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An Audience with the Queen

by HRM on March 27, 2013

by Mia Funk
An Audience with the Queen by Mia Funk

An Audience with the Queen by Mia Funk, oil on canvas 110 x 143.2 cm winner of the Thames and Hudson Pictureworks Prize 2010

Do you like Goya? was the first thing the Famous Painter asked. Well I knew where he was going with that one. After all, he was famous for more than just being a painter – 30 illegitimate children, or was it 29…? Memory isn’t what it used to be. I’d read his file, but that was months ago, before they vetted him and judged him to fit to paint the Royal likeness, whatever that means. It’s just a face, my face – but the way the Privy Council talk about it makes it sound distant, disembodied. The Famous Artist, they say, is very good at painting flesh, that’s his specialty so to speak. Especially fat ones, wonder then what he’ll make of this scrawny old bird with bad knees.

16 May 20–
I am at your Majesty’s pleasure, was the second thing that came out of said Famous Artist’s mouth, delivered with a sly look. I’d never understood that phrase. It gives me no pleasure to incarcerate a man indefinitely.

No, I’m at yours, I thought, though I didn’t dare say it. From what I understand – for I’d been warned – sitting for the Famous Painter is something of a sentence with no chance of parole. You begin your sentence, never being told how long it will take or what eventual form your portrait will be. Will you be naked or will you be clothed? Will you be stripped of all dignity, lying on a hardboard floor clutching a filthy whippet, or be forced to wear the same dirty dress for the 600 days it takes him to finish the portrait? People have grown old posing for him, have gotten pregnant and seen the pregnancy to term, been married and divorced before he finished with them. It’s all a bit of a crap shoot, so we took no chances. He’s a fixed number of hours and if he can’t capture the Royal likeness before his time’s up time, that’s his fault.

He is rumoured to be something of a perfectionist – and yes, that’s what he’s known for too, a seducer, or so I’m told. But honestly I don’t see it, the way he dresses, it’s practically rags, you should see him in his smock, spattered with paint, he looks like a butcher, and his house, it must be years since it’s seen a mop.

11 June 20–
And yes, I do like Goya. But he doesn’t mean The Disasters of War, or The Third of May. He means that naughty little diptych at the Prado, or rather, particularly, the second part. The Naked Maja reclining on a bed of pillows. Well, he would like that, wouldn’t he. Maja, rumoured to be the 13th Duchess of Alba, with whom Goya, who apparently had a bit of a reputation himself, is supposed to have been romantically involved…

26 July 20–
I’m beginning to think this was a mistake. The man is obsessed. He can’t take his eyes off me. At first I thought it was my face, until I realised it’s the crown he’s interested in. All the facets fascinate him. Such a symbol of power. Finally, fed up, I removed it and said that perhaps, if he needed more time to study it that a female staff courtier place it on her head and fill in for me. I think it’s the first time one of his sitters have stood up for themselves. He doesn’t like it one bit, and I have a feeling I’m going to regret it.

20 August 20–
It seems awfully disrespectful. While he’s at work on my portrait, he has another canvas of identical size set up on a nearby easel, which he works on simultaneously. He says he’s just sketching out an idea (nothing to do with me) while the paint dries on mine. It’s very disconcerting for him to divide his time that way when I have given him my complete attention. What’s more, the way he has this easel set up, at an angle skewed into a corner doesn’t permit me a view of it. He says it’s just an idea I have, shooting me another me another of his sly looks. I shoot him sly look right back and he says, “perfect, that’s perfect!” and immediately begins sketching me at great speed.

All very mysterious.

5 October 20–
I’d been attending to royal functions all morning and my feet are paining me, so quietly, hoping no one would notice I briefly slipped off one shoe and rubbed it against the back of my calf. Such relief. I thought the artist was busy mixing paint and didn’t see, but when I looked up there he was with his sketchbook–the conniving magpie. I quickly slipped my stockinged foot back into its leather vice, bearing my discomfort in silence.

At three we pause for afternoon tea. Old Eagle Eye sips it with me, but doesn’t eat cake, and all the time I can tell he is working, recording everything, every last gesture and detail. It’s all rather uncomfortable, really. Quite.

7 November 20–
He’s doing it for free which makes it very hard to complain. I suppose he’s entitled his full artistic freedom, but it seems unfair that he should be allowed to do what he likes with my face, not to mention that other shadow portrait that he’s creating in secret, which he still hasn’t shared with me and I’m beginning to doubt if he ever shall.

4 December 20–
He’s finished today. The work is framed and presented at the Palace. At first it was a burden I thought I would be happy to see the end, but a part of me wishes it would go on. There is something strangely confessional about having one’s portrait painted. This one more than the others I’ve had. One has the feeling he is not just seeing me as I appear to others, but seeing into me as I truly am. A trick of the paint, no doubt, layer on fleshy layer, knotted with time like an old tree nearing its final ring. How many more of these will I be able to pose for? A handful, I suppose, if I’m lucky, at very least two.

Before he takes his leave, he thanks me for my time. “You never did tell me whether you liked Goya,” he says. “And you never did show me the other painting you’re working on.” He shoots me one last sly look, picks up his sack and turns to leave.

——–

Mia Funk is an artist and writer living in Paris. Her solo exhibition Inside the Artist’s Studio is at the American University of Paris (6 rue du Colonel Combes, 75007) until 1 April 2013. She is showing the Irish Art Exhibition at the Halles Saint-Géry in Brussels until 28 April and at Another World is Possible at the deYoung Museum in San Francisco the 5 April. Her painting An Audience with the Queen won the Thames and Hudson Pictureworks Prize 2010.

 

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The life of a wall

by HRM on March 2, 2013

Artists take to the streets of Berlin

James Bullough and Addison Karl

James Bullough and Addison Karl are the kind of friends you want to have. Of course, they’re exceptionally talented. But that aside, they’re really great people. They’re men of their words, great for conversations and laughs, afternoon drinks and evening ramblings. Heck, Karl even had HRM into his gallery for our launch in rainy Berlin back in May of last year.

JBAK, their creative partnership, has been gaining momentum since they decided to combine their vast array of artistic talents. The large-scale work they produce is something impressive to behold. Astonishingly detailed and accurate line work paired with surprising colour palates, contributes to an effortlessness and ease that is conveyed in the final product. They capture real people in tender and joyful moments, and then they magnify and explode these scenes across walls and cities in Berlin and Europe.

These two American boys have made themselves important figures in the Berlin street art scene. They have managed to strike a delicate balance between the expressive and the precise, finding a space that supports both the real and the imaginary.

By Lacey Haynes

James Bullough and Addison Karl

What do you guys do?

We are both painters and illustrators in our own practice but together as JBAK we concentrate mostly on outdoor murals and large-scale studio paintings.  When we first started painting together about two years ago we noticed that one common thread between our individual practices was the use of portraiture, so we made that the main focus of our collaboration.  Since then, we’ve been working on a blend of our two very different styles and have developed a look that is quintessentially JBAK.

James Bullough and Addison Karl  

Why did you start working together?

We met by chance one night through friends of friends and got to talking.  It turned out that we had a lot of common interests, mainly bikes and street art.  After that, we tackled a few bike build projects and managed to go out painting a few times and it just sort of evolved from there.  At some point we decided to work on one large painting together rather than painting side by side like we had done in the past.  It went well and ever since then most of our murals have been together, although we still do separate work from time to time.

James Bullough and Addison Karl

What’s on the go for this year?

Currently we are finishing up a large commission project we have been working on for months.  It’s a series of 9 rather large portrait paintings of different people from Berlin (where we live) who had some connection or major life event tied to the division and reunification of East and West Germany.

It has been a major undertaking. From developing the project to finding the models for each painting, doing photo shoots with them and then of course the actual building of the custom “found wood” canvases and then painting them.  It has been a huge project and we have really enjoyed it, especially considering that we’ve been inside the studio working during the long cold Berlin winter rather than outside hanging from the side of a building like last winter.

From here, we will have an exhibition in March to show the new series of paintings and then the outside work begins again.  We have possible plans for two or three trips to North America for various projects and festivals and of course we will be out and about in Europe leaving our mark on walls in different cities.

James Bullough and Addison Karl

What have been some of the highlights of your collaboration?

In our first year of working together, we were able to get two very big walls in Berlin to paint. One was the entire side of a five story building in a neighbourhood of Berlin called Wedding (pronounced Vedding) as part of the Wedding Walls Project.  The other was an 18 meter wall sponsored by Etsy.com at the home of their Etsy labs workshop space.  Those were both very exciting and rewarding projects and we learned a lot about what kind of work we wanted to do in the future.

We also had the chance this past year to do some travelling and take our paintings to other cities.  We did murals in Chemnitz and Dresden as part of the Colour Revolution project and the CityBilder project were definite highlights.

James Bullough and Addison Karl

What does being in Berlin mean for your street cred? Opportunity wise? And for you creatively?

Saying you are a painter or a street artist in Berlin is like saying in any other city that you like to eat food.  There’s an overflow of artists here and because of the somewhat loose regulations on street art many people hit the streets with their work.  This can be a double-edged sword of course, or maybe more like a quadruple edged sword.  On one hand, the opportunity for spots to paint and people to paint with are seemingly endless.  On the other hand, with so many people going out to paint every day and so many tourists coming to Berlin just to go out and paint, your work can get covered up quite quickly.  Often a piece that you spend hours and hours working on will get tagged over in just a few days by some kid from out of town passing through Berlin on a two day “graffiti vacation”.

It’s just sort of the life of a wall in this city.  If nothing else, it motivates people to be a little more selective with where they paint.  It’s also really difficult to stand out in Berlin with so many different people putting up quality work, and also totally shitty work.  We have decided that quality is paramount for JBAK over quantity.  We may only get 20 pieces up over a year’s time but those 20 pieces are big and show off how much thought and effort went into them.   It has become apparent to us that if you really bust your ass and look for good opportunities, they are out there to be found.  Following this rule has seemed to earn us a level of respect that we are very happy to hold in a city with so many good artists.

James Bullough and Addison Karl

James Bullough and Addison Karl

James Bullough and Addison Karl

James Bullough and Addison Karl

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American Girl

by HRM on February 21, 2013

A Conversation on The Dolls, The Dream, and The Life with photographer Ilona Szwarc

Ilona Szwarc

When I caught sight of Ilona Szwarc’s American Girls project online, I was instantly hooked. Szwarc captured images of girls with their American Girl doll counterparts, and the relationship between the dolls and the girls had a kind of magical tension. I clicked through the series, mesmerized at this glimpse into the lives of girls throughout the country.

One interesting tension was the level of resemblance between the girls and their dolls. The most appealing part of the American Girl doll franchise is, of course, the fact that you can design them to look like anyone. Anyone at all. One can imagine the wishful, more serious sentiment hidden behind this capability. What real life American girl hasn’t wished for a more perfect version of herself, or to resemble someone else?

This relationship between dreams and reality (and what this signifies for girls growing up in America) is at the heart of Szwarc’s series, which is an eloquent examination that recently won third place in the 56th World Press Photo Contest under the ‘Observed Portraits’ category. Both beautiful and intriguing, Szwarc’s photographs immediately engage the viewer while inviting a conversation on the complexities behind the images themselves.

- Carolyn Supinka

Ilona Szwarc

CS: What first drew you to the American Girl brand as a subject?

IS: I was struck by the fact that the product was actually called “American Girl.” I thought that it clearly meant that the company imposes stereotypes about who a contemporary American girl is.

To me it felt really exclusive – only about Americans and for Americans – and I began to wonder where I fit in this scenario, and if I could ever fit in. Although the basic premise of those dolls is that you can create your ‘mini-me version,’ girls are in fact offered a limited number of choices. All of the dolls have mostly the same features –the only choices that are given to girls are skin color (three: light, medium and dark skin), eye color (around forty options) and many hairstyles (more than eighty options), yet the basic face mold and figure of all dolls stays the same: a slim, petite and androgynous shape. So I began to question further how individuality is manifested in this world and how is it communicated to children. As all the dolls really look the same, the only denominator of individuality relies in the hair style and fashion, of which girls are given the most possible choices. Constructing female identity happens through the choice of hair color and style, and the choice of clothes or fashionable accessories.

Those dolls definitely represent a set of currently accepted cultural values. The features of the dolls are standardized; they offer a democratic look: the same face and body shape. The dolls are fully clothed and very pretty. They are meant to carry a message of empowerment to girls. However, what I have noticed is that actually they only perpetuate traditional gender roles and keep the focus of girls on body grooming and dressing up as a way of identity maintenance.

Ilona Szwarc

CS: The spaces you photograph are so intimate, and are some of the most important spaces in a girl’s childhood: bedrooms, backyards. Did you pick these settings, or did the girls? Can you talk about why you chose these spaces, or why the girls chose them?

IS: When I first came to New York City I wanted to become a street photographer, so I began going out every day and photographing on the streets. I started noticing girls carrying dolls that look like them, and wearing matching outfits. At first, the girls just began appearing in the corners of my frames, then eventually I sought them out and I would stop them on the street and take their portraits. But I quickly realized that the photograph of a child with her doll does not really make sense on the street, and that’s when I decided that I wanted to photograph them in their homes. This way, my models would feel more comfortable and also it made more sense to see them in their own environments, where they actually play with their dolls.

Once I decided to photograph girls in their homes, there was a lot of production involved. First I would seek subjects who wanted to participate in my project, who owned the dolls and were passionate about them; I would talk to their parents and discuss details about the shoot, so the girls would know all about it. They were all very curious and excited for me to come to photograph them and wanted to participate in the creation of the photographs. So there was not a single structure to the way I would approach the making of the photograph –sometimes I would suggest something, and sometimes the girls would show me places they really liked.

Ilona Szwarc

CS: What did you talk about with the girls?

IS: I asked the girls to introduce themselves, to tell me a little bit about their lives, and about their dolls: when they got them, in what circumstances, what do they like or dislike about the dolls. I asked them how they usually play with their dolls. I also opened them up to talk about their futures, and their dreams.

CS: What was the relationship like between the girls and their dolls? Do you feel that the dolls reflect the girls, or are more symbols of what they aspire to be?

IS: From what I have observed, some girls relate to their dolls as their sisters, twins, or best friends. As the dolls constitute a part of the owner’s identity, they are both mini-me’s and pseudo-daughters.

The look-alike doll is a way that helps girls carve out their identity. Girls project their identities onto the dolls and then they experiment with them through the mini-me doll play, and then when they’re ready, they leave the doll behind. On the other hand this is an imitation of what happens to adults who have children. Children look like the parents, so in a sense this is a very natural need to have a baby that looks like us.

It really varies –each girl would have a different idea. One of my subjects, Sarah, thought of her doll as herself. She said she would try out different outfits on the doll to see how she will look like in some clothes, and she would try out different styles on her.

Two other girls, sisters Ariane and Meridien, talked to me about how they look up to the dolls and this about behaving well and treating them more like role models.

Ilona Szwarc

CS: What was your own childhood like? Did you find anything reminiscent of your own childhood in this photography series?

IS: I was born in 1984 in Warsaw, Poland. At that time Poland was still under the communist regime and it was during my early childhood that it was going through the change of the political system. Right after the collapse of the Soviet regime, my father, who worked as a pilot on transatlantic connections, got my first passport and took me on a short trip to US during one of his flights. No words can describe what this experience meant for me and how much it changed my perspective.

Traveling to America when I was young, I always wondered what it would be like to grow up here. Once I moved to New York as an adult, I wanted to revisit those feelings I had back then. In this body of work, I explore enclosed worlds of young girls who are growing up in the US. I explore what girls – that is, future women — are influenced by in this culture. By investigating the American Girl Doll phenomenon –girls who passionately collect customizable mini-me dolls –I examine how female identity is constructed in contemporary consumer society.

Coming from a different country gave me the perspective to see that these dolls –with all the accessories –are the most luxurious toys ever invented, and I have not seen anything like that anywhere else. Thinking about the situation of children from around the world, my photographs place themselves on the other end of the spectrum from the documentary photographs of children living in extreme conditions in Africa for example. They show how there are extreme inequalities in the world.

Also, working on this project made me realize that America and therefore American Girl dolls are all about celebrating every person as an individual. Every child in America bears a sense of entitlement and self-importance. It is a very empowering message for girls –in a way every girl can be a star, who has a doll made after her. I don’t think there was an equivalent of such attitude in my country when I was growing up. I think this is helping girls build up confidence and strength of their characters.

Ilona Szwarc

CS: Were all of the girls photographed born in America? What do you think it means to be an ‘American girl’?

IS: Yes, all of the girls that I photographed were born in America. I think there might have been one exception. I photographed Holly, who was adopted by an American family from South Korea. She was adopted as a baby and she identified herself as American. English was her first language and this is the culture she grew up in.

What it means to be an American girl? I think it’s great to be an American girl and it definitely means a sense of importance, entitlement, a sense of luxury. It also means a sense of concentration and focus on “me.” I think girls who are growing up here are exposed to a great abundance of opportunities and they can create themselves as they wish.

But, at the same time, I am not American and I did not grow up in the US, so these are only my subjective observations and thoughts.

Ilona Szwarc

CS: The brand name itself labels these dolls (and their owners) as American girls. Can you talk about your observations of American girls, and femininity in America?

IS: As I said in the beginning, I was really struck by the fact that these dolls are called “American Girls”. Just the semiotics of this phrase were disturbing to me. I started to think why this company is defining American girls, and I had a strong reaction to the fact that they used this to appeal to such a broad audience. This mix of femininity and consumption was something I really wanted to address in this body of work.

I felt like this company was categorizing American girls, who will become future American women and that fact raises important questions about who gets represented and how.

I think there is a lot to talk about femininity in America, but something that stood out to me is that the product American Girls is meant for older girls, from 8 years old and up. This idea is foreign to me, as I remember in Europe, we would want to leave the dolls behind as soon as we could. By 6 years old we were all done with Barbies.. Here it seems to me that the company that manufactures the dolls wanted to keep their clients for a longer period of time, and they have done it successfully. Parents are adopting this as the idea that their daughters will have a longer childhood, and as an artist I am wondering what effect will this prolonged play have on a generation of women who are growing up like that. I am only posing questions and opening up the discussion by presenting my photographs that way. Do the dolls really extend their childhood? Or perhaps it takes away from the strength that girls could develop, and contributes to the infantilization of women?

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Crafting objects into stories

by HRM on February 12, 2013

Interview with Sonia Rentsch

Sonia Rentsch

I first met Sonia Rentsch in Berlin a couple of years ago when she came to one of my yoga classes. I remember it being grey and wintery, cozy but drafty. I didn’t know then that Sonia was such a creative force. During the exchange of yoga, I don’t often learn the details of my student’s lives – jobs, partners, pets. Instead I get to know the way they breathe, move, experience their own bodies – who they are when the rest is stripped away.

Sonia to me is full of warmth and openness. She has an easy nature that is permeable, ready to accept, learn and explore. She asked questions about specifics, about the alignment in asanas and about the breath. This precision, the attention to finer points, is very much visible in Sonia’s imaginative and meticulous creations.

She has sky-rocketed since leaving Berlin for Melbourne, consistently turning out the most carefully constructed pieces. Her work is deceptively simple and tightly executed.

- by Lacey Haynes

Sonia Rentsch

What is it exactly that you do?
I am a Still Life Stylist though I prefer the title 3D Illustrator. I craft objects into scenes.

What shape does your average day take – from first coffee to jim-jams?
I like to take breakfast on a tray, if possible by an open window. Every day is different but generally it starts with an email review, the making of a list and then I either hit the pavement on a project or move objects around until they make sense in a story.

Sonia Rentsch

What projects are you currently working on?
Right now? The next edition of Raw Medium for Meat and Livestock Australia and an idea for an exhibition curated by Joseph Allen Shea and Edward Davis. Generally I’m plotting to conquer the world.

Put 2012 into review – what were some of your biggest career moments?
The Washington Post picking up my images for use on the front cover of their Weekend Mag was by far the highlight.

2012 was an incredibly brilliant year for me. It concreted exactly what I want to do and how I do it. I was lucky enough to do some brilliant jobs including the cover of local mag Desktop. I worked with a troupe of incredible people and I learnt that anything is possible.

Sonia Rentsch

What shape is 2013 taking for you?
One that involves loads of travel, loads of dedication and loads of saving.

I just gave up coffee and I’m planning to try and be in New York, Paris and London before the year is done. I’ve realised that life is only what you make it and the possibilities on offer are endless.

Sonia Rentsch

Sonia Rentsch

Sonia Rentsch

Sonia Rentsch

See more of what Sonia Rentsch has been up to: www.soniarentsch.com

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A Gallery Undone

by HRM on February 4, 2013

The role of the curator rethought on the Upper East Side

By Madison Mainwaring

The expanse of the main room at the beginning of the evening.

The expanse of the main room at the beginning of the evening.

The original intensity of a work of art tends to be obscured by the formality of its own presentation. Only occasionally does the framework of typical convention break down, when art can stand for itself, rather than the value it signifies. It can be observed and interpreted for what it is, rather than what its custodians want it to be.

A Neo-primitivist thread runs through Anna Mikhailovskaia’s work. On the left, Untitled (Crusty Holes); on the right, Josef Albers Goes to Africa

Gabriela Salazar collects disposed materials, then compresses them to fit into negative spaces. A stray “wedge” made of rope can be found above eye-level in between the hinges of the door close by.

The opening of “New York I Love You Sometimes,” presented at the temporary exhibition space Classic Six on January 26th, allowed for such an occasion. Hosted by Alison Chace and curated by George Terry, twenty artists presented their work in media ranging from sculpture to painting to video. No explicit theme dominated the show; no economy governed the exchange. The art was present, and people came.

Ben A. Jones’s flattened hexagonal sculpture, Vapid, hangs on the wall. The piece explores the physicality of soundscapes in reverberation and delay. Photographer/mixed media artist Dan Estabrook in the foreground.

Ben A. Jones’s flattened hexagonal sculpture, Vapid, hangs on the wall. The piece explores the physicality of soundscapes in reverberation and delay. Photographer/mixed media artist Dan Estabrook in the foreground.

Adam Parker Smith’s piece above the mantle. The window of the gallery steamed over due to the heat of moving bodies in the space, and Mr. Smith’s “It’s a girl!” was re-written on its surface, with slight alterations.The girl became

Adam Parker Smith’s piece above the mantle. The window of the gallery steamed over due to the heat of moving bodies in the space, and Mr. Smith’s “It’s a girl!” was re-written on its surface, with slight alterations. the boy became “It’s a boy!,” but even that didn’t last long; all was eventually superceded by “It’s twins! It’s twins!”

The space itself deserves mention—the third floor of a limestone mansion, the old Drexel estate, built at the turn of the twentieth century. The walls feature ornate molded frames, whitewashed but visible in shadow. The floor is a true and polished parquet. A fireplace can be found in each room, a reminder of the building’s previous domestic function while lending a sense of warmth and intimacy.

Mixed-media installation by James Foster. The work depicts rock forms, both artificial and real. Crumpled foil with gold leaf imitates the actual meteorite, which can be found in secondhand representation only: the picture.

Mixed-media installation by James Foster. The work depicts rock forms, both artificial and real. Crumpled foil with gold leaf imitates the actual meteorite, which can be found in secondhand representation only: the picture.

Alison Chace greets newcomers in the gallery hall.

Alison Chace greets newcomers in the gallery hall.

And the event was intimate. Faces were familiar to each other, the voices were loud. The feel was of a salon, in the three senses of the word: a gathering of people in appreciation of ideas; a presentation of emerging artists in the style of the annual Parisian convention; and the drawing or living room in a home.

Meta-moment: a picture of a picture of a picture being taken. Monika Sziladi’s Untitled (Smile).

Meta-moment: a picture of a picture of a picture being taken. Monika Sziladi’s Untitled (Smile).

If the exhibition was of the salon variety, Ms. Chace served as a true salonière, providing food, drink, and a venue for the evening.

Ross Moreno addressing a rather captivated audience. Much of the performance was influenced by the tropes of a typical childhood party.

Ross Moreno addressing a rather captivated audience. Much of the performance was influenced by the tropes of a typical childhood party.

Mr. Terry selected the content of the show by reaching out to artists he knew and admired. An underlying connection ran between the artists, perhaps not of theme but of verve, the similarities being implicit rather than explicit. The artwork was made by individuals who are related in some way, either by social connection or artistic occupation, and this was made manifest in the event itself.

The after-effects of the performance. Index cards with deeply rhetorical questions also lay scattered about (and yes, that is a stuffed turkey).

The after-effects of the performance. Index cards with deeply rhetorical questions also lay scattered about (and yes, that is a stuffed turkey).

Gabriela Salazar collects disposed materials, then compresses them to fit into negative spaces. A stray “wedge” made of rope can be found above eye-level in between the hinges of the door close by.

A Neo-primitivist thread runs through Anna Mikhailovskaia’s work. On the left, Untitled (Crusty Holes); on the right, Josef Albers Goes to Africa

Such a connection seemed to allow for a mutual understanding between artist and onlooker. “This doesn’t feel like middle school,” observed Andy Ness (of the All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go sculpture) in reference to the typical apprehension surrounding the public display of work. Brett Day Windham confirmed this sense: “Some of the other artists and I realized that we were not feeling the usual agonizing self-consciousness…the warm domestic elegance of the interior and the thoughtful curation of the show actually bolstered how we experienced the work.” The architecture of the collective exhibition had both meaning and consequence for all the individuals involved.

Curator George Terry talks with artist James Williams III. Two paintings by Lumin Wakoa hang in the background; she examines architectural spaces on the canvas, making the three-dimensional two and then back again.

Curator George Terry talks with artist James Williams III. Two paintings by Lumin Wakoa hang in the background; she examines architectural spaces on the canvas, making the three-dimensional two and then back again.

The location of the gallery, 1 East 62nd Street, lent itself as the ultimate representative of the city, the primary number being a pinnacle of sorts. Many of the attendees made the pilgrimage from studios in Brooklyn; the familiarity between partygoers was in large part due to proximate geography. “The show is about being an artist in New York,” said Mr. Terry when discussing the title. And perhaps the exhibition attempts to explain or justify the purpose of city life, in spite of its relentless grind and noise and travel: the excitement surrounding an intense discussion and production of ideas, pieces, projects; a shared relationship between individuals, no matter how isolated their work.

Brett Day Windham’s Floating Harlequin sculpture. Windham worked with the idea of the artist as a wounded fool; the public looks on, confounded, while the artist works inside, their thoughts kept a secret.

Brett Day Windham’s Floating Harlequin sculpture. Windham worked with the idea of the artist as a wounded fool; the public looks on, confounded, while the artist works inside, their thoughts kept a secret.

The rapport allowed for a certain sense of play. The large crowd made for a compressed intermingling in and about the pieces themselves; in order to move in any direction one had to engage in a duck and weave. And the performance piece, conducted by Ross Moreno and Justin Cooper, kept the audience undermined in the best way. Heart-shaped balloons from the act began sticking to various chests and sleeves. One would pop and there would be joke of some emotional overflow.

Ross Moreno and Justin Cooper in a sea of tangled balloons.

Ross Moreno and Justin Cooper in a sea of tangled balloons.

The motto of the eighteenth-century salon came from the Roman lyric poet Horace, who wrote that the purpose of art was “either to please or to educate.” New York I Love You Sometimes brings that same two-fold intention back, and even questions the division between the two; the either/or becomes a definitive and.

The space during the day-time. From the left: a textile work by Carolyn Salas; Windham’s sculpture; Andy Ness’s All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go; Rory Baron’s Electrician installation on the wall.

The space during the day-time. From the left: a textile work by Carolyn Salas; Windham’s sculpture; Andy Ness’s All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go; Rory Baron’s Electrician installation on the wall.

“New York I Love You Sometimes” will be open by appointment until February 9th. Contact George Terry: george@georgeterrystudio.com

The Classic Six invitation page: www.facebook.com/events/126436094190810/

All photos credited to Johnathon Henninger, photojournalist: www.documonkey.blogspot.com

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