painting is dead (or was killed)

after spending the last month or so visiting a variety of exhibitions in the Detroit metro area and meeting/talking with many artists, curators and the likes in town, and a day before leaving the country for 30 days, I decided to finally finish what would be the longest entry on this blog.

my goal was to cover the following exhibitions and artists:

- Dick Goody's paintings in The Decay of Lying at The Butcher's Daughter gallery;
- Ian Swanson's and Adrian Hatfield's in I don't believe in art. I believe in artists, curated by Cedric Tai at the Whitdell gallery;
- Donald Baechler's, Ed Fraga's, and Susan Campbell's in Black & Blue at the Lemberg gallery;
- Clinton Snider's, Andy Krieger's, and Faina Lerman's in Nocturnal Translations at the Public Pool gallery;
- Petrova Giberson's in who loves the sun at the Susanne Hilberry gallery.

that blog entry, titled "painting the town...", was divided into the following sections: red; blue; black and blue; everything in between; with controversy. while most of the argument existed inside my head, there were specific images I planned on using to anchor each section.

as luck would have it, while transferring all the photo documentations I had carefully collected with my iPhone to my laptop, the application froze and subsequently crashed. I thought that a simple restart would put me back at the place where I started, but then noticed that most images were simultaneously gone from my phone and my desktop, with the exception of somewhat unrelated images I photographed today.

this saddened me because, in addition to completely destroying the structure for my writing, those images documented beautiful instances of contemporary painting here. and unfortunately most of these shows are either closed, or will be closing very soon.

how could I write about Goody's brilliant excess of color painted with humor and lightness (a departure for him from previous works that were dark, heavy-handed and somewhat bitter)? like Goody himself, who brilliantly combined fetish objects with cartoonish representations of his youth with text quotations on what he is/was "interested in" (or taking a jab at such statements) I felt the need to also connect my words here to his images there and, dare I say it, let them together speak for themselves, my role becoming that of a guide rather than a translator.

I also wanted to write about being engulfed in Hatfield's ocean of blueness, magic and mystery - his painting so hypnotic that I had to refrain myself from trying to jump right in for a swim (with my phone in my pocket nonetheless)... or attempt to drink from it... or steal it.

without images it would also be difficult to explain the relationships of materials, architecture and structure Swanson produced and processed, which in my view is the strongest work to date, by this extremely dedicated but at time discouraged young artist (don't stop believing!).

needless to say, the multiple and wonderful collaborations Tai undertook with his selected artists would go unrepresented, though not completely unmentioned. a squid will never be the same to me.

Fraga's implication of a three-dimensional space within a gallery (his paintings arranged as an "L" on the corner of the space, creating two of four sides of a rectangle), had a nice resonant but disagreeable dialogue with the two dimensional space within each work's frame, that effaced the maps and floor-plans used as ground for his whimsical, dream-like escapes.

similarly, the dots/holes that Campbell punched off her works, which denied the painterly and fluid aspect of the underlaying colors she first applied to the surface of the paper, resembling braille markings, would go unheard.

and what can I say, I learned a new term "flocking," while looking at Baechler's work (which must be seen in person anyway, as even my lost pictures, after many attempts from so many angles and vantage points, had failed to capture a grasp of lushness of their surface).

like a good dream you never want to end, Snider, Krieger, and Lerman captivated my attention with their wandering and meandering forms and figures in the popular and crowded collaborative concept exhibition during its opening reception. you will have to take my word for it.

last but not least, the poetry of Giberson's run in sentences - as far as I remember, they were the only text-based paintings in a group show that ironically was also poetically and fittingly titled (as many exhibitions in that venue are named after the featured artist) - will have to remain in my memory (as it was also erased from my computers' memories).

***

I should have concluded this blog entry with my brief summary, an exploration-that-never-was, on these artists' paintings.

but perhaps a better fit should include the only images that survived the mostly failed file transfer, shot a few hours ago. in hindsight an art blog about contemporary painting in Detroit during the spring of 2010 could not go about without a reference to Banksy, even if his paint comes from a spray can.

this infamously famous artist made his mark in the greater Detroit urban and decayed landscape (no lying); four of his pieces were discovered, documented, discussed, and argued over in the last few weeks. as it is (somewhat) known, and wonderfully written about on the weekly Metrotimes, one of Banksy's piece, from the dilapidated Packard Plant, was removed, without permission, by gallery 555. little has been written about them since (rumor has it that the piece has been hidden, as it's been threatened by unknown or unmentionable persons), also partially because local tragedy has taken central and national stage in the media, deservingly so.

my view on the matter (aside from the controversy of Banksy himself - a non issue really), is that the removed/destroyed piece would live best under the conservancy of the Detroit Institute of Arts, because they have the facilities and know-how to properly preserve this art work for posterity (and that might heal some wounds opened by the Packard and 555 folks with each other, as well as the community at large).

out of the four site-specific pieces created by Banksy here, as per said Metrotimes article, and if we consider the Packard/555 his first, the second piece was washed off by an overzealous property owner (whose property is up for sale for a price under Banksy's supposed market-value for a similar piece), and the third was irreparably damaged by another local group while attempting a second removal. only the last forth piece survived in the façade of an abandoned warehouse south of 12 Mile Road, on Van Dyke Road. before leaving Detroit for a month I wanted to go see, in person, the surviving Banksy, of the little mouse wearing star-shaped sunglasses, holding a pole and balancing itself on a real-life chain, that stood for a tight-rope. this cute and most expressive mouse, a recurring character from Banksy's extensive cast, symbolically depicted my journey here.

here being art. here as art

here being blog. here as blog.

here being site. here as sight.

here being Detroit. left and right.

the mouse is now gone, gone before I could meet him/her in person. like so much around here, it is gone before you know, and yet it leaves a mark, a mark that fails to erase what was once there. a mark like a scar, a reminder of what is sometimes forgotten. look around!

the mouse is now gone, and it wasn't me... or was it? did the mouse leave, because it knew I would photograph it, and then later lose the photograph?

the mouse is now gone.... as of 12:30 pm Eastern, on May 30, 2010. mouse being art. mouse as art. mouse depart.

this mouse is now gone... and soon so will I.



not being here. not being art. not being site, not as sight. not as here. not as art. not left, nor right.

UPDATE #1: it seems another Banksy piece has been found in Detroit after all. let's see how long this one will last.

UPDATE #2: someone comes forward as being Banksy, according to The Onion ;-)

dear anonymous...

similar words were used in an open Facebook newsfeed by Jerry Saltz in relation to the recent $106 million Picasso purchase in auction. his post so far has garnered over 840 "likes" and 396 comments, two of which are mine (the first a response to his original statement, the second a response to a response to my comment). in case you were out of the loop, here is what Jerry wrote and shared:

Dear imbecilic anonymous telephone bidder who paid a record $106 million for a 1932 Picasso @ Christie’s. You think you’re an art lover. Sorry. Had
you taken $106 mill. & bought a gigantic building in the West 40s in NYC: 500,000 sq. ft.; & simply rented space
ONLY AT COST to 100 good galleries & 100 artist studios you’d have changed American
art & the American art world, forever.

Enjoy the painting.

- Jerry

I will not comment on his statement here because the proper forum, at this time, is Facebook itself. but I will write about what this situation made me think, which I find oddly inspiring (much like good works of art, where you end up wiser after experiencing it, almost surprisingly so).

you see, Jerry is not a "friend" of mine on Facebook. but, for some reason, his post appeared on my newsfeed. I imagine that a while back I sent him a friend request, which he was not able to deny or accept because he simply had already too many friends already (this is what the social network told me this morning during my second attempt to "friend" him). this might actually be a glitch, but sometimes Facebook incorporates someone's threads onto one's newsfeed while one waits for a friend request response (I got the same from Bravo's Andy Cohen, though he actually replied to my request with a personal "I am sorry" email, very touching in so many different ways; coincidentally enough, Jerry is a judge for Bravo's upcoming "Work of Art" reality competition show, a Project Runway with visual artists).

what has been great about Jerry's comment is the discussion it has engendered, which has been varied in tone, opinion, and depth. I only read a portion of the comments (less than 100), but really enjoyed the way in which people openly and simultaneously criticized the subject matter and the author's stance. what I also enjoyed was what I perceived as being the generosity of the author himself as well, of not setting limits to whom has access to his account and its contents. this is a similar spirit to what I want to happen in ART-SIGHT. my goal has been to create a forum for lively discussion among everyone who encounters this blog, with my entries serving as points of provocation.

in these past six months I have experimented with many approaches and formats for writing (mainly divided into re-views and e-terviews). I have already discussed the difficulties of writing about the community one exists from within. and the verdict is still not out as far as what method will be the one chosen by me, or most prevalent.

a few months ago I decided that I would not respond to comments posted on the blog. I felt that there was the possibility for creating the impression that I always wanted to have the last word on any given discussion (which has actually never been my intention). this choice was pretty much cemented until I read some of Jerry's responses to the comments to his thread. it was great to read how he actually considered what was posted, and, in more than one instance, how he reformulated his original writing to expand and focus the discussion, or shift his perspective. his approach has made me reconsider my position. from here on, if the response to any given blog of mine is extensive and enlightening, I might throw in some post scripts. I do hope that more people read and feel comfortable with sharing their thoughts.

one other aspect of this blog in relation to comments posted by readers is the notion of anonymity. a dear friend of mine told me that, as a rule, she was against the ability for anonymous comments and replies. what she meant was that if someone had something to say, they should own it and not hide under the mask or disguise of being "no one". in theory I find that appropriate, but in practice that would leave a lot of people out of this blog's loop. of course, if one considers the fact that this blog has only 19 official followers, who might have better things to do with their time, adding more restrictions (such as the need for a gmail account) may further limit its potential audience.

but so far the anonymous replies have been the most unsettling of all, because they have seemed to be almost completely off topic, or rather, focusing on me or my formal choices, rather than on the content and/or the subject of my writing. the beauty of Jerry's Facebook thread was being able to see who wrote what, and the possibility to find out more about that person by clicking on their names (and even "friending" them). in the next few months I will turn on commenting restrictions (one that will ask for people to have some sort of identification to post comments) and watch what happens.

in the past I have received, via email, some great responses to this blog that were not made public. sending an email directly to me is an option for the ones who wish not to create an official access to this blog, should someone not have already the proper verifications for posting a comment. if/when that happens, I will respectfully ask if it is okay to nominally quote their emails on the thread.

sometimes figuring out what something is, much like looking at great art or making art, becomes in and of itself the point of it all, rather than getting to a point of complete and clear certainty on something. this quest should be ongoing and fluid. I believe this approach, of simultaneous critique and wonderment, from within and without, is one I aim to bring forth and maintain with ART-SIGHT, and in this process, learn more about myself, my community, blogging, and contemporary art. content-wise, I will attempt to create a balance between blogging on local/regional art activities with national/international events I have the opportunity to personally attend, with the intermittent exchange with an artist/scholar. my goal is to write from a place of honesty and humility, with a dash of humor and the occasionally loving poke (to use another Facebook-speak terminology).

I hope to hear and learn from you.

don't be a stranger!

e-terview with Kathryn Kramer

While the format for this blog has its own default rigidity, in my exploration of this medium I have allowed for a variety of approaches to emerge, such as the travelogue, the gallery review, and the interview. The latter, in particular, has mainly, to this point, focused on artists. The subject for this month's e-terview is not an artist, but fittingly enough her interests and research speak of a similar approach to mine in this venture: wandering and wondering. Dr. Kathryn Kramer is an Associate Professor of Modern and Contemporary Art History at State University of New York Cortland. In addition to having received awards for research and teaching, her writings have been published and presented in a variety of venues. In early 2008, on a chance encounter, Kramer came upon a flier I randomly placed at a conference table, with a call for submissions for an exhibition I was currating on contemporary flânerie. This led to a series of email exchanges that culminated in an essay written by her for the exhibition's catalogue, my presentation at her department's visiting artist series, and the spark for many interesting conversations and potential collaborative and/or corroborative situations between us. Below is the first steps down one road.

How did you become interested in the Flâneur as the subject for your research?

When I was in graduate school, I did some work on Manet’s Parisian street philosophers/ragpickers and in the process read Walter Benjamin’s Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. That book was my entrée into flânerie beyond what everyone, including I, seems to just know about the practice “by osmosis,” so to speak. At that point, I made a mental note that I myself was a natural born flâneuse and moved on to my dissertation on Paul Klee. It was only about five years ago or so that I began to wonder if globalizing cities, particularly beyond the west, could function as new proving grounds for a flânerie revival: was flânerie Eurocentric, or could it go transnational, and if so, how? I chaired a panel on the subject of flânerie and globalization for the 2005 College Art Association conference in Atlanta, which addressed for me the question of flanerie’s contemporary relevance but still left a lot to be pondered regarding its viable internationalization. My current research took off from there.

2- You guest edited the most recent issue of the online journal Wagadu: Journal of Transnational Women's and Gender Studies. This special issue, “Today’s Global Flâneuse,” focuses on the flâneuse. How did that come about and more specifically, what have you included?

Check it out at http://appweb.cortland.edu/ojs/index.php/Wagadu/issue/current. It is inevitable to inquire whether or not the flâneuse has truly arrived on today’s world stage when beginning to reconsider flânerie’s current resonance. While scholarship has long moved away from flânerie's classical definition featuring a bourgeois, indolent male wandering around 19th-century industrializing Paris for the sake of modernity and art, it is still more inclined to insert the flâneuse into 19th-century Paris than to focus on the contemporary flâneuse, although there is a body of recent scholarship, mostly from the last two years or so and mostly coming out of France and Spain, that is finally focusing on the present. This tendency to get stuck in the past seems to be an occupational hazard when trying to tackle flanerie’s currency: Benjamin himself started it by basically re-living Baudelaire’s experience.

This casting for flânerie amidst the high modernism of the 19th century and then taking up semi-permanent residence there is a strange phenomenon and could be a research project in itself, but I wanted to focus on the possibilities of today’s flâneuse with my Wagadu guest editorship. To that end, I put out the call for what I have come to recognize as 21st century flânerie, which is a twining of sociology and aesthetics—ethnographic research practice that is art and vice versa—from feminine perspectives. I was expecting submissions of complex, experiential, and emotive documentations of the dynamics of today’s world cities, providing not only vivid evidence of cities in transformation but also representations of their urban imaginaries. Interestingly, the majority of the submissions reflected more of the interurban circuit created by 21st-century globalization rather than the world cities themselves, leading me to an unexpected conclusion that today’s flâneuse exists more as a global nomad, practicing a broader, more cosmopolitan form of flânerie than the strictly urban variety. Does that mean that cities are still relatively unavailable to the flâneuse, same as it ever was? Perhaps. I think I need a much broader sampling than what appears in Wagadu. So the research on the global flâneuse continues.

What I really like about this issue is that it is a hybrid volume—part ethnography, part memoirs, part artist’s illustrated book. Plus since it is an online journal, we were able to include time-based digital media in its HTML version: the importance of capturing the intrinsic mobility of flânerie with appropriate media cannot be overstated!

3- Your current research focuses on global art events. Could you describe what you have been working on and where this research has taken you? Does this relate to the flânerie in any way?

From 2007-2010, SUNY Cortland supported my research into the interurban circuit of burgeoning biennials and other art expos. My primary purpose was to travel to a variety of these art events over this period in order to explore their connection to the revival of cosmopolitanism, a notion that has experienced resuscitation in the 21st century very much along the lines of flânerie. In the course of my research, I also gathered examples of artists from all over the world who are engaged in the practice of flânerie.

4- What do you plan on doing with this current research? (book, journal, presentations, conference, exhibition, etc)

A couple of essays are in various stages of completion. As soon as I visit the 2010 Shanghai World Expo, I am going to complete an essay focusing on Shanghai’s reinvention of itself as a global city in part through its recent biennials and especially through its upcoming world’s fair. I would like to expand the Wagadu edition into an edited book about the feminine filtration of the urban (I am always on the lookout for those who would like to contribute). In terms of the flâneur/flâneuse artists that I am collecting, I would like to—in a Benjaminian gesture—channel Baudelaire and write a description of their practices (so, they would be both Mr. and Ms. “G’s”!!) a la “The Painter of Modern Life” essay. See, it has happened to me, too: the eternal return to the 19th century!

performance anxiety (in three acts)

I.



On April 08, 2010 I was scheduled to give a presentation at SUNY Cortland as part of their visiting artist lecture series. Dr. Kathryn Kramer, who wrote a beautiful essay for the Contemporary Flânerie: Reconfiguring Cities exhibition I curated (March 2009), invited me to come to campus, meet her colleagues, present my work, and interact with their students.

On April 07, 2010 I got on the road, having decided to drive there, via Ontario, instead of flying (Cortland is located somewhere between Syracuse and Ithaca, New York). While the extensive drive may seem like dead time, for me it was a good thinking time (thanks in part by cruise control and GPS navigation). I titled my presentation “Technology Becomes Him” as a means to focus my current artistic interests. This talk (45 minutes long) was an expansion of the Pecha Kucha one (5 minutes) I did in Chicago in February 10, 2010 at the Illinois State Museum. For it I compiled 55 slides into a Powerpoint presentation and an 8 channels DVD compilation of my works from the past 5 years. Though I feel very comfortable with the content of my work and how they all fit together or dialogue, I felt pretty nervous about, once again, speaking in public.

The two strategies I normally employ in such events are humor (specially self deprecating), and audience reading (for this particular talk I had three possible endings, depending on people’s reactions – this time I ended up using the first end and leaving 12 slides and 1 video out). One reoccurring concern of mine for these presentations centers in creating an understanding (a foundation really) on the exploration of subjectivity, which is the main vein of my work. My intent in art, via performance and performative actions, is for an eventual self-erasure (where people will see me as an icon rather than a human being, and consider my expressions as symbolic rather than biographical). The name of this blog, art-sight, proposes that through vision a stance or perspective takes place, which perfectly correlates with the ephemeral nature of this medium. With my work I forward the proposing of body-as-site, where physicality and place creates a position for cognition and expression. As such, I hope that my art/body/sight/site transposes someone else’s, becoming a projection/conduit/mirror for further examinations of others: I am the ticket, not the destination.

Part of my anxiety in public speaking also comes from two nagging terms that I seem never able to shake away from my work: identity and narcissism. The latter was expressed in a question by a faculty member during dinner that same night. I am not afraid to answer such enquiries, because I have very clear and precise answers to almost anything relating to that. My anxiety comes in part because the answers seem never satisfactory to the interlocutor(s), because their questions assume a given or conventional rigidity in meaning. What I mean by this is that unless they are open to consider my interpretations of such (my favorite term now is one borrowed from Kramer, “a return to subjectivity”), my answers create a vicious cycle of perpetual frustration because they are not satisfied by my reasoning (ironically enough, narcissism is characterized by that same perpetual frustration or lack of completeness).

II.

After spending a whole day interacting with students, and their anxieties, Kramer and I drove to Ithaca to have dinner and see the Cornell campus. Given our mutual penchant for wandering, she made reservations at several eateries at different times, and let chance make a choice for us. As we drove around the beautiful lakes and ravines that surround that geography we talked more about the events of the previous days, our future projects, etc. Once on campus proper (which by the way is probably one of the most beautiful settings I have ever been to in an American university), we ran into the fascinating Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art building, which was designed by I. M. Pei (or “he is Pei”, as I like to say).

As luck would have it, they were having an opening reception for their shows (they usually close by 5 pm, but were open late that evening). Of the many exhibitions featured alongside their permanent collection, were James Siena: From the Studio (a presentation of art and artifact collected and made by the alum), Michael Ashkin (a range of media and timeframe on display inside and outside the museum) and Bodies Unbound: The Classical and Grotesque (curated by students in Cornell’s Art History program. It bears to note that extensively informative pamphlets and brochures were available at no cost to any viewer, a huge plus in my (check)book. Their New Media room, really is a closet with video art, was disappointing in its scale, though the work itself, Climbing Around My Room by Lucy Gunning, which I will term as an architectural interaction performance, was pretty interesting, though devoid of much presence (mostly because of the manner in which it was displayed).

The most anticipated work in exhibit for me and Kramer was Carolee Schneemann: Interior Scroll, which was advertized on the exterior walls, and in the main gallery guide distributed at the door. As we anxiously waited for what it seemed like the slowest elevator on the east coast to get to the second floor, our anticipation built.

III.

It actually took us a while to find the piece because we, for some were, were expecting to see it as a film of some sort. What they had on display was a suite of thirteen photographs, some similar to the ones most of us have seen, some quite different (thus indicating that the scroll part was the center of the performance, but not the totality of it). Interestingly enough, the museum provided a pamphlet with the actual transcription of the scroll, it being a dialogue between the artist and a male film-maker... who considered not a film-makeress Schneemann, but “(…) a dancer.” If I had the permission, I’d publish the whole transcript here, but unfortunately I do not. What I will say is that reading it completely transformed the piece to me, raising it to my top ten favorite performance art pieces ever.



Her negotiation between art and film, male and female, body and sex, brought back memories of my first exposures to serious performance art, while I was still in graduate school. Funny enough, it was then that I began to fully utilize performance, dance and sexuality in my work. Two particular performances I attended are worth mentioning here. In 1999, during the CAA Conference in Los Angeles, I saw a performance by Karen Finlay at the Track 16 Gallery at Bergamot Station, that took place within her Pooh Unplugged exhibition (yes, the bear of children’s stories). I arrived mid performance and found a circle of people standing in their main room, with her in the middle, completely naked, with honey all over her body. Anyone in the audience could lick the honey off her body provided they gave her a dollar. It was very interesting to see much older (then) people negotiating the tension of wanting to participate, wanting to walk away, wanting to be open-minded, et cetera. The tension in the air was palpable, and measurable by the nervous laughter that was enveloped by the smell of the free wine (similar to that of being in a low-end strip club). This was a few months before I actually ran into a classmate in a strip club in Ocala, FL actually. My reaction was more negative toward the work on the wall (I remember saying something to the effect that there was too much text to be read on the walls, the irony is not missed by me), and felt the performance slightly silly. But today I see it in a completely different way. I think that, similar to Schneemann, Finlay created an oddily shocking but non-threatening expression of her experiences and times.

The other performance I remember from grad school was performed at the Harn Museum of Art by Nao Bustamante and Coco Fusco titled “STUFF” in 1998. This piece combined media and original footage with costumes, props and scripted dialogue. It took place in a theater-like setting with a clear distinction between audience and performers, unlike the gallery in Los Angeles. Food, Latinas, media, histories and their representations constituted the main theme for this piece, laced with humor and the absurd. Nao was invited back to campus and featured in a solo exhibition in 2000 (a few months after I graduated). Being unemployed at the time allowed me to spend some time with her and volunteer in the installation of her work. In the few days she was there I felt connected to her. Looking back, her work, which is simultaneously complex, clever, and disturbing, allowed me to create the work I do today.

Time went by and of course we lost track of each other. In 2005 I ran into Nao at a CAA Conference in Atlanta, where I was presenting a video performance titled “free video hypnosis here,” a piece that dealt with my love-hate relationship to media and pop culture. Since then we managed to stay in touch via email, and last January we were able to bring Nao as a visiting artist to OU. I have screened Nao’s piece “Sans Gravity” every year in my video art class. Her visit brought me back to graduate school, our conversations then and our conversations now, somewhat different in nature, still carried some of the same ease from years bacl. Watching her interact with my students and the audience in her talk prepared me for my own adventure in upstate New York, though some anxiety still persisted.



On my second day in Cortland I met with students working in a collaborative, interdisciplinary project on Congo. It is always very interesting to begin such interactions, as usually my first statement, and the student’s response, set the tone for the rest of the day. Should I be the bitch or the nice guy? I opted to be unfiltered, to the point, and slightly nurturing (and luckily I managed to insert the word dildo into the discussion within the first hour without laughing). At the end of the day I was quite drained - we met for about 5 hours - but I believe that every one pretty much left the room with some knowledge gained and a level of satisfaction and accomplishment (at least I did). What brought everyone together in a nice way was a sense that we were all there to learn something, and that no answers were final, but only new pathways for exploration.

Lately I have been thinking about students and their relationship to critique. It is of course difficult to pinpoint when exactly, but I have sensed that in the last four years or so there is a different posture assumed by students. Of course my posture has also changed. The main difference is a more open acceptance to criticism. I cannot seriously remember the last time a student cried in a critique, because it rarely happens. Part of it is a lack of investment from their part, and a softening from mine.

Another aspect is the students’ overall politeness to one another – I usually assume the role of the bad guy and they pat each others’ backs. Kramer and I talked a bit about that in relation to television competition programming. One thing shows like American Idol and Project Runway have brought to the mainstream is the concept of critique as a method for growth and improvement (and cattiness as humor). Of course there have been similar programs for decades (paging Star Search), but the prominent role of media, and the multiple access to it we have nowadays makes critique and creativity/self-expression almost inescapable.

An ex-friend of mine in graduate school (long story, don’t ask) once told me that art was only relevant if it permeated mainstream culture, because then it would become part of the fabric of life (this is a gross paraphrase of what he said). Of course I think he meant something else, and I am not even sure what exactly he understood as art (he was in a language department). In a way this is what has happened with art criticism (I am also using here the term art in a very broad sense). Which brings me to a place where anxiety might be replaced with anticipation. In June 2010 Bravo will begin airing the first season of “Work of Art: The Next Great Artist,” a reality competition show featuring fine/visual artists as contestant, with a high profile cast of both participants and mentors. One of the contestants is none other than Nao Bustamante. If one watches the preview clips, “Sans Gravity” is re-performed (how pertinent, with Marina Abramovic’s reenactments all over the MOMA this season), and jurors state, among quick cuts and multiple juxtapositions, the sentences “you are not an artist,” and “you give performance art a bad name.” Who did they mean these to? Will they edit Nao to be the villain? It all remains to be seen, and scene’d. We might just have to watch what happens.

merchandising

dear friends, blog readers, and followers,

I've been creating several designs for clothing (t-shirts and hoodies) in the past few weeks, some relating to art projects of mine (such as iconographs), some relating to teaching (such as critique), and some just for fun.

for this venture I am using a print-on-demand online service called redbubble. this company allows one to upload and sell their designs from their online store. each piece is printed upon order, and delivered within 10 business days (though I got my first samples in less than a week). they use the color palette and sizes from American Apparel, so the quality is good and the colors vivid.

t-shirts cost about US$25 each (order three or more and shipping is free); the profit margin at this point is minimum for me (about $3 per shirt), but if you'd like to support and promote this site, please consider purchasing one - link below (please note that there are many color choices for logo, even more so for fabrics, apparel choices, logo positioning, etc, as well as other designs to choose from).

when your t-shirt arrive, make a picture of yourself wearing it and I will post it on this blog.

I thank you for following this blog, reading and providing feedback =-)

love,

V.

click here to visit my store

e-terview with Joseph Ravens

there are many words I could use to describe Joseph Ravens, an artist and a human being of many facets. his work, and his work ethics, as well as his joi de vivre, are truly inspiring, a rare combination of committed integrity with heart-felt lightness. his technology-enhanced performances have been shown and toured around the world. his credentials are too extensive and intense to list, to say the least (please visit his site for more information, at the end of this entry). we recently had the opportunity to spend some time together in Chicago; what follows is a series of questions exchange a few weeks after that. in his own words.

your art practice combines elements of performance art, theater and dance, sprinkled with technology. how would you best describe what you do?

This is an interesting question because I often have to describe what I do . Unlike other mediums and disciplines, telling someone you’re a performance artist is usually followed by puzzled looks and a bunch of questions. I have several answers based on my cursory assessment of that person's artistic knowledge. Funny, I’m sometimes wrong and totally talk down to people, describing my work in simplistic terms and then they say, ‘oh, you mean you’re a performance artist, like Abramović or Barney or something…’, and I feel like a fool. Actually, your question uses similar language that I use to describe myself. I love the phrase, ‘sprinkled with technology’ – can I steal that from you? It’s very accurate. Historically, performance art has been difficult to define. Frankly, it’s one of the allures – the limitless unrestrained nature of the medium. I happen to have a theater and dance background so those elements and skill-sets are certainly a part of my performances. But I prefer to identify myself as a visual artist because I apply visual art aesthetics to time-based creations. The structures and narratives present in theater and dance I find problematic and limiting. I really do straddle disciplines and sometimes one artistic genre is better suited as a vehicle for my thoughts or ideas. I present in galleries, theaters, dance spaces, and non-traditional environments.

The semantics surrounding performance art are really interesting – the medium is so enigmatic. Performance (without the ‘art’) is being used the most (I think) in the United States. Live Art is used a lot in England. Art Actions, Art Performance, Behavioral Art…there are so many terms used to define the practice. Performance is becoming very popular again. A lot of sculptors and painters and artists from established mediums are making performances or performance is part of their process. Also galleries and Biennales are encorporating performance. Perhaps one of the reasons Performance is becoming popular again is that Roselee Goldberg (along with Marina Abromović) started the (somewhat elitist) Performa Biennale in New York. As we all know, though, boundaries between artistic disciplines are becoming fewer and far between – and not only in visual art. Hybrid, multimedia, multidisciplinary, transdisciplinary, however you want to put it – the parameters are more elastic now than they have ever been. I’m getting off the topic. In reply to your original question: When my aunt asks me what I do I tell her I’m an actor, director, or playwright. When the average person off the street asks me what I do I say I’m an artist. When an artist asks me what I do I say that my work is a hybrid of visual art, dance, and theater.

'AIR POCKET(S)' by Joseph Ravens
Postsovkhoz4 International Symposium: MOKS, Mooste, Estonia 2004

which particular piece of yours would you say exemplifies your practice?

As is the case with most artists, my practice is constantly changing and evolving. I also have a short attention span and an adventurous spirit, so I am constantly interested in fresh approaches or perspectives. I think I’m particularly diverse – sometimes writing plays and other times making dances or fiber-based installations. But I would have to say my performance, RAVENOUS, is most characteristic of my style. I made this piece as my MFA thesis at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC). When I moved to Chicago I changed my name to Ravens without really considering the bird or what it represented. The word ‘ravens’ is actually part of my original longer Germanic surname - I shortened it for ease and memorability. When I did start researching the Raven – especially the role of the bird in various mythologies – I found we had a lot in common. So the work came from a really personal place. It also incorporated a lot of ideas and skills that I acquired as a student at SAIC. It was something of a re-birth and it embodied a lot of the aesthetics that I continue to embrace: sculptural movement, large scale fiber-based installation, poetic text, abstract narrative, clean minimalist style, illusion, seduction, and even a ‘sprinkling of technology’.

Joseph Ravens in ‘Ravenous’

is there one particular sequence or process you employ in your creative endeavors? what are the usual steps between conception and implementation?

Oh gosh. I often joke about starting a company called “Cart-Before-the-Horse Productions”. For the past 10 years or so I’ve felt that my process is backwards. When applying for festivals or grants I manifest ideas – often thoroughly researching and developing the ideas but never implementing them. If and when the opportunity presents itself, I then bring that Idea into being. I have a love/hate relationship to the idea of artist as inventor – a mad scientist toying with his creations in a studio cluttered with materials. I want to be that kind of artist, but it’s really not possible or realistic. I have a general idea and then I usually schedule a fairly short and organized production period – often the month before the exhibition. When I do create a work, though, I really think about it becoming part of a repertoire – a body of work that I can mount and re-mount. I also think about how it travels, since travel is a vital part of my practice. I’m very practical. I think about impact and portability. I think a lot about how I can make something large out of something that is small, lightweight, and easy to carry. That’s what drew me to inflatable objects. When I do create solo works, the video camera is essential to the process. I set up the camera and use the remote to record myself. Then I create or choreograph and view the tape at regular intervals to tweak and shape the work. I hunger for feedback, especially as a solo artist, but it’s a luxury I rarely have the pleasure of.

Joseph Ravens in ‘Is My Liver Showing?’ at Midway Studios, Boston, MA

how much, or how little do your life experiences permeate your art practice? if your body is the medium, what message does this body engender?

Sex and seduction, materialism and vanity are ever present concerns for me as a hyper-aware, hyper-sensitive gay man navigating an agist, beauty-obsessed culture. I think by body and the exposure of my body stem from this place. On a more aesthetic level, and in a dancerly sort of way, I simply find beauty in the human form. I’m very interested in anatomical details. In my most recent work, Kattywampus, I choreographed an entire section for my shoulderblades. Whenever I present this piece I try to drop body fat so that my ribs and shoulderblades are more obvious. I really see my body as the material – as the sculpture. I pay a lot of attention to negative space – the air between my limbs, etc. I am very influenced by Butoh – a Japanese artform that embraces a certain physical intensity. My bald head and physical presence is also meant to be something mannequin like, neutral – I like to present myself as something otherworldly – something decidedly ‘other’ while still allowing the viewer access to my internal struggle. In that way, my presence in performance is usually not me as the artist–creator, but, rather, a persona. But this isn’t often the case. I have text-based autobiographical pieces (a lá Holly Houghes) that I rarely perform. I have been focused on working internationally and, in an attempt to create work that is globally universal, my images and ideas have become sort of hyper or meta…less specific or personal. So my life experiences don’t frequently make their way directly into my work and text is seldomly used anymore. I am not interested in any sort of politics or overt message in my work. I aim for something more poetic, lyrical, and abstract.

Joseph Ravens in ‘Rigamarole’ (a version of ‘Kattywampus’)
Open Festival, Beijing, China 2009

what project are you currently touring? what future projects do you have in the works?

I’m touring 'Security System' and 'Kattywampus'. I often collaborate with Marianne Kim and we are developing two new works – a new inflatable performance installation series that will deal with urban navagation, and the second in a series of ‘rooms’ inspired by the Japanese video game, Katamari. ‘Room One’ was the bedroom and the next room will be the dining room.

I have two personal projects that I haven’t really started but they are rattling around in my skull. I’m very interested in queens – royal women. I’d like to write some monologues or make some videos with transgender male-to-female performers embodying famous queens throughout history. They, of course, would be abstract and idiosyncratic. Perhaps I’m the various queens. I’m curious about keeping it sort of period in style and look but present the videos like a vlog – within an obviously anachronistic technology framework.

I’m also interested in starting a vlog about my inherent ‘wantitis’ - the affliction of always wanting to spend money on something new. An obvious comment on materialism and consumerism, I’m really looking at this habit and how to overcome it – all in front of the public eye.

Marianne Kim and Joseph Ravens in ‘Room One’ at Arizona State University 2008

click here to visit Joseph Ravens' website

click here to see some recent work

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 ;-)