Blown. or should I say: blown and blown. I am referring to the sculptural art I am describing today and the hurricane that blew across it. All of this can be visited at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden near Miami, FL. Or rather, can’t be visited right now, since they are trying to clean up after the damage, with hordes of volunteers expected tomorrow to pick up the plant debris.

I really wonder what they do with the glass sculptures during natural catastrophes like Irma. The installations are too big, for the most part, to be moved easily. Maybe they have containers that settle around them, anchored in some fashion?

Fairchild is a truly beautiful garden, with humongous cacti and palm tree collections; it contains a large number of pieces of Chihuly’s work. Or at least work that has his name on it – there are now intense questions, accusations and law suits swirling around, claiming that he exploited his assistants, plagiarized them, stole from them ideas and revenue. This kind of conflict is not new when it comes to work made by groups of people when no single person can pull it off solo.

I read somewhere that Henry Moore, for example, did the drawings and small models for his sculptures, then had others execute the large versions we see in the museums. Ideas over craftsmanship, I guess. Except that ideas are shared when you co-produce, too.

http://www.tampabay.com/things-to-do/visualarts/who-is-really-making-chihuly-art/2334662

I visited the garden three years ago and had my usual mixed feelings when I encounter these larger-than-life explosions of Chihuly glass. They did something magical to the landscape, or echoed its magic. They deliver intense color and amorphous forms, cascading at times in ways that are really impressive regarding the skill of their construction. But a hint of gaudy always makes me step back, and all the talk in the world about how Chihuly bridges the gap between the decorative and art is not convincing me to think of it as predominantly the latter. This is of course the person speaking who vastly prefers Biedermeier over Rococo, something elegant but plain over something elaborately ornate.

My Pacific Northwest readers can easily judge for themselves – Seattle has an entire glass garden devoted to Chihuly, and the glass museum in Tacoma has him prominently in their permanent collection.

With all that said, I had a splendid day at Fairchild – walking around corners and discovering these pieces hidden or not so hidden in the vegetation instilled a sense of whimsey.

Almost enough to forget my annoyance that the insanely high admission prices prohibit your average-income family to visit and thus secure a mini paradise for the elites. Which is now blown.

I could not believe my luck when I realized the Lincoln, MA sculpture park had a Gormley sculpture in its permanent collection. He is my absolute favorite of the contemporary sculptural artists (although closely followed by Emily Young.)

You can find a good sampling at their respective websites: http://www.antonygormley.com  –  http://www.emilyyoung.com.

Gormley has a knack for site specific installations and quite often they involve reflection. They can be small, like the one in Lincoln, or huge, like the one in Hamburg, Germany, that I visited in 2012 ( faithful readers have gotten their share of those photographs before…. but it’s worth the repetition.)

The former is the form of a man who seemingly looks into a pane of glass and sees his reflection. In reality and very quickly visible, these are two identical sculptures, mirror image reversed, that are facing each other, divided by said glass. The acquisition of this piece was guided by a commitment to showing sculpture both inside the de Cordova and outside in their magnificent park. Or so says the website….

The latter – Horizon Fields –  was located in a former market hall in Hamburg, that has become a place for changing art exhibits. The hall was filled with a platform suspended from the roof across the entire length and width of the building. The top of the platform was a mirror, walking on it (in your socks, once you had overcome the embarrassment of potential holes in them) was not for the faint of heart. The reflections were disorienting, and the suspension of the platform made the hole thing swing lightly. But, oh, the views! The sense of a manipulation in space with you at some difficult-to-assess spatial point right in it was truly exhilarating.

http://deichtorhallen.de/index.php?id=257&L=1

Last year Gormley showed his political colors in a show that featured 600 cast-iron human skyscrapers, expressing his anger about London’s testosterone-fuelled corporate expansion.  “We are living in a really strange time,” Gormley said. “Yet we are all sleepwalking through it. And it is urgent we wake up. We are sort of aware the centre cannot hold, that 250 years of industrial activity has undermined and fundamentally disturbed our world – yet we feel somehow not responsible.” He called Sleeping Fields “manic, but incredible good fun.“

Seems like the fun ended, though, when 3 months ago another one of his projects was altered by some unknown artist, or vandal, depending on your point of view. His series of figures at Crosby Beach in England acquired some polka dot bikinis and the like.

Attached is a video of the installation. It give you a taste of the full scope of the installation.

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2017/jun/22/antony-gormley-crosby-beach-sculptures-vandalised-bikini

This reminds me of my friend Steve Tilden whose large metal horse sculpture in North Portland was “decorated” with a lot of knitted and crocheted garments, time and again.  Maybe someone thought the horse was cold…..

my trip to the East Coast last week I visited a sculpture park in Lincoln, MA. It was founded by a tea merchant of Jamaican descent, Julian de Cordova, who poured his riches into traveling the world and collecting art that he brought home to his mansion – a hobbit-like structure on steroids. After his death in 1945 it all became a museum. His own collection was sold for lack of artistic value, but his generosity enabled a focus on modern art, and eventually sculpture. Details can be found here:

https://decordova.org

The museum and grounds are a spectacular setting for some 60 pieces of art ranging from figurative to abstract to can’t-be-defined by your’s truly but made for a great play ground.

Luckily things are explained to the clueless.

A centerpiece is an area called Alice’s Garden, which contains figurative work that echoes Caroll’s fantasy world, Alice included.

I could not quite understand why a disembodied head of a little black girl was included – I would have placed it next to another figurative bust by Jaume Plensa at the other side of the park.

The works in Alice’s Garden impressed with a variety of materials: wood,

metal that reflected the environment,

plastic casts,

stone and as many ideas.

I think my favorite here was Terrence Koh’s sculpture Children of the Corn – Totempole. A title borrowed from a horror story by Stephen King, by a Chinese-Canadian artist who runs around dressed in white and often donning bunny ears seemed a fitting reference to the state of our world. This self-named asianpunkboy is now represented in major museums of the world, including MoMa, the Schirn, the Whitney, Tate Modern etc.  Here is a clip with his good friend Lady Gaga.

The strongest piece in the collection, for my taste anyways, will be described tomorrow. Until then, let the whimsey seep into your day, if only a little bit.

When I came across this treasure trove, conveniently offered to you in the link below, I was embarrassed to the point of a slightly purplish face. Well, maybe it was the heat. In any case: look at the list of the top 35 women composers in classical music of the 20th and 21st century.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/music/the-top-women-composers-in-classical-music/2017/08/04/319274d4-76f2-11e7-803f-a6c989606ac7_story.html?hpid=hp_hp-cards_hp-card-arts%3Ahomepage%2Fcard&utm_term=.030fb7dd757e

How many did I know? Hint: I’m not telling since the number is so embarrassingly small.

And yet, such gems among them who I had never heard of, much less heard their compositions. But do I really want to click through all those Youtube samples they offer?

Which brings me to the question of the day:

Where, oh where, does one find the kind of generous, technically astute person who generates a playlist  that shuffles these women composers on my computer? 

One of the chosen was Lera Auerbach. Here’s her clip, Requiem for Icarus, which gives me the occasion to post some of the Icarus series pictures previously shown at Blackfish Gallery.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zyp3YwUYlK8

Relax! A day without politics. And a topic that will be of consequence only for those who make, consume, like or despise art.

Here is the newest finding in the ever-expanding  effort to show that humans and computers will be alike, whenever.

A team of computer scientists at Rutgers University has exposed computers to 80.000 or so visual artworks from the 15th to the 20th century. They took them in, learned about them and eventually were asked to generate paintings themselves. In other words, they asked machines to display creativity without a human mind attached. You ask, how good could that possibly be?

Quite good, it looks like. When you show these AI paintings intermixed with paintings from famous abstract expressionist and those by artists shown at the most prestigious artfair in 2016, Art Basel, and ask people to rank them, guess what. People largely prefer the computer generated images over those made by humans, and many even thought that the modern Art Basel stuff was computer generated, when it wasn’t.

Do computers make art, then? The machines did not just emulate classic paintings, they most definitely deviated from them, all the while still having some “sense” of what is aesthetically appealing. As the scientists put it: “The fact that subjects found the images generated by the machine intentional, visually structured, communicative, and inspiring, with similar, or even higher levels, compared to actual human art, indicates that subjects see these images as art!”

And their market value seems to confirm that – the Rutgers team has been approached by private collectors and galleries who are quite interested in purchasing these art works.

Humans Prefer Computer-Generated Paintings to Those at Art Basel

Today’s question then: Why the unease to call something art when it is not made by a human being?

We’ve been there in the debate about elephants and primates who paint; is that art?

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2000/mar/26/theobserver

If a machine builds on the history of painting, figuring out the rules, nailing the aesthetics, coming up with some new ways of creating something, why is it difficult to accept that as art? Here is a potential answer, and one I find troubling.

Artwork made by a human using a computer.

My internet is out and I am sitting at a local Starbucks to get WiFi. Blasted by their version of (Musak)jazz while trying to think back to the subtle sounds of Reverberations: Art and Sound, an exhibit I recently saw, is irritatingly difficult.

And it is made harder by the fact that I, despite some musical training, really have to scramble for words to describe what sound art is all about. In case you are curious, here is an essay that does know what it’s talking about, explaining sound art as shown in NYC.

http://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarksdaily/2015/05/on-the-sight-of-sound.html

One thing is clear, it is NOT about music. Rather artists create installations that use sound to represent. Representations cover anything from noise and silence of urban landscapes, reflections on history, politics, to language as a code. The acoustic element is the focus – silence can be added through visual representations, but it is all about what you hear.

Here is a short blurb on the show I saw – http://www.aptglobal.org/en/Exhibition/56842/Reverberations-Art-and-Sound-in-the-MUAC-collections, 

It was a group of some 30 artists exhibiting over 60 pieces of varying degree of interest and/or appeal. They were all a challenge to someone like me who is a visual artist, trying to understand a new form of art that in some ways is singularly apt for our age of chatter and installations.

It was fun, though, to see cleverness – a whole rack of machetes, for example, that sounded like peaceful, soothing wind chimes – quite a substantive contrast. And it was a good intellectual exercise to photograph in ways that tried to match the singularity of sound I experienced.

I will certainly be on the look-out for shows like this when coming East. Much to learn.

And now I have to flee Starbucks, although, much to the consternation of my tribe, I actually like their coffee.

Tilden/Giorgio de Chirico

This week will be governed by the fact that I am leaving for a funeral in Germany. I will write when I can, but things will be in flux.

Understandably, my thought has been about relationships, how much meaning they give to life. That is, of course, not just true for friendship, but also to how one relates to the rest of the world, particularly within one’s specialized sphere of interest.

Celaya/The Calling 2009

I found this echoed in the article linked below, about a nifty, 6 year old program at the Phillips Collection. They have an annual show called One-on- One which encourages a painter to choose a piece or several from their collection and juxtapose them to their own to be exhibited work. Last year they showed Carol Brown Goldberg paired with Henri Matisse. This year it is Celaya who chose Albert Pinkham Ryder, a 19th century painter.

Ryder/Dead Bird ca 1879

Both reference literature, Kierkegaard for Celaya, Shakespeare for Ryder, both use darkness, in particular tar, as a medium, both are masters of simplicity and  veer into mysticism. Celaya, by the way, came to art through science:  He studied Applied & Engineering Physics at Cornell U, received an MA in Quantum Electronics UCBerkeley, and pursued a Phd before abandoning physics for art.

Enrique Martínez Celaya’s “The First Kierkegaard”

Tiden/Paul Klee

I have certainly worked with text, creating montages for poems that mattered to me, and now feel it was a bit too literal an attempt. Distilling some essence, as seen in Celaya, is something to aspire to.

Tilden/ Joan Miro

A different kind of referencing, trying to pay homage to certain painterly styles, was also part of the last years of work, and those are the montages you see today. They took sculpture by Tilden from a show called Horse and made them in pastiches of painters I like.

Tilden/Franz Marc

Tilden/Richter

(I don’t like Richter, but I found it a wonderful challenge to convert him…)

Leading image on the blog cover is Tilden/Max Ernst