A Gallery Undone

by HRM on February 4, 2013

The role of the curator rethought on the Upper East Side

By Madison Mainwaring

The expanse of the main room at the beginning of the evening.

The expanse of the main room at the beginning of the evening.

The original intensity of a work of art tends to be obscured by the formality of its own presentation. Only occasionally does the framework of typical convention break down, when art can stand for itself, rather than the value it signifies. It can be observed and interpreted for what it is, rather than what its custodians want it to be.

A Neo-primitivist thread runs through Anna Mikhailovskaia’s work. On the left, Untitled (Crusty Holes); on the right, Josef Albers Goes to Africa

Gabriela Salazar collects disposed materials, then compresses them to fit into negative spaces. A stray “wedge” made of rope can be found above eye-level in between the hinges of the door close by.

The opening of “New York I Love You Sometimes,” presented at the temporary exhibition space Classic Six on January 26th, allowed for such an occasion. Hosted by Alison Chace and curated by George Terry, twenty artists presented their work in media ranging from sculpture to painting to video. No explicit theme dominated the show; no economy governed the exchange. The art was present, and people came.

Ben A. Jones’s flattened hexagonal sculpture, Vapid, hangs on the wall. The piece explores the physicality of soundscapes in reverberation and delay. Photographer/mixed media artist Dan Estabrook in the foreground.

Ben A. Jones’s flattened hexagonal sculpture, Vapid, hangs on the wall. The piece explores the physicality of soundscapes in reverberation and delay. Photographer/mixed media artist Dan Estabrook in the foreground.

Adam Parker Smith’s piece above the mantle. The window of the gallery steamed over due to the heat of moving bodies in the space, and Mr. Smith’s “It’s a girl!” was re-written on its surface, with slight alterations.The girl became

Adam Parker Smith’s piece above the mantle. The window of the gallery steamed over due to the heat of moving bodies in the space, and Mr. Smith’s “It’s a girl!” was re-written on its surface, with slight alterations. the boy became “It’s a boy!,” but even that didn’t last long; all was eventually superceded by “It’s twins! It’s twins!”

The space itself deserves mention—the third floor of a limestone mansion, the old Drexel estate, built at the turn of the twentieth century. The walls feature ornate molded frames, whitewashed but visible in shadow. The floor is a true and polished parquet. A fireplace can be found in each room, a reminder of the building’s previous domestic function while lending a sense of warmth and intimacy.

Mixed-media installation by James Foster. The work depicts rock forms, both artificial and real. Crumpled foil with gold leaf imitates the actual meteorite, which can be found in secondhand representation only: the picture.

Mixed-media installation by James Foster. The work depicts rock forms, both artificial and real. Crumpled foil with gold leaf imitates the actual meteorite, which can be found in secondhand representation only: the picture.

Alison Chace greets newcomers in the gallery hall.

Alison Chace greets newcomers in the gallery hall.

And the event was intimate. Faces were familiar to each other, the voices were loud. The feel was of a salon, in the three senses of the word: a gathering of people in appreciation of ideas; a presentation of emerging artists in the style of the annual Parisian convention; and the drawing or living room in a home.

Meta-moment: a picture of a picture of a picture being taken. Monika Sziladi’s Untitled (Smile).

Meta-moment: a picture of a picture of a picture being taken. Monika Sziladi’s Untitled (Smile).

If the exhibition was of the salon variety, Ms. Chace served as a true salonière, providing food, drink, and a venue for the evening.

Ross Moreno addressing a rather captivated audience. Much of the performance was influenced by the tropes of a typical childhood party.

Ross Moreno addressing a rather captivated audience. Much of the performance was influenced by the tropes of a typical childhood party.

Mr. Terry selected the content of the show by reaching out to artists he knew and admired. An underlying connection ran between the artists, perhaps not of theme but of verve, the similarities being implicit rather than explicit. The artwork was made by individuals who are related in some way, either by social connection or artistic occupation, and this was made manifest in the event itself.

The after-effects of the performance. Index cards with deeply rhetorical questions also lay scattered about (and yes, that is a stuffed turkey).

The after-effects of the performance. Index cards with deeply rhetorical questions also lay scattered about (and yes, that is a stuffed turkey).

Gabriela Salazar collects disposed materials, then compresses them to fit into negative spaces. A stray “wedge” made of rope can be found above eye-level in between the hinges of the door close by.

A Neo-primitivist thread runs through Anna Mikhailovskaia’s work. On the left, Untitled (Crusty Holes); on the right, Josef Albers Goes to Africa

Such a connection seemed to allow for a mutual understanding between artist and onlooker. “This doesn’t feel like middle school,” observed Andy Ness (of the All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go sculpture) in reference to the typical apprehension surrounding the public display of work. Brett Day Windham confirmed this sense: “Some of the other artists and I realized that we were not feeling the usual agonizing self-consciousness…the warm domestic elegance of the interior and the thoughtful curation of the show actually bolstered how we experienced the work.” The architecture of the collective exhibition had both meaning and consequence for all the individuals involved.

Curator George Terry talks with artist James Williams III. Two paintings by Lumin Wakoa hang in the background; she examines architectural spaces on the canvas, making the three-dimensional two and then back again.

Curator George Terry talks with artist James Williams III. Two paintings by Lumin Wakoa hang in the background; she examines architectural spaces on the canvas, making the three-dimensional two and then back again.

The location of the gallery, 1 East 62nd Street, lent itself as the ultimate representative of the city, the primary number being a pinnacle of sorts. Many of the attendees made the pilgrimage from studios in Brooklyn; the familiarity between partygoers was in large part due to proximate geography. “The show is about being an artist in New York,” said Mr. Terry when discussing the title. And perhaps the exhibition attempts to explain or justify the purpose of city life, in spite of its relentless grind and noise and travel: the excitement surrounding an intense discussion and production of ideas, pieces, projects; a shared relationship between individuals, no matter how isolated their work.

Brett Day Windham’s Floating Harlequin sculpture. Windham worked with the idea of the artist as a wounded fool; the public looks on, confounded, while the artist works inside, their thoughts kept a secret.

Brett Day Windham’s Floating Harlequin sculpture. Windham worked with the idea of the artist as a wounded fool; the public looks on, confounded, while the artist works inside, their thoughts kept a secret.

The rapport allowed for a certain sense of play. The large crowd made for a compressed intermingling in and about the pieces themselves; in order to move in any direction one had to engage in a duck and weave. And the performance piece, conducted by Ross Moreno and Justin Cooper, kept the audience undermined in the best way. Heart-shaped balloons from the act began sticking to various chests and sleeves. One would pop and there would be joke of some emotional overflow.

Ross Moreno and Justin Cooper in a sea of tangled balloons.

Ross Moreno and Justin Cooper in a sea of tangled balloons.

The motto of the eighteenth-century salon came from the Roman lyric poet Horace, who wrote that the purpose of art was “either to please or to educate.” New York I Love You Sometimes brings that same two-fold intention back, and even questions the division between the two; the either/or becomes a definitive and.

The space during the day-time. From the left: a textile work by Carolyn Salas; Windham’s sculpture; Andy Ness’s All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go; Rory Baron’s Electrician installation on the wall.

The space during the day-time. From the left: a textile work by Carolyn Salas; Windham’s sculpture; Andy Ness’s All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go; Rory Baron’s Electrician installation on the wall.

“New York I Love You Sometimes” will be open by appointment until February 9th. Contact George Terry: george@georgeterrystudio.com

The Classic Six invitation page: www.facebook.com/events/126436094190810/

All photos credited to Johnathon Henninger, photojournalist: www.documonkey.blogspot.com

Previous post:

Next post:

ISSN: 2116 34X