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]
In anticipation of and celebration in the numeric vortex/cultural angst that is 12/21/2012—as in THE long-awaited 2012, written in boldface, all caps and with the force of a psychic tattoo unleashing bangs, whimpers, revelations, light, darkness, questions, answers and disappointments of the profoundest nature—Phil E(p)stein gave a twelve-hour lecture from the moment that the Mayan calendar ends, at the strike of midnight, until the rapturous light of noon on December 21, 2012.
Like all of E(p)stein’s lectures,... [more]
Art critics are never quite shilled in the same way as critics for other avenues of culture. Yes, our reviews likely get listed on CVs and not read, adding some vague imprimatur to an artist's career that might help move some product, but we're never exploited in quite the same way, as say, the movie critic, whose thoughtful well-composed reviews (okay not always) get diced into a few words to grace a promotional poster. Oh, if only some art critic (someone from October would be nice, or Texte... [more]
Lost and Found by Jared Baxter Stephan Balkenhol, Michel Blazy, André Breton, Valentin Carron, Guy de Cointet, Philippe Decrauzat, Laurent Le Deunff, Bertrand Dezoteux, Vincent Ganivet, Daniel Dewar & Grégory Gicquel, Piero Golia, Camille Henrot, Thomas Hirschhorn, Fabrice Hyber, Nathan Hylden, Robert Kinmont, Vincent Lamouroux, René Magritte, Tony Matelli, Philippe Mayaux, Mathieu Mercier, Laurent Montaron, Julien Prévieux, Man Ray, Jim Shaw, Alexandre Singh, Tatiana Trouvé, Oscar Tuazon, Jean-Luc Verna, Robert Watts, Marnie Weber at Los Angeles Municipal Art Gallery at Barnsdall Park (LAMAG)
December 1st, 2012 - January 27th, 2013
Knowing nothing about the TV show that provides the inspiration for this exhibition—and not really caring to learn more—I might suggest that the resonance of “Lost,” as theme, has at least as much to do here with the space of the Barnsdall itself. Passing from the entrance hall to the center of the exhibition area, one inevitably pauses, slightly disoriented, and wonders whether to go to the right or the left. The choice, in the end, matters little—either way, one enters an unaccountably labyri... [more]
In the cavernous former movie theater that makes the main gallery of Human Resources, performance artist MPA has hung a lunar calendar, following the phases of the moon for the duration of the exhibition the work finds itself in. Curated by artist and Human Resources collective member Chiara Giovando, the premise of the thematic exhibition, “Gap, Mark, Sever, and Return”, is that of the “series”, the way interconnected works can mark time, to organize, to build. The documented course of time... [more]
I almost want to fuck him. Is this John the Baptist? The big JC's notable cousin, claimed second-coming of Elijah and pre-ambler to the messiah, the fiery Jewish prophet, whose head a mere few paintings away gets plattered for the sexy, slithery, fourteen-year-old sexpot Salome? This pale northern European beauty never burned in a Judean summer or strained too strenuously under an imperial Roman yoke; this John, who in the gospel is in the deserts till the moment he manifests to Israel, seems to... [more]
"Don't take it personally," a backhanded cliche only firing bosses and leaving lovers sink to say.
Failure, success, love, sex, politics, the environment. These are not vague abstractions. Or at least, they don't have to be.
Take all this personally. Lisa Anne Auerbach does. An erotic sweaterist, a reclaimer of torn porn, cycling zinemaker, artist.
In sizable prints, shredded S&M porn abandoned in an airport parking garage gets blown up, each thread of its frazzled paper, stain on the pelte... [more]
Fall in Los Angeles is something of a paradox. The heat breaks, sure, though wearingly late in the year, returning for second and third encores even as the first rains of the season turn the scorched hills to a striking emerald, far removed from the auburn palette elsewhere familiar. In the art world, it's a time when the often meandering group shows of summer give way to solo show-stoppers, a sense of renewed focus going hand-in-hand with a rekindled drive to impress.
It's in this climate that Dave Mu... [more]
The first time I met Eli Langer was in a book. In Chris Kraus’s Where Art Belongs—a collection of essays that begins with words on the now defunct underground space, Tiny Creatures. Full of kaleidoscopic stories, the essay touches on the “golden age” of the eastside’s art and music scene in Los Angeles—the flux of spaces in Chinatown and Echo Park. One of my favorite descriptions of the now infamous Part Time Punks club is told by Kraus in her essay:
“… where people who’d grown up as misfits with obscure musi... [more]
Not unlike an inner matryoshka doll, Tif’s Desk is a distant and less neurotically secluded relative of Bartleby’s hermitage: a play on the custom of showing artworks in a gallery office, a site-specific installation; a discreet displacement of assumed business bureaucracy that instead makes a designated place of work into a further vortex of exhibition space. For the last few months, Tif Sigfrids, an artist and the director at Thomas Solomon Gallery, has been staging art shows from her desk in the... [more]
There's something to the way the show's title elides its source, a quotation from Roberto Bolano's The Savage Detectives that originally reads “Freedom is like a prime number.” It's a subtle change from simile to metaphor, a near-subliminal attrition that renders the phrase both more direct and abstract.
This shift, of course, has much to do with Sarah Cain's work, whose fearlessness in the face of excess is closely tied to her insistence on the expressiveness of color and form, however esoterically these... [more]
I have never seen a real, archeological hoard. I’ve read about them in books, with full-color jewels splayed out on neutral backgrounds laid carefully in protective casings, stacks of silver and bronze coins embossed with Roman emperors, coiled gold snakes for nameless warrior queens. The internet provides hours heaped upon hours of “research” a procrastinator can dig into for the sake of pure meandering scholarship (a hoard of wasted time), giving one visions of buried riches, war loot, lost art... [more]
So almost every week for the three wintry months these last two years I’ve participated in an ongoing art project that involved taking off my clothes with strangers, crawling into a mirror-covered, egg-shaped steam chamber, concentratedly sweating until I could no longer take the heat, and then slithering my wet body back into the cool air. Rinse, repeat.
Clement Greenberg never did this.
I did it nearly every week because I loved it, but throughout the experience I’ve been reluctant to write abou... [more]