Song Dong, "Doing Nothing Garden"

Working in the press office of the dOCUMENTA (13) in Kassel, Germany, I have been confronted with media representatives from all over the world in all matter of sorts. Their attitudes have varied from excited enthusiasm during the preview days to defeated exhaustion after hours and miles of contemporary art navigation. It must be said, these nearly 3,000 journalists are troopers. They often come misdirected with maps and muddy shoes having traversed the city in attempts to see the of art dOCUMENTA (13) in a short amount of time. They often come asking for tips. I am asked what to see when one only has two days or two hours, how best to route one’s way through the exhibitions, or most interestingly common, has been the question of where to go to ascertain a good mood.

Director Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev gave the dOCUMENTA (13) the theme of “Collapse and Recovery,” and the truth is, it’s an exhausting one to take in. While many of the exhibits are inspiring in their existential explorations, let’s face it: contemporary art can be depressing. When facing topics of mankind’s disconnectedness, ego and destruction, war and terror, human suffering and loss, we can find ourselves feeling defeated. Along with recommendations for gelato and bratwurst, I have been suggesting a walk through Karlsaue Park.

Christian Phillip Müller, “Swiss Chard Ferry (The Russians aren’t going to make it across the Fulda anymore)"

A sprawling expanse of lush green parted by still canals and tranquil streams, ornamented with classical temples and picturesque bridges, the Karlsaue was originally intended as a pleasure garden.  The 16th century park extends for 17 miles and for the 100 days of dOCUMENTA (13), it is a main venue for the exhibitions. Artists have created public sculptures, gardens, sound installations, and interactive mixed media works. As it is described in the guidebook, the park is home to: “a number of detached small houses containing artistic projects, the Grimm brothers’ tales, aesthetics, and politics, and how to be together separately.” While the subject matter addressed in the works of Karlsaue is not always breezy, it focuses perhaps on the “Recovery” aspect of Christov Bakargiev’s theme, and the environment is breathtaking.

Massimo Bartolini, "Untitled (Wave)"

One might begin a Karlsaue tour at the baroque Orangerie, to view the work of Jeronimo Voss, Eternity through the Stars. Voss’ installation is composed of two parts, one at the planetarium and one in the Cabinet of Astronomy and Physics of the Orangerie. The artist works with light, projection, image, and text in dealing with astronomical processes to document history. From the steps of the Orangerie, one looks onto a green expanse of park and is confronted with the work of Italian artist Massimo Bartolini as well Chinese artist Song Dong’s hard-to-miss creation. Bartolini’s Untitled (Wave), is a minimalist construction of stainless steel, engine, water, and barley: a rectangular pond of water in constant wave-like motion. Bartolini is known for his interest in combining organic with man-made materials, bringing the viewer to observe mechanical constructions in natural environments. Song Dong has also added to the visual landscape of the park with his Doing Nothing Garden, which essentially is an accumulation of organic material and rubble: waste. Aside from being a 20 feet tall mound surrounded by red tubing and dotted by neon Chinese characters that read, “Doing” and “Nothing,” the project fits in with the natural environment. Growing native grasses and flowers, the garden is integrated; it is a thriving organism and it is an artificial landscape, beckoning the question- can doing nothing lead to creating something?

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Going to Basel during the art fair is like battling a multi-headed Hydra. It’s the biggest, potentially most daunting international art event of the year. You may not be able to do it all – but you might as well die of alcohol poisoning while trying. Indeed Basel is, like many international art fairs, biennials and events – a massive party attended by every international arts professional at the helm, or in the galley, and every minor and major art celeb you should know, or could know too well after a few drinks at the infamous nightly party at the Kunsthalle. Follow a few simple rules included below and next year’s fair could be as successful and enjoyable a siege as mine was this time around. Overall this year’s fair did not fail to impress (nor overwhelm) and was scattered with some very interesting and beautiful works: oldies but goodies and quite a number of newbies that have now begun to ping on my radar.

Art Basel itself is an amalgamated cluster of expositions – various sections across multiple buildings and locations (Art Galleries, Art Unlimited, Art Statements, Art Parcours, etc). The VIP previews of the fair itself were extended over three days this year, but by art world law, the earlier you can get in, the better. Start with the multi-pronged ‘Big Basel’ but don’t forget about the peripheral satellite fairs and Basel’s fantastic museums.

Jitish Kallat Epilogue (2010/11) Photo courtesy of Art Basel

Art Unlimited takes place in Hall 1, where each booth is dedicated to a singular artist. Philip-Lorca diCorcia showed a seemingly endless collection of tiny Polaroid photographs, each one as impressively interesting and magical as the last. Also making an impact in perpetuity, were rows and rows of photographs of partially eaten round bread by Jitish Kallat. The cratered roti crescents represented changing lunar cycles, memorializing the artist’s father by touchingly recreating every moon of every night he lived. Ragnar Kjartansson showed a number of hilarious canvases, a series of painted self-portraits in his skivvies usually involving piles of beer bottles or the effects thereof. Each of the 144 works was painted in sequence for every day of the Venice Biennale. Also, a video by Tony Morgan called Resurrection showed the ‘life-cycle’ of a steak in reverse. Starting with each bite exiting the mouth of a man, the steak continues to be  uncooked on a stove, uncarved from a hanging butcher’s carcass and finally the film climaxes with the un-demise of the poor cow who magically comes back to life. Nina Beier’s work, Tragedy, was the first work I have seen of its kind: a dog performance piece. Yes, dog. Delightfully absurd, a trained dog would be formally escorted to the booth and instructed to ‘play dead’ on a spotlighted oriental rug for several minutes, melodramatically performing its own demise. Other favorites included an awe-inspiring monumental canvas by Rudolf Stingel, and copper works by Walead Beshty performatively hand-marked over time by art handlers, the hidden heroes of the art world.

Nina Beier, Tragedy, 2012. Image courtesy of Laura Bartlett.

The first preview at Art Basel Galleries is best described as storming the beaches at Normandy – no surprise there. Once you survive the line to get in: a funnel-shaped sardine can of aggravated VIPs and a fusillade of flying Hermes handbags, the traditional gallery section of Art Basel becomes a billionaire version of ‘Supermarket Sweep’ with a majority of big deals happening within the first few minutes of the fair. If you prefer a less hara-kiri inducing experience at the fair, I would wait for the bloody waves to subside before entering the labyrinth of the Hall 2.

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James Turrell Wedgework V 1975 Flourescent Light dimensions variable, approx. 276 x 287 x 143 in. Courtesy Abstract Select Ltd, UK Copyright: James Turrell, Photo by Philipp Scholtz Ritterman

In Beau Lotto’s 2009 TED Talk, he takes the audience through a small series of examples and visual exercises to illustrate the gap between reality and perception. Colors are created through layers of shaded panes, films, shadows, and the positioning of objects. Scientifically speaking, the mind collects and stores these visual images, creating patterns so that images in the physical world are readily discerned: a red apple, blue stained glass, a field of flowers.

James Turrell has been working with light and space since the late 60s, and has completed projects like Skyspace, a Quaker meetinghouse in which a square of open sky replaces the ceiling. In Wedgework V, on view now at the Museum of Contemporary Art in San Diego, Turrell further manipulates perception by defying set visual patterns.

Wedgework V by James Turrell at the Museum of Contemporary Art, San Diego. Photo by Sam Hodgson.

Wedgework V is an experience that begins with an open, door-sized entrance. Except for the reflective strip on the black wall, the corridor leading into the work is pitch black. The blind walk may be used to create a blank slate, a type of enforced sensory deprivation to prepare the viewer for the work. Once inside the room, an entire wall glows red with manifold planes set back from one another. The installation challenges viewer perceptions of depth, color, light and space. It is initially unclear whether Wedgework V is a flat projection, colored screens, or an entire room of translucent materials and artificial light. Light glows around the border of the first and second planes, and seems to emanate from behind the third. In reality, the installation is a room equipped with fluorescent light and light-reflective paint. The first plane, or window, that the viewer sees is merely a square cut out of the wall. Wedgework V was created in 1975, but its relevance to contemporary culture holds philosophically with our trend towards pluralism and spiritually in our fascination with mystery and syncretism.

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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.

Happy issue 26! That’s right, folks, we’re six months into a glorious year of HELP DESK. If this column were a baby, it would be rolling over, blowing raspberries, and starting to eat pureed foods from jars. Eww.

Not surprisingly, over the last six months I’ve been asked a lot of meta-questions about HD and thought this issue would be a good opportunity to take a break from our regularly scheduled programming in order to share those questions and answers with you. Enjoy!

André Kertész, Paul Arma’s Hands, 1928. Gelatin silver print, 2 5/8 x 2 5/8 in.

Why did you start an advice column?

I love advice columns! They’re an intriguing glimpse into human nature. I think I’ve always wanted to be an advice columnist. I started reading Miss Manners in high school and these days I follow the columns of Emily Yoffe, E. Jean Carroll, and Carey Tennis.

Do people really write in? Or are you making those questions up?

Yes, people do really write in. All of the questions answered in this column have been sent to the Help Desk from various unknown persons who just need a little help sorting through an art-related issue.

Are submissions truly anonymous or confidential?

Absolutely. Though I can be flip about other things, I take this part seriously. In the beginning we recommended sending questions through a free anonymizer service like Anonymouse.com, but then the editors heard from a friend that a query sent that way didn’t get through. Now I just delete the sender’s original email after I copy and paste the question into a spreadsheet. It’s usually a few weeks between receiving a question and publishing the answer anyway, and by then I’ve forgotten who wrote what.

André Kertész, Broken Bench, NY, 1962. Mounted silver print, 10 x 8 in.

How do you choose the questions you answer?

I look for questions that are likely to have a broad audience or that reveal an inner working of the machine we call art.

The question about the cheating MFA advisor wasn’t really an art advice question. Why did you answer it?

The power structures that are in play in the art world are fascinating to me. That question hinted at some concerns that rarely get talked about explicitly in the arts: mentoring and moving from a professional relationship into a friendship. Likewise with the big boobs question: if contemplating the use of your sex appeal to get a gallery show isn’t one of “art’s thornier issues” I don’t know what is!

How many questions have you answered so far?

About 50. In the beginning I also answered a few privately, so I’m not sure of the exact count.

Have you ever gotten a question that you won’t answer?

I don’t really want to deal with angry, assumption-filled rants disguised as questions (though I have tackled a few). I’ve also received a few bizarre questions that I simply wasn’t prepared to answer; for those I responded privately to the sender to say that I wasn’t able to take their question on.

André Kertész, Stairs of Montmartre, 1925. Contact silver print, 4 x 5 in.

Where do you get all the ideas that you use in the answers?

I ask people who know far better than I how the art world works. I’ve contacted MFA program directors, professors, gallerists, dealers, independent curators, nonprofits, and my fellow artists. I also look through art-advice books to see what they have to say. One of the most interesting aspects of this job is reaching out to the experts.

Do you follow your own advice?

Not every question applies to my particular situation. I do try to give advice that I would appreciate—and then adopt the advice that I give. To think about it that way is a kind of litmus test—would I do that?—because I don’t want to suggest a course of action that I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking.

Today from the DS Archives we bring you two examples of Feminist art, past and present. First, revisit a past edition of L.A. Expanded, and then buy your plane ticket to Goteborg, Sweden and check out Chitra Ganesh’s current exhibit at Goteborgs Konsthall, She: The Question featuring a psychadelic mash up of Hindu, Greek and Buddhist myths with sci-fi, fanzines and comics. As if you need any more incentive.

The following article was published on August 12, 2011 by Catherine Wagley:

L.A. Expanded: Notes from the West Coast
A weekly column by Catherine Wagley

Ana Mendieta, "Silueta Works in Mexico," 1973–77, Details, Color photographs. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles.

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For this edition of Fan Mail, Michelle Blade of San Francisco, CA has been selected from our worthy reader submissions. Two artists are featured each month—the next one could be you! If you would like to be considered, please submit your website link to info@dailyserving.com with ‘Fan Mail’ in the subject line.

Day 127

reaching out. responses, feel free pleasure going over, reading and playing, simple, tap subconscious thought, the Red Book. many totemic figureheads past, present and future. homage practice, natural world (stars and energies). rendered reader, psychic reader, neon palm, the moon. blindness, escape, solitude, death, abundance, or anonymity. covered, bearded or veiled, or blurred figureless. life or imagination? all signs look alike, aesthetic! millions “know” and “see” mysteries. common man not linked to “seers” world.

Day 133

Duality, sun, stars power characters. mutant greens—-undead creatures, horses and cats. meditative animals growing, signs or ushers of signs. comedic apocalypse conversation, sarcastic. bright lights arching sky, bodies and planets light. faceless drenched bleeding color—explosion time. Earth Limits Life—previous paranoia. doomsday scenarios? mass extinction? words shape human tendencies? dark nature. light and contemplative. but not defeatist. think present in waiting… Thoughts and moments project melted faces as napalm victims.

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L.A. Expanded: Notes from the West Coast
A weekly column by Catherine Wagley

An installation view of "Helter Skelter", curated by Paul Schimmel at MOCA in 1992. Photo by Paula Goldman.

Paul Schimmel, who has been at the helm of the L.A. Museum of Contemporary Art’s curatorial department for twenty years, was let go on Wednesday. The board voted on the decision, and the story is that billionaire philanthropist and MOCA board member Eli Broad asked Schimmel to his office to tell him of the decision.  I heard about the firing early evening on Wednesday, through renegade journalist Matt Gleason’s facebook page and then through New York bloggers. The news was confirmed in the L.A. Times Thursday morning. As of last night, there’s been no explanation and no comment from Schimmel. “I think this is a potential tipping point for MOCA,” artist John Baldessari told the Times. “First I want to know the reasons for him being fired and if they were sufficient.”

Another view of "Helter Skelter." Photo by Paula Goldman.

Schimmel had been at the Newport Harbor Art Museum before coming to MOCA in 1990. There, he curated the first California biennial, originally called the Newport Harbor Biennial. But it’s the show Helter Skelter, which he curated at MOCA in 1992, that people still ask me if I’ve seen (I hadn’t even started middle school then). That’s the one that gave L.A. artists and art supporters more pride than I imagine even Pacific Standard Time, the six-month, Getty-funded push to document L.A. art history, ever will. I’ve seen enough photos to know the show, held at the museum’s Geffen Temporary Contemporary in Little Tokyo back when people really thought the Geffen was a temporary building, was visceral and bright and yet heavily political. It also made L.A. artists seem deep in pop culture, not above it. “One of the main things that drew this group of artists together initially,” said Mike Kelley, talking about the artists who, like him, had been featured in Helter Skelter, “was that our work was busier, more maximal than what was in fashion in ’80s New York.”  Kelley didn’t necessarily like the box Helter Skelter put him in — he was tied to a “negative” aesthetic — but the show emblazoned work by him and others into people’s memory. It also emblazoned Paul Schimmel into memory.

Installation view of Mike Kelley's "Silver Ball" at MOCA.

In the years that followed he’s done some smartly researched shows, some over-researched shows, some flashy, controversial shows (remember the Murakami show, where the Louis Vuitton store was in the galleries?). But whether you like his work or not, here’s what’s certain: Schimmel knows L.A., it’s art and it’s art history like none other and he believes in those artists and that history. In February, right after Mike Kelley died, he organized a small memorial at MOCA on Grand Avenue. It was perfectly thoughtful, and made me trust MOCA as a keeper of this city’s seminal artworks and very recent history. It included the  Silver Ball installation, one of my favorite Kelley works, a hanging round mass of aluminum with holes on the back through you can peek through. It also included work Kelley donated to MOCA, including work by an artist Kelley loved and wrote about at length, Douglas Huebler. Kelley once said Huebler proved “art is forward-looking.” Hopefully, MOCA is looking forward to something worth looking to.