John Ahearn, "Headstart AM & PM" (2012), dimensions variable, cast pigmented plaster (all images by the author for Hyperallergic)

Editor’s note: We asked two Hyperallergic contributors to visit No Longer Empty’s This Side of Paradise exhibition in the Bronx. The other post is here.

In the last several years, the term “pop up” has become ubiquitous in the art world. The majority of these related, newfound endeavors — brief exhibitions, stores and happenings — make charming use of relatively sparse, small storefronts. In this vein, I’ve come to expect a bit of space-maximizing ingenuity from the pop-up crowd. And yet I couldn’t have been more pleased to find the exact opposite at No Longer Empty‘s latest temporary exhibition, This Side of Paradise. The sprawling show occupies more than 20 rooms of the abandoned Andrew Freedman Home in the Bronx and takes its name from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s first novel, a fitting tale of greed and social ambition.

Nicky Enright, "The Ravages" (2012), dimensions variable, found piano, found typewriters, speakers, CD player

The show brings together 32 artists and collectives to take over one of the most auspicious and idiosyncratic buildings I’ve ever had the pleasure of entering. The Andrew Freedman Home was originally conceived and operated as a retirement home for the elderly and formerly wealthy. There, in a sprawling villa on the once prestigious Grand Concourse, disinherited and aged members of “society” could live out the rest of their days in the manner to which they were accustomed. The now decrepit building maintains a measure of its former opulence; through motes of dust it’s easy to picture the white-glove dinner service and live music once enjoyed within the walls.

The exhibition invites local and international artists to reflect on the irony of the building’s original purpose. Two large gallery spaces on the first floor used for group showings allow for thematic conversation. The work in the first room, directly to the right of the crumbling grand entrance, engages directly with the outside community. An interactive bike map allows visitors to plot their routes throughout the Bronx. John Ahearn’s project on the back wall of the gallery recruited local children from the Bronx Headstart program (housed in the building’s ground floor) to create a plaster cast wall relief out of their hands. Melanie Crean’s “Once Upon a Time in the Bronx” offered local teenagers the opportunity to re-imagine classic fairy tales based on their own surroundings, hopes and fears.

Powerful though it was, this leg of the exhibition seemed out of place, a tacked-on attempt to relate to the community. Rather than engage with local residents about their perceptions of this strange building and its role in society, these community projects seemed a little one-dimensional. I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth; I only wish the organizers had delved deeper and taken advantage of what seems like a precious opportunity for engagement.

In the second room, artists reacted to the building itself  and to the social conventions embodied by the property. Federico Uribe’s re-creation of one of Freedman’s famous Persian rugs is composed of found objects from everyday life (crutches, scissors, pencils and pens, for example) and lends particular poignancy to the devalued status of the site. Nicky Enright’s sonic sculpture “The Ravages” combines a ragtag group of disused typewriters found onsite with a derelict piano. A nostalgic cacophony of typewriter percussion and piano music wafts gently from inside the dusty hulk, and the melancholic assemblage seems to play for the building’s deceased residents.

Upstairs, 20 bedrooms hold a series of site-specific installations that, combined, are equal parts biennial, pop up and haunted house. The moldering surroundings give the whole thing a special kind of morbid power.

Mario Chamorro and Daniel Paluska’s “The Happy Post Project and Playing Games” is an exuberant installation of Post-it notes that encourages visitors to draw a picture of the thing that makes them happiest. This project, while relatively simple and innocent (like the internet for five-year-olds), encourages the kind of group self-expression (albeit in a relatively innocuous way) that seemed missing in much of the rest of the house.

Mario Chamorro and Daniel Paluska, "The Happy Post Project and Playing Games," Ongoing, Dimensions Variable, Post it notes and mixed media

The most impressive room installation was How and Nosm’s “Reflections,” in which a combination of cardboard pyramid stalagmites, mirrors and red lights turned the space into a twilight fairy tale of slightly nightmarish proportions. While invoking the eerie, off-putting vibe of an abandoned building on Halloween, the artists impressively managed to straddle the line between discomfort and fascination.

Justen Ladda’s “Like Money, Like Water” had a similar haunted-house feel. His skeleton figures are caught midstream, peeing dollar signs onto the floor of one of the bedrooms. I chuckled to myself but didn’t linger.

Sylvia Plachy visited the Freedman Home in July of 1980 to take photographs for a Village Voice article written by Vivian Gornick. For This Side of Paradise, Plachy has re-created one of the rooms from her photographs. Her installation brings a special lonely reflection to the space, and there’s something disconcerting about this time capsule of domesticity. It is strange to see a reminder of the human element that once ambled up and down these walls.

How and Nosm, "Reflections"(2012), dimensions variable, spraypaint, cardboard, mirrors, lightbulbs

I left Plachy’s room and the top floor of the home fulfilled but also slightly crestfallen. Though the exhibition brought me to the Bronx, introduced me to new art and told me a particularly odd and interesting story I might otherwise not have known, I’m not sure that the exhibition teaches us to think about or see social issues in any different light. In that sense, it could be viewed as a missed opportunity. Attempts to include the outside community of the Bronx, including a room of photographs featuring the work of local businesses, seemed a little static. One can only hope that the organizers of No Longer Empty and members of the Bronx community will view This Side of Paradise as a launch point, an experiment to provoke more meaningful dialogue in the future.

This Side of Paradise continues at the Andrew Freeman Home (1125 Grand Concourse, the Bronx) through June 5.

Cheryl Pope, "THEN AND THERE" (2012), faux gold leaf (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

Editor’s note: We asked two Hyperallergic contributors to visit No Longer Empty’s This Side of Paradise exhibition in the Bronx. The other post is here.

The curious history of a former retirement home for wealthy elderly people fallen on hard times and the contemporary Bronx community now surrounding that home provide rich material for the 32 artists in No Longer Empty’s current exhibit, This Side of Paradise. Sharing its name with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s first novel, which follows the trials of a man seeking and losing love, wealth and status, This Side of Paradise inhabits the Andrew Freedman Home on the Grand Concourse, a stately structure sitting behind a fence and broad lawn.

The Andrew Freedman Home

Andrew Freedman, a successful businessman who at various points owned the New York Giants and directed the IRT (the first New York City subway company) and the Wright Company (the Wright Brothers’ aviation company), died of a stroke in 1915 and bequeathed much of his $7 million estate to the establishment of a retirement home. But this would be no dreary establishment for shuffling invalids. Instead, it would provide shelter for those who had once been rich and suffered reversals in life, giving them the lush lifestyle they had enjoyed in their luckier years. Freedman himself had almost lost his millions in the Panic of 1907 and felt sympathy toward the impoverished elite.

Opened in 1924, the Andrew Freedman Home admitted residents from a pool of applicants; those accepted received both free lodging in rooms as fancy as those on Park Avenue and servants. Unsurprisingly, the money from Freedman’s will didn’t last forever: in the 1960s, costs outweighed the endowment and residents began paying rent in the 1970s. The home closed the following decade, although it continued to be used off and on as a paid retirement home, day care and event space, and is now partly being renovated into a bed and breakfast. Currently the artists in This Side of Paradise have resurrected some of its glamour and memories of its former residents.

Sylvia Plachy, "A SITTING ROOM: REMEMBERING A WEEK IN JANUARY," photographs and installation

No Longer Empty has a strong history of exploring the pasts of vacant spaces through intelligent, site-specific installations, including The Sixth Borough on Governors Island, which played off the dislocation of the former military base within the greater city, and Never Can Say Goodbye at the closed Tower Records store on Broadway, which contrasted new media with the community formed around physical music sales at the store. This Side of Paradise has artists working even more directly with the Freedman Home’s history, often incorporating possessions left behind by the residents. (A building staff member told me that there is a whole floor filled with these abandoned objects from people who passed away while living there.) Sylvia Plachy actually photographed residents there for a 1980 Village Voice story, and she re-creates one of the apartments she remembers in her transporting installation in Room 246, “A SITTING ROOM: REMEMBERING A WEEK IN JANUARY.” Plachy uses furnishings discovered in the Freedman Home, as well as the haunting photographs, both in frames and incorporated into the setting, as with a photo printed on a window curtain.

How & Nosm, "Reflections" (2012), spray paint, mirror, cardboard, lightbulbs

On the first floor are two rooms with group exhibits, and on the second are apartments where individual artists have sole reign over a space. The upper floor is the most interesting, with several artists making some astounding transformations of the rooms; these alone make the trip up to the Bronx worth it. How & Nosm‘s “Reflections” reworks the lost decadence of the Freedman Home and the illusions that encompassed its residents into an installation of futuristic spiked walls, a disorienting contrast to the peeling paint and fading elegance of the hallway outside. Just doors away, Cheryl Pope’s “THEN AND THERE” plays on that visual of peeling paint in an installation of gold leaf flaking from a ceiling and mixing with the plaster from the wall. It’s the most literal, yet also the most elegant, interpretation of the “paradise lost” tone of the exhibit.

Adam Parker Smith, "I Lost All My Money in the Great Depression and All I Got Was This Room" (2012), plastic flowers and fruit, varnished baked goods, wrapped hard candies, jelly beans, costume jewelry

There are a few collaborative organizations from the Bronx that have artists represented in the show, including the Bronx Museum of the Arts, the Bronx Documentary Center and Lehman College Art Gallery. These groups bring in the present identity of the borough while guarding the exhibition’s spirit. Adam Parker Smith‘s “I Lost All My Money in the Great Depression and All I Got Was This Room,” presented by Wave Hill, works especially well with the rest of This Side of Paradise; in the piece, an elaborate pattern on the walls of a room turns out to be constructed from dollar-store items and cheap food, with plastic beads draped between marshmallow Peeps as delicately as a silver necklace supporting a diamond. More whimsical than the unsettling red room installation by How & Nosm, it still engages craftily with the illusions of wealth.

Linda Cunningham, "Paradise Lost/ Regained? Utopia to Survival" (2012), canvas, sheet rock, photo laser transfers, collaged remnants from the Andrew Freedman Home, salvaged windows, acrylic, ink, graphite

Down on the first floor, the group rooms feature a few works whose ideas are better than their presentation in the galleries. Among these is Esperanza Mayobre‘s “Tierra a la vista,” a video installation displayed on televisions on the floor, making it difficult to notice or watch her mesmerizing performance. For the piece, Mayobre swept the streets from the Statue of Liberty to the United Nations with a broom flying a self-proclaimed “flag of the immigrants,” in order to declare the State of Immigrants in honor of Rodrigo de Triana the First, who was the first to spot America from Christopher Columbus’s ship. Alejandra Prieto‘s “To Handle” sculpture had what appeared to be leather gloves beneath a glass case, but on reading the label text, it was revealed that they were made from coal. The fact that an imitation luxury good was created from such a temporary and coarse material was easy to miss with their placement among huge installation pieces.

No Longer Empty’s exhibits are at their best when artists bring life back to forgotten or abandoned spaces with immersive installations, and this was definitely true in This Side of Paradise, where subtle art is overshadowed. The most impressive work on the first floor also commands the most space: Linda Cunningham‘s “Paradise Lost/Regained? Utopia to Survival,” which comprises 20 feet of ragged sheet rock lodged with old windows, photographs of the Freedman Home and even some ephemera salvaged from the building. It’s as if a giant accordion book on the home’s history has gaped open in the refurbished ballroom, and I think it would have been even more powerful if the piece were crowded into one of the still raw rooms on the second floor.

Daze, "Furthur" (2012), spray paint, acrylic, salvaged objects

With the variety of art — including vibrant murals from graffiti artists Sofia Maldonado and Daze and Crash, site-specific installations like Gian Maria Tosatti‘s shattered glass floor and a harrowing room full of tossed debris that has an experimental video by the late Tim Hetherington projected amid the wreckage — This Side of Paradise can feel chaotic. Yet it captures perfectly the imagined feeling of walking through a home full of eccentric residents, a surprising story behind each door. With a full calendar of public programming aimed at engaging the local and arts communities, No Longer Empty is tapping into the vibrancy that continues in the Bronx neighborhood and attempting to fill the void left by the Freedman Home, even if its identity has changed.

Scherezade Garcia, "The Formerly Rich"

This Side of Paradise continues at the Andrew Freeman Home (1125 Grand Concourse, the Bronx) through June 5.

Michael Alan's film "We Are All Living Installations: Occupy Yourself" featuring Kenny Scharf shown in conjunction with OWS Art and Culture Committee projected on Judson Memorial Church (photo by Alex Gryger)

Standing outside the Judson Memorial Church on Saturday night, two days after the Day of Action and the same week of the raid on Zuccotti Park, I, along with a group of art lovers, artists, Occupy Wall Street protesters and random passerby, watched people being turned into living art objects by artist Michael Alan in his film We Are All Living Installations: Occupy Yourself (2011) that was organized in conjunction with the OWS Art and Culture Committee.

Projected on Judson’s doors continuously for three hours, Occupy Yourself is based primarily on footage from Alan’s live art piece, Michael Alan’s Living Installation, where he paints, sprays, sculpts and uses any materials possible on performers to transform them into pieces of art, interspersed with Alan’s drawings, music and text. Produced by Alan and Garry Boake, We are All Living Installations: Occupy Yourself also features Kenny Scharf at his Cosmic Cavern in a pink wig.

One of the main OWS Art and Culture Committee organizers, Alexandre Carvalho approached Alan early in the planning of Occupy Wall Street to see if Alan would participate in an artistic event. As he explained to me, Carvalho believed that Alan’s art had a resonance with their cause.

As Carvalho asserted:

“His work is all about the revolution in my humble opinion. The lines, the lines … fluid playing all around and at the same time crossing through your gut. You feel alive again and the way those lines transgress the place that they are traditionally expected, to win the world outside in the Living Installations.”

While not a part of Occupy Wall Street himself, Alan, who is represented by Gasser Grunert Gallery, felt that he could lend a positive artistic voice to Occupy Wall Street’s mission.

Originally planned to be projected on the Red Cube in Liberty Square, Alan’s and Carvalho’s plans changed once Zuccotti Park was raided since they were worried that an art film might get caught up in the violence occurring in that area. Alan suggested that they move to Judson Memorial Church, which not only was giving refuge to the protesters but also has a long connection with performance art and postmodern dance.

Video of Michael Alan's Living Installation "The Wedding/Vampire Circus" at ABC No Rio in "We Are Living Installations: Occupy Yourself" (photo by author)

Looking at We Are All Living Installations: Occupy Yourself first as an art piece, the film was striking in its depiction of the Living Installations as a coherent body of work. Before attending the projection, I felt I might get bored of watching the film over and over again but, much like the Living Installations themselves, I was mesmerized by the dripping paint, the addition of sculptural elements, the movements of the performers and their near disappearance into the space around them.

We are living Installations, Occupy Yourself from Michael Alan on Vimeo.

While I am an avid attendee of Michael Alan’s Living Installation and have even written reviews of the shows, I never even conceived of them together. Taking the Living Installation as well as other elements of Alan’s work as a complete whole in the film is that the over-arching message of the work and how they can be used with the Occupy Wall Street protests can be interpreted.

Another clip from Michael Alan's Living Installation in We Are All Living Installations: Occupy Yourself (photo by author)

While I’m getting a little tired of how everything is becoming “Occupy _____” now, the film title Occupy Yourself does have two distinct and relevant meanings: a plea for individuals to both inhabit their own bodies and a call to others to work toward their personal goals. Both of these meanings of the film have correlations to the Living Installations and Occupy Wall Street.

Enduring strenuous performances of five or six hours, the performers of the Living Installation have to be totally completely comfortable and present in their bodies to dance, stand, sit in milkcrates, perform the choreographed movements. The Living Installation is a Do-It-Yourself show with Alan footing the bill for much of the materials used and often losing money or just breaking even to make it happen. The film projection on Saturday was also completely DIY — the projector was balanced on a ladder and the sound was projected from Alan’s personal computer speakers.

For Alan, the film, as well as the Living Installation, is a push for people to recognize they have the ability to realize anything whether it’s being turned into a sculpture or occupying Zuccotti Park.

Occupying the Judson railing (photo by Alex Gryger)

Toward the end of the projection, the left-hand print fell off of Judson’s facade. Strikingly, hilariously and somewhat frighteningly illustrating this drive himself, Alan jumped on the Judson Church’s railing to hold it up for the remainder of the film.

Observing the audience, there was a wide range of people there including some of the performers, kids from the projects, gallerinas and a fewer number Occupy Wall Street protesters than I expected. Responding to my questions on the noticeable amount of art viewers versus OWS protesters, Calvahlo explained to me that they wanted to keep the event low key to maintain the safety of the protesters at Judson because the church is being surveyed daily by the patrol police and there are rumors about undercover cops inside the church doing headcounts. I did wonder though if OWS protesters were now less enthused with using art because of the increasing violence and mass demonstrations.

The film and the free outdoor projection also allowed for passersby — business men and students to Greenwich Village drunk frat boys — to stop and watch for even a few minutes, as Alan and Cavahlo passed out sandwiches and flyers to the audience. While I was there, I overheard a group of guys in suits wondering aloud whether the performers in the film were robots.

Person or robot? Inquiring minds want to know on West 4th Street watching "We Are All Living Installations:Occupy Yourself" (screenshot by author)

In the end, I was relieved to witness an OWS-related event that did not erupt into police violence, though I can’t deny that I was a little scared at first going to the projection. With the constant barrage of violent imagery of clashes between the authorities and the peaceful protesters surrounding the OWS protests all over the country, I think Alan’s art film projection was an important counterpoint as a means of potential protest on the smaller scale.

Carvalho wanted the film to prove that OWS was still alive and regrouping but what the real importance of the projection to me was the possibility of art, especially accessible public art in the street, enacting a peaceful change even if it is on the individual level.

Michael Alan‘s We Are All Living Installations: Occupy Yourself took place at Judson Memorial Church (55 Washington Square South, Greenwich Village, Manhattan) on Saturday, November 19 and was organized in conjunction with the OWS Art and Culture Committee.

Piazza d'Italia, New Orleans (Photo by John d'Addario)

Despite a comprehensive renovation a few years ago that restored the Piazza d’Italia to its original dazzle, it remains mostly unvisited and unappreciated by the throngs who crowd the nearby French Quarter and Riverwalk. Many of those who do make it there these days are unlikely to realize that the curiously attenuated golden sculpture of Sophia Loren clutching a pile of classical pillars and pediments to her bosom standing smack in the middle is the work of a major contemporary artist and part of a freshly minted international art biennial, so seamlessly does it fit into the Piazza d’Italia’s tacky magnificence.

Photo by John d'Addario

Francesco Vezzoli’s “Portrait of Sophia Loren as the Muse of Antiquity (after Giorgio de Chirico)” (2011) is his contribution to Prospect 2 New Orleans, which opened here on October 22. Like the larger exhibition itself, it is a seemingly modest affair that becomes more engaging the more one spends time with it.

Photo by John d'Addario

Barely larger than life size, the sculpture almost gets swallowed up by the roaring fountains and swooping arcs of neon-rimmed architectural elements that surround it. Then you start noticing its high degree of polish, and its allusions to works by Italian metaphysical painter Giorgio diChirico (more on those here), and how La Loren somehow manages to preserve her dignity amidst all the silliness.

Most of all, however, I was struck by how right it all seems: where better to place an earnestly tacky monument to the queen of Italian cinema than in this glitzy faux amphitheater, itself intended to serve as a simultaneously ironic and sincere celebration of the glories of Italian high culture?

Of the several site-specific installations in both editions of the Prospect biennial, this pairing between art and setting is one of the most fortuitous.

This isn’t the first time, of course, that Vezzoli has layered high-gloss celebrity sculpture upon a classical antecedent: his perhaps best-known work remains the star-studded (and still hysterical) ”Trailer for a Remake of Gore Vidal’s Caligula,” starring Courtney Love as the mad Roman emperor.

Working in a three-dimensional medium this time around instead of film, Vezzoli accomplishes the not inconsiderable task of adding an extra layer of kitsch to the Piazza d’Italia that its renovation somehow neglected. Like Prospect 2 as a whole, which I’ll be writing more about over the coming weeks — not to mention the city of New Orleans itself — Vezzoli’s homage is a glorious mix of the ridiculous and the sublime.

Prospect 2 runs through January 29 in various locations around New Orleans. Visit www.prospectneworleans.org for more information.

"Passing Time" by Joanna Chak (all photos by author)

Art in Odd Places relies on a lot of serendipity, but when it happens it’s wonderful. The annual art event is bringing small and large acts of ceremony with over 60 artists performing, installing, exhibiting and interacting all along 14th Street from October 1 to 10. Following this year’s theme of Ritual, I set out this week to pace 14th street and the paths of Union Square each day to discover what artistic offerings would unexpectedly appear.

Joanna Chak with her project "Passing Time"

On Monday, I found Joanna Chak, who was cheerfully waiting for people who might be waiting in Union Square. She had a silver tray of laser cut clocks in pin, magnet and earring form on which she had tallied how much time she had spent waiting in a year on such habitual things as transportation or groceries. By giving out these offerings to people who were themselves consumed in that mundane ritual of waiting, she was hoping to make people consider how much time is spent in this limbo state of anticipation. “Passing Time” was incredibly playful, although startling when I consider that my wait time for the subway might have amounted to over seven days last year.

"And Then I Said...(Bench Stories)" by Seth Caplan

Seth Caplan listening to "And Then I Said... (Bench Stories)"

Around the corner in the park, I spotted Seth Caplan‘s “And Then I Said… (Bench Stories),” where two listeners could sit on either side of an audio installation that was playing a collection of stories about private connections in public spaces. Caplan said that he will also be installing the sound box on the subway platform of the uptown F/M train at 14th Street during part of Art in Odd Places. Union Square and the subway platform are far from serene, and I like the idea of having this quiet, transporting moment of listening closely to a story, whether it’s from a stranger Caplan approached on the street or his mom.

Was an artist here? ("Tree Kisses" left by Mary Ivy Martin)

More "Tree Kisses" by Mary Ivy Martin

I was less lucky with encountering the artists themselves on Tuesday, although I caught signs they had been there. Actively, almost obsessively, scanning the corners of 14th Street for art had put me into a weird sort of state of mind where everything seemed like it could potentially be art or a subtle performance, but the heavy lipstick marks on a tree were a sure sign Mary Ivy Martin had been there. In her project “Tree Kisses,” she is kissing trees along 14th Street and leaving them ringed with the traces of her very affectionate interaction with nature. Later on Wednesday, I encountered another tree stained with her lips.

"I Call NY" by Concerned New Yorkers

I also spotted a flyer from the Concerned New Yorkers for their project “I Call NY.” If you dial the number listed above (832-422-5569), you can leave a message with a story about your favorite place in the five boroughs. It will then be added to their online map, which already has places like Grant’s Tomb and Prosperity Dumpling. You can click on sound recordings to get the original message for each place, which gives it a lot more intimacy than similar projects, like, say, the Stillspotting map of NYC serenity that the Guggenheim is hosting.

"Bodhi Tree" by Patricia Cazorla

In case you don't hear the "Bodhi Tree," there is a sign

I had luck with the stationary projects on Wednesday. I found Patricia Cazorla‘s “Bodhi Tree,” which has a sound installation in its branches that projects an OM sound “at random intervals, in an attempt to bring peace, awareness and an opportunity for introspection to New York City pedestrians.”

I wasn’t able to catch it in a meditative state, so I’m not sure if any pedestrians are tempted for a tranquil moment, but it did make me study for a time what is probably the prettiest tree on 14th Street. Why has Mary Ivy Martin not given it some love?

"Pilgrimage" by Laure LeBreton

Right across from the “Bodhi Tree” in the window of the 14th Street Framing Gallery is “Pilgrimage” by Laurie LeBreton, which has 310 paper figures arranged somewhat ominously. The project was inspired by a place in Laos where ancient pilgrims left thousands of statues of Buddha. In this case, LeBreton has left a mob of faceless silhouettes as an offering to the busy crowds of 14th Street. I appreciated the easy-to-find art from a writing standpoint, but felt that having an installation in the window of a gallery didn’t have the same spontaneity as the other Art in Odd Places pieces.

"Prescribed Procedure for the Obsessive_Compulsive" by Felix Morelo

Also easy to find, but much more ephemeral, was Felix Morelo‘s “Prescribed Procedure for the Obsessive_Compulsive.” The artist is drawing a path of chalk faces down 14th Street, with his ultimate goal being a trail from Tenth Avenue to Avenue C. I’d seen the faces in Union Square before, but was never really sure what they were about. Morelo states that the faces are partly “to make the public aware of how an obsessive-compulsive behavior can be a prescribed procedure,” as well as the quick passing of time. I was left thinking the artist must have the sturdiest back in the world to bend down to scrawl a face every 12 inches on the sidewalk. Of all the pieces I’ve seen, it’s the closest to an actual pilgrimage, bringing the ritual of repetition in with what I assume is a fair amount of sacrificial pain.

"Reflection" by Leo Selvaggio

Leo Selvaggio has a helpful project called “Reflection,” where he is attaching mirrors to scaffolding. Although the piece is about vanity, I thought it was a nice public service, an improvement over the half glances people give to windows to see how disheveled they’ve become between their apartment and the subway to the street. Oh wait, I guess that constant need for self-realization in reflected surfaces is the point.

There are many more Art in Odd Places rituals taking place throughout the week and into the weekend, and I’m planning to continue my one-person procession to chance upon art. Although whoever runs the @ArtinOddPlaces twitter has been doing a great job this week in chronicling what’s happening, so you don’t have to go in on faith alone.

Art in Odd Places continues through October 10 on 14th Street from Avenue C to the Hudson River.

Approaching Fulton Landing from the East River Jean Nouvel’s new pavilion for Jane’s Carousel is less impressive than I was expecting. The squat box made of what I initially thought was transparent glass and sea-foam green metal appears dwarfed by the massive Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges that bracket it on either side. My initial reactions from a distance were mostly negative. The thick roof seemed heavy and cumbersome. The pavilion, particularly when the retractable doors are closed, feels unfinished. I don’t know why I expected this glass pavilion to be as sleek and transparent as the Fifth Avenue Apple Store, but I did. Even Philip Johnson’s Glass House visually seemed more weightless than this.

Approaching the pavilion from land was different. The roof was less distracting and the mirrored ceiling drew you in. Two of the four walls are retractable and when they’re opened they seem to echo the massive piers of the neighboring bridges. The solid curtain walls are stunning. They reflect the world around the riverfront park. This is a charmed location. Between Manhattan and Brooklyn, sandwiched between their namesake bridges and on the edge of some of the city’s most storied and expensive neighborhoods, Jane’s Carousel is sure to be a beloved spot for children, lovers and urban explorers. If DUMBO lacked a destination site, the Tobacco Factory never quite cut it, then it has one now. That’s not to say the structure is perfect, but it is endearing,

What I didn’t expect was Nouvel’s playful interior. Surprisingly, the transparent walls are not glass but acrylic and, incase you were wondering, Nouvel has dismissed concerns that the acrylic walls will yellow and scratch with time. What he did get in return for using the cheaper material was a fascinating distortion that is most noticeable when you stand in the structure and look out. Like the mirrors in a fun room, the lines ripple and wave, creating a sense of whimsy perfectly suited to a carousel.

Nouvel told Curbed that he hoped Jane’s Carousel would become “a fragile little monument in the city.” I can see it become more than that. This is the kind of place that makes you makes you remember why living in a city can feel magical, particularly when the day turns to night and the city’s lights are reflected on the water all around. I will return to this spot often.

Jane’s Carousel is located in the DUMBO section of the Brooklyn Bridge Park (on the Brooklyn side of the East River, between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges). Hours and direction can be found at janescarousel.com.

All photos by the author using Instagram

"Waterfall Swing" by Dash 7 Design (all images by the author)

Viewing a horde of 3D printers solemnly forming the same sterile shapes may have put me in a regressed mental state, but the sight of gleeful children swinging towards sheets of water that vanished right before contact struck me as beautiful. The aptly named “Waterfall Swing” by Dash 7 Design was the most oddly touching thing I saw at the 2011 Maker Faire New York in Flushing Meadows Corona Park. The steel swing cast down panes of water in the riders’ paths, with passages opening suddenly, controlled by encoders in the axels, allowing the riders to magically avoid the water obstacle. In my mind, it was like they were defying growing old, defying death, continuing to happily swing dryly away from the wall of water.

The fire-breathing Gon-KiRin by Ryan Doyle and Teddy Low

Then again, as a writer, I don’t often spend all day in the sun, and it may have made me especially susceptible to nostalgia for youthful abandon and the act of creation. Good thing, because that’s what Maker Faire is all about.

The two-day festival took place last weekend on the grounds surrounding the New York Hall of Science. It was a swarm of creators showing off their inventions and crafts and sharing ideas on everything from lockpicking to self-organized education to “crowdsourcing for unmanned aerial vehicle innovation.” There was definitely as much spectacle as mind-blowing innovation, yet nestled inside the Hall of Science, away from the delirious effects of the sun, were several makers who were both technically and artistically engaging.

Flint Weisser with his Radioactive and Electromagnetic Devices

Flint Weisser demonstrating a spark counter

Flint Weisser had a table of appealing radioactive and electromagnetic devices, including an electrophorus (which produces a charge through electric induction), an electroscope (made to detect a charge) and a cloud chamber where radioactive particles are viewed in a glass chamber. I loved how the 19th century-inspired sculptures lured you in to learning about science with their steampunk beauty.

"Illucia" by Chris Novello

At the next table was another artistic device, this one more frantic than Weisser’s refined machines. Chris Novello was demonstrating his generative art project Illucia, which uses codebending to patch different programs together. With his contraption the video game Tetris could be used to play music, Super Mario Bros could be used to play Pong. I’m not sure I entirely understood how it worked, although it was fun to experiment and watch each game grow more insane, but if you are ambitious and have as much energy as Novello, there are instructions on how to build one on his website.

"Nazco Disco" by Karen Clinton and Matt Greco

Upstairs in the Hall of Science was a dark room populated with luminous works, which I found to be the most interesting congregation of makers. This “Nazco Disco” had the geoglyphs of the Nazca Lines whirling from five illuminated globes, perfect for inspiring nightmares on the mysteries of ancient times.

"RhythmSynthesis" by Ryan Raffa

In a sort of DIY version of a Reactable, Ryan Raffa’s “RhythmSynthesis” translated the visual layout of shapes on a projector into music through a scanning camera, connecting concrete forms with sounds. With its simple approach and interactive nature, it was definitely the most popular piece in the room.

Balam Soto's installation

Another artist successfully incorporating interaction was Balam Soto, whose “Art Controller” could be used to rotate a cube projected on the wall that had inputs of videos on all sides, including one taken of the participant. Soto said he built the “Art Controller” to be a sort of universal remote for his many new media installations, for which he writes his own software to experiment with user interface.

GE's "Carousolar," a solar powered carousel

When I stepped outside — and away from darkness illuminated only by video art and light sculptures — the sun was even more striking. As an enthusiastic expo of DIY technology, Maker Faire is great. As a demonstration of how science and art can commingle into something astonishing, I think it is still has a way to go but there were definitely a few inspired illuminations. I’ve always loved art that can successfully use scientific thought to connect visually the world’s phenomena. The possibilities are definitely there, as evidenced by the passionate artists I talked to, and I hope Maker Faire continues to make them a part of its showcase, eventually bringing them out into the sun.

The Maker Faire took place on September 17 and 18 at the New York Hall of Science (47-01 111th Street, Flushing Meadows Corona Park, Queens).

A view of the Hally McGehean Collection (Photo by the author)

In the 1960s, Paco Rabanne subverted traditional dressmaking techniques in his fashions, eschewing the needle and thread for pliers and wire and replacing fabric with metallic discs and panels. The so-called “space age” dresses constructed solely of inflexible paillettes revolutionized how women could adorn their bodies. Now, Etsy-extraordinaire Hally McGehean continues the trajectory of this alternative dress style in her work, with some über-conceptual 21st Century touches.

Hally McGehean's "Dirty Dirty Dress" (Image via Hally McGehean's Etsy Store)

Her collection, or “wearable art” as she describes the looks, walked the runway Monday evening for the first time on the Highline. Though initially the clothes lack the sophisticated look of Rabanne’s sparkling swing dresses, instead they project a plastic Pop art vibe with each outfit and accessory made out of laminated magazine clippings. Exuberant nightlife personalities peppered the model lineup, including Jocelyn Saldana sporting a cocktail dress and pumps created with images of lipstick and Darian Darling, who donned a halter dress pieced together with photos of runway models.

In a glamorous Warholian vein, many pieces revel in their appropriation, with some dresses explicitly entitled “Plagiarism,” as the images exist relatively unaltered yet decontextualized hanging from the human frame.

Her most interesting creation thus far is arguably the “Meta Outfit”, constituting a dress, bag and boots composed solely of images of each respective garment. Displayed at the Whitney Museum of American Art last year, it exists somewhere between collage, craft and Post-Structuralist theory. Expanding on this concept of the Meta Outfit is her “Dirty, Dirty” dress, containing images of the body, almost literally allowing the wearer to embody the physicality of their corporeal selves.

Having just publicly witnessed what contemporary media touts as “avant-garde” fashion, it’s refreshing to see something that actually skirts the line of typical clothing. Naturally McGehean’s work isn’t truly avant-garde since it has historical precedent, but her work certainly pushes the envelope even if the garments aren’t entirely fashionable. Aesthetically, her portfolio straddles an awkward line between dated 1960s Mod style and handicraft sewing circle; the necessity of staying on trend is slowly dissipating in the fashion world, but drape, silhouette and overall beauty remain important aspects of fashion. The clothes have a stiff swing and ultimately remain too static to truly transcend mere sculpture into kinetic clothing.

Screencapture from hallymcgehean.com, commentary from the Editor.

Of course, that begs the question of whether these creations would even constitute as sculpture; in many ways, the teetering between art and fashion is not entirely a success seeing as they fall slightly short of each medium. Theoretically, though, if not materially, the outfits conjure thought and reflection on the nature of adornment and the media that attempts to define our culture and our selves.

Hally McGehean’s work is available to purchase on her Etsy store.

Hunter Reynolds, My 911 Mummification Performance, 2011 (all photos by author)

Living blocks from Ground Zero since 2004, I’ve never been a fan of the September 11 tribute overload with its countless ceremonies, blocked streets, morbidly curious tourists and nutty 9/11 Truthers.  This year, I spent 9/11 watching visual and performance artist Hunter Reynolds in a 9/11 tribute Mummification performance, which was an intensely powerful experience.

Staged in Tribeca Park, My 911 Mummification Performance featured Reynolds along with Douglas Allan, Jim Fletcher and Jason Bradford, who turned Reynolds into a mummy using cellophane and several rolls of variously colored fluorescent tape.  Known for his Mummification performances, Reynolds’s performances normally reference the HIV/AIDS epidemic since Reynolds has been living with HIV/AIDS since 1984.

Like the other Mummification performances, My 911 Mummification Performance came from a personal 9/11 memory.  In short, on September 10, 2001, Reynolds picked up a German man at the West Village gay bar Boots and Saddle. The next morning, after going home together, the German man said he wanted to go to breakfast at “Windows on the World” and Reynolds joined him.  Before they reached “Windows on the World,” Reynolds showed the German man the view outside the PATH train escalators just as the first plane hit the north tower.  Watching the burning hole and the people falling to their deaths, they decided to walk uptown to Tribeca Park, where they witnessed the towers collapsing.

My 911 Mummification Performance proved the power of 9/11 memorials or artistic tributes, presenting a complexity of imagery and meaning that most of the official memorials do not.  I was seriously moved by the performance and so, this post will be slightly unusual for me as there will be little snark or sarcasm.

Starting the Mummification

Two other performers began by wrapping Reynolds in cellophane, surrounded by a half-circle of flowers and fern leaves.

Covering Reynolds's face

After they were done with the cellophane, Reynolds was wrapped in fluorescent packing tape, creating a visually striking striped casing around Reynolds’s body.  Only his right arm was exposed, which one of the performers massaged off and on during the two hour performance.

London police officers posing with their "mummy"

The one real humorous moment was brought by a group of London police officers who wandered through the park after the 9/11 ceremony.  Creating a surreal environment with their presence, the London bobbies cracked tons of jokes about the “Mummy man” and being stuck to Reynolds after this photograph.

The Full Mummy

Completely covered in packing tape, Reynolds recalled many possible images from (obviously) a mummy to a body bag to even the Abu Ghraib torture victims with the covered face and exposed arm.  With only miniscule holes for his nose and his mouth, it seemed that Reynolds could barely breath, solidifying the potential torture imagery.

A group of men, including the performers, lay down Reynolds

Eventually, the other performers asked random men in the crowd if they could assist laying Reynolds out on the ground.  Signifying the masses helping the individual, the image of strangers helping the performance was powerful and brought a sense of community that happened directly after 9/11.

The audience was encouraged to write their memories of September 11 on the body of Reynolds

While he was on the ground, the audience was told to write on Reynolds’s body using markers.  As one of the first to go up to write, the sensation of writing on a live-man’s chest was incredible.  Soon everyone else joined in, writing their 9/11 stories or thoughts.  Many different people penned their thoughts on Reynolds.

Reynolds is cut out

After everyone had a chance to write something on Reynolds, he was cut out, which involved a lengthy, careful use of the scissors. Playing with the notion of rebirth and renewal, Reynolds emerged from the Mummification wrapping.

Reynolds falls to the ground

After the wrapping was taken off, Reynolds stood and performed a slow dancer-like movement on his four sides.  Then, he collapsed on the ground only to eventually stand up and be embraced by his fellow performers and friends.

An emotional performance, My 911 Mummification Performance was what a memorial should be — thoughtful, complex, moving and, in the end, positive. This performance was honestly the only 9/11 tribute that I’ve been able to not only feel but stomach at all. Celebrating both tragedy and rebirth, Reynolds’s performance will remain in my memory.

Aerial View of the 9/11 Memorial, Visualization by Squared Design Lab (911memorial.org)

Waterfalls now cascade and soothe at Ground Zero. Actually, the word “ground zero” may soon wither into an anachronism because the new memorial is a stunning work of art in its own right.

Standing at the edge and looking down into the Twin Towers’ footprints turned waterfall basins, columns of whitewater take up the entire field of vision. The calming soundtrack of splashing water is understated but sublimely poignant.

The memorial is minimalist enough with its clean geometric shape, simple colors and no frills design. It is mnemonic enough by listing all the victims’ names on the edges surrounding the two basins. It resembles an earthwork in that it takes advantage of the land’s singular topography. It is conceptual enough by leaving a wide and deep void untouched by even the furthest reaching water sprays. It is contradictory enough with something there and something missing.

On opening day, a 9/11 victim’s family member remarked to me that “today is a happy day, not a terrible day.” If only the memorial’s designers could have been a fly on the wall during this brief but potent exchange. Offering a dignified and uplifting solace to the victims’ families matters more than anything else on the tenth anniversary.

An old Cherokee proverb says that “the soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears.” Heavy concepts like mourning, grief and trauma cannot be explained away by a pithy sentence. Nevertheless, the serenity of cascading waterfalls goes a long way towards giving the soul the rainbow it craves.

Admission to the memorial is free. However a reservation must be secured in advance using an online system. The memorial is open 10am – 8pm on weekdays and 9am – 8pm on weekends.