NEW ART!

Et voilà.

MODERN Photos: Part II

Well, look at that. Most of you were confused by my first post about this project, so perhaps this will help explain. See those photos? They are photos of MY photos published in MODERN magazine's Spring 2010 issue. And see my name up there? So tiny and so stuck in the well that you can hardly see its there? Well, that's my little photo credit(!!!) and small and unimpressive as it is, it makes me absolutely squeal.

Red

Alfred Molina, best known in Lovelydayland as the Mayor from Chocolat, is currently playing the brilliant Mark Rothko in Red on Broadway. It is the story of an artist and his assistant and the mind behind the paint we love.

As far as theater goes, it was a bit superfluous. And as far as art goes, it was a lot superfluous. (I stole that word directly from the mouth of Alfred Molina, now didn't I?) But superfluous or not, I enjoyed this play immensely. I enjoyed it because it was ninety minutes of art talk and because the girl next to me couldn't stop smiling. Ya know, there could be an entire short film of Annie watching Red. It would star Pepé Le Pew, and the play would be made of flowers. ANYWAY...

Yes, it was all a bit superfluous. It's difficult to explain how to talk about paintings to people who don't understand how to talk about paintings. And the point of Red was, basically, 'how to talk about paintings' but it never quite got there. Conversations and soliloquies bounced around the topic, but basically hit all the cliches we learn in art school-- colors shifting, lines vibrating, paint glowing-- plus a few hidden cracks at the art world that made certain audience members laugh LOUDLY to let everyone else know that WE GET IT! BECAUSE WE ARE IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN THE ART WORLD! Oh, art world. You're so full of yourself.***

But what this play did hit was the sentiment of an aging artist. This part gave me pause. It made us bow to an artist past his prime who was watching the world grow around him. A sharp irony was held in the references Rothko made to artists who he considered to be past their prime-- Picasso, Matisse, the entire fleet of plein air painters, as well as references made to artists who he didn't think would have lasting quality-- Warhol, Lichtenstein, and pop as a whole. Rothko referred to Picasso as a 'mantle painter,' superfluous in his old age (there it is) knowing full well that his own current commission for the Four Seasons was a fancy way of selling out as well.

I just read an article in The New Yorker about artist Julie Mehretu that spoke of this very concept, and to be honest, made me somewhat angry. Mehretu is the artist recently commissioned to paint that huge mural in the new Goldman Sachs building. When asked to do the commission, she allegedly took six months to decide whether or not she wanted to do it. "What would be the reason to make a painting for a financial institution, you know? Why would that be interesting?" she relayed to the author, as if she was trying to consider artistic reasons for painting something that big other than the massive paycheck behind it. YAWN. I just didn't feel like she meant it. I didn't feel like she actually cared about her work's 'purity' but instead felt pressured to address it because that's the sort of thing 'a real artist' would suffer over.

Of course Mehretu took the commission. The mural is hanging in the Goldman Sachs lobby, and you can go downtown and see it for yourself. (Actually, I really want to do this. Anyone up for a field trip to GS? The mural looks gorgeous, and I adore Mehretu's work, despite me calling her a fake a few moments ago. She is an important painter!)

But Rothko-- the great Mark Rothko-- gave his commission back. He didn't hang his paintings in the Four Seasons. In the end, he chose 'purity' over money (I have to put that word in quotes-- my cynical mind just can't type it without an eye roll) and placed that late, morbid, red series in a chapel in Texas, I kid you not. And this, we came to find out, was the point of the play. In the end, it was an exercise in semantics, a philosophical discussion on what makes art real, on what makes art good.

I'd be interested to hear opinions of this play from those of you who don't spend all day every day talking about art. Did the conversations make sense to you? Did it crack open the mind of an abstract painter? Did it help you understand those big red blocks of color? Go see it, then call me, and then lets sit downtown in front of Julie Mehretu's mural and talk about art.


***yes, I was one of them last night. Am one of them, maybe. I saw this show with clients (and Annie!) for work and was very aware of the super important art dealer sitting next to me. In addition to watching the show, I was constantly trying to determine what one of the greatest minds in art today thought about one of the greatest artists of all time. HE liked it, if that tells you anything.

Ain't it the truth?

How awesome was Jerry Hall in 1975? Thanks, Interview!

Public

Why Public claims to be 'library' themed, I do not know. I was expecting something more like Union Hall, where there are things like books and bookshelves everywhere. Public DOES have what look to be POs but might actually be old school card catalogs? (For those of you who did not attend St. Olaf College, POs mean 'post office boxes', as pictured above.) Public felt more, I don't know, breezy. And, come to find out, it is actually an Australian resty, so I was kind of on target with my breezy assessment. Who knew?!

At any rate, my roommate and I were out last night celebrating Katie's recently awarded FULBRIGHT TO GERMANY (my roommate is mad smart) and my, well, gift card. Dinner was lovely-- the good people at Public gave us free champagne and the scallops really are that good. I had the lamb, Katie had the venison. We shared candied brussels sprouts, an avocado lentil salad, and a salted chocolate mousse with two spoons.

Our conversation spanned the globe-- from German grocery stores to health care to a shared childhood obsession that I will not mention here. But even through our ever present laughter, our sentiment held a tone of muted sadness-- for we both know that our lives are quite suddenly changing at a rapid speed. It's the end of an era, people. Four residents of 50 Downing who drink coffee together each morning will each go their own way come fall. Until then, more scallops, please. Until then, more champagne.

Florence and the Machine

SPEAKING OF FLORENCE--- I'm seeing Florence and the Machine in a couple of weeks at Terminal 5 and just can't wait. So what if she's all over this trailer. Which, lets just be honest, I also just can't wait for Eat, Pray, Love. Judge if you will.

Greenberg

Ben Stiller falls in line with all of those 'stupid movie' (not the technical term) comedians who feel the need to show their full range by starring in a super depressing indie film. Adam Sandler, Jim Carey, Will Smith, you know the type. I have never been one for the 'stupid movie' comedies (Katie still scolds me for never having seen Dumb and Dumber, Tommy Boy, Liar Liar, or that one where Ben Stiller plays the male model, what was it called?) but luckily I happen to ADORE super depressing indie films(!!!), as you are well aware. Give me Punch Drunk Love over Billy Madison any day, yes please.

Although, come to think of it, Stiller had little to nothing do with my reasons for seeing Greenberg on opening night at the Angelika. It was his much younger leading lady, Ms. Greta Gerwig, who pulled me in. More accurately, it was a charming little profile done by New York Magazine about Greta in last week's issue.

They do a swell job over there at NY Mag, cutting the fat and forcing our interest. They gave this seemingly unknown (I don't know what the hell Mumblecore is, do you?) young actress full credit while still revealing her awkwardness and naive charm. She comes across as fresh faced, sincere, yet completely dedicated and talented in her craft. Good writing fascinates me.

The line that really hooked me was regarding Gerwig's costume fitting and how she gained seven pounds afterward because she “thought [the character's] thighs needed to rub together.” I read that and thought, I know this girl. She is the type of girl I went to school with at my fancy liberal arts college who wasn't fancy at all. Like NY Mag so deftly articulated, she is a girl who looks like she could knit a scarf. And sure enough, Gerwig NAILED this part.

Florence is a character that hasn't yet been exhausted like so many archetypes for twenty-somethings as of late. I think it's her lack of angst. It's her ability to slouch, and mumble, and over apologize. She's totally okay with her employers forgetting to write her a check before they depart for Vietnam. In fact, she encourages their tardiness by claiming its better for her anyway-- this way she'll spread out her spending. When she sees Roger in the bar after her performance, she doesn't over think her reaction-- she waves excitedly with that soon-to-be-recognized toothy grin. She is the anti-Juno, and thank goodness for that.

Greenberg actually hit a different note than I was expecting. It was much funnier than the previews allowed, and Stiller played the role without that ache of loneliness we have come to expect from films about lost souls. He was very crass and unfailingly arrogant. The romance was wacky as well, though not necessarily for lack of purpose. It played out with a sort of bait-and-switch emotional pull. We were encouraged to want Florence to run away from Roger, but melted a little bit when she did things like give him puppets and we were happy when he learned to care for the dog. This was a very sweet film, in the end. We all exited the the theater smiling-- I love when that happens.

I would also like to note the artist Jill Greenberg, whose photos totally distracted me while googling 'Greenberg' for an image for this post. I saw her show at ClampArt last fall, where they served tootsie roll pops at the reception, as she is rumored to make those children cry by taking away candy. She is also the photog who was in trouble with both The Atlantic and the McCain campaign after shooting the presidential candidate 'in sinister light.' That really had nothing to do with anything-- just a little 'Greenberg' trivia for you all. Happy weekend. :)