nswd



new york

‘I think the market is bigger than anyone knows. I love art and this proves I’m not alone and the future looks great for everyone!’ –Damien Hirst

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The New Museum’s controversial show of work from billionaire collector Dakis Joannou’s art trove now has a curious new name and a list of artists courtesy of its special guest curator, the artist Jeff Koons. The museum announced yesterday that the show, entitled “Skin Fruit,” would include more than 100 works by 50 artists, including one by Koons.

The artist list stretches from contemporary art stalwarts like Paul McCarthy, Richard Prince, and Franz West to younger figures like Dan Colen, Andro Wekua, and Nate Lowman. New versions of work by Charles Ray, Jenny Holzer, and Robert Cuoghi will also be on display for the first time. (…)

The exhibition is the first edition in a planned series called “The Imaginary Museum” at the New Museum, which will show work from leading private collections from around the world.

{ ArtInfo | Continue reading | Artwork pics | Skin Fruit: Selections from the Dakis Joannou Collection, March 3, 2010 until June6, 2010, New Museum, NYC | Press realease }

An article described concerns in the art world over the propriety of a coming show at the New Museum that will feature the private collection of a museum trustee, Dakis Joannou, and be curated by Jeff Koons. Mr. Koons is an artist whom Mr. Joannou collects extensively, and the article noted that critics of the museum consider it to be enmeshed in what can seem like a dizzyingly insular circle of art world insiders.

Here is an example:

Right now, the museum is devoted to a show of works by Urs Fischer, an inventive Swiss sculptor whose work is owned by Mr. Joannou. Mr. Fischer is represented by the gallery owner Gavin Brown, who also represents the painter Elizabeth Peyton, who had a solo show at the New Museum last year. That was curated by Laura Hoptman, whose husband, Verne Dawson, belongs to Mr. Brown’s stable of artists, too.

{ NY Times, 2009 | Continue reading }

Jeff Koons is scanning his phone machine, hoping to hear a message from an executive at a major Wall Street investment firm. Earlier in the day, a waitress in a Manhattan restaurant had inadvertently handed the executive’s corporate credit card to Koons and Koons’s card to the executive. If the pinstriper could see Koons—street casual in a black polka-dot shirt and fraying black jeans—he might be a bit concerned. But in this case appearances are especially deceptive; unless the exec has been trading on inside information, it’s almost certain that Koons has had the more lucrative first quarter of ‘89. At 34, he is by most estimates the hottest young artist in America—and one of the richest. He is expected to gross about $2.5 million from his most recent show, which was staged—with typical Koons flair—in Chicago, New York City and Cologne, West Germany. Simultaneously.

{ People, 1989 | Continue reading }

Y’know Joey Clams…

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In 1966, William Labov, the father of sociolinguistics, discovered that many people with New York accents — the stock Noo Yawk kind — didn’t like the way they talked. It was kind of sad. Labov found widespread “linguistic self-hatred,” he reported. People from New York and New Jersey described their own speech as “distorted,” “sloppy” and “horrible.” No wonder those great old accents came to be regarded as a class giveaway, to be thrown over in the name of assimilation, refinement and the acquisition of Newscaster English.

But that was the ’60s, back before the never-ending you-tawkin-t’me aria was enshrined in movies like “Mean Streets,” “Saturday Night Fever,” “Working Girl” and, of course, “Taxi Driver.” Before long, people were consciously cultivating the once-despised dialect. Now an extra-hammy version of the accent — which thrives in the New York City area, including northern New Jersey — is a point of fighting pride, most recently among the brawling bozos on MTV’s captivating and incendiary reality show “Jersey Shore.”

{ NY Times | Continue reading }

Johnny Boy: Y’know Joey Clams…
Charlie: Yeah.
Johnny Boy: …Joey Scallops, yeah.
Charlie: I know him too, yeah.
Johnny Boy: …yeah. No. No, Joey Scallops is Joey Clams.
Charlie: Right.
Johnny Boy: Right.
Charlie: …they’re the same person!
Johnny Boy: Yeah!
Charlie: ‘ey!
Johnny Boy: ‘ey…

{ Mean Streets, 1973 }

artwork { Mo Maurice Tan }

‘The beginning is half of the whole.’ –Aristotle

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{ Hélio Oiticica, Sêco 14, 1957 | gouache on board | Galerie Lelong, 528 W. 26th Street, NYC | until February 6, 2010 }

It’s the same sun spinning in the same sky

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I want to wake up in that city that never sleeps

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The number of visitors to New York City fell last year for the first time since 2001, but declines in tourism elsewhere across the United States made it the most popular destination in the country for the first time in almost two decades, tourism officials said Monday. (…)

Other hot spots were hit harder, making New York America’s No. 1 destination for the first time since 1990, the mayor said. For nearly two decades, that title was held by either Las Vegas or Orlando.

{ Washington Post | Continue reading }

photo { Alex Tehrani }

Hand in glove, we can go wherever we please

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New York übergallerist Jeffrey Deitch is reportedly being ushered in tomorrow as the newest director of Los Angeles’ Museum of Contemporary Art. This? Gamechanger.

Electing someone like Deitch, whose clout in the commercial art world is manifest, as head of a major non-profit cultural institution like MOCA, is a bold move by the board. (…)

Deitch is a jack-of-all-trades on the East Coast contemporary art scene, The Godfather of youthful creatives (Kehinde Wiley, Dash Snow, Tauba Auerbach, Ryan McGinness) with a background in corporate business sense (a Harvard MBA, founder of Citibank’s art advisory practice, independent consultant for various well-heeled collectors). He solidified his rep on the downtown arts scene in 1996 with the foundation of Deitch Projects, after running in circles with art world glitterati (Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Julian Schnabel, Francesco Clemente) for twenty years. He is, as New York art critic Jerry Saltz noted, the “consummate insider with credibility and real-world skills,” a player who knows how to make money from art.

Why’s this such a big deal? MOCA—which only survived complete financial meltdown in 2008 thanks to a $30 million infusion from financier Eli Broad—is making a high-profile gamble by appointing Deitch. No other major museum in the United States has tapped a gallery owner as its resident dictator, a position that traditionally relies on an academic tradition of patronage, politics, and presentation. Can someone so skilled in the market sector of the art world switch horses midstream and solicit donations? Can he be accountable to the needs of the board, museum staff, donors, and public at large? Can he helm an exhibition canon that makes art both accessible for the masses and transcendent to the cognoscenti?!

{ Gawker | Continue reading }

The co-chairs of the board of L.A.’s Museum of Contemporary Art say they were aware from the start that hiring Jeffrey Deitch as MOCA director would raise questions about possible conflicts of interest.

After all, Deitch has made a 30-year career of buying and selling art, turning the inspirations and labors of artists and the desires and calculations of collectors into a lucrative business.

As MOCA’s director, he’ll have the ultimate say over which artists get exhibited — potentially boosting their prestige and asking price. And when MOCA borrows privately owned pieces for its shows, there’s the possibility that being in the public eye in the company of other notable art will make those works more marketable and valuable.

While Deitch has agreed to end his commercial art activities by June 1, when he starts his new job, there’s nothing to stop people from speculating about his decisions.

After helping to introduce Deitch at a news conference at the museum Tuesday, co-chairs Maria Bell and David Johnson said that Deitch is a man of integrity. He would also be violating his employment contract, they said, if he were to use his position to improperly benefit himself or his friends and former business associates.

{ LA Times | Continue reading }

photo { Julie Atlas Muz, Jeffrey Deitch, and Bambi the Mermaid }

I’m waitin’ for the time when I can get to Arizona, cause my money’s spent on the goddamn rent

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Taxicab geometry, considered by Hermann Minkowski in the 19th century, is a form of geometry in which the usual metric of Euclidean geometry is replaced by a new metric in which the distance between two points is the sum of the (absolute) differences of their coordinates.

The taxicab metric is also known as Manhattan distance, or Manhattan length, with corresponding variations in the name of the geometry. The latter names allude to the grid layout of most streets on the island of Manhattan, which causes the shortest path a car could take between two points in the city to have length equal to the points’ distance in taxicab geometry.

{ Wikipedia | Continue reading }

When the gunz come out

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Police pursuing a suspect shot and killed a man who they say fired on them in the Times Square area.

The shooting happened in a very busy area, filled with shoppers and tourists, near West 46th Street and Broadway just before 11:30 a.m today.

According to officials, an undercover officer was dealing with illegal peddlers in Times Square.

When the officer approached two peddlers, one of them took off running and a chase ensued. The sergeant pursued, and the man turned and fired with a Mac-10 machine pistol that held 30 rounds; he got off two shots before it jammed, Browne said, shattering the glass window at a Broadway baby store.

The officer returned fire, police said, hitting the suspect several times.

The suspect had been wanted for assault in the Bronx, but the officer approached him because he was recognized as an aggressive panhandler, authorities said.

The second man was arrested, but not hurt.

{ ABC 7 | Continue reading | NY Daily News }

illustration { Jonas Bergstrand }

So twist the cap and pop the cork, my name’s Adrock made in New York

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{ Def Jam Recordings (LL Cool J., Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, Run–D.M.C…) reaches its 25th anniversary. | 1. Krush Groove, the cult 1985 film that tells the story of the birth of Def Jam Recordings. 2. The third member of Run-D.M.C., Jam Master Jay, was tragically killed inside a Queens recording studio 2002. The perpetrator has never been identified. | Photos: NY Daily News | more | Related: The song refers to 911, the emergency phone number. }

Picture you upon my knee, just tea for two

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{ Meret Oppenheim, Object, 1936 | Fur-covered cup, saucer, and spoon, cup. | The Erotic Object: Surrealist Sculpture from the Collection | MoMA, until January 4, 2010 }

In the muddy street with the fireworks and leaves

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Heavy police sawhorses of rough wood with a stenciled warning — “Police Line Do Not Cross” — have been a visible staple of New York’s landscape for decades. But now they are being demoted.

Police Commissioner Raymond W. Kelly said that wooden sawhorses were being phased out. The last ones owned by the New York Police Department, made by inmates in upstate prisons, are being relegated to dull duty at street fairs and other low-impact events.

The glory, the front-row seats to history, will go to the interlocking gray aluminum partitions that the police call “French barriers.”

It’s like a first-grade detective in Midtown Manhattan being busted to overnight patrolman on the outskirts of Staten Island.

From a few hundred French barriers bought in the early 1990s, there are now about 12,000 (seven feet long and $70 each). Just 3,200 veteran wooden sawhorses (14 feet long and $60 each) remain. Other cities like Chicago and Philadelphia also use both types.

{ NY Times | Continue reading }

related:

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{ Top, fake badges for assistant chief and patrolman; bottom, real detective and patrolman badges. | In New York, some officers don’t wear their badges on patrol. Instead, they wear fakes. Called “dupes,” these phony badges are often just a trifle smaller than real ones but otherwise completely authentic. Officers use them because losing a real badge can mean paperwork and a heavy penalty, as much as 10 days’ pay. | NY Times | Continue reading }

So what difference does it make? It makes none, but now you have gone.

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{ The New York Times, Feb. 10, 1935 | The legend of alligators in the sewers — discarded pets that have grown large in the bowels of the city, the story goes — leans heavily on a widely cited three-page section of the book. (The city and the state no longer allow alligators or their near-relatives to be kept as pets.) | NY Times | Continue reading }

Those were the days of roses, poetry and prose

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{ Eero Saarinen, TWA Terminal, New York International (now John F. Kennedy International) Airport, New York, circa 1962. | Photo: Balthazar Korab }

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{ Eero Saarinen, Patent drawing for pedestal chairs, June 7, 1960 }

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{ A new show champions the sinuous legacy of Eero Saarinen | Eero Saarinen: Shaping the Future | The Museum of the City of New York, from Nov 10, 2009 to January 31, 2010 | Press Realease | PDF | Catalog preview }

Moving forward is about progress, not perfection

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The movement to ban smoking in New York City has grown so quickly that no place seems immune — certainly not restaurants or bars, and public beaches and parks may not be far behind. Now the efforts are rapidly expanding into the living room.

More landlords are moving to prohibit smoking in their apartment buildings, telling prospective tenants they can be evicted if they light up in them. (…)

And the typical smoker’s refuge — directly outside the building — is also off limits; tenants must agree not to smoke on any of the sidewalks that wrap around the building.

{ NY Times | Continue reading }

But when I was a man, the wind blew cold, the hills were upside down

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{ Mike Kelley, Horizontal Tracking Shot of a Cross Section of Trauma Rooms, 2009 | Acrylic on wood panels, steel video monitors, DVD players | Gagosian Gallery, 555 West 24th Street, NYC, until December 23, 2009 }

Particularly because of the generous endowments of the cast

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The innovators behind Ace Hotel know nothing says full service like a good gay porn selection, which is why the hipster hotel turned to BUTT magazine to curate its new gay porn on demand service, and the editors at BUTT were more than happy to put their talents as connoisseurs of vintage porn to use.

Starting Nov. 1, guests in the hotel’s New York City and Palm Springs locals can pay for the pleasuring of tuning in and, well, you knowing, to the carefully crafted series BUTT  editor Adam Baran calls “the best that porn has to offer.”

“Other times we tried to take a look at the historical angle of films like The Bigger, The Better, probably one of the best gay porn films of all times.”

{ NY Press | Continue reading }

The room is cold now and you’re so far away

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From L to R { Adam Cvijanovic | Ellen Altfest | Marc Swanson }

It has been a tumultuous year for Rebecca Smith, 43, who owned a well-known contemporary art gallery until last June.

The recession delivered an economic shock to the art market, and Becky’s New York City gallery struggled for months before she decided to shutter it. In the process, she came into conflict with some of the artists she worked with — she owes them money, they owe her. She moved out of her apartment and borrowed cash from her parents. She was too poor to visit her family in Pittsburgh for Christmas. (…)

Shortly after she founded the Bellwether Gallery in Brooklyn, in 1999, Becky, was the subject of a profile, in The New York Times Magazine, titled “How to Become an Instant Art Star,” and she did, indeed, become a star.

She moved her gallery to Chelsea in 2004, and maintained a frenetic pace on the international art fair circuit. She hired a gallery director, a manager and an art handler. “I felt like I was one of the members of my generation who could become one of the next representatives to major artists,” Becky said.

She specialized in emerging art, finding and cultivating cutting-edge new artists like Adam Cvijanovic, Ellen Altfest and Marc Swanson, building their careers up through gallery shows, and selling their pieces for increasingly large sums of money, mostly to rich financier-collectors. Buying the work of unknown young artists was especially appealing to Wall Streeters, because it was an accessible way to start building an art collection and it offered the possibility of “discovering” artists and making a fortune as their work shot up in value — not unlike the thrills of the stock market.

Becky ran through some numbers for me: her gallery’s rent was about $10,000 a month. Her highest overhead, when she had four full-time employees and was maintaining a hectic pace of exhibitions, ran to $75,000 — in a lean month it might have been closer to $50,000. The revenue came through the sale of art; a gallery usually takes 50 percent of the sale price.

Once sales dried up by the fall of 2008, Becky called three of her largest collectors, pleading for some business — “I tried playing it cool, and then I tried playing it direct,” she said. She recounted a typical conversation: “I need to sell you something to continue to be here,” she would tell a collector.

“I’m just not buying,” was the reply.

{ NY Times | Continue reading }

He had a room full of switches and dials and lights and a head full of clouds

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Compulsive hoarding is a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), a neurobiological condition, most likely genetically based. OCD comes in a wide variety of forms, of which hoarding is only one. Compulsive hoarders may collect only certain types of things, or they may indiscriminately save everything. We are not talking here about collecting things that are valuable or important such as art, coins, or stamps. (…)

Some of the things most commonly saved include newspapers, magazines, lists, pens, pencils, empty boxes, pamphlets, old greeting cards, junk mail, old appliances, outdated books and even assorted labels, string, rubber bands, plastic containers, bottles, and bottle caps. In the most extreme cases, people have been known to save such things as empty matchbooks, used tissues, old cigarette butts, bird feathers, old cars, discarded paper cups, used aluminum foil, paper towels, lint, and hairs. Some of these sufferers will even rummage through other people’s trash, and bring home obvious junk that to them, seems quite useful or repairable. (…)

In 1932, Homer Lusk Collyer (1881–1947) purchased a building across the street at 2077 Fifth Avenue for $8,000. He planned to divide it into apartments and to rent them. This plan was never realized, as he suffered a stroke in 1933, becoming blind as the result of hemorrhages in both of his eyes. With one exception, he was reportedly never seen outside of his home again.

Homer’s brother, Langley Collyer (1885–1947), gave up his job to nurse his brother back to health. No physician was ever consulted. Langley apparently believed that the cure for his brother’s blindness was for him to eat 100 oranges a week, and to keep his eyes closed at all times, in order to rest them. The brothers possessed a large library of medical books, and it would seem that Langley felt he had the information and knowledge necessary to treat his brother.

{ OC Foundation | Continue reading }

Burglars tried to break into the house because of unfounded rumors of valuables, and neighborhood youths had developed a fondness for throwing rocks at the windows. They boarded up the windows. In an attempt to exclude burglars, Langley used his engineering skills to construct booby traps and tunnels among the collection of items and trash that filled the house. The house soon became a maze of boxes, complicated tunnel systems consisting of junk and trash rigged with trip wires. Homer and Langley Collyer lived in “nests” created amongst the debris that was piled to the ceiling.

Their gas, telephone, electricity and water having been turned off because of their failure to pay the bills, the brothers took to warming the large house using only a small kerosene heater. For a while, Langley attempted to generate his own energy by means of a car engine. Langley began to wander outside at night; he fetched their water from a post in a park four blocks to the south (presumably Mount Morris Park, renamed Marcus Garvey Park in 1973). He also dragged home countless pieces of abandoned junk that aroused his interest. In 1933, Homer, already crippled by rheumatism, went blind. Langley devised a remedy, a diet of one hundred oranges a week, along with black bread and peanut butter. He also began to hoard newspapers, so that his brother could catch up with the news once his sight returned. (…)

On March 21, 1947, an anonymous tipster phoned the 122nd police precinct and insisted there was a dead body in the house. A patrol officer was dispatched, but had a very difficult time getting into the house at first. There was no doorbell or telephone and the doors were locked; and while the basement windows were broken, they were protected by iron grillwork. Eventually an emergency squad of seven men had no choice but to begin pulling out all the junk that was blocking their way and throw it out onto the street below. The brownstone’s foyer was packed solid by a wall of old newspapers, folding beds and chairs, half a sewing machine, boxes, parts of a wine press and numerous other pieces of junk.

A patrolman, William Baker, finally broke in through a window into a second-story bedroom. Behind this window lay, among other things, more packages and newspaper bundles, empty cardboard boxes lashed together with rope, the frame of a baby carriage, a rake, and old umbrellas tied together. After a two-hour crawl he found Homer Collyer dead, wearing just a tattered blue and white bathrobe. (…) But Langley was nowhere to be found. For weeks there was no sign of Langley.

On Saturday, March 30, false rumors circulated that Langley had been seen aboard a bus heading for Atlantic City, but a manhunt along the New Jersey shore turned up nothing. Two days later, the police continued searching the house, removing 3,000 more books, several outdated phone books, a horse’s jawbone, a Steinway piano, an early X-ray machine, and even more bundles of newspapers. More than nineteen tons of junk had been removed, just from the ground floor of the three-story brownstone. Still unable to find Langley, the police continued to clear away the brothers’ stockpile for another week, removing another 84 tons of rubbish from the house.

On April 8, 1947, workman Artie Matthews found the dead body of Langley Collyer just ten feet from where Homer had died. His partially decomposed body was being eaten by rats. A suitcase and three huge bundles of newspapers covered his body. Langley had been crawling through their newspaper tunnel to bring food to his paralyzed brother when one of his own booby traps fell down and crushed him. Homer, blind and paralyzed, starved to death several days later.

{ Wikipedia | Continue reading }

The last name of the title characters of E. L. Doctorow’s new novel, “Homer & Langley,” is Collyer, and the book’s brothers do, in fact, turn out to be versions of those infamous New York pack rats, whose overstuffed Harlem brownstone made their name synonymous with obsessive-compulsive collecting.

{ NY Times | Continue reading }

Prelude to a kiss and other plays

more { Why date a stupid teenager when you can date God? }

Now that I can release my tensions

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Fridays

• Museum of Modern Art - Free 4 to 8 p.m. (normally $20)

• Whitney Museum of American Art - Pay-what-you-wish 6 to 9 p.m. (normally $18)

(…)

Saturdays

• Guggenheim - Pay-what-you-wish 5:45 to 7:45 p.m. (normally $18)

{ Museum free hours in NYC for fall/winter 2009/10 | Newyorkology | Continue reading }

artwork { Ellsworth Kelly, Horizontal Line, 1951 }



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