Ravels in Review and GOODBYE

Click "Se Flimklippet" to see another video I made, that you can make too! The ModernaMuseet, or Modern Museum, in Stockholm has a fun program that lets you create videos on your keyboard, and then they are posted at the museum during an upcoming exhibition.

I said another video earlier because, as you might have seen, this week was the premiere of another Ravels In Motion production, of a recent visit to Chelsea to see painter Anne Neely's latest works. I think they're well-worth seeing if you have the chance. (Both my videos and her works.

For more great art, check out Melissa Meyer's dancing paintings and some intersting examples of what can be done in clay. If you feel a little tired of life during these dreary March days, see Doug Aitken's Sleepwalkers film and read about how it was installed at MoMA.

In addition to the good times, we've also had some disappointing times here during our ravels, and this week proved to be full of them. Not only was favorite author Milan Kundera shown to be a communist sell out and Shakespeare unattractive, but Alessandro Twombly showed some works recently that are distrubingly similar to his father's, painter Cy Twombly.

All these disaapointments in one week were too much for me! So goodbye, dear reader, and farewell!

I'm going to go drown my sorrows in the Costa Rican surf and chilly cervecas. (Because if you have to drown your sorrows, Costa Rica is the place to do it, no?) But fear not for I shall return to you in good time, specifically, April 6. Adios!

Anne Neely at Lohen Giduld Gallery

Ravels in Motion productions, as I like to call myself when I wield a video camera, had a busy time in Chelsea this weekend. Among the galleries I visited, I wanted to highlight the show at the Lohin Geduld gallery that will be on until April 25 entitled Where There's Water. These oil paintings by Anne Neely are landscapes that verge on colorful abstraction. I'm thrilled to share painter Anne Neely's work with you here, especially as the artist was in the gallery and speaks with us some about her work.


Enjoy!

2 Disappointing Endings and More

In our literary ravels, we've discussed post-Communist Czech writer Milan Kundera and his wonderful novels and we've even talked a little bit about William Shakespeare. Recently, some disappointing findings have come to light.

1. Milan Kundera was accused of betraying his countryman and according to this recent, fascinating article, it seems that the case against him is strong. As in, indisputable.


2. Shakespeare was proved to be quite a looker, but is now maybe going back to being plain, old Shakespeare. Too bad.

And in some news ala Art Ravels, Alessandro Twombly's most recent paintings look a lot like his father's, the more famous painter Cy Twombly. See the photos, you decide (just like Fox news, except I'm both better looking and informed).

For 'edification' or a laugh, read MSN's 'How to Talk about Art' in case you were reading this blog and were unsure about how to leave a comment. Then laugh at its ridiculous advice, and say whatever the hell you are thinking.

I do have a great video coming, but due to unfortunate/stupid/annoying embeding problems, you'll have to hold on the edge of your seat in the meantime.

Twomblys: Story of a Family Resemblance

You might have noticed my affinity for Twombly the Elder here or here. I say Twombly the Elder because Cy Twombly has a son who is also an artist. Like his father, Alessandro Twombly toes the line between abstract and representational forms in his paintings such as the one above. He lives in Tuscany and likes to garden.

How did I find out those last personal tidbits? My mom's copy of Elle Decor (inspiration comes from unexpected places) that features his home.

The artist is better known for his sculptures, like the one below. This sculpture seems to grow out of it's narrow base in a clumpy, natural process like tree branches. Behind it you can find more of the artist's paintings. Look at them carefully.

I love the lush colors and huge size of the naturalistic forms, but something struck me as a little strange about the paintings. They remind me of his father's last show at Gagosian (a lot!) pictured on the left. The palate is the same, only reversed between the grouping of round blossoms and bright background. Soooo, it's strikingly odd that father and son have such similar paintings (colors, compositions, size, material).

Does a family resemblance really extend to paintings? What happened here?

Melissa Meyer's Dancing Paintings

Lang, 2008

Word on the street was that the Melissa Meyer show at Lennon, Wienberg Inc. was worth seeing, so I was lucky I made it down there this weekend before it closed. Canvases, like Lang above, are larger than you would expect and the oils in some places have the thinness of watercolors.

Meyer was in the gallery, and she described how she works with the canvases flat on the floor and paint them in layers. She thinks of the linear marks she makes as "dancing."

Galvin, 2008

Her work is rooted in Abstract Expressionism, and in these large paintings she achieves an effect rather like watercolors with the play of light and space. I found I really enjoyed just looking at them and tracing the different layers and marks. The marks don't come together to mean anything, but watching how they interact is beautiful.

Sleepwalkers..Doug Aitken, Tilda Swinton, Myself.

You know, typical Saturday night. I had some wine, and somehow that left me up at 4:27 AM remembering the film Doug Aitken did on the walls of MoMA the winter of 2007. (Hint: it was cool.)


The actors, such as Tilda Swinton and Chan Marshall of Cat Power, are cool. Screening your film on the huge walls of MoMA is cool. Waiting in the cold as snow starts falling to see how the different characters wake up, just for a short time, out of the comatose of their lives was also pretty cool. (Read: I am cool.)

So somehow when up at this time my thoughts drift to Sleepwalkers. I still remember how neat the experience of watching it was. The narrative played out on the city streets, with people hustling by or starting to look. Different parts of the film were shown on different walls, so the viewer had to walk around MoMA to see what other parts of the narrative.

This is a longer clip that gives you a better feel for the pacing and experience of watching at MoMA. The viewing process was fragmented, so you could never see anything at once and had to put it together in your head. Aitken says of the structure of the film that “the narratives interlock in a kinetic synchronicity and expand and break apart again. It’s almost like chaos theory.” Aitken, by the way, has also made videos for Fatboy Slim and Interpol.



So with that I leave you, well-rested reader, and may you all have a happy, bright Sunday morning. Enjoy your coffee and your blogs.

I will be sleeping.

How Clay Has Moved Beyond Craft

Clay as Craft Clay as Something Far, Far Different

The recent New York Times review of a pottery show at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Philadelphia brings attention to the way this once craft is still fighting for recognition as a fine art.

Work by Kathy Butterly

Clay is a craftsy medium, despite the many directions it has taken since the caveman days. As the show's press release points out, "Clay is a base material. From potsherds to porcelain fixtures, clay is synonymous with the building of industries and cultures. At the same time , its very materiality—its tactile malleability, earthen sensuousness, and humidity—make it the medium of more elemental associations and expressions." The pieces being exhibited are anything but craftsy or utilitarian, and are more appropriately called sculptures whose medium happens to be clay.

Works by Ron Nagle

It is, as the review noted, remarkable to have a show solely devoted to clay, and it provides an impressive answer to what might be done besides bowls. Interestingly, the reviewer notes that some prominent artists did not care to exhibit in a show that only featured clay--snobbery in reverse.

Ravels in Review Friday

Hello bloggy reader! And welcome to another installment of Ravels in Review Friday. Although stupefied that on this Spring day snow is falling, I shall persevere. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor internet connection problems shall keep the blogger away.


We really were well-rounded artworld citizens this week, as we jumped from an informative post on Albrecht Durer's painting, which drew some admiring glances of the basest kind from readers, to current topics such as how fashion is (not!) art and whether public art becomes part of the landscape. (If art needs to be on a gallery or museum wall to be recognized as art, what does that say about the nature of art?) Then we had some laughs with the stellar cast of Blithe Spirit, currently playing at the Shubert Theater.

Lastly, but certainly not leastly, we have a video of Art Ravels on a trip to MoMA for the Martin Kippenberger exhibition! It's very exciting: there's music; there's lights; there's my voiceover; there's some shaky camera work. Let me know how you think it ranks next to another Martin Kippenberger at MoMA video.

Also, I would like to do another art video adventure. Does anyone have suggestions on where I should go?

Public Art Manhattan

When I walk to work in the morning, I pass a big red metal sculpture on the corner of 57th and Madison. Like many pieces of large civic art, I barely notice it. Office buildings in the city include large abstract sculptural works in the same way that they include a public atrium (also known as a tax break).

Just down the street from my office stands the Lever House, at 54th St. and Park. Currently, it is displaying a light installation by Keith Sonner (that replaced a gold chain link fence complex) in it's street-level glass box of a room. On the ground level, the Lever House also has benches, a fountain, and -- wait for it-- large Hello Kitties sculptures (by Tom Sachs, I think) in it's courtyard area. These white, papermache-style figures are huge and solid. Sometimes tourists take photos with the Hello Kitty sculptures. On one hand, it's fun, but on the other, I'm not sure that it works.

I question how well these public art displays function, and I think it's a matter of context. Museum settings at least focus one's attention. In the case of the Lever House, they own some pretty cool pieces ("Virgin Mother" by Damien Hirst, "Bride Fight" by E.V. Day, "The Hulks" by Jeff Koons) and are making them uniquely accessible to the public with no museum fees. Yet next to the skyscrapers of midtown, these large, awe-inspiring designs are subsumed. The street corner leaves them anonymous, and they become just another obstacle on the street for Manhattanites to speed past. Perhaps it's a testament to Manhattanites' drive that they can speed past works of art with a single glance.

Here works of art so easily become like the red sculpture (which happens to be by Alexander Calder) that I pass on my way to work: landscape.

Fashion is Not Art

Fashion hangs onto art's coattails, by association trying to sneak into the fine arts balls. But this is not a fairy tale, and fashion's foot does not fit this slipper.

Last night I read 2 magazines, both mentioned the trend toward art prints in fashion, where designers have produced a skirt that reminds one of Rothko or Pop art. Fashion creating pieces directly inspired by art is just a most blantant example of how they try to borrow some of art's status. They use artists to create ad campaigns, their photographers often photograph art as well as fashion. But there is a line between the two. One magazine devoted pages to Richard Avedon, who has an exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The exhibition, however, singles out his portraits, rather than his fashion photographry. I enjoy his work, but that doesn't make the clothes that he photographed art.

Much like the art world, the fashion world seems creative, navel-gazing, fun and self-aggrandizing. Yet despite the fact that designers use art as their inspiration for clothing and that people who photograph clothes may or may not be artists in their own right, and despite the cultural significance clothes might have, fashion is not art.

Why fashion is not art:

It is utilitarian.
It is common.
It is commercial.
It is not beautiful.

It may be a beautiful skirt, with skirt as the qualifying noun that allows the adjective beautiful to be applied, but it is not beautiful. And while art may influence fashion, when does fashion influence art?

In Blithe Spirits

If you've watched the news these days, you might have noticed some grim predictions. But when times get worse, entertainment gets happier, and that's the case with this new play. Easy to disparage such entertainment as a 'laugh machine,' but I think that pure fun is a merit itself.

Noel Coward, when once asked how he wanted to be remembered, answered “By my charm.” The playwright and performer had no end of charm, as those who have seen the revival of Blithe Spirit at the Shubert Theater will not doubt. For the umpteenth time, this charming play is being revived, and to great effect.

The character Charles (Rupert Everett) is throwing a dinner party with his second wife Ruth (Jayne Atkinson) and invites Madame Aracti (Angela Lansbury) in order to get material for his next novel about a psychotic medium. They propose to hold a seance, with the result of bringing back Charles’s first wife Evelyn from the other side. The ghost of his first wife can only be seen by Charles, and it drives his second wife--understandably--crazy when he starts talking to the ghost.This simple scenario spins into all matter of situations, not the least of which involves how to return spirits to the other side, as Ruth wishes desperately to do.

The cast would draw a house on it’s own, between the impressively vivacious Angela Lansbury whose first appearance in Alfred Hitchcock’s Gaslight was over 50 years ago, to the Broadway debut of the beautiful Rupert Everett. Angela Lansbury is an energetic old kook whose seance dances are a delight, while Rupert Everett throws off poised bon mots like a true dandy. Both Christine Ebersole and Jayne Atkinson hold their own against these—dare I say it—charming stars, with a rivalry that makes for many a comic moment.

The times when Coward wrote the play are not dissimilar to our own. Written in 1944, Coward had just left London after his office and apartment were destroyed by a German bombing and wanted to create a “very gay, superficial comedy.” With stocks plunging and unemployment rising, a battered New York audience could use nothing better than this clever comedy and it’s excellent cast.

Another Kippenberger at MoMA video?

Some might say I'm cannibalizing my own content value by showing you another, better (in some respects) video of the Martin Kippenberger exhibition. My video is here, by the way.

This video tour is by New York Magazine art critic Jerry Saltz. I knew something like this was in the works. When I was doing the a little video reconnaissance, I bumped into Saltz, a camera guy, and a MoMA employee. I followed part of their filming through the exhibition and really enjoyed listening to Saltz. Also, watching him stand next to the sculpture Martin, Into the Corner, You Should be Ashamed of Yourself was quite fun.

So in terms of video, let's see how things stack up.

Jerry Saltz's Video V. Art Ravel's Video

Non-shaky camera v. Some very wobbly bits
Clear sound levels v. Awesome soundtrack
Access to exhibition v. Difficulty getting images
Knowledge of artist v. Charmingly fresh perspective (?)

My gorilla effort may not have the polished production of New York Magazine's; in fact, it barely has transitions. Even so, I think between my music and my lovely self, it's a fun romp through the MoMA show. Perhaps I'm biased.

*Commenters who prefer my video will be sent a brownie.

Martin Kippenberger at MoMA

This is the first Ravels In Motion production, of many I hope, in which I visit the Martin Kippenberger exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. Kippenberger was a prolific, short-lived artist who created an interesting, influential body of work. Hopefully this is a fun introduction to the artist and exhibition for you.

First "Ravels in Motion" Production!

We hard-working bloggers here at Art Ravels, by that I mean myself, rolled up our sleeves and created a art adventure video! Having just spent the day putting it together, I'm unduly excited about it. So excited I've planned the next 5 videos from Ravels in Motion productions.

Look out for it tomorrow. Let me know if you like it, and if anyone has some iMovie tips, please let me know.

Cheers,
Art

Albrecht Durer

Self-portrait of 1493, artist aged 22

Albrecht Durer (1471 - 1528) doesn't get the attention those great Renaissance Italians do, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello. Yet Durer did more that just woodcuts; he reinvented what was possible with woodcuts, but was also a remarkable draftsman and painter.

Self-Portrait of 1498, artist aged 26

Although traditional in style, Durer brought a tirelessly innovativion to his work, and is known for merging the Italian style with the German. Born in soon-to-be Protestant Nuremburg, Durer was a humanist in the vein of Martin Luther and was one of it's first artist-gentleman, so to speak (rather than artist-craftsman).

Self-Portrait of 1500, artist aged 28 (and yes, he knew he looked like Jesus)

Durer's woodcuts were widely disseminated and successful. He also produced some very modern watercolors (at a time when other artists used crayon and paper). Durer was among the first to sign his sketches rather than consider them so much wastepaper. He also painted portraits, like the ones of himself above, but also of other individuals, large religious scenes, and some singularly beautiful works of pieces of turf and animals. More and more Durer tried to capture the secret of natural beauty. Interestingly, he disliked painting commissions because they paid so little compared to the amount of work involved.

Durer's paintings were work-intensive. He had a painstaking method of going over the colors again and again so that they have the luminosity of tempura, and the really pure colors he used highlight this. He insisted upon revarnishing the canvases himself when they got dry, because he used a special good wax that didn't yellow as it aged. He painted for things to last forever. While his painting method changed as he grew more successful and had assistants help him with his larger compositions, it remains exemplary of the enormous amount of attention he devoted to his craft.

Adam and Eve, 1507

Durer's placement of the couple as nudes facing each other on a dark background become a popular style of depicting Adam and Eve (and the ideal human proportions) was later used by Cranach, among others.

Ravels in Review Friday

We've hop-skipped-and-jumped around this week, leaping off cultural juggernauts to cultural lows with some harmless light entertainment in between. I expected this week to be more about the art fairs New York had last weekend, but I was underwhelmed by a lot of what I saw and there'll be no dearth of opinions elsewhere, I'm sure.

Peak: Shakespeare, who's apparently a babe
Trough: Paying for ersatz art of yourself. No one has yet risen to my bait of 'why, in this post-Warhol age, the things I mentioned are not art?' Hint: I do believe there is a reason why.
Middling organisms of cultural evolution: Noel Coward singing and my guilty pleasure reads, art heist books. Suggestions welcome.

Go Art Yourself

This could be you!

The typical American, even with a limited interest in art, knows that those painted things hanging on the walls of museums are valuable and special. This American probably doesn't know that a quick trip to China--well, to Made in China.com--could bring that same value and specialness to his living room wall, via an oil portrait. If you provide the site with a photograph, they'll have their workers churn out a hand painted, 100% oil portrait of you, your family, or your dog.

If you're more into sculpture, why not create a statue of yourself out of precious metals? You Look Like A Million will sculpt you in precious metals and gems; think Damien Hirst's skull personallized on your coffee table. Now there's a talking point. Note that this detail of a scupture of a boy from their website includes an iPod earbud. How modern.

For a more discreet yet fun touch, put on the cufflinks below. The head is molded to resemble your own. Everybody knows three heads are better than one. Forgive me the pun--this ridiculousness is getting to me.

For my next post, I'll show you the wonders of the BEDAZZLER. And if you're thinking this doesn't count as art, why (post-Warhol) is that true?

Shakespeare, that Beautiful Bard

You think I have a twisted point of view? Because I called the bard a looker?



Perhaps I was unduly influenced by his sonnets to the Dark Lady, you know:


'My Shakespeare's eyes are nothing like the sun; / Coral is far more red than his lips' red; / If snow be white, why then his chest be dun; / If hairs be wires, black wires no longer grow on his head.'



We've all seen the engravings of the balding, scruffy poet...but only recently has a new portrait of the bard emerged and been authenticated.

Voila!

Ooo la la, my aren't we the handsome lad? Aged 46 at the time it was painted, here Shakespeare still has a youthful bloom to his cheek. Not to mention some fine duds. The Guardian reveals:

"New research revealed yesterday contends that the only portrait of
Shakespeare painted in his lifetime has been found. Debates about the real image of Shakespeare often get mired in complicated, art historical detail, but
Professor Stanley Wells, one of the world's leading Shakespeare experts,
announced in London he was 90% certain the portrait is that of the
playwright.

Also, the story of the painting - known as the Cobbe portrait - once again raises questions about Shakespeare's sexuality. Was he more than just good friends with the man who commissioned the painting, his patron the Earl of Southampton?"

Art Reads: Straight Up or With a Twist?

I enjoy art history straight up, but I don't mind it with a twist. Lately, I've stumbled upon more than one exciting new fiction read that takes you into the art world. The fine arts get plenty of non-fiction, wether they are art historical or, like the bestselling 7 Days in the Art World, sociological. Artist's biographies are fascinating. While I might indulge in a little creative biographical fiction, Leonardo's Muse or whathaveyou, I put those books on the shelve right above the romance novels. I can admit to another weakness though, which developed out of a passion for Agatha Christie and art.

Art heist and forgery books get me every time, and it doesn't matter to me if they are based on real life. Clever, with the most interesting characters (when they aren't out and out thugs) involving passion, nerve, and wiles I love these escapades. I secretly hope that if I read enough of them I'll be able to pull off my own heist. I just finished The Art Theif's Guide to Paris, which, if not plausible, does involve a theft from the Pompidou and a forgery, making it the best of both worlds. The Forger's Spell : a True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century is on my list next.

alphainventions.com

condron.us

Volta Vs. Bridge

The art fairs kept me busy this weekend, but not necessarily happy. The hip little cousin of the Armory show, Volta, a 7 W. 34th St. shows a respectable amount of polished, cutting edge talent that runs the gamut. Bridge seems more open to a gamut of artists that ranged from polished, impressive works to not so much in a variety of styles. Both left me underwhelmed in terms of originality, and not to mention I dislike the quietly desperate hawking air.


And I said cutting-edge, didn't I? I don't mean that. While the works were of higher quality than the random gallery crawl often provides, the ideas behind them weren't. Make patterns out of florescent bulbs, write funny, insolent things about art on pieces of cardboard, sculptures out of everyday objects, fur-covered totem poles on the ceiling, tufted rugs on the floor (who hasn't done that before?), painting over vintage black and white prints to create cheeky, absurdist scenes, painting of large abstractions in the style of photography and, god save us, paintings of colors. Black and gold for example. My point is, this territory has already been covered. People are doing these things all over the streets of Brooklyn and in MFA programs. Kudos to Bridge for offering something a little different, even if different in some cases meant loud and kitsch in an uncool way.

There were exceptions, both in terms of the works and in terms of the events. The Williamsburg Gallery association put on a fun Saturday night walkabout, and the Lower East Side gallery tours going from the New Museum to the LaViola Banks Gallery on Sunday put some local pride in my heart. Yet I'm disappointed that I didn't fall in love with anything. Did I go to the wrong shows? Would the Armory have been better?

I'll tell you what perked up my weekend; this great article about Larry Gagosian's wheelings and dealings in the New York Times.

Noel Coward: Blithe Charm

Noel Coward, performer, singer, librettist and playwright, got by primarily on charm from his birth in 1899 until his death in 1973 with what Time Magazine called, "a sense of personal style, a combination of cheek and chic, pose and poise." Sensibilities have changed, but there's still a certain old-school, British charm to this theatircal jack-of-all-trades. Indeed, that's what he banked on, often writing plays designed to feature himself.




Mad dogs and Englishman, one of his many ditties, is light and above all entertaining. If you need more evidence of Coward's genius for entertaining and you happen to be in Manhattan, go see the revival of Blithe Spirit at the Shubert Theater. This comedy features a stellar cast including Angela Lansbury, and made me laugh more than I ever have at a Broadway play. As good as the production was, the merit lay in the play itself.

Ravels in (mid) Review

Yes, Ravels in Review is a weekly Friday round up, but with the art fairs going on, it seems unfair to cut off the week like that. Things are just beginning to get interesting...

but alas, one must trudge on.

This week was thoughtful, with a review of the excellent Cherry Orchard by Chekhov now at BAM, and not one but two ponderings on aesthetic experience from the strangeness of clapping to suffering for art. If you're in need of some beautiful images to ponder, try the Cy Twombley images I posted that span both style and time. Oh, and my good taste was indubitably confirmed.

And then, just in time for your weekend needs, a quick reference guide to the New York art fairs going on this weekend, and where you'll find me running to now.

This Weekend: Art Fairs NYC!

The art fairs have come to NYC! Doors open today.

All the galleries, their artists, dealers and art lovers will be out in full force. I've never gone to these before, but just looking at the weekend possibilities is overwhelming. There's so much to see, in fact, I'm afraid of catching Stendhal syndrome. Now, let me catch my breath before entering the whirl.

Here's how it breaks down:

• The Armory Show

12th Avenue at 55th Street, Pier 94, New York NY 10001 Tel: 1 212 6456440 E-mail: info@thearmoryshow.com Mar 4 - 8, 2009

• Bridge Art Fair

The Waterfront, 222 12th Avenue, New York NY 10001 Tel: 312-421-2227 E-mail: info@bridgeartfair.com Mar 4 - 8, 2009

• SCOPE

Lincoln Center, Damrosch Park, Corner of West 62nd Street and Amsterdam Ave, New York NY 10023 Tel: 1 212 2681522 E-mail: info@scope-art.com Mar 4 - 9, 2009

• PULSE

Pier 40, West Side Highway at West Houston Street, New York NY 10014 Tel: 212 255 2327 E-mail: info@pulse-art.com Mar 5 - 9, 2009

• VOLTA NY

7 W 34th St. at 5th Ave. New York, NY, 10001, USA Tel: +1.312.527.6026 Email: info@voltashow.com March 5-8

I am definitely going to Bridge and Volta, and the Williamsburg Gallery Association seems to be planning and all) and join some Salon friends on Sunday at Pulse. Will I do all this, plus go to a play and host a book club at my unfurnished apartment?


That remains to be seen, and then blogged about.

Like a little Chekhov with your coffee?

Then keep reading...


-------------------------------

In a Chekhov-heavy season comes another excellent production, The Cherry Orchard playing at BAM's Harvey Theater. Chekhov's final play tells the story of a noble family who has spent their fortune with a purely Russian frivolity and because of it is forced to sell their ancestral home and its huge, beautiful, and useless cherry orchard. True to character, these scions can't manage either to stop spending or to sell the orchard, so it is inevitably auctioned off to pay their debt. Tom Stoppard's adaptation and Sam Mendes' direction would be a winning combination for any play, but a light hand is all that is required to guide this masterwork.

The actors certainly deliver light-handed, realistic versions of their characters. Chekhov's femme fatales are mockeries of the name; femme flawed would be better. These roles certainly aren't easy, requiring self-aggrandizing loud voices and silliness that ring patently false over the play's wasteland of ideals. Sinead Cusack, as Ranevskaya, is true to her part, but hardly carries the lead role as Kristen Scott Thomas did in The Seagull. Rebecca Hall, recently seen in the movie Vicky Christina Barcelona, handles her character excellently. The male cast is strong in general, with Ethan Hawke in another solid performance as an intellectual, and the venerable Richard Easton as the butler Firs.

The production is solid and the remaining question is the same one The Cherry Orchard faced at its first production. Chekhov wrote a comedy, but its first director produced it as a tragedy. Stoppard's rewriting leans toward comedy, but the question remains open. The ridiculous characters, the general insouciance, and the underlying conviction the Chekhov wants you to disapprove of the spendthrift aristocrats all beg you to take their downfall as lightly as they do.

For example, the family's departure from their home is oddly anti-climatic. This is redeemed by the final scene, which depicts the family's faithful old servant Firs, who has awoken to find he has been left behind, dying with only a twinge of sound to mark his passage. His death is a masterful finale for a play that hovers between tragedy and comedy, and, handled in this manner, it diffuses attention from the family just when your sympathies are most with them.

Chekhov's disapproval likewise breaks through in an earlier moment, when an anonymous passerby interrupts the family (and the lightness of the play) to beg for directions and money. His grim presence is the breaking through of a Russian reality, the peasant reality, into their lives. The emotional declarations of the family, for all their more impassioned delivery, don't have the same heft as his simple, serious words. By comedy, Chekhov indeed meant that The Cherry Orchard was a satire, and one whose unhappy characters illustrate unhappy views. His characters are so lifelike and unhappy we sympathize with them.

Despite his intent, Chekhov's artistry outstrips his personal convictions, and in this case, the production itself. What struck me foremost was the play over the production. Chekhov crafted a thoroughly modern, neat, and emotionally satisfying drama that is both timely and timeless. This production at BAM, though by no means unimpressive, was like watching the Oscars and seeing a beautiful girl whose beautiful dress wore her.

Following in the footsteps of The Seagull, and now running concurrently with Uncle Vanya, BAM's production of The Cherry Orchard enlivens any Chekhovite's evening through March 8.

Originally published in Blogcritics Magazine March 2, 2009.

Love and Auctions: Midday Links!

My excellent taste was confirmed by the Yves Saint Laurent auction results. Check out the fabulous chair and the price of desire.

Also, check out a beautiful auction catalogue that tells a different kind of story, of love and its personal effects.

If you haven't yet planned your New York art fair visits, start here. Should be a busy few days!

A Painful Creative Process?

Caravaggio
'Artist suffer to produce art' was the opening premise of my post yesterday. Somehow the creative process is one of "cracking your skull open" or "putting your sweat and blood into it." "Tortured artist" even gets a page on Wikipedia, and is linked to the similar 'poète maudit,' the bad-boy artist who is against the establishment. In a way, societies finds tortured artistic personalities moving in the most Romantic way, because they feel a deep connection to this other person.




Vincent VanGogh

This all may be true to an extant, but I'm a little skeptic. Both the Romantic I of lyric poetry and the Romantic artist struggling to produce art are flawed characterizations. This emotional ethos en-nobilizes the making of art from a craft to fine art, with the by-product of considering the piece of work to reflect the soul of its creator. I think you're as likely to see a reflection of your own soul as you are that of the artist.

Charles Baudelaire
Making art is suffering as much as making anything else is. It could take the same amount of work, in terms of energy expelled and time, to make a table as a painting. Going to work is often not fun, but do I really get to claim that I suffer as I email and answer the phone? Running on a treadmill might be considered suffering, but nobody will idolize your soul over it.

Robert Mapplethorpe
Also, don't happy people create, and why shouldn't they create good art? Leonardo is generally upheld as a great artist. He is also widely considered a brilliant thinker--yet he didn't brood over his canvases. Hell, he could hardly be coerced to finish them once he had sketched them out, much less pour a troubled soul into them.

Suffering for Art

Artists get credit for suffering for art, but what about the viewers?


I sat watching a play, in the leftmost corner of the gallery where a chilly draft plagued me, for over 2 hours. It wasn't torture to be cold, and an angle that wouldn't suffice for TV watching or Internet surfing was somehow worthwhile for the stage. At the end of the play, like a bunch of trained monkeys, everyone watching hit their hands together to make a slapping sound. Why do we clap? How is it more civilized than howls or stomping? It signifies our enjoyment, but what is this quality of aesthetic enjoyment--this dreamy break from reality that takes on the guise of reality? Why is a simulacrum of reality more pleasurable to watch than the thing itself?

Aesthetic expereince, whether it's a play or a painting, is a combination of cultural expectations and an innate human need to image. While we may frame our experiences with a stage or strips of wood to set something off as art, art moves us in a very innate way. So then we express our reaction by hitting our palms together...?

We are a strange animal.