MONDAY, JULY 28
Party: Hosted By at SculptureCenter
Make the trek put to Long Island City for SculptureCenter’s summer soiree, Hosted By, held on the new spacious patio area. It’s also your last chance to see the three shows on view: Katrín Sigurdardóttir: Foundation; Liz Glynn: RANSOM ROOM; and Now Showing: Jory Rabinovitz.
SculptureCenter, 44-19 Purves Street, Long Read More
James Turrell to receive National Medal of Arts from President Obama Monday. [LA Times]
In a Brooklyn art gallery, artist Marni Kotak is undergoing a daring performance — she’s going off her typical doses of anti-depressants and anti-psychotic medication. [The Daily Beast]
“After years of outsize promises and delays, officials are scaling back Read More
Jamian Juliano-Villani’s got problems. “I don’t have a studio yet, I work in my room, I have no tooth,” said the frenetic 27-year-old painter, pointing to a gap near the front of her mouth. She lost the incisor by grinding her teeth about six months ago, but said she’s been too busy to get it fixed. “Today I actually took my first nap in almost a year,” she continued. A relief, because before that, the Jersey-born, Bed-Stuy-based artist hadn’t slept in three days. Walking down the street, she said, “every garbage bag was moving all of a sudden.”
In case you were wondering, yes, folks, that was Zach Feuer’s gallery in last night’s episode of CBS’s Elementary. Maybe you were clued in by the text and lace paintings by Mark Flood? At one point, Sherlock Holmes notices that every third artwork in the gallery has a red dot next to it, indicating that it was sold. This looks fake to him, and, putting it together with some previous intel, he announces, “This gallery is a money-laundering front!” He also finds a dead body in a dumpster out back.
Elaine Reichek’s appropriation, in her 1994 piece Model Teepees, of 29 black-and-white photos shot at the turn of the last century, seems too easy. The images, displayed in homey wooden frames stained red and arranged in a cloud-shaped, corner-to-corner lattice, show 7-inch model teepees built by Native Americans for the ethnographer James Mooney and were taken from glass plates found in the archives of the Field Museum in Chicago. An appropriation of an appropriation of an appropriation remains an appropriation, but that’s exactly the fact that pushes this indictment past the political into the psychological and makes it unanswerable. The teepees, some striped like flags or pajamas and one, right in the middle, decorated with a gorgeous painting of a mounted skirmish, will remain defiantly fascinating whatever their frame, so there’s no way to call attention to them without also stealing the fascination.
“We’re distilling our own moonshine in bronze-casted douche bags,” artist Marianne Vitale called over her shoulder as she strode out of the room, carrying one of the unwieldy items in question. About a dozen metal sculptures, their snaky tubes twisting up toward the heavens, were resting atop a century-old wooden bar in the back room of Ms. Vitale’s Long Island City studio. It was exactly two weeks before tonight’s premiere of The Missing Book of Spurs, her Performa biennial commission, and she was working on the set with her assistant. The sculptures didn’t belong there, Ms. Vitale decided, and so she moved the hefty things to a table in the adjacent workshop, a maze of saws and salvaged lumber. She dubbed the arrangement “a clusterfuck of douche bags.” Not quite an exaltation of larks, but it had a certain ring to it.
Late Saturday afternoon, Chelsea’s setting sun had turned the windows of Zach Feuer to mirrors and, past the racks of fake video games at the entrance, the gallery had undergone a transformation too. Aggressive clusters of young men shit-talked each other over hip-hop from a DJ booth at the back of the room. Some of them ate Haitian food from tin containers on folding chairs, engaged in nodding discussions serious enough to discourage the gallery types from taking a seat nearby—they tended to hang near the walls.
The artist Elaine Reichek has joined Zach Feuer gallery, The Observer has learned.
The artist duo of Nathalie Djurberg and Hans Berg are now represented by Lisson Gallery in London. (Lisson also has a gallery in Milan, and a by-appointment office in New York, on the Lower East Side.) The two create elaborate installations combining video, animation, sound and sculpture. (Ms. Djurberg handles the animation and installations, and Mr. Berg, a musician and composer, does sound.) They have been working together since 2004 and are based in New York.
Some of the work in this enormous, uncentered group show, which fills both Untitled on the Lower East Side and Zach Feuer in Chelsea, deals explicitly, if not seriously, with what it means to be Jewish: Daniel Feinberg’s Never Forget, a drawing of a camel and the legend “Never Forget” on a piece of Chateau Marmont stationery; Alex Israel’s Ketubah for Joel and Sarah, executed on commission for Untitled gallerist Joel Mesler’s July wedding; Casual Friday by Isaac Brest and Louis Eisner, a row of uniform vests from B&H Photo; Luis Camnitzer’s Letter, which thoughtfully explains his ambivalence about participating in such an “artificial and anecdotal grouping”; Sy Colen’s Artists, a seven-page history of famous Jewish artists of the 20th century; or Jennifer Rubell’s My Shrink’s Couch, a brown leather couch, formerly belonging to Dr. Baruch Fishman, on a low pedestal.