Kathryn Cornelius, still from Resolve, 2005.
The Warehouse Theater complex could fairly be described as shabby chic, with paint flaking from every wall, revealing a color that comes closer all the time to matching the faintly yellow light that illuminates several rooms in the building. Everything you could hope for in a great café, in short; but for the purposes of a large art exhibit—like “Seven,” a WPA\C fundraiser curated by Fraser Gallery co-owner Lenny Campello—the space is more like an obstacle course.
In the most notorious of alternative art venues—the café—it's always the case that doorways, corners, windows, tables, counters, and chairs have all spoken for the spots that are best for showing art. (Why some cafés truly believe they do the proletarian work of demystifying art by hanging artworks over tables in dark, smoke-filled room, I'll never understand.) With that said, the perfect need not be the enemy of the good. Plenty of the work in “Seven” should stand up well despite the subpar space. But even forgiving the setting's drawbacks, there is, unfortunately, a much worse problem—the show is drastically overhung.
It's not a problem that can be glossed over. The rooms are stuffed to the gills with art, and the overcrowding truly hurts several works. For example, while one trompe l'oeil index card painting by Molly Springfield called what i still don't understand (first semester) is hung at eye level as you might expect, her other entry for the show, unavoidably affected by these developments (second semester), is hung above the first painting. So the higher painting can’t be seen well at all. Same goes for the text-based photography by Denise Wolf: Her four large photographs not only suffer for being hung two by two (meaning that the two high photos can't be inspected), they've also been stashed in an unlit corner (meaning that none of them can be seen anyhow).
The most alarming mishanging really kills a piece by Virginia Arrisueño. Her work, Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, is an open, coffin-shaped box, about two to three feet long, that encloses a puffy, fiber material (like this kind of jacket). The pillowy material is printed with a transfer image that appears to be a person, but because the work is installed above a door frame (!), there's simply no good way to take in the image. There are only a few sheerly criminal examples like this in the show, but in general all the work is hung too closely for comfortable viewing.
If the hanging is awful, the room dynamics exceed lowered expectations. Campello organizes the larger rooms thematically. There is, for example, an admirable stab at a room roughly compelled by artists who emphasize surface values, including Springfield and Wolf along with J.T. Kirkland, Mark Boyd, and others. But the inclusion of too many artists, particularly so many artists working with text, makes the room gabby.
The nude room is easily the show's feature, the traditional figure study being one of Campello's principal interests. The room strikes me as a good idea on paper (no pun intended): The contemporary art world isn't exactly inundated with figure study shows; such a show has the potential to be very fresh. A thorough look at a traditional genre is often an opportunity to showcase artists who have been working under the radar, especially those older artists who are skipped over by the hustle and flow of the gallery scene. But the figure receives brusque handling by the artists Campello has selected. From cropped, cramped, and graceless erotic photographs by Samantha Wolov to Gary Medovich's Warholesque pop repetitions of an enormous, fat nude body, there's more skin sensation than figure study in the room. A photograph by Tracy Lee, in which a painted figure crouches below an Anish Kapoor–looking sculpture, seems to sublimate nudity and speak about the body less harshly. The viewer will appreciate Lee’s reminder after Manon Cleary’s cheap, adolescent photos of penises personalized by adhesive googly eyes—funny ha-ha photos, yet god-awful works of art.
Margaret Boozer, Reinvented Landscape, 2005.
A small upstairs room is given to photographs and an installation by Alessandra Torres. Her six large C-prints, titled From the Portable Winter Series: Snowfall, show the artist engaged in a wintry wonderland, seemingly manipulating the snow with what looks like an oversized, antique brush for applying a powdery makeup. The accompanying installation is like an extras feature on a DVD: The snow (i.e., white sand) from the photos is piled in drifts on the floor and windowsills of the room; the pictured white dress hangs in a small adjoining closet; a terrarium of the hilltop scene depicted in the photos stands in the center of the room. The disrepair of the room matches the evocative installation, but the whole set-up risks a Tori Amos–styled emotional overindulgence. The photographs themselves are inviting and inscrutable, but potentially too frosty and pristine for the viewer who's had his fill of pretty, color C-prints over the last few years.
Another artist who stands apart in the show is Kathryn Cornelius, whose videorecorded performance, Resolve, is a funny, charming contribution. The viewer can't help but appreciate the strain in Cornelius's calves as she vacuums the beach backward and forward, strongly recalling the monotonous video performances of Bruce Nauman. The contrast between the little black cocktail dress and the vacuum, both customary images speaking to very different roles, plays on the expectations facing young women. It's a simple and outstanding piece.
The fact that there are strong works in the show—including contributions by local luminaries like Sam Gilliam and Chan Chao, whose works must contend with the furniture, noise, and bustle of the café floor—doesn't rescue “Seven.” The good are lost among the bad (the show features four times as many artists as I’ve mentioned here, including one large room of painters that’s a total mess).
The elephant in the room(s), of course, is Art-O-Matic, the semiregular District disaster in which everyone is invited to participate (and no one is refused). “Seven” is a lot better than that, but nonetheless shares the same number-one priority: inclusiveness. That's an admirable motivation, but not a reason alone for a show.
Posted by Kriston at August 9, 2005 12:29 AMthe bitch and moaning about this show is getting really old. so is this trend of self-inflated blog art critics.
I usually don't take the time to comment, since generally all it does is encourage more flaming.
That being said, no one is making you read these blogs. Obvious, but true. You could simply pass on reading them and you wouldn't be annoyed.
Posted by: Faith at August 10, 2005 11:46 AMdisagree with him all you want, but simply calling a critic "self-inflated" for voicing his (harsh) opinion doesn't make a whole lot of sense. would you rather have him post a nice little tame press release about the show?
Posted by: matty at August 10, 2005 12:14 PMI'm sick of the "trend of self-inflated blog" commenters... especially the anonymous ones. Kriston shouldn't voice his opinion but we should get/read/respect the opinion of an anonymous commenter? Geez...
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland at August 10, 2005 12:25 PMmatty,
i would rather have something more than an echo of dawson. maybe one that takes the time to explore a few pieces in depth as gopnik did when he reviewed the bienniale. instead this whole thing is a potshot at campello. capps can be clever, but sometimes is just a bloggy pot stirrer.
the rest,
criticism rolls both way. turn comments off if you want immunity.
(growingold refers to Jessica Dawson's review for the Washington Post, for anyone not keeping score at home.)
Posted by: Kriston at August 10, 2005 3:07 PMAll criticism is good - zero or no criticism is not good.
I don't think this review was a potshot at me.
Some of Kriston's observations (such as Virginia's hanging and the arrangement of the "text" room) had specific aims, which were discussed at the Curator's Talk and that Capps wasn't aware of and missed. My bust.
The main goals of this show was to (a) expose as many artwork and artists as possible. Of 25,000 possible pieces of work, I chose about 90 of them from 67 artists.
And (b), a fundraiser for the WPA/C. So far this has been the best-selling show in the WPA/C exhibition history.
Criticism is good; Unlike some other people, I don't bruise easily.
Warm regards,
Lenny
Posted by: Lenny at August 10, 2005 4:05 PMwell, i thought it was a well-written review, not that i know anything about art. added bonus: i didn't have an effing clue that this show was going on, even though it's only a few blocks from my house, so now i'm going to go check it out!
Posted by: catherine at August 10, 2005 7:04 PMI prefer this review to the show itself. At least here, we can see images of Kathryn Cornelius's and Margaret Boozer's strong work in relative peace, uncluttered by Art-o-Matic-ish dreck. In some ways, the Seven show actually paints the D.C. art scene as even more anemic than it is, because the good work by good artists (the ones mentioned in the review) either looks bad in context or gets lost in a sea of yuckiness. The truth is that D.C. has no more or less terrible art than any other city of its size; it's just that we lack sufficient local art institutions (with a few exceptions) to sort the wheat from the chaff.
Posted by: frigaro at August 10, 2005 10:59 PMIs Mr. Kirkland okay with anonymous comments when he's the one posting them? He told us "I'm fine with aliases (I use them occasionally)" at http://thinkingaboutart.blogs.com/art/2005/04/note_to_readers.html and he told art.blogging.la "you won't answer my questions when I write under my real name so I thought why not try an assumed name" at http://art.blogging.la/archives/2005/01/even_more_regar.phtml
Posted by: c.a. at August 10, 2005 11:19 PMSorry for the duplications, Mr. Capps.
Posted by: c.a. at August 10, 2005 11:24 PMThe duplicate comments are the blog's fault—it's moving like molasses right now. I'll delete 'em.
Posted by: Kriston at August 11, 2005 8:20 AMAbsolutely... I'm allowed to post anonymous comments... no one else is. What's the problem with that?
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland at August 11, 2005 10:10 AMThanks for clarifying, Mr. Kirkland. I don't think I've heard the I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I? argument since I was 10.
Posted by: c.a. at August 11, 2005 11:21 AMc.a.,
I don't think I was using the "I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I" argument (response?). I was using the I'm-not-arrogant-I'm-just-better-than-you response. Let's be very clear on that!
And I appreciate the "Mr." references. I could get used to that, especially coming from you. It just sounds so appropriate.
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland at August 11, 2005 11:30 AMkirkland is his own trophy.
Posted by: growingold at August 12, 2005 12:12 PMLovely, Mr. Kirkland. I don't suppose you would be used to anyone calling you by a courteous term for adult males when you radiate brattiness. And I don't suppose you'd care to seriously address your blatant hypocrisy in trashing anonymous comments when you practice the tactic yourself.
Posted by: c.a. at August 12, 2005 12:50 PMYou guys crack me up!
I haven't been called a brat in years. I mostly get called a jerk, idiot or ***hole. All three of which I take great pride in when I truly deserve them. Brat on the other hand I find offensive because it's too nice.
You would like me to address my "blatant hypocrisy"? OK, I would point out that the last time I used anonymous comments was at that LA art blog... months and months ago. And yes, I am a hypocrit for trashing anon. comments since I have used them in the past. And? Show me someone who has never been a hypocrit and I'll give you a thousand dollars. I wouldn't go all in playing the hypocrit card if I were you. It's about equal to a deal of a 2 and 7 off-suit.
Lastly, how in the world did you find all those quotes and links? Did you spend a lot of time seraching them out or do you store them on a storage device and carry them everywhere with you just waiting for the right time to use them. I'm flattered really...
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland at August 12, 2005 1:59 PMfunny that mister puddings hasn't made an apearance yet to defend a predictable person/s,
no wait, funnyer even still is that frigaro and a well-known "holyer-than-thou" online personality have the same IP address for there laptops.
anonimos no more
busted
Posted by: Chou at August 12, 2005 6:04 PMSorry to belabor this on your dime, Mr. Capps. (Nice review, by the way.) You shouldn't be flattered, Mr. Kirkland, when you've said such distinctively dumb things in your quest for recognition (when you're not posting anonymous comments, that is) that an avid reader with a good memory can find "all those quotes" after about a minute of Googling. That's how long I spent retrieving all two of your statements. (It's a big number, I know--try to grasp the concept.) Also, there's an "e" in hypocrite.
Posted by: c.a. at August 12, 2005 10:49 PMc.a.,
You are easily my favorite blog commenter. I think if we ever met in person we'd get along wonderfully. That, or I'd kick your ass. Either way, I do appreciate these little battles with you. Have a good weekend and keep up the avid reading of distinctively dumb things.
Posted by: J.T. Kirkland at August 13, 2005 8:41 AMHey! The only person who's kicking anyone's ass around here is me—keep it civil. May I remind everyone that this argument is over art blogging?
Posted by: Kriston at August 13, 2005 10:32 AMYou have a good weekend, too, Mr. Kirkland. You as well, Mr. Capps, and thanks for indulging a little exploration of blog psychology.
Posted by: c.a. at August 13, 2005 11:23 AM"Absolutely... I'm allowed to post anonymous comments... no one else is. What's the problem with that?"
Lest any of you think J.T. is just being sarcastic, he's blocked me from posting a comment here: http://thinkingaboutart.blogs.com/art/2005/08/i_can_dig.html
on his own blog. Apparently, he didn't like it when I copied the above "I don't think I was using the "I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I" argument (response?). I was using the I'm-not-arrogant-I'm-just-better-than-you response. Let's be very clear on that!" comment as proof of his maturity level.
As an aside, my favorites in the Seven show were Joseph Barbaccia, Mark Jenkins, and Graham Caldwell. All three were refreshingly different. And as an added treat on a later visit, one of Mark Jenkins' sculptures had grown a dessicated dead bird inside. Brilliant!
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