Sunday, June 14, 2020

Is This Courage?

SRĐAN LONČAR
IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO PLACE A CALL

The Front, New Orleans

and

An UNNAMED GUY on an UNNAMED PODCAST


A long time ago I read a "clever student" anecdote. My two-minute Google research told me that it's most likely an academic legend (like an urban legend). Here is one version: a philosophy professor assigned a final exam essay question: What is courage? The exam had a minimum length requirement of some number of pages. One student responded with a two word essay that read, This is.

When I read that, I liked it. Something about the less-is-more "courage" of minimalism appealed to me.

Srdjan Loncar, From If You Would Like to Place a Call at The Front
A few weeks ago I went to The Front, my first time out to look at art since the confinement. In the fourth gallery there was a show I really wanted to like. Or maybe it's more accurate to say I loved and hated it. It moved and disappointed me. I wanted to like it because it was based on a gesture I deeply appreciated. (I have been thinking more and more about the gesture of art rather than the thing of art.) 

The show was a group of works by Srdjan Loncar. The gesture was that the artist had paid attention to derelict pay phones around the city. The thing he had made was a concrete pay phone, mounted it on the wall. It was perfect. But there were three of them. In addition to the three concrete pay phones, there was another sculpture, and a map, a photograph and some wall text.

I really like pay phones. I mean I have noticed them, paid attention. I have taken photographs of pay phones and phone booths for at least 15 years, though not "obsessively" as the kids say. I like the way pay phones stand (or stood as they near extinction) solitary. I like them especially in rural or suburban places, sometimes lit sometimes with glass booths. Pay phones call attention to the absence of a caller. They are communication devices, which front-load them with meaning. There was a great story by producer Miki Meek on This American Life. It was called “Really Long Distance” and about a phone booth in Japan that offered the thousands of people who lost loved ones in the 2011 tsunami and earthquake to call the departed. I say all of this because I am the choir: broken or abandoned pay phones are, from my view, totally relevant fodder for art-making. 

I would have love love loved to have walked into that gallery and seen a single concrete pay phone on the wall. If there had been one sculpture in the gallery, it would have been just me and an non-functioning pay phone, two entities interacting and I can feel how powerful that would have been. Instead, the experience was less economical and less poetic. And I just feel disappointed when art becomes too project-y. 

If courage in the anecdote was two words, one pay phone might be its sculptural corollary. What is courage? That would have been. 

Artists work in solitude and have only so many opportunities or official spaces to share what they have made. Artists also have economic or career interests in being "out there" as much as possible which can lead to the impulse to pack a space or over-explain with words or quantities. Forces can lead an artist away from minimalism. A beautiful, solitary, deeply real gesture (like installing a concrete pay phone) can often get swallowed up by “art making” and art statements. These phone booths are also, according to the artist statement, installed around town. If I had encountered one accidentally in public I know I would have been thrilled (provided there was no artist statement nearby describing the meaning of it).

Speaking of beautiful gestures, I was listening to a podcast on which the guest, well-known in several circles, was prompted by the host to direct listeners to his books, website, etcetera in what the host calls the “plug zone.” The guest plugged his projects then gave his phone number, his actual phone number in case, he said, anyone wanted to call or text him. (I am not naming names here because I do not want to alter his gesture.) The host was incredulous. Is that your actual phone number? It was. This was a strange and and fearless gesture. Maybe this was courage.

What is courage? How does courage relate to gestures, quantities, lots versus one? How does courage relate to withholding or sharing? I don't know...What do you think? Hello? Hello?

Friday, June 12, 2020

Ariel Claborn - "Eyes Without A Face"

Bedroom Songs (play on Repeat)
Part 2

"Eyes Without A Face" by Billy Idol. 

Listen













When I called Ariel to ask if she wanted to participate in this little project, I was sitting on my roof. This is where I sit sometimes to quiet my head, though sometimes my thoughts just speed up and propagate there. I had decided to take the weekend to put together a song-inspired bedroom "exhibition" and Ariel crossed my mind. We do not know each other well but she is an artist, we work together, and I like her vibe, so to say. She answered my call and I (with very little preamble) I proposed we have a two-person "show" based on a pop songs. The locations would be our respective bedrooms and very view people would see them. Without hesitating she said yes, but she had only that night because she was leaving town in the morning. 

Opening the files she sent to my work email address was like opening a letter a friend taped to your door; there was something so tactile about the images. I had not seen much of Ariel's work, nor her room, and seeing the two together made an immediate kind of sense. 

She had not told me ahead what song she would use and when I read the title, "Eyes Without A Face" my mind immediately served up the deep vintage voice of Billy Idol. I'm all out of hope... The three things together, her drawings, the images of her room, and the song, made me feel like it was some teenage suburban afternoon, after school, in a friends room with the radio on. The Adults might call it wasting time but we would know better and still do.

• • •

Ariel Claborn grew up in Alabama and now makes art and teaches art to children in New Orleans. A communist once said to her, “So goes the south, so goes the nation.” She said, “I’ll be here.”

Friday, June 5, 2020

Don't Come Around Here No More

Bedroom Songs (play on Repeat)
Track 1 "Don't Come Around Here No More"

The other day I opened my front door and as if and my brain were actually an iPod, I heard (I didn't imagine, I heard) the first slow drumbeats of the song "Don't Come Around Here No More" and then of course the sitar. I pretty much lived inside this song for two days, listening on my big, noise-canceling headphones in the car and in the grocery store, on my smashed phone posed on my sternum where I lay on my bed in my room looking at the fan spin, and while I was making these drawings at the table. Sunday morning I put together this private little show.  

Listen



Installation View
Page from my Moleskine Notebook (Jacques Prévert) 
Highway in Fast Motion, GIF of Cells, GIF of Stars  and  One New Message

HA HA

My Moleskine Notebook,  HA HA,  You Liked Takotsubo

Digital Touch

Installation View,  My Bedroom
good night
goodnight. 

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