Tuesday, July 30, 2013

very violet


 
James Turrell
Aten Reign


I got to the Guggenheim on opening day of James Turrell's Aten Reign, the artist's first exhibition in a New York museum in over three decades. The throngs of visitors I expected did not materialize, and I was swept into the rotunda by noon.


very violet




Even the saltiest New York City art goer will be disoriented when entering Aten Reign, an installation that transforms the Guggenheim in ways that are obvious and in ways that are not so obvious; some are even indiscernible. 

The circular benches in the main rotunda are tipped back so viewers are dramatically reclined when seated. It's beautiful, of course; as Roberta Smith said, "ravishing." 

But as usual, I was restless -- unable to sit in reverie for long -- so my experience was a more kinetic one. 
 

stairway to heaven


True enough, the rotunda changes color with a magical finesse that is both subtle and strident with ambient in-between colors that are almost invisible, shedding a transparent, almost ultraviolet presence -- the color of transition. This cannot be apprehended in any way other than first hand experience.


very yellow



                                                                       

empty galleries







Of the greatest surprises, the empty galleries took my breath away. "This is artistic power," I thought -- the bravura to leave all that bare canvas. Interesting. 

As I walked upward along the bare bones of that famed circle, it felt as if I were traversing an abandoned stage set from a Ridley Scott film. 




other works 
(effective reproduction exceeded writer's skill sets)






Other works from other periods in Turrell's development are on view throughout the annex galleries. These are, perhaps, of greater singular interest, especially in the way they shape-shift light and form. 

Sometimes hallucinatory (for my money, more so that the main attraction), Turrell's room-size works bend the apprehension of visual space so that, if even for a moment, the world appears to be one big optical illusion.

And so it goes. 





ambient rotunda sound





very, very blue
 
















Sunday, July 28, 2013

hot time in the studio

Martha Clippinger studio

MARTHA   C L I P P I N G E R   +   ANDREW  L U B A S  

A L B E E    F O U N D A T I O N

SUMMER 2013


Life is good at the Edward F. Albee Foundation. Despite brutal heat and unprecedented crowds on the East End, residents at "The Barn" are thriving this summer, just as they have since 1967 when the artist colony was founded by treasured American playwright, Edward Albee

Located on six acres in the hills of Montauk, the foundation houses small groups of writers and visual artists who live and work during one month residencies through spring, summer and early fall. Run by the artists Diane Mayo and Rex Lau, residencies here are coveted for their privacy, peacefulness and spacious studios. Earlier this week, I visited with Martha Clippinger and Andrew Lubas, artists working virtually side by side under the 40' ceilings of this 19th century barn.                    

Following is a conversation we had in each artist's studio:


Martha Clippinger, 2013

Janet Goleas:  The architecture here is so spectacular -- has it affected your work?

Martha Clippinger: I think the architecture comes through in the work, but it's more about the relationship to the wall. Still, it's nice having this huge floor where I can rearrange things. 

Sometimes I find it hard to say "this is how it should be" -- there are so many possibilities -- so it's been a really good place to process through these ideas. I walk in the studio in the morning and think, "what am I really interested in pursuing today."



In a recent review on Hyperallergic, the art critic John Yau said of Clippinger's debut show at Elizabeth Harris Gallery, "...they might be small, but some of the pieces have sharp, star-like points. The combination of modest size, implied danger and confidence is magnetic."
 

 


Clippinger's work is playful and smart. Her assemblages are installed variously on the floor, at the ceiling or near eye level, or they hug corners, windows or doorways creating myriad relationships between object and environment.  


JG: Are these made from found objects?

MC: The wood cuts are found objects – cast offs and negatives mostly.  I find them at a sculpture facility at Rutgers or on the street. That's a pan I used to make brownies in (she points to the painting on the floor, lower right)




MC: I rearrange things all the time, sometimes to find more space, but here I've been thinking of ways to keep that openness available to whomever is experiencing the work.  It's sort of tricky territory -- I realize I would be giving up a lot of authority. But the idea of having floor and tabletop structures that were not anchored in place is interesting to me. 




JG: How do you get acclimated on a residency? Do you have to grow accustomed to the environment?
MC: I brought some beginnings and endings of pieces with me, but most everything I've made here. My work is about engaging space, but I had just moved when I arrived, so the first week I just didn't feel like dealing with objects. I started doing these very colorful drawings -- something I really never do.


Clippinger's work table
 
JG: Your palette is so brilliant and so saturated with color.

MC: I used to live in Little Pakistan, in Brooklyn -- it's a beautiful neighborhood with color everywhere.




JG: Tell me about this easel covered with textiles. Do you often work in fabric? 

MC: Not really. I made this last summer for an impromptu show I had in an apartment in Hudson, New York. There was a flagpole outside. 


Martha Clippinger

MC: I don't want to leave! It's been my favorite residency -- the raw studio is perfect for me. And I like being able to cook. Stirring things in a pan is sort of meditative. Also, the group dynamic here has been wonderful. We're all very compatible. 
 

On the other side of the barn, works by Andrew Lubas hug the wall with an entirely different sort of focus. A recent graduate of the Maryland Institute College of Art, in August Lubas will return to Philadelphia to live and work.


 


JG:  Were you familiar with the spaces here when you applied for the residency?

Andrew Lubas: No, but I knew it was a barn. All my works are inspired by or in reaction to the environment in which they're made, so I knew I would use the space as a catalyst for everything I created here.

Andrew Lubas in Clippinger's studio, 2013

JG: So you are engaged in a spatial reaction to the environment?

AL: There are different ways to react, but, yes. The first thing I did when I got here was to acknowledge all the things that were not me. Actually, all I really brought with me are the paints on that table.
  



JG: So this shape is a reaction as much to the lingering marks of other residents as it is to the existing architecture?

AL: I think of the walls and the architecture as collaborators and of this and everything in it as a collaborative space. And so, yes, whoever made that black mark that leads up to the white square -- that is also a collaboration to me.






JG: Can you tell me about your use of color?

AL: My work has been getting more and more reductive. I'm interested in found color -- the blue is representative of the planning process in construction and architecture, and of blue tape. The orange is the same as safety orange -- like the color of construction zones. 

JG: The orange around that white square looks pearlescent.

AL: It is; it's high visibility chalk dust -- the kind they snap on the street.




JG: And the dart board?

AL: That was here -- I put it up on the wall because I see that one square as a counterbalance to the other square on the barn door.




JG: Does this shape -- the white shape on the gray wall -- does it replicate anything?

AL: No -- I wanted to create a painting by a subtractive process. It's sited like that -- it looks like a white square painted in a gray space, but it's actually an additive and subtractive process. The white square wouldn't exist without the gray wall, which I painted when I got here.

JG: I see, it's actually sort of carved into the wall, with layers removed. It reveals something about the psychic history of this place.

AL: I think so.




JG: When you leave here, will any of this work continue to exist in any way other that photographic documentation?

AL: Well, not much.

JG: But in some ways it will always have a life here. 


Martha and Andrew then walked me through the residence, showing me the upstairs commons and their private rooms. The writers get big rooms with desks, the artists get small rooms with big studios. 

On the second floor, the commons overlooks each of their studios and the grand ceiling under which they work. It's sort of breathtaking.



 
Over the years, a lot of artists have donated works, and they hang in bedrooms and hallways, prominent walls and corners.




a Gary Petersen, former Albee resident, hangs in Martha's room

Martha seemed super excited to be sleeping under a vintage Gary Petersen.

"Gary was an early Casualist," she said. We all smiled.





Thanks to Martha, Andrew, Rex, Diane and, of course, Mr. Albee, for giving me an inside look at The Albee Foundation, one of the great places on earth.











Sunday, June 23, 2013

afterglow

 

PAUL MCCARTHY WS
 
Not for the faint of heart, Paul McCarthy's WS at the Park Avenue Armory is brilliant, savage, monstrously hysterical and staggering in its debauchery and dark hilarity. Run, don't walk to this extravaganza of Disney meets Caligula meets Otto Muehl.

courtesy Hauser & Wirth; image from Gothamist

What's it all about? WS (Snow White's inverted initials) is part demented fantasy, part 
scatalogical extravaganza -- a derailed folktale that has both outraged and enthralled its New York audience. As usual, earlier this week Jerry Saltz hit the nail on the head, and although his support of McCarthy, whom he has championed since the 80s, is not so robust here, his New York Magazine review still hits all the bases.

The Park Avenue Armory, a spectacle in and of itself, is one of the largest open spaces in New York City. Its opulent foyer, period rooms and the architectural embellishments that ornament this social club/military shed yield handily to the 55,000 square foot drill hall that has served as a performance and exhibition space since 2007. In WS, McCarthy has conquered its massiveness to grand effect, employing elements of performance, film and sculpture in this eye-popping installation. 





For sheer spectacle -- the size and the inner life of this thing -- WS is like the eighth wonder of the world. Venturing outside the installation is tantamount to leaving the central action of a video game -- a no man's land surrounded by scaffolding, emptiness and stadium lights -- its perimeters laid bare like the sides of a canvas. 

The east and west walls of the drill hall host gigantic film screens featuring events that took place in and around the installation -- perhaps the night before. The footage depicts a party gone haywire, and as mischievous Disney characters devolve into sadism their frenzied tomfoolery and risky business morph into total mayhem. The blaring soundtrack, a mixture of squeals, white noise and general commotion, while not deafening, is your constant aural companion as you traverse this meandering collage of detritus, carnage and anarchy.

Walking the perimeter of McCarthy's installation of ransacked suburban homes, you experience that can't-help-but-stare-at-the-car-crash phenomenon -- it's gruesome and demented and stupefyingly electric and you can't take your eyes off of it. Interior lights still ablaze, the cutaways and windows that allow viewers to peer inside the residences take voyeurism to a whole new level.


WS, courtesy Hauser + Wirth


Departing the house structures, you descend into a lavish plastic garden of luscious ground cover, delicate flowers and tree totems that are weirdly excremental, as if made from towering piles of glistening shit. Still, the surroundings are an intoxicating mixture of museum diorama, Disneyland and that exquisite California flora.

McCarthy came of age in the 60s and 70s, an era, as we know, renown for its protests, activism, rejection and political, sexual and artistic rebellion. As such, his work has celebrated a sort of ideological shoulder-rubbing with (exercise caution in hitting this link) Viennese Actionism (its founder, Otto Muehl, died just last month) and other status quo rejecting movements that help form the spine of performance, body art and site-specific installation. 

Not unlike Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange or Peter Greenaway's The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, there's a "look away" - "don't look away" sense of terror in WS -- and the intoxicating psyschology of attraction/repulsion.

McCarthy is totally dispossessed of any of the culty weirdness that surrounded Muehl (although a fair number of family members are credited in this work) aligning himself more closely to Duchampian voyeurism and Warhol's leveling of the aesthetic experience.  

You might despise the spectacle of WS, reject its prurient excesses, or find it a complete repudiation of a thousand aesthetic precepts, but you'll still want to see this installation, on view through August 4.





And take it from me, no matter how cool you think your kids are, leave them at home.


That's all folks.















Friday, May 31, 2013

the spring of Jack Youngerman




at The Drawing Room: Jack Youngerman  works on paper  1951-2012, above: Blue Delfina,1961


JACK YOUNGERMAN

The Drawing Room
Washburn Gallery
Parrish Art Museum
and LongHouse Reserve


In one of those rare alignments that sometimes takes place in the art world, this spring Jack Youngerman is popping up all over New York. With four concurrent installations shedding light on this esteemed artist, the complexities of Youngerman's vision, the arch of his prodigious studio practice and the depth of his ongoing research begin to crystallize, inviting reflection on and examination of a career that spans some six decades.


Yellow/Black, 1958, gouache on paper, 5 1/8 x 5 1/8"



Youngerman's artistic prelude dates to post-war Paris and the Ecole des Beaux-Arts where he became friends with the artists Cesar, Eduardo Paolozzi and Ellsworth Kelly, all of whom were also students there. Inspired by the use of organic form in School of Paris masters such as Matisse, Brancusi and Arp, his early interest in the flatness and frontality of geometric abstraction gradually morphed into a signature alphabet of invented shapes that came to characterize much of his mature work. 

A selection of these early works is on view at The Drawing Room, providing a window into the incisive groundwork laid down by the young artist early on. 

Then and now, in the studio Youngerman assiduously researches structure and content through small works on paper, and at The Drawing Room dozens of works wind through decades of the artist's insights into form and color. It's a must see.

  




 

At Betty Parson's urging, in 1956 Youngerman moved to New York, settling at Coenties Slip alongside fellow artists Kelly, Agnes Martin, Robert Indiana, James Rosenquist and Lenore Tawney. Rauschenberg and Johns lived nearby, and while the group did not so much form a "movement," they did, in some profound ways, mount a visual insurgence in reaction to the Abstract Expressionists uptown.



Black/Red, 1959, oil on canvas


Youngerman's paintings from this era have a fierce physicality, and though they elucidate and encompass organic, biomorphic -- even lyrical -- form, the works employ a bracing palette and pigment so thick it's sculptural -- as if he was wrangling the paint into objecthood. The works on paper revel in this budding sense of form and motion, hugging the edges of paper rectangles as if a mere square could not contain their content. 

The invented shape emerged here, defined by pitch blacks and mustard yellow, pungent reds and bright orange pigmentation that coalesce into imagery as it pushes between the boundaries of foreground and background. 


Orange/Black Ink, 1959,  gouache and ink on paper, 4 7/8 x 4 3/8" 



These articulated shapes would be a keystone -- the backbone of a visual language Youngerman has continually refined and redressed as he has calibrated the edges of each form and the contour of every line with rigorous focus, as layers of pictorial syntax emerge. 

Seeing them now, one has a sense of the iconic in the making. Movement, convergence, eruption, ease, touching and pulling away -- the shapes address myriad contingencies -- they became, over time and focus, an arsenal of component parts.

The new work -- a selection of oil paintings on shaped wood currently on view at Washburn Gallery -- is optical, sharply frontal, and so brilliant the paintings are almost incandescent. 



at Washburn Gallery: Jack Youngerman  Tondos Triads Foils, above: Whitefoil, 2011
                                                                           

The paintings are heraldic and resolute, reading like the armorial facade of medieval escutcheons and sharing the symmetry and otherworldliness of Tibetan thangkas as well as more esoteric visual systems such as those found in cuneiform tablets or Islamic maps

From this perspective, Youngerman's keen and longstanding interest in non-Western art is especially noteworthy.

Where the early paintings are muscular in paint application and structure, the recent works possess a muscularity that is cerebral, labyrinthine and migratory -- as if they are connected to, or en route to, a higher concept. The paint is directional, slathered on in textured rivulets that lead the eye as if an invisible map is contained within each color bar. 









detail of Suspensus, 2010, oil on Baltic birch plywood, photo courtesy Washburn Gallery


Pancarte, 1951, ink on paper


If one assembled pictures of 
Youngerman's entire output into 
a gigantic flip-book (what a ride 
that would be...), to me, the
most recent work would stand 
eyeball to eyeball with the 1950s,
almost full circle.

The intent, of course, is different. 
But the level of intricacy that 
reverberates throughout both 
bodies of work is striking, with
both having a marked and
indelible effect on the 
optic nerve.

 




You really can't experience these paintings unless you're standing in front of them -- they are both cool and hot -- and at Washburn, they bounce between one another like ziggurats in a reflecting pool. 



on view at Washburn Gallery through June 28


Washburn Gallery window in Chelsea


Jack Youngerman, also appearing in Chelsea
courtesy Washburn Gallery:



















Finally, on view at the Parrish Art Museum -- animated, ebullient and downright explosive -- Conflux II, 2003 (below), is a testament to Youngerman's expansive and ever advancing oeuvre.



at The ParrishConflux II, 2003; collection Parrish Art Museum


Don't miss these insightful exhibitions both on Long Island's East End and in midtown Manhattan. 



at The Drawing Room: Yellow/Black, 1960





check back next week: 

Jack Youngerman, Black & White 
at LongHouse Reserve



at LongHouse Reserve: Jack Youngerman, Black & White, an installation of 7 fiberglass sculptures
  




THE DRAWING ROOM
66 Newtown Lane
East Hampton, NY 11937
631.324.5016 
on view through June 3rd

WASHBURN GALLERY
20 West 57th Street
New York, NY 10019
212.397.6780
on view through June 28

PARRISH ART MUSEUM
279 Montauk Highway
Water Mill, NY 11976
631.283.2118
ongoing 

LONGHOUSE RESERVE
133 Hands Creek Road
East Hampton, NY 11937
631.329.3568
on view through October