...more recent posts
Walker Evans under the influence
Bill Schwarz - untitled ('70s nude), 2001, six images
No links provided by the New Yorker for one of this week's Showcase pieces titled ART JOCKS penned by Alexi Worth which focuses on the new Joel Shapiro instalation in (on?) the Met's roof top garden (that's Mr Wilson's stomping ground). He kicks it off with a reference to Ad Reinharts quote on sculpture. "...somthing you bumped into when stepping back to look at a painting", then switched "painting" to "Dakota" for the occasion. Shapiros have long been the "must have" pool-patio adornment of choice in top (and near top) LA circles. He goes on to describe the five pieces, "flying Waleda like clusters of limbs", "speed skates", "marches", "topples", "kicks". "His biggest yet at 24' in bronze, aluminum and polychrome rocket-red."
You can tell he wants to slam them, but just won't spit it out. Not untill the final paragraph, I quote :
"Over the past thirty years, Shapiro's sculptures have become more insidiously likable and less conceptually demanding. Critics have implied that this is a bad thing, a drift toward Henry Moore-ish accessability. But Moore's matriarchs invite you to carress them; Shapiro's athletes want you to get out of their way. They project a healthy impatience, linking Degas's self-absorbed ballerinas to John Woo's kung-fu fighters. Sure, they're simpler and less mobile than we are. But they're also having a better time."
Finally ! (but he will still be able to eat lunch in this town again.)
This was originally a link to a now expired page six article on the Genart art show at the Puck building. (the complete article is now posted in the comments section of this thread) Curators Jon Raymond and Jay Sanders took the oppurtunity to make the whole show a prank. All but one of the artists in the show are friends of the curators using pseudonyms and made work specifically for the show, work which they would not make "in real life" Not only was the art work itself a prank, but many of the dramatic events at the opening were staged. The incedents ranged from an organized protest, to accusations of adultry and spilled drinks.
my hand became my enemy
Either way, art seems to have triumphed once and for all, at the price of having nowhere to go. "Art after the end of art," Danto called it. Could art really have escaped its own history?