Speaking in Tongues

Originally published April 20, 2010 by CityArts

“Black Teddy Iconic,” by Matt Campbell.

If you like your art dark—well, cuddly and dark—then Out of the Black, an odd yet beautiful show at gallery hanahou, will satisfy nicely. The exhibition, by New Zealand artist Matt Campbell, hits a nerve with its combination of elegance and creepiness.

Campbell has collected a group of bedraggled stuffed animals and soaked them in some unspecified jet-black substance. According to the gallery, Campbell refuses to say what it is. The resulting toys look as if they have been dipped in tar.

The creatures are shiny and oily looking, though not to the touch. Their cute “furriness” is now stiffened permanently into awkward clumps and tufts. They remind me of pictures of birds caught in an oil slick; they don’t look dead, so much as frozen in time—although those cute little button eyes still twinkle back at you. And yet, there is an arresting beauty to these critters. Campbell has mounted them tastefully on posts, on shiny lacquered wood. They are presented like elegant specimens in a museum. Mounted with tiny magnets, they are designed to be removed from their posts, as if to be played with by the complicit viewer. When returned, they snap back onto their mounts in a crisp and satisfying way. The presentation is exquisite. Black animals mounted on white wall plaques line the gallery. Two perfectly placed creatures are mounted on black-on-black, just because it looks so good.

Campbell has written a statement about the work that links his vision to rampant consumerism, mankind’s disregard for the environment and “throwaway” culture. To me, the statement is an unfortunate detraction from the work. Shoehorning these fascinating and compelling sculptures into a political statement feels a little forced. My advice would be to skip the statement and enjoy this show in all of its elegant, creepy beauty.
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Through April 30. gallery hanahou, 611 Broadway, Ste. 730, 646-486-6586.

Originally published March 24, 2010 by CityArts

In the spirit of full disclosure, I admit that I love insects. Give me a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach, a dung beetle or a giant furry bumblebee, and I’m a happy camper. So it was with some bias that I journeyed to the edge of the Gowanus Canal last week to see Entomologia, an exhibition of artists who work with bugs and bug imagery. The exhibit is housed in a year-old exhibition space called The Observatory. Founded by a group of seven artists, The Observatory seeks to investigate “topics residing at the interstices of art and science, history and curiosity, magic and nature.” This exhibition fulfills their mission to perfection.

The small space contains works by 14 artists, ranging from the formal, scientific rendering of butterflies (Steve Thurston) to a giant contemporary photograph of a preying mantis that has just consumed its mate (Catherine Chalmers). A magnificent graphite drawing—nearly 8-feet-long, of the ventral view of a jewel bug—is by Joianne Bittle, who has rendered the insect in meticulous detail. The magnification of tiny details into huge, almost abstract shapes allows the drawing to leap back and forth between abstraction and hyper-realism. Though some of the artists employ digital methods and materials, a pleasing air of nostalgia pervades. The show is fairly formal, serious, even contemplative, allowing the sheer beauty of the creatures to stealthily sneak up on you.

The Observatory is wedged in-between several other eccentric and equally delightful exhibition spaces: The Morbid Anatomy Laboratory, The Reanimation Library and the Hall of the Gowanus. It all adds up to a delightful and uncompromisingly odd afternoon on the canal.

Through Apr. 4, The Observatory, 543 Union St., Brooklyn, observatoryroom.org

Originally published March 10, 2010 by CityArts

Lesley Dills’ new work, in paper and bronze, is literally full of the language and imagery of transcendence. Drawing on the words of several writers, but most notably Emily Dickinson, she has created a world in the process of “becoming.” Pieces titled “Rapture,” “Ecstasy” and “Joy” convey the excitement, passion and terror of a creative existence. The exhibition is simply thrilling.

George Adams Gallery has mounted the works in a way that allows for careful contemplation. The main gallery space is mostly given over to two large bronze figures. “Rapture” is a huge woman in a billowing dress. The perforations of her dress and body seem benign, and the words “rapture” and “germination” marching boldly up her arms suggest an organic rather than violent state of change. She is accompanied by a dark bronze man hanging on the wall, posed as if jumping rather than falling into space. Entitled “Faith,” the figure wears the words of Kafka on his chest: “Was he an animal that music had such an affect on him.” A fascinating pairing of sentiments.

Installed along one wall of the main gallery and in a small room, the small bronze and paper figures illustrate the words and sentiments of Kafka, Dickens, Espiru and Dickinson. Interestingly, all but two of the figures in the exhibition are men. The two lone women portray radically different emotional states. The aforementioned “Rapture” is staid and static. Her “sister” piece, titled “Spit/Bite,” portrays an upside-down woman thrown, jumping or falling through the air, her mouth expelling lethal-looking bronze sputum. The flip side of ecstasy, perhaps.

It is not a show for every taste. For those who do not relate to words in their art, the show will fall flat. And there are a few pieces in which I felt the words distracted from the image. However, for anyone who loves literature and language, it is a thoughtful and powerful exploration of the visual and verbal language of transcendence.

Through Mar. 27, George Adams Gallery, 525 W. 26th St., 212-564-8480.

Originally published February 24, 2010 by CityArts

Traditionally, much of outsider art has been figurative. That’s in large part due to outsider art’s appeal to mainstream viewers: The work is a kind of skewed vision of the world as we know it. Like a funhouse mirror, the work of outsider artists portrays a world tweaked by the filters of madness, illiteracy, loneliness or any number of factors that renders someone “outside” of society.

The exhibition at The American Museum of Folk Art, however, attempts to show another aspect of outsider art, and it is one that relates the work much closer to modern and contemporary art. Approaching Abstraction showcases the work of 40 artists whose work tips over the line into “abstraction,” from those who obsess on numbers (Martin Thompson), materials (Judith Scott, Philadelphia Wireman, Mr. Imagination) or ritual (John Murray’s, Eugene Andolsek). These artists and others work in ways that belie the stereotyped forms of outsider art.

The exhibition is a little didactic, which appears to remain part of the mission of the American Folk Art Museum. I understand and respect this, but in some cases the work would be better served if it could just sing by itself, rather than be organized into categories such as “Obliterating Form” or “Distortion and Exaggeration.” The neat categories dampen the exuberant and original nature of the work a little; the explanation feels forced. But nothing can really hold it down. The pieces in Approaching Abstraction are as strong and worthwhile as anything that you will see in any museum in the city, with more than a few standout pieces.

William Hawkins is represented by a painting that is at once poetic and hilarious. The combination of corny collaged photographic images and Hawkins’ antic painting is fabulous. His black and white “modernist” building captures without guile the attempts of modernism to be neat, at the same time the building is beginning to bubble over with color and energy.

“Untitled (Vehicle)” by Dwight Mackintosh is a perfect example of the point that the curators of this exhibition are trying to make. A wonderful mass of lines, both calligraphic and abstract, pours across the paper, a treatise in an unknown language. At the bottom of the picture plane, perfectly placed, is a series of beautifully composed shapes that suggest the possibility of a vehicle. The balance of modernist color and tone—graphite, black and two great shades of yellow and orange—all combine to make this a terrific drawing, no other explanation needed.

I love the small wooden sculpture titled “Hens and Chicks With Rooster” by Leroy Person. Rough, but elegant forms are carved from wood and densely colored with crayon. These shapes are both something and not something—both hens and also just shapes.

A lovely and vibrant show, the work in this exhibition and genre and would stand on its own as fascinating contemporary art—outside categorization.

Approaching Abstraction, through Sept. 5. American Folk Art Museum, 45 W. 53rd St. , 212-265-1040.

Originally published January 26, 2010 by CityArts

If you’re strolling past the corner of East Fourth Street and Broadway, site of the old Tower Records store, you’re likely to hear an unlikely sound coming from the building: music. Through Feb. 13, a scrappy and wonderful new not-for-profit group called No Longer Empty has commandeered the building and filled it with site-specific artwork—part of a show called Never Can Say Goodbye—that is all informed by that wonderful old-media phenomenon, the record store.

Walking into the space, you’re immediately greeted by Ryan Brennan’s “Bling Box Orchestra,” eight customized, 1980s-style boom boxes blasting the synchronized history of hip-hop music. It’s big, has lights flashing, and is really, really cool.

Ted Riederur has set up a fake record company called Never Records, and as you paw through the records bins you notice that each album cover is black except for a single word. Putting the words together, each bin spells a snippet of poetry. Like a surrealist parlor game, the results are both amusing and touching.

Paul Villinski has contributed another poetic and beautiful piece. “Diaspora” starts on the floor, a pile of old LPs, topped by a vintage record player. On the turntable a vinyl record has spun into the shape of a bird about to take flight. The entire wall above is covered with LP birds and the music soars into flight.

Deep in the back of the store, appropriately nestled into the former classical music section, is one of the most stunning video pieces I have ever seen. Joe Diebes has filmed a cellist playing a scherzo (the piece is not identified) with 10 cameras. The original piece is played very fast. He then deconstructed the film clips and reconstructed them in slightly “off” sequences into a new piece of film and audio that is thrilling in both image and sound.

Through Feb. 13. East 4th Street and Broadway, No Longer Empty.

Originally published January 26, 2010 by CityArts

I have long been a fan of Tony Fitzpatrick’s eccentric and obsessive etchings. In the past he has turned his attention and finely-tuned hand to obsess on birds, bugs, hobo alphabets and the poetry of cities. In recent years he has moved increasingly into a new visual and conceptual universe, using collage to channel his obsessions into the visible world.

Fitzpatrick’s most recent show, at Pierogi Gallery in Williamsburg, is an interesting musing on the life of Crazy Horse. A cacophony of collaged images, many of which seem more autobiographical than biographical, crowd into the small drawings. The largest is roughly 10-by-7 inches, yet all are bursting with narrative, color and image. They are remarkable, the combination of size and density of color and image drawing the viewer into Fitzpatrick’s universe. The use of collaged materials has changed the artist’s palette. Though the work is both beautiful and seductive, I have to confess a longing for a greater presence of his “hand.” One of the best things about Fitzpatrick’s earlier prints were his extraordinary bold, funny and desperate hand-drawn lines.

Fitzpatrick is an artist who never sits still, and though I did not swoon over this body of work as I have in the past, the collages are thoughtful, worthy and wonderfully nuts. It is very telling that in the press release for this show Fitzpatrick readily acknowledges little knowledge of American Indian history or life and proclaims little kinship with the subject. But what fascinates the artist about Crazy Horse reveals much about Fitzpatrick; it is Crazy Horse’s unease in the world. Fitzpatrick describes him as a “seeker,” a man of both courage and “otherworldliness,” both an American iconoclast and an enigma. A portrait of the artist as a young Indian?

Through Feb. 7. Pierogi, 177 N. 9th St. (betw. Bedford & Driggs Aves.), Brooklyn, 718-599-2144.

orig. published December 30, 2009 by New York Press

Two very different exhibits with some similar ideas

David Dunlap Project #28

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David Dunlap’s “Project Book #28.”

Two gallery shows in wildly disparate locations end 2009 on an interesting note. The first, on the outer edges of Red Hook, shows a diverse cross section of young Brooklynites. The second, in the heart of Chelsea, shows us the work of a mature but decidedly outsider artist working steadfastly for years with a uniquely personal vision.

Kidd Yellin Gallery is perched on a dead-end Red Hook street, almost in the river. It’s as “out there” as you can get and still be in New York City. The gallery has put together “The Kings County Biennial,” a huge, 48-artists show, culled from those working throughout Brooklyn.
While there are several noteworthy individual works, the show lacks an over-arching curatorial theme and is a bit of a conceptual mess; there’s a little bit of everything and it feels a wee bit frantic. Each of the artists has one piece in the show, though I felt it would have been a stronger show had there been half as many artists, each represented by more pieces. Still, there were a couple of standouts. Eric Fertman’s elegant sculpture entitled “Tower” is reminiscent of post-war modernism. Constructed of stained oak, it exhibits gorgeous craftsmanship and a feeling for form traveling through space. Similarly simple in appearance is a painting by Alejandro Cardenas. Entitled “Special Forces,” it is a haunting and affecting portrait of a mass of burka-shrouded women rendered as a landscape of staring eyes. It’s a powerful image, at once political and beautiful.

The other piece that impressed me was a video by Meredith James, which demonstrates real narrative and filmmaking skill. A surveillance monitor placed in a ridiculously small office, dating from a past era, and plays a continuous loop of a video about the same office and the security guard tormented by a constantly ringing telephone. Better yet, the monitor is placed in the office set in which the film takes place, providing a physical context that makes the sculpture work on several levels. It’s mysterious, funny and a little twisted—a recipe for great art.

Miles away, on one of the chic streets of Chelsea, one enters another “out there” place, but this by dint of concept rather than location. The Cue Foundation is presenting the New York debut show of David Dunlop. Dunlop, a resident of Iowa City, has been working on his idiosyncratic and very personal vision for over 20 years. Using sculpture, text, found objects, installation and photography, Dunlop lays bare both his life and artistic process. Though university educated, Dunlop is arguably a true outsider artist. The complexity and fully realized nature of the universe he inhabits is completely outside of mainstream art. It is funny, meaningful, provocative and utterly original.

The gallery is hung ceiling to floor with drawings, photographs, altered clothing and homemade calendars. In the center of the space is a big wooden cabin that houses, inside and out every single handmade book the artist has created since the 1970s. Recurrent themes echo throughout the enormous show—Martin Luther King, calendar dates, flags and politics. Dunlop does not have an agenda to pursue with all of these subjects. It’s more like a view inside of one man’s complex mind- obsessive phrases and imagery; the things that a mind latches onto and plays with verbally and figuratively. Operating on several levels, it is a show that deserves a very close look.

All in all, two very interesting ways to end the year.

> The Kings County Biennial
Through Feb. 26, Kidd Yellin Gallery, 133 Imlay St. (at Verona St.), Brooklyn, 917-860-1147.

>David Dunlap
Though Jan. 7, The Cue Foundation, 511 W. 25th St. (bet. 10th & 11th Aves.), 212-206-3583.

Originally published December 3, 2009 by CityArts

Carroll Dunham is a naughty boy. His current exhibition, at the Barbara Gladstone Gallery, is a meditation, shall we say, on two female orifices. This is a disappointing exhibition from a gifted artist of whom I have been a huge fan. In the past, Dunham’s drawings and paintings of our chaotic universe—angry men, guns, organs and cities—have embodied, along with their anger, a hysterical sense of humor. Dark and funny, he portrayed a cartoon world that also dove into the modern psyche.

His current paintings fall short. How many holes do you want to stare at? Gone is a sense of humor and irony. These paintings, most of which are titled “Hers,” seem to want to recreate the kind of male obsession reminiscent of early 20th-century painters who painted the female nude over and over again. But Picasso and Matisse were experimenting with light, color and composition as well as examining the female form. Dunham has rendered everything nearly flat, both in perspective and paint quality. The focus is front and center on the two orifices, with an occasional detour past a giant nipple. The images just don’t transcend a kind of cartoon fantasy world. I wish they did.

Every now and then, one of the exhibition’s paintings moves beyond its organs, and there is a lyrical play between the abstracted forms to which the body is reduced. And these paintings—“Hers (Night and Day #4)” and “Hers (Night and Day #6)”—are really interesting. In these two works, Dunham allows his brilliance with the drawn line to emerge. The surfaces are not quite as dimensionless or opaque, and hints of wandering line and brushstroke enliven the surfaces. Coincidently they are both breast paintings, where the organ is slightly off center. By not being so in-your-face with their content, these paintings let the viewer breathe a little. They become an interesting and humorous element in a larger, well, whole.

Originally published November 3, 2009 by CityArts

Kris Graves Projects, a Dumbo gallery, has just opened “Of Land,” a fresh and visionary exhibition show of landscape photography. This elegantly curated show consists of 11 photographers whose diverse visions cover a wide of landscape and printing techniques. The photos range from the lush velvet of vintage platinum prints to the harsh colors of an “archival pigment print” and everything in between. The diversity of printing technique is fitting for a show that also ranges so far and wide in its portrayal of landscape.

There is an underlying sense of stillness to the entire show. Granted, a photograph renders the world still, but there is in this show a consistent quietude that runs through all of the works. It took me a minute to adjust my New York head to this silence. The pay off is worth the time.

I loved Victor Shrager’s portraits of giant masses of butter—“Monument (2)” and “Monument (477)” that look like brilliant yellow icebergs. Beautiful and funny, they are placed on the gallery wall next to Laura McPhee’s photos of monumental steam clouds rising from a devastating forest fire, beautiful and brutal, a nice counterpoint to the butter glaciers.

Jed Devine is represented here by two pieces—“ Fireworks, Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard” and “Battery Park City Landfill, New York Early 1980s”—that differ in subject matter but share the same technique. Each is 43 inches long and made up of a series of smaller sequential photographs. Artfully collaged, they each portray a long horizontal landscape. One, almost pitch black, captures a burst of fireworks above a small town. The other, blindingly brilliant, is of a landfill in lower Manhattan, the giant depression in the ground gently rimmed by machines. Each is achingly poetic, and once again the gallery has made a little bit of magic happen in the placement of the works.

Originally published October 20, 2009 by New York Press

Something In The Water A fantastical gallery opens on a ho-hum NYU block

The Esopus Creek is a renowned trout fishing stream that flows through the Catskill Mountains into the Ashokan Reservoir, a principle water source for New York City. It is also the name of a non-profit foundation, a magazine and now a gallery that all celebrate the quirky, literate and inspired vision of its founder, Tod Lippy. I have long been a fan of the biannual magazine, each issue of which is an artwork itself, full of the most unexpected objects ever to be found in a magazine. Various issues have contained pages that are dye cut or burned, inserts of strings, plastic or rubber, books within a book, and CDs of music or “found” sounds. Each issue is both printed and hand constructed; how the hell Lippy actually gets the damn things produced is anyone’s guess.

It was with great delight then that I greeted the news that The Esopus Foundation had opened a gallery space in NYC. Consistent with the Esopus tradition of reveling in the unexpected, the gallery space is in a weird 1980s-era building near the NYU campus, not near any other gallery, not in a neighborhood that’s cool or even un-cool. It sits in the midst of student falafel joints and wannabe dive bars like that glorious found object you discover on trash night.

The current exhibition, Dwight Ripley:

Travel Posters is a perfect component of the Esopus universe. The most glorious, gorgeous drawings that I have seen in a long while have, of course, a fascinating backstory that adds to their mystic.

Dwight Ripley was a major part of the post-war New York cultural scene. He was the financial backer of the Tibor de Nagy Gallery and part of the social circle that included Clement Greenberg and Peggy Guggenheim. His passion, however, was the search and discovery of new and exotic plants. He and his companion Rupert Barney traveled the world for years discovering 74 plant species that now live in the New York Botanical Garden.

After his death in 1973 a trunk was discovered that contained the 13 drawings that comprise this exhibition. They are “travel posters” that chronicle a specific plant-gathering trip through Spain and Portugal in 1962. Drawn in ballpoint pen and luscious colored pencil, they are ostensibly landscapes, but so much more.

Swirling psychedelic puzzle pieces and bold ‘60s graphic design seem both retro and wildly contemporary. Each drawing contains the name of the location written in an idiosyncratic script that weaves in and out of the overall design. But the true madness of the drawings is that hidden as a sort of under painting in each one is the obsessively written Latin names of the plants discovered in each locale. They are giddy with Mediterranean sunshine and color.

Lippy foresees six to eight exhibitions a year. Some will run in tandem with projects in the magazine, others will stand independently. But all will all reflect the deliciously odd, rich world of Esopus. After all, Lippy spends part of each year living on the banks of this namesake creek; maybe it’s something in the water.