My Art in America report about G Fine Art closing is here. Now, this morning I'm leaving for Atlantic City for the Food & Wine Festival, and shortly after I get back I'm heading to Dallas to then drive to New York. See you!
G Fine Art, one of the anchor galleries in the 1515 14th Street NW gallery building, will close at the end of its August show, which opens tomorrow evening. I'll have more when my story goes up.
Cara Ober and I discuss the exhibit at the BMA, the jurors, the artists, and the outcome.
If I'm a Sondheim Prize finalist in 2010, I'm thinking that I need to put a Baltimore Zip code on my resume and highlight my teaching experience and spend a few hundred hours volunteering in the city from the semifinalist round forward. As you say, the winners of the Sondheim Prize since its inception could all point to their civic work in Baltimore—though none of the winners, except for the Baltimore Development Cooperative, would point to their civic work as their submission for consideration.
That's a critical point that distinguishes the BDC from past winners. There are, after all, other commonalities between past winners that are clearly not cause for concern. All the winners are also MICA alumni, for example, yet I don't think—at the very least I haven't heard anyone express it seriously—that only an artist with a degree from MICA stands to take home gold.
Putting aside the fact that the BDC claims their civic interaction as art work in a way that past winners like Geoff Grace do not, the concern about artists' civic qualification is one I shared after the award ceremony. It's hard not to, particularly as a Washington resident. Coming into the awards ceremony, with Baltimore's mayor and a Baltimore newscaster introducing the prize to a primarily Baltimore-based audience, artists hailing from D.C. or Virginia must feel like they're playing an away game. Add to that this issue that the past winners are conspicuously important to the Baltimore community and you have the makings of what seems to be a fix—maybe not deliberate but there, nevertheless.
So when I reported my story about the Sondheim, I spoke to Gary Kachadourian at length about this issue. I asked, specifically, what instructions or other guidelines the Baltimore Office of Promotion & The Arts gives to the jury. He was unequivocal about it: none. No fix for social justice or community activism or what have you. He said that he asks jurors to consider the work. He noted that the BDC didn't make it through the first round for the 2008 prize, to give an example of how mercurial the jurying process can potentially be. So social activism, or the benefit to Baltimore, is not being considered as a qualification for this prize—Kachadourian was very clear on this point.
However, there is an interview segment to the award. I think you could argue that the interview benefits artists whose practice is conceptual, off site, untethered to an object, and so on. Artists like Leslie Furlong, Jessie Lehson, Molly Springfield and the others in the finalists' circle are given an opportunity to clarify the work that they've put up for consideration. On the other hand, the BDC has an opportunity to expand upon the work they put up: They're able to tell the jurors that the work is much more than what's on display there at the BMA. It's maybe a structural advantage for artists who engage in a more conceptual practice—maybe.
CO: Well, we could argue a lot of things, in terms of potential strategies and also conspiracy theories. There is ample ambiguity in the process, and you can’t help but to see patterns. I can see your argument that DC-based artists are seen less favorably in this process, which is an idea I hadn't bother to consider. When the Trawick Prize is given, there's no interview process, and there seems to be no bias in terms of choosing Baltimore or DC artists for the top prize.
That said, I do not believe that community activism is a necessary component in an artist’s resume in order to win the Sondheim Prize in Baltimore. Most, if not all, artists volunteer their time, donate their work, and give back to the larger communities. However, I think that AFTER the jurors choose their favorites, the interview process can’t help but to give an advantage to the artists whose projects are most expansive and inclusive.
Every year the jurors are different, which seems to guarantee objectivity and fairness, a fresh start for each new competition. However, upon closer inspection, the national and international art world is small. Many of these jurors have studied under the same teachers, have exhibited in the same museums, and read the same theorists and critics. Despite the differences in jurors from year to year, there is a surprising degree of sameness in their choices. The Sondheim has only existed for four years, yet we see the many of the same finalists year after year. In a pool of several hundred artists, this seems odd. If we look at the CV's of Karen Yasinsky, Molly Springfield, Geoff Grace, Baby Martinez, and the BDC (as Camp Baltimore), what similarities emerge? Are there certain experiences—residencies or exhibitions, not just the work—which mark these candidates, year after year, as heavyweights? And if this is the case, how can we expect jurors to choose ‘fairly’? Building on this, is it wrong to expect a degree of fairness and impartiality from a juror?
Like any other competitive sport, certain athletes and teams are always in the playoffs. Not to say that they always win—that's always a surprise, but the finalists mostly are not. The interview process, conducted the day the awards are given out, seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
If the exhibit is the proof, why is an interview necessary? The interview process may actually be counter-productive, in terms of choosing the strongest body of work as the winner. There’s no interview in choosing the semi-finalists, so why should there be one for the winner? Why can’t the works speak for themselves? The BDC had three individuals to answer questions, as opposed to just one of each of the individual artists. Doesn’t that give them an advantage?
KC: Last week, someone sent me a link to a blog post by Elizabeth Evitts Dickinson that expresses something that could be material, given the interview process. She writes, "The intent of the BDC, on paper, seems admirable enough. Get through the chewy curatorial jargon and hyper-politicized prose explaining Participation Park and you learn that their stated intent is to gather the community around a vacant plot of land in order to foster democratic public space and a dialogue about development."
Now, Dickinson brings up a lot of concerns about the work that are valid—I recommend reading them and would echo a lot of those points. They are concerns that ought to have come up to a jury, but even she expresses caution about voicing them out loud because she doesn't know the work very well. But she's able to speak in an informed way about some issues surrounding Participation Park—issues about Baltimore's history and politics that a jury just is not going to know.
I'm a fan of Bravo's Top Chef. I watch at home with friends and we bitch and moan about an episode's winner when it seems like the better contestant was snubbed. But at the end of the day, this is sort of absurd: As an armchair food critic, I can't taste the food, so how can I judge?
Would the Sondheim Prize lose something if the work up for consideration were restricted to the objects on display—the stuff that jurors can taste firsthand? Or would that eliminate performance art, activism, and other conceptual, post-object practices from consideration altogether?
CO: I don’t think the prize would lose anything if the work on display is the sole factor in picking the winner. I think the Sondheim Prize would actually become more equitable and less frustrating for everyone who does not get to participate in the final interview process. What is the point of having the exhibition if a half hour conversation can tip the scales? Each artist has a written statement on the wall in the museum and submits other written materials. This should be adequate. The more I think about it, the interview process seems skewed and unnecessary, and downright disadvantageous to the artists who aren’t smooth talkers, magnetic personalities, or pious souls.
Kriston Capps and Cara Ober discuss the exhibit at the BMA, the jurors, the artists, and the outcome.
KC: Who did you think would win and why did you think that?
CO: Every year I am stymied by the Sondheim winner, so this year I decided to do a reader's poll on Bmore Art, asking who did readers think would win. Notice, this is quite different than asking who deserved to win. For a couple of weeks, people solidly believed Karen Yasinsky would take it, so I did, too. After the show was up and photos of the exhibit were posted, I changed my mind. I thought that Ryan Hackett was a shoe-in. The room he occupied felt elegantly curated, thematic in a way that made each piece more interesting, and tactile in an intellectual, scientific, and sensory way. Hackett handled concerns of space and color with finesse and walked a fine line between sterile and warm/fuzzy in a way that I had never experienced before. Hackett's 'room' could be equally enjoyed by an art theorist and a five-year-old, challenging yet accessible.
I thought that all the artists put together interesting exhibits, but felt most strongly about Hackett’s work after viewing them all. Judging from the six finalists, I thought that the jurors seem to favor intellectual precision, an integration with technology, a contemporary narrative, and an unemotional editing process. Five out of the six finalists embodied these terms – everyone except the BDC.
From the beginning I thought the BDC was the black sheep of the group; their content and their craftsmanship appeared to be completely different. They seemed to be the anomaly, rather than the front-runner.
How about you, Kriston? Were you surprised by the outcome of the prize? Who were you betting on? And what, in your opinion, should a jury consider when choosing the winner of the Sondheim Prize?
KC: I get sucked in by the Kremlinology involved in trying to guess what the judges will like. This year I thought there were a lot of clues. Knowing Ellen Harvey's work and the shows that Elisabeth Sussman made and would have seen and so on, I guessed that Karen Yasinsky would be out because they would have seen a lot of work by Nathalie Djurberg over the last year: a solo show at Zach Feuer, stuff at the Biennale, stuff at the New Museum. Djurberg's work was in "The Puppet Show," which traveled to the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston this year, so undoubtedly Valerie Cassel Oliver was familiar with it. Yasinksy's video piece strikes me as very familiar but not as advanced as Djurgberg's.
I felt the same way about the Baltimore Development Cooperative: The work liked too much like what I'd seen (and what I was sure the jurors would have seen) at the last WhiBi and the big NuMu Unmonumental exhibit. Of course, when I first toured the exhibit I was just considering the work on display, and not the careerwide practice that in all likelihood earned them the top nod.
It's not wrong to consider the broader art-world context when doling out the award—that's presumably why the Sondheim folks bring in outside, established art-world figures to serve as jurors. At the same time, I think that limits the extent to which the jury can determine the work's effect within the community, such as you might need to judge with the BDC's work if you're not just looking at the physical artifact. Is the group's community garden area (Participation Park) as integrated within the east Baltimore community where it's located as the artists say? I know that only a couple groups have signed up to use the geodesic tent (The Pavilion) outside the museum.
For their work, evaluating their success on their own terms seems really crucial to determining whether it's good work. The impression I got is that they have yet to really realize these utopian projects. And if that's the case—if they aren't socially integrated activist projects—aren't they just lo-fi, cardboard sculptures with high aspirations?
So, sure, I was disappointed with that decision. I have a hard time squaring the fact that the jurors used this criterion for the BDC's work that they didn't or couldn't apply to the other artists in the show. And it's a criterion by which the BDC arguably fall short. But maybe you can elaborate on that: What is their effect within the community? What sort of research is involved in their practice? I got no sense of that from the work, from their site, etc.
CO: I am not sure about the effect of the BDC within the community. In certain art-based social circles, the three members who won the prize - Scott Berzofsky, Dane Nester, and Nicholas Wisniewski – are well-respected names, but before the prize was given, I could find nothing documented online about the group - no website, no publications, nothing. In terms of research, if you read the literature provided by the museum, the BDC “uses the strategies of art, research, and activism to critically engage with urban spatial politics.” This sounds admirable, but what does it mean? I asked a random sampling of people about the geodesic dome in front of the BMA and very few people seemed to understand its purpose or intended political statement. Only a very elite group of artists seemed to 'get' the dome's egalitarian purpose, which, to me, seems like unclear communication.
I think this group has good intentions and good ideas, but there is an element of rigor that is missing – both visually and in content. When I think about art historical examples of activist art, Mierle Ladderman Ukeles comes to mind. She did a project with the NY city sanitation department, set up a desk there, conducted research, and then did a series of performances to educate the public and to contradict commonly held assumptions about sanitation workers and garbage men. Her work was conducted with a pointed humor, and was precise – in terms of message and media. In contrast, the BDC’s work at the BMA seems incoherent and vague.
Looking back, it seems that every year the winner of the Sondheim Prize is chosen based on community activism or contributions beyond the body of work displayed in the museum. Laure Drogoul, the first Sondheim winner has been a tireless volunteer and participant in Baltimore community art projects. Tony Shore, the second Sondheim winner, is the founder of Access Art, a youth art center in Baltimore’s Morrell Park Neighborhood. The third Sondheim winner, Geoff Grace is a public high school teacher who integrated some of his students work into his installation. If we look at the three previous winner, the obvious connection is not media or content – it is community involvement and service.
While this civic activity is noble and beneficial to Baltimore, especially, I fail to see why this should be considered as criteria for naming a top visual artist. When you look at Sondheim Prize literature, there’s nothing explicit about community involvement. In theory, the Sondheim Prize is supposed to be given to the best artist, the best body of work. Do you think this element of community activism is an invention of my imagination or there is a connection between an artist’s politics and the outcome of an art award? If so, what does it say about the credibility and mission of this award?
The Baltimore Development Cooperative wins it. You can read my writeup for Art in America here and some further reax at Cara Ober's site. She and I are chatting about it now and I think we'll both update with some excerpts from that conversation, so don't get sick of hearing about it in the meantime.
Who loses on this trade? I'd be furious if I were a student at Texas Tech or Alberto Gonzales. So I heartily approve and hope that this hiring hastens Lubbock's sinking into the Earth. Plus, Yglesias has come to his senses and denounced the Red Raiders. Guns down! I suspect in practical terms that this will just mean I'll be able to recruit one fewer person to watch college football with me.
Nels Cline belongs in Radiohead. Somehow the best in Americana rock got lucky in the guitar draft and snagged Cline from his rightful place shredding for the UK's most alienated and that's their loss and Wilco's gain and our gain to boot.
Wilco the Album and, I'd say, to a lesser extent, Sky Blue Sky have given the band a new purchase after Yankee Hotel Foxtrot—an album that any lesser band might consider a classy, definitive statement. And Cline is the factor that has them moving forward. He's got an appealing, thrash style of soloing (displayed mightily last night at Wolf Trap) that is never jammy (this is crucial). As a composer, he writes some incredible contrapuntal lines: I find the best moments on both of Wilco's most recent records to be when Cline is playing right over Jeff Tweedy's verse. Any other guitarist would railroad the vocal; Cline makes it work.
I'm willing to believe Tweedy when he says that the band isn't all about Tweedy any more (contra what Chris concludes, in a meatier review here). I'm not sure Tweedy believes the band isn't all about Tweedy, though. In the Wilco concert DVD Ashes of American Flags, Tweedy peddles some bullshit about the band's mythology and spins the centrality of each of the players to the Wilco sound and vision—which goes to illustrate that Tweedy is the band. But I'm not sure that's the case going forward, having heard Cline absolutely tear it up on "Bull Black Nova" and "Impossible Germany" last night.
Anyway, neither of these setlists is correct, but if you add a bit of the latter to the bulk of the former you get the right idea.
And yes, Wilco started the show with "Wilco (the Song)." This is an unforgivable offense and to let them walk is better than they deserve. It reminds me of a story that Martin Amis tells in his autobiography (stop me if you've heard this one before): His pop Kingsley Amis is reading Money, one of a rare few instances (maybe the first) that Martin is aware that his father is reading one of his books. This is worrisome to Martin, for Money finds Martin introducing Martin Amis as a character in the text—a breach of manners that would have landed Martin over Kingsley's lap were he younger, I'm sure. So as Amis Sr. reads, Amis Jr. looks on secretively, paginating the moments as his father thumbs toward the pivotal point. And of course, Kingsley Amis throws the book across the room.
This is exactly the right response and I hope that those of you fortunate enough to receive a review copy of Wilco (the Album) did the same. Maybe that's why Wilco decided to livestream the album before its release?
More than one hundred original Charley Harper paintings found by the Ford Motor Co. as it was recently liquidating organizing its art collection. Recently I saw a show of paintings, serigraphs, and illustrations in Dallas that focused more on Harper's illustrations for Betty Crocker and the things that found their way into the Giant Golden Book of Biology.
These rediscovered paintings, on the other hand, all stemmed from his work for the Ford Times, which was more editorial and way bizarre. The magazine was something like a vanity general interest publication all about Ford cars. Some sample pages here. With that layout and Harper's illustrations, it looks like a New Yorker, except that every page and panel are about Ford. Journalism used to be so viable.
During the NEA art journalism institute (that would be art camp), several of us visited the Lynda Benglis/Robert Morris show at Susan Inglett in New York and came away impressed enough to write up the show. Jen Graves reviewed the show for The Stranger and Rachel Wolff had a writeup for New York Magazine. Collect them all.
Now, everyone thinks dildos are funny and since this exhibit involves double-pronged cast-metal dildos it's especially something. But is it possible that there's a viewer out there who doesn't know about the editorial history of Artforum? Would that person look at this show and think: frivolous, nostalgic, navelgazing? There isn't a lot of work to the show and it all plays a supporting role; at least, I didn't feel that the letters and controversy surrounding Benglis's 1974 Artforum ad illuminated any of the works or images on display. If anything, it read like a director's cut of the controversy itself, complete with deleted scenes, bonus content, etc.
Maybe it is inside baseball—but it was definitely a significant curatorial effort, and the feminist critique and journalist's credo themes are broadly relevant, and again, dildo. Much more exciting than your average Chelsea summer show, which looks a little something like this:
Rachel Whiteread, John McCracken, and Anish Kapoor.
That's up the road at Fredericks & Freiser. Has this work ever looked so boring?
