"Der Rundegelbenimmersatt" from “Theater of The Arcade,” part of the Game Play Festival Pictured: Hope Cartelli, Stephen Heskett, Josh Mertz, Robert Pinnock and Fred Backus (Photo by Jeff Lewonczyk) (click to enlarge)

“Game Play: A Celebration of Video Game Performance Art” takes place July 9-25, 2010 at Williamsburg’s Brick Theater

Video games appear to be making oddly pervasive cameos across fields as varied as architecture, art (1, 2), cinema, criticism, and now theater. Theater of the Arcade: Five Classic Video Games Adapted for the Stage is exactly that, a series of five plays that Jeff Lewonczyk wrote and Gyda Arber directed at the Brick Theater in Williamsburg through July 25.

The premise of Theater of the Arcade is to take the characters from an iconic video game — let’s say “Frogger” — and insert those characters into a world that operates according to the logic and stage vernacular of an equally iconic 20th century dramatist — let’s say Samuel Beckett à la Godot: so, the meaninglessness attempt to get anywhere significant using anything, especially the arbitrary ability to move back and forth or side to side. The result, at least for the first few minutes, is a startlingly suggestive scene.

The technique yields a broad range of results. An uncomfortably misogynistic Donkey Kowalski Kong [videogame] comes home to a crippled Princess Wingfield and destroys the Alabaster symbol that is her one source of happiness. “Pac Man” is recast as the antagonist in a didactic, anti-capitalist Brecht-and-Weill-styled musical. “Asteroids” becomes a Mamet-like display of profanity and chauvinism that culminates in both corporate down-sizing and seduction. And then, of course, we have our lovable, immigrant plumbing duo unclogging their father issues and throwing psilocybinin induced fireballs over the same princess-like lover in a mode that feels both familiar and contemporary, but nowhere near as notable, iconic, or instantly recognizable as the others. Perhaps this lack says more about contemporary theater than anything else.

"The Alabaster Nymph" from “Theater of The Arcade,” part of the Game Play Festival. Pictured: Shelley Ray and Kent Meister (Photo by Hope Cartelli) (click to enlarge)

Each piece stumbles onto several jokes — a consequence of having to justify the presence of things like giant fruit from Pac Man’s labyrinth in Brecht’s world or invent some narrative reason to splinter the asteroid belt to smithereens and dust. The silliness and the pace of the plot (or the “arrangement of incidents” to get Aristotelian about dramatic structure) is more than enough to carry an audience through all five, lighthearted pieces. Arranged discretely, the experience even mimics the way a gamer might spend a few minutes wandering from machine to machine, complete with a bathroom break in the middle. Still, it might be more provocative to see what an effort to stitch them all together would look like, or how the five pieces could hang as a unified investigation into both the importance of interaction and the assertion of agency to the two genres (How about a combination of “Minesweeper” and Augusto Boal? “Tetris” and Tony Kushner?).

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, though, Theater of the Arcade is one cockeyed option in a curio cabinet called Game Play: A Celebration of Video Game Performance Art that’s full of intriguing collisions between the virtual and the theatrical.

Game Play: A Celebration of Video Game Performance Art is taking place at the Brick Theater (525 Metropolitan Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn) until July 25. Theater of the Arcade will be staged on the following dates and time: Thursday, July 15, 9pm; Friday, July 16, 7pm; Saturday, July 17, 7pm; Sunday, July 18, 7pm; Wednesday, July 21, 8pm; Friday, July 23, 9pm; and Sun July 25, 2pm.

SO - IL, “Pole Dance” (2010) (photo by Wade Zimmerman, courtesy MoMA/PS1) (click to enlarge)

We perceive architecture, Walter Benjamin thought, in two ways: by look and by touch. Optical and tactile. Our optical perception of something develops over time: looking at something for a long time leads us into contemplating it. Black scratches become letters become an idea. But Benjamin didn’t think there was a tactile analog to this process. There is no ‘contemplation’ when it comes to perceiving something through touch. Tactile perception begins and ends at the fingertip. It’s surface-based, superficial. We come to know buildings, he continues, and, by extension, architecture not just by looking but also “by a way of habit.” A way of habit that develop as we sleep, work in, or repeatedly walk through the spaces created by architecture, day after day. It’s through the repetition of this tactile, getting-to-know-you-by-touch that we learn how rough the concrete is, how soft the hammock is, how sticky the inflatables are on humid days. Our perceptions of architecture based on touch unfold over time and through memory as a kind of spontaneous “casual noticing,” which seems to me like  the ideal way to get to know the strange collection of shapes and materials spliced together by Brooklyn-based design firm Solid Objectives – Idenburg Liu (SO – IL) for their PS1 courtyard installation: “Pole Dance” (2010).

The setting is the walled-in concrete and gravel courtyard of PS1. Here, alongside those attending the PS1’s Warm Up summer concert series, an equally spaced matrix of PVC poles does a lot of the dancing.

White mesh netting stitches the poles together, forming a dynamic, stretched and stretchy geometric grid that caps the space at ceiling height. Inflatable rubber balls, rest like clouds suspended on top of the netting in shapely pale clumps of purple, orange, and green. (Possible cloud formation: cumulus inflatabilis?). Throughout the installation are different ‘activators’ — a rope, a hammock, holes in the mesh — that taunt visitors to tug on a string, nap in the sun, or try to pull one of those orange inflatable clouds back to the gray gravel earth from the white mesh sky.

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SO - IL, “Pole Dance” (2010) (photo by Wade Zimmerman, courtesy MoMA/PS1) (click to enlarge)

SO – IL was one of three firms asked to submit proposals for the final round of MoMA/PS1 Young Architects Program (YAP), now in its eleventh year. Each year some 20 YAP contenders must travel a long way before a design question even gets asked. After nomination by a panel of architecture school deans and glossy architecture magazine editors, and after a portfolio review that whittles twenty down to three and is in part overseen by art world arbiters like MoMA Director Glenn Lowry, the challenge is to take $85,000 worth of mostly repurposeable (read: not so sexy) material, and spin it all with a bit of spit, insight, and sweat into a maximum of fun and chic that fills the triangular PS1 courtyard.

Responding to PS.1’s call for “a much-needed refuge in an urban environment” as well as Pole Dance does is great for a firm like SO – IL since it adds another big, fat institutional stamp of approval from MoMA/PS1 to the firm’s list of accomplishments. What’s more, their concept for “a participatory environment that reframes the conceptual relationship between humankind and structure” actually gets built, too.

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SO - IL, “Pole Dance” (2010) (photo by Wade Zimmerman, courtesy MoMA/PS1) (click to enlarge)

In their concept write up, SO – IL talks about a “choreography of situations rather than object making.” And this explicit focus on “choreography” over “objects” lends Pole Dance the appearance of a gumball machine, smashed to pieces and scaled up to the size of a fever dream, rather than the more straightforward appearance of a conventional structure or building.

The choreographed objects are mostly cheap, pre-made stuff — rubber balls and PVC, stretchy string, some fasteners and joints – but their arrangement makes them elegantly  shift and sway in sequence. Pole dancers and museum goers alike will  quickly recognize that even resting in a hammock affects the dynamics of the structure as a whole (an apt lesson for any audience). Instead of becoming detached from the action because of a nap, a person in search of refuge who climbs into a hammock creates system-wide sag that ripples out through the white mesh sky, broadcasting to all that someone has hopped into the hammock while simultaneously causing all the other pieces of Pole Dance to bristle in a series of actions and reactions that plays out like — well, it might be a stretch to call it a dance — but in this case, purpose bolsters the metaphor since the commission is based on a concert series.

The restriction of sound-play to those present creates both an incentive and a focus on people actually in the courtyard. Aside from this there-or-not distinction, though, Pole Dance lacks partitions, rooms and internal barriers (beyond the big green pool where the white mesh sky touches the ground – but that’s different). There’s no clear or segregating focus beyond PS1′s concrete walls. So the free flow from space to space is consistent with the design’s emphasis on participation and Pole Dance makes offers instead: here are some balls, pull on this cord if you’re bored, lie down over there if you’re tired. It bundles sticks and string and cheap tech gadgets to create an environment where something is always happening.

The always on feeling evokes an arcade, full of suggestions blinking in neglect, waiting for their spontaneous “casual noticing” with a token and another, higher score. Simple geometry and the bright monochromatic elements further reinforce Pole Dance’s video game feel since they call to mind the digital primitivism of early arcade landscapes circa Asteroids or Tron or Tetris or Pac Man. Pole Dance is appealing the way one of these games is appealing; as Steven Johnson has observed of the most successful video games, Pole Dance lacks a “fixed narrative path” or one proper solution to its suggested uses so it rewards “repeat play with an ever-changing complexity.”

We play the game because there is no story; there is no surprise ending because there is no ending. Push or be pushed. Play or be played. The premise of Pole Dance is simple: the whole pole-and-mesh structure is a giant game where the only rule is interaction. Tug the string, redistribute the clouds, dance for a while, rest in the hammock, get up, do it again. We play the game as long as there’s music.

A view of Greg Barsamian’s installation at Pierogi Boiler (mobile phone photo)

Greg Barsamian at Pierogi Boiler

I’d never heard of the New York-based Gregory Barsamian but now I’ll definitely notice his name. His kinetic sculpture “Artifact” (2010) is the main attraction in his solo show at Pierogi’s industrial Boiler space, and it was originally commissioned by the very odd — in that millionaire-opens-contemporary-art-museum kinda way — Museum of Old and New (MONA) in Hobart, Tasmania. The resulting work is a head that seems to have toppled from some monumental ancient sculpture and landed in Williamsburg. The metal sculpture is lit from inside and light spills out of the carefully placed crevices and holes on the exterior.

Only when you peer inside the massive head do you understand how special this sculpture is. In what I can only describe as a 1920s version of a dreamscape on acid, birds, hats, eggs and other forms whirl around inside to create the illusion of three-dimensional animation. The movement creates a sound like a film projector and its syncopated rhythm.

I shot a very short video with my mobile phone only because I knew it would be near impossible to describe it (it is posted above). The true power of the work became evident to me a few days later when I couldn’t stop thinking about the animation inside and the sensation of wonderment I experienced staring at the scultpure, something I rarely encounter nowadays.

Greg Barsamian’s Private View is on view at Pierogi Boiler (191 N14th Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn) until July 31.

Shari Mendelson at Sideshow Gallery

A view of Shari Mendelson’s carefully crafted objects at Sideshow Gallery (photo by the author) (click to enlarge)

One of Mendelson’s impressive large scultpures covered with what may be melted wax. (photo the author) (click to enlarge)

You’ve got two days left to see the Translations in the Ubiquitous Largesse show with Paul Baumann and Shari Mendelson at Sideshow Gallery, so you better run. While the whole show is intriguing, Mendelson — as always — stands out. She has taken plastic refuse (mostly disposable bottle parts from what I can tell) and created rather intricate objects that resemble Roman, Byzantine or early Islamic glass or rock crystal vessels. But beyond what could be construed as an environmental gimmick, Mendelson’s objects don’t only provide eco-commentary but feel more attuned to a futurist sensibility that is not weighed down by doom and gloom.

Her small sculptures remind me of African folk objects that are fashioned out of tin cans or other unorthodox materials on hand. Some of the pieces are covered with wax (or resin? not sure) that hides the seams of its construction. Mendelson’s objects are tapped into some skewed pseudo-futurist vision where trash will be revered for its beauty — a form of neo-punk utopianism that we don’t see enough of today.

In an esssay that accompanies the show, Matthew Seidman accurately describes the objects as, “Vessels warty, monstrous, elegant.” He goes on to make an interesting observation:

Two things are said to be the sign of human cilivization: the handmade vessel and organized waste. The womb and the asshole. Our hole life. And human desire is said to bend around itself. In speech.

I know, I can’t stop laughing at the “hole life” part but — while it obviously simplifies civilization for poetic effect — it seems accurate. There’s a yin-yang in these objects that make them fascinating.

Shari Mendelson is showing in Translations in the Ubiquitous Largesse at Sideshow Gallery (319 Bedford Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn) continues until THIS SUNDAY JULY 18!

Photo by Jaime Rojo of a Celso work. The same work appears in Rojo’s book “Street Art New York” but is more closely cropped than this version that appears on their website (via BrooklynStreetArt)

Imagine a gallerist bringing new art works into the gallery. She pulls her truck up to the gallery curbside, gets out, and starts taking some paintings out of the truck bed. She takes one out just as she realizes that she hasn’t unlocked the gallery doors. So, she places the artwork on the curb and sets off to unlock the gallery. This person has intentionally placed art in the street. Is it street art? Obviously not. So what makes something street art if not the art’s being intentionally placed in the street? It might even seem that street art needn’t be literally in the street at all, so long as one accepts that Blu’s MUTO and similar works are street art — as a digital video it has no literal or direct connection to the street. Street artistic status must hinge on something else. So what is it?

Cover of “Street Art New York” by Harrington & Rojo

The most promising proposal I have been able to think of is this: street art is art whose use of the street is essential to its meaning. That is to say, street art is art that uses the street, either as an artistic material or as an artistic context (or both), in such a way that any acceptable interpretation of it must refer to the way in which that use of the street gives the piece its significance. (This implies that graffiti and street art are quite different arts.) If this is right, then for an artwork to be street art it must use the street. That means that no art in a traditional gallery or art space is street art. It might have been made by a “street artist” but so what? Street artists can also make hot dogs and folk songs. It might even look a lot like the stuff we see on the streets — but it’s not street art. It is gallery art masquerading as street art. This illusion has duped many an art-buyer into paying lots of money for “street art,” but really they were just buying (often terrible) gallery art. Its being terrible gallery art does not imply that it was bad street art. In fact, it was probably very good street art — that’s why the artist was invited to make the same thing for a gallery show.

This bunny stencil by Aiko appeared on BrooklynStreetArt.com on March 2009 but is more closely cropped than this in Harrington & Rojo’s new book. (via BrooklynStreetArt)

It follows from this that to capture street art in all of its glory — either as a critic or as a documentarian or photographer — one must capture the special way that the artwork uses the street to give it the meaning it has. One must capture its specific street context, illustrate the way that it was meant to strike or interact with passer-bys, or show how its import depends on the specific community or neighborhood in which it was placed or created. There is one especially good way to ensure failure at this: pretend that the street artwork could perform the same function in a gallery, that is, pretend that there is no difference between gallery art and street art — that street art is merely art-in-the-street that does not really depend on the street in any deep way. This will force the critic or documentarian to totally ignore the work’s specific relation to the street, and it will pressure the street art photographer to suppose that the picture frame should stand in for the absent gallery art frame

An Aakash Nihalani street work photographed by Jaime Rojo. This image appears on BrooklynStreetArt.com, but another version appears in “Street Art New York” (via BrooklynStreetArt)

The majority of photographs in Street Art New York — a new book of street art images by Jaime Rojo and Steven P. Harrington, the overseers of the influential and very active street art website Brooklyn Street Art — exemplify this failing. The photographic persona in these images is a latent gallerist. The picture frame acts like a gallery frame. Their extremely tight framing eliminates nearly all artistic context — in some cases there is no clear sign that the piece is even on the street (see page 58). The images are utterly disembodied and dislocated.

On nearly every page, we are given no information — visual or linguistic — about the date, location (other than “New York City”), context, or artist intention. We don’t know whether the work we are seeing is part of a series (an important concept in street art) or whether the artist has done other similar works. The images are in no particular order (other than starting with a smattering of works by REVS, which seems appropriate), and although images are often juxtaposed for some vague reason, we are never given any explanation why. Indeed, the juxtaposition leads us to believe that the works have something in common when they could very well be totally different. Is it supposed to be obvious? The book seems to presuppose that the answer is “Yes,” or at least that it doesn’t matter. This is shown not only by the lack of information about the artworks, but also by putting images of truly awful art in the same collection with images of clearly amazing work. Compare, for example, pages 92, 124, and 144-45 with the work by Judith Supine, Dain, and C215. There is also a disappointing lack of the best work from some of the more talented artists working during the time that these photographs were taken (which is mostly, it seems to me, from 2007 through 2009). Aakash Nihalani and Dan Witz, for example, produced several very striking works, yet only some of the weakest are shown in this book (see pages 79-81).

A look inside “Street Art New York” with images of a Broken Crow/Over Under mural. (via StreetArtNewYork.com)

The view that critical attention to, and critically relevant information about, street art doesn’t matter is symptomatic of what seems to be a general trend among street art enthusiasts. There is a general disdain, it seems, for thinking about street art — street art enthusiasts tend to resist thinking about artistic value, artistic influence, artistic context, or pretty much anything related to art history and criticism. Oddly, this is clearest on the most popular and dedicated street art websites, like Brooklyn Street Art, Wooster Collective, and Flickr street art pages. Wooster Collective seems dedicated to not disclosing why they like what they like and suppressing their (negative) critical thoughts. But don’t be fooled: Wooster Collective is a highly curated collection of images selected from a vast bay of possibilities sent directly to the site with the hope of being, one day, featured there.

The closest these sites seem to come to art criticism is the occasional, and sometimes helpful, artist interview. Via their website Brooklyn Street Art, Rojo and Harrington have been especially good at this, posting informative interviews with street artist about their intentions, processes, and the meaning of their imagery. It is a shame that Rojo and Harrington did not incorporate into their book what must be a fascinating body of knowledge about street art and street artists. It seems to me that this is exactly the opportunity that the book form offers. But as it is, the book offers little that we couldn’t have easily found online, and often in better quality (several of the images in this book appear to be poorly magnified digital photographs).

The book is clearly the result of an intense dedication to and love for street art. Rojo and Harrington have done a lot to support contemporary street art practice and appreciation. But as I argued in my review of Banksy’s Exit Through the Gift Shop, such dedication can cause one to overlook the current needs of street art. Street art does not need more uncritical enthusiasts, weak “gallery shows,” naïve art-buyers, and amateur practitioners. It is time for a new phase in street art — one that takes the practice and its practitioners more seriously and subjects it to the kind of attention it deserves. But watch out, it might be critical.

Street Art New York By Steven P. Harrington and Jaime Rojo, Foreword by Carolina A. Miranda (176 pages with 200 color illustrations, Hardcover)

Welcome to The Golden Door … the summer fundraising experiment. (click to enlarge)

The Golden Door is the anachronistic nickname of Jersey City, which acquired the moniker at the turn of the 20th century when it was a magnet for newly arrived Ellis Island immigrants. Today, “Golden Door” is the name of a new temporary mini-golf course-cum-art exhibition at Hamilton Square in downtown Jersey City organized by the Jersey City Museum as an innovative new summer fundraising venture.

Those who follow the travails of the New York-area museum scene know that the Jersey City Museum has had it tough recently. The only contemporary art museum in a city of 250,000 has been forced, due to budgetary limitations, to open only once a week (Saturdays, 12 – 5pm). Yet the museum won’t give up without a fight and the institution has invited local artists to create an entertaining ten-hole mini-golf course that explores the always relevant theme of immigration.

Upon arrival to the Golden Door mini-golf course installation, the show’s curator, Christina Vassallo, guided me to the first hole. “What better way to become familiar with the concept of the installation than to actually play the game,” I thought. She handed me a putter and a ball and I prepared myself for the first game of mini-golf I had played in years. I was ready to embarrass myself. The first hole, aptly titled “Arrival,” is the work of artist Asha Ganpat, and it includes a steep incline that leads to a curved plateau, which in turn leads to three separate pipes that shuttle the ball onto to the green where the hole sits behind a small sand trap.

Asha Ganpat’s “Arrival” hole (click to enlarge)

As Christina began to explain how the hole works, I quickly putted my ball; it climbed the green, bounced kitty-corner off a wall into one of the three pipes, escaped the sand trap, and … hole. in. one. First hole, first shot. Even I accepted that it was a fluke. Christina chalked it up to “beginner’s luck” and her assessment proved correct as I proceeded to hole after hole without the same good fortune. I suspect that most people who play the course won’t have my luck. My serendipitous first hole-in-one exemplified the overall theme of the mini golf installation. I had “arrived,” and it put a little bounce in my step. On to a new challenge … Nyugen E. Smith’s “The Glass Ceiling.”

Welcome to America!

Nyugen E. Smith’s “The Glass Ceiling” (click to enlarge)

Bluntly speaking, I am far enough removed from my relatives who immigrated to America that I have no familial exposure to the “immigrant experience.” You could say, I didn’t “experience” the difficulty of the course, and yet I was still afforded the achievement of earning a hole-in-one, but I don’t want to push it. Blind luck? Sure, but I didn’t earn it, yet I was still rewarded it. However, even with my “arrival,” I still had to labor through every subsequent hole, never again fairing as well as I did in the beginning.

The American Dream that continues to attract people to this country places so much emphasis on the rewards of hard work, and is entirely blind to the role of luck and chance. It’s the paradox that the course emphasizes; people like me, who didn’t have to endure the labor that many did to get where I am, could be rewarded, while those who put the most effort into striving for opportunity were continually struggling. Am I reading too much into this course? Can mini-golf really be this deep?

The back of Hiroshi Kumagai’s “The Long Narrow Way to Heaven” (click to enlarge)

Make no mistake; the holes appear to be very difficult at first. However, this does not detract from the fact that they were designed with fun in mind. It was a joy actually being able to interact with the golf-turned-art sculptures. To be able to “play” a piece of art in this way lends an interactivity to the pieces. Players experience a simulation of the themes of the show through their interaction with the game rather than being fed an interpretation or explanation as to why each sculpture means what it does.

Back to Analog?

Amanda Thackray, “High Road vs. Low Road” (click to enlarge)

It feels slightly anachronistic to focus on the participatory aspects of a mini-golf course installation as a form of interactive art if for the only reason that we are living in an era of increasing interactivity through higher forms of technology. However, it is just that context that makes this type of installation so vital.

I believe we are still in the fledging stages of a time when audiences have a much stronger influence on not only the creative process but in the distribution and exhibition of art of all forms. It is an influence that must be communicated via artworks that converse with their audiences rather than speak their ideas at them.

In conversation with Christina, we discussed the importance of the interactive aspect of the installation. I spoke of how important technology is becoming in making art a more participatory experience. I mentioned that it interests me how that experience is represented in the Golden Door mini-golf course in a lo-tech way.

Riso Puno’s “Leap of Faith” (click to enlarge)

She said that the show provided a kind of “analog interactivity” that allows people not only to interact with each work of art, but also to socialize in a real space rather than via technology. It is a requirement of the work that to experience it in full you must actually visit the course and play the game. In an era of digital over-saturation, to apply interactivity in an analog manner provides incentive not only to participate, but also to interact with people vis-à-vis an art work. It seems fitting that the exhibition designer Risa Puno is also the architect of the course’s bonus hole, titled “Leap of Faith.” Puno believes that if you ask something of the audience, they will get more out of it. She called it the “personal investment” that an audience has in art that demands participation.

Incentivizing comes from not treating a spectator as a passive consumer of a genius work, but as someone whose contributions to the work are just as important as the artist’s. Technically speaking, the show lacks any of its themes and narratives without the players. The artists have provided a forum, but it is the audience who must labor through each hole to fully understand what each artist is trying to say.

Below is a video taken An Xiao of me taking a shot at Risa’s bonus hole:

Gallery of photos from The Golden Door mini-gold course via my Picasa account.

Various logos dreamed up post-Deepwater Horizon disaster: (clockwise from top left) arc312 for LogoMyWay, FuturisticLOGO for LogoMyWay, DrakePSolus for LogoMyWay, zoom-dg for LogoMyWay, unknown for Greenpeace UK, and sophie for LogoMyWay.

An entry by an unknown contestant for Greenpeace UK’s Rebrand BP contest depicts conventions seen commonly throughout contest entries. (via Greenpeace UK's Behind the Logo Flickr set) (click to enlarge)

The BP Deepwater oil spill disaster has sparked a tremendous amount of creative outrage, some of which we’ve been exploring on Hyperallergic LABS all week. In addition to various protests and performances, not to mention some satirical Twitter feeds, there have been numerous attempts to critically appropriate BP’s logo. Amateur and professional graphic design illustrations have been circulated throughout the Internet to re-brand the corporation’s image to reflect its destructive nature.

The inherent attractiveness of the current BP “Helios” logo appears to be a big part of why there has been such an enormous visual response to the BP oil spill. BP became “Beyond Petroleum” in 2000, re-presenting itself as a leader in other more environmental friendly fuels. Designed by logo design firm Landor in 2000, the green and yellow sunburst looks like a bright, healthy flower, visually linking humble, lowercase “bp” with the green movement. The geometric shapes give a familiar, retro vibe. The glaring offenses of the Deepwater disaster are in such sharp contrast to this sunny image that the BP Helios logo has become a symbol ripe for distorting.

The thousands of designs entered in either contest to rebrand BP demonstrate the public’s desire to speak out on the disaster. Most commonly, there are a lot of spirited, if superficial, takes on the logo, many featuring the Helios sunburst dripping with black or brown oil, such as this one by an unknown designer from Greenpeace UK’s contest. While it’s certainly energizing to see so many people creatively engaged in the efforts to challenge and tarnish BP’s image, the images created often offer an unnuanced critique of the company. Aesthetically, an image like this would certainly pack a punch if spotted at your local gas station – the ecological green and yellow flower tainted by murky oil isn’t a pleasant image, and makes people think twice about the environmental concerns of oil usage. However, as an artwork meant to challenge the larger issues at hand, the image doesn’t offer much of a message beyond “BP’s oil is bad for the environment.”

Gremlin's entry for Logo My Way's contest draws connections between the oil industry and wars past and present. (via LogoMyWay) (click to enlarge)

A second, more layered and incensed critique of BP pops up among amateur logo re-appropriations. This image, from Logo My Way’s contest, by Gremlin, borrows the silhouette from Eddie Adams’s Pulitzer Prize winning photo of General Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing Viet Cong soldier Nguyen Van Lem in 1968. The BP sunburst logo behind the threatened figure evokes the imminent gunshot, suggesting the calamity and horrors of the victims of the Deepwater disaster. Instead of a gun, however, the person on the left brandishes the nozzle of a gas pump. This image underscores the power of the oil industry, suggesting that the public’s been forced into this dire energy situation. However, as reflective of the intricate nature our culture’s problems with the oil industry, this image is still limited in its message. The connection to the Vietnam War remains tenuous, and the multiplicity of factors surrounding in the oil industry’s environmental concerns are lost. While difficult to apply as an actual logo, it’s still a very arresting image.

Graphic Designer Jason Prementer presents an aesthetically cohesive but less emotional response to the disaster. (via jasonpermenter.com) (click to enlarge)

Then there are the less emotional images more commonly created by professional graphic designers. This image was designed by professional graphic designer Jason Permenter, featured on his tumblelog. It utilizes the sunburst shape of the BP logo to evoke a sunrise, a new day perhaps, on planet Earth. Our little planet floats in space, which is coated in the subtle rainbow sheen of oil spills. This size of the logo-sun in comparison to the earth reflects the power the BP Corporation has over us as a planet. The solid simplicity of the design is effective in sending the message that our future is going to be determined by this crisis. It’s not especially nuanced, and the prettiness of it belies the dangers involved, but it catches your eye and utilizes the logo and related aesthetics to send its message. Ultimately, cohesive imagery wins out over explicit political message.

For me, the bottom line of each image is the viewer’s response to the response. Does it inspire action, emotion? Does it illuminate a different way of looking at the symbol? How does form create and enhance meaning? If anything, these images prove the power of a brand’s logo over the consuming public, and many people are stepping up to the challenge of rethinking that omnipresence.

Looking In the Shadows

Andy Warhol, “Self-Portrait” (1986). Mugrabi Collection. © 2010 The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc./Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY (via BrooklynMuseum.org) (click to enlarge)

The first gallery is covered with repeating images of a cartoonish self-portrait on purple wallpaper. And you think … well, I did anyway … “There is the Warhol I know and love!” However, upon closer inspection, the works adorning the walls, such as “Self Portrait (Strangulation)” (1978) and “Self Portrait with Skull” (1978), form a drastic change in subject matter from the sixties. This is not the Warhol from the sixties which is one of the many reasons why this period is so significant and why this is not just another Warhol exhibit. Presenting Warhol’s treatment of his own death is a very clear way of presenting this to the unsuspecting museumgoer right off the bat.

This is the first time such an extensive exhibition has tackled Warhol’s late works, it is a period during which he created over 3,500 new works. This is an awkward period to treat because it is so expansive and it might be easy to suggest that his talent was waning and that he was trying to too hard. The exhibit doesn’t portray this frenzy in its numbers (of the 3,500 only approx 50 are present) but in the speed in which he ate up and served out styles.

We see Warhol’s undertaking of abstraction in which he is very successful. The abstract lends itself more readily to the ephemeral and to otherworldliness, so it is no wonder that figurative artists often flirt with abstraction towards the end of their lives (think Titian, Cézanne, Bonnard, and Monet). There are a couple works from Warhol’s abstract Oxidation series in which the canvas is primed with copper-based paint and then is urinated on by either Warhol himself or other people in the Factory. Surprisingly, the effect is quite beautiful. The wall text explains that these series are evidence of his fascination with and envy of the Abstract Expressionists. We see his fascination with these artists on several occasions during the exhibit but I do not, however, agree that Warhol was envious.

Andy Warhol, “Oxidation Paintings (in 12 parts)” (1978), Acrylic and urine on linen, 48x49 inches. Lent by the Andy Warhol Museum, Pitssburgh, Founding Collection, Contribution The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. (via BrooklynMuseum.org) (click to enlarge)

This gesture, urinating on the canvas, recalls a painting by Francis Bacon, “Blood on Pavement” (1988), which looks similar to a late Rothko, split into several, horizontal bands of color and yet in the center is a smear of red paint. Some believed that this was Bacon’s way of saying, “Just by smearing red paint on the canvas and calling it blood, my painting has more emotion than your hazy, abstract forms will ever possess.” Warhol’s “piss-paintings” — to steal a common nickname used to describe the works — seem to work in the same way. Pollock, Kline, de Kooning and others inserted themselves, visually, into their works. The Oxidation series seemed to say, you want gesture? You want physical presence? You want the mark of the artist?! I’ll show you the mark of the artist! Warhol’s other abstractions in the gallery as just as mysterious and handsome as the Oxidation series despite being sans bodily fluids.

The next room is filled with his Yarn (1983) series, paint with silk-screens, and Pollock on acid. He takes the very deliberate and forceful gesture of Pollock, freezes it, and turns it into rainbow doodles. In the same room are his Egg (1982) series that recall enlarged fragments of Larry Poons’s work. Warhol clearly had a fascination with the Abstract Expressionists, but envy had nothing to do with it. He isn’t making fun but having fun, taking something very serious and deep and exploring it in the flatest way possible, erasing any sense of physical depth.

Connecting With the World

The exhibition includes a group of paintings that Warhol collaborated on with artists Jean Michel Basquiat and Francesco Clemente. The style of each artist complements Warhol’s art very well, so when they visually overlap and converse it is attractive. It is easy to pick out the marks of each artist, but not in a way that makes the work distracting or disjointed. More so, it heightens each artist’s approach and productively revealed the influences they had on one another.

Not touched upon here in this article, but laced throughout the exhibit, are videos of the various recordable ventures Warhol took through the last decade. He produced several TV programs, including Fashion: The Express and the Commissioner (1980) and Andy Warhol’s Fifteen Minutes (1985), they not only provide a visual break from the continuous paint-on-canvas work in the exhibit, but present the work Warhol was doing outside of painting during this time.

Warhol was such an enigmatic character that no wall text will be able to explain him fully. And with an exhibit this expansive and diverse, it can be difficult to make sense of it all but the catalogue provides a strong foundation to fully profit from the show. It productively adds to the thousands of pounds of ink that has been written about Warhol. Joseph D. Ketner II does a wonderful job of both critically discussing the works and examining the persona of Warhol during this late period.

Andy Warhol with Jean-Michel Basquiat in 1986 (screenshot via YouTube)

Warhol’s Rorschach paintings came about in a typical Warhol fashion, he asked around to as what he should paint and one day someone suggested the Rorschach ink blocks. The paintings themselves appear flat opposed to the wall text description that they evoke “deep mysteries lurking beneath the surface.” I do think many of Warhol’s abstractions induce deeper sentiments than what remains on the surface of the canvas, but let’s not push it — these do not. There is a nice conceptual layer to them however; the idea that the supposed patient viewing the forms is evaluated on their responses to them … but who is evaluating me?

During my second visit to the exhibit, I encountered what may be evidence of the exorbitant copyright laws of the Andy Warhol Foundation, a security guard told me that I wasn’t allowed to take notes. As in, whatever I was writing down on my little pad of paper, I had to stop. I questioned, “I’m not allowed to … take notes?” “Not with this exhibit,” she replied. While no other security guard had a problem with my, supposedly, blatant infringement of the King of Appropriation’s foundation copyright laws, it would be interesting to know where the fire is to this smoke.

The last two galleries contain the religious pieces that Warhol completed towards the end of his life. And to be honest, they are very impressive. “The Last Supper” (1986) (only shown at Fort Worth and now Brooklyn. Sorry, Baltimore and Milwaukee, you missed out!) uses his tried and true technique of repetition. The Last Supper series, for which he made over a hundred variations, was a commission for the inaugural exhibit at Alexander Iolas’s new Milan gallery, located across the street from Leonardo de Vinci’s “Last Supper” fresco.

Andy Warhol (American, 1928–1987). The Last Supper, 1986. Acrylic and silkscreen ink on linen, 116 x 390 in. (294.6 x 990.6 cm). The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh; Founding Collection, Contribution The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. © 2010 The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York (via BrooklynMuseum.org) (click to enlarge)

I thought it was amusing. A presentation of the Big C, the man himself, complete with motorcycles, the Wise owl (from the snack company) and an eagle! What’s not to love? Americana, baby. And all this is yours for $6.99.

Yet, it doesn’t feel like it has religious weight, right? And many critics are wary of trying to dig out the religiosity in these series, like trying to talk politics about Jasper Johns’s flags. But Warhol approaches religion like he does almost everything else; why should he treat religion any different than his beloved advertisements or celebrities? He treats it with nonchalance and casualness; this is part of his America, his notion of reality. To Warhol you don’t have to search for the religiosity and the spiritual, it is right there! The Big C! How can you miss it? No digging necessary, which is why the quote on the wall from Warhol in reference to the series seems irrelevant: “I painted them all by hand — I myself; so now I’ve become a Sunday painter … That’s why the project took so long. But I worked with a passion.” The curator appears to be trying to convince the viewer of Warhol’s religious passion, to convince them to take these works “seriously”.

In the last room there are two more Last Supper works: “The Last Supper” (1986) and “Detail of the Last Supper (Christ 112 Times)” (1986). The repetition of the fragment, Christ’s head outlined in Byzantine gold, is exceptionally beautiful. From the front it appeared as if it was a segment of a film strip and if it were sped up Christ would appear be in motion. From the edges of the painting, looking at it from an angle, the heads of Christ begin to evolve and morph into different forms as they recede into the distance. The room also includes two of his last self-portraits, both which are penetrating and slightly ghostly.

This exhibit reiterates the complexity of Warhol during a specific and profound time period in the artist’s life. The late period of any artist always holds a kind of curiosity and wonder. We see a new vulnerability in Warhol; an almost panicky need to create something of worth. This doesn’t debase the work nor is it evidence of him losing his cool. He remains a complete conundrum which can be discomforting to the viewer There is no doubt that Warhol created some of his best, most interesting work during this period and it is how you choose to approach this period, with all its contradictions and idiosyncrasies, that will affect your view. Do you believe him? Does it matter? And let’s face it, being a mystery will never go out of style.

Simon de Pury (right) and Ryan have a moment … will love ensue? (via bravotv.com/work-of-art)

THE CHALLENGE: This week on Work of Art, it’s the Garbage Project!

Our artists have to make a sculpture … out of toss-offs. Wait, hasn’t this been done before? The same has been done on Project Runway and not to mention by sculptor John Chamberlain and countless others, but thankfully not Top Chef.

From the moment Simon de Pury opened a garage door onto an enormous warehouse space stuffed with discarded appliances, I thought I could hear a massive groan from the collective art world. It’s a total cliché. And even worse, a cliché that the Whitney Biennale did first! #ohshit! Our contestants work with found object multimedia artist Jon Kessler, who opines that there is “something romantic about a found object” and advises everyone to “not get electrocuted.” Trong is totally good with this; being a robot he cannot get electrocuted.

The contestants await the verdict. (via bravotv.com/work-of-art)

THE CREATIVE PROCESS: studio time commences. Jaclyn is making an aquarium. Trong sez she’s maybe referring to “Jeff Koons, not sure.” Whoa, will our audience know that name now that it’s been said twice!? Ryan starts helping Jaclyn with the aquarium but warns her not to “touch the caulk too much.” It doesn’t sound like that much of a come on. Mark is making a hot golden mess out of a TV, turning it into a religious Mexican death altarpiece. TV = the new religion, got it?

Erik is a bro and “likes everything, dude.” Miles is looking best (again) with both his charming good looks (as the Twitter crowd noticed) and his work, which was inspired by his decision to go to sleep in the appliance warehouse. He makes a representation of an artist’s sleep, screening printing a microchip pattern on sacking and casting assholes out of concrete … something about stress and tension. We hear that Erik had a motorcycle accident and his problems with the right side of his brain, leading to lost trains of thought.

Trong’s ill-fated work “What Would Tom Friedman Do?” (via bravotv.com/work-of-art)

THE GALLERY SHOWING: Mark has actually come out okay! I kind of dig his sloppy golden idol. Miles decides to sleep on top of his work, making it come alive in a way that Erik deems “crying for attention.” Yeah but isn’t all performance crying for attention? In an interesting piece, Peregrine made two static-y TVs facing eachother into a “widow having a conversation with herself.” Trong, however, seems to have put his conceptual foot in his conceptual mouth. His blank white TVs having a conversation with eachother seems a little dry but not that bad, that is, until the judges come knockin’. The Saltzmaster barely censors himself, calling the piece “self-referentiality out the wing wong.” Miles fails to hold himself back and becomes judge-for-a-minute, saying Trong’s stuff is “distractingly boring.” He’s easily distracted though, remember.

Saltz calls out Jaime Lynn as being merely a stage-setter and “not making art.” Judith overexplains her Kandinsky abstraction made of wire, but the judges go soft. Bill Powers steps up and sez that Judith didn’t know what her intention was behind the piece, but hey, we like listening to her talk and seeing the camera montage her blatherings.
Once again the judges dig Miles! They all like the performative aspect of him sleeping on his sculpture and Jerry sez he got to know a little more about the artist. Aww. Jon Kessler does, however, note that “two anuses is overkill,” which we all know is totally true. One is plenty. Too bad the show has more.

Miles’ “Worst Place” (via bravotv.com/work-of-art)

THE SCORECARD: Miles wins! For the second time! Which is interesting in part because he’s far and away one of the better contestants on the show, but he better not win three in a row. That would just be weird. Plus did anyone else notice that he repeated a lot of materials and techniques from last time? The plastic sheet, the screenprinting, the wood. It’s a very singular aesthetic, but then contemporary art doesn’t necessarily look for variety. Oh well. Too many artists used TVs, that was dumb. Trong ends up losing, which I think is unfair given the presence of exceedingly worse crappy sculptures. His TVs were boring, not bad, and he certainly could have done better. Looking forward to the next installment, where more artists flirt with each other, Bill Powers is a creep and Jerry Saltz is guaranteed to say something colorful! [canned applause]

This episode was markedly less developed for me than the first. It was still entertaining, but had very little depth and made little effort to probe the artists’ works until the final (10 minute) judging. I’m not sure why, but it just didn’t come out this time. None of the work was great, not that it has been yet, and very little art struggles of interest have come up. Why not challenge everyone to resolve the struggle to represent three dimensions on a two dimensional canvas in a new way!? Seriously guys, great art is not made in these conditions.

Mark’s “Dia de los Televisiones” work (via bravotv.com/work-of-art)

ON TWITTER

Once again, SDP wins the show:
@abstanfield: Simon de Pury is great! He’s like an alien coming in to greet the invaders. Comic relief #workofart

On needing better guest stars:
@midairhighfive: Ok, Bravo. Third mention in two shows of Jeff Koons. Dude better make a guest appearance at the end of yr show. #workofart

Fetishizing the artist:
@manbartlett: there are some creepy miles lovers out there #workofart

Continuing the Art-O-Lympics!
@MAM_Chelsea: I hope next season there’ll be a Models of the Runway-esque spinoff of the art preparators who have to install the gallery show #workofart

On the futility of  “winning” an art game-show:
@artfagcity: @andrearosen in this show you can win. The work’s bad enough that that’s possible. #workofart

Oh … China Chow:
@kasten: Can’t argue. RT: @Glasstire: China Chow, bless her heart, has as much personality as a bucket of gesso. http://ow.ly/1ZCxe #workofart

@LazyLima: China Chow is a closet Black girl. Each time she’s on screen she’s got new hair! #workofart

Don’t do it!
@thejohnhogan: I was thinking of starting a blog about #workofart but then I realized suicide is never the answer.

And …
@MSLisaChang: 1st and last time watching #workofart— these people have parents who had hope for them at one point.

@clubsilence: Wait. People are watching tv when it’s actually broadcast? That still happens? #workofart #drones

Trong does his thing (Bravo)

11 pm, Wednesday, June 9th marked a watershed moment for the art world: the first time that contemporary art was inducted in the burgeoning canon of reality TV. Bravo’s new series, Work of Art, enters the channel’s line up of contest-based reality shows, home to such luminaries as Top Chef, Project Runway, and Shear Genius. Featuring legitimate art-worlders Jerry Saltz and Simon de Pury, the show aspires to find “the next great artist.” Will it succeed in picking an artist the art world will accept? Or will the show turn out to be more of a Dadaist farce, too nonsensical to have any relevance?

The first episode of Work of Art aired Wednesday June 9th at 11pm on Bravo. For a primer, I proudly recommend turning to our colleague Art Fag City for overviews of the candidates and excerpts from an interview with the judges. So how did it turn out? Well, why not just read on? See below for an episode recap and a twitter digest, culled from WNYC’s #workofart.

WORK OF ART, EPISODE 1

The episode begins in much the same way as any other Bravo reality show, with a montage of cutesy artist introductions! Our cast flash on the screen, brushing paint onto a plexiglas wall in front of a camera and gesturing with various implements of their art-making. After we get to see the faces of the artists, Abdi Farah explains that their first assignment upon coming to the show was to create a self-portrait, a major hint at the first challenge. The self-portraits are hung in a dull white cube gallery, set in random pairs.

Work of Art contestant Nao Bustamante

In the following scene we are treated to further snapshots of our artists though only a few personalities are thrown into focus. Nao Bustamante, relatively established performance artist, quickly takes on the role of resident bitch. Miles Mendenhall is a cute hipster with OCD. Amanda Williams is a dry professor. Jaclyn Santos is a BABE (yo, for real, her sexy artist-ness is played up throughout the episode). Erik Johnson is a self-taught naïf who paints angsty high school stuff. Judith Braun is a sassy lady. Trong Nguyen is indeed robotic. And mentor Simon de Pury shows up! Even more fastidious than Tim Gunn, de Pury’s voice and demeanor is so generically gentlemanly that he seems more suited to setting a neat table than critiquing art. Chill out, it’s just reality TV! “Art” is Work of Art host China Chow’s “passion,” she’s around for the decoration.

Chow and de Pury team up to announce the FIRST CHALLENGE to the gathered artists: create a portrait of the cast member that your self-portrait is matched up with in the gallery! Seems to have some potential. Artists have to “show the inner essence of subject”… in only 13 hours. After meeting them some few hours ago. The studio space turns out to be even worse than the gallery. No windows, but tons of art supplies are present along with a mysterious stripe mural off to one side.

Jaclyn is a proud pussy!

The artists have 30 minutes to get to know their subjects further, and we’re immediately set off on a series of snap judgements: Miles and Nao make a pretty good pair, both legit. Judith Braun thinks hottie Jaclyn is a “proud pussy.” We see Braun’s series of pussy-cats, including a cute kitten captioned ‘shy white pussy’ (don’t Google that). Jaclyn is offended. John Parot thinks Trong is a “cool-as-a-cucumber hipster.” Peregrine Honig “took Nicole Nadeau’s clothes off with her eyes” to create a naked portrait. Jamie Lynn Henderson sez, “I’m not just a ditzy Christian blonde, I’m an artist!” We know, dear, we know. Aren’t we all? She also likes “glitz.” Mark Velasquez is a fry cook (Bravo’s caption, not mine) who enjoys “shooting scantily clad models in weird costumes.”

SURPRISE! Patron saint of Work of Art Sarah Jessica Parker shows up. Miles (facetiously) asks who she is. We don’t even care. She doesn’t do anything. We briefly see Judith’s Proud Pussy painting on screen, in glaring pink. Doesn’t look half bad to me. Too bad we barely got to see it again. Miles starts in on a screenprinting of Nao as a riff on an old school “death portrait,” as Nao maps Miles’ movements around the studio on white paper, dots with connecting lines. John likes Trong’s use of snakeskin. Miles sez Nicole is intimidatingly good looking, “but so is Judith!” Totes agree. Simon de Pury somehow convinces Erik that he finished early with a crap painting of a clown-faced Mark. Unfortunate comparisons were made to John Wayne Gacy’s oeuvre.

Miles’ “death portrait” of Nao

Pre-judging, as always, the artists retreat to their fabulous dormitories. Apparently the William Beaver House is the “ultimate downtown address,” but what it looks like is someone swallowing enamel and vomiting Ikea shit all over the place. Weird.

THE JUDGING! But not before someone announces that the works of art “have to be done in five minutes.” Did anyone else find this time limit hilarious? The artists hang their works in the anonymous gallery in pairings with their portrait partners, and in pours a crowd of total randos (!?) plus the judges, the contestants trailing behind. Erik likes finally seeing his art in a gallery, we all go awww and our hearts melt.

Judge introductions! Saltz tells us that “art is a way of showing the outside world what your inside world is like.” He looks pugnacious. Rawr. “Gallerist” and judge Jeanne Greenberg Rohatyn wants something that intrigues her. Judge #3 Bill Power wants something that… “gets him off.” Cause if the art doesn’t, he “can’t sell it in his gallery.” Oooof.

Everyone agrees Miles’ work is sweet with its added plastic veil. Nao doesn’t come off so well. The judges complain that they can’t see the link between the minimalist drawing and “portraiture.” Plus you can’t see the tiny photo-booth portrait of Miles hung next to the drawing if you approach the work from the side. Ouch. “Typically, people walk around in a gallery situation,” Nao retorts. I’m pretty sure that’s a valid defense. She then utters the already classic line, “I’m not responsible for your experience of my work.”

Abdis' portrait of Ryan

Jerry’s facial expression looks like Brooklyn Rail publisher Phong Bui is giving him a wedgie out off-camera. Amanda’s abstract portrait “looks like falling leaves” and gets generally trashed. Abdi’s energetically bright portrait “has a vertical thrust to it” that Rohatyn clearly enjoys. Mm girl. She also notes that the “commercial aspect” of Mark’s photoshopped work “will be a positive.” Yeeeahh. It actually looks like something from Deviantart.

THE WINNER? Miles, Mark and Abdis top the podium for the three best, and Miles wins hands down. Everyone seems gracious. Remind me again how you “win” at art? Amanda, Erik and Nao are the three “losers” (Nao didn’t deserve that, but she did worry she was “too rude” to the judges) but only Amanda gets kicked off the show. Apparently her painting didn’t make the judges “feel anything,” and her “work of art didn’t work” for them. Reality TV loves wordplay. Artist William Powhida made the comment on Twitter that the first loser of the show was probably the winner in terms of credibility. In that case, congratulations Amanda!

SO!? At the end of the first episode, I’m thinking that Work of Art is going to be entertaining, and that’s about it as far as “Great Art” goes. Some of the artists created pretty interesting work, I quite like Miles’ portrait and I think it’s a legitimately good piece. But the real fun came in the running Twitter commentary art-worlders had on the show. Work of Art is kind of like a caricature of the art world — it’s fun to look at, instructive as a parody, and leads us to look at ourselves in a slightly different way. But the real question — WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Amanda's portait of... who?

ON TWITTER:

Quoting Miles on his portrait of Nao:
@cmonstah: #workoFart guy quote of the night: “The only way I was going to understand her was to make her dead.”

Nominating de Pury for further hosting duty:
@lindsaypollock: Simon de Pury is natural and appealing on TV-who knew?

On de Pury’s equipment:
@artfagcity: Why doesn’t Simon de Pury have a gavel he can use on the show to show approval? #workofart

One way to have fun (or die) while watching Work of Art:
@cmonstah: Everyone drink when people says “I am an artist” self-importantly. | RT @anxiaostudio Sounds like we may need a #workofart drinking game.

They made me feel something!
@Powhida: Jaclyn has nice tits. Sculpture? #workofart

Note the hashtags:
@tmccool: top chef and work of art should be merged into a 2 hour long special. #workofart #wokofart

Jen Dalton made a popular comment:
@jen_dalton: #workofart not helping artists’ image as ridiculous untalented self-important pompous clueless tricksters

Our own Hrag Vartanian echoes another theme:
@hragv: So true // OK the art SUCKS but the crit is pretty awesome. Jerry’s eyebrow raising is priceless #workofart /via @jen_dalton

On subbing Klaus for de Pury:
@joygarnett: He would LOVE. RT @ARTnewsmag: Klaus Biesenbach? RT brynarc Just saw #workofart and am trying to figure out who should play Tim Gunn role.

More EPIC substitutions:
@ARTnewsmag: @joygarnett @cmonstah also Richard Serra should be Simon Cowell & Tracey Emin should be Nina Garcia on #workofart

Judith Braun's Proud Pussy portrait of Jaclyn

Pictures of the other contestants’ portraits can be found on Bravo’s site here. All pictures courtesy of Bravotv.com

A somewhat blurry photo of Jim Herbert’s “Nakes People” (2010) (photo by author)

This year, I found many artists participating in the 2010 Bushwick Open Studios are overlaying faces and bodies with bright splotches, fluorescent dabs, and other patterns. Such “fauvist tattoos” — as I like to call them — spice up these figures, while making them look more provocative and enticing. Fauvism is a term with some historical baggage but I think it articulates the colorful zest many artists are layering onto skin — it’s like they are covering their figures with painterly tattoos. After a decade epitomized by airbrushed photographs that cast the face as a smooth, even and perfect plane of color, these artists are rebelling with wickedly raw and vibrantly colored skin. It was a welcome surprise.

Jim Herbert’s “Naked People” (2010) is painted in oil and hang on the back wall of the English Kills Art Gallery. This detail demonstrates just how many layers of color Herbert can pack onto skin. An analogy to Oskar Kokoschka is tempting but his brushwork creates a thicker density of color and his symbolism invokes a rawer less sublimated take on sexuality.

Hagopian’s portrait of androgynous vocalist Laurel Katz-Bohen of all girl David Bowie cover band, Ziggy Starlet. Maro Hagopian, “Ziggy Starlet” (2008) (via marophotography.com)

Maro Hagopian (aka Miss Maro) may not be a painter but the photographs on the wall of her studio echoed this fauvist tattoo trend. One of the recurring themes in her work is the outlandish masks that people create with makeup. For example, her photo “Ziggy Starlet” (2008) depicts the lead singer of an all girl David Bowie Tribute Band. The use of pink make-up far exceeds the typical light rouge on the cheeks. Another photo by Hagopian depicts Lady Gaga before she catapulted to fame. There is a deep exchange between the face in contemporary painting and the cutting edge of street fashion.

Left, Heather Garland, “Thirty” (2010); right, Timothy Rollin Rickerill, “Dead 19” (2009) (photos by the author) (click to enlarge)

Heather Garland’s fluorescent self-portrait “Thirty” (2010) was hung over the weekend at Arch Collective (18 Wyckoff Avenue). Marking her 30th birthday, its rich layers of neon colors and random splatters form into her face. Matisse and the Fauves never explored this radioactive side of the color spectrum. Garland is taking Fauvism in a more disco-colored direction, which feels fresh, even it is obviously steeped in the lessons and history of 20th C. painting.

On the second floor of 119 Ingram studio complex, Timothy Rollin Rickerill gazes at the darker side of war. His oil painting “Dead 19” (2009) is based on a photo of a war corpse. His stylized depiction of rotting flesh is not for the feint of heart, but it was another formally commanding depiction of an abnormal and unusual face. Although the fauvist label doesn’t match the more gothic tones and mood of the work, it reflects a similar artistic boredom with the perfected face of fashion magazines. The influence of English painter Francis Bacon is evident in his work but so are other influences, like Native American masks.

Layton Hower, “Entitlement” (2003) (via LaytonHower.com) (click to enlarge)

Layton Hower’s acrylic painting “Entitlement” (2003) provoked a fight between me and another man at the Archive on Saturday night. (The Original hangs on the second Floor of 1 Grattan Studio Complex.) As I showed him this glowing neon portrait of George and Laura Bush on my digital camera, he said that it just did nothing for him. His tone suggesting that it had no deeper substance and implying Bush was a terrible president.

I liked it more the way I appreciate Warhol’s clever color and haunting hollowness. The speckles of blue across Bush’s face, the pink and red patches in Laura’s hair, there was so much going on. It really beat the standard boring naturalism of most US Presidential portraits — though John F. Kennedy did have his painted by Elaine de Kooning.

Kazuo Ooka, “Thinker No6” (nd) (via soymonk.com)

Kazuo Ooka’s massive studio on the fourth floor of the 2 Harrison Street complex featured his recent oil series of multi-chromatic figures modeled after Auguste Rodin’s “The Thinker” (1902). “Thinker #6” is among the strongest in the series. The figure’s musculature is lavishly developed by streaks of green, red, and orange. It’s hard to pull off a background that is bright colorful but still doesn’t compete and divert attention away from the focus of the picture. Ooka knows how to strike a careful compositional balance that produces a wonderful paintings.

It has been 105 years since Louis Vauxcelles coined the term Fauvism when he encountered bright, vivid (and arguably garish) colors at the 1905 Salon d’Automne. Nevertheless, a hundred years later and across the ocean in Brooklyn, an intense burst of bright color still goes a long way. Pink jolts and green streaks danced on these skins like tattoos. Matisse is back from the dead and training artists at an underground Tattoo Parlor in Bushwick.