Art

Full Film For View and Director Q&A with Argentine Conceptual Artist Syd Krochmalny

On September 22nd, 2015, Argentine Conceptual Artist and Director Syd Krochmalny debuted his 42-minute short film, “Blanchot en Buenos Aires” (or, The Writing to Come). Artifactoid is excited to announce that the unique and poetic art film, related to the theory of French writer, philosopher, and literary theorist Maurice Blanchot, is available for your view right on our site following the below trailer and exclusive Director Q&A.

Artifactoid: What inspired you to create a film about Blanchot?

SK: Having worked with the theme of “the community” in some of my previous works, the director of the masters program in “Interdisciplinary Studies of Subjectivity” at the University of Buenos Aires wrote to me to put me in touch me with Dr. Noelia Billi, who was organizing a series of conferences on Maurice Blanchot at the National Library. Blanchot is known for working with the idea of the community, so this connection made sense.

After several meetings with Dr. Billi, I formulated the following question: What can I do beyond merely interpreting Blanchot and his literary theory? I immediately thought of a double hermeneutic: I wanted to not only interpret Blanchot, but to interpret the interpretations of Blanchot created by his readers. Then, I started to think of a possible action I could take to accompany this idea: How can I build a bridge that connects Blanchot and his readers in Buenos Aires on one side, and the poets of Buenos Aires on the other side? This problem led to the creation of the film.

Artifactoid: How did you decide upon the unique style and format of this film?

SK: I thought the best way to work with these questions would be a film, but not a conventional documentary. I was not interested in preexisting connections, but rather in making a film that could create its own connections. The majority of documentaries expose something existing, either past or present — something that preexisted the documentary. What I aimed to do with this film was create a documentary about something possible or imaginary, that doesn’t yet exist. In other words, the idea wasn’t to do research on the reception of Blanchot in Buenos Aires, but instead, imagine a poetic of Blanchot (a style of Blanchot-like thinking), imagine the possible connections between Blanchot, literary theory, and local poetry.

Artifactoid: Once you had the original concept and format in mind, how did you bring the film to life?

SK: The next step was to figure out how to make this concept visible. I chose to represent it as two axes hinged together. The first axis was to work with a site-specific dimension (within the limits of Buenos Aires). The second axis consisted in transforming the concept into a narrative story.

For the first axis (the site-specific dimension) I decided to work with the geographic space and human resources I had at hand. For the first location, I chose the National Library, where the final video would eventually be projected, and where the intellectual capital of Buenos Aires and Argentina is stored.

Second, I chose the UBA’s Philosophy campus as a “resonant space” of Blanchot’s thought. Finally, I chose the artistic research center called, “Canal de Interferencias Artísticas,” as a space that crosses between “the poetic” and “thought,” — a space that ties together the library and university.

In addition, I decided to include Dr. Noelia Billi, who was finishing her doctoral thesis on materialism and language on Blanchot philosophy. Her research team also participated in the project, not only with the philosophical content of the project itself, but with technical operations, either as assistants, producers, cameramen or sound engineers.

For the second axis (transforming the concept into a story), my idea was to articulate the concept in the following narrative sequence (synopsis):

Just before submitting her doctoral thesis on materialism and language, a Philosophy student comes across “The Blanchot Box” in the National Library: an unpublished project commissioned by Alberto Greco in a letter to the poet Ricardo Carreira. In the hands of the student, this unfinished work will [start to] take on a life of its own, tracing a/constructing a strange path/space out of the voices of philosophers and poets reflecting on the possible resonances of Maurice Blanchot’s thought in Argentine theory and poetry.

Artifactoid: What is the reasoning behind the narrative structure of this film?

SK: For this film I was interested in using a poetic structure typical of Blanchot when telling the story: an open and undefined structure (as opposed to an Aristotelian poetic; a poetic of representation with a beginning, middle and end, typical of Hollywood movies).

The goal of the film is to demonstrate the ability to attach and detach the visible from its meaning, the words from their effects; attribution to reconfigure the distribution of certain provisions of the visible and thinkable. In this case, an imaginary system of a philosophical and poetic community that bring Blanchot to life through their words and sentences.

Artifactoid: How did you select the different philosophers and poets that you chose to include in the film?

SK: The video references different poets that can be aggregated in two groups. The first one contains writers that Blanchot wrote about in his books: Borges, René Char, Beckett and Mallarmé. The second contains the writers that I believe have possible connections with Blanchot’s topics and poetics. For example, Ricardo Carreira and his lyric materialism, where the writing is outside the will of the representational, and the words are how things work. These two ideas are also part of Leónidas Lamborghini‘s rewritings. Then, the others poets are connected with different topics that are part of the Blanchot Literary Theory: Vanna Andreini and “language,” Marina Mariasch and “the everyday life,” Francisco Garamona and Claudia Masín and “the aestethics of rocks.”

Artifactoid: Why did you decide to work with the idea of the “Blanchot Box?”

SK: I worked with the idea of the Blanchot Box to give an image to the concept of the words and how things work. In other words, I transformed the image of the book into a box, and the idea of words into objects. If we think about artists who work with boxes, the first who comes to mind is Marcel Duchamp. And, a possible connection linking this idea to Buenos Aires is Alberto Greco: the first conceptual artist from Buenos Aires (and an artist who did different art-box projects). In addition, the role of Carreira in this film has to do with that he is a conceptual artist and writer who never had contact with Blanchot, but from my point of view, the literary theory and poetic of Blanchot resonates in Carreira’s poems: the writing is outside the will of representation, and words are how things work.

Artifactoid: How can this film be interpreted?

SK: On one hand, “Blanchot en Buenos Aires” can be interpreted as creative research, because for this film I didn’t research the literary thought of Blanchot nor his reception in Buenos Aires, but instead, I researched his possible and imaginary connections with his readers and the poets of Buenos Aires. In turn, the working methodology was flexible rather than circumscribed to conventional or tested methods of scientific and humanistic research.

On the other hand, one might think of this work within the framework of “non-creative writing.” I wove poems together with other analysis, without the need to ascribe signs to each participant indicating their names and professions. In a way, it was an appropriation.

Finally, both dimensions, creative and non-creative, were articulated by a fictional story that the viewer can investigate on his or her own. I am interested in the freedom of the viewer, or to quote a famous French philosopher: “the emancipated spectator.”

To conclude, Artifactoid is pleased to present the full film, “Blanchot en Buenos Aires:”

Constant Thinking, Museo Reina Sofia

On a recent trip to Madrid I visited the Reina Sofia Museum. I’d been waiting to see this museum in person for years since in 2011, I’d created subtitles for a video interview that was included in a Roberto Jacoby exhibition there titled El Deseo Nace en El Derrumbe.

When I finally got to the Reina Sofia this October, it was everything I’d hoped it would be and more. Walking around inside the physical building was a beautiful experience. Its features included giant windows, stone hallways, modern exoskeletal glass elevators exposing sweeping views of the city, and a romantically-lit garden courtyard as the edifice’s centerpiece. There were floors of modern and contemporary art including some breathtaking very famous works, like Picasso’s Guernica (which I stood in front of for about 20 minutes; actual size=11′ 5″x 25’6″) and Dali’s The Great Masturbator.

Aside from the museum’s impressive permanent collection, one of the temporary exhibits really stood out. It was the Dutch artist Constant Nieuwenhuys (1920-2005). Constant’s earlier works had a dark yet whimsical painting style which I absolutely love. I wondered why I hadn’t heard of him before, because to me he seemed like he should have been as famous as Picasso or Dali.

Other works of Constant’s were architectural, and some worked with the concept of the labyrinth. One project that Constant was very well known for was called “New Babylon.” The idea of New Babylon was an anti-capitalist city that would promote creativity as one of its main focuses.

I am interested in researching more about Constant and New Babylon in the future. There is so much to find out about his diverse career, and I’m glad to have had my eyes opened to his work by the Reina Sofia.

Jan De Ruth, An Unexpected Encounter

Recent releases of films like “Woman in Gold” (2015), which chronicles the righteous return of Gustav Klimt’s world famous eponymous painting to its rightful owner, and George Clooney’s “The Monuments Men” (2013), which tells the story of a World War II platoon sent to Germany rescue stolen art from Nazi thieves, brought the topic of art and the Holocaust to mass attention through Hollywood. While these two films focus on the recovery of artwork once sequestered by the nazis, my attention was recently turned toward another aspect of the story about art in the Holocaust: the artists.

I had always wanted to go to an art auction, and a couple of months ago I spontaneously went for the first time, almost as a “bucket list” experience. I was not aiming to spend thousands of dollars on a painting, and this was not Christie’s or Sotheby’s. It was an estate sale auction in the Village. I went there with no expectations, hoping to possibly bid on a special piece of art if I ended up seeing one. The hours went by and nothing called out to me. Until I saw one limited edition lithograph print of a painting that I thought had beautiful energy. I connected with it.

When the auctioneer called out for bidders, I raised my card for $75, sure that someone would out-bid me. But, no one did, and as the beauty of auctions goes, if no one bids higher than you, the item is yours! So, to my surprise, I was now the owner of this lithograph. I had no idea who the artist was, or the real value of what I had acquired. Naturally, I turned to Google and found out that the artist was named Jan De Ruth, and the original painting was called “Daydream.” Who is Jan De Ruth?, I thought.

I kept researching, and learned that Jan de Ruth was a Czech artist who was moved through five different concentration camps during World War II and made four escape attempts, only succeeding on the fifth. He risked his life constantly to pursue art while in the camps, stealing, when he could, art materials including scraps of paper from a factory where he labored, a pencil, coffee, and often created his works on scraps of cloth torn from his clothing: the only possession he was permitted to have. Per Ro Gallery:

“Jan drew a mother and child on a scrap of paper he scrounged from the factory where he worked, filled it in with shadings of coffee in various strengths-his finger was his brush. He exchanged the sketch for a piece of bread from a camp guard, and in effect, sold his first painting.”

In 2008, Hilary Helstein created an award-winning documentary about the topic of artists in the Holocaust titled, “As Seen Through These Eyes,” narrated by Maya Angelou, which exposes the plight of artists like Jan De Ruth. While I wasn’t necessarily planning to purchase a painting at the auction that day, I am grateful to now look daily at a piece that reminds me of Jan De Ruth’s strength, courage, and perseverance.

Interview with Theresa Byrnes, Painter and Performance Artist

Australian-born and New York-based Painter and Performance Artist Theresa Byrnes talks with Artifactoid about inspiration, a return to her roots as a painter, and her most recent performance, “Mudbird,” created in collaboration with her 20-month-old son.

Artifactoid: How did you get started as an artist?

TB: At age 16 in 1985, my studio was the family lounge and dining area. I would start to paint every night after dinner while everyone watched TV. By the time everyone went off to bed one by one, I would get more and more on a roll. I would paint through the night. Soon I outgrew the family room, no longer able to pack all my canvases neatly every night without disrupting my process or running the risk of wet work being trodden on when the the family awoke. I scoured the classifieds to find a studio. I found part of a warehouse to rent cheaply, so I did. 29 years ago, at age 17 in 1986, I began to paint full-time in my very own studio!

I had already been included in minor group shows from 14 years of age and on. While in high school I did life drawing classes at night, and some of my drawings were selected for a group show. I went out on a limb and contacted a curator who included my work in a rotating VIP lounge, and my work began to sell. My first solo exhibition was at 17, but I consider being an artist about making art more than about exhibiting or selling it.

Mistakes in painting are like an angel pushed your hand, changing your direction to somewhere you never would have gone

Artifactoid: Who are your biggest influences in performance art and why? Who inspires you?

TB: I did my first performance when I was 19 in 1989 in Sydney Australia’s Chinatown. The piece, titled “China Crisis,” was my response to the Tiananmen Square Massacre. My entrance into doing performance art was not inspired by an artist, but by heroic dissent. The cry out for freedom and justice inspires me. In “China Crisis,” I laid in front of a large red painting. For me, performance is a natural spill-over from painting: paint is my language, I just commit my body to performance. “TRACE” (2007) was inspired by a dying bird in an oil spill. In “DUST TO DUST” (2011), dirt was my inspiration – the transformative power of mulch.

In 2002, I met Carolee Schneemann; we read each other’s books (mine The Divine Mistake, her’s More Than Meat Joy). I learned a lot about her work, and felt connected to her even more once I learned that she is also a painter whose performance flows from that.

Artifactoid: What are some of your biggest day-to-day influences as an artist?

TB: Stains on the sidewalks, streaks with random marks on windows – I made a short film about sidewalk markings titled, CARELESS in 2000. Tunde Adebimpe (TV on the Radio) helped me shoot and edit it (he is now my son’s godfather). It was screened at MONA (Detroit) in 2001.

Old, decaying wood also inspires me, I have done several painting series on aged wood 2001 and 2010. When I paint on aging wood, I feel like I am collaborating with nature, not trying to capture it.

Artifactoid: How has your perspective as an artist changed over time?

TB: That nothing is permanent. Earlier in my career, well, pre-September 11th, I cared greatly about paintings lasting forever. Now I feel “archival” materials are pitched to artists who believe this civilization will survive another 500-1000 years. I am into showing who we are now, because now is real: all we have, vulnerable, avoided, denied, unnoticed. Art materials are everywhere; they’re not limited to an art store. I love to work with mud and hair and other ingredients as well as ink and oil paint.

Artifactoid: What are some of the most important lessons you’ve learned through your art?

TB: That nothing is a mistake. Mistakes in painting are like an angel pushed your hand, changing your direction to somewhere you never would have gone. In my entire 30-year career, painting still genuinely astounds me – the unguessable moment it resolves.

Artifactoid: What is the best advice you’ve ever received in your career?

TB: Be humble.

Artifactoid: In what direction would you like to take your art moving forward?

TB: I am at a turning point. I am returning to my roots as a painter, where I first discovered my talent and lost my identity/sense of separation from art in the process: painting portraits. For the next two years, I will only paint portraits. Abstraction and performance art lent to my feeling immortal, but now, I am a mother and I feel human, more grounded and more vulnerable than ever. I am pulled to dive in in this direction.

Artifactoid: What advice would you give to other artists?

TB: Know when to stop. As long as you are making art, “you’ve made it.”

Artifactoid: Please describe your inspiration behind “Mudbird,” and some of the most important things about the piece (to you).

TB: “Mudbird” is the second performance I have done with my son, Sparrow, (now 20 months old). In “Mudbird” I play with my baby in the mud thinking of the cycle of all beings – to live and die. We come from the earth and end up in it. Mud; earth, is a uniting and dividing force between mother and child. I gave my life for his to begin. Okay, I am not dead yet, but a part of me has died – my life as a single artist.

At the time of performance, I felt a sense of my immanent death. I have Friedrich’s Ataxia (FA). It is a chronic and fatal genetic disorder of the nervous system. I have been wheelchair-mobile for 20 years. My voice slurring, mundane things slowly getting harder, and recently I tore my right rotator cuff. I have never felt disabled, as I have always fulfilled my aims and called the shots, but post-birth and with injury, I felt unusualły hopeless. Sure I cannot walk, but now I can’t fly; wings clipped. Much of the “Mudbird” series is about my burial and Sparrow’s flight. It has been a burial of several parts of myself. And now I again recreate myself, or return to who I am.

Theresa Byrnes has had over 25 solo shows at spaces including Saatchi & Saatchi in New York and Sydney, and the Australian Embassy in Washington D.C. In 1996, she was awarded Young Australian of the Year. To keep up with Theresa and her latest works, visit her website and follow her on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook. Stop by her gallery space, TBG (616 East 9th street between Avenues B&C), for her next opening on December 9th, 2015 .

Interview with Marina Reiter, Director, Studio 26 Gallery

Artifactoid sits down with Marina Reiter, Artist and Director of Studio 26 Gallery located in the heart of NYC’s East Village. Stop by her East 3rd Street space to hear live music, sit in on a poetry reading, or view visual art that ranges from sculpture, to painting, to performance and more. Also, don’t miss Studio 26 at Art Basel Miami week’s Aqua art fair this year.

Artifactoid: I saw on your website that you opened Studio 26 in 2012, and recently celebrated a one-year anniversary in the East Village space. Congrats! Where did you start out, and how did you decide upon NYC’s East Village? How does the gallery’s location affect the experience of it?

MR: The gallery was originally founded in Bushwick in 2012. The only problem with Bushwick was that there weren’t that many storefront spaces per-se, and renting a gallery space requires a storefront because it’s important to engage the public on a daily basis. We finally saw this space in the East Village, on East 3rd Street in the “mosaic” building, and I really liked the artistic quality of the building itself. The owners said that in fact, they’d had a lot of offers on the space, but they really wanted a gallery to be in there. So, there was a match made in heaven!

Artifactoid: What were you doing prior to opening the studio? What led you to open it, and how did it come together?

MR: I used to run a lot of galleries. I was in Washington, DC and when I lived there, I was gallery director for Studio Gallery, one of the oldest galleries in DC (founded in 1964). It was a collective gallery and at that time we had probably 34 artists that we worked with on a daily basis. We had three floors, and each floor was a different exhibition, so it was just exciting to be totally immersed in that creative energy.

Then, I decided to move to New York in 2009, right after the economic crash. The crash made me rethink certain things in my life — including where I wanted to be — and I decided that I had to be in New York. And, in 2010, I became co-partner in a gallery in Vienna, Austria, called “Gallery M.” We did a lot of international exchange shows between US artists, German artists, and Austrian artists and a lot of art fairs: Art Beijing, art fairs in Strasbourg, Luxembourg. I met a lot of interesting European artists like sculptor Gianfranco Meggiato who recently finished a big commission for the Prince of Monaco.

I was torn between Vienna and New York. I was on the plane every other week. I knew that I needed to do something here in New York City, in my own backyard, so that’s how Studio 26 came about.

Artifactoid: Tell me about some of the noteworthy artists you represent. Which have made the biggest impact on Studio 26 since its opening?

MR: I work with a lot of international artists, and it’s just an amazing experience because international artists really bring their own, unique perspectives. We have artists from France, Norway, Brazil, Turkey — amazing artists, working using all different techniques…and for me, just to be looking at all the art and talking to them completely opens up my mind.

One of the artists that I’ve worked with in the past, from Washington, DC, is John Bodkin. He used to live in the East Village back in the ‘70s. He’s an amazing person, a great artist, and has a very interesting history. Back in the ‘70s when he was a young man, trying to navigate this crazy art world in New York City, he ended up in the East Village and became friends with Robert Rauschenberg, Frank Stella…they would visit Louise Nevelson’s studio…these are these amazing artists who nowadays are almost god-like creatures, but back in the day, John was hanging out with them, learning from them, talking to them…and ended up carrying on that tradition from the ‘70s. You can definitely see that in his paintings; there’s a lot of Rauschenberg and Stella influence. It’s just amazing to be working with people like that who are part of living history, so to speak. That’s one of the moments that makes daily “gallery life” so exciting: just working with people like that, who are part of history.

Artifactoid: Tell me a bit about your own art, the history of you as an artist.

MR: I describe my art as “biomorphic, organic, abstract art.” My family has a lot of artists. Both of my uncles are famous Russian artists. My great uncle, Nikolai Solomin, actually studied with the founders of classical Russian realism. His son, also Nikolai Solomin, is now probably one of the most recognized Russian painters. They work in either realism or impressionism, and I would say some military realism. I always admired that, but I never felt that realism or landscape were things that I had a tremendous passion for.

When I first came to the US from Russia, I was seven years old. My family and I went to the MET, and that was when I saw abstract art for the first time. I felt like it was something I could absolutely relate to. Then, as a young adult, I decided that I really wanted to go to a good art school that would teach me abstract art. Unfortunately, in Russia, there is much more of a focus on realism, and even now, there is no real appreciation for abstract art there, nor the way to teach it. So, I decided to attend the Corcoran College of Art and Design in Washington, DC, with a primary focus on studying abstract art, painting, and sculpture. It was an amazing experience. I loved my teachers. I’m still friends with a lot of them. And, they’ve been a tremendous influence in my life. In school, I also realized that I’m a colorist: I was really interested in color theory, playing with colors, and just discovering things about myself through my art. It’s a lifelong journey; it’s wonderful, it’s always exciting; never boring.

Artifactoid: How does owning a gallery and being a curator affect how you think about yourself as an artist?

MR: That’s a good question, because being in art administration actually taught me a lot, and I would say as a piece of advice, to many artists, once the painting or the work of art is done, think about the presentation: how you want people to see your art. Make sure that it’s framed properly, that it’s not falling off the wall, because it doesn’t matter if it’s a masterpiece or not: something that’s completely framed, something that doesn’t do the work justice, can absolutely kill the impression, so just be very cautious of that.

Artifactoid: What are some of the biggest changes you’ve noticed in the art world throughout your career, and where do you see it headed?

MR: Here in New York, I’ve noticed a shift in where the galleries are located. Over a period of six years, I noticed a move from Chelsea to the Lower East Side and East Village, and also from Williamsburg to Bushwick. Bushwick is a fun, exciting art scene. It’s really interesting to be a part of the dynamic here, just seeing that it’s not static, that it’s constantly evolving and moving — trying to predict those trends is pretty exciting in itself.

Interestingly enough, speaking of the changes in the art world, as I mentioned I do a lot of international art fairs, and going to Asia, and seeing the Chinese art market, is always particularly interesting because it changes every year. I’m really happy to see that there are more and more people that are interested in and appreciative of abstract art now than there used to be six years ago. Six years ago, it was mostly realism and something that people could relate to on a daily basis. Now, to see that people can relate to western abstract art in China is amazing because it tells you something about all the cultural exchanges that are going on the moment we speak on so many levels between all the countries.

Artifactoid: In what direction would you like to take Studio 26 in the future?

MR: There are a lot of ideas, and my assistants and I are brainstorming every day. We really like what’s happening with Studio 26 right now — that it’s actually a space for all genres of art, not just painting or sculpture. It’s also a space where poets, musicians, and performance artists can come in, test out their latest works, and get feedback in a very supportive environment. That’s really what we try to do as a gallery: be very supportive of our artists. But, we also have other ideas. We are going to launch several new projects, including two new gallery projects that will be marketed and branded under “Reiter Contemporary.” There are some interesting things in the works, so stay tuned!

Artifactoid: Finally, Studio 26 will be at this year’s Aqua art fair in Miami as a part of Art Basel Miami week. Tell us a bit about what you are preparing for the show.

MR: This year we are participating in Aqua Art Miami during the Miami Art Basel week. It’s very exciting. I love art fairs: the people they bring, the reception…everything that goes into that art fair is an amazing experience. I’ve always been a huge fan, and now that we are participating, we’re all super excited. We’re going to have a very interesting mix of painting and photography, and I won’t give you any details as of yet, it’s just going to be really amazing talented artists that we actually haven’t shown yet, so it’s something to discover!

Jung Uk Yang, DOOSAN Gallery

One of the things I love most about going to art galleries without knowing what’s showing is that it feels like I’m on a treasure hunt: behind any gallery door, there is the possibility of finding unique creative treasures that carry inspiration and ideas.

Recently in Chelsea, I found one of these treasures. I was walking down West 25^th street on a sunny Friday afternoon and popped into the DOOSAN gallery. The second I walked through the door, I was confronted by a dark, frantic, monotonous, anxious, yet simultaneously quirky and upbeat, piece of mechanical art installed directly on the gallery wall.

The work was created by Korean artist Jung Uk Yang as a part of the exhibition “A Man Without Words,” which was on view from July 9^th through August 27^th 2015. Per the gallery’s description, “A Man Without Words” encompassed Jung Uk’s reflections upon the everyday, simple things that would occur in both his life and the lives of the individuals around him who seemed to lead monotonous, repetitive lives.

For example, the piece, “A Fatigue Always Comes with a Dream,” (featured above and below) was created as a metaphor for the lives of apartment security guards in South Korea, who, “must stay awake until dawn while most people are asleep.” Jung Uk’s work is independently visually powerful, but the unusual story behind it makes it even more provocative than the visuals alone.

Through his work, Jung Uk provided me with an experience that ruptured the monotony of my life that day. He piqued my curiosity about DOOSAN, an incredible art space, as well. The DOOSAN Gallery New York is dedicated to the discovery of and support for young and emerging Korean artists. It also has a residency program. Its mission is to serve as a gateway to significant exposure and opportunities for the artists by nurturing their creativity and helping them share their work with a broader audience.

Learning about the South Korea-headquartered DOOSAN gallery and its mission in support of Korean creativity led me to think about it in contrast to a recent Huffington Post article I came across on my twitter feed titled, “North Korea’s Art Scene is Just as Mysterious as the Nation Itself.” In the article, writer Sara Boboltz notes that North Korea’s largest art institute, Mansudae, is government-run and is used “primarily to churn out work extolling the state’s leaders.” She concludes that, “For all the impressive skill of its talented pool of artists, artistic freedom in North Korea might only be an optimistic myth.”

It would be interesting to know what the DOOSAN gallery opines about this issue, especially within the context of the gallery’s mission to nurture the growth of Korean contemporary art. While Jung Uk Yang’s work is no longer currently on view at DOOSAN’s Chelsea space, I invite you to check out their current exhibition, Revelation, an equally inspiring solo installation featuring the work of artist Jungki Beak.

Sarah Charlesworth, The New Museum

At the New Museum installation, “Sarah Charlesworth: Doubleworld,” I came upon Charlesworth‘s emotionally gripping 1980 photograph series, “Stills.” It was the type of exhibit where the moment I walked into the room and realized what I was looking at, something inside my core sank.

For “Stills,” Charlesworth collected newspaper clippings of photos depicting various individuals falling or jumping off of tall structures, presumably to their deaths.* Charlesworth re-photographed and enlarged the clipped images to measure 6’6” in height. The result is that viewers experience the visuals at a size larger than their own physical bodies.

In the descriptions of each piece, the individuals depicted are identified with varying degrees of anonymity, depending upon the information that was available. They range in detail from completely unknown, i.e., “Unidentified man, Unidentified location,” to full name and location, i.e., “Patricia Crawlings, Los Angeles,” leaving viewers with infinite unanswered questions about each one.

For me, it was incredibly humbling to walk into a room surrounded by photographed portraits, larger than my physical body, which captured the last seconds of fourteen strangers’ lives. Their last breaths and the thoughts that were going through their minds during their final few seconds in the air live eternally inside these images.

It’s important to reiterate that Charlesworth didn’t take the original photographs herself. Her “photographing photos” technique for “Stills” wasn’t straightforward, and calls into question the definitions of “photographer” and “photography.” Upon looking into this further, I found out via a recent New York Times article that Charlesworth is known to be a part of the 1980s artist group dubbed, “The Pictures Generation.”** Per the article, “The Pictures Generation” is a loose title referring to a group of photo-based artists who gathered the imagery they worked with from the media. For reference, this group also includes other well-known artists Barbara Kruger, Jack Goldstein, Louise Lawler, Richard Prince, Sherrie Levine, Cindy Sherman, and Laurie Simmons.

Notes:

*For the entirety of this post, I assume that the falls/jumps depicted in “Stills” resulted in death.

**Charlesworth’s connection to “The Pictures Generation” is also mentioned at the New Museum.

Theresa Byrnes, TBG

I’m privileged to have spontaneously met Australian performance artist Theresa Byrnes a few weeks ago while strolling down East 9^th Street. What a remarkable person. I was walking home from an estate auction in Greenwich Village, and popped my head into what appeared to be an open gallery space called TBG (Theresa Byrnes Gallery). I entered the bright, colorful room, filled floor to ceiling with an abundance of kinetic paintings created by Theresa Byrnes and her mother and fellow artist Lorraine Byrnes.

Lorraine warmly welcomed me into the gallery. I felt like she was my mother, too! She and Theresa had recently debuted “Offspring,” their joint exhibition, with an opening reception that took place at TBG on July 30^th.

It wasn’t until I’d made my way to the back of the gallery that I met Theresa. She told me that the back portion of the space was her studio.

Theresa was one of the coolest-dressed people I’d seen all day. I immediately fell in love with her style and arresting smile. She was wearing a funky black hat, a pale pink punk-rocker style T-shirt, black jeans, and a set of badass red high-top kicks. Finally, there was her most unique accessory: her wheelchair.

Theresa and I spoke for close to an hour, getting to know each other. After reading more about her following our meeting, I found out that she has a degenerative disease called Friedrich’s ataxia, that causes progressive damage to the nervous system. I am incredibly inspired by how clear it is, from both meeting Theresa and reading about her, that she doesn’t allow the disease she lives with to define her or control her. She finds freedom in her work and nothing seems to hold her back from being her full, powerfully talented creative self. This fascinating article from The Villager can tell you a bit more about her story. I’m in awe of her.

Theresa’s infant son, Sparrow, was with her in the gallery space. I loved the way her passion came through so clearly when speaking about art, creating, and her son. Her palpable joy and refreshing attitude toward life and art made me feel happy.

I am pleased to share a preview of her piece, “Being Two,” shown below. I also invite you to watch this video interview, conducted with Theresa last year on ABC (Australia). It will give you a sneak peek of the amazing person and artist that I had the opportunity to meet face-to-face. Finally, I hope that if you’re planning to visit Alphabet City any time soon, you take a moment to stop by TBG at 616 East 9^th St. between Avenues B & C to check out her work.

Jack Pierson, Cheim & Read

Cheim & Read’s installation of Jack Pierson’s “onthisisland,” a collection of 150 small watercolor and graphite works on paper, was curated excellently.

I stepped into the gallery and wanted to stay there longer just because of how well the presentation and the work amplified each other in such a satisfying way. In the front room of the exhibition, the paintings and drawings were so clean, simple, elegant and fresh, that they required a display that echoed those elements throughout the room.

Mounted on “boxes” stretched tightly with natural-tone linen, the paintings and sketches were given the opportunity to invite viewers to contemplate their simplicity, and possibly even turn it on its head.

This sensation continued into the back room of the installation, where Pierson’s larger graphite drawings were on display.

These dark, striking, doodle-like drawings with seemingly surrealist and op-art influences commanded me to recognize their complexity. The below piece is one I’d like to spotlight in this post:

I’m a fan of this piece in particular because it brought a flood of questions to my head that I am grateful to have circulating in there, including:

Why do I look at something like this and think that there is more depth to it than a child’s doodle? Or is there not?
Or, does a child’s doodle have the potential to be deep, so there isn’t even a conflict with that comparison?
Also, am I thinking there’s something to this only because it’s galleried artwork? How much is the gallery’s affirmation of the art affecting my overall perception of it?
Was the placement, shape and size of the forms in the piece spontaneous or premeditated?
Does each have a meaning, meant to be decoded? Or do they each mean nothing?
It looks like the artist has disregarded many conventional rules of composition and drawing technique. To what extent is that true, and what does that mean?
Is this piece irreverent, or is it genius? Or both? Or neither?

I think that in conversations about art, works like this are generally controversial, because people really do wonder, why is this in a gallery or museum? Why or how does this piece display talent or have value? So, since I am fascinated and looking for more understanding, I’m looking forward to hopefully receiving some comments about this piece and this concept as a whole.

Albert Oehlen, The New Museum

I was inspired to think about technology and art at the New Museum’s current exhibition, “Albert Oehlen: Home and Garden.”

Albert Oehlen’s black and white computer paintings captured my attention once I noticed they were created in 1992. I think it’s interesting to see artwork with computer-generated imagery from nearly two and a half decades ago. While galleries and art fairs today are saturated with computer-generated imagery in various forms, Oehlen’s work inspires me to think about who preceded him in mixing digital art with “analog” art, who were some of his contemporaries in creating computer-generated art in the ‘90s, and which artists working with computer-generated art today consider Oehlen to be one of their important influences.

Here is an interesting New Yorker article, stating that this series that “deploys hectic designs created with primitive drawing software on a Texas Instruments computer made [Oehlen] the first significant artist to exploit, and incidentally to burlesque, the emergent lingua franca of computer graphics.”