9/29 GALLERY REVIEW 4:TRANS-EVOLUTION: EXAMINING BIO ART

Melding art with any other field like science is nothing new. This meshing has occurred in the past and with much controversy. Take Damien Hirst, for instance, and his collection of dead animals (cow, sheep and shark) all independently preserved in formaldehyde. Is it art? Is it science? Is it both? Is it neither? These similar questions come to mind with the Trans-Evolution exhibit “Examining Bio Art”. I ask myself how will this be different from Hirst’s attempt? What should I expect? Will it be revolting? My curiosity is peaked and I think I’ll turn this into another family affair. I can both expose my children to some culture and freak them out at the same time, thus, making my job as a parent complete...of course, I have to find the gallery first.


Alright, me and my cast of thousands (which amounts to four people total) manage to find CEPA and what I’m slowly realizing about floor plans is affecting my chi in a very negative way. What I’m seeing with regard to square footage (especially in the last two galleries) is that the spaces are chopped up and separated rooms apart, and, in some cases, floors apart. I understand that you have to make the best of what you have when you can but this piece mealing approach most definitely has to affect the experiential aspect of viewing the exhibits. I’m an advocate for historic preservation and sustainable adaptive design is always key (I’ll take an old structure with all its complications for its charm and history over a new one any day of the week) but, at the same token the “flow” of any space has to be taken into consideration. I liken cutting the flow of space to squelching an orgasm mid-climax…very frustrating. Alright, I’ve said my piece on that…moving on.

I was disappointed at the size of the exhibit. The number of the actual pieces on display was minuscule. Perhaps, I feel this way because I built it up to my kids and I built it up to myself as well. I was visually anticipating more all the way around and didn’t realize there would be soo much video involved. Digital media can be a great medium to work with artistically but, it’s not conducive to everything. Personally, due to the nature of this project in particular I don’t think it did it justice. I don’t want to see footage of a mouse with an ear growing on its back. I want to see the actual mouse so I can whisper sweet nothings into the ear that growing on its back. I don’t want watch the “leather” coat on some monitor. I want to inspect the “leather” coat one on one to determine if it has hair growing out of it. I want to scrutinize firsthand and come up with my own conclusions. After all, isn’t that the art of science?

9/29 READING REVIEW 4: DAVE HICKEY

Although I’m a child of the 70’s I really don’t relate to most people my age. I lived with my paternal grandparents in South Buffalo until the age of 7 and (seeing that our trio was as inseparable as the three amigos) I accompanied them on just about every outing. During the daylight hours these outings typically amounted to the one major pastime most active seniors are known for …visiting. These visits, more often than not, were broken down into three specific categories and were usually carried out in the following sequence: visiting the sick at home (before their frail bodies were thrown into a hospital bed), visiting the sick at the hospital (before their lifeless cadavers were thrown into a casket) and visiting the dead at the funeral home (before their rigored corpses were thrown into a hole in the ground). Morbid, yes, but, that’s just the way it was with my grandparents. As crazy as it may sound, if I went more than a few days without venturing for some “visiting” things just felt off. It was ingrained in me and had become a part of my daily routine.

Speaking of which, the evenings had their own routine. As if seeing off sick old people into the hereafter wasn’t entertaining enough, I was raised to believe that appropriate forms of night time recreation were comprised of two things: television and reading. The first option was divided into three acceptable classifications: cop shows like the Streets of San Francisco, variety shows such as the one hosted by Lola Falana, and situation comedies like Chico and the Man. (Yes, my grandparents were master couch potatoes and I was their couch potato protégé.) The second option, reading, was closely monitored by my grandmother. This was mostly due in part to my grandfather’s penchant for nudie girl magazines of which he was notorious for haphazardly stashing amongst the piles of “decent” publications they horded and kept stockpiled throughout the house. I say “decent” because in my grandma’s eyes even the sears catalog was considered to be lude and inappropriate and she, herself, often felt compelled to justify her possession of it by stating her profession (she was a seamstress) demanded she keep up with the trends.

I say all this not because I want you to take pity on me for living with two crazy people but, to justify why, at the ripe old age of 5 or 6, I turned to a life of crime for in the monotony of my life I had resorted to stealing unauthorized copies of REDBOOK, READERS DIGEST, LADIES HOME JOURNAL, THE BUFFALO NEWS and whatever else I could get my hands on. It was at this stage of my life that not knowing how to read taught me two things: (1) how to blame my grandpa for taking the publications when confronted by my grandma (why not? He was gonna get in trouble anyway), and, (2) how to appreciate the pictures when the words just didn’t makes sense.

It was during these desperate times that my attempts to find respite in something other than my grandparents’ weird obsession with death, celebrity and censorship that I fell upon my first series of Norman Rockwell images. I’m not all together sure if it was the POST or BOYS LIFE, but, whatever it was it affected me. Perhaps, the impact stemmed from it being my first exposure to normalcy…even though the people looked a little weird…they seemed to ooze this sense of everlasting joy of life. This gave me hope. I, too, would one day be just like one of those Rockwell characters. I would be a kid…with other kids…and it would be okay. Don’t get me wrong, my grandparents were great…very amusing but, looking at Rockwell’s work was magical for me. The draw of a wholesome happy everyday America resonated with me even though I hadn’t a clue who crafted the images at the time, nor did I care. 

Perhaps, it is this same everyday American magic that continues to keep me both nostalgic and hopeful. 


Thanks Norman.

9/22 GALLERY REVIEW 3: UB ART GALLERY / BLOW UP

Little did I know what I would encounter as I entered the UB Art Galley this past weekend. The artist on exhibition this assignment...Lyle Ashton Harris. The collection aptly titled "Blow Up" spans two decades of his work where the he not only challenges himself in terms of dealing with his own personal struggles by looking inward, but, he also focuses his camera lens outward to dissect the global issues of race, homosexuality and power।

There is no question that Harris is, by far, the most provocative artist this semester. I found his series of photographs to be both shockingly raw and poignantly revealing. The showstopper-eye-grabber-this-will-bring-them-in" installment, is, of course, "Billie". You don't have to be a jazz enthusiast to recognize the image of this music icon (even if it is a man in drag posing as Holiday). I thought this installation was not only beautiful but, a wise choice to place center stage. It got my attention and I found photographs possessed an authentic "vintage" appeal about them.

What I didn't like was that after spending time with "Billie" I turned the corner and really didn't know if I should stay to the left or right of the gallery. Eventually, after viewing "The Watering Hole" (a dark and very graphic pictorial that chronicles Jeffery Dahmers ghastly murders of homosexual men) in reverse....I realized that I was walking the back part of the gallery backwards. Perhaps it was because this was my first trip to this gallery but, I felt somewhat disoriented in the space.

After finding my bearings, I continued to view the balance of the exhibit (all the while checking to make sure I wasn't going in the wrong direction) and discovered that Harris likes to incorporate ethnic textiles (Ghanaian funerary Clothes) into his work as illustrated in two untitled pieces towards the back of the gallery. This played on my penchant for textiles and I spent lots of time admiring the juxtaposition of the glossy larger than life pieces which these ceremonial fabrics draped.

Combined, both upper and lower decks of the gallery offer a generous amount of space for creative installations if the gallery is showing a single artist. However, if the show calls for multiple artists to share....it's safe to say those who get the upper level will most certainly get the raw end of the deal . This second level of the gallery is much smaller and far too hidden from any real exposure to yield the adequate "face time" needed for an artist of any caliber.

9/22 READING REVIEW 3: ANDY WARHOL

I’m a little embarrassed to say that, aside from the face and the name, I know very little of Andy Warhol. The images that come to mind when I think of the man stem from mainstream medias’ caricature that depict him as a gaunt, pale, weird and moody artist. The images that come to mind when I think of the man’s work can be summed up with the mention of his three most famous pieces, Marilyn Monroe, Mickey Mouse and the Campbell’s Soup cans. I remember these images specifically from studying pop art in an art history class I took many moons ago. There. That’s the extent of my Warhol familiarity. 


When you think of what a pop art icon this man was (and still is) it really is quite surprising that this is all I know of dear old Andy. Just fragmented pieces of a seemingly bizarre man and his equally bizarre work.  However, when you stop and think, fragments are all we really know abou
t anything, anyplace and anybody। Just, little itty bitty pieces of a much bigger picture are what are usually disclosed to people by people, all the time। Whether done consciously or not, life’s more interesting (and meaningful) with the fragments left in than out। It’s these cracks that allow the light to seep into places that would otherwise be left in complete darkness and because of this I like fragments. They make us human. 
It’s because of this I like Andy.

And so, the fragments had made the decision for me, I would critique Warhol’s 1975 piece entitled The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (from A to B and Back again). To my enjoyment I discovered that I liked Andy’s writing style. It was down to earth and, although the man is dead, it made him seem real to me. He wrote as though he was just sharing his thoughts in conversation with a friend. It was obvious there were no pretenses, he was not trying to impress the masses, he wasn’t writing to win anybody over. He was just speaking his mind one thought after another humbly and with an undercurrent of vulnerability. Andy was just being…himself.

If it seems that (through writings that are decades old) I’ve “bonded” with a dead gay guy…perhaps I have. You see, most of what I read either made me laugh because I related to it too much (such as his philosophy on “leftovers” - I absolutely think the leftovers are the best part of any project. That’s where life happens). Or, because I discovered a new way of looking at something like work being this non-stop event that continues to go on even while in nocturnal slumber. (I never thought of it that way but, it probably explains why Zoloft is so popular these days.)


Bizarre, quirky, weird, artistic, moody, temperamental, call it what you may, at the end of the day Andy was just like the rest of us. A person. He had his demons and we each have ours.

9/15 READING REVIEW 2: RICHARD HUNTINGTON

I chose to write about Richard Huntingtons' Buffalo News article on Hallwalls. My draw to this piece should be obvious. My Museum Studies instructor is a Hallwalls curator and (strange as it may sound) even though I’m from Buffalo…I have never been to this gallery. So, anything that can provide a little background (until I actually get there) will help.

Another element about the piece that struck me was its humanity. The overall tone of the article was neither stuffy, nor pretentious…which is typically what I’d expect from an art critic. However, Huntingtons’ approach to this editorial was different. It was, dare I say, accessible and provided a back-story to a place and time that I’ve only heard and read about.

What of the commentary itself, you ask? Reading further into it I realize the link between this post and my first post which focused on the never ending state of change in the art world. That’s when I made the connection. It all boils down to the same thing...defining art. The details of the arguments may change but, the premise is the same. The abstraction of art makes it difficult to contain within parameters of finite boundaries. Yes, Huntington colorfully chronicles personal experiences where he drops names, reveals the “seduction” that ultimately leads to the dreaded “consumerism” and admits that he, too, had somehow gotten caught up in this quest to “de-valorize” high culture and free art from the bondage of distinction.

Yet, still, we are faced with the prevailing question…What is art?

9/15 GALLERY REVIEW 2: BAS / THOMPSON & SCHIRM

My trip to Buffalos’ Tri-Main building this past Friday proved to be an experience. Up until that afternoon I had never set foot on the fifth floor of that edifice. To my pleasant surprise I found the entire level is dedicated to the arts in some way, shape or form. Amidst the numerous suites, Buffalo Arts Studio is one tenant whose space is reserved for both art appreciation and art creation. Currently BAS is showing artwork by two artists, David Schirm, a painter, and Justin Randolph Thompson, a sculptor.

From point of entry to the studio my immediate observation was that the actual physical space seemed much smaller than I had anticipated looking in from the hallway. Once in, it became clear that the show would commence with Thompsons’ sculptures being used as “bait” to lure the viewer (me) into the space and culminate with Schirm’s paintings set in a near by, but, distinctly separate area. Even before the artwork could be taken in (individually, or, collectively), I knew that although the exhibits shared the same space they were to be viewed in separate environments. This deliberate placement meant something. It implied, to me, at least, that while the installations shared certain elements (such as the frailty and resiliency of human life) they were other elements that set them apart (such as size, scale, color, medium, ect.) which made showcasing them “somewhat” individually an option.

Personally, I was drawn more to Thompsons’ “Maybe it runs in the Family” installation compiled of quilted sculptures than to Schirm’s “From then Until Now” oil painting series. It could be that given my fashion design and interior decorating background I just gravitate towards all things textural but, I have a notion that may play a small part. I’m all about how things make me feel and the Palms seemed to exude this overall sense of “oasis”. I found them to be introspectively calming and kept returning to that part of the studio to admire, reflect and enjoy. While Schirms’ abstract renderings appeared anxious and radiated an apocalyptic tone from which I sensed there was no escape. I’m not altogether sure if this was the intent of either artist but what I am certain of is that each installation yielded very human responses.

Palms Series: "maybe it runs in the family"
2008

Justin Randolph Thompson
Buffalo Art Studio
Buffalo, NY

"from then until now"

2008

David Schirm

Buffalo Art Studio
Buffalo, New York

9/8 READING REVIEW 1: HAROLD ROSENBERG

It seems as though since the dawn of recorded history someone has always had something to say about art. Energetic commentary seems to hurl forth from every direction from unknowns, such as myself who originally thought didn’t know enough to even have an opinion on art, to noted individuals who have spent years cultivating an eye for great work, a mind for profound analysis and a language for opinionated criticism. T.S. Eliot, Tristan Tzara, Harold Rosenberg on through Marcel Duchamp, Peter Schjeldahl and Peter Plagens have each had their turn to passionately expound on issues they feel relevant to the art world, and, rightfully so. Why shouldn’t they have an opinion? After all, this is their work. Their chosen profession. In some cases, their lives. 


What strikes me, however, is that even though they may each spew out good points to solidify their arguments for, or, against any given issue, it’s the common denominator hidden within the debates that gets me. Now, granted I’ve been out of the art circle for quite some time now but, I think my fresh eyes have observed a pattern that has been weaving itself into a tapestry of some sort. You see, I have stood back and taken a look at all the readings I’ve done in the last two weeks, not only for this class, but for 3 other art history courses, and they’re all saying the same thing in different ways. With every turn of a page the words practically scream “Art is changing”…and, it is.

The definition of art is evolving (or de-evolving depending on who you’re talking to)…the point is its not the same today as it was, let’s say, 15, 10, heck, even 5 years ago, and because of that the content of art history is changing and because of that the function of art criticism is changing and because of that the role of art analysis is changing and so on, and so on. See where I’m going with this? It is a continuous cycle that all starts with the practice of art itself. No fears, folks, art is not ever going away; however, it will never just resign itself to simply being a stagnant cesspool of the same ‘ole, same ‘ole. It couldn’t even it wanted to, by virtue of its purpose alone (to reflect) art will forever be in a constant state of flux compelling whatever it touches into transformation. It is this force of energy we call life that will keep art alive.

The question is…Can we deal it?

9/8 GALLERY REVIEW 1: AKAG / OP ART REVISITED

Picture it. It’s a balmy Friday night on the east side of Buffalo. My family and I have just finished off the last bits of a homemade meal fit for royalty. Our bellies are full, the night is still young and, as luck would have it, our social calendars seem to be free. Sitting at the table before empty dinner plates my nine year old son, Shayne, bellows, “What now, mom? I’m bored!” Next, my twelve year old, Sam, exclaims, “Me too, there’s nothing to do.” As I sit there, patiently, waiting for my husband to have his say, I realize there’s silence. I think to myself, “What? This man is not talking? He isn’t uttering a word of reprimand to these children of ours. Is he dead?” Then, it occurs to me, “This is a good thing.” Little did they know, my husbands’ quiescence provided a prime opportunity for me to trade in our old “ritual” of a frozen treats at the local ice creamery for a new one of artistic culture at the Albright-Knox, but, I had to act fast. 


So, without much thought, I emphatically squealed, “Why don’t we go to the art gallery? It’s free!” (Okay it was only free for the kids, but, free is a good word, and, that’s all it took. I had my husband hook, line and sinker….the boys, well; they had no choice, but, to tag along.)

As we entered the gallery I informed my family that of the many priceless exhibits showcased in this historic site, our prime target was the Op Art Revisited Exhibition. It was at this time, both my boys turned to me and, in unison, inquired “What’s Op Art?” I had to stop and think…”How do I explain Op Art to kids?” So, I answered as best I could, “It’s a style of art that creates an optical illusion. It looks like its moving when it’s really standing still. It’s fun!” (Fun. That’s another good word, and, just like their dad, they bought it hook, line and sinker. Mommy’s two for two.)

It was about 30 minutes after unleashing the almost demented enthusiasm of my children into the sea of more civilized gallery patrons, I had my first realization…they really are having fun. How could they not? The art is interactive and draws the viewer in. Unbeknownst to the spectator, they become apart of the piece. It is a performance of sorts, comprised of the artist, the artwork and the observer…each of whom have their role to play. Then came another awakening, art doesn’t have to be stuffy or static or serious to be of significance…to have a voice...to make a point or to get your attention. It can be humorous, and whimsical and fanciful and fun and (somewhat) free and still be heard (which, in the case of the Op Art or Optical Art, would be to stress the relationship between form and function).

The exhibition had done its job. The art was experienced rather than just looked at, my family was entertained in refreshing new way and I was educated on a number of levels. When all was said and done, the dual mission of completing an assignment and finding a refreshing reprieve from the monotony of the usual had been accomplished.

Not bad for "fun" and "free".

*Post Script: Below are some of our favorite pieces. Check them out.


Victor Vasarely, French, born Hungary 1908
Vega-nor, 1969
Oil on Canvas





























Phillp Taaffe, American, 1955
Locus Auratus, 2006
Mixed Media on Canvas