Artillery Magazine

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  • Brandy Eve Allen: Connection in Isolation

    Brandy Eve Allen: Connection in Isolation

    Los Angeles–based photographer Brandy Eve Allen has responded uniquely to the isolation of the COVID social distancing period with a new series of portraits, shot from the street, of isolators in their homes. The subjects of the photos, who Allen found on Nextdoor around the Silver Lake, Echo Park and Los Feliz areas of Los Angeles, elicit an emotional response, encompassing both a longing sensation of the subjects and an implied sense of voyeurism. 

    Brandy Eve Allen, Brian, Frogtown, 2020

    Allen’s film photographs are a stark representation of our specific cultural moment, when time seems to slow and we huddle in our homes, passing the time like the subjects of Renaissance paintings, eating and lounging nude. The photos generally follow a uniform format: a subject (occasionally two) can be seen inside a window or doorway peering out into the street from their homes interiorly lit, while a flash (typically but not always) illuminates the exterior. Simple in approach, though the results are striking. The architecture of the dwellings also leads the photos to appear frozen in time.

    Brandy Eve Allen, Leann & Bill, 2020

    Though Allen’s photographs are technically social-distancing portraits of people at home, their sweeping impression is more like architectural landscape photography that has a subject in it, as an element in the composition rather than being the distinctive focus. In many cases, the subjects are shrouded in their confines, and can be seen as mere silhouettes. This creates a sense that the dwellers lend themselves at times to being universal, as they could be anyone, yet idiosyncratically are also visual representations of the isolation, and by extension loneliness, that one feels while in quarantine. Allen, however, doesn’t see the isolation as necessarily a negative attribute. “We’re constantly inundated, and we need to get into this silence… we need to get comfortable in silence.” When asked if she had a positive relationship with solitude, Allen said “totally,” and that sense of comfort is clear in her work. By directing these photographs she visually welcomes viewers into seeing social distancing—and by proxy isolation—through her perspective. The photographs breathe that silence and stillness, and rather than offering a snapshot, they capture instead a heavy distinct moment.

    Brandy Eve Allen, Phil, Echo Park, 2020

    “I think I’m showing how other people are in isolation,” Allen said. “Most of my other work has to do with me in isolation, that internal existential conversation that you have when you’re feeling isolated, as more of a constant.” The photos are more a representation of the subjects as stand-ins for others’ responses to the pandemic, not necessarily the artist’s personal experience.

    Brandy Eve Allen, Ali, Los Feliz, 2020

    Allen is quick to point out that isolation and alienation are a fact for many before the pandemic began: “Here’s the thing. There are people in the world that are really fucking cool and have so much to offer, but for some reason, the world just isn’t responding to them. And so they exist in a form of isolation.” She herself identifies in at least some form as isolated from societal structures, including the art world. “It becomes a lot to encounter so much rejection, to put yourself out there, and to not find your path. But I look at isolation and see it in beautiful ways.”

    Brandy Eve Allen, Matt, Echo Park, 2020

    Viewing the photo series as a whole, one gets the sense that while these subjects are apart and alone in their respective homes, they are having a shared human experience, which is, in a sense, what the photographs and this moment in time seem to be about. “I wouldn’t say I’m a guru of meditation, but I do think I need it, and if I would commit to meditation three times a day it would have a profound effect on me,” Allen said. “I think people need to take care of themselves right now, on a deep, spiritual level.”

  • Lynn Hershman Leeson Political and Hopeful

    Lynn Hershman Leeson
    Political and Hopeful

    Lynn Hershman Leeson has always been an artist simultaneously ahead of her time and very much a product of the present moment. From her revolutionary Breathing Machines in the early 1960s—the first sculpture works which incorporated sound—to her most recent video installation, Shadow Stalker, which investigates the use of the surveillance software PredPol, Hershman Leeson has been at the very forefront of technology, media and art. She is also an accomplished filmmaker, producing works like !Women Art Revolution (2010) as well as collaborating with actresses like Tilda Swinton and activist art groups like the Guerrilla Girls. It was my pleasure to speak with her about her life, work and
    upcoming projects.

    Sweetwood: You describe !Women Art Revolution as “a history that was not erased, but one not recorded in the first place.” Do you believe that statement applies to you personally, as well as all women artists?

    Hershman Leeson: It is double-sided; being invisible allowed me a lot of freedom to do my work, but it also forced me to live at a poverty level and watch as the next generations took credit for all the work and research I did. I think lots of women were left out, not just me, but I think I was copied the most, and I also think it was personally damaging. I watched as men of my generation were collected and praised while I could not get any reviews, shows or sales. But—’She who laughs last’ is a good motto, and I’m laughing now.

    Installation view, Lynn Hershman Leeson, Shadow Stalker, 2019, in Manual Override at The Shed, New York, November 13, 2019 – January 12, 2020. Photo: Dan Bradica

    What are your feelings on being discovered some 50 years after the beginning of your career?

    I’m really grateful to Peter Weibel who was the first one to have the courage to show all my work and give me my first real book. It was because of that show that people realized how much I had done that others took credit for… but as I mention I had a lot of freedom, and as almost no one bought my work, I still had it, and it was rather sensational to live long enough to see it appreciate and be appreciated.

    You’ve noted that all of your work is political; do you believe that all art is or should be political

    Absolutely, otherwise why do it? Art makes us see ourselves in our situations and replaces our belief systems when necessary. The definition of political, though, is not what you normally would think of, but yes, absolutely, political and hopeful. Political for me is that which brings an awareness of the toxicity or flaws in a culture and seeks innovative ways to point them out or change them, like bringing awareness of a surveillance algorithm that is destructive or a society that is repressive, and show what the issues are, and ways to create a shift.

    Lynn Hershman Leeson, Installation view of Shadow Stalker in “Manual Override” at The Shed, 2019

    I am personally obsessed with the created character of Roberta Breitmore, who was exorcised in 1978 following five years of existence. What would Roberta be doing today rather than in the 1970s?

    Actually Roberta lived from 1972–1979. A lot of information about her dates is wrong.

    She comes back periodically, I never know when. In 1993, for instance, she was a TeleRobotic doll called CybeRoberta. You can read about her or see her on my website. In 2005, she visited a plastic surgeon and had him draw on her face to see how she could look young again. And, in 2018, she went to Berlin, stayed in a hotel and tried to find a boyfriend.

    In your newest interactive video installation, Shadow Stalker, you show the ways in which identity can be flattened to profile individuals. Does the future of technologies like PredPol scare you?

    No, because people are working to overcome the restrictions and bring to light what the algorithmic violence really does to people, through legal [action]. In fact, there is now even an algorithmic justice league that was founded last year in Boston.

    Lynn Hershman Leeson, Still from Shadow Stalker, 2019

    What’s the next project after Shadow Stalker?

    I converted my diaries to DNA. My next project will be working with Harvard on a project called Gravity’s End, which will be a drinking fountain that converts plastic-filled and contaminated water into pure drinkable water, one liter per minute. And some films, one on Leonora Carring­ton and the tarot, another about bio-genetics.

    Lynn Hershman Leeson’s work is currently on exhibition at the de Young Museum in San Francisco, The New School in New York, ZKM Gallery in Germany, and she will have a solo show at The New Museum in 2021.

  • The Power of Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe Proverbial Portraiture

    The Power of Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe
    Proverbial Portraiture

    When I talk with Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe, his smiling face lights up the video conference window as he speaks of joy. He hopes to bring joy to the subjects of his portraits, and to those that view them. Picking up the range of tonality in Blackness, his portraits demand attention with a quiet yet confrontational gaze. He talks a lot about empowerment, which is registered in the stately and regal postures of his sitters, who appear before us like subjects in court portraiture.

    Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe, Dapper, 2020, Courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, CA

    Hailing from Ghana, one of the fashion capitals of Africa that is known for its unique textile production, Quaicoe’s emphasis on clothing is strong. “Our textiles have names printed on the bottom, which are like proverbs, so when people are buying cloth they look at the proverb,” he says. “If that proverb doesn’t fit their character, they don’t buy it. They go for color, design—and also the proverb.” The significance of clothing in his work considers the beliefs to which we subscribe and how we express them in our clothing. Quaicoe wields this self-expression to make us question our own associations, particularly regarding color and gender. Central to his work is being an African in America, contemplating the ways in which we are the same and how we differentiate ourselves.

    Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe, Grace Osei, Green Nails, 2020, Courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, CA

    His entrée into art came from attending the movies and admiring the hand-painted film posters. After meeting an artist hanging their poster, Quaicoe asked if he could get some tutelage.

    Storytelling is central to Quaicoe’s paintings, where characters hold the key. In addition to his subjects, Quaicoe’s inspirations come from listening to people’s conversations: “Everyone has their own life, their own story, if you listen.” Perhaps as a viewer, our role is to be silent for a moment, and listen to the stories the portraits silently tell us.

    Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe in his studio, Courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, CA

    Quaicoe moved to Portland two years ago at 28. Overwhelmed by the differences in how Africans dressed compared to Black Americans, he points out, “It was very easy to spot who was from where; we [Africans] dress differently.” This notion of clothing as a cultural and personal signifier has persisted and (much like in court portraiture) aids in telling the story of the sitter. I wonder aloud whether these signifiers are in place to reveal or disguise the subjects of his paintings. Quaicoe smiles, speaking of the mystery of people, stating it likely does both—“You see what they want you to see.” This allows the subjects to have control over their projected perception, giving them a sense of empowerment.

    Sometimes the choices—colors, even brands—feel so right that I am curious if his models are consciously styled. While Quaicoe does sometimes have an outfit in mind (and might request they wear it or add it to the painting later), it is always something he feels the person would wear anyway. He refers to it as being similar to a collage; he wants the painting to be harmonious, but only if it fits.

    Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe, Kwame Asare in Stripes, 2020, Courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, CA

    Quaicoe’s first solo exhibition in the U.S. was this past January with LA gallery Roberts Projects. It consisted of new portraits made while in residency at collector/artist Danny First’s La Brea Studios. While in LA, he met up with fellow painter Amoako Boafo (coincidentally a former classmate from Ghanatta College of Art and Design) who was represented by Roberts Projects at the time. Finding themselves in the same country again, the two reconnected and Boafo invited Quaicoe to come and share his studio in LA. It was here that Quaicoe met Roberts, who quickly responded to his work and suggested Quaicoe have an exhibition at his gallery.

    Along with Boafo, Quaicoe looks to his contemporaries who paint representations of Blackness as his influences. Kehinde Wiley is a vital inspiration, particularly regarding depictions of empowerment and joy evinced in his portraits. He also cites Henry Taylor and Kerry James Marshall, as well as lesser-known photographers found via Instagram, which are sometimes used as reference for paintings.

    Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe, Joseph Cubo, 2020, Courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, CA

    Drawn immediately to the vibrant colors, shapes and styles, we read Quaicoe’s paintings slowly and are lured by the complexity in the subjects’ expressions. We question these figures’ perception of us. Quaicoe subjects are responsible for how they are seen.

    Typically in portraiture, the viewer gains access to subjects who are depicted evocatively or vulnerably. However in Quaicoe’s paintings, one is halted abruptly by the textured painterly backgrounds that exist in stark contrast to the smooth striation in the bodies and faces of his subjects. We are met with the subjects’ Blackness, which is painted in gray scale. Nails, earrings, handbags and dressings are accented with color, indicating their intentional nature and suggesting their existence as a signpost. His subjects, with their knowing expressions, do not permit full entrance. The signifiers, at once disguising and revealing, confront the audience and challenge them to engage in a more slowly paced viewing that mimics the duration of getting to know someone. Often, this is precisely what happens.

    Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe, Bandana Coyboy, 2020, Courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, CA

    “When I first moved here [Portland] I had no friends, so if there was someone I thought was cool or that interested me I would ask to paint them; I still do that.” Through painting, Quaicoe is able to utilize his setting, the people in it and their selected symbols to orient himself in a new surrounding, something we are all doing every day. The title of Quaicoe’s Roberts Projects solo exhibition, ”Black Like Me,” was a reference to his experience of moving to Portland and noticing that, despite their notable cultural differences, the Black Americans he met were Black, like him, from the same race, the same family. The title is an empathic reference to a sense of shared pain and joy within the Black community. Those shown in this body of work, and his work in general, are neither subject or object; they are embraced in spirit and restored to power.

     

  • ART BRIEF New Game in Town: GALLERYPLATFORM.LA

    ART BRIEF
    New Game in Town: GALLERYPLATFORM.LA

    If there’s been a silver lining for the LA art scene during the pandemic, it just might be the new Gallery Association Los Angeles (GALA) an online platform known as GalleryPlatform.LA, that has taken root while everyone was quarantining. Brainchild of uber-gallerist and former MoCA LA Director Jeffrey Deitch, the platform got off the ground with no fewer than 81 local galleries.

    Most gallerists feel that a gallery association is something long overdue and that a centralized website with a changing lineup of 10 galleries per week is a great idea. The site was quickly built out in April, with voluntary contributions from individual galleries and with sponsorship funds from East West Bank that will underwrite the curatorial portion of the site consisting of videos of artist and gallery visits.

    The organic nature of the platform was emphasized by the gallerists I talked with. Members of the organizational committee volunteered to serve. They spoke of the collegial approach to the operation of the association and the site that operates without a leader. With big galleries and smaller cutting-edge galleries sharing the space, there is a “leveling of the playing field.”

    Potential buyers of artwork displayed on the site can connect with each individual gallery. The terms and conditions of the sale are discussed by the gallery directly with the buyer and the platform itself does not take a fee on the sales. While most galleries display prices on the site, there is no requirement to do so.

    The conventional wisdom is that buyers need to view artwork in person before writing a check. However, that habit may be fading with the advent of online platforms. Some are established (such as Artsy and Artnet) while others are new, such as Sotheby’s Network—for galleries that want to sell on the auction house’s platform with Sotheby’s taking a commission.

    Ben Lee Ritchie Handler of Nicodim Gallery in DTLA, who is on the operating committee, said that Deitch reached out in mid-March asking Nicodim to join. Handler was excited about the gallery association and hoped that the association would “create an off-line community as soon as we can see each other in-person again.” He was eager to avoid the Saturday night massacre in which dozens of galleries open for the same two hours, frustrating art patrons—a problem the association may address.

    Sara Hantman, senior director of Various Small Fires on Highland Avenue, is also a member of the operating committee—nominated by Handler. VSF was among the 10 galleries in the platform’s first rotation. It had immediate success with veteran Southern California artist Jessie Homer French, whose folk-art style is reminiscent of Grandma Moses. This show was unable to be open to the public, but sold out on the platform.

    French’s recent work focuses on the forbidden zone around the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster in Ukraine—which has gone “native,” with forests regenerating and wildlife occupying areas around buildings devoid of humans. She paints flora and fauna that have thrived in the zone, including wolf packs. The work has resonance during the pandemic, when coyotes boldly saunter down empty streets in major cities.

    Jessie Homer French, “Genesis,” 2017

    Hantman supports price transparency on the platform and prices were posted for French’s work. She calls it “a lease free space,” and is pleased with the mix of galleries with “the large galleries attracting bigger collectors and the smaller galleries having interesting art for them to buy.”

    Gan Uyeda, director of François Ghebaly Gallery in DTLA, is a member of the editorial committee that oversees gallery and artists profiles on the site. He said that the platform helps support the smaller galleries and it’s in the larger galleries’ interest to join with them since “if the bottom drops out of the art world, then the whole ecosystem could collapse.”

    Adam Moscowitz of Moscowitz Bayse Gallery on La Brea Avenue, said that while David Zwirner Gallery was “a pioneer” with his hosted website, “It’s about David Zwirner presents.” He prefers the independence of GalleryPlatform.LA. His partner, Meredith Bayse, saw it as “an opportunity to think of the online experience as distinct from exhibitions at the gallery.”

    Diane Rosenstein, owner of her eponymous gallery on Highland Avenue, said Deitch emailed her and other galleries in mid-April, and she agreed to join the platform. On the issue of price transparency, she said she will post prices (a growing trend with online sites)—even the notoriously opaque Gagosian Gallery posted prices of Ed Ruscha’s recent work on the platform. Rosenstein said the platform is here to stay: “It’s not just a stop-gap, but a complement to everything else we’re doing.”

  • SIGHTS UNSCENE Anish Kapoor Opening, Regen Projects, Los Angeles, January, 2020

    SIGHTS UNSCENE
    Anish Kapoor Opening, Regen Projects, Los Angeles, January, 2020

    UpSide Downed, Guard and Visitors at Anish Kapoor Opening, Regen Projects, Los Angeles, January, 2020
  • PROVENANCE The Watts Riots, Nickerson Gardens, and Black Lives Matter

    PROVENANCE
    The Watts Riots, Nickerson Gardens, and Black Lives Matter

    In 1965, angry, fed-up citizens took over Watts, a historically Black neighborhood in South Los Angeles. Similar to the recent Black Lives Matter (BLM) uprisings, the Watts Riots began after police responded to a minor infraction with violence, arresting two Black men at a traffic stop. Enraged, thousands of Angelenos took to the streets to protest the latest instance of police brutality. Over a period of six days, the riots resulted in 34 deaths, thousands of arrests and over $40 million in property damage; ultimately, it required 14,000 National Guardsmen to end it.

    The Watts Riots erupted just five days after the passage of the Voting Right Act of 1965, an incredibly progressive policy that attempted to eliminate voter discrimination. But now, only 55 years later, riots are again needed to protest the unjust treatment of Black Americans. Why? What failed? Together, the Watts and Black Lives Matter rebellions reveal that no policy can ameliorate the racial violence and economic exclusion that have defined Black life since the United States’ founding.

    Burning buildings, Watts Riot, Los Angeles, California, August 13, 1965

    But something separates the Watts from the BLM uprisings. Unlike in 2020, in 1965 rioters focused their attentions on a Black neighborhood. Indeed, the destruction of Watts centered on the neighborhood’s large public housing communities, such as Hacienda Village (1942), Avalon Gardens (1941), and Nickerson Gardens (1955) (pictured left). The last was built by Paul R. Williams (1894–1980), a renowned Black American architect and one of the most influential mid-century modernists to work in Los Angeles. Tragically, the destruction of Nickerson Gardens underscored the death of Williams’ dream: that poor Angelenos could live dignified and prosperous lives.

    Williams designed Nickerson Gardens to have 1,110 housing units that covered more than 55 acres. This design—dubbed a “superblock” because little to no through traffic passes through it—was defined by a distinctive break from its gridiron surround. The large, two-story apartments contained expansive picture windows that looked out onto the verdant space. At the project’s heart was a large community center that could seat up to 1,000 people, perfect for neighborhood theater productions or other local gatherings. Williams also included a small meeting and craft room, communal kitchen and snack bar, all of which afforded Nickerson Gardens’ residents amenities normally reserved for the wealthy. Put simply, Nickerson Gardens embodied Williams’ conviction that government-funded housing could create a better, more equitable city for its working-class citizens.

    Nickerson Gardens from above.

    Within 10 years, Williams’ project had failed. Though Nickerson Gardens had begun as an integrated community, by 1965 nearly all of its residents were Black, which highlighted the economic disparities that segregated races. Indeed, at mid-century most Black Angelenos were poor, undereducated and forced to use crumbling city infrastructure. Following mass white flight from the urban core to the suburbs, the government disinvested in LA’s interior. As the urbanist Charles Abrams has remarked, suburbanization “redistributed [the city’s] population into areas inhabited by a new white ‘elite’ and a black unwanted.”

    The Watts Riots must therefore be understood as at least partially a response to the failure of Williams’ dream—the dream to live a dignified Black life in government-funded housing. When the rioters destroyed Nickerson Gardens, they were merely transforming subtext into text: the government had long ago decided to let the project wither.

    It’s therefore heartening that, today, BLM protesters decided to focus their ire on wealthy neighborhoods. Put another way, the working class has identified its enemy.

  • St. Elmo Village Thrives Today A Safe Space

    St. Elmo Village Thrives Today
    A Safe Space

    Hidden in a quiet Mid-City tract is a Los Angeles art institution. Not that you’d know it if you didn’t slow down and really look for the five-lot compound on this quiet residential street. Otherwise you could easily miss the sign: “St. Elmo Village,” half hidden by the lush shrubbery. And yet “The Village” is certainly an institution by virtue of its 51 years as a community arts center. A creativity factory far from the mainstream galleries around the city, it is a place imagined and willed into existence by the passion of two men: The late Rozzell Sykes and his then 18-year-old nephew Roderick, who came out from the Midwest in the ’60s. Both painters, they would transform their early live-in studios into a unique compound that has stood as a beacon for African Americans and other artists for a half century.

    St. Elmo Village Sign

    The driving force behind St. Elmo today is Jackie Sykes, painter and photographer (who specifies, “I prefer visual artist.”), Roderick’s wife of 40 years and as resolute as she is diminutive.

    “They [Rozzell and Roderick] happened to be artists—and they would take their paintings to Hollywood. They were both from St. Louis and their background was ‘you clean where you live,’ you don’t wait for the landlord to do it. There were old cars and motors and junk— they used some of it to make art… they started to fix the place up.”

    The owner, for one, was impressed with the improvements and put the property up for sale. The Sykes made a bid for the lots. The asking price was $60,000 and the men raised the down payment by holding the first “Festival of Creative Survival.”

    Eventually they incorporated as a nonprofit thanks to the philanthropy of early patrons—Wally Amos of the famous cookies, TV producer Don Brinkley and other Hollywood types that had bought Sykes’ work (an early friend that still shows up is Jeff Bridges). They received political support from the likes of Senator John Tunney and Mayor Tom Bradley.

    Jackie Sykes

    “This was after the ’65 riots, so just like now there was a push to help disadvantaged communities—just like in ’92,” recalls Jackie today.

    Maybe that’s what accounts for the feeling of a ’60s intentional community that still lingers at St. Elmo. When you step into the garden you float on a multi-hued flying carpet (“largest ground mural in the U.S., I believe,” says Jackie). It connects 10 structures—small California bungalows that in the ’20s were part of Mary Pickford’s horse farm—when this part of town, close to Rimpau and Venice Boulevards, was the prairie-like western edge of the city. Later the shacks were used as living quarters for farm laborers.

    Today they house the free workshops in drawing and painting for young children, photography and computer graphics for older ones and adult pottery and clay. (The latter are still ongoing, with distancing; the kids, hopefully, will be back in the fall). There’s also an Arts and Music Library and a community meeting room. Some units and apartments in the adjacent building (acquired in the ’90s) are rented as a source of income. “You can stay here like a residency for six months to a year,” says Jackie, “as long as you share what you do with the community and with us.”

    Workshop studio

    Through the years these “flats” below the stately mansions of Lafayette Square and Victoria Park became a Black and Brown working-class neighborhood, one of those largely forgotten by all but those who lived here in the segregated plains of LA, “invisible” to the cultural establishment. But The Village never ceased its work even as social upheaval ebbed and flowed around it in waves.

    “In the ’80s it was horrible. There was a crack house over here, a crack house over there… we were surrounded. And we called them zombies; they would come out at night. We told a lot of our neighbors, if you hang in there and if you’re part of the solution, stick together, we can get through this.” Today, as in so many other neighborhoods, the prevailing dynamic is gentrification. “We see people walking their dogs and running down the street like they’re at the beach… but it’s fine. The rent hikes are not so positive but then we get a Lowe’s, we get Smart&Final, shopping services that we needed for years.”

    St. Elmo Village entrance with the floor mural

    St. Elmo has not had an overtly social or political agenda. Lately however, The Village has been in the news through its association with Black Lives Matter. Melina
    Abdullah, who co-founded the LA chapter of BLM, among others, has told the story of the group’s constitution following a meeting here after the Trayvon Martin outrage. Artist and prison-rights activist Patrice Khan Cullors was instrumental in organizing it.

    “When BLM first got started it was just basically a group of people that needed a place to be and to organize, and we were here. And Patrice lived here so she asked Roderick,and they had several [meetings] here. It’s a safe space. You feel comfortable; you can let your shoulders down, relax and breathe. And we take pride in being that space.”

    A yearly jazz and blues festival is still held, as well as drum circles. Workshop kids have grown and returned as teachers. Paintings hang on the walls and Literacy, the SPARC-sponsored mural recreated by Roderick after it was destroyed at the original location (a nearby LAUSD maintenance yard) faces the street. Overall there is the sense of place, reminiscent of those created by Simon Rodia at the Watts Towers or Noah Purifoy’s desert ranch. The feeling of a “hand made” place which is the sum of the art the villagers have produced—like those other places, it is itself the very site-specific artwork.

    Roderick Sykes, Literacy

    “We’re a lot of circles that intertwine. We’re not just in the ‘art organization’ box,” Jackie explains. “We’re a polling place, the police come here, we have a relationship with the fire department. The gang members respect The Village, so socially we connect all the dots together so that people feel comfortable here, no matter what your walk of life is.

    “[Art] can save your life. There’s a creative process to everything we do and once we acknowledge that and use that in a positive way then we grow and we succeed. It’s really very simple, there’s nothing complex about it.”

    “It’s all a combination of what Roderick and Rozzell started,” Jackie concludes. “It’s my job now to continue.”

  • Bunker Vision Relevant References

    Bunker Vision
    Relevant References

    When the lockdown ends and art-making resumes, there will be plenty of temptation to make art about what is happening in the world. Referencing popular culture in your art can carry risks. Andy Warhol and Jeff Koons were both successfully sued for things they appropriated. Richard Prince won a lawsuit against a working artist he had “appropriated” images from, but was publicly humiliated by Ivanka Trump, whose Instagram he had appropriated. Some references age better than others. Ed Ruscha’s Spam (1962) painting looks more prescient with the advent of Monty Python and email.

    Referencing people carries an even greater risk. Although some of the villains of today may seem colorful, it’s possible that nobody will recognize their names a decade from now. Celebrity impersonators offer us a glimpse of how references to pop culture can age the most poorly. Charles Pierce was a female impersonator who did impressive renditions of Mae West, Tallulah Bankhead, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. If you’re too young to have seen these same people on talk shows in the 1970s, his act might not make much sense to you. Michael Jackson impersonators increasingly seem more sinister. Marylin Monroe impersonations now have less to do with the actual person and more to do with an image of her. Vaughn Meader had best-selling comedy albums as a Kennedy impersonator. His career died in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Frank Gorshin is barely remembered for his lucrative career, imitating celebrities in night clubs. But multiple generations know that he played The Riddler to Adam West’s Batman (1966).

    Charles Pierce impersonations.

    One of the biggest name celebrity impersonators is Rich Little. He was famous enough around 1980 to get multiple HBO specials. His version of Robin Hood is one of the best examples of how disconnected it feels when an impersonator is doing celebrities who are less iconic than they had been, at the time he was imitating them. In 1982, when the CBC commissioned a new special from him (he had already done one, where he played all of the lead characters in Rich Little’s Christmas Carol, shown in the USA on HBO) he was at the peak of his fame. He could imitate all of the Marx Brothers, John Wayne, Humphrey Bogart, Liberace and even Carol Channing. So why not include them as characters in Robin Hood?

    Rich Little, Christmas Carol, 1979

    With a big budget, they built elaborate sets, hired a gaggle of extras, and arranged for body doubles to play Little’s back, when he was interacting with himself. As the casting was based on who he did impressions of, it feels arbitrary and surreal. Robin Hood would be Groucho Marx. Little John would, of course, be John Wayne. And who better to narrate this whole tale than George Burns? While the choices were logical based on his abilities to imitate famous people, they feel like a pitch meeting on cocaine, when the reality of them interacting sets in. One of the things that makes celebrity impersonations work is context. If you make a reference to Casablanca in a Bogart voice, it registers as him. When the same voice is used to play Prince John, and the answer is in the voice of Stan Laurel, as the Sheriff of Nottingham, you get something much weirder. If you plan to reference current events or celebrities in your artwork, consider this a cautionary tale.

  • HOPPING ONLINE Virtual Viewing has its Virtues

    HOPPING ONLINE
    Virtual Viewing has its Virtues

    During these last three months art galleries have been tripping over themselves to create virtual viewing rooms and walkthroughs, and to join collective ventures in online selling such as GALLERYPLATFORM.LA and FAIR (from New Art Dealers Alliance or NADA). Meanwhile, Saatchi Art has already been an online marketplace for art since 2010. Although you won’t find a Banksy or Yayoi Kusama among the offerings, you will find work from some 60,000 artists worldwide through the website www.saatchiart.com. On offer are original paintings, drawings, photography and sculpture, with some works available as less expensive prints. For those who may want advisory services—whether interior decorators, businesses or individual collectors—they also offer free one-to-one counseling.

    A recent ramble through their website shows a nice range of work, some more professionally executed than others, all with prices clearly marked. In early June the home page featured a colorful painting of a beach scene with people sunbathing, jumping in the waves, and generally lolling about in a manner we long for but have so far been prohibited from doing. (As of writing, our beaches are “open” but only if we keep moving.) The artist is Yuanyuan Liu, born in China and now based in Sweden.

    Curator Rebecca Wilson

    This week’s special selection has been assembled by Saatchi Art’s Chief Curator Rebecca Wilson. Most of the work is 2D and realistic, including portraits, landscapes and still-lifes, with some geometric or abstraction thrown in. The least expensive piece was a small framed sculpture by Swapna Namboodiri from Qatar for $170; the most expensive was a very large (80” tall) abstract painting by Christo Kasabov from Canada, for $20,750. Taxes and shipping are additional. Kasabov’s piece was one of only two works priced above $10,000 in this selection, so most of the artwork is in the “reasonable” range.

    If you’re interested in an artist, you can go to his or her profile page, where you can find more work and also an artist’s statement, along with educational background and a list of previous shows. You can magnify each work, “like” them, and, of course, buy them by putting them in a shopping cart. It’s all quite straightforward and navigable.

    Chief Curator Rebecca Wilson in action

    Wilson, who is also vice president of the Art Advisory department, leads a staff of eight. Previously, she had been director at the Saatchi Gallery in London. In 2006 she helped launch Saatchi Online—which evolved into Saatchi Art and completely separated from the gallery—eventually moving to Los Angeles to assume her current role. I had a chance to catch up with her via phone before the COVID-19 shutdown and later via email. Indeed, interest picked up during the shutdown, she says, when people are homebound and galleries are closed. One of her art selections for the week I examined was Covid-19 (2020), a medium-sized painting by Yuko Nogami Taylor which showed— yes—an enlarged coronavirus with its “corona” sticking out around it.

    “We have a team of eight curators,” said Wilson. “We’re constantly looking for artists that we’re interested in representing and helping to give them more opportunities. So we’re looking in spaces that you would expect, like Instagram, exhibitions, fairs, magazines; we go to the MFA shows.” They also have a sister organization, The Other Art Fair, where real-life artists sell their own work in 12 different cities. I have attended two of its iterations in Los Angeles, once downtown and another time at the Barker Hangar in Santa Monica, and was impressed with its energy and the quality of the work for relatively affordable prices. (Yes, I purchased a small painting by an LA artist at the first one. And no, I did not get a discount.) Alas, this year’s Los Angeles fair was cancelled since it was scheduled during Q Time.

    Swapna Namboodiri, Zoanthids Colony-9

    The curators have a dual focus, says Wilson, “One is helping artists and finding new artists but also… to find the people who want to buy their work. The new collectors are not so familiar with the art world, and we want to make it seem an accessible and friendly way to discover new artists.” They also work on hospitality projects. Those are bigger and more complicated projects, such as a new art hotel with a need for 400 pieces of art, and a big hospital in Chicago; both projects Wilson herself is working on.

    What are they looking for in the featured artists? “We’re trying to find a very broad range of artists who are doing interesting work, whatever it happens to be,” she says. “I think we’re looking for something that you haven’t quite seen before.” Such as a signature style, as well as “a rich pool of ideas,” she adds. “I’m interested in trying to find the artists that I feel have the stamina and the ideas, as well as the technical abilities to execute their ideas. That means that they will still be making their work in five, 10 years time, or beyond.”

    Yuko Nogami Taylor, COVID-19, 2020

    For artists the commissions are somewhat better than brick-and-mortar galleries—they get 65%, whereas they generally get 50–60% at traditional galleries. However, contributing artists have to provide proper packaging for the work. The company takes care of shipping, which is billed to the buyer.

    Recently, I chatted with one artist who joined Saatchi Art when she started her fine arts career about four years ago— Bridgette Duran, a Los Angeles painter. “I sold a couple pieces, and I was excited and I was just starting,” she says. “In 2019, I was in The Other Art Fair. There were people who flew in from Spain and South Korea, I was watching their [Saatchi Art’s] Instagram, and they were promoting the same 10 or 15 artists. There’s definitely a hierarchy, and I think it’s basically who’s continuously selling.”

    Bridgette Duran, Flora

    Though the company does take care of the shipping, Duran reminds artists who might be interested in selling through Saatchi Art that they have to pay for packaging. “If you’re doing large-scale painting, the costs really go up,” she says. “Smaller works move the best.” She also points out that sometimes the website has a sale, like the current summer sale, and then your work has to be discounted.

    While Saatchi Art may not be the end goal for the artist, says Duran, who now sells on her own website (bridgetteduran.com) and through Instagram, “It is a good place to start.”

  • Shoptalk: LA Art News Taylor Brandon vs. SFMOMA; Museums and galleries may reopen

    Shoptalk: LA Art News
    Taylor Brandon vs. SFMOMA; Museums and galleries may reopen

    We Will Never Forget the Spring of 2020

    On May 25 the murder of George Floyd by Minneapolis police ignited a tinderbox over continuing racial and escalating economic inequality in this country. Of course, we were already dealing with the dreaded COVID-19, with its quarantine conditions and millions of people thrown out of work, and a man in the White House who at first denied the seriousness of the pandemic, then compounded the stress lines by suggesting fake cures and making fake grand gestures.

    Glenn Ligon, (We’re Black and Strong (I), 1996

    Into the fray stepped museums, which seem to feel obligated to be cultural spokespersons, and some tripped in the rush to show support for the cause. There were minor but noticeable trips. A number of museums posted black squares on IG, to show solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement—and yes, other people, including a lot of well-meaning celebrities, did, too. This resulted in flooding the BLM account with blank black squares, and they were asked to get rid of the hashtag.

    One more serious trip-up was up north, at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (@sfmoma). On May 30 they posted an artwork by Glenn Ligon (We’re Black and Strong (I) from 1996) on their IG account. Former employee Taylor Brandon, a Black American who had quit the museum earlier this year, called the post a “cop-out,” and said they were “using black artist/art to make a statement that needs to come from the institution. You don’t only get to amplify black artists during a surge of black mourning and pain. Having black people on your homepage/feed is not enough.” The post was soon deleted, because the museum found it threatening. For the record, I have read the entire post, and it did name names, but did not threaten those people.

    SFMOMA apology to Taylor Brandon.

    On June 1 the museum made a more direct statement in support of “the victims of racism and police brutality.” However, they explained their deletion of Brandon’s comment (not naming her) by saying, “We do not and will not remove or disable comments unless they violate those specific parameters, including comments directed at private individuals.” The uproar continued, and on June 4, Museum Director Neal Benezra stepped in, posting a direct apology to Brandon.

    That wasn’t the end of it. In mid-June an organization of artists called the No Neutral Alliance came together in support of Brandon, calling for the resignation of Benezra, and posting a list of demands to counter racism at the museum. On June 23 another group, @xsfmOma, said to be composed of former SFMOMA employees, asked the museum to comply with the No Neutral Alliance’s demands.

    No Neutral Alliance.

    Since June 4 the museum’s IG has been silent. On June 29, SFMOMA announced that Nan Keeton, deputy director of External Relations, who had defended the deletion of Brandon’s post, would be leaving the museum July 2. It is said that a Diversity Action Plan will soon be announced. We’ll see.

    LA museums have also been under fire. On May 31, the Getty Museum (@gettymuseum) issued a statement on IG, which was criticized for its generic nature. The next day Getty President James Cuno apologized for not being more direct. “We heard you,” he wrote. “We learned that we can do much better expressing our Getty values than we did yesterday, and we apologize.” He went on to say, “We are outraged at the horrific death of George Floyd at the hands of the Minneapolis police, and at the violent deaths of far too many more Black Americans.” The core of the Getty’s mission is “building a vital, civil society.” Comments varied from blasting Cuno for not saying enough to “Sorry you felt you had to cave to the pressure of the thought police. I fear the day they take the place of the police they are trying to overthrow.” Others wondered what the Getty would do next in terms of action to remedy racial and gender inequities.

    Neal Benezra of SFMOMA.

    LACMA, MoCA, The Broad and The Hammer were not spared from criticism—even though they’ve all featured important shows of Black artists in the past decade. Turmoil hasn’t been limited to California—just read up on the Guggenheim NY, where a guest curator accused the curatorial department of deep racism when she organized a show on Jean-Michel Basquiat there last year.

    Museums and Galleries Reopen, Maybe

    On June 10 the state of California announced that museums could open that Friday, June 12, but I can tell you most museums were totally unprepared for any overnight turnaround. That morning I was on the phone with Suzanne Isken, executive director of Craft Contemporary, who said they were waiting for directives and guidelines from the government. The news came out in the afternoon. I emailed LACMA to ask about their plans; they replied that they would be letting us all know when reopening time comes—which sounds like a couple months or more.

    As of writing this, a handful of small to medium-sized museums that include art, such as the Laguna Art Museum, have reopened, and about a dozen have set July and August dates. While the Broad and the Getty have simply indicated summer, the Hammer and the Huntington are looking towards September—the latter two will be jointly featuring the delayed “Made in L.A.” show. No news from MoCA, whose website has only recently been updated—even in June it told us that programs were canceled through April 2020.” (Maybe not surprising with almost everyone there laid off.) 

    Alex Anderson, Installation view of “Little Black Boy Makes Imperial Porcelains” at Gavlak, 2020

    Galleries with smaller and easier-to-control spaces have done a little better reopening—and of course, they need to start selling art again. I’ve been visiting galleries every week or two by appointment. Open are the galleries at 1700 S. Santa Fe (Gavlak, Vielmetter Los Angeles, Wilding Cran and Nicodim); in the West Adams area; plus L.A. Louver and David Kordansky Gallery. I’ve seen three exceptional shows during this time:

    The exquisitely made and eerily timely porcelain sculptures of Alex Anderson at Gavlak. In his show,“Little Black Boy Makes Imperial Porcelains,” he managed to address issues of race (he is Black and Japanese American), sexuality (he is gay), and the beguiling interplay of power and privilege (or lack thereof) in representations of snakes, bees, rabbits and Blackface.

    Alex Anderson, Pearanoia, 2019

    Simone Leigh at David Kordansky Gallery, with two rooms of sculpture and installation. Her ceramic figures of Black women are stately, powerful and iconic, and are set against layerings of raffia palm leaves in a hut-like structure in the corner of the main room, and in the voluminous skirt of a figure in the smaller room. 

    Tom Wudl at L.A. Louver: His sublime work in “The Flowerbank World”—paintings of meticulously detailed, abstracted lotuses and jewels in another dimension—was inspired by the Buddhist text, The Flower Ornament Scripture. (see review)

    Alex Anderson, Installation view of “Little Black Boy Makes Imperial Porcelains” at Gavlak, 2020

    Q-Time bears down on us longer than we expected and, sadly, we’ve had a worrisome uptick in COVID cases the last couple weeks. So on July 1, Gov. Gavin Newsom pulled back on reopenings. He announced that various indoor venues, including museums, must be closed for the next three weeks.

    We’re counting the days.

  • BOOKS: Expansive Care A Conversation with Ceci Moss

    BOOKS: Expansive Care
    A Conversation with Ceci Moss

    Ceci Moss is the director of Gas—a truck gallery that serves as “a mobile autonomous, experimental and networked platform for contemporary art” in Los Angeles. She has worked as the senior editor for the digital archive Rhizome and her impressive curatorial background comes from institutions like Yerba Buena Center for the Arts and The New Museum. In 2019, she published the book Expanded Internet Art: Twenty First Century Artistic Practice and the Informational Millieu.

    I spoke with Moss about her book, the recent shift of our entire lives online, and about Gas’ latest program Care Practice: Recipes for Resilience, co-organized with Jenni Nurmenniemi. Our discussion moved from how the art world is adapting in response to COVID-19 to how embodied artistic practice and networked platforms can empower community healing and create avenues of caring for a hurting world.

    Bookcover.

    SCHULTE: I have to say your book felt like a ray of light during quarantine. Examining how to create meaning in the information milieu and the potentiality of internet art is no longer simply a theoretical and academic concern. It’s on all our radars.

    MOSS: That’s the best news I’ve had all week. [Laughs.] Well yes, now everyone is an internet artist!

    Anne Boyer, in her essay “Click-Bait Thanatos,” from A Handbook of Disappointed Fate (2018), blames the algorithm “that supersizes our fear and our rage;” she goes on to say: “I am me because my little keywords know me: tagged, geo-located, epigrammatic, identified.” Art on the internet also seems another reminder of containment: trapped in the self, the four walls of our apartment, borders. Do you see any hope of relief in future practices given our present physical limitations?

    The pandemic is magnifying all the problems we knew were there, but perhaps remained below the surface. We are in a surveillance state run on data mining. And now that we cannot congregate in public spaces like we used to, we have to ask what it means that our most meaningful connections with friends, family, are happening on for-profit digital platforms. I hope artists create new platforms for engagement. I don’t want to be on Instagram Live for eternity. Eyebeam, a New York-based organization for artists to engage society’s relationship with digital technology, recently did an open call to develop alternative platforms. I am really curious to see how this initiative takes shape. 

    In your book, you speak of expanded internet art’s non-resolved working through, replicating the somatic experience of the present moment. Curation, with this immersive aspect, resists optimization. How do we resist?

    The future of the art world is about innovative platforms, but not for optimization to serve corporations. We need additional pipelines for gathering that have the same power of connectivity as Instagram, without the profit motivation. I’ve been following all the recent events, George Floyd’s horrific murder, and the subsequent demonstrations closely. It’s May 29, and I was up all night on Twitter following threads about the Black Lives Matter protests in Minneapolis, and the organizing that is hap­pening around the US. With the added threat of COVID-19, I’m attuned to the enormous risk people are taking to congregate and speak out and be there for one another. New platforms will be needed to address a world that is deeply hurting, and seeking change.

    Ceci Moss portrait.

    It makes me think of something I heard Angela Davis say recently; she reminded us that demonstrations are rehearsals for the revolution. It seems this idea of care rehearsals among artists is embedded in feminist revolutionary work and activism. In 2018, you curated a show called “Take Care” for Gas. Can you tell me more how you see Care Practice as an extension of that project, the inspiration behind it, and what participants can expect?

    Out of all the essays and work I was reading responding to COVID-19 I was most affected and inspired by Johanna Hedva’s “Get Well Soon;” a part of Sam Lavigne and Tega Brain’s archive of well-wishes from gofundme.com—an archive they note “that shouldn’t exist.” She stresses the idea of care insisting on itself. During quarantine, I’ve zoomed into all sorts of events, from meditation to movement-based classes, drag shows, etc. But I found most of the art talks were simply YouTube videos with artists talking about their art. And although I want to hear artists talking about their art, I was left dissatisfied with the one-way discourse, and it left me feeling even more separated from my community. As a feminist curator, I’m interested in having actual dialogues.

    Jenni and I met during a month-long residency I did in Helsinki through HIAP (Helsinki International Artist Programme). We applied to the Finnish Cultural and Academic Institutes’ “Together-Alone” cross-cultural initiative. We wanted to intentionally create space for connections, to organically facilitate moments for sharing, moments that matter so much to me, in these new parameters. It’s been an incredible chance to work with artists we’ve always wanted to collaborate with.

  • ASK BABS My Question to You

    ASK BABS
    My Question to You

    Dear Reader, Babs thinks now is the time we ask some important questions:

    Who are your friends, collaborators  and colleagues in the art world? How many are white? How many are Black? How long has this been the case?

    Who controls the museums, galleries, fairs, auction houses and nonprofits you visit and/or financially support? How many of these institutions’ directors, owners, curators and board members are white? How many are Black? How long has this been the case?

    Who is featured in the solo, group and thematic exhibitions you attend? How many are white? How many are Black? How long has this been the case?

    Who participated in your art education? How many of your classmates, teachers, mentors and advisers have been white? How many have been Black? How long has this been the case?

    Who wrote the texts about art you have read or are reading? How many were by white authors and/or are about white art and artists? How many were by Black authors and/or about Black art and artists? How long has this been the case?

    Who made the art on your walls and in your own art collection? How many of these works are by white artists? How many are by Black artists? How long has this been the case?

    Who owns, edits, contributes to and advertises in the art publications you read? How many of these people and institutions are white? How many are Black? How long has this been the case?

    Who is featured, interviewed, reviewed and has their art reproduced in the art publications you read? How many are white? How many are Black? How long has this been the case?

    Who owns the businesses where you buy or source the supplies, tools and services you need to make, sell or promote your art? How many are white-owned? How many are Black-owned? How long has this been the case?

    Who benefits when you make, buy, sell, promote or critique art? How many of these people are white? How many are Black? How long has this been the case?

    What changes are each of us willing to make after we have honestly answered these questions?

  • POEMS "Gomorrah" by Eddi Saladoe; "Iron Anniversary" by John Tottenham

    POEMS
    “Gomorrah” by Eddi Saladoe; “Iron Anniversary” by John Tottenham

    Gomorrah

    by Eddi Saladoe

     

    Right when I believed

    that I was finally free

    from the angry longing

    and a need to hear your voice

    just one more time

    you come to me in dreams

    like smoke sneaking

    under a bedroom door

    the innocent sleepers unaware

    that the civilization

    which they built

    is up in flames.

     

    Iron Anniversary

    by John Tottenham

     

    The object of this restlessness that puzzles you

    is solitude: a loneliness for loneliness,

    a wistfulness for restlessness, a straining back

    to what comes naturally, the way things used to be

    when I had only me. I miss myself madly.

    I long to be romantically involved

    with myself again, like old times,

    dependent only upon independence, demanding

    only temptation. I’m better off in an empty kennel,

    un-muzzled and free: that was the essence

    of my doghouse epiphany.

     

    Upon your encroachment my world shrinks.

    My energy level sinks. I feel as if I’m fading away.

    But your need of me is addictive: It keeps me warm,

    the way a tea cozy maintains the pot’s warmth

    long after the tea has lost its flavor.

    Now I am continually both parched and sated,

    sapped, tired of feeling, halfheartedly clinging.

    With or without you, my life has no meaning.

  • COMICS Above, The Law

    COMICS
    Above, The Law

  • Reconnoiter Interview with Cliff Benjamin

    Reconnoiter
    Interview with Cliff Benjamin

    In 2003, Cliff Benjamin and Erin Kermanikian founded Western Project. The pioneers were the third gallery to open in Culver City. In 2015, they moved out of their space and now operate in our new virtual frontier. I caught Cliff on the island Maui.

    Beyond the obvious financial benefits, what were the other considerations that compelled you to abandon a brick-and-mortar gallery?

    Even before the virus, our culture was quickly evolving technologically, so people have looked to experience the world through a media format more and more. That being said, it results in smaller daily attendance of people actually looking at an exhibition, or art directly. Showing and talking about work with clients was key as to why we went to work everyday. Sending jpegs was not as thrilling as a client discovering a piece of art in front of them.

    What is the difference between the internet gallery and the private gallery? And, how do you now define Western Project?

    Perhaps it is a matter of semantics or context. If a business wants to communicate globally it has to be on the web in some form. How it deals with clients is another matter. I think a private gallery is more geared to servicing a select group of clients, those who have had a history of buying and curiosity about collecting in depth.

    In our conversation, you mentioned that some of the big internet art market sites were unproductive. What do you mean?

    The proliferation of these sites certainly indicates the shift in values from a collector-based market to a shoppers market. It’s great that there is more of an audience for buying art, but at the same time it flatlines a quality of experimentation and risk in art making.

    Are there any downsides to not having a brick-and-mortar gallery?

    It certainly isn’t as much fun. I loved installing and curating exhibitions. Our Bob Mizer show was elaborate and museum quality, as were a number of others such as Bob Flanagan, Sheree Rose, Tom of Finland, Wayne White and more. And again, turning people on to new artworks in person was terrific. Seeing someone light up inside in front of a painting was the best.

    What is the next step for Western Project?

    The next pop-up event will be an exhibition for Carole Caroompas. She has spent the last five or six years on five large paintings that are the most challenging works of her career. If you know Carole’s work, it has always been uncompromising, but this group of paintings is mesmerizing, difficult and direct. Not for those who want an easy read.

  • Tom Wudl: “The Flowerbank World” L.A. Louver Gallery, March 11–May 30, 2020

    Tom Wudl: “The Flowerbank World”
    L.A. Louver Gallery, March 11–May 30, 2020

    We live in a time when the value of the work of art in society has changed radically. In February, the whole mercantile mechanism of the art world was in full swing, and by the end of March, with the global pandemic, life as we have known it had more or less stopped. With everything on pause, Tom Wudl’s show “The Flowerbank World,” which opened at L.A. Louver four days before the public shutdown began, is a good place to start a discussion of what role art plays for us now. In the paintings, drawings and collages of this exhibition, and in an ambitious essay that is the cornerstone of a beautifully-produced catalog, he advocates for an art that articulates a relationship to the spiritual as well as a rigorous commitment to a highly personal path for the artist.

    Tom Wudl, Om Mani Padme Hum, 2018

    Wudl’s work is set into a historical context in the show by the inclusion of works by other artists, from Ad Reinhardt, Paul Klee and Agnes Martin, to a 19th-century thangka painting and a bark painting by Aboriginal painter John Mawurndjul. In addition to looking back to antecedents, the show looks forward. The centerpiece of the exhibition is an astonishing large painting in progress, Om Mani Padme Hum, which the artist says that he will work on for the rest of his life without concerning himself about whether it will reach completion.

    Tom Wudl, Mantra Mirror [detail], 2020

    Tom Wudl’s career began with his first solo show in 1971 and includes participation in the Whitney Biennial, Documenta and LACMA’s seminal 1987 show “The Spiritual in Art: Abstract Painting 1890–1985” (the first show to exhibit Hilma af Klint’s paintings). His work has explored an extraordinary range of pictorial approaches, from the abstraction of his early punched-paper works (a spectacular example is in this show), to the meticulously detailed representations of his paintings of the 1990s. What holds all these together is a carefully thought-through relationship to modernism, a deep investment in craft and an equally strong belief that the purpose of the painting lies beyond the display of craft.

    Installation view at L.A. Louver, 2020

    Art that identifies itself as spiritual often takes refuge in the sentimental or the illustrative. But in the thangka paintings created in Tibet and Nepal, the cosmos is anchored by the precision and pitilessness of the image. This is true as well in the revolution that the 15th-century painter Jan van Eyck created with his hallucinatory exactitude: the equilibrium of the universe depends upon the relentless discipline of the artist. There is in both these cases—and very much in Wudl’s work—a belief that the only way to describe the transcendent is to employ the glories of the physical world that our senses convey to us. We cannot see the inexpressible or picture it directly, but we can do so by inference and allusion to what we do see. From this viewpoint, the task of the artist is to so completely immerse himself in finding equivalences for the ineffable that he—and the viewer—will be released into a wider understanding not otherwise possible.

    Tom Wudl, Flower Treasury Universe, 2016

    Wudl’s visual vocabulary—roses both immense and minute; exquisite gold-leafed leaves that appear to be floating in the paint; clubs from playing cards that act as radical reductions of floral form and repeat infinitely throughout the work; jewels painted on clusters of miniature three-dimensional polyhedrons of paper; dizzying geometric webs of lines; the occasional butterfly or bee that have somehow wandered into this otherworldly system and seem unfazed by the wonders around them—causes the viewer to pass from astonishment (“How did he do that?”) to a state of watching, of being. There is art that manifests how we think; the art that Wudl produces shows us consciousness.

    Tom Wudl, Radiance of Sublime Reality Filing the Cosmos without End [detail], 2015

    One of the smaller works in the show is Great Brilliance of the Moon Reflected in the Ocean (2016), a delicate graphite drawing in which enormous sheaves of graphed lines rise up out of an ocean. A vast dahlia floats before them, and an arch of dozens of tiny roses frames the scene. It is mysterious, disruptive; it engages one and seems alien at the same time. I stood in front of it, looking and looking. We long for our normal life to return, our life of schedules and calendars. The drawing said to me: “You’ve been asleep. Wake up.”