Jean Lowe - Ephemera - from 2014 (previously unpublished art review discovered in old email)

 

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The work of Jean Lowe caught my eye in 2010 when she presented her ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ show at McKenzie Fine Art in Chelsea (so happy to see this great gallery on Orchard Street now). This was the first time I had seen her quite funny papier-mache and enamel (fake) books with titles like: Who’s Who in American Prisons, What Would Satan Eat?, Biblical Family Values (with an orgy depicted on the cover), Something Awesome Is Coming Your Way! (with a medieval vanitas scene of skull and dying flowers on the cover) etc.

I was happy to see there was another of Lowe’s books in this current show: If God Loves Me So Much, Why Do I Have to Use My Vibrator? So she continues poking fun at the delusional self-absorption that she sees in certain strata of our culture and which drives much of the publishing industry. Yet, this show primarily uses a fake auction house theme to further examine the American micro-values that often pervade our daily lives and environment.

When you walk into McKenzie you see that Lowe has painted a fake Persian rug on the cement floor and even has a papier-mache potted plant in a corner. The walls are covered with fake auction posters and ads for auction items along with a few fake auction items themselves.

This particular auction seems heavy on ‘ephemera’ or items that reveal the passing of daily life in America. There’s the poster selling the ubiquitous ‘Lost Dog’ flier – Angus does need his medication so please help us get him back ASAP! There are goofy little poems written on hotel stationary, news clippings that were saved and are now up for sale, personal letters and even silly professional notes (all fake and all satirical).

So the big question is, what does this auction twist give to Lowe’s always entertaining work? Well, she presents stuff that is usually not at auctions – even at auctions of ephemera. She assumes that someone should see greater value in a lost dog flyer or note by a psychiatrist (about a move that a patient put on him) than folks normally see. This insight should, then, give these goofy items greater monetary value, since that seems to be the case in regard to the auctioning of art stuff in general (this seems to be an object of parody as well).

These items provide a special insight into our society that ‘real’ ephemera objects do not. The insight does not seem to be flattering either. The ephemera items at this fake gallery seem to show aspects of a society based on little more than rank consumerism, the indulging of petty whims and the pursuit of completely selfish concerns. It shows a society, perhaps, where we are encouraged to forsake the meaningful for the petty and are encouraged to pursue our own comfort ignorant of the suffering of others.

So all in all this show might make you want to move to a third-world country where more people have to be engaged in more meaningful pursuits and challenges. But, from my daily life of interacting with amazingly kind people who regularly exhibit selflessness and compassion, it might not be time to get your ticket to Laos yet – hopefully the battle between facetiousness and meaning Lowe helps to elucidate has not been completely lost by the good guys/gals of America yet.

Miyanaga Aiko and Albert Yonathan at Mizuma Gallery in Singapore

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Coal tar is a gummy, black liquid which results when coke and coal gas are derived from coal - it has medicinal uses for skin diseases and can be used for road surfaces. Naphthalene is distilled from coal tar and it is the material that moth balls are made of. This substance begins to disintegrate at room temperature and as it disperses in the air it can serve the function of an insect repellent. 

For a museum show in Tokyo, Miyanaga Aiko once created a bag made out of naphthalene into which she placed a key. As the days progressed the bag slowly deteriorated, ultimately leaving the key exposed. 

The fact that naphthalene begins breaking down at room temperature is significant for the meaning of this type of piece in that a process occurs with no human effort, thus becoming a perfect symbol for a natural or unforced process of revelation. 

It represents a process independent of the force of human planning, will or desire, where something protective but also inhibiting is allowed to wither away at its own pace and of its own devices.

Currently at Mizuma Gallery in Singapore, Miyanaga Aiko teams up with Albert Yonathan Setyawan, originally from Indonesia, for a show called Radiance, which features a “collaboration” as well as individual works by both artists. There is a piece, for example, in which one of Setyawan’s sculptural works is placed within a naphthalene basket by Miyanaga. As the days go by the evaporating naphthalene begins to collect on the inner surface of the glass case as crystals. 

So ultimately the piece by Setyawan will be freed of the basket and surrounded by the residue of crystals. The naphthalene crystals thus represent the useless but beautiful remnants of a process of disclosure - sort of proof that such a process happened, kind of the way art is proof that a process of humane development can happen. The crystals present a type of via negativa, a way of pointing to or describing something by indicating what it is not.

So you start with coal, get coal tar, then get naphthalene and, finally, all the effort and planning ultimately results in ineffectual but pretty crystals as leftovers of change, change being represented by the creation of liberating space and the disappearance of a man-made object. Thus there is also a Duchampian element here as Duchamp’s pawky definition of art was, essentially, that art is something useless into which meaning can be imputed. 

So perhaps we get a wry twist on Duchamp in Miyanaga’s pieces as she begins her process with representations of ordinary everyday objects and allows them to transform to attain to the meaningfully useless in crystalline form.

Yet, in regard to the shoes that Miyanaga presents casts of, each is based on a real shoe that has been worn. She seems to feel that each shoe takes on the experience of the wearer through a type of contagious magic. Time itself becomes embedded into each shoe, the wear and tear becomes the stories of aging and maturity and the challenges of life involved in human survival. The disintegration might represent the liberation of the accumulation and effects of the experiences the shoe has absorbed - like a shedding of that which can harm, tarnish or corrupt (like the old ritual of placing a community’s sins in a goat and releasing it into a forest). 

In the waiting for awakening series Miyanaga presents a napththalene shoe immersed in layers of resin, the layers demarked by air bubbles. The air bubbles represent periods of time as they have been inserted into the resin at differing periods. The shoe lies dormant or latent between these layers of the work until someone pulls a seal so that the process of disintegration will begin and the shoe will transform and disappear.

In another of Miyanaga’s works from the past she created a book of transparent resin with a key of naphthalene embedded in it. Piggy-backing on this, Setyawan, in the current show, created a book of pottery clay with grass seeds in it which will sprout and destroy the book. 

Miyanaga’s piece might be about transformation of the material to the immaterial within something that represents the confines of memory and the visceral effects of experience as our memories and our bodies work together to create a palpable sense of the possession of schemes and patterns of thought and action. Setyawan’s piece might be about the same process in different form, as what the book represents is subsumed by a process lying embedded and inherent within the book, rendering the book inconsequential due to a more compelling development.

In regard to some of his independent work, Setyawan likes the idea of being a type of artist/worker, which reminded me of the work of Cambodian artist Sopheap Pich, who tries to create art that feels good to make and which is therapeutically calming in the construction. The difference is that Pich wishes to create works free of meaning while Setyawan creates works based on concepts of deep religious/spiritual significance first before submitting himself to the pure joy of recreating multiple versions. For Helios he first draws upon a passage in the Book of Revelations in which four animals - in the forms of a lion, calf, human and eagle - proclaim “Holy holy holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and who is and who is to come.” 

He thus creates the human-like creature with its six wings covering all but one of the multiple eyes. The alternating image is flower-like but based on the concept of light and the sun. We thus get a type of active/receptive theme (like yin/yang or the Star of David), the active element providing the element of passionate expression, the receptive the element of fulfillment. The extreme repetition perhaps causes a loss of meaning within the giant design or creates a super-charged meaning to the huge pattern. To me the pattern becomes like a self-referential binomial sequence where you question the means of communication itself instead of trying to determine the meaning.

In Gnosis mothlike creatures form in an entropy-defying pattern reminiscent of a lattice. In Chrysopoeia, a term used by alchemists to mean the transmutation of lead into gold, we see densely packed knots, like a critical mass of problems which cannot be resolved, cannot be endured and cannot be escaped, only allowing for a submission to a belief in some heretofore unknown solution provided by the problems themselves. In Providentia, a term referring to the ancient Roman personification of the ability to anticipate and provide sustenance, we see a radiating pattern of feathers with eyes. The essence or building block of each abstract pattern is a moth, a knot or a feather with an eye on it. 

We can be affected by the overall structures but simultaneously examining the individual elements comprising the structures awakens the sense that there is some type of extraordinary immanence to be experienced, creating the feeling that we should open ourselves to it. It is also the empty spaces among the moths, knots and feathers which contribute to the sense of transcendence, like the air bubbles of Miyanaga’s work.

If you like thoughtful articles and essays, feel free to read Daniel Gauss' essays on The Good Men Project: https://goodmenproject.com/author/daniel-gauss/

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Jack Balas - flipping the tables on the prurient interests of heterosexual, male art-lovers

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Much of the history of Western art reflects the sexual desires of heterosexual, male artists and Edward Lucie-Smith’s Sexuality in Western Art is de rigueur if one is interested in this topic and how pervasive sexual objectification has been. The sexy women depicted can be allegorized a bit, to blur true intentions, but, basically, we are talking about the phenomenon of horny, hetero, guy artists painting for horny, hetero, guy buyers. 

We go to museums all over the world and see paintings in which the male artist finagled a woman to gratuitously disrobe for his prurient interests and this is tacitly accepted as having positive social and artistic value.

A few years ago Jack Balas put a new spin on all this when he wrote a satirical letter to Artforum after he counted the number of images of naked women in one issue versus the number of naked men and found a huge disparity. He mockingly recommended that Artforum do a “boobs to balls” count as gay men and straight women deserved the same measure of titillation the magazine was giving to hetero guys. 

Of course, he was also pointing to the power imbalance in the selection of whose sexuality winds up on museum walls and why heterosexual male sexual desire is often passed off as art with everyone encouraged to ogle it approvingly.

Another critical point Balas wants to make is that visual depictions of naked males are still shockingly taboo. The American male must, apparently, be depicted in his power suit, dignified, not naked to the world. He cannot be an object of desire – he is the one who gets his desires filled. If you paint a buff, naked guy, this is “beefcake” and you will be labeled and dismissed as a “homoerotic” artist. 

Nobody, however, ever called anyone a “heteroerotic” artist but the number of those guys has been legion. Even these days the idea of presenting full frontal male nudity does not seem fully acceptable, and the idea of gay men painting gay men for pleasure does not readily find a place in the art gallery world. This situation still reflects a deep-seated and pervasive homophobia, even in the art world, despite all the recent legal gains for the gay community.

Balas definitely paints buff, naked guys, but not necessarily for the sake of painting buff, naked guys. Even when the sexuality of a painting seems raw and in your face, it looks as if Balas might be aiming for something else. In his painting First Draft #1707, Balas toys with our desire for visual titillation. 

Why is the football coyly covering the guy’s genitals? What’s going on with the arrow connecting the guy with the window? Well, Balas enjoys using text to add dimensions to the visual elements of his work and, reading his text, we read a story of how someone used to ride his bike past this guy’s window when he was younger. 

The guy would often be in the window, naked, but with the football hiding his genitals. As the days went by, he apparently became more comfortable and he began flipping the football up in the air and catching it.

The image is a first attempt (a first draft) to convey a wry, ribald story, but results in irresolvable ambiguity. Balas points to the fact that we come to galleries, often, to impute our own stories onto visual images and often walk away with nothing. The text resolves any ambiguity and reveals a tale of risky, surreptitious, non-verbal communication and connection. 

Indeed, Balas creates a type of allegory for art here as finding a way to make the ambiguous understood and universal is certainly one goal. Also, to a great extent, Balas, as a gay male artist who does not shy away from gay male themes, is flipping a football up in the air every time he has a gallery show, forced to wonder whether people are going to be cool with his art or run away in total indignation. 

Most of us have probably not engaged in this type of exhibitionism, but figuratively we all know what it is like to be conflicted about this type of football flipping moment. 

Many of us have gotten to the naked with the football moment, but never flipped it. Unlike other folks who use text in art, Balas’s text is often personal and witty, but he strives to make common or universal connections among a general audience. Whether gay or straight, we all have refrained from or taken opportunities to flip the football.

There is, in fact, a huge amount that is both brilliant and enigmatic in the work of Balas, who often will juxtapose differing types of images compelling us to race through interpretations finding connections between the seemingly disparate – Balas seems to be interested in nudging viewers not only toward interpreting but also assessing the interpretive process and our capacities for meaningful or transformative interpretations and what it takes for an artist to really reach another person. 

Balas also seems to use visual and verbal punning at times and this is most plainly seen in Checkered Passed (Tied) (#1574). 

Balas writes that the painting “…touches on race and all of the discussions and controversy in the United States these days. The black model has a white arm and the white model has a black arm. Visually thus, they are tied to one another (my original title for the painting was 'Tied'). Further, note the lines literally tying the two models together. However, there is certainly a lot of wordplay going on. Being in a race is one thing, and tying instead of winning is another. The checkered flag signifies the winner in a race. Here the winning flag has been passed to the black model, which is literally pictured in the image. And, the whole history of race in this country is a sordid (i.e. checkered) past. In my mind the words and the image keep going around in circles—in a great way, and in an optimistic way as well. (It's about time.)"

In many reviews of his work it is pointed out that his buff models are in the prime of youth, during a period of life before major responsibilities or concerns, insouciant, unselfconscious, often engaged in athletics or leisure activities or relaxing after some type of physical workout. 

It suddenly dawned on me that these can, perhaps, be thought of as gay men in the Garden. Not “the garden”, but “the Garden”, Eden. I like to think of these guys as gay men before the Fall. Depictions of Adam and Eve in the Garden are a straight male’s bizarre concept of what the myth of paradise and innocence was like. You get two differing sexes, but in an asexual relationship, cavorting in a hunter-gatherer’s utopia. The woman’s eyes are opened to a knowledge of good and evil, and then the sexcapades begin.

The Western model of spiritual perfection and a fall from perfection is a heterosexual concept often using heterosexual symbolism. In allegorical literature the male represents spiritual desire, while the passive, patient female represents fulfilment of his desire. A gay male has just as much right to wonder what Adam and Steve might have looked and acted like and how they might have handled that tricky snake situation. 

These are virile, rippling young men who do not derive a sense of shame from being naked. It could be that you can be gay in the Garden, or Balas may be reading Hegel these days and predicting that there will be a future social bliss for all of us.

When Norman Lewis began doing abstraction, and became grouped with the Abstract Expressionists, he was criticized for politicizing art that purported to be universal by including references to the African American experience in his pieces. Ironically, by focusing on his identity, his time and the social circumstances of his people, many feel that his art is more accessible and impactful these days than the work of most Abstract Expressionists. 

I think Balas might also be in a similar situation. Piquant, insightful, humorous, complex and thoughtful, he may be thought of as a gay artist, when, in fact, he is an artist referring to his identity, his times, his aspirations for himself and his companions. I feel that when all is said and done, Balas will be recognized for his significance and considered a trail-blazer on many levels.

If you like super-thoughtful articles, read Daniel Gauss' essays at The Good Men Project: https://goodmenproject.com/author/daniel-gauss/

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Entropy and Grace: Martin Honasan at YOD

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Like most countries which suffered from colonial domination, once the Philippines achieved a nominal independence, it was very weak and lacking in infrastructure and economic production capacity. The resources and economy of the Philippines had been pillaged so badly over several hundred years that approximately 10 percent of Filipinos currently work overseas and attempt to send remittances back to family members. This often leads to horrific abuse and exploitation, as was evidenced by the story of a Filipina maid recently murdered in Kuwait along with numerous other stories of how Filipina women are horribly mistreated in attempts to sustain their families through overseas work.

One can think, perhaps, of the yearly flooding of the heavily polluted Marikina River, which runs through the city of Marikina in Metro Manila, as a type of symbol of the harm caused to the people of the Philippines. Indeed, one might even think of the Marikina River as a type of open wound which periodically flares causing pain throughout its region. 

Most of Metro Manila floods when it rains heavily, and destruction often occurs during the typhoon season. The flooding of the Marikina River each year, however, goes above and beyond. Poor planning, lack of funds, insufficient drainage systems, the clogging of floodways and the effects of industrial pollution, all legacies of the Philippines’ past, contribute to the immense damage caused to the city of Marikina each year. What was once a major transport route has become a yearly type of pestilence which must be endured by the people of Marikina. Once the flooding is over the people are faced with utter devastation. This has become part of their lives, year in and year out.

Honasan, a resident of Marikina, uses the annual devastation of his city as a starting point for his deeply humane work. The chaos of annual flooding is approximated by a frenzied process. He starts with a large sheet of canvas which he soaks in a basin with water and acrylic-based paint over many days until the paint becomes a dull muck and ashen color, approximating the polluted mud which covers and clings to large swaths of the city after the flooding. 

The force of the river on the city is approximated through the puncturing and shredding and crushing of the canvas bearing this manic and uncontrolled muddle of paint. Pieces of previous canvases along with fragments of the newly weathered canvas are made into a large collage on a new, unstretched canvas. Emerging, as it were, from this impasto of paint, as residents of Marikina literally emerge from their homes into the aftermath of a yearly environmental disaster, one then sees faces that are of relatives and close friends of the artist.

So on one level, Honasan represents an absurd and terrifying environmental ritual, exacerbated through the neglect borne of a history of economic misuse, that innocent people are subjected to continually. On a still deeper level, to me, Honasan’s works are about the discovery and acceptance of the type of grace written about and imagined by the most profound theological thinkers – from Augustine through Bonhoeffer. 

To a great extent his two-part process of feverish destructive activity followed by compassionate creation mirrors that of the discovery of grace where the frenzied and flawed activity of the human will is ultimately and painfully abandoned for a humble receptivity of what the divine wishes us to have.

All effort becomes impasto. The frenzied activity in which Honasan creates chaos ultimately leads to an intuitive and constructive process. The slowly developing faces which show defiantly and fantastically through the damaged canvas/collage represent what might be called grace – the slow and deliberate revelation of the truly sublime within us. 

Note: I saw Honasan’s work at the Volta art fair this year in New York City – great thanks to the folks at YOD Gallery in Osaka, Japan for participating and for helping me to better appreciate the work of this highly significant artist, who takes a traumatic local experience and turns it into a universal statement of the possibility and need for grace in our lives.

Read the religious writings of Daniel Gauss at: https://progressivechristianity.org/author/daniel-gauss/

He is merciful...Mohammed Ehsai (Iran - 2007)... seen at The Islamic Arts Museum in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia

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The piece is called "He is merciful." Yes, God forgives, but can we ever forgive ourselves?

If we look back on experiences we had and the harmful things we did to others which are truly painful for us to remember, and perhaps if we view this as a stage we left and cannot go back to, we can join God in forgiving ourselves. Then there would be nothing left for us but joy. 

So I think the key to forgiving ourselves is to look at a painful memory and to say, basically, "Thank God I moved away from acting like that. Thank God I can't do that anymore." This can lead to a sense of calmness and can help to remove the sense of lingering regret we might feel. 

What about forgiving others who have hurt us? This seems to be one of the most difficult of goals. Lots of folks talk about the importance of forgiveness, and they claim to have forgiven, but I am not so sure I can believe them.

Maybe we should think about what "forgiveness" would be. It would not involve reclassifying what happened to us as having been a good thing. Like all of us, I have experienced real malice and cruelty in my life - that has to remain acknowledged as malice and cruelty.

So forgiveness would seem to be a two-step process. First it would be the realization that something cruel or malicious was done, but we would be able to avoid feeling the normal responses to that. We would rise above the need for retribution. We would be able to say, "Yes, that person was cruel. That person wanted to hurt me. That person went out of his/her way to hurt me. But I control my emotional states and I do not have to return feelings of malice for feelings of malice. I can let these negatives emotions go. I have to let these feelings go - they are wrong."

I guess the same would apply to the person who hurt us. We have to remember the lousy things we have done and realize how flawed all of us are or can be. Again, it is simply a matter of recognizing the negative emotion we feel and letting it go. We don't have to replace it with anything, we just have to realize that we have the capacity to rise above retributive emotions.

If you look at Ehsai's amazing painting above, we see that some of his text seems to be reaching higher and some seems to be probing lower. The text looks like a congestion with branches growing above and roots growing below. This image can represent the process of God reaching down for us and us reaching up to meet God. Or it can represent the growth process of putting down roots into the earth, into our ancient, biological lives and raising ourselves to meet a higher principle.

Do you like thoughtful writing? If so, please read some of my essays from The Good Men Project: https://goodmenproject.com/author/daniel-gauss/

Public Sculpture in Kuala Lumpur - A Flower Launching a Flower Bomb?

 

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I am in Kuala Lumpur right now, and right outside of KL's City Hall is this public sculpture.

Of course, it shows one flower which has already bloomed and another bud about to open above it.

But it also kind of looks like a flower launching a bomb, doesn't it?

So I am hoping an artist sees this photo of this public sculpture and is inspired to tweak it a bit to have a flower guiding a literal sculpture of a bomb over itself.

Why? There's real political symbolism here. A flower guiding a bomb toward a destination could mean, for example, that the most violent countries tend to portray themselves as the guardians of peace.

I mean, the USA had a president who won the Nobel Peace Prize but then bombed 7 different foreign countries. 

I hope someone can tweak this work of art soon - it will be iconic.

Feel free to read my essays at The Good Men Project: https://goodmenproject.com/author/daniel-gauss/

 

Moon Beom - Human Touch as the Basis of Creating Art

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After watching Native American medicine men demonstrate sand painting at MoMA, Jackson Pollock felt that his movement over a canvas, while dripping paint, could help to express complicated aspects of his inner reality much more effectively than the semi-abstract symbolism he had been playing with. Action art became a more direct form of mark-making on canvas than searching for visual images and setting them in relation to each other to approximate some inner process or conflict.

Action art is all about immediate and universally recognized mark-making from the inner to outer worlds, and the extent to which we can go back to the marks, later, and recognize them. It is also about how the residue of our lives and actions might influence others as they encounter it. What the limits are in recording expressions, and what the limits are in communicating them, become the big issues in action art. The ultimate goal of this type of art, then, would seem to be to find “perfect” action art that allows one to come back to it later and understand fully what was experienced (for self-reflection and analysis) and to use the markings to affect and transform other lives as the meaning will be clear to viewers.

Moon Beom is the most creative, accessible and humane process or action artist whose work I have seen. He eschews any mediating tool between himself and the canvas, choosing to use his bare hands. He will first cover the canvas with one hue of acrylic paint in either a “hot” or “cold” color, then smear an oil stick onto the canvas. He uses his hands, like a masseuse, to rub into the smears left by the oil sticks, creating tenebrous, leafy or tissue-like designs. Kim Foster once referred to the designs as “lettuce-like” and they are clearly vegetative but also with pillar-like or smoke-like elements. Sometimes the “stems” seem to be like rays of light penetrating through clouds. Sometimes the “leaves” seem parched and hanging in space.

These leafy structures are what we engage after Moon’s action or process and Moon seems to be playing with the concept of touch as in touching or reaching or affecting the viewer. It is as if, as a conscientious artist, wishing to use his art to reach and heal and elevate others, he decided to just literally use touch in his art. After all, Michelangelo once said: “To touch can be to give light.” Giving or getting a hug literally reduces your blood pressure. Even a handshake helps reduce stress. Touch eases pain, assists in sleep, reduces irritability, fights depression, lowers stress and heals illnesses, among many other beneficial effects. So Moon is using one of the most humane tools possible in his art – his own capacity to touch.

The choice of colors and relationships between colors in Moon’s work seems deliberate as well. Chromotherapy was a form of healing in ancient Chinese culture. Red, a hot color, was believed to increase blood circulation, while blue and green were seen as soothing anodynes. I think Moon is privy to this and deliberately is using these colors as healing agents, kind of the way Kusama believes her polka dots can heal. So the big question becomes, what are we to make of the leafy structures? Moon uses human touch on his canvas, produces these leafy structures and this is what we engage at the gallery. What does this mean for us? How can we be affected by this?

The best answer would be for you to go plant yourself (ha, ha, pun intended) in front of some of these works at Kim Foster Gallery and get what he gives you. Or, take a look at the images here and see how they make you feel. What is unusual in Moon’s process art is that his “residue” is not abstract like Pollock’s, it is semi-representational but it does not represent anything that truly exists. It is like a Platonic form of leafiness. It evokes a belief in us that we are seeing leafy structures that came about through the compassion and humanity inherent in human touch. We see and feel leafiness, growth, abundance, fullness.

My belief is that most abstraction actually engenders a type of anxiety whether it wants to or not, even if the piece is completed in reassuring and soothing colors. Most people seem to dislike abstract art and will admit that they cannot understand it. I have had educated friends tell me that they do not want to go to MoMA because they do not even want to look at abstract paintings, because those works make them feel as if they cannot get something important. In these works Moon shows his kindness and humanity as well, for he does not leave us with squiggles or indecipherable markings. His process art leaves us with something we can visually grasp, something, perhaps, like a medicinal herb or something mysteriously nourishing.

If you like thoughtful writing that challenges you to think and grow, please read Dan's essays on The Good Men Project: https://goodmenproject.com/author/daniel-gauss/