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	<title>DAILY SERVING &#187; Southern US</title>
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		<title>Southern Accent: Seeking the American South in Contemporary Art</title>
		<link>https://www.dailyserving.com/2017/05/southern-accent-seeking-the-american-south-in-contemporary-art/</link>
		<comments>https://www.dailyserving.com/2017/05/southern-accent-seeking-the-american-south-in-contemporary-art/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 23 May 2017 07:00:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Jordan Amirkhani]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Curator]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Painting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Photography]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reviews]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Barkley L. Hendricks]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Blackness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Carrie Mae Weems]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Diego Camposeco]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[identity]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Kentucky]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Louisville]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Miranda Lash]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nasher Museum of Art]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[racism]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Southern Art]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Southern US]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Speed Art Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Trevor Schoonmaker]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.dailyserving.com/?p=55638</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In her 1960 essay “Some Aspects of the Grotesque in Southern Fiction,” writer Flannery O’Connor states, “Anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic.”[1] Aware of the deeply moralizing labels and qualifiers imposed upon her work and career-long subject of the South,[.....]]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>In her 1960 essay “Some Aspects of the Grotesque in Southern Fiction,” writer Flannery O’Connor states, “Anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic.”<a href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> Aware of the deeply moralizing labels and qualifiers imposed upon her work and career-long subject of the South, O’Connor underscores a deep-seated awareness and frustration with the silly romanticizations, disturbing realities, and geographical divides that continue to dominate ideologies and interpretations of America below the Mason-Dixon line. The <a href="http://www.speedmuseum.org/" target="_blank">Speed Art Museum</a>’s current exhibition, <a href="http://www.speedmuseum.org/exhibitions/southern-accent-seeking-the-american-south-in-contemporary-art/" target="_blank"><em>Southern Accent: Seeking the American South in Contemporary Art</em></a>, takes up the complicated collisions between history and reality at work in Southern culture and national politics. A collaborative institutional effort between Miranda Lash of the Speed Art Museum and Trevor Schoonmaker of the <a href="http://nasher.duke.edu/" target="_blank">Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University</a>, this unprecedented exhibition presents a dynamic, heterogeneous landscape of artists who depict, refer to, or acknowledge the South within their practice and subsequently change or complicate the fantasies, myths, stereotypes, legacies, and contradictions that structure our understanding of the region today.</p>
<div id="attachment_55641" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="http://www.dailyserving.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FIG1.jpg"><img class="size-full wp-image-55641" src="http://www.dailyserving.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FIG1.jpg" alt="Barkley L. Hendricks. Down Home Taste, 1971; oil and linen on acrylic; 48 x 48 in. Courtesy of the Artist and the Office of the Dean of Students, Cornell University (Ithaca, NY)." width="600" height="606" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Barkley L. Hendricks. <i>Down Home Taste</i>, 1971; oil and linen on acrylic; 48 x 48 in. Courtesy of the Artist and the Office of the Dean of Students, Cornell University (Ithaca, NY).</p></div>
<p>Caricatures of the South as backwards, unsophisticated, and inherently conservative are dismantled and put to rest by the vast richness and diversity of work on display, with the list of included artists forming a “who’s who” of American contemporary art—from Kara Walker and Amy Sherald to Theaster Gates and Kerry James Marshall. <em>Southern Accent</em> avoids many of the tired and problematic themes that tend to romanticize the South and dilute the heterogeneity of its citizens by including works that expand our visual field of who, what, and where the South actually is.<a href="#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a> Barkley L. Hendricks’s life-size portrait <em>Down Home Taste</em> (1971)—a confident celebration of the Black urban experience, style, and everyday life—affirms a more fluid, expansive understanding of Southern-ness. Hendricks’s paintings (including this one) are often portraits of the friends and strangers who populated his life in various cities across the 1960s and ’70s. <em>Down Home Taste</em> presents a fashionable man lighting a cigarette with matches from R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, the North Carolina corporation of Winston-Salem fame. Taste—whether sensory, aesthetic, or nostalgic—is something that defies and crosses borders, mixing and marking people, places, and their histories in overt and subtle ways.</p>
<p>The exhibition does not shy away from the legacies of slavery, segregation, and racism in the South, and their impact on regional and national politics and culture. Commissioned for the bicentennial commemoration of the Louisiana Purchase, Carrie Mae Weems’s photographic series <em>The Louisiana Project</em> (2003) provides a powerful account of the ways in which slavery and racism continue to hide in plain sight across the South, like so many ruins. Clad in a softly patterned white dress, Weems bears witness to the spaces and sites where Black people were made to work, suffer, live, and die—sites that now act as monuments, cleansed of their dark histories, for tourist consumption and pleasure. The image of the cemetery emphasizes this liminal space, where the past, present, and future of racial politics and history live above and below the surface of everyday life.</p>
<p><span id="more-55638"></span></p>
<div id="attachment_55642" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="http://www.dailyserving.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FIG2.jpg"><img class="size-full wp-image-55642" src="http://www.dailyserving.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FIG2.jpg" alt="Carrie Mae Weems. Untitled (Woman Standing in Cemetery) from The Louisiana Project, 2003; gelatin silver print; 20 ¾ x 20 ¾ in framed. Courtesy of the Artist and Jack Shainman Gallery (New York City, NY). " width="600" height="602" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Carrie Mae Weems. <i>Untitled (Woman Standing in Cemetery)</i> from <i>The Louisiana Project</i>, 2003; gelatin silver print; 20 ¾ x 20 ¾ in framed. Courtesy of the Artist and Jack Shainman Gallery (New York City, NY).</p></div>
<p>In addition, the exhibition includes work dedicated to exploring and recognizing more recent changes to urban and rural demographics due to growing populations of Latino, Asian, Middle Eastern, and other immigrant communities, while creating space for Native American, LGBTQ+, and women artists. Diego Camposeco’s <em>Tabaco (Tabacco)</em>, from the 2015 series <em>Diego Saves the World</em>, articulates the ethical spectrum of human rights, environmental, and labor issues in the growing communities working in agricultural industries across the region, specifically in the tobacco fields of his hometown of North Carolina.<a href="#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a> Overwhelmed and surrounded by green tobacco plants, the male figure of a worker stands in the landscape with his face masked by the children’s cartoon animal-rescuer, Diego, as a way to articulate the emancipatory power and growing presence of this marginalized community under attack by the current political administration.</p>
<div id="attachment_55640" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="http://www.dailyserving.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FIG.-3.jpg"><img class="size-full wp-image-55640" src="http://www.dailyserving.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FIG.-3.jpg" alt="Diego Camposeco. Tabaco (Tobacco), from the series Diego Saves the World, 2015 (printed 2016); inkjet print. Courtesy of the Artist.   " width="600" height="600" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Diego Camposeco. <i>Tabaco (Tobacco)</i>, from the series <i>Diego Saves the World</i>, 2015 (printed 2016); inkjet print. Courtesy of the Artist.</p></div>
<p>Our notions of how we think about the region, its culture, and American identity overall are put to the test in this exhibition—timely in the wake of one of the nastiest presidential elections in recent American history, and one that was shaped in part by a long-term rift between urban and rural regions. As the removal of monuments to the Confederacy across the South unearths deep-seated rage on both sides of the political spectrum, violence toward Black bodies continues to rage on, and attacks on immigrant communities escalate, how will we begin to address these issues in an era of national division? Leaving the exhibition, I realized that <em>Southern Accent</em> is not just a presentation of the long-ignored complexity of the South and its culture, but a resistance to a long history of geographical stereotypes that reproduce social divisions in American culture. The South is many things, and it is in “the many” that its richness is to be found.</p>
<p>Southern Accent: Seeking the American South in Contemporary Art <em>is on view at the Speed Art Museum in Louisville, Kentucky, through October 14, 2017.</em></p>
<hr />
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p><a href="#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> See Flannery O’Connor, “Some Aspects of the Grotesque in Southern Fiction,” (1960), in <em>Flannery O’Connor: Collected Works </em>(New York: The Library of America), 1988, 814–815.</p>
<p><a href="#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> The Historic New Orleans Collection’s current presentation of rare guidebooks to houses of prostitution and directories for sex workers operating in the bayous of southern Louisiana, <em>Storyville: Madams and Music</em>, articulates the ways in which images of the Deep South have been mishandled by institutions of art and culture, often romanticizing and/or domesticating racial, gender, and class-based inequalities rather than critique them. See Pamela D. Arceneaux and Emily Epstein Landau’s accompanying text for this exhibition, <em>Guidebooks to Sin: The Blue Books of Storyville</em>, <em>New Orleans</em> (New Orleans: The Historic New Orleans Collection), 2017.</p>
<p><a href="#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Diego Camposeco was featured in Jose Antonio Vargas’s article on testifying on behalf of undocumented immigrant rights in “My Family’s Papers” for the <em>New York Times</em>, February 12, 2013, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/13/opinion/my-familys-papers.html" target="_blank">http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/13/opinion/my-familys-papers.html</a></p>
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		<title>Atlanta Biennial at Atlanta Contemporary Art Center</title>
		<link>https://www.dailyserving.com/2016/11/atlanta-biennial/</link>
		<comments>https://www.dailyserving.com/2016/11/atlanta-biennial/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 17 Nov 2016 08:00:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Bryan Granger]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reviews]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[#biennials]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Atlanta]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Atlanta Biennial]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Atlanta Contemporary Art Center]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Southern US]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://dailyserving.com/?p=53747</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[For the first time in nine years, the South has its biennial back. With the selection of thirty-two artists in the Atlanta Biennial (ATLBNL), the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center in Georgia continues a recurring exhibition, begun in 1984 by Alan Sondheim as a response to a lack of Southern artists in that year’s Whitney Biennial. Though Sondheim’s series ended in 2007, Atlanta Contemporary has revived[.....]]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>For the first time in nine years, the South has its biennial back. With the selection of thirty-two artists in the <a href="https://atlantacontemporary.org/exhibitions/atlbnl" target="_blank">Atlanta Biennial</a> (ATLBNL), the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center in Georgia continues a recurring exhibition, begun in 1984 by Alan Sondheim as a response to a lack of Southern artists in that year’s Whitney Biennial. Though Sondheim’s series ended in 2007, Atlanta Contemporary has revived it with a densely packed show of emerging and mid-career artists, all of whom share a connection to the American South.[1]</p>
<div id="attachment_53749" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/1_ATLBNL-21.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-53749" src="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/1_ATLBNL-21-600x400.jpg" alt="Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson." width="600" height="400" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson.</p></div>
<p>The purpose of many biennials is to offer a cross-sectional view of a segment of artistic practice. Since artists often act as vanguards in analyzing contemporary culture, biennials are often a useful tool to discover and explore pressing issues within a society and how artists respond to them. While some themes in the Atlanta Biennial are obvious, like the prevalence of racial disparities in the region, the curators seem less focused on selecting artists for their investigations of these specific issues. Instead, the show presents a loose collection of a wide range of media (including book producers, collectives, and self-taught artists) and thus reads more as a salon-style overview rather than a focused inquiry into the prominent issues facing the South—ones not dissimilar to those facing the country as a whole.</p>
<p><span id="more-53747"></span></p>
<div id="attachment_53750" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/2_ATLBNL-20.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-53750" src="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/2_ATLBNL-20-600x400.jpg" alt="Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson." width="600" height="400" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson.</p></div>
<p>A striking omission from the show is the lack of wall texts to provide any context for the vast diversity of works on display. While wall texts are not a necessity in an exhibition, they can actively help viewers gain a better understanding of the works on view, especially in the realm of contemporary art. As Ingrid Schaffner writes, wall texts are “an opportunity to transmit insights, inspire interest, and to point to the fact that choices have been made. When there is no wall text, other assumptions are being made, which also need to be read critically.”[2] With the curators’ decision to eschew all wall texts, visitors must rely on their interpretations to gain any insight into the works.</p>
<div id="attachment_53751" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/3_ATLBNL-27.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-53751" src="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/3_ATLBNL-27-600x400.jpg" alt="Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson." width="600" height="400" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson.</p></div>
<p>Indeed, such a lack of texts does a disservice to some works on view. For instance, two sculptures from Jillian Mayer’s <a href="http://www.jillianmayer.net/index.php?/3d/slumpies/%20" target="_blank"><em>Slumpies</em></a> series, <em>Slumpie 2 – Day Bed</em> and <em>Slumpie 3 – Q Chair</em> (both 2016), are large, vividly textured, haphazardly painted, and seem like furniture. Aesthetically, the works invite one’s curiosity, but many viewers will regard the works as purely formal exercises and miss the context of these objects, each of which is designed to prop up a person who is staring obsessively at a phone screen. Knowing this information, viewers can see the properly placed appendages on the sculptures as apparatuses to hold up users’ arms while they look at devices—a more profound understanding of the work. With adequate context, viewers can more capably grasp the works’ connections to a specific societal condition, such as an overreliance on technology.</p>
<div id="attachment_53752" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/4_ATLBNL-15.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-53752" src="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/4_ATLBNL-15-600x400.jpg" alt="Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson." width="600" height="400" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson.</p></div>
<p>While an interpretation of Mayer’s works may suffer due to the lack of context, other works stand out despite this absence. Stacy Lynn Waddell’s gold-leaf-on-paper works are a visual and thematic apex of the exhibition. Installed on a royal-blue portion of the gallery’s walls, her <em>Landscape (Chain Link Fence View for W.S.) </em>and <em>BLACK LIVES MATTER (Transformation)</em> (both 2016) read as rubbings of a chain-link fence and signs from the social movement, respectively, poignantly speaking to the racial disparities still prevalent in the South. Also striking is Sharon Norwood’s series of digital prints, <em>The Root of the Matter</em> (2016): into images of mid-nineteenth-century prints of white bourgeoisie scenes from the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection, Norwood inserts masses of hair-like lines as a symbol of a racial Other.</p>
<div id="attachment_53753" style="width: 610px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/5_ATLBNL-35.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-53753" src="/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/5_ATLBNL-35-600x400.jpg" alt="Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson." width="600" height="400" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Atlanta Biennial, 2016; installation view, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Georgia. Courtesy of the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center. Photo: Erin Jane Nelson.</p></div>
<p>Though the exhibition excels at presenting a large number of artists who deserve greater visibility, it suffers due to the sheer number of works. Featuring multiple works by more than thirty artists, the exhibition’s walls are crowded. Larger works, such as Kalup Linzy’s touching <em>The Queen Rose Family</em> (2016–ongoing), can barely be seen apart from other works around them. Such proximity magnifies awkward curatorial decisions. For example, a viewer may group together one of Mayer’s sculptures, Waddell’s gold-leaf works, and a suite of video montages by Daniel Newman called <em>Lost Flip-Flop</em> (2016). These works, while intriguing on their own, struggle to effect any meaningful dialogue when seen together</p>
<p>While the exhibition is barely greater than the sum of its parts—a condition that could have been ameliorated with more contextual information—the Atlanta Biennial is a welcome addition to a region where visual arts can play a vital role in addressing societal problems. With its location and focus on collaboration, the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center is a great home for a periodic exhibition, and a continuing biennial will benefit the area. The curators fulfill this iteration’s goals by showing careful attention in their inclusion of a diverse range of artists from the South.</p>
<p>The Atlanta Biennial<em> is on view through December 18, 2016.</em></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>[1] The Atlanta Biennial was curated by Victoria Camblin, editor and artistic director, ART PAPERS (Atlanta); Daniel Fuller, curator, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center; Aaron Levi Garvey, independent curator and cofounder of Long Road Projects (Jacksonville); and Gia Hamilton, director, Joan Mitchell Center (New Orleans).</p>
<p>[2]. Ingrid Schaffner, “Wall Text,” in <em>What Makes a Great Exhibition?</em>, ed. Paula Marincola, (Philadelphia Exhibitions Initiative, 2006), 156.</p>
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