Tyler Green
Art-focused Journalism by Tyler Green

Tyler Green Modern Art Notes

Archive for July, 2008

Dargerism and Robyn O’Neil: A Q&A, part two

RobynONeilthesefinalhours.jpg

Yesterday I started a three-part Q&A with Robyn O’Neil, who is included in the American Folk Art Museum show Dargerism: Contemporary Artists and Henry Darger. We’re talking about influence and how the work of other artists finds its way into O’Neil’s work. Here is part one.

MAN: One thing I like in your work is that you don’t shy away from making your influences clear, from explicit art historical references. I’m thinking of “The Fall” [below] from last year, for example, which recalls Winslow Homer’s famous “Right and Left.” When starting a piece, do you start with a specific point of reference or influence and go from there? Or as you’re conceiving of a drawing do favorite paintings just kind of pop up in your mind while you’re game-planning?

ONeilFall2.jpgRobyn O’Neil: I definitely have no hang-ups about these things. On the one hand, it’s inevitable. Anyone who denies that is an egomaniacal idiot. Secondly, it seems important to riff off of one’s influences. Furthering ideas and images that have already proven to be resonant can only aid in progression.

Homer seems to be the artist I “use” the most. I definitely felt like Right and Left was a gorgeous allegory, but doesn’t it look a little goofy? I don’t know if it’s the face of that left-side bird or what, but I thought it could use a revision. Not an “improvement”, of course. Just a revision. Another example is when I did my own version of The Life Line. [O'Neil's version is above] Rather than there being the slightly sexually provocative man/woman pose, [I used] just a lone male struggler. No real hope. [Below.] But I loved what Homer did with that composition. To have no idea from where that harness is coming from is just bizarre. These final hours embrace at last; this is our ending, this is our past (in the Dargerism show) also came from The Life Line’s influence.

ONeilMan.jpgThe way this happens for me is very natural. While looking at art, certain pieces stand out as something I will want to work with some day. I very consciously catalogue that thought or idea into a certain part of my brain and let it digest. Sometimes it sits there marinating for years. There are some van Gogh drawings that I’ve wanted to work with since I was in 5th grade, and that is not an exaggeration. Who knows when that will take place. That marination process ought to be downright rank by now, so that will surely be interesting.

I don’t make sketches before making my drawings. I write down concepts and edit from there. Once an idea is solid, I’ll quietly look at it and determine from where it came. Often I realize it came directly from the piece I catalogued in my brain years before. So, basically, I don’t sit down and make concrete plans to find a certain piece from art history that will work with my next ideas. I do, however, naturally pull from the subconscious. That means, I hope, the work is closer to me and not affected. Not too overtly derivative.

MAN: Speaking of how you synthesize influences, I saw this image from your studio on Flickr.

ONeilstudiowall1.jpgRO’N: I make signs and put them all over my house. If I don’t see something written down and in front of me, I won’t do it. Besides drawing, nothing sounds all that enticing. I know I need to eat, but going to the grocery store? In that amount of time, I could have gotten two clouds drawn. Going to an opening? I can see the show
during the week when no one is there and I’ll see it in a quarter of the time it would have taken to see it when 150 people are in the space. I’m paranoid about not having enough time and not doing all I can. So, that is just one sign I made for myself. The ones like this, about trying to be healthy, are all over the place. I had a roommate in college who would write really mean signs to herself to get herself to eat right and work out. The one next to her alarm clock was, “Get your fat ass out of bed”. One on the refrigerator said, “You’re gross.” I thought they were sad, but hilarious.

A better sign that is up in my studio is this one. [Above.] I was talking to my friend about how I always say yes to everything, but I don’t have enough time for everything I say I’ll do. He suggested I put a big sign in my studio that said, “Let me get back to you,” and that way I will have time to calmly think about if I want to do what the person has asked of me. My mom came into town, saw the sign and asked me about it. I explained and she said that it was too nice. She revised it. Brilliant.

Tuesday links

  • Richard Lacayo visits Chris Burden at Rockefeller Center. Is it just me, or are those Rock Center installations increasingly about the mighty might of American builder-visionaries?
  • Jerry Saltz asks whether Philippe Vergne can fix Dia, but includes a New York provincialism: “[W]ithout a permanent exhibition space in Manhattan, Dia is a ghost of its former self.” Hogwash. Dia has a 240,000 square-foot space just 75 minutes from Manhattan. (That’s more gallery space than MoMA.) Just because something’s not on Manhattan Island doesn’t mean it isn’t superb, that it isn’t relevant or that it doesn’t exist.
  • The Great Climate Change Park.
  • The Guardian is splitting its art blog in two-ish. Now Charlotte Higgins and Jonathan Jones each have their own web-perches.

Dargerism and Robyn O’Neil: A Q&A

O'NeilTheseMovingBodies.jpgDargerism: Contemporary Artists and Henry Darger, on view now at the American Folk Art Museum, is an unlikely, fantastic show. It features nearly a dozen early-career contemporary artists willing to be associated with a key influence. That’s unusual: Often artists don’t like to discuss or acknowledge influences until they’re so far along in their careers that influences become supporting rather than defining material. Apparently the artists in the show trusted the curator, Brooke Davis Anderson, to demonstrate relationships rather than outright appropriation. For the most part, that’s what’s here.

I asked one of the artists in the exhibition, Robyn O’Neil, to join me for a Q&A about influence. This is the first of three parts. Part two is here. All but the last part was conducted by email. [At left is O'Neil's 2005 These Moving Bodies, These Numb Processions.]

MAN: Artists are often wary of ‘influence shows.’ There’s rarely a specific and direct relationship between two artists — that is, good artists absorb a lot more than one or two artists as they determine what kind of work they’re going to make. And then they often add lots of other stuff from other places before making work. So participating in a show as specific as “Dargerism” could be considered a bit of a risk. Did you have any trepidation about the whole idea?

Robyn O’Neil: I know there were artists who were asked to be a part of the exhibition that were concerned with that notion. That perhaps this would mean people would think their work is too derivative. My position is that anyone that had that concern probably had reason to worry.

As for me, It honestly never occurred to me to be uptight about it. I’m always breaking things down. It was as simple as, “Well, my work is certainly influenced by Darger and I know I’m not alone… I can’t wait to see who else Brooke has noticed in relation to Darger.” To me, this doesn’t mean my work is derivative. It doesn’t mean my work is a tribute. It means that there are particular artists who, when I’ve digested them, have left a piece of themselves in me. This happens at times when certain artists meld with my chemical makeup for whatever reason. With Darger it was the repetitive figures, re-occurring characters, catholicism, weather, and the apocalypse. Also, a cinematic scope.

DargerAtSunbeamCreek.jpgMAN: Speaking of Darger specifically, do you remember when you ‘discovered’ his work, and what in it you responded to? [At right: Darger's At Sunbeam Creek...]

RO’N: I first saw Darger’s work in a small catalogue when I was in undergraduate school. I was about twenty years old. My professor handed it to me and I was quieted. I [felt] I had just discovered work that stood apart from anything I had previously seen, and that included a great deal of ‘outsider’ work. I found Darger to be more individualistic and more genuine. Also more beautiful. I know people can question and question that word ‘genuine,’ but I think at heart, we all know what it means. And most of us know it when we see it.

I think the most important thing I understood about the work was that he found a way to visually narrate a story that would never get old. It’s a labyrinthine effort with infinite twists and turns. Great art should baffle, but how often does that truly happen? When images bewilder and quiet, they resonate forever.

Continued: Part two.

Cottage Industry: The City Reliquary

CityReliquaryBaltimore.jpgOver the last week or so I’ve talked about how the Cottage Industry show at the Baltimore Contemporary has mixed communitarianism with institutional critique. That’s the equation that sums up The City Reliquary, a NYC-based history-’museum’-cum-community-gathering-place. (I think I would have enjoyed Bicycle Fetish Day 2008.) In Cottage Industry, The City Reliquary was represented by a traveling-salesman-style ’suitcase’ of goodies of and from New York. It was interesting to look at, a kind of calling-card that would inspire exhibit-viewers to learn more about what TCR is. (It worked, obviously. The photo is of the Baltimore installation, plus Reliquarians Liz Gwinn and Matt Levy.)

All of the projects in Cottage Industry are small, focused and intense, personal reactions against big-boxism of all types. (Including in art/history museum form.) The City Reliquary and the John Erickson Museum of Art are the two most dramatic reactions: They’re museums reduced to the smallest possible physical size.

There’s a message here for art museums and related institutions: When you become big you become impersonal. When you become personal you fall out of touch with your audience, with your communities. Most of the projects in Cottage Industry are an attempt to re-connect with community, but also with art, history and neighborhood. Big institutions pay heed.

Related: The City Reliquary’s Baltimore Flickr set.

Cottage Industry: John Erickson Museum of Art

JEMAinabox.jpgFor decades artists have had a love-hate relationship with museums. Ed Ruscha set one on fire. Michael Asher wanted to re-organize collections and Fred Wilson wanted to re-contextualize their collections. The John Erickson Museum of Art wants to pack ‘em up and move ‘em around. Which would seem profound and contrary to everything that museums do… except that museums are already doing it. (There are plenty of other examples, as surfable here in a 1999 MoMA show about artists and museums.)

As a result JEMA — which is included in the Baltimore Contemporary Museum’s Cottage Industry show — is a wry commentary on how museums are behaving themselves of late. There is the Louvre, which plans to pack up part of itself, to plant it in the United Arab Emirates and to emerge as the Louvre Abu Dhabi. The Guggenheim has been trying the same sort of thing for years, with extremely limited success. The Art Institute of Chicago is renting out a chunk of its collection to the Kimbell Art Museum. Apparently museum directors have excellent relationships with FedEx.

In an effort to make mobility a little easier on museo-C-suiters, JEMA has created a “portable and thrifty” museum that comes in its own shipping box. If the Los Angeles County Museum catches fire (again), JEMA has a ready solution. (Above.) Sean Miller, the artist behind JEMA, describes:

JEMA’s mission
is to display and collect innovative and provocative con-temporary
art and/or offer exhibitions that allow people to think differently
about the nature of art and art practice. JEMA’s design
allows it to perform and embody numerous aspects of art and art
practice in a simultaneous manner. JEMA is a museum, display
case, crate, exhibition space, sculpture, photographic series,
performance, installation, site-specific project, collaboration
and web-based project. In fact, in its operation JEMA exhibits
and demonstrates almost all media associated with visual art
(sometimes simultaneously). In addition, it involves nearly all
the realms of art practice and the business of art, revitalizing
the roles of curator, artist, and viewer.

At the Baltimore Contemporary JEMA comes off as tight and cutting. Its JEMA ‘mailroom’ is a witty take on the silly art world cliche of ‘encouraging dialogue’ (whatever that is) and how museums love to solicit comments that inevitably end up in the round file. But Miller’s WWW presentation of his project meanders — kind of like a new museum that’s
trying to figure out what to do with this new thing it’s found. The more specific JEMA’s critique, the stronger the project is.

The future of the National Gallery of Art

My Washingtonian story on the present, future and maybe-future of the National Gallery of Art is now online.

Thursday links

Having some PC/internet issues at MAN HQ, so I’ll do my last post on Cottage Industry on Monday. In the meantime…

  • Christopher Knight thinks he mis-assessed a Nancy Rubins;
  • C-Monster has figured out how to make Chihuly at the de Young tolerable;
  • What’s scary is that I know curators/etc. who don’t write this well [via]; and
  • A fab observation about a Marsden Hartley and a fallen tree.

More Token Exchanges

Yesterday I posted about my experience at Andrea Zittel’s recent Token Exchanges installation at Regen Projects in LA. Picking up where I left off, an extraordinarily unlikely story from 20 Minutes into the Future.

Andrea Zittel's Token Exchanges

ZittelTokenExchange.jpgSo a few weeks ago I walked into Regen Projects’ new space and saw all these tables. They had little cupped-out areas carved into them, and they were covered with carefully-placed stuff: Receipts, notes between friends, ticket stubs, books, CDs, and so on. Nowhere was there a sign explaining what was going on here, so I just walked around, looking.

Eventually — and with the help of a little card I eventually found on the gallery’s front desk — I learned what was going on: Andrea Zittel had placed these tables in the gallery and had put random stuff on them. The idea was simple: Take what you want, just leave something of equal value (as determined by you, the visitor) in return and leave a note explaining the exchange. Easy ’nuff.

As I noted this morning, Zittel doesn’t make traditional beautiful things. She makes engrossing objects, objects that are barely visually engaging enough to start you thinking… but once they get in your head they linger like a pop tune. I’m not much of an artsy-stuff participant, but as I walked around the ’show’ I started thinking about what I could exchange. I’d only be in LA for a day or two. Aside from my notebook and the keys to my rental car, I didn’t have any stuff with me. So I just kept looking at other people’s exchanged stuff (all the while thinking of George Carlin, who had just died) while I pondered.

I found myself thinking about Carlin’s riff on ’stuff,’ about value, commercialism, retailing, the art market, and the role of commercial galleries in the art constellation. Given that this Zittel project was on view in Los Angeles’ highest-end homegrown commercial space, it was superbly subversive. (Of course: All of Zittel’s art is slyly subversive, so slyly that you don’t realize how up-ending it is until you’ve fallen in love with it.)

az.jpgEventually I saw a Massachusetts state quarter on one of the tables. I’ve always liked the Massachusetts quarter. 
It features a map of the state and a minuteman. It gave me an idea. I
went out to my rental car and found a quarter in the change-holder. It
was an Idaho quarter, which features a menacing peregrine falcon. I swapped them and left a note: I exchanged an Idaho quarter for a Massachusetts quarter. They are worth the same — but maybe not to everyone.

Cottage Industry: Andrea Zittel's Smockshop

AZSmockshopBaltContemp.jpgThis week I’m been posting about Cottage Industry at the Baltimore Contemporary. Today: Andrea Zittel.

While at times Cottage Industry isn’t much to look at, it’s a show that you can’t help taking home with you. Whether it’s Lisa Anne Auerbach’s tracts or Andrea Zittel’s smockshop, installation after installation encourages visitors to have art-ish what-if moments. (Most have online homes, which makes it extra-easy to follow-up on what interests you.)

Everything Andrea Zittel does gives me what-if moments. (More on this later today.) Zittel is a game-changer, an artist who mixes visual art with performance with interior design with architecture with activism with proprietorship to arrive at something completely unique. Her latest project, smockshop, is here. Zittel is uncommonly good at describing what she’s doing without going all artist-statementy, so here’s here explanation of smockshop:

A smock is a simple double wraparound garment designed by Andrea Zittel. These versatile garments are both attractive and utilitarian – each garment is one of a kind, and is sewn by an artist who reinterprets the original design based on their individual skill sets, tastes and interests.

The smockshop generates income for artists who’s work is either non-commercial, or not yet self sustaining.

It’s Project Runway-meets-Michael’s and 19th-century New England-meets-21st-century Brooklyn. (And, with recent dress prices over $300 it’s also artisan-upscale in a way that recalls the Whole Foods cheese counter.)

As something to look at in a kunsthalle such as the Baltimore Contemporary, it ain’t much: A couple of dresses on dress forms in front of a painted wall and a ’smockshop’ sign. [above] It’s so stripped down that it makes Ikea’s presentation style look over-the-top.

MaudeBensonSmockshop.jpgWhich is part of the point: The idea is to bring utilitarianism back to retail, to reject a culture that values luxury and status more than people. Zittel’s project is intensely communitarian, a kind of conceptual collectivism built around dresses. [That's a Maude Benton adaptation at left.]

(This in itself is notable: Most recent high-profile collectives are male-centric and are notoriously menacing: Think Jim Jones or Warren Jeffs. By making a dress the project’s object-of-choice Zittel is putting women at the center of the enterprise. And by allowing her collaborators to riff on her design in any way they like, she’s encouraging individuality in a way that male collectivists such as Jeffs don’t.

Like most of Zittel’s projects, smockshop is a little bit environmentalist (sewing creates no carbon emissions), a little bit all-for-one-and-one-for-all, a little bit clever and a little bit passive-aggressive: While Zittel allows artist-sewers to play with her basic template, most of Zittel’s projects, dictate certain ways of living onto their ‘users.’ It’s not performance art and it’s not a ‘happening‘ or a ‘task,’ but it is a way of melding performance with a life lived. In a show full of hyphen-artists, maybe Zittel is an artist-puppet-master.

Related: Ultimately the best way to explore Zittel’s latest project — which will be opening a ’store’ in LA’s Chinatown on July 27 — is at the smockshop website.