Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts

March 14, 2018

Abstract Heart



FOCUS: Abstract Heart

Abstract Heart: Passion, emotion, deeply-held beliefs – how do we express and convey these concepts through an abstract vocabulary? Abstract Heart solicits work that speaks from the soul through a personal visual language. ...

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www.woodstockart.org
March 17 – April 29, 2018
Juried by Katie Schmidt Feder
Director Garrison Art Center

EXHIBITING ARTISTS: 
Paulette Esrig, Nils Hill, Henry Klimowicz, 
Jerry Michalak, Samantha Palmeri, Tracy Phillips, Stephen Rose, Barbara Smith, 
Kat Stoutenborough, jd weiss

GALLERY TALK: FRI. MAR 23, 5 PM
RECEPTION: MAR 24, 4-6 PM

I'm pleased to be part of this show opening March 24th in Woodstock, NY. 
I'll have three paintings in it. And how nice they used my image for their advertising!

FOCUS: Abstract Heart




March 17 – April 29, 2018

Gallery Talk: Friday, March 23, 5 PM
Reception: Saturday, March 24, 4 – 6 PMMAIN GALLERY
JUROR: Katie Schmidt Feder, Director Garrison Art Center
AWARDS: Linda Freaney Award $100
Exhibiting Artists:
Paulette Esrig, Nils Hill, Henry Klimowicz,
Jerry Michalak, Samantha Palmeri, Tracy Phillips,
Stephen Rose, Barbara Smith Gioia,
Kat Stoutenborough, and jd weiss
Introduced in 2017, the FOCUS series features the work of ten artists in a theme-based exhibition. Selections are curated by a different juror for each exhibition with each artist represented by multiple examples of their work in service to the particular show’s theme.
Abstract Heart: Passion, emotion, deeply-held beliefs – how do we express and convey these concepts through an abstract vocabulary? Abstract Heart solicits work that speaks from the soul through a personal visual language.

In The Press



February 4, 2018

"Byron Kim's painting ritual" by Two Coats of Paint

Byron Kim’s painting ritual

Byron Kim, Sunday Painting 1:20:09, 2009, acrylic and pencil on canvas mounted on panel, 14 x 14 inches

Every Sunday, Byron Kim makes a painting of the sky. One hundred of these purposefully unremarkable small canvases are on view at James Cohan through February 17. What makes them unremarkable are their size and the undramatic skies they depict – not the complex, sublime sky paintings made by, say, great Dutch painters like Aelbert Cuyp and Jacob van Ruisdael. Instead, they are simple renderings with a limited palette of blue and white, and a bit of light grey for the odd cloudy day. Rather than offering an expansive view or capturing the subtle color ranges in cloud forms, these paintings convey a dainty sense of claustrophobia and ennui but no real sense of joy or wonder. It is as if the monotonous ritual of making a painting a week were more important to Kim than the painted image itself.
Byron Kim, Sunday Painting 6:19:01, 2001, acrylic and pencil on panel, 14 x 14 inches
Thus, in Kim’s exhibition, quantity, habit, and process seem to trump the quality of the individual paintings. Reinforcing this point, Kim has handwritten a prosaic note about the day on each painting, perhaps as an indication that Kim’s ambition and concentration have gone missing in the mire of family life and all the yawn-inducing tasks that a successful artist must perform. Kim may be living the dream, but it doesn’t seem very transporting.
Byron Kim, Sunday Painting 3:26:08, 2008, acrylic and pencil on canvas mounted on panel, 14 x 14 inches
Byron Kim, Sunday Painting 4:20:10, 2010, acrylic and pen on canvas mounted on panel, 14 x 14 inches.
Byron Kim, Sunday Painting 1:22:17, acrylic and pencil on canvas mounted on panel, 14 x 14 inches
Byron Kim, Sunday Painting 8:20:17, 2017, acrylic and pencil on canvas mounted on panel, 14 x 14 inches
Byron Kim, installation view.
The project reminds me of On Kawara’s Date Paintings. Each day Kawara crafted a painting of the date in the ubiquitous sans serif typeface Helvetica. In the box where he stored the painting, he also included a page of the newspaper from the city where he was working. Like Kawara, Kim is interested in the idea of maintaining a serial approach rather than engaging with the materiality of paint. But Kim’s project also conjures a link to more painterly perceptual artists, such as Lois Dodd and Giorgio Morandi. Morandi spent his life painting easel-sized still-lifes that depicted small cups, bowls, and other tabletop vessels in tertiary colors, even as World War II raged around him. Lois Dodd has painted the landscape around her familiar Maine homestead for decades, and the resulting body of work is a moving record of a quiet and dedicated life.
Both Morandi and Dodd focus narrowly on translating their immediate surroundings with great painterly nuance onto canvas to convey the emotional timbre of their lives. In this distracted age, especially as the big picture becomes increasingly daunting, it’s undeniably tempting for artists to employ this kind of approach as a kind of refuge. Kim presents an alternative escape, whereby grim routine isolates the artist and decontextualizes the personal content of his work. It’s rather dispirited, and perhaps a sign of the times.
Byron Kim: Sunday Paintings,” James Cohan Gallery, Chelsea, New York, NY. through February 17, 2018.
Two Coats of Paint is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution – Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. To use content beyond the scope of this license, permission is required.

October 26, 2016

Ida Applebroog: Artist of the Week


Ida Applebroog artistMarginalia (Crawling Man), 1996, oil on canvas, 32 x 72 inches

Ida Applebroog: One of my favorite artists from what seems like a lifetime ago, when I was all about psychological performative painting. A fascinating artist who got a later start in the artworld, but has managed to successfully sustain it even up until now at age 86, Ida Applebroog is a huge inspiration. This was one of the most difficult artists of the week to post because she has so much work, I couldn't decide which were my favorites!


Ida Applebroog artist
  Modern Olympia (after Manet), 1997-2001, Oil on gampi on canvas, 4 panels, 73 x 148 inches

Ida Applebroog artist   Marginalia (goggles/black face), 1996, Oil on canvas, diptych: 16 x 14 inches and 14 x 18 inches


Ida Applebroog artist

         Marginalia (hand on forehead/squatting), 1996, oil on canvas, each 16 x 16 inches


Ida Applebroog artist

I'm rubber, you're glue, 1993, oil on canvas, 99 x 65 inches

Ida Applebroog artist
Winnie's Pooh, 1993, oil on canvas, 86 x 84 inches


Ida Applebroog artist
K-Mart village I, 1989, oil on canvas, 5 panels, 48 x 32 inches


Ida Applebroog artist
         Emetic Fields, 1989, oil on canvas, 108 x 202 inches


Ida Applebroog artist
Sure I'm sure, 1979, ink and rhoplex on vellum, six panels, 12 x 9 ½ inches each


Ida Applebroog artist
Sure I'm sure and the following two images are part of the provocative series of 10 offset books published and distributed by Applebroog from 1977-1981. She called them "performances" and titled them Dyspepsia Works
"Applebroog produced editions of 400 copies cheaply, and mailed them off to friends or acquaintances, or to artists whose work she admired. Eleanor Antin's postcards, graffiti by Jean-Michel Basquiat or Keith Haring, or Jenny Holzer's sheets of "truisms," pasted on bus stops, alongside notices of yoga lessons, kittens, or second-hand furniture for sale, are other examples of not-for-profit artworks, ingeniously and anonymously distributed, through which, without that having been precisely their intention, the artists all became famous."*
*from Art And Moral Dyspepsia by Arthur C. Danto found in Ida Applebroog: Nothing Personal, Paintings 1987-1997

Ida Applebroog artist

Ida Applebroog artist
  Thank You Very Much, 1982 (detail) ink and rhoplex on vellum, 7 panels, 10 ½ x 9 ½ inches each

Ida Applebroog artist
Tobias, 2005, unique digital photograph with mixed media on gampi paper

Ida Applebroog artist
Good Women (Bettie), digital outtake, 2005
Unique digital photograph with mixed media on gampi paper, 35 x 47 inches

Ida Applebroog artist
Monalisa, 2009, mixed media on canvas, 3 panels, 104 x 77 inches


Here's the article and image that inspired this post. Thanks Hyperallergic!
http://hyperallergic.com/329998/drawing-became-ida-applebroogs-means-communicate-outside-world/
Ida Applebroog artist
Mercy Hospital, 1969/70, drawing on paper


The exhibit Ida Applebroog: Mercy Hospital continues at the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) Miami through October 30. Call Her Applebroog, a documentary on the artist by her daughter Beth B, will screen at O Cinema on October 29.



Ida Applebroog, Installation view of Past Events, 1982

Creative Time's Projects at the Chamber, Manhattan 1982, was inspired by the dramatic environment of the Chamber of Commerce’s Great Hall, which is decorated with portraits of the great financiers from American history, all of them white. In Applebroog's installation, the artist made the walls “speak,” telling an unpleasant story of patriarchy. She placed a small bronze sculpture of a woman in the midst of the portraits and inserted a speech bubble into her lips that warned: “Gentlemen, America is in Trouble,” to which the portraits replied: “Isn’t Capitalism Working?” or “It’s a Jewish Plot.” The show proved controversial: it was removed twice in one month and eventually moved to a gallery. The artist’s response: “What did they think a woman was going to do in that space?”


Further looking and reading:
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/19/arts/design/shes-her-own-artist-and-a-daughters-muse.html?_r=0http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/19/arts/design/shes-her-own-artist-and-a-daughters-muse.html?_r=0

http://idaapplebroog.com/

http://bombmagazine.org/article/2235/ida-applebroog








November 10, 2013

How does environment influence artistic choices?

It took a trip to San Francisco where I saw my good friend George to remind me of something about myself that I haven't thought about in a while.

Something I often wonder is how much your environment, esp. the one you grew up in, influences your artistic choices.

I remember when George came to my house in Staten Island and promptly exclaimed "Samantha you live in the suburbs!" Of course Staten Island is one of the 5 boroughs of New York City, but the long commute to Manhattan along with a good amount of greenery and blue collar workers is hard to ignore.  When I opened my first art gallery there my intention seemed careless and incidental to me because I had only been looking for studio space and ended up with a public space, but George reminded me how eager I was at the time to prove myself. My earnest mission was to free the uneducated suburbanites of the concept that art is merely a badly framed poster of a Monet flower garden. To spare them of the boredom of thinking every artist likes to eat paint and cut their ears off. It wasn't their fault that they didn't know any better.... Hey, look, I was 25 years old. You're supposed to think your noble ideas can change the world. That's fine, youth is a good excuse, but when George heard that I had opened up another art gallery 12 years later, in an even more isolated area, he said he knew it wasn't an accident. Why on earth would I do it again?

What bothers me is that in my thoughts all I want to do is make art for myself but I keep involuntarily following this inner voice that leads me elsewhere. Maybe this urge to educate the public has something to do with the public after all. A little thing called validation. Maybe the lack of acceptance is just more noticeable in suburbia land.

There's something very wrong with a system that doesn't even consider what I do a profession. We all acknowledge accountants, doctors and lawyers as professionals, but artists are not on that list. In fact the antonym for the word profession is entertainment or hobby which turns out to be the only available category my accountant could find for me on the IRS tax form. Currently there doesn't seem to be a slot that exactly describes me as a Fine Artist. Really?!

The noun profession is a 'declaration of acknowledgement, which is an act of recognizing authority or truth of something'. Let's all acknowledge that for a second...




February 22, 2013

A Better BEACON


This morning at 6:30am the sky was completely filled with a warm salmon and purple color.
Amazing how color in thin air can be so warm and cozy while feet on a ceramic tiled floor so freezing.

Speaking of color, last weekend we took a trip. We are officially on the lookout for greener pastures, an expression I should look up the meaning to, along with the grass is always greener...
(I imagine the world was filled with a lot more grass filled pasture-land than it is now).
So, yes, we made it through another road trip adventure!
This time from Manahawkin, New Jersey to Beacon, New York. 151 miles of changing scenery, traffic jams, and mixed CD's. Here's some advice: Never stay at a $99 hotel. For fifty bucks more you'll get a mint on the pillow, a mag under the mattress, and a floor that's actually been vacuumed within the last century.
 It all worked out though. We just spent more time out and about exploring the town.

DIA Beacon is amazing if you've never been. Their collection of works from the 1970's-80's gives a well rounded education on the art world of that decade. The vast space of the ex-Nabisco printing factory is a sight to see, and apparently only a train ride away from NYC. The shops and galleries on Main Street are very cool. Homespun Foods for breakfast and The Hop for afternoon handcrafted brews are both incredible, and Hudson Beach Glass never fails to hook us up with a present to take home.



The trip ended with an intangible evening at Alex and Allyson Gray's art sanctuary in Wappinger Falls. Led up a dark winding driveway by a guy holding a flashlight to a smaller footpath filled with ice and mud, we had no idea what we were in for! When the sign at the door to the house said please remove your shoes, we looked at each other quizzically. The evening turned out to be an exceptional experience. We left feeling rejuvenated and refreshed.  I can't decide what was more inspiring, Dusthead's otherworldly performance, the dancers, the music, the artwork or all of the above. Talk about good vibes! If it wasn't for the smelly hotel, we would've never wanted to leave!

Yesterday while driving to the Art House, I saw a street sign for Beacon Avenue. One I've never noticed before. Not surprising since all the streets in our neighborhood are named with nautical references. A beacon is a light, a signal post, a guide. And Light is a symbol for Truth.
I realize that what my husband and I are looking for has a lot to do with this, that we're not really in search of greener grass at all, but maybe just a warmer light, which is fine with me...

February 2, 2013

Road Trippin'


Every year my unwritten new year's resolution includes seeing more art and making more art. This year is no exception. Last week when I saw the announcement for the opening reception at the Locks Gallery in Philadelphia I marked it on the calendar. Leave work early for a road trip to Philly with the family. Great plan. 

Driving through the Pinelands' empty two lane highway, the sunset gleaming, my husband's homemade "Road trippin" CD playing, we were on our way. My husband was feeling especially smug since he had worked all week in Pennsylvania and thought he had figured out the better way to get to Philly from Manahawkin. 
The beautiful sky, horse corrals and empty fields were fitting seamlessly into the lyrics of songs like Phish's Tires on your car, Cat Steven's On the Road to find out, and Neil Young's Long May you run. By the time Road Trippin' by The Red Hot Chili Peppers came on we were basking in road trip exuberance. Little did we know the foreshadowing accuracy of the lyrics "let's go get lost, let's go get lost". 



Apparently there's a reason why the roads were so empty. It turns out my husband does indeed know how to avoid Camden traffic at 5pm on a Friday. Two and a half hours later, much worse for wear, with 15 minutes left to the opening, the GPS slurring his words, we arrived at Washington Square. 
There's nothing like the comforting welcome of little plastic cups of white wine and heated beautiful art galleries. We were so relieved to get out of the car and make it to the show we soaked up every single fiber of canvas and layer of paint and pigment. 


The show was lovely. Not in an overwhelmingly gorgeous way, but neat and succinct. A sensible mix of artists. Besides the obvious black and white nature theme there were a few lush and tactile gems such as the handmade paper and stenciled pigment piece by Leonardo Drew, and the juicy acrylic iceberg carelessly painted over a static xeroxed seascape by Marcus Harvey. The other stand out and my daughter's favorite was a fabulously worked over woodcut by Orit Hofshi. 


On our walk to get something to eat we stopped at another opening at the Bridgette Mayer Gallery on Walnut street. A much livelier crowd but with less seasoned art. We enjoyed the installation of hundreds of little wooden spools with red wool but wished the other pieces in the show were as obsessive and striking. 


As we sat at Moriarty's with our cheeseburgers and onion rings we laughed about  how the evening would look a lot better in my blog and how I was glad in the end that we didn't turn the car around and go home hungry and miserable. 

Is there a moral to this story? 
Firstly, I have to say to all our New Jersey friends who are so in love with Philadelphia but have yet to take us on a guided tour, you're 9 years too late. In the three efforts we've made since living here we have yet to experience what everyone is so in love with. The moral of the story, alas, is not try, try again. It's definitely not third time's a charm either. More like three strikes you're out. The moral of this story is stick with what you know. Put us on a bus, subway or taxi anywhere in New York and we're good to go…

I think next time I'll pay a little more attention to the lyrics in our family theme song.