Tim Rollins & K.O.S.

Studio K.O.S. Carries On After Tim Rollins

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

I’ll always miss my late friend Tim Rollins who left us at just 62 years of age in January of last year1, but I can’t imagine how his “Kids” feel.

Tim Rollins & K.O.S.: A History. Published in 2009 to accompany the traveling retrospective of 25 years of their work. I’ll never forget seeing Tim with the phone book sized “draft” of this book in 2009, which he let me thumb through, in awe, while it was in preparation.

His Kids, better known as “Kids of Survival,” or K.O.S., a group of at-risk public school students, some barely in their teens, (as you can see in the Photo taken of them, above, by Lisa Kahane in the 1980s that appears on the cover of the retrospective on them), that Tim taught Art to that became the group “Kids of Survival” in 1984. When they began, he told them, “Today, we’re going to make art. We’re also going to make history.” With work in over 87 museums and public institutions (and counting)2, they’ve succeeded on both counts. In 2010, a terrific documentary film on Tim and K.O.S. was released entitled Kids of Survival: The Art and Life of Tim Rollins and K.O.S., which details the unprecedented journey both Tim and the members of K.O.S. took as they forged their own way into Art history. “History” is a word that keeps coming up in discussing Tim and K.O.S. in 2019, which is fitting because this year marks the 35th Anniversary of the founding of K.O.S..

Boys to men. Together, they made history. Tim Rollins & K.O.S. in 2016. Steven Vega, Ricardo Savinon, Robert Branch, Tim Rollins, and brothers Angel & Jorge Abreu, left to right, at Lehmann Maupin Gallery, West 22nd Street. Lehmann Maupin Photo

“To dare to make history when you are young, when you are a minority, when you are working, or nonworking class, when you are voiceless in society, takes courage. Where we came from, just surviving is ‘making history.’
So many others, in the same situations, have not survived, physically, psychologically, spiritually, or socially. We were making our own history. We weren’t going to accept history as something given to us.” Tim Rollins.

Tim even added “and K.O.S.” to his signature. Angel Abreu signed under it. From my collection.

While he taught them Art in school, with the goal of having them get into college, he also began naming everything he and the they created as being by “Tim Rollins & K.O.S.” Giving the students/apprentices equal status with the Artist as collaborators was unprecedented in the history of visual Art, as far as I know, as so much of what he did was unprecedented in Art education. Now, a year after Tim’s passing, K.O.S. have announced that they are going to continue as Studio K.O.S.. “History” becomes “living history.”

Curator Ian Berry, “Thinking about the increasingly important role of what Tim and K.O.S. did together over 30 plus years is so important for us to see now.” Installation view of Tim Rollins and K.O.S.: Workshop at Lehmann Maupin in May.

The past, the present and the future were the subjects of the show Tim Rollins and K.O.S.: Workshop at Lehmann Maupin in May and June, the first by Studio K.O.S. It included a “mini-retrospective” of their work curated by Ian Berry, who said of his selection, “The show’s called Workshop. I was thinking of works that really exemplified the idea of a group of artists sitting together around a table making work together. Sharing ideas. Thinking, reading, talking, seeing together. So each of the works is a very overt example of their hands and the imagery of the individual members on each of the works.”

Amerika (For Karl), 1989, Watercolor on paper mounted on canvas, 97 x 132 inches

He continued, “And then, I’m thinking about the guys being in Studio K.O.S. without Tim, and I’m thinking about the crazy politics that we’re living in, and thinking about the increasingly important role of what Tim and K.O.S. did together over 30 plus years is so important for us to see now. I really value the idea of this show now. It’s so important to see education leading to justice. It’s so important seeing different versions of identity and self-empowerment and speech, that is so needed now. It’s great seeing these images of Pinocchio logs potentially waiting for birth. It’s great to see this really intense room of all black works, which I hope moves you to be engaged, and be active in thinking about what’s going on around you. It’s a history, but it’s also a workshop that we’re all hopefully invited to join in.”

“It’s great to see this really intense room of all black works…” Two works from I see the promised land (after the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.), both 2008, Matte acrylic and book pages on canvas, 108 x 72 inches each.

Walking through the show with as unbiased eyes as I could possibly muster, given my personal connection, I found myself in complete agreement with Mr. Berry when he spoke of “the increasingly important role of what Tim and K.O.S. did together over 30 plus years.” When I’ve seen their work over the years, it’s generally been a piece here or there, as in MoMA’s 2007 show What is Painting: Contemporary Art from the Collection, where the group’s Amerika VIII, 1986-7, was on view.

Installation view of MoMA’s 2007 show, What is Painting: Contemporary Art from the Collection, with Amerika VIII, 1985-6, left. MoMA Photo.

I remember standing in front of it and feeling overcome with joy- the joy of a beautiful work and my sense of all that had gone into, and all that had been overcome, achieving it- let alone having it wind up in the Permanent Collection of the Museum of Modern Art (An aside- To this day, MoMA owns NO Paintings by Jean-Michel Basquiat. That’s another story). Then, I walked over to the label you can barely see to the right of the work in the Photo. My jaw hit the floor. Here’s exactly what it said-

If you know of another Artist in Art history who included the names of his students or apprentices on his work, let me know. MoMA Photo.

I remembered standing there thinking- “Can you imagine being them, having overcome all they did, then seeing not just your work, but YOUR NAME on the wall at the Museum of Modern Art?” Angel Abreu was about 12 years old(!), Ricardo Savinon was about 15(!) when this was made.

Seeing a wonderfully chosen selection of their work today, it looks remarkably prescient. Beyond it being a landmark collaboration that marks fresh paths for Art education, their work doesn’t feel one bit dated, and, even more? I think it’s going to hold up; it’s going to continue to speak indefinitely to viewers, regardless of age. My recommendation is that the other museums & institutions not included in the current list of 87 above step up and acquire a work while they can.

The “Kids” are adults now who have forged their own successful careers in Art, and Tim lived to see it happen, something I’m sure gave him as much joy as anything else he experienced in his life. You can see just that on his face in the Photo of he and K.O.S. from 2016 I showed earlier. While each now has a successful career of their own, the legacy they embody and share is still every bit a vital part of their lives, and it sounds like it will continue to be going forward. There remains much to be done.

The legacy continues. Ricardo Savinon, Robert Branch, Jorge and Angel Abreu, members of Studio K.O.S., joined by curator Ian Berry, from left to right. Lehmann-Maupin Gallery, West 22nd Street, May 3, 2019.

During the run of the show, a panel discussion was held on May 3rd in which Ian Berry was joined by four long standing members of K.O.S.- Ricardo Savinon, Robert Branch, and brothers Angel & Jorge Abreu, men that were very young men when they first met Tim and became members of K.O.S.. Surrounded by Art they created with Tim, each proceeded to tell his story- how he came to be part of the group and the journey they’ve taken over the years, that I’m sure felt like they passed way too quickly. Over the course of 90 minutes, the stories were powerful and joyful, each one a remarkable tale of perseverance and single-minded dedication on the part of students and teacher. Nary a tear was shed, instead laughter was free flowing throughout.

Ricardo Savinon is someone I’ve known for well over a decade. During that time, he was the person I saw most often with Tim. They struck me as having a closeness that truly was on that fine line between family members and close friends along with a very strong level of mutual respect. Rick, as he’s known, was extremely ill, hospitalized, and was reportedly near death himself, when Tim passed away. Thankfully, he recovered, but when I last saw Rick, at Tim’s Public Memorial Service last April, he looked very thin and gaunt. So, I was extremely relieved to see him now back to his usual full of life self, with his ever present sharp wit and even sharper mind in full effect. Rick joined K.O.S. in 1985 at about 14. He went on to study at the School of Visual Arts before becoming the interior designer, Art installer and curator he is today. Angel Abreu, who is about 3 years younger than Rick, met Tim and joined K.O.S. in 1986. He has worked on every major K.O.S. project and exhibition since he joined. Today, he’s a Painter and is on the faculty of the School of Visual Arts, where Tim, himself, studied between 1975 and 1977 and more recently was an SVA faculty member when he passed. His brother, Jorge, joined K.O.S. at age 12 about 1991, as he related in an unforgettable story I relay below. Today, he’s working on a poetry collection around growing up in the golden age of hip-hop. Robert Branch joined Tim and K.O.S. at 16, circa 1993. Today, he holds a BFA from Cooper Union and a masters from Teacher’s College, Columbia University. I had met both Angel and Robert in passing with Tim over the years.

Angel Abreu speaking about participating in a show at Saatchi Gallery in London at age 13, rubbing elbows with Ashley Bickerton and Jeff Koons.

Angel Abreu- “What I’d like to say before we get into this, is that if you can imagine, at 12, 13, 14, or 15 years old, we really didn’t know what was going on. But what we did know, at least I can speak for myself, is that I could not stay away. This was before cellphones, right. And there were many moments when we had, and again, Tim would tell us, ‘There’s no greater motivator than a deadline.’ We are so thankful that we had so many amazing deadlines.”

By any means necessary (Trapped/Caught), 1985-7, Black gesso on book pages mounted on canvas, 21 x 28 inches. From The Autobiography of Malcolm X.

“But we had no idea. It wasn’t really until later until I think we got into high school and into college where we realized how extraordinary this was that we were doing. But, really it was the day to day we’d go into the studio. And he’d say, ‘Ok, by the way, we just got included in the next Whitney Biennial.’ Alright, that’s cool, Tim. I have no idea what that is. Yeah, that’s good.”

Ricardo Savinon, “Tim was Professor X…”

Rick Savinon- “Also, I want to chime in. How impactful that us being part of the group and realizing that we were kind of outsiders with our families joining an outsider group. So, it was almost like the X Men where Tim was Professor X and he got together this group of mutants who didn’t know how to hone in their skills.”

X-Men/Malcolm X (after Marvel Comics and Malcolm X), 1997, Comic book covers on rag board. 1 of 12 parts.

“But in the studio he taught us how. But, in doing so, we impacted so many people, Our peers, our families, our friends. I mean I remember probably after 15 years of being in the group, I have a friend of mine who was walking down the street and said, ‘I was taking Art History class and I saw a picture of you. What the hell’s going on? What are you up to?’ I just said well very calmly, ‘I’m glad that you’re pursuing art. I’m part of this art group for the past 20 years, and this is what we’ve been doing. And he was so proud because we managed to come from a situation where there’s a lot of poverty, violence and we together, we decided to do what was necessary for ourselves. And a lot of others, our peers, our friends that are still friends of mine. I’m very modest. ‘What are you doing right now?’ I’ll say ‘Well, I’m an artist.’ ‘Well, what kind of art, maybe graffiti?’ ‘No, no…’ And so, they’ve always been proud, my family’s been proud. That’s part of the reason my niece is studying engineering at this point because I’ve influenced her. In some subtle way, in the things that I’ve done. Not sitting her down and lecturing her. But just because she’s acknowledging what I’ve been doing. I’m sure that Angel and Jorge and Robert their family does the same…their kids.”

Jorge Abreu, “So, this was a tragedy for my family…”

Jorge Abreu- “Alright, so I’ve got a story to tell. So, just imagine seeing your older brother he’s going off to London (at age 12) and doing all these great things, and you’re home playing Nintendo 64, except it wasn’t Nintendo 64. No. We still had the Commodore. So, obviously this was ground breaking. The way I sort of came into the group was sort of an S.O.S. kind of thing. We had a summer vacation with my dad down to the D.R. We had a terrible car accident, the day before we were supposed to fly back to New York. I was unconscious for 2 weeks. Woke up. Before then I was a kind of straight A student. But, I woke up. Lost my memory. Didn’t recognize who my family was. Ended up staying in the Dominican Republic for a couple months after that rehabbing and recuperating.”

“So, this was a tragedy for my family. We lost my dad at that point, through the accident. Finally get back to New York. I couldn’t walk. One day I woke up. Had to do a whole lot of rehab. My memory was shot. So I went back to school. I believe it was the sixth grade. Really lost. Really intimidated. Really insecure. My mom had some concerns. But, I’d always been a writer as a younger child. I don’t know what happened, sort of a transformation. Now, I wanted to draw. I started drawing and doodling. Obviously my mom was a little concerned for me, so she sort of approached Tim. ‘He’s starting to draw. try to get him involved in the group.'”

Amerika, The Hotel Occidental, 2006, Acrylic and graphite on book pages on canvas, 72 x 59 inches.

“I remember the first day. I had known of Tim. When I went into the studio, I had my portfolio. Alright. And this portfolio consisted of many MLB team logos. Right? So, top notch stuff. So, Tim sort of laughed it off but he gave me a shot. I’m a true believer that this you can take from one of Tim’s great quotes from Amerika when Karl joined the utopian group that took him in right before he was going to leave America. That everyone is an artist. This skill can be developed. If you stick with it. It’s all about just doing it. So, I’m pretty sure Tim was kinda like, ‘This kid’s alright, but he’s not the best.’ But, I continued to come and kept coming and kept coming. I earned my spot. I’m definitely thankful for that. I didn’t know what I was joining. But hey, if it took this guy to London (indicating Angel), I want to be part of it. Next time I want to go, too. “

Robert Branch, “This was my one opportunity and I wasn’t going to let it go.”

Robert Branch- “So, I joined the group later on, I was 16 years old, I was at a High School in the Bronx. JFK. That doesn’t stand for ‘jail for kids.’ The only reason I was going to school was that I had these Dominican working parents. Listen, you either go to school or you get a job or dad’s going to kick your ass. My dad’s bigger than me, so…I was real lucky in that there was a dean who was real tough and he wouldn’t let me skip class.  I really wanted to be a comic book artist. Waiting to be the right age where I could bring my portfolio down to Stan Lee. Luckily, the Art teacher would make sure I attended school, he would call my dad. So, I had this kinda thing where they were really on me and they didn’t want me to fail.”

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (After Shakespeare and Mendelssohn), 2014

“I was really fortunate that the Art teacher brought me to the studio on a trip, walked past the Pinocchio on a freezing cold day, I come all the way down there to the Bronx and I’m like, ‘This is it.’ I’m coming to study here. I’m going to ask as many questions as I can. This is my one shot to figure out what it’s like to be an artist. Because, up to that point, I had not been able to take an art class until my junior year in high school. Think about that. New York City, one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and it had no opportunities to take art classes, and I was in a high school that had some resources, so you know I made the most of it. I was in the studio and I was like ‘What’s this? What do you do with this?’ I asked at least a dozen questions and Tim said, ‘Oh my god, he’s either really into art, or he’s going to come back and rob me.'”

In each work a seed is included- somewhere. In, this detail of A Midsummer Night’s Dream (After Shakespeare and Mendelssohn), as seen above, it’s a a mustard seed visible right in the center of this picture. A beautiful and fitting metaphor.

“So, it was just a wonderful experience because this was my one opportunity and I wasn’t going to let it go. Tim was deeply intuitive and he knew that I had this interest in making art. And that was the beginning of a journey that took me from…my dad…I ended up going to college and I would never have crossed that threshold  if it weren’t for the support and mentorship that Tim gave me. And you know what a college experience can mean to a person’s life. I wouldn’t have gone down that path.”

“Tim wasn’t just my friend, my first white friend, he was an authority figure. I remember dropping something off at his apartment. I had my nephew in the back. My dad drove us. I’m a real city kid- I don’t drive. So, my nephew asks, ‘Who’s that guy?’ My dad said, ‘Well, next to me, that’s the most important man in Robert’s life.’ And that’s the gift that Tim gave me with his friendship and consummate mentorship.”

Believe it or not, out of everything Tim & K.O.S. created thus far, this work, what appears to be simple logs laying on a gallery floor, speaks to me, personally, as much as anything they’ve created.

“Recognize the creative glimmer in others,” Tim said.

When you look closer…Detail of Pinocchio (after Carlo Collodi), as seen above, 1991, Wood, plastic, wax, tung oil, 43 x 6 x 6 inches.

As their work, Pinocchio shows, brilliantly in my opinion, locked inside each of us are whole untapped worlds of possibilities. Tim Rollins even saw mine.

*My thanks to Rick Savinon, Studio K.O.S., and Twice Sold Tales, Seattle, WA. 

BookMarks-

Tim Rollins and K.O.S.: A History by the aforementioned Ian Berry is the standard reference on the group’s work and history, as I mentioned published to accompany the traveling 25th Anniversary Retrospective. 220 pages, full of illustrations, stories and an interview with Tim. Highly recommended to anyone interested in exploring their amazing accomplishments and the even more amazing story of how it all came to be.

Kids of Survival: The Art and Life of Tim Rollins + K.O.S.. is an unforgettable documentary on Tim and the group, a must see for everyone- Art lover or not, in my view. It’s, also, an invaluable look at teaching Art today. Having known Tim and a few members around the time of it’s release, it gave me a “you are there” look at their incredible backstory, into them before I knew them, and even much, much younger. It’s somewhat miraculous that this story exists on film as much as it does, and it leaves me praying that there will be an updated version, given this was released in 2010.

*- Soundtrack for this Post is the X-Men Theme from the 1996 Television show.

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  1. My Remembrance of Tim Rollins is here. ↩
  2. Per the list, here. ↩

Danh Vo: Awakening From The Nightmare

“‘History,’ Stephen said, ‘is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.’”
James Joyce, Ulysses, Episode 2.

Museum Mile, late winter, 2018. Guggenheim Museum ahead on the right. Click any Photo for full size.

A typewriter sits almost alone on the floor of a gallery on the Guggenheim Museum’s 5th floor.

I stood opposite it for a few minutes over multiple visits, considering the installation of this gallery and watching other visitors pass by.

Only a few stopped to read the wall card, above it to the right. For those that didn’t, I couldn’t help wonder what they were thinking. “A typewriter? What? Why? Is this “Art?”

The wall card.

A few days later, about 50 blocks south, I saw another typewriter sitting alone on display.

Tennessee Williams’ Olivetti Typewriter seen at Tennessee Williams: No Refuge but Writing, at The Morgan Library, April, 2018.

This one was one of the great Tennessee Willams’ two most cherished possessions, along with a copy of Hart Crane’s Poems. A typewriter can be a weapon of murder, of Art, and now in both cases, an “Art object,” with completely opposite impacts. At the Guggenheim, Danh Vo’s placing of the Unabomber’s typewriter, (with it’s keyboard turned towards the side, and so, not an invitation to the viewer to use it, but to look at it as an object), is rife with irony, and very subtle power. Seeing both machines reminded me that a typewriter is a typewriter is a typewriter- it’s the person using it that makes it a tool for timeless beauty, or for catastrophic destruction. 

Therein lies the crux of Danh Vo: Take My Breath Away, which fills Frank Lloyd Wright’s iconic rotunda. Along with Art that he (or his calligrapher father) makes by hand, to a large extent Danh Vo’s Art relies on carefully selected actual historical items who’s significance fit the three primary threads that run through his Art- the history of Vietnam (dating back to it’s colonial past), American history, and his personal & family history. The Artist chooses objects for their ongoing power to speak to us through the history they witnessed or participated in. They are now mute witnesses, but like possessions in one’s home, their sum a portrait of where the Artist “lives,” so to speak. Combined, and seen over a large show, these three histories (Vietnamese, American and personal) interweave and dialogue with each other. The national and global becomes personal. For viewers, they are pieces of histories that speak to us still, like events that happened before our birth are “pieces” that have real and lasting effects on our lives many years after.

Then, I moved to the right, and saw what was installed along the intervening gallery wall in the next gallery.

On the wall behind the Unablomber’s Typewriter, left, is part of We The People, 2011-16, Copper, right. Installed (ironically, or coincidentally) so they mirror each other.

It’s a work called We The People,. Well, it’s part of the work called We The People, which totals over 300 pieces in all, each one part of a full size replica of the Statue of Liberty!

Every American “knows” the Statue of Liberty. How many would recognize one of her hands if seen by itself? The front of her left hand, minus her thumb (which is lying on the floor just behind me).

Vo’s parents idolized the U.S. as a land of political freedom and economic power, values their son couldn’t help but pick up, though later he suffered from disenchantment. Danh Vo was inspired after finally visiting the Statue in person to have it painstakingly replicated in copper. Press two pennies together between your fingers. That’s how thick the skin is on both sculptures! He and his team used the same techniques used to craft the original (though in China, instead of France), each of it’s 300 body fragment parts serving as both a reminder of the whole and an autonomous sculpture on it’s own. “In taking the Statue of Liberty as subject, Vo appropriated the definitive symbol of not just America but of the abstract notion of freedom itself. The metaphoric fracturing of the American body politic in the literal body of Liberty not only suggests the fragility of the philosophy she enshrines, it also enacts a profound violence on the fabric of the national consciousness1.”  In the catalog for the show, curator Katherine Brinson speaks of the damage to the American psyche that would be done seeing the actual Statue in pieces, referring to nerve the 1986 campaign to restore the Statue struck in the American public. Showing a replica of it is brings none of that trauma and instead allows the viewer to see it anew.

“I thought it would be interesting to make something that people felt so familiar with, in all the different ways that people project on the sculpture, and try to destabilize your own thinking of it,” the Artist said in 2013.

From the start, Danh Vo never intended to assemble the pieces he made, but rather to distribute them around the world, so it’s effect would be international, allowing no single person or entity to own more than 8 pieces of it. While about 50 parts of We The People, were previously seen locally in a 2014 Public Art Fund show in Brooklyn Bridge Park and City Hall Park, having seen only 6 pieces of it I still found it utterly remarkable- A remarkable concept. Remarkable that someone could do it and do it so well. Remarkable that he or she would choose to recreate all of it and not assemble it. Remarkable that this Artist, Danh Vo, is not now and has never been, an American2.

Two pieces from We The People,, another view of the works seen adjacent to the gallery with Kaczyinski’s Typewriter.

Danh Vo (pronounced yon voh) was born in Ba Rja, Vietnam, 4 months after the Vietnam War ended. Nonetheless, as it does with countless others in innumerable ways, the War casts it’s long shadow over Danh Vo’s life and Art, directly and indirectly. As seen in Danh Vo: Take My Breath Away, the War, which ended 43 years ago this April 30th, occupies the center, a defining event in his life though he wasn’t even alive during it. After he was born, his family was among 20,000 resettled to Phu Quoc in far southwest Vietnam, and then to Ho Chi Minh City, as part of a government “reeducation” program. In 1979, when Vo was 4, his family fled Vietnam in a homemade boat with 117 others, and were rescued at sea by a Danish freighter.

After escaping Vietnam in a homemade boat and being rescued at sea, Vo, age 4, left, and his family were taken to a refugee camp in Singapore. Having left everything behind, they were gifted the items seen in this Photo by Christian missionaries, which the Artist has turned into a “Christmas card” long after the fact. “Untitled,” 2007, Photogravure.

After a winter in a camp in Singapore, the family was eventually resettled in Denmark, where Vo was raised. Today he lives in Berlin and Mexico City. “I don’t really believe in my own story, not as a singular thing, anyway. It weaves in and out of other people’s private stories of local history and geopolitical history. I see myself, like any other person, as a container that has inherited these infinite traces of history without inheriting any direction. I try to compensate for this, I’m trying to make sense of it and give it a direction for myself,” the Artist has said3.

Two pieces of “We The People-

In 2012, he won the Hugo Boss Prize, which resulted in his first show at the Guggenheim Museum, the remarkable I.M.U.U.R.2, (I am you and you are too), which consisted of about 4,000 Artworks and items that belonged to the late Painter, Martin Wong. It says quite a bit that Danh Vo would take his first opportunity of a show in one of NYC’s “Big Five” Museums and devote it to the work of another Artist. Martin Wong is someone who’s work Danh Vo has championed, as he owns at least one his Paintings. In that sense, it’s part of the thread of his personal history that his work continues to explore. It was also  a unique opportunity to walk around in the mind and life of the late Artist while it created an effect not unlike one of Martin Wong’s Paintings.  It also served to expose visitors (including myself) to the work of a terrific Painter, who died in 1999 at age 53. (For further information, I recommend “Martin Wong: Human Instamatic,” which was produced for a 2016 Bronx Museum of Arts show.)

Another piece of We The People, one of the last pieces fabricated. The hand that holds the tablet.

The exhibition catalog for Danh Vo: Take My Breath Away, surprisingly lacks any direct information about it. Instead, it provides excellent background and analysis of the individual Art works, with the bulk of the book consisting of an extensive, complete catalog of Danh Vo’s exhibition history prior to Take My Breath Away, with numerous, fascinating installation views of each show that allows the viewer to this show to consider most of the Art on view here in different combinations and in different installations. This served to heighten my respect for his gift of installation. At almost 350 pages, it’s the first full-length monograph on Danh Vo, and now stands as the go-to reference on the Artist and his work over the first part of his career.

Untitled, 2018. Adds “Fabulous Muscles” to the show’s title, Take My Breath Away, yes, the theme from the 1980’s film “Top Gun,” was etched on the glass window in the Museum’s rotunda floor by the Artist’s father, Phung Vo. It was almost impossible to get a full shot of it. This was as close as I got over innumerable attempts.

As for Take My Breath Away, it’s rare (and wonderful, I find) to walk into a large show and almost all of it feels “different,” unlike almost anything I’ve seen before. A classic case of this was Matthew Barney’s The Cremaster Cycle, in 2003, also, at the Guggenheim, where almost every single object felt like it had been created by beings from another world. Danh Vo uses, mostly, recognizable objects, but he often deconstructs them or combines them in new and totally unexpected ways and then displays them brilliantly in ways that are Zen-like, daringly unexpected, and fresh.

In another gallery, a different “statue” is seen. “Oma Totem,” 2009, consists of items that belonged to the Artist’s grandmother. After deciding to emigrate to Germany in 1980, upon her arrival, she was gifted a washing machine, a television and a refrigerator, by an immigrant relief program, along with a crucifix, gifted by the Catholic Church. Vo has turned them into his work, “Oma Totem.” At the Guggenheim, it/they also sit virtually alone in a gallery, turned sideways. They’re a monument to being a refugee, of leaving one culture behind, while another now stands before you. As the wall card says, “…the sculpture reduces its subject’s harrowing experience of war and exile to the set of archetypes- refugee, convert, and consumer- that were assigned to Vo’s grandmother by her new society.”

Oma Totem, 2009, Philips television set, Gorenje washing machine, Bomann refrigerator, wooden crucifix, and personal casino entrance card, with “Uro,” 2009, Keys on a chain, behind on the wall.

Partially hidden on the wall behind them, is Uro, 2009, which consists of keys left over from a past relationship. The chain that connects them is all that remains of the connection they once shared. 

“If you were to climb the Himalayas tomorrow,” 2006, Rolex watch, Dupont lighter, American military class ring. Three items his father, Phung Vo, cherished as signs of his “success” in his new country. The Artist hd to negotiate with him to get him to give these to him for this work. Displayed in a lit vitrine behind glass, like they would be in a fine jewelry store, the work’s title was taken from a Rolex ad campagin.

 

Beyond the image of America his parents had while he was growing up, it’s interesting how much American history is in his work. As with the typewriter seen earlier, not all of it pertains to Vietnam.

“She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene,” 2009, Brass bugle, felt cap with velvet, bayonet sheath, field radio with wood and leather case, sashes, wooden drumsticks, fife, leather sword belt with gold and silver details, and 13-star American flag. The Artist purchased this at auction, exactly as it appears now, adding only the title. It was created to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. It would seem to also stand for America in it’s ascendency to the country Vo’s parents idolized.

Taking his place in the now long line of Artists working with found objects, (primarily, though Danh Vo also makes Art by hand), with Marcel Duchamp appearing to be particularly inspiring for him, he brings new dimensions to this now 100 year old (at least) genre through the use of historic and personal items, his choice to disassemble them or leave them, and in the breathtaking way, in my opinion, that he installs them. .

A chandelier from the Grand Ballroom of the Hotel Majestic, Paris, where the Paris Peace Accords were signed, ending the Vietnam War.

Photo from the Exhibition Catalog, P.XXXIII

Even when these items are literally in pieces their parts are shown in surprising ways.

Untitled, 2009, Carry-on bag, fruitwood St. Joseph (Germany, late 16th century). Danh Vo acquired a wooden sculpture that was too big to transport by plane. So? He cut it into sections and put each into a bag so he could carry them on. At the Guggenheim, they were distributed, in their bags, with at least one also on a handcart.

At other times, the pieces are recombined in extraordinary new ways, as in these sculptures.

(Unpronounceable title uttered by the demon in The Exorcist), Poplar Virgin of the Annunciation, 2nd century, with Greek marble sarcophagus, ca 1350, left. Throughout the show, Vo displays sculpture that has either been broken up into parts (by the Artist or found that way), and displayed them either alone or with parts of a totally different sculpture, as seen here on the left, the lower half of which shows a lion devouring an antelope, “juxtaposing the sacred and the profane4,” though it’s also visually striking and unprecedented to my eyes, the effect only enhanced by it’s installation.

Untitled, 2018, Marble Eros (Western Europe, 2nd century CE) and sandstone eagle (Germany late 19th century). Notice the wooden shims left unpainted underneath it. Museum staff told me that the Artist stopped them from Painting them, something they would always do.

At the Guggenheim, the staff regaled me with stories of how the Artist laid out this show with almost Zen-like techniques. He left shims unpainted, chandeliers uncrated, and left other pieces where the handlers left them. I was told it was “unprecedented.”

16:32, 26.05  Late 19th-century chandelier. “Leave it just like that,” the Artist must have said to the Art handlers. Because they did. Open shipping crate on unpainted blocks and all.

I found the installation completely captivating, a model of taste and restraint, a breath of fresh air. Looking through the catalog (where those responsible for the display of the work in prior shows are not credited), I see a similar brilliance in the design of each show. Whatever one thinks of Danh Vo’s Art, he has a mastery of display that borders on showmanship.

Lady Gaga, live at Radio City Music Hall, January 20, 2010, her first major NYC Concert, in a show designed by the brilliant stage designer, Es Devlin. The stage was set inside a “frame” that goes all the way around it, with a screen in front of it that was never removed. Many of the designs for songs reminded me of Art works. It became obvious to me that either Ms. Devlin, Lady G, or both, were channeling Art history. This one, with the singer’s hair fastened to rings threaded through the pole the dancers hold on each side of her, and then moved around the stage, reminded me of Joseph Cornell.

I said “showmanship,” meant with respect, because the only other instance I can think of where I saw such amazing, beautiful display was at Lady Gaga’s first “big” NYC concert at Radio City Music Hall in January, 2010, in a show designed by the brilliant stage designer, Es Devlin5. At the time, I was completely floored by what I saw, though I immediately knew that whoever was responsible for it had gone to school on Art history. There were elements of Dali, Magritte, and especially Joseph Cornell throughout. Danh Vo, is adding display to the accomplishments of Duchamp, and Rauschenberg, making it an inherent and critical part of his Art.

Lot 20, Two Kennedy Administration Cabinet Room Chairs, 2013, right, and 08:43, 26.05, 2009, Late-19th century chandelier, left, behind Painted screen. At the Guggenheim, Danh Vo turned the museum’s “bays” into stage sets of a sort, some, like this one, behind transparent screens. Vo acquired 2 chairs from John F. Kennedy’s Administration that he proceeded to dismantle. The parts, and the fabric, are shown on their own elsewhere in the show. Here the frame of one chair is juxtaposed with parts of a chandelier, from the room the Vietnam War Paris Peace Accords were signed in a beautiful, haunting display. Like a memory, it’s both there and not there. In front of both is a thin curtain on which a beast, possibly a lion, is shown with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. A reference to Kennedy being short down in 1963?

Frank Lloyd Wright designed the Guggenheim Museum to be seen from the top, down. He intended for viewers to take the elevator to the top and walk down the gently sloping ramp, something I always do. Yet, I have never seen a show laid out this way. Instead, each one insists visitors walk up the 6 ramps. Well, it is a small elevator. So, this gallery, above and below, was among the first I saw in this show, and created a powerful effect.

Detail showing part of the JFK Administration chair and the transparent screen in front of it.

Danh Vo is an Artist who’s also something of a cultural anthropologist, someone who’s attuned to the deeper significance of historic objects as part of history and histories. Like Ai Weiwei, he’s not bashful about deconstructing them to mine even deeper significance. It helps that he’s also blessed with a terrific sense of reconfiguring these objects and pieces of objects in stunning and fascinating installations that he varies greatly from show to show, creating unique experiences each time. Seen in pieces, they are often completely new experiences which cause the viewer to see them in new ways. From looking at the catalog’s compilation of these past shows, Danh Vo: Take My Breath Away is both a high watermark in the young Artist’s career and a “beacon” of a calling card that he is an Artist to watch. The Guggenheim took a chance with this show, and then took another chance in giving Danh Vo so much leeway in it’s installation. They, and he, have succeeded in creating a show that is rich in layers of meaning and relevance for the moment. The Guggenheim’s commitment to Danh Vo’s Art, going back to I.M.U.U.R.2, is something I believe NYC’s Big Museums should be doing, and doing more of.

At a time when the Vietnam War seems prime to slip from the consciousness of America and the world as it’s survivors age, pass on, and the world moves on, Danh Vo serves to show that the legacy of Vietnam is multi-generational in it’s effect and impact on the world. Something that is not news to anyone who was involved in it.

It also shows us that even Art can come from something so horrific. Art that has much to tell us now, lest we find our selves in another “nightmare of history” one day.

An unexpected Postscript-

It turns out that Danh Vo and I have someone in common. Or, we had.

Danh Vo speaks about his experiences with Tim Rollins at the Tim Rollins Memorial Celebration, SVA Theater, NYC, April 30, 2018, which also happened to be the 43rd Anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War, on April 30, 1975.

On April 30th, I went to the Memorial Celebration at the SVA Theater on West 23rd Street for my late friend, the Artist and educator Tim Rollins. Much to my surprise, Danh Vo was there, and was one of a number of well-known Artists, and friends, who spoke about Tim Rollins during the service! He also generously donated the flowers. Sitting way in the back, in the jam packed auditorium, I was taken by a group of them to the left of the stage.

One group of flowers donated by Danh Vo at the Tim Rollins Memorial Celebration, April 30th, 2018, at the SVA Theater.

The way they were half in the light, and half in shadow perfectly summed up the experience of the evening for me. Was Danh Vo responsible for the lighting? I tend to doubt it because the lights were for what was going on onstage. Such is my respect for his installations, he had me wondering.

*- Soundtrack for this Post is “I Want To Come Home For Christmas,” by Marvin Gaye and Forest Hairston in 1972.

My thanks to Kristina Parker and May of the Guggenheim Museum.

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  1. Exhibition Catalog, P. XLII ↩
  2. As far as I know. He has lived here, though he does not now. ↩
  3. Exhibition Catalog, P. XXIII ↩
  4. Ibid P.39 ↩
  5. Seen in concert 6 months later, at MSG, all of the avant garde stage design had been replaced by a more traditional, over the top, arena extravaganza documented in an HBO Special. Unfortunately, as far as I know, the Es Devlin production, one of the most amazing concert productions I have ever seen, has not appeared on video. ↩

R.I.P. Tim Rollins- A Remembrance

Tim was a miraculous being.

“I’m Blessed,” he always replied when I asked him how he was. Indeed, he was. Certainly, now, too.

Rarely in Art History, if ever, has there been an Artist who gave of himself so completely to his students that he put their names on the work they created and considered them collaborators. Right now, at The Met, you will look long and very hard at the work of Ghirlandaio for signs of the hand of his young apprentice, Michelangelo, in their blockbuster show of the latter’s work. Elsewhere, it’s the same with Verrocchio’s work for signs of the young Leonardo da Vinci. Would they put their apprentices names on their work? Never!1 Ditto for the apprentices and assistants of almost ANY Artist in Art history, right up through today.

Not Tim.

Each and every work he created is signed “Tim Rollins & K.O.S.,” for “Kids of Survival,” as his group of young students named themselves early on. While most Artists who collaborate do it for a short period, he did it for 35 years- his entire career! A career that has ended, now, way too soon with his passing on December 26th.

Beginning in 1981 at I.S. 52, an NYC junior high school, he took students from beginners and taught them about Art, Literature, discipline, technique, about what it took to succeed at anything, including Art, and, most importantly, about life. But, these were no ordinary students. These were “at risk” youths in the South Bronx during one of the worst times in recent New York City’s history! Tim’s was no after school babysitting Art class. His was the real deal. “Today we’re going to make Art, but we are also going to make history,” he famously told them.

And? They did.

He took classics of Literature, from Shakespeare through Malcolm X, and had the students read and study them. They then distilled the book down to an essence, which they each created images based on their own interpretation & experiences. These were then collaged over actual pages of the book.

Talk about making history? This one’s in MoMA’s Permanent Collection–

“Tim Rollins, K.O.S. (Kids of Survival) with Angel Abreu, Jose Burges, Robert Delgado, George Garces, Richard Lulo, Nelson Montes, José Parissi, Carlos Rivera, Annette Rosado, Nelson Ricardo Savinon ‘Amerika VIII,’ 1986-87, Watercolor, charcoal, synthetic polymer paint, and pencil on bookpages on linen, 70 x 14”. That’s how the wall card read when I saw this work at MoMA’s “What is Painting? Contemporary Art from the Collection” in 2007. This work is based on Kafka’s “Amerika,” a key work for the group. MoMA Photo.

Imagine how it made the students feel to see this? Regardless of the commercial success they subsequently achieved, the notoriety and all the trappings of “Art fame,” that they got grief about, you can’t put a price on that kind of support for young people. In my opinion, what really matters is that quite a few of them have gone on to college and to Art careers themselves. Tim left his teaching post in 1987 and established a Studio with the group in Chelsea as the area was becoming a center of Art in NYC.

I met Tim some years later and had the privilege of speaking to him at length numerous times. He was very encouraging. “Recognize the creative glimmer in others,” was one of his mantras that he lived. He saw and encouraged mine. We talked about a huge range of things, from the Old Masters to current shows and developments. Contrary to many Artists who are focused on their current project at hand, Tim was aware of seemingly everything going on in the Art world. Was The Met’s determination that  Velazquez’ “Portrait of a Man,” was really a Self- Portrait correct? We both felt it most likely was. What about the small Michelangelo “Young Archer” that’s now in the center spotlight at their Michelangelo show- What it REALLY his? When it first arrived at The Met, where it has been virtually ignored for most of the past decade by most visitors, sure enough, Tim had seen it and we discussed it at length. He introduced me to the work of Joseph Beuys. I was endlessly impressed by his awareness, the breadth of his taste and the depth of his knowledge. He was a true student of Art History as well as of Literary History. The last two times I saw Tim, we spoke about the Rauschenberg show at MoMA. He had gone to see it on May 28th, and I ran into him on his way back. I could tell his mind was full of thoughts, and reactions to it, and he asked if I was going. Busy finsihing up other pieces, I went for the first of 18 times 3 days later. Then, he said quietly- “I knew him.” Instantly, I asked him if I could get a quote from him about Rauschenberg for my piece that I knew I was going to write, and he agreed.

I ran into Tim, for the last time, on July 31st, and again, we spoke about Rauschenberg, this time comparing notes on the show I was devouring room by room. I showed him my new at the time Raymond Pettibon Posts, and we spoke about him and his work. I told him I had blocked out the entire summer to research and write what turned out to be 3 Posts on the MoMA Rauschenberg show and the 4 satellite shows going on around town.

I have no excuse, but I never got around to writing him for a quote for those pieces. I was scrambling doing so much reading and researching I plum didn’t get around to it. But, I did hope he’d read them and we’d have a talk about them and how I did. Now, I dedicate all three pieces to his memory.

Tim on his Birthday in 2011, with three of his “Kids,” including Artist & Photographer Rick Savignon, to Tim’s left.

Over the years, I also became friendly with Rick Savinon, a wonderfully talented Artist & Photographer, who is one of the first Kids of Survival. After having known them both for a few years, I discovered the excellent Documentary, “Kids of Survival: The Art and Life of Tim Rollins & K.O.S.” WOW! Tim as a young(er) man! Rick as a VERY young man! It was like watching private family films, except this “extended family” was living a “quasi-public” life as their work was being shown in major gallery and museum shows, AND being filmed for a documentary! Award winning, it’s still the best introduction to Tim and the “Kids,” though I prayed for years it would be updated. I still hope it will be. I was also present after Tim received the draft of the retrospective monograph, “Tim Rollins and K.O.S.: A History,” which he was proofreading, and  which was published by MIT Press in 2009. It was the size of a MASSIVE phone book. I remember thinking that I had no idea how prolific he had been in his career (which would have another 8 years to go). A traveling Retrospective followed it’s release, which appeared at the Institute of Contemporary Art at the University of Pennsylvania and at the Frye Art Museum, Seattle. Ostensibly marking 25 years of work, there seemed to be so much vitality around Tim, and so much more still to do.

Tim Rollins had an extraordinarily kind and giving spirit- In many ways that I experienced first hand. When I ran into him, I could never tell if he’d had a bad day- he was extremely even tempered, and he always lived in the moment.

The Chelsea District of Manhattan is now known for it’s Art galleries and Artist’s studios. Tim Rollins is one of the people who made it what it is today. More importantly, his spirit, congeniality, supportiveness, creativity, and his firm guiding hand made many friends, and most of all, he taught at risk “kids” that Art could be a way to learn about life, and in the case of a number of them, a way to college, to a career, and a better life. I’m not surprised one bit that any number of the K.O.S. become longtime, even lifelong friends of Tim’s.

Also an Art Practice faculty member at the School of Visual Arts, Tim left a legacy that I hope countless teachers study, learn from and incorporate. And? I hope that NYC names a School of the Arts after Tim Rollins.

I prefer to think of Tim’s passing this way. Here, he (in the sharp Blue jacket) walks away, leaving me pondering our Rauschenberg conversation on May 28th, after he had seen the MoMA Rauschenberg Retrospective. I don’t know why I took this Photo. Something just told me to. I prefer to think he’s gone to his next meeting and we’ll talk again.

Tim taught me a lot, and in doing so gave me a tiny bit of the feeling of what “his kids” got from him. I’ll never forget his kindness and his supportive & encouraging words.

“Ask me how I’m doing
I’m blessed, yes
Living every moment, no regrets
Smile up on my face, I’m like, oh yes
I’m blessed, yes
I’m blessed, yes”*

“I’m Blessed,” too, Tim. I was Blessed to know you.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “I’m Blessed,” by Charlie Wilson.

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Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited. To send comments, thoughts, feedback or propositions click here. Click the white box on the upper right for the archives or to search them. Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.

  1. In fact, at the time, the apprentices paid for the priviledge of learning form the master, though they were often put to work helping him earn money. ↩