Serendipitously anticipating the city’s underwhelming blizzard, a troupe of marble snowmen — the latest installment in Swiss artist Peter Regli’s Reality Hacking series — was installed in Manhattan near Madison Square Park this past Sunday.
Since its glass doors opened and its escalators sprang into motion in early November, the Fulton Center, lower Manhattan’s latest mixed-use landmark, has been described as a “jewel,” a “rare gem,” and a “Crystal Palace.”
In Claude Debussy’s 1910 prelude “La cathédrale engloutie” (“The Sunken Cathedral”), shuddering waves of chords grow and then drown out in tribute to a mythical cathedral rising out of the sea and then disappearing again. In Douglas Gordon’s new “tears become… streams become…” installation at the Park Avenue Armory, the rippling notes are provided each night by pianist Hélène Grimaud, who plays a Steinway encircled by a reflecting pool of 122,000 gallons of water.
Last year, the City of New York released a huge trove of tax data to the public. Called Property Land Use Tax Lot Output (PLUTO), the information might not seem terribly thrilling, a dry assortment of building dates, square footage, and property value, but for those looking to map the city’s history and potential future it is an incredible resource.
You know the tired old cliche about LA sprawl? It appears to be true about the city’s art world.
In the era of food trucks, pop-up shops and temporary restaurants, when even underground dance parties are thrown in the bays of parked U-Haul trucks, it’s surprising that more of the art world isn’t getting on board with this wonderfully lo-fi business model that optimizes exposure through social media and the Internet and requires minimal entry costs. Enter Show and Tell, an ambitious foray into the world of the DIY mobile gallery organized by Sierra Stinson, a Seattle-based artist and part-time gallerist, and Victoria Yee Howe, a New York-based conceptual artist and former pastry chef.
I love aesthetic battles and I secretly miss the war of subcultures (through style, of course) that was a staple of the late 20th C. Think mods vs punks, but in a Manhattan (ballet shoes, of course) vs. Brooklyn (sneakers, wassup) kinda way. I spotted this today and it stopped me in my tracks. Me likey.
I’m not sure exactly when I became aware of the High Line, but once you noticed it, it was hard to forget. There were giant graffiti pieces visible from street level and in the spring and summer you could see a ragged blaze of green sprouting from the otherwise lifeless tracks. I remember walking along Tenth and Eleventh Avenues — peering up at the hulking structure and wondering how I could get up there.
The OBEY crew is looking for wall space. So, if you want a “genuine Shepard Fairey/OBEY mural” for free join the “OBEY phenomenon” and help contribute to the “enhancement of the urban landscape.”