Video still from
Aliens at Rest
Aliens at Rest
with John Currin,
from Flash Art
My pieces were never meant to be dealt with intellectually as ideas, but to be considered experientially.|
-- Robert Irwin
What other dealer but Jeffrey Deitch could be found at 10 p.m. last Thursday, standing on Wooster Street with statuesque artist Jocelyn Taylor, across from Printed Matter, where Taylor's back-projected 3-D video Up to Now, a Blur was playing in the window?
For an hour, voyeur nonpareil Deitch and the formidable Jocelyn watched others watching Taylor's work.
The Flush and his date stared with fascination at the vivid vid for five minutes, before the eyes in the back of our heads told us we were being observed.
"I'd love to give Jocelyn a whole SoHo block of storefronts to show her videos," Deitch enthused.
We've never been a fan of Taylor's work ... until now. Up to now, a Blur throws a vibrant street scene back into the real street, turning us into Leopold Bloom. The everyman effect makes it the top piece of the season so far.
Elsewhere, major crowds stuffed the galleries on opening weekend, and Chelsea's dealers grinned like contented cats, their real estate deals done and cash salted away before the stock market dived.
Over in SoHo, Bronwyn Keenan moaned, "I'm the only one left," when dealer Guy McIntyre left Crosby Street.
Back in Chelsea, new hybrid Gorney, Bravin and Lee signed a deal on a huge 18th Street space.
Gavin Brown is turning the front of his gallery into a bar.
That other Brown, painter Cecily, aka David Sylvester's daughter, maintained her status as hostess with the mostest, tossing another house party at her Houston Street loft -- female topless dancers boogied on the bar.
Apparently, Cecily is researching her new wet batch of paintings at buff lesbo hangout Meow Mix.
Over in Brooklyn, artist/curator Paul Ramirez Jonas sold his apartment and moved into Janine Antoni's Broome Street pad. They're getting married next month.
In other real estate news, David Bowie purchased a whole floor in a red brick palace, next to the Puck Building on Lafayette Street.
Where are they now? 1897 dealer of the year Elizabeth Koury of the International with Monument Gallery took a gemology course and is now a top jewelry appraiser at Christie's!
And Max Protech, please clean up your office -- the messiest in the west, in such a neat gallery.
Reading is not a half-sleep, but in the highest sense an exercise, a gymnastic struggle.
-- Walt Whitman
Artist Dennis Oppenheim has concocted a unique way to further his career.
Oppenheim employs a phone bank of young women who call museums all over the world with an offer they often can't refuse. Dennis will give you three free Oppenheim sculptures if you, the museum, buy just one. That's right: museums can build an instant Oppenheim sculpture collection, four for the price of one.
So successful is old Denny's boiler-room operation that he routinely buys full page ads in the art glossies listing dozens of museums who buy his work.
He was also able to produce a virtual catalogue raisonné of his work (just out from Phaidon Press) and to cough up $70,000 of his own money to construct Engagement, Oppie's grand ironic wedding rings on 23rd Street and Fifth Avenue.
But even the president of the United States must sometimes have to stand naked.
-- Bob Dylan
Was the top secret, all powerful National Security Agency monitoring phone sex between Monica Lewinsky and President Clinton?
Of course. Not only does the NSA routinely tape all White House phone traffic for "security purposes," but both Clinton and Lewinsky feared their phones were tapped, according to the Starr Report.
What you are seeing is a crucifixion, kabuki style by the prim, proper and powerful Washington establishment.
The Supreme Court surprisingly allowed the president to be sued by Paula Jones, because the justices attend the same Georgetown cocktail parties as Tom Brokaw, Senator Hatch and CIA boss George Tenet.
They've gossiped about Clinton's dozens of affairs for years -- when he gets too out of control, he's gone.
Looked at from the national security angle, Clinton's reckless lust becomes a kind of revolutionary act, a spewing of come in the face of the permanent government.
The Starr report paints the private Clinton as a desperate-for-pleasure 52-year-old man, an aging bird in a sterile cage.
The president wears two hearing aids and has difficulty discerning voices in a crowded room.
Three times, Starr tells us, Lewinsky had to stimulate Clinton's anus with her tongue, presumably to make him erect. (We used to know the wife of an undersecretary of state and Clinton crony whose specialty was analinging politically powerful geezers.)
Clinton can't bend down to touch his genitals with Monica because he's got a busted leg, and let's forget that Prez Bill has never allowed his medical records to be released.
"Page Six" broke the news that Clinton's dick was curved like a boomerang from Peyronie's Disease - a condition caused by too much fuckin'!
So, it's this lyin', cheatin' hillbilly wreck out of a bad Country & Western song against the National Security State. Guess who wins?
He looked like any criminal defendant you ever saw.
-- Howard Fineman of Newsweek on the videotaped president.
(l.) and teammates
More news from all over:
Baseball's Baltimore Orioles have been a disappointment this year, after going to the American League championship series in 1996 and 1997.
At presstime, even Oriole third baseman Cal Ripken had ended his ironman streak of consecutive games played.
For three years, sportswriters have told us ad nauseam that the Orioles are "not a close team" and "go their separate ways outside the clubhouse."
The reason? Some Oriole players are allegedly homosexual, especially reportedly, that fireplug blue-collar slugger.
So sensitive are the Baltimore players to the same sexers in their midst, that the team went ballistic when an umpire allegedly called that other Oriole all-star "a fag" during an argument.
Inspired by the Switzerland listings page in Artforum magazine, British artist Sarah Rapson produced this group of paintings.
-- press release from the Velocity Gallery.
One of the nice benefits of a renewing contemporary art scene is excitement at the fringes.
Hot Brooklyn curator (and former Art Club 2000 member) Sarah Rossiter opens the Velocity Gallery this Friday, Sept. 25, from 7-10 p.m. with a hot party at her Williamsburg space, 281 North 7th Street.
Be there, rat-pack wannabees, and be square!
Art & Auction
It's thinner than Granny's wrist, the new Art & Auction. So thin, in fact, that ArtNet's generous, colorful full page ad must account for 20 percent of A&A's ad revenues.
Curiously, it appears that the fat has been sliced away with the pagination, but editor Bruce Wolmer is still up to his old tricks, editing Andrew Decker thusly:
"In the days following the sale of Warhol's Marilyn, word leaked out (and it was subsequently reported) that the buyer was Si Newhouse, with Wynn as underbidder. Dealers gasp."
We broke this story, like most stories we break, three months before Wolmer, who, as usual, doesn't credit us.
Yet what bald, gasping cretin is first on the phone begging for tidbits for his gasping fartathon, "In the Air"?
We won't forget.
There was shock all over Chelsea dealer Paula Cooper's face when a rare gold ladder by Ray Johnson mysteriously disappeared from her gallery showroom. It reappeared soon, however, when a workman was spotted climbing on it at a building restoration down the street.
Spotted at Silverstein Gallery, major collector Donald Rubell, at Howard Schwartzberg's show.
CHARLIE FINCH is the New York editor of Coagula Art Journal and has coauthored the forthcoming Most Art Sucks from Smart Art Press.