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Conner and Kubrick's New York - MCNY

Wed, 04 Mar 2015 02:38:04 +0000

I was honored to be asked to compose a post for the Museum of the City of New York's blog this past fall, and to have a chance to mine our collection for material relating to our Mac Conner exhibition, which was on view from September 10, 2014 through February 1, 2015. What a pleasure to work on that show, and to peruse our troves of Stanley Kubrick photographs (explore them here).

I'm feeling nostalgic for these stylish pieces now that they've left us, but I am thrilled that they're journeying across the pond to be seen in an entirely new context: at London's House of Illustration, from April 1 to June 28th of this year.

I've recreated my post below, and you can read the original on the City Museum's blog). And do see the exhibition if you're over U.K.-way!

Illustrator McCauley “Mac” Conner, born in 1913 and still active today at the age of 101, continues to reside in New York City. He arrived during World War II and stayed on to forge his career at a time when the city served as the hub of a burgeoning publishing and advertising industry. From the late 1940s through the early 1960s, Conner enjoyed great success as an illustrator for advertisements and for fiction stories appearing in several women’s and general interest magazines. Mac Conner: A New York Life, on view at the City Museum through January 19, 2015, features over 70 never-before-exhibited original paintings and offers a window into this particular moment of New York City history.

Illustration for "Where's Mary Smith?" in Good Housekeeping, June 1950
Gouache and gesso on masonite
© Mac Conner. Courtesy of the artist

Conner is a keen observer of people, which manifests in the details of gesture and dress that he incorporates into his illustrations. It is this aspect of the process that attracts him, and that he feels distinguishes his work from that of an artist. “I was never interested in landscapes and that kind of thing,” Conner notes. “I was never an artist, in other words. I liked to paint people.” An artist, he explains, “gets a thrill out of painting that tree or that valley. And I never got my thrills that way. I got my thrills from people doing things, the way [a person] stands … they all had their characteristics, and I liked to paint them.”

A similar sensibility informs the photographs of a young Stanley Kubrick, who worked in the same era as a staff photographer for LOOK magazine. From 1945-1950, before gaining notoriety as a film director, Kubrick captured candid moments of everyday life on the streets of New York City. Both Conner and Kubrick were tasked with providing striking images that would grab the attention of readers, but they differed in their approaches and intent—in part because they provided imagery to distinct types of publications.

Illustration for "How Do You Love Me" in Woman's Home Companion, August 1950 Gouache on illustration board
© Mac Conner. Courtesy of the artist

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. Street Conversations [Woman walking down the street]. 1946.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.10296.50

Conner, like Kubrick, worked on assignment. He was a mainstay illustrator for The Saturday Evening Post, Collier’s, and This Week Magazine—a newspaper supplement that at its height appeared in 42 papers nationwide and could have brought Conner an audience of as many as 13 million people. But much of his work accompanied stories published in leading women’s magazines, notably the group known as the “Seven Sisters” (McCall’s, Redbook, Ladies’ Home Journal, Better Homes & Gardens, Good Housekeeping, Family Circle, and Woman’s Day).

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. Vaughn Monroe [Woman reading Billboard magazine]. 1949.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11807.126F

Publications aimed at women were not new; indeed, Good Housekeeping and Ladies’ Home Journal were among those that debuted in the late 19th century. But the proliferation and success of these publications in the middle decades of the 20th century coincided with post-war affluence and an explosion in consumerism—and they provided a powerful boon to advertisers who recognized that women comprised a powerful class of consumers.

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. The 5 and 10 [Women shopping at Woolworth's]. 1947.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.10254.25E

Daily life inspired and informed Conner's paintings, which illustrated incidents in fictional narratives. Kubrick found his actual subject in the everyday, generating images that would be published in one of the nation's preeminent photojournalism publications. Conner's paintings reflected cultural trends and mores, whereas LOOK magazine deliberately focused on topical political, social, and cultural issues. Kubrick's photographs from the Museum’s collection, paired with Conner’s illustrations, provide perspective on the atmosphere and style of the times expressed by Conner's imagery.

Conner illustrated many stories that unfold in New York City, and his depictions both align with and depart from the reality that Kubrick's photos convey. To situate the leading image of Arthur Gordon’s “Let’s Take a Trip Up the Nile,” published in This Week Magazine on November 5, 1950, Conner capitalized on the ubiquity of fire escapes—and the privacy they afforded young couples.

Illustration for "Let's Take a Trip Up the Nile" in This Week Magazine, November 5, 1950.
Gouache and graphite on illustration board.
© Mac Conner. Courtesy of the artist

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. Park Benches - Love is Everywhere [Couple flirting on a fire escape]. 1946.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.10347.11

Conner portrays an idealized, chaste couple in a carefully constructed scene that is likely based on actuality but modified to enhance the overall design. Kubrick explores similar formal devices, such as the perspective from above and the use of angular elements to create a visually interesting composition. But where Conner's illustration permits the viewer to passively observe everyman and everywoman—in essence, offering a representative image of mid-century New York City—Kubrick's lens interrupts and surprises two individuals, intrusively capturing a specific moment in time.

The narrator of “The Girl Who Was Crazy About Jimmy Durante,” a story by Philip Gould that appeared in the September 1953 issue of Woman’s Day, shares Conner and Kubrick’s predilection for people-watching. Conner illustrated this story, and Kubrick's photograph of the New York City subway reveals his real-life inspiration.

Illustration for "The Girl Who Was Crazy About Jimmy Durante" in Woman's Day, September 1953.
Gouache and ink on illustration board.
© Mac Conner. Courtesy of the artist

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. Life and Love on the New York City Subway [Passengers on a subway]. 1946.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11107.100A

Across from Kubrick sits an attractive, smiling, well-dressed woman next to a man deeply engrossed in his newspaper. Each individual engages with an object or with a person outside the camera's frame; none recognize the voyeuristic presence of the camera/viewer. Conner builds on these components, populating his invented train car with paper-reading gentlemen who convey a sense of quiet rush hour crowds and create a largely gray mass of color that fills most of the canvas. Conner enables the reader to adopt the protagonist’s point of view through this swath of gray-jacketed men and catch a glimpse of the vibrant young lady, fairly sparkling in their midst, who has so captured the narrator's fancy.

The story's teller notes all of the details of the young lady’s dress—and how becoming they are to her—and speculates about the details of her life. “She looked too young to be some big executive’s privileged private secretary,” he muses, concluding that she might work along Madison Avenue at one of the advertising agencies. “Have you ever walked along Madison Avenue at dusk?” he queries of the reader. “I wasn’t living in New York before I went in the Army, but I knew some New Yorkers then who used to get that faraway look in their eyes like the rest of us, and now I know what they were daydreaming about, where they wished they were. Madison Avenue at dusk, with all the pretty girls from all the offices and modeling agencies streaming out of the stately buildings on their way home. All the pretty young American girls, still fresh and bright after a long day, their hair shining, their clothes just right.” Kubrick immortalized a transient moment such as the narrator describes: two well-heeled young ladies leaving a large office building on 34th Street, two blocks off Madison.

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. People Mugging [Women walking out of a building]. 1946.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.10303.114

Like the girls the narrator describes, the women in Conner’s illustrations are impeccably dressed, icons of contemporary style. He based these details in part on simple observation, but he also cites the influence of his agent’s wife, Jessie Neeley, who kept him informed of changing trends in glove lengths, hairstyles, and the cuts of dresses.

Illustration for "Strictly Respectable" in Redbook, August 1953.
Gouache on illustration board
© Mac Conner. Courtesy of the artist

Conner's depictions of women are reflections of what he saw, but they also set the fashion. Guest curator Terry Brown relates that “it was not uncommon for ladies to go in to a hairdresser, hold out an illustration torn out of a magazine, and say ‘I want my hair to look like that!’” Conner’s women carry purses that match their gloves, display painted nails, and wear the latest fashions, like the wasp-waisted dresses that emphasized the female form and celebrated the end of fabric rationing following World War II. Importantly, his representations offered a model to which women could aspire that was also plausibly within their reach.

Stanley Kubrick for LOOK magazine. Women Trying on Hats [Woman trying on a hat in a department store]. 1946.
Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.10345.46

These publications were a consumer item that in turn advertised products: everything from home decor and lingerie to food items, complete with recipes and lush photographs of the savory results. But they also sold concepts—of family values, of “American-ness,” of womanhood. While the text in the stories often reinforced predominant stereotypes of appropriate gender roles, Conner’s illustrations imbue his female protagonists with agency. (And women are nearly always his protagonists, even if he portrays a moment when a male character speaks.) The curator in the exhibition text describes this characteristic as “a heightened—but self-possessed—femininity.”

Illustration for "The Good Husband" in Collier's, February 4, 1955.
Gouache and pastel on illustration board.
© Mac Conner. Courtesy of the artist

Kubrick's photographs show stylish women on the street, whose discerning fashion sense informed Conner's work, as well as ladies who frequented stores in pursuit of this seemingly artless elegance. Conner’s is a version of womanliness that fits within the prescribed gender roles of mid-century society while also allowing women individuality, creativity, and power over their self-presentation—a vision that continues to inspire today.

The Museum of the City of New York, located at 1220 Fifth Avenue (b/t 103rd and 104th) is open seven days a week from 10am – 6pm. Suggested admission is $14 for adults, $10 for seniors and students (with I.D.), $3/person for self-guided student groups, and free for ages 19 and under.

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Open House NY
2013

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by Sara Spink

Open House New York 2013

Wed, 16 Oct 2013 21:56:14 +0000

Finally, finally, I managed to participate in Open House New York (OHNY). Spaces fill up fast, I learned; best to be ready to roll as soon as registration opens. But for all that I managed a wonderful (and very full!) day.

First stop: the Digital Lab at the Museum of the City of New York

Behind the scenes of MCNY's groundbreaking online collection initiative, staff shared with us their equipment, process, and a few of digitization's many positive repercussions. Scanning images at a very high resolution, for example, allows unprecedented identification of shooting locations through research on newly legible business names. The ability to read billboards and signs posted on windows allows for a literal snapshot of cultural/daily events. Go to the collections portal and search around for street intersections or landmarks… it's an internet rabbit hole you won't be sorry to have entered.

Here is an example of how MCNY's endeavor is revolutionizing the collection and its potential for research and accessibility. The museum has a large collection of glass negative plates, often without corresponding photographic prints. This means that, at least in some cases, the inverted digital scans enable viewing of the image for the very first time.

George P. Hall and Son. Cathedral Interior, ca. 1900. Gelatin Dry Plate Negative. 11 x 18 inches. Courtesy MCNY Collections Portal, 92.53.1.

I also learned of an excellent opportunity for crowd-sourcing that benefits both the public and the institution: Mystery Photo Friday. Apparently we the people who follow MCNY on Facebook have been tremendously helpful in identifying streets and even famous persons represented in photographs—until the advent of an economic and practical face recognition software, this is certainly the most effective way to go!

And speaking of ways to go, my visit happened to coincide with the last day of the museum's exhibition on Brooklyn's Green-Wood Cemetery.

A Beautiful Way To Go: New York's Green-Wood Cemetery

I am so, so glad I caught it. An intriguing premise, that a final resting place can provide a framework for exploring New York life and living. With permanent residents ranging from Horace Greeley (1811-1872) to Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) and Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960-1988), the exhibition effectively surveys New York City history. A concise but illuminating blurb concerning each of these prominent citizens accompanies a selection of relevant artifacts—a camera designed by Walter Dorwin Teague, a vintage postcard of Coney Island for Steeplechase founder George Cornelius Tilyou, toy animals to honor Frederick (F) A. O. Schwarz, and a marble bust of Louisa Ward by her husband Thomas Crawford, most famous for his "Statue of Freedom" sculpture atop the capitol building in Washington, D.C. Louise and her sisters earned the nickname "The Three Graces of Bond Street" and one of her siblings, Julia Ward Howe, penned the "Battle Hymn of the Republic."

Each glass vitrine is roughly positioned over its location on the cemetery map covering the floor. Courtesy NYT/Associated Press.

MCNY uses this riveting collection of artifacts—mostly drawn from its own extensive holdings—to craft numerous mini-narratives held together by a few broader arcs. One of these is the framework of the cemetery, manifest in the show's very installation. A map of Greenwood covers the floor—an aside alerts visitors that "this gallery puts Green-Wood Cemetery beneath your feet"—with each glass vitrine roughly positioned over the burial site of the individuals it concerns. Another cohering narrative reflects changing ideas about nature and the advent of public spaces.

Advocates touted Green-Wood as a leisure destination.
Byron Company. Cemeteries, Greenwood Brooklyn, May 30, 1899. Gelatin Silver Print. 13.25 x 10.25 inches (image). Courtesy MCNY Collections Portal, 93.1.1.18440.

Green-Wood predated—and influenced—Central and Prospect Parks, and its advocates marketed it as a destination of leisure and even as an outdoor museum. A smattering of guidebooks, postcards and stereograph cards speak to this aspect of Green-Wood's history, as do vintage maps and assorted mementos like a mantle clock featuring an image of the cemetery (odds bodkins?). A selection of oil paintings, meanwhile, illustrates an emerging new perspective on nature, viewing it less as a hostile, uncontrollable force and more as an opportunity for contemplation and appreciating beauty. Green-Wood's architecture also evolved closely with contemporary trends. Original designs for its noteworthy gates represent the Gothic Revival style, as does the chapel representing the work of illustrious firm Warren & Wetmore—also designers of Grand Central Terminal and several other notable commissions in the city.

Illustrated Postal Card Co. Main entrance to Greenwood Cemetery, Brooklyn N.Y., ca. 1909. Postcard. 3.5 x 5.5 inches. Courtesy MCNY Collections Portal, F2011.33.800.

Next up: New York Academy of Medicine

NYAM happens to be right across the street from MCNY, and an excellent example of Romanesque architecture. Constructed in 1927 as the third permanent home of the Academy, it includes beautiful reading rooms, a phenomenal rare book collection (which I had the pleasure of visiting with my BGC class The Renaissance Book: Cookbook As Case Study), and enviably volume-inous stacks (haha). Its collections are available to the public—fairly unique among medical libraries—and anyone can make an appointment to view its prodigious holdings. These number around 32,000 volumes from the 15th-18th centuries, as well as manuscripts, archives, and additional reference materials (peruse the catalogue here).

NYAM entrance (detail). Courtesy NYAM website.

From the entrance to the details of the interior, aesthetic references to medical history abound. Frequently depicted are Aesculapius, the god of medicine and physicians, his daughter Hygeia, the goddess of health. Arabesque patterns decorating the ceiling of the entry refer to the medical symbolism of the Herbal School of Salernum, also incorporating animals over time associated with medical practice: the watchful dog, who drives away death; the serpent, which signifies longevity and rejuvenation; the goose, symbolic of motherhood. Everywhere one finds beautiful and deliberate architectural detail, surrounding windows, inlaid to the Levanto marble floor, flanking windows, and adorning ornate painted ceilings. Opportunities for research abound in the assembly room, which the tour guide told us requires further scholarship. The building and the spaces within it provide an ideal setting for the Academy, rich with the visual history of medical science.

The Conservation Lab

Our official tour terminated with a wonderful visit to the conservation lab, where we received brief instruction on binding techniques over history (and learned of the increasingly shoddy but more efficient techniques engendered by mass manufacturing). We got to touch calfskin vellum, a long preferred material, and saw examples of some of the dangers facing books over time (warping, mold damage, and the like). A few lingering questions left us alone with the conservator. When I mentioned my cookbook class, it turned out she had a magnificent sample at the ready: a copy of Apicius, a 9th century manuscript copy of the original 2nd century collection of Roman recipes. Only two copies exist; the other, a more ornate illuminated manuscript, resides at the Vatican. (Read about the NYAM's restoration work on this document here).

Conservation Lab. Courtesy NYAM website.

The Threat of Miniature Books

Before departing, my companion and I returned to the third floor to view a display of staff-made models representing the evolution of bookbinding techniques over time in different areas of the world. To the right, an exhibit chronicling the life cycle of the miniature book, a hilarious and very smart installment by one of NYAM's conservators. She publishes limited edition books, most of which are miniature, and which are available on her website and Etsy).

The life cycle of the miniature book. Courtesy NYAM Facebook page.

"Feeding: A group of miniatures feeds on a larger, slower book." Courtesy artist's website.

Lastly: Kings County Distillery, Brooklyn Navy Yard

Capping off the day: a different borough and a different subject entirely, but one no less entertaining! New York's oldest operating whiskey distillery proved very difficult to access, as attested on their website. Google might direct you to an empty lot, but it is theoretically accessible through a gate at Sands St. and Navy St. In our case, however, the gate proved locked. Hence, a 20 min. trek to Building 92 (a fun destination in its own right) to ask directions, and then a 20 min. walk through the Navy Yard to get back to pretty much where we started. In any case, luckily, we were just in time for the last tour. Also luckily, we chanced to be guided by the delightful and humorous master blender Nicole.

Kings County Distillery. Courtesy coolhunting.com.

New York's oldest operating whiskey distillery has in fact only been in operation since 2010 but, Nicole informed us, "they're hoping to be around long enough that that acquires some gravitas." She treated us to the kind of crazy history in which 214 New York distilleries pre-Prohibition did not survive that particular legislation, and subsequent restrictions made it nearly impossible to open a new business. Until now. Fortunately for us!

Nicole walked us through the process of distillation—we even got to taste the "mash" out of a large barrel—and the chemistry of the thing is fascinating. So is the flavor. And so too the fact that they source local grains and are working with providers (and the state) to give corn a rest already and grow some other grain variants (like sorghum). We found out a lot about how bourbon production and casking/treating varies from that of scotch and wine and, what we've all been waiting for, we got a tasting! Yay! Moonshine, Bourbon, and a truly unusual experimental "chocolate" variety. Kings County is small and passionate (and located in a 113-year old building!) and they give tours every Saturday. I recommend you go and support your local businesses and all that. Also, you can find out where to buy it (and/or have it served to you) on the website.

Enjoy! (And you're welcome.)

A Beautiful Way To Go: New York's Green-Wood Cemetery is on view from May 22 — October 13, 2013. The Museum of the City of New York is located at 1220 Fifth Avenue (b/t 103rd and 104th), open Mon. – Sun. 10am – 6pm. Suggested admission is $10 for adults, $6 for seniors and students.

The New York Academy of Medicine at 216 Fifth Avenue/103rd Street is open by appointment, Tue. – Fri. 10am – 4:45pm.

The Kings County Distillery is officially located at 63 Flushing Avenue, but should be accessed by the gate at Sands St. and Navy St. (it will be immediately to your right, marked Building 121). See their website for directions. They are open for tours and tastings from 2:30pm — 5:30pm every Saturday, $8, no reservations required. Tours last about 45 minutes and run every 20-30 minutes.

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Hopper Drawing
Whitney Museum

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by Sara Spink

Edward Hopper Drawing - The Whitney

Sat, 05 Oct 2013 03:31:04 +0000

Silly me, thinking this exhibition would consist "only" of drawings.

Yes, these do constitute the emphasis; after all the exhibition claims to be the first major museum exhibition to focus on the artist's drawings and his process, a process to which the drawings themselves are essential. Many of the displayed works derive from the Whitney's own collection, a bequest of Hopper's widow (who is also the subject and/or model for many). The exhibition is arranged thematically, with galleries focusing on a particular overarching topic—the road, the office, the bedroom, Hopper's years in Paris—radiating around a central gallery more specifically articulating his techniques and artistic development. As such, the display makes clear how Hopper returned to favored themes throughout his career, amassing stores of sketches to serve as visual resources he could continually mine for inspiration.

Images courtesy Whitney website unless otherwise noted.

Hopper's drawings are, however, by no means the only works on view. In fact, the entire point of the show is to illustrate how the act of drawing informs Hopper's broader output. The "Parisian" gallery, for instance, makes this mode of working abundantly clear. Hopper's numerous sketches populate a case in the center of the gallery, while more fully realized and colored characters, along with a few oil paintings, grace the walls. His delightful caricatures enchant, and reminded me of animation stills I have seen. It is very clear how these characters could and did become subjects in Hopper's final paintings. Note the man in the lower left corner of Soir Bleu (lower left). He appears nearby in an individual portrait entitled Le Maquereau ("The Pimp"), and also, perhaps, in "Couple Drinking" (below right).

Soir Bleu, 1914. Oil on canvas. 36 x 72 inches. Whitney Museum of American Art, Josephine N. Hopper Bequest 70.1208.

Couple Drinking, 1906-07. Transparent and opaque watercolor, graphite pencil, and fabricated chalk on paper. 13.5 x 19.88 inches. Whitney Museum of American Art, Josephine N. Hopper Bequest 70.1340.

The exhibition's pairing of preparatory sketches and studies with final (often quite famous) paintings forms a progression that allows us to witness Hopper grappling with general aspects of composition as well as very specific elements, like the angle at which a hand holds a cigarette. The juxtaposition permits viewers a much greater appreciation of Hopper's approach. Seeing all 19 known drawings for Hopper's famous Nighthawks was for me like being granted top-secret access to an initial storyboard design for a much-loved movie. Here detailed notations on salt shakers and coffee urns, there the angle of a man's hat, and one study that—while sketchily rendered—fully evokes the singular atmosphere of the final piece. In a seemingly contradictory manner, he was very concerned with detail, but not with confining himself to the authenticity of a particular moment in time. The curator's identify this combination—the imaginative filtering of Hopper's memory with his deliberate selection of component parts—as the source of his works' poetic qualities.

Study for Nighthawks, 1941 or 1942. Fabricated chalk and charcoal on paper, 11.13 x 14 inches. Whitney Museum of American Art, purchase and gift of Josephine N. Hopper by exchange 2011.65

I am far from alone in recognizing a cinematic tone in many of Hopper's works. Indeed this comparison forms the basis for the narrative in the next gallery which, not coincidentally, centers around Hopper's painting of, well, a movie theater. Or rather, an usherette in a movie theater. And the light in the movie theater. Here again we find a wide array of related works, beginning with Hopper's exploration of various venues to decide on a locale for his final piece. The accompanying wall text and archival photos demonstrate how faithfully Hopper' rendered several New York theaters, as well as the usherette's uniform. Additional works on display reveal how Hopper clarified his composition, while still others record particularities as specific as the details on the subject's shoes (below left).

New York Movie, 1939. Oil on canvas, 32.25 x 40 inches. The Museum of Modern Art, 396.1941.

The exhibition's inclusion of archival references increases both its interest and its depth. In the previous gallery, one wall panel launches into Operation Find the Nighthawks. This panel investigates several locations that potentially inspired the painting's setting, and presents them along with a map and vintage photographs (below). Ultimately conjecturing that the gallery at the corner of the Flatiron building was "it," the Whitney installed a recreation of the famous painting in its windows at 5th Avenue and Broadway. I wish the show had mentioned this, or perhaps it did and I missed it, but I'm glad I chanced upon a mention of this extension of the show in The Gallerist!

Archival photographs and map indicating potential sites of inspiration for Nighthawks. Image by the author.

This identification of a particular site is just one instance of several in the show. In a gallery presenting the painting The Williamsburg Bridge, the wall text references an archival photo of the original buildings, which Hopper apparently included in the only other exhibition ever to delve into his process. I would have liked to have seen that particular photo, but I loved that these resources were provided elsewhere. The exhibition's website provides even more; you can select a painting and view associated studies, and in some instances viewers can also see several related photographs from the collection of the New York Historical Society. (Click the "See the Studies" box on the upper right corner of the website, or follow this link.) I also really like that the website explains the decisions behind its design: the display order reflects the chronological trajectory of the works. The online portion of the exhibition also includes the audio guide stops, for those of us who did not partake on site, and I believe even provides additional audio material. All of these aspects constitute an excellent use of the website to "show more," to expand beyond what one can view in the exhibition proper.

And talk about process! The Whitney offers us an opportunity to literally stand in Hopper's place in front of the well-known work Early Sunday Morning. The painting sits—unframed and au natural!—upon Hopper's own easel (which he built himself and used for more than forty years). This was for me perhaps the most thrilling moment of the show, a chance to see the familiar work anew, and moreover from the artist's own vantage point. You are Hopper—Where would you keep your brushes? Your palette?

Early Sunday Morning (1930) atop Hopper's own easel. Image by the author.

In its exploration of Hopper's work this show presents throughout a variety of strokes, textures, and media cohesively held together by the thematic groupings and the consistent investigation of studies versus paintings. It really encourages close looking on behalf of the viewer—how is this composition different from the final version? How does this detailed sketch of a subject's face compare to the version displayed at left, to the painting on the right?

A few factors, however, disrupted the hyper-focused inspection the exhibition otherwise encouraged. The lack of a significant line for Pay What You Wish Friday was misleading; it was, of course, crazy crowded. Early on a staff member approached me to take a quick survey. Museums, I will always take your surveys. I know how crucial they are to your understanding your audience and gauging their perceptions and needs. Yes. This particular questionnaire concerned the use of digital photography in the galleries, inquiring whether I knew I could take pictures in the special exhibitions and asking if I would share them via social media outlets. I must say, had it not been for this encouragement, I would never have taken so many pictures, even had I already known it was permitted. And perhaps neither would have everyone else, which would have been a very good thing. From the time I answered the question "does taking photos impact your visit positively or negatively"—Positively!—to the time I completed the exhibition, my answer changed completely. In this I do not except my own behavior; pleased as I am to have a few mementos (and I did share them, too), taking pictures ultimately proved a massive distraction from appreciating the works at hand.

One of the many photos I took with my cell phone. Image by the author.

In many ways, then, this exhibition offered a valuable and enjoyable learning experience, even for a viewer like myself who has seen numerous Hopper exhibitions. As it promises, the show is truly the first of its kind, in no small part due to what the website describes as the "groundbreaking archival research into the buildings, spaces, and urban environments that inspired [Hopper's] work." I'm thinking I'll seek out the Flatiron installation, and perhaps mount my own sketching expedition (not exhibition) in the Village this week. I may even hunt down the location of Early Sunday Morning and see how it looks on, say, a late Monday afternoon.

Hopper Drawing is on view at the Whitney Museum of American Art from May 23 — October 26, 2013. The museum's address is 945 Madison Avenue at 75th Street, and it is open Wed-Sun from 11am-6pm, on Fridays 11am-9pm. General admission is $18, $14 for ages 19-25, seniors/65 and over, and full-time students. Ages 18 and under are admitted free. Fridays are pay-what-you-wish from 6pm-9pm.

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Conflict Kitchen
Pittsburgh, PA

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by Sara Spink

Conflict Kitchen, Pittsburgh

Mon, 30 Sep 2013 21:43:00 +0000

A new location on Schenley Plaza will allow for outdoor programming and events associated with a given culinary theme. Courtesy Smithsonian Magazine.

"The Conflict Kitchen is an experiment in mealpolitik," reads the tagline in Smithsonian's coverage of a unique eatery in Pittsburgh. Its rotating menu features fare from countries on tenuous footing with the United States, with prior themes focusing on Afghanistan, Iran, Venezuela, Cuba and—soon—Korea.

Co-founder Jon Rubin explains a mission to use "food as a storytelling device," a mandate that deserves mention for its material culture overtones. It would seem that staff travel to the nations in question to conduct recipe research, which they then serve up with a side of awareness. While the restaurant does not coerce patrons into consuming its ideology, it does at times integrate contemporary events with the dishes' presentation.

Cuban offerings, for example, are wrapped in interviews conducted with Cubans living in Cuba and the United States. Conflict Kitchen—right now moonlighting as "Cucina del Conflicto"—makes available on its website links to further resources, as well as information about related events. These involve not only Americans but also natives of the countries in question. For instance, Conflict Kitchen is currently soliciting submissions from Cubans (again, in Cuba and the U.S.) to write a segment of a speech they would like the hear Barack Obama deliver. The resultant publication will be performed on-site by an Obama look-alike this October.

Food, at once a component and an ambassador of culture, can be a valuable and potent tool for education. Even better, this heightened consciousness appears to work in both directions; international visitors have declared that the restaurant changed their impressions of Americans. Pittsburgh's Conflict Kitchen provides an experiential means of learning about diverse cultures and global strife, while also highlighting the basic need for food—and the culinary appreciation—that link people the world over.

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Ken Price Sculpture:
A Retrospective
Metropolitan Museum of Art

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by Sara Spink

Ken Price Sculpture Retrospective — Met Museum

Mon, 23 Sep 2013 17:22:01 +0000

Echo, 1997. Courtesy NYT.

"I really want to see this exhibition by a sculptor whose work I don't like."

That's what I told my friend a few weeks ago before heading to the Ken Price retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I'd seen several of his sculptures—globular, somewhat psychedelic, and (I always thought) reminiscent of "The Blob." Let's just say they were not my favorite.

Courtesy From Blob to Blog.

And so I posed the consummate challenge to the Met: What am I missing? Help me to appreciate this work.

Skeptical, I walked into the show and took in the clean lines of the exhibition display designed by Frank Gehry, long-time friend of Ken Price. The sculptor's earlier works, like Chinese Block and Reltny (below), immediately arrested me. Reminiscent of geological specimens—an impression intensified by their wood and glass presentation cases—they featured subtly iridescent surfaces and a curious range of textures. I had then only to read that Price acted as a forerunner in liberating clay from the confines of craft and elevating it into the realm of non-utilitarian sculpture. Result? A relatively sudden understanding of Price's importance, and a new perspective in viewing his art. Met: 1, Sara's cynicism: 0.

Chinese Block, 1984. Courtesy kenprice.com.

Reltny, 1983. Courtesy Modern Art Notes.

The first pieces on display drive home this transition from the functional to the purely aesthetic. On one side are ineffectual pots, with no holes to transmit their contents; opposite is an endlessly inventive array of "cups" (below). In the accompanying text, Price describes a cup as its own subject, one which need only be about itself. However, he notes it can also serve as a vehicle for ideas. With a "simple and utilitarian form," "a set of formal restrictions, and a preordained structure," it can nevertheless give rise to wildly creative works such as are seen here, complemented by wonderfully surprising colors.

Blind Sea Turtle Cup, 1968. Courtesy NYT.

And so we have the basis for Price's evolution as an artist. The next galleries showcase the wacky and vibrantly hued amorphous forms most frequently associated with his name, but first we see a spread of architectural pieces, and a delightful selection of works on paper making quite apparent the linkage between Price's earlier and later creations. "Gorgeous!" I scribbled in my notebook. His alien sculptures may well derive directly from the stylized shapes comprising his landscapes. This missing link, so to speak, helped me to understand how Price's singular sculptures can at once embody the organic and the otherworldly, the terrestrial and and the extraterrestrial.

Deep in the Desert, 2005. Acrylic and ink on paper. 9 x 6 inches Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery via Artnet.

Close inspection of each piece reveals mesmerizing patterns of color, and a sophisticated iridescence that photographic reproductions fail to adequately replicate. Artist Robert Irwin is quoted on the wall declaring Price's use of color "so informative of the shape," and indeed the two are deeply interdependent. Price invented a particular process of layering as many as seventy layers of paint, which he then stripped away by sanding or rubbing with pigment-dissolving agents. The resultant combinations hypnotize the eye, rewarding closer inspection with ever-increasing complexity. Color becomes integral, serving not as decoration but representing an "organic fusion between the surface and the color."

A detail of a work hardly does justice to Price's intricate surface treatments. Courtesy Accessible Art.

Price engages viewers by other means as well, playing with dimensionality and perspective. Many of his pieces feature holes that are sometimes chasms and sometimes merely black paint. Discovering this I felt I had caught on to a game, and difficulty in discerning the difference created a pressing desire to touch. Looking longer only increases one's uncertainty—the dark areas begin to mimic the optical illusion where one can "flip" dimensionality, reading shapes as either recesses or projections.

Big Load, 1988. Courtesy Modern Art Notes.

Courtesy RGB Stock.

The insistent forms Price created made me wish they were displayed on higher pedestals, the better to admire the fluidity of their lower surfaces. Other aspects of the exhibition design I found quite appealing, including the aforementioned boxes à la Joseph Cornell, referencing this artist's 1962 exhibition at the Ferus Gallery (an installation shot of which is happily included on a label among Price's earlier works). The cutout in the wall behind a monumental work entitled Ordell mirrors these rectangular shapes (below), as well as the "holes" featured in many of the sculptures.

Ordell, 2012. Courtesy of NYT.

Whether intentional or not, the rugged texture of the floors mirrors that of several of the works' surfaces. I had difficulties, however, with the placement of some object labels, especially those pertaining to works grouped together in display cases. Their location was not at all intuitive, to my mind, and—because they were not always in proximity to the works described—they required one to twist and turn to compare information with the actual pieces. I also felt the lack of labels and text for the pieces on display outside the official entrance of the exhibition—and it was not until I exited that I realized I had progressed through the show in reverse. My path seemed to me to make conceptual sense, but the doorway I entered featured none of the explanatory text or pictures found at the opposite end.

Arctic, 1998. Courtesy of Modern Art Notes.

As humans we are driven to categorize, to describe "what it's like." Price's sculptures beg comparison to craters and meteors, rocks and frozen lifeforms (above). They seem literal embodiments of the creativity and spontaneity of Price's process, which the artist distinguished from craft: "A craftsman knows what he's going to make and an artist doesn't know what he's going to make or what the finished product is going to look like." The wall text describes these pieces as "at once suggestive, sexy, and mysterious," evocative of "sexual tension," and "invoking sexual or scatological associations." These repeated appeals to sexuality I don't quite grasp, but Price's sculptures certainly cry out for a reaction. Two passersby summed up the range of responses:

"Don't you want to touch it??"
"No, it's gross!"

Ken Price Sculpture: A Retrospective was organized by the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and is on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art through September 22, 2013. Located on 5th Avenue, the museum's main entrance is at 82nd Street. Hours are 9:30am-5:30pm Tues-Thurs and Sun., 9:30-9:00pm Friday and Saturday. On July 1st the Met will be open 7 days a week, with Monday hours 9:30am-5:30pm. Museum admission is always pay what you wish; suggested prices are $25 for adults, $17 for seniors (65+), $12 for students. Free for members and children under 12.

Ken Price: Slow and Steady Wins the Race, Works on Paper 1962-2010 ran through Aug. 18 at the Drawing Center, 35 Wooster Street, SoHo; (212) 219-2166, drawingcenter.org. It appears at the Albright-Knox Art Gallery in Buffalo from Sept. 27 to May 4, 2014 and travels to the Harwood Museum of Art in Taos, N. M., from Feb. 22 through May 4.

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River to River Festival 2013

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by Sara Spink

So Percussion + Joshua Light Show — River to River Festival

Mon, 29 Jul 2013 17:15:13 +0000

A concert featuring So Percussion, to be accompanied by an improvised light show administered by a collective that provided "visual support" to the Doors, the Grateful Dead, and the Who—yup, that pedigree had me raring to go.

I knew So Percussion from an intimate concert given in a private setting in Maine about five years ago, but this performance differed from my memories. Joined by special guests, the quartet launched into discordant compositions that I found disconcerting, and I struggled to make sense of what I was hearing.

So Percussion, courtesy artists' website.

"What am I supposed to be thinking about while I listen?" I wondered. The music provided no melodies to follow, no cohesive arrangement per se. I found myself thinking that the term soundscapes might be more appropriate, that this was like sound mixing in real time. Experimental. The shifting shapes and colors on the backdrop were intriguing and beautiful, but I soon found them not varied enough to be a consuming spectacle; they were better interpreted as a background to the performance on stage. Where then was I to focus my attention?

Answers soon presented themselves. 1) Admire the graceful and complex configurations required to administer chords on a xylophone. Quiet movements deliberately placed, this entailed meditative action that seemed contemplative, mystical. 2) What intriguing instruments! How broad the interpretation of that word! At one point two of the musicians were pulling on long strings, and while I'm not sure what was happening or which sound it created, it certainly raised my curiosity. Rubbing fingers over bubble wrap stretched taut over a drum head produces an interesting sensation, aurally. (It is also oddly sensual to watch, but that's another story.)

All photos by the author unless otherwise noted.

Taken as a whole, the sounds and visuals became somewhat immersive, though being seated to the side I couldn't help but wish for an IMAX-style wall, or a recessed stage and/or elevated screen for better visibility. I had the feeling of missing something. That said, my position meant I could see one of at least two computer screens displaying complex countdowns that led me to ponder time signatures. I wish these flashing numerals had been displayed on the screen; it was most engrossing. Ultimately I had to conclude that what I was hearing emerged from an incredibly complex system, or mathematical logorithms, or something; one performer took on the role of conductor and held up small pieces of paper—I could see that each bore a large letter—to orient the others to their place in the musical score.

Certain elements of the performance were charmingly raw, like when one musician held a microphone against his chest against what may have been a mbira. This caused muffled scraping noises reminiscent of amateur recordings. But these guys know their stuff. This was an intensely elaborate composition, however disjointed it may appear on the surface. Too bad that at one point it was interrupted by the inevitable cell phone ring.

Meanwhile, filaments traversed the screen like so many jellyfish, with jerky movements like those of organisms magnified beneath a microscope. Their texture mirrored that of the music; at times reminiscent of lava lamp blobs, at others inspiring comparisons to the opening sequences of James Bond films, or conjuring memories of the little ink-filled aquariums I played with as a kid (something like that shown below). At other moments the multilayered projections resembled the retinal scan you get at the optometrist, but hey. And, perhaps inevitably, I had to reflect on the similarities between this endeavor and the iTunes Visualizer thing.

Courtesy Rainbow Symphony Store.

In any case, before too long I was really enjoying myself. Yes, the parts I liked most were simply the bits where several people were drumming a lot, and one number—which actually had singing and lyrics—had all the trappings of a Flaming Lips song. The background really worked in concert with the music and, while I hate to be predictable in my tastes, that particular juncture in the program really worked for me.

The performance was weird, yes, but also weirdly hypnotic. And isn't that what art and the avant-garde are? You don't quite get it, but you know there's something there to be gotten… and when it ends, you're left thinking "Wow, what? I'm not sure… Cool."

So Percussion and the Joshua Light Show performed on July 13 at the Michael Schimmel Center for the Arts, Pace University, as the culminating event of the 2013 River to River Festival.

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Metropolitan Museum of Art

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by Sara Spink

Punk: Chaos to Couture — Met Museum

Tue, 25 Jun 2013 03:19:07 +0000

Richard Hell, Adam Ant, Sid Vicious… at the Met?

That's right. And Dior, Givenchy, Versace…

Yes, all in the same place.

The premise of this show as it is smartly set out in the initial wall text intrigues: that couture fashion draws inspiration from the punk aesthetic, and moreover that the one-of-a-kind "made-to-measure" concept of couture is closely aligned with the highly individualized, custom-made nature of punk creations.

John Lydon (aka Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols), 1976. Listen to the Sex Pistols on Spotify.

Junya Watanabe, fall/winter 2006–7. All images courtesy the museum website unless otherwise noted.

Seven galleries feature approximately 100 designs, arranged thematically around the aspects of the punk visual language that inspired them. While the punk "look" is well-known and probably does not require constant illustration, I nevertheless hoped to see a more continuous reference between the displayed couture fashion and its punk counterparts. Archival video footage included in each gallery is an effort in that direction, but because of its abstraction (increased by the large size of the screens) it doesn't quite provide the historical grounding I have in mind. I think a photograph, here and there, would have done the trick. I have a fantastic book entitled Blight At The End of the Funnel featuring photographs by Edward Colver. His works convey a tremendous amount of energy and anger, even as his lens captures and preserves a single, static moment: a paradox imbuing his images with a tension that utterly captivates the viewer. The strategic placement of even a few such gritty images throughout the show would provide a concise but much more profound appreciation of the chaos that fostered [these examples of] couture.

Wasted Youth. Photo by Edward Colver. Listen to Wasted Youth on Spotify.

Black Flag. Photo by Edward Colver. Listen to Black Flag on Spotify.

That said, the staging of the show—and I use the word "staging" quite deliberately—is absolutely fabulous. Like the couture fashion it showcases, the settings present chic, dramatic versions of grimy "underground" inspirations. The design hearkens to the Met's 2011 Alexander McQueen exhibition, and rightly so; in addition to the Met's Costume Institute curator Andrew Bolton and photographer Nick Knight, the show involved exhibition design consultant Sam Gainsbury, who was creative director of the McQueen show. The theatricality of Punk derives in part from the talents of Gideon Ponte, a set and production designer for photo shoots and feature films like Buffalo 66 and American Psycho. Together, what a ride they give us!

Proceeding from the white entrance "teaser" gallery (above) into a black room with one wall populated by blinking television screens, visitors are transported right out of the hallowed walls of the Metropolitan Museum into a decades-old realm of visually (and physically) aggressive independence. This space and the next serve to distinguish between the styles and ideological aims of the American and British versions of the punk movement. In the second room, vintage Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren creations underscore the more fashion-conscious British approach, and introduce the theme of punk's influence on couture. These classic creations are paired with more recent designs clearly impacted by the originals.

My favorite aspect of the show may well be—and I realize this could nullify my academic cred—the recreation of the pretty much repulsively filthy CBGB bathroom, complete with cigarette butts installed beneath urinals and muffled music overhead to suggest that the viewer had popped downstairs in the middle of a Ramone's concert. Did not see that one coming. Kudos, Metropolitan!

I also thoroughly enjoyed the treatment of one long corridor, the design of which plays on the conventional sculpture gallery and thus reiterates the theme of questioning the definition of art and its inclusion of found objects or everyday wears (this space is called "DIY Hardware"). With graffiti scratched into the walls and visible hot glue oozing from the chunks of styrofoam comprising the architecture, the entire enterprise seems as DIY as the punk aesthetic it displays.

The "Bricolage" room follows. Just in case, according to Merriam-Webster, bricolage is a construction (as of a sculpture or a structure of ideas) achieved by using whatever comes to hand; also: something constructed in this way. The walls here are an amalgamation of shoes and bottles that resemble a Jannis Kounellis construction (below), but with contents that more appropriately convey the themes of consumerism and waste that pertain to this gallery. They are the more kitschy for a) their resemblance to plastic and b) their uniform pink color.

Jannis Kounellis, a site-specific installation for Cheim & Read's booth at this year's The Art Show. Image courtesy Cranky Gallery Girl.

A few pieces in this room merit your particular attention. After viewing several gowns constructed of trash bags and grocery bags from designers Gareth Pugh and Maison Martin Margiela, one encounters a few by ‎McQueen. That shown below is included in the show, but is not quite a mere continuation of this theme of reuse and assemblage; it is made not of everyday materials, but of fabric manipulated to emulate trash bags and bubble wrap. In good punkish form, McQueen perverts our expectations.

Alexander McQueen, Fall 2009 RTW. Image courtesy New York Magazine.

I won't outline every gallery in its entirety, because the diversity and surprise is part of the fun. Several of the rooms incorporate arrangements suggestive of a fashion runway, and the consistent use of spiked wigs, though varied in subtle ways, serves to visually unify the works on display. The looped videos playing on large screens and the slightly de/reconstructed versions of punk music and verbal anecdotes (what the website calls "soundscaping audio techniques") adds to the Blade-Runner vibe permeating the show (and reinforces the sense of disconnection and hopelessness that gave rise to punk in the first place). By exhibition's end, however, I mentally made a note to mention that those with epileptic tendencies should steer clear. The continually and drastically flashing screens can make it very difficult to appreciate the works, especially those installed closest to the videos.

Do keep an eye out for the subtle "parting message" at the culmination of the show. It drives home the exhibition's intention to emphasize the common underpinnings of the punk mindset and the bold innovation of couture. When all is said and done, however, the uniqueness of each of the displayed pieces is perhaps a bit lost when viewing them in close proximity, and removed from the context of other runway fashions contemporary with their unveiling. This is unfortunate, as their singularity forms part of the argument for the connection between couture and punk in the first place.

A "multisensory experience?" Yes. A "groundbreaking" exhibition and a high entertainment factor? Yes and yes. But I wonder.

I have written much more regarding the exhibition's overall presentation than about the actual fashions on view. The nature of my blog prescribes my focus, and the Met gave me a lot to run with here, but will the general public be more greatly impacted by the "show" of the show than by its contents?

On the other hand, I was inspired to pull out my Buzzcocks and Discharge.
(No, no, they're bands. Minds out of the gutter, folks.)

Punk: Chaos to Couture is on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art through August 14, 2013. Located on 5th Avenue, the museum's main entrance is at 82nd Street. Hours are 9:30am-5:30pm Tues-Thurs and Sun., 9:30-9:00pm Friday and Saturday. On July 1st the Met will be open 7 days a week, with Monday hours 9:30am-5:30pm. Museum admission is always pay what you wish; suggested prices are $25 for adults, $17 for seniors (65+), $12 for students. Free for members and children under 12.

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El Anatsui
Brooklyn Museum of Art

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River to River Festival 2013

by Sara Spink

El Anatsui - Brooklyn Museum of Art

Sat, 04 May 2013 21:54:49 +0000

Freedom.

Freedom of movement, of shape, of materials, of process, of interpretation. Freedom is a central theme manifest in all the myriad facets of El Anatsui's work, which is so well presented at the Brooklyn Museum's Gravity and Grace: Monumental Works by El Anatsui. The show does a marvelous job of highlighting the conceptual complexities of Anatsui's art, as well as the continuities that persist in his work even as he explores new directions and materials.

All photos by the author unless otherwise noted.
Gli (Wall), 2010. Aluminum and cooper wire, dimensions variable.

One of the key ways the BMA accomplishes this excellent overview of Anatsui's work is through the very successful integration of the artist's own voice throughout the exhibition. Short but salient video clips enhance our understanding of his process and context, giving the audience the opportunity to hear about the work in El's own words—and those of his plentiful assistants—as well as to see him creating and interacting with his pieces in his studio in Africa. Importantly, it also gives viewers a chance to see and hear the works move.

Earth's Skin, 2007. Aluminum and cooper wire, 177 x 384 inches.

Motion is a significant component of these pieces, both literally and metaphorically. El aspires to create works that allude to the movements of materials and people—what he refers to as "nomadic aesthetics"—and to the traceries of use and ownership that people leave behind on the objects they handle and utilize. It strikes me that in this particular sociocultural and historical respect, El's concerns mirror those of material culture studies.

Gli (Wall) (detail), 2010. Aluminum and cooper wire, dimensions variable.

Anatsui's recent bottle top constructions look fluid, and are in fact mutable—we learn that he provides no instructions for installation, and that each piece will invariably look different every time it is shown. In one of the central galleries visitors can page through the book El Anastui: Art and Life, and compare pieces hung in that very room with a few of their previous installations. In some cases the distinctions are subtle, in others drastic, and I wonder whether curators set out with the express intent of showing the work differently than it has been before. In the book, one can see Gravity and Grace installed "upside down," as compared to its orientation at the Brooklyn Museum (below left), and hung "sideways" at the Museum of Modern Art in Saitama, Japan in 2011 (below right). But these pieces have no "correct" configuration, and El encourages this playfulness and the finding of new relationships within his works.

At far right: Gravity and Grace, 2010. Aluminum, cooper wire.

Alternate installation of Gravity and Grace, Museum of Modern Art, Saitama, Japan, 2011. As published in Susan M. Vogel, El Anatsui: Art and Life (New York: Prestel Publishing), 2012.

He expresses these views in the video clip accompanying a display of some of his earlier wood pieces, "nonfixed forms" that also permit reconfiguration. We watch him rearrange the order of their wooden board components, and I was pleased to see that when the Brooklyn Museum installed the piece Conspirators (below left), it included below the text an image of a different arrangement (in 2012 at the Akron Art Museum, below right). This facet of El's wooden and metal constructions impacts visitor experience in a large way—viewers know they are seeing something special and unique, and that this is the only time it will be shown in precisely the manner they currently see it.

El Anatsui. Conspirators, 1997. Wooden relief with paint, 24 x 55 3/4 x 7/8 inches.

Alternate installation, Akron Art Museum, Ohio, 2012.

El and his assistants are not the only voices incorporated into the show. In keeping with BMA's commitment to technology—and community inclusiveness—iPads throughout showcase short clips where one can "meet," for example, the curator and the director of education. These individuals urge viewers to respond to statements and questions, and—in response to the frequently levied query as to whether such comments will yield anything of quality—I did find that visitors had indeed offered some valuable, and even poetic, insights. Of course a few also asked questions easily answered by watching one of the videos or reading wall text, but I think that the value of the museum's gesture of inclusiveness outweighs that faction of responses.

The Brooklyn Museum also employs a few additional methods of encouraging audience participation and interactivity. For one, QR codes throughout the show direct visitors to further information, which in some instances seemed only tangentially related (though doubtless interesting). I could not be sure, however, as I do not have a smartphone. I know, for shame. I had hoped I could access all of this fascinating content from the website, but unfortunately it seems I will never know which artist also "used fire in some of his works," and it will be much more difficult to determine my favorite adinkra symbol. Thankfully I need not miss out on viewing the installation of the work entitled Gravity and Grace, which is also available on the website. However I do wish I had been able to see this clip while viewing the work itself. (The museum has iPods for rent, and also offers "cell phone tours," but I am not sure whether they provide devices that would enable the scanning of the codes.)

Secondly, and appropriately, the "process" section of the exhibition includes some "crafting" stations (below) where visitors are encouraged to attempt to make some of El Anatsui's vocabulary of forms, with a few necessary substitutions: paper for potentially dangerous tin, and twist ties for wire. This thrilled me; I had just been thinking how the exhibition made me want to make things. And, moreover, it seemed an opportunity the artist himself would thoroughly support; he stated that the goal he has in mind is "to draw the artist in people out."

Crafting stations!

Hey Ma, look what I made!

In this area Anatsui's diverse techniques are clearly enumerated; the wall text refers to 30 common shapes, and the catalogue describes 15 principle formats, that comprise the vocabulary El has devised for this artform he invented. The longer one views his works, the more these various patterns, orchestrations, and ways of folding and shaping the metals become discernable. A very effective accompanying video lets us view El and his assistants at work, and hear them explain their process.

El's artwork touches on fascinating questions about the intersections of art, craft, and design, what distinguishes them, and whether such distinctions need even be recognized. Regarding these artworks in particular, it also raises the issue of access and means; El underwent formal art training, but quips "they don't make plaster in Ghana." Instead he takes an ordinary, and prevalent, material and turns it into something extraordinary. In his own words, he "uplifts [it]… to an object of contemplation." Or, again in the vein of material culture studies, the ordinary already is extraordinary. And, as his assistant points out in one video segment, Anatsui's choice of materials returns us to the ever-present notion of liberty: "cheap materials render you free."

Peak (detail), 2010. Tin, copper wire. As noted in the wall text, another iteration of Peak is found in the next gallery, underscoring the variable nature of Anatsui's pieces.

Earth's Skin (detail, see earlier image), 2007.

Anatsui's references to traditional modes of art and craft, and allusions to specific periods in the history of Africa, further broaden the scope of his conceptual work. Several times I considered his monumental works to read like maps or flags, almost countries in themselves. And in a way they are a map, to particular socio-cultural and historical truths. The bottle tops are artifacts of a link between Africa, Europe, and America, and in his work El Anatsui physically weaves them together. The networks he creates even further signify the larger fabric of humanity. El says "if you touch something, you leave a charge on it, and anybody else touching it connects with you, in a way." Curators making the significant decisions that give shape to this exhibition—and to the works it contains—would certainly connect with El in a very real way, both conceptually as Anatsui intends and physically, given the visceral nature of his works. I am curious what Anatsui's thoughts might be concerning the documentation of his art and its various installations over time. I wondered too whether he was involved in this particular exhibition (and overheard a guard tell another visitor that he was not).

Talk about art imitating life, and vice versa! At left: River, 1997. Wood and paint. At right: A perfectly chosen shirt for proximity to this piece.

Textile and tactile, these works are instantly recognizable as the marriage of painting and sculpture that the artist describes. It denies categorization, and yet… in the "process" section of the show, it seems counterproductive for the wall text to ultimately refer to Anatsui's work as painterly. For all the emphasis here on his defying traditional formal categories, must his innovative work still finally be described according to the Western conventions from which it attempts to break free?

Gravity and Grace: Monumental Works by El Anatsui is on view at the Brooklyn Museum through August 4, 2013. At 200 Eastern Parkway, the Museum is open 11am-6pm on Wed., Fri.-Sun., and 11am-10pm on Thurs; closed Mon. and Tues. The first Saturday of each month, the museum is open until 11pm. Suggested admission is $12 for adults, $8 for students and seniors (over 62), and free for children under 12 with adult accompaniment.

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Gallery Walk

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by Sara Spink

LES Gallery Walk

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 03:25:43 +0000

Another installment from Armory Arts Week, which wrapped up yesterday. My biggest takeaway is that NYC art galleries—at least those on the lower East Side—do not value highly visible signage. This can be troublesome.

Second: I had no idea there was such a concentrated population of such galleries in this area of the city. Moreover, I felt pressed to take advantage of the publicized gallery walk—over 50 galleries open 12-6!—because I was under the impression that all of those in the city were open Tue-Sat 10-6. The point being that, since I also work in a gallery, I have very little opportunity to see the art on display elsewhere. Incorrect! The majority of the galleries I visited today are always open on Sundays! So I can see lots of art! And what's more, I now have handy maps for location referral, as well as a full listing of gallery names, and I can visit the LES all year long with little ado; no doubt such an outcome was the hope behind this whole arrangement.

On to the art! I stopped by twelve galleries in all—I'd hoped for more, but circumstances intervened (as they are wont to do). Those described here are listed in the table of contents below; click the links to jump to particular entries, or scroll to read through. Dates and addresses for each show mentioned are included at the bottom of the page.

Table of Contents

Tomlinson Kong

Lauren DiCioccio: Still Life

First up: Tominson Kong Contemporary. On view is the first NYC solo exhibition of artist Lauren DiCioccio. The ephemera-strewn table (above) contains objects she reproduced entirely through sewing and embroidery, and are impressive for the work and care that went into their creation. On the walls nearby are a series of embroidered portraits that emerge from a newspaper story partially concealed behind each piece of backing fabric. I was most drawn to the works on another wall: several successive shadowboxes, each framing an opened book on which the artist cross-stitched through every letter such that all are rendered illegible. One must appreciate her precision and, again, the time devoted to the creation of the piece. If nothing else it is an interesting idea. But there is also something beautiful about these pieces, and the effective silencing of each text through craft. An adjacent gallery exhibits several other takes on text in WORD: A Group Text Show.

Sylvie Fleury: It Might As Well Rain Until September

Across the street I was invited to try on a pair of shoes (above) at Salon 94 Bowery (near the New Museum), and around the corner I passed by Lehmann Maupin twice before finding it and discovering it was unexpectedly closed. I then chanced on a lovely show at Mulherin + Pollard.

Mulherin + Pollard

Michelle Forsyth. Grey stripe 4, 2013. Gouache on grid paper, 10 x 10 inches. Image courtesy the artist's website.

So well did the pieces shown in Grid/Graph fit together conceptually that I considered this artist very admirable for his creative investigation of a broad range of disparate but closely related visual aims - only to find this was a group show consisting of works by five individuals. Well-chosen! I was particularly taken with the resplendent and surprisingly depthful works of Michelle Forsyth (above). They reminded me—and I mean this in no trivializing sense—of the potholder looming kit I played with as a child (below).

The works entrance as the viewer explores how Forsyth's chosen colors interweave (literally) to create varied senses of tone; the affect achieved sometimes differs greatly from the individual colors (in instances visible along the edges). As one peers closer it feels as though one could enter and get lost in this network of hues. Meanwhile, I felt validated to find that displayed works by Robert Otto Epstein are indeed based on designs for knitting and textiles (below).

Robert Otto Epstein. Enjoy! Place Mat, 2011, 17 x 24 in. Image courtesy the artist's website.

Charles Bank Gallery

Next stop: the Charles Bank Gallery, where I very much enjoyed Ryan Russo's collages of news and advertising items (below left). Fragmented but crafted with a refined aesthetic sensibility they "re-process the massive amounts of information disseminated and ingested within contemporary society," as the gallery's website describes it. Or, as I interpret them, they visually mirror the jagged disconnection such stimuli engender. Intriguing works downstairs include poetically rendered outlines of flowers by Mauro Bonacina (below right) and Garrett Pruter's digitally printed manipulations of found photographs.

Ryan Russo, Untitled 2, 2012. Collage and acrylic on paper, 10.25 x 20 in. Image courtesy Gallery website.

Mauro Bonacina. NEW YORK. USA. 10.21.2010. 12:53, 2010. Spray paint on canvas, 21 x 27 in. Image courtesy Gallery website.

Mark Miller Gallery

I next viewed a selection of photographs at Jen Beckman before heading down south of Delancey to visit the Mark Miller Gallery. Here was one of my favorite shows, as I anticipated it would be. Artist Davide Bramante draws a correlation between Rome and the Lower East Side as capitals of history and culture. Each of his photographs combines four to nine images in a visually rich composition melding ancient and contemporary Rome. The resultant works are utterly enchanting. The installation I found a little trite, with a too-conscious evocation of the working process on the lefthand wall, where seemingly hasty watercolor adorned reproductions are interspersed with torn bits of masking tape. Initially I disappointedly mistook these "sketchy" pieces for the final works. Fortunately the beautiful final pieces fully met my expectations, and the books on the table attest that they also reproduce well; I may consider adding one or more volumes to my growing library.

Davide Bramante. Roma Caput Mundi.

Denny Gallery

I dropped into Mayson and Munch galleries in the same area, then found an interesting selection of pieces in the group show at the Denny Gallery. My favorite work contained multilayered paint chips from every subway station in Manhattan, pinned like butterfly specimens within a shadowbox crafted from a found NYPD barricade. Conceptually I don't grasp a connection, but it's pretty darn cool. I would have loved to see the accompanying handmade book indicated in the wall label, and wonder what precisely it contained.

I have seen similar paint chips, I don't recall whether at the MTA Transit Museum or in the subway section of the City Reliquary museum which I visited (and wrote about) last June. The samples stand as a physical manifestation of literal layers of time, and moreover represent changes in aesthetics and design, and hence I find them most thought-provoking. The installation at Denny also contained photographs of books and other artifact-like pieces, as seen in the installation shot below, which evoked the feel of an old library.

Image courtesy Gallery website.

Anastasia Photo

I then headed back North, where I stopped by the the Y Gallery. Here was what seemed to be a potentially interesting project, but I lacked the patience to view/appreciate the video installation. I was, however, thoroughly engaged by the astounding photographs across the street at Anastasia Photo. I wanted to see this exhibition because the image on the gallery site reminded me of a series I'd seen in a semi-recent issue of National Geographic. As I entered I heard the attendant/owner/whoever commenting that this photographer contributed to that publication, and as I surveyed the room it quickly became apparent that I had in fact inadvertently identified the very artist. I recognized photographs related to several recent features I'd seen. The bound books of prints on the table made it seem as though the gallery had laid open George Steinmetz's archives for view, and I appreciated the intimacy (and trust) suggested by this gesture. I think not all contained Steinmetz's work—the maker's identity was not always readily apparent—but it was a rewarding culmination to a very enjoyable day.

George Steinmetz. Zebra and Fairy Circles in NamibRand Nature Reserve, Namibia.

It was great fun to take part in this semi-organized event, noting passersby on the street consulting similar maps and acknowledging them as fellow gallery patrons. And for those spaces I bypassed or didn't reach today, I now know I can return on an upcoming weekend!

Lauren DiCioccio: Still Life, and WORD: A Group Text Show, both through March 29, 2013 at Tomlinson Kong Contemporary (270 Bowery just south of E. Houston)

Sylvie Fleury: It Might As Well Rain Until September, through April 27 at Salon 94 Bowery (243 Bowery at Stanton)

Grid/Graph, through March 31, 2013 at Mulherin + Pollard (187 Chrystie Street b/t Stanton and Rivington)

Ryan Russo: Out of Context, through April 7th at Charles Banks Gallery (196 Bowery at Spring Street)

Davide Bramante: Roma Caput Mundi, through March 31, 2013 at Mark Miller Gallery (92 Orchard Street b/t Broome and Delancey)

Chronicle: Nadja Frank, Riitta Ikonen, Sarah Kabot, Jackie Mock, through March 30, 2013 at Denny Gallery (261 Broome Street b/t Orchard and Allen)

George Steinmetz: Desert Air, through March 12, 2013 at Anastasia Photo (166 Orchard Street at Stanton)

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by Sara Spink

Independent art fair 2013

Sat, 09 Mar 2013 03:21:28 +0000

All images by the author unless otherwise noted.

The stairwell smelled like gingerbread. This only added to the surreal sensation permeating last night's opening of the Independent art fair, one of many occurring during this year's Armory Arts Week in New York City. Free and open to the public, it showcases over 40 international galleries.

Holland Cotter of the New York Times declares it the most fun of the fairs; I certainly found it to be so. The energy was palpable, and I loved the warehousey tenor of the space (which happens to be the old DIA building).

My one complaint? That artists' names (as well as title, date, etc. of the work) were not always displayed. I support the notion that each gallery should have the freedom to install as it sees fit, but I don't want to be forced to inquire about such rudimentary details (especially on a crowded opening night when everyone is already involved in conversation/seeing who there is to be seen).

These were… unusual.

Amid the numerable works I'd deem headscratchers and a few, I'm sorry, that were just plain bad (sure, maybe I "just don't get it," fine), I found several of interest. A selection follows, with credit given to galleries and artists where available (some were not posted, others I neglected to record; emails or comments with identifications are welcomed.)

Maureen Paley (London)

Dove Allouche, Guadel de Stampa (Paris). These works revisit an early photographic process. Media: lavender oil and alcohol on silver plate (the first reflects colors from a painting opposite).

Broadway 1602 (New York) This did not photograph well, but believe me it was arresting. Confronted with it upon turning the corner it was effective for a) its unexpected proximity and b) it's sound. From the lightbulb to the tile floor drips what I thought was water, but have since discovered is oil.

Verena Dengler, Galerie Meyer Kainer (Vienna)

Jack Lavender, The Approach (London)

Jack Hanley Gallery (New York)

Joanne Tatham and Tom O'Sullivan, Modern Institute (Glasgow)

This, by the same artists, turns out to relate to a much larger scale installation (right)

'The indirect exchange of uncertain value', A Collective off-site project at Fettes College, Edinburgh, 2011. Image © The Modern Institute/Toby Webster Ltd

Alex Dordoy, Modern Institute (Glasgow)

<— This

reminds me

of this —>

Joseph Stella, The Brooklyn Bridge: Variation on an Old Theme, 1939. Courtesy the Whitney Museum of American Art

Like an ant farm, made of sand… had so much depth and topological-like detail for being so narrow!

Supportico Lopez? (Berlin)

Mark Barrow, Elizabeth Dee (New York) Acrylic on hand-loomed linen, textile by Sarah Parke.

Sculpture by Michel François Bortolami (New York)

Both images White Columns (New York)

Jason Loebs, Campoli Presti (London, Paris). This I thought cool for memorializing the process—fingerprints on the metal

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Matilda McQuaid talk "Textile Variations" at the BGC

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 02:06:08 +0000

Matilda McQuaid, Deputy Curatorial Director and Head of Textiles at the Smithsonian's Cooper-Hewitt, National Design Museum, gave an engaging talk a few weeks ago at the Bard Graduate Center. Her presentation afforded a unique insider's view on the nature of the Cooper-Hewitt's collection and its intended display upon the museum's 2014 reopening.

Image courtesy Cooper-Hewitt museum website

The four-year closure has no doubt caused some difficulty and strain, yet it also (by necessity) allows for a certain amount of distance—a rare opportunity to evaluate both collection and institutional approach. It seems that next year may bring New York City a reinvented Cooper-Hewitt, one that embraces a certain amount of innovation while remaining constant to the founders' aims and the museum's history. In fact, in some ways the "new" C-H is poised to align even more closely with these traditions.

McQuaid described the C-H's current aims as being informed by history, both that of the objects and of the institution itself. Her talk began with an overview of the museum's origins, and it struck me to learn that the Hewitt sisters were only sixteen when they initiated the gathering of what was to become the collection's foundation. This narrative will comprise one part of the museum's new installation, but only in so far as it pertains to the collection. We can look forward to a very object-centric presentation, one that focuses on the stories behind each object and emphasizes process and technique. New installations will integrate departments and describe how cultural developments—such as the invention of the printing process—affected the evolution of various artistic media. The goal will be for displays to immediately involve viewers on a visual level, through an unconventional mix of objects. McQuaid suggests that if even just one item attracts the visitor, "others [nearby] will solicit attention, and learning will occur." It will also offer cross-departmental exploration, as McQuaid demonstrated in her talk; her pairings of objects emphasized a range of geographical areas and eras alike.

Image courtesy museum website

Mutually informative examples of historical and contemporary objects permeated McQuaid's presentation. The application of traditional methods of craft to science seems one major way the Cooper-Hewitt (and other institutions) can assert their relevance to the present. For instance she compared early machine-made lace samples with a modern-day bioimplant device. On another slide, knitted stockings from ancient Egypt—fascinatingly among the earliest examples of such wares—complemented a similarly-crafted cardiac arrest support device designed to treat enlarged hearts. Meanwhile, a newly crocheted hyperbolic plane (below) demonstrated how textiles can act as a learning tool "outside the traditional understanding of decorative and applied arts."

Image courtesy of the blog "Hyperbolic Crochet." Author Daina's work will be included in the Cooper-Hewitt's collection; see her post.

This expansive approach to the collection became increasingly clear. Modern artworks based on the collection will inspire us to see these objects anew, while unusual historical examples force us to revise our perspective of familiar forms. A patchworky sampler of darning techniques (below) is a far cry from the conventional representation of alphabets and religious verse. I had never seen such a thing, and as McQuaid commented, it is in appearance "modern its own right." So too was a sampler showcasing only varied methods of creating buttonholes. These are not only examples of traditional modes of craft and design, but also demonstrations of the very process of their creation; as such they are studies in self-reflexivity (itself a "modern" idea).

Darning Sampler, 1735. Silk embroidery on linen. (link to online collection entry).

Methods of making promise to return to the fore in the overhauled Cooper-Hewitt. When it was founded, the concept of "museum as laboratory" prevailed, and was a very modern notion for the time. The focus will now be not only on displaying collections, but also on actively engaging visitors with the goal of generating "informed participants rather than informed viewers." Here is a welcome and significant reminder that an "interactive experience" is not necessarily a digital one. The renovated Cooper-Hewitt will include a process lab, a specified place for hands-on work. However the hope is to have such stations throughout the museum, and not just limited to that one location (NB: one of the knitted hyperbolic planes mentioned above will be available for visitors to touch, according to the creator's blog). In this way the C-H will return to its foundations as a "real working museum," and enhance its emphasis on process and technique through opportunities for firsthand, active exploration.

Conversation about the historical nature of the collection naturally led to interesting questions about whether and how its holdings might be expanded or enhanced. McQuaid responded that parameters differ by department—there are gaps to fill, and there is also a concerted effort to update through the present. History is relevant to now, she pointed out, and collecting contemporary works can likewise illuminate history. As ever, pieces that demonstrate exceptional technique remain the focus, and new acquisitions must relate to existing holdings.

The Museum was housed in the Cooper Union Foundation Building until moving to the Carnegie Mansion in 1970, where it remains today. Image courtesy Smithsonian Digital Library.

The discussion following the talk broached the question "what is a textile," and McQuaid referred to the artist El Anatsui (whose exhibition I saw at the Brooklyn Museum last weekend). While the end product is important, acquisition considerations hone in on structure and technique. Plastics, as a novel and contemporary medium, present a unique circumstance similarly treated: questions center on how an item is crafted and used, and technique supplants the end result.

I expected McQuaid's talk to be of a somewhat different nature, to trace, for example, motifs across genres, cultures, and time periods. Instead it addressed the many concerns informing an expansion and revision of institutional approach, one that will promise innovation while still remaining true to the museum's history and mission. In a way, her talk's evolution from collection overview to museum use and viewer experience mirrors a trend within museums in recent decades: to reorient attention from the collection alone to include a focus on the relationship between collection and audience. This comprised a cornerstone of a recent panel discussion I attended on technology and the future of museums, to which I will soon devote another post. The C-H's new online collection database (screenshot below) demonstrates a concerted effort at transparency ("bugs are being fixed") and accessible language ("this is our stuff, we have lots of it.") Its organization and experimental search features would provide enough fodder for another post entirely.

Explore the alpha release of the collection database here.

But back to the physical museum. The Cooper-Hewitt's collection has been little on display recently, and few are familiar with its rich history and impressive depth. It will be enormously exciting to see how the museum's newly defined institutional identity will integrate its past and present.

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Frank Gehry at Work

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Frank Gehry At Work, Leslie Feely Fine Art

Tue, 05 Mar 2013 19:39:52 +0000

Upcoming at Leslie Feely Fine Art: Frank Gehry At Work. The press release I wrote for the exhibition follows:

Monaco Urbanisation En Mer project model, 2007. Plexi, mylar, and gatorboard. 24 x 16.5 x 24 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Leslie Feely Fine Art, LLC. Photo credit: Gehry Partners.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

FRANK GEHRY AT WORK
April 11 – June 30, 2013

A selection of Frank Gehry process models will be on display at Leslie Feely Fine Art from April 11 to June 30, 2013. Drawn from significant constructions and concepts of the architect’s prolific career, these organic forms stand as testament to Gehry’s tactile approach, enhancing our perception of this sculptural architect and his work. Projects on view include the California Aerospace Museum and Theater (1984), the Winton Guest House (1987), the Chiat/Day Building (1991), the Barcelona Fish or Peix completed for the 1992 Summer Olympics, and the Beekman Tower/New York by Gehry at 8 Spruce Street (2011).

This exhibition presents over 30 diverse process models from 1985-2012, comprising a wide array of materials and approaches that begin to illuminate the subtleties of Gehry’s thought—and working—process. Several renditions of Gehry’s concept for Sonderborg Kunsthalle, for instance, experiment with varying shapes and degrees of fluidity embodied in the structure’s metallic skin. Studies pertaining to an unrealized tower for the Brooklyn Arena utilize materials ranging from basswood, vinyl, and plexiglass to gatorboard and paper. Each successive stage of a given model’s development illustrates the exploratory nature of Gehry’s practice, and the playfulness and originality inherent to his work.

Distinguishing his methods from conventional, precision-based modes of development, Frank Gehry’s process is similar to that of artists, sculptors, and scientists. In a 1980 interview he explained, “It’s kind of like throwing things out and then following the ideas, rather than predicting what you’re going to do.” His models can therefore be understood as conceptual drafts, or three-dimensional sketches, integral to project development and design. Moreover, the structures are admirable in themselves as aesthetically beautiful sculpture.

This show provides insight into Gehry’s indelible mind, one of the most brilliant—and provocative—of contemporary architecture and design. Photographic reproductions of his studio, the architect at work, and certain realized projects accompany the models on display. This exhibition reveals otherwise concealed aspects of Gehry’s process and practice, while simultaneously inspiring an array of new questions. Ultimately, these architectural studies culminate in a perceptive study of the architect himself.

This is Frank Gehry’s second exhibition at Leslie Feely Fine Art, which also held his first ever gallery show in 2007 and featured his models at Art Basel Miami Beach 2011. Solo exhibitions including his process models have been presented by ArtisTree, Taikoo Place, Hong Kong, 2011; the Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2008; New York’s Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, 2001; the Triennale Design Museum, Milan, 1997; and the Walker Center, Minneapolis, which organized a major retrospective of Gehry’s work in 1986.

Gehry is the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award, Americans for the Arts (2000), the American Institute of Architects Gold Medal (1999), the National Medal of Arts, National Endowment for the Arts (1998), and the Pritzker Architecture Prize (1989). The architect graduated from the University of Southern California in 1954 and Harvard’s Graduate School of Design in 1956. Frank Gehry lives and works in Santa Monica, California.

For more information please visit http://www.lesliefeely.com, email moc.yleefeilsel|yrellag#moc.yleefeilsel|yrellag, or call 212-988-0040.

Frank Gehry At Work will be on display from April 11 to June 29, 2013. The Leslie Feely Fine Art is located on the 5th Floor of 33 East 68th Street, near the Northwest corner of 68th and Madison, and is open free to the public Tues-Sat from 10am-6pm.

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by Sara Spink

Neue Galerie's German Expressionism

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 03:53:02 +0000

It was a pleasure to peruse the German Expressionism exhibit at the Neue Galerie, which highlights an artistic movement central to the institution's collection and showcases some of its most prized works. A few of these I have seen before under other circumstances, but a recontextualization such as this allows for new connections and fresh perspectives on even these familiar pieces.

A selection of works in a variety of media inhabits the museum's uppermost floor, and serves as an introduction rather than an exhaustive study. The textual overview greeting visitors states in simple terms the innovatory nature of German Expressionism, and recognizes its use of primitivism to achieve a new aesthetic of modernity. The artistic group Die Brücke found inspiration in an ethnographic museum, and the text implies that "German Expressionism" is comprised of these artists—including Erich Heckel, Karl Schmidt-Rottluff, and Ernst Ludwig Kirchner—and those of the group Der Blaue Reiter—including Wassily Kandinsky, Gabriele Münter, August Macke, and Franz Marc. However the relationship between these two groups (if there was one) remains obscure, and the movement's full extent and influence undescribed.

The last sentence of the description declares that the pieces these artists generated are as forceful today as they were when created. The lack of further text in the galleries (beyond the expected tombstone labels) permits the displayed works to stand alone, and therefore emphasizes their continued visual impact. However for those without an art historical background it might be helpful to provide some reference to their forerunners, such that the Expressionists' impact and innovation might be more fully grasped.

Though powerful they are not pretty, at least not always. While you will find some charming prints, beautifully rendered figures, and wonderfully expressive colors, many of the works feature grisly palettes, uncomfortably emaciated figures, and graphic sexuality (a Google image search for "Otto Dix" gives you the sense). There are also delightful surprises, such as Paul Klee's 1909 watercolor self-portrait, a George Grosz ink and wash work of vivacious spontaneity, and an intoxicating 1908 Kandinsky painting entitled Murnau: Strasse mit Frauen to which I returned again and again (below).

Wassily Kandinsky. Murnau: Street with Women/Murnau: Strasse mit Frauen, 1908. Oil on cardboard. This work is part of the collection of Estée Lauder and was made available through the generosity of Estée Lauder. © 2013 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris.

What impresses most in this exhibition is the sheer breadth of style that falls under the rubric of German Expressionism. This diversity is perhaps most evident in the hallway, which showcases a range of portraits. Because each depicts a similar subject in a highly individual way, this visual comparison very effectively highlights the artists' diversity of approaches. Note here Grosz's drawing of John Förste; his painting of the same man is found in the adjoining room. Other highlights include the prints displayed in the Neue's smallest gallery, which makes quite apparent the relationship between German Expressionism and primitive art. For example, I find that the horses in Franz Marc's The First Animals strongly recall the cave paintings of Lascaux (below).

At left: Franz Marc, The First Animals, 1913. Gouache and pencil on paper. Right: Cave paintings, Lascaux, France.

I enjoy the intimacy afforded by that particular space within the Neue, but I did have one complaint: closely-hung prints fill the wall across from the entryway (below), and the labels associated with these works are hung directly opposite, just inside the door. Consequently the viewer must turn his back to the prints in order to determine their maker, title, and date; a disorienting arrangement to say the least.

And one final point of confusion: the Bauhaus works in the back gallery. Is this in fact part of the German Expressionism exhibit? Its presence afforded quite a surprise. I wonder if it is meant to serve as a benchmark of "modernity," and thus provide some of the context I felt was missing: a roughly contemporary manifestation of the modernity that the Expressionists were working with or against or around. That said, this gallery contains some wonderful pieces, including a selection of door handles, Marianne Brandt ashtrays, and a side by side display of a Breuer Wardrobe and a Schleifer Exhibition poster that very clearly demonstrates how the Bauhaus graphic aesthetic translated across media.

Marianne Brandt. Ashtray, Weimar, ca. 1925. Brass and nickel-plated metal. Overall: 6.9 cm x 12 cm x 11 cm.

There is much to see and appreciate here, and even more if you continue downstairs for the concurrent display of German and Austrian decorative art recently gifted to the institution by Harry C. Sigman. Here is a marvelous integrated presentation of the fine and decorative arts, a mission central both to the period of the works on display and to the stated mission of the Neue Galerie.

Joseph Maria Olbrich. Two-branch candlestick, ca. 1901. Execution: Metallwarenfabrik Eduard Hueck, Lüdenscheid. Pewter. Gift of Harry C. Sigman.

German Expressionism 1900-1930: Masterpieces from the Neue Galerie Collection and German and Austrian Decorative Arts from Jugendstil to the Bauhaus: The Harry C. Sigman Gift are on view through April 22, 2013. The Neue Galerie is located at 1048 Fifth Avenue at 86th Street. Open Thurs-Mon from 11am-6pm, general admission is $20, $10 for students and seniors (65 and over).On the first Friday of every month the museum is open to the public from 6-8pm.

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At the Met—Matisse: In Search of True Painting

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 04:13:50 +0000

From the outset, this exhibition promises—and then eloquently delivers—an explication of Matisse's creative process. This it does with great clarity through a relatively concise but compelling selection of 49 paintings that juxtaposes—in groups of 2 or 3—various renditions of identical or similar subjects. The ensuing comparisons effectively demonstrate—both visually and through accompanying text—how Matisse explored compositional and spatial relationships, light and pattern, and the use of color as an expressive force.

Certain pieces especially manifest Matisse's influences, both those of contemporary art and the locations in which he worked. Above: Still Life with Purro I (1904) and Still Life with Purro II (1904–5), reminiscent of works by Paul Cézanne and Paul Signac respectively.

I have long admired Matisse's work, but until seeing this show had no idea of the particulars of his practice. The series of juxtapositions presented here are so well-suited to this type of exposition that one wonders why this method has not before been used to show Matisse's work. However it soon becomes apparent that, in fact, it has: one gallery of the Met's exhibition recreates three walls of the 1945 inaugural exhibition of Paris's Galerie Maeght. This installation showcased six Matisse paintings, each accompanied by photographs taken at intervals to document the evolution of that particular work. The display demonstrated Matisse's desire to reveal his paintings' development to his audience and, consequently, showed the intrinsic value he afforded to each piece's evolution.

The Large Blue Dress, 1937 (and photograph of its earlier state). Oil on canvas. 36 1/2 x 29 in. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Gift of Mrs. John Wintersteen, 1956. © 2012 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

A timeline of photographs in the previous gallery similarly evidences the progression of the painting "The Large Blue Dress" (above), and the presence of the dress itself makes this example all the more illuminating. The materiality of the skirt permits the viewer to note the creative license Matisse exercised in its portrayal, an observation also encouraged by the wall text; it highlights "the many ways that Matisse represented [the] ruffle," and further emphasizes Matisse's process by pointing out that he ultimately chose to delineate this feature by scratching into the paint. The physicality of this described action conjures a mental image of the artist at work, thereby further bringing to life Matisse's practice.

Fully engaging but not overwhelming, this comprehensible show doles out a range of subjects and styles enticing in color and texture. In my opinion one can never have enough Matisse, and this exhibition strikes the perfect balance of elements—enlivening the senses and whetting the appetite, satisfying but leaving viewers eager for more.

NB: Fortunately for all, the exhibition lives in online form on the Met's website, along with the complete wall text, and a selection of images and videos.

Matisse: In Search of True Painting runs from Dec 4, 2012-Mar. 17, 2013. The Met is located at 1000 Fifth Avenue, entrance at 82nd. Hours are: Tue.-Thu. 9:30am-5:30pm, Fri.-Sat. 9:30am-9pm, Sun. 9:30am-5:30pm. Galleries are cleared 15 minutes prior to official closing. Closed Monday (except Met Holiday Mondays). Recommended admission: $25 for adults, $17 for seniors (65 and over), $12 for students. Admission is free for members and children under 12 (accompanied by an adult).

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Call me a nerd but...

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 17:59:33 +0000

this is why social media are awesome: when I talk to museums, they talk back. It's pretty great.

Doesn't take much!

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Morgan Library
Josef Albers

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Just in Time: Josef Albers at the Morgan

Mon, 15 Oct 2012 22:22:22 +0000

Anyone who has taken a painting class is likely familiar with the exercise of creating value studies, strips of tonal values ranging from dark to light. Having done so granted me an immediate familiarity with the preparatory studies comprising this insightful exhibition evidencing painter Josef Alber's creative process.

I confess that the works of Albers I'd seen—the renowned Homage to the Square series—never particularly captured my fancy, but the collection displayed here is a different story and, in fact, they are a crucial part of the narrative. They embody an experimental and playful aspect that I never would have surmised from the severity of the completed paintings, and indeed Albers describes these final paintings as solutions, whereas his sketches clearly manifest the pleasure he took in working through the problem with what he described as a trial-and-error approach.

"Color Study for White Line Square." Photograph from 2012 The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS) New York. Image courtesy of the Morgan Library & Museum

Whereas my professor encouraged the gradual addition of white and black to a given color to expand its tonal range in two directions, Albers utilized only pure pigments straight from the tube, and seemingly took pride in achieving the effects he desired with the raw materials alone. The significance of this aspect is evident in his inscription of the color names and brands, sometimes penciled in the margin and sometimes scratched into the paint itself with the back end of his paintbrush. Additional notations by the artist further reveal his personal process; across the bottom of one work, my favorite: "try again."

"Three Color Studies for Homage to the Square, oil on blotting paper." The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation, inv. no. 1976.2.192 20.9 x 47.6 cm. Image via Joanne Mattera Art Blog

I also especially enjoyed the presentation of the truly experimental color sketches shown in cases, almost as though they were on the artist's worktable. As for the works hung on the walls, I wonder how Albers would have felt about the wide white mattes surrounding them, and whether he would have displayed them in this way. Albers obviously chose his colors with great deliberation, and his final paintings have no border. I wonder to what degree the formatting affects the eye's perception of the hues within, but to entertain such questions, at least, is fully compatible with Albers' own exploration.

Aesthetically, these sketches capture a spontaneity of application and an evolution in thought process making them, at least to me, infinitely more compelling than the ultimate paintings. Moreover, they truly enhanced my appreciation of Albers' body of work as a whole. Both an artifact and an integral part of Albers' process, they visually convey the genuine pleasure he found in juxtaposing color. The wall text includes quotes that demonstrate quite clearly how Albers marveled over the possibilities he discovered through the act of creating his work.

Though still relatively minimal, these studies are quite animated and possess a power of suggestion evocative of mood, time, and/or—in the case of his earlier Adobe series (above)—a particular location. Some are perhaps "only" color studies, pure and simple, but even these may conjure memories or inspire reflection in the viewer. Visitors might experience any range of impressions or reactions to these pieces, but even given the potential breadth of individual responses, I have a hard time understanding how these studies inspired two women I passed to animatedly discuss the relative merits of…wait for it…teapots.

As this exhibit entered its final days, the incredibly exciting Dürer to de Kooning: 100 Master Drawings from Munich opened downstairs. With great pleasure I indulged in the first of its two rooms… I'll be heading back soon to see the rest, so stay tuned!

Joseph Albers in America: Painting on Paper runs from July 20-Oct. 14, 2012. The Morgan Library & Museum is found at 225 Madison Avenue at 36th Street. Hours are: Tue.-Thu. 10:30am-5pm, Fri. 10:30am-9pm, Sat. 10am-6pm, Sun. 11am-6pm. General admission is $15, and $10 for children (under 16), seniors (65 and over), and students w/ current ID. Admission is free on Fridays from 7-9pm.

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Neue Galerie
Ferdinand Hodler

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Ferdinand Hodler: View to Infinity, Neue Galerie

Thu, 04 Oct 2012 15:53:22 +0000

The newly opened "Ferdinand Hodler: View To Infinity" at the Neue Galerie describes Hodler as the foremost Swiss painter of the early 20th century, an adherent of symbolism, and a significant influence on permanent collection artists Klimt, Kokoschka, and Schiele. The exhibition's pointed introduction leaves the audience well-poised to appreciate the compact but diverse selection of works on display.

Photograph by Hulya Kolabas, 2012, courtesy of the Neue Galerie

I didn't choose to attend the show based on any foreknowledge of Hodler's importance, but simply because I could tell from the posted teaser images that I'd enjoy his use of color (I was not disappointed). By turns reminiscent (to my eyes) of Van Gogh, Cezanne, and even Modigliani, his closeness to Secessionist artists is evidenced in the placement of two of his portraits on either side of Klimt's famed Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, as well as the display of a suite of furniture designed by Josef Hoffman for Hodler's apartment. I was excited about this inclusion (below); perhaps you'll be as intrigued as I was when I read that the accentuated pores of the wood result from a white chalk filling.

Photograph by Hulya Kolabas, 2012, courtesy of the Neue Galerie

The subject of one of these Hodler portraits, Gertrude Dübi-Müller (above right), is responsible for the intimate photographs of the artist filling one gallery. The general similarity of his stance and expression in most images renders occasional glimpses of tenderness and humor even more effective. The final portraits of the painter with his family are touching—particularly when one notices they predate by only one day the photograph of Hodler on his deathbed.

These photographs are worth the close look their small format requires, for they evoke a charming nostalgic atmosphere and engender affection for the artist, and moreover convey important information about his work. For example, the wall label placed opposite Hodler's "final, great monumental painting" entitled "View to Infinity"—reproduced over the central staircase—contains a crucial bit of text informing viewers that the original canvas is twice the represented size. This notice is easily missed, but a photo memorializing Hodler at work on this piece better conveys a sense of its scale.

Photograph by Hulya Kolabas, 2012, courtesy of the Neue Galerie

The exhibition continues upstairs, fittingly requiring visitors to make a metaphorical ascent to the heavens. In the later work on display here we witness Hodler confronting mortality and eternity through intensive series of studies and landscape paintings verging on abstraction. In one gallery his unflinching record of his lover's sickness and demise elicits both compassion and admiration—the drive for expression can easily fall prey to a cartoonish exaggeration or triteness that Hodler adeptly avoids. Somewhat unexpectedly, details for some works are found on four laminate cards housed near the doorway. By eliminating the need for labels on the two more closely-hung walls of the room, this decision eliminates overcrowding but also causes momentary confusion and disrupts the viewing experience.

Were it not for the information that Hodler only recommenced his self-portraits after the death of his lover, I wouldn't necessarily have grasped this emphasis on mortality asserted in the wall text. He paints his own face in a manner resembling his nearby mountain landscapes (an insight I was later gratified to find also noted by the curator), thereby creating a corollary between humanity's transience and the seemingly eternal quality of nature.

Self-Portrait. Image via Wikipaintings

The Rothko-esque landscapes in the next room evolve into abstracted extractions of color, broad planes suggesting the infinite and inviting contemplation. These works flank studies for the aforementioned "View to Infinity" painting (on the blue wall in the image below). These have a spontaneity, even a coarseness of application, that I much preferred to the final work. Here the wall label introduces food for thought: not only do the figures gaze into the great beyond and don blue dresses symbolize spirituality, but the repetition of figures also suggests they might continue forever in the manner of a Greek vase or frieze pattern.

Photograph by Hulya Kolabas, 2012, courtesy of the Neue Galerie

The last room I entered was enshrouded in purple velvet, a funereal space complete with an audio recording of the "Berlin Mass." Founded on the symbolist association of horizontality and death, the curator argues a connection between Hodler's paintings of his dead mistresses and three landscapes executed at the window of his lover's sickroom. Indeed one can almost discern in these expanses an elongated female form. It's not readily apparent how the thesis explored here warrants the inclusion of one additional self-portrait. However, this work is notably distinct from those in other galleries in its slightly ghoulish colors and high level of detail. In the context of this room the portrait takes on the aspects of a religious icon, reminiscent of late Roman Egyptian funereal portraits (c.f. the Met's Portrait of a Boy, 2nd century).

It seems appropriate at exhibition's end to walk down a hallway of unbroken white as though funneling visitors themselves toward infinity. A painted bar of silver on one wall ultimately leads to a Hodler quote reading "Blue is the color that, like the sky, like the sea, speaks to me of all that is not humdrum, all that is transcendent and magnificent."

Perhaps, then, the inclusion of blue walls in several rooms is not meant merely to complement the paintings, but also to conjure this deeper layer of meaning. Unusually, the color often extends onto a portion of the adjoining neutral wall—a decision that, though jarring, might serve to expand the perceived size of the room, and thereby even more closely align the installation with the themes of Hodler's work.

Lake Geneva with Mont Blanc at dawn (Genfersee mit Mont Blanc in der Morgendämmerung), 1918. Image via Wikipaintings

Unfortunately for my own desire to continue contemplating these paintings indefinitely, the works to which I was most drawn were (as usual) nowhere to be found among those reproduced for sale in the gift shop. If you find yourself similarly affected, take the time to commune in person with these profound pieces.

Ferdinand Hodler: View To Infinity is on view through January 7, 2013. The Neue Galerie is located at 1048 Fifth Avenue at 86th Street. Open Thurs-Mon from 11am-6pm, general admission is $20, $10 for students and seniors (65 and over).On the first Friday of every month the museum is open to the public from 6-8pm.

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by Sara Spink

Yayoi Kusama at the Whitney

Wed, 03 Oct 2012 05:04:28 +0000

Perhaps foolishly, I had no great expectations when I decided on a whim to visit the Yayoi Kusama retrospective at the Whitney. Given the option I wouldn't really have said abstraction is my "thing," but then something happened. It started in the first gallery among the early works. There cryptic, whispery figures meandered over nebulous forms emerging from dark paper to suggest space or deep ocean environs. Mysterious but calming, they invited both perplexity and meditation. From that point on I fell in love with Kusama's work.

Yayoi Kusama, The Germ, 1952. Ink and pastel on paper, 9 3/4 × 7 1/16 in. (24.7 × 18 cm). Collection of the artist. © Yayoi Kusama. Image courtesy Yayoi Kusama Studio Inc.; Ota Fine Arts, Tokyo; Victoria Miro Gallery, London

The breadth of her creation over the decades as represented here is astonishing, though threads of continuity are abundantly clear in the art itself as well as in the accompanying text. It is immediately apparent why the artist earned the moniker "princess of polka dots," but as with many such identifiers its use is reductive, and in this case belies both the depth and variety of her art.

From the first gallery visitors progress to works from the infinity net series. Again evocative of the ocean, their initial similarity gives way to endless variation upon close inspection. The next room presents the performative aspect of her work also examined in subsequent galleries, and showcases among assorted other items artifacts from the happenings Kusama staged. Do take a few minutes to read a few of the project proposals and letters on display—I was pleasantly surprised to find a few that made me laugh aloud.

Installation view of Yayoi Kusama (Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, July 12-September 30,2012). Photograph by Sheldan C. Collins, courtesy of the Whitney Museum

Less engaging to me personally were the phallus-bedecked works populating a middle gallery, though their inclusion helps to emphasize the obsessive character variously manifest in much of Kusama's work. Later pieces—including those undulating and enticing forms that now grace an array of Vuitton products—delight in their vibrancy.

Kusama for Louis Vuitton Bag Collection. Image via highsnob

The last room engulfs visitors in the bright colors and complex symbols of numerous paintings hung floor to ceiling, a splendid climax to an impressive show. According to the introductory text, the exhibition aimed to encapsulate the over 60 years of Kusama's career and demonstrate the significant shifts occurring within her body of work. This it did admirably, but though I came away with a seemingly full understanding of this progression, I wonder if it wasn't partially constructed for the sake of the show's own clarity. I imagine too that it (necessarily) only scratches the surface of Kusama's complex character—how ironic that this staunch protestor of MoMA's elitism should evolve to stage a show replete with the "do not touch" signs she once so reviled.

Kusama at the Whitney with her latest works. Photo by Matt Carasella, courtesy of the Whitney Museum via GalleristNY

Yet where the goal is to both draw in those who know Kusama's work and to introduce her to those who don't, the show both captivates and inspires. It certainly engendered a great deal of heated debate between myself and my companion, with whom I disagreed about Kusama's painting methods. Thankfully curator David Kiehl was kind enough to settle the matter for us on Twitter-hosted Ask A Curator Day. The question: "Please settle a dispute: does Kusama use stencils or other tools for works like "Yellow Trees?" Answer (read bottom to top):

Three cheers for social media and audience engagement!

Yayoi Kusama is on view at the Whitney Museum of American Art until September 30, 2012. The museum's address is 945 Madison Avenue at 75th Street, and it is open Wed-Sun from 11am-6pm, on Fridays 11am-9pm. General admission is $18, $14 for ages 19-25, seniors/65 and over, and full-time students. Ages 18 and under are admitted free. Fridays are pay-what-you-wish from 6pm-9pm.

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Rineke Dijkstra

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by Sara Spink

Rineke Dijkstra: A Retrospective

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 17:07:47 +0000

I love observing people, and it's lucky for me that New York City is especially conducive and receptive to that practice. Whether watching families in Central Park or scrutinizing faces on the subway, one finds in this city an endless canvas of humanity.

It is just this type of inspection Rineke Dijkstra invites in the retrospective body of work currently presented at the Guggenheim. Raising questions about the relationship between photographer, subject, and viewer (a topic serving as the focus of am upcoming scholarly panel at the museum on September 21st), Dijkstra's photographs and especially her movies permit unusual opportunities to contemplate her subjects' modes of self-expression, both conscious and not. She investigates various ways of lessening the "posing" inherent to the making of her portraits, and she traverses a fascinatingly wide range of individuals and circumstances. Some are invested with a backstory that make them particularly poignant, like her renderings over time of Bosnian refugee Almerisa. Others work in conjunction to make a more general statement—as in her New Mothers series—even as their comparison highlights the individuality of each sitter.

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Dijkstra's recent expansion into video work allows the addition of additional avenues of expression: movement and, in one instance, speech. Capturing various modes of dancing at clubs in Liverpool and the Netherlands, two films allow the audience to ponder the dichotomy between the performative and highly personal interpretation of music through motion, and the sometimes highly evident self-consciousness of the performer. For me it had two additional effects: disturbance at the often revealing dress and excessively made-up appearances of very young-looking girls, and relief that I am not alone in employing endlessly repetitive motions on the dance floor. It was also fun to share this viewing experience—and laughter—with other visitors.

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Most compelling, I felt, was the film I See A Woman Crying (Weeping Woman) (2009), in which several school children verbally reflect on a Picasso painting that is never visible to the audience. While this video piece does further exemplify Dijkstra's overall interest in subject-photographer-viewer relationships, and the ideas of exchange and response in general, I found it astounding for the way in which it conveys the seemingly infinite depths of inventiveness exhibited by these children. What imagination! It was fascinating to see their fondness for constructing narratives, and to perceive the power of suggestion at work as each student's statement seemed to mold classmates' subsequent responses. It's a captivating revelation of perception and thought processes, and the exhibition as a whole is an engaging introduction to and survey of Dijkstra's career thus far.

Rineke Dijkstra: A Retrospective is on view until October 8, 2012 at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, 1071 5th Avenue at 89th Street (directions). Closed Thursday, the museum is open from 10:00 am to 5:45 pm Sun. - Wed. and Fri., 10:00 am to 7:45 pm on Saturday. Admission is pay what you wish on Saturdays from 5:45 pm to 7:45 pm; at all other times admission price is: $22 for adults, $18 for seniors and students with ID, free for children under 12 and members. Note that museum admission is also covered by certain package passes.

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Monet's Garden

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by Sara Spink

NYBG: Monet's Garden

Mon, 30 Jul 2012 02:46:29 +0000

This evolving tribute to Claude Monet proffers a new way of seeing the artist and his work. Positioning his gardens not only as the inspiration behind some of his best-known paintings but as veritable works of art in themselves, the exhibition delves into Monet's deliberate aesthetic creation of his gardens and recounts several anecdotes showing that he effectively curated these natural spaces.

All photos by the author unless otherwise noted. If you're interested, the benches are on sale in the shop.

As in last fall's re-creation of the gardens of the Alhambra, the show spans the NYBG's available exhibition spaces. The Rondina/LoFaro Gallery offers intriguing photographs and documents relating to the gardens' realization (above). You'll also find two of Monet's paintings, one of them never before seen in the U.S. In the Ross Gallery—downstairs in the same building—Elizabeth Murray exhibits her painterly "photographic portraits" of Monet's garden as it appears today.

However the real experiential pleasure of the show stems (har har) from the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory. Here Monet's garden lives in a manifestation so beautifully resplendent with color and variety that it actually hurt. While I might have been hard-pressed to spontaneously recall the specific flowers of Monet's paintings (water lilies aside), a deep familiarity resonated within me when I entered this area. Do you remember the scene in Disney's Mary Poppins when she, Bert, and the children jump into and through sidewalk chalk drawings? Upon entering the Conservatory, I literally felt as though I had stepped through the frame into one of Monet's canvases.

Click thumbnails for larger images

Interspersed among the gardens surrounding the conservatory are placards featuring poetry by literary members of Monet's social circle. A wide suite of programs includes poetry readings as well as music, films, and opportunities to make art that round out even more fully this already interdisciplinary exhibition. NYBG actively solicits additional audience participation via Twitter, Foursquare, Pinterest, and Instagram.

They've also teamed up with the Met to craft a pretty nifty (free) app available through iTunes. I only explored it after the fact, but would have found it useful during my visit. Divided into two segments, the first part of the app offers site specific commentary, and at points in the Conservatory shows pictures corresponding to the surrounding recreation of the gardens. These images—both archival and current, by the aforementioned Elizabeth Murray—thus enhance one's appreciation of just how effective this recreation is. The app tour suggests visitors start in the Conservatory and end in the Rondina Gallery, though I did the reverse and found it just as (or perhaps more) desirable for the context it provides. And while you can view the itinerary as either a list or on a map, you can't use either to navigate between stops, though it seems intuitive to do so. Instead you must use the forward and back arrows to skip through their prescribed order. The second half of the app pairs Monet paintings at the Met with NYBG photographs of the depicted plants (and indications of where to find them); both aspects offer substantial and interesting information and, with external links to the paintings on the Met website, allow an opportunity to learn far more about Monet from an artistic point of view.

Fulfilling as this exhibition was the first time around, it may be well worth a return trip as the gardens change with the seasons. They should be particularly (and appropriately) splendid now as the water lilies reach full bloom!

Monet's Garden runs from May 19 to October 21, 2012. The New York Botanical Gardens are located at 2900 Southern Blvd in the Bronx, accessible by public transportation, and open year-round, Tue. – Sun. (and Mon. federal holidays) 10am – 6pm. The All-Garden Pass includes admission to the grounds seasonal gardens, special exhibitions, the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory, Everett Children’s Adventure Garden, Rock Garden, and Tram Tour: $20 for adults, $18 for seniors and students with ID, $8 for children ages 2–12, free for children under 2. A considerably less expensive Grounds-Only Pass is available, but does not include admission to special exhibitions or the aforementioned attractions: $6 for adults, $5 for adult Bronx Residents, $3 for seniors and students with ID, $1 for children ages 2–12, free for children under 2. Grounds-only admission is free all day on Wed. and Sat. from 10am – 12pm.

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