So I realize that this post is quite a bit late, given that it is now October, and John Currin Works on Paper, A Fifteen Year Survey of Women was up at the Andrea Rosen Gallery over the summer.  But I thought that it would be good to write about it anyway.

So again, I must admit that I am a fan of the work. It reminds me of the strange doe-eyed characters in the paintings on the wall of my pediatrician growing up in the 70s. The colors, the style, the deformation of anatomy—big head, big eyes, big boobs.

And here is my six degrees of separation: my cousin’s son plays with John Currin’s son. So there you have it. I await my invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, with a goody bag of pencil drawn caricatures of all the guests.

What was particularly terrible, and similarly wonderful about this show, is to see the master at work, with art that was, at times, clearly not masterful. Unfortunately I chose not to photograph those pieces, and instead chose to shoot the best works in the show. All of the work that I’d seen to date, had been perfectly executed, down to the background details.

But the works in this show were quite varied, stylistically. Some were straight up pencil/charcoal on paper portraiture done in most aesthetically pleasing, idealistic realism. Others were small, gouache and watercolor on paper, quick studies, where you see John Currin exploring his technique and determining what exactly will become his signature style. And many appear to be works that are typical life drawing techniques we all learn in classic art school training: using white and black charcoal for highlights and shadow on a medium tint paper, or combining ink-and-pen with ink-and-brush washes.

The show brings insight to an artist that usually reveals only the most perfect works. His failures along with his successes make it fascinating.

I saw a picture of John Currin in a book once.  It was interesting how many of the characters he paints have faces that strangely resemble his own. A man who paints women with faces of a man. (Not to say that the women look manly.)  I don’t know if that is intentional.  My guess is that is probably is not. In my own experience, likeness is terribly difficult to attain, especially if you don’t know your subject well. So inevitably the artist falls back on his/her own image, because those features are most familiar, most studied, hence easiest to draw.

Monolithic. Topographic. Singular. The show is very impressive.

This is definitely a blue chip show, at a blue chip gallery, from a blue chip artist.

The reason that I bring this up is because, initially this show immediately overwhelms the senses, in its scale, and its poetry. It is representative of what Maya Lin is known for best. Landscape architecture.

But the difficulty that I have with the work, is that it lacks depth and layer of concept.

For those of us who went to school to challenge ourselves on an intellectual and creative level, the works reminds us of that first assignment in architecture school. “Take a single object and create a larger, conceptual work”. So this references topographical maps. The earth, created by a larger force.

Architects and builders have been doing that for ages. Just look around Manhattan, and see monolithic edifices of glass, or brick, or steel clad. They don’t seem to reference anything natural. But then if you look at Manhattan from the sky, or sea, you see that topography again. Awe inspiring.

So, I think that the work is poetic, and is clearly appropriate given the artists earlier works. But I don’t see much development. (And the 3rd work, done with wire could use some more wires. It seems like an effort incomplete in its execution by comparison.)

I definitely can be categorized as a fan of Kara Walker’s work.  Okay, we know it’s derivative, that is, it’s been done.  When I first saw the work years back, I knew it seemed familiar.  I didn’t know where it was that I may have seen the graphic silhouettes before, depicting the struggles of African Americans.  But I knew they referenced an established style. So I finally saw the style in real life, on teacups. I believe that it was in the collection at the Museum of the City of New York (it was a while back, so I’ll have to verify which museum it was). Nonetheless, I do enjoy the work every time I see it.

Kara Walker at times ventures outside the boundaries of her recognized schtick. And I would have to say, I’ve never been very impressed with those experiments. I think that it is because the silhouette is so strong in its graphical nature that using anything other that the simple presentation, and the jarring narrative associated with it ends up competing with what is expected.

So the 3 dimensional cut paper dioramas are a comfortable extension of her work. At the NY Art Book Fair last week, I saw a piece by her, created as an edition for the Norton Family Holiday card. It was a pop-up book of delicately cut images. I believe that it was an edition of 4000. I would expect that they were laser cut, rather than hand cut, but again the imagery was riveting, and wonderful eye candy.

There are a number of aspects to this piece that makes the work so successful. Firstly, it is light, literally. Intensive spotlights are pointed at a square piece of cardboard mounted with found objects: a gun, Bambi, the Statue of Liberty, Barbie, a palm tree, a sailboat, a helicopter, a Tyrannosaurus rex, a Mexican rooster, and other familiar chachkas. The cardboard rotates on a turntable. The light acts like a lens, and the intensity of the light, and the small distance between the objects creates an interesting depth-of-field effect in shadows on the scrim covered wall.

Secondly, the cheapness, and sense of spontaneity given the choice of construction materials. Found objects, slapped-together tables and lighting fixures gives the impression that the work was built with little thought, an artist savant.

And finally the tension between the light, the rotating objects, and the shadows that makes one wonder what exactly makes the work complete? The sign warning “Hot Lampshades Don’t Touch”. Is it really finished or a work in progress? Junk left on the table unnecessarily: empty glasses, rubber band, discarded backing for double sided tape, work gloves, wood, foam. Yet there is formality, proportion of the room, the length of the table, the no-man’s land between the table and the scrim.

Here’s a show that clearly deserves one of the first reviews on my new blog. I have no idea who the curator is, so I’m going to tell it how it is. The gallery should have considered closing at the end of July instead of leaving this rubbish heap open for all to see. Your Gold Teeth II curated by Todd Levin at Marianne Boesky Gallery is a perfect example of everything that is wrong with the art scene in New York.

Upon entering the gallery, it feels like perhaps you have arrived pre or post show, and things are being moved in or out with little concern for placement. The images here give you an example of how poorly installed this show is. What is the theme of this group show?

Is this really the work of an experienced curator of a quarter century?  As professed, I know little of the who’s who in the New York art scene, but I know a load of crap when I smell it. This curator must be very well connected to be able to pass off this uninspired show as one worthy of Marianne Boesky Gallery. And to be reviewed in the New York Times. Very well positioned, indeed.

What is even more amazing, is that there are some big names in this show: Basquiat, Boetti, Castle, Cornell, Fischli and Weiss, Nauman, Noland, Ono, Trockel, West. Artists who have amazing careers, creating art whose placement ought to be considered carefully. Your Gold Teeth II had the grace and style of a midterm student show in some small backwoods state school whose funding was cut, and suffered a drop in enrollment. The use of white painted pedestals for the sculptures made me cringe. It was like he was thinking, okay eye level… hmm, what’s in the back room? Oh, painted white pedestals, and guess what, they’re the perfect size!  Or maybe the show started with “what kind of show can we put on using these painted white pedestals?”

So I had to delve a little further.  It was the second visit to the show, and instead of just walking in and out, like I normally would, I decided to stay a while and think about why it was so bad. It felt like a flea market that you arrived at too late.  Everything
picked over, nothing left but the junk no one wants…

So I grabbed the press release. It reads like the bullshit they try to get you to read in graduate school. Convoluted, condescending nonsense that actually may have a point, but so vague, and obtuse, that my brain glazes over before I can decipher any of it.

Whilst relistening to, and reflecting upon these radio programs recently, it became sadly apparent that facile irony had become one of the dominant philosophical stances of the art world, and that perhaps the artists and artwork I chose for inclusion in Your Gold Teeth II simply had to lay in wait until the Oligarch decade was over.

Dear curator, What the fuck are you talking about? And why does my brain hurt when I try to make sense of your writing? And why does this art look like a load of crap in this space? Does all of your curating look this bad? Cuz if it does, I hope that your clients hire a separate interior designer to make sense of the work you help them buy. This show looks like shit! I don’t even care which artists are included in this show because my first and second impressions make me think there is nothing here worth considering. No story, no attention to detail, no jarring juxtaposition, rhythm, repetition, nuance.  Just a room full of unrelated junk.

I think you’ve got the idea.  The pix say it all.

People will recognize his style, if not the work itself, because it is true Americana. Illustration meant for mass consumption. I doubt very much that Basil Wolverton would have ever imagined he would have ended up as high art, on the main streets of New York’s exclusive gallery district.

Mad magazine was potty perfect, growing up in the 70s. I recall piles of the magazines stacked on the tank of our toilet growing up (we were a family of 3 boys).  I wonder whether the girls of our generation would have such fond memories for these gag images? But it must be said that the images are certainly timeless, and as entertaining to the current younger generation as it was in our day.

Scatological, gory, gruesome, sexual, Wolverton’s images may not be appealing to the conservative collector. Even I couldn’t imagine hanging it with pride, in my powder room. (Maybe in the wood paneled basement recreation room?) However, museum quality it definitely is.