The Quilts of Gee's Bend

Center Medallion, Annie May Young, 1965.

A group of African-American women in the small rural community of Gee’s Bend, Alabama started the “Freedom Quilting Bee” cooperative in the 1960s to raise revenue for their town during the Civil Rights era. “Discovered” by an art collector in the 80s, the women’s quilts have since been exhibited in museums worldwide and likened to modern artists of the time who were likewise using geometric, optical patterning and primary color palettes. However, the women humbly insist that they are just making quilts out of refuse scraps for utilitarian purposes and never thought of their quilts as “art.” This has often lent the art world rhetoric surrounding the quilters of Gee’s Bend easily to that of “outsider” status and subsequent exotification.

The strength of the “The Quilts of Gee’s Bend” retrospective at the de Young Museum lies in the curator’s unwillingness to make futile comparisons to modern art. Rather than using art historical information to validate these women as innovators, the exhibition gives credit where credit is due by focusing contextually written material on the women’s skillful and imaginative techniques. Photographic and video documentation also offer an appropriate examination of the political and economic conditions that informed their work.

The signature piece of the show hanging at the entrance is “Center Medallion” (pictured above) made by Annie May Young in 1965. The quilt is made from pieces of faded jeans and earth-toned corduroy -- prominent colors and materials of 1960s fashion. “Blocks and Stripes” by Helen McCloud (1965) evokes a similar aesthetic that is “retro” to our eyes now with the scrapping together of hippy floral materials and optically psychedelic textiles. The asymmetrical piecing together of the scraps is achieved through an improvisational technique rather than traditional patterns which, the curator points out, allows each woman to have a distinctive voice in their quilts.

To a regular art-goer’s eye, the quilts have an undeniable resemblance to Frank Stella’s patterning or Bridget Riley’s color schematics and these similarities are often stressed in other museum shows of the quilters in which the curators argue for an inherent “artistic genious” shared by the artists and the quilters (the comparison further creating a divide between the two.) The de Young exhibition, however, leaves space for a more interesting and relevant examination of how styles and patterns evolve in society and are passed on to even the smallest, most geographically isolated towns such as Gee’s Bend.

An alternative to the “artistic genious” hypothesis is that these women took visual cues from the textiles of their clothing and images seen in the media; one photograph in the exhibition shows a small home covered in newspaper in lieu of wallpaper. Textile design is often informed by the art of its time and vice-versa so it is not surprising that the quilters might work in similar patterns and colors that were dominant at the time in both art and design.

A highlight of the show is the occasional quote by the quilt-maker beneath the title of the piece that sheds light on the work. Mary Lee Bendolph’s statement helps to debunk the notion that the quilters were completely out of touch with mainstream art and design. Discussing the materials she used from leisure suits handed-down by a family member in the mid-90s she says, “The pants was all bellbottom. We ain’t that out of style down here…so I just made quilts out of them.

All of this is not to say that the quilters process is any less artful than say, Stella or Riley. In fact, the exhibition points out that sourcing for quilt material, or “piecing”, is a conscious process akin to selecting a color palette for a painting. A 1975 quilt uses a red, white and blue “Vote” pattern as its predominant material while a 1965 quilt by Mary Pettway employs an army textile with “AWOL” written on it (likely taken from a jacket making an anti-war statement popular at the time.) Although the humble women take little credit for the impact that their quilts have on a viewer, some have strong political undercurrents and are acute reflections of the time.

The exhibition is somewhat chronological and leaves the newest quilts for the end. These more recent quilts, while skillfully crafted, lack the sense of place and imbedded history of the earlier quilts. As the quilters have become more well-known, people have begun donating scrap materials from afar. Pieces of worn jeans that conveyed the hard labor of their previous owner are now substituted by unseasonal holiday fabrics and unfashionable florals, Perhaps it is unfair to prefer the old quilts, to insist upon the original concept and not allow for the artists’ growth. But perhaps twenty years from now the more recent quilts will look “retro” to my eyes. I might feel nostalgic for unseasonal holiday fabrics and unfashionable florals and the quilts will convey an even more recent history.

“The Quilts of Gee’s Bend” is at the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. The show has been extended until December 31st.

Josh Greene's Service-Works

In many ways Josh Greene’s Service-Works is a point of synthesis in his body of work—an idea around which his various concerns have coalesced. It seems important then to describe some of Greene’s previous projects. I first became aware of his work at one of Southern Exposure’s monthly Curatorial Committee meetings. This was back in 2002. I had never heard the term “relational aesthetics” and CCA’s Social Practice program didn’t yet exist. These days Greene’s work readily falls under such headings but at the time we did not have a name for it and no one seemed to mind. What I remember is how novel his approach to art making was. And I remember the laughter and effervescent banter as we looked through his slides and discussed his proposal.

Greene’s work displays a dry sense of humor—ironic and urbane on the surface. His presentation is minimal and straightforward, a tack that belies (perhaps intentionally so) just how disarmingly personal and emotionally evocative his work can be. Take for instance Sophie Calle’s Bed, wherein Greene asked to sleep in Calle’s bed while he grieved over his separation from a long-term girlfriend. Calle sent him the bed, linens and all, which he slept in for the next six months. There is also the Unlicensed Therapist project wherein Greene opened an office and was seeing paying clients before receiving a letter from the Board of Behavioral Sciences threatening legal action. Apparently one is not allowed to practice unlicensed therapy without a license.

Josh Greene, Sophie Calle’s Bed, 1999

It becomes immediately apparent to anyone reviewing artists’ submissions just how important the ability to effectively communicate one’s practice through a few images and some text can be to an artist’s success. This is especially true for artists like Greene, whose work is dependent on context and, for all practical purposes, unrepeatable. Documentation is the only way for this type of work to outlive the moment in which it was created and reach a larger audience. But Greene holds back, giving just enough information to get the imagination spinning. As with any good story we (the viewers) are required to do part of the work. In this way documentation and its presentation can be an art in itself—a balancing act between a compelling idea and the minutia that surrounds putting that idea into practice. Greene’s projects then, both make for good stories and are stories well told. Or, to put it another way, Greene is as much a raconteur as he is an artist.

Needless to say, we gave him a show. Several months later his Luncheon project was underway. He had decided to prepare and serve lunch to the gallery staff and their guests, in the gallery, on Fridays during the exhibition. The invite read: “Handcrafted Meals • Arts Administrators • Seasonal Organic Produce • Refreshing Juices • Natural Light • Solid Conversation.” Greene’s humor and sense of inversion were certainly at play, but Luncheon was decidedly more service oriented and less personal than his previous projects. Although he had run a fine dinning establishment out of his studio apartment the intentions with Luncheon seemed far more extroverted. In addition to highlighting Greene’s interest in food and cooking the project would redirect some of the gallery’s resources back to the staff while providing an opportunity for them to discuss issues related to running a non-profit art space with their colleagues.

Of course it is difficult to gauge just how efficacious Luncheon was in this respect. When I attended there were all the makings of a fine lunch: the setting was lovely, the food was delicious and the conversation solid. And I’m sure some relationships were maintained and others simply begun (I first met Josh Greene at Luncheon), but something was missing. In retrospect I think it was the artist himself. The pragmatics of preparing and serving food, something that Greene takes very seriously, meant that he was distracted. So much so that it seemed to sabotage his agency within the project. Likewise the exchange that was central in his previous works was somehow eclipsed by the convention and conviviality of a group of people sitting down to eat together. It was no longer clear what was being exchanged for what. All that to say often times experiences don’t perfectly align with stories. Or perhaps more accurately, my story will differ from the other Luncheon attendees, and their stories from each other.

Josh Greene, Luncheon, 2003

This points to the difficulties presented by documentation and its relationship to primary and secondary audiences (something all artists are faced with in this age of virtuality but becomes more acute with ephemeral works). Perhaps more important, the story of multiple stories underscores the experimental nature of Greene’s work. And it doesn’t always work. Or at least it doesn’t always work the way it is intended to. When social interaction is integral to the form of an artwork there is necessarily a level of unpredictability. In this way Greene’s work is process driven—bound by a set of parameters or rules that are embedded in the situations he engineers. The outcomes cannot be fully known in advance, but they do inform his subsequent projects in much the same way a chef might learn by experimenting with unfamiliar ingredients and techniques. That said Greene’s work is successful more often than not.

Fast forward to 2005. Greene initiates the Bay Area Leisure Foundation http://leisurefoundation.org/ for the exhibition Downtime: Constructing Leisure at New Langton Arts. The foundation solicited proposals from Bay Area residents for leisure time activities that required some funding to pursue. A “panel of independent leisure experts” selected two applicants from a total of 85 to award $500 grants to. Currently Greene’s activities with the foundation are on hold. I mention it because Bay Area Leisure Foundation and Luncheon are the logical antecedents to Greene’s latest project, Service-Works, which takes the grant-making model and hybridizes it with his interest in service and exchange. Service-Works also thoroughly blurs the line between Greene’s once parallel careers: artist and waiter. The way it works is simple. Each month Greene sets aside the money he makes from one night (chosen in advance) waiting tables to fund a monthly project grant. Artists submit proposals via the Service-Works web site http://josh-greene.com/serviceworks . From this pool of applicants Greene selects a project to fund based solely on his interest (Greene is the only juror). The project is realized by the artist who is also required to submit documentation that can be viewed on the Service-Works web site.

It’s a novel concept, but the specifics are what make this project really interesting. Since March of this year seven projects have been funded and realized. (Actually only six were realized. The $310 Project did not come to fruition and the money was instead donated to the San Francisco Day Labor Program.) The projects are necessarily small in scale (the typical grant ranges between $200 to $300) as Greene requires they be feasible for close to the grant amount. Of the six that have been realized I have my favorites. Helena Keefe’s $256 Project wherein Keefe put out a call for participants, asking them to write speeches for George Bush—speeches that reflect their personal hopes for the leader of our country. The only takers were a group of San Francisco first graders. Keefe collected their speeches and recorded a Bush impersonator reading them. The results are hilarious and at times thought provoking. I also like Mike Calway-Fagen’s $253 Project. He drove his Community Outpost (a mobile front porch stoop) from Knoxville, Tennessee to Nashville, then spent a day wheeling his creation around the downtown area and recording his interactions as passersby stopped to sit or talk, or both. Finally, Kara Hearn’s $231 Project is a humorous and somewhat disturbing look at how she internalizes pop culture and reflects it back. Hearn has been shooting reenactments of scenes from Hollywood movies in her apartment for about a year now. She is the only actor in these scenes, so if there are multiple characters she plays all the parts. For her Service-Works project she asked Greene to choose six of these scenes to transfer to DVD. Then she asked Four Star Video in San Francisco to include the DVDs along with the original movies. They agreed. Now if you were to rent E.T. at Four Star Video you’d also get Hearn’s “bonus track.”

Kara Hearn, E.T. Bonus Track Special For You, 2006

Along with the project documentation, which begins to give one an idea about Greene’s interests, Greene records his experiences making the money for the grants—further deepening the connection between his labor and the projects it supports. Reading Greene’s accounts also begins to complicate the tidy system he’s set up. The double narratives of the project artists and Greene’s accounts of making the money to fund the projects create a kind of cognitive dissonance. Of course we are able to consider both stories simultaneously but which one is of greater significance? In Greene’s most recent entry we are informed that he has quit his job, is considering new ways of making a living, and used two unsolicited contributions to fund September’s project thereby zeroing out the Service-Works account. Considering the one-to-one relationship between the funder and the funded this information seems totally relevant.

Occasionally Greene is accused of being generous with Service-Works. I say accused because he gets defensive about it and is adamant that Service-Works is not a generous endeavor. It is after all his project. I mean he is not making these grants anonymously or without expectations. There is also a more general critical edge to the project—Greene’s agenda if you like. Service-Works is straightforward and transparent, radically so when compared to the granting processes of large foundations or arts organizations. Applying to institutional calls for artists can feel akin to casting stones into a canyon. Just who are the people making the decisions? What are their agendas and biases? How do these affect the organization’s stated goals? And where does the money come from anyway? Though you can find vague answers to these questions they are rarely satisfactory. So the relationship between the funding organization and the artist remains somewhat abstract—obfuscated by the efficiencies of business. This is likely due to the fact that organizations are not individuals. But it is also because the intertwining narrative that Service-Works weaves is not part of the institutional mindset. For most funding institutions the stories of their money and the artists they fund will always remain parallel. In contrast, Greene has devised a way to concretize his labor—solidifying the fungible liquidity of cash into a meaningful and specific exchange.

The next deadline for Service-Works grant applications is October 21st. More information about Josh Greene’s projects can be found at http://www.josh-greene.com/ .