For ‘Time Out New York’ magazine Christopher Miner, Still from 'The Best Decision Ever Made', 2004, Courtesy of Mitchell-Innes & Nash Gallery
‘How Beautiful Heaven Must Be’
You may never have heard it argued that Jesus had it easy. But, in one of two videos in his second solo show, Christopher Miner points out that at least the Son of God had a purpose in life, something the artist worries he doesn’t. Such unorthodox thoughts – and the total disregard for political correctness in his second video – indicate that Miner is unafraid to grapple with the hot-button topics of faith and race in America.
In ‘The Best Decision Ever Made,’ Miner trains his camera on the memento-filled rooms in his late grandparents’ house, while comparing their stable lives and happy marriage with his own endless string of jobs, girlfriends and homes. It’s a twist on the classic prodigal-son story: Miner leaves home dissatisfied and returns disillusioned, with no one to welcome him back into the fold. By the closing shot viewers are no wiser about the title’s “best decision” as the artist listens to a gospel song by another prodigal artist, Johnny Cash.
In the back gallery, Self-Portrait finds Miner sitting in a dimly lit room, paying the role of a foul-mouthed African-American man. In a rambling phone conversation, which includes a tirade about how wrong it is for “a white man to talk like a black man,” Miner creates a disturbingly complex closed circuit of self-portrait as self-censure.
Both videos employ monologues, a classic trope of introspection, but neither is gratuitously self-obsessed. Instead, they are at once brutally honest and confoundingly evasive, leaving viewers eager for more.
For ‘Art on Paper’ Magazine Felix Harlan & Carol Weaver printing Louis Bourgeois's 'Twosome', 2005. Photo by Johee Kim, courtesy of Harlan & Weaver
Felix Harlan and Carol Weaver met as young printers at a print workshop in downtown Manhattan. When it closed, the couple founded their own printshop with a rented press, inherited equipment, and a desire to push traditional techniques to meet the needs of contemporary artists. Now celebrating its twentieth anniversary, Harlan & Weaver is a well-respected, specialty workshop where some of the best-known young and established contemporary artists make prints, using a variety of intaglio techniques. Art on Paper’s Merrily Kerr talked with the couple in their bustling studio.
MK – How did you start out in printmaking?
FH – We met each other in 1980 in New York at Aeropress, which was run by Patricia Branstead. She had been Kathan Brown’s assistant at Crown Point Press in Berkeley, California and brought some of Crown Point’s techniques and professionalism to New York printmaking.
CW – Crown Point Press’s method, was to use standard etching techniques but keep the process contemporary by eliminating preconceived ideas.
MK – What was it like when you went out on your own?
FH – In the beginning, we rented a press, and also printed with Jeryl Parker, who was doing work for Parasol Press, including big prints by Donald Sultan. Jeryl would approach problems with a different kind of thinking, sometimes doing the exact opposite of what most people would do. Even the way he designed his aquatint box, which we now have, was unusual. When we moved here, it was with his equipment, which was a big boost. Working with Jeryl was kind of a bridge. Then we began to get jobs ourselves, and the business took hold, despite a downturn in the market.
MK – The market is strong now. How are things different?
FH – It’s a very productive time in printmaking in general in New York, particularly for etching. There are more possibilities now to publish and to show graphic work. Also, the potential of small letterpress, etching or litho shops is finally being realized. It used to be that printshops had to be large and offer every technique possible. There has also been a shift in taste on the part of people who are buying prints and in curatorial interest in specialized shops. Being a part of that shift, we feel a kinship with a lot of other printers in New York and around the country.
MK – At the same time, you’re a fixture on the Lower East Side.
FH – Twenty years ago, when we went out to look for a studio, the only space we could find in our price range was on the Lower East Side and it was small.
CW – At the time, we were friends with several artists who showed in East Village galleries, and they introduced us to the area and to other artists.
FH – In fact, back then, we met James Siena, who has been doing engravings with us for ten years, because he’s a neighbor in the building. He introduced us to Steve DiBenedetto and Michele Segre, so now we’re working with them. We mostly work with artists who live and work in the New York area, who can drop in and do something and then see it printed a few days later and do more work the week after.
CW – We have also stayed here because we were able to expand within the building, and because artists like the space, which has good natural light.
MK – What’s unique about the shop’s abilities?
CW – When we were younger, we strove to learn all the techniques. We were fortunate to have worked with some painters who wanted to do multi-plate color prints – technically challenging work.
FH – But we’ve continued to use fairly traditional techniques, which we customize according to what the artist wants. We rarely use photo processes or a lot of handwork after printing. The emphasis in this shop is on what you can do with the platemaking – how to alter the metal and then print in a very straightforward way.
CW – We believe that etching is versatile within every technique, whether aquatint, hard ground, or engraving. There is a myriad of ways of approaching etching, and we want to keep all the options open.
MK – Do you work with equal numbers of returning and new artists?
FH – I know there is an emphasis now on working with artists who haven’t been published before. There is a certain cachet about doing the first print, but I don’t think it’s all that important. I’m happy to work with an artist who has done a lot of prints and can bring that experience to the studio.
CW – We enjoy working with artists, young or old, over a period of time. There are artists who have returned many times, including Kiki Smith, Richard Artschwager and Louise Bourgeois. We published prints by Louise and Kiki for the first time in 1999, and we continue to work with both of them frequently.
MK – What will the next twenty years bring?
CW – We’ve always done contract work, but have more recently begun publishing more, which is where we hope we’re headed in the future.
For ‘Contemporary’ magazine Kutlug Ataman, 'Kuba', 2004, courtesy of Carnegie International, Pittsburgh
Manhattan’s New Museum of Contemporary Art is remaking itself from the ground up, aiming to become ‘a truly world class museum’ via its new building (opening in 2007) and recent curatorial appointments. Fresh from curating the 2004 Carnegie International, Laura Hoptman joined the museum’s staff this winter as a curator, bringing with her an ambitious, internationally oriented agenda. Merrily Kerr spoke to Hoptman about the New York art world, what she learned from the Carnegie International, and the New Museum’s new role.
MK – Will you bring your experience curating on an international level to the program at the Museum?
LH – With an important building under construction, a larger staff and a bigger budget, the New Museum is going to move to another dimension. I haven’t joined the staff yet, so I don’t know exactly what my parameters will be. But there is a gap in exhibition making here in New York City that can only be filled by a serious institution that concentrates on contemporary art. We have PS1, but it is a Kunsthalle, rather than a museum; of course, the big museums look at the contemporary, but not in the way that an institution that’s devoted only to contemporary art can.
MK – Is the Museum’s expansion part of a national trend of museum growth?
LH – Mid-sized institutions are creating a very important niche everywhere. The Hammer Museum in Los Angeles, for example, is the star institution for contemporary art in Los Angeles, the Whitechapel Art Gallery in London is giving the Tate a run for its money, and the Castello di Rivoli in Torino is the best contemporary exhibition venue in all of Italy, bar none.
Over the past fifteen years in New York, we have witnessed the demise of the not-for-profits which left the commercial galleries with the task of exposing new art and artists, by organizing idea-based exhibitions that addressed trenchant issues in culture and/or visual art in particular. Times are changing. There is a new kind of energy being generated in mid size institutions which concentrate on contemporary art. They are more flexible, faster on their feet than the larger museums and as a result, have a stake in leading the discourse. And that, after all, is the ideal goal of a contemporary art museum; not to reflect, but to act and to make something.
MK – Will you consider what other art is being shown in New York when planning the exhibition program?
LH – Absolutely. My first job in New York was at the Bronx Museum in the South Bronx. It was a real introduction to community based programming and, in a sense, I haven’t changed at all even though I did curate the Carnegie International. By comparison, the Carnegie International and all big international exhibitions don’t really have a local community. Pittsburgh wouldn’t want a Pittsburgh oriented exhibition. So I was curating for an imaginary audience – the art world and the world at large. I found this particularly challenging and am happy to return to a more community based kind of programming, albeit in the savviest, most international art community in the world.
MK – You’ve said that ‘every era gets the art it needs – or deserves.’ Is there a new kind of art being made since you planned the International?
LH – I can speak with most authority on what I have observed in the U.S. Here, it seems that we’re still in a moment of apocalyptic uncertainty. Two or three years after 9/11, people were still searching for the reaction, but the self-questioning really began before that, with the impeachment of Bill Clinton and subsequent election of George Bush. I think the country changed. The way this change has been reflected in contemporary culture I think is one of the most pressing and interesting questions of the moment.
With the last Carnegie International, I tried to explore, with the help of the thirty-seven artists that I worked with, an attitude toward art making that differed from a kind of frivolity that had been proliferating, especially in New York City, in the late 90s and early 2000s. That kind of ease in the world is losing its relevance, though it’ll come back, I’m sure. It has been replaced by unease and desire to seize the power, whether it be in a spiritual or even supernatural sense, or through philosophy or even politics.
MK – Doesn’t the legacy of Pop still hold sway?
LH – Yes and no. It’s certainly not the only strategy for a relevant, politicized art. The last Whitney Biennial, quite wonderfully emphasized the Pop and post-Pop strain of contemporary art; the show was the polar opposite of the International, a fact that emphasizes the notion that there are many ways to define contemporanaeity. Whereas the Biennial was to me filled with art about our own backyard – racially, socio-economically and in other ways, the work in the International was about more macro issues like ethics, and spirituality. The International posited a different purpose for artmaking, a larger one I think.
MK – Reviews of the International were mixed. Were they fair?
LH – It is important to say at the outset that the Carnegie International hasn’t gotten a positive review in the New York Times since the nineteen eighties, and that all massive group exhibitions of this kind are naturally magnets for creative art criticism. How easy a target is a show that claims to sum up an entire world of contemporary art from one point of view?
That said, the breakdown of good and bad reviews for this last show were telling. European and Canadian publications liked the exhibition; so did regional papers like Philadelphia and Cleveland. The problematic reviews mostly came from the American newspapers. I think that this proves that there is a big gulf between what’s going on in the contemporary art worlds in Europe and American centers like New York; we have a very provincial streak here in New York, and what we look for in exhibitions might be different than what others look for. Our concern, or lack of concern, about some things is not necessarily translatable to Zagreb, or even to Berlin, and the universalist ‘us and them’ attitude that we can’t help but have here in the center of the art market is one that is not necessarily right. That’s why, to quote a friend of mine, I curate on the basis of need. I consider the needs of the people who are looking at an exhibition, as well as the needs of the artists, and most importantly, the needs of our time. That’s the ultimate aim; to do the best one can for the time one lives in.
For Kravets/Wehby Gallery
Two things in Aaron Romine’s paintings jump out at you right away. First, there is the obvious and unusual skill with which they are painted. Then, there is the sex. Perhaps most eyebrow raising is the over 6 foot long ‘Untitled (Esso, Taise and Kerry)’ in which three larger than life women begin a charged romantic encounter.
Two characters from this group appear in another untitled canvas, a party scene in which a topless Esso straddles a coffee table while Taise eyes her with a look that can only be described as wicked. To either side, fully clothed partygoers embrace, talk or stare into space. In both scenes it’s the people, not their surroundings, which draw our attention. Some, like Esso, appear in more than one painting, which makes it tempting to image who they are and how they are involved with the people around them. This is particularly true in paintings of the impassive Natasha, for example, who poses variously with Charlie or Peter in intimate or post-sex scenarios. The impulse is to read the scenes as documentary and suppose that Romine has access to a world of beautiful people living for sensual excess. Aaron Romine, 'Untitled' (Esso, Taise and Kerry), 2000, Oil on CanvasIn fact, they are staged, using borrowed clothes and starring friends or hired actors. Romine employs these artifices in order to recreate a type of idealized situation, familiar from fashion photography, which leaves the characters’ identities ambiguous.
In conversation, Romine will freely mention the names of painters he admires from previous centuries, an inclination that tends to invite comparison between his work and theirs. Any search for direct sampling will be disappointed, however, because while Romine has taught himself to paint by looking at old masters, his style is completely contemporary. Flip through any art history survey book and it’s a guarantee that you won’t be able to match styles and poses with Romine’s paintings. What will happen is that Romine’s composition and his foregrounding of physical, emotional and erotic relationships find the right context. All of a sudden, the lesbian trio’s careful arrangement of limbs slots into a tradition as old as daVinci’s scrambling disciples at the last supper and as sensual as Ingres’ Turkish baths. Olivia’s sprawled position on the couch in ‘Je le vaux bien (Olivia and Nicholas)’ relates to odalisques from Titian to Manet. Centuries of history obscure an old master’s original intentions, the identity of his sitters and other details, so that what’s left to do when viewing his paintings is to consider their style or look for clues that explain the given scenarios. Likewise, Romine creates a certain distance between viewers and his subjects by carefully staging his scenes before photographing and then painting them. As we stop, look and ponder, the dynamics between sitters speak for themselves. Time slows down as we become absorbed in the way Charlie plucks at Natasha’s shoe strap, for example, or the way the sunlight delicately illuminates their shoulders. Romine converts models in contemporary dress into timeless characters, stopping us in our tracks as we rediscover the pleasure of looking. Aaron Romine, 'Untitled' (Charlie and Tasha), 2000, Oil on Canvas on Board
For ‘Time Out’ Magazine Jonah Freeman, Film Still from 'The Franklin Abraham', 2004
Imagine the buildings in midtown Manhattan fused together into one self-sufficient mega-structure and you’ve got the idea behind Jonah Freeman’s 55-minute-long film The Franklin Abraham (2004). It tells the story of a fictional structure-post-“zoning emancipation”-with its own industry, commerce, government and population of around 2 million.
Although such a structure is fascinating to contemplate, the glimpses of life inside the “Frankie” that Freeman provides are underdeveloped, if attention-grabbing. We’re introduced to characters like Isaac, the forelock- and yarmulke-wearing leader of the Sons of Abraham gang; but before we can learn much about him and his buddies, attention shifts to an edible prostitute (pecan flavor) and sundry, unrelated events-the building owners’ explosive family conference and the interactions of unhappy couples.
In the past, Freeman’s photographs have focused on the influence of architecture on human psychology, and The Franklin Abraham expands this investigation to an epic scale. The building Freeman depicts is consistently dreary and weirdly empty, despite its reportedly huge population. This helps explain the miserable attitudes of the residents, but we don’t need an hour of footage to understand that this utopia isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
If more effort went into developing characters’ experiences of their unique environment and less into references to technological advances and off-screen events (such as the rioting reported in a TV news broadcast), perhaps the film might have been more satisfying. It’s a promising beginning, but if Freeman hopes to engross us in his alternative universe, we’ll need to see a sequel.
