Don’t miss John Blee’s “Orchard Suite” in DC!
"Appalachian Spring"
My good friend, DC-based painter John Blee (who has been featured here in the past – and who is the main reason behind my starting this art blog), has an upcoming show at The Ralls Collection in Washington, DC. There will be an opening reception at the gallery on Wednesday October 26th, 2011 from 6:00 – 8:00pm. I wrote a piece for the show and am sharing it here to encourage readers who’ll be in the capital to check out John’s fantastic new series, titled “Orchard Suite.” Guaranteed to leave you happy.
Orchard Suite
They wanted to bloom
and to bloom is to be beautiful.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
"Orchard Paths"
"Orchard Rite"
"Orchard Moon"
In his latest series, titled “Orchard Suite,” Washington artist John Blee explores new spatial and emotional dimensions. The works vibrate with Blee’s signature palette, composed primarily of life-affirming, spring blossom hues – although several of the works dive into deeper, nocturnal shades, reflecting a darker, profoundly sensual state. Each canvas is a testament to Blee’s ability to use form and color to build perfect tension: in the end, all the actors on his stage – no matter how diverse, numerous or unexpectedly arranged – balance and create an unlikely harmony that keeps the eyes engaged, alert, amused. The compositions themselves are more geometric than Blee’s work to date, experimenting with linear forms and nearly cubist elements – yet retaining Blee’s otherwise organic foundation with its asymmetry and playfulness. In a sense: playful geometrics against a backdrop of abstract, luminous sky-and-earth-scapes.
Visually striking and magnetic, the Orchard Suite commands the viewer’s full attention. The series’ more geometric aspects and the movement from
"Orchard Mist"
smaller (and at times nearly disguised) to more dominant elements create a new level of depth and dynamism in Blee’s oeuvre, enticing the eyes to dance back and forth, delving deep into the details of the abstract landscape, then quickly zooming out again to take in
the seemingly moving whole – and guess at the artist’s vision and intent. One cannot seem to stop gazing and searching. The varied parts of each canvas tug at one another to create an unlikely balance and playfulness, leaving the viewer uplifted and fulfilled, with an unmistakable joie de vivre.
Of the process of creating the Orchard Suite and the new direction in which it has taken his work, Blee says: “I am here with the work and it ‘comes’ to me. I am the recipient as much as anyone else.” This sense of unplanned urgency and spontaneity is integral to the series. Like spring blossoms, the moment of creation is fleeting – and the result unpredictable and beautiful. Emotionally and aesthetically, Blee creates something that seems fresh and new – yet we are aware of feeling something we’ve felt before, seeing something that reminds us of what we already know.
"Persian Garden"
Not surprisingly for an artist who has always found great inspiration in the works of poets like H.D., the Orchard Suite series began with a reading of Rainer Maria Rilke’s orchard poems. Rilke wrote: “Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.” That sound and sense of release carries through the Orchard Suite, as the works deal with the process of transformation that occurs both in life and in art, from dormancy to flowering and ripening. Other influences on Blee’s recent work include Paul Klee’s Magic Squares, Hans Hofmann, Pierre Bonnard, as well as Helen Frankenthaler.
"Tanzt die Orange"
Blee spent a significant and formative part of his childhood in India – an experience that has permeated and defined the way he views the world around him and, in turn, how he expresses his experience through painting. The Orchard Suite’s vibrant, contrasting color composition is in part drawn from Indian miniatures.
You can read more about John in The Georgetowner or visit his website.
ICA Boston: worth the trip, even for the yacht-less
When I visited the ICA a few weeks ago, I saw a work that, as you approach it, resembles two smooth wooden cubes. It’s not particularly spectacular from afar: the wooden pieces are neatly, even artistically, placed together, but they could be anything: a bench, an empty display base. As you come closer, you see lights coming from within. By the time you’re standing directly above one of the cubes, you find yourself looking into a mirror and lamp-lined interior that creates an endless downward tunnel. It’s beautiful and hypnotic. And on me, it had an effect quite different from what the creator of “11 Upside Down” (2007), Ivan Navarro, described as expressive of his “psychological anxieties.”
When I was growing up with my mother in Moscow, I’d spy on her and her friends in the evening as they turned off the lights in the living room, lit candles on the mirrored table against the wall, stood another mirror in front of it and peered endlessly into the tunnel that, at its depths, promised to show their destiny. (My mother swore she saw a bearded man, clearly not Russian, who many years later became my step-father in reality.)
I learned only later that the cubes’ tunnel effect is meant to replicate a frightening endless abyss – replicating the vertigo effect of the collapsing twin towers.
These encounters with the unexpected is, I think, what makes great contemporary art great. The work elicits a reaction, you connect (or at least respond) emotionally, and then discover a totally unpredictable direction that connects you intellectually. And my first visit to the ICA today was filled with a number of these experiencing, making me wonder exactly what happened when a Boston Magazine‘s Rachel Levitt Slade visited and so unabashedly critiqued the place in her “ICA: Exhibitionists?” (For what it’s worth, a disclaimer re: my late ICA blooming: I lived in Europe from 2005 until 2009, and then in New York, or I would never have let 5 years lapse without visiting.)
Minimalist ICA landscaping.
True, the museum, when approached from “behind” (that is, anywhere that’s not the water) is not unlike the two wooden cubes: plain and, to be frank, unimpressive. I was nervous as I walked up. I wondered why no one had invested in trees and a walkway, some signage, some ads on the posts as you drive up from I-93 to let you know that you’re approaching something worth noticing. I wanted to write that if there was a way to close your eyes until you’re 15 feet from the entrance, you should. But then that would kill the surprise that awaited me when I entered the architectural tour de force that, like many modern buildings I’ve been in, is far more impressive from within.
The view from within makes it all worthwhile.
While touring the galleries, I was in for another surprise: the staff. They’re not security guards. They don’t look tired and don’t avoid eye contact. On the contrary: they’re young, full of energy, and, true to their bright “Ask me” pins, really want to talk to you. After I’d spoken with the third one, I had to ask what was going on. “Most of us have an art background” she said, and explained that she’s a University of Chicago Art History grad. “The museum was hiring people with a certain background and realized this was something different, and then they had education programs for us, we got to meet with the artists and the curators.” She proceeded to give me a brief private tour of the works in her designated room, answered every question, provided unexpected details, sited what the artists themselves said when they visited. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like it in a museum or a gallery – or learned so much in such a brief period of time. It brough the work to life in a way no curatorial note can.
A few other highlights:
Gabriel Kuri’s show, “Nobody needs to know the price of your SAAB”. Unusual, playful, at once subtle (is it social criticism or simply commentary?) – the exhibit has stuck with me for its unexpected juxtapositions (decomposing avocados, signifying the ephemeral, wrapped in newspapers announcing the first moon landing – an event permanently etched in history). Kuri’s commentary on consumerism – a sort of diary made up of a huge collection of grocery store receipts – makes you feel oddly familiar with the artist and then leads to the question of how much others could tell about us by following our consumer patterns. A very interesting artist.
Shephard Fairey’s posters. I’d never seen the Obama “Hope” poster, which Fairey designed, as anything but advertising. But the exhibit of Fairey’s work introduced a heavy dose of irony: Fairey has also mocked and parodied Soviet propaganda and juxtaposed it with American advertising. So was the “Hope” poster intended as pure promotion or could it be part of his propagandesque series? You can read the artist’s statement here.
Christian Janlowski’s “The Hunt” video. The film follows a man who enters a supermarket with bow and arrow and shoots targets like paper towels and food staples.
Mona Hatoum’s “Dormeuse.” An elegantly shaped chaise lounge you’d never want to lounge on (it’s constructed of industrial platform-type metal). The piece reminded me of a high school art class assignment that asked us to make an unusable piece of furniture. Form is everything, function is nearly forgotten – yet the incongruence of it all makes it impossible to dissociate the design from the original purpose of a chaise (the ultimate comfort piece!)
John Blee’s show in Dumbo!
See John Blee’s show in Dumbo!
John Blee. "Repast." 24x24.
I was fortunate enough to get a preview last week. I thought I knew my friend’s work (here’s a link to his site if you don’t), but was blown away by the sheer…diversity of the canvases that will line the loft’s walls through March. The works represent a number of distinct phases (line brush, still lives, and recent work, among others) that all leave very different emotional and visual impressions – and showcase the sheer breadth, and depth, of John’s abilities. The survey includes 26 works – and it’s the first time John, who lived in Dumbo in the 80s, is showing in his old neighborhood.
The setting is a stunning, modern loft in Dumbo with a head-on view of the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan. When you get there, what you get is essentially a private tour of John’s work by one of his oldest friends, Norma Jean Markus – the loft’s charming owner and the woman behind Norma Jean Markus, Inc.
It’s a rare opportunity to see the work of this MoMA- and LA County Museum-represented artist in an intimate setting.
See it if you can! And if you happen to be in the DC area between March 18 and March 28, you can also catch John’s work in the Ralls Collection’s show, 20 Years, 20 Artists at The Ralls Collection.
Event Details
Reception: March 12, 4 – 7 pm and March 13, 1 – 4 pm.
Location: 70 Washington Street 12g, Brooklyn, New York or by appointment. Contact Norma Jean Markus at 917.446.7234.
Also, check out the related posts on bloggy.com and JamesWagner.com.
More About John Blee
Here’s what art critic David Matlock wrote as a way of an introduction to John’s work:
Abstract painting dates from 1911 when Vasily Kandinsky made the leap into the wholly interior without reference to material objects. Henceforth, any reference to the outside world would come from the inside. Painters had always been concerned with interior life, but they got there by starting with the material world and painting inward. Kandinsky reversed this process and his daring (and difficult) task became the life’s work of numerous successors.
As the 100th anniversary of Kandinsky’s breakthrough approaches, it is fair to ask: what has been achieved? Are abstract paintings today repeating what has already been said—and with each repetition, fading in strength? Or do they have something new to say, both from a technical standpoint and in terms of meaning?
At the beginning, abstraction exploded. Kandinsky himself tried to consolidate a more controlled language and connoisseurs still argue about his degree of success. When the Abstract Expressionists adopted the language on a larger scale, canvases exploded again in shamanic frenzy. Success was hit or miss, all too dependent on possession.
John Blee’s first mature paintings, dating from the early 1970s, were also shamanic, painted on the floor, and dependent on force and a possessed dancing. In a career of 40 years, the man has achieved total control over paint and, more importantly, now owns his meditative inscape. He owns the land that earlier painters had to burst into by force. His paintings are deliberate acts of self-intoxication. (It is worth noting, that although he came of age in the 1960s, he has always disdained the use of recreational drugs.) The Hindu and Buddhist art he experienced as a child and adolescent in India were formative; as was the medieval sculpture in the caves of Ajanta and Ellora; and the work of Indian modernists in the National Museum. Blee responds to Asian art as an insider—someone who was shaped by the culture before he received his American inheritance.
The paintings on display are easy to enjoy but difficult to understand. From a technical standpoint, the rendering of space is unique. There is nothing arbitrary or “atmospheric” about the backgrounds—they are architectonic—that is, they create a definite space in which “painterly event” unfolds. It is easy to take pleasure in the paint—casual admirers often remark, “What a painterly painter! What a colorist!” without suspecting the hidden narrative. I strongly suspect the hieratic “Sphinx” (2009) is one of Blee’s dogs, posing nobly on the grass—the humorous title a reference to the difficulty of knowing what the animal is really thinking. Parrots (whom he loves) also appear, but the animals and landscape exist within the meditative land that is the abstract painter’s subject. These paintings are truthful because they begin from within and encompass the outside world in an ecstatic veil of paint. Earlier abstract painters discovered a new continent; John Blee is traveling inland and is providing a faithful record of what he finds.
Blowing Boston’s ICA out of the water
Mere moments after enthusiastically adding Boston’s Institute of Contemporary Art to my cultural to-do list, I came across an article in Boston Magazine that drained the majority of my anticipation. In The ICA: Exhibitionists?, Rachel Levitt Slade critiques everything from the museum’s unapproachable exterior to the shows themselves, which she says lack substance and long-term staying power.
Image from ICA's official site.
Levitt Slade writes: “The ICA is stuck in a field of chainlink-bordered parking lots, and that’s just the beginning of its isolation. With its new high-concept space and infusion of cash, the museum could have ushered in Boston’s next art renaissance. It simply hasn’t. And whether we blame the business-minded board; the curators who have gone after attention-grabbing but lightweight shows; or Boston’s inclination to settle for safe art, the result is painfully clear: The ICA has not done nearly enough to push new concepts onto our intellectual map.”
Yet if I’m not mistaken, the Tao Art Gallery I visited in Provincetown, MA in November ’10 had artists showing at the ICA, and a lot of their work was excellent: original, meaningful, with poignant social commentary. So I have a very deep and sincere hope that at least some of Levitt Slade’s disappointment is unfounded. A few more weeks until I can see it for myself.
Then I can honestly assess whether “the ass of a shiny new building spread across several parking lots and rising self-importantly from its asphalt field much like an Applebee’s” is, unlike Applebee’s, something worth entering and tasting for oneself.
Stepping into the world of Asian art
Reading Cynthia Freedland’s “But is it art?” with its insights into some of the most controversial pieces produced in recent years (Damien Hirst’s dead shark and Serrano’s Piss Christ among them) has made me wonder: who are today’s top-ranking contemporary artists, and is all their work equally…bizarre and unconventional?
The answer I found surprised me: according to the 2008 (not nearly as current a source as I’d like but one of the most accessible ones), of the world’s top 10 money-making artists, only the first four are Western (Jeff Koons, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Damien Hirst, and Richard Prince). The rest are Asian. And yes, they do a lot of breaking with convention, though not, for the most part, in a Hirst sort of way.
Having recently fallen hard for Zao Wou-Ki‘s prints after a friend and art dealer introduced his work, I wanted to know more about some of his contemporaries – and the new generation of Asian painters. I got lucky on a trip to Provincetown, MA, where I got a small glimpse into that diverse, sprawling new Asian universe.
That knowledge that Asian artists are topping, if not dominating, the charts made a recent visit to the Tao Water Gallery even more interesting. Bao Lede, owner and painter-in-residence, hails from China. So do the other excellent painters he represents – painters whose work spans the gamut from thoroughly classical Asian and European to Zao Wou-Ki-inspired to ultra-modern with edgy messaging and sociopolitical undertones.
Bao Lede, "Dawn Shining over the Lake I." Oil on canvas. 68" x 35"
Lede’s paintings are a dreamy, emotive blend of Western and Asian influences. He says that people will often think that a painting of a landscape in China is of Provincetown and vice versa – an unexpected confusion of what you’d think are very different locations that makes his process and inspirations even more intriguing.
When I asked how the economic situation had affected his gallery, he seemed surprised, as if the crisis hadn’t reached the outer Cape – and had to think about it before answering, “not much.” The artists he represents, Bao Lede explained, are doing very well. One is in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Another at PS1. Another in Seattle museum. And several were features in the latest show at the new Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston.
Bao Lede, "Pilgrim Lake I." Oil on canvas. 36" x 36"
I asked how he got to know the painters who show in his galleries, and it turned out that they have a long history that goes back to their days in China in the 80s. At that time, Lede says, there were only 7 art schools in China and each year, only 30 or so students were admitted. The artists knew each other – and clearly still support each other on their way up the ranks.
Bao originally came to NYC, but it was difficult to find your direction there, he said. If you weren’t established and didn’t know people, it was nearly impenetrable. So he opened his own gallery on the Cape. Now he has two, one in Provincetown and one in West Barnstable. All signs indicate that he made the right choice.
If you’re interested in a thorough introduction to who’s who in the modern Chinese art world, you’re in luck: Bao’s wife, Dian Tong, is the author of China! New Art & Artists.
Tao Water Gallery I is located at 1989 Route 6A (on the Cape), and Tao Water Gallery II at 352 Commercial Street, Provincetown, MA.
Vera Pavlova: a poetess for a new generation
Confession: Like a black sheep of a Russian from a literary family, I’ve failed when it comes to poetry. My grandfather wrote it; my great-grandparents, between the two of them, seemed to know it all by heart and had me memorize pages of Pushkin’s children’s sagas; my mother has been a life-long lover of Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva.
But perhaps my relationship with poetry is changing. The guilt of not knowing is subsiding, anyway, thanks to a friend’s introduction of Vera Pavlova. Born in Moscow but married to an American who translates her poetry into English (she says it’s the first case she knows of where the woman is the poet and the husband the interpreter), she’s been published in The New Yorker and is one of Russia’s best-selling poets.
No small feat considering that poetry is not exactly mainstream these days.
I read this piece online one evening:
Why is the word yes so brief?
It should be
the longest,
the hardest,
so that you could not decide in an instant to say it,
so that upon reflection you would stop
in the middle of saying it.
Then I put on my coat and ran down to Book Culture to buy the English-language compilation, If There Is Something To Desire. Within a few pages, Pavlova’s words made me laugh and then cry. I promise I’ve never cried at poetry before.
Her reflections made me want to sit down and write my own, only to realize that it’s impossible to replicate Pavlova’s deeply expressive simplicity. With just a few words, she opens windows on surprising parts of her world and psyche and guides your emotions like a master puppeteer, with you remaining the willing and grateful subject throughout the journey.
Even if you’ve never read or enjoyed a poem, I’m willing to bet that Pavlova’s will strike a chord. And, like any other great book, shed fresh new light on daily experiences – love, motherhood, sex, insomnia, and so many more that we often take for granted.
You can read a selection of Pavlova’s poems here.
Lagerfeld, Winter Palace, and a Russian love story
On Saturday, I visited the Fine Print & Drawing Fair at Lighthouse International (an organization that fights vision loss) to meet the charming and exceptionally friendly Jane Roberts, who recently hosted John Blee‘s show at her gallery in Paris. She’d traveled to New York with a diverse group of works, creating one of the most interesting booths at the Lighthouse show.
The best part was the contrast between old and new, high art and unexpected pop-ups from the fashion world.
I loved (and really wish I could have taken home) Karl Lagerfeld’s elegant sketches of his stylistic visions. It was very Coco Chanel-meets-French-cancan, very fun.
Karl Lagerfeld, "Collection Hiver 86/87."
Right above it hung a dreamy snow scene in purple: a Winter Palace set design for the Nutcracker created by the Russian artist Sergei Sudeikin. I don’t have a photo – but if you’re a fan and interested (it was surprisingly affordable) you can always contact Jane. Just to give you a sense of Sudeikin’s style:
Sergei Sudeikin, "Winter Fantasy," ca. 1920.
Jane told a great love story about Sudeikin and a 20th-century femme-fatale named Vera. The two fell in love and Vera (already twice-married) ran off to Paris to be with Sudeikin. The poor guy left his wife and move to St.Petersburg with Vera – and then to many other places as they sought to escape Russia’s political mess and follow their artistic dreams. But the beautiful, passion-hungry Vera (whose looks could even stop thieving pirates in their tracks) wasn’t satiated. When famous Russian composer Stravinsky invited Vera to a piano-dress rehearsal that Sudeikin instructed her not to attend, Vera left Sudeikin for Stravinsky. You can read BBC’s portrait of Vera here.
G/IRL, brought to life
On the corner of West 22nd Street and 8th Avenue stands a glassed-in, square loft space with white walls and cement floors. A small table and chairs populate one corner, where two young women dressed in all-black lean towards each other (or just towards their laptops?) in their digital art universe. The atmosphere is exceptionally private and would be a tad too serious if it wasn’t for the tiny dog twirling under their feet and their casual chatter and mouse-clicking.
This was the setting for the pop-up Chelsea exhibition, G/IRL: Women Photographers Emerging in Digital Culture, which ran from October 28 through November 2. But that won’t stop you from seeing what the curators wanted you to see: the minimalist space was but a small part of the show, and much of the action is online at an ongoing virtual sales gallery at Art + Culture Editions. A fitting setup, considering that the show’s purpose is to brings together Flickr “phenoms,” teen prodigies, and established photographers who use social media sites, allowing them to explore and establish a life in photography.
“G/IRL highlights the value – and pitfalls – of using social media tools to gain recognition,” the curators explain, “and juxtaposes the landscape of social media, a world in which we promote what we love, with the critical context of New York’s Chelsea art scene.” G/IRL, in case you wondered, stands for Girls in Real Life, as opposed to online.
The digital aspect means that unlike many other art forms, these pieces can be experienced from the privacy of your own home or office or coffee shop chair without you feeling that you’re not doing the artists justice by skipping the “live” presentation. The web is one of their primary media and the official home of their works.
Icelandic photographer Rebekka Guðleifsdóttir lured me in with the “Bubble Bath.” The shot is seductive yet playful, and though it feels like a very private moment, you sense you’re not the only witness to the scene. “I actually think it’s a self-portrait,” Francesca Wilson, Vice President of Business Development at Art + Culture Editions, told me. “She’s not only super talented, but also gorgeous.” Rebekka skyrocket to fame on Flickr – but got burned as she rose: not long after The Wall Street Journal (2006) named her the Web’s Most Popular Photographer, she learned that her images had been stolen from Flickr and sold on Ebay under a fake name for nearly $5,000.
Rebekka Guðleifsdóttir, "Bubble Bath," 2010.
I also loved the contrast of architectural stillness and organic movement in this piece.
Rachel Hulin, "Gold Bridge," 2010.
And if you wonder about the handpicking of two faceless women, here’s the scoop: only a small handful of the photos show the subjects’ faces clearly: they include Rebekka’s “Icelandic Barbie,” another Pauline Beaudemont’s “17,” and Emily Wilson’s “Lily, Portrait.” Pair that fact with the show’s fairly haunting aura, and you wonder: Are children and pop “icons” the only females that dare show their faces in our mediated world? Food for thought.
Impressively, some of the photographers in the show are as young as 16 (Olivia Bee (Olivia Bolles)) and 17 (Lauren Withrow) – aspiring camerawomen discovered online and given the opportunity to showcase their talent in a critical context very different from the social media pages frequented by their peers.
Art + Culture Editions (http://aceditions.com) is a brand new e-commerce platform dedicated to bringing affordable art to collectors worldwide. Artwork from top institutions and world-renowned artists along with emerging talent can be found all on one platform. ACE artists include Nick Cave, David Levinthal, Alexis Rockman, Clare Rojas and many more.
Step aside, Blue Man Group: Oliver Herring’s in the house. Or in the Chelsea’s Meulensteen gallery – where, it’s safe to say, he’s made himself feel very much at home.
When I first walked by, I assumed that the group of smoking, barefoot 20-somethings outside the gallery was Chelsea’s version of a Halloween outing. Plus the inside of the gallery looked a bit of a mess and appeared to be under construction. So it wasn’t until I was headed back and saw a group of laughing tourists walking out that I ventured in. The camera clicks made me stop at the entrance: maybe the gallery was closed after all? But then I heard an enthusiastic voice shout, “Come in, come right here and stand there, yes, then you won’t get wet!” – and I stepped into Herring’s Areas for Action.
The “Halloween crew” turned out to be Herring’s models. And their costumes were simply clothes stained with multicolored liquid that they spewed out of their mouths in various directions according to Herring’s perpetually changing artistic visions. They took their sips, Herring yelled his commands, and then he and another photographer shot the action. Clearly, the artist was having a fantastic time, pouring out encouragement, laughing and directing with lightning speed. The models, too, seemed to be enjoying themselves – a pretty impressive achievement on Herring’s part because let’s face it: who wants to spend all day sipping Kool-Aid-like food dye and spitting on command? (One guy even volunteered to be the “guinea pig” who stood in front of the group and offered up his face and body to his colleagues for liquid coverage).
Herring positions his viewers behind a see-through screen that protects them from the projectile spitting – and lets them feel like part of the director’s crew. That’s a big part of his artistic credo: to make people feel at ease and to “harness the fluid and democratic nature of his practice” by designating “specific areas of the exhibition space as open for constant audience participation” (from official show press release). The audience is at first confused (everyone gets stuck at the door wondering if they’re intruding on a private filming), then sucked in, and soon they’re all laughing and frowning and snapping photos just like Herring himself.
I have to admit that after strolling through five or so less-than-friendly galleries on West 22nd, where the front desk people make it their job to avoid eye contact (with the exception of the initial once-over each walk-in is obliged to undergo) – Herring’s energy and openness were a welcome break. I’d have left the neighborhood in quite a different mood if he hadn’t been my last, light-hearted impression. It was silly and childish (and the kids loved it – that particular show was 100% G-rated) – but for what it was, performance that involves the viewer and allows incredibly easy interactiong with the artist, it was great fun.
On my way out, I told Herring that I wished I could stay all day (his reply: “I wish you would! Come back again, it’s different every day!”) and that this was the most fun to be had in Chelsea (his reply: “I love you!”). There are only three days left til the show closesk, but if you’re in the area, it’s worth stopping in. You might get lucky and see one of the performances that warranted this signage:
Oliver Herring, Areas for Action, is on view at Meulensteen, 511 West 22nd Street, New York, NY 10011, from October 7 to 6 November 6, 2010.
