NYC Art Shows

Nasreen Mohamedi’s “Simple” Perfection

Stop the Presses.

If you are an Author, or Publisher, of a book on the History of Art in the 20th Century? I’m sorry to say- you left out a unique, important, and great Artist.

Her name was Nasreen Mohamedi.

It’s ok. Until this past month, I, too, would have asked- “Who?”

She’s an Indian Artist who died in 1990 at the age of 53, without having sold a work, and who has had only 4 shows in New York (3 at the Talwar Gallery, the other at the Drawing Center).

Until now.

The Naked Face of Immortality?

Out of the shadows. Her Time Has Come.

It’s rare to spot a moment in time and say, “that was the moment when things changed.” Like a light coming on and what was hidden in the dark is made visible. What’s once seen may be very hard to forget. In the case of the Art of Nasreen Mohamedi that moment for those of us her work had remained unseen by happened on March 18 when when the lights came on and the doors opened on the 2nd floor of the new Met Breuer (TMB) for her Retrospective. It’s the “other” big show going on there (“Unfinished: Thoughts Left Visible” is on the 3rd & 4th Floor), together inaugurating the Met’s new outpost, 9 minutes away as the feet fly from their 1000 Fifth Avenue Mothership. While she is recognized, and her work eagerly sought after in Europe and Asia, (for up to $250,000., a piece), here, she has remained virtually completely unknown1. The “light” came on for me shortly after I walked through the doors to TMB’s 2nd floor on the eve of April 14.

Unbeknownst to me, at that very moment, Prince was giving what would, tragically, turn out to be his final performance in Atlanta.

By the time I was half way through the 8 galleries (containing about 130 works) that evening, I was completely & unalterably under her spell. After, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I wanted to see more, and nothing else. Who was she? Where did this come from? 7 subsequent visits later, and counting, I am now borderline obsessed (there is a Part Two to this Post, the first time I’ve done it- link at the bottom). If I were about to have a daughter? I’d want to name her “Nasreen.” Such has been the impact of discovering the person, and her Art.

Mark my words. Well, mark one word, actually. “Nasreen.” I see her work only gaining in importance and influence as she becomes a world figure in Art. Her name will become part of the Art vocabulary. Luckily, it’s a beautiful name, of someone, who by all accounts, was an equally beautiful person. And, a name that’s as easy to remember as her Art is. Now, that word will be spread here, like it already is elsewhere, as more people experience it.

Experience what, exactly?

Her’s is very hard Art to write about, or talk about. The effect it has is, also, hard to describe. I’ve decided not to post pictures of it at the moment because it really needs to be seen in person. So, go and see it for yourself, if you can, and have that experience I love of seeing something new for the first time with fresh eyes, and I hope it is as rewarding for you as it has been for me. My feelings about it center on finding it beautiful- miraculously composed & gorgeously executed, spiritual in the sense that her works are meditation objects, not unlike a tree or a scholar’s rock. They reach for the inexpressible, yet somehow, inside, they resonate as being “true.” There’s a feeling to them of a foreign world that is somehow, strangely, not “alien.” Perhaps that is because there is no chaos in Nasreen’s work, only the most perfect order. There are no crooked lines, no jagged edges, no line out of place, in spite of the fact that she suffered from Huntington’s Disease from her 20’s on, which progressively robbed her of her motor skills, and then, took her life, as it had her siblings before her. Is it any wonder, then, that her work, and her efforts to pursue and develop it, are so intensely focused?

In that sense her Art is like Bach, perhaps, the ultimate genius of order and man-made perfection. In the “Fugue” of Nasreen’s work, the theme continues from piece to piece. As in a fugue, this time the dialogue between voices are only with her own. I found myself settling on Bach’s “Sonatas & Partitas for Solo Violin,” as performed by Nathan Milstein, as the Soundtrack to my visits. (I should also note that TM commissioned pianist/composer Vijay Iyer to compose a piece for this show, which ECM Records has released on the album, “A Cosmic Rhythm With Each Stroke,” which is the title of the piece dedicated to Nasreen. It features one of her drawings on the cover.) These are conversations she’s having with herself, as we see in her riveting, endlessly fascinating Diaries- works of Art unto themselves, which are generously stationed throughout the brilliantly designed show, that continue on in her paintings, and then in her photography, and finally in her drawings.

These are intensely private, personal works, but in a completely different sense than the work on view upstairs in “Unfinished.” (This show could have been titled “An Unfinished Life.”) Maybe they were therapeutic, physically and psychically for Nasreen. Maybe they were meant to prove to herself how “in tact” she still was as time, and illness, progressed. In any event, that they have come to speak to people in so many countries around the world, and for her to be given the high honor of not only a large show, that occupies an entire floor, by The Metropolitan Museum, but to be selected to be the FIRST Artist given a show, and a Retrospective at that, as part of their new Modern & Contemporary Art initiative at TMB says louder than just about anything else that she has arrived.

She certainly doesn’t seem to have been expecting “Art immortality.” In fact, she’s hasn’t made it all that easy on posterity, and that makes me wonder about how she viewed her own work. Curators don’t even know which way the works should be hung (only 4 works in the show are signed, one tell tale way of knowing which way to hang a work)…

DSC_0756PNEFP

they don’t know the names of the work (every single piece here has the same title- “Untitled.”)…they can only approximate when a work was created (you’ll see “circa” on all but three pieces that she signed and dated)…there is also some mystery to how she achieved some of the incredible effects she got in her work. She seems to have largely kept her work to herself, showing it to guests, but only publicly a couple of times before she passed. Instead of selling it, she gave some of her work as gifts to friends. What A Gift! 2

Nasreen’s (I Love saying her name) work seems basic. In fact, it’s hard to think of any Art that is more basic in concept than her work from 1970 on. She seems to have spent a good deal of her Artistic career continually simplifying, seeking the essence, the heart, the core of her vision. Whereas many Artists begin by drawing, then move to painting, Nasreen did the opposite. Having begun with painting, and collage, in color, most of her post 1970 work is pen with black ink and graphite on white paper. 3

I bet that 75% of all human beings have, at one point of their lives, put pencil or ink to paper and drawn something.

And? Most of hers is lines. Just lines. Or later, lines with circles or semi-circles- the most basic elements there are.

The rest of it is space (or “negative space” as Artists call it). Blank, white paper.

Been there. Seen it.

Ho hum.

Yawn.

 

Guess

Again.

 

Be prepared. Her work is among the most subtle you’ll ever see. “God Is In The Details,” van der Rohe famously said. If God is truly in the details, than Nasreen Mohamedi is the “Goddess of Line,” in my opinion (which I will expound on in the next part). In her hands, the “simple” line approaches the sacred. It transcends. It becomes “more,” “something else.” Look closer. Follow it’s course. Look a lot closer, spend some time with it. Live in the layers, the intersections, the distances- near and further. Come back and see it again.

It’s not going anywhere. I promise.

You’ll see something else.

I’ve spent much of the past few weeks looking for it but I have yet to find anyone who’s done what she did. I see a piece here or there that is kinda close (a Paul Klee, a Mondrian, a Ralston Crawford, a Malevich, and another, and yet another Malevich, an admitted influence, among them), but it’s isolated. Different.

Here is a consistent body of work4 that creates entirely new worlds that all speak the same language.

It’s the language of Zen.

of Poetry.

of Music.

of Structures hanging in space. (Don’t stars hang in space?)

It’s the channeling of superhuman perseverance into creating gorgeous works of visionary draughtsmanship in the face of terminal loss of motor skills, untold discomfort and pain.

it’s the language of essence, of purity, of unique beauty seen through the eyes of one uniquely beautiful person.

It’s the language of Art.

Even Timeless Art.

Whatever that is- I think this is it.

But, you can only see it at the new Met Breuer until June 5, then time’s up.

Given the scattered distribution of Nasreen’s approximately 200 surviving works- (as I said, she never sold a work, she gave some to friends), and the high prices being paid for one of her drawings, it may make it very hard for any museum to acquire a collection of them. In fact, in my past 14 years of Met attendance, I can’t recall one show where there wasn’t a single work that was not from The Met’s collection, before this one! It may, therefore, be unlikely a show of this size & comprehensiveness is seen here for a very long time. And that will make this a show that will be spoken about in legendary terms. You’ve been warned.

A tip of the hat, then, is very much in order to Chairwoman of The Met’s Modern & Contemporary Department, Sheena Wagstaff 5, her associate, Brinda Kumar & the powers that be at The Met for making THE perfect choice to begin their highly anticipated new Modern & Contemporary Art initiative at The Met Breuer. I’m in awe. I can’t begin to imagine how hard a choice this must have been- “Who to show first?” Can you say AUDACIOUS? AUSPICIOUS? I should be used to this, after all it’s The Met we’re talking about, but I’m not. And, oh? By the way? As I’ve said, the show upstairs ain’t bad either.

This is Part One of my Post on Nasreen. Part Two is here. I promise to take a deep breath soon.

*-The Soundtrack for this Post is J.S. Bach’s Sonatas & Partitas for Unaccompanied Violin as performed by Nathan Milstein on Deutsche Grammophon. (I look forward to hearing Vijay Iyer’s  “A Cosmic Rhythm With Each Stroke,” with Wadada Leo Smith soon.)

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  1. At the moment, there is only one monograph on Nasreen Mohamedi in print- the superb catalog for this show, which was co-organized by the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Spain in collaboration with the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, New Delhi. ↩
  2.  That night, 746 miles south, Prince was singing- “If I gave you diamonds and pearls, Would you be a happy boy or a girl, If I could I would give you the world, All I can do is just offer you my love” From “Diamonds & Pearls”, from the album of the same name, and published by Universal Music Publishing Group. ↩
  3. Her photographs were black and white as well. ↩
  4. I’m referring to the drawings, which are dated here from “circa 1970” until her death in 1990 ↩
  5. If you look at the app on the iPad pictured above in the show’s reading room, it includes a picture of Nasreen Mohamedi’s unmarked grave, 18 miles south of Mumbai, taken by Ms. Wagstaff. A sign of the level of her personal dedication to this Artist. ↩

Table For One – Patti Smith’s “18 Stations”

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

One of the small pleasures of going to The Strand Bookstore are the quirky, usually ironically humorous yellow signs one of the staff places in random books. This one was sticking out of a just released book one day last October- Patti Smith’s “M Train,” featuring its author looking incognito sitting at a corner table by herself lost in thought…

October 30, 2015. I bought one.

Patti Smith, who many years ago briefly worked one floor down in The Strand’s basement, is a living legend now, but, she’s not stopping there.

From here to… The Strand’s basement. Not one of the 18 Stations. The “Patti Smith section” is now down here.

Beyond her groundbreaking music career, she’s had a second career as an award winning writer of prose, which seems to grow in stature all the time. “M Train,” which she calls “a roadmap to my life,” is both similar, and different, to her previous book, the instant classic “Just Kids.” While also a memoir, like “Just Kids” was centered on her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe, this time, it’s about her life before, during and after her late husband, Fred “Sonic” Smith, guitarist of the MC5. It differs, too, as her Polaroid photography is a central part of this book. While, she’s been doing photography for years, and books of them have been published, she seems liberated here by not having a brilliant photographer as the co-subject, one she felt a responsibility to, and who’s pictures of her are now classics. Her photos enhance the story and go hand in hand with her imaginative telling of it, which almost feels improvised (she mentions listening to John Coltrane’s 1964 album “Live at Birdland” at one point and that is how her writing here feels to me). The book serves to pique interest in this aspect of her creativity. Now, many of those photos, and others, are on view in her show, “18 Stations,” at Robert Miller Gallery on West 26th Street, through April 16.

 

 

3 of the “18 Stations.”

While rock stardom is rare, something few can relate to, along the way, she’s also become something many more can relate to- single, and on her own. The show arranges images from her seemingly never-ending travels from, and returns to her NYC homes, and her beloved Cafe ‘Ino, at 21 Bedford Street in the Village, (spoiler alert), which closes for good near the end of the book. At the figurative and literal “heart” of the show, half way back in the Gallery, in the first “Station,” is an installation of her real table and chair from Cafe ‘Ino (“My portal to where.”) flanked by a bulletin board containing what appears to be the genesis of this show on one wall, and pencilled notes hand written right on the adjacent wall, making me wonder if the show originated during her time there.

Table For One. The wall on the right is covered with her writing in pencil.

“It occurred to me I could preserve the history of ‘Ino…like an engraver etching the 23rd Psalm on the head of a pin.” The iconic first picture in M Train in a unique version with Patti’s pencil inscription in her caligraphic script.

“We seek to stay present, even as the ghosts attempt to draw us away.”

It’s as if the thoughts she was having while sitting there are now real before us, though she is absent.  The other 17 “Stations” tell the story of her journeys, partially with her late husband, “M Train” dedicatee, Fred “Sonic” Smith, but mostly alone.

2 more Stations.

Reading the book, one discovers quite a bit about the “real” Patti Smith- her unquenchable thirst for (good) coffee, her obsession with detective TV shows….which, of course, reminds me of a song. You know…”She’s filing her nails while they’re dragging the lake…”

…her amazing connectedness to her influences to the point of traveling to their homes, gravesites or other memorable places in their lives- like visiting the chess table Bobby Fischer played Boris Spassky for the World Championship in 1972 in Iceland (she then had a late night meeting with Mr. Fishcher, and subsequently visited his grave after he passed the following year). She remembers so many of her dreams! I don’t. She also has a love of birthdates and anniversaries. Along the way, we meet Tolstoy’s Bear, Herman Hesse’s typewriter, Frida Kahlo’s medicine bottles and Schiller’s portal. I mean oval table.

Schiller’s Table. This inscribed version is labelled Schiller’s Portal

If you’re curious about how she works, or how she goes about her daily life, this is the book for you. For the rest of us, its a book about honing in on what really matters to you, about persevering and continuing to do you work and hone your craft. We’re lucky to have it. I found myself wishing we had something similar by Da Vinci, to go along with his Notebooks, or Michelangelo, who left us about 500 letters and possibly ghost wrote a biography of himself, that is frustrating for many reasons, where Patti’s paints a vivid picture. The amount of detail she recalls is staggering (and perhaps a bit too much). Well? I can’t have it both ways, so I’ll opt for too much rather than not enough. It’s interesting to contrast this intense detailing in the prose with her photographs. Some are a bit blurry, some off center or kilter (see below) providing (purposely) less detail than you may want.

“Speak to me, speak to me heart
I feel a needing to bridge the clouds, softly go
A way I wish to know, to know
A way I wish to know, to know”*

While most of these Polaroids are silver gelatin limited edition prints of 10, a few of these remarkable and beautiful images are graced with her equally beautiful handwritten inscriptions creating one of a kind works, they all, consciously, have an old feel to them, belying the fact that some were taken barely 3 years ago, which gives them a dream-like, seen in a vision quality, which Ms. Smith says she likes about early photography. The effect strikes me as not unlike that achieved by the great graphic artists, like Rembrandt, Goya and Whistler.

Herman Hesse’s Typewriter. I would have guessed it was William Burrough’s.

It’s also interesting to ponder what isn’t- here, or in M Train. There is no Robert Mapplethorpe. There are no shots of the Hotel Chelsea, West 23rd Street or Chelsea. No CBGB’s (How many of you remember that Patti Smith was also the last Artist to perform there?). There are only a few (as far as I can tell) of Manhattan. The two shots of Cafe Imo, of course, a shot of the West 4th St Subway Station, a shot of her house, among them. In that sense, for someone who, (for me and perhaps quite a few others) is associated so strongly with New York City, this is a show (like the book) that is largely about the world “outside” of it. ‘Ino being the “portal” to it. Memories of people and places outside of Manhattan (even in the case of Ginsberg and Burroughs who spent so much time here).

“Speak to me, speak to me shadow
I spin from the wheel, nothing at all
Save the need, the need to weave
A silk of souls, that whisper, whisper
A silk of souls, that whispers to me”*

Among my dozen visits was one on April Fool’s when a few hundred of us were blessed to have our paths cross with hers at a reading here that served to highlight for me, at least, the conversational nature of both her recent books, then hearing her tell stories about them, and her life, in ways no “audio guide” ever could. I’ve heard a lot of Artists, and Musicians for that matter, speak about their work. Rarely have I felt like they were speaking of their children the way these stories felt. The memories behind each shot is so personally present, it lies as close to her skin as the image lies on the surface of the paper. Quite a few of the stories are told in the books, and hearing her read them changed the way I will re-read them. (I have not heard the audio books she’s done of them.).

I missed hearing Joyce read Ulysees, Kerouac read On The Road, Ginsberg read Howl, but…

I didn’t expect to hear her read from Just Kids, expecting this to be about M Train, but she did. I don’t know Patti, and didn’t know Robert Mapplethorpe, but I know well know the area much of the book inhabits, as well as some of the venues it takes place in, so the book lives in me, as few I’ve read do. Hearing her read it brought it alive, pulling it from the realm of “living history,” to something that, yes…really did happen. I pass by some of those places a few times a week.

Every single time I do I think about what happened there.

A fan’s tribute left leaning against the wall. April 15.

This is one of the most personal shows I’ve seen, certainly recently. I found myself returning to it over and over, like she did to Cafe ‘Imo. It’s like being able to walk around in someone’s memories, rather to get on a train and stop at each Station along her journey. Along the way, we encounter influences, living, passed and once living among you and now passed, objects that speak to a large meaning or significance, memories, hardship, distant places went to, seen and conquered. We see life being lived and places where it famously was lived. We see that life goes on, all the time, around us- everywhere, while weather happens, dirt gathers on graves, dandelions grow and stuffed bears eternally await calling cards.

M Train sweeps the dirt that accumulates on the many graves it visits, without need for tenders in traditional wear and using a literary broom to do so- the kind those buried within would possibly prefer. It’s a Testament to Life- surviving on your own, through deaths, Holidays without others, long trips, your birthday, sudden illness, blackouts, meeting legends, unexpected connections that prove life changing, and most of all, change. In the end, you can’t even go home any more.

___

Postscript, April 16-

Each of the dozen times I went to this show, I especially looked forward to seeing her table and chair from Cafe ‘Ino, which I show in the 6th photo above, and below.

Walking over there today for the last time, I asked myself – Why? Why do they “mean” so much to me?

I was never even in Cafe ‘Ino. I had to look it up on Apple Maps to even see where it was. I’d never met Patti Smith. I didn’t follow her music career very closely. I wasn’t aware of the extent of her work in photography.

?

I don’t get it.

I read Just Kids and loved it for many reasons, including those I mention above. One of those was the sense of the Manhattan that is now gone- both people and places lost, it so beautifully captures. Patti stands for that lost Manhattan for me for that reason and also because her music was a vital part of it. When I started reading M Train, all I knew about it was that it was about writing alone in a cafe. I could relate. I spent 10 years drawing alone in bars. Inside the book, the very first picture is of her table & chair in situ at Cafe ‘Ino. We’ve all lost a lot in our lives- it’s an inevitable part of living. Patti is no different. Neither am I. Neither are you.

When I reached the Gallery today, I walked down the hall and rounded the corner to visit their installation. When I looked in, I was stopped in my tracks completely in shock. The table and chair were taken.

Patti Smith was sitting there, alone, signing books.

At that moment, it hit me. What they say to me is that they speak for what’s been lost in her life. They, in ways even her pictures aren’t, are physical representatives of what’s been lost. They are still here. They are continuing with their “lives.” Like we all must- like Patti is.

For me? I feel so very lucky…so blessed. Getting to see her sitting in her chair at her table…NOTHING could have been a more fitting culmination to her show. Though, this was close…

Patti walks down memory lane one last time before her show ends. April 16.

“Speak to me heart
All things renew
Hearts will mend
‘Round the bend

Paths that cross
Cross again
Paths that cross
Will cross again”*

It is the ultimate “P.S.” to it.

As if the universe was saying to me- “P.S.- Life goes on.”

Hopefully.

*Soundtrack for this Post is “Paths That Cross” by Patti Smith, from her ablum, Land (1975-2002), written by Patricia Smith and Fred “Sonic” Smith, published by Druse Music. All other quotes in the text are from M Train by Patti Smith and published by Alfred A. Knopf.

January, 2019- This Post is dedicated to all the Patti Smith fans from around the world who’ve written to me about it. 

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded & ad-free for over 8 years, during which over 300 full length pieces have been published!
If you’ve found it worthwhile, PLEASE donate to allow me to continue below.
Thank you, Kenn.

Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
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The Greatest German Reality Show Star, circa 1700

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava (*- unless otherwise credited)

“My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars”*

Portrait of Matthias Buchinger, 1705

However you were born, the odds are you were more naturally capable right out of the box than Matthias Buchinger, who’s birth left him without hands or feet, and who stood a total of 29 inches (74cm) high. Yet, none of that stopped him from rising to the level of being called “The Greatest Living German” in 1726. Pretty darn lofty, for anyone. A Special Exhibition, Wordplay: Matthias Buchinger’s Drawings from the Collection of Ricky Jay, currently at The Met shows that, astoundingly, he nonetheless proves the equal of just about any other Artist in the entire Metropolitan Museum when it comes to technical proficiency. It will, also, give you pause for thought the next time you feel “incapable.”

When you do? Consider this- Many of the works he created, which are now rare, but astutely collected by Master Magician, Ricky Jay over the past 30 years, are tiny to begin with. Add to this that Matthias Buchinger (MB) was so adept at holding his pen between his “stumps” he was able to write forwards, backwards, upside down or in the most minute sizes possible to the extent that he created drawings out of minuscule words, an Art called Micrography. A close up look at one small portrait of him reveals that his hair is made up of nothing but very tiny words- a couple Psalms and the Lord’s Prayer.  The entire show probably takes up 400 square feet- not even big for a gallery show. Yet rarely will you find so much packed into each square inch.

An index-finger sized rendering of The 10 Commandments by Mr. Buchinger is so small I couldn’t read it with the magnifier.

While his Art is being honored in this show, as amazing as it is, it barely scratches the surface of what MB was capable of.

Buchinger surrounded by depictions of some of his skills.

He made his living touring Europe demonstrating the full range of his talents to the high & mighty as well as the common folk, in magic, calligraphy, making miniatures in bottles(!), threading a needle, loading a gun, shaving himself, playing music (he created some of his own instruments), playing games, among other things. Oh, and he was married 4 times and fathered 11 to 14 children!1

The second floor Drawings gallery, where the show is installed, is one of the must-see spaces in The Met. Shows change every 6-8 weeks here giving The Museum a chance to show off its extraordinary collection. Still, out of all the wonders I’ve seen in this space the past 14 years, I haven’t seen anything more consistently amazing than Wordplay.

I know what you’re thinking- today’s so-called “reailty” show stars wouldn’t even be good enough to apprentice on MB’s show!

Coat of Arms, 1738, Pen and ink on vellum, the last known work by Matthias Buchinger includes a self-portrait and autobiographical paragraph in the lower margin. Bear in mind this entire work is about letter size.

“I’m beautiful in my way,
‘Cause God makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track, baby
I was born this way”*

Was he the greatest disabled Artist of all time? I have no idea. I’ve been blown away by the work of Chuck Close (brilliant before his brain aneurysm, continually evolving in ever new ways since), and Hendrik Goltzius, a Graphic Artist possibly on par with Durer despite having a severely deformed drawing hand, among others, and they are all beacons of what the human spirit is capable of, in the Arts as in so many other aspects of life. Yet, I can’t say I’ve seen anything quite like that of the Art of the “Little Man of Nuremberg,”

R-E-S-P-E-C-T. The Greatest German Living, a poem to Buchinger, 1726

“Don’t hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you’re set
I’m on the right track, baby
I was born this way, born this way”*

MB was, however, forced to turn to being a carnival side show act to gain appreciation for his abilities as an Artist as well as his many other skills, and to survive. The show includes a few works by other Artists of the same era who were also born without hands or feet, who made their living in the same manner. A “broadside” poster announcing the appearance of one is on view. MB would demonstrate his writing talents for show attendees for a fee and some of these souvenirs are on view here. (The Portrait of him surrounded by depictions of his skills bears his hand written inscriptions on the bottom margin.) Invariably, he always proceeds his signature with “Born without hands or feet…”

A portrait of Thomas Inglefield, also born without hands or feet, shows how Mr. Buchinger may have worked his magic.

Seeing all of this, and a smidgen of what life may have been like for these Artists in the 18th Century, it’s hard not think about the bigger picture.

Anonymous, Portrait of Johanna Sophia Liebschern, ca.1780-90,  the so-called “Fusskunstlerin,” or foot artist, as the piece is inscribed. It goes on to say, “she has no arms but is able to use knife, fork, and spoon with her left foot and feed herself, (and) is able to prettily write, sew, draw, cut a quill pen, load and shoot a pistol.” Like MB, Ms. Liebschern enjoyed considerable fame in her time, both voyeuristic and scientific.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with lovin’ who you are
She said, ’cause He made you perfect, babe
So hold your head up,
girl and you’ll go far”*

Thankfully, for the disabled, to my mind THE most overlooked group in our society, things seem to have gotten a little better. But, what do I know. I asked Magdalena Truchan, Fashion Guru, Designer, Artist and Blogger Extraordinaire over at her must read Blog, prettycripple.com, that very question- “Have things gotten better for disabled Artists?” She told me-

“I think lots of things have gotten better for disabled artists. They can make a living online as well and the world gets to see what they offer. There are so many groups out there that I come across who help disabled people. I read these things and smile. They have a better networking system today and while discrimination still exists people in the US don’t treat disabled people as lepers. Same in Europe. Life must have been hell for disabled people until the 70s in this country. Also, because of the the “bullying” problem for all people, now people are standing up to them and outing them on social media. So now it is un-PC to bully people. We have a long way to go but at least people have another avenue to voice themselves. You also see more disabled models and actors now. Although some disabled people on TV are not legit cripples. They are able bodied and stuck in chairs which sucks, but at least they are portraying disabled people.”

While it’s good to hear that, so much remains to be done for the disabled. I can’t help but wonder if part of the root of the cause of this slow progress might be that able-bodied people are secretly terrified of becoming disabled.? Even in this very show, the work is hung too high for wheelchair visitors to see, and though magnifying glasses are thankfully on hand, unless you are a bit over 6 feet tall, the higher works will still remain unavailable for close study, as you can see below. It must be a very frustrating experience for the disabled to come to this show. On the one hand they’ll be as impressed as anyone else by the work, but (unnecessarily) frustrated by the experience. What kind of message does this send?

The show is hung for the average size, or taller, standing adult.

That being said, this show is, also, a fascinating insight into the wondrous collection of Ricky Jay, renowned as the greatest living Sleight-of-Hand Artist and historian of its related arts, and who says that MB is “my flat-out favorite. I’ve been collecting materials on him for 30 years.2” Mr. Jay is someone who has spent his entire life mastering his craft, that way a great Painter or Musician does, all the while thoroughly exploring its history, researching its forgotten Masters, collecting rare books, artifacts and works of Art they created. This show is, therefore, is something of a byproduct of how he became who he is today. From what is on view here, the man has superb taste and a most discerning eye.

Be careful, Mr. Bond, or Ricky will turn your gun into a rabbit! Yes, that's the inimitable Ricky Jay in "Tomorrow Never Dies."

Be careful, Mr. Bond, or Ricky will turn your gun into a rabbit! Yes, that’s the inimitable Ricky Jay in the James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies.

It leaves me eager to see more of his collection, so I hope it marks the beginning of a relationship between TM and the inimitable Mr. Jay. For more on him, check out the two excellent documentaries, Deceptive Practice: The Mysteries and Mentors of Ricky Jay, which airs as part of PBS’ American Masters series, and, Hustlers, Hoaxters, Pranksters And Ricky Jay, here on youtube.

Isle of View. Untitled by Rachel Harrison from her Perth Amboy Show at MoMA. Does Art Have to be this hard to see?

While “Wordplay” is a shining example of attention being paid to an extraordinary and overlooked Artist- disabled, or not, in a show that will inspire all, it’s one thing to honor this Artist, it’s another to make it largely inaccessible to disabled visitors. I’m not sure that helps inspire other disabled Artists, or disabled people, and that’s a shame. (Luckily, however, the excellent catalog for the show, by Mr. Jay, features beautiful, clear and full size reproductions of many of the works on display, along with Mr. Jay’s one-0f-a-kind insights. I found I could see the works better in the book than by actually looking at the real thing). It says to me that The Met’s interest here lies in the Art itself, and while I understand that, I think they missed a chance to include more of the Art going public, namely the group that includes these wonderful Artists, themselves.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is”Born This Way,” by Lady Gaga, written by NYC’s own Stefani Germanotta, Jeppe Laursen, Fernando Garibay and Paul Blair, from the album of the same title and published by Sony ATV Music Publishing, Warner Chappell Music Inc. and Universal Music Publishing.

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  1. Ok..ok…I’ll insert the famous Groucho Marx joke- “I like my cigar, too, but I take it out once in a while.” Sorry. ↩
  2. http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/ricky-jay-collection/3649/ ↩