Your Name Here

Reviewed by Lee Klein

John Ashbery’s recent collection of poetry”Your Name Here” shows him at the hieght of his powers not as a surrealist but as a surrealist/realist. Therein he indeed throws the proverbial cow up over the moon as might any symbolic bard of the unlikeley. However he grounds his world and words of dreams with ration through point and counterpoint. It is like a game of tennis with the serve and volley game between logic and morpheus producing slicing backhands on poetry’s center court.

 

This writer when presented with a full course meal during working hours might skip the salad and potatoes and cut right into the prime rib. The choicest cut of meat for him while so occupied is to watch a writer or poet like Ashbery come around the turn a place where he touches upon a word or idea he himself might be working on. Such as in the poem”Conventional Wisdom” where he writes”Although I have known you for a long time/it seems as though we hardly know each other at all/It was as rehearsal for coming to be in time/that leaves are aslant”`. Just as I was tryng to describe for one of my own works how a geometric effect involving a pattern in stonework tranforms into diaganols here was Ashbery’s simple use of the slight yet appropriate word aslant. It was as if a minute yet essential line isued forth from the pencil of a seasoned and superb draughtsman. Indeed it could often seem to one in quest for the more apt turn of phrase for picturing ones inner thoughts in verse that many of one’s comtemporaries may be dry reservoirs, whereas, Ashbery is of that quality of work for another poet that he is akin to a water supply.

 

His expertise does not stop there. Stunning lines rip through see-saw poems coming in like last minute ballots with a bullet. In”More Hocketing” he says”let those who have never denatured another’s remark swim in wit now”. Such a line could only be written by a man for whom the business of words is a prolonged and serious affair with consequences and results. His turf is the word and it is it’s own currency as well. Thus much of Ashbery currency lays in his ability to be particular while not being particular at all. In”Amnesia Goes to the Ball” Ashbery sort of exhibits himself invoking his own aesthetic “Modular Sex was what it actually says. This starts me off on a new train of ideas, complete with gambling and smoking lounges. I am not to capiltalize on this moment. It has already been particularized”. All through this volume people and places are named. However they are never so connected as to place them. So therefore the poet can in effect allow you to be the agent of your own recconect.

The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America 1947-2000

The Money and the Power: The Making of Las Vegas and Its Hold on America 1947-2000

      by Sally Denton and Roger Morris

      published by: Alfred A. Knopf

      392 pages

 

Review by Lee Klein

 

Welcome to a magic-tragic carpet ride where all the stories of what made the desert oasis of Las Vegas the overblown Oz it is today come together as one.The story of Las Vegas and the story of it’s making according to authors Roger Morris and Sally Denton is the story of America. This is the book that credits the entire cast: the cowboys, the mob, the miners, the Shepard’s, the military industrial complex, the entertainers, the teamsters, the Mormon bankers, and the journalists-In fact almost everybody except Hunter S. Thompson and Dave Hickey.

 

Meanwhile, this volume’s key point is that this electric city of themed gambling palaces and vice for every pocketbook, this shining beacon of a conspiracy, of mob syndicate, intelligence and government forces was a criminal enterprise undertaken for the benefit of all. The book starts out by mapping a foundational history which links the political ambitions gained and lost elections, lives and deaths both political and mortal of a series of politicos whose ties to Vegas were as much as umbilical. Then for the rest of the show we watch the corrupt doings of a cast of characters straight out of Oliver Stone, Mario Puzo, and Mel Brooks as they plot, aspire, murder, and merge while the mother fucker blows up big time into the pleasure center of the known universe.

 

At first I wanted to assail Morris as a disaffected Nixonite or Johnsonian (under both of whom he worked at the National Security agency until resigning over the invasion of Cambodia during the RMN administration). However this works, labeling of the 1960 election “stolen” turns out to be both warranted and well founded. Therein the author’s arguments are balanced out not only by the fact that he accuses the Nixon forces of cheating as well but going into a full account about how a plan to break open Hank Greenspun the publisher of the Las Vegas Review Journal’s safe (to get information on what he had on a corrupt connection between Nixon forces and Howard Hughes) was possibly the genesis for the Watergate break-in itself.

 

Of course Las Vegas existed as a small time mining center, railroad stop, gambling outpost, and whoring haven when Bugsy Siegel first arrived there in 1946. Our guides however chart how the cities great rise was engineered not by Siegel but by his boyhood friend from the Lower East Side of Manhattan and murder inc., Meyer Lansky.

 

Throughout the casinos of downtown Meyer was the man behind it all. This low profile no publicity gangster had some one in almost every joint skimming for him. Therein the deal was for every one dollar that was reported as actual revenues there was another three parts skimmed. Of theses three parts skimmed two went to Meyer and one to the gangsters or front men running the joint for Meyer. Meanwhile, Meyer headed up a vast syndicate as different factions from throughout the United States bullied their way in on this turf or that. From his Miami home Lansky kept score and distributed the proceeds from the Vegas take (as well as that from Havana and Southeast Asia) to the parties concerned.

 

Further, we discover how Meyer often brought in different criminals from other regions like Benny Binion of Dallas to run his various joints (such as in this case the aptly named Binion’s Horseshoe). In doing so the authors show various mobsters like Sam Giancana, Mo Dalitz, Gus Greenbaum, Tony Condero, and countless others as they move in and out of power at different joints on the strip and downtown such as the Stardust, the Sands, the Sahara, the Riviera, and the Tropicana.

 

It was not until Tennessee senator Estes Kefauver’s traveling committee hearings on organized crime (when the state of Nevada held a Continental United States monopoly on gambling) that the question of syndicate involvement of Vegas was even broached. The authors here argue that Kefauver unjustly blamed the criminal affairs on the Mafia {thus inferring an Italian predominance}. However, Denton and Morris assert in truth the syndicate was a multi-ethnic conglomerate that was more like the makeup of America itself, with every body involved under the mutual banner head of greed. Indeed the ethos of the syndicate at that time was that there was enough for everybody; there was no reason to rub anybody out. There was room for the Patriarcas of Boston, the Cleveland mob, the Detroit mob, Carlos Marcello of New Orleans, and Santo Trafficante of Miami. It wasn’t until later that the unsaid peace was broken.

 

The end of this pax la costra nostra is depicted in the beginning of the chapter “High Rollers” and with a series of assassinations in a staccato sequence which is eerily evocative of Martin Scorcese’s film version of Mario Puzo’s Casino. Was the Robert DeNiro character Johnny Roselli? You can hear the car bombs going off, the rapid rain of machine gun fire, and Mick Jagger on lead vocals belting out “Gimme Shelter” straight from the movie’s soundtrack. Kefauver had to turn to FBN (the DEA forerunner agency the Federal Bureau of Narcotics) chief Harry Anslinger (who helped only marginally so as to not unveil his moles and double agents) as Meyer Lansky was left alone by the FBI. This scenario came into place as Lansky had the goods on J. Edgar Hoover (that is proof that he was a transvestite and a homosexual). So then when Kefauver needed this no good help from the feds so to later did the young attorney general Bobby Kennedy.

 

In the chapters “Party in Carson City” and “The Enemy too Far Within,” Joe Sr., Jack, and Bobby Kennedy serve as the agents of historical transition for this work. At this point the inheritors of the criminal fortunes become those who prosecute their own allies while putting on the clothes of legitimacy. I.e. it is time for Prince Hal to get dressed and go to dinner. The Kennedy tangent also does a superb job of bringing us back to that unique American epoch of iconic super connectedness when larger than life mid twentieth century stellar bodies ran like highways and byways; in, out, around, above, under, over, and through each other. This was a period where the innocence of the decadence was still such that rat packer Dean martin could offhandedly remark ” I am the only entertainer who has ten percent of four gangsters” .

 

The book begins sort of hokey-pokily with plenty of three dollar vocabulary words including the use of the word furtive to describe characters and their practices (so often that the authors practically put the word itself out of business ). It takes a few long junkets into the Kennedy assassination and the Bay of Pigsthen attempts to fly us back to town on the redeye. However once this volume gets going under a green flag it takes charge of the speedway; then goes for the checkered in a sprint.

 

So the next time I walk down Las Vegas boulevard instead of thinking I am in Husyman’s Paris or Versace’s Bellagio ; I might here the names Lansky, Dalitz, Greenbaum. Sinatra, Kennedy , and Roselli. Then the place may seem both like outer space and a more definable zone. How has this book been received just look at its’ Amazon.com ‘s sales figures in the Las Vegas area and greater Nevada. The residents therein are reading it as a guide to both define their city and themselves.

 

Lee Klein 2001


Lee Klein November, 1999

 

Turn of the Century

 

By: Kurt Anderson

 

659 pages

 

Random House 1999

 

 

 

 

 Reviewed by Lee Klein

 leeklein98@yahoo.com

 

“Anything Kurt Anderson Writes About Me is Okay”

 

 

Charlie Rose responding to his appearance as himself

in Kurt Anderson’s Turn of the Century

 

 

 

“If he names me by name then he probably has a lawsuit on his hands”

 

 

–Richard Serra when told that a fictional sculpture by him  appears

in Kurt Anderson’sTurn of the Century

 

 turnofthecentury.gif

 

I thought it would take until the turn of the century to read The Turn of the Century, the 659 Kurt Anderson novel on what it is like to be a middle aged post-millenial infotainment yuppie. In this tale set in the twelve-month cycle just after New Years 2000, Elizabeth “Lizzie” Zimbalist and her husband George Matcier beat a path through a mercenary infested jungle of avaricious do-gooders for themselves parading under the professions of media executive, financier, and boutique industry irreplacable. We follow George (the co-producer of the hit show “NARCS” on the MBC network) as he launches a new mixed news and entertainment project, “Real Time”, and Lizzie as her company “Fine Technologies” is courted for takeover by Microsoft.  The conflict in this story arises when Lizzie’s Microsoft deal falls through. Subsequently, her firm is bought outright by George’s employer, MBC, and this married couples primary intrests begin to diverge (proving that those who live in Herb Allen’s world do so after all in a very comfortable fish bowl).

 

 

This work opens in a paen to family life, flounders in endless chapters about such subjects as technolgy for physcic cats and prospective anchorwomen for Real Time, and ends in a full-scale securitites trading opera over the apparent death of Bill Gates.  This book is saved by it’s final movements (hopefully reached by the determined reader willing to endure an esoteric megadownload of jargon). Meanwhile the novel is host to a literary landscape whereby one navigates a world in which the technology of this week outdates the technology of the last via recombinant tag teams of components: only to be rendered obsolete by the developments of yesterday.

 

 

 

 

The first thing Anderson does is turn around the standard fictional disclaimer and announce that the inclusion of an actual dramatis personae is purposeful and warranted.  Michael Milliken, Bill Gates, Steve Ballmer, Charles Manson, Charlie Rose and other icons of the media and the econo-technocracy appear. However, the characters with whom we become most intimate are fictive beings whose lives are inordinatley effected by the movements of the other few. 

 

 

 

 

 

Real or imagined, the people and worlds of access and power Mr Anderson chooses to write about are ones where soviergnty is vested in a very small group of people.  This small group of people also happen to be those who control the media, high tech, and the financing for those said industries.  It is Mr. Anderson’s insider status which has allowed him to make such real observations.  And how I felt about Mr. Anderson’s insider stautus is how I felt when I was at Harold Evans book party/ symposium for “The American Century”.  There at a social hour standing around, adjacent to a cast that included Michael Bloomberg, Mortimer Zuckerman, Steve Brill, Tina Brown, William F. Buckley, etc; I thought to myself what is the use of talking to these people.  Beyond the fact that I could easily be dismissed, (lacking mega-mogul status), grouped together this cartel represents an upside down yogurt.  Or in otherwords they are a self contained bacterial datbase of themselves whose harvested crop of information is believed by them, to be farmed by them, and only for them.  Not to say that Dan Quayle was right about a cultural elite but Mr. Anderson sure does try hard to make an argument for Mr.Potato/Potatoe head. Further this is definitely a novel laden with politics and status; limousine liberals suddenly noticing themselves exhibiting Republican behavior.

 

 

 

 

This book’s sexual cosmography is one giant dance of monogamy not unlike a variation on Aurthur Schnitzler’s “Eyes Wide shut (the basis for Stanley Kubrick’s last film of the same name).  While there there is a lot of discussion about possible marital infidelity it is always into each other’s arms that George and Lizzie fall. 

 

 

 

 

When the author is not exploring the media workplace he is investigating the family living space.  In the end this may be suprising but he spends a great deal of time cataloging how children and relations of the featured characters hold up during the heady days of the here today gone tommorow world of the new computer based information economy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Anderson also manages to include a noticable foray into multiculturism though not always with a politically correct bent.  While George is working early in his career as a journalist he and an African American colleague at Newsweek jokingly suggest proposing a side venture for the magazine called “Newsweek for Negroes”.  Then later in the book he notes the tragedy which befalls George and Lizzie’s Mexican maid Rafeala as her familiy is murdered during the insurrection in Chiapas.  He follows both the media coverage of this event and the families screwups in trying to comfort the woman.

 

 

 

 

The whole problem with this volume, is that while it is certainly more pleasant to follow than David Foster Wallace’s “infinite Jest”, it shares the latter’s flaw of legnth.  We really can do without the endless vacous soliliquies uttered by bit players from bad T.V shows and corrupt executives trying to cash in at other’s expense. 

 

 

 

 

 

There are however within these pages some priceless observations.  My favorite line remains “euphoria is not  business strategy” and my favorite exchange is engaged in by the seven year old child whose inspiration it was to build the Las Vegas monstrosity “Barbie World”

 

 

 

 

… I want a Shirley Temp- wait what type of ginger ale do you use? The bartender glances towards Ben and winks.  “Shasta, Madam” he says.  His accent is Australian. Then I’ll just have a Pellegrino. But with four cherries in it.

 

 

 

 

That for me just about sums up this transitory and ridiculous age.  And Jedidiah Purdy says it’s the end of irony!

 

 

 

 

Lee Klein November, 1999

Review of “Lunar Park”

 

“Lunar Park”

by Brett Easton Ellis

Alfred A. Knopf

308 Pages

 

lunarpark.jpg

 

So here this writer sits as if an upwardly flowing odalisque and on his futon types on his laptop in order to compare Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Everything is illuminated” (as further illuminated by the movie version directed by Leiv Schreiber and starring Toby Maguire { a piece in which the author refers to himself as the writer or Jonathan Safran Foer who is a character in the story itself in the third person via the voice of a narrator a young Ukrainian man named Alex who travels with a dog) (a bitch he calls her) named Sammy Davis jr. jr.} to Brett Easton Ellis’s “Lunar Park” (where the writer himself is the character in the first person living his life in what might have been or a duplicate reality (a what if?) which then is seamlessly blended in with strains based on reality and a chaser of a couple of shots of that which is otherwise embellished as well).

 

Well, I have never in my span which almost mimics B.E.E’s read an entire Ellis novel before. For conversational of cultural reference this sometimes social presence would go forth when ruminating on Ellis’s work by piecing together his knowledge of the writer; the small sections of his books he had scanned, what has been written about the Bennington grad and his oeuvre in the press , brief interactions with the actual person, and movies of his stuff. So picking up “Lunar Park” to review was keenly interesting not only because I was now walking into a room after it had been fully decorated, but, because certain events intersect my own.

 

Early on it became apparent to this by now very hesitant reviewer that this work was a passage or a way for the author of seeing his life onwards or of not staying moribund while inhabiting the image of who he was. Here Ellis attempts through catharsis or exorcism (literal or figurative?) not to stay who he is or was forever. (While George W Bush announcing that the United States is addicted to oil is tantamount to a man missing half of his teeth on the orange, blue, and white corrections bus to Rikers announcing that he’s a crackhead Brett Easton Ellis’s “Lunar Park” is supposed to read as necessary exorcism).

 

The real Ellis’s actuality as a public personality is convoluted. Is he heterosexual, bisexual, or gay? Many put two and two together for him in that the rage towards women as manifested in his infamous gore fest “American Psycho” it is natural that he hated women and was gay. However, looking at his work his sexual cosmography is more complicated than that (in fact he comes from a subset of the moneyed elite where at least in youth bisexuality is tolerated if not celebrated or allowed as long as quieted). Our author then turns the tables by inserting himself into a familial landscape where he moves to suburbia and his past moves him out from his brief tenure in normalcy anyhow. He has got to get past that which is in his past and yet his past comes back to haunt him and comes back to haunt his house.

 

 

His character duplicate in name (the self-referential doppelgangerish Brett Easton Ellis) gets back together with a famous actress with whom he has fathered a child. Subsequently, he moves in with her; their son together Robbie, and her daughter by a record executive. This all arises after a fabled spin through drugs and alcohol and his lackluster agreement to stay straight.

 

All through the volume’s introductory summing up of his fabled literary life, and events which follow such as a brief affair he has with a student, a wild Halloween party which he hosts in the suburban house in which he now lives, soirees he and his wife attend at a neighbors house, and a parent-teacher conference his faux state of stasis gradually unwinds.

 

Further. Then the Ellis clone Ellis has created strictly for the purpose of prose tries to have a friendship with his son (this fails and meanwhile he is haunted by the memory of his father) as yet another clone yet to be unmasked turns out to be a younger version of the writer himself (which is originally a young man named Clayton) stalks Ellis. This young man and his father eventually merge into one mini-poltergeist and a demonologist has to be brought in to exorcize them.

 

Furthermore, a murder spree in the area ensues where the victims follow an order form “American Psycho” as he is threatened by a deranged stuffed animal doll toy which flies and young boys in the area are disappearing. Through all these multiple traumas which in the end seem comic this work is about self as transferred between fathers and sons.

 

Towards the end in what could easily be construed to be a variation upon Safran Foer’s literary experiments the personality of the main character splits into two parts Easton Ellis and the writer. The writer takes the form of a running narrative who attempts to do the dividing in the splitting in half of the fictitious Easton Ellis. Though it is “the writer” who is drives the action it is Ellis the person who through the power of two can sit back and decide what course to pursue. But in the end this book takes you to a place which is about fathers and sons and where it just might on the final page as it did mine turnaround and break your heart.

 

 

Hypertexture

Hypertexture

 
The virtual and partial symbolic representation for and replacement of the physical elements of human life are monumental alterations to the nature in which those with access and or witness to technology interact with and within the universe. As the time members of our species engage in and between simulated and physical realities fluctuates the pictures that our perception forms of the tangible elements of existence change. Moreover then henceforth artists’ and viewers’ respective expressions and or understanding of physical reality in the fine and applied arts in physical space and cyberspace evolve. Summarily one of the phenomenological progressions in this relatively new inter-dimensional dialectic addressing how both painterly and morphically responsive digital textures emerge with the facility of one paradigm translated into the dimension of another (as well as in what could be termed visually hyphenated hybrid forms) is “Hypertexture”. 

 

 

 

First, in the realm of painterly aesthetics “Hypertexture” can begin to be defined as “an emergent theoretic of tactility whereby visual art of the physical realm responds to the virtual by out-morphing and or equaling the variations of digitality via texture; pigment and mediated shifts”\footnote{1}. Secondly, “Hypertextures” can be described as an umbrella of pictorial morphologies manifested in the sphere of artifice as responses to quantum changes in the nature of physical; virtual, and artificial realities and in instances incorporating not only painting but photographic; sculptural, and even contextualized digital works as well.

 

The operative term of this essay first came to this writer soon after viewing Mark Tansey’s paintings at the Curt Marcus gallery and reading Arthur C. Danto’s statement “that where the picture seems so realistic as to represent all the visual surfaces of the world”.  Therein this writer imagined a singular paintings’ painterly surface and or surfaces as being representative for and or of all the visual surfaces of the world.  Further, he then posited that if such a super informed work of art in its’ approach to this improbable plateau ever made a vain yet ingenious attempt to such an end then that work then might be termed a “Hypertexture”.

 

In relation to the previous idea, if one were to refocus upon tactile exponential responses to digitality would it not render the subsequent explorations as if hypertext’s investigation into the possibilities of formatting exponential plot turns and material through systems of fingertip guided computer navigation technology? Theretofore the investigation of the world’s real surface matter could in turn bring to the foray an experiential basis that we could once again reclaim as “Hypertexture”. 

 

This writer then when in the course of describing a series of photographs of the abandoned hospital of communicative diseases on Ellis Island taken by the lensman Stephen Wilkes took notice that they seemed to have a “hypertextural” sensibility.  In Wilke’s works exhibited in 2001 at Triad Fine Arts on Grand street in the Soho section of Manhattan there were so many textural variations in the rooms of hospital as light poured in upon cobwebs, dust, furniture, detritus, and the surfaces of ruins that this writer used the term “hypertextural”.

 

Subsequently, a following exhibition by the photographer at Triad Fine Arts featured works focusing on two female models placed into settings within an exotic realm. In this Wilkes suite of photographs the duo, one woman of Caucasian derivation and one of African origin (respectively named Allegra and Fatou) were posed both solo and in concert nude in Hawaii for a series of photographs against highly textural landscapes. Here by juxtaposing the human form with exaggerated and variegated earthly surfaces such as hardened lava in the composite interface the works could then be termed “hypertextural”.

 

This writer believes that Wilke’s sensibility came about in response to the dynamic digital facilities, which have been presented to the visual artist in recent times. Further it might be suggested that in turn the inward machinations of the mind and eye might be able to capture such possibilities for art in the natural world. It would seem then that Wilkes’s accentuated attention to texture almost to the point of fetish would be in response to the premium issue surface compositions and their mimetic digital counterparts have become in the plastic arts. In laying bare a heightened state of physical world manifests Wilkes seemingly is able to exhibit “hypertexture” through both occurrence and composition.

 

It follows that later in that same year of 2001 this writer was sent to Istanbul to cover the Turkish capitol city’s contemporary art Bienal.  Once there and taken with a work by artist Cem Arik in the Hagia Irene church on the Tokapki palace campus where the crux of the Internationale was displayed this writer penned in the article “NoInstanbulshit”.

 

 

“The two pieces by Arik in St. Irene were oil and glass on mosaic and oil on mosaic. The more striking of the two possessed a slightly differentiated palette where the tiles and in their absence plaster created through subtle manipulations of the depth of color an effect which gave a reading as if one were looking at a digital photo composite. Whereby differing values zoomed in or out at precise intervals, or one might suggest with the advent of the hyper-textural an emergent theoretic of tactility whereby visual art of the physical realm responds to the virtual by out-morphing and or equaling the variations of digitality via texture; pigment and mediated shifts the real forces its way back into consciousness by simulating the simulator and out imitating the imitator. The mosaic replacing the digital the digital receding zoomed in upon brought out to coalesce into an image. The skilled artisan by deadly accuracy presenting the minds options back to itself. Thereby creating a trompe l’oeil for a new age far beyond the power of that medium previous.”

 

 

Then as it reads Argentine painter Fabian Marccacio described his own entry in the Bienal as “hyper-textural” (as related to scribe Martin Henschel in the exposition’s catalogue.)

 

“I want to keep the materiality of the work in a state of paradox: it is indexical like a photograph but on the other hand literal like a painting, it is flat but hyper-textural.”

 

 

Besides the fact that pizza with more than two toppings might be described as “flat but hyper-textural”; as Mr. Marcaccio is seemingly the first well known painter to label his own work at least in part “hyper-textural” it begs us to examine his use of the words in connection and in conversation with some of his paintings which he has labeled “Paintants” (while others have used the term “morphs”).

 

Therein Mr. Marcaccio’s work as per the concept of a school of painterly “Hypertexture” is a hybrid avenue. That is whereas painterly “Hypertexture” is hypothetically categorized as a body of works of a trans-morphically informed sensibility; Mr. Marcaccio’s works are both painterly and digital. Further when Mr. Marcaccio remarked “hyper-textural” he seemed not to be stating that his “Paintants” shown in Istanbul were “hypertextural (“hyper-textural”)”but rather that “hypertexturality” is one of the qualities he believes that these works possess within their larger framework.

 

Furthermore in inference, it would seem that Mr. Marcaccio was not saying in his statement that “hypertexturality” is necessarily the broach between morphs and paintings and or the virtual and the actual in his “Paintants” but, however, that it is one quality that these works possess within their composites (as in that the paint is operatively hyper).  So then in including Mr. Marccacio’s works in the conversation on “Hypertexture” we can conclude (though duly noting the painter’s reference to the paint within the “Paintants” as “hyper-textural”) that as the works in composite are once again painterly digital hybrids (even if in instances in a science fiction movie special effect sort of way) that the entire works and not just the part of the painting where the paint has been described as “hypertextural” can be considered to be  “hypertextural” rendering them germane to this conversation as well (also pursuing an opus which can be categorized as a hybrid avenue of “Hypertexture” is Sandy Skoglund who creates works where digitally manipulated packs of monochromatic animals of a singular specific species are introduced into photographed scenes which many times read as if  stage sets)

 

Meanwhile retuning to the painterly canvas “Hypertexture” therein seemingly emerges in its infancy as a genre where texture is a utility otherwise morphically informed or where the structural basis of the artist’s works are engaged in paradigm shifts as part of the conversation between conversions continuing dialogues.   A prime example of morphically informed “Hypertexture” is Mark Millof’s “And the Great Shroud of the Sea Rolled On” (included in the “Hypertexture” exhibit this writer curated outward from this text at the Florence Lynch gallery in June of 2003).  Here rolling seas of paint in a giant continuous matrix composition suggest an elaborate almost architectural recreation of complex computer rhythms informed by pixilated divides adapted from digital transitions.

 

Contrarily in the works of Ed kerns the conversation broadens in that we discover an artist who (unlike David Scott who as we will see builds “hypertexture” through the use of “hypertexture” the Ken Perlin program) creates textural works not only imitative of outer-world texture but taken back out from the virtual realm as textual textural manifestations composed from images of elements in nature. Meanwhile Kerns’ digital prints while translatable as a virtual take on painting are also a virtual take on painting after painting has had its seminal take on virtual realities’ imitation of painting.  

 

In a series of digital prints of flamingos; scarlet macaws, parrots, mammals, plants and sea life a composite based of a singular animal or plant form is repeated and seen at different angles and well chosen poses to form genomic masses.  In the most apropos works of this series to this discourse large groupings of scarlet macaws are brought together in order so that they create a sculptural mass through the texture of multiple versions of the resplendent bird and its’ wide wingspans. Here texture is created from a natural element manifested in a digital surround. Thus as the aforementioned photographer Stephen Wilkes returns to the natural world for his photography informed by the unreal heightened sense of texture (allowing nature to articulate an expression of which it is capable though which for the most part lies undiscovered) Kerns turns to nature to inform and create texture within the digital.

 

So while Kerns digi-texture differs from David Scott’s “Hypertextures” (discussed further into this essay) and the “Hypertexture” we are discussing in painting; photography, or sculpture it is yet another “Hypertexture”. Further then perhaps Kern’s works along with Skoglunds’ are a new bridge in the trans-literal conversation between  real and virtual art via their dynamic wit.  Moreover Kerns’ works can be read as a formalistic statement as to how the simulacrum is altered by the inclusion of the real as in turn the genome is altered by genetic engineering and or manipulation.

 

Indeed it could be that if “Hypertexture” is read as having a filmic trans-morphic origin prior to a virtual start that the trans-morphic qualities of “Hypertexture” were seemingly foreshadowed in the work of Jackson Pollock. As cinema was and is able to translate painterly effects {Pollock’s un-linear canvases of numerously altered perspectives and trajectories quite possibly set the way for cinemas blazing rushes]’Jack the Dripper’s paintings at points were able to appropriate and recreate effects and mood from cinema via texture. 

 

In Pollock paintings such as “Lucifer” (1947) where it as if the black brings out the green and the green in turn the orange the ephemeral seemingly becomes permanent through colors value holding other colors in space and time in the manner that film holds that which has elapsed as within an illusory prism of immortality — thus creating the illusion of timelessness which is the core magic of the film genre (perhaps?)

 

Another important trans-filmic precedent for ‘hypertexture” are the canvases labeled ‘Moving Pictures” by painter David Reed. In this continuing series of paintings through a seamless facility a visual language is achieved whereby the lush ethereal ambience of film is translated via the works suggested interior texture depicting the movement of the brushstroke in accordance with the series title, which asks one to follow a cinema-graphic outflow of paint.

 

Moreover, Reed’s works of suggested texture are created by way of complex paint application and distribution (though with a lack of tactility that one might wrongly say render them illustrative). Further then being that it is the painter’s prerogative to effect his composition as to maximize the effect of a readable filmic wave, Reed’s, contained guttural splurges literally re-launch the imagination as they register in the minds eye with a trans–literal sense of creative occurrence as a testament to cognitive apparatus for art in all its manifold bounty of genres and mediums continued existence.  These ‘Moving Pictures” are often so trans- literal as to carry across many multiple messages and or meanings. Further then in doing so they carry painting forth into a new subheading or genre within a genre, which could perhaps be labeled texts within texture and to a lesser extent texture within text.

 

 

 

A third artist whose discourse is trans- filmic in its expression is Jamie Dalglish. This painter who creates an Edward Murybridge effect by using vertical wood panels, which read length wise at, syncopated separations, which are meant to affect the photographic/filmic phenomenon of frames per second. These panels are sometimes separated by equal space between placements and at other times are brought closely together in such instances that they run contiguous or continuous (save for edges of the individual constituent sectors). 

 

The works, which Dalglish has titled “Morphoglyphs”, are composed of twelve parts (which are actually the twelve intervals of a harmonic scale) and are interchangeable to the multiple of twelve segments, which can each be placed in 12 different positions for a total possible number of arrangements of one hundred and forty four (within an eight foot square). So beyond the initial reading or placement where the direct progressive effect is decipherable and or possible to imagine the composite work comes apart and fuses back together to reassemble for a hefty variety of perceptual plays upon movements through space and time. 

 

A well known artist who can now be seen as having been and continuing to be a seminal creator of “Hypertextures” in painting, sculpture, and mixed media is Frank Stella. Stella who beyond his initial abstract expressionist; minimalist, pop art, proto constructivist, and building lobby periods has used and deployed computer rendering and other cyber technologies both in the mediums of painting and sculpture and their intercourse to heighten and extend the repertoire of contemporary art and it’s many conversations with artificial intelligence.

 

Stella has in his later years made the famous stainless steel sculptures taken from time frozen computer images of puffs of Cuban cigar smoke.  These most solid yet ephemeral manifestations of “Hypertexture” are also joined in the stellar oeuvre by paintings sculptural in their ambitions yet multi-layered and architectural exercises in complex design made possible once again via investigations done with silicon technology.

 

The groundwork for this writer’s discovery and partial understanding of this concept then unlabeled now termed “Hypertexture” were the long viewings offered him of painter Roy Lerner’s work. Some of Lerner’s’ many canvases in their composite build-up of “optically active pigment” at times resemble data transfers (an observation Gallery One Toronto staffer Ben Darrah initially relayed to him) via their seemingly fractalized sheens in the physical form. Moreover when re-diffused in the cyber sphere specific Lerner paintings may then imitate themselves imitating the virtual. These Lerner painting’s buildups of texture and surfaces seek out space and then help to create this new “hypertextural” vocabulary. Lerner creates an unknowing cartography of conglomerate and composite streaking light build up which then illuminates a multi-perspictivial super thick conduit of information highway mega texture.   

 

In the work “Waterway” it is as if the viewer is flying in a plane above a cyber fibrous optic landscape with the work having taken on the moving light of the sun above.  Herein the green and dark green over turquoise creates a long deep cast shadow seemingly as if a reconfigured South Seas archipelago. (all realized as if in the way one observes a shadow above a reef and moving across it from an airplane this work all of a sudden presages a sort of counter simacularizing suprematist digitalis).

 

Indeed Lerner and Bruce Piermarini (the later of whose paintings have in their past incorporation of brightly painted foam into the larger landscape of the work resembled three dimensional virtual projections- though at other time rock climbing practice walls) are members of the “New-New” painters (a self-historicizing art movement founded by former director of contemporary art for the Boston Museum of fine arts Dr. Kenworth Moffett for whom a heightened sense of texture along with fiery color is a common and defining element).  Therein if “Hypertexture” were only about texture and not about the morphic nature of painterly and other medium’s abilities to respond to and be informed by transversal simulacra the “NEW-NEW” would be the largest group within this new “Hypertextural” school. But, as it reads the “New-New” might be better grouped as Roberta Smith used the term in an August 2003 art review in the New York Times “highly textured” at this point in time. 

 

Meanwhile as far as independent trade-markers of the term for computer applications devised to reach greater and greater heights in simulating outer-world physical texture one can easily turn to enter the term into a web search engine. Surfing to the most dynamic of specific information locators for the internet www.google.com and then typing out and clicking a request for … (“)hypertexture (“) one finds first that hypertexture is a name given to video game environments.  Secondly, as a page on a New York University website http://mrl.nyu.edu/projects/texture/hypertexture.html relates it is also a computer graphics component initially developed by Ken Perlin……”Hypertexture” is an extension of the procedural texture paradigm first introduced in [Perlin85], which allows one to create procedurally generated textures evaluated throughout volumes to synthesize the appearance of highly textural shapes (e.g., flame, fluids, eroded materials, fur) [Perlin89, Per lin98]. We are interested in applying these techniques as an aid to interactive visualization of complex fluid flow [see fireball at right] and light refraction models [see blue glass at right]. Continuous light refraction in particular is a challenging and potentially important area – in general, currently available optical components cause light to refract only at thin interfaces between media with differing indices of refraction. In a medium with continuously varying refractive index (such as in an atmosphere, flame, or other temperature-varying fluid), light travels in curved paths. The ability to model and visualize such light transport is useful for both analysis and synthesis of the effects of such light propagation”. ….

 

Further, software engineer David Scott creates what he terms “Hypertextures” http://www.slate9.com/ds/hype/hype.html# utilizing Mr. Perlin’s already noted program “hypertexture”{which he describes by stating “Hypertexture is a method for describing a solid object through a procedural texture. This essentially means texturing in a higher dimension (three-dimensional space), hence the name. Due to the procedural nature of this method, no polygons are used. Instead, surfaces are defined based on mathematical properties”.

 

One might wonder {as this writer thought to do after visiting Professor Kerns in his studio at Lafayette College) that as this transversal dialectic extends both backwards and forwards towards a confluence where the virtual becomes the real and the real the dream and the dream real the texture text and text texture, that as the conversation grows between actualities assumptions and trans-literalities’ well crafted morphs that “Hypertexture” does not become in its undoing of the line between genres and its infusion of the life of one paradigm into the facility of another as if the cross-over between life and death undone by the magic that Prospero Duke of Milan conjures which unleashes the storm which blows through to set things right in William Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”?

 

Whence in this work seemingly written by the bard as a letter from beyond Prospero states “we are the stuff of which dreams are made and our little life is rounded by a sleep” a moment occurs where it is as if all that is real and all that is unreal and their place within the very fabric of creation becomes released from within our perceptions’ hold.  Thus by the unraveling of the weave between life and death an omniscience takes where not only can be seen the interface of a future overlay upon creation by the virtual but the templates simultaneously for god’s creation; mans imitation of god’s creation, and virtual realities’ imitation of man’s imitation of creation anew. 

 

So in response to virtuality (which for man is but a recreation of his version of the universe gone sensory haywire) humans now turn to recreate from virtual realities’ recreation their own creation once more.  And then to turn to another famous Shakespeare line the operative of all operatives ‘the play is the thing”….  here texture is in play and texture is the thing.

 

Lee Klein 2003                                                               

 

Review of “Thomas Hirschorn”

“Thomas Hirschorn”

At the Barbara Gladstone Gallery

review by Lee Klein

One small step for gallery goers one giant step for bullshit; that’s a bit extreme; but, this artonaut having landed on planet Gladstone/ whether gladly or not; but, as a gadfly sent by a glad hand extended by telephone/ I did not know what to expect after Steve cannon said “you will like it.”

Boy the whole gallery was en-wrapped in plastic bag with giant books and tin foil sculptures. It looks like someone I worked with a Greenpeace a decade ago did a lot more drugs afterwards and came up with this. It was referred to in the Time Out review of the exhibition as “Paleolithic” (by one of those critics who write so many reviews they probably hide their three dollar words inside of their shoes ). I guess this is a trend; when I went to Berlin recently with Christo on my mind what I saw instead was the Brandenburg gate wrapped in an advertisement (how derivative).

What of course comes to mind is George Dawes Green’s Caveman’s Valentine (whatever happened to the movie-straight to video). But this post futuristic explanation for continued wrapping … please! They shouldn’t have stopped at the reception desk they should have continued wrapping think of it is as Christmas season (wrap up Douglas Kelly and Christine Wang and every other schnook you can get your hands on). And then I say why didn’t they just pick up the Unabomber’s house and put it on a flat-bed truck and bring it to 22nd street instead of the Smithsonian; they could invite guest curators to decorate the inside of an exhibition within a exhibition within a space; hey that’s the ticket! Writing this negatively I begin to feel sorry for the tin foil people the ephemeral statuary populate this instillation (the way I feel guilty for all the merchandise broken in action movies like its trashing was my doing).

2003 Lee Klein

Interveiw with David Hickey

Dave Hickey is a noted art critic, author of “Air Guitar,” and is Professor of Art History at the University of Nevada Las Vegas

 


(Phone Rings)

 

 

Hello

 

 

 

 

 

Hello, Mr. Hickey. I just got my act together here, the phone is on record now

 

 

 

 

Ok. Just a second…got to check the phones here

 

 

 

 

 

Hopefully this will work

 

 

 

 

Well, we’ll hope it does.

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, I just tested it out on the blind guy.

 

 

 

 

Allright

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, so I’ll just start, this interview is with Dave Hickey for issue #9 of “A Gathering of the Tribes. So I am going to ask the questions and you can answer what you want to.

 

 

 

 

Sure

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, In your writing on Las Vegas you appreciate it’s authenticity or lack therof in a camp syntax not unlike Susan Sontag…Is this how you see it?

 

 

 

 

Not Really. Vegas is a complex American city where people are a little bit more gregarious and are a little bit smarter than in other places. The city itself is more multicultural and a lot less class ridden than other places. It has the virtues of a gambling culture.

 

 

 

 

 

Ok. Umm… The multicultural aspect…which culture do you see as predominant besides the Mormons and the Jews…Mexicans ? Probably ?

 

 

 

 

Only in the last five years, the Hispanic community in Vegas is principally centered around Cubans who came here after Castro closed the casinos

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh wow!

 

 

 

 

There is no indigenous Latino community here. The building trades began bringing them here in the last ten years. So we finally have decent Mexican restaraunts. The Asian community as best I can figure out is centered around a number of old families whose roots go back to Macao. Which again is a gambling culture.

 

 

 

 

 

Portugese.

 

 

 

Some, but the community is Chinese.

 

 

 

 

question

 

Right … Right

 

 

 

 

So

 

 

 

 

 

My father lives in Puerto Rico and sometimes it seems that every Chinese person there was in a casino

 

 

 

 

Exactly, but again, but again this has changed over the years but the center of Vegas is the Jews and the Italians from upstate New York , Cubans from Havana, Chinese from Macao, Mormons from…

 

 

 

 

 

(Laughs) From Elmira, New York

 

 

 

 

No from ninety miles away…that’s why Vegas is here ||Not Salt Lake City

 

 

 

No the Utah border is ninety miles…an hour and ten minute drive. That’s why Vegas is here. It was originally a safety valve for Brigham Young’s kingdom

 

 

 

 

 

So what state was it (Vegas) in when Bugsy Siegel opened his casino

 

 

 

 

What

 

 

 

 

 

What state… Was there a population there (Las Vegas) when Bugsy opened the Flamingo ?

 

 

 

 

Yes, there was already mining, the Hoover dam complex, but mostly the gaming and the whoring were again a safety valve for the Mormons and then again also for the miners

 

 

 

 

 

But there are Mormons who own casinos…Right.

 

 

 

 

No there are Mormons who own banks which finance casinos

 

 

 

 

 

Isn’t Steve Wynn a Mormon

 

 

 

 

No Steve’s a Jew. Steve Weinberg

 

 

 

 

 

It seems as though in my questioning of you (Mr. Hickey) that you are obviously more educated on these matters than I so please excuse me if I am naive in my questioning

 

 

 

 

It’s okay…That’s cool.

 

 

 

 

 

It seems to me Vegas is a vortex where things go out, go in, then come back out, an argument between the authentic and the inauthentic, nature and the ersatz, is that true ?

 

 

 

 

Well I don’t know, I;m not sure what authenticity means.

 

 

 

 

 

Ok I’ll skip that question.

 

 

 

 

Ok

 

 

 

 

 

How has Vegas changed since you first arrived and as with the gambling venues and then the mixed usage with family oriented entertainment ?

 

 

 

 

Well, the family oriented entertainment business here was mostly an idea of a bunch of east coast M.B.A’s who came in when the corporations began to take over the casinos during the Reagan years. it was one of those peculiarly Reaganesque projects that didn’t prove to be nearly as profitable or desirable as they thought it would be. Most of the major moves in the casino industry in the past ten years have been back towards the adult clientele.

 

 

 

 

 

How about dropping the theme of family entertainment and gambling. How has it (Las Vegas) changed just in general since you came ?

 

 

 

 

Vegas in general. Well it’s a lot bigger. When I came here it felt like the edge of something and now it’s the center of something. For the worse. It’s gotten overcrowded. We’re building twenty one grammar schools a year. I would say the political center because of all the white flight of people from California has shifted Las Vegas let’s say marginally to the right. Vegas traditionally is a labor liberal city. It’s like Brooklyn, it’s not like a liberal, liberal city, like Cambridge (Mass), but a labor liberal city. It’s probably the biggest labor town left in the country. The culinary workers and the Teamsters are an important presence in the culture.

 

 

 

 

 

So am I allowed to ask you questions about the Bellagio ?

 

 

 

 

Sure, If I feel like I can answer them.

 

 

 

 

 

Okay with the Bellagio not only does Las Vegas change but art changes in general with the museum or art gallery as sales mechanism. From a populist perspective: How do you see this development with your own views on democracy ?

 

 

 

 

Well in a sense first of all, the interesting thing about having the paintings here in Vegas is that they make Vegas more like itself. In other words they make it more of a Mediterrenean culture and Vegas already is a Mediterrenean inasmuch as it is a culture of incarnation and spectacle. It makes the art more like it was when human beings owned it. Before paintings of fruit became beacons of civic virtues in Pittsburgh or Boston.

 

 

 

 

 

Right…right

 

 

 

 

For me it’s really exciting. It really restores the sense of the object in the social world. For Vegas, it really just reinforces the general Mediterrenean temper of the place.

 

 

 

 

 

The Mediterrean is not a similar climate though ?

 

 

 

 

No, I mean… Spanish culture, Italian culture, Greek culture, Jewish culture, I mean the cultures that surround the Mediterrenean sea are the dominant forces in town here. Uh. With the possible exception of the Mormons who make the trains run on time of course (laughs)

 

 

 

 

 

(Laughs)

 

 

 

This means it’s not a text culture. It’s an oral culture…meaning my freind who runs the collections at the university…his big problem is that he has lots of objects and lots of tapes. He has almost no text because things aren’t written down, here. Things take place in conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

Wow, ok, the Bellagio is making personal interviews with some people right? You know hybrid exit polls that are somewhat determining what they are buying and selling. How do you see that?

 

 

 

 

What do you mean buy and sell?

 

 

 

 

 

You know like Steve Wynn sold his Jaspar Johns and his Rauschenbergs

 

 

 

 

Oh no, Oh no (laughs)

 

 

 

 

 

And the Brancusi

 

 

 

Steve Wynn is an art collector. Let’s be very clear about this.

 

 

 

 

 

Ok

 

 

 

 

He’s an art collector. I know what an art collector is. Steve Wynn is an art collector. He made a strategic decision. He sold one Jaspar Johns. He still has “Highway” which is a beautiful painting. He made a decision that the sort of schism, the sort of phase shift that America undergoes after the Abstract Expressionists does not make for a very good gallery hanging. In other words it’s hard to hang Lichtenstein’s “Torpedos Los!” in a room with a De Kooning. And so he decided to deaccession a lot of pop things and began acquiring painterly pictures from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries that would make the collection more coherent. Because it is easier to get from Reubens to De Kooning than it is from De Kooning to Warhol.

 

 

 

 

 

What about the Brancusis and the Giacometti, and the Franz Kline ?

 

 

 

 

Well to be honest. Steve doesn’t much like sculpture. You know what I mean

 

 

 

 

 

Sure, I don’t know him

 

 

 

 

It’s just not his thing. He’s basically a painting collector. And the Giacometti was stunning. The Brancusi, was sort of, I don’t know, B plus. It was ok. The Giacometti was a great fucking sculpture and I miss it a great deal. But I’ve spent my life around the art world and there is one thing you have to tell yourself every day, “It’s his collection”. You know regardless of who you are working for: it’s their collection.

 

 

 

 

 

The artist I thought in my own mind to be appropriate for Vegas was Giambattista Piranesi; For if I was watching Venice or Paris going up I would almost think

 

 

 

 

Well, Vegas hads done for architecture what easel painting did for art, it has rendered it mobile. (laughs)

 

 

 

 

 

What about the upcoming artists in the Vegas area. I was over there at U.N.L.V and I wrote my name and address in the guestbook and that guy who did the fiberglass gila monsters sent me some pictures in the mail. How are the upcoming artists…..I mean the artists who live in the Las Vegas area rather than the visitors responding to the new influx of art.

 

 

 

 

Well let me put it like this. Now that there is better art to look at here, There is better art made here. The real thing is the real thing. It’s an enormous boon.

 

 

 

 

 

What about the Rio hotel/casino showing the collection from the Peterhoff in a shopping mall in the middle of a casino?

 

 

 

 

I think it’s ok. It’s not something I’m particularly intrested in. There was an intresting Van Loos over theren and one average Faberge egg. I am not particularly intrested in 18th century European decorative art, although I know it very well. As far as exhibiting it, I thought it was fine. I believe works of art can survive their context. You either believe in context, you believe in superstructure you believe that everything within something is totally driven by context or you believe things and people can overcome their context. I tend to think things can over come their context.

 

 

 

 

 

I just wrote an essay on an artist where I dealt with those very issues. So I greatly appreciate that.

 

 

 

 

Huh? Right, I don’t think that if I put a great painting in my living room, it worse because I live in Vegas or my living room is not up to snuff.

 

 

 

 

 

Right.

 

 

 

 

Dh: It’s(the art) an enormous boon to this culture, I mean in a sense if you look at history of European and American art, art follows the money. We didn’t have German art in the eighties for nothing, but because the Deustche Mark was dominant.

 

 

 

 

 

But, sometimes though like when I was sittting under the Dale Chiluhly glass ceiling in the lobby of the Bellagio Las Vegas feels more like outer space than America.

 

 

 

 

Well since I live here I’m a sunshine boy, most of American doesn’t feel American to me. Vegas feels like America to me. LA and Houston aand New orleans and Mobile and Miami feel like America to me. Pittsburgh feels like Bosnia.

 

 

 

 

 

Right, right

 

 

 

 

Vegas has it’s own tones. it’s not outer space at all. Everybody gets up here and goes to work.

 

 

 

 

 

Well at the The Bellagio I felt like I was in outer space. I felt like I was on the holodeck of the starship enterprise.

 

 

 

 

Well if you felt that way maybe you shouldn’t go back. I spend alot of time in Italy. I fly from here to Rome I haven’t gone very far. I fly from here to Minnieapolis I have crossed vast genetic rifts and cultural barricades.

 

 

This interview was conducted in the spring of 1999. Since that date the Bellagio hotel has been sold by Mirage resorts under it’s chairman Steve Wynn to the MGM corporation. MGM has chosen to divest itself of the part of the Bellagio collection owned by Mirage while Mr. Wynn has kept his works. Further Mr. Wynn has chosen to purchase some of the hotel’s works as provided for in contractual agreements between the concerned parties.

 

Thanks to Hillary Maslon and Susan Yung for their help in facilitating this interview.

 

      “The Ground Beneath Her Feet”

      Salman Rushdie

      Henry Holt and Company

      575 pages

 

Reviewed by Lee Klein leeklein98@yahoo.com

ground.gif

 

“The Ground Beneath Her Feet” is a retelling of the Orpheus myth in the post-modern guise of an inverse roman a clef of current history. Everybody is along for the ride Ahmet Ertegun, Elvis Presley, John Lennon, Andy Warhol etceteras. It is the story of post-partition India invading the musical superculture, the jet stream upon which cultures actually interface.

 

This is the story of great love- love that will overcome all. Yet, it is not a tale so grand as to delve into unbelivability. It is believable because Rushdie has taken what he does and simply placed it somewhere else.

 

The older Ormus Cama and the younger Vina Aspara meet as young people, fall in love, are seperated, form seperate musical identities, and through tragedy are brought back together to form V.T.O one of the most popular music acts of the day.

 

The story begins in the Tequila state of Mexico the day Vina perishes in an earthquake. As was Eurydice and Persephone before her she is lowered into the depths of the Earth never to be found. It ends after Ormus has made a symbolic orphic journey uniting with a Vina lookalike he has stalked. He tours with her fronting V.T.O and soon afterwards is killed in front of his Upper West Sise appartment house in a strange play upon the fate of John Lennon.

 

Indeed this shadowing of dual existances or of actual doubles is a key ingrediant in this book, as it is in many of the author’s previous volumes. Ormus in sung famous songs before they are released by his twin brother Gayomart who died at birth, Vina is paralleled by a mysterious woman Maria and so on and so forth. Everything and everyone exists in an interelated world of cause and effect, of fiction and non-fiction, and in a sort of unattributed whirlpool of karma.

 

What I most like about this book is what I also admired in Star Wars episode One the Phantom Menace, that as far as the the film seems actual rather than contrived. In that it would seem that George Lucas would pull out all the stops but instead he constructed it to remain the part of the five film opus it is. So therefore the story begins where it begins, ends where it ends, and ends where it begins.

 

This books suggests the Orpheus myth but never while quoting it attempts to directly recreate it. Meanwhile, Rushdie remains the master stylist of the post colonial subcontinental or his post-partition rendition of the human condition. Here then is a passage where the social hopes and longings of Ormus and Vina’s friend Rai’s parents are expressed as their house goes up in flames”Up in smoke it went. Stripped of posessions, memories, and happiness, we thought of the touch of the falling ashes on our cheeks as our home’s final caress. Eyewitnesses to the blaze itself had said it had loved the dying house, hugging it tightly, so that for a few instants Villa Thracia seemed to be recreated in flame. Then smoke, black, unfeeling smoke, took over the illusion was destroyed, and darkness covered all.”

 

In another passage he describes the grand financial ruse of an indian Millionaire fabricating false heards of cattle saying”the creative imagination posessed by a great scam artist is of a high order, one can’t help but admire. What surrealist boldness he displays in the conception of his deceits; what high wire daring, what mastery of illusion in their execution!

 

Finally it is by no accident via the post Frank O’Hara ability to name drop, which is the only way to truly undo gambits and to tell th truth, that this novelist recreates Andy Warhol in the guise of Amos Voight (not to mention mimicing Pat Hackett’s parenthetical denotation of the pop artist’s incidental expenditures). This paen to Warhol from one of the great writers of the day proves the Warhol diaries continuing importance and their future role as a yardstick as to how his age will be remembered.

 

Reveiw of “The Corrections”

      The Corrections

      by Jonathan Franzen

      568 pages

      Farrar, Straus, and Giroux

 

Review by Lee Klein 2001

 franzen.jpg

Far be it from this reviewer to sound like the book jacket blurbs on the hardcover edition of Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections-.however it was a smooth ride. Through what terrain was the cruise control on you ask? Through the dispersing of a family and three of its five core members from Midwest to East Coast. The volume is about values and truth; lies, and what matters at closing time. Each time the emergency brake on the narrative of this volume is released it always manages to effortlessly return to its strident course. Meanwhile Franzen’s wordy pour as fluid as petrol eventually leaves us off at the finale {which in the end remains perhaps the most questionable feature of this book}.

 

The book portrays the world of the late American nuclear family and its doings in a sustained economic boom;. Therein the author charges through many of the tangents of the late nineties heyday of economic absurdities in the factoring which led to unending good fortune. Most of these plot lines come as we follow the lives of Gary; Denise, and Chipper (the three offspring of Enid and Alfred Lambert hailing from St. Jude a fictional Midwest city). All of the children since they have grown and ventured east to attend school have departed the Midwest for good. Presently Gary is a successful stock trader (with his own family of five); Chip a fired professor and aspiring screenwriter, and Denise the uber chef at a much-accoladed Philadelphia restaurant.

 

Now late in the ballgame Enid knowing time is growing short as Alfred has Parkinson’s (a degenerative disease, which attacks the nervous system) wishes for her entire family to gather one last time in St. Jude. Enid’s hopes run right into the last as she continues to try to get Jonah her favorite grandson to make the trip along with his father (her son) Gary. Said child is one of three grandsons all of whom don’t make the trip at the behest of trophy wife Caroline (who cannot stand to be in the same room as her mother-in-law). Chipper while suffering through his East Village existence of late is suddenly employed to relocate to Vilnius, Lithuania. This scenario occurs after a happenstance introduction to his ex-girlfriend’s ex-husband Gitanas. So then Gitanas (the ex-ambassador for his former soviet republic to the United Nations) transforms the very willing sometime proofreader into the front man for a Baltic based international internet securities scam.

 

The now declining patriarch of the clan, Alfred Lambert has been an upstanding; hardworking, and honest (if somewhat emotionally cold) man. He has married Enid and they have built a comfortable life together for their family in St. Jude. Alfred has for most of his career worked for a Midwestern rail company. When his firm is bought out by corporate raiders and being moved to Little Rock he was offered a great package to relocate but choose to retire instead. We find out later (vis a vis Alfred’s incoherent babbling and pointing to a love marking as his adult diaper is being changed by daughter Denise) that the attending child had an affair with a man far less senior than her father when a summer worker at his company. The worker then brought this up at the time of corporate relocation to use as manipulative gold. Thus Alfred quietly retired to avoid the blackmail and the shame. Further we follow a patent Alfred had received. He wishes after many years to accept a modest offer for it. Enid and Gary plot and deceive in an effort to get him (and thus them) a sweeter tender. Both of these unfolding drams illustrate the disrespect Alfred receives as he is derided. Meanwhile he is trying to do the right thing by everybody (best he knows how).

 

The title itself “The Corrections” is a catch all word meaning needed corrections to a manuscript; inevitable corrections in the financial markets, and corrections in individual lives. As our hopes dreams and needs need corrections; different characters in turn need or has to make some sort of correction- Enid to live her own life and Denise to be less mean {after doing things such as destroying her bosses marriage by sleeping not only with him but his wife as well}. The book plays in the end upon the sibling rivalries, the children’s interaction with the parents, the politics of ordinary relations, and what lies beneath the thin ice of the hyper-selfishness of us all

 

The whole volume winds up being a trial of sorts for its characters. That is when Alfred finally dies alone in a nursing home (after he stops accepting food)we kind of know whose been found guilty (though some try to work out deals to get time off for good behavior). Further, it is great to see a book where the foibles and predilections of the characters overwhelm the foibles and predilections of the author. As it should be the characters run this book. What they tell you in end is a few things many of us may already know honesty doesn’t pay and take care of what you have to in life because it may already be the ninth inning of your final game.

 

Reading this book at this time of year the holiday sprawl will remind most of us of the intricate politics and lobbying that come around the festive season. It is great to see a family drama portrayed in so unpretentious and direct a way. Though one may find the ending a little fuzzy{as when Denise decides Alfred is actually to far gone to be treated and Enid breaks free}. Is Alfred beyond hope or these people just straining to be unencumbered by caring for him?

 

Finally what is ironic about Mr. Franzen’s much reported upon rejection of his volume’s being chosen to be an Oprah book club selection is that it seems for a work created “in the high literary tradition” (as Mr. Franzen has suggested) is that “The Corrections” is that rare commodity which brings down upper middle class and elitist consumer tastes into common language. This work rather then in being at conflict with Ms. Winfrey’s aggregate might instead be right up their alley. So firstly while covering much of the same boutique economy for the masses consumer geography as Kurt Anderson he does so without leaving us the impression that he is the ultimate insider. Then, secondly, while cataloging much of the same post post post something malaise as did David Foster Wallace never once do you have to read the same page sixteen times in a dizzying exercise to convince yourself that you are literary or hip.

 

Dia Beacon

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This writer was not able to travel up to the new DIA Beacon, New York museum in the old Nabisco box factory for the press preview on the second Sunday in May. However, on the Sunday following he made his way to the new place in the old space at the bottom of the descent of hill in the still sleepy river town.

 

Once there he did not how to arrive at the site (which he had only glimpsed at before from an automobile parked at its gates before the factory space into museum place conversion had begun). So soon after arriving he walked back and forth until after more than an hour of pacing the city (tough stopping in for pizza) he finally met a local glass artisan who drove him down to the site (which turned out to be in relation to the train station where he was dropped off to begin with by Metro North literally right in front of his nose). Meanwhile, the ad hoc chauffeur was making idle chat with his friends about how the artists in the town were supposed to promote good relations with the facility {that self-directive seemingly hesitantly undertaken so that their efforts would then hopefully sail out into a providential wind and boomerang}.

 

Once inside the front gate of the compound this writer found out that the first piece of art to seamlessly present itself to one was designed by California‘s ultra cool Robert Irwin. That was after the four wheels of the van he was riding in rolled onto and then off from the asphalt and then onto the concrete and atop the surface area of the cubits of space removed and within the absences and patches of grass called “grasscrete” (and if you were not properly informed that it was by Robert Irwin based upon the designs of Arata Izosaki you might say it was by Hale Irwin based upon the designs of Arnold Palmer).

 

The trees around in the surround were very well selected. Furthermore they were obviously pruned precisely so as to imitate simulated versions of themselves. {cumulatively this all of a sudden had this writer in retrospect beginning to understand Irwin’s minute vibrating bandwidths and add to that some of Bridget Riley’s wilder squiggles not exhibited here in Beacon but celebrated by Dia in Chelsea a few years back}

 

All things totaled this place has smoothness to it. The minimalist players are all present and accounted for; Flavin. Ryman, Judd, Martin etceteras. Then the un-complex are joined in this one building complex by the Earth artists (Walter Demaria, Robert Smithson, Michael Heizer;) some mixed Germans conceptualists and or otherwise (Gehard Richter, Josef Beuys, Blinky Palermo) and other associated artists (Bruce Nauman, Richard Serra, Louise Bourgeois etceteras) whom the DIA insiders have deemed apropos to drop into their canon.

 

As per being completely perplexed and overcome by all things Manhattan I found the place pleasing {of course not due to the fact that artists whose work is seen in New York can be seen here but for the calmness of the locale and the freshness of the air}. Many of these artists are not my taste. But frankly I don’t feel like repeating my previous lambastes for given this palatial beyond super spatial roomy roominess the whole orchestra convenes to resonate.

 

This writer was quoted in the New York Sun as saying that the unexpected power of minimalism was seen in Julian LaVerdiere and Paul Myoda’s towers of remembrance. Though what I actually meant to say was not that all minimalist works carry great emotional power but here was a counter point- i.e. that a lesson learned by the towers of remembrance artists from Dan Flavin and his light sculptures was able to translate into a profound and elegant expression of great public emotion at an hour of high tragedy. Further for lessons well learned from minimalism and the expressed better in the format of the public memorial one need look no further than Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans’ memorial in Washington DC.

 

My favorite work here is John Chamberlain’s “Fauvist landscape”. This stationary unraveling shredded kaleidoscope is a long contiguous wall of boldly spray-painted ripped metal can fabric. Given this amount of room the once and while Taylor Mead hugging artists’ magnum opus is some kind of magnificent.

 

Counting side appendixes there are four floors here. In the uppermost reaches Louise Bourgeois’ larval (possibly scatological?) sculptures seem like a strange dream kept away from all the purity below. Then the Richard Serra’s in gallery on the way downstairs to the Bruce Naumans are epic. The crowds here as everywhere seem to enjoy themselves within these gargantuan works by this sculptor with the notoriously gargantuan ego.

 

What Dia Beacon is a pleasant moment in time. Sitting in the caf€ at the metal tables with hypnotic circles inlaid and looking out at the “grasscrete” grid of the front entrance as it invisibly blurs into the parking lot one may feel as if it is all unreal.

 

Finally here the Nabisco building becomes as if a cathedral the American commerce. Andy Warhol pointed out, as is a bar of soap or screwdriver; celebrities, are an indigenous American product and iconized them. So here the former factory with its long wide hallways, sturdy columns, and the staggered series of diagonals making up the skylights of a large section of the main buildings roof can now be seen as a grand temple. Kudos should be given to the architecture firm of open office who masterminded the conversion of this former factory space

 

Desire

      Desire Unbound

      At the Metropolitan Museum of Art

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Art review by Lee Klein

 

 

Men Shall Know Nothing of This, 1923

Max Ernst

 

 

The All star corps of an exquisite corpse/becomes a corpse/What becomes an exquisite corpse most One should walk into “Desire unbound”, the survey of work from the late Surrealist movement (which originated at the Tate Gallery in London and now at the time of this writing in a re-charted version at the Metropolitan Museum of Art here in New York); as one should walk into any exhibition -or for that matter into a dream. Therein having dropped as many preconceptions as possible one should in the best of all possible worlds at least try to re-examine what is before one under the new parameters set up for them to take in the art.

 

Then one might remember that this was the stuff of our dreams of nearly three quarters to a half century ago and that the widely ridiculed and sometimes self serving epoch of late-post-modernism, attempted as one of its trajectories to update the vocabulary of the subconscious and the mass consciousness in its re-implementing of lyricism in art.

 

All said this exhibition (as indicated by the wall texts) seems to go hand in hand with a very deliberate catalogue meant to explain the rather didactic title “Desire Unbound”. The aforementioned publication indeed goes the distance in attributing desire’s unwinding in the visual realm to surrealism. Further in doing so it as if the curators opened the Victorian bodice from which this era of new-found risqué emerged and allows it to fall back between the buxom breasts of its rapidly aging polemical mistress.

 

Then the tome follows into endless essays filled with communist, occultist, and feminist propaganda -but propaganda nevertheless. Thus we find out that here it all starts according to our friends when surrealism’s pope Andre Breton passed by a Parisian gallery on a bus one day after spotting Giorgio De Chirico’s “The Child’s Brain”. Therein he saw the precursor for surrealism in this particularly chimerical (some would say androgynous) canvas in the metaphysical opus of this Italian painter.

 

This direct interpretation (leaving out Guilliame Appollinaire’s naming of the word in describing the Massine/ Diaghelev/ Cocteau/ Picassso/ Satie collaboration “Parade) and its’ issuing by the curatorial hand in allegiance to Breton is in effect the entombment of a movement. So for the most part others provided the surreal and Breton provided the ism (and in the end you cannot forces dreams into the prison of an ism and this is what in surrealism provided for schism after schism).

 

The direction of Jennifer Mundy, the Tate Museum curator (William Lieberman stepped in at the Metropolitan to take credit for the Americans-though Louise Bourgeois was in London and out in New York) under the post haste influence of Monsieur Breton is too strong- the submission to Breton is mentioned everywhere- (i.e. Breton didn’t write about Magritte until a date late in the extent movement but he considered the Belgian’s canvas “Rape” one of surrealism’s most important works).

 

The show proceeds in a manner altogether more plotted then the more freewheeling exhibit of the collections of Daniel Filipacchi and Neshui Ertegun at the Guggenheim on Fifth Avenue a few years back. This inspired spiraling deployment of the two gentleman’s holdings ostensibly covered some of the same ground (albeit ramped up and unwinding in the grand Lloyd Wright manner). However that exhibit while it was noted that it suffered form the inevitable prejudices of private collectors and noticeable inclusions of those not necessarily surreal was much more like the dreams with which we expect that surrealism was once engaging.

 

“Desire Unbound” would have done well to imitate the Fillipachi-Ertegun exhibit by celebrating the individual creators with their own sections rather then corseting them into prearranged sub-textual rooms made to go according with this exhibition’s text (though Cornell, DeChirico, and Bellmer do get their own rooms but they are the exception which proves the cafeteria)- Picasso and Giacometti come off like guest stars on the love boat.

 

After all the recipe for the surreal in art was implicit in the hallucinatory and symbolic interrelation of subjects and action in pre surrealist artists such as Breughel, Moreau, Redon, Knoph and Ensor( just to name a few). It was just that the surrealists added the Freud. Then even Dr. Freud when he was served up with the art and ideas from the poet Breton was confused…. as to what to make of Breton and his adventures in the field of art.

 

The catalogue and what it has to say it feels fresh as Lenin’s corpse. So that once one gets to the essay by Annie Le Brun which gets back into the poetics of the movement the feeling one gets is as if one has been hanging around in “Moby Dick” for the god damn whale to show up.

 

Though on the other hand it could be said that the proposition of founding and moving forth with an enterprise based on so ephemeral a base of reasoning and artistic creation one would need a strong leader. Surrealism as movement died with Breton even as he had convened two final international surveys of it in the nineteen fifties and sixties and then declared it mort before his own demise.

 

In one of the most interesting area of the exhibit the surrealist object Salvador Dali (who truly outclassed the rest of the ever-changing surrealist pack) took hold with his lobster telephones and other surrealist objects which included a patent leather woman’s pump “Scatological object acting symbolically”.

 

Albeit Dali has been accused of taking some of the elements of his hyper perspectival accentuated state in parts from Yves Tanguy and Mr. De Chirico. But still Dali incorporated and then surpassed. Then upon further reflection on Dali’s surrealist objects including the exhibition mascot ‘Venus with Drawers” seemingly they mirror spatial and compositional issues in painting-lets just say Dali was quick on his trans-literal feet.

 

It has been discussed first how many female artists were included in the surrealist pantheon while at the same time as how women were treated by the male artists as objects of desire (thus both affording for desire unwinding and desire unbound). The women artists exhibited herein include Lee Miller; Dorothea tanning, Leonora Carrington, Leonora Fini, Frida Kahlo, Claude Cahun and Maria Martins (plus Marcel Duchamp’s alter ego Rose Selavy).

 

Peter Schjeldhal in the New Yorker wisely pointed out that the Jackson Pollock in the final gallery of the exhibit ‘surrealism in the Americas” is in a sense the pivotal work in this effort in that it ends the narcissistic route through Freud from Man Ray’s photographic nudes and Desadean frolics into Bellmer’s transfer of erotic desire into dolls and mannequins into Kahlo,Tanning, and Delvaux’s haunted rooms with all manner of things crawling out from being behind locked doors into the hallways of dream action.

 

This new world old world interchange onto the other foot into Jung and the mass consciousness is then seen mirrored in the works of Baziotes; Arshile Gorky, and Roberto Matta. Further into this exhibition ending room is indeed an interesting look at psychohistory and the change in world power. The aforementioned conceits are manifest in both the societal psyche and art. A work by Andre Masson ( who came over to and painted in the United States during and after WW ll) can be seen to foreshadow the work of Pollock who he indeed influenced.

 

Perhaps the place where the breath of fresh air is freshest is in the surrealist book section. Here displayed are various collaborations which occurred as inspiration and amorous complicity traveled through the core of the movement in interchangeable tandems. So that with the physical manuscripts and art pieces married the hand visible gives a more live dimension then what elsewhere is seen here.

 

Its Been over a decade and a half since my mother first bought me a Robert Descharnes book on Salvador Dali with many color plates. I was enraptured and would spend long summer nights reading and ingesting as much as I could. Here was a mind on fire and able to translate this creative inferno to canvas while dancing around movements and even take a quixotic swipe at time. In short here was art considered surrealist which was fresh. In other words everything desire unbound which could be renamed surrealism undone is not

 

What in effect I attempt to do here is not to diminish the art but to address the contextaulization as surrealism is repackaged for a new century and another generation of foundlings.

 

Then after long deliberation I finally got it this exhibition is stale.

 

Lee Klein 2002

 

Dada

DADA

June 18–September 11, 2006

The Museum of Modern Art

 

“Dada,” was criticism of art in and of itself, so, to sit and criticize criticism is like the proverbial dust inheriting the wind. The movement was oh so brief!…and now the venerable venues the Metropolitan Museum and National Gallery of Art in WDC have tried to recreate the spirit of via its’ objects its’ films and to a lesser or greater degree it’s now all but deceased personalities.

 

A straight line of painterly initiative in the white of removes shoots straight across the precipice of the Horseshoe Falls of Niagara as if it were the face of the “Mona Lisa” and in turn by replacing the moustache blinding out the eyes of a subject in an  wholly ugly and unholy and ugly Julian Schnabel kitsch portrait painting

 

“The assisted suicide of an “assisted readymade” hunters went after bison and brought them down- who took out the all terrain vehicle today? The assisted suicide of an assisted suicide painting.

 

One might also say that “Dada” was more of an idea than a movement (which produced a lot of objects); so that in the grand universal remembrance of it is inasmuch an idea than art history frozen before the bicycle wheel placed atop the step ladder or the viewer before the dizzying swirl of an optical puzzle wheel ( vortexing  cyclading like hypnotic down-pouring snow wind directed towards the windshield of a slowly advancing vehicle in a sudden epic blizzard or the kaleidoscopic patterns  in the waters of cirque de soleil’s watery “O” production in the special construct  specifically built for the aqua spectacle at the Bellagio in Vegas) .

 

“Dada,” was also about frolic and  spontaneity in the face of war and after the war the war being world war one was it not?- (whereas today even t-shirt wearers or button exhibitionists find themselves in police custody if their subtle protest make waves at the wrong event say a recently past GW Bush campaign rally)

 

In the initial event of entry through the New York side with the exhibition in a series of rooms entered like a multiply folded in and out piece of paper and divided into the six cities where it arose; New York, Paris, Zurich, Cologne, Berlin , and Hanover.  The exhibition was entered from one of either two entrances and into either the New York or Zurich gallery. It seems as such if each of these groups with their later to be stars grew gestated in their own cocoons or coconut.

 

In New York the fun began with the various Duchamp spectacles  and contraptions; bottle racks, hangers (in describing this Man Ray piece Michael Kimmelman in his NY Times review caleed it a “mobile”- however “mobile” was not actually coined as an art labeling term until describing works by Alexander Calder but  as is evidenced here was obviously existent in some form before it was claimed to have been invented by the Scottish American sculptor and it is intresting to note that one website claims that the mobile first appeared in the eighteenth century in Germany though there is no picture online of the work  you can travel to the museum in Deutschland and experience the perhaps original mobile for yourself) the famous urinal of r. mutt , the bicycle wheel atop the step ladder ,the optical games within glass with the bulging swirls of black and white chroma predating op art and Bridget Riley.  . 

 

This was when the world was still in love with motion or the thought thereof and Marcel Duchamp was constantly between Paris and New York and is (was) a hard figure to pin down though he had many an address and his travels are well documented

 

Duchamp’s remains and is the kryptonite of twentieth century art and into the twenty first

 

Marcel Duchamp and his double in drag Rose Selavy—( I dream that I get Marcel Duchamp’s autograph in Florida because Duchamp enters a gallery and I am with a cute boy who he gives an autograph to/’ it is amazing that Duchamp is still alive he must be over ninety then go to a meeting of an art group  in a mall after being in passed in the mall hospital  corridor by groups of roller skating dancing champions pushing each other into elevators on swivel chairs then in the meeting I speak to the members some of whom I have met before including the art team liz-n-val I speak and report on what I am doing and have recently done including heading for Paris and getting Duchamp’s autograph of which there are two like the ones which I once got for a friend and I from Jeff Koons I look and see which one I want and get it from the boy after getting a round of applause from the audience the local art association I return to my minivan in the mall parking lot and awake).

 

Master moves across the face of twentieth century art by Duchamp and those who came after him and then some not quite so masterful but is that what they are only moves not a  movement or movements and after all Frank Stella to paraphrase said most art is about movement—the Paris partition of dada ended effectively it is said with the publication of “The Surrealist Manifesto” by Breton as it is always at the end of something something begins)

 

Aesthetics sand prosthetics neo neo dada does not resemble neo-dada which resembles dada which is reminiscent of itself.

 

 

Lee Klein (2006-07)