Happy Halloween!

For endless amusement, try carving your own pumpkin online. Maybe I'm partial, as Halloween has become my favorite holiday since I moved to New York. This will be my third year walking in the Halloween parade. I'm going for something like this, except, of course, dead. Just imagine you see a photo of Helena Bonham Carter from Sweeney Todd to the right, as it seems I've run out of storage space for photos on Blogger?!???

I'll have to deal with that later. Today there is much to celebrate.

Sculptures made of what?

It's time to play "guess that material." What do you think the tall white tower in the middle is made of? It was originally used, as you see it, to display flowers at a 18th C. Viennese table setting. Up at the Met through March, these sculptures and the surrounding exhibition examining the growth of porcelain making in Europe. The rest of the pieces on the table are porcelain, but these twin tower sculpture are made of sugar. These sugar paste towers have been holding fruit and flowers since the 1700s, which is kind of amazing. Unfortunately--the label notes- they are not edible.

Loot

Q: When is it legal to take an ancient and valuable cultural object out of its country of origin without the consent of the inhabitants?

A: Before 1970, the UNESCO cut-off date for pieces without provenance (often smuggled). Especially in the colonial empires of the 19th century, archeologists from England and France and Germany would race to get the best plunder for their home museums. If the book I'm reading now is correct, this has not changed so much as gone under the table.

The Euphronios Krater
I just got to the chapter 'Tomb Raiders on Fifth Avenue' in Loot, a book by Sharon Wexman describing the battle over stolen antiquities. Until last January, she describes how a red and black pot sat alone in its glass vitrine in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, labeled "Terra cotta calyx-krater. Greek, Attic 315 BC. Lent by the Republic of Italy." This deceptively understated label did not mention that this was the Euphronious Krater, an exceptionally rare and fine vase.

Of course, it also did not mention it was raided from tombs nearby Rome as late 1971 when pieces of unclear provenance should not have been bought by museums. It turns out the curators were aware that it was stolen and did not care. Italy was immediately suspicious but could not prove that the items were indeed stolen until January of last year. The Euphronios krater was returned to a victorious Italy, where it symbolized the war against illicit trafficking of the nation’s cultural patrimony.

The Lydian Hoard
The Euphronios Krater is by no means the only questionable antiquity under the Met's roof. In 1993, after much press and pressure, the Metropolitan Museum of Art agreed to give back the Lydian Hoard, a collection of coins and jewelry looted from Usak, Turkey in the 1960s. Turkey similarly celebrated the return of this excellent collection, and housed it in the town where it had originally been discovered. The tomb robbers who sold it came back to see it in its new home. All was well. Then in 2006, the masterpiece of the collection--a golden hippocampus--was discovered stolen. It had been replaced with a fake. Still unsolved, many suspect the museum director, a respected local archaeologist.

However, he is hardly the only person who might have done it given the museum's lack of security. There was one guard who was also in charge of tickets, one small lock on the glass case holding the hippocampus, security cameras that didn't work, and no visitors to witness anything--the museum estimates to have had 769 visitors in the first five years it opened to exhibit the collection. This state of underfunded disorganization is hardly limited to the museum in Usak. Theft is a problem in museums throughout Turkey.

As the Euphornios Krater and the Lydian Hoard suggest, the tide is beginning to flow the other way in the battle for restitution. You might have noticed with the recent opening of the Acropolis museum and renewed demands for the Elgin marbles. On one hand, antiquities belong in the land where they are discovered as part of the cultural heritage there. The blatant recent thefts are shocking and greedy. On the other, developing countries like Turkey or Egypt often have a richer cultural heritage than government budgets allow them to care for, causing problems of maintenance and security. 'Universal' museums such as the Met and the Louvre have the laudable purpose of giving their millions of visitors a round-the-world knowledge of civilization. Very little of the Met's universal art collection would remain were we to begin returning things to their ancient homelands. How much restitution is enough?

Zee: Don't Panic

I held tightly to the rope with one hand while with the other I pulled my shirt over my face. The smoke was making me cough, and I could hear others around me coughing too. I couldn't see them through the thick fog. I noticed how it changed and brightened into yellow. I held the rope tighter because I couldn't see anything except a blinding kaleidoscope of slowly shifting light colors. As the waiver I had so blithely signed advised, I did not panic. (Luckily nor did I go into an epileptic fit.) When the guides told us we could walk around, I let go of the rope and started walking in slow motion through the colored light that changed in tune with the ambient droning.

If you have ever been on a boat in fog, you can approximate the disorientation this installation, Zee by Kurt Hentschläger, creates. In 10 minute intervals, small groups go into this immersive light and sound experience from which the artist hopes to create a mental landscape. It reminded me very much of Christopher Saunder's Whitenoise Suite No. 3, left, partially because the performance ended with the same dense orange fog. It successfully unmoores you from your surroundings. Coughing from the smoke is distracting, but overall it plays with perception beautifully. What would be really interesting, and I think meditative, is to experience it for a longer period of time.

While toying with perceptions and light can create a beautiful enviornment, I find this kind of work to lack- how shall I say?- content. Or subject matter. Or a point. To experience an installation like this one is fun, but it is hardly a revelation. We know fog and lights can be manipulated. That larger caveat aside, it is fun, and it is being performed at 3LD Art & Technology Center through November 15.

Terrible Tuesday

I've have not discovered the antidote to Terrible Tuesdays, in which one is plagued by rain, catastrophe, and nincompoops. Hot chocolate doesn't cut it. However, pictures of teacup pigs come pretty close. Teacup pigs are the cutest housepet ever. Full stop.

Apparently they make great pets, as they only grow to about 30 lbs and can be litter trained. They are intelligent, live 18+ years, and are very loving. So loving in fact, they recommend you get a pair so that they are never alone. Unfortunately, they cost about $1,000, I'm not sure that they are available in the States, and there is a law in New York City against farm animals that extends to mini versions. However, they are almost cute enough to make me forget that I am wet and cranky right now.

My new desktop picture--desperate times call for desperate measures.

A Visit to the Eccentric Gardner Museum

The first thing I gravitated toward after paying the entrance fee at the door of the Venetian-style palazzo was the flowering inner courtyard that rises four stories up. Around the courtyard on the first level and from the windows above, people were all poking their heads out to view the Spring-like garden. After all, this was Boston in the Fall rather than Autumn in Italy. Perhaps Isabella Stewart Gardner intended to provoke such wonder when she left her art collection to be displayed almost exactly as she left it when she died in 1924.

A willful widow in a prim Victorian era, Mrs. Gardner was an avid art collector, who left a lovely but idiosyncratic collection in this house museum. Medieval Gothic carvings and Chinese screens hang on the walls alongside tapestries and late 19th C. paintings. On one had, this is a fascinating place to explore. On the other, the way the objects are displayed--behind staricases sometimes--can make them seem merely decorative. The museum motto is "C'est mon plaisir," (It's my pleasure) appropriately enough. Be warned there are some Draconian rules in place--no photography of any kind (the courtyard image above was posted to Flickr from a postcard) and you must not hold your coat. I was asked to either wear it or tie it around my waist.


However, there are some stunning pieces in this strange, eclectic house. Mrs. Gardner had a close relationship with John Singer Sargent, whose large El Jaleo hangs prominently in the Spanish Cloister and who did the portrait of Mrs. Gardner above right. We followed the stairs up and wandered through some Victorian rooms filled with distinctly un-Victorian Renaissance paintings and Chinese bulls and mock altars of devotional paintings. Then we happened upon a small room with large racks of drawings by Impressionist masters to Matisse. It feels like a treasure trove flipping through rack after rack of them.

By far my favorite room was the Dutch room on the second floor. There was this stunning early self-portrait of Rembrandt hung high on the wall, diagonally across the room from Ruben's Earl of Arundel , and a lovely portrait of a woman by Van Dyck. Not to mention a strange silver ostrich built around a ostrich egg. At that point, I didn't mind wearing my coat or the little ropes.

Visiting is an immersing, fascinating experience. Only with such a polyglot, unlabelled collection could you have such fun playing 'guess the painting.' It's incredible to realize a fantasy as closely as Isabella Stewart Gardner did with this museum.

Hi from Beantown

I woke up rather groggily on a futon this morning, stumbled over to the window, and saw people sculling on the Charles River and gorgeous Autumn foliage. Last night I caught the Chinatown bus and 4 hours and 15 minutes later I was in Boston for the first time.

Of course some walking around, some brunch, maybe some clam chowder are on the agenda (although not chowder at brunch), but does anybody have any special recommendations? I was thinking the Gardner Museum would be good, and my host said the Museum of Fine Arts and the ICA were also excellent.

I'm excited to start exploring. Even late last night, Boston seemed so genteel compared to New York, with it's clean streets and T stations. But everyone else in the house is still sleeping! Not only does this mean I can't explore, it means no breakfast. The only comestibles in sight are a half-eaten dark chocolate and coconut bonbon and a bottle of Bushmills. So I suppose there's plenty of time if you want to mention any favorite brunch spots too.

The Novel

I can't quite get up the gumption to finish this big project of a novel I have going on. I read it through, and made some notes, and even made a Post-it storyboard of scenes. There are definitely some changes I want to make, and some I'm not sure about. But what I'm really doing is putting off the challenge of sitting down to edit/rewrite the last half.

I believed in it enough to write 240+ pages of it. Hell, I believed in it enough to switch careers and am now contemplating an even bigger life change. But the project itself is stymied, and partly because I'm wondering if it is worth all this effort and time.

I know the answer to that one is yes, somehow it is worth it. (Even if all it does is teach me that I'm an inescabably bad writer.) And I was okay with that back in those golden days of yore when I actually enjoyed working on it. Have you ever gotten stuck on a project? How do you get excited about it again?

The Anthologist, a Plummy Read

I can't remember the last time I wrote about a novel, but then again I can't remember that last time I picked up such a good novel. The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker is a simple story told in a great voice that is incredibly appealing.

Told from the point of view of Paul Chowder, a sometime poet writing an introduction to an anthology of rhyming poetry, the story unfolds into one of intimate, blind self-destruction. Paul narrates his lawnmowing, his girlfriend leaving him, cleaning up the office, and about the difficulty of writing the introduction. He is overwhelmed by the task and can't write the introduction. Even when his girlfriend leaves him because of it, he can't write the introduction. Yet in the process the reader hears him narrate about English poetry: about rhyme schemes and past poets and why it all matters. This becomes maddening because it's the very stuff of an introduction.

It's both about the history of poetry and the creative process; It has a great narrative voice; Of course I loved it in the first five pages. I love poetry, and this might be as close as fiction as meta-poetry comes. The author (lucky me!) has a backlist, so I think I know what I'll be reading after Lolita. Next time you're searching about for a good read, check it out.

FREE Guggenhiem Today

In honor of its 50th anniversary, the Guggenheim New York is free today. Now if this where another major New York institution this would not be as cool, because most museums have free nights once a week. The Guggenheim is free one Saturday a month from 5:45 pm to 7:45 pm (ahem, lame).

A large-scale Kandinsky exhibition is up now, which combined with Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture, makes for an excellent museum day.I'm plotting how I can get there and back on my lunch hour.

ADDENDUM: 1:43 pm-I have just returned to my desk from the Guggenheim. The line winds out the door and down the block from 5th Avenue to Madison! No Kandinsky for me today.

Watteau at the Met

"Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination." -Voltaire

Love in the Italian Theater (L'Amour au théâtre italien)

Watteau, Music, and Theater, on view at the Met through November 29, explores, in self-explanatory fashion, the place of music and theater in the work of the Jean-Antoine Watteau (1684–1721). If you've seen some of his work, you know theater is his main subject matter. He paints lush and detailed scenes populated by characters who might be part of the drama or watching it. Costumes are elaborate, and artifice abounds. This small exhibition of paintings and drawings is supplemented by musical instruments and other objects relating to opera-ballet and theater early in the 18th century.

Mezzetin

Mezzetin, left, is one of his simpler compositions, and one of my favorite paintings in this exhibition. Mezzetin, whose name means "half-measure," was one of the stock characters of Italian commedia dell'arte. He could be a deceived or a deceiving husband or servant. Here he appears wistful and lonely.

In a sense, it's hard to account for the appeal of Watteau, who does charming fantasy scenes unpolluted by anything serious. 'Charming' seems too simple and small a word to explain his appeal. While they are charming, they can also be melancholy and ambiguous. Like in Mezzetin, a clown figure often appears isolated and melancholy. The scenes do not follow any known narrative, and we are unsure what the people feel.

Watteau was sickly, self-taught and died at 36 years of age, yet he managed to rise to prominence and further the development of Rococo art in France. Little is know about him, except that he was restless and utterly entranced by theater. Perhaps part of the appeal of Watteau's paintings is the mystery around the artist as well as the ones he painted.

The Foursome (La Partie quarrée), ca. 1714

Books That Make You Dumb

A chart rating intelligence by reading preference based on actual, scientific evidence. Or at least a correlation between university SAT scores and favorite books listed on Facebook. Virgil Griffith has put together fun data sets for both books and music. Click on the image for a bigger, easier to read version.

Note: Deciding to read to Lolita after looking at this chart has not been proven to make you more intelligent. Sorry.

Roxy Paine at the Met

Roxy Paine is a) an awesome name, and b) a creator of a hell of a museum topper. Maelstorm, pictured above and below, is a steel thing that totally captivated me on this grey day when I made it up to the roof of the Met before it started raining.

It's quite a tangle, and the silver surface reflects the sky and some of the green of Central Park. For such a large, invase, twisted sculpture, it is remarkable harmonious in its setting. The intertwined limbs sprawling out might seem chaotic, and they did, but in fact they suited the space and setting marvelously. This is the most recent in a series of Dendroid tree-like sculptures. He tries to merge varying sizes of piping together in a replication of natural growth patterns. The repetition of organic patterns in monochramatic and abstract forms reminds me of what I like best in Tara Donovan's work (like her 2007 wall installation at the Met).

Maelstorm will be up through November 29, 2009, so you still have a chance to see it before it gets taken down. I have to say, it fills the space a hundred times better than previous works that have been up (Jeff Koon's comes to mind.)

Shake Up at the Louvre

There are quite a few changes astir at the Louvre, and not just the McDonald's everyone is going on about. The New York Times has an in-depth article about changes that Henri Loyrette's management have instilled. To me, most of the changes seem to be about making the art accessible, making the museum commercially viable, and trying to get people to come for something beside the Mona Lisa.

You would think these would be good things. I don't mind a nice, staid high-quality art museum myself, but looking at those grey stone walls I understand the urge to put a big glass pyramid in. Loyrette is creating an Islamic wing, as well as trying to include more American artists. I love the idea of having Cy Twombley do a big ceiling for the Salle des Bronzes, pictured below. Loyrette has also created a membership program and made the museum free on Friday nights to those under 26. Some might say he is running it like an American institution.

He is also critiqued for making big loans in exchange for big bucks. (The High Museum in Atlanta is one example of an institution with more cash than art.) Loyrette is first and foremost an arts administrator, and he is trying to make his 'business' a success. That's not a very Romantic notion for an art museum, but for one of its size and prestige it's a very useful one.
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To do: Slow Art

Life can be frenetic in the city. Even when you go to one of the museums, it's easy to rush around, especially as crowded as some exhibitions are (ahem, Vermeer). How long do you think you stand in front of a picture, on average? How about one you really like? Slow Art is a event happening this Saturday at MoMA that challenges you to smell the roses. Each person picks one or two pieces on view and just looks at them for a set period of time, from 10 minutes to an hour. Afterwards the group will have lunch at the museum cafe and talk about their reactions.

I love this concept. Even when I look at something I like, I probably stare at it for 2 or 3 minutes--especially when I'm surrounded by a slew of other beautiful things. My mom is in town, so I'm not sure what we have on the agenda for the weekend, but this one is up there on my list.

Of course, you could just challenge yourself next time you feel you are rushing things.

Stieglitz's Nude Photographs of Georgia O'Keefe

It was all going so well. O'Keefe had found someone who appreciated her radically abstract drawings and watercolors--and that someone was none other than Alfred Stieglitz, avant garder owner of 291 Gallery and photographer. In 1918, she moved into his niece's loft in New York city. They were in love, despite an age difference and Stieglitz's marriage.

Stieglitz began taking nude portraits of O'Keefe, some of which are on view at the Whitney's O'Keefe exhibition. His wife walked in on a session (some people think he arranged it so that he would not have to confront her with his affair). Either way, she got the idea and got a divorce. O'Keefe and Stieglitz married, and most of his nude photographs of her date from the early days of their marriage.

These beautiful and passionate photographs are some of the most expensive photographs sold at auction. The treatment of O'Keefe's hands is especially nice.

These photographs became a sensation when they were known, making O'Keefe's name recognizable. Unfortunately for O'Keefe, Steiglitz showed these works before he showed her own abstract canvases. Her critical reception became that of an emancipated woman making art about sex because of the photographs as much as the suggestiveness of the paintings.

O'Keefe began to moor her work in recognizable objects to defend against such limiting criticism. And she never let herself be photographed nude again.


Part of the Whitney Museum's Georgia O'Keefe exhibition on view through January 7, 2010.

'Buddha' Obama on W. 19th St

I saw this mural on 19th Street between 9th and 10th Avenue Saturday, the day I learned that President Obama had been given a Nobel Peace Prize. It struck me as an example of how Obama has captured the public imagination. He's got a lot to live up to.

Musical Stairs

Came across this on Cultural Snow yesterday and was delighted. It would certainly make my commute more fun! On the other hand, I might be late for work. Check out the other videos based on the fun theory on Youtube.

Ayn Rand's Frank Lloyd Wright Cottage

In 1937, Ayn Rand asks Frank Lloyd Wright for an interview to discuss a novel she is writing. Years later, she gets a house, or at least this design of a "cottage." (The writing studio on the top level sounds incredible.) The whole story is fascinating, and for those of you who have read The Fountainhead, you can guess who she modeled Roark on. If you're really enamored of it, this sketch is up for sale.

This has got me thinking of my ideal home. I would like it to project off the top floor of a apartment building so that it arcs dramatically over the street below. Maybe I would have an apartment spread over two facing buildings with an enclosed glass walkway between, one apartment would be my private apartment and one my public where people could visit. Of course, I've also always thought the water towers could be turned into really neat urban bungalows.

But, in order that any of this may actually happen, I'm going to get back to story boarding the novel. Happy Friday!

Art Isn't Dead

DUH.

I'm hoping the embed option for this video actually starts to work. If not, check it out at New York Magazine's website. Jerry Saltz did a tour of 24th Street to show that Chelsea is still functioning and thriving. Going to Gagosian might not prove that, but it will provide some nice clips of the work by Murakami I was discussing yesterday. He starts the video with the other show in the gallery, which I didn't love. To his credit, he focuses on the less annoying works.

Shiny metallic purple = 80s much?

The video is meant to accompany an article that says the gallery system isn't dead--galleries are existing and new artwork is being shown and made. I like Jerry Saltz and I like his writing. I would like to take a class at the Bruce High Quality Foundation he talks about. But in this video he highlights a few very well established and commercially successful galleries that are still showing art. But of course.

One Goofy Dragon: Murakami at Gagosian

ArtObserved reminded me of a work I saw recently and wanted to share, if only because it strikes me as such a departure from how I thought of the artist. Entitled Picture of Fate: I Am But a Fisherman Who Angles In the Darkness of His Mind, Takashi Murakami has taken over the wall of Gagosian's 24th Street location. This painting is massive, intricately colored and textured, with a storyline from Japanese legend.


When I saw the Murakami exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum of Art, including the work above, I was totally turned off. His paintings there were done in saturated color in a super flat style, and accompanied by a Luois Vuitton boutique no less.



This new painting is interesting to look at, which I couldn't have said before. I'm not saying the skulls and dopey-faced lion aren't kitsch or that the colors don't straddle a line between apocalyptic sewage and Rainbow Bright. But the surface and the application of paint is beautifully done. It's worth seeing in person just to marvel at the texures. This may or may not be a saving grace, but it certainly counts for something.

Some reviewers have commented about how the aging artist is seriously wrangling with the themes of death and mortality. This is hogwash. Just because the painting delves beyond otaku culture into older Chinese and Japanese symbolism (or the artist says he is tired) doesn't necessarily make it weightier or more personal. Murakami does not produce earnest, lyric art; he maunfactures an appealing and accessible view of Asian culture with a pop sensibility. That is what I see in his latest picture, and that is what I see in clips from his latest project, a music video remix of Turning Japanese with Kristin Dunst:

Sidenote: The rest of the gallery is devoted to works in the spirit of the 80s ala gold lamé MC Hammer pants. Enter at your own risk.

I Dare You to Touch The Paintings

Thank you Onion, for "Struggling Museum Now Allowing Patrons To Touch Paintings," and happy Tuesday!

Robert Frank's The Americans at the Met

Viewing Robert Frank's photography collection The Americans is like taking a road trip through 1950s America, which, appropriately enough, was how the images were taken. Also appropriately, Jack Keroac wrote the introduction to the first published collection. This should be your first sign that these crisp black and white photos felt more counter-culture then than they do today. Even so, it's hard to believe that there was a general outcry against Frank when this work was published, leading to charges of him being "anti-American."

Looking In: Robert Frank's The Americans , on view at the Met through January 3,2010, seems like Americana pure and simple. There are waitresses in diners, people walking down the street, and children playing at town fairs. The focus is on everyday life. Frank's people do not smile at the camera though. If they realize there photograph is being taken, they are usually outraged. They are unguarded and so, like the waitress above, we learn about a part of their personality they might hide.

In that sense, Frank's photographs show a side of American life that wasn't often depicted. As in this photo of a political rally, below, Frank's unusual emphasis on the speaker rather than the crowd creates a disquieting alternate view of what is happening.

I really enjoyed walking through this exhibition following Frank's original ordering of the photographs. They were arranged to compliment or differentiate from the ones around it, and somehow walking through becomes a cinematic process just shy of narrative-building. These photographs appeared especially classic and traditional after seeing New Photography 2009 at MoMA and, in fact, Surface Tensions, a show across the hall from the Robert Frank exhibition at the Met that explores contemporary photography. I heard a docent leading a tour through Surface Tensions say that "for artists today, it was no longer good enough to produce a beautiful 8 by 10 print anymore."

I'm not so sure.