Of bunnies and balloon dogs.

I'm a fan of Pop.  I think it has something to do with the fact that I was born in the early 60s, a time when Pop art, pop culture, and pop music were taking the planet by storm.  I've grown up with Pop..

It's not surprise then, that I went out of my way to see one of the art world's biggest Pop super stars, Jeff Koons. Koons has had a number of large retrospectives but never one in the U.S. Well, until now with the opening of Jeff Koons: A Retrospective, a sprawling show at the Whitney Museum of American Art (the last show before the museum moves to its new Chelsea location).

The art world has a love/hate relationship with Jeff Koons. Museums and their curators love him for his blockbuster spectacles that generate crowds and ticket sales. But many critics love to hate him. And the reviews of this show follow the usual template suggesting that Mr. Koons' work lacks any real relevance or meaning and offers no art-historical value, just mindless fluff.  (For a round up of the review hysteria, check out this brilliant poem created by Carolina Miranda at the L. A. Times. She took the most outrageous lines from a bunch of reviews and ended up with a fine piece of poetry.) But I think those naysayers may have missed the point.  Here are three reasons why:

1. Art critics are their own worst enemies.  Art critics' second favorite thing to gripe about is current art movements.  It's happened throughout history, critics complain about anyone who is doing anything that pushes the limits more conventional, established tastes in art.  But here's the problem, Art critics' favorite thing to gripe about is how wrong previous art critics were.  Considering how much negative criticism has been written about Koons, he's destined to be a darling of future art academics.

2. The critics might actually just be wrong.  I think Jeff Koons' art is more important and meaningful than people give him credit for.  I offer a small sculpture in this show as an example. Listening to Koons and the curators of the show talk about Split Rocker (photo below) you realize this innocent, happy work is really more sinister.  Split Rocker was created when Koons was going through a difficult divorce which involved his Italian porn-star wife absconding with his son to Italy. With that in mind, the playful sculpture seems more sinister, almost violent, with heads that are cut in half and smashed together. 

3. Objects matter. Art and history celebrate and revere objects, particularly objects that are made at great cost, with great skill, and in ways that have never been done before.  And Jeff Koons' objects are spectacular. Some objects are so difficult to fabricate it can take decades to arrive at the final sculpture.  Take Play Doh which makes its debut for this show.  It has been in the works for 20 years.  All this attention to creation results in objects that are dazzling, particularly those with shiny, mirror-like surfaces. And boy, do the critics like to make fun of those shiny, mirror-like surfaces.

Of course, I'm not trained as an art critic so I doubt anyone is going to take my thoughts on Jeff Koons seriously.  But I am qualified as a contemporary art fan.  In fact, I'm about a big a fan as anyone I know.  And as a fan, Jeff Koons: A Retrospective, with its gasp-inducing galleries and works of art that seem made for selfies, is a dang good time at a museum.  So enough blathering on about critics and the meaning of art.  Let's look at some pictures.

The galleries in the show were arranged chronologically which meant starting out with vaccuum cleaners.  I think these works baffle people as much as any of Koons works.  He's channeling the "ready mades" of Duchamp.  But these seem to be doing more than just asking, "What is art?"  Instead asking questions about air and it's role in human lives, also a theme of the bronze life raft.

Jeff Koons, New Hoover Celebrity III's (1980, two vacuum cleaners, acrylic, fluorescent lights)

Jeff Koons, Lifeboat (1985, bronze)

There are more trains in Koons work than you realize including this exact, stainless steel replica of a Jim Beam collectible decanter.  It's actually filled with Jim Beam bourbon complete with official seals from the distillery.  You can see Kara and Felix trying to find all of the seven seals.

Jeff Koons, Jim Beam - J.B. Turner Train (1986, stainless steel, bourbon)

Jeff Koons, Jim Beam - J.B. Turner Train (1986, stainless steel, bourbon)

I think Rabbit was the first Koons work I ever saw in person.  It's still perfectly charming, yet a little creepy.

Jeff Koons, Rabbit (1986, stainless steel)

Jeff Koons, detail, Rabbit (1986, stainless steel)

These works, including Split Rocket from the Easy Fun series are just that.  Or are they.

Jeff Koons, Giraffe (Lilac) (1999, crystal glass, mirrored glass,
carbon fiber, foam, colored plastic interlayer, and stainless steel)

Jeff Koons, Kangaroo (Red)
(1999, crystal glass, mirrored glass, carbon fiber,
foam, colored plastic interlayer, and stainless steel)

Installation view, Jeff Koons, Split Rocker (Orange Red)
(1999, polychromed aluminum)

The weirdly photo-realistic painting mashups created by Koons' armies of assistants are strangely appealing.

Jeff Koons, Junkyard (2002, oil on canvas)

Jeff Koons, Lips (2000, oil on canvas)

Koons' Celebration series features several of his most famous works including the balloon dogs.  But fear not friends of the felines.  Koons does cats too.  Like the massive Cat on a Clothesline.  This picture really doesn't show how big that thing is. 

Jeff Koons, Cat on a Clothesline (Aqua)
(1994-2001, polyethylene, one of five unique versions)

Unbelievably, this is the first time I've seen one of Jeff Koons' balloon dogs in person.  But for a long time I've been fascinated with the way Koons has been able to take an icon as ubiquitous as the lowly balloon dog and make it his own.  You almost can't look at a balloon dog without thinking Koons.  And it's fun to see all the knock offs that have appeared including one that provoked Koons to sue an art gallery.  Although Koons seemed to quickly realize, you can't own the intellectual idea of a balloon dog. That certainly hasn't stopped him from trying. Balloon Dog (Yellow) was even more fun and intriguing than I expected.

Jeff Koons, Balloon Dog (Yellow)
(1994 - 2000, mirror-polished stainless steel with
transparent coating, one of five unique versions)

Jeff Koons, Balloon Dog (Yellow)
(1994 - 2000, mirror-polished stainless steel
with transparent coating, one of five unique versions)

Jeff Koons, Balloon Dog (Yellow)
(1994 - 2000, mirror-polished stainless steel
with transparent coating, one of five unique versions)

Play Do is based on a creation by Jeff Koons' son.  It took twenty years to finally complete the work.

Jeff Koons, Play Doh (1994 - 2014, polychromed
aluminum, one of five unique versions)

Hulk (Organ) is a functioning organ, although sound is reportedly not pleasing. When played, it sounds something like a race car.  The curators decided it was too unpleasant to play within the gallery. That's lame.

Jeff Koons, Hulk (Organ)
(2004 -14, polychromed bronze
and mixed media, edition 1/3)

This is the heaviest piece in the show weighing in at 15,000 pounds.

Jeff Koons, Gorilla (2006 - 11, granite, edition 1/3)

I find these later Koons' paintings with their art-historical references appealing.

Jeff Koons, Antiquity (Manet), (2011-14, oil on canvas)

This is what happens when balloon dogs meet ancient fertility figures.

Jeff Koons, Balloon Venus (Orange)
(2008 - 12, Mirror-polished stainless steel with
transparent color coating, one of five unique versions)

I love how some of Koons' metallic finishes create extreme, abstract imagery.

Jeff Koons, Metallic Venus
(2010 - 12, mirror-polished stainless steel with
transparent color coating and live flowering plants)

Finally, the reason my social media persona is named "Art Lobster" has to do with lobsters in art. It seems that throughout the history of art, lobsters have been a popular source of inspiration.  I don't know why, but it surprises and amuses me. There are the myriad still lifes featuring lobsters created by the great Dutch painters and others. There is the lobster weirdness dreamed up by Salvador Dali (a major influence for Koons). Roy Lichtenstein created pop-infused lobster still lifes. Not long ago John Baldessari even created an interactive lobster art work. And of course, there are the lobster works of Jeff Koons.  These works are highly influenced by Dali and Duchamp and yet deliver a fresh take on lobsters in art. 

Jeff Koons, Lobster, (2003, polychromed aluminum
and coated steel chain, artist's proof)

Jeff Koons, Moustache Lobsters, (2003, oil on canvas)

Since Art Lobster is mostly a personal review of things I see, do, and read, I've decided to start also including links to Instragram photos from the events I write about. Here are photos from the Whitney's Jeff Koons Retrospective.

• Balloon Dog Reflections
• Moon Reflections
• Art Lobster

Previous posts that include references to Jeff Koons:

• Expecting the unexpected in New York City.
• The art of the Christmas stocking, part two.
• Jeff Koons: Basketball star.

A tale of two timed tickets.

This post is about three months late.  But both of these art world events are worth remembering.

Art museums are on a quest to surprise and delight visitors with blockbuster shows by some of the art world’s best stars.  But they’re also delivering on this quest with art that is experiential.  In particular, sculpture is often given over to interactions with viewers.  It makes for extra fun and inspiring trips to museums, but it also creates some problems.  Busy museums like the crowd appeal of interactive sculptures and installations. But with the massive crowds, it can be difficult for museums to give attendees a safe and meaningful experience  That’s where the timed ticket comes in.  These tickets are usually free with museum admission, but they limit the number of people who can participate in the artwork, making the experience more inspiring.

On my last trip to New York, I experienced two timed-ticket events: The first was Tomas Saraceno’s Cloud City on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art; the second was Yayoi Kusama’s Fireflies on the Water at the Whitney Museum of Art.  Normally I’d write a separate post for art events this big.  But even though these two projects are wildly different, I felt they explored similar themes and ideas.  I thought it might be interesting to look at the two works in a single post.

Let’s start with Saraceno’s Cloud City.  For several years now I’ve seen photos of Saraceno’s amazing works with their giant clear bubbles that people climb onto and into and I dreamed of experiencing one of his installations.  So when I learned that Saraceno was chosen as the artist to appear on the roof of the Met this summer I was very excited.  Part of my enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that this is the Argentinian artist’s first major commission in the United States.

Cloud City is the largest and most ambitious structure in a series of works called Cloud Cities/Airport City. The work on the roof of the Met is a "constellation of sixteen interconnected multipolygonal modules linked in a nonlinear configuration.”  That’s a description that probably suits an artist who was originally trained as an architect.  It certainly doesn't accurately represent the art.  Cloud City is a three dimensional, human-sized bee hive of Plexiglas and mirror-finished steel. From the outside it forces you to see your environment even as it asks you to focus solely on the work of art. Each time you try to focus on the sculpture, you’re given reflected views and vistas of the world that surrounds you.  From the inside it’s a world of fun-house mirrors that force you to confront images of yourself, almost to infinity; a surprisingly contemplative work.  The curators at the Met suggest this work is an “investigation of how to expand the ways in which we inhabit and experience our environment.”  I loved it.  Here are a few photos. (By the way, no cameras are allowed inside the structure.  It helps to have a friend on the ground taking picture while you're inside.)

At the Whitney, Yayoi Kusama's Fireflies on the Water was a much different experience.  For this work, you wait patiently in a white gallery for 10 to 15 minutes.  When your turn arrives, a gallery attendant opens a door in the wall of the gallery, let's you into the sculpture, and starts a stopwatch, giving you 60 seconds inside.   During that minute, you're enclosed in a dark, mirrored room.  You walk out on a small gangplank to stand on a tiny platform in the middle of the room.  You're surrounded by still water.  Tiny LED lights are suspended from the ceiling.  The mirrored walls of the room (including the ceiling) create an infinite space that expands the perception of not just space, but also time.  It's a call to contemplation; a moment to ponder not just our place in the present, but our place in the universe.  

No photos were allowed inside Fireflies on the Water.  So instead, I offer a portrait of Kusama inside the work of art. And just for fun, I'm also posting a photo I took of a Louis Vuitton window display in Tokyo.  Louis Vuitton created a line of products designed by Kusama at about the same time her show debuted at the Whitney.  I saw several window displays for the products, but only at this Tokyo store did the strange visage of Kusama that is seen in the portrait make another appearance.

Whitney Biennial

Wow!  I'm really behind on posting.  Yes, the Whitney Biennial ended weeks ago.  And I actually saw the show clear back in April.  But that's not going to stop me from posting this:

Every other year the Whitney Museum of American Art hosts it biennial. And the Art world takes note.  That's because the Whitney Biennial has an impressive track record of defining the Art world's zeitgeist.  And in doing so, they help define the history of humanity. This was my third Whitney Biennial and so far, it's been my favorite.  Here are a few of the works that inspired me.

Nick Mauss offered a lovely work titled Concern, Crush, Desire (2011, cotton applique on velvet, brass door knobs, and doorstoppers). The interactive nature of the work surprised viewers and asked us to consider the role of museums in our society.  The installation also included a number of works from the Whitney's collection, an ingenious way of looking back while propelling Art into the future.

Liz Deschenes had two works in the biennial.  Both were stunning.  I'm not sure exactly what's going on in these "photographs." The images seem more like panels of stainless steel than gelatin silver prints.  I'd definitely hang these in my home.  Here is Untitled (2011, four silver-toned gelatin silver prints).

Pipe Organ (2009 - 2011, tin, paint, speakers, wire, and Yamaha organ) by Lutz Bacher is startling. The work is a mechanical organ that plays relentlessly as you wander the galleries. With a robotic-like device that changes the slow, methodic music, this work has a charm that only an early electronic keyboard can provide.  And yet, there was a sinister aspect to the piece.  The giant pipes from a derelict organ felt more like missiles left over from a war. And the constant musical drive could easily be heard as a strange military march. I wonder if Bacher isn't reminding us that humanity seems intent on an endless need for war.

Sick, Sic, Six, Sic ((Not) Moving): Seagullssssssssssssssssssss. (2018, monofilament, wood, hardware, and textured tape) by Cameron Crawford is a response to the death of six people the artist knew. The work is dated six years in the future and is designed to always be redated to six years ahead of the current time, offering a sense of the impossibility of comprehending loss and death. Most intersting is the museum tape on the floor. Even though you can't access both sides of the almost non-existent wall.  It's as if the artist is suggesting that those on the other side of the vail are being asked to stay a few feet away from the artwork.  It makes one wonder if there are grumpy gallery attendants on the other side of the artwork chastising ghosts for getting too close to the Art.

Elaine Reichek reminds us that craft matters with a variety of works created with hand and machine embroidery.  Here is There's No Need (2011, hand embroidery on linen).

There were several walls covered with the tantalizing monotypes of Nicole Eisenman. The work is called  Untitled (2011, Forty-five mixed-media monotypes).

At this point, I have to talk about one of the weird themes that shouted loud and clear from the Whitney Biennial.  That theme? The vintage record player. Record players were surprising popular at this year's biennial. For example, Tom Thayer presented a variety of works that were so confusing (yet strangely delightful) that I couldn't tell which work was which, even with the Whitney's helpful guide.  Nonetheless, the installation featured not one, but two old record players.

Here is another record playing that was playing loudly in the gallery.  It was part of Dawn Kasper's installation, This Could Be Something If I Let It.  More on that piece later in the post.

Even video artists seem to have ditched high-tech sound for old record players as seen in this still from This Project is not Going to Stop the War/Journey to the Beginning of Time, part of an installation created by Joanna Malinowska.

Malinowska offered some of the most interesting work in show including a work constructed from replicas of mammoth and walrus tusks.  The work referenced Marcel Duchamp's work, Bottle Rack.  But my favorite work in Malinowska's installation was a wall she had the museum staff construct within the museum.  It was just another gallery wall.  But in a brilliant move to skirt the curators, Malinowska chose to hang a painting by an artist not included in the official Whitney Biennial. That painting was Horse Nation (2011, oil on canvas) by Leonard Peltier and it's not the type of painting you normally see at the Whitney.  Here's a photo:

Peltier, a Native American activist, was convicted in the 70s of killing two FBI agents during a riot on a reservation. He is still in prison. Many activists have brought forward evidence that undermines the case against Peltier. By hanging his painting as part of the Biennial, Malinowska not only short circuits curatorial traditions, she brings attention to his activist causes, and draws attention to the fact that for an institution named the Whitney Museum of American Art, very few indigenous Americans are represented within its walls.  That's a pretty bold move.

As promised, here's more information about Dawn Kasper's intriguing work, This Could Be Something If I Let It.  Kasper has been without a studio since 2009 when she lost her job and could no longer afford the space. Born in 1977, Kasper is young enough that she's part of a generation that finds itself in a world where employment can be tricky.  But rather than move back in with her parents, like many of her generation, she turned the experience into art, starting a "nomadic studio practice." Kasper began treating temporary situations as though they were her studio.  For the Whitney Biennial, she took over one gallery, and unpacked all of her belongings.  For almost all of the museum's open hours, she was in her nomadic studio or elsewhere in the museum. You could wander through her studio as she painted or created mini installations or chatted with museum goers.  She was even happy to pause for a portrait:

I also liked the textures of an artist that came alive in the gallery, showing viewers the process of how art is made:

Lastly, I can't end this post without talking about the Whitney Biennial's commitment to performance art.  The entire fourth floor was dedicated to performance with many elements changing throughout the run of the exhibit.  On the day we were there (as if the curators knew I'm a dance fan), a choreographer was rehearsing a future work to be performed at a later date.  It was so cool to be standing in the Whitney's massive fourth floor gallery and watching dancers rehearse.  I'll end with a photograph and a short video of the rehearsal.