Darra Keeton and David Headley at Drawer 158 in Tribeca

Drawer 158: Home as gallery

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Among the many things I love about New York is its entrepreneurial spirit. Case in point: Drawer 158. Located at 158 Franklin Street, it's a loft--a private home--that becomes an open-to-the-public gallery on Saturdays from 1-5. It's run by Karen Cantrell and Andrea Callard.
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The current exhibition, up through this Saturday, July 18, features the work of Darra Keeton and David Headley, both excellent painters (and both friends of mine). If you're in town, head on over to take a look. Questions? E-mail the gallery at drawer158@gmail.com.

Both painters ply structure against organic development. For Headley, showing work from a series called Parisienne Walkways, that's typically a geometry of dot and line laid over a saturated ground of fluid but controlled color. The result pulls you in, giving you the choice of paced perambulation or a delicious splashabout in the deeper space of the picture. Artists who work on paper, take note: This work on paper is cleverly mounted on a backing and affixed to a panel.

David Headley: Installation above, with paintings from his Parisienne Walkways series

Below, from the series: 3-16-2008 (blue spots), mixed media on paper, mounted on wooden panel,16 x 12 inches

Keeton's structure is more organic. She creates tangled grids as she turns her painting this way or that, allowing the paint to flow vertically or horizontally. Sometimes one direction prevails, and the effect is more like a waterfall, or an explosion of fireworks. These paintings are as airy as mesh, but make no mistake: they're as tough as they are beautiful.

Keeton's works on paper are tacked to the wall. In a conventional gallery I'm not usually so keen on pushpins but here, in a loft that is transformed one day a week into a gallery (with excellent lighting, I might add), the effect is intimate and immediate. A larger acrylic on canvas painting in the dining room, in the unexpected palette of lavender and yellow, is simply beautiful.

Darra Keeton: a wall of paintings on paper;

Below:
Writing My Memoir #4, 2008, acrylic and gouache on paper, 30 x 22 inches

Darra Keeton:
Fretwork, 2008, acrylic on canvas, 60 x 60 inches

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Here Comes the Judge

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The white upper-middle-class male point of view may be the default position in politics (and the benighted repugnican viewpoint its radical extreme), but the default needs to reset. Scootch over, boys.
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Let's see more "wise Latinas," "uppity negroes," ambitious African-Americans, political transvestites, "diesel dykes," lesbian moms, married gay couples, in-charge Asian-Americans, assertive Native Americans, unintimidated women of all ages and stripes--and many others who bring ethnicity, gender, race, age, sexual orientation and culture to bear on decisions that affect a society in which all of the above outnumber the defacto model.
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Click here for more info on the Sotomayor poster.

More on "Wise Latina"
. The blogosphere's own C-Monster writes Just What is a 'Wise Latina' Anyway? for Time
. Eugene Robinson's Whose Identity Politics in the Washington Post
. Judge Sotomayor in her own words
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Marketing Mondays: How to Reject a Gallery

BUT NO THANKS

Sometimes the shoe is on the other foot, and instead of receiving a turndown, it is you who must do the turning down.

Here's reader C.M.:

I was wondering how to tell a gallery you are not interested in being represented by them or being part of their upcoming programming. Doing it gracefully is proving to be quite difficult. How much info should you give, how much is too little or too much?

First of all, this is a great problem to have, no? But as C.M. suggests, not all artist/gallery fits are good. So I'm going to talk not just about how to decline an invitation, but about why you might want to decline. Generally when responding, less is more.

. Is it about a difference in esthetics?
This is easy: I like you and your program, but I don’t think our sensibilities are a good match.

. Is it about the terms by which a gallery expects to do business?
You want a gallery that has good business practices: advertises, makes sales, has a good online presence, holds the best damn openings in town. If they don't do enough of what you need, let them know: I'm accustomed to a situation in which my work will be promoted online and in print, and in which the gallery handles things like pickup and delivery and framing.
. . . . . OK, so this is a difficult time, and some galleries are cutting back to be able to stay in business, but don’t believe a gallery that says "it is gallery policy" to do/not do this or that. Artists who sell better, who have a higher professional profile, typically get more. If you like the gallery but need more than they’re offering you, ask for more. If they can't give it to you, thank them for their interest in you and suggest that perhaps when the economy picks up we can revisit the possiblity of working together.

. . . . . But I would ask you: Does a situation like this have to be black and white? Can you participate in an occasional exhibition without committing fully? That gives both you and the gallery a chance to try each other out.

. Is it about the reputation of the gallery?
If it's got a bad reputation, your response is a no-brainer: It appears that we don't have the same goals. Thank you for your interest in my work. Do not let yourself be cajoled into going against your research--or your instinct.

. Is it about the personalities involved?
If you don't trust the dealer or you really don’t like her/him, that's not the person you want to be involved with. A relationship with a dealer is not sexual (not usually, anyway) but it is certainly personal. If you don’t like the person, that's going to be a hard relationship to maintain. Don’t let yourself be bullied. How have you turned down dates? That's the approach you need to do here, because it really is about personal preference.

. Is it about the level of the gallery?
If it's showing a step-above-hobbyists, that's another no-brainer: I need to be with a gallery whose roster of artists is more closely aligned with my exhibition history and collector base.
. . . . . If it's a good emerging gallery and you’re a mid-level artist, that's a harder call. Does the gallery get reviewed locally or regionally? Are the sales good? If you feel your career is too advanced for the gallery, that may be exactly why they want you. Dealers are looking to move up, just like artists. They may be looking to you to be the person who helps them do that. Assuming you respond to the the esthetic and the folks involved, ask for more: the Art in America or Art Forum ad, a catalog, inclusion in their next art fair.
. . . . . If they say no and you feel there's nothing in it for you, say no: I like the gallery and I like you, but I'm afraid you're going to have to spend so much time and effort developing the careers of your emerging artists that my needs will be overlooked.

Red Flags
. Is the gallery known for never paying on time? If so, don’t assume you will be the exception
. Is the dealer unwilling to share the names of the collectors who acquire your work?A an artist/dealer relationship is based in large part on trust
. Is the dealer a screamer (watch how he treats the staff); a schemer (do you hear stories of artists being pitted against one another); woefully disorganized (payments are late, work gets "lost" or actually misplaced, inventory records are incomplete); a manic type who needs everything yesterday then oh-never-minds after you have killed yourself to deliver?
. Have you heard rumors of the dealer selling at a "discount" but learn the collectors have actually paid full price?
. Does the gallery ask you for money?
. . . . . You may have to ask around to get some of these answers, but the artist information hotline—i.e. conversation, gossip, e-mail inquiries—may yield answers. I have often asked artists about Gallery A, or even a friendly Gallery B about A. I've also e-mailed artists who I know used to be involved in a gallery; I tell them I'm contemplating getting involved with Gallery A and I wonder if they would be willing to share with me, confidentially of course, any insights that might help me make a good decision. People have done the same with me.

Bottom line: If you feel you must turn down a gallery and you're really stuck for words, thank them for their interest and say simply, I just don’t think we’re a good fit. They'll understand that. That's what they say to artists all the time.

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(Un) Common Threads, Part 2: Group Show at Elizabeth Harris

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In Part 2 of Common Threads, we follow a line from Edward Shalala's photographs in the previous post to his tangible work in the group exhibition, By a Thread at the Elizabeth Harris Gallery (up through July 24).
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In a series of four works, Shalala shows the canvas reduced first to thread and then to its ultimate entity: dust. From there the pendulum swings in a more material direction--the artists in the exhibition are connected by the filament and fabric--and then back to deconstruction . Let's start in the back gallery, where Shalala's four canvas reductions are on display. Here's one:

Edward Shalala, Untitled #7, 2009, canvas dust dropped onto contact paper, 18 x 21 inches (image from the gallery website)

Moving around the gallery, we see Mary Carlson's blood spatters rendered in copper wire and Mike Asente's giant embroidery. Did I mention the show is eclectic? Here the element of roundness, and the graphic quality of red, black and white hold the room together.

Mary Carlson, Wiresplat 1, 2009, crocheted copper wire, 79 x 124 x 1.5 inches; detail below. Mike Asente's small embroideries are on the wall around the corner

Mike Asente, Holy Rays, 2009, embroidery floss on linen, steel hoop, 46 x 50 x 1.5 inches; on wall: Boom, 2009, embroidery on non-woven interfacing, 10 x 13 inches

Moving from the back gallery to the front, we see Carlson's splatter sculpture in the distance and Elisa D'Arrigo's handstitched sculpture on the wall. Then we continue around the gallery with more work by D'Arrigo, hangings by Leslie Dill, and a deconstructed piece by Elana Herzog. With these three artists in particular, I'm moved to consider the Norns of myth: the first spins the thread of life, the second fashions it into fabric of individual texture and length, and the third snips the thread when the time comes. Take a look:

From back gallery to front, above: Carlson's Wiresplat 1 and Elisa D'Arrigo's stitched sculpture, which you can see better below:

Elisa D'Arrigo, Terra Cotta 1, 2009, cloth thread, acrylic paint, acrylic medium, pigments, 20 x 18 x 3.75 inches (image from the gallery website)

Panning the gallery: two more small sculptures from D'Arrigo and two "thread poems" by Leslie Dill. Both artists are known for their stitched works

Below: Dill's I was Born with a Veil, 2003, silkscreen, fabric, thread, 90 x 45 inches (image from the gallery website)

Panning the front gallery. More below about column at right

Holly Miller, Snap #18, 2008, acrylic paint and thread on canvas, 36 x 36 inches (image from the gallery website)

Mary Carlson, Wiresplat 2, 2006-2009, crocheted copper wire, 56 x 140 x 1.5 inches; right, Elana Herzog, Untitled, Column Series #3, 2009, stapled fabric on constructed column

Below: a detail of the work (image from the gallery website).
And that takes us back to deconstruction--a nice denouement for a show in which materiality is the theme.

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Ars Longa Exceptum Plasticus

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"At this point there is nothing further that can be done with them, except to freeze them."

No, this is not the LA coroner talking about a certain pop star's endlessly resculpted parts, but the Walker Art Center's associate registrar, Joe King, talking about two works by Joseph Beuys in its collection, which are made from plastic that is starting to deteriorate.

This information comes from Weeping Barbie Syndrome Strikes Walker Art Center, posted by writer Marianne Combs on her State of the Arts blog for Minnesota Public Radio News on July 6. Combs, aware of the post on Slate.com (see below) went to the Walker to find how the institution's plastic works are faring. That's when she learned that when PVC deteriorates, the plasticizer in the material migrates outward, making the surface wet and sticky (first noticed on the pre-astronaut bambola); that outgassing can also damage adjacent works; and that the Beuys works are in freezer lockdown.

What do Barbie and Beuys have in common?

On July 1, Slate.com's Sam Kean asked and answered this question: Does Plastic Art Last Forever? Not Even Close. Apparently it cracks, browns, melts, weeps and smells. Oh, and it can explode, too.

Thanks to my blogosphere buddies C-Monster and Hrag Vartanian for their links to these stories. (And a shout out to Hrag for noting my review of Ed Winkleman's book in the same group of posts.)
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(Un)Common Threads, Part 1

Several current and recent exhibitions have as a common thread the, well, common thread--deconstructed, reconstructed, repurposed and carefully structured.

At the Anton Kern Gallery, Lara Schnitger (through June 20), showed an installation of knee-high hose stretched and knotted into a curtain that both divided and defined the gallery space. Looking at the gallery site, I see that the artist is no stranger to the use and reuse of commonplace materials.

Lara Schnitger at Anton Kern: White Cube Hosiery, 2009, nylon & wood, variable dimensions

At Yvon Lambert, Shinique Smith (Ten Times Myself through July 31), mines what the press release describes as "an autobiographical narrative"." In baling, compressing and amassing fabric as she does, Smith imbues these materials with palpable energy. I don't know her. I don’t know her story, but, man, I feel the a life force emanating from that work.

Above and below: Works by Shinique Smith at Yvon Lambert. No information on gallery website

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At Pavel Zoubok, Donna Sharrett (Reverb, through May 23) most certainly mines personal history. Her work is about memory, specifically the memory of her musician brother who died several years ago, but also the nature of memory itself. Exquisitely hand stitched, knotted and pieced, the work incorporates material elements given to her by friends and thus becomes a web of interwoven recollections that extends beyond the artist herself.

(While Reverb is over, Sharret's work is included in Daughters of the Revolution: Women & Collage, which runs through August 14 at the gallery.)

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Donna Sharrett at Pavel Zoubok, installation view

Donna Sharrett: The Long Black Veil, 2003-2008, rose petals, handmade rose beads, synthetic hair, guitar-string ball ends, pennies, blue jeans, cotton fabric, rings, bone beads and buttons, synthetic pearls, thread; 36 x 26 inches

Detail below

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In the Contemporary Art galleries the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Liza Lou is represented by Continuous Mile, a mile-long coiled rope of white beads that is laid in the form a cylinder. Lou employed a team of beaders from KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, to do the work. I first saw the sculpture at L&M Arts a few months ago, but since I couldn't photograph the work there, I didn’t write about it. I'm glad for the opportunity to revisit it here. You'll note it's placed near the museum's Damien Hirst sculpture but I must say this work, so simple yet so complex, blows that shark out of the water.

Liza Lou at the Met: Continuous Mile, 2007-2008, glass beads, cotton; loan from the artist, on continuous exhibition at the museum for two years

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At the Painting Center, Edward Shalala (Documentary Photographs, through June 20) takes the most minimal of materials, the thread itself, and makes the most fleeting of works, a temporary painting that consists of a continuous length of unraveled-canvas thread which is arranged in an airy coil on the ground. What remains as evidence is a black and white photograph. The work recalls both the manifestly material, Smithson's Spiral Jetty, and the evanescent, Ana Mendiata's spirals gouged into the earth.

Edward Shalala at The Painting Center: untitled, documentary photograph of
raw linen canvas thread painting on basketball court at Sarah Roosevelt Park, New York City; c-print 11 x 14 inches, 2009

We follow the thread from Shalala's solo at the Painting Center to his inclusion in the current group show at the Elizabeth Harris Gallery (By a Thread, through July 24) . That's where's we'll go in the next installment later this week.

Note: Summer hours for many galleries are Mon-Fri. Please check before you go.

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Marketing Mondays: What Artists Should Know About Running a Gallery

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Recently I reviewed The Artist's Guide by Jackie Battenfield. Now in a lovely bit of publishing symmetry, there's a dealer's guide, How To Start and Run a Commercial Gallery by Edward Winkleman, about to be released by Allworth Press.

Ed has a gallery in Chelsea. He's also a widely read blogger, which you probably know already even if you haven’t been to his gallery. Ed's blog attracts an assortment of artists, dealers, collectors and critics who come in all degrees of intellect, anger, creativity, bitterness and kindness—in other words, an art world in miniature. His online generosity has flowed into his book, which in turn has flowed out of his experience as a respected New York art dealer.

While the book's intended purpose is to help a potential dealer understand how to start and run a commercial gallery, it also provides artists with a clear look at what goes on behind the scenes.
Why is this important?

For one thing, understanding the dealer's concerns and activities will help you present yourself in a way that complements the gallery's program. For another, it underscores the idea that artists and dealers are not so different. Here's Ed: "This is a business in which very little is stable . . . rent in your neighborhood will skyrocket, forcing you to find a new location (and consuming all the money that moving requires); and critics will inexplicably hate your latest exhibition. . . It never really gets easy. Some months you’re flush; others, you’re scrambling." Sound familiar?

Identity and branding; pricing; contracts and legal issues; logistics like crating, shipping, framing; cash flow; and the art fairs are all covered in specific chapters. Independent artists will find the information eminently useful. Though the crashing economy will undoubtedly require second-edition revisions in the Art Fair chapter, it's edifying to see how closely the submission process for dealers to art fairs parallels that of artists to galleries.

I found these chapters of particular interest to artists:

. Chapter 10, Staffing and Management Practices
Ed talks about job titles and responsibilities. Wondering whom to send your materials to? He explains the hierarchy. But more than that, when he tells you what it takes to run a gallery, you can see it's almost the same as what it takes to run a studio. We make, the gallery sells. But we all share the same tasks: photographing work and archiving images, tracking inventory, maintaining records, PR, packing and shipping, bookkeeping. I particularly liked reading about how several New York galleries divide the workload with staffers. The smaller galleries take on multiple tasks, just like artists.

. Chapter 11, Promotional Efforts: Publicity and Advertising
The information here will help an unaffiliated artist create her own promotional strategy. Better still, extrapolating that information, once you follow a gallery and understand the way it presents itself to the art world, gives you a way to approach that gallery.

. Chapter 14: Artists: Where to Find Them; How to Keep Them
Make a beeline for these 24 pages. Nothing takes the mystery out of the submission process better than learning how a dealer puts a roster together. Here's how Ed found/finds his artists, in order of frequency: "recommendations (including from other dealers), institutional exhibitions, open studios, cold call submissions."

. . . . . In other words: show, show, show, show and network, network, network. This goes along with what I know of dealers. Their websites may say "No submissions accepted at this time," but they are always looking. As for cold-call submissions, they are, confirms Ed, "the least productive means of finding suitable artists." If you must go this route, do your homework. "Every now and then an unsolicited submission will make your day. Either the artist has done his research and knows his work is a good match for your mission, or fate smiles on you."

Will reading this book automatically get you into a gallery? No. But it will give you insight into the gallery process. An artist who understands the system and is willing to do her homework to find the right matches and submit to the rigors of the process has a much greater chance of getting into a gallery she has targeted.--and equally, important, flourishing there.

And here's the corollary to that: When the economy finally starts moving in the other direction, a new crop of passionate entrepreneurs will be poised to open their doors. Galleries need artists.

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Getting High in West Chelsea

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The view from the High Line, above (that shaped building is by Frank Gehry) and on the High Line, below. The plantings are native grasses and wildflowers

One recent weekday afternoon the omnipresent gray sky softened long enough for me to head over to the new High Line Park in West Chelsea for a look see. I climbed the stairs at 20th Street and 10th Avenue and began walking south in this narrow park in the sky.

Located on the elevated tracks of a former industrial freight railroad, the High Line is now a city park with a smooth concrete walking surface and wildflowers (!) in bloom, with just enough track left peeking through here and there to remind you of the origins of this bucolic gem. Thirty feet up from the traffic it's surprisingly quiet, and because bikers and bladers are not allowed the passeggiata is a far more serene experience than at the shoestring park along the Hudson, where unconscious walkers clog up the bike lanes and speeding bikers try not to mow them down.

The park is up there on the elevated line. You can ascend at 20th, 18th and 14th Streets. The stairs at 20th Street, below

Climbing, climbing . . .

. . . The idea of park doesn't really materialize until you're just about on top of it, below. Before the multimillion-dollar makeover you could look out the windows of various galleries to see patches of grass visible sprouting from the gravel, but not like this:

Originally built in the 1930s to carry goods from the 35th Street rail yards to warehouses that line the Hudson River down to Gansevoort, the High Line fell into disuse 50 years later. If you've been to Chelsea in the past two decades, what you saw was a rusting overhead monstrosity that delivered the frequent and numerous droppings of pigeons that roosted there, and until recently served as the anchor for the annoying look-at-me billboard musings of one Patrick Mimran, above. (The overhead is still underdeveloped above 20th Street. Ongoing work is expected to be completed next year.)

For now, it offers a pleasant stroll for 10 blocks, or half a mile. There are some odd segments. One is the overlook at 17th Street, left, a kind of amphitheater whose rows of seats are set to look down on . . . the traffic heading up 10th Avenue. The architects, Diller & Scofidio, did something similar with their media room for Boston's Institute of Contemporary Art, except there the view is of the harbor. But I'm being picky. The amphitheater offers a lot of seats for walkers to sit and talk, have lunch, read the paper, and plenty of sky.

Commerce has asserted itself in some some pleasing and not-so-pleasing ways. Pleasing: Food vendors selling tasty snacks. I had a savory slice of leek and cheese pizza with a flaky crust from, I think, City Bakery. (That pretzel-croissant dough is a unique taste; it had to be City Bakery.) Not-so-pleasing: the gargantuan V-shape building that is the newly built Standard Hotel, which straddles the park with wide concrete legs and towers over it like something out of Transformers.

The Standard Hotel straddling the High Line

Speaking of straddling, there are some views right into apartment buildings that line the slender park, and word has it that a few residents are having sex for all to see. (What's weirder? Being the voyeur or the voyee?) That's gossip, though. I haven’t even seen doggies doing it—and that's because dogs are not allowed in the park.

Uh, I'm the voyeur with the camera reflected in the window of an apartment.

But enough talk. Let me show you some pictures that take you down to Gansevoort Street:

Above: At 17th Street, looking west to the Hudson

Below:

Looking east on 14th Street. The block you see here used to be the meat market, as in actual sides of beef hanging on hooks outdoors. Now it's home to such chi chi shops as Jeffreys. After midnight, it's still a favorite haunt for the tranny hookers. Talk about mixed-use zoning

As I ambled south, the leaden sky opened up. Sun!

That's New Jersey across the Hudson

The original rail line traveled through the center of several warehouses. Now those buildings are under renovation. . . .

. . . Inside one building is an installation by Spencer Finch, who traveled the Hudson photographing the color of the river. Those hues were translated to glass panes which now color the windows of a long stretch of outside/inside wall

Not sure who did this installation, but someone's been color coordinating

A raised bed for plantings; my favorite stretch of track, below

The end of the line: Washington Street at Gansevoort

Below: Cafes and clean streets. There's even a Helmut Lang boutique nearby

This blog is proudly Michael Jackson-free. No news. No gossip. No pictures. No interest.