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Been doing the cultural thing with Wales the last two evenings. Yesterday saw Little Children for six bucks at Cobble Hill. And tonight a free pass to view two exhibits at the Whitney (it's pay as you wish from 6-9pm on Fridays) up on 75th.
First, Little Children - directed by Todd Field who also directed In The Bedroom. This is a film that haunts you long after you've seen it. It stars, Jackie Earl Haley, Kate Winslet, and Jennifer Connelly amongst others.
Wales and I were still discussing the film at dinner tonight, even after seeing two excellent art exhibits. Field does an apt job of capturing the dissatisfaction, uncertainity and meandering boredom of surburbia. Along with tension that lurks beneath the polite surface. The film feels a bit like you are reading a novel. Each character, even the ones on the periphery developed fully. And as the film progresses, it unwrapps each character, revealing new and at times surprising layers much like an onion. It also deftly walks the line between bathos and black comedy, never completely giving way to either.
( Little Children -very vague spoilers )
The Picasso & American Art exhibit was overwhelming. Five rooms filled with Picasso, Williem de Kooning, Jasper Johns, Jackson Pollack, Max Webber, Roy Lichtenstein, Stuart Davis, David Smith, Arshile Gorky, John Graham, Pollack's wife, and even two by Andy Warhol - which had one viewer exclaiming with glee. It may be the best Warhol I've seen. (There were other artists in there but I forget their names.) Not a huge fan of Warhol. Amongst the works on display was the famous Three Musicians from the Philadelphia Art Musuem. The Picassos were placed next to the artists influenced by him. On one wall we had two artists, Kooning and I think Arshile Gorky, one mentor and one student, with portraits right next to each other - that spoke volumes regarding their at times tumultous relationship. I had my favorites of course - the Three Musicans, a portrait of Kooning, Pollack's picture of a tramatized horse in blue against a black background (in fact until I saw this exhibit, I did not know Pollack had done anything other than his famous drip paintings - which were also in evidence and don't do much for me - my comment in passing to Wales, was they'd make great wallpaper), and a still life by John Grahm. There's a quite marvelous bit by Webber of two people making love in a forest, the pieces of their body sliced together along with the forest to the point in which you can't tell which is which. They've melded into one another.
Looking at these paintings, I realized something or rather it reaffirmed a hunch. What speaks to me in art, regardless of whether it is music, film, books, paintings, sculpture or even jewelry - is does it tell me a story? Or reveal something? Technique does not interest me and to be blunt, I'm rather bored by it. Wales on the other hand is fascinated by the technique - we argued over two paintings - that sat next to each other. One by Weber - entitled Chinese Restaurant - telling the story, with its blured faces, backwards staircase, and barely filled in patterns - of a bustling, busy, Chinese restaurant struggling to stay afloat, and one by Picasso which influenced it, but by comparison was neat, textured, and clean, a fractured study of a still life. Wales said the Picasso was better and gestured at the side of the Webber painting stating that it did not appear he knew what he was doing, it's not as neat, not as perfect. My response was - no, it's not supposed to be, don't you see - that's the blur of the stairs, the hustle of the restaurant, the busyiness, the cheap tablecloths.
I have the same reactions to music, by the way. I'm forgiving of blemishes in a song that tells me a good story, that has lyrics that pull and twist at my mind. I forget a song that while technically brilliant, says little storywise. It doesn't always require lyrics of course -Rhaspody in Blue and Beethoven's Ninth both tell stories.
If you want to read more about this exhibit - go here .
The other exhibit we saw was Kikki Smith The Gathering. An installation of various bits and pieces of her work. Kikki is a German born American artist, who grew up in New Jersey, tried art school - got annoyed by it (most artists do by the way, I've yet to meet one who liked it) and dropped out, deciding to do art on her own. She enrolled in emergency services care and trained to be a medical technician at one point just to learn more about human anatomy. Her works vary from sculpture to drawings to installation pieces. Many of them comment on the human body, specifically the female form and how women have been treated in society. Of particular interest to the artist are the following female characters - the Virgin Mary, Lilith (Adam's first wife according to some Hebrew texts - often demonized), Alice in Wonderland, and Little Red Riding Hood. One of the creepier statues - done from bronze is entitled "Lilith" (1984) - with eerie glass eyes "peering from the dark patina of a body that seems to crawl, insectlike, across the wall." According to the pamphlet I picked up at the museum - "Smith depicts women that art history has largely forgotten, such as Lilith, who is described variously in Hebrew legend as Adam's first wife (and as such refused to submit to a subordinate role) or as a vengeful, night-flying demon of the air." [The problem I've always had with religion is the inability to deal with women in a satisfying and for me, realistic way, we are either virgins, whores or demons. Sacred or profane. And men, poor put-upon souls that either must dominate us or risk the consequences. Piffle.] The statue is creepy. My immediate response was it reminded me of the ghosts in the Japanese Horror films The Grudge and The Ring. I preferred the haunting and beautifully rendered sculpture of "rebirth" depicting a woman stepping out of the carcas of a wolf from the Red Riding Hood legend - also constructed from bronze, detailed, and life size, I found myself rivited by it. As you can see, Kiki's art weaves together mythology, folklore, and religion with body. She does bee's wax casts of female forms. As well as paper machet - one is of a figure with a bowed head, in a Christ-like pose, hair made from horsehair, and containing both female and male parts (breasts and genitilia). Another piece is of the Virgin Mary, skin flayed from her form, so you can see her muscels and sinews - cast from bees wax, I could look at it, but did wince.
Her art is not necessarily pretty, it makes you think. Makes you pause. It is the type of art that pulls out an emotion. And it radiates anger. Confrontation. Most installation is like this; its purpose to make the viewer interact and respond to it as opposed to passively look at it on a wall.
The problem with going to art museums is I get tired quickly. After an hour and a half, we were both burnt, feet sore and aching. I can only look at so much, before becoming overwhelmed by the visual imagery. So we scampered off to the subway, then home to eat at Patois, a local French restaurant - where we treated ourselves with wine, mussels, fish, creme brulee, and chocolat mousse. My stomach is grumbling over it as I write, telling me loudly that perhaps I ate too much.
First, Little Children - directed by Todd Field who also directed In The Bedroom. This is a film that haunts you long after you've seen it. It stars, Jackie Earl Haley, Kate Winslet, and Jennifer Connelly amongst others.
Wales and I were still discussing the film at dinner tonight, even after seeing two excellent art exhibits. Field does an apt job of capturing the dissatisfaction, uncertainity and meandering boredom of surburbia. Along with tension that lurks beneath the polite surface. The film feels a bit like you are reading a novel. Each character, even the ones on the periphery developed fully. And as the film progresses, it unwrapps each character, revealing new and at times surprising layers much like an onion. It also deftly walks the line between bathos and black comedy, never completely giving way to either.
( Little Children -very vague spoilers )
The Picasso & American Art exhibit was overwhelming. Five rooms filled with Picasso, Williem de Kooning, Jasper Johns, Jackson Pollack, Max Webber, Roy Lichtenstein, Stuart Davis, David Smith, Arshile Gorky, John Graham, Pollack's wife, and even two by Andy Warhol - which had one viewer exclaiming with glee. It may be the best Warhol I've seen. (There were other artists in there but I forget their names.) Not a huge fan of Warhol. Amongst the works on display was the famous Three Musicians from the Philadelphia Art Musuem. The Picassos were placed next to the artists influenced by him. On one wall we had two artists, Kooning and I think Arshile Gorky, one mentor and one student, with portraits right next to each other - that spoke volumes regarding their at times tumultous relationship. I had my favorites of course - the Three Musicans, a portrait of Kooning, Pollack's picture of a tramatized horse in blue against a black background (in fact until I saw this exhibit, I did not know Pollack had done anything other than his famous drip paintings - which were also in evidence and don't do much for me - my comment in passing to Wales, was they'd make great wallpaper), and a still life by John Grahm. There's a quite marvelous bit by Webber of two people making love in a forest, the pieces of their body sliced together along with the forest to the point in which you can't tell which is which. They've melded into one another.
Looking at these paintings, I realized something or rather it reaffirmed a hunch. What speaks to me in art, regardless of whether it is music, film, books, paintings, sculpture or even jewelry - is does it tell me a story? Or reveal something? Technique does not interest me and to be blunt, I'm rather bored by it. Wales on the other hand is fascinated by the technique - we argued over two paintings - that sat next to each other. One by Weber - entitled Chinese Restaurant - telling the story, with its blured faces, backwards staircase, and barely filled in patterns - of a bustling, busy, Chinese restaurant struggling to stay afloat, and one by Picasso which influenced it, but by comparison was neat, textured, and clean, a fractured study of a still life. Wales said the Picasso was better and gestured at the side of the Webber painting stating that it did not appear he knew what he was doing, it's not as neat, not as perfect. My response was - no, it's not supposed to be, don't you see - that's the blur of the stairs, the hustle of the restaurant, the busyiness, the cheap tablecloths.
I have the same reactions to music, by the way. I'm forgiving of blemishes in a song that tells me a good story, that has lyrics that pull and twist at my mind. I forget a song that while technically brilliant, says little storywise. It doesn't always require lyrics of course -Rhaspody in Blue and Beethoven's Ninth both tell stories.
If you want to read more about this exhibit - go here .
The other exhibit we saw was Kikki Smith The Gathering. An installation of various bits and pieces of her work. Kikki is a German born American artist, who grew up in New Jersey, tried art school - got annoyed by it (most artists do by the way, I've yet to meet one who liked it) and dropped out, deciding to do art on her own. She enrolled in emergency services care and trained to be a medical technician at one point just to learn more about human anatomy. Her works vary from sculpture to drawings to installation pieces. Many of them comment on the human body, specifically the female form and how women have been treated in society. Of particular interest to the artist are the following female characters - the Virgin Mary, Lilith (Adam's first wife according to some Hebrew texts - often demonized), Alice in Wonderland, and Little Red Riding Hood. One of the creepier statues - done from bronze is entitled "Lilith" (1984) - with eerie glass eyes "peering from the dark patina of a body that seems to crawl, insectlike, across the wall." According to the pamphlet I picked up at the museum - "Smith depicts women that art history has largely forgotten, such as Lilith, who is described variously in Hebrew legend as Adam's first wife (and as such refused to submit to a subordinate role) or as a vengeful, night-flying demon of the air." [The problem I've always had with religion is the inability to deal with women in a satisfying and for me, realistic way, we are either virgins, whores or demons. Sacred or profane. And men, poor put-upon souls that either must dominate us or risk the consequences. Piffle.] The statue is creepy. My immediate response was it reminded me of the ghosts in the Japanese Horror films The Grudge and The Ring. I preferred the haunting and beautifully rendered sculpture of "rebirth" depicting a woman stepping out of the carcas of a wolf from the Red Riding Hood legend - also constructed from bronze, detailed, and life size, I found myself rivited by it. As you can see, Kiki's art weaves together mythology, folklore, and religion with body. She does bee's wax casts of female forms. As well as paper machet - one is of a figure with a bowed head, in a Christ-like pose, hair made from horsehair, and containing both female and male parts (breasts and genitilia). Another piece is of the Virgin Mary, skin flayed from her form, so you can see her muscels and sinews - cast from bees wax, I could look at it, but did wince.
Her art is not necessarily pretty, it makes you think. Makes you pause. It is the type of art that pulls out an emotion. And it radiates anger. Confrontation. Most installation is like this; its purpose to make the viewer interact and respond to it as opposed to passively look at it on a wall.
The problem with going to art museums is I get tired quickly. After an hour and a half, we were both burnt, feet sore and aching. I can only look at so much, before becoming overwhelmed by the visual imagery. So we scampered off to the subway, then home to eat at Patois, a local French restaurant - where we treated ourselves with wine, mussels, fish, creme brulee, and chocolat mousse. My stomach is grumbling over it as I write, telling me loudly that perhaps I ate too much.
