Another brilliant article in the Onion...

Yes, they are fabulously cool; yes, they love to satirize the museum. Maybe I'll write my thesis on the rise in popularity of the museum as on object of humourous social commentary ...
Check it out.

The High Line

JK and I went to the High Line exhibit at MoMA on Friday afternoon. By the time we found the show -- on the third floor, in architecture & design -- it was peak Target Huddled Masses Time; therefore, we had to shimmy past Spanish tourists videoing the closely-guarded boatlike model to read the didactics featuring blah-blah like "Comprising a series of gardens in the form of pits, plains, bridges, mounds, ramps, and flyovers situated along the twenty-two-block expanse, the project aims to create and preserve experiences of slowness, otherworldliness, and distraction." (Everything is a mission statement these days.)
It wasn't until the third panel, just before the MtV-meets-Blair-Witch video, that I had a Eureka moment: The High Line is that thing that goes over Chelsea! You know, the old railroady-looking thing that sometimes has billboards on it, that provides occasional peripheral confusion as you enter the next shiny gallery. The High Line is the thing that goes over Chelsea! All of the pictures and renderings that I had seen showed it from above, renovated and beautiful and detached from its surroundings in that peculiar architectural way, and I -- not always the brightest bulb -- had not connected it to the thing that goes over Chelsea. I was so pissed, and only slightly embarassed. I had to fight through the crowds to go back and read it again, and the summary impression I got is this: The High Line is that thing that goes over Chelsea. Diller, Scofidio, Renfro, Corner, et al*** are going to pave it and put in some new plants that are prettier than the wild plants. I am still not sure why it is such a big deal, or why it was so difficult for me to understand that the High Line is that thing that goes over Chelsea. (I blame my constant experiences of slowness, otherworldliness, and distraction.)
Now:

Later:

***Note: thanks to my tenure at the ICA I (heart) Diller + Scofidio + Renfro. I am more skeptical about Field Operations, mostly because the idea of theoretical landscape architecture confuses li'l ol' me and I am deeply skeptical about James Corner's ability to sucessfully plant a tree. But I guess that's not what landscape architects do. Silly me.

Passing Muster

I was so excited about The Muster, Alison Smith's brilliantly-concieved public art event. I woke up hyperventilating on Saturday morning: an art project taking the form of a Civil War Reenactment! On Governor's Island, a weird land mass in NY Harbor that of course JK will want to go to. The ferry ride was neat, and the island looks really cool. But the "encampment" was simply in a field, we couldn't really explore the island, and far too many of the artists seemed more interested in an opportunity to go camping and drink beer with their friends than being part of a serious art piece. The on-stage part of the event, a "Declaration of Causes," was for the most part tedious and self-indulgent, a high point being seemingly pointless distribution of bubble gum and a low point being a short tirade by a woman who seemed too tired and drunk to actually be angry.
Two of the encampments were exeptional: a nice young man and a nice young lady had a trading post (I traded them a lipstick for a loaf of bread), and a group called "Knitting Nation" was machine-knitting an American Flag and reading civil-war-era writings about women knitting socks for the war effort.

knitting army
Originally uploaded by Corncub.

I think the root of the problem was the format. Each artist seemed fit into a slot (and some seemed like they were there only to fill a slot) rather than really interested in the concept. And it felt somewhat tentative, and really clubby -- like I was on the verge of discovering something interesting but couldn't, or I ws missing something because none of my friends were encamped (note: nice people at the trading post are exceptions). None of the encampments seemed up to Allison Smith's profoundly serious challenge: none of the causes, despite their "worthiness," were really urgent. The right to universal aesthetic suffarage (an encampment with painting, instead of voting, booths) was cute, but where was the war in Iraq?
The war in Iraq, though alluded to by Smith, was absent. And I think it was absent because it is absent from the lives of the artists there, which speaks to the deep geographic and class divides in this country. I wholeheartedly support the right of artists to go camping and smoke and drink with their friends, whether or not I am invited. However, I thought the degree of legitimacy granted to this event -- with the Public Art Fund's support, and the exciting use of the weird land mass -- was not supported by it's content.
If you didn't go, be glad. The printed materials, photographs, web site, and other documentation of the event are actually better than the event was. Another post is in order about documentation and performance, and performing to the documentation instead of the audience. Or maybe a thesis.

I Love America

& I almost have my brain back from the extended loan called grad school, so will resume knitting, museumgoing, and blogging about it VERY soon. But for now just look at these buffalo on a tennis court, ok?

More Fun than Weddings & Celebrations

Seeing how it's Monday, the eerie voyeristic allure of Weddings & Celebrations is fresh in my mind, and yours too I assume. I experienced a subtle variation of this today while googling Fred Sandback, who made art with yarn without knitting it. Sandback's obituary was on the weirdest blog ever, "Blog of Death", a bizarre yet somehow respectful daily obituary list, with comprehensive links. Maybe all you hipster kids know all about this site, but it freaked me out. I can't even write about it any more. Just go there. (Missing the pope, though.) Anyway.

This space intentionally left blank

So for the three of you who actually read my blog, I apologize for the lack of posts lately. There are many reasons for this, and I invite baseless speculation. While you twich nervously on the edge of your seats, please refer to the following adequate subsitutes:
--My cranky hero Tyler Green's Modern Art Notes (I like him because he makes fun of the artforum blog, constantly and without mercy.)
--from the floor, a decent blog about looking at art.
--and then for the crafty urges, there is the DNA Scarf Pattern, which has been fourth on my list for a long time.
Ok? Ok.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Bellow

While I am moved by all the coverage of the Pope's life, I was surprised and saddened to hear today of the dear of another great icon of Modernity, Saul Bellow. Maybe I'm not supposed to like him, because I'm the girl that always points out the inadequacies of dead white male writers, whose illustrious ranks Mr. Bellow now joins. But there is something compelling, something extraordinarily valid, in the old-fashioned belief that art, firmly rooted in humanity, in daily life, makes this confusing mess of a world vaguely bearable. That there is something that good, honest, even painful writing (or art or music or crochet or whatever) does, that all the theory in the world cannot compete with. I buy it, hook-line-n-sinker, in Bellow, in de Kooning, in Arthur Miller, and in the enduring work of other dead white guys.
Here is the quote the NY Times obit ended with:
"I've never seen the world before. Now I was seeing it, and it's a beautiful, marvelous gift. Enchanting reality! And when the end came, I was told by the cleverest people I knew that it would all vanish. I'm not absolutely convinced of that. If you asked me if I believed in life after death, I would say I was an agnostic. There are more things between heaven and earth, Horatio, etc."
So rest in peace, etc.