Most of you know of Bean Gilsdorf as the author of DailyServing’s popular art advice column, Help Desk. However, occasionally Bean will step away from Help Desk to contribute an interview, article, or review. Today’s Best Of 2012, Weaving, Not Cloth: Mark Bradford, was written by Bean Gilsdorf and selected by DS contributor Emily Macaux.

“In Weaving, Not Cloth, Bean offers a nuanced and penetrating treatment of Bradford’s work, conveying its material richness and extraordinary tactility.” -Emily Macaux.

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The difficulty in viewing photographs of artwork is that the camera flattens the object in its focus, relinquishing subtleties in order to capture a whole. Because his oeuvre is very subtle indeed, Mark Bradford’s work requires a viewer’s presence to be fully appreciated. Very little of the slender lines of collage, delicate papers built up in thin layers or washes of paint almost completely sanded away is apparent in reproduction. Each of the more than forty of Bradford’s works now on view at SFMOMA calls out to be felt, if not by the hand of the viewer then by the eye. They elicit a state of tactile vision, a reminder that visual perception is also connected to the faculty of touch.

Mark Bradford, Potable Water, 2005; billboard paper, photomechanical reproductions, acrylic gel medium, and additional mixed media; 130 x 196 inches; collection of Hunter Gray; © Mark Bradford; photo: Bruce M. White

In the scholarship regarding his work, much has been made of the condition and location of Bradford’s studio practice. He grew up (and still lives) in South Central Los Angeles, a mainly black neighborhood mythologized for its urban decay. Bradford worked at his mother’s hair salon before attending art school, learning skills that he would adapt to his practice: hard work, repetitive actions and tactile processes. He gleans his materials from the posters, billboard papers, and hair salon permanent-wave end papers that are still part of his environment. And while all this information surely contributes to an important analysis of his work based in socio-economics, race and culture, it ignores the physicality and lushness of the actual surfaces and the connection of Bradford’s work to textiles.

Mark Bradford, Value 47, 2009–10. Billboard paper, photomechanical reproductions, acrylic gel medium, carbon paper, nylon string, and additional mixed media on canvas; 48 x 60 inches; courtesy of the artist and Sikkema Jenkins & Co., New York; © Mark Bradford; photo: Fredrik Nilsen

Up close, the dense materiality of each piece intrigues with a kind of sumptuous dissolution; there is tension between order and chaos, rigid geometries and decay. Layers and layers of papers and paint built up over time manifest the tactile nature of his working process, while the sanding between layers wears away the visible to the point of ruin. Each surface affirms Bradford’s physical presence, because these are techniques that can only be achieved by putting sinew and muscle in service of production. Though he calls them paintings, Bradford’s work more precisely exists in the productive space between painting, collage, and textiles. Many of the smaller and mid-scale collages are built on stretched canvases, allusions to the image-framing and containment of the traditional painting. However, several larger works are created on unstretched canvas that adds a layer of dimensionality to the form. For example, the surface of You’re Nobody (Til Somebody Kills You) undulates like fabric—it’s not really flat at all—and the edges are ragged and crusted with cracked paint. Though I include a photograph of the work below, the camera fails to capture the tangible thicknesses at the edges of torn papers, the white areas sanded smooth, the divots and pockmarks in the grids, or the directional marks of a brush dragged through thick gel medium. These surfaces create the haptic character of the work.

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DailyServing’s Best of 2012 continues today with the article Is the artworld too insular, selected by DS’s Help Desk columnist Bean Gilsdorf.

“Danielle Sommer‘s #Hashtags series continues to be thought-provoking, but I especially enjoyed her take on the firing of former LA MOCA curator Paul Schimmel and the idea that it’s mainstream American culture that is truly insular. -Bean Gilsdorf.

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My day job (radio production) can complement my night job (arts writing), but there are times when weeks pass without the twain meeting. At our Los Angeles-based talk program, MOCA’s loss of former curator Paul Schimmel did not go unnoticed, but neither did it tantalize, at least not until my senior producer saw the following headline: “Museums Are About the Art, Not Racking Up Big Numbers on Crowds and Revenue.” The article, written by Blake Gopnick for The Daily Beast, rails against a recent op-ed by Eli Broad in the Los Angeles Times, in which Broad defends MOCA in the language of a business institution striving “to grow its client base” (Gopnick’s wording), or “make MOCA a populist rather than an insular institution” (Broad’s wording).

Gopnick argues “that museums should make [great] art available—to the absolutely largest number of people who are looking for that kind of thing, and not for something else.” And while Gopnick’s thinking has issues of its own (elevating some forms of art and artists over others), I agree with his overall point. Showcasing great artwork should be an art museum’s first goal, even if it draws fewer numbers and leaves the institution open to a charge of ‘insularity.’

I don’t think it’s the art institutions that are manifesting signs of insularity, however. Oh, sure, I understand and even agree with the logic behind wanting to make MOCA more “populist,” which for Broad apparently means accessible, but the adjective “insular” is misapplied. The word, from the late Latin insula, or ‘island,’ means “uninterested,” at least in cultures or ideas outside of one’s own experience. If anything, it is the population that MOCA hopes to attract which time and again proves itself insular, only interested in the most spectacular art exhibits, or exhibits immediately reflective of its own experience, instead of those that attempt to open a window into a different (and perhaps more challenging) way of thinking about the world and its surroundings.

Curators like Paul Schimmel are the middle ground, not a force for insularity. In fact, the saga of Schimmel and MOCA reminds me of another curatorial conflict from the early twentieth century, that between art historian Aby Warburg and his librarian and assistant, Fritz Saxl. The eldest son of three, Warburg was born into a well-to-do Jewish banking family in mid-19th century Hamburg. As such, his role should have been to take over the family business for his father, but on his thirteenth birthday, Warburg offered this position to his youngest brother, Max, in exchange for the promise that “Max would buy him all the books he ever wanted.”[1] Max kept his promise; by 1914, Warburg had amassed somewhere in the vicinity of 15,000 volumes, most of which were related to history, art, psychology, and religion. These volumes became the Kunstwissenschaftliche Bibliothek Warburg – a research institute located in Hamburg that attracted scholars from all over Europe and America – and, eventually, the Warburg Institute, one of the more important art-historical think tanks of the last century.

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Until the New Year, we are posting selections from the Best of 2012 on DailyServing. Chosen by our roster of over 35 international contributors, the Best of 2012 offers a glimpse into the articles that our writers found most compelling. However, we also want hear from you! Email us a few sentences about your favorite article published on DS in 2012, and over the next few days you may see it appear on the site along with your comment. Today, Catlin Moore has selected Amelia Sechman‘s review titled Nope., featuring the work of Jason Kraus.

“Working humor into art criticism is incredibly difficult, but Amelia does it in a way that is tasteful and relevant.” -Catlin Moore

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Nope.

One of my favorite occurrences in the Art world is when an artist acknowledges the viewers’ expectations, and actively denies them. In a time seemingly ruled by art with the highest sensational value, I can’t help but root for the heroic and/or obstinate people unabashedly making minimalist conceptual art that allows for none of the easily digestible catharses one might hope for. This is not to say that the work is underdeveloped or shallow; I think a closed door holds as much if not more mystery, potential narrative and freedom to expand upon than an open door through which we can clearly see everything. It is the same “closed door” potential that completely saturates Edits, the current exhibition of Jason Kraus’s work at Jessica Silverman Gallery.

Inside the gallery, the installation is seductively minimal and almost entirely monochromatic. Extracted pieces of Kraus’s studio walls hang mounted in frames, the dry-wall marked with the charcoal smudges and traces of the artist’s process. A large-format, b&w photograph titled An Empty Space documents the void created by hundreds of drawings made on Kraus’s studio wall, where the charcoal that escaped the paper’s surface marks off the edges of the absent pieces of paper. The Serra-esque drawing board learning in a corner reinforces the trompe l’oeil effect of An Empty Space; the two objects acting as the signifier and signified of something that is much more abstract than the expected tangibility of a sign, such as a chair.

The real star of the show, however, is the pairing of two wooden crates locked with combination locks, and a framed envelope that Kraus mailed to Jessica Silverman, the gallery owner. Completely unassuming, the crates (probably) hold all the drawings that we see the traces of in the surrounding works. The corresponding envelope contains the combination that opens the locks on the crates. This is a simple enough concept: there is a lock, and there is a combination that opens the lock. The punch-line is that the two pieces may never be acquired by the same person, ensuring that the drawings will never be revealed. Now, I have to admit that the inner-brat in me loves this restriction. As I see it, basically Kraus is saying, “Oh, you wanted to see the art we’re talking about? Too bad.” Of course, the work absolutely should not be pigeon-holed in the sort of school-yard teasing with which I indulgently associate it. The dialog between the works in the show also heavily references the performative act of making art, emphasizing that the process can hold just as much importance as the final product.

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DailyServing contributor Luise Guest selected Marilyn Goh‘s article, Zhan Wang: Universe for today’s Best of 2012. “Erudite without being pompous or inaccessible, knowledgeably placing this interesting artist within his socio-political and artworld context. A great piece!” -Luise Guest.

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Zhan Wang, My Personal Universe, Video still, 2012. Image courtesy of UCCA, Beijing.

In The Savage Mind (1962), Claude Lévi-Strauss made a case for “the intrinsic value of a small-scale model” of art, legitimising the art of the miniature because it “compensates for the renunciation of sensible dimensions by the acquisition of intelligible dimensions”. The miniature or the microcosmic representation is, as Lévi-Strauss rationalised, a schematic reduction permitting immediate intelligibility, because it essentially constitutes a bona fide experience between viewer and work on a metaphorical level.

Zhan Wang, 2012, My Personal Universe, Installation and Video View. Photo: Courtesy of UCCA, Beijing.

My Personal Universe (2011-12) at the Ullens Center for Contemporary Art in Beijing was Chinese conceptual sculptor Zhan Wang’s endeavour to do just that, in a re-imagination of the first millisecond of the universe’s genesis to its present evolved state, articulating this momentous event in an exhibition through an artistic process whose scale seemed to mirror its colossal significance. As the dominant scientific explanation for the origin of the universe, the Big Bang theory hypothesises that all matter and energy existed in an infinitely small point of infinite density, and in an inexplicable moment, began to expand outward continuously, forming the vast cosmos as we know today. Drawn to the concept of initial states of being, Zhan sought to evoke the earliest moments of our universe through a carefully planned explosion of a boulder in China’s mountainous Shandong province, recording the blast and its aftermath in a two-minute film capturing the event in extreme slow motion. Collecting all 7000 fragments of pulverised rock, Zhan made stainless steel replicas of each one, suspending them in the exact formation in which they landed after exploding.

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Today’s Best of 2012 selection features our weekly art advice column Help Desk, written by the all-too-wise Bean Gilsdorf.  DailyServing contributor Amelia Sechman selected The Element of Surprise, stating ” It was almost stupidly easy for me to pick my favorite articles from this year. At work, I respond to artist submissions on a regular basis, some of which are so misguided I feel obligated to send them links to these two articles from Help Desk by Bean Gilsdorf. Both pieces give such clear, logical and useful advice to artists looking for gallery representation, the kind of advice all recent art school grads should be receiving, but often don’t. So here’s to Bean, for helping artists more effectively interact with galleries.”

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Help Desk is an arts-advice column that demystifies practices for artists, writers, curators, collectors, patrons, and the general public. Submit your questions anonymously here. All submissions become the property of Daily Serving.

Your counselor, hard at work.

What is the most effective way to build a relationship with galleries and eventually have your work shown? Do you simply walk in with a portfolio of works/images and try to convince them of how great you are? Do you go to show openings and schmooze with gallery owners?

Sneak attack! Imagine that you are a kindly gallerist, minding your own business (literally) and making a few phone calls to chat up some nice collectors, when suddenly there is an eager artist at your desk with a portfolio. He wants your attention RIGHT NOW, though he does not have an appointment, though it is obvious that you are busy working. Put yourself in the dealer’s shoes: even if this kid is the next Jean-Michel Basquiat, are you likely to give him a solo show, let alone a second glance? No, what you are going to give this guy is a swift boot to the rear end.

You won’t get a gallery by pouncing on an unsuspecting dealer.

The most effective way to build a relationship is to build a relationship. Go to openings, yes, but do not schmooze because schmoozing is yucky and gallerists can see right through you. Instead, look at the art, and then think about it until you find something intelligent to say, and then go say it to the gallerist (and also to the artist, please, who is standing awkwardly to one side hoping that someone will say something–anything–intelligent to her this evening). Is there a question you have about the work? Did it make you think of something you saw, or read, or experienced? Go have a conversation, because conversations are the best way to build relationships.

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As we continue the Best of 2012 edition, Marilyn Goh, DailyServing’s Editor for the Asia / Pacific region, has selected Rob Mark‘s series The Museum on My Mind. As a part of #Hashtags, the bi-weekly series on art and politics, Rob wrote a four part article engaging museum practices. Marilyn stated, “If I have to choose something that I particularly enjoyed reading about this year, it would have to be Rob Mark’s The Museum on My Mind articles that deal – so enjoyably – with the meta-issues of art and museum practices.

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Wall labels. Curatorial text. Titles (or un-titles, as the case may be). At what point do the words surrounding an artwork serve the work, and at what point do they disrupt it? This week #Hashtags wraps up Rob Mark’s “The Museum On My Mind,” a meditation on the role of museum commentary and what it means to “know” a piece of art. For refreshers, see Parts I, II, and III.

Part IV: Play is the thing

Can a museum nurture struggle, channeling it toward expression, rather than relieve struggle, channeling it toward resolution? It can, perhaps, if it acknowledges that the artwork, rather than its commentary, is the most able narrator, producing a text that both incubates and channels struggle. Can the museum tolerate an object naked of its label? It can if it is willing to recognize the visitor’s capacity to guide him or herself, to collaborate with the artwork to devise his or her own narrative. What might draw a person to an artwork stripped of its commentary? A museum that seeks to transform habitual museum behaviors into a playful struggle, and commentary into engaged community.

Installation Image, About Face (May 23 - February 28, 2013), Courtesy Pier 24 Photography. Image credit Tom Connor. Pier 24 posts no gallery text or wall labels.

Resonance and Wonder

Cultural historian Stephen Greenblatt identifies two experiences—“resonance” and “wonder”—that can arise in the museum. Resonance—“the power of the displayed object […] to evoke in the viewer the complex dynamic cultural force from which it has emerged”[1]—reflects the meaning of an object in its time and place, the making of the object and its meaning to its maker. No longer does the object fit in my hand or appear on my wall without the sense of how it might have fit in another person’s hand or hung on another person’s wall. It is equally important, however, to conceive the object’s meaning independent of its context, which is, in a sense, the meaning Greenblatt applies to wonder: “the power . . . to stop the viewer in his or her tracks, [and] to evoke exalted attention.”[1] Wonder can tell us something too, but this something often dissolves when the museum seek to reclaims context.

To what extent is wonder a necessary condition for resonance, just as it is the necessary invitation to struggle? To what extent does wonder, itself, achieve its own sort of resonance? The museum acknowledges the social, political and art history of the object, the encrustation of the experiences that molded and patinated it. Yet it arbitrarily—if unintentionally—signals the end of that accumulation with the object’s installation in the exhibition, signing that finale with an explanatory label. Art starts as a connection beyond the artist’s self, but it—and its context—extends not only to the visitor, but to others in the visitor’s life, both in the moment and on into future. Art that inspires wonder also inspires the desire—even the demand—to share that wonder. Wonder, like resonance, also resonates. This experience, marked by the desire to share, is substantial and enduring; the nonresonant one is impermanent, even superficial. What endures is what remains dynamic—not static: insight that comes out of experience, out of a struggle to comprehend.

How to Behave in a Museum

Follow me into a typical exhibition of paintings or photographs. A large wall plaque tells the story of the exhibition, the story that motivates the curator. Hanging at eye level are the artworks, each piece equidistant from its neighbors, each attended by a small label. Some labels continue the narrative of the opening wall plaque.[2]

The momentum of the crowd in front of Paolo Veronese's "The Wedding at Cana" (1563). Collection of the Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photograph by Sonia Calzà, 2008. Image courtesy of Creative Commons/Flickr.

A line of people hugs the walls of the gallery. Its one-way momentum is relentless, ruled by some culturally determined number of seconds in front of each piece—and each label. This community standard also impels each visitor to surrender the primary viewing space to the next visitor. Even with audio-, smartphone-, or ipod-tours, technological alternatives that might free visitors from the physical label, the experience remains linearly structured and cognitively skewed. This practice of traveling sequentially, as if on a conveyor belt wending around a gallery’s perimeter, label by label, seems to derive from the expectation—concretized over generations into unconscious visitor habit—that every one of the (many) words and every one of the (too) many objects on display is worthy of attention and necessary to the exhibition’s story.

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Today, DailyServing’s Best of 2012 features Allie Haeusslein‘s article Nick Cave: Hiding in Plain Sight. DS contributor Emily Macaux said, “This was an extremely thoughtful consideration of a fascinating, impossible-to-define body of work. Allie beautifully captured the rich, multi-faceted nature of Cave’s practice and its interwoven layers of personal, social, and aesthetic significance.” And, contributor Catlin Moore stated “Allie does a wonderful job of contextualizing Nick Cave’s practice, while adding valuable personal narrative about her viewing experience. This is a difficult line to walk, and she does it well.”

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I witnessed at least a handful of passerby pause in front of the glass-front façade of the Jones Center in downtown Austin, Texas. They shuffled through pockets and bags to find their iPhones, quizzically documenting the two unusual objects on view. How much contemporary art stops people dead in their tracks, not to scoff and mutter “well, I could do that,” but rather to ponder “how did he think to do that?” or perhaps, more importantly, “why?”

Installation image of "Nick Cave: Hiding in Plain Sight" at the Jones Center, AMOA-Arthouse, September 28–December 30, 2012. Courtesy of AMOA-Arthouse, Photos by Eric Nix.