Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Monday, November 15, 2010

Mr. Weiner, Art and Commodity

"The point is, that every piece of art changes your whole perception of the rest of the world for the rest of your life.
And it's not a joke! And if it doesn't, then it's not art, it's a commodity."

- Lawrence Weiner responding to a question from Liam Gillick in "Between Artists"

This brings up a simple(haha yea) question, What is art?  Is it only with purpose?  Is it in the eye of the beholder?  If I see a shadow of a tree branch behind my boyfriend who is standing in front of a perfectly hospital green wall, and I decided "WOW! That's nice," is that art? \Does it become art when I document it?


-A commodity is some good for which there is demand, but which is supplied without qualitative differentiation across a market. It is fungible, i.e. the same no matter who produces it. Examples are petroleum, notebook paper, milk or copper. ...

So here we have it.  Even a commodity can change a persons perception of the world.  Andy Warhol danced on the border of this notion, that art is commodity.  His artistic reproduction of everyday images, objects, happenings.  He wanted to bring commodity to a new value I guess.  Lawrence Weiner says, "And it's not a joke!"  Well, sometimes it is a big fat joke.  Art that is commenting on commodity can be very funny, commodity is actually pretty funny too when you think about how every items do start with a basic design that somebody had to think creatively to come up with.  


As far as commodity not even being in the same realm as art, I would have to disagree with Mr. Weiner on some levels.  I believe that ones vulnerability to change in their perception of the world is always extremely relative.  I have never experienced war firsthand, and although a piece of art dealing with violence and war might be touching to me, a person who has dealt first hand might have a reaction that comes from inside of them, that they have held there for a long time, because what they are looking at is familiar to them.  My reaction is a product of an idea, theirs is a product of experience.  That is not always the case of course.  Viewing and reacting to art is something that cannot be regimented so strictly and discussed so matter of factly.  I might like a certain painting one day, and not the next.  Art, to me, seems like physical manifestations of human moods.  I think some humans are lame and make lame art about their lame moods(HAHAH i thought that would be funny to say.) I'm going to use one particular artist as an example of commodity.  My disclaimer is that I don't know him personally, I don't know if he has serious sentimental attachment to his paintings, but I have read that one in every 20 households in America has some form of his artwork displayed in his house.  His name is Thomas Kinkade.  He is "the painter of light"  BLAGHHH BULLLLLLLLLLL-ish!!!(Caravaggio thank you) as some like to call him.  He makes these paintings that are drowning in saturated pastels and there is this weird glowing angelic light that shines on everything, they're all nostalgic nature scenes that make you think of your grandmothers house during the holidays.  He makes these paintings, and then they are mass produced as prints and calendars and greeting cards and balblabla...and they become commodity.  But I have to say they have changed my own perception of the world because I have a personal feeling against it, so does this make it art?  I guess so Mr. Weiner.

Monday, October 4, 2010


persona ingmar bergman Pictures, Images and Photos
     Ingmar Bergman kept my attention throughout the entire film.  Persona was an amazing drawing in motion, a constant, perfect fluid composition, and absolutely fascinating.  I feel like some viewers might find some of the scenes to be awkward, but I feel like that brings harmony to what I found to be close to perfect visually.  I found the relationship between the two women to be at first, just professional, at was more an introduction which seemed normal.  But I quickly became annoyed with the actress because she was not speaking at all.  She was offering nothing to the nurse, and this eventually pushed the nurse over the edge.  But this dynamic brought the story full circle at one point.  When the nurse started spilling her guts, it became obvious that she was not so much different from the "artist" as she thought artists were sensitive and compassionate.  When she let her guard down, and became any less than professional, she became vulnerable like the actress.  And the actress for a moment became the nurse.  
     I felt that there were certain things repeating themselves through out the film, such as cigarettes.  They both smoked cigarettes all the time as if they were drinking water.  There are some connotations that could go along with that, such as coping with stress or boredom.  It actually seemed to me like they were very comfortable with each other for a while.  Perhaps they were smoking a lot so that there was an action, to keep the film moving(lets face it, there wasn't much dialogue, and most of it was only the nurse speaking, and I appreciated this very much.)
     The actress was treated as though she were playing a silent role as a scientist observing another human.  I thought it was sad when the nurse realized she was being treated as a specimen, but at the same time, I know I'm guilty of making observations(if that is something to be guilty of.)  As for what theater could represent, I think it represents a platform on which to base lies and fallacy.  The actress had built up to many lies in the theater, that she wanted to speak and act no more.  So she ceased to speak.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Picasso and Mose Tolliver Forever

Mose Tolliver(Alabama Artist)
The Brooklyn Rail: Alabama Picasso

    Immediately I found this article interesting because of course, PICASSO.  OK, yea yea, Picasso, duh.  Anyway, so I read on and find out that this Ben La Rocco fellow, the author, is more interested in observing the beautiful woman he went to the Picasso exhibit with than the actual Picassoes themselves!!   But he is not only observing a beautiful woman, he is letting the pretty lady see the paintings for him as he watches her...

     "We walked from one to the next and I could see her seeing the paintings, which was so much better than looking at them myself. Life does not imitate art. As life happens around you it doesn’t look or smell or taste like art. It looks like life."

That is romantic, I do believe.   Romantic like cigarettes(I mean that in a good way.) This beginning statement carried through the entire article which was really kind of funny and endearing in a way as La Rocco, an artist himself, takes us through his clumsy journey through an art gallery in Montgomery, Alabama where he manages to knock paintings off piles and onto the floor over and over again in his wild excitement.  Anton Haardt the owner didn't seem to mind.
    La Rocco seems to be relating Picasso to the folk artists of Alabama because of the resourceful approach to the creative process.  La Rocco mentions how Picasso made art out of anything and painted on anything,  that's what these artists do in Alabama.  There is an interesting tie-in at the end of the article, where La Rocco writes, 

    "There are often words boldly etched in their paintings, and there is a celebratory, ecstatic quality to their use of humble materials. There is a pronounced willingness to work with whatever falls to hand. It’s never about the quality of materials; it’s about the inspiration of the moment."
Mose Tolliver

    This brings me back to the beginning of the article when we are given the image of the author watching the beautiful woman see the paintings, instead of looking at them himself.  This is a moment of inspiration to me, because he was probably going to the show to look at the paintings, but instead, he saw them a completely different way.  To me this is very poetic, like cigarettes.  And Chopin.

sarcastic sincerity. receiving an education from Evan Dando.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

My first memory, when I was a child.

BEST LEFT UNFOUND::::That's me. (not really)

My first memory makes me feel kindof like a jerk, but whatever.  I was a little kid, probably like 3 or 4 and I was playin' across the street at my friends house.  My mom's best girlfriend brought her little boy to our house for a play date or something and they were calling my name to come home.  I ran into the shed across the street and watched them all on the front porch hollerin' for me to come home and play with the little boy.  I didn't want to so I watched through the crack in the shed door until they left.  I don't even remember my mom coming to look for me!!