Nite Idyll

Matthew Rogers shows a trio of large, adjoining works on paper, collectively titled Plutocrats Lost in the Wilderness. Looking slightly like animation cells, the pieces feature barren landscapes inhabited by ghostly, colorless figures. In the first, a stiffly postured man seen from behind faces a desolate patch of land. The second includes a man, possibly the same one, facing the viewer, complete with wrinkles and pained expression. By the third piece, the landscape has become hellishly orange. One figure has his mouth agape, while another looks downward sorrowfully. It's worth remembering that the word 'plutocrats' is in the title, which refers to wealthy people who control the government. The figures, with their business suits, cowboy hats and thinning hair, are likely Enron/Halliburton/Bush Administration types. Perhaps Rogers is illustrating what many would like to see - ruthless men who seemingly operate without conscience, abandoned to a place where they can only reflect on their actions.

Meryl Press combines thinly applied oil paint with aggressive markings and drips, often contrasting busy surfaces with blank paper. Forms suggestive of plants and clouds, combined with predominantly earthy tones, push the paintings in the general direction of abstracted landscape. While there are areas of color and form that please the eye, the work might benefit from something to anchor the imagery that threatens to float away. Loosely painted, with forms intertwining lazily, Press' work begins to explore the possibilities of abstraction.

Four paintings by Christine Ponelle also grapple with the subject of landscape. The Garden is populated with oddly proportioned birds, humans, and a funky creature with male genitalia. Several figures in the lower right aim guns toward a body of water, where a human head has risen above the surface. Is a metaphor for man overtaking nature involved? Hard to say, but the ambiguity of the landscape is fairly effective. Trees toward the top of the piece are drawn boldly, leaving foliage, creatures, and humans swimming in a curious mix of detail and color washes.

The impact that many of the twenty-plus works by Alice Gould have is diminished, due to their distance from the viewer. Adobe Books is indeed a functioning bookstore, and most artists wind up installing work above tall shelves of books. In Gould's case, this is particularly unfortunate, because the predominantly small pieces require closer inspection. As for the work itself, there is a lot going on. Sometimes it creeps into Abstract Expressionist territory, all thick paint and aggressive brushstrokes. When this approach is combined with an assortment of stuck-on items, there is usually too much visual information to make sense of. She is at her best with works like March/April, which is built largely on areas of white. Here, the collaged items are given some breathing room, and the different elements begin to work as a whole.

Starting with the floor, which has been dusted with clay and limestone, Joe Frank Byrnes transforms the backroom with a busy installation of mostly sculptural elements. Blocks of cut clay are everywhere, serving as pedestals and short walls. It's not hard to miss the sexual themes in the work, which includes phalluses, vaginas, and a sculpture that looks like a Venus of Willendorf-type fertility symbol. Beyond this, though, what comes through is a sense of the artist's obsession with materials that have historical resonance. Limestone, marble, and gold are just some of the media used by Byrnes, who also works as a goldsmith and musician. Adding another layer to the installation, a solo recording of improvised music he has made plays in the backroom. Accordion, cello, xylophone and percussion are among the instruments in the mix.

Viewable only from a front window of the bookstore, Jeff Pringle shows a handmade sword suspended by two pieces of wood. Using iron ore that he collected from a beach to make steel, he has skipped the process of purchasing a key material from a supplier. While the presentation of the sword points only to its craftsmanship, Pringle does share Byrnes' interest in time-honored materials, which likely explains his inclusion in the show.

Nite Idyll opened July 21st and is up through August.

http://adobebooks.org

Panic In Detroit

A month ago I had the pleasure of meeting the artist Shane Carroll at an opening at TART gallery. TART organiser, Anne Colvin, introduced me to him, and he told me about Panic In Detroit http://www.tartsf.com/PANIC/ , his upcoming online show for the gallery. I was thrilled to hear about the show, a mix of real-time data mining and xml driven flash animations. And I was equally thrilled when Anne asked me to write about the show for Shotgun, because Panic In Detroit is a wonderful example of how the technologies driving web 2.0 can be used by artists.

The strongest work in the show is Home Front http://www.tartsf.com/PANIC/states.html . Tallying US casualties (updated daily from Iraq Coalition Casualty Count), Home Front initially presents the viewer with a pale blue map of the United States and its territories. State by state, the image is punctured by white crosses representing that state’s dead, each of which leaves behind a gaping, raw, red wound. This graphic violence slowly engulfs the nation.

The overall effect is chilling, as the otherwise abstract numbers of the dead (a tally of this figure runs in the top left hand corner of Carroll’s piece) become visceral information akin to the data mapping we’ve all grown to read by second nature from the web.

However you may feel about the Iraq war and its sister, the war on terror, there is no way to watch this animation without a sickness growing in your belly and a sense of horror. It is the most touching, yet simple, comment on the war I have seen in the three years we have been in Iraq.

Another interpolation of the same data is run in March ’03 http://www.tartsf.com/PANIC/months.html which uses a similar format of data tally in the top right and crosses appearing and disappearing to represent American casualties in the war. This time the data is temporal rather than spatial. As the tally runs up the dead month by month since March ’03, the crosses disappear in puffs of smoke, leaving behind red, white and blue squares which slowly resolve into the American flag. Perhaps because it is more pointed and far less brutal than Home Front, this imaging of the data does not carry the same poignant power to hold a viewer in thrall.

There are two additional works in Carroll’s online show using real time data feeds to animate his criticism of the Iraq war. But rather than read my descriptions of them, follow the links http://www.tartsf.com/PANIC/iran.html & http://www.tartsf.com/PANIC/import.html to explore them yourself. Even if you are skeptical of politics in art, as I consider myself to be, you will find the ideas driving these works and the way they utilize technology well worth the visit.

A Show to Show How a Show is not Only a Show

Note: This critique doubled as my contribution to the exhibition. When asked to select "6 Oakland artists," I sent a copy of this critique to 40 people, soliciting a response. The responses I received were printed out and installed in the gallery.

This is the title of this "viral curation" exhibition that you are attending, and this title is as misleading and problematic as the rationale given for this exhibition. Misleading, how? It is misleading in that it is only a show, though it is a show on several levels, its showiness obscures just about all else.

This is spectacle, pure and simple, a veritable clusterfuck of small works from floor to ceiling, that does as little to make the art on display "available to the world" as geographic photos taken from space do to reveal details of the lives of those who inhabit said places. What one gets from this exhibition is quantity and density - things that regularly impede introspection, considered analysis, and close viewing - doing a disservice to the art on display. Perhaps this piece will be installed so high up the wall, it will be illegible.

I can only conclude that we aren't meant to see the art works as art works, but as signs - a show of hands engaged in making art, manifested through a display of objects. As the objects, themselves, are poorly shown due to the exhibition design and the minimal window of time in which this exhibition was put together, thus this show is not about the objects, not about the art, but about the showing.

If the purpose is to show that there are a large number of artists in Oakland, then why this construction - this exhibition of objects? As large as Lobot is, they are only displaying 1554 works, which according to the much bandied-about statistics represents only a small fraction of "Oakland artists," (less than 1% of the city's population).

Also, by limiting the sign one can use to signify oneself as an artist to a wall-based square, one eliminates a significant number of artists, and disadvantages many others. If the goal is to "make connections," why restrict how many connections can be made? Why not invite as many people who identify as "Oakland artists" over for a party and give them nametags, play icebreaker games, and call it "social sculpture," if the goal is to "make connections"? That the exhibition and its stated purposes are a bit misaligned, leads me to regard it even more as just a show, a show of last-minute cleverness that wasn't thought through well enough.

And finally, let's look at this restriction to "Oakland artists," an arbitrary category, for a city with arbitrary borders on all sides, save for the water. There isn't anything akin to the Berlin Wall separating Oakland from nearby cities, and there is an incredible amount of mobility among its population, especially the "artist" population. This isn't even considering the issue of where one's work is shown, and what informs on its manufacture. Why tag oneself an "Oakland artist?"

The term "Oakland artist" is itself a construction, and a term I'm reticent to use to describe myself, as Oakland doesn't inform upon my work, and I was born and raised elsewhere, like the majority of the people in this exhibition.

Why the regionalism in this exhibition?

Why make this show about "Oakland artists?" Is it to cultivate the "buzz" or the "scene?" Is it out of a desire for somewhere to be from and a team to root for? Is it a straight white hipster wish for an identity politik to ride to the next Whitney Biennial? Is it a political manoeuver to increase the visibility and influence of the arts in the eyes of Oakland's city government? This is something the exhibition doesn't address in its rationale and description, and it would feel less vapid had it done so. But, honestly, this is only a show.

Somewhere In Space

Author’s note: First I must apologize for the belated nature of this review. In general I make a concerted effort to post reviews in advance of a show’s closing so that readers will have an opportunity to go see the work for themselves. I made an exception in this case because Eric Larson is a local artist whose work you will likely have the opportunity to see in the near future, and because I wanted to highlight what I see as a gallery with great potential as a stage for contemporary art in Oakland.

Somewhere In Space: Installations and paintings by Mayumi Hamanaka and Eric Larson, is only the third exhibition to take place at Swarm Gallery. Opening back in March of this year, Swarm is one of the latest additions to a growing number of venues for contemporary art in Oakland. It’s already apparent that the gallery’s owner and director, Pro Arts veteran Svea Lin Vezzone, is ambitious in her vision for the space (which is also connected to eleven artist studios under the same name). Unlike its artist-run counter parts Swarm is very crisp and clean—a decidedly commercial venture—which should not be surprising given the gallery’s location in Jack London Square, sandwiched between Bed, Bath & Beyond and Pro Arts Gallery.

Personally I applaud such an endeavor. Gallery spaces, such as Swarm and Oakland Art Gallery (Though both are a bit too antiseptic for my taste…“where’s the funk?” I wonder.) are just what Oakland’s burgeoning art scene needs right now. That is to say I think they are willing to take some risks with what they show while raising the standards for presentation, production value, and curatorial integrity. On top of that Swarm wants to sell work, which directly benefits artists. Don’t get me wrong. I think the professionalization of art has its downsides too. For starters it can be confoundingly pretentious and hierarchical, but sterile environment aside, Swarm is low on art world pretense. I also believe that a vibrant and sustainable art community needs many (and diverse) buttresses. Thus Swarm can only be beneficial.

So far the shows have been solid—thoughtful and well executed. Not mood altering, but good. With Somewhere In Space it’s the work of Eric Larson I found most compelling. What at first appeared to be billboard-sized enlargements of Xerox copies of cult figures (Sun Ra and Edward Cayce), Japanese monsters battling, and a psychedelic pattern are actually meticulously rendered in black paint, glue and glitter. Personally I’ve seen enough glitter-and-glue-come-high-art for one lifetime, but Larson’s use of the material, along with local peers Jamie Vasta and Mitzi Pederson, is among the more novel. This is particularly true of Larson’s installation, Between Two Worlds, in the project space at Swarm.

Eric Larson, Edgar Cayce Sleeping Clairvoyant (detail). Image courtesy of Swarm Gallery

Entering the darkened room, illuminated by a single nightlight, I could see only the darkness at first. Gradually, as my eyes adjusted, a red glow framing a large rectangle became visible. And then, hundreds of shimmering pin pricks of light and a moment of glee as I realized what I was looking at. As I lingered I began to notice my shadow, subtly delineated by the ever-changing reflections of the glitter-coated surface. It’s a cheap illusion to be sure, but the visceral sensation it produced was undeniable. Even though I knew I was looking at a flat surface, the glitter’s sparkle—my inability to focus on it—continually contradicted my knowledge, producing an effect of indefinable depth much like the night sky (the rural night sky). I take that back about “not mood altering,” Between Two Worlds was definitely uplifting.

Somewhere In Space: Installations and paintings by Mayumi Hamanaka and Eric Larson was on view at Swarm Gallery from June 24th through July 23rd. Information about upcoming exhibitions can be found at http://www.swarmstudios.net/gallery/exhibitions/shires.htm

Liquid Paper / Pure Land

First off, for those who have never been there, Ratio 3 is one of the hidden gems of San Francisco. Tucked away on the edge of the mission at 903 Guerrero, it is located up the steps of an apartment building on the corner of 21st.. It consists of two rooms at the front of a flat and a third room as an office/storage in the back. What it lacks in size, it makes up for in intimacy. Ratio 3 is run by Chris Perez who has booked a museum-worthy show in what could be your friend’s house (a rich friend, that is).

The show is called “Liquid Paper / Pure Land” and it is actually two shows. “Pure Land” is a sculpture show in the first room consisting of 3 artists, Patrick Hill, Mitzi Pederson, and Vincent Fecteau. The piece that immediately struck me when walking in this room was Patrick Hill’s piece. Wood and glass circles balanced by the hands of a true craftsman in a wooden beam on the floor. The vacancy in the larger circle suggests that there is a mirror in it and it took several walk-arounds and witnessing someone else touch it to fully confirm that it was not a mirror. (There was a guard posted by it to make sure no hooligans tipped it out of it’s gentle perch, but I watched some mad man give it a good poke. Oh, the forbidden pleasure of touching “High Art”!) This piece reminds me of everything that I like about 70’s classy minimalism.

-Patrick Hill
Sex and Violence, 2006
Wood, glass, canvas, dye, oil and glue
42 1/2 x 36 x 48 inches

The true ace of this show is the other half of the gallery though, titled “Liquid Paper” (a play on the viscous feeling of the work with the old stand by of correctional fluid). It is a figurative, works on paper, primarily black and white show. It has a star-studded cast with R. Crumb, Raymond Pettibon, Barry McGee, Kara Walker, and Robert Lazzarini, and others all packed together, hung salon-style, in a small room. Surprisingly though, the standouts were not the heavyweights, but some of the lesser knowns. Colter Jacobsen’s twin pieces, one done from a photo of a seaside killing scene and the other done from the memory of that drawing, both echoed the marks of a budding genius.

There are two Moriceau + Mrzyk pieces of twisted hilarity. Psychedelic-bestiality, mixed with the Michelin Man giving pony rides to a buxom lass, and a dash of a gay-cowboy threesome, makes one of the pieces the most intriguing from a pervert’s standpoint. (And let’s be honest here, we’re all perverts…)

-Jean-Francois Moriceau + Petra Mrzyk
Untitled, 2005
Ink on paper
22.2 inches in diameter

My favorite would definitely have to be the piece by Matt Saunders (Untitled). It is a tender portrait of a woman on a date with a mystery-man. She is staring down into her classic Coke glass with her hand on her head and you can almost feel the giddy energy of a date gone wrong. The panicky feeling of knowing that you can’t cut and run quite yet because the glasses are full; that you have to sit in the prickliness of your uncomfortablity for at least as long as it takes to finish this drink… It made me want to leave the room just looking at it.

-Matt Saunders
Untitled, 2002
Ink on mylar
8 x 6 1⁄2 inches

Over all, it is not a show to miss. This caliber of work rarely gets viewed in anything outside of a mega-gallery or an institution, so catch it while you can. It runs until August 6th. The gallery is open on Sundays from noon-5 and by appointment.

http://www.ratio3.org/

Colter Jacobson "Your Future"

“The Attic” is an art viewing space upstairs within the Four Star Video Shop at 1521 18th St. Potrero Hill. Jamie Atherton and Jeremy Lin are the curators. I discovered this place because it is the only video store in my neighborhood. Luckily it is a good one. And now for my voracious visual appetite they offer well conceived art shows from up and coming artists to watch from San Francisco like Colter Jacobson! I find this juxtaposition of fine art and movies a sophisticated one, akin to concepts of relational display in the art world. The combination of the video store and art gallery transforms the place for me into an inspirational library and idea depot because of the painstaking and obviously lovingly selections in videos and art. “The Attic" art gallery fulfills a need in the community for an art access point that is integrated into our everyday activities. I took this opportunity to ask Colter questions I wouldn’t feel comfortable to ask if the show took place in a more formal setting.

Rebecca/ What makes you gravitate to your choice of materials?

Colter/ Hmmmmmmmm good question (quest ion (quest-seek, ion-to go, chase after)…what makes molecules gravitate toward each other?). Gravitation is so mysterious. The materials gravitate to me. The matter/aliens use/inhabit my body. No, really... I'm partly kidding. Let's see...What makes me gravitate to the materials? Well, as you can see, there are many materials. In other words, it's not just paper and paint that I use. I use different material for different reasons (in following with that saying, (who was it that said it?) “The medium is the message.’ Was it Michael Ma..Ma…Macluen something?). The word medium is good. I sort of feel like a medium sometimes. Anyway, I often ask myself why I am drawn to old things, things that have been lived with, things that are stained, etc., to which I haven’t come up with a great answer. Maybe because I’m just nostalgic, plain and simple. But I think it has more to do with story; old found things (especially things found on the street) come with a story, they have lived a life. Found objects, so they call it (but what isn’t found?). I am just sort of intercepting them, adding my two cents and sending them back on their journey into the great wide unknowing. I think it may also have to do with self-empowerment, that is, using older materials and recombining them for your own use or value. I remember watching my friend Tiffany Sankary tear apart books, paint over them, cut them up, and make these amazing new beautiful things. And I thought, “Well, look at that, Tiffany just wrote a book, no publisher needed.” I was very impressed with her DIY ethos and also felt that by her demonstrating the reconfiguring, she gave me permission to do the same. It’s also simply economical to use and recycle material. So many free things on the streets of San Francisco. All those free book bins. The question should be asked, why don’t more people take advantage of these resources? I use material that is at the margins of my community, the junk in the gutter. Using this, most often non-archival material, helps to remind me of its inherent temporality. I obsess over objects and often work things into preciousness as much as the next artist (as much as the next art collector) but using these materials keeps the perspective in mind that the Sun will eat our children. It’s all going to disintegrate. That’s sort of where outer space comes in. After all, we are all floating around in space. I think outer space is a good way to keep perspective on the things, thus the rectangle of space framing the drawings. Another thing about material (God, I could go on and on), when I do indeed go to a store to buy material (more often an office supply store rather than an art’s supply store…I actually like that term I’ve heard flying around lately, ‘The Home Depot Artist.’ I can totally relate to that. I love going into Home Depot. But I never buy anything there. Things are too big. And too big means too much commitment, ha ha) I am drawn to doubles, like packages of two: two white-out containers (or the two-in-one (so romantic)), two highlighters, two magic invisible tape rolls, two magic markers, two mechanical pencils. Two rolls of masking-tape. All these things and their names, they all draw me in somehow. Like I’m a sucker for their aura. But there is meaning in it all; the meaning just begins to multiply. Maybe it’s a bad version of modern day voodoo (capitalist voodoo?). But I am certainly critical of my own superstitions. Spinoza said that all superstitions are rooted in fear (maybe capitalism is rooted in fear). Maybe he’s right, but I think superstitions also just help you get by. And so there is a lot of superstition in the materials that I use and don’t use. I like the name mechanical pencil too. It’s great; you never have to sharpen it. And when I do my memory drawings I can pretend to be a computer mechanically memorizing all the details with my fingertips. Of course, I fail miserably at being a computer. But I’m thankful for that, like Laurie Anderson, who says about herself that she is a ‘voyeur interested only in details; I use computers that are tragically unable to forget, like endless rubbish dumps.’

R/ What are those tear dropped paper mache sculptures covered with funny papers (cartoon strips)? Do they serve a specific function?

C/ They served a definite function for me. I can’t say if they serve a function for you. They were really an afterthought. I threw them in the corner just at the end. I brought them with me during installing as a maybe. I made them maybe a year ago or so. Maybe I can better answer this question by answering the next question first. Maybe maybe maybe…it’s okay to say maybe maybe.

R/ I have noticed you spent a lot of time editing out specific selections in cartoon strips and obituaries with white paint to re-combinate your own renditions. What compels you to do this?

C/ I started covering the funny pages after getting dumped hard core by a guy that I fell madly, hurtfully in love with. It was a hard fall. For a while I just watched old horror films because that’s really all I could relate to. James Whale helped me through that time. I also read the paper inside out then, even the funnies. But I kept noticing how really unfunny the funnies were. So I wanted to show people what I was seeing. All the inherent sadness, in the windows, the blinds, all the desolate things in the background. And stories began to tell themselves as I kept covering. Correction fluid. Trying to fix an impossible thing—heartbreak. Only time can fix that…so I spent a lot of time with white-out. The fumes may have helped me too, or maybe I was a little addicted (my fix, ha ha). And now they have become something else (a bad habit?); I’ll just look at the funnies and the funnies tell me if there’s something to be found in them. Sometimes everything has to be whited out, but for one tear. Not sure why. That’s where the aliens come in. I am the radio receiving radio waves from something out there, like instructions (a la Jack Spicer). The more ‘me’ I leave in the piece, the worse the piece is, most likely. Now I don’t know what I’m talking about. I think I’m trying to be cool and relate an idea of Spicer’s. But he talks about aliens in relation to making poetry. I wonder if it’s different with visual art. Whatsoevernonetheless. And to answer the previous question, a little after the break up I started doing these one-hour timed drawings of guys wearing, at least, watches. That project was called Woods In the Watchers and I did 24 (there had to be 24, numbers are very important to me) for a show in my bedroom. Anyhow, some of them were a bit vulgar I s’pose, some even shocked me a bit (I wanted to scare myself a little). To make a long story short, they found their way onto the internet via Dodie Bellamy’s contribution to Suspect Thoughts web-page, called Body Language. Well, I should probably edit this (seeing that it too will be online). Let’s just say that a certain someone stopped talking to me because of these drawings being on line. It was hard for me and making those tears helped me meditate on my art, my relations, the functions of the two, etc. Interesting too is the difference between having those as a show in my bedroom vs. on line. The tears are sort of piñatas. Waiting to be filled with Sees candies. Smashed. They were both done with identical funny pages. And maybe it was voodoo to get that person to start talking to me again. We are talking again…so that’s good.

R/ What is happening in the pencil drawing of a child approaching a suspended beam of light or energy source in mid-air, located in a forest clearing or a spacious backyard? Was this a real event or imagined?
I noticed the other drawings in the foursome were in contrast with their mundane or lets say more realistic content, a friend helping install the show, and you posing with a friend on a bridge, and a group portrait of a marines I’m guessing from the 1940s-60s
Is there a connection between all of these images or are they 4 separate graphite studies?

C/ One connection between these images is that I find them all particularly interesting in light of memory. These memory drawings take a while, sometimes a couple of weeks, so the choosing of an image can be difficult. Like, for whatever reason, there are so many that just won’t work for me. The image has to match something that I am willing to meditate upon for the next few days. So really, it’s trying to predict the future. Often the subject matter of the photograph I choose relates to something that is very personal, something that has been itching at me, whether it’s a relationship thing, or something more objective or general or political, an idea that’s been lingering (so I wonder if this itch conflicts with Jack Spicer’s idea about the artist as radio receiver). I certainly see connections between the images. But they are very loose connections that only hint at a narrative. I could go into how each one works for me but I generally leave that to the viewer I suppose. Also, while working on these drawings (and I knew I was going to make either 4 or 8) I kept thinking about water and light, I’m still not exactly sure why. My work often comes down to just simple, basic elements; water, fire, air, earth. It’s interesting, I hadn’t thought about how the one image of the girl with light (called L’s goddaughter) stood out from the rest. It is indeed a real event. It’s a picture taken by my beau, Larry. Either the sun above her blew out the image while she lunged to catch something or an energy field of kinetic particles decided to open up between her arms the second that Larry snapped the button on the camera. Either way, it’s magic to me, but by extension, it’s the magic of Larry, and again by extension, the magic of his goddaughter. It was a wide collaboration that defies explanation. It also reminds me that it is impossible to really possess something. In my head, the one of Tomo carrying the pillar up the stairs related to the girl, just by way of an associated shape. I like how the light defies the solidity of the pillar but they are both sort of cylindrical. And the Tomo piece may help in answering the next question.

R/ The work has intimations of being site specific. Did you consider the location (a video store in Potrero Hill) in the actual fabrication of the objects for the show?

C/ I do consider it to be site-specific to some degree (though it can all surely be rearranged later and in other spaces). Knowing that people would have to walk upstairs to see the show helped in my choosing the image of Tomo walking up stairs. I was at first thinking about putting drawings in the stairway (stairway, ha ha) but then I finally decided that it would be better if the stairs were an afterthought, something to look back on. That’s where the ‘Your Future’ came in. And that is why I chose the image I chose for the postcard/poster. If people saw the postcard first, then went to the show, it would indeed be their future. And the real pillars would be waiting there for them as well. When I found those pillars on the street, I knew they were really something, something for my future (I thought of my friend Tariq Alvi, if he were with me at the time of discovering them, he’d say “Colter, you have to take those.” So I took them. I happened to be with another friend who helped me walk them to my room up 37 stairs). I love how those cardboard pillars have this amazing power to transform a room entirely. When I transported the pillars from my house to the Attic, they were strapped to the roof of the car and you wouldn’t believe how many smiles I got from pedestrians. And I indeed thought about the name of the space, The Attic. A sort of heaven. Thus some obituaries to boot. And then that idea can be extended to the drawing of me with a guy that I had a brief relationship with. It lasted only four weeks but they were four amazing weeks of learning and growing. All our relationships can be seen as a microcosm of the world. Our relations, our views, arguments and perceptions contribute to the world and its ways.

R/ Where does the title of your show your future come from?

C/ I debated the title for a long while. I was thinking it should be something with light in it. I had several working titles. Then I saw Your Future somewhere, like in an advert. There is enough light in Your Future so…I like how it can mean many things. Meanings multiply. That’s why I like puns (though your future is pun-free). I wanted it to be optimistic but at the same time a reminder of our death, that weird thing that happens where anima leaves the body somehow. Weird is a good word for this show. Weird, or wyrd means to turn, or fate. Maybe this show is about what you make of your future. Asking if we have control. There is a little yellow memo that says FREE (not sure if you noticed) that is on one of the pillars. Are we free? I tend to think we are not free though it’s so American to say that we are. We are more like water, like bubbles, and do they have choices? I don’t know. I also was thinking about Emma Kay. She’s a British artist that wrote the Bible from memory. She also did a piece called The Future from Memory. It was projected text of everything she could remember that she ever heard of the future. What a great piece. That really shows herself; it’s like displaying your ignorance, and I really admire her for that. My memory drawings are a sort of visual display of how memories are always new; they have nothing to do with the first memory, let alone the event that is being remembered in the first place.

Exhibition closes July 31st
http://www.4starsf.com

Jillian Soto "Sweet Science"

The past few years my attention has been captured by the work that has come out of San Francisco State Art Department. Artists like Christian Maychack, Marina Schterenberg and now Jillian Soto, a photographer that is new to me and is fresh out of school this summer with her B.F.A. in photography, are from San Francisco State.

Recently Soto mounted a solo show at Farley’s Coffee Shop on Potrero Hill. Farley’s is conveniently located smack in the middle of two of our cities major art institutions CCA and SFAI grad studios. Hence you may run into artists like Bay Area pioneer of conceptual art, Paul Kos, or visiting artists from Berlin, Michael Stevenson (who was in the Venice Biennial representing New Zealand) and his wife, artist Cornelia Schmidt-Bleek, to name just a few.

Soto’s “Sweet Science” consisted of black and white photographs she had taken at an old school Oakland boxing gym. Soto curated vintage boxing posters as well as current posters from the local Third St. boxing gym to display amongst her photos. At first glance I was tempted to lump her photos into the category of hipster documentary style that you see in the work of Hamburger Eyes, which isn’t a bad thing (who doesn’t like to look at random pictures of risky youth) . After further observation I detected a consistent aesthetic vision that cradled her subject matter in every single photo, one that empowers her subjects. The photos are extremely up-front, as in a young woman boxer fiercely regarding you, guarding her reflective eyes. Another pose she simply regards her pretty face in the mirror, she could be anywhere, I would have never pinned her as a boxer.

Soto is adept at capturing a sense of pride within her characters as they are gearing up to fight and perhaps win or lose or bleed. You don’t see the machine like or freakish aspects of athleticism, no vulgar muscular displays but rather the emotions and character associated with competition. There is time in Soto’s photos for witty still-lifes with punching bags in the foreground and accumulations of posters and ephemera in the background. Even Oscar Wild made his way into one of the photos with his inspirational quote “Winning isn’t every thing but wanting to win is” pinned up next to a poster.

Soto does a thorough job of showing you what she sees with an economy of means that plays with details without deviating from her storyline. There is a romance going on with her subject matter that keeps the work sensitive, compelling and leaving you wanting to see more.

Izzy Sher: Don't Kick Yourself

Many artists have a sophisticated ideological stance that sees art as part of a gift economy, as a catalyst for social connection. Steven Woolf has recently rediscovered the work of my second cousin, the late Izzy Sher. Sher was an unrepentant Berkeley bohemian who refused to think of himself or the things he made as in any way elevated over his neighbors, as anything but a way to be part of his community. He had dozens of pieces installed in his backyard in a kind of overwhelming garden of junked-up, rusting dreams. When he died in 1999 his wishes were that his works be allowed to melt into the ground.

Finding himself in Berkeley in the 50s (he spent his younger days in Chicago after emigrating from Odessa, Russia in the 20s) Izzy became part of that beat scene that produced so much cultural innovation at the time. He picked up welding skills along the way—perhaps when he and my father worked together as teenagers in a lampshade factory—and opened a shop in Berkeley doing commissions and small wire objects for a living most of his life. With a wife and three children, there was never much money in the house but going the commercial gallery route never appealed to him. He did exhibit work in a few small not-for-profit galleries, but much of his best and most widely seen works were menorahs for synagogues in his region.

Steven Wolf should be complimented for his willingness to pursue this project. The family was ambivalent, wanting to be true to Izzy’s vision, and many colleagues no doubt question Wolf’s sanity in showing such untrendy work. The welded metal objects are slightly larger than human scale and range from the referential (an eye, a figure, a chair) to the almost totally abstract, participating in the artistic conversation of the 50s and 60s about the abject, anti-art, assemblage, improvisation, and use of found and industrial materials. He truly hits his stride with the candelabras, which have a feeling of frozen movement and whimsy that reminds the viewer of such younger Bay Area artists as Mark Bulwinkle and J. Otto. The exhibition is accompanied by a catalogue published by Wolf with a large number of color plates and two short essays.

Izzy Sher's work will be on view at Steven Wolf Fine Arts through August 19th.
http://www.stevenwolffinearts.com/home.asp

Bay Area Currents 2006

Oakland’s Bay Area Currents, an annual juried exhibition at the Oakland Art Gallery, is a smaller version of the tepid Bay Area Now juried exhibition that takes place at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, showcasing several promising Bay Area emerging artists. Though not aggressively promoted, Bay Area Currents usually hosts noteworthy guest jurors (past including Rosamund Felsen, from Gemini G.E.L., Los Angeles, and James Elaine, curator at the UCLA Hammer Museum) and draws equally significant diverse artists and new work by resisting any static or packageable themes in the selection process.

This year juror Christopher Miles, a Los Angeles based curator, writer, and professor at CSU Long Beach, provided a full scale selection that resulted in a deeply entrenched Bay Area, one that easily resonates with the environment and offer hints of the familiar for the regular art viewer. Miles’s ability to navigate the physical space of the gallery, gallery mission, and the value of what is unique to Bay Area art was exceptional. Miles’s chosen were kind, inflective, and quiet, showcasing the roots of artists working in the Bay— there was nothing sensationalist in the show.

Not that sensationalism is a bad draw, but herein Miles was not trying his hand at art star discovery as much as he was assisting in highlighting some very interesting emerging artists. The artists showcased in Bay Area Currents 2006 were (in many ways) obvious partners for the Oakland Art Gallery: inflective, not bigger than the space (literally and formatively), and could very well benefit from being in the show as a part of their growing exposure. The show made sense, and for that alone, Miles is absolutely rewarded for executing such a solid show.

As mentioned, the lack of a concrete theme lead the viewer to explore the general idea of ‘West Coast art’ and ‘Bay Area art’ as has historically been treated: Miles did not go too far on the kitsch, but allowed for some of the eccentricity that makes its way through most Bay Area art, setting it apart from the glossed up market-art that makes up most other art bases nationally. Serena Cole, Ben Riesman, Michael Mellon, Tabitha Soren, David Ryan, and Kirk Stoller are a handful of the thirteen selected artists that proved exceptional examples of emerging Bay Area artists.

Cole’s watercolor and pencil images reflect a dwarfed version of western beauty mixed with iconographic styling (goldleaf crowns, pendants, flowers) and deadened facial expressions. Cole’s work recalls Oakland artist Alika Cooper’s portraiture style, but moves away from the rich figurative Bay Area tradition Cooper rests within by working almost exclusively with the contemporary. Cole’s subject and visual translation thereof are near perfect matches: ‘Death is Not the End’ captures a turn-of-the-century Vogue demigoddess shaven down to resemble 90’s heroin chic donning a Holtzman Ink Blot-esque crown of magnificent black hair. The visual result insists on its artificialism, its program as prop, and its vivacious nature intensified by an array of blue blacks, teals, and fuchsias.

Serena Cole, "Death Is Not the End", 2006, watercolor, colored pencil, and gold leaf. Image courtesy of OAG/ K.Johnson

David Ryan’s sculpture, ‘Makes Me Feel Like a Swan’ is a colossal mixture of old west iconography and folklore placed among a fantasy state in residence with matching bluebirds, broken bottles beside random driftwood planks. The focal point: a female shaman figure. As a solid icon or symbol, the female figure is donned in recognizable modern day fashion with a trace of bohemian (ripped blue tights, unkempt hair, black flats, skinned knees) that suggest the narrative is approachable, yet wrought so heavily in symbolism that interpretation is a layered task in itself. Ryan’s work carries a mystical element: soft landscapes that seem dream-like, sedated animals, cowboys in awkward places— almost like painted replicas of a perfect set design. Ryan’s work contains a complex dynamic of an ultimate fairy tale landscape courting human waste and discard. This dynamic is very easily evocative of the mystic or the richness illustrating the divine serenity of being a working artist in a place out west—specifically in the Bay Area.

Tabitha Soren contributed four C-Prints which illuminated the corner of the gallery space with a calm, almost spiritual viewer draw-in. Soren works with suburban outlets, titling each piece by a street or avenue name, drawing distinct attention to individuals in their home environment. Similar to a Todd Hido voyeuristic backdrop, Soren seeks out the quiet moment that individuals find while existing in their own dwellings, separate from the demands of the outside world, moments that act as an intimately renewing force. Beyond providing aesthetically sedating imagery, Soren’s work delivers a certain social passage within all the leisurely advent of quiet, private, and serine living spaces, implying there is a sphere so far away and separate from work complete with beautiful linens, pool sides, and manicured single family homes for the majority of the population. While this may be a reality for some, others may be happy with reading Soren’s work as the ultimate fantasy. The result is a visual storybook of the quiet segments of life, an idealistic log of those who can still afford to own (and interact leisurely) in their own private space modern day.

Tabitha Soren, "Chartres Street", 2004, Chromogenic print. Image courtesy of OAG/ K.Johnson

Oakland based artist Jessica Tully provided two video pieces: Our Allies Are Everywhere and Liquidations: The Dance of Water Power. The reasoning behind what Tully was attempting with Our Allies Are Everywhere seemed indefinite and did not come across as contextually solvent. Although Tully explained the symbolism of each act therein, (clenched fist, union handshake, the dove, etc) and costume (traditional Scottish dress) within her statement, the reasoning behind the piece seemed more complex and loaded with detailed historical elements that were not approachable or largely relevant for a majority of viewers. Conversely, Tully’s second piece, Liquidations: The Dance of Water Power, was unmistakably clever as social sculpture exploring the issue of water privatization via a four person performance graduating from reservoir to underground aqueducts. Tully’s strength lies within her ability to use her visual interpretation to afford the greatest amount of social awareness to the largest amount of people coherently and captivatingly. That said, Our Allies Are Everywhere was a complicated addition to her credit.

Jessica Tully, "Liquidations San Francisco Public Water Source", 2005, Video Selection, Still. Image courtesy of OAG/ K.Johnson

The annual juried Bay Area Currents exhibition proves to be a great opportunity for emerging and early to mid established artists in the Bay Area to present new work, as well as affording the Oakland Art Gallery, (a tucked away space in Oakland’s City Center sometimes overlooked), to expand their scope of working artists in the region. Whereas the exposure for the advent of the event itself could use more attention, Bay Area Currents has continually produced a smart and full directional show of regional artists and work that is not connected or indebted to a branding pitch by instead placing a greater attention on uncovering the most contemporary and less visible artists in the Bay Area.