Then and Now, AA Abstract Art

              The long anticipated exhibition Solidary and Solitary at the Ogden Museum of Southern Art allows visitors to catch a glimpse of the Joyner/Giuffrida Collection of African American abstract art with its display of approximately sixty paintings and sculptures representing fourteen artists, through January 2018. Four Generations: The Joyner Giuffrida Collection of Abstract Art is the title of the catalog published in conjunction with the show scheduled to travel to seven additional venues following its New Orleans debuts.

                 A Private Stranger Thinking about His Needs, 2016, a soaring sculpture from Mark Bradford suspended from the Stephen Goldring Hall's third floor, provides a spectacular introduction to the exhibition. While still looking up, the visitor catches a sight of the yellow neon work from Tavares Strachan, I Belong Here, 2012, and on the way to the library walks by Drape Work, 1970, a major piece from Sam Gilliam. The Mississippi native's work occupies a prominent spot at the exhibition's entrance located on the museum's fourth floor. A sensuous folded canvas from his color field period in the seventies, along a short biography, is followed by nine works spanning  more than forty years of the artist's career, illustrating his search for shapes, colors, media, to build his compositions. The next featured artist, Norman Lewis was the only African American artist to join the first generation of Abstract Expressionists. Each selected work provides a clue about the artist's maturation, starting with Conversation (Two Abstract Heads), 1945, which exemplifies the juncture in the artist's career. During that decade, Lewis moved on from figurative and social realist themes to abstract in his quest of purely aesthetic goals. The juxtaposition of two bright yellow paintings, projecting the same aura of warmth and lightness, Easter Rehearsal, 1959, and Afternoon, 1969, provides a great example of the abstraction's process. A total of eight pieces sums up the artist's legacy. Following these "solo" shows, the exhibition takes a faster pace, featuring two artists in each gallery like a "duet" as described in the complementary pamphlet, with Melvin Edwards and Leonardo Drew sharing a space. The former is represented by five wall sculptures from his famous series Lynch Fragments started in 1965 in response to racial violence and two rocking sculptures for A Conversation with Norman Lewis, 1979. The latter's wall compositions contribute to the conversation about African American history and broadens it, reflecting on our society. Edwards's message is quite blunt while Drew's leaves us ponder and dream. Kevin Beasley and Shinique Smith have been selected for the next duet. Both use found fabrics as a media. Here ends the similarity. Beasley builds colorful sculptures, Smith, cosmic landscapes. Charles Gaines's works are spread on the four walls of a small gallery taken over by Numbers and Trees, Central Park Series I, Tree #9, 2016. The colorful tree on a black and white photographic background is drawn through the juxtaposition of  red, yellow, green, blue squares on a grid, giant pixels arranged with a compulsive precision to reach perfection. The minimalist pieces from Jennie C. Jones made with piano keys or painted on acoustic absorber panels are mixed with two neon wall sculptures from Glenn Ligon and Stranger #68, 2012, made with oil stick and coal dust on canvas. The last room is filled with the larger than life portraits from Lynette Yiadom-Boakye, charged with a symbolic overtone. The show spills in the hallway with Untitled (America America), 2015, a black neon work from Ligon. Facing down, belly and wires exposed, it looks like a broken object with its flickering lights. Three sculptures from Serge Alain Nitegeka, made with crate material (about refugees), and painted in red (blood) and black (skin color) are randomly scattered, falling short of their intended message. A side gallery offers a unique experience with the display of works from Marc Bradford and Jack Whitten energizing the space.

The show about four generations of African American abstract artists starts on a high note featuring works from two major artists. As it progresses, it looses its thread due to weak links between artists' practices for its duets and the inclusion of Yiadom-Boakye's figurative portraits. The setting which is not by chronological order would benefit from more didactic wall texts about the artists and their works, directed at a lay audience. The key to an exhibition is usually found in its title. The association of the words Solidary and Solitary epitomizes the quandary African American artists were faced with when embracing abstract, as exemplified by Norman Lewis. Other artists of the collection should have been included or mentioned. We miss Alma Thomas, Edward Clark, Richard Mayhew, Julie Mehretu, William T. Williams, ..., even just one work from each!
The exhibition helps us understand the contribution of African American artists to American art as they paved the way to new generations and hopefully will promote the inclusion of their works in the museums.

photographs by the author:
Leonardo Drew "Number 185", 2016
Charles Gaines "Numbers and Trees, Central Park Series I, Tree #9", 2016
Mark Bradford "No Time to Expand the Sea", 2014

On Being an Artist

At the occasion of his latest exhibition at  Arthur Roger Gallery, "R.I.P. Bruce A. Davenport, Jr./Artwork by Dapper Bruce Lafitte", the artist Dapper Bruce Lafitte gave an interview and offered his thoughts about his art, art in general and how he became an artist.



Could you describe your childhood? How did you find out that you had talent as a visual artist?

My mother was 12 and my father was 20 years old when I was born. My father spent time in jail and I was raised by my step-grandfather who considered me his own. As I grew up, I started to doodle, from 5 to 10 years old, I would do stick-men, from 10 to 13, I drew full figures, pool halls whatever I found and imitated Ernie Barnes I saw on PBS. We were living in the Lafitte Projects and crack cocaine came to our neighborhood. Anything that gave me comfort, I stayed with. Art gave me comfort. If a pal of mine got killed, I would do art that night. If the wake was on Thursday, I would do art that Thursday, to release things. When people discovered I had talent, they went "he is a genius". People who were not into art tried to keep me away from it. I went to college to play football, I did not go to college to do art. But I was not happy and when I did art I felt better. People love you more also they get inspired by what you do, that's a good thing.

Any other artists in the family?

My aunt would draw on pieces of paper. I thought that everybody had talent, my thing was doing art, like Clementine Hunter.

Did you learn about art history? Did you visit art museums?

I would visit museums with my school, NOMA, CAC, the Ogden. I did attend the Summer program for kids living in the Projects at Xavier. I would go by John T. Scott mornings and evenings. One time I cut class and he said: "I will keep you out of trouble, sit down and look at me". He was making a sculpture. I was looking at him and I was thinking "there is a black man" and I looked up to him. He gave me the whole history of art. He would say "artists have a hard time, if you are an artist to make money, you are in the wrong game. You may become famous and then you might make some money"

Do you consider John T. Scott one of your mentors? Did you have a role model when you grew up?

Yes, he is one of my mentors, also Jeffrey Cook, Clementine Hunter, Bruce Price, Harry Jones, the co-owner of Stella Jones Gallery, Dan Cameron, David Cortez, Willie Birch. They are all have been big help in my career.

And now, do you visit museums and look at art?

No, I don't look at art. I might copy it if I like it or I just turn my back on it if I can't get it. I was looking at a Basquiat, David Cortez explained it to me and what he felt. Then I look at the art (Basquiat's), at his creativity and it gives me something.

About your creativity? Is it spontaneous?

Yes, it comes out. I made the marching bands, then I started to gravitate to other things and other things and then I go back doing the marching bands. It does not feel the same when I go back to it.

What are the "other things" you are doing?

The penitentiaries, the correctional system, because my people go through that. I talk about the school system because I got education from there. I talk about the Projects, my elders. I made maps of the city for my latest exhibition. I talk about the good side of the story and the bad side.

Your work is included in collections in Japan, Europe, you are represented by galleries in NYC, how do you relate to the New Orleans art scene?

It is a crab barrel! I will get up and the crab barrel tries to pull me down. But I remember when I first got into the business, I would go to galleries. On St Claude, the lady told me she liked my work and was interested in showing it. I said "Me?" She said "Yes". Then I learned the curator business, I learned the business aspect of art. That's how I started.

How do you get collectors abroad interested in your art which is mainly about New Orleans?

If they don't know New Orleans, I'll give it to them. The collector may be a rich white guy from Germany, he can't come to my hood, but I'll give it to him. He will feel the love. I always wanted to have people look at the art and see where it's coming from so we can relate to one another. Sometimes people can't relate, they don't have a soul. If you have a soul it shows in the work.

After hurricane Katrina, you started drawing school bands. How did you get interested in that subject?

The band directors lost their jobs after Katrina, they would invite me to their homes for dinner, and I started to draw the school bands. They were very appreciative that I brought their bands to the world. Also I watch football on TV and if the band sounds good, I go ahead. I drew LSU, Tulane, USC, University of Tennessee,...

You are visiting schools, making donations to the schools. Do you see yourself as a role model for the children in New Orleans? 

I donated pictures of the marching bands to twenty five high schools in New Orleans, fifteen outside New Orleans. I have to give back to them. I love to talk to the children, they know me, like I was their big brother. I tell them my story, I listen to their stories.

Why the title of your latest exhibition at the Arthur Roger Gallery "R.I.P. Bruce A. Davenport, Jr."?

I was born Bruce D. Washington, my mother's maid name. Then my father came into my life when I was fourteen and gave me his last name, I became Davenport. I hated it. I became angered, depressed, ugly and mean. So I changed my name to Lafitte, the name of the housing project I grew up in.

Does it bother you to be called outsider or self-taught artist?

I don't care, but I rather not be categorized. I am an artist.

Do you throw away some of your work?

No, I just put it away, somebody might like it later.

Do you listen to music?

Yes, I like Beethoven, James Brown, Ray Charles, BB King, Public Enemy, I like when it makes you feel good. You go back and you listen and it becomes part of you. Sometimes I need quiet when I work because I am thinking, I am focused. Sometimes I need loud music, it gives me the groove.


What about the future?

In 2012, I almost quit doing art, but I was encouraged to continue and I am on for at least another ten years! I am working on it every day. I am trying to have six to seven shows outside New Orleans every year and three shows outside the country.
I am Bruce D. Lafitte, I am enjoying art, the creativity that is coming to me. I am enjoying the galleries and museums I am dealing with, I am enjoying my career. I am enjoying that people want my art and take it at different levels. I want to preserve the culture, bridge the gap from the old to the new, and be the in-between.

And the artist concluded with his famous "I see you lookin" scribbled throughout his works to remind the viewer that he is always present, watching.

photographs:

Dapper Bruce Lafitte
"R.I.P. Jeffrey Cook", 2017 (detail)

Let's Talk About It

This year, White Linen Night will be remembered for its downpours and flooding, but I attended the gallery openings, all decked up in my white clothes under an umbrella. Jonathan Ferrara Gallery offered a memorable performance spilling in Julia Street and Arthur Roger Gallery an extensive collection of works from John T. Scott and Dapper Bruce Laffitte. The following week-end, the openings in the St Claude Arts District were overwhelming due to the abundance of works from diverse artists. Overall, political art was the predominant subject.

Among all, The Banality of Evil, 2017, from Brian St Cyr, stirred up conflicting emotions for me. The piece was selected for Louisiana Contemporary, a yearly juried exhibition at the Ogden Museum of Southern Art and can be found near one of the entrance (or exit) of the largest gallery. The wall sculpture is minimalist in design and color and, like a child's puzzle, is made of simple triangular and rectangular shapes arranged symmetrically along a horizontal line. The bottom, built with wood is painted turquoise, the top is an assemblage of hamster cages, water bottle included. The mustard wall is the perfect background for the piece which projects heavy shadows on it. The resulting design represents... a swastika. The seemingly benign construction, evoking cute furry rodents and a paradise of tropical islands with its Caribbean color, became a provocative sign of hate, racism, fascism, and its view made my heart race from uncontrolled anger, fear and disgust. Some people learned about the symbolism of the swastika from history books, others from their family history.

Despite a lengthy wall text in which the artist provides clues about his inspiration and shares his personal thoughts about his work, some viewers have been incensed by the representation of the loathed emblem. In her book about war criminal Adolf Eichmann, Annah Arendt coined the phrase "the banality of evil". St Cyr states that: "As a visual artist I have long thought of how I would express in visual terms the essence of such a powerful literary phrase." This sums up the purpose of the conceptual piece. However, the artist should not be surprised to provoke strong reactions from the audience challenged by such an inflammatory subject. After all, we are more used to art "underlying political and social realities that the artist sought to cover up with sensuous appeal" (Sylvan Barnet 2009). This time, the graphic statement is blunt. Visual art can be cathartic and provide the occasion to engage in discussions, or better, conversations. The artist's long explanation feels superfluous, the work (and its title) speaks for itself and viewers will decipher the message.
To conclude, this quote attributed to Robert Rauschenberg: "The artist's job is to be a witness to his time in history." This piece reaches the goal.

photograph by the author:

Brian St Cyr "The Banality of Evil", 2017

Alex Podesta at The Front

No bunnies for Alex Podesta's exhibition Pressured and Squished at The Front. My latest sightings of his humorous slightly deprecatory self-portraits were at LeMieux Galleries on Julia Street and on the O. C. Haley Boulevard. This time the six sculptures set along the walls of the third room at the collective art gallery have taken a less personal and more serious turn.
The showpiece usually concludes an exhibition. Here, Untitled (Ballspine) catches the attention upon entering the space. The towering sculpture represents a humanoid with a distinctive spine made of rubber balls interposed with pieces of wood. Headless, with stretched arms and one wooden leg, it also features very realistic hands and foot resulting in a strange futuristic creature. The next sculptures are more modest in size but richer in their conceptualization. They could be described in sets of two with Infinitube and Snakes! made of the same material, bicycle wheels inner tubes. The first hints at the lemniscate, mathematical symbol of infinity, with its shape held by a hand in a firm grip, and the latter evokes tightly coiled inner guts. Their message is quite opposite, one is soothing and inspires contemplation, the other reflects stress, torment and pain. The second set of sculptures, Pressured and Squished, are each made of two forearms with casts of hands at the end, extensions of longer wooden rods. The two hands hold an inflated rubber ball in the first version, next to the second version featuring the same ball  now collapsed. The juxtaposition of the two pieces creates a narrative due to the action which occurred in between. The synergistic works should stay as a pair or they may loose some of their impact. Pinch concluded my visit. Sadness is involved in this piece, a deflated ball grasped by two fingers: game's over. The useless ball can be discarded.
Conceptual art requires the viewer's involvement and its interpretation can become personal, according to moods, memories, cultural background, ... Do I dare bring up my first interpretation of Ballspine which made me think of a crucifixion? Or can I share the childhood memories which rushed back while looking at Pinch? The sculptures, all made in 2017, reflect the unmistakable artist's flair. Podesta's work projects some dichotomy, navigating between humor and seriousness, action and inaction, simplicity and complexity, catching the viewer in between. The artist brings back our inner child and plays with our angst with his conceptual pieces that defy any classification.
Set during the dog days of Summer in New Orleans, the exhibition could get overlooked. Reviews have already poured in, but when it seems that everything has been told, there is more to find. In his artist's statement, Podesta describes his work as serio-comic, this time, I found his latest creations more serious than comic.
No bunnies, but the artist is always present in his works. (at least his foot and hands!)

 photographs by the author

"Untitled (Ballspine)", 2017
"Infinitube", 2017
"Pinch", 2017

Intimate Donald Judd

Donald Judd Writings, published in 2016, is a collection of short essays, notes and critiques written by the artist who is better known for his minimalist sculptures, designer furniture and his move to Marfa,Texas. What is striking about the book is not only its bright orange color but its thickness.
Spanning thirty five years from 1958 until 1993, the entries follow a chronological order like a diary. The earlier writings are more focused on art criticism, Judd's livelihood at the time. It is refreshing to read candid, occasionally scathing reviews, some previously unpublished. His statements like "Picasso who produced junk for forty years, and not much before" or "The brushwork in the paintings by Baselitz is thoughtless, passionless, flaccid, and is a parody of Expressionism." are short and final. ( I could not agree more with the latter!) The chapters dedicated to artists like Kasimir Malevich, Lee Bontecou, John Chamberlain among others, reflect his appreciation of their work. Both Wassily Kandinsky and Pier Mondrian appear to have had a profound influence on Judd who refers to them repeatedly.
It is not until his late fifties (mid-way into the book) that Judd becomes more personal and writes about his projects, Marfa, the Foundation Chinati, and shares intimate thoughts about his career and goals, showing some concerns about his legacy including his writings: "I am writing for the record ... I am also writing for the sake of my work." Shorter notes, like in a journal, appear to be written "on the go". Judd tackles politics, religion, architecture, art, philosophy, ..., keeps castigating art critics, collectors, curators, and expresses his mistrust of the art world in general. His overall pessimistic and disillusioned outlook can be summed up with this statement: "We are starting a new era while suffering increasing mediocrity, a time in which even the ideas of quality and knowledge are disappearing."
The dense text with little interruption can become monotonous, but the content keeps the reader's interest going. A compilation of images are relegated to the end and include photographs of Judd's and his colleagues' works, buildings in Marfa, and samples of Judd's original hand writings. Unfortunately, the small format weakens their impact.
Preserving his father's legacy, Flavin Judd oversaw the book's publication and also wrote the book's introduction.
Getting acquainted with Judd through his most intimate thoughts.

Photographs Wikimedia

Untitled box-like art "Judd's cubes", Chinati Foundation, Marfa, TX
"Untitled (DJ 85-51)", 1985, Tate Modern

Pride of Place at NOMA

Over the years, Arthur Roger nurtured artists through his art gallery opened in 1978 and in doing so, helped shape and promote the art scene of his native city. Joining the list of benefactors, he recently gifted his sizable art collection accumulated over four decades to the New Orleans Museum of Art. The eighty-seven objects, including paintings, sculptures, videos, photographs, are on display this Summer for the exhibition Pride of Place: The Making of Contemporary Art in New Orleans, curated by Katie Pfohl, Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at NOMA.

 Pride of Place starts with a bang, featuring at the entrance Deborah Kass's silkscreen Camouflage Self Portrait, 1994, a major piece of The Warhol Project. After a short text introducing the exhibition, works lined up along the walls include a red, gory wood print from James Surls and a woodblock from John T. Scott surrounding a piece from Clyde Connell, a Louisiana self-taught artist. These are followed by photographs from George Dureau and face Green Drops, 1983, a cross from John Torreano, Star of David, u.d., from Keith Sonnier and a hieroglyphic composition from Ida Kohlmeyer. In the middle of the room, an early kinetic sculpture from Lin Emery, Fledging, 1965, represents the cornerstone of her future works. All in all, a first glance embraces nine pieces (also Lovers (2 Bronze Horns), n.d., a sculpture from Ersy Schwartz), promising a challenging visit due to the number and variety of works. Their connections to the South and the Arthur Roger Gallery are sometimes subtle. For example, Peter Haley's print A Tour of the Monuments of Passaic, New Jersey, 1989, a colored architectural geometric abstraction with squares he calls "prisons" and "cells" connected by "conduits" is about the densely populated northeastern city. How did his work become part of the collection? Haley obtained a Master of Fine Arts from the University of New Orleans in 1978 and lived several years in the crescent city before moving back to New York. Self  Portrait/Cutting, 1993, a photograph from Catherine Opie is related to the landmark show curated by Deborah Kass which took place at the Arthur Roger Gallery in 1993, titled Regarding Masculinity. The setting makes for a pleasant walk through the display. Sculptures, even huge like An American Family, 1991, from Willie Birch  made of papier-mâché or  Fence Row, 2013, from Gene Koss are provided ample space, allowing a view from all angles. Robert Colescott's satirical painting, Whitfield Lovell's ghostly installation, Radcliffe Bailey's piece about the African Diaspora, define the artists. Among the photographers, Robert Polidori who documented the aftermath of hurricane Katrina in the devastated city is represented, so is Gordon Parks. Controversial photographs from Robert Mapplethorpe, George Dureau and John Waters are displayed in a more private space while portraits, Magic Johnson by Erb Ritts or Andy Warhol by Greg Gorman, underline the diversity of the collection. A narrative mural from Luis Cruz Azaceta provides a background for a sculpture from Lesley Dill, Untitled Figure-Delight, Bliss, Murder, 1995, a story on its own, featuring a headless female body carved with messages. The deep South is not forgotten with  Courtney Egan's magical video while Dawn Dedeaux and Jacqueline Bishop's works bring darker thoughts about our future.
What is striking, especially in the last room, is the juxtaposition of styles, figurative next to pop or conceptual art, taking some viewers beyond their comfort zone. Through artists from co-op galleries like Aaron McNamee, Alex Podesta or Cynthia Scott, representing the lively St. Claude Arts District, the donation rejuvenates the museum's contemporary art collection and fosters the inclusion of local artists. It also propels NOMA on the international art scene with names like Polidori whose photographs are in the permanent collections of MoMA, Centre Pompidou in Paris or the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Treating subjects like the HIV/AIDS epidemic, sexuality, gender, race, the collection provides material for reflection over place and time. It also follows the tribulations of the city with works inspired by hurricane Katrina. Each carefully selected piece contributes to its overall goal: "collecting contemporary art, reframing regionalism and championing emerging voices".

Be aware, one visit will not be sufficient to appreciate the art collected over four decades!

photographs by the author

Ida Kohlmeyer, "Synthesis BB", 1983
view of the exhibition
 Alex Podesta, "Untitled (Pointer)", 2012, detail

Beyond Borders

Neapolitan (Comic Book Diplomacy, Go Cup and Water Bottle Buoys), Christopher Saucedo's latest exhibition at Arthur Roger Gallery assembles varied works from the sculptor with an emphasis on his Comic Book Diplomacy series. Saucedo, previously Professor at the University of New Orleans, now divides his time between New Orleans and Rockaway, NY, and teaches sculpture at Adelphi University.
Superhombre, Űbermensch, Stålmannen, ..., Superman's name plastered on the front covers of comic books in Spanish, German, Swedish, Turkish, Arabic, ..., transports the visitor in a fantasy world. Bright colors, vivid graphics, short texts, send powerful messages and define superheroes (and villains). Born from his love for cartoons as a child, the artist's hobby, collecting international comic books of American superheroes, has brought him to consider their relevance and impact on multicultural audiences. To make his point he has created a series of collages. The process involves removing a large circle of a comic book's cover and replace it with the same superhero but from another country's publication, using a hot-brand technique. The juxtaposition of different languages can result in geo-politically or culturally provocative associations. The arrangements are visually pleasing with branded imprints of maps and sometimes embroidered compass roses, contributing to the conversation. Where is North? Off a few degrees, the image refers to the moral compass made of set of values instilled through education and culture. Could  Jewish and Palestinian teenagers get the same perception of the hero's character ? Could the hero foster a bond between them? The mythical figures can also be seen as propaganda material, perpetuating the symbol of an indomitable hero from the giant country. The characters have also been promoted for educational purposes. Superman, Superwoman , Batman, were staged in comics aimed at raising the awareness of children about landmines, deadly remnants of wars. Lined up along the walls of the front main gallery, the pieces created for the Comic Book Diplomacy series are spread toward the back and lead to the second part of the exhibition, a major work from the Water Bottle Buoys series: the artist's self-portrait. A buoy anchored to a heavy boulder by a rope represents Saucedo's volume of water when plunging into a vat filled with the liquid "element". With his life in tatters following hurricane Katrina, he moved to the North East and faced a second disaster during hurricane Sandy. With a tinge of humor, the conceptual artist refers to his mixed feelings about water, deadly and also sustaining life. Practical, he recycles the plastic pollutant to make floating sculptures. A homegrown feature in New Orleans, go cups branded or embroidered on hand made paper surround the sculpture. The poetic rendition of containers, cans and water bottles included, is also a reminder: let's not waste any precious liquid especially when fermented!
Saucedo who calls himself a "pretend sociologist" brings up serious subjects to make us reflect. The exhibition is a way to discover another side of the artist who in his interview for NPR  in 2015, stated that his usual media is "steel, wood, cast metals and big physical material". This time he is using the technique of branding, "pushing red-hot steel shapes onto the paper maps... a deliberate, irrevocable and violent way of marking and cutting shapes". He is also using embroidery, a soothing occupation, on light-hearted material. A sculptor, Saucedo turned his hobby into art.
A very timely and relevant exhibition which reminds us of the power of art, healing on a personal level and creating bridges between cultures.

An exhibition of the Water Bottle Buoys series took place at Good Children Gallery in December 2016.

photographs by the author:

"Comic Book Diplomacy: Supermen (CSAU0151)", 2017
"Superman Handcuffed (CSAU0152)", 2017
"Water Bottle Buoy", 2016