Art Review

Shakespeare's Sister

Nicola Tyson
Friedrich Petzel Gallery
Through November 5, 2011

A screenwriter bursts into his agent's office. "I have a great idea for a new picture," he enthuses. "We do a remake of The Wiz, only with white people." Clichéd Hollywood joke, sure, yet spot on, with regard to current received ideas of making art. The Reboot, Redux, the Remix -- pretty much any fucked-out form of production -- has replaced genuine individual expression. Part Matisse, part von Sacher-Masoch, part Mary Shelley, the work of Nicola Tyson draws from a wide range of inspiration while managing to pull off that most important feat in art, remaining uniquely her own. Tyson is exhibiting her recent paintings and sculptures at Friedrich Petzel through November 5, 2011.

Some Girls

Aneta Grzeszykowska: Lovetime
Harris Lieberman Gallery
Through September 9, 2011

From Charles de Gaulle airport to JFK is eight hours, but the time change and constant daylight make it seem longer. On our last night in Paris we went to dinner, a very boring party, and then bought drugs and went to a club called Boy or Toy. From there we took a taxi to the airport, finishing the drugs on the way; Amelie tucked the gun she bought at the club into the cab’s upholstery to avoid problems checking in.

You’re the One for Me, Fatty

Lucian Freud: Homage to Lucian Freud
Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC
Through December 31, 2011

You are pretty sure you have a handle on things; a bead on the situation, so to speak. You know the speed that light travels (299,792,458 meters per second). This is of some help. You know, more or less, where you are: what universe, what planet, what continent, what street, what room number. You are focused on reading this. That will keep your mind occupied for well over one minute. Your body, however, is operating on another level altogether. Several, as a matter of fact. At the same time. None of which you are really concerned with right now. Your brain tells your heart to beat, your blood is oxygenated. You are digesting. Producing and accruing shit and piss. You are sweating. At some point you realize that you have unconsciously become wet.

Few artists have managed to capture the gross beauty that is the human. Lucian Freud (December 8, 1922–July 20, 2011) was one of them. His was not an art of our higher aspirations or perceptions of our selves, but a candid depiction of our animal existences.

Wild-Eyed Boy from Freecloud

Kal Spelletich: Where's My Jetpack?!
Through August 12, 2011

The flight to Tokyo from London makes one stop, in Moscow. The layover is interesting. You can’t see much from the air or the airport. Dismal and cold. There is a First Class lounge where you are served tea and ice cream. There are lots of magazines, but none are in English. In the toilet the ceilings have little open slats, which make you think there might be hidden cameras. You’re a little scared.

Before flying was a means to an end, it was a sensation, a thought. The desire to fly was to experience weightlessness, a release from corporeality. The "flying machine" made man superhuman. For Kal Spelletich, flight's future promise may be gone, but not forgotten. Where are the jetpacks? The flying cars, the escape pods, anti-gravity boots and moon colonies? This is the future, your future, but not the one that was promised.

Southern Man: Twombly at MoMA

Cy Twombly: Sculpture
Through October 3, 2011

Men, like trees, wrote Abraham Lincoln, are best measured when down. With the passing of Cy Twombly last week at age 83, we may finally begin to count the rings. Sculpture, now at the Museum of Modern Art, is an opportunity to examine the lesser-known three-dimensional works of the American painter.

Twombly is best known for his scratchy, graffitied canvases, whose subject matter ranged over centuries of classical myths, great battles, and -- in his final series, Bacchus -- giant wine-colored flowery shapes. His signature style, a combination of handwriting, scribbles, and Ab-Ex gestures, can be sampled at MoMA in Leda and the Swan (1962), hanging near the start of the exhibition.

Let's Get Lost: Rodney Dickson Interviewed

Born in Northern Ireland, now residing in Brooklyn, NY, Rodney Dickson made his mark with staunchly anti-war art. This stance led to a special interest in Vietnam and Cambodia, and he has exhibited frequently in the former country -- and around the world. CultureCatch's Bradley Rubenstein recently caught up with Dickson to review his career and bring us up to date on his evolution.

Bradley Rubenstein: Let's go back a few years, first, and touch briefly on the paintings of yours that I first saw: pictures of Tanya Roberts. They evolved out of a complex system of sending off fan shots or pap shots, which were faithfully, more or less, reproduced. In retrospect, though, it seems that you were really interrogating painting via an intercontinental telephone game -- seeing how others saw American culture. How did you see the project, and how, in a larger sense, did this have anything to do with your personal painting practices either before or after those works?

Minotaurs and Unicorns and Terror, Oh My!

Bradley Rubenstein: Your work combines a very sophisticated design sense with an almost teenage-like conception of surrealism -- a smart mix, I think. I picture you as the kid in high school who painted murals in the hallways or did the best copies of album covers. Did you have an interest in art when you were younger? And is some of that what you draw on when you work now?

Inka Essenhigh: Actually, when I was in high school I’d already had a lot of art training and was way too self-conscious to make anything really interesting. I’d say my best, freest period making art was between the age of three and maybe eight. I do draw on that stuff.

Heavy Metal

Carol Ross: Drawings and Sculpture
Rooster Gallery, NYC
Through July 10, 2011

Since the fiasco of Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc, there has been a certain amount of animosity toward large, metal, abstract sculpture in New York City. There is, of course, that spinning cube-thing by NYU, which heshers and tourists seem to find some aesthetic value in, but other than that (and I believe I speak for all the philistines), big metal shit is really annoying to walk around when you are trying to get somewhere important. Fortunately, there are some sculptors who possess a level of sensitivity to the mobile viewer: Scott Burton, for example, or Carol Ross, whose recent works can be seen at Rooster Gallery in New York.