Sex and Death

Saw some things –

Dan Graham – Beyond at MOCA – Attended this opening, which had the character of “Disneyland for the overeducated” (I can only take partial credit for that one). The better half of Sonic Youth performed, and made us all feel smart, and I was not infuriated by MOCA’s insistence on having cash bars at their events, for once. Plenty to do at the Graham show, but there was even more to rub your chin about. This is good, because MOCA gets a lot of my time anyways. I have just returned from there, in fact, and begun the process of dialing in to what is presented in the show, and there is a lot.

I was originally only familiar with Graham from his performance work, and its video documentation, which I approved of wholeheartedly. The show at MOCA lets you in on all of his conceptual strategies, which at first seem pretty representative of much of the output of conceptual artists of the 1970’s. A deeper investment reveals Graham using these tactics in unexpectedly satisfying ways. A turn off for many about art like this is the ‘lack’ of visual aesthetic that greets viewers upon seeing it. Christopher Knight waxes eloquently about how the shows lack of color is meant literally, and not as a criticism of its variety. I would argue that there is indeed a visual aesthetic to Graham’s work, albeit one that occurs as a byproduct of what is presented as opposed to a conscious factor ahead of time. Any true fan of more conceptual art (myself included) knows enough to know that nothing visual is not designed; only that some designs are in such service to the ideas they are presenting that they call little attention to themselves formally.

Once past that, Graham’s interest in making the viewer more aware of their own viewing and being viewed hits it’s mark in both literal and figurative ways. His glass and mirror structures heighten one’s awareness of the contradictory and arbitrary nature of some basic architectural ideas, while highlighting the self-consciousness of one’s own presence in the presence of others. For example, to be in the self-enclosed spaces of one of Graham’s structures is to be able to see out knowing others can’t see in, while at the same time seeing one’s own reflection, and often seeing reflections of reflections as well as seeing out. Architecture in general is the arbitrary carving out of a chunk of space (and time) to get shit done; a metaphor for the finite in an infinite space. Yet, in contradiction to that, windows offer framed (painterly?) examples of this space, and in an ever spiraling evolution of contradiction, glass windows create barriers that can’t be seen to this space, and then shades and curtains bring us back to completely enclosed spaces. Graham so simply and eloquently relays to viewers our conflicted views of wanting to be in the world and out of it, to see and not be seen, to stand outside and to be within. He uses these same strategies and motifs in his videos, performance pieces, and films to great effect – forcing viewers to be viewed, and vice-versa. This investigation into phenomenological awkwardness is there in almost all the work, expanding into ruminations about suburbia, magazine layouts, and art writing.

I’ve only really chewed on and digested half of what the show offers; several return trips are in order. I haven’t even started to talk about his use of nude performers in works, or some of his writing (Schema for Poems is awesome). Maybe another blog post. Lucky you.

Katherine Gray – It’s a Very Deadly Weapon to Know What You Are Doing – Acuna-Hansen Gallery – 8 foot high shelves packed with glassware surrounded by people drinking. It’s frightening and full of tension; the physical presence of these pieces alone demands your attention. The required reading for the piece turns these literal implications into poetry – a visually sublime statement on the realization that an environment of consumption requires the consumption of the environment. Glass as a medium in a context like this has a reputation for having some emotional baggage. Some artists are in denial about it, but some, like Gray, give their audiences some actual credit for desiring ideas and deliver the goods.

Walter Robinson – Transport – Charlie James Gallery – CJG continues to delightfully surprise me. Robinson has made a wonderfully dense “gotta get smart to get art” statement via some deliciously slick pieces. The faux-Rothko car hoods showcase the reformation of the car cult currently occurring in America while making a broader comment on the art market in general and its present brush with death. (Get it? “Brush” with death?). The works are smart and sexy, and while being another unexpected avenue at CJG, fit in perfectly with the vision I know Charlie has for the space.

I’m struck by how I’ve seen two precarious glass-based pieces in Chinatown in as many months. Gray’s at Acuna-Hansen and the last show at Charlie James (see this previous post). While Gray’s dealt with precariousness of how to use what is left of the world around us, David Scott Stone’s piece gave a nasty visualization to the tension of sex and death. But I think all art is about sex and death. But that’s another blog post.

A Study Hall Notebook From the 12th Dimension

So. Melissa Brown and Mat Brinkman at M+B Gallery. Mat Brinkman is one of my favorites. Definetly my favorite of the fabled Fort Thunder artists from Providence, Rhode Island. He doesn't show that much it seems, and the plethora of drawings he had at this show was more work of his than I've ever seen in one place.

Do yourself a favor and google 'Fort Thunder' if you're not hip to this super-influential group of artists and musicians. Let me put it this way: If Gary Panter was shot in a rocket to a distant moon, and a thousand years later we found his descendants, long since having created a new world and culture out of whole cloth, what they wrought would look something like the output of the Fort. And Brinkman and his otherworldly imagery from a study hall notebook from the 12th dimension is my favorite of the bunch. His only solo published book that I know of is Teratoid Heights, and I forgot to bring it for him to sign, though I did get to meet him. He's from Texas like me. I also got to meet Dan Nadel, mastermind behind Picturebox Inc., who publish much of the Fort Thunder and related books and whatnot, along with many other super amazing things. I can honestly say that Picturebox probably gets more of my money more than any other book publisher. So there.

I first discovered the work of the Fort years ago in Houston, when The Comics Journal did a huge feature on them in one of their issues (Oct 2003 issue). There in my lonely Houston apartment, at the tail end of my undergrad education, the story and work of this group totally took hold of me as something unlike anything I had ever previously encountered. Here was a group of young artists creating as purely as possible, eschewing labels or categories that could pigeon hole whatever is they chose to make, be it posters, prints, comics, sculptures, performances, or music. My first hand encounter with Brinkman was the cover of Kramers Ergot 4, which was another eye-opener to this strange new world.

Their legacy continues -- Ben Jones, Paper Rad, C.F., as well as the original Fort dwellers continue to produce work, much of it published by Nadel and some others. Do yourself a favor and immerse yourself in this rich body of kookiness and spread the love.

Oh yeah, I met and talked with Winona Ryder at the opening. She was very nice.

These are the highlights of what I got, Fort Thunder-wise, if you feel the need to come over and drink some beer and look at some books. I have a clipboard if you need to check something out.

Wunderground: Providence, 1995 to the Present -- This is the catalogue of a show put on by RISD in 2006 celebrating the history of the Fort, its artists, and current artists that continue in the same spirit.

The Comics Journal #256 -- This issue's feature, from October 2003, explains the whole Fort deal, and has interviews with a few of the artists involved, including Brinkman.

Teratoid Heights -- Nice, weird, chunky book by Brinkman that is pretty representative of his output.

Ninja -- Super huge mega-comic by Brian Chippendale that features some more recent stuff intermixed with childhood drawings. Very cool.

Maggotts -- Also by Chippendale. A labrynthine adventure through some of the most obsessive and insane drawing you'll ever see.

Paper Rodeo -- This is the comics newspaper put out by some of the Fort artists that featured work by the above mentioned cats. I have 3 or 4 issues.

Lightning Bolt, Mindflayer, and Forcefield -- Three bands featuring Brinkman, Chippendale, and others. I have albums of all three. All noisy, calamitous, kookiness. I think Lightning Bolt is the best.

I have some other related stuff by some other related artists, but I'm about to list the better part of my library here. What's above should get you started. Enjoy.

Hints of Being Free

First things first -- A Wet Rock in Space, 2009, acrylic and oil on canvas:

Aaaaand, Her Second Greatest Hatred, 2009, acrylic and oil on canvas:



Allright, so, ArtLA. About as "not bad" as it has been in past years, I guess. Great polenta with scallops and shrimp at the opening night reception. Maybe it was the hints of fennel, or the hints of being free, but it was especially good. Best thing I saw was a painting by Adrian Ghenie from Nicodim Gallery, from right here in Chinatown. Tim Hawkinson's work at the Ace Gallery booth was dope, as always. He's with Blum and Poe now I hear. (Just heard it, though.) I got stopped by MOCA membership people because I was representin' with my I HEART MOCA pin, and I got to complain to them about how I never get the member opening invites. Saturday my invite to the Dan Graham show was in the mailbox. Anybody want to go to the Dan Graham opening with me? It's on Feb 14th. Romantic.

Cheap Scotches and Moody Lighting

Wow so it’s been over a month. I sit here listening to History: America’s Greatest Hits ( the band, not the country) on my fathers old turntable, an Akai AP-A1. Finally got the right cartridge and stylus for it, and a box full of records scoured from Pop’s collection, and all is right in the world. Not really, but let’s roll with the feeling of the moment shall we? POINTLESS TRIVIA: The album cover art for America’s Greatest Hits was illustrated by late great SNL cast member, Paul Rubens collaborator, and Simpsons voice Phil Hartman. No shit. His signature is at the bottom of the picture.

So I’ve been working for Art Fairs, Inc., during the Photo LA show, and have seen more photographs than I ever wanted to. And my conclusion: As soon as sex was invented, they were working on photography next. The only pics I could dial into from the dozens of exhibitors were ones that showed me sex. I mean that in the broadest sense, but arty images of women doing things in various states of undress will always be ‘in’. If I weren’t in such and overworked and underfucked haze at the moment, I would extol a whole brilliant theory about how all photography is about sex, the way all art is about death, and politics, and narrative, but that is best left as an impromptu conversation over some cheap scotches and moody lighting.

On the film front, Milk by Gus Van Sant is as good as everyone says it is. Harvey Milk’s story stands alongside that of MLK, Ghandi, and Bobby Sands (who has gotten the film treatment by video artist Steve McQueen last year…where is Hunger playing?). The opera analogy at the end was almost over the top, but ‘over the top’ was perhaps one of themes of the film and the life of the titular character.

Waltz With Bashir by Ari Folman is super great. A visually arresting hybrid animation style graphically delivers what would normally be difficult and politically loaded imagery, resulting in a spectacular metaphor for the films themes of memory, experience, and regret. Folman does not shy away from the absurd and costly effects that what he experienced has had on humanity, though. Saw this with my friend Maxwell, who has had experiences not unlike that seen in the film (at least compared to me) and was glad he and my pal Joe Biel recommended the film, as I now recommend it to you.

Oh, yeah, art. Did the grand tour Saturday night, and liked a lot of what I saw:

Asgar/Gabriel -- Bucolica ObscuraAsgar/Gabriel at Mark Moore Gallery: Big, sexy paintings, that have big, sexy, imagery. Though you could dismiss them as very ‘hip’ paintings, I love em. Though I want to know how the duo deivides up the labor on the paintings, but that's just nerdy painting stuff. If you see the show, don’t forget to look at the new Alison Schulnik painting in the office area…very tasty.

Kaz Oshiro – False Gestures at Rosamund Felsen Gallery: So the title’s a little literal, but Oshiro is a badass. Hyperreal sculptures of, just, you know, stuff, made out of paintings. This is so artist nerdy, so ‘gotta get smart to get art’, so….great. What does it mean? I connect him to the Raushchenberg-ian idea of the combine (combines painting and sculpture) but much more current and slick, and devoid of any expressionist baggage. Some of the works are actually on the wall, which is an unexpected move, and some are completely abstract but still crafted airtight…keep your eyes on this Angeleno.

Robyn O’Neil – A World Disrupted at Roberts and Tilton Gallery: Yeah so she’s one of my dearest friends, (and maybe…relocating…to the City of Angels….???) but her work has always been dopeatronic and an inspiration, and her first LA outing is no different. Using the first physical medium any of us had artistic notions with, Robyn weaves her graphite magic on breathtaking scales, inviting the viewer to feel the chill wind of her ominous environments. Luckily, there are black sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt for all who find themselves within her grey, disconcerting worlds. And John Voight was at the opening, yo!

David E. Stone – Unanticipated Despair at Charlie James Gallery: In a time when lots of galleries are going under, Mr. James has opened his doors in Chinatown with a clear but flexible vision and lots of fresh, new work. This second show is a left turn visually from the first, but reflective of what Charlie tells me of his ideas for the space, and Stone took full advantage. There were lots of thought provoking elements floating about the room, but the show-stealing piece was the pile of broken glass in the middle of the room arranged to look like a Twister mat -- Precarious Twister (State I), which, if I had been drunker, I would have phone pic’d and sent to about a half dozen artists I know who have incurable glass fetishes.

I guess that’s all I remember for now. The new Kramers Ergot is as big as a shield, and so far is the cosmic orgasm of a comic book the previous ones were. Just putting the thing in my lap to look at it feels ritualistic; its too big for my big sexy bookshelves – the thing has its own chair. I got a pile of books for Christmas, and at some point I’ll tell you all about them. But right now, I just want to finish The Heart is A Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. Page 274, near the bottom of the page – “They both turned at the same time….” Sexiest. Paragraph. Ever.

Fucked Up Hurricane

Did you catch "Caribbean Pirates" by Paul and Damon McCarthy at the REDCAT a few weeks ago?  

To repeat what I said on Facebook -- CRAZYPANTSAPESHITBADASS

A while back when I saw some footage of his pirate madness, I wondered how the hell he was going to package it for presentation, as it seemed like a lot of activity, a lot of madness, a lot of mess.  But there was something grand there, something epic.  And our boy PM and son figured it out.  I have never seen a better presentation for so much rampant chaos then what was delivered that night.  Me and my friend sat surrounded by 11 different overhead screens projecting over 90 minutes of chocolate syrup, asses, condiments, groping, screaming, breasts, fake noses, power sawing, prosthetic limbs, fake blood, green screening, nudity, and more yelling.  We were in the eye of a fucked up hurricane, and then, one by one, the screens went blank and the lights went up, and those left (mostly everyone) sounded their whole hearted approval, myself included.

I managed to shake the proud poppa's hand on the way out.  He seemed happy.  Good times.

Aside from that, I now give you the Junior Eurovison 2008 winners, Bzzz Bzikebi, from the Republic of Georgia:

Glistening, Overwhelming Geographies

I don't know where to begin....first things first -- Enemy Elite Trooper 2008:


Cindy Wright at Mark Moore Gallery -- Her paintings do that thing, that sexy thing where the paint falls off the bone up close. Sumptuous, fitful strokes of dull pinks and grays coalesce to form subject matter that has been rendered into glistening, overwhelming geographies of beauty. And we all got to hang out later. She said nice things about my paintings.

Louise Bourgeoisie at MOCA -- A perfect complement to the Kippenberger show. Him- all over the place male painter that died young. Her - consistently interesting female sculptor that is still active, 97 years young. She presents the themes humanity has the most trouble ever coming to terms with -- love, intimacy, sex, relationships, family, gender -- in the most inviting and universal ways. Her methods are the same ways ancient peoples communicated these ideas; transmitted through the hands on the oldest materials with the simplest forms. Fantastic.

Oranges and Sardines at the Hammer -- Father-raping awesome. 6 abstract painters pick their favorites, and its named after a line from a Frank O'Hara poem. Go, go, go to this show. Take me with you again. Bacon. Guston. Mondrian. Still. Heilman. Amy Sillman. Dieter Roth. Malcolm Morley. Amy Sillman is my new favorite painter. I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve, I'm afraid and cannot be properly critical. And the Hammer Cafe is open, and they make a nice tuna melt.

Didn't make it to any openings this Saturday because I went to see Marnie Stern at the El Rey. Dopeatronic. Her and her band are just a three piece and they make a hellacious racket. What is gained in her live show reminded me of live Hendrix footage; you see it happen all right there, it's for real. That's a human being making those cosmic sounds. And she brought her dog.

My old pal Mark Flood is in town from Houston. He has a show at Peres Projects in Culver City this weekend. He brings the piss and the vinegar with all he does, despite being a real sweetheart and buying me lunch at LACMA Saturday. Machine Projects had taken over the entire LACMA nation-state that day, and I am going to attempt to describe the interventions they staged as I remembered and encountered them:

-- A wonderful group of cult like musicians invaded the restaurant while we had lunch and played haunting, joyful melodies while we and the rest of the patrons ate.

-- A woman in the area between the BCAM and the Ahmanson building was doing some kind of vocal/noise/perfomance thing on the floor.

-- A screaming box in front a Kurt Schwitters piece.

-- A masked, singing couple in front of some paintings in the room before you get to the Picasso room.

-- A big yellow tarp on the floor where the medieval stuff was.

-- A fake breathing kitty in one the ancient Mesopotamian display cases.

-- A dude video-ing and altering images of....some great painting with a whole video computer setup.

-- Various group workshop things going on all over.

-- Blindfolded amateur art installing.

All in all, a wonderful afternoon.

Unconsidered, Dashed-off, and Weak

Hey kids.  So its been a little while.  The Brewery Art Walk is this weekend, and us here at Raid Projects will have our doors open from 11 – 6 both days.  The walls have been painted, and the art is hung.  It will be a little group showing of work from yours truly, and roommates Max Presneil and Terri Thomas.  Do come won’t you?  There’s a free beer with your name on it. 

And in other news:

-- Daybreak – 2250 AD by Andre Norton was kind of ‘ehn’.  Pretty typical sci-fi paperback fare.  Methinks there are better seminal post-apocalyptic tales out there, as this one sort of just bumbled along confusingly.  Still, it’s supposedly the first.  My favorite character was Lura, the slightly telepathic mountain lion.

-- BRD Trilogy by Fassbinder – Well we can’t all aspire to make 35 films before we die of coke and sleeping pills at 37, fuck everything that moves (male or female), and generally be a total badass, but we can watch the fantastic work of someone that did.  And that someone, of course, is another one of my dead heroes, Rainer Werner Fassbinder.  Near the end he made the BRD Trilogy – The Marriage of Maria Braun, Veronika Voss, and Lola.  Together they comprise everything one needs to know about cinematography and acting, separately they provide a compelling portrait of three women dealing with Fassbinder’s motherland of Germany, after WWII.  I confess to being more drawn to his earlier work (Fear of Fear, Chinese Roulette, Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant), but the BRD trilogy shows the final polish of an experienced filmmaker taking bold formal risks and ambitious structuring with the confidence that only being prolific allows. 

I am struck by a comparison between him and fellow German artist Martin Kippenberger, whose big show at MOCA left me a bit underwhelmed.  Both German, both monstrously prolific, both drunken badasses, both died prematurely.  Perhaps its because my exposure to painting is more involved than with film, but I am not completely bowled over my Kippenberger’s output.  Much of it seems unconsidered, dashed-off, and weak.  Much of it is truly inspired.  Upon first viewing the show, the sheer volume of work was amazing.  But after a second look, it seemed that he tried his hand at several different conceptual strategies that had already been established.  Furthermore, I found myself taking issue with the celebration of the Pollock-esque behavior he seemed to embody. Perhaps it is because I am painter myself looking down the barrel of some lifestyle clichés that I question the tired stereotype of the alcoholic asshole painter.  At least with Fassbinder there is the issue of his, shall we say, “advanced” sexuality that breaks him free of any real stereotypes. 

I see Kippenberger as a character foil to the other force of nature in modern German painting – Gerhard Richter (a non-dead hero).  It seems that, in a way Kipp (my little name for him) was trying to be in many ways the kind of artist Richter was not.  Unfortunately, one of the things Richter didn’t do was die young.

-- Louise Bourgeois at MOCA.  That's what I'm sayin'.  I'll hit that up next week, probably Friday.