Critic & Curator, Franklin Sirmans

For ‘NYArts’ Magazine

Sanford Biggers (with David Ellis)  'Mandala of the B-Bodisattva II', 2000.  Rubber Tiles, Formica Backing, scuff marks and a single-channel video, 16x16 ft (floor), courtesy The Bronx Museum of the Arts
Sanford Biggers (with David Ellis) 'Mandala of the B-Bodisattva II', 2000. Rubber Tiles, Formica Backing, scuff marks and a single-channel video, 16x16 ft (floor), courtesy The Bronx Museum of the Arts
Luis  Gispert, 'Flossing', 1999.  Chrome frame, rubber wheels, race seat, neon subwoofers, amplifier, monster cable, auto alarm with remote keychain, and audio loop.  Courtesy The Bronx Museum of the Arts
Luis Gispert, 'Flossing', 1999. Chrome frame, rubber wheels, race seat, neon subwoofers, amplifier, monster cable, auto alarm with remote keychain, and audio loop. Courtesy The Bronx Museum of the Arts

With its energetic urban aesthetic and a roll call of hot young artists, ‘One Planet Under a Groove: Hip Hop and Contemporary Art’ at the Bronx Museum is one of the best group shows of the year. Co-curator Franklin Sirmans is primarily known for nearly a decade of art writing, but with ‘One Planet’ he has begun to seriously flex his curatorial muscle. Talking as easily about Hip Hop as High Modernism, Sirmans has made it his trademark to write about young contemporary artists who have arrived in New York on the wave of globalism. In December, he curated ‘Rumors of War’, the inaugural show at new uptown space Triple Candy and at the same time, put together an exhibition room for Fast Fwd: Miami focusing on utilitarian art. Merrily Kerr talks to Sirmans about ‘One Planet’ and a new generation of artists.

MK – You’ve done more writing and editing than curating. Do you consider yourself more of a writer than a curator?

FS – Definitely. But the approach is always similar…putting together a small show is a lot like writing a big essay. For me personally, most of the thought process is developed first in writing anyway….But I am very happy writing; that was the way it began. I wasn’t an artist, I wasn’t trying to be an art historian per se, it was about writing about art and using art as a vehicle to talk about so many issues.

MK – Several of your exhibitions have been about urban culture. The latest shows have had titles like “Classic Works of Urban Culture”, “Pavement,” “New York, New York”…

FS – That is a central part of where I find myself right now. In fact, Adam Matthews and I are working on a book of memoirs which is basically about recollections of youth spent outside of the urban environment and about how the necessity for dialogue leads people to these centers – New York, London, Paris….We worked on a story together for ‘One World Magazine’, in which I wrote this piece about Harlem. I grew up in this building here [points out the window to building next door]. But it’s about going away and coming back and talking about the changes that have occurred.

MK – Yeah, because you lived in Connecticut when you did your degree at Wesleyan, you studied at Morehouse College in Atlanta and later lived in Milan for two years.

FS – Coming back here after the cracked out ‘80s…and now there are galleries…it’s crazy. I had one week where I did three or four reviews without going below 96th Street. It was fantastic.

MK – Let me ask you about ‘One Planet Under a Groove’. How did you come up with the title?

FS – We [Sirmans and Bronx Museum Curator, Lydia Yee] bounced ideas off of each other and came up with that, and it resonated. On the one hand there is a reference to Parliament and to Funk, which is such an integral part of where Hip Hop came from. You can’t talk about Outkast without knowing about P-Funk. It comes up in Adrian Piper’s work and in other people’s work…As opposed to George Clinton writing ‘One Nation Under a Groove’, at this point in the way we looked at the show, we could safely say ‘One Planet Under a Groove,’ referring to the music.

MK – It’s ‘One Planet’ because the artists are coming from different backgrounds and countries?

FS – Yes. Japan, Italy, Korea. It was weird how the Asian influence is so much more prevalent than say, a European one. Like Hisashi Tenmyouya’s work– it’s like Wu Tang but from a Japanese perspective. There is a dialogue. And to look at Nikki Lee’s work and the ideas that she is questioning…Her work makes a lot of people uneasy.

MK – Can you summarize your essay in the ‘One Planet’ catalogue?

FS – We all have a silly blind faith that visual art is removed from all those other systems of mass media. And it was talking about that – what a great place to start. Hip Hop. The images being sold on MTV and how they can be detrimental in many ways. I was interested in talking about where the initial impulse is, where is the essence of the product? Is it about this ‘bling bling’ thing that has developed? Of course not. And how do we look at the ideas that we are giving to children, in particular? Artists are the ones who challenge these things.

MK – Like Susan Smith – Pinelo’s gyrating females in the video ‘Cake’?

FS – That’s why I love her work. It’s basic but totally powerful. In the catalogue essay, I wanted to try to grab people with a language that was not normally confined to the art exhibition catalogue. I started the essay by talking about Jay-Z. The line he uses is, “I’m overcharging niggas for what they did to the Cold Crush.” Cold Crush being one of the first Hip Hop groups who got no love and put out amazing songs, didn’t make any money, and now they’re trying to get their own little piece. They’re going to put out their own independent label record now. They were coming straight from the initial impulse of the art form. Until you have that market and you have all those people working into the machinery its just sitting there. So I was trying to make some distinction between the craft and the commodity, which I have been trying to do about visual art for some time.

MK – So are you saying that an artist or group of artists innovates and then a whole other group of artists responds and a market grows around it? We now have a commercially successful generation of young artists who have come out of the Freestyle show at the Studio Museum in Harlem last summer. In one of your review of Mark Bradford’s show at Lombard-Fried, you said that there was lottery draft for these artists amongst New York galleries.

FS – Totally – Rico Gatson, Mark Bradford, and Julie Mehretu…I know I’m missing somebody. That’s three artists with openings in the same week….Places like The Studio Museum in Harlem and now The Project make it possible for me to do what I do. I think what that gallery has done has changed a lot of things. What kick started it, it seems to me, was that it was about things that were happening outside of New York. If you look at a lot of the artists he [Christian Haye] shows, it is so easy to look at the work and say, ‘Wow, this is damn good work, and no one in New York is showing it.’ It still blows my mind that there aren’t more galleries that at least have somewhat similar aesthetics. Being in Europe from 1996-98 was really important for me. In 1997, Harold Szeeman did Lyon, he did a show in Slovenia. Johannesburg happened. Venice was that year as well. And all these shows brought together an exciting mix of artists. Someone from New York would not have done those shows. Because we know that we are the center of the world….and sometimes if it is not in front of our face then it can’t be that good, we seem to say.

MK – The term ‘post-black’ came out of Freestyle. Do you think this is a useful term?

FS – It sparked a hell of a lot of debate and dialogue, and that’s useful….Thelma Golden is definitely someone who has been amazingly important to me. Still is. And doing the Hip Hop show, there were elements that we had to be very conscious of from the Black Male show….It is a very, very different show, but we were conscious of it. For me, it was a marker. That ‘93 Whitney Biennial, her show in ’95 and the international biennials in ’97. Those are really, really important markers just like Freestyle has been.

MK – I tend to think that you write about African and African-American artists – but you write about all kinds of people. Was my initial perception right or wrong?

FS – Perhaps…I’ve studied African-American artists, my father is an avid collector, and my first experiences with art were with black artists, people like Ed Clark, Romare Bearden, Vincent Smith, Jacob Lawrence. I grew up with that. So it is a base, but I certainly don’t seek to limit the artists that I am talking about. It also depends on what you read. I’ve had people who have seen certain pieces, like maybe a Robert Ryman piece or a Sol LeWitt piece they I’ve written and they’ll say, ‘Oh, I thought you were white.’ People are funny like that.

MK – How would you write about Mark Bradford without modernism as a base?

FS – You can’t. But it certainly helps to know something about black vernacular if you want to talk about Mark. A lot of the investigations into modernism have a certain resonance for artists. Like the way that Janine Antoni brought this consciously feminist-based presence to minimalism. ‘Gnaw’ is a brilliant piece. I think that is what Juan Capistran is doing with his piece. Break dancing on top of a Carl Andre – some interesting things happened when he mixed things up. He actually went into the museum and did that piece while a friend kept the guard away.

MK – Do you have an ideal exhibition?

FS – [Laughs] Give me lots of money to pay every artist a fee up front…that would be fantastic! But there is no ideal space. I don’t know if there is an ideal show. I’d like to do small, one-person exhibitions in addition to other group exhibitions. I want to do a group exhibition called “A Hero Ain’t Nothing But a Sandwich.” The title comes from a book by Alice Childress that was made into a film in 1977. On one hand, it has this resonance for me growing up. On the other hand, it’s got that idea that we were talking about with Capistran and Carl Andre or like Janine Antoni with ‘Gnaw’. Art and modernist art history makes these big, gigantic heroes. It’s trying to talk about that and perhaps bring that lofty idealism down a little bit, and look at the work for what it is as opposed to this idea of the grand heroic – the mark, the gesture. Come on!

Man Hunt: A Profile of Curator, David Hunt

For ‘NYArts’ Magazine

Installation View of 'Dusk', at I-20
Installation View of 'Dusk', at I-20

I first met curator, writer and editor David Hunt when he agreed to an interview at Silverstein Gallery in Chelsea. I imagined that he would be there organizing another show or writing a catalogue essay with the gallery owner, but was surprised to find that he, too, joins the ranks of gallery workers. My other misconception was that he would be in his late 30s, considering that he curated exhibitions in two New York galleries last season, he is the New York correspondent for artext, and he regularly writes for magazines like Flash Art and frieze, amongst many others. Instead, I was greeted by a man who couldn’t be much over 30 years old, a scenester not lacking in the art world requirements of cool glasses and funky shoes.

We sat down in his gracious employer’s back gallery, and before I could ask my first question, Hunt started to talk. He has plenty to say about ‘the art world’ and was eager to give me his opinion on the state of art writing. “Art writers are notoriously bad because it is a good way to start out. Because the pay is so low, art magazines don’t have the luxury of turning people away.” Thanks, Dave, nice to meet you, too.

So why does Hunt write and curate? “I started doing it because I just didn’t want to go to shows and have no connection. I am not an artist. I am not a dealer. So, and the curatorial aspect sprung out of the same thing. I was in Italy and I [thought]…I’m in this country. These people are being so nice to me. I might as well do something with it. So I curated a show of Italian video artists at…Gallery 16…when I went back to San Francisco.”

This exhibition led to others when he moved to New York in 1999. Over the past two years, Hunt has put together two shows in New York art galleries and written dozens of texts on the artists that interest him. He says that he aims to “…work with as many different galleries as possible…to maintain as many relationships as possible.”

“Dusk”, an exhibition which took place at the I-20 gallery last Fall, took its name from a time of day often associated with natural beauty and an element of intrigue. Hunt chose 20 works by different emerging artists whose work resists the romantic and ‘gothic.’ In a catalogue essay written in the form of an internal office memo from the marketing department of a company whose products are artists, Hunt elaborates on the heavily marketed concept of dusk (think photography magazines, think romantic couples) as beautiful and subverts it, pointing out that “any moment of the day can be beautiful.” At the same time, he tackles elements of what he sees as gothic subculture.

He explained to me that, “Dusk is about this anti-gothic sensibility….I just think that the whole gothic subculture is just so anachronistic….We’re coming back to the 80s. Before that we came back to the 70s. But gothic exists no matter what. It never goes away. There are always gothic clubs in every city. There are always people who…[have] pancake makeup on….And one of the elements of the art world is black.” Despite the vast difference between the ever-acceptable black clothing worn by art world denizens (Hunt himself was wearing at least two shades of black when we spoke), and the black leather and crushed velvet worn by goths, Hunt makes a mental connection between two distinctive styles of dress, and combines them under the rubric of impending darkness.

His next show, seen last summer at Caren Golden Fine Art, joined together no fewer themes under the title “Superimposition”. Given free reign in the gallery by Caren Golden, Hunt put together a tightly packed exhibition that included the work of another 21 emerging artists. For many, ‘superimposition’ referred to the process of constructing an image in layers, an organizing principle described by artforum.com reviewer Martha Schwendener’s as, “…impossibly, almost irrationally nebulous…” On the other hand, New York Times critic Holland Cotter turned the ambiguity into a positive point in his review, saying that, “One comes away reminded afresh of how much of interest there is to choose from these days and thinking how smart so many of Mr Hunt’s choices are.”

Speaking in outline form, Hunt set the scene for the exhibition: “The show was like an anti monochrome show. You noticed that there were no big fields. It was all over gestural mark making. You had to be working to the edge. Jim Lambie’s eye thing – tons and tons of eyes. Super, super imposition. Marsha Cottrell. Those computer drawings. All those lines. Thousands of little marks. That’s the type of stuff I am into. Supercomplexity.”

Complexity is what Hunt thrives on and the combination of unlikely themes in a single show has become his trademark. Last month, he opened his latest exhibition at MullerDeChiara, a new contemporary gallery in Berlin, co-directed by Laurie DeChiara of DeChiaraStewart in New York. The gallery’s inaugural exhibition is Hunt’s “Wattage and Friendship.” The inspiration for the show began with an article in The New Yorker magazine profiling an electricity resale company that encouraged its employees to sell electricity to friends and family. Hunt played on the idea that, “…the more power you have the more connectivity, the more friends you have. But really, the more alienated you are, the more you stay at home, the more acquaintances you have.”

Also in October, Hunt was asked to curate “Video Windows”, a selection of three video artists which changes monthly, at Stefan Stux Gallery. Taking the title, “Respirator”, the gallery will showcase work by Lila Friedland, Yorgo Alexopoulos and Jonathan Calm. More projects are on the horizon, including “Ursa Major” and “Druid: Wood as Superconductor”, two exhibitions slated to appear in New York galleries this season. My suggestion that Ursa Major, being a constellation of stars, might produce some art stars failed to win a smile. Instead, Hunt quickly related the constellation of the big bear to the bear market. “It’s about the market crash and more specifically the tech market crash – the NASDAQ. But it has two elements. One is the market crash and the other is this idea of day trading and people talking about the market as if it is a rational mechanism when really, it is just a kind of mystical, unpredicted mechanism. So there is artwork dealing with mystics, and psychics and cults…” “Druid…” also involves the mystical. It will include artists whose work in some way uses or references wood, a low tech natural object which cannot be improved by technology.

Hunt chooses a range of young artists, some better known than others. Matt Bakkom, for one, appears in every show. How can Hunt find relevance in Bakkom’s work for every show? “I just like the guy’s ideas. I mean, all of his ideas are good. Sometimes it’s like that. Some people are one trick ponies. This guy, he has the whole stable.”

Hunt’s own sense of disbelief that he has been able to achieve so much in such a short time and without a ‘proper’ art background kept coming up in our conversation. He reminded me several times that he is self-taught when it comes to art (his BA was in English) and has been living in the city only a little more than two years. Maybe it is his self-perceived outsider status that gives him a unique curatorial perspective. His ambition doesn’t hurt either.

To add to the success that Hunt has had in promoting exhibition ideas to gallerists, he has been well received by critics. Part of his appeal as a curator lies in his ability to showcase so many young artists while tying their work into his sometimes abstract themes. Both “Dusk” and “Superimposition” were shows that could have easily washed over the heads of gallery visitors who look at art like they shop for groceries – speeding down the aisles ticking off shows they’ve ‘picked up’. But for those with a little more time on their hands, Hunt’s work leaves much to be discovered.

In both his curatorial and writing styles, Hunt expresses his thoughts by making a steady stream of pop cultural references. Written in rapid fire, stream of consciousness prose, his catalogue essays and critical writing can be difficult to untangle. Caren Golden read a passage to me from one particularly dizzying catalogue essay on the artist, John Kalymnios. She concluded enthusiastically that, “this is an introduction to a catalogue of someone’s artwork that takes us to Kubrick, Spielberg, Rodney Brooks, Star Troopers, Robot Wars, Star Wars and Beckett in the first paragraph….He is coming from a fresh point of view. He doesn’t have to use the grad school lingo….I found it so high energy and fresh.”

Caren Golden isn’t the only one who thinks Hunt has hit upon a new way of curating. When asked by The Art Newspaper recently to name the best recent show in New York, Whitney Museum contemporary art curator Laurence Rinder picked “Dusk”, saying that, “I saw works by a number of artists whose work I hadn’t known of before and thought that David explored the theme in a fresh, unexpected way.” By putting together exhibitions crowded with the latest talent, Hunt reminds viewers of the role that galleries should play as laboratories for developing new ideas in art and in contemporary culture. History may be written by the slower moving museums, but it is in galleries that experimentation can take place. It might not be easy to encounter 20-something works by different artists in an average sized gallery space or digest a stream of cultural references in a catalogue essay, but there is enjoyment in the challenge.

Toward the end of our talk, Hunt cast some light on his technique for choosing the artists for his shows, saying, “I’m really into novelty…If it’s interesting right now and it’s not interesting next week, well…I don’t really have a problem with it. If it gets people excited for that amount of time then that’s a cool thing. I’d rather see that than…” Like he did many times during our talk, he trailed off before changing tack. Our interview ended in much the same way when, in midsentence (his, not mine), I turned around to find him gone. He had raced out of the gallery to intercept an artist, and so I left him doing what he seems to do best – following hard on the heels of the new and novel.