When someone from the New York Times finally gets around to interviewing me for their ‘By the Book’ feature and I get asked about books I have on hand that would surprise people, I will say that I have an impressive collection of books about art thefts. I’m not sure why, but the stories fascinate me – the crimes themselves and the efforts (in this case, largely but not always successful) to catch those responsible and retrieve the artifacts. Neither Barelli nor Schisgal are great writers, but Barelli’s 38 years at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City have given him plenty of stories, and I am glad he decided to tell them.
A Giacometti Portraint (Lord)
I found the concept of this book interesting. Lord was asked to pose for a portrait, so he decided to record his interactions with Giacometti each day in order to try to allow us to see behind the scenes of Giacometti’s process. He also took photographs of the portrait each day as it evolved or, if one was to take Giacometti at his word, deteriorated. Lord assures us in a note at the end that the conversations are based on careful notes. Still, the conversations come off as a bit stiff, and there are times when the book tilts in such a way that it seems to be more about Lord than Giocometti. I know Lord was his biographer. Maybe I don’t know enough about his other credentials, but I didn’t go into the book hoping to hear his insights on Giacometti. Still, it was a worthwhile read for the insights I did glean, and I appreciate Lord’s effort.
https://www.clevelandart.org/exhibitions/alberto-giacometti-toward-ultimate-figure
Shoot an Iraqi: Art, Life and Resistance Under the Gun (Bilal and Lydersen)
Yeah, how about that title? Can you imagine walking into a bookstore and saying, “I’d like Shoot an Iraqi“? (For the record, I ordered online from an independent bookstore so I didn’t actually have to say the words.) It was the original title for an exhibition Bilal staged at a gallery in Chicago. The gallery owner wisely nixed the title, fearing (in part) that some might see it as a real invitation. The new title was “Domestic Tension.” Although I understand rejecting Bilal’s original title, I don’t think the new one quite captures what Bilal was doing.
For one month, Bilal installed himself in the gallery and invited viewers, via the internet, to shoot him with a remote-controlled paintball gun. Viewers could watch the impact of the shot or shots online. The paintball pellets were yellow. Always yellow.
The project was inspired when Bilal learned that some of the destruction wrought on his home country of Iraq by the US was initiated by someone in the US who couldn’t see the impact of what they were doing. From Colorado, the war had become a video game. Bilal wanted to make it personal to remind people that they were human beings on the other end of guns, bombs, drones, etc.. The reactions he reports, from visitors to the gallery (including people who had already scheduled to have their weddings there) to the online community are staggering. People hacked the gun so they could operate it like a machine gun. Another group that connected via the internet scheduled shifts to try to control the gun so the shots would never actually hit him. The online posts he shares are filled with hate, hope and loneliness.
Bilal also recounts the physical, mental and emotional toll that the experience took on him, and it’s harrowing. I imagine I would have been one of those people pushing him to end it early. Given that a subsequent video exhibit was him being filmed as he was waterboarded, he is clearly more resilient than me.
And he’d have to be. Intertwined with a kind of journal of his experiences in the exhibit are his experiences both in Iraq and during his efforts to escape it. Between the two narratives, I think Bilal accomplishes with this book what he sought to accomplish with the exhibit. Whatever else we want to say or study or learn from the US wars with Iraq, we have to remember to think of them not in terms of policy decisions or oil, but human beings.
I find myself staring at the subtitle of the book even now. “Art” comes first, ahead of “Life.” Based on his story, it always did for Bilal, and it always will.
This is a beautiful story of human endurance and the urgency of art. I’d like to think that while I may have watched and may have joined online that I would not have fired a shot. I’d like to think that.
I will remember this book. And I will always be haunted by all of that yellow. Look at that cover. All that yellow. And no face.
The Making of an Argument (Gordon Parks)
I saw the Gordon Parks exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art (more info below) and I was struck by the story about Parks’ first piece for Life magazine. It was a piece called “Harlem Gang Leader.” It interested me because the editors changed the photographs that Parks chose to accompany his ‘picture story.’ I’ve always been struck by the overlap between writing and photography and how one influences the other. And this book wisely includes the advertisements in its discussion of the interaction between images and words. There’s also the racial element since Parks was the first African-American photographer at the magazine and the subject of the story, “Red” Jackson, as well as his friends (and enemies) are all African-American. Then there’s the layer of the white folks who make “Red” Mayor for a day and then abandon him (and there’s a striking photograph and accompanying discussion of this moment).
It would have been nice to have some side-by-side presentations. This is the photo Parks chose vs. this is the photo that ended up in the magazine. Or this is the photo as it appeared on the contact sheet and this is how it was manipulated (and why). Or perhaps the book is meant for people with a more sophisticated understanding of photography than me. Who knows? I enjoyed it; it’s a thought-provoking case study.
https://www.clevelandart.org/exhibitions/gordon-parks-new-tide-early-work-1940-1950
Basquiat (Emmerling)
My father once told me that Picasso used to doodle on the checks he wrote in order to give people pause. Should they cash it or wait to see what a Picasso doodle might be worth? Apocryphal or otherwise, the story has always interested me. Does the public make an artist’s reputation? Or does the artist make his (I’ll use that pronoun since I’m writing about Basquiat) own? Or do the times make the artist? Or the market? And what of the cliched but recurring artist who dies young?
Sometimes, we can intersect with a piece of art when we’re not ready for it or its moment has passed. I was aware of Basquiat. I think I even saw an exhibit of his in a London gallery. I knew there was a movie about him. But I think I was finally ready for him. Paging through his pictures and reading Emmerling’s insightful and biased text, I was struck by the intensity of his art and his connection to the likes of Joe Louis and Charlie Parker, artists in their own right who were, like Basquiat, taken advantage of by those around him. His pictures are intense and thought provoking. I wish he’d lived past 27. It seems like he had a lot more to say.
On Creativity (Adria)
I was very inspired this exhibit (http://www.mocacleveland.org/exhibitions/ferran-adrià-notes-creativity) at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Cleveland. It has caused me to try to take notes in a more visual way, and it has really caused me to think about the way we tend to silo our personal and professional lives. The images themselves are great to have, but the best part of the book is the interview with Adria that opens it. In it, he talks about the language of cooking and the way constantly asking the question “why?” helps him reconsider everything about how cooking happens, not only the food that is made, but also the tools we use to make and eat it. Richard Hamilton’s essay is interesting, but Adria’s ideas about creativity and its implications for education interested me the most.
Hank Willis Thomas: Pitch Blackness (Guzman and Kelley)
I first found Thomas’ work at the amazing Cleveland Museum of Art (http://www.clevelandart.org/events/exhibitions/hank-willis-thomas), and I was just stunned. The audacity and originality (and downright truth) of The Branded series just floored me. So I drove to see the second part of the exhibit at the Transformer Station (http://transformerstation.org). This, too, was equally thrilling. Thomas’ work is provocative. I put one of his postcards up in my classroom, and the students gravitated to it. Was it real?
This is art as part of an urgent conversation. As much as I am a basketball fan, Thomas’ images of potential draft picks and (separately) Michael Jordan are hard to look at and hard to look away from.
The essays here are fine. Kelley’s was definitely more insightful than Guzman’s. The real star here is Thomas’ work. You can’t look; you can’t look away.
Anselm Kiefer (Rosenthal)
When I was wandering around the Cleveland Museum of Art for the first time, I saw this picture, and it stopped me cold.
http://www.clevelandart.org/art/1990.8.a
I stared at a long time – the depth of it, the mixture of materials, the seemingly apocalyptic setting. Then I approached the label and read the title (“Lot’s Wife”) and background. It remains a key fixture of my visits there. It’s in a perfect location. I looked in the gift shop for a copy, but the print couldn’t capture its 3-dimensionality, its depth.
Then I saw this one at the Toledo Museum of Art.
And I knew I had to see and know more. So I found this book at Loganberry Books , a great bookstore (www.loganberrybooks.com).
The images are astounding. I enjoyed watching his work evolve. I was less enthralled by Rosenthal’s accompanying essay. Granted, the chronological structure must have been limiting, but his insights about patterns, particular images, use of materials (etc.) were rarely helpful. I mostly just wanted to look at the pictures. And now I can do that anytime I want.
Carrie Mae Weems (Yale University Press, publisher)
I was so moved by Weems’ exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art (http://www.clevelandart.org/events/exhibitions/carrie-mae-weems-three-decades-photography-and-video) that I was, for only the second time in my museum going life, prompted to buy the huge, overpriced book in the museum gift store. And I didn’t read the first one – just flipped through it. This one, I read. It seemed like Yale must have asked several notable critics to offer short essays on Weems’ work, and they were fine, if a bit redundant. And why no interview with Weems?
The real power here is the chance to examine Weems’ work, which includes her own writing.
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