City nonprofit LAXART as well as a curator of the Hammer Museum’s inaugural “Made in L.A. 2012″ biennial, created the Mistake Room to feature contemporary artists and curators from around the world. The space debuted in January with a pop-up solo exhibition by London-based Colombian artist Oscar Murillo. The 4,500-square-foot warehouse space remained raw and unrenovated at the time, with cracked concrete floors and exposed insulation. The show closed in April, and the space has since undergone a redesign, led by Tijuana-based architect Alfonso Medina. The hard launch Friday features an exhibition by Bangkok-raised, New York-based artist Korakrit Arunanondchai, whose first solo museum show is on view at MoMA PS1.

    “I’m excited. This is the artist’s biggest commission to date,” Garcia says. “This place is a dream, a long time in the making.”

    The Mistake Room fills a niche in the city, Garcia says, joining LAXART, Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions in Hollywood, REDCAT downtown and the Santa Monica Museum of Art as mid-size, nonprofit, non-collecting exhibition spaces — entities that fall between commercial galleries and larger museums with permanent collections.
    Korakrit Arunanondchai
    Bangkok-raised, New York-based artist Korakrit Arunanondchai works on his exhibition at the Mistake Room. (Cheryl A. Guerrero / Los Angeles Times)

    Such art spaces are particularly prevalent in Europe, Garcia says. Many of them — the Renaissance Society in Chicago, White Columns in New York, Kunsthalle Basel in Switzerland, among them — co-produce shows, and Garcia hopes to tap into that network. He wants to expose local artists, particularly students, to influences they might not otherwise come across as well as educate international curators about L.A. artists.

    “We want to connect Los Angeles to other burgeoning regions of the world, art wise,” Garcia says. “We want to be the mid-sized institution that can collaborate with places like the Chisenhale Gallery and the Serpentine in London, Beirut Art Center or Vitamin Creative Space in Hong Kong. We want to be part of that conversation.”

    In summer 2010, with funding from a Fowler Museum Latin American research grant he received while pursuing his doctorate at UCLA, Garcia traveled through Chile, Colombia, Peru and Brazil to research his dissertation on alternative art spaces. Two years later, after the Hammer biennial opened in 2012, he used his own savings (and, later, money from the Mistake Room’s nascent board started that fall) to set out for about six months traveling around the world, visiting art spaces and making connections.
    Got something to say? Start the conversation and be the first to comment.

    “I wanted to make sense of what was happening in the art world in South America and the Middle East mostly, but I went to Europe too,” he says. “What are these spaces doing? What do the cultural infrastructures look like? What is the support for artists?”

    In his travels, he talked with foreign curators about the L.A. art scene. Most were aware of L.A.’s reputation as a prolific visual art center, he says, but many also felt alienated by L.A.’s physical sprawl and car-dependent culture. That had deterred some from exploring the city.

    “There are tangible consequences for artists working here — that their international exposure, particularly for young and emerging artists, isn’t as great as in other cities that may be more accessible,” Garcia says.
    Cesar Garcia’s Mistake Room

    As part of its visiting curators program, Garcia says, the Mistake Room will bring three curators a year to L.A. from other countries for a residency of at least seven days; it will cover travel expenses, lodging, a stipend and a driver with an itinerary of artists’ studios to visit that guest curators may not have found on their own.

    Hendrik Folkerts, curator of public programs at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, is the first to participate. He started this week.

    The residency “enables me to tap into the rich and extremely lively Los Angeles art scene, through an elaborate program of studio visits and institutional meetings,” Folkerts says. “This kind of exchange is essential for an international curatorial practice.”

    The Mistake Room commissions original work for exhibitions; none of the art is for sale and admission is free. When shows close, the work goes back to the artists. If the artist sells that work at a later date, Garcia says he’d request a donation in the amount of exhibition costs.

    The Arunanondchai show cost about $50,000 to $60,000 to put up, Garcia says. The Mistake Room’s recent renovation cost about $100,000, and operational costs include three full-time staff: Garcia, deputy director and senior curator Kris Kuramitsu and assistant curator and exhibition manager Grecia Santiesteban.

    Launching the Mistake Room wasn’t easy for Garcia, who immigrated with his family from Mexicali when he was 6 and grew up in Pico-Union, an area he calls “the Ellis Island of L.A.” He’s still paying off student loans while finishing his doctorate.

    “In terms of my parents’ social circles and individuals I was able to reach out to, I didn’t have access to resources or [wealthy] family friends,” he says.

    Money for the Mistake Room comes from fundraising events and gifts, a “closed membership program” and a 14-person board with deep pockets. It includes former Santa Monica Museum of Art board chair Dr. V. Joy Simmons, now the Mistake Room’s board chair, Oprah Winfrey Network executive Tina Perry and CAA agent Thao Nguyen. In keeping with the Mistake Room’s vision, about a third of the board is from another country. Glenn Kaino, a founder of the now-defunct downtown L.A. art space Deep River, is one of four artist trustees. The Mistake Room has gotten 501(c)(3) status, so it can start applying for grants.

    The membership program is limited to 40 patrons at a time, each of whom donates $20,000 annually in exchange for benefits: inclusion in international art trips to destinations such as the Venice Biennial, studio visits and participation in an “artists multiple program” in which they receive a piece of original artwork, four times a year, from a different artist. A board member in Guadalajara, Jose Noe Suro, underwrote the artists multiple program, covering the cost of producing the art.
    Just because it’s a nonprofit doesn’t mean it’s pure or that people aren’t making money — as they deserve to. They’re just getting their money in a different way. – Paul Kopeikin, Kopeikin Gallery

    It’s this part of the business model, however, that some people call questionable.

    “They’re grooming artists to move up the institutional ladder and connecting those artists with collectors — people who’ve paid them a chunk to be members,” Coagula Curatorial gallery owner Mat Gleason says. “It’s insidious because it appears to be pure, since they’re a nonprofit rather than a commercial gallery, but there’s still commerce going on.”

    Added Paul Kopeikin of Kopeikin Gallery: “Just because it’s a nonprofit doesn’t mean it’s pure or that people aren’t making money — as they deserve to. They’re just getting their money in a different way.”

    Arunanondchai says he’s just grateful for a place like the Mistake Room.

    “Art spaces in this kind of scale — if you were in New York and you wanted to do a project like this, you’d have to be with a museum or a big Chelsea gallery,” he says. “I like that it doesn’t feel commercial. It’s a dream project for me.”

    Arunanondchai’s solo L.A. debut at the Mistake Room is “Letters to Chantri #1: The lady at the door/The gift that keeps on giving.” The installation of 100 mannequins, a “timed experience” that accommodates about 15 viewers at once, also includes paintings, sculptural elements and two short films Arunanondchai directed featuring performance artist Boy Child. The exhibit speaks to the commodification of Eastern religions as it focuses on a single character, a disillusioned artist, that Arunanondchai hopes to incorporate into a feature film.

    The Mistake Room’s fall schedule includes two historical shows of abstract expressionist painters from the ’50s and ’60s, Matsumi Kanemitsu and Ed Clark. In September, Garcia and his team will screen the site-specific films of New York artist Gordon Matta-Clark and invite local artists, writers, choreographers and others to respond to them.

    “We’re interested in their relationship to the city and what’s happening downtown,” he says as the Mistake Room’s construction crew shuts down for a break.

    As the dust quite literally settles, Garcia looks out across his cavernous exhibition floor.

    “Bringing in artists from other places, curators, we’re learning so much about our own city,” Garcia says. “It’s seeing L.A. through their eyes.”




    Theater & Dance
    Paul McCarthy’s ‘WS’ and ‘James Turrell’: The spectrum of color and off-color on the East Side

    James Turrell “Aten Reign,” fills the Guggenheim rotunda with light. (David Heald/Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York)
    Sarah Kaufman
    By Sarah Kaufman Dance critic July 26, 2013

    This is a country of mystery, a sweet land of irony. What unites our states but declining incomes and anxiety? We haven’t even got a royal baby of our own to distract us as our cities go bankrupt and children go hungry and so many, and so unbearably much, is simply going down.

    The stock market has been going up.
    Sarah Kaufman received the 2010 Pulitzer Prize for Criticism and has been The Washington Post’s dance critic since 1996. But after logging serious sit-time in opera houses, black boxes, folding chairs and dive bars, what moves her most is seeing grace happen where she least expects it. View Archive

    But can there be any such thing as good news anymore?

    Paul McCarthy and I are a little skeptical about that. Well, he’s more skeptical than I am. His immense installation “WS,” which fills the Park Avenue Armory with a giant phony forest, assorted phony horrors on display and on video, and a very real sense of sickness — all of it tells us he’s gone well past skepticism. His view is apocalyptic. We’re living in a carnival of chaos, “WS” announces. Ours is a world of villainous trickery and moral impairment.

    McCarthy, however, is no self-serious postmodernist, nor is he one of those vacant-eyed Queen of the Undead performance artists. He’s a freewheeling, eccentric Californian with a wicked sense of humor, and he targets such icons of his state as Walt Disney, Hollywood, ranch houses and the porn industry. All of these figure in “WS,” whose kinky retelling of “Snow White” takes place in a suburban tract house inhabited by Dionysian man-dwarves in UCLA hoodies.

    Paul McCarthy’s “WS” is an X-rated retelling of the Snow White fairy tale. (Joshua White)

    The city’s art scene is having a California moment. A mile and a half away from the Armory, California-born James Turrell has transformed the Guggenheim Museum with an installation that rivals McCarthy’s in importance. This is his first exhibition here in 33 years, and the centerpiece of it, “Aten Reign,” fills the museum’s multi-story rotunda with changing colors of light. You could say that Turrell plays with the sunshine and mystical tendencies of his birthplace the way McCarthy romps with its kitsch, but that’s where any similarity between the two artists ends. Turrell’s work is quiet, orderly, Apollonian, and optimistic. It is also self-absorbed, and reverent to the point of sterility.

    There’s nothing sacred or, God forbid, sterile in McCarthy’s work. This is the man who created inflatable poop, to the delight of headline writers attempting to top reports of how McCarthy’s giant “Complex Pile,” on display in Hong Kong, went splat in a storm last spring. There is great comic energy in the gory, X-rated “WS,” which lends it an unmistakable charm.

    But it’s how McCarthy takes his battle to the body that gives the show its power.

    He explodes the tale of Snow White (the show takes its name from her initials, reversed), with a seven-hour-long, four-channel video of performers playing the lost princess in full Disney costume, along with dwarves and assorted doubles. They’re in the throes of a house-trashing orgy. WS blithely plasters her decolletage with slices of bologna. She applies American cheese over her eyes. American cheese; ho ho! She’s helped in this by an avuncular Walt Paul (an amalgamation of Disney and McCarthy, played by the 67-year-old artist himself, in a bristly mustache and prosthetic nose).

    Eventually everyone is naked, pouring Jack Daniel’s down one another’s gullets. Other substances follow, but the most repulsive is also the most benign: McCarthy/Walt Paul drinks tomato soup concentrate straight from the can.

    Andy Warhol gave us a cold, distanced view of the Campbell’s can, neat and clean, but McCarthy takes that a few steps further. He shows us what’s inside: the curious terra cotta color, the unnatural sheen, the greasy, wet, synthetic texture. And then he takes all that glop into his body, letting it spill all over him, disgorging it and merrily gurgling it until the sight of it is just about more than you can take.

    This is a minor example of what the bodies endure onscreen in “WS,” and it’s one of the few I can describe in a family newspaper. But as with every element of this engrossing installation, the effect is to make you feel, physically, something of the absurdity, inanity and horrors of American life upon which McCarthy seeks to intervene.

    Take the monumental plastic forest that occupies much of the Armory’s vast drill hall: It’s set on a raised wooden platform, so as you follow the winding path through it, its painted styrofoam ground is at eye level (or at least it was for me, with my rather economical proportions). You feel dwarfed, diminished — however illogically — by the tangle of fakery above, the snapped-together rhododendrons and waxy daffodils.

    In this forest, there is a model of the dwarfs’ house, elevated at a distance; it’s a copy of McCarthy’s childhood home. It looks cute and cozy, but that’s another trick of scale. This version in the forest is a miniature. At one end of the drill hall, there are full-size rooms that we can peek into, offering a startlingly realistic view of American middle-class decor. The beds are unmade, the toilet unflushed, the toothpaste uncapped. The artificial Christmas tree bears a prominent “Made in China” tag. Amid the mess on the floor is a magazine ad for Bally boots. A girl can dream, can’t she?

    It all looks normal enough, but normalcy is dead, for here is also the aftermath of the partying taking place on the video screens looming overhead. Naked sculptures, uncannily realistic corpses of Walt Paul and WS, bear signs of unmentionable violence. One has a porcelain figurine of a Disney character stuffed in her mouth. There is evidence of Abu Ghraib-style abuse. You imagine the walls echoing with shrieks and screams. Our icons have been ravaged and left to rot.

    The hall fills with moaning. The longer you spend there, the louder it gets. As time passes, the videos grow more excessive, more orgiastic, more revolting, and watching them makes you feel worse. You take a break, leave the Armory and walk around the block, where you find yourself confronted by glutted storefronts: Madison Avenue’s orgy of excess. This makes you feel worse still. This is McCarthy’s point, and it is a fine one.

    McCarthy makes you think. But he also wrestles with the body, his own body, and he’s been doing this for decades. Sticking things in his orifices, vomiting, smearing himself with ketchup and feces, taxing viewers’ tolerances and his own. There is a kind of clownish heroism in this very visible battle. He’s not just grappling with paint on canvas, engaging in an intellectual struggle. He’s putting himself in the middle of it. He’s the one gobbling up the grotesque. He’s leading the pants-less conga line; he’s jumping up and down just as enthusiastically as the much-younger dwarves and WS characters.

    How much can be tolerated? What are the limits? The answers can be approached only if we put ourselves at risk. And here is where McCarthy stands apart from so many in the performance-art world: He doesn’t set himself above us. There is no do-you-get-it? challenge here. In making the experience of his art so visceral, so gutter-level and cannily extreme, he takes us with him on this physical journey into the heart of horror. We may feel soiled by it, or disgusted, or moved. But whatever we feel, it’s likely to be strong. McCarthy saves us from the morally vacant stance of cool appraisal.
    Lightening up

    In the Guggenheim rotunda, Turrell’s “Aten Reign” is an effect more than a thing: a cycle of colors filling the space overhead, brought about with layered scrims and LED fixtures.

    I walked in during the white section of the cycle and thought, is that it? The jewelry being hawked outside on Fifth Avenue had more visual excitement. But then there was a subtle darkening, like lights going down before a concert, and concentric oval rings of lavender and deep violet appeared. The colors continued to change, all in the richness of dyed silks: shades of magenta, yellows, greens; the blues of every sky you’ve ever seen. The colors hover in space, suspended like Rothko’s rectangles.

    Upstairs, smaller galleries of Turrell creations offer more subtleties of light: a slash of brightness in a darkened room, a shadow appearing and disappearing in near-darkness.

    These two big shows beg to be compared, though their differences are almost too obvious to list. Where McCarthy’s show is heavy and dark, Turrell’s is airy and transparent. The Armory is sensory overload; the Guggenheim is sensory soothing. It is weightless, nothingness. McCarthy’s show is crazy, comical, nasty and rough, Turrell’s is wondrous and serene. McCarthy gives us hell; with Turrell we peek at heaven.

    Where would you rather end up? It’s not an easy question.

    Both shows offer a hangout. You can spend hours in the Armory, wandering through the side galleries (more videos, more sex, more fun with food) and sitting on the floor to take in the main video narrative. Similarly, visitors settle into the Guggenheim rotunda for a good long time. They lie on the floor, looking up, or view the colors from inclined benches.

    There’s a certain glamour to “Aten Reign,” with its elegant simplicity and magnificent hues. The light feels like sunset on the Riviera, or the grace of God. But the smaller galleries feel precious and overworked.

    McCarthy’s show is funnier. There’s a witty nihilism to his dwarfish house-trashing, with the celebrants in children’s party hats as they march around like rebellious toddlers, trousers at their ankles. These big, hairy, bare-bottomed men clutch balloon animals between their legs. When the camera zooms in, between the wigs and false noses and flopping organs, you don’t always know what end you’re looking at.

    There is no confusion in Turrell’s world. He has teased out the bit of reality that interests him, picked it up with tweezers and put it under a microscope. He has studied it and manipulated it to an infinite degree. He takes us deeply into one thing — how light can alter perception — and there is something deeply moving about that, in the way that the quest for perfect understanding is always a story of discipline and struggle.

    But McCarthy’s show is warmer, and contains emotional truths. In the exhausted people-pileups and relentless energy of his videos, there is a raw, unvarnished drive for physical sensation and connection. Watching that drive, being dragged inside it, viewing it from all angles so that the visuals were no longer simply working on my imagination but were getting under my skin — this is what kept me inside the Armory for many hours on a fine summer’s day that felt much more complicated when I left.


    is on view through Aug. 4. at the Park Avenue Armory, 643 Park Ave. Admission is restricted to audiences over 17.
    James Turrell

    is on view through Sept. 25 at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, 1071 Fifth Ave.




    Art Review

    The American Fairy Tale, Fun House Style

    ‘Paul McCarthy: WS’ Turns a Magic Mirror on Excess

    Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times

    Paul McCarthy: WS A video in a sprawling multimedia installation by the artist in the Park Avenue Armory’s drill hall.

    Published: June 27, 2013

    Of all the disagreeable species of humanlike beings Jonathan Swift invented in “Gulliver’s Travels,” the Yahoos are the worst and most human of all. Island-dwelling bipeds, they are lewd,  lying, dirty, territorial and aggressive. They copulate in public, speak in shrieks and moans and kill for valueless baubles. They eat to excrete; when on the attack, they use excrement as a weapon.


    Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times

    Violence, humor, sex, impotence, appetite, degradation: Snow White (a k a WS) cavorts with dwarfs in a video in Paul McCarthy’s vast multimedia installation at the Park Avenue Armory.

    Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times

    A reimagined room from Paul McCarthy’s childhood home.

    Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times

    A video with the artist as a remade Walt Disney, with Elyse Poppers as WS.

    Paul McCarthy’s film-and-sculpture installation, “WS,” which fills the immense drill hall of the Park Avenue Armory, is basically a Yahoo epic, its satire framed in the language of Disney, Duchamp, 1950s suburbia, 21st-century greed and Craigslist pornography. The piece is grand and gross, with ambushing flashes of beauty and an X rating.

    It’s also the larger of two McCarthy spectacles in town this summer, the other being “Rebel Dabble Babble” at the cavernous Hauser & Wirth space in Chelsea. The ostensible theme of the Chelsea show, the making of the 1955 film “Rebel Without a Cause,” is specific.  But as with “WS,” the real subject is moral dysfunction played out on a cinematic scale.

    Mr. McCarthy, who was born into a liberal Mormon family in Salt Lake City in 1945, has lived and worked in and around Los Angeles since 1970. While his reputation has long been high among artists, until a decade or so ago his career was largely a West Coast phenomenon. And even there, museums and galleries didn’t know what to do with him.

    Like many other California artists who came of age around 1960, he was attracted to the materially messy, psychologically fraught side of Abstract Expressionism,  which he transmuted into performances.  Alone or in front of small audiences or on video, he chainsawed furniture, painted with his penis, slathered himself with ketchup and made love to a lump of ground beef.

    In the early 1980s he added masks and costumes to his repertory. He cooked up the persona of a demented Santa. He did obscene riffs on children’s book characters, like Heidi and Pinocchio. Using mechanized mannequins, he turned the Wild West, long a staple of America’s televised identity, into a vaudeville of exploitative sex. Long before the abject body became a dominant theme of art in the 1990s, Mr. McCarthy was on the case, presenting the human form as a gaseous, leaky container, and gender as a fluid condition. Just as his anarchic early art had made psychological sense during the Vietnam War years, his later work, with its direct assault on American normality, fit the emotional chaos of the AIDS era. While rarely referring to specific political issues, this was still intensely political art.

    It was so intense that no one bought it, so for years he supported his family by doing pickup work in construction and photography that sometimes brought him into Los Angeles film studios. Hollywood and the mechanics of film fantasy are a primary source of his art. This is particularly true of the recent works that tend to be big-budget projects,  now that the market has finally discovered him.

    The Armory installation, his biggest so far, is a compendium of signature ingredients: violence, humor, sex, impotence,  appetite, degradation,  art history, politics and pop culture.  The piece is based on two intersecting elements: the 1937 Disney animated film “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” and the suburban home of Mr. McCarthy’s childhood.

    But like the installation’s title — “WS” stands for White Snow — everything is in a disordered version of an original form. On an islandlike platform in the center of the Armory, Mr. McCarthy has constructed a three-quarters-scale facsimile of the facade of his childhood ranch house in Utah and set it, inaccessibly, in a kind of dank rain forest of plastic trees and fake flowers.

    The rest of the house is set up outside the forest and is approachable, with cutaway walls and windows. But while its rooms are precise in their period décor, they are strewn with refuse, splattered with dark fluids and unoccupied except for the nude bodies of a man and a woman, apparent victims of torture and murder.

    A seven-hour film shot both inside the house and in the forest is projected onto screens on the drill hall walls and elsewhere. It’s a thing of many components, among them the story of Snow White, as told by Disney. The beginning of the McCarthy reimagining adheres fairly closely to the animation, with Snow White wandering out of the forest and into the house of the dwarfs, who discover her napping there.

    There are, however, some stark differences. This Snow White (played by the actress Elyse Poppers) sleeps in the buff and, once awake, poses like an odalisque. The dwarfs — nine in this telling — are a mangy,  misshapen, sex-starved lot who think nothing of turning up naked for breakfast before being packed off to work by their newfound nymphet-mom.

    At that point, the familiar story ends, and another begins. Enter Walt Disney, here named Walt Paul and played by Mr. McCarthy with a prosthetic nose and overbite. Almost instantly, he and his cartoon creation engage in a constantly table-turning Oedipal courtship.

    “I own you!” he shouts.

    “I want you to crawl!” she shouts back, and the path to excruciatingly prolonged disaster is open.

    At the same time, breakaway sections of the film are playing in the Armory’s side galleries. The scenes veer from Food Channel shtick to Pier Paolo Pasolini-style degradation and include at least two startling art historical references.

    In the first, the splayed-legged nude woman of Duchamp’s  “Étant Donnés” finds multiple male sexual partners. (Mr. McCarthy uses professional porn-film actors for these scenes.) In the second, Mr. McCarthy and Ms. Popper enact the tableau from Massacio’s famous 15th-century fresco of a wailing, disconsolate Adam and Eve leaving paradise.

    The Duchamp scene is outrageous, funny and flat, the way pornography can be. The Masaccio tableau is unexpectedly moving, all the more because it is re-enacted several times, with the two nude performers repeatedly assuming a posture of shame and grief.

    Meanwhile, the main film continues, its pace and volume building in a raucous orgy of bingeing and purging that eventually ends in the death of Walt Disney/Walt Paul at the hands of his dwarfs and the demise of Snow White/White Snow herself. Their bodies are those we see, in the form of life casts, in the house.

    What all this means, I don’t exactly know, although it obviously touches on regret for lost innocence and on a recoil from — and a satirist’s relish of — a homegrown plague of give-us-more-pleasure that has spread to much of the world. What I suspect is that in Mr. McCarthy we have a Swift for our time, or maybe a Hieronymus Bosch, and in “WS” — organized by the Armory’s artistic director, Alex Poots, and Hans-Ulrich Obrist, in association with Tom Eccles — a scabrous American  “Garden of Earthly Delights.”

    Like the Armory installation, “Rebel Dabble Babble” at Hauser & Wirth is a collaboration between Mr. McCarthy and his son, Damon. It too is conceived as a film-and-film-set unit.  It began as a project by the actor James Franco. After bringing in the McCarthys, Mr. Franco dropped out, and they expanded the piece by dovetailing the plot of “Rebel Without a Cause” with the legend of the erotically intertwined lives of its director, Nicholas Ray, and its starring actors, Dean and Natalie Wood.

    As in “WS,” Mr. McCarthy, with the same crazy nose, takes the male lead, playing Ray; the father of Dean’s character in the film; and himself. Other actors also have multiple roles, with stand-ins for the pornographic bits. Over all the work feels at once narrow and diffuse. You may have to care a lot about 1950s Hollywood (I don’t) to stick with it.

    Still, vintage McCarthy themes surface: the family as self-lacerating unit; masculinity as a state of fury fueled by impotence; nostalgia as a fool’s faith; Yahooism as an American and now global way of life. As ever, what makes it all work is that Mr. McCarthy sees the Yahoo in himself and in us, and lets us see it too. In a world of brute, pandemic excess, self-knowledge is a minute thing, but a grace.

    “Paul McCarthy:“WS” runs through Aug. 4 at the Park Avenue Armory, 643 Park Avenue, at 67th Street; (212) 616-3930, No one under 17 will be admitted. “Paul McCarthy and Damon McCarthy: Rebel Dabble Babble” runs through July 26 at Hauser & Wirth, 511 West 18th Street, Chelsea; (212) 790-3900, .

    This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

    Correction: June 29, 2013

    An art review on Friday about “Paul McCarthy: WS,” an art exhibition at the Park Avenue Armory, misstated the surname of the Armory’s artistic director. He is Alex Poots, not Potts.

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