Stefanie Keenan

A Hollywood Ending?

Where, finally, does Hollywood fit in, a community that many in the Los Angeles pin their hopes on? The question seems to be a divisive one. Some claim that the film industry never opens its checkbooks for the visual arts, while others counter that it has been on the whole very supportive. The reality most likely lies somewhere in the middle.

Hollywood is continually courted not just for funds but for the glamour that famous actors, directors, and producers bring to the all-important museum galas. LACMA’s Art + Film Gala and the Hammer’s Gala in the Garden are prime examples. But, as Hammer director Ann Philbin points out, focusing only on the stars can be deceptive: “There are a lot of people from off-camera Hollywood who support us and there are many collectors with a real passion for the arts in the [talent] agencies: I have five agents on my boards — one from the Gersh Agency, one from WME, two from UTA, and one from CAA.”

Yet a sense of untapped potential remains. Historically, Hollywood has often opted to support charitable causes in the fields of health, education, and the environment rather than the visual arts. Theories abound as to the source of this disconnect, the most pervasive — and perhaps most persuasive — being that, since the film community already considers itself part of the larger Los Angeles art scene, its members view their own professional activities as support enough for the arts.

That said, Michael Ovitz, whose personal art collection is world-renowned, and the agency CAA, which has an impressive corporate collection, have helped shift the paradigm of Hollywood’s support for art. “There is now more interest in the arts [from Hollywood], says LAXART director (and L.A. native) Lauri Firstenberg, though she adds that this “hasn’t been the norm.”

While Hollywood is certainly the most high-profile rainmaker in the Los Angeles economy as a whole, it is neither the only game in town nor is it impermeable to the city’s cultural dynamics. Which is to say, the lack of an underlying culture of patronage is still the real issue. As Los Angeles develops this culture, professionals ranging from real estate executives and lawyers to doctors and Hollywood executives may become more attuned to what it means to support the arts. At the end of the day, Hollywood is an underdeveloped donor pool just like other moneyed communities in Los Angeles, which still needs to be cultivated.

Learning from MOCA

In the United States, the lack of significant government support for the arts means that much of the responsibility for safeguarding the country’s cultural institutions has been left to the private citizen. With this in mind, it is nothing short of amazing that places like the Hammer and LAXART even exist in the first place. Nevertheless, for Los Angeles to secure its position as an international capital for the visual arts, its institutions must have more consistent support.

At the time of publication, MOCA trustees announced it had received $60 million in pledges. The question is, why did the museum have to careen to the brink of ruin for the second time in four years for its trustees to step up to the plate and support the museum? Certainly, not everyone in Los Angeles agrees with Jeffrey Deitch’s vision for the museum, however many concur that MOCA should exist as an independent and freestanding institution. The key for MOCA and others is steady and enduring cultivation of potential benefactors through decisive vision, strong leadership, and rigorous programming.

L.A. has the seedlings of a patron culture. It is now crucial for institutions to imbue potential benefactors with a sense of ownership — because if today’s donors care enough to invest in L.A.’s cultural infrastructure, the following generations will understand its importance and have a model on which to build upon.

 

by Yasmine Mohseni

Published: April 18, 2013

Museum Directors Step In

Given the mercurial nature of art support in L.A., how can patronage stabilize and develop into a culture of the long-term commitment? Many observers believe museum directors might play a key role in helping Los Angeles transition from a city of art supporters to a community of patrons.

An institution’s director sets the tone for its programming staff and also for its board of trustees, both delicate ecosystems. In today’s Los Angeles, almost everyone singles out LACMA director Michael Govan for reinvigorating the museum and creating a dynamic multi-generational board. Govan’s understanding of how to appeal to a broad audience has garnered him influential fans, from young Hollywood executives to Beverly Hills matrons.

The charismatic director took charge in 2006. It certainly helps that he and his wife — the fashion public relations executive Katherine Ross — are a glamorous couple, running in the rarefied social circles of socialites and movie stars. The appeal of belonging to an exclusive social group that comes with being on a museum board like LACMA’s is a key incentive for new patrons.

“I know for a fact that the LACMA board is comprised of people who have really bonded, and Michael is responsible for creating an atmosphere where that can happen,” says long-time art collector and Hammer Museum trustee Susan Bay Nimoy.

As head of one of the city’s largest institutions, Govan undoubtedly has access to a strong donor base. Still, it’s his dynamic vision for the museum — from orchestrating high-profile projects such as “Levitated Mass” and the Art + Film Gala to overseeing the museum’s brick-and-mortar expansion — that keeps patrons writing checks.

“Michael Govan is the most successful in terms of trying to capture and train a young generation of boards members and get them early,” Bruce Robertson, the acting director at UC-Santa Barbara’s art museum, acknowledges.

Robertson thinks that Govan’s stewardship of LACMA could have a larger impact on Los Angeles. “If that generational changeover is successful — and I think it will be — then L.A. institutions are in a good position,” he says. “This will mean that a culture of philanthropy will have been created, a generation will have been trained, and they’ll understand their role on boards and see the results of their work.”

Long-Term Art Lovers

A director’s vision may draw patrons to an institution, but institutions still need a cooperative audience. “What’s so frustrating is hearing people with money [who are] so busy, they just want you to tell them what to do or what to buy,” laments collector and art patron Joy Simmons. A true culture of patronage requires active participation from potential benefactors.

What would this look like? Collector and attorney Christopher Yin consciously made the rounds of the city’s institutions before at last finding his home at the contemporary arts non-profit spaceLAXART, clicking with director Lauri Firstenberg. “Lauri’s program shows a lot of the same artists we are interested in and collecting,” he explains. “About five years ago, she asked if I’d like to get involved. So I joined the board.”

For her part, Nimoy left the MOCA board for the Hammer because is felt like a better fit. “Truly it’s simple: If you care about the director’s vision and you have money, you’re going to give. What we’re excited about at the Hammer is Annie [Philbin's] vision for the museum and the program support,” she says. “[As a patron], everyone has to find where they’re most excited.”

As for Simmons, she has been a trustee at a number of institutions, including LAXART, theSanta Monica Museum of Art, the California African American Museum, and now the soon-to-open Mistake Room. For her, the decision is not just about a particular program or artist but a long-term dedication to an institution and an artist’s career.

“I’ve been blessed to have a very successful career as a physician,” Simmons explains. “If someone is going to pay me to do what I do, then I can support an artist to do what they do.” (She passed her enthusiasm and passion for contemporary art on to her daughter Naima Keith, who is now assistant curator at the Studio Museum in Harlem.)

A sense of active ownership and mentorship is essential in forming a strong culture of patronage, catalyzing both the art audience and other potential patrons. Simmons is in many ways a model: In addition to her activities as a board member, she is known to reach out to friends and contacts of all ages, encouraging them to participate in the arts, for instance pooling money together for educational outreach which facilitated bussing school children from across Los Angeles to the Hammer to view the 2011 exhibition “Now Dig This!”

“It’s [about] trying to get people – especially the young ones – [who are already] interested in collecting to see that it’s more than having the object, it’s about being a patron,” she explains.

Nimoy recalls the impact of having MOCA founding member Beatrice Gersh and her husband Philip as mentors. “Phil Gersh was my husband Leonard Nimoy’s agent in the late 1980s,” she remembers. “We were invited on many occasions to their house for dinner, and I had never seen a collection like this at a private home. I was invited to join the Acquisitions Committee at MOCA — and that’s where my education started.”

Joining the Party

For those who don’t have art mentors, the social dimension of museum fundraising is an attractive and (relatively) accessible point of entry — and one that seems especially important in Los Angeles.

“People like to ingest their culture in different ways. In L.A. they enjoy openings and receptions,” Hammer director Ann Philbin postulates. “People need to come together here because they’re all in their bubbles — in cars, offices, homes — so there is a real focus on cultural gatherings in the evenings.”

Yin agrees that social engagement is an easy way for institutions to draw in new donors. Ideally, such events will serve as a sort of amuse-bouche, leading into a more lasting bond around the organization’s programming. The social emphasis, however, does have a drawback for the L.A. art scene: Tapping into this energy can be tricky for smaller institutions without an events budget. For these more modest venues, distinguishing themselves in the city’s vast arts landscape remains difficult — a weakness that has a direct impact on their donor base.

Yet it’s not impossible. Since its inception in 2005, LAXART has attracted a young and trendy art crowd through its social events and accessible programming. In the past several years, this aspect of the institution’s activities has become more seriously considered. Yin attributes this to LAXART’s strategic collaborations with the Hammer (through the L.A. Biennial) and the Getty (with Pacific Standard Time).

“A lot of people suddenly realized ‘oh this is a really exciting organization,’” Yin said. “It maintains a scrappier grassroots type of engagement, and at the same time has a certain institutional gravitas that makes it attractive to potential patrons.” Perhaps that’s a winning blueprint for something larger for the city, an institutional culture that reflects L.A.’s low-to-the-ground flexibility, but takes advantage of the very real achievements that exist.

In recent years, Los Angeles has received increased international attention as an important new center for contemporary art. In fact, the idea that L.A. art is the next great frontier has been repeated so many times that today it’s almost a cliché. The real question should be, in the face of all this buzz, what still holds it back?

The city’s virtues are many and well known: Strong art schools, affordable housing and studios, large expanses of space, and good weather have all contributed to a flourishing scene. In contrast to over-structured art centers like London and New York, Los Angeles still offers a fresh and nimble arts landscape. This flexibility has helped to create an environment conducive to innovative programming in contemporary art, at venues ranging from grassroots artist-run spaces such as Control Room and Public Fiction, to prominent nonprofits like LACE and LAXART and world-renowned institutions LACMA and the Hammer. Across this varied landscape, however, what all these institutions have in common is one thing: a need for increased support from the L.A.’s powerful patrons.

MOCA’s well-chronicled financial crisis might serve as an opportunity to open up a discussion on the current state of institutional patronage in Los Angeles. How does the city’s still-pioneering attitude affect the sustainability of its art institutions? Does Los Angeles have a culture of serious patronage, and if not, why not? How are institutions setting out to groom new patrons in Los Angeles? And does Hollywood — perhaps LA’s most visible set of potential benefactors — really care about the visual arts? If the city’s long-promised arrival at centerstage is ever really to come, these are questions that will need to be answered.

Growing Pains?

In contrast to London and New York, L.A. institutions are relatively young: London’s National Gallery opened in Trafalgar Square in 1838, the Tate opened its doors in 1897, New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1880, MoMA in 1929 and the Whitney in 1931. LACMA has been an art museum since 1961, the Getty since 1974, MOCA since 1979, and the Hammer since 1990.

“Los Angeles has seen this extraordinary flowering of museums since the 1960s,” says Bruce Robertson, art history professor and acting director at UC-Santa Barbara’s Art, Architecture and Design Museum, and previously deputy director of programs at LACMA. “So, 50 years is actually not a long time. Though conversely you could say that what MOCA has achieved in 30 years is pretty significant.”

One possible way to think about the issues facing the L.A. art community is that it seems still to be experiencing a period of turbulent adolescence: identities are being formed, programming and collections are morphing and growing, and the audience is learning how to value its non-profits and museums. Since Los Angeles is a younger metropolis than most East Coast and European cities, its cultural fabric is less developed and its collector class is still learning what it means to be a true art patron.

“Los Angeles is in a very different phase of its legacy building,” acknowledges Andrea Fiucyznski, president of Christie’s Los Angeles. “If you’re looking at the Vanderbilts, the Astors, and the Rockefellers, comparatively Los Angeles is at a much earlier phase — though that’s not to say that it doesn’t have comparable figures. I’ve certainly seen families, individuals, and corporate entities select and choose which institutions to support.”

L.A.’s famous cultural institutions do indeed carry the names of its major donors such as the Annenbergs, the Disneys, the Fowlers, and the Huntingtons. However, the wider cultural ideal of placing importance on being a civic-minded art patron has still to take root in Los Angeles. “Only in the past decade have institutions become strong, and philanthropy is just now starting to catch up,” says Ann Philbin, director of the Hammer Museum. “There is not a deep culture of patronage in Los Angeles yet, but it’s coming along — it’s still young.”

Adds Robertson, “L.A. has a history of acts of philanthropy rather than a culture of philanthropy.”

Indeed, the reality that philanthropy here comes in fits and starts may help explain MOCA’s tumultuous history. As Philbin points out, “Acts of philanthropy founded [MOCA], but it wasn’t shored up enough for it to be sustained. Real philanthropy is not a short-term deal. Eli [Broad] isn’t our biggest problem. Our biggest problem is that we don’t have more Elis. We need more people to equalize his power, then he would be one among many heroes.”

Some institutions, of course, are in partnerships that help provide a safety net, notably the Hammer, which has been operated by UCLA since 1992, and LACMA, which has been under the aegis of Los Angeles County since its inception. But for those without the financial cushion of an endowment or partnership — and MOCA is only the most glaring and high-profile example — a patronage model based on sporadic giving makes it more difficult to reach long-term goals. This reality can damage the autonomy and integrity of programming.

Perhaps the problem is as much on the side of those asking for money as for those receiving it. Cesar Garcia, who plans to open the non-profit space the Mistake Room in early 2014, asserts that L.A. institutions aren’t engaging potential donors in a strategic way. “Often, you see patrons being handled on a project-by-project basis, meaning you’re not asking for an angel-based gift — which is huge to supporting an institution.”

When patrons are approached for one-off exhibitions, market trends can dictate institutional programming — it’s just easier to raise money for and draw attention to the artist du jour than for the lesser-known artist. By and large, this is the situation that L.A.’s art institutions find themselves in today. It’s a perspective that will likely have to change for the scene to grow deeper roots.

 

by Yasmine Mohseni

Published: March 20, 2013

The London-born, L.A.-based emerging artist Kelly Barrie taps into local surf and skate culture for his solo exhibition “High and Dry” at the Venice, California, gallery Marine Contemporary. Barrie continues to refine his technique of performance-based photography while delving into new territories with his first freestanding sculptural work. Barrie has a keen sense of a material-based experimentation, which allows for unforeseen circumstances to enter a work harmoniously. Perhaps growing up in a family of artists informed his intuitive creative approach: His parents are artists Ray Barrie and Mary Kelly. ARTINFO’s Yasmine Mohseni talked with Barrie about his new show.

You have a rather elaborate creative process, what do you call your work and how do you create each piece?

I don’t know how to classify them, I call them “drawing photos.” I essentially document my drawings. It starts with me finding a photo I’m particularly drawn to and reprinting it as an 8-by-10-inch transparency. I use the transparency as a guide, then I figure out how I’m going to perform each aspect. Imagine a piece of black paper on the floor, I have photo-sensitive powder, a sifter and a few wet rags to wipe my feet off. I sift out a general shape [with the photo-sensitive powder] and then I start walking through it. I pick up the powder and transfer it elsewhere with my feet. I’m using the footprint as the reference to the figure, to the body. So, like with “Downhill, circa 1978,” I literally walk out the pipe in a diameter with my feet first. Then I stand in the middle of that big circle drainpipe for a long time and tackle the middle bit. I use a squeegee, which is pulled over and over again until I get enough irregular marks. The pipes are so big you could drive a truck through it so I used my kid’s truck to make some tire patterns on the inside. When I’m done with a drawing, I take small photographs of sections and digitally weave them together into a large photograph.

It’s funny, because I’m recreating a precise concrete pipe that’s been measured out, but concrete isn’t particularly flat and beautiful. It’s really irregular, so I found that the process lent itself to that texture. So, I wipe one off and I start again on top of it. There’s a layering of different moments in time in the drawings. I reuse the paper for the duration of the show, unless it gets totally trashed. I came across this process by accident: I had a piece of black seamless paper in my studio and I was walking around on it in my socks. I had a photo of this tree that I had no idea what I was going to do with, I just knew I was fascinated by it. I ran out of white paper so I printed it on transparency. I was staring at it and then past it into the black paper and saw all these dusty footprints on it. And that’s basically when the light bulb went on and I thought ‘I’m going to walk this out in my head.’ When I do a series of drawings, I do them on the same piece of paper.

Your new series looks to the West Coast skate culture of the 1960s and 1970s. What about this time and subculture inspire you?

The poetics of what skating actually meant — it was this means of self-expression. We’ve institutionalized it and it’s a different beast now, but the heart hasn’t gone away, which is really about finding these sites nobody else knew about or sites created by the government and converting them into temporary playgrounds. I think the improvisational process of recognizing potential sites has a lot to do with my work – like the exhibition I did at LAXART [“Negative Capability,” 2010] around junkyard playgrounds and why children prefer to play in rubble as opposed to a swing set: There’s a tactile immediacy to materials. A lot of my work has to do with lost sites that become converted to temporary playgrounds for self-expression; this is the genesis for all my work. And it’s nice because there’s a bit of personal history there too: When my parents moved from England to teach at Cal Arts, I was 12 or 13. I got a chance to skate some pipes out in Phoenix [part of the Central Arizona Project, a government initiative responsible for the construction of miles of concrete aqueducts to transport water]. They were huge, at least 20 feet in diameter. It was a $3 billion playground.

The focal point of your exhibition is the skate ramp sculpture “Skate Wave circa 1978.” Was it the point of departure for your show?

Not really. The sculpture and other work were pretty simultaneous. I collect skate magazines and I stumbled on a rare copy of Desert Pipes from 1978 and 1979 in a thrift store. I picked it up for a couple of bucks, started going through the images and thought ‘oh god, I remember that.’Desert Pipes was the point of departure. About two weeks after that, I was researching archival photographs and [came across an image of a wave ramp]. I studied it more, saw the silhouette of the light and found out that they called it the wave; it was a wonderful transitional object.

My actual skating period was the 1980s, I’m a child of the half pipe plywood ramp. The phenomenon of pool skating came right before me. Those are the moments I’m most interested in because things are still being worked out, objects are failing, and people are really experimenting. This [wave] shape wasn’t immediately recognizable, just as in a lot of my work it takes time to figure out what you’re looking at or what the issue of it is. I love the pool reference, the craftsmanship of making it in the same way you’d make a surfboard, matching the pool color and basically creating a fiberglass ramp that would allow surfers to recreate those same carving maneuvers they do in the waves but on land.

This is your first freestanding sculpture, did this new creative outlet impact your studio practice?

It opened up my process and triggered some other thoughts in my head. [In my work], I document the drawing and I allow everything to flow into the drawing. I try to make it as democratic as I can, like when the air conditioner comes on and blows the drawing or the cat walks through it. But, funnily enough, I hadn’t considered literally moving the camera. The three-dimensionality of the sculpture opened me up to looking and considering things I hadn’t before. I thought, well, if I just move the camera over here and photograph other stations, I start thinking about other spaces where activities are happening, like in “Cutting Board.” [In my studio], there are all these cut-up pieces of skater magazine pages that were left behind and little piles of photosensitive powder, and I just photographed them on the cutting board, which resonated a lot with me. There seem to be more to those arrangements, which weren’t conscious arrangements.

Who are your influences?

I was always intrigued by the interweaving of art historical commentary in Vik Muniz’s work. The performative aspect comes not only out of my activities as a kid and being very active but also being drawn to Bruce Nauman’s studio performances — that factors into how I think of the studio space as a place of production. A lot of times, people see making things in the studio and not having them reach outside as a failed proposition. I think memory is quite a powerful tool, I need a place in which to perform or exercise that residual unconscious timeline we’re all walking around with.

I’ve always been a big fan of Matthew Barney’s “Drawing Restraint” series. He gave a talk to our whole group when I was doing the Whitney Independent Studies Program and I really got this idea of having obstacles in front of you when you’re doing something, whether they’re self imagined or physically created by yourself, that challenges you to get to your end goal. You have to traverse all this stuff that seems rather elaborate, but I think the end result becomes this residual mark-making from that struggle. A lot of my work investigates that idea of a trace. I was thinking more about that with the marks on the skate ramp, which is a restraint — it’s funny to think about that.

There was a group of skaters skating up the ramp at your opening. Did you set that up?

I knew one or two of them but I decided that I wouldn’t try to orchestrate a session because it would’ve never happened that way, so we just leaked it. I had skaters coming up to me saying, “Dude, thank you for making that, that was a lot of fun and brought back memories.”

What’s really wonderful about these temporary spaces is that they sort of accrue a constituency; at first maybe you’ll catch someone on it once. I guarantee you that by the end of the show, there will be regular skate sessions with a bunch of kids. And that’s how those spaces would function [in the 1960s and 1970s]. Then they would disappear or get busted — it’s constantly in this state of flux. That speaks to the mobility of this sculpture as well: the ability to be spontaneous, you can imagine the collaborative effort to move it. And that’s part of the principle: It’s about collaborating, allowing for self-organization and the self-empowerment that comes with that. So, I really do think of these things on a psychological and political level as much as I think about them in terms of the immediacy of the tactile, of the pleasure of handling and making an object.

“High and Dry” is one view at Marine Contemporary through April 6, 2013.

To see images from the show, click on the slideshow.

by Yasmine Mohseni

Published: March 15, 2013

Seminal artist Catherine Opie is unveiling a new series in her solo show at Regen Projects, celebrating her 20-year collaboration with the L.A. gallery. The new photos are a departure from the aggressively political imagery of her past work. Here, the portraits and landscapes invite the viewer on an introspective journey into the artist’s current state of mind. Opie pulls from art history, notably Renaissance painterHans Holbein and Dutch master Rembrandt van Rijn, to create a series of contemporary photographs that address the theme of humanity and our cognitive relationship to memory and history. ARTINFO’s Yasmine Mohseni visited the exhibition with the artist, who offered insight into a new body of work that is at once quiet and powerful.

Artist Catherine Opie / Courtesy Heather Rasmussen

This show seems to be both a progression and a departure for you?

There’s obviously a conversation in relationship to earlier portraits, and just the fact that I really love making portraits. Portraits have never been far from my practice. But this show is a more internal body of work; it’s about my own mental place in relationship to how I want to form the portraits, which lean more to allegory. For years, I’ve been looking at communities in relationship to the politics of representation. And so the departure here is really the void of politics to a certain extent, it’s not necessarily about a representation but more about an internal space and about how we look at work from a cognitive level in relationship to the sublime. I’ve always loved historical paintings — they’ve informed how I think about portraiture and trying to make work out of an imagined space or even my imagination as a 51-year-old woman.

How do the abstract landscape photographs come into play in this exhibition?

Abstraction is incredibly powerful in photography at the moment. But mine is a lens-based abstraction versus a Photoshop-based abstraction. All the landscapes are untitled but they’re all [taken] outside or close to national parks. We say ‘look, there’s the Grand Canyon’ but all we do is take a picture with an iPhone and put it on our Facebook page. Can we go to national parks anymore and have these grand moments with nature? How do you reimagine the landscape, and how do you make a landscape one that we know but that it is also imaginary? So, I’m really asking people to do a little more work with these photos, [posing questions like] what is memory? What is your cognitive relationship to nature? What is nature to humanity? It’s important that the landscapes are integrated in the show; I didn’t want to piece everything out. You need pauses in between really intense portraits; a moment to escape the face and the figure.

Why have the exhibition focus on the vulnerability of the internal life?

I wanted the exhibition to match the space that I’m in. I’m very stable in my life right now and I feel like I have a lot providing me incredible stability: my relationship, my son, our family, my daughter. I’m just in this place that I was willing to dig a little bit deeper on an emotional level without it being overtly emotive or overly poetic. How do you balance all that in art? I think it’s a really hard thing to do. Those were the questions I was asking myself in relationship to making the body of work. What does it mean to be middle-aged and have had this really amazing trajectory? I’m thinking about my body and how my body has been changing. The blood [prevalent in the show] is in reference to the fact that I don’t bleed anymore. There’s also a vulnerability to the body: you go from young to middle-aged to older in the show. I’ve always been interested in ideas of humanity and what is human, I’m trying to touch on that in a little bit of a different way with this body of work.

What is your relationship to the subjects in these portraits?

They’re friends, they’re always friends, or friends of friends. Taca is the partner of Rodney Hill, who’s the father of my child. Jonathan Franzen is a writer that I’ve always read and I love that the book [in front of him] is open as if this could be a potential story, but it’s not a linear narrative. There are the [Mulleavy] sisters with Laura telling Kate a secret – like a secret language – and they’re embroidering a blood drip. Blood is referenced throughout this body of work. Like with Dave, the reason why he’s bleeding – and a lot of people have unfortunately read it as castration – it’s really because he’s my trainer and he’s been working me out for three years and it’s the closest relationship I’ve ever had with a man.  During that time period I stopped bleeding so he begins to bleed for me. So, it is coming out of this dream state but without it being a coherent dream state.

This is a large show with a lot of works, how did you approach the install?

I always install everything in my studio with foam core models and I figure out how I want the work positioned. I’ve always worked with photographs as installation. It’s a definite installation; I wanted the work to flow in this way. It’s also very much about its materiality: the framing, the scale of the work and not using plexi, so the print is as vulnerable as the subjects are.

Both the materiality and subject matter demand an active participation from the viewer. Is that something you put a lot of thought into?

Yes. Art needs to go more to that place where you can’t experience this exhibition or the images just in print, it’s about the physicality of how they are in the space.  You may be able to see them on the Internet but you can’t experience them in the same way as what happens with the print in the frame. Scale is really important in terms bringing people in and stepping back and what the sight lines do.  You have these two grooves in the ceiling that work really well with the verticals. The ovals were a way to make another shape, but it’s also like an oversized cameo. It’s like miniature portraits by Holbein, but these aren’t miniature and you can’t wear them. You’re used to seeing them under a glass vitrine but here you’re faced with a contemporary oval, they have this presence and physicality.

There’s a series of smaller works that seem to stand apart from the rest. What is their significance?

These are very different, almost like a bizarre key to the puzzle. You have the lips being sewn but the lovers end up kissing, it’s all about the blood mingling. And there’s just my arm, it’s the self-portrait in the show: my arm going into the void. For me it’s like I’m pulling out of the darkness. And the bonsai tree: My partner Julie is an amazing gardener, and she gave me this bonsai tree for my birthday. It keeps dying and coming back to life so that’s a photo of my little bonsai tree coming back to life again, after I thought I killed it. So, this is the key – well, I call it a key but it really isn’t a key, I just don’t know how else to describe it – to the internal mental space of this exhibition in a certain way, that is purely a dream state.

You refer to art history and narratives such as Adam and Eve without actually spelling it out for the viewer. As a result, the show has a nuanced subtlety to it. What was your thought process here?

Well, we all know those stories. They’re innate to us in terms of readers of art, books and culture, we all try to fit it very tightly in a nice little wrapped-up perfect package. I’m trying to use the form to connote that to a certain extent but also open it up — I want an openness in terms of what it is to view these days. How do we view? Where do we go in our minds? It’s probably the most cognitive exhibition I’ve ever tried to do. This one is asking real questions about our relationship to our brain, memory, and history.

“Catherine Opie,” is on view at Regen Projects, 6750 Santa Monica Boulevard, Los Angeles, February 23-March 29, 2013 

“I don’t know what’s going on with MOCA, I know there’s a LACMA offer on the table and personally I think that would amazing,” Opie told ARTINFO on Friday. “LACMA has an amazing ability to raise money, Michael Govan has done an incredible job with that campus. If he feels like he can take that on and turn things around it would be incredible.”

In spite of MOCA’s reputation for being an artists’ museum rather than a larger, encyclopedic institution in the LACMA mold, Opie sees no fundamental opposition between the two institutions’ sensibilities that would detract from the merger’s appeal.

“Michael is an artist-centered director just like Jeffrey [Deitch],” she said. “I don’t see that as being a problem. When this came up [in 2008] when LACMA was in the mix for MOCA I was one of the few people who thought it was a good idea back then. [L.A.] is a really hard town to raise money in. If it was a different philanthropic community then everybody could sustain with their own little pod of people. Even though Hollywood has so much money, historically it doesn’t seem like people are writing huge checks that are needed for MOCA not to go down this path.”

— Yasmine Mohseni, ARTINFO Los Angeles

As Angelenos gave themselves whiplash in their attempts not to miss any Oscar-week star sightings, the art world played a supporting role to Hollywood’s leading-lady position. Nevertheless, contemporary art made its presence known in the lead-up to Sunday’s Academy Awards ceremony, notably with openings at Gagosian and Prism galleries.

On Thursday night, Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills hosted an opening for “Cowboys,” a solo show by Richard Prince. Guests who arrived right at 6, such as the prompt André Balazs, were able to take their time walking through the galleries to admire Prince’s newest series of iconic cowboy paintings. A half hour later, the crush of people made it virtually impossible to look at any of the work. And a few minutes after that, everybody had their backs to the paintings and the people watching officially stole the show. Pamela Anderson (top), Michael Chow, Jeffrey Deitch, Elton John, Terry Richardson, Adrien Brody (above), and Mario Testino all mingled while photographers scurried about making sure to get the shots.

Two nights later, a few of the same faces were seen at Testino’s Prism Gallery opening on the Sunset Strip. Testino stood at the back of the gallery, graciously fielding an endless series of questions and autograph requests while guests including Kim Kardashian, Carolyn Murphy,Russell Simmons, and Marisa Tomei looked on. This marked the legendary Peruvian photographer’s first U.S. gallery show in seven years. The photos, ranging from landscapes to racy shots of cavorting models, were a departure from Testino’s usual beat of celebrity portraits (other than a few inevitable photos of Kate Moss).

After the opening, Prism, along with hosts Gisele Bündchen and Penélope Cruz (who was a no show), held an exclusive party for Testino at the private estate Fleur de Lys. The opulentVersailles-inspired building located in the hills near Bel Air was turned into a nightclub complete with a lit-up dance floor, pulsing music, and servers passing around Dom Perignon. Famous offspring and art adviser Vito Schabel and Stavros Niarchos were present as well as Naomi Campbell and model Karolina Kurkova.

However, the evening’s award for most awkward interaction went to L.A. MOCA director Jeffrey Deitch, who approached Victoria’s Secret model Alessandra Ambrosio who, a few moments later, picked up her glass of champagne to move to the other side of the room, an excellent illustration of the art world’s uneasy relationship with fashion and celebrity.

— Yasmine Mohseni, ARTINFO Los Angeles

(Image: Adrien Brody and a bandit at the opening for “Richard Prince: Cowboys.” Via Gagosian/Facebook.)

The Getty has unveiled the theme for its second Pacific Standard Time initiative: “Los Angeles and Latin America,” or “L.A./L.A.” for short. Scheduled to open in 2017, the second iteration of PST will offer an in-depth exploration of the artistic connections between Los Angeles and Latin America. “Our city has had deep roots in Latin American, making it a nexus of cultural creativity between North and South,” said Getty President and CEO Jim Cuno.

The Getty will build on the model it set in place with the first PST and has invited a small group of planning partners, notably L.A. MOCA, LACMA, the Hammer, and Chicano Studies Research Center at UCLA, to apply for research funding for “L.A./L.A.,” which will be followed by a larger competition for additional organizations early this summer. The initiative’s two-part focus on research and implementation will result in scholarly documentation on the rich topic and ensuing exhibitions throughout Southern California — at this time it’s too early to know if the shows will travel outside of California.

Building on the first PST, the Getty is also launching “Pacific Standard Time Presents: Modern Architecture in L.A.,” designed to maintain the momentum between the two initiatives. This smaller campaign opens in April, featuring 11 exhibitions and dozens of events through July 2013.

— Yasmine Mohseni, ARTINFO Los Angeles

 

by Yasmine Mohseni

Published: February 20, 2013

This month, Milan gallery Cardi Black Box brings Los Angeles to Italy with the exhibition “Set Pieces” (February 8 through April 15). Gallery owner Nicolo Cardi invited L.A.-based curators Andrew Berardini and Lauren Mackler to create a show reflecting their city’s contemporary arts landscape, through both new and existing work by emerging and established artists. And while most of the artists included have exhibited internationally, “Set Pieces” stands out in its ambition to assemble a show abroad with only L.A.-based artists, under the direction of two Angelenos.

The fact that the city is being represented in this way underscores the increasingly broad appeal of its arts scene. Cardi has been following L.A. artists for several years, and represents a few leading talents such as Marnie Weber, Mario Ybarra Jr., and Mark Flores; considering it a new and important center for fresh and energetic contemporary art, he felt strongly that it was time to showcase it in his own community. ARTINFO Los Angeles’s Yasmine Mohseni spoke to Andrew Berardini and Lauren Mackler about their latest collaboration.

What was your curatorial approach with “Set Pieces”?

Andrew Berardini: When Nicolo invited me to curate an exhibition on Los Angeles, I thought this would be a great project to do with Lauren [Mackler, founder of the experimental art space Public Fiction]. We wanted to do something that wasn’t just about new art from L.A., but a show that had more poetry and depth. In our research, both Lauren and I have thought a lot about fiction and its relationship to reality, in particular in Los Angeles. In many ways, we are inspired by William Leavitt, whose work often uses plays and their stages to reveal the mundane theatricality of the city. He told us once that his plays were elaborate frames for his paintings. We invited four artists to build individual sets for which their work will serve as installations to host other artists’ work as well as their own. We didn’t want to dictate too much what the set would be; each set emerged in its own way from each artist.

How were the individual sets conceived of within the gallery space?

AB: The installations are dark and theatrically lit, which is the idea behind the exhibition. Sarah Cain was one of the first artists we invited. Samara Golden, whose work has a lot to do with melancholic inter-dimensional realities, made a room with a series of pedestals which, along with the floors and walls, are composed entirely of cloth dipped in a gluey material that makes it hard, resembling marble. Inspired by fantastical French films, it feels like some otherworldly, darkened, supernatural story is going to take place in that space. She also worked with Erik Frydenborg and other artists to make objects for each plinth.

And the other two artists?

Lauren Mackler: Mateo Tannatt and Liz Glynn have different approaches than the others: they’re more conceptual and based in research. Mateo worked on a re-creation of his studio – he calls it a re-creation, but it’s abstract and has more poetry to it. Liz worked on an anatomical theatre, a fictional set with platforms work . Both of those ideas are in line with their individual practices. Mateo’s work always has this architectural element, of taking pieces of furniture out of a room and recasting furniture into non-functional sculpture.

As Angelenos, what does it mean to you to curate a show of L.A. artists in Milan?

LM: I moved to Los Angeles three years ago and immediately fell in love with it as a platform for making ideas happen. What I’ve been doing with Public Fiction is to connect Europe and L.A. — it feels very natural to take this work there and bring that work here. This is the second show Andrew and I have done together in Italy; we collaborated on a show at Artessima in Turin last fall. There’s an interest in Italy and L.A. in poetic ideas being translated in a rich visual aesthetic. The poetry of aesthetics is very similar between the two cities.

To see images from the show, click on the slideshow.