THE HAND OF THE UNDISCIPLINED There was a time when art and science, theory and practice, and differing areas of thought, were not considered unrelated endeavors and I am more comfortable with this “undisciplined” mode of thinking: in general, and about what I do day to day. There is a book—more like a tome—written around 1400 by the Paduan painter Cennino d’Andrea Cennini which builds upon...
Tell us about yourself in 50 words or less. Mid life. Heavy on nostalgia. Direct and tell stories, make photographs, make books, make commercials. Documented an incredible movement in skateboarding in the early 1990’s; somehow that always keeps coming back. I saved a lot of artifacts and ephemera. Had profound mentors/friends who now look down from above. Top three songs at this moment: Nation...
In 2012, Daniel Zalewski profiled Christian Marclay and The Clock (2010) in The New Yorker. The piece includes a single, throwaway reference to an assistant: “One fellow, who offered little but gunshots and ‘guys getting their heads chopped off,’ was fired.” Over the next month, The Clock returns to LACMA. –TC
A few weeks ago, Pilar Zeta and I visited the new David Geffen Galleries at LACMA, where on a clear day, one can almost see Venice, California, with his back turned to Francis Bacon’s Three Studies of Lucian Freud (1969).
Following what felt like an eternity of delays—budget-related, structural and otherwise—LACMA opened its new Peter Zumthor-designed David Geffen Galleries this spring, finally unveiling its long-awaited proposal to reinvent the encyclopedic museum.
In the March/April issue of Artillery, I argued that the subversion of cutesy cartoon aesthetics is almost always compelling, since the notion of a visual language with the power to connote primal emotions through ancient, universal strokes remains resonant despite...
I’m a 14-year-old boy who hates art. I recently went to Wilshire Online to see “Away from Desk.” Here are my opinions on it. The show included: an audio device playing melancholy choral tones, a stripper and a pole, a first aid kit hung diagonally on a wall, simple...
You recognize it before you know what to do with it. A cartoon, a flower, a line that feels like it’s been there before. Kitsch comes to mind, maybe, but it doesn’t quite stick. Or it sticks and then loosens. The image doesn’t hold you where you expect. It keeps...
I parked my car on a random street in the nearby neighborhood, and as I was walking to the Venice Room, I passed by a place matter-of-factly called BREW. I had to peep the menu, because that bold, straightforward name simply struck me — naturally, they serve beer,...
