Disclaimer: This post will be relevant to almost nobody who reads DCQ.
A couple Dunces grew up in Burlingame, Calif., a “leafy” suburb south of San Francisco. The town is known for its politely progressive vibe and for producing an abundance of garage bands and a sum total of one professional athlete. Over the past decade, Burlingame also gained a reputation for fostering a slightly more lively bar scene than the slightly more boring suburbs it is wedged between (the Bay Area beyond San Fran proper being one oval-shaped clusterfuck of unbroken suburbs).
Thus, it would seem somewhat less than entirely impossible that a nightclub in Burlingame would find a way to commandeer the artists behind the marketing for Studio B and Santos Party House in New York:
Not the case: SonicLiving, through a partnership announced last spring (yeah, we know, we’re slipping) with burgeoning urban clothier/art space Upper Playground, provides poster templates created by UP-backed artists for anyone who lists an event on the site. More examples below.
As for this “Club 261,” I still say it sounds fun. I’m in. We’ll reminisce on the good old days and talk about Vegas and real estate. Don’t forget your Giants hat and Tapout tee.
For those who missed the Preview Issue launch party in NYC last month, a communist message under the guise of a schematic tutorial from DCQ creative director Dusty Mendes:
We braved Olympic-sized slush puddles Sunday night to drop by the East Village’s Mars Bar, known around town as an anachronistic ode to “authentic New York.” In bar-speak, this translates to “dim lights, cheap drinks, and Trainspotting-worthy toilets” (it apparently also means “desirable place to stage awkward celebrity photo shoots”).
The occasion: Mars Bar was getting a makeover, courtesy of a dozen-plus local graffiti artists. The show’s curator, Grimace, gave a nod to the establishment’s history as a hub for street art, mentioning Jean-Michel Basquiat, Lee Quiñones and Keith Haring — arguably the three most influential names behind graffiti’s acceptance by mainstream gallery culture — as one-time patrons. Pointing out that he and his collaborators had protected a swath of the bar’s pre-existing wall — a colorful mish-mash of abstract geometrics hovering above a guitar-playing skeleton — Grimace stressed a desire to “bridge the gap between the old and the new” in reinventing the bar as “a living, breathing, drinking art piece”:
The artists overhauled about half of the bar on Sunday, whitewashing and painting directly on some walls and installing hung pieces on others while adding complementary flourishes to the bathrooms and the underside of the weathered, wooden bar itself. Other surfaces — notably the ceiling — will receive facelifts sometime in the future, according to Grimace.
We caught up with a couple other street art vets, New York natives both: Like Grimace, who spins regularly at 3rd Ward’s massive “Danger” bacchanals in Bushwick, ShazOne and Milk are renaissance men of sorts. In addition to their involvement in street art, both now focus, to varying degrees, on music, with Milk professing to having “retired” entirely from graf writing. They also share a measure of dismay over the perceived degradation of graffiti etiquette in New York, with ShazOne the more outspoken of the two. Here, he describes the graffiti community’s self-imposed justice system — and we’re inclined to trust his explanation, given the assumption that his residence “in the mountains for a couple years” doesn’t mean he was opening for Don Rickles in the Borscht Belt:
Milk employed a different, yet related, euphemism, explaining that “in the early 1990s, I kinda terrorized the L train, the M train, and…doing that type of work kind of led me to a 10-year vacation.” He also forwarded a theory that sound entirely plausible to anyone who’s familiar with the recidivism rate of American ex-convicts…or the origin of the MS-13 street gang…or the move Blow: that New York City abolished its practice of sentencing artists convicted of vandalism to clean graffiti-adorned walls because such programs promoted networking among artists, who would bond over the cleaning and plan future ‘bombing’ sessions — with “future” typically being “right after we’re done cleaning this wall”:
If you’ve ever strolled the streets of San Fran, Manhattan or any number of other global metropoli, you’ve seen the BNE guy’s work. It’s pretty basic: Put “BNE” in all-caps Helvetica Neue Condensed, black on white. Multiply times 100,000 or so. Travel around the world, affix to stop signs, parking meters, streetlight poles, etc. Wait for people to get curious.
We started seeing the BNE stickers around SF in 2006 or thereabouts; the perpetrator would get slap-silly on entire blocks of meters in the Tendernob. Someone working for Gavin Newsom noticed it soon thereafter, and the mayor caught a few headlines — and, more significantly, contributed to the BNE guy’s murky legend — by putting a $2,500 bounty on his head. Nobody managed to collect, stickers kept going up, and the artist’s identity remained an enigma.
Then, news broke earlier this month that the guy behind BNE was setting up for a show in Hell’s Kitchen. The Paper of Record scored an unprecedented interview with the alleged artist and managed to reveal next to nothing about him. We took matters into our own filthy hands. NYC ad agency Mother, underwriting the show at its new warehouse on 11th Ave. and West 44th, tried to play up the show’s import by making it an exclusive “who do you know” deal, complete with a tight guest list we managed to weasel onto. For all the frills — dance floor, DJ, pretty people, free booze galore — the show felt uninspired: The artist’s trademark, predictably, dominated the landscape in varying forms, the most evocative of which was a 15-foot-tall block-graf rendering running the length of the north wall. Most of the other pieces commented on the alleged artist’s announced desire to rival the visibility of multinational brands. (He told the Times that “I don’t see other graffiti writers as my competition anymore. Now I’m going up against the Tommy Hilfigers, Starbucks, Pepsi. You have these billion-dollar companies, and I’ve got to look at their logos every day. Why can’t I put mine up?”)
A couple awaking-at-3pm thoughts on what appears to be a beauty of a wintry Sunday in New York:
1.) Kettle’s new “Fully Loaded Baked Potato” chips are a fairly large disappointment. It seems the stoners in their R&D department merely combined the seasonings of the BBQ and sour cream-and-onion lines and called it a day. Bacon isn’t even mentioned among the ingredients. Thusly, I’m saving the second half of the bag until my re-up of Bacon Salt arrives (no, really). Will report back.
2.) Ghostland Observatory + Terminal 5 = laser armageddon. Yes, Steph, this is my review.
3.) A couple of Brits are immersed in a very cool project of modest intentions (via): “To write to everyone in the world.” In April, Lenka Clayton and Michael Crowe sent a unique, handwritten letter to all 467 residents of the Irish town of Cushendall. The recipients learnt all about the origins of the horse and the artists’ outdoor exploits. Last month, Clayton and Crowe launched part two of Mysterious Letters, this time loosing their thoughts upon the 620 denizens of Polish Hill, Pennsylvania. The results include such genius dickery as this. Looks like they’re catching some press, too. Coffee table book in six months’ time.
Along with the crisp November (now December — I know, we lag) weather, and falling colored leaves came a refreshing perspective from the Bay, in the form of the new Jeremy Fish exhibition at the Laguna Art Museum. Weathering the Storm is the San Francisco artist’s premiere museum showing, and an impressive one at that, including a boatload of new paintings and a smattering of hand-carved dark wood pieces filling the stairwell and the mezzanine level of LAM.
Best known for his whimsical woodland creature/skull hybrids, Fish reveals a successful transition in the show: His familiar forms become sculptural works, including myriad bas-relief frames, a fully functional couchette, and several individual sculptures such as the F-Unicorn (my personal favorite; pictured immediately below). Fish also created a large mural engulfing several walls, overlaid with cutout paintings bearing rainy day themes referencing current world crises and struggles. Having followed his work since my San Francisco salad days, this show seems more reactionary than anything I’ve viewed previously, presenting substantial commentary throughout.
The long hallway of the mezzanine was adorned with a series of smaller cutout paintings. Reflecting on Fecal Face’s earlier coverage of Fish’s studio pre-opening, I vividly imagined how each piece came jigsawed to life in his North Beach space. These cutouts maintained the strongest link to his previous work, providing comedic and lighthearted subjects in bright colors.
The crowds came out in full force, with many from the action sports industry, established Laguna Beach art-types, and families with small children in attendance. LAM’s evolving programming is bolstered significantly by shows such as this, which appeal to patrons beyond the institution’s Sunday-afternoon-luncheon base — as evidenced by the number of youthful bodies roaming the halls.
BONUS: Upon approaching the bar, I excitedly realized that my favorite bartender-about-town, Armando, was manning the buckets. He majorly hooked a sister and her brother up. Armando, you’re “Our-Man…do” (doh.)
There has been plentiful talk about town recently regarding the Obamas’ artistic choices for the White House. The First Family, thanks to one of the major perks of White House residency, has the opportunity to borrow works not currently on public display from the collections of myriad Washington art museums and galleries in order to reflect their artistic preferences within the mansion. As with Jacqueline Kennedy’s love for Cézanne and Hillary Rodham Clinton’s affinity for living amidst de Kooning and Kandinsky, the Obamas will leave a significant artistic legacy based upon their choices. Many argue that they also have the power to affect the market, boosting the sales and popularity of any artist they decide to showcase. Such was the situation when the Bushes acquired Jacob Lawrence’s The Builders in 2007, which significantly raised the prices of Lawrence works at subsequent auctions.
Working since before the inauguration with White House Curator William Allman and personal decorator Michael S. Smith, the Obamas have selected 45 artworks reflecting bold and eclectic tastes. Within the group lie modern and contemporary gems as well as classics by Mark Rothko, Ed Ruscha, Richard Diebenkorn, Louise Nevelson, Jasper Johns, Edgar Degas, Glenn Ligon, and Josef Albers, among others. The group demonstrates the strong American persona that the Obamas hoped to depict. In fact, all of the selected artists, with the exception of Degas, are American (though even Degas spent time as an expat in New Orleans, perhaps justifying his inclusion).
As with any good political inquiry, a bit of scandal has also emerged. The Obamas had selected two paintings by female African American expressionist Alma Thomas. One of said works, Watusi (Hard Edge) from 1963, is a highly resemblant homage to Henri Matisse’s L’Escargot, completed a decade earlier. The selection immediately brought criticism, especially from Obama-haters, who blustered that “even the artworks he selects are phony.” The painting was later returned to the Hirshorn Museum, with the given explanation that its dimensions were not compatible with the wall in Michelle’s East Wing office. The White House denies that the accusation of plagiary had any affect on the decision to return the painting. Ms. Thomas’ Sky Light is still affixed in the collection.
Ultimately, the Obamas have successfully furthered their much-hyped platform of “change” through the art collection. For the first time, the White House contains a plethora of contemporary works, the rooms and halls adorned with paintings and sculptures by a diverse artists’ set: Asian Americans, African Americans, females and immigrants galore. It’s refreshing to see a collection that is somewhat representative of our country’s residents and their ideals — as opposed to one dominated by antiquated portraiture of wealthy old white men.
Images, top to bottom: Berkeley, No. 52, by Richard Diebenkorn, 1955; The Builders, by Jacob Lawrence, 1947; Watusi (Hard Edge), by Alma Thomas, 1963; Alma Thomas in her studio, ca. 1968.
When we started this humble little venture, they said it wouldn’t last. By “they” we mean one or two individuals who have since been Pinocheted, and by “last,” we assume they meant a month.
Yet here we are, honkies: Thirty days later, our deviant thoughts have infiltrated 28 states and 38 countries, and the Net still hasn’t banned us. Our sincere thanks to everyone out there for your ongoing support. Please help us continue to spread the word, and invite your homies to get down with us here and on Facebook.
Alright, enough wankin’ it — back to the show: Dunce Cap popped by MOMA the other day for the Ron Arad exhibition up in the penthouse. Billed by the museum as “the first major retrospective of Arad’s design work in the United States,” No Discipline revolved around the artist’s Cage sans Frontières, a gargantuan flowing mass of steel, reminiscent of Jeff Koons’ sculptural oeuvre, that housed most of the show’s other works (see below). Stacked on the interior and exterior walls of the Cage were an amalgam of pieces aptly representing the Israeli/British designer’s wildly diverse career: A fruit bowl propped alongside a design for Notify Jeans’ upcoming Milan showroom; a curvaceous chair next to a moving model of a rotating restaurant set atop an Alpen pinnacle (video here). Check out this neat Chris Ware-esque diagram for a pictorial overview.
Befitting Arad’s head-first embrace of new disciplines, the artist also incorporated an injection of our modern morphine (LOL!), inviting visitors to shoot text messages to his Swarovski-commissioned Lolita chandelier. More than 1,000 white LEDS transmitted the messages, which wound down the crystal-encrusted chandelier’s cylindrical ribbon, creating the illusion that the structure was spinning.
If you haven’t made it to the show yet, well, you’re SOL — it closed a week ago. As a dissimilar substitute, peep Stux Gallery’s On Love? On War?: Prominent Contemporary Chinese Artists, which features lots of T&A of varying appeal. The show closes in Chelsea on November 14th.
Bolstered by a positive Sunday-edition New York Times book review, Josh Neufeld’s “A.D.: New Orleans After the Deluge” plowed through a gauntlet of Batman-related titles to earn a spot on the Paper of Record’s Graphic Hardcover Bestseller List last month. However, for all the publicity Neufeld engendered through such critical acclaim and a modest book tour, the book’s tenure on the list ended after two weeks; apparently people are more interested in studying The Joker’s origin than in reliving Hurricane Katrina.
Neufeld, who built comic-geek street cred illustrating “American Splendor” for Harvey Pekar, truly began working on “A.D.” during the three weeks he spent working with the Red Cross in Katrina-ravaged Biloxi, Miss. after the 2005 storm: His blog on the experience spawned a self-published collection of choice works, which in turn drew the attention of SMITH Magazine. With the online mag as a platform, Neufeld expanded both his narrative breadth and the scope of his geographical focus (he migrated to a New Orleans angle after discarding, for logistical reasons, a considered examination of the larger Gulf Coast). Earlier this year, Smith — with Pantheon on board to bankroll — published “A.D.” in hardcover.
Neufeld’s work straddles a line between fact and fiction in a manner that might make traditional journalistic purists uneasy: “A.D.” is a novel, albeit one rooted in historically-accurate details, and Neufeld makes no claims to the contrary. Some of the book’s seven central characters, whose divergent narratives reflect the vastly different backgrounds of their subjects, are real people, while others are hybridized creations based on multiple real New Orleanians. Accordingly, Neufeld warns in the book’s first pages that “…some names and details have been changed for dramatic purposes….” As Neufeld told the Times in its “A.D.” review in August, “I did whatever worked to make the emotional truth of the stories much clearer. It’s what makes a certain scene emotionally satisfying in a way that makes the whole book add up to a novel.” But Neufeld’s intricate attention to detail (in addition to the obvious phone and in-person interviews he conducted, Neufeld “took tons of photos” in order to replicate precisely such minutiae as the contents of of one featured couple’s DVD collection) lends credence to Dave Eggers’ characterization of “A.D.” as “one of the best-ever examples of comics reportage.”
The human perspectives Neufeld provides certainly reflect a level of journalistic integrity rivaling or exceeding that exhibited by much of the mainstream media during and after Katrina. He wisely resisted the urge to overtly damn the federal agencies’ abominable reaction to the crisis (FEMA isn’t even a blip on the book’s radar), instead forcing readers to draw their own conclusions based on his characters’ hyper-localized trials. In doing so, we see thugs — left, along with everyone else, to their own devices by unresponsive authorities — maintaining peace at the city’s convention center, rather than raping and pillaging as had been reported at the time. (This isn’t to say that none of the atrocious rumors relayed ad nauseum by CNN and its ilk during the catastrophe played out as fact. But the erosion of these sensationalist outlets’ fact-checking standards during the meltdown was palpable, and their follow-up on such rumors during the recovery period was markedly insufficient.)
Neufeld, however, does mimic Anderson Cooper — as much a Gonzo student as a straight-edged, impeccably-coiffed WASP can be — by inserting himself into the story at book’s end. Neufeld introduces this narrative transition to bring closure to each character’s tale, portraying himself following up with the seven by phone from his Brooklyn apartment. Some of the characters initially moved away from New Orleans after the hurricane, while others stayed in the area; all have since returned to New Orleans or have plans to do so. By describing each of these stories in polychromatic form and without regard to the “official” assessment of conditions in the city during and after Katrina, Neufeld provides a raw, revelatory and intensely personal perspective on the largest domestic humanitarian failure of the 21st century.
Perhaps of equal importance in these sad, helpless days of print media consolidation and syndication, though, “A.D.” confers a considerable measure of legitimacy on a form of quasi-journalism Neufeld by no means invented (see: “Maus”): Comics and graphic novels as social conscience.
We’re a day late on this, but the LA Times piece on Norteño-turned-faux accountant Richard Rodriguez has us mulling and pondering: a.) How long till the cop gets sent up the river? And, more importantly; b.) Is an upper lip tat necessarily detrimental to the credibility of a court testimony? Mightn’t it bring in sympathy points in some cases? An example: Say you’re on trial for a petty crime in Australian ranch country — shearing sheep out of season or disparaging Chopper Read, I dunno. The jury is composed entirely of poor ranching folk whose cattle compete with kangaroos for a shrinking stock of grassland. Your upper lip reads “kangaroos are great…for dinner” in Olde English. Helpful or harmful? I say helpful. Chopper would probably agree.
The moral of the story is that sometimes growing a moustache to cover up a tattoo is not always a smart legal maneuver, though in the case of Rodriguez it would seem to be a good move because without it he basically looks like your standard-issue Dodgers bleacher fan slash Latino gangbanger. And no jury in the world likes both of those things.
For our sadistic brethren, graphic video of some fat (and hopefully soon-to-be-indicted) policeman steel-booting Rodriguez here.
Culver City is experiencing a major re-development at present, spearheaded and contributed to by architect and SCI-Arc Director Eric Owen Moss. Mr. Moss and his team of 25 at Eric Owen Moss Architects have dubbed the revitalization Conjunctive Points, and have and continue to work on more than 20 projects in Culver City, many of which are located on Hayden Street alone. Known for unique interpretations and a diversity of form, Moss’ varied projects fortify Culver City’s hefty reputation as a community teeming with arts. Pictured above are 8511 Warner Drive, a parking structure and retail project and a city-sponsored Architecture as Art public artwork entitled What Wall.
Pictured here is a rendering of the Gateway Art Tower, an “information tower” and office building, constructed at the corner of Hayden and National, marking the primary entry point into the revitalized zone of the city. The building includes 5 screens that advertise messages to passersby pertaining to local tenants’ events and news.
Another of the Architecture as Art public art works, the Beehive, occupies the front section of a two story office building housing medschool.com.
Finally, this image depicts the interior of 3555 Hayden Ave, an office building and television production facility.
South African artist William Kentridge’s solo exhibition at SFMOMA explores the myriad themes and mediums of his body of work. Known primarily for his stop-motion films and commentary on apartheid, this presentation provides a more well rounded sampling of his oeuvre from the 1980s to present.
From the charcoal drawings to the film, collage, and sculpture, Five Themes reveals Kentridge’s criticisms of political inequalities. Many of the drawings, particularly those done in charcoal, contrast a soft lyrical stroke with somber subject matter, even incorporating comedic self deprecation at times. The artist manages to delicately balance sobriety and humor.
With a background in theater, Kentridge maintains an interest in combining performance and static art. In conjunction with the SFMOMA show, he teamed with Seattle’s Pacific Operaworks to design and direct a run of Monteverdi’s The Return of Ulysses.
