big journeys begin with a single step

the title for this blog comes from a fortune cookie I got at a restaurant last night. that day had an early, fueled by coffee, with too many activities and few breaks in between. by the time I sat down to eat dinner with a friend we were both pretty spent (his excuse a jet leg)...

lately I've been thinking about my life, how I've gotten here, where I will be going next, et cetera... much like this blog, life begins with a single step, going out on a limb: the first time we open our eyes, or say the first word, kiss someone, leave home, quit that job, click the camera shutter... all a risk. all a roll of the dice. impulsive and instinctual decisions with potentially little regard for outcomes or consequences...

that nagging question, of having regrets (or not) is always looming. but it really is irrelevant. we are responsible for our actions. while we might have done something else if we knew then what we know now, ultimately the decision made is always right. because it is a done deal. because it propels us to be where we are today, right now.

the secret is to love the now.

so today, finally, I went back to the Susanne Hilberry Gallery, a place I had not returned since my last visit and subsequent blog entry. I felt torn between really wanting to see Scott Hocking's exhibition, but not wanting to go there, in case I did not like the work. I was also haunted by my own thoughts, that were expressed in this blog, about practicing and critiquing the art community I belong.

Scott and I met maybe a few years ago, and often run into one another at art events and functions. but we have only talked once, for a long period of time, at a fancy dress party at the Entenmann's (actually he spoke most of the time and I listened, along with others, so it was a group situation, not a dialogue). perhaps my drawn mustache (and the ever flowing drinks I had consumed) allowed me not to be as shy as I usually am with people I do not know, but know about. what impressed me about Scott was his knowledge and passion about this area (and his work). such passion, that for a place, is somewhat foreign to me. not because I do not like this area, but because I am not a person to get attached to places in general I usually get attached to people and things, and mostly attached to things and people and places I hope to experience some time in the near future). I also enjoyed listening to his stories about his explorations, which, quite frankly, I usually find extremely boring (specially if eventual images are to be attached to such stories). but Scott had/has a way with words that keeps you engaged, because they can stand on their own.

I had heard from more than one trusted source that his exhibition was quite wonderful, but was a bit suspicious of people's kindness. as some of us experienced in a recent public lecture in a large local institution - that was almost as large as the artist's ego that spoke there (though the institution is to no fault), sometimes someone's reputation, allure, and past glories supersede their current achievements and lack of charisma (but of course it could be that we can only appreciate such art and artists in a more personal level, or in retrospect). I feared that the same would take place here.

one article I recently read from a link uploaded on Facebook dealt with the subject of artists becoming critics in smaller communities, and the ensuing problems with that, which related to one of my own concerns in writing from/about Detroit and its art scene... the author's recommendation was that one should only write about art that they deemed good or great.

so here we are. I have to honestly say that I think Scott Hocking's exhibition moved me (not to tears, but to that simultaneous raise of one eyebrow and one corner of the mouth, when you are wonderfully and quietly swept off your feet, so to speak). I felt that his images managed to combine an aesthetic rigor with a critical concern that I normally find lacking in much contemporary photography. what i mean by this is that his images could be simply looked at and appreciated for the formal choices they possess, such as composition, quality of light, balance, and visual dialogue within the grids. but thematically and conceptually they relevantly transcended their subject matter. some of his images reminded me of the sCRIPT series by my much missed and beloved mentor Dr. Gordon P. Bleach, whose untimely death took place in 1999. I believe their concern for architecture and space as reliquaries for memories are very much in tune.

the photographing of dilapidated and decaying structures are usually elementary choices that beginning shutter-bugs undertake (I have been involved with fine art photography in one form or another since 1992, and have seem tons of projects under this category). but Scott's work is far from that, though I am sure he is aware and critical of that too. his manipulations into these spaces, or what I perceived as manipulations, bring forth the placement of our culture in Time (with the big T), as well as that of other cultures in relation to our times (small t). pointedly, like photography, our existence in this planet is as quick as a flash of light, our present glories are our future ruins.

when I looked at Scott's images I felt that they meant to become markers of our time and Time, as if to say, to future generations, that these things, these buildings, these places, once mattered to a lot of us (even as ruins). his works began to function as a reinforcement, a memorial, removed of schmalzy nostalgia, quietly, like a giant that has fallen or is in repose (but not necessarily a mythologized wounded warrior). I felt the excitement I assumed he feels when making his works. I was transported back to that party, when I heard him speaking of frozen basements, illegal hockey practices, and unsuspecting encounters with a stranger's passing, and became inspired by his practice, even if my understanding of it was only from speech (his), not sight (mine).

which brings me back to the beginning of this post, a first step of sorts. the last time I was at the Susanne Hilberry Gallery I was trying to find a gift for myself, a replacement for my own birthday party (that never took place), but left empty-handed. and today, which happens to be Scott Hocking's birthday, I have found my own gift.

which image did I choose? if you get invited to my next birthday party you will see it hanging in my house ;-)

e-terview with Leon Johnson

A new direction for this blog that I aim to pursue is what I am calling "e-terviews", or interviews conducted via email exchanges with artists pursuing new or alternative art practices. This first one features the artist Leon Johnson, whom I curated into an exhibition in March 2009 at the Oakland University Art Gallery titled Contemporary Flânerie: Reconfiguring Cities. We presented his video FAUST/FAUSTUS in Deptford, the culmination of a decade-long exploration that poetically merged disparate narratives on life and/as pilgrimage.

Leon Johnson is an artist of many media (video, performance, print press, theater installation, and painting come to mind), working on projects that combine research and multilateral practices that are simultaneously intriguing, disturbing, and beautiful. Originally from South Africa, Leon has shown throughout North America and Europe. In addition to keeping an intense exhibition schedule, Leon is also an Associate Professor of Intermedia, at the University of Maine, and faculty at Transart Institute, Berlin. In the Fall 2010 Leon Johnson will be moving to Detroit to chair the Fine Arts Department at the College for Creative Studies.

1. For the ones unfamiliar with the large oeuvre of your work, could you please delineate a general sense of the strategies and conceptual underpinnings/concerns for your art?

I feel a need to keep at arms-length the supposed historical or contemporary demands on creative practice, and rather commit to inclusive, very porous strategies - the intertwining of trends, debates, and practices in popular culture, the humanities, sciences, politics, and the worlds of commerce and communications. A favorite proposal around this idea comes from Homi Bhabha, looking at creative engagement where the power is "not in its transcendent reach but in its translational capacity: in the possibility of moving between media, materials, and genres, each time both marking and remaking the material borders of difference."

This translational potential just feels like a healthy way to proceed. It is particularly useful in subverting my occasional impulse to settle for creative mimicry, or pastiche. Or at least to be as conscious as possible of all the skeletons that collectively rattle in our maze of closets, every time we settle for those “place-holder” solutions. One such project is DUAL SITE: A Psycho-Geographic Dinner Theater. DUAL SITE is a collaboration that mobilizes the works of artists, urban growers, gleaners, farmers, wine makers, bakers and chefs, metal-smiths, artisans, chefs, designers, youth groups, actors and food producers from diverse backgrounds into a robust company of inventors, really. The project is one part dinner theater, one part economic catalyst, and one part community building, with its goal to be a new model for cultural production both within and beyond the traditional bounds of the arts. DUAL SITE takes inspiration from the book Defiant Gardens: Making Gardens In Wartime, written by New York native Kenneth Helphand. This important survey of wartime gardens speaks to the power of human and ecological resilience to cultivate communities through collective making. “Defiant Gardens suggests that planting, cultivating, contemplating in the garden, planning for life, for beauty, for order, is war’s opposite and thereby not just escape but a potent act of resistance”.

The performance features actors in acts of reclamation and recollection: Paris, 1850, excerpts from the Journals of the Goncourt Brothers – Russia, 1929, two men seek answers in a doll store, just under the heel of Stalinist annihilation, adapted from a short play by A.A. Amal’rik – Warsaw, 1944, the last two gardeners, in the last Jewish garden in the Ghetto. Each night, between sequences, a three-course dinner is served to the members of the audience in custom produced porcelain bowls from our nomadic kitchen.

2. Collaboration, which is regaining more prominence/visibility in recent times, plays an important role in your practice. Could you please expand on your interest in it, or the/a catalyst moment that pointed your practice towards collaboration?

Well, I think the real question is how does collaboration develop new forms of community and practice, no? And how they are accompanied by new vocabularies and methodologies. How do we develop collaborative communities across groups that have seemingly nothing in common? That, to me, is critical. My current models are always seeking to situate collaborations around conviviality and food – in history, in memory, in contemporary ecologies - so simply put, convivial engagement is my preferred modus operandi. Yes, hermetic research and contemplation is needed, but the power, and thrill, of a vibrant, diverse dinner-table can rarely be topped as a space of potential.

And, as a model for collaborative engagement I keep on returning to that convivial-vortex - inspired at an early age, perhaps 14, by Allan Kaprow and by the work of Fluxus, and its founding agitators Alison Knowles, Geoff Hendricks, Emmett Williams, George Brecht, Robert Filliou, George Maciunas, Yoko Ono and others. And our kitchen table at home as a child, made very active, very political, and very pleasurable by my Mother.

3. The employment of multiple layers of meaning (borrowed from literature, cinema, history, etc) and manifestations in your work (video, site-specific performance, librettos) seems to be a reoccurring thread. How to did you arrive at such methodology?


We need new vocabularies, and expanding strategies for reclamation, excavation, recovery, and rapprochement. A worthy problem demands worthy research to engender outcomes worth celebrating. [Of course “worth” is a shifting value-system, but one we must negotiate in context. Over, and over again.] This process must challenge us to negotiate the next set of emerging problems.

A project that exemplifies this is the 15 minute video I produced in 2003, FAUST FAUSTUS IN DEPTFORD, after a decade of development as a monologue, a duet, then a performance with a company of 12, including, eventually, composers, glass artists, silver and goldsmiths, singers – touring the UK in six English Heritage sites – and finally… a 15-miute video! The project interweaves documentation of live performance and psycho-geographical drift, triangulating through remora and remembrance the unmapped distances between the Faust legend, Christopher Marlowe's murder in Deptford in 1593, and Oscar Wilde's vandalized tomb in Paris.

The main current of the travelogue-video begins as Marlowe’s 16thC Faustus and Goethe’s 19thC Faust meet to wander points of location and of loss. Faust and Faustus emerge from under the Thames, drifting from the river to nearby Maryon Park, the exact site where Antonioni filmed the scene of the crime at the center of Blow Up, a scene and site in sympathetic riddle to the journey Faust and Faustus are making. Faust and Faustus then “drift” to Paris, to perform an "intervention" at the site of Oscar Wilde's tomb in Pere LaChaise cemetery, a simple pilgrimage to repair for a silver moment the dismembered Sphinx that hovers atop Wilde's tomb.

In this act of re-membering, Faust and Faustus pay their last respects, honoring the generative in resistance to scandal and ruin. From Paris, the two are able to make their final trip to Deptford, to visit the site of Marlowe's murder and burial ground, another riddled loss of a poet both decadent and brave, another prophet of "this new world." And from the graveyard they find their way along a blighted urban path in Deptford to the polluted banks of the river Thames, where, in fading light, the travelogue documents a final drift of chance discovery – a rusted message, a final memory of unmappable love, and the appearance in blue twilight of a miserable guide to the next or the last destination.

4. Site is another important aspect for your works. Was the complexity of Detroit as an urban and cultural space a contributing factor on your decision to relocate here?

Yes, certainly. The palimpsest that is Detroit is powerfully compelling for me – beyond all the supposed “posts” – post-capitalist, post-American, post-industrial, etc. It is a landscape as rich as any – including the entire length of the Thames River!

My move here follows an enchantment with an ongoing journey that began with embarkation from the southern-most tip of Africa, via San Francisco, New York, Iowa, Oregon, Maine, and onto Detroit. Layers, and layers of reclamation and potential, no?

5. What projects/directions do you foresee exploring here?

One is working on collaborations with SPURSE in Detroit. SPURSE is a creative consulting service catalyzing issues into actions. Through research, design, making, exhibitions, events, teaching and publication, they engage many scales and systems, and explore the entangled emergent complexities of the human and nonhuman, organic and non-organic. To articulate problems worth having and worlds worth making, our curiosity must ask the question: How are we not merely in the world, but of the world?

It all starts with dinner. Lets begin there, and with dates, locations and times. I do a pretty good Green Thai Curry, and have experience setting up field-kitchens. Can somebody help slip-cast 200 porcelain bowls?

Last word goes to Homi:

"The world is both our earthly inheritance, and a cultural and ethical horizon. We reach out to it, in the best way we know, when we protect and propagate the right to narrate and the duty to listen. And that social 'relation' - to relate, to narrate, to connect -becomes our juris-diction and our juris –dictio, quite literally, the place from where we speak. No name is yours until you speak it; somebody returns your call and suddenly, the circuit of signs, gestures, and gesticulations is established and you enter the territory of the right to narrate. You are part of a dialogue that may not, at first, be heard or heralded—you may be ignored—but your person-hood, your shared life, your telling, cannot be denied. In another's country that is also your own, your person divides, and in following the forked path you encounter yourself in a double movement... once as stranger, and then as a friend."

click here to visit Leon's site
click here to visit SPURSE

entr'acte

while I am working on a couple other pieces for the blog, I thought it would be interesting to have a "guest-blogger" filling in.

I hearby introduce you to the one and only Sean Capone, an artist extraordinaire, designer par excellence and opinionated big apple dweller.... below is his review of a current exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City, originally posted on January 30, 2010 on Facebook:

Speed Dating at a Strip Club: THIS PROGRESS by Tino Sehgal

The famous riddle goes something like: "What crawls in the morning, walks on two legs during the day, and three legs in the evening?" The answer has something to do with Tino Sehgal's latest installation-slash- performance-slash- social sculpture now at the Guggenheim Museum. There is no physical artwork in the main rotunda; on my visit, the museum was amok with children, groups of teenagers, and bemused folk of all ages. The atmosphere was lively. The experience of the piece goes something like this: at the base of the ramp, a small child confronts you with the question "What is Progress?" As you walk and talk and formulate a response to this precocious charge, you are unceremoniously fobbed off on a person of more advanced years--late teens, early 20s. More walking, more talking, another handoff, another age bracket. Before you know it you are at the top of the museum, shaking hands goodbye with the senior-aged 'guide', and then you go into a side gallery and look at some Picassos and stuff. So the question about progress really becomes a question about process, about the inevitability of aging and decay, and any grand notions turn inward and become soberingly personal.

Back up a minute. The first thing you see upon entering is a couple embracing,making out, and rolling around on the ground floor of the rotunda. Their movements are dancer-ly and mannered, like a tango in slow motion. The awkwardness of witnessing public eroticism dissolves over time, partly because the stamina of the performers and extended duration of the performance, but also because they are constantly visible no matter where you are--it's an erotic ballet which anchors the center of the Guggenheim's helix runway. They are the first and the last thing you see: as I left (after an hour & a half or so) a changeover took place, presumably to give the first couple relief. It's worth mentioning that the couples were male-female, young, hip-looking, inter-racial, fit, and basically attractive.

Some thoughts:

Ok. The kids are totally adorable. Their earnestness and obvious thrill at being in charge is disarming and a cunning point of entry to the piece. I found myself talking to them as I would speak to an adult. Good one.

As you 'progress', the transitions from conversation to conversation can be abrupt. The guides are prone to leaping out from behind columns at you, or darting away when you are in the middle of a sentence. This is meant to keep you off balance, to remind you that you are on the clock. The first time I went through the cycle, it was kind of exhilarating. I stood at the top of the rotunda and looked down at the kissy dancers. I thought about all the cool things I just said in a short space of time. Then you see the guides walking up the ramp chatting with someone else, and you feel a little cheated. These people are there because it's their job to pay attention to you. They do not particularly find you interesting. It comes off feeling like speed dating at a strip club.

Not that there's anything wrong with strip clubs. We seek out fake experiences all the time, as a reminder of our notions of the so-called 'Real.' You watch strippers to get a certain experience about sexual voyeurism. Speed dating gives you a pared-down, goal-oriented meta-experience of flirtation. But there's no essential chemistry, and the conviviality is self-aware. Sehgal's 'Progress' is not about social chemistry. The final conversations, prompted by the older guides, were a little morbid. I rambled on about capitalism, war, and death. The particular architecture of the Guggenheim is perfectly suited to house this stagy cradle-to-grave metaphor.

The second time I walked through, I felt a rebellious urge to break the rules a little bit. This piece DOES have rules. A child reprimanded me for turning the question back on him (the performers are not allowed to give their own opinions). I stalked a couple of other people's 'conversations', and the vibe was about the same as when one does this to strangers at a bar. I got one of the older guides to break the wall and admit that she didn't know if this was art, and that "no social science will result from all this--the artist will never know what happened". An enthusiastic young German guy told me that "art is supposed to confront you with thoughts." I flirted with a couple people (unsuccessfully). I tried to get a guide to walk me DOWN the ramp (nope). I deliberately answered questions obstinately and got what felt like an honest argument out of the performer, but I never got a sense of any REAL tension, or that the guide was allowed to judge my opinions as one would in a real conversation.

And, just in case you think this is all a bunch of phony baloney, or if you need a break, there IS art to look at. The side galleries are stuffed with the procession of Modernism: Picasso, Braque, Kandinsky, and Brancusi, all that pre-war jazz. It's good. It makes you think about art's relation to the 'progress' of the 20th century. There is an amazing NEW work by Anish Kapoor that looks like a rusted beached submarine forcibly wedged in a narrow gallery. It's volume and heft is breathtaking; in fact the piece is so large you have to view it from three separate corridors, and for once you get to peer into the void of the sculpture's interior. It's a great experiential magic trick, and it was all I could do NOT to shout just to hear the sublime echo. I prefer the volume of the void to his mirror surfaces any day.

As I left, passing the dancers engaged in their amorous torpor, I witnessed a a changing of shifts. Another couple (also male-female, young, and interracial) merged onto the floor. After a minute of synchronized dance-hugging, the first couple exited, to some scattered applause. I think they deserve a lot of credit for their strenuous, compelling performance. But if it were my piece, I would have taken a lot of couples, really going at it, and hidden them behind stairwells, around columns, in the reading room, and other secret places. There is no sex without a little mystery, a little surprise--even in a sex club. And there's no come-hither, no real allure, in a conversation that one doesn't really want to be stuck in. Am I really talking to someone, or just waiting for my turn to speak?

'Progress' is part relational aesthetics, part social work, and part Tony & Tina's Wedding. In other words, it limns the boundaries of the comfortable territories of ART and is part of a genus of activity that perhaps needs a new name to describe itself. For all the valid criticism that gets lobbed at the Gugg, this is one show, love it or hate it, that WORKS in it, and BECAUSE of it. The open spiral ramp shows you simultaneously where you came from and where you're going, the people that you're traveling with, and the painful human yearning for connection and love which slowly spins at the axis. This sounds like as good a definition of progress as I've ever heard.

click here to visit Sean's site

click here to visit the Guggenheim

video art in detroit (2009)

this entry is long overdue, as for the past few months some excellent video art has been on display in the city. I will focus on two institutions that are well-known, the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) and the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit (MOCAD), because their exhibitions on video will come down very soon, so maybe you'll have a chance to go take a look. I visited each show at least three times before today.

from July 03, 2009 through January 03, 2010 the DIA has hosted the exhibition titled Action<>Reaction: Video Installations, which features the works of Peter Fischli & David Weiss, Bill Viola, Bruce Nauman and Ana Mendieta. if one enters the show from its intended beginning, the first thing shown is a video projection of green text onto a wall that contextualizes video art ("video art may be..."). This institution has been heavily criticized by its didactic labeling of art work ("dumbing it down") since their reopening, and to some extent its use of media technology ("gimmicky") but I have always been a fan of both choices, as I believe that the museum needs to speak to many different people, in different levels - experts should not expect wall signage to cater to their needs, they can come up with their own jargon on their own, I am sure. the use of projections also animates and invites young viewers into a familiar territory, so that the museum space might remind them more of home or a movie theater, than a grandmother's house where nothing can be touched.

so I began this particular exhibition and actually thought it was good to use the medium to explain its own diversity in approach (as performative space, sculpture, nonlinear narrative, etc), though I would have liked it better if they had chosen a TV monitor rather than a projection (as I feel that it still connects the medium more to cinema than to television/mass media). as an aside, I thought it was great (funny actually, as in peculiar) to have the director of the DIA speak in a vertical flat panel at the Avedon, exhibition, and wander if the irony was intentional (director as newscaster/personality in an exhibition on models and/as celebrities)... on my third and last visit there, with my video art students, I was asked which artist made that video (the media label), and that for me was telling, as I began to see how, for the untrained eye, that such projection might be confused with a new type of art work, rather than a curatorial statement. it was then that I also began to reconsider my enjoyment of the use of other media throughout the museum, because we do live in times that the word art is used to liberally, and that it might be confusing to some to distinguish which is what...

moving into the first room (there are three of them, off the Rivera Court, plus the initial explicative projection) is a piece by the collaborative duo Fischli&Weiss called The Way Things Go. this was by far the most popular piece in this exhibition; on all three times all seats were taken, with many folks standing around and watching it (it is a fairly long piece). This cleaver exploration might be best described as the documentation of a dynamic sculptural installation, which reminds me very much of a Road Runner carton for some reason. without giving it too much away (as I hope you make it there to see it), I hope you notice the illusions of uninterrupted time via the use of natural elements (fire, water, etc). my one wish in regards to this piece was that it was not presented again in a darkened room, with seating, because then I feel it gets experienced as cinema (specially given its entertaining qualities), and not as video (which I find to be a wonderfully complex and paradoxical medium).

the next room featured a piece by Bill Viola, which I had not seen before. my prior engagement with his works were much larger in scale, but here Nine Attempts to Achieve Immortality was shown in a small vertical flat panel television (again in a darkened room, why?). this part of the exhibition was always quite empty, myself usually being the only person there waiting for something to happens, which it does, and it is sort of wonderful given the beautiful quality of their sound (it is rightly loud at times)... but I feel that the installation loses a lot of the spiritual connections Viola usually refer or imply in his work, because the architectural surroundings are mostly obscured by the darkness (look up his installation at the Church of San Gallo in Venice, quite impressive)... the DIA has similarly impressive rooms, it would have been great to see his work in a different wing.

the last room contained monitors (finally!), two containing the performances of Ana Mendieta, and one by Bruce Nauman, both of which I had seen in person before in different institutions. I saw Mendieta's work (I believe all fall under the Earth Body explorations in situ) in the Bienal de Sao Paulo in 2006, where they were shown as projections, side by side, which I found most appropriate, because of the larger scale that creates and the relationship to the viewer's body in relation to her own body (implied or otherwise) in the works. I also suspect that her work is actually mostly done in film, and not video, and I believe that these different mediums have very distinct discourses (have not found much evidence online that she shot actual video, but all is possible, Iowa was a very progressive place in the late 70s for performance).

Bouncing in the Corner by Nauman is actually one of my favorite pieces of his (him being one of my favorite artists). it is from the same time period as Stamping in the Studio, which I show to my students every year. like many early practitioners of video art, Nauman was interested then in the performative possibilities as relating to time (they lasted the length of the tape) and space (the confinings of an empty space, as well as the dimensions of the video frame), as well as the shifting of one's perception of what is right/correct (he often placed the camera any way other than straight on). I saw Bouncing... at the Hamburg Bahnhof Museum in Berlin back in 2008, amidst a beautiful collection of Joseph Beuys' works (another one of my favorites), Mike Kelly and Rodney Graham (borderline groupie here!)... Nauman's work was situated on an adjacent building, and I first heard his work, before seeing it. I heard this extremely loud thud that actually shoot my insides, much like being in a loud night club with a strong bass, and its repetitive quality reminded me of my own heart beat. when I turned around the corner I saw the simplicity of his work and I was extremely moved by it, which was unexpected (as I always read more wit than raw emotion in his poetics). I wish the installation at the DIA had the same effect on me, but the volume was quite low, and combined with another artist's work in a small and crowded room, it lost its power to me immensely.

I still enjoy my memory very much, which brings a point of something that may or may not have been evident in this post so far: the importance of the apparatus when interacting with video art. along with considering its visual and auditory hybrid condition, it is always paramount to consider how the apparatus of video is used/concealed/conceived as part of the work, as video is inherently dependent on it for its decoding, unlike cinema (one can actually see the cinematic image upon the inspection of the film strip, which video's magnetic ribbon must be mediated/interpreted by a machinery). this ephemeral/spiritual connection to the medium of video is conceptually aligned very well with this exhibition, albeit some minor modifications would have further enhanced it.

the exhibition seen by the main entrance (and to the right) at MOCAD by Alexander Gutke fully and beautifully embraces the incorporation of the apparatus as a conceptual device, a necessity really, for the understanding of the work. the use of film, video, and slide projectors make a commentary on our expectations of the media these machines translate and enlarge, with a focus on the loop as a conceptual and narrative trope. as much as these media (photography, film, and video) aim to capture or encapsulate time for posterity, here time is revolving over and over again, simultaneously exploding any precious notion of a time past and enclosing or interrupting (imploding?) our own present time, by hypnotizing us with unwinding repetition. make sure that you grab at the door the greatly concise description of the works and map for the exhibitions, as they will provide you with wonderful "a-ha!" moments (not in the 80s band way)....

moving towards the back room via the concert area are the works by Ann Lislegaard titled 2062, a first of many references to the future. The entrance to that hall is enclosed by a sound-proofed tube, with snippets of futuristic sounds and quotations from past visions of times to come (aka hollywood sci-fi). there are five distinct areas here, three video projection installations (one single-channel with audio, one two-channel sans audio, and one triptych with sound), as well as two audio bed stations and one room installation. depending on one's knowledge of the genre (one piece was inspired by a book I read ages ago, the left hand of darkness, another in my view a direct reference to the monolith of 2001: A Space Odyssey) more clues may be needed for the enjoyment of these works, though for me their strength rely on their commentary of architecture as space (which funny enough puns with space and imagination in science fiction). what differs from Gutke's work here is the shear beauty of images and sound here (his work is dryer and more formal, hers is very seductive), which created a very inviting environment, albeit filled with mystery (much like going "where no one has gone before")...

both these exhibitions will be available until December 27, so please hurry up and see them... the new addition to the MOCAD space is the current installation/performance of Christian Marclay's The Sound of Christmas, which was initially performed on December 12, with different installments until December 20. I actually went to his live performance, which included local DJs as well, and found it both boring and relaxing, which I think are fine responses to any given work of art, but I am not sure if that was the intended reaction. this performance consists of five or so turntables which are used back to back by different DJs, from a collection of christmas vinyl records that are also on display at the space, as both video representations, and as stacks one can peruse (that was enjoyable). the live event also included a video feed that was projected behind the stage, which for me was a miss. this ten year project reminded me of events I went to, well, ten year or more ago, when video jockeying was beginning to becoming very prominent in the east coast. and like any musical event, one must have a more active participation (such as dancing or talking or moving through space, etc)... maybe unintentionally people sat down to hear the spontaneous compositions (which at times were very interesting, but mostly sounded like experimental sound from the 80s and 90s at best), but I wish we all had not had the chairs and the tables around, because watching someone spin two records with a dramamine-absent projection got old very quickly (Marclay's set, to be fair, was exquisite - my favorite, and all DJs seemed to have a lot of fun, which was wonderful to watch, but maybe for 5 minutes, not a couple hours).

what was most wonderful to me at Marclay's adventure at MOCAD was the inclusion of local talent. MOCAD has tremendously energized the local art community, and its new director, Luis Crocker, has raised the bar with the exhibitions and events he has brought to town since his arrival (keep at it, and truly thanks!). but a hope a clue is taken by the more overt inception of local artists there. I am not the first person who has wondered why this museum does not include a small space for Detroit artists to show their work, much like the 12x12 space at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. a similar venture here would create a more interesting dynamics between larger institutions, galleries, and a great pool of local talent. is there a suggestion box somewhere?

last but not least, on Sunday December 20 at 3:00 pm CCS Professor Michael Stone-Richards will be giving a walking talk at MOCAD on the aforementioned video art exhibitions. this is yet another not to miss event. hope to see you there!

click here to visit the DIA site

click here to visit MOCAD site

click here to visit the Hamburg Bahnhof site

between a blog and a hard place

tonight I come to you as a way to look back at what has transpired here.... what "here" means is for you to decide.

I began this art venture because of my frustration, and that of others... or so I thought...

being pro-active is sometimes understood as talking about being pro-active... but not all actions are created equal....... good intention is not good enough, a level of commitment is warranted... is it possible to do so, when writing is one small part of all the many thing you want/like/need to do?

I first thought I'd be writing about all events I went to, an ongoing art report with a bite, but as these posts came to life and people began to respond, I found myself in a difficult place.

not sure if it is possible to write about everything, every time, everyone, and say all that needs to be said.

tonight I went to three events at the Russell Industrial Projects, where the new MONA satellite site opened, with a print and video exhibition by Christo & Jeanne Claude.... quite amazing what the director, Jef Bourgeau, was able to get, considering that his museum runs with zero funds. (btw, all donated works at MONA are for sale, and the funds will revert to future museum events)

what else can I say about it? can I critically write about a place that has been supportive of my own work?

right next door was the solo show titled "vestiges" by Lauren Rice, at the org.contemporary gallery. I really like this show, the works on paper being my favorites. a few weeks ago in a studio visit and was awed by the 2D work, but the sculptural pieces wonderfully transformed themselves in the gallery installation.

as always I ran into a river of people I have spent some considerable time with, in Detroit, around the country, and even abroad... small world, as they say...

can I critically write about a show at a gallery that showed my own work a few months ago?

here is the heart of the problem... this is a small, intimate art scene in a large metropolitan area... with access to a good calendar and/or Facebook, a car and willingness to venture out in the cold (or in the heat during the summer), and with a lot of persistence, one can easily get to know a lot of the local art scene. acquaintances are made, friendships forged.

I have met so many wonderful people here, and I keep meeting them...

as much as we all want to have a critical exchange around here, are we ready to do so, face to face, or via an interface? are we ready to air the dirty laundry, so to speak? can we take the heat? can we separate ourselves and take in the criticism as a learning experience?

or is this best left to do so with a few close friends at a bar, a restaurant, or someone's living room, over a bottle or two of wine? do we want to have a critical discourse in the area in the hopes that our own work gets a good write up, or even a bad one, and rise to fame via infamy? what will all this accomplish? and who is the right person(s) for the job?

on my way out of the Russell I stopped at the Detroit Industrial Projects (DIP). I ran into its director, Jeanette Strezinski, who is one of the nicest person you can ever meet in town. her smile just warms any room she is in. she told me that in the upcoming year the DIP will feature mostly solo shows by local and regional artists.

and did I tell you that her step-daughter was a student of mine?

then the thought of expressing one's opinion at the cost of hurting someone's hard work came to my mind. should I write that I thought inappropriate (or odd at best) for a Kresge Fellow to be selling work for less than $200 bucks in a group show? or was that the deal of the century? or yet a further dilution of yet another attempt in this region to reach for a higher standard? I drove home and realized I forgot to take pictures of that show, and felt really crappy...

I thought that the last entry in this blog should be fully illustrated....

but not everything ends up the way you set out to go about at the starting line.... I got so immersed in my thoughts about the art scene and this blog, whether I should continue or stop it altogether, that ended up driving two miles past my exit.

eventually I found my way home, and my way into this window... and a way out of my head... instead of reading my impressions, go see these shows and tell me what you thought about them, perhaps we can have some wine? or whine?

what happens after here, whatever "here" is supposed to be, is for me to think about for now...

and for you to, eventually, find out.

happy Hanukkah to you all!

three galleries, one cup

last saturday was my birthday, so I decided to do three things I enjoy very much before joining some friends for dinner: take a walk around town, eat some ice cream and see some art. the weekend before that I missed all the art openings in town, with the exception of "sought/found" one at the Pontiac's Creative Art Center. I had some work in said exhibition (which features work from Oakland University Art faculty), so I will not write about it, but every one should go check it out. there will be future possibilities for local artists to have their work shown there as well, so it might be a good idea to take a field trip.

now, back to November 14, 2009 in Ferndale, Michigan... my first stop was the Susanne Hilberry gallery, which is a few blocks from my house. I had heard from a friend that they have a ceramics show, which worried me because I am not the biggest fan. well, let me rephrase this better. I actually love ceramics, and my small art collection contains quite a few pieces (have more ceramics than paintings, but mostly photography). ceramics is the art that I love to live with, where I love to appreciate formal and functional concerns (as relating to light, as well as the human hand). what I dislike is the discourses that surround the medium, which is usually very minimal. so with this in mind I thought I'd give it a go.

the Hilberry gallery to me has the best set up in town - one cannot but think they are in Los Angeles or Chelsea. the space is simultaneously neutral and sexy, austere and fresh (in an airy sort of way). its current exhibition features the works by Shio Kusaka, whom I have never heard of. as you walk in small drawings (around 16 inches high) are displayed in a row by the wall near the reception desk. these were made with either ink or pencil or a combination or mediums and mirrored some of the vessels on display.

the back alcove has a narrow shelf made out of unfinished wood, and displayed cups of varied girth. there were a variety of techniques employed, which unfortunate I do not know the correct terminology for (some looked like painted patterns with glazes, some were marks or grooves, probably scored before the firing, etc). I walked back to the front desk to see if these works had titles, and to check their prices (each was numbered, all pictured). the titles were either poetically minimal or unspecified enough to leave me on my own. I did not find any information in regards to the title of the exhibition (I assume it is the name of the artist), an artist bio or an artist statement.

I then moved over to the large room, where an L-shaped narrow but extremely long table (same material as aforementioned shelf), or a wall with no sides a bit above waist height, divided the space into two parts. this was an interesting arrangement, as it created a different architecture to that space. I also imagine that in a room filled with people it would create an interesting social dynamics... I looked at each vessel from one side, then walked around the gallery to be able to see them from the other side. it was at this point that the lovely Hazel, dressed in a mini-Swiss Miss dress (her hair has gotten so long), came to me and told me it was okay to hold and handle the pieces, to see them up close and personal (and to find out the info on them, as their numbers were below). she then immediately disappeared, as there seemed to be other folks in the back room, where the staff was hanging out (as at one point an adorable baby walked my way, with the cutest smile, at another Susanne's poodle).

after having permission to touch, fearing for my life that my clumsiness would destroy something, I began to really experience and relate to the art in display (I'd say at least 60 of them throughout the space)... and then I fell in love with one of them.... in particular a small bowl that looked like it was made of white ribbons, overlapped in a vertical manner to form an uneven and somewhat pumpkin-like shape (I think the word moon was in its title). I also loved the simplicity of the lines of the tall vase with dark triangles all over. these pieces (and many others as well), possessed that rare quality of being simultaneously extremely slick in appearance but with enough subtle oddities in their almost primitive formation that brings forth the hand of the artist in the work. while looking at them I imagined a pair of hands touching the surface, slowly moving the clay around like a musician touching a stringed instrument. this calmed me very much, because I imagined that the person doing that was meditating as well.

I then moved back to the room with the cups and handled a few of them... they were gorgeous. most of the ones I liked had already been purchased, but I found two of them that spoke to me a lot and were still available, the ones that looked like doodles I make when I am sitting in a boring meeting at work, of repeated parallel lines forming a grid (one a tighter one, the other with larger squares). I thought those two would make a lovely pair. it was then and there that I decided to buy myself a birthday gift and get a few pieces for my modest collection...

I waited for a few minutes to see if someone would come to the front, but everyone was in the back, or talking to an older gentleman who was looking at a larger vessel... I then moved to the front of the gallery, by the desk and placed the price list back on its rack, and waited for a few more minutes... someone saw me there and walked right by without acknowledging my presence (not Hazel)... I waited a few more minutes and then decided to leave. I tried opening the front door but could not figure out the lock (it had been locked after I walked in)... it took me a few more minutes to figure out how to get out, and by then I was a bit annoyed... I was upset that the gallery did not consider that I would make an art investment that day and therefore spent their time focusing on someone else (they've seen me before I am sure, but I have never purchased anything there). i would normally understand this attitude if this exhibition had the usual price point for that gallery, but the pieces in this show were extremely affordable (in fact I thought it was the Hilberry version of a Holiday Sale), most pieces below $500. this whole situation put a bit of a damper on my birthday, because I had not thought until then that I would actually get myself anything gifts this year. when I made up my mind to get some, I felt that my spontaneous indulgence was denied for no good reason. it somehow reminded me of the art scene in town, which is to some extend highly supported by artists (artists donate works, artists buy works, etc), unless you move to our version of the blue chip, where then collectors jump in - which I imagine is the Hilberry audience. I wish these distinctions were not in place, that there was more flexibility from all parts involved.

I headed my way north to the Affirmations Center to see Taurus Burns' exhibition. the opening had taken place the night before but I did not have a chance to go to. Affirmations gallery uses that cable metal hanging system, which actually works well for their purposes,for the most part (given the cinderblock walls and the multifunctional nature of their lobby gallery).

on one side there were photographs by another artist that were somewhat pleasant but largely pedestrian (a mix of light erotica and amateur modeling/band/catalogue portraiture, borderline artsy)... I understand why they were there, given the young nature of Affirmations' patrons, but I have seen better works from the same genre done in town. but I wanted to look at Taurus' work so I turned around and went to the other side of the space. Taurus' paintings were displayed salon style with the metal apparatus, with varied sizes (but usually in the smaller size, maybe 12 inches as the widest measurement). I looked at them a couple times, and noticed that there seemed to be two distinct veins in this set of pictures. the first being almost like a collection of photographic mementos from urban Detroit, the kind of painting I would buy if I were to move away from the area and wanted something to remember it.

the other was a more set-up, constructed narrative, with figures in somewhat surreal situations, partially or fully nude in a public space. for me these did not work so well, perhaps because the scale of the pieces limited any painting statement he could have tried to make with them. what I mean by this sentence is that I did not find that the painterly quality married well with the compositional choices and implied narrative. perhaps in a grandiose scale (such as his mural works) the intricacies of the color mixing provide a secondary point of entry into those works. his brushstroke quality for me worked better with the portraits of the city, sans people. some of those possessed a sense of irony with the text and mystery with the time of the day they depicted (as well as the eerie notion of cities with no citizens) that the constructed paintings lacked. before leaving the gallery, I looked for a price and title list but did not find any. there was a small bio/statement provided but those seemed to be directed more towards understanding what the artist does, rather than address the actual works presented.

my next eastbound stop was the Pinwheel bakery, to fulfill my goal of getting a cup of their lovely gelato for my birthday... they have the best in town, and many great baked desserts as well (the vegan brownie is to die for). unfortunately they were not making the ice anymore ("Summer is over"), so I decided to head over to the Lemberg gallery, on foot.... I had forgotten how far north from main street the gallery is, and the thought of the long walk home came to my mind, specially as the temperature began to drop. fortunately the art on display there pushed those thoughts right away. I was greeted by the wonderful and forever smiling Lemberg ladies (as I secretly call them). The Lemberg featured works by Jane Lackey, in an exhibition titled "Shapes Of Entanglement: Particle Politic."

large panels of cloth that seem to be hand painted and printed, flanked the main opposing walls. a concern with geometric and architectural shapes, as well as city maps and mapping, was visibly evident throughout the works. there was also an interest in juxtaposing both man-made and machine-made patterns, via readymade stickers and stitching, along with precise field painting. again, I spent quite a bit of time with these works, getting lost in their labyrinthine patterns and reflective surfaces (one word:gold). the remembrance of my pre-flânerie studying of St. Petersburg maps came to mind, as well as how I had gotten to the gallery in the first place. the title of the exhibition, the title of the works and the statement gave me something to grasp, and the unexpected use of thread (sometimes a subtle white, sometimes a strong orange), hooked me to these large panels. again I saw myself living with some of these pieces, which for me is an important component in the art-making process.

when I make work I imagine it in someone's house (not mine, as I never display my own work at home - I find that extremely odd actually, when artist only have their work on walls in their homes)... I imagine someone looking at my work, someone loving and living with my work. As the artist Cyriaco Lopes said (this is a paraphrase), you must first fall in love with your own work before sharing your work with someone else. and I believe in that.... I believe that you must love your own work in order for someone else to fall in love with it. and when I looked at the works by Lackey I thought that she probably loved her work (even if the labor of making it could be quite difficult, not very loving)... and I then saw myself living with those, looking at those on a daily basis (how great they'd looked over my new fireplace). unfortunately for me they were way above my price range, so for now they will remain in my thoughts.

before my departure, the ladies and I exchanged some words about the art work as usual. it is always great to hear them talk about their artists. it is not just spiel for the investor, they seem to always express their awe on the work in an unassuming manner, and not to impress anyone. what I enjoy about that space is the consistency of the aesthetics they subscribe in their representation (contemporary formalism and expressionism, in my view), while keeping a varied roster of artists - the work might not be your cup of tea, but I find them habitually good. as my adventure on my birth day were coming to a close, before my dinner that same night, I headed back home, cutting through NW Ferndale. some folks were raking the leaves, some were bringing in grocery bags, all seemed to be getting ready to enjoy a cozy Fall night at the place they call home. my last unofficial stop was the CVS pharmacy, to get some dental floss. I thought "is this how this walk will end? no art, no ice cream?" it was then that a beacon of light caught my eye, a blinking neon "open" sign at the Dairy Queen. I did not get a cup of gelato at the Pinwheel. I did not get a ceramic cup at the Hilberry either. DQ would have to do it for now. the familiarity of their strawberry sundae hit the right spot.

dinner was great as well, in case you were wondering ;-)



click here to visit the Susanne Hilberry gallery
click here to visit the Affirmations Community Center
click here to visit the Lemberg gallery

projecting

today I finally finished the long-winded painting align="right" align="left" which I began working at the same time I began this blog. again, the title would include the brackets, or a sideways V, which I cannot type here because the blog interface automatically turns it into its html coded function.

while painting I started to think about a lot of things, as I usually do while getting into the zone.... I recalled the beginning of this painting series, which for me was a huge departure to what I had been doing for the previous decades, medium-wise, but really something I've been wanting to do all along... I wanted to major in painting in college, was encouraged by my teachers, but discouraged by my father...... I considered about my entire artistic career, a quest really..

I thought about all the sacrifices, all the moving around, trying to find a job, trying to get shows, trying to get a green card, trying to find a place where I belong......

and here I am, one week away from my 36th birthday.... looking back, has it been worth it? has it been worth living away from my parents, who each day get older and older, away from my sisters and now nephew and nieces? was it worth leaving my country and culture behind? I also thought about all the relationships that I either gave up or did not even give a try because my career was my priority....

36 years old, and what do I have to show? single, bilingual, Pet Shop Boys always seem a right fit...... have a closet full of art work, which occasionally comes out, but is seldom looked at...... really looked at, except by me...... my last show in Detroit I got some wonderful feedback, a couple people (Linda and Dick come to mind, but there were others) seemed to really have looked at the work, considered, and given me generous feedback...... made the months and long hours worth while.... I was very touched by their interest and care...

this artistic quest or journey is one that is filled with sorrows and turbulence and tribulations, with the occasional sunny spots (or bright spells, as Marchand used to say)..... in a way it is an addicting masochism lifestyle, sans kink.....

my mind then moved to some other areas, I thought about people I know, some very close friends actually, going through a real tough time, and I felt their pain..... I've been to similar circumstances (but not to the same degree), and remembered how immensely overwhelming the "not-knowing" can be some times... I thought about them for a little bit and sent my love their way, a mental email that do not require a reply...

and then I looked at my own work, half way through it... I stepped back, turned on my spot light, and blocked the projector with my body to take a look at what I did...... I thought about Jim Carey's joker costume, and the tentative quality of the brush-stroke.... I was not completely happy with how the paint was adhering to the paper.... it seemed so tentative, and too distorted.... I partially blamed it on the old brush I used, and the even older replacement paint I found in my studio (today is a day of losing things, card-reader still missing, or perhaps today is the day of "finding something else instead")... I turned up the volume of the music, hoping to bring some of the celebration into the work, and to quiet my thoughts....

went back to painting, actually set down on the floor and got close to the surface of the paper.... I smelled the paper and the paint, looked at the graphite smudges on my hand, and dipped the paintbrush in the palette, and began covering another letter..... this time I got closer and really looked at what I was doing, and in this process I began to see how the quality of the brushstroke was a reflection of my state of mind.... all my insecurities and stresses were there, as if in the process of covering the projected text, I was projecting back my mind onto the surface of the paper... this acknowledgement made me love what I was doing, made me see how this piece was becoming a marker of where I am in life right now...

36 years old, and none the wiser.... I am still the same boy who a million years ago made concentric circles on a blank piece of paper with his best friend in kindergarden, the same kid who drew around newspaper comics and collected architectural floor-plans, the same youngster who stayed up all night drawing apples on striped fabric in college only to fall asleep minutes before his critique.... I am still the same uncertain person who, against all fears, takes the plunge and pursues his dreams.... I am the one who still has the callus on his index finger, who does not want to get wiser, but remain innocent, even when faced with failure...

by the time I completed the painting I realized I had succeeded here, because, unknowingly, I had actually found out what I was looking for =-)