This exhibition presented works from 1964-1967 by two pioneering reductive painters, Leo Valledor and Mario Yrisarry. Valledor (1936-1989) was born in San Francisco, and grew up in the gritty Fillmore district, while Yrissary was born in Manila in 1933; both were Filipino.
As one of the most important living American artists, Louise Bourgeois certainly isnt lacking in exposure. Her works are frequently, if not permanently, on display in international galleries and museums.
Much is made of Raoul De Keyser’s belated recognition in the United States, and to a slightly lesser degree, by the art world in general. Although it is unfortunate that it took so long for him to receive the attention he deserves, it is also not hard to understand.
The most arresting image in Charles Garabedian’s exhibition of recent works on paper is a large acrylic called “Channel Swimmer” (2006).
At the recent opening of the Eva Zeisel centennial exhibit at the Pratt Manhattan Gallery, a small white-haired women with a playful look in her eye swept in as if it were her own studioand in a sense, it was.
From the very beginning of her career through the monumental retrospective last year at The Museum of Modern Art, Elizabeth Murray has never lost sight of the humanity and dignity of her work.
To a certain degree, Picasso is behind the eight ball in Picasso and American Art, which sets out to demonstrate that for each aesthetic territory staked out by an American painter, Picasso had already been there. That man missed nothing, in the words of Jackson Pollock, quoted at the exhibitions entrance.
Public art, said Dennis Oppenheim in the late 1990s, may be a domain that looks good simply because everything else looks so bad.
A peculiar kind of evidence is offered up in Sam Eastersons videos and photographs of birdsbe they falcons or pheasants, turkeys or ducksas well his videos of an astonishing range of other animals.
If Joseph Kosuth’s latest exhibition works, it works as installation; if not, then a labyrinth into which I can venture is at best a retrospective of a historically intriguing, though no-longer-relevant artist.
In the context of Joseph Kosuth's monumental installation at the Sean Kelly Gallery a quote from Michale Foucault (1969) that appears at the entrance to Kosuth's black sheet-rock maze seems pointed: "Aren't you sure of what you are saying? Are you going to change yet again, shift your position according to the questions that are put to you..."
Each day seems to find more curators bemoaning the ability of commercial galleries, with less bureaucracy and more financial clout, to create strong shows with speed and efficiency. The frieze art fair proves and disproves just this.
Sean Scully has been making unfashionably large, abstract oil paintings for over twenty years. His current exhibition, Wall of Light, is no exception. Begun in 1998, the paintings range in size from the imposingly large to the intimately small, but rarely anything in between (with the exception of several watercolors and prints).
In this exhibition of works from 2006, Stockholder continues to transform commonplace objects into sculptural microcosms of saturated color and vivid form.
Brice Marden’s paintings are hard to love. Their sheer composure leaves little room for intimacy. Even within the austere arena of monochromatic painting, the muted green-gray of “Nebraska” (1966) is cool and removed.
The Number Paintings by Alfred Jensen at Pace Wildenstein is a great exhibition. Superlatives such as this are generally of little use in criticism, but every so often you see something that reaffirms your love for art, reminds you how it is truly constituted and reveals why it is so hard to come by.
In 1970, John Baldessari cremated all his paintings, baking some of the ashes into cookies. Documented as a cutoff point in his career by the photo piece “The Cremation Project,” included in his Ways of Seeing exhibit now at the Hirshhorn, Baldessari has since strictly sought to keep his hand out of painting by imposing counterintuitive constraints such as hiring sign painters to execute his artworks.
In one fell swoop Ronald Lauders $135 million purchase in June of Gustav Klimts 1907 portrait, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, bestowed Manhattans Neue Galerie with a destination artwork and a steady flow of tourists gawking at the most expensive painting in the world. Even hype-resistant New Yorkers stopped by to take a look.
When contemplating Stanley Whitney’s matter-of-factly painted geometric abstractions, we should keep in mind these words of Ad Reinhardt: “all art is political.” The reason we should remember Reinhardt’s statement is because Whitney is an African-American abstract painter who makes no overt connection between the author and the self or, in academic parlance, his identity.
Imagine yourself in a summer cottage somewhere in the north woods of Wisconsin, unlatching the doors and windows for a new season. It is twilight, and shafts of light are peeling in from the fading Edenic sunset. Children giggle in the distance. The oak trees outside cast their shimmering silhouettes on the interior walls.
George Schneemans painting and collages from the 1960s and 70s at First Floor Gallery offer a view into another world. The subjects are the great, still unsung New York Poets of the downtown scene: confident, young and owning this town (which is practically unrecognizable today).