Stayin' Alive: The Auction at Metaphor

The installation clockwise from the front door. Here there are works by Stephanie Brody Lederman, Tim McDowell, Mary Judge, Cecile Chong, Julie Gross and others

The pictures you see here are from the Stayin' Alive auction at Metaphor Contemporary Art in Brooklyn. The auction, which benefits the exhibition program at the gallery during these hardscrabble economic times, features the work of many artists who have been involved with the gallery.

First, a disclaimer: I've donated work to the show.
(While I'm not generally a fan of donating art--too many artists get tapped far too often--I am a believer in supporting a few events and causes. This is one of them.)

Second, a comment: I want them all!
OK, so that's not going to happen, but I have been bidding, and so have others. As I understand it--and the auction site will explain it better than I, after the online bidding closes, there will be a live auction on Tuesday night, at which time--I think--work will be taken home by the lucky winning bidders.

I talked about this project a month ago in the context of other galleries that have come up with interesting, and often interactive, ways to keep their doors open. The installation pictures you see here are shown clockwise from the front door, starting from the image above that opens the post.

Tell me: is this not a fabulous installation? Artists are identified on the auction website. Here there are works by Loren Munk, Matthew Deleget, Julian Jackson (a co-owner of the gallery, with Rene Lynch), and Gabriele Evertz. Can you find my small square red painting in the picture above?

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As we swing around visually, the wall with the blue and green work, below, faces you as you walk in. Here there are works by Rene Lynch, Ward Jackson, Margaret Neill and Gabe Brown

Continuing around, we come to the black and white wall with works by, among others, Kate Beck and Marietta Hoferer. OK, so I'm noting all the artists whose work I want
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Two views of the Project Space up on the mezzanine. Above, tooking toward the front of the gallery. Below, looking in the opposite direction

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Paper: Pressed, Stained, Slashed, Folded at MoMA, Part 1

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The works-on-paper gallery on the second floor of the Museum of Modern Art is one of the museum's best-kept secrets. Not that it's hidden or that people don't go into it, but compared to the hordes that visit the higher-profile spaces, this is a quiet oasis in which to contemplate work that is typically quieter and smaller than elsewhere in the building.

Above: Entrance to the exhibition

The exhibitions, often organized by Starr Figura, a curator in the Prints and Drawings department, are always good. (A while back I did a four-part report on Geo/Metric, another impressive exhibition curated by Figura, with Kathleen Curry, and which included the Dorothea Rockburne folded prints that are in this show. ) Because all the work is in the museum's collection, photography is allowed.

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This time the exhibition looks at the materiality of paper. The title spells out the curatorial parameters: Paper: Pressed, Stained, Slashed, Folded. Well, that's not exactly true; it's also ripped, pinned, crumpled, punched, printed, stitched, embedded and handmade. But you get the picture. There are papier mache cylinders by Eva Hesse, a mid-size graphite assemblage by Nancy Rubins that's pushpinned to the wall, the surprise of a crumpled sheet of ink-stained paper by Claes Oldenburg, and a whole lot more. Much of the work is from the 1960s and 70s, so I suppose it officially qualifies as "art history."

The exhibition is up until June 22, so you have time to see it if you're so inclined. If you can't, an interactive flash site shows you more work than I can show you here, often with closeups but without the installation shots. (By the way, am I the only person who hates MoMA's new website? I find it to have entirely too much Flash--too many bells, whistles, graphics, and boxes, changing images, drop-downs and pop-ups.)

Let's start in the anteroom with Robert Rauschenberg, then peek into the large first gallery. After we've made a tour of the room, we'll return to the anteroom to see wortk by Tapies and LeWitt.

In the anteroom: Robert Rauschenberg, Cardbird Series, 1971, photolithograph and screenprint on corrugated cardboard with tape additions, app. 26 x 27 inches
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Far wall, from left: Richard Smith, image and info below; Dorothea Rockburne, Locus, 1972, series of six relief etching and aquatints on folded paper, each app. 40 x 30 inches.

On platform, above: Eva Hesse, Repetition Nineteen 1, 1967, paint and papier-mache on aluminum screening, each app. 9 to 10.5 high and 6 to 9 inches diameter

Below: Richard Smith, Diary, 1975, screenprint on seven sheets with punched-hole additions and string, each app. 20 x 21 inches

Another view of Rockburne's Locus and Hesse's Repetition Nineteen 1 . . .


. . . and details of each

Moving around the gallery, to the right of the Rockburnes is Giuseppe Penone, Fingernail Scratches (Unghiate), 1986, plaster on four sheets of torn paper, 55 x 79 inches total, with the work isolated below

As you face this work by Penone, on the wall past your right shoulder is the work below:

Sol LeWitt, Untitled, 1974, folded paper with pencil, 14 x 14 inches plus frame

Back in the anteroom just to the right of the Rauschenberg, is Anular, an illustrated book with 23 etchings, by the Catalan painter Antoni Tapies

Details are below and below that

In Part 2, which I'll post soon, we'll look into the smaller galleries. I have a lot more to show you, including my favorite work in the show--by Howardena Pindell. .

Batter Up

I'm not big on waffles, but I brake for grids, so this solo show by Martha Friedman at Wall Space Gallery on West 27th Street stopped me short. Called The Organization of Batter, it features gridded forms in cast paper (from actual waffle irons, I think) , cast rubber and carved marble. Aunt Jemima on steroids. Mmmm. Pass that conceptual syrup. The show is up through this Saturday, May 19.

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Cast paper, individual work above, from the installation below (Sorry, I can't give you more about each work. I didn't take notes, and the gallery's website doesn't have info.)

The large works are cast rubber. I love how the grid emerges out of virtual nothingness. It's almost religious (and I say this as a waffle atheist).
The smaller, more fully dimensional forms are carved marble. Better shot below:

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Marketing Mondays: Are There Too Many Artists?

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On last week's post about the M.F.A. , a commenter asked this question: Are there too many artists?

My kneejerk response: It's not that there are too many artists, but that there are not enough galleries.

Image from Ionarts taken by Mark, at Metro Pictures during Postcards From the Edge

True, the art schools are cranking out artists with B.F.A. degrees. And when those B.F.A.ers can't find galleries or reasonable employment, many go back to school for an M.F.A. Then not only do we have unrepresented artists, we have overqualified unemployment.

But looking more deeply, I think it's valid to assume that not every person who goes to art school will become an artist. Many gallery owners and directors have studied art. The same is true for critics and arts writers; curators (independent and regularly employed); as well as consultants and private dealers. Collectors, too. We operate along a continuum, from the folks who make the art to those who show and sell it, to those to acquire it for their homes, businesses and museums. All of those eyes and brains have gotten an art education, even if they didn't end up as artists.

And not every artist will go after New York gallery representation, or big-city gallery representation, or commercial gallery representation, period. There are many artists who are happily showing in co-op venues or in non-profits or who, while unshown in New York, have solid regional careers. There are artists who run studio/galleries, tyically in summer-resort or winter-vacation areas. There are artists, often academically employed, whose careers revolve around solo (and catalogued) exhibitions in regional museums and academic galleries. Still others fold artmaking into a life lived fully and creatively away from the conventional venues and scenes.

While I think it's true there are more artists than will ever find the kind of representation they want, there are never too many artists. We're resiliant, inventive and entrepreneurial. If we can't find a place for ourselves, we invent one, carve one out, will one into existence. That's my take, anyway.

What about you? Do you think there are too many artists?
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Women in Print

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The Susan Sheehan Gallery in Chelsea specializes in prints. The recent Women in Print show was focused on the work of well-known women painters, and some sculptors, who are also known for their prints. The bad news: The show is over and the gallery website doesn't have a visual record of it. The good news: I do, and I have some installation images to share with you.

Let's peek in:

A view into the gallery

Three counterclockwise from right: Polly Apfelbaum, Lover's Leap, 2007, multicolor woodblock print (edition of 35: $15,000); Kate Shepherd, Imagined Evening Day, Blue Brick Stage, 2004, silkscreen (edition of 45: $2300); Karen Davie, Indivisibles #1, 2007, inkjet pigment print (edition of 35: $3900)

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Note: I'm including the prices because I think it's interesting to see how they range among artists, and in relation to the edition number.

Continuing down the long wall

Mary Heilman, top: All Night Movie, 1991, etching on handmade paper (edition of 30: $1850) and Mint Print, 1998, etching (edition of 40: $3600); Susan McClelland, Mr. Man, 2001, intaglio in two colors (edition of 23: $2950); Joanne Greenbaum, Twizzler, 2008, etching and aquatint (edition of 12: $3150)

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Pat Steir, Silver Waterfall, five-color screenprint, and Wolf Waterfall, two-color screenprint, both 2001 (each, edition of 35: $5800)

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Below

Agnes Martin, On a Clear Day, 1973, portfolio of 30 screenprints (edition of 50 + proofs: $165,000)

In the second gallery

Louise Bourgeois, Autobiographical Series, 1994, portfolio of 14 etchings with aquatint and drypoint (edition of 35+ 10 APs: $50,000)

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Back in the first gallery, swinging around to the left wall

Counterclockwise: Elizabeth Murray, Shoe String, 1993, three-dimensional lithograph (edition of 70+proofs: $10,000); Lee Bontecou,Untitled, 1967, etching (edition of 144+proofs: $4500); two by Joan Mitchell, top: Untitled (Purple, Gray, Black, White), 1959 and Untitled (Black, Crimson), 1959-60, both color silkscreen (each edition of two printers proofs: $3500); Helen Frankenthaler, East and Beyond, 1973, woodcut (edition of 18: $75,000). Additionally, but difficult to see: Lee Krasner and Grace Hartigan

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By the way, don't even think of asking "Where are the men's art shows." I have no intention of getting pulled into that discussion, though I realize that unrepresented males probably feel similarly disenfranchised (until they get their gallery). Suffice it to say that here in the 21st Century, the artist pyramid which starts in art school with more female students ends in the New York galleries with far more men being shows and represented. Actually, in the galleries, it's more like a ziggurat. The real pyramid is in the museums.

Go, women!

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Milhazes in the Window

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Lately it seems as if the James Cohan Gallery is showing all Milhazes all the time. I'm not complaining. The work is joyful and visually intoxicating. I tried to photograph the installation in the small window-facing gallery, but some guy with a giant head was chatting up a collector type--blah, blah, blah--and they just wouldn't budge from their spot in front of the work. So I shot above their heads to get the two pics you see here.



Then I went to the gallery website and found a nice installation shot, which I have taken the liberty of reproducing here. I guess more than anything else I've seen in the past few weeks, this work personifies the new season--well, the season that arrived but has been in hiding for the past few days. Spring!

Gamboa, 2008, iron and mixed media, 27.6 in tall x 45.7 in diameter
Image from the gallery website

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Marketing Mondays: The M.F.A.

We're entering graduation month, so it seems appropriate to ask: When did the M.F.A. become so important? And to whom, exactly, is it important?

Colloquially known as "More Fucking Artists," the Master of Fine Arts degree has become--depending on your point of view:
. essential for a career as an exhibiting artist
. a way to avoid the pressure of showing art in the real world
. an invaluable educational experience
. a colossal waste of money
. network central
. a clique with you on the outside
. the best thing you could do for your career
. a debt that virtually assures you'll never be able to buy a home

The days are gone—and they were few to begin with—when dealers would swoop into the M.F.A. studios of a big-city institution, select a student and then create a career for her, or more likely, him.

If you want to teach, yes, the M.F.A. is essential. But consider this: If every M.F.A. graduate expects to teach, there will need to be more and more students—an educational Ponzi pyramid. Think you're going to get a cushy job in a major city? Think again. Unless you have a great career already, your options will be limited to universities in Podunk, Wahoo, and Boondock Corners. OK, that's extreme, but don't plan on teaching in New York, OK? And once you get tenure in Podunk, you're cemented in there.

As for dealers, when I ask how important this terminal degree is when they're considering an artist, every one I have spoken to says, in almost these exact words: "It's about the work." Daniel, a Chelsea dealer, says unequivocally that it makes "no difference." Edward, also a Chelsea dealer, qualifies his "no difference" with the comment that, "It shows me an artist is serious about his/her career." In other words, an M.F.A. might enhance your chances if you have a chance to begin with. Might.

I want to hear from all you artists out there, but in this post I though I would talk to two painters who are also dealers. Both Miles Conrad and Kathleen O'Hara can address the topic in a way that few others can.

Miles Conrad, a partner in the Conrad Wilde Gallery in Tucson, has a newly minted M.F.A. from the San Francisco Art Institute. Here's what he has to say:
. "As an artist, it was a grueling and vulnerable experience that was absolutely necessary for me to undertake in order to move my work forward. I learned a lot about myself in the process and my work has evolved. "
. "As a gallery director/curator I am most impressed by strong, coherent work from any source. An M.F.A. is not part of our criteria when evaluating work, but we do consider those factors when making hard decisions and distinctions among equally strong candidates."

Kathleen O'Hara, a partner in the OHT Gallery in Boston, says, "The two years I spent in graduate school were a pivotal phase in my life."
. As an artist: "I think it varies from artist to artist, but for me the process of earning my M.F.A. confirmed my commitment to being a professional artist/curator. Having few expectations other than that I would be provided the opportunity to work in depth with good people, helped. Two years of working in a studio environment with fellow students and faculty artists seemed like a dream come true for me, since I had been out of school for a couple of years working 9-5 for a commercial printer."
. As a dealer: "As co-director at OHT, I agree that it's all about the work. But I also have to say that the overwhelming majority of our artists have an MFA or BFA degree...."

If you're in an M.F.A. program for the opportunity to grow as an artist in a supportive environment, you'd better make sure you pick a school that will support you. If the institution is all about new media and you're a painter, oops, bad choice. (This is the situation my friend J encountered, but she stuck it out because she needed that degree to keep her job.) If what you want is to eventually support yourself through the sale of your art or if you're a woman, better make sure you won't be dealing with old-school professors who believe that selling well means selling out, or that women don't "deserve" the same career as men. (Yes, they're still out there.) Ask around. Choose wisely.

In the interest of transparency, I have an M.A. in Visual Arts from Goddard College. I got it when the terminal degree was less important than it is now. It was a low-residency program, which allowed me to continue working to support myself. Perhaps for that reason, I have not found it nearly as helpful as my own hard work. It's important to note that I'm not interested in academia as a career (though I love the professional development course I teach—one, I might add, that has nothing to do with a degree and everything to do with actual experience).

So what about you: Do you have an M.F.A? Was it worth the time and expense? Has it helped you? If you don't have one, do you feel held back by the lack of the degree? If you're a dealer or curator, does an advanced degree make a difference to you when you're considering an artist or is it "all about the work?"

Image taken from the Internet: Arm and Leg charm by Amanda Jo
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Yayoi Kusama at Gagosian in Chelsea

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I Want to Live Forever, 2008, acrylic on canvas; five panels app. 90 x 358 inches overall, with detail below

I'm not sure when Yayoi Kusama made the leap from Robert Miller to Gagosian, but here she is, ensconsed in Larry's hangar-like space on 24th Street.

I snapped a few pics of the installation, even though there's a no-photography policy at the gallery. But I'm not using them, because the gallery's website has some beautiful shots--much better than my guerilla attempts, and they're grab-able.

Kusama's work often appears minimal from a distance, like the five-panel work that opens this post, yet from up close you can see how obsessively patterned it is. It's both meditative and eye-jangling. She seems to make no effort to reconcile those elements, and I like that; pick your viewing distance and take from it what you will. It's also big. I Want to Live Forever goes on forever, well, almost 30 running feet.

And then there are her inifinity rooms, boxes for which you wait on line to enter. It's always worth the wait. Illumination and mirrors multiply to create an endless horizon of hallucinatory power. They make we want to drop acid again--though, really, I'm not sure the chemical trip could be any better than the visual experience Kusama provides.

By the way, I didn't intend for age to be a rolling theme in two successive posts, but Kusama, still hitting all the big notes, recently turned 80.

Trip in a box: Aftermath of Obliteration of Eternity, 2009, mixed media installation, app. 164 x 164 x 113 inches.

The polkadot objects don't do for me, have never done for me, what the paintings or light-box installations do. But who wouldn't want to stop and take in three giant black-on-yellow pumpkins in a matching room, like the prizewinners on display in some kind of extraterrestrial state fair.

Pumpkin, 2008, fiberglass-reinforced plastic, app. 69 a 71 x 74

Full view below, as seen from the sidewalk on 24th Street
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All images except the detail from gagosian.com
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Quick: Louise Fishman at Cheim & Read

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Has Louise Fishman been lifting weights? These new paintings of hers at Cheim & Read are the most muscular I’ve seen. Fishman’s paintings are hard to love at first. They’re big and messy, and her colors tend toward the browns and grays. But spend some time with them, and you acquiesce to their power. What this second-generation abstracton expressionist does with paint, with gesture, is to assume control of the surface and the space around it and then draw you in. By the time you get up close, you're head over heels. These painting offer not just brawn but passages of sublime beauty.

I’m late with this report. The show is up only until tomorrow. If you’re in New York and haven’t seen it, hustle on over to 25th Street. If you can’t, click onto the gallery website for some great installation shots.

Here are a few I shot myself—along with with some ravishing details that are just under actual size. And by the way, Fishman is 70. An age stereotype shattered.

COncealing and Revealing, 2008, oil on linen, 87.75 x 70 inches

Below: Three details

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All Night and All Day, 2008, oil on canvas, 66 x 57 inches

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Below: Three details

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P.S.: Too Good To Pass Up

At Cheim & Read, 547 W. 25th Street: Louise Fishman, Gorgeous Green, 2008, oil on jute, 24.25 x 32 inches

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View through the lobby window of 511 W. 25 Street