I had the pleasure of meeting Richard Kalina at a WAX (Writers and Artists Exchange) Conference in San Antonio a while back. I knew his work from previous shows at Lennon/Weinberg, but was happy to hear his thoughts on contemporary art in Texas as he spoke to a gathered throng. He has a penetrating way about him. He gets inside and outside issues or concepts simultaneously, which makes sense, since that is the way his art appears to be designed. The fields he sometimes creates in his art move in and out, forward and back, like oscillating winds between city skyscrapers - an effect achieved through vibrating color and suggestive line.
Walking into Joyce Pensato's one-person show is like stepping into someone else's fantasy where the inhabitants are kindly, funny, and sometimes hilarious. Pensato sets her sights on the likes of Donald Duck, Homer Simpson, Zozo (a 1950s politically correct monkey from France), and the ever-present Bunny. These figures are obviously friends of the artist - studio playmates who dance with her as she wields big strokes of drippy enamel.
Since she only uses black and white paint, there is an overwhelming sense of another age when the cartoon was in its infancy, and when the audience was fresh.
Walking into the Aidan Savoy Gallery, one immediately notices the liquid quality of Eric Finzi's work: it shines, it glows, it flows. This impression is a product of both the medium -- epoxy resin chemically altered and blow-torched -- and the images. The show, entitled "Down the Rabbit Hole," is an homage of sorts to Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland, as well as a photographer, mathematician, Anglican clergyman, and logician.
The 18 works in this show vary in size and style, with the larger paintings containing representational images and even portraits, while the smaller tend to abstraction. What unites them is Finzi's method, described by him as follows: "I basically work using the different polymerization times of the resin, depending upon the temperature of the resin, and waiting a certain amount of time before I put the paint in, before I pour it, which is why it has multiple layers."
"I grew up in a haze of ecstatic spiritual events," says Liza Lou. "We didn't need Santa Claus. That was kid's stuff. We had exorcisms." And so the adult Lou continues her art of exorcism, taking the form of incredible installations and mixed media sculptures. Her one-woman show in London at White Cube (a very hip gallery on Hoxton Square) is her first U.K. solo exhibition and contains seven very powerful works. A description of these pieces--mostly made of fiberglass and glass beads -- cannot really capture their effect in person because of the amazing detail and luminescence. In this show the subjects are mostly painful (martyrdom, imprisonment, execution, suicide) while the medium (the exquisite glass beadwork covering all surfaces) gives it a stunning glow. Liza Lou was born in 1969 to Pentecostal parents, both of whom had been artists in New York City, he a painter and she a singer, dancer, and actress.
Why is Roy DeCarava not more well known? He shot his way into photographic history in the late 1940s, had his work shown in the landmark Family of Man exhibition at the MoMA in 1950, and, in 1952, became the first black American photographer to be awarded a Guggenheim fellowship.
In 1955 he collaborated with Langston Hughes on the award-winning bestseller The Sweet Flypaper of Life, has had three significant monographs published since then, and was the subject of a major MoMA retrospective a decade ago. And yet, why is a significant number of the image-loving public unaware of him?
We now have less reason to lament, thanks to â€œIn Time,â€ the new exhibit of 96 black-and-white DeCarava prints at the Jenkins Johnson Gallery. The exhibit spans a half-century, but the majority of the photographs are from the 1950s and 1960s, when DeCarava did his finest work.
Tom Hunterâ€™s show, â€œLiving in Hell and Other Stories, is brilliant: brilliant colors, brilliant concepts, brilliant craft. Seven huge (48 x 60 inch) Cibachrome prints fill the gallery walls. The subject is crime. What Hunter does is restage violent crimes or criminal environments reported in his local paper, the Hackney Gazetteâ€”often at the moment of discovery, combining theatrical tableaux with stunning composition. This British artist-photographer is known for a vision that captures contemporary social moments using historical painting references.
The large, glowing photos produce excitement in both their titillating subjects and their high-gloss immediacy.
Chip Kidd has designed many well-known and beautiful books, including his own very fine novel The Cheese Monkeys, which made a pretty good argument for the idea that graphic designers are the great unsung artists of the world. The collection of Kiddâ€™s work that is now on display at the Cooper Union makes for even more compelling evidence. Throughout his career, Kidd has produced consistently strong designs, and when you have a chance to wander through a room full of his books, itâ€™s striking to see how many of his images have seeped into our cultural consciousness, unheralded and unsung.
Kiddâ€™s work demonstrates an apparently encyclopedic memory for images, and a genuine feel for the
Winter holidays tend to drive people slightly crazy. This is true almost everywhere, but the annual departure from reality and taste is especially obvious here, in New York City, where, for no apparent reason, the streets are being besieged by puppets. Glassy-eyed marionettes jerk through ballroom dances in shop windows; ominous porcelain figures form pagan tableaux at Saks 5th Avenue (which also features female mannequins in wedding dresses, posed next to male mannequins with carrot noses â€“ call it Bride of Frosty). But, in the midst of a relatively barren winter, when the most talked-about exhibit is a collection of flayed and mutilated human corpses (â€œBodiesâ€¦ The Exhibitionâ€ at the South Street Seaport), one can only give thanks for the fact that Muppet Christmas specials are playing non-stop at the Museum of Television and Radio.
Although the Muppets are ostensibly kidsâ€™ stuff, theyâ€™re also a major touchstone for nearly every twenty-something in the city: the fashionista who describes her dour, shaggy indie rock boyfriend by saying
Jon Kesslerâ€™s new installation at P.S. 1 collects the detritus of a culture saturated by images of war to make a stunning statement on what it means to live in history. The exhibit incorporates video, sculpture, photography, and various forms of gadgetry too weird to imagine and too complex to name; the central focus of the exhibit, however, is the viewer, who is ineluctably drawn to participate in Kesslerâ€™s project. â€œThe Palace at 4 AMâ€ is a site-specific exhibit, dependent upon a specific place and time. It canâ€™t be separated from its moment, because it is its moment. It includes and implicates everyone who sees it.
The human body was Egon Schieleâ€™s most frequent subject; he obsessed over it, idealized it, and degraded it throughout his brief and brilliant career. He was haunted by controversy, and briefly imprisoned on charges of kidnapping a thirteen-year-old girl; although he was eventually acquitted, he openly used little girls as models for pornographic drawings. Many critics have been tempted to speak of Schiele as an artist martyred for his brilliance; few are willing to address the unpleasant truth, which is that an extremely talented man went to jail for child abuse, and went free because none of the laws of the day precisely corresponded to his crime. This winter, the Neue Galerie presents an overview of his life and career, which aims to give the viewer a sense of Schiele (1890-1918) in all his guises: Schiele the student, Schiele the pornographer, Schiele the martyr, and even Schiele the artist.