Jimi Hendrix

Cecily Brown At The Met: Bold, As Love

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Show seen- Cecily Brown: Death and the Maid @ The Metropolitan Museum through December 3, 2023.

The show’s opening brought me to a dead stop. Click any image for full size.

Over the course of its generous run, from April 4th through December 3rd, Cecily Brown: Death and the Maid  has had some VERY serious competition among great Art shows up in NYC’s museums for Art lover’s attention this year. Consider- MoMA had the excellent Georgia O’Keefe: To See Takes Time (April 9th through August 12th), and now the equally excellent Ed Ruscha / Now Then (September 10th through January 13, 2024). The Whitney has Henry Taylor: B Side (October 4th through January 28, 2024). In addition to Death & The Maid, The Met had its summer blockbuster, Van Gogh’s Cypresses (May 22- August 27), and the just opened Manet/Degas (September 24th through January 7, 2024). Phew! While all of them deserve mention as “Show of the Year” candidates, in my opinion, Cecily Brown: Death and the Maid is the biggest breakthrough Painting show in a NYC museum since Jennifer Packer: The Eye Is Not Satisfied With Seeing, 2021-2, which I wrote about here. It provided the first opportunity we’ve had to see an overview of her work outside of books. Seeing 50 of her Paintings, Drawings, and Monotypes in person left me feeling that the show is a game-changer that will rewrite the Art world’s appreciation of Cecily Brown’s Art & her standing in Art– even though both are well-established. Her diligence and continual hard work over the past 25 years has paid off in spades. The fruits of her labors explode on the walls.

Time passes slowly. Painted during the initial outbreak of the pandemic, the stunning Selfie, 2020, Oil on linen, kept me transfixed at the entrance as minutes passed, mirroring in a small way the time the Artist spent creating it. In fact, mirrors are a key, recurring, element in the show. Anchored by the reclining figure to the right, and the vanity with the round mirror to the right rear, the whole has a feeling of claustrophobia, from too much time spent in the same place that every last detail becomes all-too-familiar. It’s perfectly chosen to begin the show in my view (or, end the show, depending on which end of the show you enter from) as it sets the stage for (or culminates) a show that covers about 25 years and includes very recent work.

One night in 2004, I met Cecily (who was born in London in 1969) when she and a date happened to sit down next to me at East of Eighth, the now-lost Chelsea bar/restaurant/Mother Ship on West 23rd Street a few doors west of the legendary Hotel Chelsea. At that point, the buzz around her was just forming. Days earlier, I had read an article about her in the Art press intrigued by the fact that she is David Sylvester’s daughter. Mr. Sylvester will always be remembered by Art history for being the interviewer in what is, perhaps, the most important Artist interview book yet- Interviews with Francis Bacon, (one of my Desert Island Art Books). A book that helped form my long-standing obsession with Mr. Bacon. It was right in the middle of my decade of drawing (small “d”) daily, which I was when she sat down. Recognizing her from the article, I quickly put my sketchbook away. I told her I had read the article and we chatted briefly, then I let her get back to her date.

No You For Me, 2013, Oil on linen. The viewer looks into the mirror on a vanity at a figure in a room. It appears there’s a spanking going on. Perhaps as close as Cecily Brown comes to the realm of Francis Bacon isn’t that close at all.

I regret I didn’t get a chance to ask her if she met Bacon. Cecily’s Art has been influenced by his, I’ve read, and they both seem to me to be on the cutting edge of “abstracting” the portrait, yet the influence might be in spirit as opposed to a direct visual or stylistic influence as far as I can see. As many have pointed out, Cecily Brown lives on the edge between abstraction and figuration, more or less. Whereas “pure abstraction” leaves nothing “familiar” for the viewer to hold on to, Cecily Brown usually does, even if it’s just the title. In the work included in the show I felt there were “handles,” so to speak, in virtually all of the pieces that lead the viewer into her world.

Francis Bacon, Seated Woman, 1961, Oil on canvas, which sold for $28 million in 2015, Oil on canvas, seen at Skarstedt, June 24, 2022.

In Bacon, the world (through his eyes) is represented to an apparent larger extent, but then the figure or figures are rendered with a selective fluidity that allows the Artist to mould them to his intentions. This often makes them seem out of place in their settings. In Cecily Brown’s work, even though many of her works depict interiors, there is no stylistic difference. Everything is rendered as part of the whole.

The moment I realized Cecily Brown had arrived as a Painter to be reckoned with. A Day! Help! Another Day!, 2016, Oil on linen, 109 x 397 inches (that’s just over 33 FEET long!) seen in Cecily Brown, A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!, Paula Cooper Gallery, October 31, 2017.

Since 2004, as I’ve followed her career and gone to her shows, her work has grown, and grown on me, continually. The record shows I’m not alone in that. Though she quickly gained major gallery representation, and shows in European museums, it seems to me the Art world has been slow to fully “get” her, like here, as incongruous as that may be to say for an Artist who has achieved her stature.

Sketchbook, 2004, Oil pastel, ballpoint pen and pencil on paper, from the year I met her. The image on the left is at the heart of the show. A woman embraces a skeletal figure, whose knee is between hers. Possibly a copy of Edvard Munch’s Death and the Woman, 1894-5, a Print in The Met’s collection, here, this motif appears in Cecily’s recent Painting Death & The Maid, 2022, shown below, revealing how long this subject has been on the Artist’s mind.

Early on, her work was quite sexually oriented, then it steadily opened up. As it did, more and more people began to see the breadth of her talent. The real turning point for me came on October 31, 2017l, when I walked into Paula Cooper Gallery and was face to face with A Day! Help! Another Day!, seen earlier, in Cecily Brown: A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!

Death & The Maid, 2022, Oil on linen. The title of the famous String Quartet #14 by Franz Schubert, “Death & The Maiden,” is shortened here to “Maid,” possibly as a reference to Ms. Brown’s time working as a maid to pay for Art school. The center of her Painting shows the titular figures embracing and Death’s leg extending to the left, climaxing the influence of Munch’s Death and the Woman, as seen above. “Death & The Maiden” is also the title of a Painting by Albrecht Dürer’s remarkable student & friend, Hans Baldung, from 1517, which can be seen here. That might be the earliest use of the title.

In April, almost exactly 19 years after I met her, Cecily Brown: Death and the Maid opened in the hallowed halls of The Metropolitan Museum, in the same gallery I saw Louise Bourgeois: Paintings in, an interesting coincidence (two European-born women Artists who settled in NYC for good a half-century+ apart). Having moved to NYC in 1994, after winning a plane ticket, it’s the first show she’s been given by an NYC museum. I think she might say the wait was worth it.

Installation view with The Picnic, 2006, Oil on linen in three parts, center, on the wall.

Brilliantly selected from the past three decades and installed (with the involvement of the Artist), it all hangs together seamlessly. Though her style has evolved over the years of her still-young career, the show really does all look like part of a whole. This is aided to no end by the continuity of themes- vanity, death, interiors, and influences & dialogues with Art history.

Full of Face, Full of Woe, 2008, Oil on canvas in three parts. With a title that comes from the “Monday’s Child” nursery rhyme, it’s the first Cecily Brown Painting in The Met’s Permanent Collection. It captivated me when I first saw it last year in the Modern & Contemporary Galleries, and again in the show. Note what appears to be a woman looking in a vanity mirror in the left panel.

The first thing that was apparent to me is how her work looks like no one else’s. She has achieved a style instantly recognizable as Cecily Brown. A major achievement in its own right. The second thing that stands out for me is how deeply and continually she mines Art history. There are references to Munch, Bruegel, Manet, Rubens, Hogarth, Gilbert, Frans Snyders, Dutch & Flemish Still Lifes, among others here, but the resulting work is completely her own no matter the origin, and provides for an interesting “conversation” over time. Filtered through a different viewpoint, experiences and century into nothing less than a striking personal vision, one that strikes me as unprecedented, though I do see a kinship to the work of her teacher, Maggi Hambling and occasional echoes of the late-50s work of Janice Biala.

Blood, Water, Fruit and Corpses, 2017, Oil on linen.

“My red is so confident he flashes trophies of war
And ribbons of euphoria
Orange is young, full of daring
But very unsteady for the first go ’round
My yellow in this case is not so mellow
If fact, I’m trying to say it’s frightened like me
And all of these emotions of mine keeps holding me from
Giving my life to a rainbow like you.” *-  Jimi Hendrix, “Bold as Love”

The third thing that’s instantly apparent is her color. For the past eight & 1/4 years, I’ve posted a piece of Music as the “Soundtrack” for each piece I’ve written here. As I walked through Death & The Maid, one song screamed at me from the walls: “Bold as Love” by Jimi Hendrix.

“Bold” sums up much of Cecily Brown’s work for me. In her daring and boldness lies energy and excitement.

As for “Bold as Love,” Hendrix “paints a vivid picture of the spectrum of human emotion using colors,” as genius.com puts it. Virtually every color Jimi writes about is powerfully featured at one point or other in the show. I’m not saying this is a literal interpretation, of course. It’s a reflection of the power of color as a language. The choice is not as arbitrary as it might seem. In the early years of the past decade, Ms. Brown was so taken with the cover image for Jimi’s 3rd album, Electric Ladyland, the last album he completed in his lifetime, that she did a series of Paintings based on the original cover Photo for the U.K. release that was banned for its U.S. release.

All is Vanity (After Gilbert), 2006, Monotype

Cecily Brown’s color strikes me as being that of life. Of being alive. As Adrian Piper pointed out in her brilliant MoMA show, A Synthesis of Intuition, in 2018, “Everything will be taken away.” In death, the colors of life are one the of the first things taken away. Here, it runs as a consistent and compelling counterpoint to the theme of death. It’s interesting that in some of the work that seems to be more centered on death (not all), the color is washed out.

Untitled (Vanity), 2005, Oil on linen

The other thread is the the face/the temporality of youth/and the body (which takes many forms, including the frequent “looking in a mirror” works). Of course, any living body must confront the idea and the reality of death. In the show, it’s the central focus, but it has been one of her central themes, among others, virtually all along. This makes her unique among major Contemporary Painters. While many address it, I can’t think of anyone who makes it a main focus. The show is also interesting for a virtually complete absence of her earlier sexual work.

Vanity Shipwreck, 2021-2, Oil on linen

On the technical side, her compositions, she says, come together in the making. In a number of pieces, figures are in the center, and everything else happens around them. The same feeling occurs in Selfie, though the figure is in the lower corner, and in pieces like Carnival and Lent, below, where bits of figures pop up all over, virtually awash in all that surrounds them. “Abstraction?” What could be a more realistic representation of the chaos of contemporary life where everyone is continually bombarded from all sides, by everything?

“You start with something that’s say, a day old, and then you look at the different directions it can go. And in a way, you can argue that you’re never losing anything, because you try and always keep those things in mind. You have to be willing to lose it all. And that really does happen all the time in painting. And I always want to keep that possibility, just to go back to what kind of painter I am. That’s what I call being a painterly painter, and what’s kind of old-fashioned about it is that attitude that you can lose it all….the paint itself telling the story. The idea that paint can carry or contain a sort of life of its own. Paint traps energy1.”

Carnival and Lent, 2006-8, Oil on linen. Cecily Brown’s take on Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Fight Between Carnival and Lent, 1559.

I’m struck by the fact that Jackson Pollock could only do his so-called “drip” Paintings from 1947-1952. Ms. Brown has been working in, and developing her style for almost 30 years. Then, there’s her technique, her brushwork. Whereas she said that “Paint traps energy,” her brushwork brings it. 

Detail.

It seems to me that the recent pieces included in Death and the Maid (particularly Selfie, the titular work shown earlier, and A Year on Earth, below) show her reaching a new level. Though her work probably looks very abstract to many viewers, including this one, almost all of them have titles that ground them in the “known world,” separating her from many abstract Artists (though she is not one. Cecily Brown’s work only belongs in the Cecily Brown “box“) who use “Untitled” most often. Titles which function as one of the “handles” I referred to earlier,

A Year on Earth, 2020-21, Oil on linen. Begun in the early months of the pandemic.

Mounted near the end of the show, it could be just me and my life these past 4 years, but I found her Painting BFF incredibly moving.

BFF, 2006-15, Oil on linen.

The wall card explains that Cecily’s teacher, the Artist Maggi Hambling, “once told her to make painting her best friend, as it would always be there for her.” It seems to me that’s not only true for the act of Painting for Painters, but also in the act of looking: Painting is always there for everyone!

There’s a feeling Cecily Brown: Death and the Maid gave me that made me just not want to leave it. I’ve thought about what that feeling is and why I had it since I did leave (to go see the gigantic Manet/Degas show- about 12 galleries worth!). One thing I can say is that it’s a feeling I live for. It’s not only being in the presence of great Painting- there’s plenty of that on view in Manet/Degas as well as everywhere in The Met. It’s the excitement of being in the presence of something alive, pulsing with energy and color with a vibrancy that jumps off the wall- and a lot of it! In Death and the Maid we get a first chance here to play catch up and take stock of 25 years of Cecily Brown’s Art and accomplishment, while getting set up to watch where she goes from here. That’s exciting, too.

This May, I ran into Cecily, again, when we were both leaving the opening of Rosa Loy’s wonderful new show (separately, of course), though I didn’t get the chance to speak to her. It said a lot to me that she was out and about seeing Art, even while her own show was up on the walls at 1000 5th Avenue. I took it as a sign she’s not slowing down or resting on her laurels; she remains fully engaged in the Art world around her, which has inspired her all along.

In the end, you just never know when that person who happens to sit down right next to you one night is going to wind up being one of the world’s major Painters less than 20 years later.

*- Soundtrack for this piece is “Bold As Love,” by Jimi Hendrix from his immortal album Axis: Bold As Love.

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  1. Cecily Brown, Phaidon Contemporary, P.38 ↩

Hughie Lee-Smith- Leaving History Behind

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Show seen- Hughie Lee-Smith @Karma

Who?

That’s probably the first thought coming to the minds of most reading the name Hughie Lee-Smith. I’ll admit his name was new to me, too, when I came across a thumbnail sized repro of one of his Paintings in a listing for a new show of his work. That was enough to draw me down to Karma’s East 2nd Street space to see Hughie Lee-Smith. Having seen said show, the mystery is now how Hughie Lee-Smith has remained such a well-kept secret during his lifetime (1915-1999), and still, 23 years after his passing.

Hughie Lee-Smith, Self-Portrait, 1964, Oil on canvas, 24 x 20 inches.

Beginning to think over what I saw, I felt his work springs from a solid base of influences. For example, his 1964 Self-Portrait vaguely echoed that of another, at least for me.

Edward Hopper, Self-Portrait, 1925-30, Oil on canvas. Seen at the Whitney Museum.

Both Artists strike a 3/4 pose, though their bodies are positioned differently, both wear a jacket, shirt and tie, and both look out at the viewer- Mr. Hopper directly. Mr. Lee-Smith looks somewhat through the viewer it seems to me.

The Birds, 1955, Oil on canvas, 20 x 24 inches.

I’ll admit I have a weakness for Painters who evoke feelings similar to those I get when I look at Hopper, Balthus or Giorgio de Chirico, and I get them when I look at Mr. Lee-Smith’s work, but it’s more than that. Mr. Lee-Smith uses some of their devices- de Chirico’s buildings, banners, deserted spaces, Hopper’s lone figures, Balthus’s female poetry, to the point that the visual evidence says they were influences. Then, he takes them someplace else. He makes these elements part of his own visual vocabulary, not the end point. Mr. Lee-Smith’s end results are different and resolutely his own. His work stands on its own considerable merits.

Aftermath, 1960, Oil on linen canvas, 30 x 46 inches. Mr. Lee-Smith is a master of scenes like this in my view. There’s so much about this that intrigues, from the encroaching shadow to the globes and ribbon, which add somewhat incongruous “celebratory elements,” to the still-standing buildings in the background. And mostly, “Aftermath” of what? A portrait of urban decay? A meditation on death? Or…?

At Karma, the 34 Paintings on display make the case for him as a real omission from the canon of 20th century American Painting. Painting after Painting draws the viewer in, then holds his or her gaze indefinitely. Each work is open-ended. Each feels like a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of a dream, or a memory. Like a dream or a memory, images from one place or time often collide with others creating a scene that’s not “real.” For me, at least, I don’t consider them “surreal.” They manage to hold on to too much that is all to real in the world- crumbling walls, signs of decay, and elements that were the New Topographic Photography movement’s meat.

Untitled (Urban Landscape), 1975, Oil on linen, 32 x 26 inches.

I suspect that a number of museums who don’t own his work will be looking to acquire it.

Festive Vista, 1980, Oil on canvas, 15 x 13 inches. Already in a museum- The Studio Museum of Harlerm’s Permanent Collection. The arched windows and streamers are similar to those seen in de Chirico, the view reminiscent of Hopper, but what Mr. Lee-Smith does with this makes it his own. Targets and streamers recur in his work, as already has been seen.

Currently, his work is in the Smithsonian American Art Museum, The Studio Museum of Harlerm and SFMoMA, among others. He is, also, in The Metropolitan Museum of Art (they own a Watercolor, acquired in 1994, and 3 Lithographs, acquired in 1943 and 1999), though he is not in MoMA or the Whitney. So, it comes as no surprise that the Karma show is the first substantial show of Hughie Lee-Smith here in 20 years. Not a surprise but unfortunate.

Pumping Station, 1960, Oil on canvas, 20 x 24 inches.

It shows convincingly that his work speaks fluently to today’s viewer, particularly at a time of recent forced isolation. 

Outing, c.1970, Oil on canvas, 26 x 36 inches. The woman on the right strikes a pose similar to those seen on more than a few mast heads. I wonder if the male figure is  a “Self-Portait” or a surrogate.

Whereas Mr. de Chirico used mannequins and creatures of his own invention as surrogates, Mr. Lee-Smith uses people. Usually alone, or alone together in groups, in a number of these works which serves to neutralize the metaphysical air that surrounds Mr. de Chirico’s early work to 1920 or so. This humanizing shows man (or woman) caught between nature and the world he’s constructed, which is often seen in disrepair in spite of the festive balloons and streamers the Artist often includes. Perhaps they are remnants of better times? That’s easy to relate to now, too.

Portrait of a Boy, 1938, Oil on canvas, 25 x 17 inches.

Mr. Lee-Smith was not to be confined to working in one genre. The show also included a few Portraits and Still-Lifes.

Cliff Grass, 1950, Oil on canvas, 26 x 32 inches. The geometry (not the light or color) brings my mind to later Cézanne when I see this.

Mr. Lee-Smith loves to juxtapose and include surprising elements that serve to up-end any easy “interpretation” of the composition.

Quandry, 1995, Oil on linen canvas, 50 x 46 inches. A late work.

Still there is nothing here that is not part of the world- natural or man-made. He seems to feel no need to delve into the supernatural, like the Surrealists.

The Platform, 1984, Oil on canvas, 22 x 32 inches.

Still, every element, wether seemingly major or minor, deserves attention. As I worked my way through the inventory of things included in his work- partially those that recur, one element that particularly caught my eye was Mr. Lee-Smith’s recurring brickwork. Each stone is very carefully rendered- whether in the foreground or background. In The Platform, the entire middle ground of a table, earth and grass is out of focus, yet each brick in the back is in sharp detail. Bricks are useful elements because they can be rendered in a number of ways- as a solid wall, or as a crumbling wall, for instance. Both are seen in the show, and both carry their own connotations with them, leaving the viewer to sort out what is what. That is the case for me after seeing this show. I’ll be weighing all the elements and thinking about these works until the next time I see Mr. Lee-Smith’s Art.

Untitled (Maypole), 1955, Oil on masonite, 19 x 13 1/2 inches.

Art history seems to have skipped over Hughie Lee-Smith during his lifetime in its rush to judgement. That’s another confirmation that it’s still too early to write the history of 20th century Art. Time will be the ultimate judge of all Art. More time needs to pass for it all to sit and see how it speaks to people over some time- at least 100 years.

I have a feeling time is going to be kind to Hughie Lee-Smith’s work, and a number of his pieces are going to continue to speak to viewers indefinitely. Hughie Lee-Smith at Karma is the first indication of this. It won’t be the last.

*-Soundtrack for this piece is “Red House” by the Jimi Hendrix Experience from Are You Experienced?

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Noah Davis: The Art of Vision

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Art & Artists can come from anywhere at any time. Even from unexpected places, like a housing project. Pueblo del Rio: Arabesque, 2014, Oil on canvas, 48 x 72 inches. Pueblo del Rio, 1941-2,  is a housing project designed by Paul Williams at 52nd Street and Long Beach Avenue, Los Angeles, one of two works in the show set there. African-American Architect Paul Williams was a big influence on Noah Davis, according to his chosen curator Helen Molesworth, and he set other Paintings among Paul Williams buildings.

There is, sadly, no shortage of brilliant younger masters who left us far before their time. The tragedy endures but their Art prevails, and in the end, assumes a life of its own. In Contemporary Art, perhaps no one known to me seemed to do more as an Artist, curator, and visionary in as short a time as the late Noah Davis did before he passed from a rare soft tissue cancer at just 32 on August 29, 2015. Now thirteen years out from my own cancer treatment, the variety of cancers I hear and read about never ceases to astound me. One thing my journey through it taught me was that no two journeys are alike. Unlike mine, in Noah Davis’ case, cancer ran in his family, claiming his dad a few years before it took him. For some perspective (no comparisons intended)- Mozart died at 35. Raphael was 37. More recently, Jean-Michel Basquiat was 27. Music has Jeff Buckley, at 30, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, both 27, among a long list of others. Photography has Francesca Woodman, at 22. Literature, and humanity, has Anne Frank, at just 15, and on and on…

Untitled, 2015, Oil on canvas, 32 x 50 inches. Of this late work, show curator Helen Molesworth spoke about the line between the two women on the couch in her gallery talk. The separation and isolation between two so close together on barely half of the couch is compelling in a Hopperesque way, yet, I haven’t been able to summarize everything this fascinating piece says to me because every time I look at it, I see something else. I see some of what I see in Deana Lawson’s work, some of what I see in Kerry James Marshall’s, Francis Bacon, and there’s a Rothko-with-a-difference in the background, yet what strikes me most is that in this work, as in any number of other works on view Noah Davis is entirely on his own. He has studied, learned, assimilated, and then staked out his own turf as a wholly formed Artist to be reckoned with does. In the moment I shot this picture, the feeling that I was standing in front of a masterpiece was undeniable.

I’ve been blessed with knowing some, and working with some others, who left far too soon. I met the incandescent Jaco Pastorius in 1976 at the release of his now classic debut solo album at Peaches Records Store in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I watched as he put his hands in wet cement on the store’s “walk of fame” outside along Sunrise Boulevard (which I believe is still there) that evening never imaging he would leave us a scant 11 years later. I spoke to him a number of times over those years and we both wound up (independently) in NYC shortly before his tragic murder at just 35. I worked with the late, brilliantly talented, Mark Ledford, and worked with the equally brilliant Thomas Chapin, on three albums, both of who passed at, or before, 40 in the early stages of the prime of their careers, and their lives. I think of all three of them every single day. Though the passage of time eases some of the pain, in my experience, loss is something that does not go away.

Waiting Room, 2008, Oil and acrylic on canvas, 80 x 65 inches. In many of his works, a space opens up that sometimes seems to be an abyss. Here, the abyss is above us and two figures in the upper distance appear to be looking down on the scene below. Is the Waiting Room an “abyss,” where the outcome (possibly to be revealed  behind those large white doors) is unknown as is the effect it might thave on life to come? It can also have that surreal, “Is this really happening?” feel to it. Like any work of Art, it’s open to whatever the viewer may see in it. This was, however, Painted at about the time Noah Davis was diagnosed with cancer, after his father was.

But, thank goodness we have what they created- their Art, their Music, their words, and what they taught us. Us. Everyone whose lives were touched by all of these Artists are part of their legacy.

I never had the good fortune to meet Noah Davis, who was born in Seattle, and studied at Cooper Union in Greenwich Village, becoming something of a sensation here about a decade ago before leaving without graduating around 2004 (because he felt that his education was no longer pushing him, it is said), and moving to L.A.. I was only casually familiar with his work until I walked into David Zwirner on 19th Street, where his Art and his legacy filled no less than three entire galleries.

Imaginary Enemy, 2009, Oil on wood panel, 84 x 98 inches. Does the figure in white on the right, with what appears to be a cup on his head, have one foot on a portal? Or? The figure approaching on the left appears to be n flames. The strange, angular plane behind him has the effect of another dimension, as in Cubism. I’m still enjoying wrestling with this one, too, but I will say there are elements that remind me of Neo Rauch.

My mind was blown by all I saw. Noah Davis was, and is, a major figure in the Art of our time- in more ways than one.

Untitled (Birch Trees), 2010, Oil on canvas, 54 1/2 x 36 1/2 inches. Many of Noah Davis’ Paintings include nebulous, mysterious faces and heads. Maybe I’ve been looking at too much Francis Bacon this past year, but I find them unique and surprisingly compelling, given their frequent lack of features.

My perception had been that at 32 he was still developing, pursuing his own style- as most Artists in their early 30’s are. Ha! As I moved from work to work, I saw an Artist who was completely in control of a full range of styles, which he could dip into at will and which only hinted at influences in tantalizing and intriguing ways, while being wholly his own. Work after different work. How is this possible? The range. The depth. The power. It was all there in the service of his vision.

The Last Barbecue, 2008, Oil on canvas, 60 x 52 inches. Here, the faces are more defined. The group portrait on the left in countered by the odd triple portrait on the right behind the lid of the barbecue, and the scene in the center is surreal, disturbing and puzzling. It is an explosion, or? Looking at it, it was hard not to think of Kerry James Marshall’s Bang, 1994, a 4th of July barbecue scene.

Flashback- November 12,2016 at Kerry James Marshall: Mastry at The Met Breuer. KJM’s Bang, 1994, Acrylic and oil on unstretched canvas(! Notice that it’s tacked to the wall.), 103 x 114 inches.

Before he passed, Mr. Davis asked Helen Molesworth (who, a few years ago gave us the landmark Kerry James Marshall: Mastry Retrospective that I wrote about after its Met Breuer stop) to be his curator. The Zwirner show, which Ms. Molesworth has brilliantly selected and installed, is not arranged chronologically, which I am thankful for. It serves to downplay the “end” and the tragedy of Mr. Davis’ early loss and put the focus squarely on his Art and his accomplishment, where it belongs. (By my count, only 3 of the works did not have owners listed on the checklist.) Each work dialogs with other pieces from a few years later or earlier in ways only someone intimately familiar with the Artist and the work could bring us, which, by itself, sets this apart from most gallery shows of deceased Artists. Her work hasn’t ended here. Ms. Molesworth, who was controversially fired from her post at MOCA in 2018, has also been busy creating an upcoming monograph on Noah Davis, interviewing those who knew the Artist, due to be published this fall, which should be a slam dunk candidate for one of the most important Art books of the year, if not the decade.

1975 (8), 2013, Oil on canvas in artist’s frame, 49 q/w x 73 1/2 inches.

The show featured “fantastical” work, like Imaginary Enemy, alternated with domestic and family scenes. 1975 (8), 2013, was based on a Photograph from the 1970s Davis Family Photo Archives. It reminds me of the mural his mentor and friend Henry Taylor did a few years ago for NYC’s High Line.

Single Mother with Father Out of the Picture, Date unknown, Oil, acrylic, and graphite on canvas, 40 x 30 1/4 inches. There’s an elegance and a timeless, haunting, beauty to this work, which though all too common in our world, I can’t recall having been the subject of a Painting before.

Mr. Taylor has written eloquently about his friend who was 30 years his junior and the effect and influence Noah had on him, his work and his career. One of the more important Painters of our time, reading his words is eye opening, an important testament to Noah Davis’ legacy.

Untitled (Moses), 2010, Oil on linen on wood panel, 8 x 10 1/4 inches.

Perhaps none of these familial works is more poignant than the smallest Painting in the show, Untitled (Moses), 2010, 8 x 10 1/4 inches, showing his son, which may be based on another Photo from his family archives. In this remarkable, small, work, unique among Artist’s portraits of their children known to me, His son Moses has one foot in the water in the sink and one out, as if already leaving. The world shown in the window is dark.

But, as the remarkable, both precocious and fully formed mature works his Paintings are, there was more. Much more.

The Underground Museum is an ongoing Monument to the legacy of Noah Davis. Here, a model of it, showing its facade, with a mockup of the show ARTISTS OF COLOR, 2017-8, curated by Noah Davis. Mr. Davis left the plans for 18 shows for the UM, as it’s known, when he passed. After finding the space, Noah, his wife, Karon, and their baby, Moses, lived in the UM while it was under construction.

Having dealt with galleries early on, Noah Davis was one of those who came to feel the gallery model doesn’t work for them (something I’ve heard in innumerable conversations). Not an “established” Artist with big resources by any means, he nonetheless then dared to set out to forge his own path. With his wife, Sculptor Karon Davis, he took over 3 storefronts at 3508 West Washington Boulevard in the West Adams section of L.A., and opened what they christened the “Underground Museum” to bring museum quality Art, for free, to an area that was “underserved” by existing institutions.

“Noah wanted a space where he could show the work of himself and his friends. He wanted a space that could exist outside of the gallery/museum matrix,” Helen Molesworth said in a talk she gave at the opening.

The daring of that is only topped by his vision.

Noah Davis speaking in front of LA Nights, 2008, Oil on wood panel, 25 1/2 x 19 1/2 inches, which was also in this show. Photo by Alberto E. Rodriquez/WireImage.

In the first show he mounted at the Underground Museum, Imitation of Wealth, Noah recreated well-known works of Art by Marcel Duchamp, Jeff Koons, On Kawara, Robert Smithson and others that he wasn’t able to borrow the originals of so that the people in this underserved area could experience them. For me, it’s another indication of wide-ranging his knowledge of Art history and his taste was. Robert Rauschenberg famously erased a De Kooning Drawing, but I can’t think of any other Artist who has done such a thing and created an entire show of “pseudo reproductions.” As a first show, Imitation of Wealth was both an auspicious “Hello,” and a shot across the bow of the Art world.

Noah Davis’ first Underground Museum show, Imitation of Wealth, reinstalled at MOCA’s Storefront space in 2015.  The imitation of a “date” Painting, Imitation of Om Kawara. Oct 7, 1957, left, happens to be his father’s birthday. Noah Davis’ Imitation of Marcel Duchamp, 2014 (Bottle Rack) is in front of it, Imitation of Don Flavin (lamp) behind the door, and on the far right, behind his Imitation of Jeff Koons (vacuum on a vitrine), and his Imitation of Robert Smithson with sand and mirrors to the far right LACMA Photo by Fredrick Nilsen.

Helen Molesworth, at the time, Chief Curator of MOCA was impressed enough with his idea to make a three year arrangement with UM to collaborate! An arrangement like this is unheard of. Tell me the other case where a world class museum has made an arrangement like this with an Artist in his early 30s to lend Art and work together to present shows in THEIR space. MOCA reinstalled Imitation of Wealth in their Storefront space in 2015, where it opened the day he passed away. He did live to see works from MOCA lent to the Underground Museum.

Noah Davis knew what was “right” for his Art, and as part of that he also had a vision of the future, of bringing Art to the people, for free. But even by 32, he moved past the vision to create the reality. Today, the UM is an important venue, one that has featured the work of Kerry James Marshall, William Kentridge, Henry Taylor, Kara Walker, and Deana Lawson, Kahlil Joseph, Noah Davis’ brother, among others.

Of all the works in the show, Painting for My Dad, 2011, is the most haunting for me- perhaps the most unforgettable Painting I’ve seen in years. It was Painted while his father was in hospice with terminal cancer. We see his Dad about to embark into an unknown, dark, land with a lantern. The landscape, which strikes me as being distantly descended from Cezanne (which I also felt in Imaginary Enemy, shown earlier) in Noah Davis’ own way, is typical of how Mr. Davis took influences from across Art history and made them his own.

It’s fascinating (and something you can’t help but notice) to spot the possible influences from Art history in Noah Davis’ Paintings, and where he’s taken them. Kerry James Marshall’s Paintings set in projects, Henry Taylor’s way with figures, Francis Bacon’s nebulous portraits, Surrealism, and on and on. Every time I look at his work I see more of them, but in each and every instance he has made them his own. He’s not showing off a copious knowledge of Art history, he’s building on what others have done in the service of expressing himself with his own voice. Henry Taylor, Kerry James Marshall, Francis Bacon- these aren’t mentioned by way of comparison- I don’t believe in qualitatively comparing Artists, but just the fact that you can mention Noah Davis in the same sentence with those older masters says quite a bit about the man’s work. Walking through these rooms and looking at his work, even the selection of it shown here, I see someone who was, already, a master Painter, who’s work is going to remain important, in my view. Not only that, Noah Davis hung their work in his shows! In fact, he was one of those who take credit for “discovering” the now renowned Photographer Deana Lawson in 2009, when Mr. Davis served on a jury for a prize that Ms. Lawson submitted for. Ms. Lawson was subsequently featured in the show Deana Lawson: Planes at the UM.
The world not only lost a great Artist when he passed, it lost a budding brilliant curator, one who might have help fill the huge gap that exists in bringing Art out of the galleries and museums to the people. It also lost someone who broke the mould of the Artist/gallery matrix and found his own way. Whatever you think of his Paintings, his example is an enduring, important model for Artists today and in the future. That he was able to make his own way at such a young age has got to inspire countless people who come after him- maybe not to establish their own museum, but to find what works for them1. In the end, that on its own is an amazing, and major, legacy.

February 22, 2020. Closing day in the third gallery, designed to look a bit like the office at the UM, visitors watch videos and films by Kahlil Joseph, Noah’s brother, and others. I’m holding the camera above my head. Such were the crowds, it took me five minutes to navigate from this spot to the door to the right.

As I sit here now that this unforgettable show has closed, I’m left to wonder. What will last longer…what will have the bigger impact on the future- Noah Davis’ Art, or his example, manifested in the Underground Museum? His vision is their common thread. In the example he set, it seems to me that there is much for Artists to learn-now and in the future.

Letting the UM flag “fly high,” as Jimi Hendrix once said on the closing day in gallery 3. Long may it wave.

You can support the Underground Museum here, or by visiting it. The Noah Davis show is scheduled to open there “soon.”

*- Soundtrack for this post is “Bold As Love,” From Axis: Bold As Love, by Jimi Hendrix.

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  1. As many are, and have been doing in their own ways, all around the world. ↩

Jean-Michel Basquiat At The Brant Foundation

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

This is Part 2 of my series on the five Jean-Michel Basquiat related shows going on in NYC in 2019. Part 1 is below, or here.

Outside looking in. The most important show in NYC known to me thus far this year was a show I would be extremely fortunate to see.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, the first exhibition at The Brant Foundation’s new East Village location is a NoteWorthy show because it is a major, museum-quality show mounted at a private institution of the work of a single major Artist with more Paintings on view than all the major NYC institutions, combined, could mount- multiplied twelve-fold. This led me to wonder- What other major Artist-Contemporary, Modern, or Old Master- has so much of their work, and so many of their major pieces in private hands?

The East Village, NYC, May 13, 2019. Looking towards the Empire State Building (rear, left of center). Bad weather, no ticket for the show, no sleep, no umbrella. It was going to take more than that to keep me from seeing this show, AND something close to a miracle to allow me to do so.

It’s easy to have mixed feelings about this. I’ve read some complain that it’s another case of the 1% at its worst; that this show is a case of the very rich showing off. On the other hand, it seems to me that there is a stronger case to be made admiring the vision, and the guts, of the collectors who stepped up and bought much of the work of Jean-Michel Basquiat (J-MB henceforth) when he needed it most, not to mention go through the trouble of sharing it with the public, who, in the case of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s Art, are largely dependent on them doing so to be able to see it. Showing off? Yeah. I guess.

Almost every Artist in the early stages of their career needs the support of buyers and collectors to survive and to continue to create. Yet, it’s also easy to forget that most of these  collectors possibly also bought Art by Artists that have long since been forgotten, (which is one reason I strongly believe in only buying Art you love– if it becomes worth less- even substantially less- than you paid for it? You can always display it and enjoy it.) And? As I wrote in part 1 of this series, the NYC museums, except the Whitney, collectively passed on his work at the time- and continue to do so. The only way they’re likely to fix that now is by gift or donation. The affordability train has long ago left the station for anyone else besides that 1%. The Big 41 had their chance. In the case of some institutions- chanceS, as I outlined.

Unnamed on the exterior, in classic East Village cool, The Brant Foundation, 421 East 6th Street, 10am, Monday, May 13, 2019. If I’m up at 10am, and not STILL up, you know there’s a special reason why. That cab exiting stage right is leaving with my umbrella. See ya.

At The Brant Foundation, a show of 70 Paintings and 1 Sculpture was on view, making it the largest show of Basquiat’s Paintings in NYC since the Brooklyn Museum’s Basquiat Retrospective in 2005, which I saw. Combined with the Basquiat work in the other five 2019 shows, the total approximately equals how many were shown in Brooklyn in 2005. The Brant show largely includes work in the collections of Stephanie and Peter Brant, alongside pieces on loan from the Broad Museum, (a private museum of the collection of another early collector, Eli Broad, who own at least of 13 of J-MB’s Paintings), among other significant loans. Since so much of his work is in private hands who knows how long it will be before we see a bigger or similar number of J-MB’s work here again. So, the six Jean-Michel Basquiat related shows in NYC and vicinity this year (counting the Warhol x Basquiat show going on in Kinderhook, NY, which proved too far for me to get to) might be the best chance I’m going to get to reassess and reconsider his work that it’s barely been 40 years since he began creating it.

The first order of business was getting in to The Brant show and actually seeing it. After all my efforts to get a ticket failed, I resorted to drastic measures. I took the unprecedented step of getting up with 3 hours sleep at 9am and going down to The Brant on May 13th, the last day the show was open, or the day before it closed- I’m still not sure. As I got there at 10am, right as it opened and visitors for the the first timed slots were arriving, I quickly realized this was going to take an act of fate. Compounding things, it was raining and I’d left my umbrella in the cab. I decided to take a Zen approach and stand off to the side, where that tree is to the left, above, and see what happened.

About 30 minutes later, Jessie, the on-top of everything Brant staff person manning the entrance, who knew I was casting my lot to fate, called me over from the door. A lady had arrived and told him she had an extra ticket. Really? A real-life Angel of Providence had appeared when I SERIOUSLY needed one. I walked over and met Lisa, and yes, she had an extra ticket that she was willing to let me use. Miracles really do happen. The fact this piece exists is solely due to her generosity. Seeing it over the 3 and a half hours I spent in it allowed me to flesh out the portrait of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s accomplishment that began for me at Xerox, adding the best look at his most important work I’m likely to get. Any assessment of J-MB’s work and achievement begins with his Paintings. I’d seen 100 works in 2005 at the Brooklyn Retrospective, but I hadn’t prepared to see them. Now IS the time. Lisa’s generosity not only enabled me to create this piece, it also permits me to create the multi-part series on 5 of the 6 Basquiat-related shows I wanted to do, now that she made it possible for me to see the “centerpiece” show of the group. I’m also grateful to Jessie for thinking of me. Due to both of their kindness and consideration, I am thrilled to be able to share what I saw with you.

For a while, it looked like I wasn’t going to get to see this. Standing at the entrance to the show- the lobby of the 4th floor, just after exiting the elevator 90 degrees to the right.  You can see the variance in the lighting in the main gallery from here. Outside, to the right of center is Untitled (Self-Portrait), 1982.

The elevator took us to the 4th floor, where everyone starts and then walks down to the floors below, the show being installed on all 4 floors. It should be said that the group of new visitors getting off the elevator each time on 4 was surprisingly small. The galleries were pretty sparsely filled- incredibly so for a major show on either it’s last day or next to last day. Well, there was well over 1 billion dollars of Art on display, so they opted to keep the crowd manageable.

Untitled (Self-Portrait), 1982, Oilstick and ink on paper, 30 x 22 inches. The first work in the show.

Though the urge might have been to hurry into the large, main gallery shown above, I was stopped in my tracks by the work hanging to the right just outside. There was Untitled (Self-Portrait), 1982, one of the most unique Self Portraits I’ve ever seen. I wondered what Picasso would have thought of it. The colors, and then particularly the black background fascinates me as I ponder at what stage J-MB added it. And then I wondered what Clyfford Still would think of it. Like a number of J-MB’s “heads” from 1981-2, he flattens everything to the picture plane, something not seen all that often in Art. 4 floors of J-MB still to go. What an auspicious start!

A real-life Angel of Providence. Lisa studying Self-Portrait with Suzanne, 1982, in the main gallery on 4.

It turns out that Lisa is a school teacher and an Art lover with superb, wide-ranging, taste that runs from Brancusi through Morton Feldman as I found out as we chatted while going in.

Self-Portrait with Suzanne, 1982. The compelling work Lisa studies above shows the artist with Suzanne Mallouk, the subject of Widow Basquiat, in 2010. It’s the only work known to me created by J-MB showing the Artist with one of his lovers. Beyond this, it’s fascinating to study the way he’s rendered himself here compared with the other “heads” and Self-Portraits from 1981-2.

Before I get too far into the show, I’ll say the building looked brand new, the restoration of the former Con Ed Substation being first class from top to bottom. I have mixed feeling about it’s suitability for the display of Art, but honestly, I get some of those feelings almost everywhere I see Art. In my experience, the #1 problem in seeing art is lighting, combined with the scarcity of truly non-glare glass or acrylic. As my friend, Corinne, co-owner of NYC’s legendary City Frame, tells me- currently, it’s expensive. Then again, not all Painting is glazed. Increasingly, Artists, including Raymond Pettibon and Kara Walker, and Photographers, including Gregory Halpern, have shown their work without frames, often just tacking it to the walls at the corners. Still, glazed or not, lighting- artificial or natural, is a problem that rears its head in almost every show I see. The same was the case at The Brant.

I don’t care how rich I was, I don’t think I’d install a pool over irreplaceable Art.

The fourth floor is the top floor and features a skylight, apparently, filled with water- unless this had collected from the rain? I don’t know. They must either have Lloyd’s of London insurance, 8 million tons of confidence in whoever installed it, or both, to hang a few hundred million dollars worth of one of a kind Art underneath it, including more than one of J-MB’s greatest works, in my opinion. But, beyond this, being a cloudy, rainy, day, the large skylight wasn’t letting in as much light as it might have at other times.

Hanging a few feet from the skylight/pool (as you can see in the installation view earlier) is Untitled, 1981, acrylic and oil stick on canvas, 81 x 69 1/4 inches, from The Broad, L.A., the upper half of which was in a shadow during my visit.

Typical of all the works on view in this room, the upper half of Untitled, 1981, on loan from The Broad in LA was in a shadow. Still, the power of seeing this work in person was staggering. I took all of it in from a distance when I first saw it, then walked over to see the other works in the room. Finally, I walked back over to look closely at it at length.

Detail of Untitled, 1981.

The difference in the experiences is remarkable, as you can see. But, no matter how closely I looked, minding the security rope you can see at the very bottom of the picture above, it was still drawing me closer. Like a Rembrandt, or Van Gogh, where I’d like to study each brushstroke for it’s content, here I was being drawn in to look at each detail. The feeling I got was that each small part of it was a world unto itself, yet irrevocably part of the whole. What, exactly, are we seeing? It’s not a skull because there are eyes and there is hair, at least part of a beard, and some teeth, though others are missing. And there are what appear to be stitches and possibly some letters over all of it- a cryptic message, like the figure, in a language no one had ever seen before. (Compare this to the work on view in Xerox that I looked at in the first Part! There, the details were, largely, words.) This is 1981- a year after the first show the work of J-MB appeared in. It’s a work from near the beginning of his post-SAMO© career as an Artist. And, it’s one of the most remarkable shots across the bow in Art history, possibly since Picasso’s Les Damoiselles or Duchamp’s Bride Stripped Bare. When I’ve seen it in books, I haven’t been able to stop looking at it. Seeing it in person it felt like I’d never really seen it. But, even saying that? There’s literally nothing like this in Western Art history to 1981. In his book, The Art of J-MB, Fred Hoffman makes a case for this being among J-MB’s “key” works. I don’t have a list, but I won’t argue with that. I just keep wondering if Francis Bacon, who outlived J-MB, passing away in 1992, saw it and what he thought, or would think, of it.

Per Capita, 1981

Across from Untitled was the incredible Per Capita, also from 1981, with it’s central figure in Everlast boxing trunks, a halo over his head and his outstretched left arm holding a torch that sure looks to me like that of the Statue of Liberty. Over the halo are the words, “E PLURIBUS…,” or, “out of many,” leaving out the equally famous, “UNUM,” or “one.” The title (which may or may not be the Artist’s title- I simply don’t know), “Per Capita,” means, “per unit of population; per person,” in one definition, per American Heritage Dictionary, and “equally to each individual,” in another. Along the left side appears to be the beginning of an alphabetical list of states with the per capita income of its citizen next to them. Even on a partial list, that manages to include states in 3 of the 4 corners of the country, the variance is striking. Fred Hoffman wrote at length about this piece in his essay in the catalog for the 2005 Brooklyn Museum Retrospective, where he also listed it among J-MB’s key works, where he says the central figure is Cassius Clay, as Muhammad Ali was known when he won the gold medal at the 1960 Olympics (The Art of J-MB, P.129.), which could also make that an Olympic torch.

As I looked at this fascinating work, I couldn’t help wonder if the “UNUM,” or “one” E PLURIBUS was seeking with its … was the solitary figure, as in “Out of many, THIS one.” J-MB’s love of boxers is well known and was to be seen in most of an entire gallery on the 2nd floor, as well as in his portrait (in which he wears Everlast boxing trunks) in the famous Warhol*Basquiat poster for their joint show a few years later in 1985 at Tony Shafrazi Gallery, which could also make this a Self-Portrait.

It’s hard to write about this show and not include every work in it- many are major, many others important for any one of a number of reasons, and they all deserve mention.

Untitled (Car Crash), 1980, Acrylic and lipstick on canvas with exposed wood supports. So much of J-MB’s story and his Painting begins in this work where he recreates the accident where he was hit by a car at age 6 that hospitalized him for a month and caused the loss of his spleen. Seen in the small rear gallery on 4.

On 4, there was also a small rear gallery along the rear of the building. Here, too, lighting was a question. The far wall was lined with a floor to ceiling window, which, you guessed it, let in a lot of light- even on this dreary day. I have no idea if they cover it/partially cover it in full sun.

Untitled, 1981, Oilstick on paper. Seen in the small, gallery in the back of the 4th floor. There’s so much that’s revolutionary in this extraordinary work, and at the same time it gives us another take on the two Untitled (Head) Paintings in the show, this time the “head” is seen from the front and not from an angle and has been flattened, like the picture plane. The right side is almost Cubist.

Down on 3, the lighting was better.

3rd floor. Installation view.

The main source of natural light being another picture window, but this time it was at the end of a large rectangular space and didn’t interfere with the most of the large works on view, including this one-

Untitled, 1982, now in the collection of Yusaku Maezawa, while on loan to the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibition at The Brant Foundation, May 13, 2019.

In May, 2017, this Painting, Untitled, 1982, by Jean-Michel Basquiat sold at Sotheby’s for 110.5 million dollars. As someone who prefers to consider Art for what it is without the shadow of dollars, as much as possible, this fact gives even me pause for thought. Here it was, on a corner wall of the third floor, appearing as another work in the show as opposed to something “special.” I applaud this decision.

Do I think it’s “worth” 110.5 million dollars? Anything is worth only what someone is willing to pay for it (And, there were multiple bidders for it). Given that the question of whether something is, or isn’t “Art” won’t be settled during any of our lifetimes, only hundreds of years hence if the work continues to speak to people, the question of commerce- supply and demand, is what is rearing its head in Contemporary Art auctions, in my view. Jean-Michel Basquiat’s public career as an Artist only lasted a few months over 8 years, from June, 1980 to his death on August 12, 1988. Though he was extraordinarily prolific during that time, creating 1,000 Paintings and 2,000 Drawings2, included in it are only so many major works (a number that I personally feel is larger than some others seem to think), and Untitled, 1982, happens to be one, in my view. Looking at the lists of the highest prices paid at auction for Art reveals that many, if not most, of them are the best works available as most of the major work by established Artists of, say, Picasso’s time or earlier (considering he passed away in 1973), are in museums which are not likely to part with them. The works auctioned are certainly not the most important works by any of the Artists on the list, as I’m sure most would agree (perhaps not the purchasers), though it’s subjective. The $110.5 million for Basquiat’s Untitled, 1982, is for a major Basquiat, in my opinion.

But, the more astonishing thing for me to realize (Hey? It’s not my money) is that at the time of the auction, in May, 2017, Jean-Michel Basquiat would have been 56 years old! Untitled, 1982, is a work he Painted when he was 21 or 22 years old. People talk about this sale marking the highest price ever paid for a work by an African-American Artist. Others mention the highest price ever paid for a work by any American Artist.

They never mention that this sale makes Jean-Michel Basquiat the YOUNGEST Artist in HISTORY to have a work sell for over 100 million dollars- either by age at the time of the sale (56), or age when he created the work(21-22)!

At 56 in 2017, he would be considered to be in “mid-career” as the museums call it. At 58, right now(!), he should still be every bit the vibrant, revolutionary force in Art he was for the 8 short years of his career. That he already feels like such a part of history is indicative of it being already thirty-one years, this August 12th, since his passing.

Museum Security (Broadway Meltdown), 1983, left, Big Shoes, 1983, Hollywood Africans, 1983, right, a work on loan from the Whitney Museum. The two to the left are in private collections. In 1983, after they were created, these three works hung on the same wall (with other works) at Larry Gagosian Gallery, LA, as is shown in the Whitney Retrospective catalog, P.251

Also on 3 was this striking group of three works, each from 1982, which included a work from an NYC museum!- Hollywood Africans, from the Whitney. These were fascinating contrasts to the collaged work on view at Xerox, Museum Security and Hollywood Africans both featuring words more than image, but were done exclusively in paint, as far as I could tell.

Gold Griot, 1984, Acrylic and oilstick on wood, 117 x 73 inches. You can get a sense of how big it is in the installation view, above.

The somewhat monumental Gold Griot is a very well known work and is memorably recalled in Fred Hoffman’s The Art of J-MB (P.63) as having originated from slat fencing (possibly that referred to in Phoebe Hoban’s book, P.140, that his assistant Matt Dike had acquired from a fence behind Larry Gagosian’s LA house). Mr. Hoffman’s book includes a picture of J-MB creating the work where we see the Painted head looks to be about 8 times larger than his own. Mr. Hoffman references Andy Warhol’s Gold Marilyn, 1962, in speaking of the work’s “pop” influence, with the figure isolated from the gold background, before saying, “The figure is as much a divine apparition as a living human being. With its ethereal gold background surface, the figure of Gold Griot pays homage to sculptural representations of the divine in various sub-Saharan African cultures.3.”

Detail of Gold Griot, 1984.

Looking closer, it’s fascinating to see how J-MB’s depiction of the head has evolved in 2 or 3 years. Gold Griot reminds me of the innovations of Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, when it comes to Painting surfaces, though it’s resolutely its own work.

2nd floor. Installation view. The work on the immediate left is See Plate 3, 1982, Sculpture in two parts, Acrylic and oilstick on wood, canvas, mounted on wood, the only Sculpture displayed in the show.

The second floor is a bit of a strange space for displaying Paintings. A very tall space, which at first it seems more conducive to the work of monumental Sculptures, like Richard Serra’s, and lined with brick walls. The curators made it work, choosing to install the Paintings in a single row on the two side walls, then salon style on the third wall. While this made seeing the works in the top two rows challenging, it did allow for the maximum number of Paintings to be shown. As a result, I learned to live with it. In hindsight, I’d say they made the best use of the available space throughout the building, though I feel the building was less than ideal for this show because of the uneven lighting and the very high walls on the 2nd floor.

Untitled (Yellow Tar & Feathers), 1982, Pork, 1981, Discography II, 1983, left to right.

Along the sides, important works like Untitled (Yellow Tar & Feathers), 1982, were joined by others not as well known. Discography II contains a list of the details of a Miles Davis Allstars recording session which is historically noteworthy because Charlie Parker performed as a sideman for Miles for one of the only times in his career. To that point, Miles was exclusively a sideman for Bird.

Now’s The Time, 1985, Oilstick and acrylic on plywood, 92 1/2 inches in diameter.

While on the opposite wall, the work referencing Jazz continued with the very cool Now’s The Time, 1985, an homage to the 1945 Charlie Parker record hangs. It also compliments the work on the large wall hung salon style, being they all have unique, experimental stretchers holding their canvases.

On the salon style wall, one thing each of its 16 works share are the unusual stretchers. One thing about J-MB’s Paintings that you don’t hear much about today are his unusual mounts. Constructed for J-MB by his assistants, including Stephen Torton and Matt Dike, there were other examples on the upper floors, and they are another thing that makes his work unique.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Dos Cabezas, 1982, a portrait of Andy Warhol and a Self-Portrait that presaged the Warhol- Basquiat collaborations in 1985.

The 2nd floor also included a rear gallery, which featured 4 portraits of boxers and 3 other very power portraits.

Rear gallery on the 2nd floor installation view.

J-MB had a deep fascination with boxers, and they appear both as Self-Portraits and as homages. Sometimes both. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which.

“St. Joe Louis Surrounded by Snakes showed the boxer, one of Basquiat’s heroes, encircled by sharkish white managers. ‘That was Jean-Michel,’ said Suzanne Mallouk.” Phoebe Hoban. Basquiat, P.113. Early on, Paul Simon attempted to buy it for $8,000., but was thwarted by Rene Ricard. According to the iPad next to it, seen in the installation view, which served in lieu of wall cards, it now belongs to the Brants. (ibid, P.114).

Muhammad Ali changed his name from Cassius Clay in 1964. As Cassius Clay, he won the gold medal at the 1960 Olympics, becoming a hero to many, including J-MB, who references it, here, by using his name at the time, in this work from 1982.

Untitled (Boxer), 1982, Acrylic and oilstick on canvas, 76 x 94 inches. Fred Hoffman calls this immensely powerful work, “… the expression of the black man’s physical and spiritual attributes.” (The Art of J-MB, P.133)

I almost missed the works installed on the first floor. Luckily, I spotted the small sign pointing to them right as I was beginning to look for the exit. Thank goodness I didn’t as it included some of his largest and at least one of his most important works.

Unbreakable, 1987, Acrylic on canvas, 98 x 111 3/4 inches.

I’d never seen a J-MB work like Unbreakable prior to seeing it. Given it’s dated 1987, perhaps this is a glimpse into where his work was heading. In it, he synthesizes everything he’s been using- images, words, and color.

Grillo, 1984, Acrylic, oil, paper collage, oilstick and nails on wood, 96 x 211 1/2 inches- close to 20 feet by 8 feet!

What a powerful, stunning, incredible work Grillo is! It’s taken Robert Rauschenberg’s Combine Paintings in an entirely new direction. I love the juxtaposition of the two panels with figures (one left, one right of center) with the panels immediately to each of their right. I do wonder if this piece was meant to sit on the floor or be raised a foot as it is here.

Detail of the right of center panel.

As I looked closer at Grillo, I noticed a good many color Xeroxes collaged on. Yet, the two figures hold the key to it, I think. On the left is a figure holding a torch. Over his head there’s a pice of wood with nails sticking out of it. That sure could be interpreted as a “crown of thorns.” Around him are various repeated words, including- “Soap,” “Oil,””Butter,” Carbon,” and “Stretch,” along with at least two Bebop song titles- “Well You Needn’t,” by Thelonious Monk and “Half-Nelson,” recorded by Bird. What this figure represents I don’t know, but there are elements of the martyr and the heroic included. The other figure, apparently a king, wears a large crown, accompanied by small attendants to its right, and has his hands raised, like the boxers seen upstairs. He appears to be looking towards the left side figure, and both figures have their internal organs shown, perhaps yet another reference to Gray’s Anatomy.

And, there’s this- The left hand figure, how has a board with nails over his/her head, possibly a crown of thorns?, holds a torch…

The work speaks volumes about how J-MB’s Art has evolved in 7 short years, and the unlimited potential the future held for it, and for him.

…which reminds me of the one seen 3 floors up in Per Capita, 1981.

A few days later, Lisa shared her thoughts on the show. “I thought the Basquiat show was quite spectacular. There were so many works that I had never seen before. In particular, I was struck by the great thick black oil slicks. There is something about this sheen, like shoe polish, that you can’t truly appreciate unless you see the paintings in person. They give the works a lot of dimension and texture. They also remind me of Franz Kline – totally dynamic and emotive in gesture. The oil slicks are bold and grimy, like New York. His compositions tend to mimic graffiti on the street – throw ups, wheatpaste posters, and tags on a wall/single canvas.”

There was a bit of the feel that the show was something of an afterthought to the just completed Louis Vuitton show. A “Hey, we’ve got all this work assembled, why don’t we just put it up in NYC?,” kind of thing. I quickly moved past it, the lighting and other questions with the space I’ve mentioned. Nothing dulled the effect of seeing so much work that STILL looks fresh, vital, and contemporary, in spite of countless imitators, commercial “appropriations” of his symbols and the passage of over 30 years since he left. What I saw at The Brant was the work that has defined the legacy of J-MB- in quite a few of his more well known Paintings, works characterized by his characters, in which his words take much more of a back seat than they did over at Xerox. Thinking about J-MB at The Brant four months later, the show has become more monumental in my eyes.

While Peter Brant may represent what many call “the 1%,” so does Jean-Michel Basquiat. For me, J-MB represents that extraordinary, and extraordinarily rare, group of people who are able to overcome unfathomable difficulties- racially, socially, financially, educationally and, apparently, familial, and some difficulties that appear on the outside to have been self-inflicted (though quite possibly resulting from the others- I’m not a doctor or a therapist), then somehow surmount ALL of that and go on to rewrite Art history in about a decade. How many people can this be said of?

How ever many you choose to include? I’m not sure it would even equal 1%.

This Post is dedicated to Lisa, with my undying thanks. My gratitude is due to Jessie for his consideration. Anyone reading this owes them their thanks as well.

*- Soundtrack for this Post is “Bold As Love,” by another brilliant Artist who died at just 27, Jimi Hendrix, which concludes the timeless Axis: Bold As Love.

“Anger he smiles towering in shiny metallic purple armor…
My red is so confident that he flashes
Trophies of war and ribbons of euphoria
Orange is young, full of daring
But very unsteady for the first go around
My yellow in this case is not so mellow
In fact I’m trying to say it’s frightened like me
And all these emotions of mine keep holding me from
Giving my life to a rainbow like you
[Chorus]
But they’re all bold as love
Yeah, they’re all bold as love”

In lieu of the immortal Hendrix original recording here’s a cover to inspire you to seek out the original-

This is Part 2 of my series on the five Jean-Michel Basquiat related shows going on in NYC in 2019. Part 1 is below, or here.
My prior pieces on Painting are here. 

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  1. I’m speaking of Manhattan’s museums, only, here and leaving off The New Museum who have no permanent collection. ↩
  2. according to the Brant Foundation. ↩
  3. ibid P.65 ↩

Robert Rauschenberg: Anagrams (A Pun)- But No Joke

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

11 days after being here for the final day of the Chuck Close: Recent Works, I returned to Pace’s 534 West 25th Street Gallery to see Robert Rauschenberg: Anagrams, Arcadian Retreats, Anagrams (A Pun), on view until January 16, 2016. Up a few steps to the back office area where the show continues, a short video of Rauschenberg at work in on view. As the camera looks down from slightly above, I noticed that surrounding him all over his studio were numerous works consisting of seemingly chaotic collages of images. I couldn’t help wondering about the effect on a visitor’s brain of spending 8 hours in that studio, and what it would  feel like to then walk outside. I wondered what they said about the images playing inside of Rauschenberg’s mind all the time. Day in. Day out, for the 82 years he lived. It might be why there’s so much to see in even one of his works. This new show makes clear that it may be a long time yet until everything that brain, and he, created in his professional life from the 1950’s until he passed in 2008 is seen, fully appreciated and assimilated.

These works are dated 1996 and 97. Visually, his work presaged the visual chaos of the internet age, and the graphic print style of David Carson and others. Seen in 2015 it fits right in with the everyday chaos of NYC, both on the physical level, where pedestrians have to face a never ending life, death or injury battle with bikes, cars, buses, trucks and lord knows whatever else, simply to get from point A to point B, while being bombarded with every square inch plastered with ads, images or graffiti on the visual level.

The modern world makes me try to make sense out of its visual chaos- like Rauschenberg did so masterfully.

Visual chaos, 2015. Without the “Art.” By the way? Times Square was better before

Anagrams, Arcadian Retreats, Anagrams (A Pun) is a bit different from any Rauschenberg show I’ve yet seen. It’s concise yet catholic, coherent and sharply focused on these three series of works, which share working methods, making it very hard to tell which work is from which series. As such, it’s a rare opportunity to see a selection of late works. Pace’s release states the images are from Rauschenberg’s own photos, which continues a trend in recent shows of artists using, or basing their work on their own photographs (Richard Estes, Chuck Close). Rauschenberg appears to have been at the forefront of image manipulation, made possible by software like Photoshop, while adding “painterly elements.” Regarding exactly what these pieces are and how they were made, Pace’s press release says- to create these works, “he developed and perfected a powerful new technique combing dye transfer with novel supports including plaster, large-scale paper and polylaminate panels…The process produced an aqueous and fluid appearance, blurring the crisp edges of his photographs…The inkjet dye process also liberated Rauschenberg from the mechanical production of printing screens, allowing him to produce sheets exclusively from his own photography on an in-studio printer. In addition to a more painterly effect, these works reflect a more nimble and freer approach to image-making than earlier works which were bound by the limitations of the mechanical process.”

 

It’s tempting to “read into” the resulting images, some of which are repeated verbatim in other works, and take them as a visual language, to be deciphered for “messages,” even hidden meanings. That will take a lot of looking to compile. Though “anagram” is a word about words, I don’t think I’ll be taking it that literally. I prefer to let the images speak, and this show is an orgy for the eye.

The works range from very large to large and a few of medium size. Two, including the largest, (one, I felt to be the most impactful piece in the show), are owned by the Whitney. Most of the others are not titled, detailed or described. Many feature images from different cultures around the world from the Sphinx and the Pyramids to traditional costumes, apparently from trips he had taken shortly before, which are juxtaposed with images from the western world, like construction equipment, firefighters, store fronts, junked cars, bicycles and soda bottles. Despite being combined, layered, even processed, the results don’t look like images produced in Photoshop. They look more like paintings, which I find somewhat remarkable, probably because I am so used to seeing Photoshopped Photographs. While he anticipated digital image processing and manipulation in works gong back to the late 1950’s, he continued doing things entirely his own way, and only selectively using technology when it suited his aims.

I previously saw some works from these series in the 1977 Guggenheim Rauschenberg Retrospective, but these were new to me. Seeing only works from these series brought home how wonderful they are. They’re different from what he had done earlier in his career, yet they have that undeniable “Rauschenberg” feel. In spite of being Photo based, they retain a “painterly” look, which I think is remarkable, and one of the things that sets his work apart from all those doing these types of works today. For me, Rauschenberg is kind of an American Picasso of the 2nd half of the 20th Century- his creativity and inventiveness knew no bounds. Like Picasso, he never stopped innovating and trying new things and techniques. Even 7 years after his passing, we continue to discover new facets of this work, which seems as fresh and contemporary as anything else around today. That will, no doubt, continue at the first full scale retrospective of his work since the Guggenheim’s 1997 blockbuster to be held next year at the Tate Modern, London.

These are wonderful works that reward repeated looks from a period of the Artist’s career that strikes me as being under appreciated. They seem so of the moment, it’s hard to think they’re going on 20 years old. In that sense, like their creator, they are ahead of their time, even now. I’m continuing to try and get the modern world to look like a Rauschenberg to me, to make that kind of sense, possibly even find the “Art” in it…that is when I’m not dodging bikes, cars, and the rest to actually feel safe enough in it to look around. That danger is what’s missing in these Rauschenbergs. Probably because he seems to be focused on the bigger picture, the dangers of the modern world to ancient cultures and ancient creatures. Including man.

On a bigger scale, like that bike I don’t see coming the wrong way on a one way street, the modern world is obliterating all that came before.

DSC02584PNH

*-Soundtrack for this post is “Crosstown Traffic,” by Jimi Hendrix.

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Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited. To send comments, thoughts, feedback or propositions click here. Click the white box on the upper right for the archives or to search them. Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.