Photo: Dan Kitwood / Getty Images
A Piece of Work: Finally caught up with the documentary about Joan Rivers that was first released in 2010, an insightful, behind-the-scenes look at the comic legend whose recent death sparked an outpouring of accolades from colleagues and audiences alike. I was long a fan of the gutsy comedienne, one of the few whose incisive humor could literally reduce me to tears. The film captures many candid – and humanizing – moments, revealing an indomitable spirit that refused to be marginalized despite advancing age or changing times. Rivers had a habit of cataloging all her jokes Rolodex-style, and here’s hoping that some of the best will eventually make it into a book.
Sweeping Towards Gold: Rev up those brooms. In the anything-can-become-an-Olympic-event department, last week marked the 10th annual Housekeeping Olympics, where teams competed in such riveting endeavors as bed stripping, linen folding, and laundry stacking. And shower scrubbing. And toilet cleaning. “It’s really funny,” said the founder of the festivities. Uh-huh. (Bet Joan would have loved this one.)
Bite of the Apple: So I really don’t get the backlash against Apple for offering the new U2 album as a freebie to its customers. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. Actually, I found the whole concept sort of groundbreaking, as well as a clever move on the band’s part to generate sales for the rest of the U2 collection. Don’t like it? Don’t want it? For heaven’s sake, just delete it. (And stop whining.)
“Object art” carries special meaning in a new installation by Japanese artist Chiharu Shiota, which consists of nearly 400 unpaired shoes linked by four miles of richly hued red yarn, each connected with a personal story that imparts the importance of a memory.
Recently unveiled at the Sackler Gallery at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. and appearing through next year, the exhibit dramatically brings home the point that “presence dwells within absence,” in the words of the artist.
My first reaction to the image shown top was a somber one, as it initially evoked feelings of abandonment, and possibly, misfortune. But the use of the color red was a tip-off. The notes attached to the artifacts are each wonderfully life-affirming, uniting the material and the spiritual in an unexpectedly vivid way.
Objects that range from the rhinestone-adorned high heel (left), offered as a reminder of a mother “at her most shining moments,” to the shoe used by a boxer to symbolize his commitment to the sport during grueling training, to perhaps most poignantly, a son’s donation of one of the shoes worn by his father on his way to a hospital from which he never returned.
All capture the spirits that fill the inanimate…their presence dwelling within the absence.
Masterpieces they surely aren’t, which is the irreverent rationale for the Museum of Bad Art (MOBA) — with its tagline “Art too bad to be ignored” — and founded in 1993 in Boston as a repository for ill-begotten visions of inspiration gone astray.
The spirit of fun begins with a museum FAQ – “Is this some kind of joke?” – and the answer: “This institution works long and hard at building the finest bad art establishment in the world. We take our mission very seriously. Frankly, we are shocked and indignant at your derisive innuendo.”
Perusing the online collection is a trippy immersion in tacky timelessness, such as the three-eyed fluorescent disaster shown above left, which carries a comical back-story. Informed that his piece had been selected for inclusion at MOBA, the “artist,” Scott Winslow, contacted museum personnel to tell them that he could provide much worse.
Referring to the works, and in a bit of an understatement, the museum’s chief curator, Michael Frank, once told The New York Times that “clearly something has gone wrong, either in the execution or in the concept.”
I’d say both, and that’s the whole delightful point.
Two graceful, almost balletic images from a series on egrets, taken recently by an AP photographer with a creative eye for nature, call to mind these beautiful closing lines from the poem “Egrets,”
by the American poet, Mary Oliver.
Even half-asleep they had
such faith in the world
that had made them – –
tilting through the water,
by the laws
of their faith not logic,
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.
Photos: Anupam Nath / AP
Is there any artist who used color more brilliantly than Henri Matisse? I’m hard-pressed to think of one, and the current show at London’s Tate Modern, Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs, the most comprehensive exhibit in a generation of his works created on paper, is a glorious reminder of why.
Mostly produced after the great master became debilitated by illness in the 1940s, the energy of the pieces belie his deteriorating physical health, and forged a new medium of expression resplendent in the vigor of the painter’s late-phase creativity. “Only what I created after the illness constitutes my real self: free, liberated,” he once said. As the exhibition’s curator recently told London’s Independent, “The cut-outs are a dazzling final chapter and the crowning achievement of an already extraordinary career.”
One of the rooms is dedicated to perhaps the most famous of the Matisse paper projects, the luminous Jazz portfolio from 1947, whose remarkable colors remain imprinted on the soul, beautifully rendered in the book (which no art lover should be without) of the same name, along with the artist’s longhand notes in French, and from which two pieces are shown here. Their freshness and vibrancy are not only ageless, but life-affirming.
“Cutting into color reminds me of the sculptor’s direct carving,” Matisse (shown at work on one of his paper creations in his studio, right) said of the technique that consumed him in later years. With his simple instruments of paper, scissors, and glue, he also managed to carve yet another indelible mark on 20th-Century art.
[Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs runs through September 7 at the Tate Modern in London; the exhibition will debut at New York’s Museum of Modern Art on October 12.]
It may not be a Leica and it’s a bit on the rudimentary side, but the Campbell’s soup can shown above was actually used by photographer Julie Schachter to shoot the synergetic “100 Andies: The Soup Can’s Revenge,” right, a silver gelatin print from 1976.
It’s also a creative example of how pinhole photography has been employed since its conceptual inception dating back thousands of years.
Pinhole photographs are usually created with a self-made camera that lacks a lens and which has a single tiny aperture (or pinhole) that processes outside light into a lightproof can or box. The art of what’s often called “camera obscura” is celebrated in a new book, Poetics of Light: Contemporary Pinhole Photography, by Nancy Spencer and Eric Renner. The husband and wife team donated a treasure trove of images to the New Mexico History Museum in Santa Fe, where more than 200 photographs and dozens of examples of pinhole cameras are on display through next year.
A sense of the mysterious and preternatural pervades many of the pieces, and “Ticul Schoolyard, Ticul, Mexico,” below, taken by Renner himself in 1968, captures some of that ghostly feeling. (The lack of sharpness that characterizes pinhole photography is often one of its most artistic elements.)