Shelley Spector ‘Dreck Groove Wallpaper (One)’ (2011) reclaimed cardboard, courtesy Bridgette Mayer Gallery, photo: Shelley Spector

NextFab Studio is a high-tech shop in West Philadelphia that enables architects, industrial designers, and artists to create prototypes or small runs of products. Its staff of twenty includes engineers, designers, electronics specialists, photographers, and others who are available for training and technical help. I met Shelley Spector there last week to see what she’s been doing during the past six months that she’s had a residency at NextFab through Breadboard, an organization at the University City Science Center that promotes community outreach around technology and manages the Esther Klein Gallery, among other projects.

Any artist who makes ‘things’ that involve construction would think she had died and gone to heaven at NextFab. Its technical possibilities are endless; the difficulty is surely in making choices. Shelley concentrated on the computer-controlled laser cutter and sewing machine, which meant developing a proficiency with both the hardware and software (proprietary to each machine for most of the high-tech fabricating equipment); she said that took about two months.

Shelley Spector with parts for the computer-controlled sewing machine at NextFab

The work from the residency, a project addressing the nexus of consumption and environmental change, will be exhibited at the Esther Klein Gallery; Dreck Groove runs from Feb. 17-March 30, 2012.  Shelley used the computer-controlled sewing machine to produce a series of small embroideries whose imagery derives from weather mapping. What appear to be abstract patterns on textiles, decorated with the industrial version of traditional women’s handwork, were taken from graphs of fluctuating temperatures over time, infrared satellite photography, and charts of the spread of nuclear fallout. One embroidery lists all the names given to hurricanes during 2011. The decorative quality of the work makes the underlying criticism apparent only on second glance.

Shelley Spector, several small embroideries from ‘Dreck Groove’ courtesy Bridgette Mayer Gallery

Shelley used the laser cutter to create frames for the embroidered cloth and to cut out units from scavenged, consumer-product packaging which she will assemble to cover several walls (hence her description of the collaged work as wallpaper).  She learned a lot about her neighbors in the process of collecting sufficient gift boxes, food cartons and other household waste from their recycle bins; indeed, her project is a sort of alternative recycling. The units create a pattern that, at a distance, reads as a mid 20th-century modern design, until one gets close enough to read the writing and recognize the familiar imagery from boxes for cereal, crackers, and plastic bags.  This is the visual landscape of American domestic life.

Ian and Matt, engineers at NextFab Studio

Sarah McEneaney ‘Baseball’ (2010) tempera on wood

I ran into Sarah McEneaney at the most recent First Friday gallery openings as she was getting off her bike in front of the Vox Building, then laughed when I saw the image used (below) as the announcement of her current exhibition at Tibor de Nagy Gallery (through March 10, 2012). Many of the paintings record a life of leisure activities (watching baseball, camping out in Florida, on the coast in Brittany, hiking in a wildlife preserve) except that a painter’s work is never done, and even when she doesn’t picture herself drawing (which she does while floating in the Dead Sea), you know that a sketchbook is close at hand.

Sarah McEneaney ‘Philadelphia Winter’ tempera

Most of the works are in a smaller format than those in her last exhibition at the gallery, and a number  show a particular sensitivity to landscape, from wetlands to trees in winter.  My favorite showed the artist at an open window, on her birthday, and most of the painting is occupied by patterns of various trees  surrounding an open field of snow that suggests the as yet unwritten story of the year, or years, to come.

The Mormons and the Dubins

Back in April, my son Alex had a birthday, but we came up short on a gift. Alex loves musicals, so Murray tracked down tickets to the Book of Mormon for Alex, Lindsey and us. The wait has been long, but worth it. As musicals go, The Book of Mormon raises anti-PC humor to an astonishing level; it’s a musical that dares to suggest that belief in fucking a virgin to cure AIDS is no more outrageous than belief in the angel Moroni or in the virgin birth (yikes, two virgins, three religions, one sentence). Suited-up “Mormons” doing Busby Berkeley numbers are a highlight. So is relentless bad language delivered with exuberance. Can you snag a ticket to this? Eventually. Is it worth the wait? No doubt at all.

Cattelan and Renaissance Portraits

Sorry, Met, but we had a better time at the Maurizio Cattelan exhibit at the Guggenheim and at the tour at the Tenement Museum.

Maurizio Cattelan, All installation, with Stone Dead taxidermied dog above and Untitled resin sculpture of woman crucified in a box below., 2008

The impudent Cattelan’s 3-ring circus of an installation, All, is at once ebullient and melancholy. He hangs all his oeuvre, or close to it, in the atrium.

The experience has a Where’s Waldo quality, offering an opportunity to search and rummage through the artist’s past. Because the objects are often massive, are often mounted on floating plinths, and are numerous, they obscure one another, so the march up or down the ramp offers new perspectives and new revelations all along the way. The aerial act is both delightful and a constant revelation, filled with competing focal points–yes, a circus.

Maurizio Cattelan, All installation from below, with several taxidermied animals

But as circus’ aerial acts get their power from the frisson of imminent danger, this installation gets some of its power from the frisson of imminent death. Cattelan has been a consistent explorer of the limits of the body and of happenstance and powerlessness. Even the Pope takes a licking and doesn’t keep on ticking in Cattelan’s world. John F. Kennedy, in his coffin, wears no shoes. A photo of hands reaching from the ground suggest a man buried in the sand still praying for succor to a God who doesn’t answer.

Maurizio Cattelan, All installation detail with the Pope hit by a meteor, center

Taxidermied animals are stand-ins for humans. The powerful horse is reduced to a dead body. The tiny squirrel dies at the kitchen table. Cattelan ‘s use of Mme. Toussaud-like fleshtones parallels the taxidermied animals. The themes of death and powerlessness bring to mind the themes of another wax-works-style sculptor, Ron Mueck.

Maurizio Cattelan, All installation detail

The exhibit is about the inevitability of failure and death. And speaking of final endings, the show ends Jan. 22.

The Renaissance Portrait From Donatello to Bellini, at the Met is marvelous, but the exhibition notes wore me down. I could barely take in what they were saying, and when I could, I found they raised more questions than they answered. For instance, on what basis do the curators assert that one man’s hair color is probably dyed. How do they know that?

The exhibit shows how portraiture began with strict, flat profiles and progressed to full-face and three-quarter face images. Equally wonderful and perversely obverse the continuity of portraiture. The 15th-century faces look contemporary and completely individual. They are the snapshots of their day–opportunities to commemorate events, relations and lovers, preserving them as keepsakes and aides memoires. Drawings, paintings and other works in this exhibit are astounding in their beauty and detail.
The show is huge–about 160 works (it must have cost a bundle to assemble). With such a wealth of material, it seems like an opportunity was lost in discussing more of the ethnographic, social and political issues suggested by the art–the 14-year-old brides (all blondes!); the arrival of dark hair with the Medicis. Oh, I know, it’s probably all in the catalog. In all truth, once I got done with the improvements in portraiture techniques, the social issues were what really interested me–that and all those beautiful portrayals of people who look so real they could be us.

The portrait show at the Met goes to March 18.

The Tenement Museum

Slide of life on the Lower East Side from www.tenement.org/

Speaking of people who could be us, the other highlight of our trip was a visit to the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side. We got to visit a 19th century structure, which over the course of its use housed about 7,000 people. We visited two apartments in the building, recreations that told the story of the people who lived there (during two separate eras). I was able to imagine myself in both eras and both kinds of lives, thanks to the wonderful presentation by our docent. Best of all, we got to see pictures of the descendants of those two families. Total feel-good melting pot American Dream experience!

And these days, the Lower East Side is chock-a-block with contemporary art galleries and little cafes. It has a West Philly vibe.

Steven Jones hats inspired by the London Underground logo, a tennis game, and both a Mohican haircut and Hans Bellmer

Three floors at Bard are filled with Jones’ selection from the museum interspersed with hats from his own archives. It’s a must-see for anyone interested in fashion, and offers many ideas for artists working in collage and three-dimensional constructions because of the range of materials used and their varied treatments. Students of social history will find ripe material, as will celebrity hounds, for the exhibition includes a baseball cap belonging to Babe Ruth, the beaver top hat Franklin Roosevelt wore to his fourth inauguration and hats worn by Madonna and Brad Pitt, among others.

Phillip Treacy’s most un-traditional feathered hat

The introductory label explains that hat-making involves large-scale production of standard hat types whereas millinery focuses on the creation and decoration of elegant, experimental, and often whimsical hats.  And London, more than anywhere, has maintained the millinery tradition; the weather is mild, so protective hats are not routinely necessary, and the persistence of rituals around the court, track and Church provide regular occasions to show off their artistry. Moreover, the collections of the V & A insure that London milliners know the history of their craft.

Jo Gordon ‘Kiss of Death’ (1994), another novel use of feathers

The initial case is filled with such modern riffs on traditional forms as Justin Smith, Polly Wales and Nicole Lowe’s Tattooed Top Hat, made of parchment stretched over a copper armature, with bats flying around its crown and brim, and the even more Goth Kiss of Death by Jo Gordon, whose wearer would be impossible to kiss, as her face is surrounded by very long, black feathers, facing forward rather than perched on the top or back of the hat.

Balenciaga ‘Green Straw Hat’ (1960) with implied hat-pin, also of straw

The exhibition includes a range of traditional hats, some purely decorative but many of them functional: 19th century womens’ bonnets, a bearskin hat of the Royal Guards, a bicycle helmet, folding plastic rain hat, a decorative, 1960s swimming cap, military hats, a Mexican sombrero, tiaras,  and most unusually, an apprentice’s hat from ca. 1550, just the sort of working-class wear that almost never survives. The one area left out was religious head-wear; think of the wonderful forms of nuns’ wimples and cardinals’ hats.

Steven Jones ‘Vlada’ 7 (2007) ostrich feathers

Contemporary milliners clearly derive inspiration from all possible directions; one hat looked like a Hershey’s Kiss, another like an S&M hood; Jones made  a variation on a child’s hat of folded newspaper, a most humorous tiara inspired by a crystal chandelier, and a broad-brimmed hat based on an artist’s pallette. A shaman’s dress likely inspired his Vlada – which is more of a costume than a hat, and remarkably close to Nick Cave’s costumes designed for performance (currently on view at the Fabric Workshop & Museum). Many of the contemporary hats include imaginative variations on hat pins, but has anyone living ever seen a real hat pin in use?  I think head-bands have taken over  as a means to anchor hats to shorter hair. Shirley Hex’s wildly-flowered cloche made of crepe paper must be the most extravagant fashion made of re-purposed household goods since Scarlett O’Hara created a dress out of draperies.

Steven Jones pallette hat for Dior, with paintbrush functioning as a hat-pin

It must be said that many of the hats designed by younger, London milliners, look as though they’d be most appropriate on the stage, probably in burlesque (and indeed, the exhibition included one of Leigh Bowery‘s designs). On the other hand, anyone who paid attention to the last royal wedding will know that British women are willing to wear almost anything on their heads, as long as the hats match their outfits; they are either terribly brave or have a wonderful sense of humor.

a silk and sable hat (with pendant sable tails) made for Empress Eugenie in 1865 that looked thoroughly contemporary

Most of the hats are displayed on traditional hat-stands, or on abstracted heads lacking hair and ears which look rather like plexiglass versions of Brancusi’s Head.  The problem – and it is one faced in exhibiting any sort of clothing – is that a large part of what makes hats interesting is how they sit on the head, and the means of display was not good at conveying that. One had to rely on imagination, or several short films from the 1950s showing hats worn by models (they run continuously as videos), and enlarged photographs of fashion shots in the final section of the exhibition.  But this is a minor quibble about a wonderful exhibition.

detail of light box in Magdalena Pederin’s ‘The Name is an Anagram’ (2006); all photos by Aram Jibilian

detail of Elena del Rivero’s ‘Mended Flying Letters’ (2010), type and ink on handmade abaca paper, with silk thread

Work by sixteen artists and collaboratives, produced from the 1960s to the present, reflected the continuing relevance of McLuhan’s ideas; all addressed aspects of the impact of changing technology, from letter-writing and typing to the World Wide Web.  As one might expect from the subject, much of the work utilized  technology (largely video, but one piece also incorporated the Web), although the range of media was broad, including a collage of typewritten texts that were stitched together by hand (Elena del Rivero’s Mended Flying Letters, 2010), artists’ books (Wolfgang Plöger’s Google Image Search (Map), 2006, which consisted of several volumes of images transcribed from a Google search for map), photography, and small-scale sculpture (Joan Rabascall’s 6″ model, Monument to Mobile Television, 1974).  It was a challenging and unexpected selection of work which avoided conventional categories.

Joan Rabascall ‘Monument to Mobile Television’ (1994), 6" h., from her series of ‘Monuments to the TV’

The exhibition emphasized the physical interactions between people and technology with changing sensual experiences:  Plöger’s books were perused by viewers seated at a table, turning pages; Magdalena Pederin’s The Name is an Anagram was shown in a darkened space where multi-dimensional images created a changing, immersive environment; Nam June Paik and John Godfrey’s Global Groove was a single-channel video, and having to standing to watch it was a reminder that the pioneering work was made in 1973, long before MTV brought music videos to our livingrooms.

The astonishing sound production in Ignacio Uriarte’s video, The Story of the Typewriter (2011), was human: the actor, Michael Winslow, seen creating the differently-inflected sounds of a series of typewriters, with remarkable fidelity. Winslow’s virtuosic performance emphasizes the multi-dimensional aspect of much technology; typewriters were designed to produce text, yet also generated sound. It’s hard to imagine how this work might be read by someone of the computer generation; I guess it will need an explanatory label. I had a similar experience, some years ago, while looking at an Oldenburg and trying to explain to a 10-year old what a diaper pin was.

Ignacio Uriarte’s ‘The Story of the Typewriter’ (2011) video, surrounded by ‘1s and 0s’ (2011) typewritten paper

Reporters with Borders (2007), Raphael Lozano-Hammer’s interactive video work, was activated by the presence of a viewer, whose silhouette appeared on the screen filled with tiny images of Mexican broadcasters on one side, Americans on the other, who began to speak; they produced simultaneous, cacophonous newscasts, yet remained segregated by country.

Raphael Lozano-Hammer ‘Reporters with Borders’ (2007) interactive video with shadow box

Chris Petit’s Content (2009) was a 76-minute video, and its length as well as its content emphasized the dimension of time. I had expected to watch a few minutes, but was so seduced and mesmerized by its beauty and subject matter that I stayed for the entirety. Petit interweaves several narratives that concern communication, self-presentation and masquerade, aging and responsibility, set within the context of a road movie where geography is equated with memory.

detail from Chris Petit’s video ‘Content’ (2009)

Marshall McLuhan’s misfortune was to be decades ahead of his time, with a vision so accurate that his ideas now seem commonplace. It is well worth commemorating his early understanding of the profound effects of changing media, and this thoughtful exhibition was a suitable tribute.

I didn’t make any more thorough a visit to Art Miami than I had done to Art Basel Miami Beach, so what follows are thoughts on what I managed to see. Art Miami is a fair that precedes Art Basel Miami Beach and the many fairs that have arrived in its wake. A recent painting by Mel Bochner, hung near the entrance, summarized much of the atmosphere of the fairs rather too well:

Mel Bochner 'Blah, Blah, Blah' (2010) oil on velvet

I wanted to know how Bridgette Mayer was doing, so sought out her space and found the gallery’s operating director, Maria Hooper, who said they’d had success seeing current clients and meeting new people.

Maria Hooper with a painting by Neil Anderson at Bridgette Mayer Gallery, Philadelphia

Across the aisle, Galeria Santa Giustina had a range of work that suggested sales on the secondary market (which characterized much of Art Miami). I was taken with an early Manzoni made of cotton squares, as well as a figurative ceramic relief by Fontana, whose ceramics are almost never seen in the U.S..

Piero Manzoni 'Achrome' (1960) Galerie Santa Giustina, Lucca

Speaking of ceramics, it was heartening to see Viola Frey‘s towering Standing Man at Nancy Hoffman Gallery and confirm that she can more than hold her own against artists who could be her grandchildren.

Viola Frey 'Standing Man' (ca. 1985), Nancy Hoffman Gallery, New York

The work that most tempted me was one of five drawings by the Italian-born artist, Anna Maria Maiolino, who has worked primarily in Brazil since the late 1950s; they were on display at the Mexico City gallery, Ginocchio.  All were done with the most modest means: ink on white paper, and conveyed the spontaneity and immediacy of drawing at its best. This presumably explains its continued appeal to an artist best known for sculpture, performance and film.

Anna Maria Maiolino, Untitled (1991) ink, 19 x 27”, Galeria Alfredo Ginocchio

I’m always happy to know more about galleries from Dublin, since I visit regularly to see family. I was particularly surprised, therefore, to see Blue Leaf Gallery exhibiting not only a number of paintings and drawings by Suzy O’ Mullane, but also a group of tiny paintings with elaborate, found frames by Carol K. Brown. When I’d lived in Miami, many years ago, Carol was well established as a sculptor. I’d run into her several years ago and she said she’d been painting (work I later saw at Nora Haime Gallery, New York). The current work was part of a very large series, all of which depict women in the dress and poses of athletes, including boxers. I couldn’t help thinking of the ad that Judy Chicago published in 1971 of herself in boxing attire, prepping for a fight with what was then an all-male art establishment. These women were not going down easily; Carol later told me that the images were based on women in Miami’s art world.

Carol Brown 'Las Conquistadoras' paintings in mixed media frames, Blue Leaf Gallery, Dublin

Design Miami, in its seventh year, was held in a large tent adjacent to the parking lot for Art Basel Miami Beach. The publicity had mentioned a strong presence of jewelry this year, and along with much other work from the mid 20th century that caught my eye  (and not primarily because I live with furniture of the period, it being the only modernist style I could buy at second hand furniture prices) was a wonderful range of mid-century jewelry.  Several cases of hand-crafted, silver jewelry by Art Smith, Harry Bertoia and others at Mark McDonald of Hudson, NY. included pieces that were tiny, sculptural objects and wearable, daytime jewelry at the same time; I didn’t ask about prices but hope their owners will actually wear them, rather than keeping them under lock and key.

a case of Art Smith jewelry at Mark McDonald; necklace far r. by Sergei Gvinton

jewelry by various craftsmen at Mark McDonald Gallery; Harry Bertoia anthropomorphic brooch at lower left

I thought most of the contemporary furniture was both over-designed visually yet poorly designed for function, so was pleased to see the simplest of couches by Louise Campbell at Galerie Maria Wettegren, Paris. Rather than traditional upholstery, the cover appeared to be padded fabric with origami-like folds.

Folda Sofa (2001) by Louise Campbell at Galerie Maria Wettegren, Paris

Moss was featuring the work of Haresh Lavani, a designer who uses digital manipulation of forms and pushes computer technology to its utmost in designing serial production of unique variants. There were various three-dimensional models as well as a series of morphing platters actually on offer; $100 bought a unique platter of pierced steel as well as a cd, which presumably revealed the design process and showed other variants.

Moss, New York's exhibit of digital designs by Haresh Lavani

Three galleries specialized in classic, French modernist design, and it is hardly a revelation that Pierre Jeanneret, Charlotte Perriand and Jean Prouve produced restrained, timeless, thoroughly livable furniture. The novelty was a swooping, shed-like roof constructed of factory-produced steel parts, designed by Prouve; it was originally part of l’Ecole Villejuif near Paris.

furniture display underneath a section of Prouve architecture at Galerie Downtown-Francoise Laffanour, Paris

Jenneret furniture at Jousse Enterprise, Paris

The other treasure that surprised me were two modest pieces by Mathieu Matégot; they wouldn’t even require a fantasy palace to house them, but would fit in the smallest of studio apartments, so lack of space was not the reason I came home empty-handed. One was a highly-sculptural wall shelf of wrought-iron, the other a hanging lamp not 10 inches in its largest dimension. Both were distinctive without being showy. The lamp had biomorphic forms more commonly found in sculpture, and occasionally furniture, than in lighting fixtures, and it captured my heart.

hanging shelf and lamp by Mathieu Mategot at Jousse Enterprise, Paris

Design Miami describes itself as representing the burgeoning market for collectible design; I hope that doesn’t mean design to he seen but not held, felt or sat upon. It would be a shame for such recent examples of well-designed functionalism to be shut off from everyday life.

Dan Peterman 2 'Running Tables' segment (1997-2011) Klosterfelde, Berlin

What appeared to be a group of vintage Thonet at Galeria Juana de Aizpuru, Madrid was actually Franz West‘s The Power of Papier Mache (2008), and required a hand-written sign to keep visitors from taking a seat. This was somewhat surprising, since I’ve sat upon West chairs in the cafe at the New Museum, New York and a functional couch by West sits in the entrance lobby of the Whitechaple Art Gallery, London. Such intimacy with the displays is unknown in my experience of exhibitions actually devoted to furniture design –  I’ve never understood why museums don’t include examples that can be sat upon and handled, when the pieces in question are in current production.  Comfort and functionality are surely significant criteria when judging furniture, and allowing visitors to assess those aspects for themselves would enrich their understanding of design.

mid 20th century vintage seating at Kurimanzutto, Mexico City

Kurimanzutto had some mid-20th century wooden chairs (by a known designer – unfamiliar to me, however, and I didn’t record the name) which I could happily live with; for the right price, I probably could have taken them home.

stylish, but unidentified seating

more eye-catching furniture

The fair itself had some rather well-designed seating for the crowds, but the designers weren’t identified in any place I could find.

seating for tired visitors at Art Basel/Miami Beach

viewing pods for a continuously-running video program

After noting the furniture, I headed to the section devoted to the less well-established galleries where I figured I had most to learn. On the way I peeked into a small, dark, nook with a video monitor on the floor. It was screening Francis Alys‘ Sleepers (2008), arranged by Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich, a slide show of photographs of variously dogs and men sleeping in assorted public places, most looking as though they had no other options. I couldn’t decide whether displaying the homeless to art crowds that could afford the $40 admission to Art Basel/Miami Beach was a salutary reminder of the less fortunate, or poor taste.

Francis Alys 'Sleepers' (2011), Kilchmann, Zurich

My eye was caught by a small floor installation: Avinash Veeraghavan‘s Short Story: Brine (2011) at Gallery Ske, Bangalore, in which miniature, wall-mounted equipment projected a video of swirling water onto a mound of salt on the floor. The dealer couldn’t provide any back story beside the salty brine of its metaphorical mixture, but perhaps its scale added to its poetic appeal. I did inquire whether Bangalore clients supported the gallery (a regular inquiry I make to galleries outside art capitals). Their sales are mostly throughout India (although not concentrated among the local population), whereas in the past they had primarily been to Europeans.

Avinash Veeraghavan 'Short Story: Brine' (2011) Gallery Ske, Bangalore

At Annet Gelink I saw what appeared to be a crumpled Financial Times on the floor; it turned out to be a tromp l’oeil by Ryan Gander, sitting beneath tiny wall shelves supporting what appeared to be 1) a piece of toilet paper and, 2) a sandwich of bread stuffed with bread. On the wall behind them, at floor level, a group of painted glass clip frames were arrayed, another Gander piece which read like a deconstructed de Stijl painting.

several pieces by Ryan Gander at Annet Gelink, Amsterdam

Meessen De Clercq, Brussels, had a tightly-coordinated presentation of work by three artists, each working with dust. In a free-standing case, measuring one cubic meter, Ignasi Aballi‘s Untitled (dust) contained a fine layer of dust beneath a plexiglass cover engraved with various texts about dust. Seven panels by Claudio Parmiggiani occupied two large walls of the space. They contained imagery of butterflies made with a technique he calls delocazione: he pinned butterflies to the panels and lit a fire, which produced smoke deposits on the areas not blocked by the creatures. Their images flickered in white over the soft, brownish-gray residue of the smoke. The work is clearly about the fleetingness of life, but was so subtly and atmospherically beautiful that the panels would make a wonderful environment in a domestic space, assuming the collector is comfortable with the knowledge that death is the inevitable consequence of life.  I was rather surprised that it hadn’t sold already. The gallery’s hand-out referred to the fact that butterflies symbolized the soul in Ancient Rome,which reminded me of a wonderful painting by Dosso Dossi in Vienna, in which Jupiter is shown as a painter, creating human souls as he paints butterflies.

Ignasi Aballi 'Untitled (dust)' at Meessen De Clercq, Brussles

wall: part of Claudio Parmiggiani's 7-paneled work; floor: Sofia Hulten's stones, reconstituted after being ground to dust

Another work I would happily display in my fantasy palace was Martin Boyce‘s large screen at The Modern Institute , Glasgow [note: just after the fair it was announced that Boyce had won the 2011 Turner Prize]. The screen was wonderful on a purely formal level, but I suspected that the forms had conceptual underpinnings, which sure enough they do: the tilting trapezoidal forms refer to a group of Cubist-influenced trees, made of concrete, that Joël and Jan Martel  designed for a garden  at the 1925 Exposition des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris. Boyce has converted their abstraction of natural forms back into abstract construction.

Martin Boyce screen at The Modern Institute, Glasgow

painting conservator, Rusty Levenson, with Boyce screen

There was also a lot of dress (and undress) designed to attract attention, including one woman’s tee shirt which commented on the phenomenon of  fairs in general:

Peter Funch, Babel Tales, Exigent State. Photo courtesy of the artist

These artificial communities constructed by Peter are surreal and often whimsical, but can be deeply unsettling to someone that questions the hive mentality. Peter has created street scenes that never actually existed in reality and at first glance you’re convinced that they are simple street shots, but nothing could be further from the truth.  I came across Peter’s work in Chelsea on one of my random art walks around New York City. Peter answered my questions via email.

Peter Funch, Babel Tales. Following the Followers. Photo courtesy of the artist

What kind of boy were you?
As I young boy I was extremely curious. I would tear everything apart just to figure out how it was made. I was looking at the technology behind the userface. Then for a while I became quite a trouble maker. If nothing was happening I would try to make it happen. It was at times a very restless energy.

When did the camera come into your life?
My Dad took lots of pictures so there was always a camera in the house. When I was about 18 or 19 I started to become very interested in using the camera myself. At that point I had no idea where I was going with my life, but I really enjoyed taking pictures and fell into studying photojournalism at university. Photography was the first thing I was excited about in my school time.

Peter Funch, Babel Tales, Informing the informers. Photo courtesy of the artist

How do you decide on a street location in NYC?
Sometimes I choose very specific locations to get one image. In many of the images it is the location that defines the scenario. Others are more open. I usually pick places that are very crowded with a diverse set of characters and an interesting aesthetic. For Babel Tales, I decided that the project should be done in Manhattan. I make rules for every project that I do. Choosing Manhattan was a good way of defining an area. It’s an island with so many stories, references, history, and mystery.

How long did it take to finish the Babel Tales series?
I spent four years working on the series. It was quite a long and consuming process but on the other hand it was interesting to work with one idea over  a longer time. The same principle of shooting where the content develops.

On average how long did it take to compose a single photograph?
Typically 10 to 15 days of shooting on the street, but the most time goes into categorizing the images and putting together the final product in my studio. Some took a month and some took years. I usually work on 5 or 10 different images at a time. Some of my latest images are derived from raw material that was shot three summers ago. At the time I thought it didn’t work, but seeing it with fresh eyes has helped.

Peter Funch, Babel Tales, Memory Lane. Photo courtesy of the artist

Are you subverting the individual in the Babel Tales series?
It’s more about indicating a relation between individuals as a group. Babel Tales is about the relations that we aren’t aware of or do not usually pay attention to.

Do you celebrate the hive mentality?
Yes I think it’s very interesting to view all levels and collective groups of society as a large moving organism and breaking that down to the image of a single person walking on the street – his/hers p.o.v. and narrative.

What does it mean to be an artist?
To be an artist is a position in society where you comment, reflect, study, break down and build up. It is not a position you can apply for since you define it yourself.

Sophie's Room. All photos this post by Cate Fallon

Sophie’s Room, open to visitors around the clock for one weekend, was on the third floor. The room itself reflected the care and attention to detail promised in the hotel literature and seemed a welcome environment for the objects placed with equal care and attention around the room by the artist Sophie Calle.

Sophie's cake.

As part of  Crossing the Line, the annual fall festival of contemporary arts produced by the French Institute Alliance Française (FIAF) in partnership with the Cultural Services of the French Embassy, Sophie Calle, one of France’s leading contemporary artists, created a site- specific installation incorporating an array of personal objects placed as multiple mini-stages around the room.

Sophie Calle's room, in the kitchen. Note card with story on it

With numbered cards to follow, one could journey about the room experiencing the nostalgia laden dioramas found on the table, in the bookcase, across the mantle, draped over the bed, tucked in the kitchen or hanging in the bathroom. In the center of the room the stuffed cat and its sweet-sad story seemed to anchor the couch while letters, books and clothing were strewn about offering other stories of crushed dreams and fanciful tales.

Sophie's cat

Even the room-safe, propped open for the day, revealed that she, Sophie, had recently acquired a plot in the Bolinas Cemetery in Bolinas, California and that her dilemma of after-life transportation to the final resting site as by UPS or by FedEx had been resolved.

The safe, with her funeral preparations

While autobiographical in nature, the viewer is encouraged to become the director or creator of the narrative hinted at in the various corners. The suite seemed filled with life lived. The wry acerbic wit of the artist evident in the various scenes, which seemed to weave time and object in a dense quilt of memories.

Typewriter in the living room

Some visitors, while welcome, seemed almost uncomfortable. As they bumped past each other in their commitment to read and review everything set out for consumption, their own lives seeming not equal to the richness of what they were given the chance to observe. Some seemed almost afraid to laugh at some of the stagings, and then leaving almost as one might leave a funeral parlor or  a crime scene, not knowing what to say. And yet, I found the room welcoming, filled with stories like an open journal book of a most refreshing adventurous life.

Sophie's bedroom

Sophie’s Room, co-presented with The Lowell Hotel, was a wonderful afternoon’s reading and a fitting addition to Fiction & Non-Fiction, one of “Crossing the Line 2011′s” three curatorial program perspectives. FIAF, in partnership with the Cultural Services of the French Embassy, opened its fifth edition of “Crossing the Line” in mid-September with performances, exhibitions, an audio-guide walk and events stretching the length of Museum Mile.The festival ran for a month closing on October 16.

Origin by United Visual Artists (UK). The LED lights changed color and sound like snippets of conversation sputtered as we walked through the installation

The installation, Origin, by the UK group United Visual Artists, with sound by Scanner, was a rectilinear scaffolding built on a stage-y platform. We weren’t the only people wandering through and wondering why build a non-building. And why the percussive flashes of what might have been words. I think it’s fair to say Alex got the most out of it. He said it reminded him of being in the city, overhearing conversation fragments and experiencing the tall buildings and city lights.

Alex and Lindsey in DUMBO in front of Origin. When the lights are off, it's just an aluminum framework.

When I read that it came from the UK, all I could think of was the cost of shipping this. Could it possibly have been worth it?

The installation itself is stunning, functional, and user-friendly: a narrow,  red shelf at chest height with all the information above, so it can easily be read by standing adults (in contrast to the unfortunate recent trend to position text-filled labels at a height legible to visitors in wheelchairs and grade-school children, but no one else).  The exhibition consists of typeface examples on the walls, some printed material in small, cantilevered, flat cases, and small television screens, some of which have headphones for sound.

American Type Founders 'OCR-A' (1966) gift of Monotype Imaging Inc.

All the typefaces were created on computer screens, although most were designed to be used for print on paper. Indeed, the varied role of computers is a leitmotif of the exhibition. OCRA-A, familiar from the numbering on bank checks,  was designed to be readable by computers and conforms to specifications of the U.S. Bureau of Standards. All previous type was designed to be read by the eye, whereas  OCR-A was designed to account for the optical scanner’s difficulty in distinguishing Os from zeros or Qs.

Wim Crouwel’s 'New Alphabet; an Introduction to Programmed Typography' (1967)

Wim Crouwel’s New Alphabet (1967), on the other hand, was designed to be legible on the computer screen, taking account of the difficulty of  producing diagonal and curved lines on digital screens.  It yields the block-y letters seen on many digital clocks and signs.

Matthew Carter 'Verdana' (1996) Gift of Microsoft Corporation

Verdana, designed by Matthew Carter, was also intended for use on the computer screen. It counters the tendency for negative spaces in letters to fill in and for some characters to be hard distinguish, such as the number one, the small letter l, and the capital I.

Zuzana Liko 'Oakland' (1985)

Zuzana Liko designed Oakland (1985), a bitmap typeface, exclusively on a Mac, which revolutionized typography, although high-resolution computer screens eventually eliminated the need for it. Walker, commissioned by the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis from Matthew Carter in 1995, is a mutable, interactive typeface, which is only possible with computer technology. The computer’s unique ability to generate a randomization command is integral to Erik van Blokland’s and Just van Rossum’s typeface, FF Beowolf (1990) which, in its lively irregularity, has some of the personal element of handwriting. They discussed their reasoning for a design which worked against industrial perfection in the wonderfully-titled article, Is best really better?

Erik van Blokland and Just van Rossum 'FF Beowolf' (1990) Gift of FSI FontShop Int’l

Several typefaces responded to the very specific demands of their users. Erik Spiekerman designed FF Meta in 1984 for the German Post Office, which needed a type that would work equally on the  scale of postage stamps and the sides of postal trucks.  Mercury (1999) was Jonathan Hoefler’s answer to the New York Times’ need for a typeface that could be used in differing climates across the U.S., since newsprint absorbs ink differently in dry and humid environments. The solution was a design that could be tailored to the locale, but maintain the same letter width so the layout could be standard.

'FF Meta' for signage...

and at a different scale

This exhibition brings back some of the focus on letter forms that most of us only experienced in first grade, when we learned to create glyphs that opened up a new means of communication.  It makes me wonder whether, in the emphasis in education on testable content, handwriting itself will become obsolete.