artists

Arcadia Falls

brittany — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Meg Rosenthal needs a fresh start after the death of her husband. She gave up her career as an artist when her daughter Sally was born, but when she is left with virtually nothing except for a barely functional car, she finds a job teaching folklore and English at a small boarding school for young artists in upstate New York. Sally, now a teenager and a promising artist herself, is admitted to the Arcadia School where her mother will work. Meg hopes that this new career will not only allow her to research the school’s founders—Vera Beecher and Lily Eberhardt—for her dissertation, but perhaps she will also find the daughter she once knew instead of the sullen girl who hides away with her iPod and drawings.

The Arcadia School is the perfect setting for a gothic campus novel, having inspired its creators to write and illustrate many of their own fairy tales. This book is replete with many signature fairy tale elements: a cottage in the woods, an orphan, a murderous villain, and even a Prince Charming of sorts. However, the fairy tales of Arcadia Falls are not the stuff of Disney movies; rather, they are more akin to the Grimm Brothers’ darker stories. Perhaps the darkest element of the school’s past is the tragic death of Lily Eberhardt, who fell into a clove while allegedly leaving the school to run off with her lover, her body missing for weeks before anyone realized that she had never made it off the school’s grounds. Shortly after Meg and Sally arrive, a student falls into the same deep valley during one of the school’s many Pagan rituals. It does not take long before Meg and others at the school begin to wonder if this death was truly an accident.

Carol Goodman’s Arcadia Falls is reminiscent of her earlier novel, The Lake of Dead Languages, a similarly dark boarding school story in which there are mysterious recurring deaths. In this rendition, Goodman delivers a rich and fast-paced novel that moves fluidly between the history of the Arcadia School, the changeling tale written by the school’s founders, and Meg and Sally’s contemporary story. Passages from the changeling story and from Lily’s journal add depth and authenticity to the novel. Keeping the facts straight in this complex, multi-generational plot line can be difficult at times, but ultimately Goodman achieves a thought provoking comparison between the lives of female artists in the mid-twentieth century and today.

While there are numerous subplots built into the book, the overarching question Goodman asks is whether a woman can be both a mother and an artist. The Arcadia School’s founders were required to sacrifice family life for the sake of their careers, while Meg initially did just the opposite. Yet, in rebuilding her life, Meg comes to realize that if she wants to teach her daughter the virtues of being a strong, independent woman, she must find a way to juggle her responsibilities. This is a message that will resonate with many modern readers questioning whether the paths toward family and career must be mutually exclusive.

Written by: Melanie Goodman, April 8th 2011

Firebrands: Portraits from the Americas

priyanka — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Justseeds Artists' Cooperative

Microcosm Publishing

I was initially unimpressed by Firebrands, but that was because I approached it wrong. I tried to sit down in my living room and read it cover-to-cover, and that's not what this book is for. It's a pocket-sized compendium of amazing people—people "left out of the schoolbooks because they were too brown, too female, too poor, too queer, too uneducated, too disabled, or because they daydreamed too much." Each firebrand gets a page-long description, a lovely illustration, and a number of suggestions for further reading.

Firebrands reads somewhat like a reference book, and it could function that way—one could keep it on the shelf in case one heard the name of a lesser-known abolitionist, revolutionary, or what-have-you; then one could simply look that person up. As a blogger, though, I see it as much like a themed blog. It's best opened at random pages, read in fits and starts. It might have been interesting to include some kind of decentralized theme-organization within the book—something along the lines of a blog's tags. A few blog-inspired books have done things like that in recent years, such as the sex-positive anthology Yes Means Yes, which attaches a number of tags at the end of each essay, then lists all tags and their associated entries at the beginning of the book. (Firebrands does have a very nice index, however, so it's possible to navigate the book by themes in that way.)

Once I started reading the book at random and in small chunks, I started liking it a lot. The authors have done a great job of digging up pithy quotations and interesting anecdotes. A few entries lack vividness (it's hard to be enthralled by vague sentences like "She did a lot of community organizing"), but for the most part, these firebrands really sound inspiring. One of my favorite quotations came from the description of Latino baseball player Roberto Clemente: "Clemente's motto was, 'If you have the chance to help others and fail to do so, you are wasting your time on this earth.'" And I was charmed by an anecdote about the singer Nina Simone: "During a recital when she was twelve years old, Nina's parents were asked to relinquish their front row seats to a white family, and Simone refused to perform until her parents were returned to their original seats."

I was also impressed by the book's genuine inclusiveness—it covered a wide array of warriors, artists, leaders, and it did so while pushing beyond the typical "inclusive" boundaries. For example, as a sex-positive activist I was thrilled to note that the painter Frida Kahlo was acknowledged to be both bisexual and polyamorous.

The illustrations add a lot to Firebrands. I particularly love the images by Roger Peet. It goes with the last biography in the book, Zumbi dos Palmares, a Portuguese slave in Brazil who led an insurrection in the 1600s. Firebrands was produced by an artists' cooperative called Justseeds, and it's clear that the whole group pitched in for this book and thought carefully about each element. So you could benefit a bunch of artists by giving this charming collection as a gift! What’s not to love?

Written by: Clarisse Thorn, January 28th 2011

When Marina Abramović Dies

admin — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By James Westcott

MIT Press

As someone with only one semester of art history under my belt, I find myself both interested and intimidated by the politics and practice of performance art. After reading this exhaustive biography of performing art legend Marina Abramović (who just wrapped up a stunning retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York), my intimidation has been replaced by a strong desire to see Abramović’s work.

When reading about an iconic figure such as Abramović, the private aspects of her otherwise very public life are the most interesting artifacts to glean. Through complete cooperation from Abramović and many of her friends and family members, James Westcott produces a marvelously comprehensive history of the artist's childhood in Yugoslavia and the beginning of the career that would revolutionize the use of the body as an artistic vehicle in the 1970s. The downside of writing about such an icon is that, while there is no shortage of fascinating material, one must organize it in such a way as to not overwhelm the reader. Westcott does just that, dividing Abramović’s life into three distinct parts: her early years, her work with fellow performance artist and former romantic partner Ulay, and her recent foray into solo performances.

For readers familiar with Abramović’s body of work, the book will most likely open your eyes to some of her earliest projects, and will offer interesting insight into her more famous pieces. One such example is her 1975 performance of Rhythm 0, where she laid out seventy-two items for museum patrons to use on her however they wished. These items included a loaded gun, which a man put in her hand and pointed at her neck. The author seamlessly weaves together interviews, archival photo footage, and factual information to make Abramović’s life as vibrant on the page as it is in reality.

Above all, Westcott proves to be an incredibly detailed biographer. Near the end of the book, readers understand where some of this attention to detail stems from; he recently served as a transcriptionist for some of Abramović’s marathon performances, writing hundreds of pages at her insistence to describe her hours of sitting or standing during certain pieces. The result of Westcott’s well-researched writing style and Abramović’s openness and commitment to storytelling and making art, When Marina Abramović Dies becomes an enthralling look at the world of performance art, a strong-willed and endlessly creative woman, and what happens when those two things collide for over forty years.

Written by: Alyssa Vincent, July 31st 2010

Meredith Monk: Inner Voice

admin — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Directed by Babeth M. VanLoo

Buddhist Broadcasting Foundation

Dutch Filmmaker Babeth VanLoo’s compelling tribute to sixty-seven-year-old choreographer-musician-teacher-composer-artist Meredith Monk does many things. In addition to introducing us to this enigmatic Jane of many trades, it showcases the artist’s creative processes and worldview. Along the way, it looks at the ways Buddhism has infused Monk’s work. “Silence is her source,” VanLoo explains.

The engrossing eighty-two-minute film includes footage of Monk performing, writing, and living in both upstate New York and New Mexico. The 2002 death of her life-partner, Mika, is mentioned, but this is not a film about grieving. Instead, the life force that propels Monk—she has been awarded numerous honorary degrees as well as a MacArthur “Genius” award—is both celebrated and explored.

Monk’s thought processes—and the questions that keep her up at night—are shared. "How do you practice fear?" she wonders. “So much of what we do is fear based. We’re afraid of the fear, of walking through it.” That realization led Monk to begin writing a piece of music that eventually became "Scared Song." Like everything she does, the final product was developed collaboratively. Her process is fascinating, since the massive ego of most composers is wholly absent in Monk. Instead, her colleagues describe her welcoming attitude, and site her willingness to accommodate suggestions and contributions by the musicians and actors she performs with.

Philip Bither, Senior Curator at Minneapolis’ Walker Art Center, calls her “one of the seminal people of our time. She resists categorization and has created great work in five, six areas of art. That’s really rare. We tend to categorize people as actors, singers, dancers.” Similarly, choreographer Phoebe Neville marvels at Monk’s ability to avoid what she calls “the trap of success. She has always maintained her integrity and has been able to say ‘no,’” Neville says. This, she continues, has fired Monk‘s creativity for forty-plus years, and has helped her avoid burnout and exhaustion.

In the end, it’s a question of balance—and Monk is the poster woman for this value. Whether working alone or with others, she acknowledges the need to take periodic timeouts. This has allowed her to continually recharge, think, and observe. “As a soloist,” Monk says, “I can be very precise and rigorous, but at the same time I am open and fluid to what is happening in the moment. That’s why I like to work without words. It throws the mind into a very different state.”

Indeed, listening to Monk’s vocalizations—her range is enormous—is virtually guaranteed to take listeners on a journey. Since the words are essentially nonsense—made up of sounds that have no literal meaning—you can infuse the music with significance or can simply let your mind wander and experience what you’re hearing. It’s a sensual, exciting, and unusual encounter—and VanLoo captures it brilliantly.

While the film could have used a bit more background about Monk’s early life—it does mention that a childhood eye infirmity led her to listen closely to music and notes that both her mother and maternal grandfather were successful performers—and might have included footage of Monk discussing the ways aging has impacted her efforts, it is nonetheless lovely. In the end, this short introduction to Monk’s life’s work—and the way she integrates spirituality into her artistic process—is inspiring. Van Loo’s love of Monk shines through, but the fact that she avoids fawning makes Meredith Monk: Inner Voice an insightful look at one of the most innovative and fearless artists of our time.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, July 23rd 2010

The Danish Girl

admin — Tue, 25 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By David Ebershoff

Penguin Books

The Danish Girl is like a multilayered Flemish painting or tapestry. On the surface, it’s the story of the marriage of two painters, Clara and Einar. However, Einar Wegener was the first male to undergo successful gender affirming surgery. And The Danish Girl is also the story of a search for one’s true identity, and how one navigates that struggle within the boundaries of a relationship.

The novel opens in Copenhagen in the 1920s and the author has painted a rich landscape of the country and culture at the time, which I found almost as interesting as the storyline. We meet Clara and Einar after they have settled into a domestic routine, of sorts: two painters living in Copenhagen trying to make a living through their art. Known for his landscapes, Einar is the more acclaimed and successful of the two, while Clara finds herself painting portraits of well-known businessmen and society types. Clara is a young, willful, and wealthy California heiress who fell in love with Einar while enrolled in art classes at the Royal Academy, where he is a teacher. Despite being six years her senior, Einer was shy and awkward, and Clara pursued him somewhat relentlessly.

As the novel progresses, we discover that Einar has been encouraged by Clara to occasionally dress in women’s clothes when her female subjects are delayed or unable to make their sitting appointments. Einar is a slender, pretty man who is described as "beautiful" in the novel. Clara senses that Einar has a love of all things feminine, and starts to encourage him to dress as a woman, who they start introducing as Einar's distant cousin Lili to their friends. At first, this is a secret game between the pair, but as Einar needs to dress as Lili more and more, the dynamic in the marriage changes, making Clara increasingly uncomfortable. Clara believes that part of loving someone is doing whatever you can do to make them happy, and although she is ambivalent about Einar’s need to dress as Lili, her paintings of Lili start to garner her praise and acclaim in the art world.

The subject matter of The Danish Girl could have been treated as a spectacle, or voyeuristic experience, but it is treated sensitively by the author. The author sensitively renders Einar’s sometimes painful experiences with his changing identity, and we experience the distinct worlds of these two separate individuals. I was surprised to discover that this novel was first published in 2000. The story is especially topical given that transgender experiences are now being discussed on shows like Oprah, which signifies that the issue has become mainstream, or at least an acknowledged part of our cultural dialogue.

The Danish Girl is being made into a movie that is scheduled for release in the United States in 2011. Nicole Kidman will star as Lili. If reading is supposed to take you on a journey of the mind and expand your understanding of the world, The Danish Girl is certainly deserving of high praise.

Written by: Gita Tewari, May 25th 2010

The Artist in the Office: How to Creatively Survive and Thrive Seven Days a Week

admin — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Summer Pierre

Perigee

I was looking forward to reviewing The Artist in the Office because it seemed so relevant to the situation many people I know find themselves in, myself included. Making it as an artist these days is tricky, and without a patron to support them, most emerging artists need another job to make ends meet.

In this book, Summer Pierre hits many of the emotional highs and lows people in my position feel: guilt because they’re not doing art full-time, frustration that they are unable to be creative at work, suffocation at the restraints of a nine-to-five schedule, and the constant nagging question of what your “real job” is. An artist herself, Pierre demonstrates noticeable insight in to the day-to-day life of the average creative worker.

There’s a lot to be talked about on this topic and no easy answers. This book never tries to solve the “problem” of how to be an artist in the office, which is for the best because there’s no magic solution that will resolve this anxiety. What Pierre does suggest is a change in approach. The most solid advice I took away from this book was to remain positive and keep focused on the specifics of what you really want. I know from experience that it’s easy to get stuck in the “If I only had xyz than I would be happy” mindset, which gets you nowhere. Pierre reminds us that working in an office—having a “day job”—while being an artist is hardly the end of the world, and in fact can often benefit your creative work.

Unfortunately, when these benefits are discussed in detail, the book tends to lose some of its insightful commentary and switches to somewhat condescending advice and cutesy pictures to get the point across. Most artists who work in an office hardly need a full-page illustration telling them how the company photocopier can be useful for... photocopying. Or how work computers can be used for non-work stuff. Surely most of us know these things already? The book also could have done without the handwritten doodling of things to do on your lunch hour or how to play “bingo” on your morning commute.

This book is at its strongest when the author seriously engages with the question of what it means to be an artist in a culture that doesn’t necessarily value art. Part four of the book, “Ideas for Change,” is the strongest section. It reads like a heartfelt conversation with a friend who in the end convinces you to not be so hard on yourself and reminds you that you have to value yourself before anyone else will.

Written by: Jennifer Burgess, March 31st 2010

Travel Queeries

admin — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 08:07:00 +0000

Directed by Elliat Graney-Saucke

Three Dollar Bill Cinema

I perform a comedy show with my partner at Ladyfest Berlin every year. One of the vague memories I have of our first performance was of a U.S. filmmaker named Elliat politely introducing herself at some of the shows and workshops, then asking permission to film parts of the festival for a documentary she was making. She was warm and welcoming, and people were happy to oblige. I forgot all about it, though, until I saw this blurb on a website last month:

Travel Queeries_ is a feature-length documentary film that examines the culture, art and activism of radical queers in contemporary Europe. Through personal interviews and documentation of performances, festivals, multi-media [sic] visual arts and spaces, Travel Queeries puts an exciting international lens on queer fringe culture.

I felt sure this must be the result of that film project we saw the start of several summers ago., and a little internet research proved me right. Elliat turned out to be Elliat Graney-Saucke of Three Dollar Bill Cinema. Pleased as I was to feel some vicarious satisfaction at the piece coming to fruition, as a queer artist and activist living in Europe, I also had high expectations for the finished product. I wondered if I’d automatically be biased toward the film, and whether I’d be a fair reviewer. Eventually, I decided I could potentially be one of its worst critics—easily able to spot glosses or discrepancies in the narrative or perspective, and see through any objectification of a vibrant subculture. So I watched it.

This film is excellent.

Interviewees seem at ease, positive, knowledgeable, and forthcoming. Unofficial spokespeople give articulate and emotive views on issues from those as broad as the definition of queerness to specific reasoned hypotheses about links between queer culture and squatting, immigration, and drag performance, for example. Their answers are interwoven so that, even though participants may be separated by time or distance, their answers resonate with and build upon each other, providing rich coverage of an often ignored scene.

Graney-Saucke’s voice is unique, and her style is very readable. Well-chosen stock footage (sometimes including footage taken by other independent queer artists and activists) and a variety of quirky and charming multimedia animations balance out the interviews and further illustrating both fact and emotion. My partner and I were delighted to see one or two familiar performers and interview subjects on screen.

Despite the familiarity, we kept exclaiming over the detailed coverage of events we had only third-hand knowledge of, such as fascist protests against pride marches in Eastern Europe. Travel Queeries is an important film in terms of both transmitting a snapshot to outsiders and as an archival resource for the community it explores. It is particularly successful in making the term queer more tangible for viewers who might not understand it, without excluding or admonishing those who don’t embrace the idea of queerness.

Though the majority of the interviews were conducted in English, Graney-Saucke chose to subtitle the entire film, and also offers a wide variety of foreign-language subtitles for screenings in different countries. I can’t applaud this enough, and found my experience of the film greatly enhanced by the open captioning. (The post-production team may like to take the opportunity to fix some typos and misspellings in the current set of English captions, which slightly detract from an otherwise slick execution.)

Great joy emanates from Travel Queeries and stays with the viewer: from the pride and confidence of the participants, through the clever soundtrack featuring independent and queer musicians, and finally from all of the art featured throughout. Though some discussion points provide more questions than answers, the whole picture is one of intelligent and thoughtful inclusion and exploration of many cultural possibilities. The production company does not yet have a distributor for the film, but is currently touring it around festivals this year in cities across the U.S., Canada, and Europe. See it.

Written by: Chella Quint, December 5th 2009

Subversive Art Star

admin — Sat, 30 May 2009 10:52:00 +0000

Interview with Jerilea Zempel

Artist Jerilea Zempel turns brutal machines of war into “warm and fuzzy” sculptures through her subversive crochet projects. She achieved brief Internet stardom via The Colbert Report when Stephen Colbert called her “a dangerous returning American”—aka an artist who crochets covers for SUVs and tanks—after she was detained by U.S. Customs and Border Protection officers, who discovered her artist notebook replete with line drawings of SUVs and crocheting plans.

Elevate Difference recently talked with Zempel about just what happened at the U.S./Canadian border, her daylong Colbert Report shoot, sexism in the art world (yes, it still exists), and what’s so subversive about needlework.

Your work is part of a movement of radical, subversive knitters, crocheters, and feminist artists who use traditionally feminine applied arts to create political work. What do you find subversive about needlework?

I started crocheting because I had an idea for an art piece that needed it. I’m not committed long-term to the material or the process; it was just something I wanted to do for one specific project, then another. So I’m not sure I’m part of any movement. Maybe I’d consider myself a part-time member though.

Looking through a long-distance lens, the profession of being an artist has always been a 'guy thing'. All kinds of obstacles were invented to keep women out of the practice of high art. Needlework was a women’s domain and a lesser, minor craft. Now that artists are free enough to incorporate social critiques into the content of their work, it’s a huge temptation to toy with those broad, cultural paradigms. That’s why I think it’s subversive for both male and females artists to incorporate needlework into their work. That’s why I did it.

What was the first object you crocheted for an art piece, and what led you to start incorporating crochet into your art?

A rifle. Guns are really scary, and I’m always terrified in the presence of anyone carrying one. It’s hard to think of them as protection. They’re machines that mean to injure or kill. I sometimes imagine them as unpredictable beings with minds of their own. The idea of making a warm gun, disarmed inside a fuzzy, handmade cover was irresistible. I wanted to mollify the rifle like a fussy, crying baby.

My grandmother died before I was born and she crocheted elaborate lace tablecloths. They were souvenirs of her presence and absence. I still have some and I taught myself to crochet. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I even earned a Girl Scout badge in needlework.

When I got to art school and was taught all the dos and don’ts that came along with formalism, naturally I wanted to break the all those rules. To use crochet in my work was mining my personal history and rebelling against my education at the same time.

Your sketches for your project “Homeland Security (Blanket)” led U.S. Customs and Border Protection to detain you at the U.S. border for more than an hour as you returned home from an art show in Canada. You said the detention led to a “lively discussion” about your status as an artist and art professor. What happened in the discussion, and what did you take away from the entire ordeal?

The woman who stopped and searched my car was very nice, very cordial. But, she had a lousy job that she had to do. She didn’t know what to make of the things she found: yarn, crochet hooks, downloaded diagrams of SUVs, sketches of car patterns, copies of Bitch magazine, and a couple Guerrilla Girl books. To her, I wasn’t just offbeat or odd; I was suspicious.

I decided not to be aggressive or defensive or angry, so I brought up all the most conventional things about myself: I make a living. I’m a teacher. I own a house and a car. I have to be in shows to keep my job. I appealed to her as a working woman, a latent feminist. I offered to leave my reading materials for her. Maybe that’s what softened her. She wanted proof I was really a professor. [I showed my] university ID, and that was the turning point. I was released. Mid-August 2009 was just before the Republican National Convention when another professor, Bill Ayers, hadn’t yet become a household word for terrorist.

I live in upstate New York, and I’ve passed through a friendly U.S./Canadian border lots of times. But this time was different. It became hostile, a sliver of space where my constitutional rights were suspended in the service of fear. How had the U.S., extolled for its individual freedom, devolved to this? I had just spent two weeks in Canada—a gentler culture where the least fortunate are un-begrudgingly cared for by the more fortunate, where health care and education are almost free, where artists are treated like professionals, not weirdo-slackers—and this was what I was coming home to?

Since then I’ve been cautious and a little paranoid about crossing the border. In fact, I half-smuggled that SUV cover back into the US from Canada hidden in an IKEA box, in a borrowed car and through a secondary crossing that all the locals use.

Media attention about your detention at the U.S. border brought a new audience to your artwork and landed you in a satirical segment as a radical knitter on the Colbert show. How comfortable were you making your art work a satirical target at the hands of Colbert Report producers? And what was it like spending nearly a day filming the segment?

I love The Colbert Report, and it was a dream come true to get their phone call. Sure, I was uncertain about how they might present me on a show based on satire. As an artist, it was frustrating that the final product was out of my control. I talked for a long time with the producer, sent him lots of information, and I came to realize the Report isn’t in the business of pissing off artists. They’re creative types themselves. In retrospect, Stephen has always showed a curiosity and respect for visual art. When I finally met him, that was clear. Months after the segment he remembered details of my work. He was sincerely interested in what I did.

I was interviewed on camera, nonstop, for an hour and a half. I was asked all kinds of pointed and leading questions. The film crew followed me for an entire day. Anything I said or did would be fair game for the show. You’re bound to let down your guard for a second.

I sat and chewed my nails alongside a million other viewers the night the segment aired. I chose to be with close friends in case it turned out to be a complete hatchet job. But it was a great take on my work—“Subverting the raw masculine power of objects like these [film clips of deafening chainsaws and exploding tanks].” To have so many people see installations of work that don’t exist any more...it was like a retrospective show at some new international art gallery. The experience demonstrated the democratic power of the Internet as a vehicle to show and discuss art, avoiding the limitations of the art establishment.

Your own art education in the Formalist era discouraged political art, yet you knew early on that you couldn’t separate art from politics. How did you first become politicized as an artist?

I went to Columbia University, and Bob Blackburn, an African American printmaker, was one of my teachers. He told fascinating stories about living through the Harlem Renaissance and how important artists, writers, and musicians were to the identity of the community. It filled me with idealism that artists could affect the consciousness of a culture.

Meanwhile other faculty were jockeying to have shows in the blue-chip New York galleries and sucking up to rich collectors. One of the most cynical lectured me to give up even thinking art could change the world, that it was impossible. When I got out in the art world and realized that women artists didn’t get the same opportunities as men, I got politicized all over again.

You’ve worked with many different materials in your artwork—crochet, condoms, paint, horseshit, tree branches, and, with the Subversive Cookie Society, cookie dough. How do you make decisions about which materials will communicate your ideas?

I chose horse manure when I was asked to make an artwork in a field, and I didn’t think the field deserved the assault some of the other artists proposed: banging metal against trees, pouring huge concrete footings, using toxic materials like fiberglass. I wanted to nurture the site, not destroy it. And horseshit has its own special semantic meaning. I used pruned tree branches because they were castoffs and that was a form of recycling. Crochet and cookie dough were familiar to my upbringing, materials every obedient girl should know about. The condoms, well, they were just naughty and gross as art material.

In 1998, you crocheted a Russian Tank for your project “Guns and Rosettes.” Why did you want to, as you wrote, "transform a brutal machine of war into a warm and fuzzy sculpture?" And what was it like taking on such a project in Poland?

After the fall of the Soviet Union there was a lot of talk about a Peace Dividend, of what could be done with all the money saved by not having to fund a big army. So much for that idea. I started to think about using spent military vehicles as art material. They had a ready-made scale and permanence that solved a lot of problems for a public artist. And they came loaded with cultural content.

I bought a Vietnam era jeep from a military surplus depot in Pennsylvania and shipped it to Atlanta for a show. I covered it with dead pine needles and filled it with living plants. Afterwards I sold it to an architect who changed the battery and drove it away, pine needles and all.

Then I started dreaming of using a tank. It was the biggest, most aggressive land-hugging vehicle I could think of and I wanted to cover one with a material that was a gross contradiction. Crochet immediately came to mind. But there was no way the U.S. army would let me near one. I heard about a lot of tanks in a military museum in Poznan. I got a grant from George Soros’ ArtsLink Foundation, and I had to figure out how to do it. Some terrific Polish art students, who all crocheted better than I did, volunteered. Together, over two years, we made it happen.

Poland was just waking up to Western-style business, politics, and media. In the rush to catch up, there was no one who cared enough to say no to the crazy project. The nascent Western-style Polish media had a field day filming the Tank Girls every day on site. My helpers became TV celebrities for making art. The tank project took on a lot of meanings I couldn’t have imagined. Polish war vets came out to relate their version of the Battle of Poznan in World War II, which they were discouraged from telling for years. Everyday people came around the tank, discussing, arguing, admiring, and criticizing. The art press in Europe and the U.S. largely ignored it.

As an artist, you’ve said that you “find it tantalizing to put two things together that don’t quite fit: cars and crochet.” What is it about the tension in disparate things that you’re so drawn to?

Art in galleries and museums is so polite and well-mannered. The context alone gives gravity and importance that the art work might not really deserve. I like putting irrational elements together to evoke surprise, disbelief, astonishment. It couldn’t be anything but art. And if you put art somewhere it’s not expected, like in a public place, it’s an opportunity to mine a whole new lode of viewer responses. The world-at-large interests me more than the art world.

Your piece “The Lady Vanishes” is part of your series of replicas of masterworks that you create out of horse manure. You dedicated your “horseshit” Henry Moore reclining nude to “all the unknown and faceless young models who obsessed the minds of the modernist geniuses and whose body parts live on forever in art history.” What was your earliest understanding of sexism in the art world, and how do you see it continue to play out today?

I was taught to worship a handful of modernist artists for their formal and technical innovations. They all happened to be male and almost all used naked female bodies as subject matter and that was never really analyzed. It just lurked in the background, like soft-porn. Not much room for me in there. Then I realized the vast, untold history of women artists who had been there all along, figuring out ways to get around all the limitations set up to keep them out of the art world and art history. Their stories were courageous, heart-wrenching, sometimes hilarious, like Rosa Bonheur’s “permission de travessement” that she got from the police to allow her to paint in public dressed as a man to avoid being hassled. It was a bright light going on in a very dark room.

I’m no expert, but there appears to be a crushing glass ceiling for women artists today. While everybody wants them, needs them, at the bottom, emerging, and mid-level—so as not to seem too macho—women drop off, except for a token few, going up the ladder of art world success, especially in the art market.

Women artists have been the majority of art school grads for decades, but they don’t get the same professional resources. That’s bound to have an effect on their practice and production. Next time there are contemporary art auctions, count the sales of living women artists and the prices. Five to ten cents on the dollar of white male prices. And there aren’t enough collectors and artists who care about this inequity, even though they consider themselves liberal.

You’re an art professor as well as an artist. What advice would you give to a young feminist artist just starting out today?

Love your work, make your own art world, and never take no for an answer.

Written by: Ellen Papazian, May 30th 2009

The Kept Man

admin — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 16:59:00 +0000

By Jami Attenberg

Riverhead Books

One thing I don't expect to find in a chick lit-type book* is a line like this: "The thing about fucking on coke is, afterward, there's no rolling over and going to bed." Oh. I'd never thought of that. In fact, much of this book elicits that response from me.

The premise of The Kept Man, when stripped of both clothing and flesh is, frankly, almost implausible: Jarvis Miller has been waiting for six years for her artist husband to either die or wake up from his coma. Ok, so that part isn't the most implausible part. Here it goes: Jarvis Miller's husband was a good artist. No, he was really good. No, he was so good she's been able to sell off his artwork and pay for his super-high-quality nursing care, and pay her bills, and keep her home, and not have to work. We meet her on the day she serendipitously encountered, engaged, and befriended three handsome male strangers—thus setting into motion a series of events which would change her life.

This, of course, is the problem with skeletons: somehow, when looking at the frame of a human form, it is impossible that those light, delicate, elegant, fragile structures could possibly support human weight. And, miraculously, they do.

It is true that Jarvis Miller's life does not model a 'standard' experience with health care, loss, relationships, nursing facilities, or laundromats. However, it seems just possible that any one person could have had precisely this experience. There are indeed artists, and these artists may indeed have wives. Some artists are indeed very talented, and talented people, like any others, may indeed suffer misfortunate accidents. There are some very good care facilities and some people, by fortuitous luck, are able to afford them. It is indeed possible to meet strangers and sometimes they do indeed become your friends. And change does indeed beget change. The effect is one of wryly humorous reality—it works.

I am delighted that the author did not choose a 'conventionally' happy ending, that she created a complex, dynamic female character (whether I would be her friend, I cannot say. But she is not one-dimensional) and that she abstained from moralizing her character's choices and experiences. And I was gently, soberly, realistically appreciative of the author's patience in revealing and discovering—to the reader as well as to Jarvis—the sometimes painful characteristics that defined Jarvis' marriage. Attenberg demonstrated marvelous control in her careful spinning forth of detail and revelation. An impressive first novel.

Disclaimer for transparency's sake: I am not calling this book chick lit, and I am not disparaging chick lit. This is certainly a book that will, generally, appeal to women and I—academic, grad student snob that I am—admit that the first thing I think when I see a fictional work whose primary market will be women is: "Hm? Where will this fit? Will this fit into a chick lit spectrum?"

Written by: kristina grob, April 26th 2009

Handmade Nation: The Rise of DIY, Art, Craft, and Design

admin — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 17:14:00 +0000

By Faythe Levine, Cortney Heimerl

Princeton Architectural Press

I don’t usually have high hopes for books based on films. Luckily, Handmade Nation: The Rise of DIY, Art, Craft, and Design, which is based on the documentary by the same name, rises above what one would typically expect from this genre. Chock full of large color photos and interviews with crafters from fifteen cities around the country, this book provides a window into the modern craft movement in America. The book itself is something of a work of art, as anyone familiar with Princeton Architectural Press should expect.

As a crafty person myself (I hand-silkscreen garments and sell them on etsy.com), living in Portland, Oregon (a DIY craft epicenter), it was interesting to read profiles of fellow contemporary craft artisans, see some of the amazing work they are doing, and to hear their thoughts on craft. The embroideries of Jenny Hart are particularly breathtaking, as are the garments of Shannon Mulkey. The most fascinating profile of the collection describes Knitta, a knitting collective who “tag” using their knitting, wrapping it around street poles. When asked about their intentions with this project, members of Knitta said that by doing this they are “adding a human element so you are not so disconnected from your everyday environment” and “there is a lot of cement and steel that we are not very comfortable seeing on a daily basis.”

Levine gives a brief introduction and makes some intriguing statements that piqued my curiosity about the history of this movement and the idea of thinking about craft as a politicized feminist phenomenon. From a feminist perspective it was interesting to read that ninety-five percent of the crafters Levine interviewed were women. As Levine says in the introduction, “Our handmade goods were influenced by traditional handiwork, modern aesthetics, politics, feminism, and art. We were redefining what craft was and making it our own.” Unfortunately Levine doesn’t go into greater depth or offer perspective other than the three page preface. She lets the crafters speak for themselves, which is great, but it would have been nice to have an overarching essay to tie together these sketches, particularly given the abbreviated length of most of the profiles.

Handmade Nation reads like a good coffee book table and definitely inspires me to go to the screening of the documentary film when it makes its Northwest premier this month.

Written by: Liz Simmons, April 20th 2009

Our City Dreams

admin — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 10:18:00 +0000

Directed by Chiara Clemente

Di San Luca Films

A film is the best way to showcase stories in motion—literally and figuratively. Our City Dreams is a combination love letter to overtly feminist artists and the city—New York City—in which they reside. Representing a range of women artists whose age and work span nearly six decades, the film’s scope never becomes too wide or convoluted. Throughout the movie, the lives and careers of the women shift, as some find new success, some take time off, and several celebrate their own artistic retrospectives and milestone birthdays. At the end of each artist’s vignette, the audience is left sated but also curious as to what happens next in the lives of the individuals.

SWOON's wheat-pasted street art silhouettes resemble a happy threesome between legendary graffiti enigma Banksy, contemporary collage silhouette artist Kara Walker, and punk rock illustrator Cristy C. Road. Kiki Smith, the daughter of American artist Tony Smith, is a multimedia artist most well known for her sculptures. Serbian performance artist Marina Abramović is known for her grueling, lengthy productions, which have included public masturbation and allowing her audience to harm her with various weapons. Originally from Cairo, Ghada Amer focuses on erotic embroidery, as well as painting and drawing. Nancy Spero, an American collage artist and activist, has been in New York the longest; she is a resident of the city since 1964.

None of the women lead particularly conventional lives; while Spero is the widow of painter Leon Golub, all of the others are unmarried. Most live in seemingly transient spaces, traveling often. All of the women make art with distinctive motivation and all migrated to New York City for unique but overlapping reasons. Amer, who made art to overcome depression, explains that while she used to wish desperately to belong somewhere, she now believes she can be “very comfortable in New York because no one fits.” Smith, who now explores being a “culturally neutered” middle-aged female artist, came to Manhattan for the artistic community and says even now, “I don’t know anyone who’s not an artist.”

SWOON introduces the film by saying that New York is the “biggest, loudest, dirtiest, most intense city that we have, and that’s just where I needed to be.” She feels it is a good time to be a female artist, that now more than ever, people are ready to accept and love the unconventional work of women in the arts. In the end, after witnessing the powerful, profound, and distinct style and vision of each woman, the question we are left wondering is: how much does NYC actually facilitate their accomplishments?

As much about showcasing exquisite shots of the creation and destruction of the city, _Our City Dreams _is a film about discovering your artistic passion at any age, about living authentically in a fractured world, and the importance of women in art.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, March 13th 2009

Art + Revolution: The Life and Death of Thami Mnyele, South African Artist

admin — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 18:00:00 +0000

By Diana Wylie

University of Virginia Press

It should be of no surprise that some of the most peaceful and timid visionaries have met violent deaths. It seems that the power with which they create, forge, or even love is equal to that which opposes their very existence. Diana Wylie captures one such figure with Art + Revolution.

With the many changes that have taken place in the United States in the past few years, it would be easy and even relieving for some to forget the far-reaching struggles that helped to bring those changes about. Wylie's self-acknowledged humility realized through the stark differences between her and Mnyele's plight gives the reader a chance to put an artistic and sensitive face to the struggle against South African apartheid.

Perhaps Thami Mnyele’s birthplace of Alexandra Township in Johannesburg, and its ruthless violence, was enough for the universe to bring about such an overwhelmingly sensitive man. Despite whatever created this sensitivity, it was Thami’s lens with which to create art that reflected not only the macrocosmic monstrosity that racism produced, but also the microcosmic manifestations of South Africa's participation. Microcosm is a misnomer considering the impact apartheid had on Mnyele and how it limited his ability to move within his own country. These limitations would find Mnyele and his comrades finding both solace and artistic inspiration in the workings of jazz musicians like John Coltrane and Charlie Parker and writers like Wole Soyinka and Frantz Fanon—people who shared similar struggles thousands of miles away.

It wasn't just a kinship with people of similar skin tones or even plights, but also with artists, such as Van Gogh, Michelangelo, and even Vietnamese poets that inspired Mnyele to dig deep within the confines of his sensitivity to reveal the reality he wanted his art to convey. Even still, it was the death of friend and countryman Steve Biko that served as a political turning point for Mnyele and his artistic purpose. Mnyele's art seems to leave enough openness to interpretation while using that same openness to convey a sense of the freedom he fought so unassumingly for.

Despite Wylie's "fragmented" account of Mnyele's life story she still leaves us with enough insight into the life of a man whose artwork details through each piece, his struggle to and for an understanding of a psyche confined by the limits of hatred and its imposition on a people. It is so difficult to sum up the impact of someone’s life in a book, but Wylie beautifully opens us to the continual artistic profundity each time we Thami Mnyele's name.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, February 27th 2009

ARTitude Zine (Issue #23: Winter 2006)

admin — Sat, 28 Apr 2007 20:04:00 +0000

By ARTitude

Sweet and sincere, ARTitude Zine includes well-written articles by and about artists and their processes, nifty project ideas with full instructions, and full-color pages displaying readers’ work. In this issue, most of the works (and articles) were by women – and judging by the letters to the editor and the “Ask ARTchick” column, the zine provides a lot of female artists with a real sense of community.

Among the zine’s archival images of Victorian ladies and cute children holding flowers provided for readers to use in collages - and a listing of back issues including “Domestic Goddess,” “Bathing Beauty,” “Polkadots and Moonbeams” and “Material Girl” - I was surprised to see “Naughty Knotty Necklace,” a project by “sassy gal” Elizabeth Dunn. She writes, “Words like ‘Pimp,’ ‘Ghetto’ and ‘Addict’ are expressions that complement my sense of humor,” and shows us how to make her pendant emblazoned with the word “Ghetto.” I have to admit, I was hoping there would be something “edgier” between these covers, but I think “questionable” describes this suggestion a little better. Even this project, though, provides folks with the tools, information, and ideas they need to create their own unique works.

The focus of ARTitude Zine may be on collage and assemblage, but the featured work and projects include diverse techniques that range from soldering to biting birch bark, and the results look more like something you’d find at a hip craft fair than at a scrapbookers’ meetup. And while it may be a little too flowery for some folks, some women will find in ARTitude Zine a crafty community, welcoming new artists with open arms.

Written by: Ari Moore, April 28th 2007