A young woman strikes a subtle, learned pose in a short, flippy, drop-waist tunic made of canary-yellow and white checkerboard polyester. She faces the camera head-on with poised stillness, like a model in a live fashion presentation. The image is cropped close around her body, but visible behind her are the whitewashed brick, exposed pipes, and crooked crawlspace grate of a suburban apartment complex.
The dress is a facsimile of one from the Louis Vuitton Spring 2013 ready-to-wear show. Crit... [more]
Eight large, sooty, splotchy paintings strike curious poses upstairs these days—rhombuses and pentagons slide into corners, balance on point, reach the floors and ceilings of the gallery at odd angles. An equilateral triangle painting functions as a “key” to the others. The dimensions are arbitrary, perhaps, but not haphazard. Constructed as echoes and responses to the architecture of the artist's studio, they are elegantly at home in any space; the mental associations and conc... [more]
It's just outside the doors.
A long horizon line striping gray through most of those oblong holes, though there's a spot of green streaming the bottom over there. Maybe it's underworld strata, blocked off by the purity of its chosen color, a nice foundation, a firm earth to craft other planets, other doors out to them, into them. Doors are always body-size, even the doubles, like these here are made for two, arm-in-arm, coupled and linked. The double-door peeks into a vision that makes coupl... [more]
HSV: 0.9583, 0.3333, 0.8000
A smashed flea filled with your blood stains puce.
French for flea, this color was first uttered seeing the bloodsucker’s death streaking white sheets. In the circuit between flea and host, heartbreaker and heartbroken, torturer and tortured, there is no difference, a new beast is born from their intimacy, assassinated upon separation, dying in a smear of puce. A love that kills the thing it loves, a suicidal hunger maybe, a certain abjection you can’t den... [more]
I've always wanted to make a light that looks like the light you see in your dream.
—James Turrell, excerpted from James Turrell: A Retrospective
Art is always stumbling into someone else's dream.
At LACMA, be warned of lines and guards; turns out someone else's dream forces you to book a place months in advance, pay $45, sign a waiver to lab-coated girls in exchange for ten or so minutes with flickering lights. Just one of a dozen logistical hiccups. The precision of other people's dream... [more]
John Coplans’ essay, “Pasadena’s Collapse and the Simon Takeover: Diary of Disaster” written for Artforum in 1975, unravels the mirages and problems that the Pasadena Art Museum faced before being essentially purchased by ketchup mogul Norton Simon. Architects Lad + Kelsey's plan rode over the balance of architecture and beneficial exhibition space for their own design vision. The new building and location opened in late 1969 with a chaotic flurry of anticipation from the staff and artists, a re... [more]
Those who say that Los Angeles has no history would do well to drive east. There, the signs of the past ten or twenty years, at least, are unmistakable. Ever newer developments, stamped with KB Homes' trademark homogeneity, impose a geometry on the landscape that feels immediately familiar, as though one had gone back in time to pass the same part twice. In a sense, one hears, these areas are having something of a second life. Investors of the sort who've been doing well lately are accelerating the conv... [more]
I want all of Sam Gilliam's paintings here to be book covers.
Perhaps it's because their flatness and angles handily resemble package design of a certain era. I've always felt similarly about Ellsworth Kelly's bright, cheerful paintings that look like they'd been stolen from the detergent aisle and had their explosively optimistic names removed. Gilliam’s paintings on view at David Kordansky look mostly to me like one of the more recent cover designs for JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, which is... [more]
Here’s a show whose reception seems to have been preempted by the mounds of publicity preceding it. The narrative, though likely familiar from one or another of the articles touting Llyn Foulkes’ resurgence, bears repeating here, this time in line with the chronology established by the retrospective itself.
A Los Angeles artist since forever ago, Foulkes began by working through influences both global (Rauschenberg, Dalí, de Kooning) and local (notably Richards Ruben, whose imprint is unmistakab... [more]
There's hope this might be seen, yet a humbling acceptance of the vast loneliness of space.
It is a gesture.
A last love letter from a sunsetting civilization, a temple left on an abandoned planet, a spare record jettisoned into the cosmos whispering its enigmas through these worn remnants.
Do words fail? Maybe. So do civilizations. After a people’s peak troughs, do objects reclaim their lost souls? The first and last humans doubtlessly were and will be animists. I wish we had a verb for once... [more]
Let's be honest here.
Fuck art fairs. Long live art book fairs.
This weekend Printed Matter opens the first ever LA Art Book Fair. This is important. I want you to go.
Art books are generally everything you wanted art to be but you can actually afford it.
I don't know how much Laura Owen's paintings are going for, more than I make a year or five it's safe to assume, but her book, Fruits and Nuts is available at Ooga Booga for $500; each is its own unique beauty, handmade with love by the art... [more]
Aude Pariset isn't taking part in Art Los Angeles Contemporary, and most likely none of her work will be on display at any stall throughout it. She does however have a show at Favourite Goods gallery supported by Ceci N'est Pas. As an integral part of programming around ALAC this programme shows how an art fair isn't simply a commercially driven sharkfest but can also be a powerful driver of internationalism and offer the opportunity for young artists to both show their work and broaden their exp... [more]
Perhaps the art fair brought you to LA, or maybe you live here but are looking for a little international flavor from the coterie of foreign art dealers caravanning in art from far-flung lands. There is a certain, dynamic allure to any assembly, party, fair. But in the end, nobody really loves an art fair. There's the art fairs in the Grand Palais in Paris, whose beautiful glass dome certainly takes the sting out, but as a rule a convention hall will only ever be a conventional hall: harsh over... [more]
Art Los Angeles Contemporary – the name itself has a certain blankness, being obviously designed to blend into the range of similarly named art fairs that have proliferated with particular intensity since the 90s. Undoubtedly, the same complaints everyone has about these events will hold true here – there's the difficulty of seeing anything in such a saturated environment, the claustrophobia induced by the crowds, the distasteful commercialism...
To be sure, ALAC is at least as capable as any o... [more]
What is fair in Los Angeles, but the amalgam of worlds and communities that thrive and crash histories under almost perfect weather? We interviewed Tim Fleming, director of Art Los Angeles Contemporary art fair, who talks about the fair’s fourth year.
What is your take on the move of other fairs installing programming west in the past two years, including Paris Photo inaugurating later this year in April?
I really don’t have any comment on the other fairs, except that we are really excited ab... [more]
I could watch Jordan Wolfson’s Raspberry Poser for hours and hours, which is to say far longer than downtown parking affords. Having the large-scale projection all to yourself in the middle of the day, splayed out or dancing on wall-to-wall white carpeting is a pretty sweet, cozy thing.
The third in the artist’s new (and suddenly signature) series of hybrid CGI, hand-drawn animation, and live footage videos (following Con Leche, 2009, and Animation, Masks, 2012), Raspberry Poser is the first to... [more]