Friday, September 4, 2015
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Shigeko Kubota, Video Sculptor, Dies at 77
See the obituary in The New York Times.
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/28/arts/design/shigeko-kubota-a-creator-of-video-sculptures-dies-at-77.html?_r=0
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/28/arts/design/shigeko-kubota-a-creator-of-video-sculptures-dies-at-77.html?_r=0
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
"By This River", curated by Michael Solway, reviewed by Steven Rosen in Cincinnati City Beat
http://citybeat.com/cincinnati/article-33140-diving_in.html
Weston exhibit ‘By This
River’ makes a splash
By This River,
the new group show curated by Michael Solway at downtown’s Weston Gallery
through Aug. 30, is as refreshingly clear in its concept and intent as a
sparkling mountain stream. It has the added benefit of offering much excellent
work, including several pieces by an artist associated with the 1960s Fluxus
movement who is now enjoying a rediscovery, Ben Patterson.
I should first say I have grown perplexed with the intellectual
complexity of some group shows in which the relationship of the work to the
exhibit’s theme needs long curatorial explanation because it isn’t evident in
what we see. It’s the artistic equivalent of writing in code. Yet, at the same
time, I’ve grown bored with shows having simpler, broader themes — they often
are banal and unchallenging.
By This River strikes
just the right balance. It has an active and thoughtful curatorial voice. Its
theme is about how we long to live close to bodies of water and the effect that
desire has on us — and nature. That has intellectual depth, yet you get it just
by looking at it. And you get more of it the longer you spend with individual
pieces.
The idea for By This River, which features six
artists, goes back to 2006 when Solway had his own gallery (with wife Angela
Jones) in Los Angeles and discussed rivers with Patterson, who was born in
Pittsburgh. (Solway is now the director of Carl Solway Gallery, which his
father founded.)
Los Angeles is a great place to think about urban rivers,
because the trickling, concrete-sided Los Angeles River is both a civic joke
and the goal of dreamers seeking restoration. If only they had more
water.
Patterson provided this show with five pieces, several of which
date at least in part to 2006, and one is much older. Two in particular stand
out. His “Los Angeles River Concrete Poem,” which is large enough and in enough
sections to be considered a sculptural installation, is both witty and poignant.
Five wooden support barriers each support a cast-concrete slab through which a
channel of water trickles (and then is recycled from pumps and hoses in
overhanging cups).
There are three large inflatable palm trees between these wooden
barriers, recalling Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees,” and you smile at
Patterson’s parodying of this city’s alleged river.
Except it’s deeper than that.
Each of the separate
sections Patterson has created corresponds to a section of the river itself —
Sepulveda Basin/Balboa, Downtown, Estuary and more. And accompanying each are
clipboards with laminated digital photographs showing material Patterson found
at the river, presumably from the corresponding section. There are lovely
plants and flowers, but also litter and garish graffiti.
On each concrete slab itself, Patterson has inscribed words
whose appeal is not necessarily in their meaning but rather in the way they
look or sound when spoken aloud. These are examples of “concrete poetry,” a
form that sees the artistic possibilities in words as pure objects.
Besides the gentle “concrete” pun, there is a message here to
the viewer: Look at things in a new way; see the possibilities in everything,
including the Los Angeles River. As a notice by the clipboards tells us: “Poetry
is where you find it: Search for sources here.”
Another of Patterson’s works, “Pond,” is primarily a set design
for performance (he gave a very short one there on opening night). But it works
as Minimalism, too — an art movement that didn’t really exist when Patterson
first devised “Pond” in 1962.
Blue tape delineates a 72-by-72-inch grid on the Weston’s
upper-level floor; several mechanical toy frogs populate the individual
squares. Step back from it a little and you can feel the presence of an actual
pond.
By dint of his status, Patterson is By This River’s lead
artist. But my favorite works are by Jacci Den Hartog, a Los Angeles-based
artist who has shown at Solway Jones. She creates magical illusions of
dimensionality in her drawings and watercolors and especially in her
wall-attached sculptures of flowing, cascading water.
The two sculptural pieces are the most impressive — they are, of
course, three-dimensional in actuality, but they seem so forcefully
full-bodied, so forward-moving, that you can almost feel their spray. In 2008’s
“Coming Down” and 2008-2009’s “Day Hike,” she has used acrylic paint on
polymerized clay to conjure stretches of running water.
Jutting from the gallery walls (but attached at crucial, subtle
points to bear the load), they remind of Roy Lichtenstein’s Brushstroke sculptures,
but also invoke nature as much as Contemporary-art comparables.
Of the two Den Hartog pieces, I prefer “Day Hike,” as it is like
a piece of blue river with no obvious beginning or end. It just comes out of
the wall and goes back into it, presumably to renew itself.
Also noteworthy are San Francisco artist Jim Campbell’s two
transfixing, low-res video artworks, “Divide” and “Untitled (Birds),” and
Pasadena-based Steve Roden’s puckish “touch strings seep sleep pluck,” a 2015
two-channel video work in which guitar strings appear stretched across old
photographs of the Ohio River. A visible hand pulls at them to create sounds.
It’s a form of river music very different from a steam calliope.
Roden’s other pieces didn’t move me as much, and the UV-coated
prints of New Haven-based marine photographer Gregory Thorp’s “Ohio River
Series” look slick.
How much time should you spend with By This River? You
can spend long enough to watch salt crystalize, which is what happens in New
York artist Dove Bradshaw’s “Negative Ions II,” a new iteration of a time-based
piece she first showed in Copenhagen in 1996.
Here, 1,070 pounds of salt — from a mine on Avery Island, La. —
form a Hershey’s Kiss-shaped pile on the floor of the gallery’s lower entryway.
Suspended above it is a funnel that slowly drips water down onto its
peak.
Over time, this process allows for a crystalized core, thus
changing the physical properties of this half-ton mass in a slow, insistent
way, like water carves out rock and hillsides to form canyons and river
valleys.
By This River allows
all sorts of opportunities to think about our relationship to water, while also
providing art to spend time admiring.
BY THIS RIVER continues
through Aug. 30 at Weston Art Gallery inside the Aronoff Center for the Arts
downtown. More info:westonartgallery.com.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
By This River Exhibition Curated by Michael Solway for the Weston Art Gallery
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Friday, June 5, 2015
Joan Snyder's Exhibition at Franklin Parrasch Gallery Reviewed in The Brooklyn Rail

![]() Really, 2015 oil, acrylic, paper mache, pastel, paper, mud, graphite, and glitter on canvas 36 x 120 inches |
JOAN SNYDER Sub Rosa by Hovey Brock June 3, 2015 Franklin Parrasch Gallery | May 9 – June 20, 2015
Joan Snyder’s current exhibition takes its title from the ancient Roman code of party decorum, where the image of a rose on the banquet hall ceiling functioned as an emblem of confidentiality reminding merrymakers to keep secret the indiscretions made by tongues unhinged by wine—not unlike “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Juicy roses of paint, a recurring theme in Snyder’s work over decades, appear in the current show, as do references to grief, rage, and other powerful emotions. In the catalogue essay, Snyder makes frequent references to the grieving process, with allusions to the Kaddish, and a pungent quote from Proust on the paradoxical evanescence of grief. The rich metaphorical matrix of the rose as image, the poetry of the inscriptions on the paintings, as well as Snyder’s mastery of collage materials, surface, scale, color, and mark-making add up to a rare experience of unmistakable power and, yes, beauty.
Snyder has always painted in the first person, which made her paintings so remarkable, revolutionary even, when she began to emerge in the late ’60s. Abstract paintings that conveyed a personal point of view, grounded in everyday life, seemed unthinkable at the time, and amazingly, still do to many. In the late ’70s a painting teacher of mine dismissed Snyder’s paintings as “menses,” referring no doubt to her overt feminist content. Yet it is precisely this sensibility grounded in life as it is lived, rather than in some theoretical construct, that gives her work such authority. Over a long career she has painstakingly developed a personal iconography that distills her experience. In this exhibition of paintings from the last two years, roses of one form or another appear in seven out of the eight paintings. The rose iconography fans out, as all living metaphors should, to cover a range of associations. As the notes to “Symphony VII” (2014) in the catalogue show, Snyder lays out on a grid a series of “roses” across the top of the canvas, suggesting, in her words, a symphonic structure of theme and variations. Built of papier-mâché and acrylic modeling paste, each rose is a pulsating gesture whose material intensity and rich color push at the boundary of its container. There is a Dionysian intensity to the application of the paint and modeling materials that form the roses as well as the lines and dashes—harkening back to earlier iconographic tropes—that underscore the roses along the top row. Beneath the lines and dashes, Snyder has placed dried flowers and stems of plants covered over by a honey-colored resin. In the lower right corner floats the ghost of a rose, a pastel drawing on a sheet of silk. The mood this rose projects is elegiac, in sharp contrast to the vibrant roses along the top row. In “Symphony VII” Snyder appears to set up a narrative referring to burying the dead, grief, and remembrance. One of the features of the work that gives it such impact is the tension between the formal rigor of the design and the openness of the facture. Where “Symphony VII” contrasts the worlds of the living and the dead, “Really” (2015) talks about those acts that separate the living. A central spasmodic gesture in blue paint stick anchors the center of the painting’s ten-foot span. Just to the right of the gesture the inscription “of fatal consequence of rage” appears in charcoal, a phrase evidently lifted from the music Snyder was listening to when she was working on the painting. Snyder tells in the catalogue how she also wrote “you’re fucking kidding me,” to her partner’s “dismay.” Evidently she painted over that phrase, although the word “really” does appear a few times at various scales. The work has a clear musical reference in its frieze-like structure, as if Snyder were reproducing a sequence of sounds as a series of gestures. Music as a theme makes sense with these paintings, given its potential to magnify the emotions, or even to unlock repressed feelings. One of the most powerful pieces in the show is “Winter Rose” (2013). It has a stark vertical structure: a huge dark brooding rose occupies the upper third of the painting. Floating uneasily along the bottom quarter of the canvas is another much smaller rose, a child to an overbearing parent. The beautifully modulated cream-colored gulf that separates them is flecked with pale dashes of light green. Just above the child rose floats a dark violet dash, evidently separated from all the other dark violet dashes that encircle and isolate the parent rose up top. No reproduction can do justice to the sumptuousness of the color scheme. Here Snyder is at the height of her powers as a painter capable of conjuring a world of subjective experience with just a few simple elements. The title itself suggests an emotional winter—a frozen standoff between two alienated parties, the parent and the child. Following the original meaning of “sub rosa,” there is much in this show that remains unsaid. Snyder never mentions in the catalogue for what or for whom she grieves. Indeed, she begins it with the impossibility of communication: “How often have I felt when speaking with others that we only scratch the surface of what’s truly meant and felt?” The paintings clearly bear witness to this Sisyphean task to try to communicate more fully when language fails, as it always does. The crux of Snyder’s accomplishment is finding joy in the very act of rolling the boulder back up the hill. This work invites us to the banquet of loss, misunderstanding, and all the things that come between us and the ones we love most—the inevitable passage she refers to in the catalogue, when the rose moves from Aphrodite to Eros, and then to Harpocrates, the god of silence.
Joan Snyder: Sub Rosa is on view through June 20, 2015 at Franklin Parrasch Gallery, 53 East 64th Street, New York. For further information, please contact the gallery during business hours, Tuesday-Saturday 10a-6p, at 212-246-5360, or atinfo@franklinparrasch.com.
53 e 64th st, ny, ny 10065 t 212-246-5360 f 646-429-8770 Franklin Parrasch Gallery info@franklinparrasch.com www.franklinparrasch.com |
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Photographs by John Coplans in Group Exhibition at Jarla Partilager, Berlin
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