Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Monday, November 19, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Finally, some website updating
Dear readers. How does one explain the compulsion of making art and actually putting it out there? Every day I curse myself for not updating this blog or my website.
I have been working on the spirits series for a little while now, and it has taken some doing to find a name, but I finally have one that I like, that I think repesents what these figures are, and it is "Embodiments." The creation of each one was (is) a performance enacted by myself or some lovely volunteers. I think the portfolio is now beginning to resolve itself and I am very excited about this. I am posting new images here, but also, I have updated that section of the website here. So, if you'd like to see, click here.
© 2011 bridget batch
© 2011 bridget batch
I have been working on the spirits series for a little while now, and it has taken some doing to find a name, but I finally have one that I like, that I think repesents what these figures are, and it is "Embodiments." The creation of each one was (is) a performance enacted by myself or some lovely volunteers. I think the portfolio is now beginning to resolve itself and I am very excited about this. I am posting new images here, but also, I have updated that section of the website here. So, if you'd like to see, click here.
© 2011 bridget batch
© 2011 bridget batch
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
An army of spirits take Manhattan
© 2011 bridget batch
I've been wanting to set up a large group version of these images for a long time...
Sunday, October 2, 2011
I would give John Baldessari's head a hug too, if i could...
This video is promoting the Pacific Standard Time show that is at several venues in LA right now, it's great. Making art accessible, I love it.
Friday, August 26, 2011
REMOTE NATION - public art installation by Kevin Cooley
The High Line Park may be one of the best public spaces ever constructed. The park is almost perfect, completely satisfying our urges to trespass without harm, to take respite in greenery, bask in the serenity of an oasis while being only steps away from any kind of urban pleasure. Looking out from the park the gluttonous eye is filled with the Manhattan cityscape, made that much more appreciable via the slight elevation. And, now, to add to the visual feast, is Kevin Cooley's Remote Nation.
This is a major public art installation by Kevin. He has installed it previously but not on this scale. This time around, he was specifically inspired by the location on the High Line. Remote Nation consists of a building overflowing with analog televisions, all broadcasting what Cooley's father is viewing on television in Colorado. Mr. Cooley watches a lot of tv, apparently he always has. Now, passerby on the High Line in New York City can almost watch with him.
I'm biased, but Remote Nation is truly lovely. The blue-tinged light emanating from the building's huge windows glow and flicker, . The public art piece is subtle, and inspires a sense of awe, similar to that of viewing the northern lights. Cooley has created an electromagnetic field silent, and sublime. Looking from the outside in, the viewer becomes voyeur, witness to this evidence of human presence dancing in collective solitude. Passerby pause, pondering the meaning, wondering if they really are seeing everyone in a large condo building watching the exact same thing.
It is no secret that screens entrance us. They transmit communal virtual experiences and cultures that can connect us across global distance, and while simultaneously alienating two individuals who are sitting right next to each other, sucked into an LCD haze.
Check out Remote Nation, on the High Line at West 23rd St - West 25th St until Sept 24, or at its website: remotenation.tv
© 2011 Kevin Cooley
This is a major public art installation by Kevin. He has installed it previously but not on this scale. This time around, he was specifically inspired by the location on the High Line. Remote Nation consists of a building overflowing with analog televisions, all broadcasting what Cooley's father is viewing on television in Colorado. Mr. Cooley watches a lot of tv, apparently he always has. Now, passerby on the High Line in New York City can almost watch with him.
I'm biased, but Remote Nation is truly lovely. The blue-tinged light emanating from the building's huge windows glow and flicker, . The public art piece is subtle, and inspires a sense of awe, similar to that of viewing the northern lights. Cooley has created an electromagnetic field silent, and sublime. Looking from the outside in, the viewer becomes voyeur, witness to this evidence of human presence dancing in collective solitude. Passerby pause, pondering the meaning, wondering if they really are seeing everyone in a large condo building watching the exact same thing.
It is no secret that screens entrance us. They transmit communal virtual experiences and cultures that can connect us across global distance, and while simultaneously alienating two individuals who are sitting right next to each other, sucked into an LCD haze.
Check out Remote Nation, on the High Line at West 23rd St - West 25th St until Sept 24, or at its website: remotenation.tv
© 2011 Kevin Cooley
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Interstice Statement
Crafting an artist's statement is often more arduous than making the photograph. I can't think of an artist I know who has not complained about the difficulty of writing about their own work and these are all intelligent people.
I do enjoy reading a good artist's statement. It's great to learn what someone's work is and why they make it. However, I first decided to pursue visual arts seriously when I was 14 and swooned upon a visit to the Art Institute of Chicago. I pretend I am more sophisticated now, but the rush, the energy, the excitement of the Monet's, the O'Keefes, the thousand years of art history and whatever else was on display at the time (I do wish I recalled all of it), thrilled me. I felt closer to a feeling of transcendence or divine than I ever had in the church in which I was raised. In fact, I had been a fairly devout child but connecting through artistic vision was far more powerful.
And during this visit, I read not a single statement or anything else about the work. I felt its power and influence merely from taking it in.
Why do I make the photographs in the project Interstice, and my video projects - which are certainly related?
The transience of the world, of this life. It's all gone in an instant.
So, where do you go?
First, you must define "you." People apparently have innate personalities resonant from birth. Babies make that clear. And then we spend our entire lives building that which is our "self." A huge industry capitalizes on this every day. No one has answered the question - does the self have a color?
We probably only bother because even though reality may be a questionable condition (see contemporary philosophy), mortality is experienced by all of us as an irrefutable fact. Without the deep-rooted certainty of an implicit timeline, desperately feared, what would we accomplish? Can personality be considered an accomplishment? It is one of those things that actually matters when you're lying in that hospital bed. Thanks for the deadline, God.
As we mill around on the surface of the earth, the very specifics of relationship, tasks of daily life, family or no family, career demands, these very tangible details often dominate our thoughts. I curse the intense penetration of the mundane, the fact that this morning I had to spend a half an hour moving things we had stored in the basement because the building's sewer pump broke (and can you imagine if i were responsible for taking care of THAT detail). We scramble constantly to avert disasters, manage debacles, or just cope with unexpected nuisances like parking fines (two hours the other day getting an inspection because we forgot it had expired, maybe we should live in Minnesota where that would have been impossible during the state shutdown), and condominium catastrophes. Our minds get stuck focusing on the petty.
However, a true disaster - war, 9/11, car accidents, an event (you know, death) or truly committing to a spiritual quest often precipitate so-called "life changes." The soul becomes awake.
We can be fortunate in our response if we try to truly connect and listen to our loved ones. One looks up from the bills and the dishes and glares at the sky asking, "Why?" The conclusions that you draw become your belief system and your personality and do inform the way that you progress with living and the way in which you die.
These moments, like our lives, are transient.
I can't stop thinking about these things and their influence upon us. I have long looked to art to force me to touch base with the transcendent. The iconic image reminds us and guides us to a place of feeling and connection and restores Love -- in it's deepest, broadest sense. In reminding us of our temporality hopefully we become better people.
Apparently even 28,000 year old cultures, all cultures, except for perhaps the Taliban unless you consider them to be one helluva a piece of performance art, (see: Thomas Dworzak), all create iconic visual representations. One purpose of these artifacts is to serve as a reminder of the transcendent. These visions vary and, for obvious reasons, are absolutely informed by the unique physical circumstances of the culture's locale and the sets of experiences that have created the culture, in other words, their personality.
In conceptualizing the images of Interstice I travel. I research the culture associated with the area I am staying in -- for example, indigenous Native American cultures of the Grand Canyon. I interview local people. Then I construct imagery that includes references to these cultural touchstones.
Ultimately, however, the images represent my personal quest and vision. I watched my father die in a hospital bed after enduring the sufferings of a long, knowingly terminal, illness. Ten years later, I am still asking, "Where the did he go?" By he, I mean the thing that created the light in his eyes. This could be neurons and synapses, it could be the soul, the spirit. I am photographing where the soul went.
The word "interstice" refers to intervening space. Space can be a period of time, a physical corner, or the invisible, intangible meeting of different states of consciousness or perhaps alternate planes of existence (see: contemporary theories in physics). In Catholic theology, "Interstice" refers to the minimal interval of time that must elapse between beatification and canonization. During that time, God's minions on earth are still trying to figure out if the deceased is worthy of being considered a saint.
This is a very long-winded explanation of my thought process, and most artist's statements for submission to anything get limited to 250 words or something like that. But i don't have a 250 word limit to my brain (or my blog). If you've read this blog more than once, you may realize that I've been working to refine the formal statement for some time. I am just elaborating here in order to distill my project's essence and finally write something good.
Photographs in the Interstice series represent these intervening spaces, difficult to see, visualize, occurring in dream, meditative and end-of-life states. They are a response to a common complaint -- often associated with personality disorders, depression, Marxist theories of alienation or maybe just teenage angst -- that one feels empty or disconnected. Even when you experience those feelings, you still have an inner self, a soul, a personality, to nurture. Hunter-gatherer cultures, classical Tibetans, even Western culture prior to the Renaissance considered this inner-self to be far more important than the exterior presentation we prize today.
Psychological research into the brain's mechanisms for visual and aural perception also attempts to answer more esoteric questions. Sometimes those darn scientists even consider why thousands of people report sightings of deceased loved ones termed "apparitional experiences." These are unverifiable and should be impossible. I draw on such research and my personal interviews when I create these images of interstitial spaces and of the translucent, non-corporeal "spirit" as it travels around this or other planes of existence.
The "spirit" seen in Interstice photographs becomes an icon of the permeability of the past we long for, the present we inhabit, the future of which we dream. The images present a translucent beacon reminding us of existential issues that remain unresolved. They are beautiful and transitory, like existence itself.
I do enjoy reading a good artist's statement. It's great to learn what someone's work is and why they make it. However, I first decided to pursue visual arts seriously when I was 14 and swooned upon a visit to the Art Institute of Chicago. I pretend I am more sophisticated now, but the rush, the energy, the excitement of the Monet's, the O'Keefes, the thousand years of art history and whatever else was on display at the time (I do wish I recalled all of it), thrilled me. I felt closer to a feeling of transcendence or divine than I ever had in the church in which I was raised. In fact, I had been a fairly devout child but connecting through artistic vision was far more powerful.
And during this visit, I read not a single statement or anything else about the work. I felt its power and influence merely from taking it in.
Why do I make the photographs in the project Interstice, and my video projects - which are certainly related?
The transience of the world, of this life. It's all gone in an instant.
So, where do you go?
First, you must define "you." People apparently have innate personalities resonant from birth. Babies make that clear. And then we spend our entire lives building that which is our "self." A huge industry capitalizes on this every day. No one has answered the question - does the self have a color?
We probably only bother because even though reality may be a questionable condition (see contemporary philosophy), mortality is experienced by all of us as an irrefutable fact. Without the deep-rooted certainty of an implicit timeline, desperately feared, what would we accomplish? Can personality be considered an accomplishment? It is one of those things that actually matters when you're lying in that hospital bed. Thanks for the deadline, God.
As we mill around on the surface of the earth, the very specifics of relationship, tasks of daily life, family or no family, career demands, these very tangible details often dominate our thoughts. I curse the intense penetration of the mundane, the fact that this morning I had to spend a half an hour moving things we had stored in the basement because the building's sewer pump broke (and can you imagine if i were responsible for taking care of THAT detail). We scramble constantly to avert disasters, manage debacles, or just cope with unexpected nuisances like parking fines (two hours the other day getting an inspection because we forgot it had expired, maybe we should live in Minnesota where that would have been impossible during the state shutdown), and condominium catastrophes. Our minds get stuck focusing on the petty.
However, a true disaster - war, 9/11, car accidents, an event (you know, death) or truly committing to a spiritual quest often precipitate so-called "life changes." The soul becomes awake.
We can be fortunate in our response if we try to truly connect and listen to our loved ones. One looks up from the bills and the dishes and glares at the sky asking, "Why?" The conclusions that you draw become your belief system and your personality and do inform the way that you progress with living and the way in which you die.
These moments, like our lives, are transient.
I can't stop thinking about these things and their influence upon us. I have long looked to art to force me to touch base with the transcendent. The iconic image reminds us and guides us to a place of feeling and connection and restores Love -- in it's deepest, broadest sense. In reminding us of our temporality hopefully we become better people.
Apparently even 28,000 year old cultures, all cultures, except for perhaps the Taliban unless you consider them to be one helluva a piece of performance art, (see: Thomas Dworzak), all create iconic visual representations. One purpose of these artifacts is to serve as a reminder of the transcendent. These visions vary and, for obvious reasons, are absolutely informed by the unique physical circumstances of the culture's locale and the sets of experiences that have created the culture, in other words, their personality.
In conceptualizing the images of Interstice I travel. I research the culture associated with the area I am staying in -- for example, indigenous Native American cultures of the Grand Canyon. I interview local people. Then I construct imagery that includes references to these cultural touchstones.
Ultimately, however, the images represent my personal quest and vision. I watched my father die in a hospital bed after enduring the sufferings of a long, knowingly terminal, illness. Ten years later, I am still asking, "Where the did he go?" By he, I mean the thing that created the light in his eyes. This could be neurons and synapses, it could be the soul, the spirit. I am photographing where the soul went.
The word "interstice" refers to intervening space. Space can be a period of time, a physical corner, or the invisible, intangible meeting of different states of consciousness or perhaps alternate planes of existence (see: contemporary theories in physics). In Catholic theology, "Interstice" refers to the minimal interval of time that must elapse between beatification and canonization. During that time, God's minions on earth are still trying to figure out if the deceased is worthy of being considered a saint.
This is a very long-winded explanation of my thought process, and most artist's statements for submission to anything get limited to 250 words or something like that. But i don't have a 250 word limit to my brain (or my blog). If you've read this blog more than once, you may realize that I've been working to refine the formal statement for some time. I am just elaborating here in order to distill my project's essence and finally write something good.
Photographs in the Interstice series represent these intervening spaces, difficult to see, visualize, occurring in dream, meditative and end-of-life states. They are a response to a common complaint -- often associated with personality disorders, depression, Marxist theories of alienation or maybe just teenage angst -- that one feels empty or disconnected. Even when you experience those feelings, you still have an inner self, a soul, a personality, to nurture. Hunter-gatherer cultures, classical Tibetans, even Western culture prior to the Renaissance considered this inner-self to be far more important than the exterior presentation we prize today.
Psychological research into the brain's mechanisms for visual and aural perception also attempts to answer more esoteric questions. Sometimes those darn scientists even consider why thousands of people report sightings of deceased loved ones termed "apparitional experiences." These are unverifiable and should be impossible. I draw on such research and my personal interviews when I create these images of interstitial spaces and of the translucent, non-corporeal "spirit" as it travels around this or other planes of existence.
The "spirit" seen in Interstice photographs becomes an icon of the permeability of the past we long for, the present we inhabit, the future of which we dream. The images present a translucent beacon reminding us of existential issues that remain unresolved. They are beautiful and transitory, like existence itself.
Friday, March 25, 2011
LARCHMONT CHARTER SCHOOL AUCTION 2011
I have donated a 15x11 inch print of Spectre to a charity auction for a Los Angeles charter school. The auction will be held at Paul Kopeikin Gallery in Culver City.
Larchmont Charter School
6TH ANNUAL GALLERY NIGHT GALA BENEFIT
@
Kopeikin Gallery
2766 S. La Cienega Blvd.
Culver City, CA. 90034
(310) 559-0800 tel
April 1st, 2011 7:00 PM - 9:30 PM
Invite your friends and family to widen the circle of people supporting our school.
Please pre-buy your tickets with a credit card.
Call 310.559.0800
© 2010 bridget batch
Larchmont Charter School
6TH ANNUAL GALLERY NIGHT GALA BENEFIT
@
Kopeikin Gallery
2766 S. La Cienega Blvd.
Culver City, CA. 90034
(310) 559-0800 tel
April 1st, 2011 7:00 PM - 9:30 PM
Invite your friends and family to widen the circle of people supporting our school.
Please pre-buy your tickets with a credit card.
Call 310.559.0800
© 2010 bridget batch
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Really Digging In
Something nice about hanging out in one place... you get to concentrate and focus more on your work. I shot a lot last year, and disappointingly little in the last month. But I've hardly had a chance to really look at and consider what I've been doing, so I think it is good that I am sedating the shutter clicking mechanism for the moment.
For the first time ever, I signed up for a portfolio review on Sunday, at powerHouse Books -- what an experience! I met with five people, including three gallerists, and although much of the critique was a more little vague than I would like, some of it contradictory and a little of it frustrating, there were also amazing moments and statements of encouragement. I honestly felt the reviewers were gracious and sincere, genuinely interested in offering honest and intelligent commentary on my work. The general consensus, at least among the art dealers, was that the Spirit series needs something more, which is precisely where I am at. But everyone seemed very into at least some of the images, and I received especially positive feedback from one of the photo editors at The New Yorker -- Jessie Wender. This feels like I scored a coup, like I am leaping into something higher and more elevated than my previous world. That feels amazing. Yeah, I am excited about this.
The reviewers I was privileged to meet:
Jessie Wender, from The New Yorker
Rachel Been, independent photographer and editor
Caroline Wall, Director of Robert Mann Gallery
Sasha Wolf, Sasha Wolf Gallery
Michael Foley, Michael Foley Gallery
The review was expensive, something that has prohibited me from doing it previously. In perfect Capitalist tradition, however, money needs to go where your mouth is. I needed to make that extra commitment (and I am privileged). I needed to also "finalize" the work for it to really gain from the feedback. Emotionally, bringing that sense of engagement into my work, and making decent prints of some of the new photographs for the first time, made the expense worth it.
Well, sort of. I am dying for results too.
I am truly grateful to all of them for the experience and the feedback. I am really happy with it. I probably should write powerHouse a note, eh?
For the first time ever, I signed up for a portfolio review on Sunday, at powerHouse Books -- what an experience! I met with five people, including three gallerists, and although much of the critique was a more little vague than I would like, some of it contradictory and a little of it frustrating, there were also amazing moments and statements of encouragement. I honestly felt the reviewers were gracious and sincere, genuinely interested in offering honest and intelligent commentary on my work. The general consensus, at least among the art dealers, was that the Spirit series needs something more, which is precisely where I am at. But everyone seemed very into at least some of the images, and I received especially positive feedback from one of the photo editors at The New Yorker -- Jessie Wender. This feels like I scored a coup, like I am leaping into something higher and more elevated than my previous world. That feels amazing. Yeah, I am excited about this.
The reviewers I was privileged to meet:
Jessie Wender, from The New Yorker
Rachel Been, independent photographer and editor
Caroline Wall, Director of Robert Mann Gallery
Sasha Wolf, Sasha Wolf Gallery
Michael Foley, Michael Foley Gallery
The review was expensive, something that has prohibited me from doing it previously. In perfect Capitalist tradition, however, money needs to go where your mouth is. I needed to make that extra commitment (and I am privileged). I needed to also "finalize" the work for it to really gain from the feedback. Emotionally, bringing that sense of engagement into my work, and making decent prints of some of the new photographs for the first time, made the expense worth it.
Well, sort of. I am dying for results too.
I am truly grateful to all of them for the experience and the feedback. I am really happy with it. I probably should write powerHouse a note, eh?
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Welcome to the City, Spirit Girl - Works in progress
© 2011 bridget batch
Is it ok to post images that aren't necessarily finished? I know you're supposed to "put your best foot forward" and all of that, but is it really true that curators and art directors cannot envision that something can be unfinished, and yet still worth seeing? If you're reading this, and you have an opinion about this, please weigh in. This is my blog, not my portfolio site. I am not applying for a grant with the blog.
In the past I have been very, very intimidated by the amount of work out there, about just how tough the competition is. Late in 2010 I had a sudden realization that may be changing my life.
At this point in human history, it's actually amazing that there can be so many humans out there devoting significant periods of time to making art. Has that ever been possible before? Not since the hunter gatherer era, I would think. The world has never been as extensively middle class as right now. And even 120 years ago, middle class included the category of spending an entire day on sewing an apron or churning butter. Art is a luxury in many ways (while remaining a necessity in others). But look, we have an amazing global dialogue occurring, in which thousands of people are consistently making excellent work thinking about personal and sociological issues. Just that occurring is nearly a miracle. All of this positive energy and beautiful work can only be pushing the dialogue that is human culture forward.
I like this photograph, but I don't think I have it quite right. Unfortunately, I can't really reshoot it, snow has melted here in Boulder and we are leaving tomorrow. I think the nasty snow is an important component, I don't think dirty brown grass will make the image better. Of course, I could reshoot the model (me) and photoshop me in, I suppose. But that's not going to work so well either. The series may seem easy to manufacture in Photoshop but it's not. The see-through Spirit has to be in the setting, because, well, you can see what is behind it.
But I like the confrontation with Safeway, I enjoy the line of confusion between artistic moodiness and straightforward shot of the supermarket. My Spirits are growing interested in the human part of the world that they don't quite live in. I can think of a few things I can do to make the photograph better, push it a little further. But I wanted to post it as is now, and consider the process.
Kevin says, "There is no such thing as a reshoot." He may have gotten that from somewhere else. He's absolutely right. With photography, especially digital photography, it is so tantalizing to think, "well, if I go home and check this out on the computer and don't like it, I can always come back." But that never works. Time will slip away, conditions will change. I had no intention of reshooting this, but sometimes, especially when working in subzero cold, alone, at 2am, it is difficult notice everything in the little viewfinder. It's hard enough to just focus in the right spot. When photographing in parking lots, there's the additional concern that security will throw you out before you finish doing anything.
I photographed in nature right before this and although I know better, standing alone at night in the country is terrifying. Even at 10 degrees below zero on a night almost devoid of traffic, I still fought a terror of the nameless man (Bob from Twin Peaks?) who will crash out of the woods and descend upon me.
And now, the confrontation with Safeway is entering the world, well, the online one. I want her out there, I want it all out there. The global cacophony is inviting, just as the consumerist clamor is pulling this Spirit towards the world of pretty packaging.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
HAPPY 2011
© 2010 bridget batch
I love New Year's. I am a terminal optimist (well, sometimes, i am bi-polar about this). I believe in the promises of redemption, of turning things around, of finally making my life the way I want it. If I were slightly less cynical I'd probably make an easy mark for every self-help racket in the world.
For 2011, a wish for peace and good health and progress to everyone in the world. -- bridget
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
When does a place become sacred?
© 2010 bridget batch
We found a magical place. Actually, it was more Kevin who found it. I sat in the passenger seat desperately working on my laptop, working on what I call the "real" work -- as if making art were actually always fun. We commonly look this way, me hunched over, squinting at an lcd screen I can barely see; him driving along, never finding a place that is actually good enough. Today I made up a version of Goldilocks to describe him -- "this forest is too dark," "this forest is just right." Two days ago, he drove his Subaru, "Adele" up and down several tortured forest service roads in the wilds of Idaho. He had made up his own song, "it's too thick for any use" to complain about the forest.
I found these thick, musty woods seductive, an enchanted fairy world. Our experience began in the Yaak -- in the far northwest of Montana where the elevation is low and the constant rain inspires too many things to grow. We were socked in for the entire 5 days that we stayed there for the job. But I was trying to be a good assistant, and to stay up and finish my other tasks, and I didn't take advantage of the enchanted misty woods as I should have. The terrain changes daily, you cannot ever let the opportunities slip away,
Kevin was looking for a vantage point, some vista that revealed something other than endless reams of light-sucking conifer velvet. We didn't see this fire tower at all until we were right under it. We had just enough water and food. But it was amazing and we spent two days there in complete solitude.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Swimming with the stars
The dinoflagellates are tiny, brilliant blue stars pouring through your fingers. They are to be photographed as abstraction, as mystery, a piece of the infinite that escaped from the center of the earth.
A fish in the Bio Bay looks up to see the dinoflagellates twinkling, and makes wishes. Just like we look up to our own version of the known universe, and make wishes.
© 2010 kevin cooley & bridget batch
© 2010 kevin cooley & bridget batch
© 2010 kevin cooley & bridget batch
(and happy anniversary to us)
A fish in the Bio Bay looks up to see the dinoflagellates twinkling, and makes wishes. Just like we look up to our own version of the known universe, and make wishes.
© 2010 kevin cooley & bridget batch
© 2010 kevin cooley & bridget batch
© 2010 kevin cooley & bridget batch
(and happy anniversary to us)
Friday, May 28, 2010
Whitney late-night
This piece by Michael Asher for the Whitney Biennial absolutely rocked the Biennial itself, for me. We went last night, with our friend Jenn, after a long building meeting. The experience was magical.
Normally when you visit a musuem, you have to remember your dinner plans, your work commitments, pay attention to your phone's email, or at least feel conscious of the time that the museum closes. Although I did receive a text at 2am, that was more funny than distracting. I am not usually that cool.
I felt for the staff, but, wow. I could give the art real time and lose myself within it. Having the museum be almost entirely closed (especially with no sunlight streaming in) off to the outside world -- much like a casino, furthered the sensation of being lost.
The crowd that shows up at a museum at 1 am makes for good people watching too.
Now I always want to experience a museum in this way.
Normally when you visit a musuem, you have to remember your dinner plans, your work commitments, pay attention to your phone's email, or at least feel conscious of the time that the museum closes. Although I did receive a text at 2am, that was more funny than distracting. I am not usually that cool.
I felt for the staff, but, wow. I could give the art real time and lose myself within it. Having the museum be almost entirely closed (especially with no sunlight streaming in) off to the outside world -- much like a casino, furthered the sensation of being lost.
The crowd that shows up at a museum at 1 am makes for good people watching too.
Now I always want to experience a museum in this way.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Driving in the Sun
This is a new series of photographs by video and photo artist Naomi White. I think they are lush and beautiful, Driving in the Sun.
© Naomi White
© Naomi White
Thursday, February 11, 2010
life, continued...
Hooray for NYC winter wonderland yesterday. It's really too bad the snow is all smooshy and unbeautiful immediately. It was very difficult to shoot, I needed some sort of all-weather cover for my camera. But I enjoyed the creative energy of all these artists working on snow sculptures in McCarren Park. I peered through a plastic bag and lifted it in order to make the exposure. That did not stop the snow from getting all over the lens. Ahhh, who needs straight photography anyway?
I did not finish my story from now, gasp, TWO days ago. I know everyone's dying to hear it. At last week's X Initiative, BYOA, show (that's Bring Your Own Art), New York Magazine art critic Jerry Saltz flitted about, giving quickie critiques to anyone who would subject themself to it — as long as they were his friend on Facebook. I'd never heard about this, "Be Jerry Saltz's friend on Facebook" thing, although it is apparently a "thing." Before I even saw him giving the critique, a friend of a friend was gushing about it as we wandered the show. And then, we bumped into his group.
Personally, I am not too impressed by celebrity. When you examine my attitude, what I am is a recovering hater. But, as I watched the man give his critique, I was impressed. He had so much energy, and even though he was being rough on the guy, I felt like it was the kind of roughness I could maybe take. He was constructive, he was enthusiastic, even in his criticism he seemed supportive. He projected that he actually wanted the guy to make good work. Mr. Saltz did not emit the airs of a "too cool for school," pretentious New York art worlder. So, when he asked if someone had work nearby to look at, I raised my hand.
He asked if I were his Facebook friend, and I held out my iPhone and said that I was trying to become one, right at that moment. He grumbled but walked over to my photograph. And then he made my night. "Now, this is actually a very nice photograph. It's mysterious and working to present a timeless scene. And yet, the subject's costume is very much in the present, which makes the work feel modern." Or something like that.
I was so excited. Almost nothing lifts my heart more than a compliment on my work, work that it seems I have to fight to even find time to make. I watch people get compliments on their work every day, but I have not gotten my work out there enough to even know what the world would think of it. To have received validation from such an authority, I felt genuinely encouraged.
So, my night was made and I partied on with my friends, infused with my own private giddiness. The world is not necessarily so forbidding. The artist's life continues.
Monday, February 8, 2010
BYOA -- X -- Initiative
Hello! This is from the X Iniative's blowout, "BYOA: Bring Your Own Art Show" last week. I showed up and taped this lovely print to the wall, it's 20x24 inches. For such a huge, open show (and a great idea!), the event really was very well-behaved. I hope that's a good thing. Maybe it's better to have a world that celebrates gentleness over brashness, focusing on beauty and love rather than shocking the hell out of everyone. Besides, who's thought of something really shocking lately anyway? I think the right wing have a monopoly on that. Dealing with their outraged, without being outraged yourself, might be the basis for a good piece.
Here is what some others have to say about the show:
http://www.artfagcity.com/2010/02/05/blnk-byoa-at-the-x-initiative/
http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/tag/byoa/
I've been struggling to figure out what exactly I'd make this blog about. I have hardly mentioned its existence, although I can see that some dear people are actually taking some time to read it. Please feel free to weigh in on what YOU think I should write about. My unclear direction certainly contributes to my erratic maintenance.
I lead a varied, and maybe not strange, but certainly inconsistent, life. I am very focused on, but very, ahhh, dissatisfied with my work. I strive every day to become a better person and a better artist. I seek to contribute to the world.
And the world is a big, noisy place, filled with a lot of things. I do not seem to have evolved into the kind of person who can shout more loudly than everyone, a la some people. I have made it to "a certain age" and not gotten famous. So now what? Do I quit? Or do I listen to Jerry Saltz? That story tomorrow...
For now, listen to David Lynch on meditation! So cool!
http://forum-network.org/lecture/consciousness-creativity-and-brain
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