I'm not sure if I really like Allan Tannenbaum as a photographer. Photos of celebrities and 1970s-era New York tend to feel a little cliched to me, and his website looks more like an ad for a bad nightclub than a photographer's portfolio. He has a LinkedIn account, which I find cool, but I don't know if that can make up for poor web layout.
Having said, that, however, he took some really lovely images of John Lennon and Yoko Ono a few weeks before Lennon was murdered, and compiled a book of them about two years ago. I haven't seen the book, John and Yoko: A New York Love Story, but I did see some images from it, and they were quite lovely, so I figured I'd share them with you. My two favorites are below, and you can see the rest in Vanity Fair.
I'm not sure why, but I really love images of John and Yoko, and these are no exception. Although I think it's impossible to tell the truth about anyone or any relationship from a picture, almost all photographs of the couple are beautiful or interesting in some way. I like the two I've included here because the first is lovely and composed, and the second feels spontaneous and, to me, very happy.
I went to see a puppet show by Paperhand Puppet Intervention this weekend at the Forest Theater in Chapel Hill. It was incredibly crowded! Definitely a big change from when I performed some selections from Shakespeare plays on that stage one summer at drama camp.
The theme of the show was collective storytelling, specifically looking at how storytelling has been used to oppress, and trying to broaden and explain some of the things we have grown up with. For example, the whole thing begins with a piece that aims to explain how patriarchy got to be such a dominating structure in most of the world's cultures. The show also includes a section compiled from the experiences of members of the company that includes memories of their grandparents, giving pause to how the wisdom and experience older folks is not honored in our society these days.
The thing is, the themes were pulled off through the story and through the spectacular puppets made the thing a joy to watch. There was live music (including 3 drummers) and these huge, colorful puppets that the audience clapped and whooped for every time they entered the stage.
On Friday, Roger and I got matching tattoos in celebration of our fifth anniversary. We both got smallish ampersands on our wrists. Mine is white, in Baskerville Old Style, and on my right wrist. His is black, in Times New Roman, and on his left wrist. We both had very different experiences, so I'm going to review my own here for you.
We decided to go to Iron Butterfly, a tattoo parlor in our hometown. The website makes it look really creepy, but J.J. had recommended his artist, Chuk Hognell, and since Chuk had done an amazing job on J.J.'s, we decided we trusted him and came home. I'm glad we did, because he was very friendly, although he really, really didn't want to do my tattoo in white, and also hated that we were putting them on "upside down" on the wrists. I did really appreciate that he told me not to get it on my foot, because apparently it wears away in the spot I wanted it. To illustrate this, he showed me a picture of a worn away tattoo on a foot. He spelled everything out for me, was really easily accessible via email beforehand, and was generally a really great guy who obviously cares about what he's doing. If you're planning on having anything done, I'd definitely recommend him, although I believe he specializes in black, white, and grey tattoos.
Overall, the process was fairly painless, although some parts did sting a lot, and it lasted precisely six minutes. The feeling was definitely one of hot scratching, which I've heard a lot, and which was very true for me. Today, it's still a little swollen, and there's still some purple from the transfer on it, but it seems to be in pretty good shape. I told Chuk I'd go back to him if it fades completely and I decide to go over in a darker color, but I really wanted something very faint and personal, so we'll see how it goes.
I can't really attest to having anything large done, and we'd been talking about getting this tattoo for three years, so I'm pretty comfortable with having it be so permanent, but I'd say, if you're considering a tattoo, and are sure it's something that you want, go for it. The pain isn't so bad that I wouldn't do it again, and I'm actually really into having this permanent design on my skin. One day, I'm considering going back to get the outline of a flying pig, which is a symbol of hope in the face of impossibility to me, so obviously the experience was good enough to be thinking about repeating it sometime. The ampersand is, of course, a symbol of unity, and a reminder that we're all part of something larger than ourselves.
I was fortunate enough to attend the member preview of the Brooklyn Museum's Yinka Shonibare retrospective back at the end of June. I was not sure what I thought then, and I left with questions and fortunate feelings that I was able to escape with only five or so mentionings of the ever so mythic and malleable word "identity." After seeing the show for a second time this past weekend, I think I am more settled on my thoughts. maybe. It may be pretentious. Sorry. Maybe.
I think the New York Times review is cogent in mentioning the fashioning of the mannequins with “African” textiles overdone in his œuvre. It is obvious or, as the Times says, literal, in pieces like “Gallantry and Criminal Conversation” where the mannequins are bent over in small groups in sexual positions. Additionally, if there is an idea beyond the overwrought trope of “questioning identity and authenticity,” it was certainly not present in the catalog and write-ups. In fact, they only served to reiterate a conversation of “luxurious white 18th century vs. postcolonial black 21st century.” Most frustrating were the implications of Shonibare himself in the exhibition’s concluding documentary, where in speaking on the Fragonard re-appropriation, he (rather problematically) refers to the piece as a contrast between the luxury of the west/poverty of Africa. How deeply he feels this to be true can’t be for certain, but statements such as that are unfortunately the kinds of golden nuggets that the curators of the show seemed to latch onto.
I think there are strong undercurrents that were missed. Shonibare’s work presents interactions before inequalities. Rather than “African authenticity” (whatever that really means anyway), I think the fabrics dressed on headless mannequins are symbols for the past and the implications for history's future generations. Of course interactions must include ones that are racial and economic, but there is an unmentioned labor-intensive application that needs to be performed in this installation work.
The Fragonard piece is that application, I thought, for the viewer is forced to reconsider, among other things, the idea of voyeurism inherent in the original. The priest and husband figures are absent from the composition, with perhaps the viewer of Shonibare’s installation left to take their place. The piece is three dimensional, here, and a spectator is offered the unique opportunity to move from all angles. There is irony in some way, for we, like the male participants, are given a peeping gaze up the headless mannequin’s skirt. The entire original absorption of the piece is altered, and if anything, the interaction around “leisure” is assigned onto the person who is gazing upon it. It is in this way that we are able to place ourselves in history, understand ways to see the past, construct the otherwise class-less, race-less, headless.
The curators and writers of the exhibition catalog needed to press further into what lies behind the appearance of these brightly colored fabrics. Hierarchies may or may not be revealed through the fabric, and yes, cultural barriers may be stretched, but art criticism on Shonibare in general needs to ask for more, because in this show we were force fed a bit of the same sentiments over and over.
The piece (“Mother and Father Worked Hard So I Can Play”) installed in the museum’s period rooms was sure nifty, though.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
1. Francis Ford Coppola's Tetro is an intoxicating cinematic confection that will most certainly be on my "Top 3 movies of 2009 List" (9.5 out of 10).
2. I have been looking forward to the release of the DVDs of the first season of Eastbound and Down for quite a while because I so enjoyed Danny McBride's performance in Pineapple Express. I watched it, it was funny and I will rent the second season once it's available but I don't plan on watching the first season again (6.8 out of 10).
3. I'm a sucker for anything that has the flavor "fruits of the forest" because aside from being tasty it makes me feel Romantic and lady-like in a Bronte kind of way. I recently purchased 365 Brand Fruits of the Forest Fruit Spread from Whole Foods and found it to be too reminiscent of Welch's grape jelly, lunch ladies and crustless white bread. (4.1 out of 10).
4.Charles Ray's Ink Line at Matthew Marks Gallery (523 W. 24th St., closes July 10th) is spectacular, moving, thoughtful, and funny (9.3 out of 10).
5. Williamsburger (342 Wythe at S. 2nd) has nice waitresses, passable hamburgers, and embarrassingly flaccid french fries (3.1 out of 10).
I was thrilled to find out that the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts (80 Hansen Place) is located right in my neighborhood, and this weekend, I saw the Artist Talk surrounding their latest exhibit, "Perspectives: Women, Art and Islam." The exhibit is open until September 13, and I would encourage you to go and see it, although it felt a bit amateur to me. The show features work by Fariba Alam, Zoulikha Bouabdellah, Mahwish Chishty, Safaa Erruas and Nsenga Knight. Some of the work was intriguing and lovely, and the artists were all clearly thoughtful and interesting, but in the end, I felt as though MoCADA had slapped things together a little too quickly, and though of course there were common threads in everything, it was difficult to see the show as cohesive.
I suppose I always find it difficult to strike a balance between identity and art, and so shows that focus entirely on the identity of the artist tend to grate of me a bit, but the talk, and the exhibit, bring up many interesting questions about religion's place in art and art's place in religion. Although I don't think anyone piece focused as much on gender as I would have liked, I can easily consider that a good thing, because there is something problematic to me about saying, "Okay, you're a woman. You're a Muslim. What you create is inherently touched by that and should focus on that." Of course in an exhibit picked particularly for these things, one expects to see it, and so I was glad to see some of the more abstract pieces and how they approached the topic. I do think the museum is doing some important, interesting things, and that this exhibit is worth seeing. I just wonder if there was a more cohesive or thoughtful way to run this show.
If you're interested, tonight there's a lecture and that might be a good excuse to check it out: Dr. Halima Taha, one of the leading authorities on collecting African-American art and an active follower of Islam, will discuss the history of Islam in the United States and misconceptions about the roles of women within the religion. Admission: $5. Free for MoCADA and MfAA members.
I've been feeling a little down lately, but this bit of art made me feel a lot better when I saw it posted on That Unreliable Girl just now. It's called "Cheer Up California" and it was created by Neon Gray. Most of the art that I like gives me an immediate feeling, and the best art for me is the art that recalls this original feeling again and again, even as your understanding of it grows more nuanced. This piece was an instant pick-me-up, and just what I needed to see when I saw it. Although it's a little advertisement-like for my tastes, and maybe a little obvious, sometimes all you need is to be told that it will all work out. And a bright red balloon.
