December 2008 Archives

Merlucciidae Common Name: Silver Hake, Whiting, New England Hake

Oh wow, I do love this fish. It's very popular in Spain, but the species in European waters may be different from that found in our own. I say that because I remember how after less than a week in Madrid Barry and I would both groan when we saw merluza on the menu. It was tasty, but hidden bones were always a serious obstacle to our enjoyment. I haven't had the same experience on this side of the Atlantic.

But maybe it's just the estimable fishmongers at Citarella.

Last night I put together a dinner of "Ligurian fish and Potatoes" (using an 11-ounce Hake fillet and two scrubbed-but-unpeeled red potatoes). Thanks for the recipe, Mark. The hake rested on a cushion of red-rimmed potatoes which were remarkable not just for their taste but for being deliciously juicy, yet still al dente, while staying crispy on some of the edges.

Along with the fish, bought at Citarella in the Village, a few blocks southwest of the Union Square greenmarket from which I had just left, I prepared some very small baby Bok Choy which I was surprised to still find in this increasingly-deserted open-air market at the very end of December (praised be the inventor of the cold frame). But then I also bought some delicious Niagara grapes from another vendor yesterday; how'd they manage that?

The recipe for the contorno, which I modified somewhat from this recipe I found on line seems a bit fussy, but it turned out to be way toothsome, and a sensational complement to the sweet, white fish. It amazes me that this excellent vegetable still makes only rare appearances in Western cook books; I mean, the Italians managed to find New World peppers and tomatoes without making a big fuss, so where's their bok choy?


After cutting them in half, brushing them with garlic-infused oil, and sprinkling them with lemon and thyme, I grilled the little cabbages face down in an enameled-iron ribbed pan for about four minutes, covering them loosely with a sheet of foil. I then turned them over and added drops of balsamic vinegar, grilling them for about three or four more minutes. Once they were on the plates, I topped them with a mixture of pine nuts which had been sauteed in the garlic-infused oil and then heated with the chopped dark green outer leaves I had removed earlier.

We had nibbled on taralli al peperoncino while we waited for the main course, and when we had finished the fish I brought out two very small cuts of slightly-aged Caprini Tartufo, accompanying it with thin slices from a loaf of Tuscan bread I'd also picked up at the greenmarket that afternoon, and some phenomenal dried Turkish figs.

Oh yeah, sure, there was wine. We shared a bottle of Spanish Naia Verdejo which we sometimes think of as our current "house white"; it cost us only $12 or so.

Even though I've written before about the meals we enjoy at home, when I had already begun this post I suddenly thought that it might be a mistake: Maybe because it was so good and because I seem to be boasting about it publicly, but mostly because while I know that not everyone might want a meal like this many who would are unable to assemble it for one reason or another.

I will admit that it helps, and is probably essential, to have someone you love to enjoy it with you, but that sounds like another assignment.

"Geography is destiny", may be only a cliché, but if you're not in a city like New York you may not be able to reproduce this or most of the meals which we enjoy and which I sometimes describe, but you may come up with something just as pleasurable to suit different resources and circumstances. It doesn't have to mean taking a huge chunk of time out of a day: While this main course took me a little over one hour to put together, a call to the local Chinese or Mexican will always beat the time spent in the kitchen preparing any meal, but on the other hand, it's not a chore. Finally, considering what real cooks have been able to do without great kitchens and without fat purses, I don't think that inadequate space should stop anyone who really wants to prepare good meals. In fact I started cooking for myself when I had only a sink, a refrigerator, a stove and two feet of counter space on one side of a one-room apartment ( I now have an additional 4 1/2 feet of counter, but that extra length is only 16 inches deep and my refrigerator is now tiny).

I know that limited funds should be even less of an obstacle. Were I were disposed to feel any embarrassment about what looks like indulgence in this meal, and it certainly was not an exceptional event for us, I would just remind myself that the cost of the entire dinner for two (including the portion cost of herbs, oils, lemon, vinegar, etc.) was something like $16.

But I also get great pleasure (and some physical and mental exercise hauling and bending) out of the planning, gathering and preparation of these dinners, not to mention my huge delight in the enjoyment and sharing of good food, and the good conversation it encourages, while also listening to music of which we might take almost no notice during any other part of the day.

Most days I wouldn't trade it for any restaurant, even if I do have to do the dishes.

[image from University of Southern Maine]

Andrew Guenther Skull Pile 2006 oil on canvas 68" x 48"

view of one wall of installation, including both paintings and objects

Andrew Guenther's show at Freight + Volume, "Looking For Culture Part III: Back to My Old Ways", includes some terrific oils, acrylics and sketches, and a number of indefinable objects. Many of the pieces assume both individual and compelling shared identities, since they've been placed on, above or below simple wooden shelves. The drawings and paintings are incredibly fresh, even sweet (don't let the skulls put you off), and the gallery's small "cabinet", boasting as it does so many curious, wonderful, handmade doohickeys, looks something like a collection marshaled by a particularly-inventive Prospero.

Lily Ludlow Lovers 2008 graphite, gesso and acrylic on canvas 48" x 48"


Canada gallery is showing some beautiful erotic paintings by Lily Ludlow along with a multi-channel video, "Sewing Circle", in which she collaborated with Allen Cordell. I love the paintings.

When I started this entry, because I was also so charmed by the beauty of the detail's abstraction, the clarity of the lines and the subtlety of the colors it revealed (the rich textures can really only be seen if you're right there), I was tempted to do something I rarely do, reverse the order of the two images you see here, making the larger one into a thumbnail and showing the detail shot first, and full size. I guess it's an old publishing trick. I like the way it sometimes gingers things up, but I decided that the full painting, although it was very dimly lit in the gallery, was just too beautiful to diminish or underplay. It also displays some of its own ginger.


Paddy Johnson is having a year-end fundraiser for her increasingly indispensible cultural blog, Art Fag City. Contributions are tax-deductible, through the generous support of another of New York's precious resources, Momenta Art. Go here to Paddy's site for more information and an easy contribution form.

Tom Moody has assembled, on his own site, an impressive, but unassailable description of what her site means to the arts community it serves:

Johnson's blog is a necessary counterweight to the institutional writing that constitutes current criticism: magazines chasing ad dollars, 501c(3) organizations that have to say nice things about everyone, and museum curators at the beck and call of powerful board members. Johnson produces a staggering amount of original content each year, including interviews, essay series, and reportage. Her comment boards are moderated in a civilized fashion and are a good place to hash out issues that aren't being discussed elsewhere. Plus she is that rare writer that can cover both the art gallery scene and the online scene with equal knowledge and confidence.

In J.M. Barrie's "Peter Pan", the play, the novel and the film, children are urged to clap to show that they believe in fairies, lest Tinkerbell die. I feel a bit like when we were first asked to save that little sprite, but this time we'll need to do more than clap if we're going to help keep Art Fag City alive.

[1915 image, by Francis Donkin Bedford, from Project Gutenberg]


This is a seasonal post - but with a twist.

Although I'm a refugee from a Roman Catholic youth, a steadfast atheist for almost 50 years, I suppose I may still be somewhat conflicted about the baby Jesus.

For some reason, when I saw this delicate little ceramic infant a number of years ago inside the gift shop at New Mexico's ancient El Santuario de Chimayo, I couldn't resist snapping it up. At first the priest didn't want to part with the pale-skinned hand-made figure, even though it was on the merchandise table, but he eventually agreed to sell it. It turned out to be the last one in stock, and he wasn't sure they'd ever get another. Maybe he had fallen in love with it himself, and maybe he sensed I wasn't going to use it for conventional devotion.

Okay, it was the eyes that got me.

I lay him down carefully in some raffia on the cherry tea table every December 24th; it's always the most Christmas-y thing in our apartment. We're actually both pretty devoted to this child, even though our own convention is that he gets packed away in a few days until his return appearance next year.

When the kid looks up at us through that fantastic eyeshadow, I like to think he's trying to tell us something we already know.

R.H. Quaytman Chapter 12: iamb (Fresnell lens) 2008 diamond dust, silkscreen, gesso on wood 32.5" x 52.5"

R.H. Quaytman Chapter 12: iamb 2008 silkscreen, gesso on wood 40" x 24.75"


R.H. Quaytman Chapter 12: iamb silkscreen, gesso on wood 32.5" x 20"

The gallery press release tells us that the subject of "Chapter 12: iamb", R.H. Quaytman's exquisite and very brainy solo show which opened recently at Miguel Abreu, is "painting itself and, specifically, its relationship to the blind spot." The notes go on:

Like actual vision, Quaytman’s paintings have a blind spot, whether it be from a light source in the picture, an optical illusion, a trompe l’œil effect, the absence of color in a black and white photograph, or the picture in plan. This recurring ‘absence’ enables the works to activate one another, yet it also often shifts the axis of legibility between neighboring paintings.

About the images I've uploaded here: Since her show is about ‘absence’, I suppose I should consider that I had fair warning. Color is always a problem, and the pixels on a screen can play havoc with reproduction under the best of circumstances, but the first two images above are, more than usually, only an approximation of what you will see unmediated when you stand in the gallery itself. For example, the detail I show here, of a section located one third of the way from the right edge of the painting, actually includes parts of two color fields (this is more apparent if you move back from the computer screen).

Fortunately, since it's a part of the work being shown (each piece is intended to be viewed both by itself and in the context of its neighbors) the installation is also a triumph. It's museum quality, and I mean that in a good way: I felt like keeping my voice down, I suppose out of awe or respect, and that's not my usual approach to new art.

Kate Gilmore Higher Horse 2008 single channel video [large detail still from installation video]

Kate Gilmore's current installation at Smith Stewart is even more gripping than I'd expected, and I've grown to expect a lot from this smart artist.

While you pass through the debris left over from one of the performances documented on the monitors inside the gallery, Gilmore can also be seen in three other recent videos, equally and typically engaging, and very physical. Her face is often obscured in her work, as it is here. But in these four pieces, dressed in high heels and skirts, Gilmore's costume at least is a star, neatly color-coordinated with some element of her artist-built sculptural props. In each case she is, as usual, totally involved in half-goofy challenges presented by her sets, but in the video installed furthest from the door, "Higher Horse", where she introduces two husky males armed with sledge hammers, she appears more as frightened, cornered prey than as the wild, ransacker encountered elsewhere in the room.

Gilmore's work, regularly evokes responses like horror, frustration, pity, anger, compassion, empathy, fear, love and admiration, and certainly bemusement, humor and delight. None of these appear alone, instead they're all tangled together in my experience of the pleasures of her art.

And I'm not alone.

Kate Gilmore Walk this Way 2008 single channel video [large detail still from installation video]

Kate Gilmore Between a Hard Place 2008 single channel video [large detail still from installation video]

Kate Gilmore Down the House 2008 single channel video [large detail from installation video]

Maureen Cavanaugh Black Flowers 2008 oil on canvas 9" x 12"

Maureen Cavanaugh Old Room 2008 oil on canvas 10" x 10"

I liked these paintings when I first looked at them, and I find they've only grown more beautiful each time I've returned to them (in photos). Maureen Cavanaugh's solo show at 31 Grand, "Stay With Me", which closed one week ago, was terrific, but unfortunately it proved to be the final regularly-scheduled exhibition in the gallery's space on Ludlow Street.

And then last night we were excited to be able to drop by the gallery for one last blow-out show, "Death Is Not The End". It was a one-night only thing, a retrospective group exhibition of artists who had made appearances in 31 Grand's spaces in Williamsburg and Manhattan over the nine years of its very full life.

The strength of this last brilliant flare of an installation, and the crowd which poured into the space one last time last night, should attest to what I read as prophecy in its title: It's not over. I know nothing more about the future of the art world than anyone else, and less than many, but I expect Heather Stephens and Megan Bush will be back, either together or separately; the love and the respect both have earned for the work they have done over the past decade should foretoken as much, and more.

The artists included in the show last night were:

Adam Stennett, Alessandra Exposito, Eric White, Barnaby Whitfield, Carol "Riot" Kane, Fanny Bostrom, Randy Polumbo, Francesca Lo Russo, Helen Garber, Mike Cockrill, Jade Dylan, Jason Clay Lewis, Jason Cole Mager, Jason Weatherspoon, Jeff Wyckoff, Joel Adas, Jon Elliott, Karen Heagle, Kristen Schiele, Kyle Simon, Lauren Gibbes, Magalie Guérin, Maureen Cavanaugh, Megan Leborious, Michael Anderson, Michael Cambre, Michael Pope, MTAA/Michael Sarff, Nelson Loskamp/Electric Chaircut, Orly Cogan, Paul Brainard, Rebecca Chamberlain, Sean McDevitt, Spencer Tunnick, Tim Wilson, Tom Sanford, Ursula Brookbank and Claudine Anrather

Hieronymus Bosch The Mountebank 1475-80 oil on panel 21" x 29.5"

I'm going to close my eyes and count to ten, and when I open them I want to find that fat mountebank gone.

I'm very much in and of this country, but I'm not a member of Rick Warren's wacky faith-based syndicate of dupes. I'm not a Christian of any description, and I'm also not a Jew and not a Muslem or Bahá'ist. I'm not Hindu, Sikh, Jain, Buddist, Confucian, Taoist, Shinto, Zoroastrian, Druze, Shamanist, Unitarian or Yoruban. I'm also not a part of the Prince Philip Movement.

In fact I'm not a member of any magic cult, and I'm not a part of any other kind of club. I like to believe that I can think for myself. It's a competence I continue to hope I might share with every American adult, in spite of all the sad evidence to the contrary. At the very least I'd like to think that the person chosen to occupy the office of President of the United States of America can and does think for himself. Yet it now seems pretty clear, as he's about to be anointed on the steps of the Capitol, that even our latest almighty one doesn't think for himself, or at least that he doesn't want us to think that he thinks for himself.

It's not only that I am appalled by Obama's choice of Rick Warren to deliver an "invocation" at his, no, . . . our truly-epochal January 20th inauguration ceremony. No, it's much bigger than that: I object to the fact that even in the twenty-first century, in order to get a proper send-off into the most important secular office a nation can award to one of its citizens, the President-elect of my country feels he has to enlist the public help of any crazy sky pilot to formally summon the private imaginary friend the two of them share.

NOTE: If I were to object only to the specific choice of Warren as the next American high priest, I would hope I could come up with more reasons than those connected with his vocal opposition to gay marriage, comparing it to incest, pedophilia and polygamy. This seems to be all that most people find appalling about Warren.

I would add, and this is just for starters, that he does not believe in evolution; that he would deny women the right to their own bodies, comparing abortion to the Holocaust and those who defend a woman's right to choice as no better than Nazis; that he has said that women should submit to their husbands; that he believes that Jews who do not convert will surely roast in hell; that he has advocated the assassination of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad; that he has said that Christians who advance a social gospel (the religious crusade against poverty and inequality) are Marxists; and that he opposes stem-cell research.

But enough. Écrasez l'infâme!

[image from Web Gallery of Art]

why, . . . it was just yesterday, and now it looks like tomorrow

DO NOT miss it, if you're any where around Chelsea today, Friday or Satruday. There are still three more nights to see a (sorta) revival of David Gordon and the Pick Up Performance Company's 1982 "Trying Times (remembered)" at Dance Theater Workshop, and Barry and I both recommend it highly. You don't really have to bring any special equipment with you to enjoy this beautiful piece, but, especially if you're unfamiliar with the choreographer and the company, it wouldn't hurt to see it after: 1.) a quick study of its history, here [Gia Kourlas for Time Out] or here [Claudia La Rocco for the NYTimes]; 2.) a look at David Gordon; 3.) a peek at the phenomenal Valda Setterfield; and 4.) some background on Stravinsky's gorgeous 1928 "Apollo".

Deborah Jowitt (sadly, one of the only reasons still left for picking up a copy of that once-indispensable Downtown rag, The Village Voice) will also help with her review, whether you read it before or after experiencing this wonderful work.

[Steve Gunther image, of Pick Up Performance Company dancers together with dancers from the Sharon Disney Lund School of Dance at CalArts, taken from Pick UP and supplied by DTW]


Ann Lislegaard Crystal World (after J.G.Ballard) 2006 two-screen video [two large-detailed stills from the double-screen installation]

Murray Guy is showing two beautiful projected animations by Ann Lislegaard in its space on 17th Street. They're both seriously conceptual, but the looping double-screen animation, "Crystal World (After J.G. Ballard)", sections of which are seen in the two images above, is incredibly exquisite to boot.

Aside from its virtues as art, for those who already feel they're being force-fed a surfeit of holiday color: This frozen minimalist world is the perfect antitoxin.


I know it from the very personal relationships the man enjoyed with good friends of mine who regularly hosted this sweet man in their homes. Van Johnson was quite queer, even if he didn't seem to want it broadcast everywhere.

It's too bad the obituaries in the NYTimes and other MSM outlets I've just looked at on line still seem to think that queer is, well, . . . too disgusting to talk about in public, thus perpetuating the climate of fear and loathing in which Johnson grew up and which continues to waste and destroy lives even today.

ADDENDUM: By way of media corroboration, I just found this copy of a 2004 obituary of Evie Wynn Johnson, the woman the star married in 1947, It appeared in the The Independent.

[image from ioffer]

untitled (roofhouses) 2008

Larissa Bates Sleeping MotherMan with Lazer Beams after Poussin's Narcissus 2008 acryla gouache on canvas 8" x 10"

I neglected to post anything about Larissa Bates's wonderful show at Monya Rowe, "Just Hustle and Muscle", while it was installed this past September and October. I was reminded of its excitement, and my own failings (just now I was also shocked to find that I have never done a separate post on Bates), when I visited the show of works by the gallery's artists installed in a new space on 22nd Street. I've decided to begin making up for lost time and opportunities.

Almost as soon as I started uploading images for this post I realized I had bitten off more than I could chew. Bates's work had hit me, both alarming and charming me, over a period of several years before I was able to learn much about either her inspirations or her anomalous iconography. Even now, after having seen and read things which provide more narrative context for this very beautiful work, I find that I can't give a compact written account of what I've learned. Instead I'll show several more images than I had originally planned. They were assembled from visits to several shows at Monya Rowe and one LMCC studio tour. I also can refer the curious to this Beautiful/Decay interview with the artist. They're all there; The wrestlers, the Cry-Baby MotherMen, the Lederhosen Boys, the Napoleons/Head Honchos and a lot more.

a relatively large piece, from the series "Man Power", shown in the artist's LMCC studio in April


the first of three panels of an instructive legend shown by the artist in her LMCC studio


Lederhosen Boys Electric Shock Séance 2008 acryla gouache and ink on canvas 8" x 6"

Larissa Bates MotherMen Birthing Scene at Bingham Bluff 2008 acryla gouache and ink on canvas 16" x 20" [installation view]


Lee* inside Fred's work

Fred's Lee thing** [detail]

Utopia, with Fred's Lee, and artists

The title of the installation, "Love To Fred From Lee Lozano", comes from the inscription on a graph-paper notebook given to the artist Fred Gutzeit by Lozano, who died in 1999. Gutzeit used its pages to plot his 60-foot printed mural, its imagery inspired by Lozano's own work, mounted along one wall of the narrow Bushwick gallery, Pocket Utopia.

If the current show is a generous homage to an artist who had once almost disappeared, Austin Thomas's remarkable Bushwick space itself is a generous and continuing homage to all those who make art.

Jerry Saltz, in a piece in this week's New York Magazine headlined, "Art on a Shoestring: That’s where creativity really thrives", points readers to four Bushwick galleries, including Pocket Utopia, ". . . where you’ll likely be greeted by the ball-of-energy artist known as Austin Thomas, who, in the year and a half she’s been open for business, hasn’t sold a single work to a collector—only to artists."

It sounds shocking, but it almost doesn't surprise me. Maybe it's actually just the way things have come together up to now on Flushing Avenue, but having hung around there from its very beginnings, I can't think of any words which might better describe the inventive direction and magnanimous motivation of Thomas's space on Flushing Avenue. Austin is an artist first, and the organic, collective process behind the works which pass through this tenement-building's former hair salon shop always takes on the aspect of a creative work itself, of artists both individual and collaborative. This kind of sensitivity and generosity is understood and appreciated by artists first.

NOTE: The image of Lee Lozano's face is only fully visible if the side of the viewer's head is almost touching the mural as it faces toward it from several feet away.

the billboard installation inside the gallery

document setting out what members of Parliament believed their powers to be, December 1640, ending with: that dissolving of Parliaments suddaynly without redressing the greivances Complayned of is a great greivance

Almost 400 years ago a man of kingly status, and with kingly ambitions, dissolved a freely-elected parliament when it crossed his purposes. Seven years later Charles II really lost his head - on the block.

This week an unelected chief manager of government, with the help of his monarch's regent, effectively dissolved another parliament which had proved intractable to his will. Stephen Harper's fate is yet to be determined.

We may allow for the possibility that each man's decision had some element of worthy, or at least unselfish motives, but tyranny is tyranny - something too many of us on this side of our northern border still have trouble understanding.

Finally, while we have no wish to see Mr. Harper separated from his head, we might fairly hope for the speedy removal from office of his whole person.

[image from learningcurve]

Lisa Sanditz Pearl Farm Underwater II 2007 acrylic with pearl on canvas 70" x 90" x .75"

Lisa Standitz New Mall in Shoe City IV study 2007 acrylic on paper 18.75" x 25.5"

I had already started to write this blog this afternopn when I looked it up: Lisa Standitz's show at CRG has closed already. I was really surprised. Of course I'm now looking back at the ArtCal listing and see that the exhibition had been up since the end of October. But even if I didn't get to the gallery until a month after that, it still seems weird that it's no longer there: Damn, and don't I still miss having the DIA Center located just down the street, with its many-months-long installations of work which was almost always interesting on many levels.

I'm also somewhat abashed, since Sanditz's paintings on canvas and paper were among the finest I've seen this season; I would like to have been able to share my pleasure in them by sending at least a few more people over to 22nd Street with this post. If they haven't all been snatched up, maybe you can stop by the gallery and ask someone to give you a peek. The large stretched canvases were pretty spectacular, but the smaller, jewel-like works in the second room were just as amazing - and much easier to pull out off a shelf in the back.

The title of the show, "Sock City" threw me off at first since I was thinking of a regular open-air market with that name from years back. Was it the one located on a lot in SoHo next to Tower Records?

I learned however that with this body of work Standitz is continuing with her long term interest in "the various forms in which the marketplace and wilderness intersect, overlap, and inform each other", according to a very useful press release, only this time she has turned to "the Chinese commercial landscape". All of the images represent aspects of single-industry towns in China which she visited two winters back. The names of these places reflect the products they produce, and Sanditz's paintings borrow those names.

It was very, very warm in the gallery that afternoon, and I had almost decided I'd have to leave after taking only a quick look at the first room, when the various elements of these large acrylics started to coalesce, and the abstractions began to sing along with the dramatic shapes of the the buildings and landscapes they revealed.

I ended up staying for some time, and the paintings came with me when I finally left.

Ali Banisadr untitled (Black 2) 2008 oil on linen 22" x 32"


Ali Banisadr Prisoners of the Sun (TV) 2008 oil on linen 54" x 72"

Ali Banisadr currently has a show of his latest paintings at Leslie Tonkonow. I can't throw out enough superlatives about this work, for it attributes, both separately and together, of its great beauty, its extraordinary skill, its staggering concept, and its remarkable genesis.

The beauty is dazzling; the skill is only fully evident upon closer examination of the small images on these canvases, when it can be seen that they are composed of what are essentially abstract paint strokes and not really figures; the concept behind their splendor is that they represent (and not quite hide) some pretty horrible scenes of human cruelty; their genesis begins with the artist's childhood in war-time Iran.

The gallery press release has much more:

[the paintings] combine stylistic idioms from the history of western art with references to Persian miniature painting. Underlying the seductive beauty of Banisadr’s richly interwoven imagery is the apocalyptic nature of his subject matter. In these works, memory and history collide, inspired by his childhood recollections of the Iran-Iraq War.

"No Border Camps" members dramatize how goods cross borders freely, people don't (1998)

Queen Mother Moore radicalizing much younger Green Haven Prison inmates in 1973

Barry and I spent almost two hours at the current Exit Art show, "Signs of Change: Social Movement Cultures 1960s to Now", on what may have been our last beautiful late fall Saturday afternoon. Let me just explain that it was several times more compelling than even this old activist had expected. I'll add this caution: It closes at the end of the week, on December 6th.

There are colorful posters, photographs, broadsheets, banners, sound documentations and videos. In addition to the two images above I can show captures of a small selection of some of the more provocative posters below. I'm including only minimal captions since a proper context for the posters generally requires more information than I can supply here.

The single greatest thing about the show may be less its lavish size than its enormous geographical compass. It covers modern social movements just about everywhere on the planet. The video documentaries are particularly intense.

So I hope this short tease works. If you read this blog with any frequency you probably should see this exhibition, especially if you're the sort who is inclined to muck about in the street, or maybe especially if you're not yet that sort. Tell your friends, in any event.

I suppose it was not part of the project's scope, but I noticed that there were virtually no artifacts in the exhibition which were not printed, that is, there were no hand-made "signs of change". And I'm sure that anyone looking for specific content could find something to say about the curatorial choices, but after I left this rather dense survey of the use of art in social movements I recalled that I had seen very little material devoted to AIDS or homosexuality. That really surprised me, as it's not as if these two issues, AIDS in particular, did not attract artists of all kinds, or that their response had no aesthetic resonance.

anonymous poster from the 1970s

poster using cover from 1980s UK newspaper, Class War

poster from Chicago feminist collective, "SisterSerpents" (1989) [blue is a reflection on plexi]

poster from "Dirty Linen Corp" (1969)

1970 poster from Amsterdam absurdist theatrical party, "Kabouterbeweging" [gnome movement]

This page is an archive of entries from December 2008 listed from newest to oldest.

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