As Karen Finley wisely counseled me some years ago, an excess of gratitude can strike you dumb (or simply annoyed speechless), which is never a good place to be, especially if you’re on a podium and expected to render judgment, offer smart advice or commentary, or simply deliver a few thoughtful remarks to a throng assembled in your honor and from whom your hosts will momentarily be asking for a few million dollars. 

Mark Bradford and Henry Taylor

Elsa Longhauser and Henry Taylor

There were a few moments like this at ICA’s otherwise delightful benefit brunch honoring Henry Taylor Saturday afternoon at ICA-LA’s unusually – ‘just-your-friendly-local-contemporary-art-institution-down-the-block’ – neighborhood accommodating digs in that windswept stretch of the arts district on Seventh Street between Alameda and Mateo.  It was like a Sunday morning church service for the self-enlightened and forever fallen, a prayer breakfast for those of us who pray for something that’s either going to save the coral or introduce us to some ‘whole new motherfucker,’ as Henry might put it.

Joy Simmons, Patrick Martinez, Arthur Lewis, Henry Taylor, Hal Nguyen, Andy Rober.

You’d think that was me, the way Henry greeted me, walking into the (what do we call that open-air space that feels like a bodega with nothing for sale?).  Except that I believe Henry’s effusive greeting was actually for the motherfucker (a term of endearment chez Henri) directly behind me – his gallerist, Jeff Poe, standing just a few feet behind him and taking in the entire scene.  

Brunch guests

It was impossible to move more than a few feet without running into someone we knew – curators (Glenn Phillips, Ed Schad, Jill Monitz), collectors (Deborah Irmas, Beth Rudin DeWoody), dealers (Rosamund Felsen, François Ghebaly, Honor Fraser, Shulamet Nazarian, Tim Blum), journalists (Jori Finkel, Hunter Drohojowska-Philp) genius artists (Elliott Hundley, Brenna Youngblood, Todd Gray, Meg Cranston, Patrick Martinez). I only caught a glimpse of Charles Gaines, but his spirit seemed to hover over the ‘congregation.’  Running across Sydney D. Holland’s name amongst the supporters, I combed the crowd looking for her – it’s a long way from the heights of Mulholland Drive; but hey – if David Hockney can do it…. (no he wasn’t there).  But Elsa Longhauser, ICA’s executive director, and board members Laura Donnelley (the chair) and Vera R. Campbell were – and you could tell they meant business. 

Table setting

That was about as serious as it got until we got to our tables, which were laid out refectory-style, as in a dining commons, which meant that the only people who got to table-hop were the wait staff.  The menu was pretty serious all by itself – “Baked, Cultured, Harvested (which, as my table-mate, artist John Pearson agreed, was almost rhetorical), Cured, and Pastured.”  (They left out the “slaughtered” part – there was some pork belly in that section.)  Talk of money was in the air – Mike Kelley Foundation Executive Director Mary Clare Stevens was describing the Foundation’s deep dive into domestic architecture (Detroit project) and encouraging the artists at the table to apply for grants.  But there was time to breathe and digest. 

Glen Wilson and Amber Hartgens

Elsa introduced a fantastic film/video by Glen Wilson that dropped us into the nonstop whip-saw studio life of the honoree, Henry Taylor; and for a moment, I wanted to be re-baptized in one of those vast tables of swirling paints Henry uses as his palettes.  (As I said, it was like a church service – and boy have I ever fallen.) 

Mark Bradford

Finally, Mark Bradford, effortlessly elegant in a cream-colored suit, got up to introduce his pal, Henry – and talked about their shared experiences in and out of school – as slightly late arrivals at CalArts, their mutual intimidation at Charles Gaines’ formidable intellectual rigor, and getting out and getting the hang of it all.  If he had commanded me to sing, I would have. 

Henry Taylor en route to the podium

Henry did not sing, but you could sort of see he was trying to get there.  Instead he managed a pretty good riff on the general theme of thanking us for digging his work.  Then Vera Campbell got up to make a Champagne toast – but she was all business.  “Do you all have your glasses?” was quickly followed by something on the order of ‘Do you all have your checkbooks and credit cards?’  I later got an anonymous text from someone laughing that an “important art collector” at his table was “furious” to be asked for more money.  “Welcome to the charity world,” went the anonymous text. 

ICA LA Toast

But there could be no bitterness to this lovely gray afternoon.  The guests lingered as they made their way out to the parking valet, talking, laughing, posing for each others’ phones, many of them dressed with great style and originality.  There was only laughter and gratitude for a moment of grace we yearned to prolong indefinitely. 

All images credit: Ryan Miller/Image Capturing