Hiroki Tsukuda: Drawings From Another World

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Drawing is the beating heart of Hiroki Tsukuda’s Art. Hear, hear.

Voice from the O 05 2020. All works are Charcoal, acrylic ink, and pencil on paper, wood panel, with silkscreen printed acrylic frame, and dated 2020, unless otherwise stated. This work is 24.09 x 30.39 1.54 inches.

Even better, what he does with his Drawing is what makes his Art NoteWorthy, in my view. As I wrote recently, I worry about the decline of Drawing in today’s world. I mentioned the paucity of Drawing shows by contemporary Artists as being one symptom. So, I was pleasantly surprised when I walked into Petzel on West 19th Street on March 6th to see They Live, Hiroki Tsukuda’s second NYC show. Part inspired by the natural world, part seemingly by Architectural Drawing, part by visionary sci-fi, and the rest by his wide-ranging imagination, his work doesn’t stay in one place. Instead, each piece is a mixture of many parts that would seem to be at odds with each other until they came together in the Artist’s mind, and then under his hand.

Very few people got to see They Live, which was open publicly for nine days. I was able to see it twice.

So impressed was I by what I saw on March 6th, I returned on March 7th. Unfortunately, due to the coronavirus pandemic, which has now left over 23,000 people dead in the City alone!, the show, which opened on March 5th, was forced to close on March 14th. I have learned it will not reopen, a fate shared by innumerable shows around the world, a minor thing, in the scope of the incalculable loss suffered by so many.

Wasteland 01, 2020, Charcoal, acrylic ink, and pencil on paper, wood panel, with silkscreen printed acrylic frame.

They Live is nicely installed in the foyer + 3 room Petzel space, which is a somewhat unforgiving for some work, and smaller pieces have a tendency to be swallowed up by it. Mr. Tuskuda has come up with a wonderfully creative workaround for his smaller pieces, installing them in settings with natural objects including tree branches, small plants, and rocks, creating environments for the work that, often, echo the composition, with the work mounted on richly patterned wood walls and shelves that created an effect not unlike that of small “shrines.”

From Wasteland 02, 2020, The text elements along the bottom harken back to Architectural Drawings.

As you look, you may find yourself repeatedly reaching for the checklist. Next to each work therein, the description reads “Charcoal, acrylic ink, and pencil on paper, wood panel, with silkscreen printed acrylic frame,” and almost all are dated 2020, Yes, these are Drawings! They look like collaged elements printed out on sheets and mounted together. But, no. “I have drawings and different calligraphic elements that I’ve created over time, as well as pictures that I’ve personally taken and saved as well. I also collect images form the web. From there, I collage together different elements on the computer where 80% of the work is done. Then, it’s just drawing the work out,” the Artist said in 2016. Mounted in acrylic frames, a number of them have layers to them of varying transparency, adding to the pleasure of repeated looking.

Wasteland 02, 2020, left, Voice from the O 05, right.

The terrain his works encompasses is vast, and so he works in a few different styles. On first look, his pieces are often jarring, rendered in monochrome so the emphasis is on line and shape rather than color. Some, particularly his larger works, speak to the chaos of modern life, while others, mainly the smaller ones, seemed to me to have a foot in the natural world, echoed by their installation.

Neon Demon, 2019, Charcoal, ink and pencil on paper, wood panel, with acrylic frame 94.49 x 141.73 inches. The shape of the pieces adds yet a “false” perspective that marvelously makes it feel that this flat piece is falling away from you, or that you’re looking into a vast space, though perspective inside Mr. Tsukuda’s work is often “false.”

One of the most remarkable things about Hiroki Tsukuda’s work is his sense of composition. Each work, no matter how diverse its elements, somehow manages to come together in a unified whole. In the more abstract works…well, that’s one of the tricks to making “good” abstract Art, right? A composition that manages to hold together, something evident in the work of all of the masters of abstraction from Kandinsky through Pollock and Rothko to Jack Whitten and Mark Bradford. Mr. Tsukuda adds elements seen in some of the surrealists, like Miro and Dali, In the ostensibly more representational works, “objects” are treated as geometric elements in the whole composition, which frees the Artist to not be bound by their traditional meaning. Instead, he is now free to explore with them, and the viewer’s preconceptions.

When I reached the third and final gallery, things took a decided turn. I suddenly came face to face with a group of 4 pieces that screamed Hajime Sorayama’s “Gynoids,” works featuring beings that are part female, part robot, to me. Though Mr. Tsukuda’s are more “female,” and less robot, than Mr. Sorayama’s.

The legendary Hajime Sorayama stands in front of one of his newer works, seen at the opening to his last NYC show in October, 2016.

Sure enough, in researching him later, Mr. Tsukuda lists the famous Japanese Artist among his many influences. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Sorayama in 2016, and since I owned one of his works at the time, we quickly bonded, though the language barrier was never in danger. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Mr. Sorayama has found an Artist who fully understands his “Gynoids” and has the facility and vision to take them in his own direction. Quite daring considering Mr. Sorayama is alive and working away. While they were a bit jarring with the “natural” feel of the first two rooms, (compared with the steel frame “cells” here) the Artist made it work, as characteristic traits of Mr. Tsukuda’s own style became familiar as one look further at them.

Vol. 31, left, with Vol. 13, Wasteland 03, right of center, and Your God, 2019, far right.

The show’s title, They Live, reverberates as you move through it. Among the installations, only the few plants included are actually “living.” Does ink on paper “live?” Not in the biological sense, but in the sense that Art continues to speak to people, it “lives” on in other ways. They Live, also, has a sci-fi ring to it (think of films like Them!), and in that sense serve to make us feel that Mr. Tsukuda’s creations, perhaps particularly the “enhanced females” seen in the third gallery, live. These are probably his “ultimate” manifestation of this combination of the natural and the technological fantastic.

Vol. 44, right, Vol. 91, Abyssal Grid, left of center, Your God, 2019, far left.

The “designs of nature” beautifully enhance, reinforce and dialogue with Mr. Tsukuda’s Drawing style, which borrows techniques seen in Abstract Expressionism and the rigor of Architectural Drawing, like those of Zaha Hadid, as displayed in her marvelous Guggenheim Retrospective in 2006, combining them in fresh and exciting ways.

Wasteland 02

The natural settings also reinforce Mr. Tsukuda’s upbringing “surrounded by abundant nature,” he told freundevonfreunden in 2013. This serves to ground his work, which quickly and effortlessly takes flight to…somewhere else. “You only start to appreciate its beauty once you’ve grown up and experienced city life. Always had a strong desire to travel to another realm outside of this world, even from a young age. It’s not that I hated reality and wanted to escape; it was more like I wanted to take a peek into the parallel universe that exists on the other side of this world. So hen seeing a landscape or buildings, I always imagined that there was a spacecraft launching pad in the mounters or was convinced that the building was actually a secret research lab.” I came across those words after getting that exact feeling seeing work like this-

In 2018, MoMA purchased Hiroki Tsukuda’s work Great Distortion, 2016, Ink and charcoal on paper, believe it, or not. 86 5/8 x 159 7/16 inches. MoMA Photo (not in this show).

While I may be new to Mr. Tsukuda’s work, his star has been rising on a number of fronts. In fact, Uniqlo is currently selling a T Shirt that features one of his Drawings, and in researching this piece, I discovered that in 2018, MoMA acquired one of his larger works, Great Distortion, 2016. While I have been harsh on MoMA’s acquisitions, here is an instance of the kind of vision that made MoMA the leader in Modern Art, a title NYC’s “big 4 museums” have relinquished to L.A., Chicago and elsewhere when it comes to collecting Contemporary Art1. It hasn’t been on view yet when I’ve been there (well, they’ve been closed for 10 months since 2018), so I look forward to seeing it in person.

 

Abyssal Grid

There are elements of the fantastic seen in Surrealism. the joy of patterns found in industrial design, like we’re lost in some fantastic industrial junk yard of the future. Ominous. Possibly threatening, without a clue as to how to get out, or how to “get” anywhere. Or even where we are. Here and there something looks vaguely familiar, but it’s promptly lost in a wash of other elements. I was left with only questions like these, and few answers. I find his Art fresh, very daring, and yes, spectacular. His work feels completely free and entirely unpredictable. They don’t look like the Drawings of many Artists I’ve seen.

Hiroki Tsukuda continues to expand the boundaries of what Drawing is and where it can take us. “Science fiction” is about giving us a vision of the future. Seeing They Live did that, too.

*-Soundtrack for this post is “Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Pt. 1” by The Flaming Lips from the 2002 album of the same name.

 

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Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
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Click the white box on the upper right for the archives or to search them.
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  1. The fifth of Manhattan’s Big 5, the New Museum, has no permanent collection.

Draw!

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

 For The Record #4.

Is Drawing becoming a lost skill in today’s world?

Michelangelo, Archers Shooting at a Herm, Red chalk, seen at The Met’s unforgettable Michelangelo: Divine Draftsman & Designer in 2018.

That would be tragic. For any number of reasons, perhaps the foremost being that I believe Drawing is an essential life skill. The cellphone camera seems to be replacing Drawing for many people, and I think this is shortsighted1. Drawing is a fundamental way that humans have communicated and expressed themselves for many tens of thousands of years. No doubt, even before the advent of writing and language. Its value to Art and Artists over the centuries can be seen in any museum. Beyond Art, Drawing is an important way of putting ideas down, or mapping out your thoughts. It’s an important means of thinking visually that nothing known to me can replace.

An Artist who Draws almost exclusively, Chris Ware’s fold-out cover for the hardcover edition of Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth took Drawing in entirely new directions in 2000. It’s part map, part story, part Art, part mind map, yet somehow, it all holds together. And, it also gives one an idea of what the amazing 380 pages inside are like. Is it any wonder the book was seven years in the making?

When I first tried to paint, I immediately realized I needed to work on my drawing, first, to paint the way I wanted to paint (yes, small letters. No Art with a capital A in this case). I proceeded to draw, daily, for the next decade. I still haven’t gone back to painting. Drawing became an obsession for me, both doing it and studying it’s amazing history in Art.

Ingres, Portrait of a Lady, 1815-17, seen at The Met in 2012 in very low light to protect it. I spent the better part of a decade trying to figure out HOW Mr. Ingres created incredible Drawings like this. In Secret Knowledge, David Hockney surmises that he may have used a camera lucida to draw the head from life, then sketched the rest fairly quickly. Regardless, it borders on the miraculous.

As time has gone on, particularly over the past decade, though there have been some monumental museum Drawing shows of work by the masters, I’ve seen fewer and fewer Drawing shows by Contemporary Artists.

An exception. Raymond Pettibon, No Title (It sounds powerful…), Ink, acrylic and collage on paper, 60.5 x 101 inches, seen at Zwiner in 2017.

Along with really looking, and learning to see, Drawing is invaluable in developing an eye. Try drawing anything. It forces you to really see and to really be clear about what you see so you can render it. I spent a few years drawing Sculpture in The American Wing Courtyard in The Met three times a week. One of the great things about that space is that it is faced and covered with glass. The light constantly changes, and if you sat there long enough, which I did countless times, day changed to evening and then to night. This is a real challenge to anyone trying to render an object with a pencil, like it would be to someone Painting outdoors. It forced me to learn how to look hard and fast, before the light I was trying to render changed. Of course, I could have drawn from a Photograph, but I found I learned much more trying to draw a Sculpture on the spot. 

Vincent Van Gogh, Harvest in Provence, 1888, Reed pen, quill and ink over graphite on wove paper, from Vincent Van Gogh: The Drawings. Vincent was one of the first Artists to fascinate me in my early teens when I discovered him in an early visit to MoMA. As time has gone on, I’m still amazed at how he saw the world, which you can really see in his incredible Drawings. Here, he almost Draws in shorthand. Look at the sky, and the way he renders most of the scene using lines and dots. There’s so much to look at, the figures almost disappear. The only thing he’s darkened is the cart in the center. Once you compare this with  the Painting he did of this scene, it might be apparent why.

When I’m first exploring an Artist, I want to see their Drawings. If they haven’t created any, I look into why not. Maybe they can’t Draw? Many Painters, like Richard Estes and Rod Penner, Draw their work directly on their canvases, creating an “Underdrawing,” as have countless Painters for centuries before them, and so don’t make standalone Drawings. If they have created Drawings, I want to see what role Drawing plays in their work, and I want to see what their Drawings reveal about it. Yes, there are Artists I admire who either don’t make separate Drawings or don’t Draw per se, but I’ve come to realize that they are in the minority. 

 

Frank Lloyd Wright’s Drawing of the Winslow House, 1893-7. The actual house may still be seen in Chicago. Drawing seen at MoMA in 2017.

Any number of Architects have made Drawings, often to present their ideas to their clients- Presentation Drawings, like the one above by Frank Lloyd Wright, that are now considered Art. Beyond their beauty, these Drawings serve any number of other purposes from showing an idea to a client, to helping engineers, landscape designers and urban planners understand the project.

Nasreen Mohamedi used Drawing both as the primary discipline of her Art and also for other reasons in other ways, as in her diary, two pages of which appear above, seen at The Met Breuer’s landmark, opening, show of her work in 2016. She, apparently, went back and colored out most of the lined pages but left words or sentences here and there legible. Did she do this for Artistic reasons? As a reminder of things left undone or to be remembered? Or…?

David Byrne, Tree Drawing, from Arboretum.

In 2003, the Musican & Artist David Byrne published his book of “tree drawings,” Arboretum. The fascinating Drawings inside show other ways in which Drawing can be used. He discussed them here. Three are shown here.

David Byrne, Drawing, from Arboretum.

Some border on graphs.

David Byrne, Music Tree, 2002, from Arboretum.

Others on maps.

Three iPad Drawings by David Hockney, seen at The Met’s David Hockney show in 2018.

On the positive side, Technology has brought new ways one can Draw into the world. David Hockney is among the many using the iPad to create museum level Art.

Nasreen Mohamedi Untitled, circa 1970, seen at The Met Breuer in 2016.

In some ways, it’s akin to her Drawings, her primary medium after her early work, and in other ways, it’s not. When I first saw “Untitled,” circa 1970, above, I thought it was a piece of fabric. I stood in front of it for almost 30 minutes in utter disbelief that it was a Drawing, and one of THE most amazing I’ve ever seen. I subsequently christened the late Ms. Mohamedi, “The Goddess of Line.” It was said that “She was one person who was always in tune- life, work, the way she dressed, how she talked, behaved- each always totally in tune with the other, one straight line2.” During her lifetime, she was largely unknown, and so she gave many of her pieces away as gifts. Eventually, a crippling illness robbed her of her ability to Draw, before tragically taking her life at just 53 in 1990.

Ms. Mohamedi taught, and those she came in contact with have continued to spread her name and influence. Thankfully, currently and in the recent past, there are other Artists, like Mr. Hockney, William Kentridge, Raymond Pettibon, Marcel Dzama, Kara Walker, Jean-Michel Basquiat, R. Crumb and Chris Ware for whom Drawing is central to their Art. My hope is they, and all the other Artists who Draw, inspire the next generations of Artists to continue Drawing, if schools continue to stop teaching it. The Met, MoMA and many other museums have Drawing workshops, but beyond Art, institutions in other realms, and businesses, benefit from Drawings to no end. They have a stake in this, too. It’s going to take many people and organizations from all walks of life who realize what’s at stake take action to reverse the direction things seem to be taking. Human creativity has always found ways to express itself. I’m hoping that continues to find popular expression in Drawings. The time is NOW! to make sure. Before it’s too late.

Today, there are infinitely more Drawing tools, and ways to Draw, available than ever before. So, pick up a pencil, or use whatever device you’re reading this on, express yourself, nurture your creativity and ideas, and Draw!

For The Record is a series of pieces that are about key/core subjects & beliefs that underly everything else I’ve written here. The first three parts are here. 

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

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  1. David Hockney, the legendary Artist who has Painted, Drawn and Photographed, has spoken at length about the shortcomings of the camera. Over the past three years, I’ve come to agree with him.
  2. Here

“Best” Doesn’t Exist In The Arts

For The Record #3. 

Third- I don’t believe in qualitatively comparing Artist or works of Art. There is no such thing as “Best” in the Arts. Qualitatively comparing Artists or Artworks is pointless. Whatever criteria you use are subjective. In my view, awards and “halls of fame” are pointless. Turn those halls of fames into museums.

Stanley Kubrick, seen here in his 1946 Photograph with “showgirl” Rosemary Williams, at the entrance to the Museum of New York show of his Look Magazine Photographs  never won a “best director” oscar. Neither did Charlie Chaplin. Neither did Alfred Hitchcock. Neither did Orson Welles. Neither has every black, female, Hispanic, or Asian director, ever.

For every award “winner” there are countless others who can also be said to “deserve” to have “won.” I wish all awards would cease. For every “hall of fame” member there are countless others who could have been included. I think they should all be closed and museums opened in their place. All of this being said, I have no problem with those who win awards enjoying them. As contradictory as that may sound, acknowledgement of Artists in any form in this country, particularly, is very hard to come by. It’s not their “fault” they “won.” History shows that all of these awards have missed many others as deserving, and also shows that some of the most important Artists in their fields never won any award- until someone decided late in their career that they better try and “fix” their oversight. The hype and marketing surrounding awards and award winners is meant to make you feel theirs is the final word on the subject. There is NO such thing!

Experience the work for yourself and make up your own mind. See if it speaks to you, or not. At the end of the day, or of the year? That’s ALL that matters.

So, I’ve preferred to use the term “NoteWorthy,” to refer to Art, shows, and books that have lingered with me, have had the most impact, and which I think others should know about so they can make up their own minds about. I also use the term “favorite,” which does not mean “best,” to connote something I personally like, whether or not I think it’s “important” or “NoteWorthy.” We all have what I call “guilty pleasures”- like a song we know is going to be forgotten as soon as we can get it out of our heads!

Screencap from The Metropolitan Opera’s broadcast of Alban Berg’s Lulu, with production design by the great William Kentridge, in 2015.

If something doesn’t speak to you…? Well, if something doesn’t speak to me I try and keep an open mind about it and revisit it one day, sometimes years later. I try and not say “I don’t like it.” I just let it lie with me, continue to think about it, and revisit it later, even years later. At that time, it still may not speak to me, but sometimes it does. In some of those cases the work and the Artist became very important to me. Like Alban Berg and his opera Lulu, which on first hearing may sound completely chaotic. As I listened to more and more Music in more and more styles, my ears opened up. Now, I only hear Mozartean beauty in Lulu, which has become my favorite opera. At other times, I’ve wrestled with Art or Music I just didn’t get. This involved digging deeper into the background of the work and looking or listening harder. Yes, harder. So, I try and always keep an open mind. That being said, there are some things I admit I will NEVER like or appreciate. Hitler was a painter (small ”p” intended), remember? It’s too bad he wasn’t able to get into school, become an Artist, and make a good contribution to the world, instead.

Instead of awards, perhaps give an Artist a grant, a commission, or buy their work, if you want to help them.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “Award Tour” by A Tribe Called Quest from their immortal Midnight Marauders, 1993.

For The Record is a series of pieces that are about key/core subjects & beliefs that underly everything else I’ve written here. The first two parts are here

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.

 

Vida Americana: Revolutionizing American Art

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

The museums and galleries will reopen.

The revolution comes north. The first major work by one of Los Tres Grandes in the USA. José Clemente Orozco, Reproduction of Prometheus, 1930. Jackson Pollock made a trip to see it, then called it “The best painting in the contemporary world.” He  kept a picture of it on the wall in his studio throughout the 1930s1.

Exactly when that will be in NYC is unknown at moment. Near the end of the voluminous list of unfortunate and tragic occurrences resulting from the pandemic in NYC is that the Year in Art shows, 2020, had gotten off to an exceptionally strong start here. A number of very good and important shows were forced to close early in their run, meaning relatively few got to see them. Unfortunate, not tragic. I’ve already looked at the most NoteWorthy, as I’m fond of saying, gallery show I’ve seen thus far this year- Noah Davis at David Zwirner. The most NoteWorthy museum show I’ve seen in 2020 is the landmark Vida Americana: Mexican Muralists Remake American Art, 1925-1945 at the Whitney Museum, which opened on February 17th and “temporarily closed” on March 12th.

The entrance of Vida Americana (“American Life”), seen on March 11, 2020, the day before it “temporarily closed” for the coronavirus pandemic.

With over 200 works by 60 Artists, Vida Americana makes the heretofore overlooked case for the influence the Mexican Muralists, particularly Los Tres Grandes (“The Big Three”), Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siqueiros, had on American Artists & American Art between 1925 to 1945. It does so convincingly in side by side installations and bringing to the fore little studied connections a number of major American Artists had with their Mexican counterparts. 10 years in its planning and 4 in creation, Vida Americana succeeds in making its case in resounding fashion with wonders seen now and likely never again according to the show’s curator, the inimitable Barbara Haskell, who’s been at the Whitney since 1975 2.

Times are hard everywhere as I write this as April, 2020 comes to a close. In researching Vida Americana, I was reminded that a little over 100 years ago, in 1918, the “deadliest pandemic in history” (according to John M. Barry’s book The Great Influenza) left 100 million people dead worldwide. A sobering thought at this moment.

Things can always be worse.

300,000 Mexicans died. Luckily, the three Artists at the center of Vida Americana, Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siqueiros, were not among them.

The first work in the show. Diego Rivera, Dance in Tehuantepec, 1928, Oil on canvas. Rightly famous for his incredible Murals, he was also a terrific easel Painter for his entire career, work that has yet to receive the attention on the level of his Murals. Are those some remnants of his passion for Cezanne, particularly in the clothes worn by the lead gentleman?

Though the decade-long Mexican Revolution ended 100 years ago in 1920, the final death toll may never be known. Today, estimates range between one million and three million, (not including that 300,000 who died in the 1918 pandemic). Diego Rivera spent the entirety of the Mexican Revolution studying in Europe on a grant from the governor of Veracruz to further his Art education. He precociously devoured the work of the great European Painters of the time, as can be seen in his easel Paintings that wonderfully echo El Greco and Cezanne, around 1913, and his adoption of Cubism, from 1914-18 or so. He knew Picasso and Georges Braque and was something of a competitor of theirs as he tried to make his own name, before finding his own style. In 1919, towards the end of his European period, Diego Rivera met David Alfaro Siqueiros, who was also in Europe on an Art scholarship. Vida Americana (American Life) takes its name from the sole issue of the journal Vida Americana that contained a manifesto of sorts written by Diego Rivera and David Alfaro Siqueiros.

José Vasconcelos, date unknown. As minister of education, he commissioned Artists, including Los Tres Grandes, to Paint Murals. And so, he had a major influence on Mexican history, and unintentionally, American Art history,

Meanwhile, back in Mexico, after the Revolution ended in 1920,  a profound change swept across Mexican society. New president Alvaro Obregon’s government enacted progressive social reforms that empowered workers and farmers. This transformative project wasn’t so simple. “There was no shared culture. No sense of a Mexican national identity,” Barbara Haskell said3. “The Mexican Revolution led to the need for Art that depicted the history and everyday life of the people.” President Obregon appointed José Vasconcelos as director of the Universidad Nacional de Mexico (National University of Mexico). He reached out to Diego Rivera in Europe in hopes of recruiting him for the campaign to create a new national culture. Backed by a Mexican government stipend, Diego Rivera, took a trip to Italy to study the great Italian Renaissance frescoes during the winter of 1920 in Verona, Padua, Venice, Ravenna, Florence, and Rome, where he saw Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. After he was sworn in as Mexico’s minister of education in the fall of 1921, José Vasconcelos commissioned Artists, including Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siqueiros, to create grand public Murals depicting the history and everyday life of the nation’s people, and “Los Tres Grandes” were born. They rose to the challenge, and in the process, reintroduced the Mural to Western Art.

Installation View. My mission? Get this shot without people in front of the Art, which includes two rarely seen works by Frida Kahlo.

Vida Americana is so big, with so many pieces drawing one’s attention, so many connections leaving much to study and ponder, in the one visit I was able to make I had to focus on, first, seeing it all, and second, on how the Mexican Muralists directly influenced Jackson Pollock and Philip Guston, two Americans who’s paths have long intrigued me.

One example of how extraordinarily this show was hung throughout. Jackson Pollock, Untitled, c1938-41, Oil on linen, 22 1/4 x 50 1/4 inches, David Alfaro Siqueiros, War, 1939, Nitrocellulose on composition board, 48 5/8 x 63 7/8 inches, Jackson Pollock, Composition with Flames, 1936, 26 1/2 x 21 1/2 inches, David Alfaro Siqueiros, Our Present Image, 1947, 87 3/8 x 68 11/16 inches, Pyroxylin on fiberglass, 87 3/8 x 68 11/16 inches, left to right.

Fast forwarding from 1920 to my own teen years, Jackson Pollock and Edward Hopper were the two Artists who planted stakes in my mind for modern American Art, after centuries of European domination that culminated at the time with the all-encompassing brilliance of Picasso. Of course, they had come on the backs of almost 200 years of earlier American Artists before my time, yet American Art seemed to be playing second fiddle the Europeans until the post-Second World War years. It was easy to get lost in the Americanism of Messers Pollock and Hopper and easy for me to relate to them particularly since both spent most of their career in NYC. Greenwich Village was home for Edward Hopper for about 50 years, and Jackson Pollock legendarily frequented the Cedar Tavern and other bars in the area, while living with his wife, Lee Krasner, in Springs, Long Island, where I indelibly visited his studio in 1999. In looking through his career, it was well-known that he came here to study at the Art Student’s League with Thomas Hart Benton. “He drove his kind of realism at me so hard I bounced right into non-objective painting,” Jackson Pollock later said reflecting on studying with Thomas Hart Benton4.

Jackson Pollock, Untitled, 1938-41. This “pre-drip” period fo the Artist’s work remains understudied and under-appreciated in my view. Whereas the journey Mark Rothko took from figuration to abstraction is interesting, Jackson Pollock’s is downright fascinating. Here, in this stunning work, the figures break up with such intense rigor and stunning color, it really does make you wonder where it was all going to lead. It also makes me wonder how many other Artists would have been content to continue Painting just like this, a very brief period in Jackson Pollock’s brief career.

After leaving Thomas Hart Benton, what always mystified me was how Jackson Pollock became “POLLOCK” to quote the title of the film made some years back- the Artist who burst on the scene, with a never before seen style that revolutionized what Painting could be in the late 1940s and early 1950s before his tragic death on August 11, 1956 at 44. I even wrote a piece with that title after the most recent MoMA Jackson Pollock show in 2016, Jackson Pollock: A Collection Survey 1934-54. Truth be told, looking back on it, though there were some clues in that show, I remained puzzled at how the Artist came up with his style, which has been called everything from “dripping,” to “splash and dash” to fill in your own, here. We know now that all of these terms sell Jackson Pollock’s formidable technique very short, as is demonstrated here.

“I simply paint the life that is going on at the present—what we are and what the world is at this moment. That is what modern art is.” José Clemente Orozco

Jackson Pollock, The Flame, 1934-38, Oil on canvas mounted on fiberboard, left, and José Clemente Orozco, The Fire, 1938, Oil on canvas, right. Seeing these works side by side was an eye-opening revelation for me.

José Clemente Orozco was the first of Los Tres Grandes to visit the USA in 1917-19, living in NYC and San Francisco. In 1930, he was commissioned by Pomona College in Claremont, California to paint a mural in the student cafeteria. Prometheus became the first true fresco ever painted in the USA.  Jackson Pollock made a special trip to see it. He called it, “The best painting in the contemporary world5,” and kept a picture of it on the wall in his studio throughout the 1930s. At the Whitney, there is a large, though reduced, reproduction of Prometheus (see the first picture in this piece), along with a few other, smaller, works by José Clemente Orozco that are hung next to early works by Jackson Pollock. HERE was the long-awaited first eureka moment in my quest for insights into Mr. Pollock’s work. The similarities in elements, even styles, between  them when seen side by side were beyond compelling. They were revelatory.

Jacob Lawrence, Selections from The Migration Series, 1940-1, Casein tempera on hardboard. On the wall card, it says, “Lawrence credited Orozco in particular with inspiring his ambition and his use of bold colors and architectonic forms.”

On an adjacent wall was an installation of selections of the work by Jacob Lawrence that seemed to take Mr. Siqueiros’ ideas in different and unique directions. I looked up to see if there was a now lit lightbulb hanging over my head. It wouldn’t be the last time.

David Alfaro Siqueiros, center, and Jackson Pollock, right, in Union Square, NYC, 1936, Archives of American Art/Smithsonian Institution Photo.

David Alfaro Siqueiros was the last to arrive in the USA. While each of Los Tres Grandes were on the cutting edge, if not the edge, socially and politically, he took it further. He believed that revolutionary ideas required revolutionary materials and techniques. In 1936 he established the Siqueiros Experimental Workshop in Union Square, a stone’s throw from where I sit writing this, which he referred to as a “Laboratory of Modern Techniques in Art.” Some 30 years later another Artist would explore “new materials and techniques” when Andy Warhol moved his Factory to Union Square. Among the students at the Siqueiros Experimental Workshop was Jackson Pollock, who was about 24, and who had been without a teacher since Thomas Hart Benton moved from New York to Missouri in 1935. “One anecdote recalls Siqueiros constructing something resembling a Lazy Susan, filling it with paint, and spinning it atop a horizontal canvas ”a predecessor to Pollock’s later drip technique6.”

David Alfaro Siqueiros, The Electric Forest, 1939, Nitrocellulose on cardboard, 28 x 35 inches, left, Jackson Pollock, Landscape with Steer, c.1936-7, Lithograph with airbrushed lacquered additions, 15 7/8 x 22 7/8 inches.  It’s interesting that while David Alfaro Siqueiros’s works are often political, Jackson Pollock’s don’t appear to be.

Later in the show, Gallery 11 is devoted to the Siqueiros Experimental Workshop. Here, a David Alfaro Siqueiros was hung next to a Jackson Pollock, and now I could feel the figure breaking down even more. Complete abstraction is not far away. The technique was getting wilder and more experimental. Now, it wasn’t that big a jump at all in my mind from works like Landscape with Steer to a work like his 20 foot long Mural, 1943, in a genre that itself would appear to be a nod to the influence of Los Tres Grandes. For me, this was the biggest takeaway among many, from Vida Americana. But, the joys of the show weren’t solely technical or historical.

Finally! The scene shown earlier, sans viewers. Frida Kahlo, Me and My Parrots, 1941, 32 5/16 x 24 3/4, left, Alfredo Ramos Martinez, Calla Lily Vendor, 1929, 45 13/16 x 36 inches, center, and Frida’s Two Women, 1928, 27 3/8 x 21 inches, right. All three are Oil on canvas.

Walking through the show, all three Artists are well represented, as are a number of other lesser-known Mexican Artists of the period. Frida Kahlo is not one of them. Perhaps as popular, if not more popular, than any other Artist represented in the show, her possible influence on American Artists from 1925-45 is curiously not touched on. Perhaps, it’s taken for granted that her example and influence have never stopped influencing Artists and the general public?

Out of focus shot of the installation showing the 2 Fridas, far right, facing 2 works by Diego Rivera.

Even not as well known is that it was an American who was Frida Kahlo’s first important collector. In 1938, when she was still an unknown in the US, the actor and Art collector Edward G. Robinson visited Diego Rivera in Mexico City. After selecting some works by Mr. Rivera, the Artist led him into Frida’s workspace. He bought 4 Paintings from her for $200.00, each(!), her first major sale7. To that point she had often given her work away. After Edward G’s purchases she said, “This way I am going to be free.” She didn’t have to ask Diego for money. This American had had a real influence on this great Mexican Artist. 

Frida is represented here by two beautiful examples of her work, including the stunning Self Portrait Me and My Parrots, 1941, beautifully installed facing two large works by the husband she married twice, Diego Rivera.

In looking at the work of Diego Rivera, it’s interesting to me that his figures seem to vary between the stereotyped and the specific and you’re likely to encounter either as you move from work to work of his. In both of these works, depicting specific people doesn’t seem to be his point. In many other works, including Man at the Crossroads, 1933, which he Painted for Rockefeller Centers, his inclusion of a portrait of Lenin, and his refusal to remove it, led to the work’s destruction. Elsewhere, he includes a number of his lovers, his wife, Frida Kahlo, and numerous other known persons, including Charlie Chaplin, and self-portraits.

Diego Rivera, Man Controller of the Universe, 1934, reproduction of the Mural at the Palacio de Bellas Artes, Mexico City.

None of the three members of Los Tres Grandes were strangers to controversy, with, perhaps, Diego Rivera’s Man at the Crossroads, 1933, Rockefeller Center commission being the most legendary incident. Man at the Crossroads was produced in a revised version as Man Controller of the Universe or Man in the Time Machine, at the Palacio de Bellas Artes (Palace of Fine Arts), Mexico City, in 1934. A stunning reproduction of it occupies the entire wall, and windows, that face the High Line, and is accompanied by a huge study.

In Gallery 3, titled “Siqueiros in Los Angeles,” another of the highlights for me were two loans of major works by the great Philip Guston.

Philip Guston, Bombardment, 1937-8, Oil on canvas, 42 inches.

Bombardment, 1937-8, one of the Artist’s masterpieces, from the Philadelphia Museum It’s as near to a “perfect Painting” as one can imagine, unique in Art history, and a work that deserves even more attention than it already has, if one can say that about a masterpiece. Securing the loan of it for this show was a major coup. My look at Philip Guston: Painter at Hauser & Wirth a few years back proved a bit controversial, but I make no bones of my admiration for his work before and after his “abstract period,” which I have continued to try find a way in to. It’s gotten easier. But here, in Bombardment, we have a work that is a one of a kind. A rare modern circular Painting (harkening back to the Tondo in the Renaissance, one of Philip Guston’s favorite periods of Art) in which motion, energy, death and destruction find no resting place in a brilliantly orchestrated “explosion” of paint. A work like this would be impossible in a Photograph. It’s also hard for me to look at and not think of Picasso’s Guernica, a mural, also from 1937, and both inspired by the Spanish Civil War, though they couldn’t be more stylistically different. Stylistically, it does make one think about the possible influence of David Alfaro Siqueiros, who Philip Guston had served as an assistant for. Looking at it closely, though it’s “only” 42 inches in diameter it feels a bit like a mural, not unlike another major work by the Artist nearby. 

Philip Guston, Reuben Kadish, Jules Langsner, Reproduction of The Inquisition also known as The Struggle Against Terrorism, 1934-5, Dimenseions and materials not stated.

Here was an amazing model for Philip Guston’s legendary early Mural collaboration with Reuben Kadish and Jules Langsner, The Inquisition also known as The Struggle Against Terrorism, 1934-5, something I never even knew existed. Murals on walls are not tranportable. Yet, throughout this show the curators continually find innovative ways of “bringing” them here and making them a part of the show- like this, and like Prometheus, shown up top, and the study for one of Diego Rivera’s “Portable Murals” for MoMA seen further below. Amazing. 

Detail. I would guesstimate this space is about 12-14 inches tall. The real one is over 1,000 square feet.

Philip Guston and Reuben Kadish were both about 23 when David Alfaro Siqueiros called them “the most promising young painters in either the US or Mexico.” He urged them to come to Mexico where he helped them secure a 1,000 square foot wall where they Painted The Inquisition also known as The Struggle Against Terrorism in the courtyard of the University of Michoacan, Morelia. Due to controversy over its depiction of the catholic church, the Mural was hidden from view for 40 years until it was accidentally discovered in 1973, yet it languished for a further 30 years until efforts began to restore it. Though very small, the model gives the viewer a sense of wonder that the Artists could envision the daring and monumental composition they created.

Thomas Hart Benton, Six Panels from American Historical Epic, 1920-28, Oil on canvas mounted on wood, varying sizes. Though panels, these terrific works were begun before Los Tres Grandes created their Murals, yet they share much in common, particularly its depiction of history. On the wall card it states, “Believing that art’s role was to tell the truth, Benton refused to sanitize history. Thus this mural cycle celebrates American history while also drawing attention its environmental and social injustices.” Exactly what we see in the work of the Mexican Muralists.

Diego Rivera, with his wife Frida Kahlo arrived in the US in November, 1930 to open a retrospective of his work in San Francisco, which was followed by one at the newly opened MoMA, NYC the following year. By that point, he was considered “the hero of the Western world, who embodies the spirit of the Mexican revolution8.” “His idea about creating a national epic (in his Murals) was something that would also be very influential on American artists,” Barbara Haskell added9.

Diego Rivera, Pneumatic Drilling, 1931-2, Charcoal on paper, 97 1/4 x 76 7/8 inches. Apparently a full size Drawing for one of the Portable Murals the Artist did for MoMA in 1931. About this work, MoMA said in 2012, “The day after Rivera arrived in New York City, the New York Herald Tribune reported on his plans to “paint the rhythm of American workers.” Rivera later identified this scene as depicting preparations for the construction of Rockefeller Center, which was still in its early stages when he arrived in New York10.” These are the kinds of scenes many American Muralists would do in their WPA FAP Projects, commencing a few years later.

The influence of the Mexican Muralists on the WPA Federal Art Project, 1935-43 is another revelation of Vida Americana. Reintroducing the Mural in Western Art brought it out of the church and into the realm of Public Art. At its peak in 1936, the Federal Art Project employed 5,000 Artists, possibly double that over the 8 years it existed, producing 2,566 Murals and more than 100,000 easel Paintings. It’s obvious, to me, that in looking at the Murals they produced many of them seem to follow in the footsteps of their Mexican counterparts, stylistically, and in their content, many of the Murals belied the influence of the Mexican Artists who’s works were steeped in history and the life of everyday people and workers.

Michael Lenson, Mining (Mural Study for Mount Hope, West Virginia Post Office), c. 1933-34, Tempera on wood, top, Xavier Gonzalez, Tung Oil Industry (Mural Study for Covington, Louisiana Post Office), 1939, Gouache, pen and ink, on pencil on paper mounted on cardboard.

Once you start looking for the influence of the Mexican Artists included in Vida Americana, particularly that of Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siqueiros, you begin to find it turning up all over and in surprising places. Add to this the incalculable influence of Frida Kahlo, as an Artist, as a woman, and as an unconquerable human being, it turns out, as Vida Americana finally demonstrates, the influence of Mexican Art on American Artists from 1925-45 rivals that of any other.

March 11, 2020. A Whitney staff member speaks about “Siqueiros in Los Angeles.” It might be a while before we see this again.

It will be very interesting to see how the Whitney, and all the museums, handle their schedules, and the virus, when they reopen. Will shows that were up when they temporarily closed be extended? What will that do to their future exhibitions and loans? It all remains to be seen.

The curtains have been drawn. For how long? A view of the Hudson River from the fifth floor behind the show. The former Department of Sanitation complex directly across the West Side Highway, which I mentioned in my piece on the Whitney building, has now been dismantled in preparation of…? What will the future bring?

As I write this in early May, it looks like Vida Americana will reopen giving others a chance to see this landmark show, in my view, the first one mounted in the Whitney’s new building (Thus far, I’ve written about their new building, Andy Warhol, Frank Stella, Stuart Davis, Grant Wood, Laura Poitras, the 2017 Whitney Biennial, and other smaller shows). In the meantime, having the chance to see it once has given me much to think about during this pause. While the world on the other side of the pandemic will be different, so too will be the way I henceforth look at 20th century American Art history.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “Mexico” by Morrissey from You Are The Quarry.

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
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  1. Whitney Museum introductory video
  2. Comments from Ms. Haskell in this piece are excerpted from her remarks at the Press Preview, unless otherwise noted.
  3. Here.
  4. Here
  5. per Barbara Haskell
  6. Here
  7. Here.
  8. Whitney Museum video
  9. Here
  10. Here.

The Sound of Silence: The Slideshow

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

The response to my previous piece, “The Sound of Silence,” has been a bit overwhelming. My thanks to all of you who have read it and especially to those who have taken the time to write. I’ve heard from people all over the world, all of who are also knee deep in trying to get through the pandemic themself. At times like these it’s important to feel we’re in this together. I hope that wherever these words find you, you and yours get through this in good health.

There’s always Music going on in my mind. So, all of the 228 pieces I’ve written so far have a soundtrack that accompanies the words and the pictures. Never before have I taken one of those soundtracks and made it into a slideshow. Until now. At the suggestion of Lana Hattan, I’ve compiled some of the Photos I’ve taken this month (April, 2020, and only in April, 2020) into a slideshow, extending the concept of my piece, accompanied by the lyrics of the song.

As I completed it, I was shaken to hear of the tragic passing of Dr. Lorna Breen, Medical Director at New York-Presbyterian Allen Hospital yesterday. As an Emergency Room Doctor, she was on the front lines of fighting the coronavirus pandemic.

“She went down in the trenches and was killed by the enemy on the front line. She loved New York and wouldn’t hear of living anywhere else,” her father said.

My life was saved at New York-Presbyterian in 2007, so it is with the deepest respect that I dedicate this slideshow to Dr. Breen, and all those working to get us through this.

Be well.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “The Sound of Silence” by Paul Simon and recorded by Simon & Garfunkel on their debut album Wednesday Morning, 3AM, 1964, with overdubs on the 1966 album, Sounds of Silence and live on Concert in Central Park, recorded in 1981.

Special thanks to Lana Hattan. 

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

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The Sound of Silence

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

In 2017, I did a PhotoEssay commemorating the 10th anniversary of my cancer treatment. This year, I’ve decided to do another one, taking a look at this extraordinary April in New York…

There’s “Autumn in New York” and “April in Paris,” but no songwriter has yet written “April in New York.” This April may or may not inspire such a song, but one thing’s for sure- April, 2020 will long be remembered by everyone who’s lived through it- in NYC, and everywhere else.

Here, in one of the current centers of the pandemic, with New York City, alone, accounting for 129,788 cases and 13,240 confirmed or probable deaths from the coronavirus1 as I write this, people have been mostly hunkered down and staying inside. Last week, however, for a reason I can’t quite explain, I felt compelled to walk over to Times Square. I got there after 11pm, normally a time when activity is high in the days before the pandemic. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find. It’s not a place I have any reason or desire to go to. Most New Yorkers I know say pretty much the same thing. When I turned the corner of 8th Avenue onto 42nd Street, a corner once known as “the crossroads of the world,” I was taken by what I saw. Actually, I probably shouldn’t have been- it was pretty much what I’d been seeing on the mile walk there. The streets were deserted. Nothing was open. There were too few cars or trucks to qualify as“traffic” along ever-busy 8th Avenue that I should have been prepared for a similar sight on 42nd Street, but I wasn’t. What I saw was actually hard to believe.

It was completely deserted. The only sign of life was a police car’s revolving lights on top parked out front of the McDonald’s near 7th, which might have been open for takeout. If so, it was the only even partially open business I saw in Times Square. Or, maybe something had happened warranting a police visit. From the other side of the street, I couldn’t tell, and I wasn’t about to get curious. I turned the corner and walked up 7th Avenue to 44th Street, stopped on the corner and looked around. I was completely and utterly alone.

A song started playing softly in my brain…

“Hello darkness, my old friend.
I’ve come to talk with you, again.”*

Alone in Times Square. 7th Avenue at West 44th Street, 11:24pm, April 8, 2020. Click any picture in this Post for full size.

There was another NYPD car across the street with its lights on. I don’t know if anyone was inside it, or not. That was the only sign of “life” I could see anywhere around me. I can’t remember ever seeing it this deserted before. Ever. In my entire lifetime, I’ve never experienced a feeling quite like it.

“In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence”*

I spent some of my formative days on “the deuce” as West 42nd Street was called back when it was as it appears in the film Taxi Driver. It was raw, seedy, nasty and dangerous, but it never closed. Ever. It was, literally, the same 24 hours a day, everyday. Of course, those days are long gone. I’ve never “gotten” what 42nd Street is supposed to be now, beyond a pseudo theme park for tourists. Ditto Times Square around the corner. No wonder New Yorkers never go there. Of course, they go to the shows on the side streets, and there are some good restaurants on those as well, too, but Times Square is one gigantic wasteland as far as I’m concerned. The “redesign” is a disaster. Personally, I can’t imagine why anyone would come to New York City and go to Times Square. Even just to see it.

On this night. No one (else) did.

Harry Belafonte alone in Times Square in The World, The Flesh and The Devil, 1959. In 1981, I would see The Clash perform six times at Bond Casino, seen here when it was Bond Clothing, on the right.

In The World, The Flesh and The Devil, Harry Belafonte plays a miner trapped in a cave-in who resurfaces only to discover mankind has been wiped out in a nuclear holocaust. He sets out to look for other survivors. Bizarrely enough, this film, with the scene above, was on the night after I was in Times Square equally alone. The difference being I KNOW there are millions of other people still here. They are all hunkered down, like I am 23 hours a day, trying to survive the coronavirus pandemic.

I haven’t been able to get the feeling out of my mind since. It’s also stuck with me for other reasons I’m still trying to fully understand.

A few days later, I walked over to Grand Central Terminal, getting there at about the same time I got to Times Square, just before 11:30pm on a weeknight. A time when it’s generally pretty busy. On the way (about a mile), I counted about 10 people- on either side of the street. I entered through the Vanderbilt Avenue corner, not sure it would be open, when I came out of the underpass into the world famous main terminal, the feeling was very much the same as it was in Times Square, with a difference.

Grand Central Terminal, April 14, 2020, 11:34pm.

Standing there, alone again, reminded me that we are all on our own in a crisis. Only those working hard to keep the essentials of life going- doctors, nurses, power station workers, truck drivers, food store employees, essential business employees, pharmacy workers, postal, delivery and transit workers are keeping us from being in a very, very bad situation, particularly for as long as this is likely to wind up being. Standing there at that moment in Grand Central, I was also struck by something else. A train station is a place about travel, about going somewhere or arriving here form somewhere else. That feeling is completely alien to me. I have nowhere else to go. I realized then that the thought of leaving has never entered my mind. But for some reason, standing there, I didn’t feel hopeless, I just felt like I always do, with cancer, Sandy or 9/11- I have to find a way through it by myself.

Cary Grant, left of center, in Grand Central Terminal, in Hitchcock’s North by Northwest, 1959, shows the space as it more normally is during the morning/evening rush.

Last week, a reader asked me if I’d ever been through something like this before. I had to give a qualified “Yes.” The 2012 Hurricane Sandy blackout- when we had none of those things I just listed that we have, thankfully, now, for between 5 and 12 days depending on where you were. No power, no mass transit. Not one thing was open because of a lack of electricity, and at night, the temperature went down to about 32. I spent days hunkered down in my bed fully dressed under every blanket I could muster as everything in my refrigerator and freezer went bad and I had to go about a mile to charge my phone. Of course, MANY other people had things much worse from Hurricane Sandy than I did. Many, many people lost everything. An apartment building 4 blocks from me, that I had been in the day before the hurricane, collapsed. It has still not been rebuilt. The risen tide from the Hudson River came to within one block of my apartment building, flooding many of the ground floor galleries in West Chelsea, while devastating lives all around the area. I was lucky. Still, I learned a lot from going through that, a 2 day blackout in the 90’s and of course, going through 9/11. Then, there was the Chelsea bombing in 2016 that was too close for comfort…

Close to the same scene just shown, minus Cary and everyone else. Grand Central Terminal, April 14, 2020, 11:36pm.

Standing there at that moment in Grand Central, I was also struck by something else. A train station is a place about travel, about going somewhere or arriving here from somewhere else. That feeling is completely alien to me. I never leave NYC. As with the other crisis I’ve lived through here, I, like everyone else, just finds a way. 

When I think about rising above it and transcendental places in NYC, the first place that comes to my mind is, in my opinion, what may well be the greatest feat of building by modern man in the world, Brooklyn Bridge. Before you say, “You’re nuts,” watch Ken Burns’ Documentary film on the making of Brooklyn Bridge, then see what you think. On April 16th, I decided to go there and see how The Bridge was faring during the pandemic.

Just after sunset on Brooklyn Bridge, facing Brooklyn, 7:53pm, April 16, 2020. If I could save one modern structure for eternity it would be Brooklyn Bridge. It is one of the supreme achievements of mankind, both Artistically and as a testament to the human spirit. In this case the spirit of those who designed it and built it while overcoming impossible odds.

I walked the entire span, beginning on the Brooklyn side, and arriving on the Manhattan side just after sunset. It was emptier than I could imagine it during daytime hours. As anyone who has had the joy of walking The Bridge knows, when you reach the center you are, magically, all of a sudden on top. The cabling has ended, the sides and even the railings seem to melt away and you feel like you are standing on top of the world. Now, imagine doing this in 1883 when The Bridge opened. At that point, you REALLY WERE on top of the world! This was decades before the advent of the skyscraper. Standing there, you were higher than anything you could see- anywhere around you. It truly must have felt like going to outer space. Of course, I paused and spent a good 30 minutes pondering everything that had been going on as I stood there, alone.

Alone in the middle of Brooklyn Bridge, with Manhattan to the left, Brooklyn to the right, and the East River straight ahead, 7:11pm, April 16, 2020.

“Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sounds of silence.”*

Thinking about things I’ve lived through in NYC, of course, 9/11 was the first major crisis I would point to. That morning, as I walked to work with one Tower on fire, the second about to be hit, a neighbor standing on the corner told me the first plane had flown down 7th Avenue- it had flown down my block! To this day, no one I know died in the horror that ensued. Both people I knew at the time got out. Still, the mysteries of the brain being what they are, somehow my sleeping mind connected that American Airlines Flight 11 that hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center with the heroic United Flight 93. In my dream (actually, a recurring nightmare), it was the passengers and crew of American Flight 11 that fought back and jumped the hijackers, causing Flight 11 to crash early- into my apartment building. 

18 years later, those thoughts were not in my mind when I decided to visit the Oculus in Santiago Calatrava’s World Trade Center Path Station Terminal at the site of the World Trade Center Towers. What is always on my mind when I visit the site of the World Trade Center is my own past. I grew up in the area. My dad had an office 2 blocks from the WTC for 45 years. I remember walking past the Towers while they were being built. Years later, the company I worked for had two Holiday Parties at Windows On The World Restaurant at the top of the South Tower, a few hundred feet from where the Oculus now is, including one for Holiday, 2000, the last Holiday season that would ever be celebrated there. Walking through the area my thoughts were on change. As in HOW MUCH change has gone on Downtown just in my lifetime

Crossing Church Street, I walked up to the front doors, half expecting to find them locked. The door opened, and there was a man standing along the wall, just inside the door. He was one of about 7 or 8 people I saw while I was inside who just stood in a spot. And stood in that spot throughout. Homeless, I guess. Most had some sort of baggage with them. There were 3 police officers walking around, who checked in on them to make sure they weren’t sleeping, among their other duties. But there was almost no one else there. I moved to the edge overlooking the 57,000 square foot floor. All the surrounding stores were closed. Off in the far distance, at the other end, the PATH train station was still in operation. Once in a while, someone walked from my end across the floor to take a PATH train uptown or to New Jersey. Mostly, I was utterly alone, once more. Again, I stood transfixed by the scene.

The 57,000 square foot main floor of Santiago Calatrava’s Oculus on April 15, 2020 at 11:56pm.

Speaking of change, I wrote about being at the Oculus in August, 2016 as it opened. That day, the floor looked like this-

Standing in the same spot I stood in taking the prior picture, on August 17, 2016 at 3pm.

Here, in this gleaming, barely 4 year old facility, was a shocking look at our present in a nutshell. The brick and mortar economy, represented by the stores that surround both levels of the Oculus, with more elsewhere in the 800,000 square foot complex, has completely paused, save for food stores, pharmacies, and home supply stores. The world has almost completely come to a stop. In fact, I think this period of time when we’ve all been home will be eventually seen as a pause between life as it was and life the way it will be. I think most of us know right now that once activity start up again, things will be different. Many of us have been, at least, subtly changed by this experience. Exactly how things will be different remains to be seen, but they will be different. Beyond the horror of all the illnesses and deaths, we will always look back at this moment “between” the old and the new as “the pause” between them.

Right now, the focus is on finding those infected, treating those ill, and keeping the virus from spreading. Eventually, we all hope, this crisis will mitigate. And then what? A lot of people (even those who haven’t gotten sick) are seriously hurting. Many have lost their jobs- temporarily, or permanently. There’s going to be a gigantic, collective, “starting over” for countless people. The ways people interact or get together and many other aspects of life not known right now will also be different. The way many businesses do business will be changed. A few/some/many small businesses, who knows how many, won’t reopen. More business will be done online.

What does this all mean?

“And the sign said:
The words of the prophets are
Written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence.””

7th Avenue at West 20th Street, April 17, 2020, 8:29pm. On this very corner, Jack Kerouac’s novel On The Road ends. He wrote it 3 blocks west.

We won’t know specifically how life will be different until this is over. And no one knows when that will be right now. In the midst of all this silence, something else that can’t be heard is happening.

Change.

While we are all alone together inside, hopefully staying safe, the world is changing. The only choice we have is to adapt to it.

*- Soundtrack for this Post is “The Sound of Silence” by Paul Simon and performed by Simon & Garfunkel on the album Wednesday Morning, 3AM, 1964, and with overdubs on Sounds of Silence, released in 1966. They perform it on September 19, 1981 in Central Park below. As I write this, almost 53 million people have watched it-

This Post is dedicated to all those keeping us going, particularly in my case, my thanks to the staffs of Trader Joe’s, and Gristede’s, Chelsea, NYC, Rite-Aid, Home Depot, Con Ed, the USPS, to the truck drivers and delivery people who keep this island supplied, and to Drs. Ro & Hoffman.

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

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Death To Boxes!

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava (except *)

For The Record #2.

Boxes Must Die!

In the Arts, that is.

Doing my part.

Artists are people. Like anyone else, you can’t put an Artist in a box (i.e. a so-called “style”,“school” or “movement”) UNLESS he or she puts themself in one, and that distinction is critical. No one else can, in my opinion, and that includes Art historians, gallerists, or yes, writers. Over the years I’ve spent studying and researching Art history, it seems the vast majority of the time, these labels get stuck on Artists by someone else, often someone with something to sell or someone attempting to write about the Artist. Whoever else does it, I believe they do more harm than good. It seems to me that all these terms serve to do is to keep you from looking at the Art for yourself and making up your own mind. They’re a kind of shorthand for “this is that.” They want you to think- “Oh. I already know what ‘this’ is, so I ‘know’ what that is.”

Really?

Now, press a little harder.

How many “schools” or “movements” have there really been in Art history among museum level Artists? Both imply the Artists were organized around shared beliefs. Most Artists I’ve met tend to be solitary beings who work alone (or, with their assistants, if they have them). The Renaissance is often listed as a “movement.” This brings an upside down smile to my face. While there were a number of Artists and others who turned their attention to the work of the ancients, which they “revived” in their own way, the term implies a unity that might not have been the case. Many of the leading Artists of the 15th century (particularly Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and Raphael) were rivals who competed for jobs and, as far as is known, never “got together around shared beliefs.”

 

My copy of Rona Goffen’s Renaissance Rivals. Check this out if you want to get a taste to what life for these Artists may have really been like.

Raphael is reported visiting Leonardo’s studio, but there is no report that Leonardo was actually there at the time. Perhaps, the only time we may surmise that Leonardo and Michelangelo may have been in the same place at the same time was they were both commissioned to create frescoes on opposite walls of the same building. I wonder what they would think of being lumped together by posterity. It seems to me that what is known as “the Renaissance” in Art may be also be characterized as “the optical revolution,” since, as David Hockney’s Secret Knowledge points out, the fifteenth century seems to be the period when optics were introduced into Painting, “The Romantics?” While images of a period of group love pre-dating the hippies by 200 years might be a nice thought, there was no banding together among Artists, only others who see common threads in their work. In fact, the actual 1960s hippies were more of an actual “movement,” though they are not thought of as an “Art movement”…yet. “The Impressionists?” In 1874 thirty Artists showed their work in the space formerly occupied by the Photographer Nadar in a show titled The Anonymous Society of Painters, Sculptors, Engravers, etc. This show included work by Monet, Degas, Renoir, Pissarro, Cezanne, Berthe Morisot among others. It wasn’t until their third show in 1877 that the term “Impressionists,” which had been coined by a critic, after the work Impression, Sunrise, 1873, by Monet, was “accepted” by the group. They held a total of eight shows through 1886. Not one bore the word “Impressionist” in its title. It seems to me a “bad habit” had begun. Ever since, dealers, critics and historians have continually fallen all over themselves trying to put names (i.e. boxes) on whatever has been done since, in a criminally short sighted “rush to judgment” naming competition. Very rarely since, however, have the Artists involved agreed to have their work so “boxed.”

It’s one thing to have a lack of imagination yourself, but to foist it on others, including possibly, many who have not seen the Art under discussion is doing them, and the Art, a real disservice.

I’m this close to agreeing with this sentiment, in the Arts, though I’m sure there must be at least one “ism” that’s “ok,” right?

Beyond this, the practice speaks of a terrible lack of responsibility on the part of those naming and using boxes to speak about Art. Do these people who come up with these boxes ever stop to think about the ramifications of putting someone in a box? Short term? Long term? Longer term? Once in such a box, getting out is extremely hard, if not impossible. In many (if not most) cases, living Artists in such a situation would be risking their financial survival and their careers to fight back. I’ve spoken with a number of Artists who have expressed their frustration with this to me. As a result, I’ve come to feel they represent the tip of the proverbial iceberg in the high seas of the Art world. Unlike some others, this iceberg isn’t melting nearly fast enough.

When you come across one of these terms, take a quick look back into what the Artist has said about his or her work and see if he or she ever used the term themself in speaking about their Art, or if they really aligned themselves with others in the broader sense of a “school” or “movement.” My bet is that if you do this often you’ll become unsurprised to find that 90% of the time, or more, no such arrangement ever existed. IF it did, most of the time it didn’t last for more than a decade of their career. As far as “styles” go, I laugh when I see someone other than the Artist try and name an Artist’s style. For me, it’s like “naming” a wave in the ocean. “That wave seems angry. That’s the ‘expressionist’ wave. The wave that hit me in the face when I waded in was the ‘hyper-realistic’ wave…”

The common sense thing to do, in my opinion, when looking at Art is to let the Artist have some. Let him or her “speak” for themselves through their work. Look at it through your own eyes.

Being human beings, Artists, like the rest of the universe, are subject to change. Along with death and taxes, change is one of the universal laws of the universe, right? Many Artist’s styles change or evolve over time, some, like Picasso or Miles Davis, changed frequently, over the course of their careers. Then, whatever “box” the powers that be had put them in no longer applied. Now what? People coming to their work with one box in their head are now confronted with work nothing like it! Oops. Instead of coming to realize the obvious, scholars, critics and dealers struggle to put him or her in a new box.

“Blue Period,” “Rose Period,””Cubism,” “Late Period,” and on and on. In the end, Picasso, is simply Picasso- a talent so broad it burst any and all categories in almost as many mediums. Unfortunately, his example wasn’t apparently enough for the practice to cease once and for all. Here, his The Charnel House, 1944-5, is seen at MoMA. While Guernica is world-famous as a work that was Painted in 1937, during the pre-WW II Spanish Revolution, The Charnel House bookends it from the end of the War after the discovery of the horror of the death camps.

Why didn’t they just take the “easy way” out? If you insist on using boxes, Picasso, Miles, EVERY Artist, in my view, belongs in one box- the one with their name on it. Aren’t people unique? So are Artists. So, WHY do some insist on lumping them together in a box?

People tried to put Miles Davis in a box his whole life. FIFTY YEARS AGO, on March 30th, 1970, he permanently messed up their minds when he released this masterpiece. With a cast of Musicians who are now each legends in their own rite, it couldn’t have been more aptly titled. The cover art is perfect, too. *Sony picture.

It seems to me that Miles Davis eventually “answered” those trying hopelessly to pigeonhole him. Later in his career, he started labelling his albums “DIRECTIONS IN MUSIC BY MILES DAVIS.”

Word. Put it right up top, in CAPS before anyone else can call it something else. Enough said. *Crop of the previous Sony picture.

Speaking of human beings, “women Artists”, “transgendered Artists,””disabled Artists,””Asian Artists,””black Artists”- these are boxes too! People are people and Artists are Artists. Let’s leave it at that.

Whatever the short term “gain” someone got from boxing an Artist, little thought appears to be given to the fact that Art is this Artist’s career, and so, something they’re going to have to deal with for the rest of it. Some, like Chuck Close and Todd Hido have been able to break out of the boxes they were initially put in and gone on to show other sides of their creativity. How did they do it? It seems to me that both of them were and are frequent interview subjects, and this allowed them to frame the conversation around their own work to the point that they “drowned out” any other voices about it. If you look around, you’ll find they are in the vast minority. It’s very hard to do. Both achieved enough popularity to garner frequent interviews where they were free to speak about their work on their own terms. I can’t help but wonder how many others have given up, or worse, possibly even ended their careers…or their lives.

Seriously.

When Art is your life, what else matters?

Perusing the new book Genealogies of Art, which has 448 other pages that try to trace the “lineage” of Art down through the centuries. Hmmm….Yes, most Artists have influences, but who’s to say how much anyone has been influenced by someone else? What about multiple influence? It seems to me drawing direct lines between and “connecting” them (which is on the other 448 pages) is pointless and meaningless. So far, these are the only two pages I agree with. Personally? I would have left it at this.

It’s way past time for this practice to end. STOP teaching this in Art history classes! Stop using boxes, “schools,” “movements” that Artists never joined, or bogus, imagined, “styles” that mislead and pigeonhole!

It’s time to look at the Art for what it is and for what it says to you (if anything), without prejudice or boxes, labels, imaginary “schools,” or “styles.” So, when you hear a meaningless marketing term like say, “photorealism,” do what I do. Ignore it!

Save a career. Maybe even save a life. Stop the insanity- NOW!

Of course, NighthawkNYC asks that you please dispose of boxes responsibly. Put them where they belong.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “Bitches Brew” by Miles Davis from the aforementioned album of the same name. Here, Miles and most of the Musicians on the record including legendary Saxophonist Wayne Shorter, perform it in Copenhagen, 1969, shortly before the album’s March, 1970 release-

This Post in honor of the 50th Anniversary of the release of Bitches Brew, one of the great box-busting moments in 20th century Art, is dedicated to all those Artists I’ve spoken with who suffer with being stuck in boxes, and all of those who are that I haven’t. 

For The Record is a series of pieces that are about key/core subjects & beliefs that underly everything else I’ve written here. The first part is here. 

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.

 

Noah Davis: The Art of Vision

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Art & Artists can come from anywhere at any time. Even from unexpected places, like a housing project. Pueblo del Rio: Arabesque, 2014, Oil on canvas, 48 x 72 inches. Pueblo del Rio, 1941-2,  is a housing project designed by Paul Williams at 52nd Street and Long Beach Avenue, Los Angeles, one of two works in the show set there. African-American Architect Paul Williams was a big influence on Noah Davis, according to his chosen curator Helen Molesworth, and he set other Paintings among Paul Williams buildings.

There is, sadly, no shortage of brilliant younger masters who left us far before their time. The tragedy endures but their Art prevails, and in the end, assumes a life of its own. In Contemporary Art, perhaps no one known to me seemed to do more as an Artist, curator, and visionary in as short a time as the late Noah Davis did before he passed from a rare soft tissue cancer at just 32 on August 29, 2015. Now thirteen years out from my own cancer treatment, the variety of cancers I hear and read about never ceases to astound me. One thing my journey through it taught me was that no two journeys are alike. Unlike mine, in Noah Davis’ case, cancer ran in his family, claiming his dad a few years before it took him. For some perspective (no comparisons intended)- Mozart died at 35. Raphael was 37. More recently, Jean-Michel Basquiat was 27. Music has Jeff Buckley, at 30, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, both 27, among a long list of others. Photography has Francesca Woodman, at 22. Literature, and humanity, has Anne Frank, at just 15, and on and on…

Untitled, 2015, Oil on canvas, 32 x 50 inches. Of this late work, show curator Helen Molesworth spoke about the line between the two women on the couch in her gallery talk. The separation and isolation between two so close together on barely half of the couch is compelling in a Hopperesque way, yet, I haven’t been able to summarize everything this fascinating piece says to me because every time I look at it, I see something else. I see some of what I see in Deana Lawson’s work, some of what I see in Kerry James Marshall’s, Francis Bacon, and there’s a Rothko-with-a-difference in the background, yet what strikes me most is that in this work, as in any number of other works on view Noah Davis is entirely on his own. He has studied, learned, assimilated, and then staked out his own turf as a wholly formed Artist to be reckoned with does. In the moment I shot this picture, the feeling that I was standing in front of a masterpiece was undeniable.

I’ve been blessed with knowing some, and working with some others, who left far too soon. I met the incandescent Jaco Pastorius in 1976 at the release of his now classic debut solo album at Peaches Records Store in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I watched as he put his hands in wet cement on the store’s “walk of fame” outside along Sunrise Boulevard (which I believe is still there) that evening never imaging he would leave us a scant 11 years later. I spoke to him a number of times over those years and we both wound up (independently) in NYC shortly before his tragic murder at just 35. I worked with the late, brilliantly talented, Mark Ledford, and worked with the equally brilliant Thomas Chapin, on three albums, both of who passed at, or before, 40 in the early stages of the prime of their careers, and their lives. I think of all three of them every single day. Though the passage of time eases some of the pain, in my experience, loss is something that does not go away.

Waiting Room, 2008, Oil and acrylic on canvas, 80 x 65 inches. In many of his works, a space opens up that sometimes seems to be an abyss. Here, the abyss is above us and two figures in the upper distance appear to be looking down on the scene below. Is the Waiting Room an “abyss,” where the outcome (possibly to be revealed  behind those large white doors) is unknown as is the effect it might thave on life to come? It can also have that surreal, “Is this really happening?” feel to it. Like any work of Art, it’s open to whatever the viewer may see in it. This was, however, Painted at about the time Noah Davis was diagnosed with cancer, after his father was.

But, thank goodness we have what they created- their Art, their Music, their words, and what they taught us. Us. Everyone whose lives were touched by all of these Artists are part of their legacy.

I never had the good fortune to meet Noah Davis, who was born in Seattle, and studied at Cooper Union in Greenwich Village, becoming something of a sensation here about a decade ago before leaving without graduating around 2004 (because he felt that his education was no longer pushing him, it is said), and moving to L.A.. I was only casually familiar with his work until I walked into David Zwirner on 19th Street, where his Art and his legacy filled no less than three entire galleries.

Imaginary Enemy, 2009, Oil on wood panel, 84 x 98 inches. Does the figure in white on the right, with what appears to be a cup on his head, have one foot on a portal? Or? The figure approaching on the left appears to be n flames. The strange, angular plane behind him has the effect of another dimension, as in Cubism. I’m still enjoying wrestling with this one, too, but I will say there are elements that remind me of Neo Rauch.

My mind was blown by all I saw. Noah Davis was, and is, a major figure in the Art of our time- in more ways than one.

Untitled (Birch Trees), 2010, Oil on canvas, 54 1/2 x 36 1/2 inches. Many of Noah Davis’ Paintings include nebulous, mysterious faces and heads. Maybe I’ve been looking at too much Francis Bacon this past year, but I find them unique and surprisingly compelling, given their frequent lack of features.

My perception had been that at 32 he was still developing, pursuing his own style- as most Artists in their early 30’s are. Ha! As I moved from work to work, I saw an Artist who was completely in control of a full range of styles, which he could dip into at will and which only hinted at influences in tantalizing and intriguing ways, while being wholly his own. Work after different work. How is this possible? The range. The depth. The power. It was all there in the service of his vision.

The Last Barbecue, 2008, Oil on canvas, 60 x 52 inches. Here, the faces are more defined. The group portrait on the left in countered by the odd triple portrait on the right behind the lid of the barbecue, and the scene in the center is surreal, disturbing and puzzling. It is an explosion, or? Looking at it, it was hard not to think of Kerry James Marshall’s Bang, 1994, a 4th of July barbecue scene.

Flashback- November 12,2016 at Kerry James Marshall: Mastry at The Met Breuer. KJM’s Bang, 1994, Acrylic and oil on unstretched canvas(! Notice that it’s tacked to the wall.), 103 x 114 inches.

Before he passed, Mr. Davis asked Helen Molesworth (who, a few years ago gave us the landmark Kerry James Marshall: Mastry Retrospective that I wrote about after its Met Breuer stop) to be his curator. The Zwirner show, which Ms. Molesworth has brilliantly selected and installed, is not arranged chronologically, which I am thankful for. It serves to downplay the “end” and the tragedy of Mr. Davis’ early loss and put the focus squarely on his Art and his accomplishment, where it belongs. (By my count, only 3 of the works did not have owners listed on the checklist.) Each work dialogs with other pieces from a few years later or earlier in ways only someone intimately familiar with the Artist and the work could bring us, which, by itself, sets this apart from most gallery shows of deceased Artists. Her work hasn’t ended here. Ms. Molesworth, who was controversially fired from her post at MOCA in 2018, has also been busy creating an upcoming monograph on Noah Davis, interviewing those who knew the Artist, due to be published this fall, which should be a slam dunk candidate for one of the most important Art books of the year, if not the decade.

1975 (8), 2013, Oil on canvas in artist’s frame, 49 q/w x 73 1/2 inches.

The show featured “fantastical” work, like Imaginary Enemy, alternated with domestic and family scenes. 1975 (8), 2013, was based on a Photograph from the 1970s Davis Family Photo Archives. It reminds me of the mural his mentor and friend Henry Taylor did a few years ago for NYC’s High Line.

Single Mother with Father Out of the Picture, Date unknown, Oil, acrylic, and graphite on canvas, 40 x 30 1/4 inches. There’s an elegance and a timeless, haunting, beauty to this work, which though all too common in our world, I can’t recall having been the subject of a Painting before.

Mr. Taylor has written eloquently about his friend who was 30 years his junior and the effect and influence Noah had on him, his work and his career. One of the more important Painters of our time, reading his words is eye opening, an important testament to Noah Davis’ legacy.

Untitled (Moses), 2010, Oil on linen on wood panel, 8 x 10 1/4 inches.

Perhaps none of these familial works is more poignant than the smallest Painting in the show, Untitled (Moses), 2010, 8 x 10 1/4 inches, showing his son, which may be based on another Photo from his family archives. In this remarkable, small, work, unique among Artist’s portraits of their children known to me, His son Moses has one foot in the water in the sink and one out, as if already leaving. The world shown in the window is dark.

But, as the remarkable, both precocious and fully formed mature works his Paintings are, there was more. Much more.

The Underground Museum is an ongoing Monument to the legacy of Noah Davis. Here, a model of it, showing its facade, with a mockup of the show ARTISTS OF COLOR, 2017-8, curated by Noah Davis. Mr. Davis left the plans for 18 shows for the UM, as it’s known, when he passed. After finding the space, Noah, his wife, Karon, and their baby, Moses, lived in the UM while it was under construction.

Having dealt with galleries early on, Noah Davis was one of those who came to feel the gallery model doesn’t work for them (something I’ve heard in innumerable conversations). Not an “established” Artist with big resources by any means, he nonetheless then dared to set out to forge his own path. With his wife, Sculptor Karon Davis, he took over 3 storefronts at 3508 West Washington Boulevard in the West Adams section of L.A., and opened what they christened the “Underground Museum” to bring museum quality Art, for free, to an area that was “underserved” by existing institutions.

“Noah wanted a space where he could show the work of himself and his friends. He wanted a space that could exist outside of the gallery/museum matrix,” Helen Molesworth said in a talk she gave at the opening.

The daring of that is only topped by his vision.

Noah Davis speaking in front of LA Nights, 2008, Oil on wood panel, 25 1/2 x 19 1/2 inches, which was also in this show. Photo by Alberto E. Rodriquez/WireImage.

In the first show he mounted at the Underground Museum, Imitation of Wealth, Noah recreated well-known works of Art by Marcel Duchamp, Jeff Koons, On Kawara, Robert Smithson and others that he wasn’t able to borrow the originals of so that the people in this underserved area could experience them. For me, it’s another indication of wide-ranging his knowledge of Art history and his taste was. Robert Rauschenberg famously erased a De Kooning Drawing, but I can’t think of any other Artist who has done such a thing and created an entire show of “pseudo reproductions.” As a first show, Imitation of Wealth was both an auspicious “Hello,” and a shot across the bow of the Art world.

Noah Davis’ first Underground Museum show, Imitation of Wealth, reinstalled at MOCA’s Storefront space in 2015.  The imitation of a “date” Painting, Imitation of Om Kawara. Oct 7, 1957, left, happens to be his father’s birthday. Noah Davis’ Imitation of Marcel Duchamp, 2014 (Bottle Rack) is in front of it, Imitation of Don Flavin (lamp) behind the door, and on the far right, behind his Imitation of Jeff Koons (vacuum on a vitrine), and his Imitation of Robert Smithson with sand and mirrors to the far right LACMA Photo by Fredrick Nilsen.

Helen Molesworth, at the time, Chief Curator of MOCA was impressed enough with his idea to make a three year arrangement with UM to collaborate! An arrangement like this is unheard of. Tell me the other case where a world class museum has made an arrangement like this with an Artist in his early 30s to lend Art and work together to present shows in THEIR space. MOCA reinstalled Imitation of Wealth in their Storefront space in 2015, where it opened the day he passed away. He did live to see works from MOCA lent to the Underground Museum.

Noah Davis knew what was “right” for his Art, and as part of that he also had a vision of the future, of bringing Art to the people, for free. But even by 32, he moved past the vision to create the reality. Today, the UM is an important venue, one that has featured the work of Kerry James Marshall, William Kentridge, Henry Taylor, Kara Walker, and Deana Lawson, Kahlil Joseph, Noah Davis’ brother, among others.

Of all the works in the show, Painting for My Dad, 2011, is the most haunting for me- perhaps the most unforgettable Painting I’ve seen in years. It was Painted while his father was in hospice with terminal cancer. We see his Dad about to embark into an unknown, dark, land with a lantern. The landscape, which strikes me as being distantly descended from Cezanne (which I also felt in Imaginary Enemy, shown earlier) in Noah Davis’ own way, is typical of how Mr. Davis took influences from across Art history and made them his own.

It’s fascinating (and something you can’t help but notice) to spot the possible influences from Art history in Noah Davis’ Paintings, and where he’s taken them. Kerry James Marshall’s Paintings set in projects, Henry Taylor’s way with figures, Francis Bacon’s nebulous portraits, Surrealism, and on and on. Every time I look at his work I see more of them, but in each and every instance he has made them his own. He’s not showing off a copious knowledge of Art history, he’s building on what others have done in the service of expressing himself with his own voice. Henry Taylor, Kerry James Marshall, Francis Bacon- these aren’t mentioned by way of comparison- I don’t believe in qualitatively comparing Artists, but just the fact that you can mention Noah Davis in the same sentence with those older masters says quite a bit about the man’s work. Walking through these rooms and looking at his work, even the selection of it shown here, I see someone who was, already, a master Painter, who’s work is going to remain important, in my view. Not only that, Noah Davis hung their work in his shows! In fact, he was one of those who take credit for “discovering” the now renowned Photographer Deana Lawson in 2009, when Mr. Davis served on a jury for a prize that Ms. Lawson submitted for. Ms. Lawson was subsequently featured in the show Deana Lawson: Planes at the UM.
The world not only lost a great Artist when he passed, it lost a budding brilliant curator, one who might have help fill the huge gap that exists in bringing Art out of the galleries and museums to the people. It also lost someone who broke the mould of the Artist/gallery matrix and found his own way. Whatever you think of his Paintings, his example is an enduring, important model for Artists today and in the future. That he was able to make his own way at such a young age has got to inspire countless people who come after him- maybe not to establish their own museum, but to find what works for them1. In the end, that on its own is an amazing, and major, legacy.

February 22, 2020. Closing day in the third gallery, designed to look a bit like the office at the UM, visitors watch videos and films by Kahlil Joseph, Noah’s brother, and others. I’m holding the camera above my head. Such were the crowds, it took me five minutes to navigate from this spot to the door to the right.

As I sit here now that this unforgettable show has closed, I’m left to wonder. What will last longer…what will have the bigger impact on the future- Noah Davis’ Art, or his example, manifested in the Underground Museum? His vision is their common thread. In the example he set, it seems to me that there is much for Artists to learn-now and in the future.

Letting the UM flag “fly high,” as Jimi Hendrix once said on the closing day in gallery 3. Long may it wave.

You can support the Underground Museum here, or by visiting it. The Noah Davis show is scheduled to open there “soon.”

*- Soundtrack for this post is “Bold As Love,” From Axis: Bold As Love, by Jimi Hendrix.

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

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  1. As many are, and have been doing in their own ways, all around the world.

Art- With A Capital “A”

For The Record #1. First part of a series.

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Back at The Met, May 6, 2018. The Museum, as it’s referred to, is one of the world’s great repositories of Art with a capital “A” with collections covering 5,000 years of it from all cultures in all its forms. It’s also one of the very best things about living in NYC. No. It’s THE best thing in my opinion. 1,700+ visits in since August 1, 2002, every time I turn the corner and see the building looming in front of me, I still get a chill down my spine. I touch the corner as I go in each time as a way of saying “Hello” to an old friend and to give thanks for each and every opportunity I get to do so.

To mark the 4 and a half year Anniversary of NighthawkNYC, during which I’ve published 225 pieces in 240 weeks (Phew…), I thought I’d take the opportunity to set the record straight on a few things that I feel are at the core of what I believe, and what I’ve written here. Perhaps I should have “explained” them at the beginning instead of letting those who’ve read these pieces (for which I Thank You) wonder, “What the heck?” Well, better late than never. Herewith the first installment in a brief series called For The Record. Consider them “footnotes” or “addendums” to every piece I’ve written.

Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel Ceiling reproduced as part of The Met’s staggering Michelangelo: Divine Draftsman & Designer, 2017-8, one of the sublime experiences of my life.

First- Art is of one of man and womankind’s supreme accomplishments in my view. I believe there should be some distinction between the Art of someone like Michelangelo and, say, the art of someone learning (said with all due respect).

Various young artists, unknown titles. A display of children’s art beautifying an NYC public school under renovation.

That’s why I capitalize Art and its associated terms (Artist, Painter, Sculptor, Musician, Painter, Photographer, et al.). It’s my way of showing these people the respect I think they’ve earned and deserve. I’ve done this here since Day 1- July 15, 2015, and I’m sure there are some who frown at me for doing it, and some who disagree with me for doing it. Along the way, I’ve seen a few others doing it this way and frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t become more widely adopted. I hope it does soon.

The terrific, and terrifically overlooked, Honore Sharrer’s, Workers and Paintings, 1943, Oil on board, seen at MoMA. Some of the Art she includes are Grant Wood’s American Gothic, Picasso’s Girl before a Mirror, and others by Jean-Francois Millet and Diego Rivera. Though this work and the originals of most of what she includes in it are 100 years old, +/-, for me, this and all of them are Art. Will the future agree? Time will tell…

“What makes a work of art? I don’t know. There are lots of people who tell you they are making art. Maybe some of them are, but I’m not sure that’s true for all of them. Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but that’s not a phrase I would use. I’d prefer to say I’m making pictures – depictions.” David Hockney, A History of Pictures, with his capitalization, eBook P.2.

I’ve held David Hockney’s writings, and ideas, in the highest regard since his revolutionary, and eternally controversial, book Secret Knowledge came out in 2001, but I find it cumbersome to use the word “pictures” here in place of “Art.” Regarding what “makes a work of art?,” as he asks, it seems to me that it takes hundreds of years for the dust to settle on what’s being created in our time and for something, a “picture,” as Mr. Hockney says, to be considered “Art” (IF it continues to speak to people). None of us will be around when that bell rings. So, in the meantime, I’ve opted to use the term Art, capital “A,” respectfully, applying it to all working Artists, present or past.

Thanks, Twyla. I couldn’t have said it better. And so, this scene has appeared in my Banner, sans moving truck, for the past year. If that truck is waiting for me, it may have a long wait. I haven’t been out of Manhattan overnight since February 4, 2012. The Joyce Theater, December, 2019.

The other reason I do it is because Art is my religion. Frank Lloyd Wright, who I consider to be an “ultimate Artist,” capitalized Nature since it was his religion. Art is mine.

Reach out and touch faith. For me, going to The Met is going to church, as I said early on. At this point in my life, it feels like Home. Back Home, again, late on December 22, 2018. Weather be damned. It’s always beautiful inside.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is ”Personal Jesus” by Martin L. Gore of Depeche Mode, from their 1990 album Violator. They perform it here on Letterman

For The Record is a series of pieces that are about key/core subjects & beliefs that underly everything else I’ve written here.

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
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Sarah Sze: Creativity, Unbounded

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

“I bring together the materials I find around me. I gather them to try and create immersive experiences that occupy rooms, that occupy walls, landscapes, buildings, but ultimately I want them to occupy memory.” Sarah Sze, TED Talk.

Crescent (Timekeeper), 2019, Mixed media

In the 4 1/2 years of NHNYC I’ve never yet called a Contemporary Artist a genius. Until now. [Drum roll]

Sarah Sze is a genius in my opinion.

As I take stock of the Art I saw in 2019, along with Jean-Michel Basquiat at The Brant Foundation (which I looked at here), the most unforgettable show I saw this past year was Sarah Sze at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery. As I write this three months after it closed, it’s at the front of my memory of everything I saw last year.

Overflowing. Sarah Sze began on the outside(!) of the gallery’s doors and windows.

Detail of part of Images in Refraction (West) on the western part of the facade of Tanya Bonakdar Gallery (to the left in the previous picture) reveals the multimedia nature of what’s on view inside, and the multi-dimensional talent of the Artist. Painting, Sculpture, Collage, Engineering & Architecture, Photography, Film, Installation- you name it. You get it. And then some.

I’ve seen her gallery shows over the past decade, and each time, I left shaking my head. Part sculpture, part installation, part construction project, part hardware store free-for-all, they were always impossible to fully take in at one look. You saw their shape from a distance and admired the overall composition, and then learned the devil was in the detail, and the detail, and the seemingly endless detail. Still, I wasn’t prepared for her expansion into multi-media, including the debut of her Paintings, she presented on West 21st Street this fall where not even two floors, the reception area, the ancillary walls, both sides of the galleries windows, doors, or the space under the stairs were enough to contain her seemingly boundless creativity.

 

Looking out at the view seen previously of Images in Refraction (West), with installation on the wall, right, leading to the first gallery.

Not to mention 4 galleries filled with her trademark seemingly infinite detail.

Detail of the ever-changing projection that filled the walls surrounding Crescent/Timekeeper.

After the lead-in provided by entering the gallery and passing through the prelude in the reception area, Crescent (Timekeeper), 2019, turned the large gallery into a fully immersive experience from the moment you entered the space and tried to take it all in from about 25 feet away, as may be seen in the very first image above, like some alien craft in a pre-2001:A Space Odyssey 1960s sci-fi movie. “Yes. Something landed…and…it’s glowing! Moving in for a closer look. Tell Lana I love her…” Situated near one far corner allowed embedded rotating projectors to have much of the surrounding walls to themselves engulfing you as you enter the space.

Close up/Details of the center section of Crescent (Timekeeper). Stepladders are a recurring motif in Sarah Sze’s work. As she’s said, “Everything you need to make the piece is in the piece.”

As you approach between two “arms” extending out on the floor, you realize that the center section contains about 50 screens of varying size. Standing there for a few moments reveals each one of those screens contains projected images moving independently of each other. Yet, tracing them back, you find only a few overhead projectors. ? On one visit the work struck me as an almost nostalgic look at life on earth. Suffice it to say, you need to experience it for yourself.

To the stars…Gazing at the top of the “superstructure” of Crescent (Timekeeper), 2019, Mixed media.

With so much to see in just this work, I was somewhat shocked when I realized Crescent (Timekeeper) wasn’t the only “monumental” work on view!

Detail, part of one of 4 walls that makes up After Studio, 2019, with the work Surround Sound (After Studio), 2019, Oil paint, acrylic paint, acrylic polymers, ink, aluminum, archival paper, disband and wood, 103 1/4 x 130 inches, center. No Photo can begin to covey what it was like to be in this work, which is what visitors to this space were, but looking at the piece on the wall, center, the first “Painting” by Sarah Sze I’ve seen, might begin to.

In a smaller, rear, gallery on the first floor, I encountered one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in an Art show- what looked to be a complete (re)construction of one of her studios down to the last detail. A work titled After Studio, 2019. It appeared to me to center around a series of Paintings by Sarah Sze, the first I’ve ever seen, though they are as much Collage as Painting. ”In the age of the image, a painting is a sculpture,” Sarah Sze said in 2019.

Details of details from the right of center section of Surround Sound (After Studio) seen above.

That sentiment puts her in the direct line of Picasso & Braque’s Cubism, Marcel Duchamp, Joseph Cornell, Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, Jack Whitten, Frank Stella and, more recently, Mark Bradford and Julie Mehertu. With everything Sarah Sze includes in her Paintings, two things struck me as particularly interesting- her use of Photography (apparently her own), and her “use” of words. They’re there, if you look closely, but they almost exclusively appear to be “notes to self” rather than to others on “post-it” like notes. I was told that the Artist went back and replaced each one with archival equivalents as she completed the work. Yes Surround Sound (After Studio) is complete, and some very astute museum bought it.

The corner of the opposite and adjacent walls. Remind yourself- You’re in a gallery.

I returned to experience After Studio again and again and it felt to me like I was walking around in the Artist’s mind. Often when I see Art, especially landscapes, I close my eyes to feel the presence of place in the piece in my mind’s eye. Here was one “landscape,” I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to drink in. Nary a foot of After Studio, save for the center space to move around it, lacked vision or wonder. When I left if for the last time on October 17th, I was fully in awe1.

Another detail, this one interesting for showing some of the Photographs the Artist may, or may not, use, along with what may happen to them on the way.

On the 2nd floor, the large back gallery contained more Paintings, and a Painted floor. All told, nine Paintings were in the show. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the appearance of her Paintings, after all Sarah Sze studied to be a Painter for a decade before turning her attention to “make meaning of the things around us through materials2.” For me, as amazing as the installations are, the Paintings linger with me every bit as much. No small feat.

I am thrilled to see her interest in Painting return in stunning works like this. 12 Landscapes (After Object), 2019, Oil paint, acrylic paint, acrylic polymers, ink, aluminum, archival paper, disband and wood (triptych), 73 1/2 x 110 1/4 inches.

Detail of 12 Landscapes (After Object).

I was told the show took 2 1/2 weeks to install- for a show that only ran for 6 weeks!

Images in Translation, 2019, Mixed media.

Finally, upstairs in the Project Room, Images in Translation, 2019, was installed in the dark, making it very hard to get a shot of that comes close to doing it justice.

Detail.

Time to head downstairs and back outside.

Looking down from 2 flights above at Images in Refraction(East) under the stairs.

I then immediately started scrambling down West 21st Street to find the pieces of my exploded mind that had wound up on the ground. On September 21st, the opening day of the “New” MoMA, two days after Sarah Sze ended, I discovered this installed on the 6th floor-

Sarah Size, Triple Point (Pendulum), 2013, seen at MoMA, Opening day, September 21, 2019

Sarah Sze’s Triple Point (Pendulum), a work that was originally shown at the 2013 Venice Biennale when the Artist represented the USA, was on display, front and center, in the exhibition Surrounds: 11 Installations.

The immersive experience Sarah Sze gives us in Blueprint for a Landscape in the 96th Street 2nd Avenue Station is based on a fantasy of the construction of Hudson Yards, which is no where near it.

Though that show, too, has now ended, New Yorkers are able to see Sarah Sze’s work anytime- 24/7/365. Ms. Sze created the Art in the 96th Street Subway Station on the new 2nd Avenue line, which opened in 2017, making her one of a handful of Artists who’s work was installed during the creation of the brand new Subway Station it will be seen in permanently. I’ve lauded before the taste of those charged with selecting Art for the Subway, and here’s yet another instance of brilliant vision, in my opinion. Here’s a look for readers without a MetroCard. I can’t help thinking that in 100 years, people will treasure this remarkable video of both the construction of the Station and the Artist actually there, giving a walkthrough-

Sarah Sze is moving between Sculpture, Painting, Photography, Film, Installation and collage in new ways, creating results that have never been seen before. Her work is like the city, like the forest, like a home, and filled with elements, reminders, and the detritus of each. And, in a work like Crescent (Timekeeper), it’s full of what will be memories and associations in the form of images. To what end? As in all great Art, that’s left to each viewer to decide.

More details of After Studio

In my view, though the show marks something of a new “period” in her work, it’s seamless with what’s come before. Already a world famous Artist, could it be that she’s only scratched the surface of her talent? A year ago I’d be shocked to have said that about her work. Now? I’m ready to bet on it.

I have no idea how she conceives her pieces, but in each one of Sarah‘s shows- literally, never more than in her most recent show, I felt like I was walking around inside of her brain.

Ah…so this is what it’s like to be a genius…

*Soundtrack for this Post is “Aurora” by Bjork from Vespertine.

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

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.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.

 

  1. I returned on October 19th, the show’s closing day, but there was a line to get into After Studio. I passed and left feeling fortunate to have spent a few hours in it by myself over the run of the show.
  2. Ted Talk