The role of the curator rethought on the Upper East Side
By Madison Mainwaring
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.
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.
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.
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.
If the exhibition was of the salon variety, Ms. Chace served as a true salonière, providing food, drink, and a venue for the evening.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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
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