Welcome to the wreckage.

Finally, I’ve taken the plunge and decided to remodel my disaster of a bathroom. For me, this type of project does nothing but inspire stress. First on the list, is demolition and there was nothing in my bathroom worth saving. So the demolition has been fairly radical—currently it looks like something you’d find in a post-war ruin. Here are a few photos:

Inkcicle.

Is it just me, or is the Guggenheim totally OK with letting artists mess up the museum? Remember when Matthew Barney scaled the walls while Richard Serra ladled molten petroleum jelly into a gutter that ran down the entire length of the spiral walkway.

And then on my most recent visit, there was an untitled work by Kitty Kraus. It was made from, and I quote, “Ice, ink, light fixture, cable, and light bulb, dimensions variable.” Basically, Kraus freezes a light bulb attached to cord in a block of ice and ink. (There's got to be some risk of electrical shock, right?) Then, she places the block in the middle of a gallery, plugs it in, a lets the whole mess melt. The result, a big giant black mark on those beautiful Guggenheim terrazzo floors. I hope it doesn’t stain.

And there was one other piece of art. Behind the inkcicle was a nearly invisible glass work hanging high on the wall. But don’t get anywhere near it. The gallery attendant stopped me well short saying, “We’re afraid it might fall on someone.”

Oh don’t ask what it means. Who cares? I just love messy, dangerous museum visits.

Both photos: Kitty Kraus
Untitled, 2009
Ice, ink, light fixture, cable, and lightbulb, dimensions variable
Courtesy Galerie Neu, Berlin, and the artist
Installation view, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 2009
Photo: David Heald © The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York

Welcome to Wonderland.

This last summer, I wrote a post about the SBDance performance, Drosselmeyer, Inc. After that review, SBDance founder Stephen Brown contacted me to ask if he could give my contact information to Jerry Rapier, the producing director for Plan B Theatre. I agreed and soon received an e-mail from Mr. Rapier saying he’d read my post and wanted to know if he could add me to his press list. Since almost no one takes my blog seriously (in fact is any body even reading this), I was flattered by the request. That means I intend to attend as many Plan B performances as possible and to write about every single one.

That said, I have to admit that Plan B has visited the pages of Viva Variety before. About a year ago, I wrote about Radio Hour Frankenstein. So it’s fitting that a year later, I’ve returned to the Rose Wagner for this year’s Radio Hour, Alice—an adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland.

Let’s get the bad out of the way first. This was a lot of story to cram into 60 minutes. Because of that, some moments in the show were confusing and hard to follow. But I’m not sure what I would have cut. It’s hard to present a version of Alice in Wonderland without all those classic characters like the White Rabbit, the March Hare, the Chesire Cat, the Mad Hatter, and the Caterpillar. That’s a lot of character to develop in 60 minutes.

On the flip side there was a lot of good. The story really got going with the arrival of the Queen of Cups. You forget how truly scary this story is. And the Queen of Cups brings on the horror. I loved the way the story built to demands for beheading just about everyone. And Mathew Ivan Bennett’s adaptation ended big, with chilling effect.

All the performers are to be commended but I’ll call out two in particular. David Evanoff’s music is fantastic. If you were to listen to this show on the radio, you’d swear there was a whole band of musicians performing the soundtrack. Sure Evanoff is using a lot of computers, but he’s still working hard. And it’s fun to see him perform live.

Even more fun than Evanoff’s performance is that of Foley artist Daisy Blake. The sound effects make the story more exciting, but watching how it’s done is well worth the price of admission. And sound engineers Mark and Eric Robinette get big kudos for the brilliant audio.

I’ve heard a rumor that this may be the last Radio Hour from Plan B. If it is, that will make me sad. All the more reason to see this show live. It runs through October 31. At the very least, you can hear it broadcast live on KUER (90.1) on October 30 at 11:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m.

Some serious paper cuts.

I went to the Museum of Arts and Design (MAD) to see Read My Pins but I was absolutely blown away by Slash: Paper Under the Knife. This is one of the coolest exhibitions I’ve seen in a while. Mainly because it pleases on a variety of levels—whether it’s the sheer craftsmanship, the whimsy and wonder, or the focus on human experience. And it features a cavalcade of today's hottest artists, all of whom regularly use paper in their work. If you’re in NYC between now and April 10, 2010 see this show.

When you head to the galleries, don’t take the stairs. Take the elevator to the fourth floor. Because the effect when the elevator opens onto Andreas Kocks' black-splattered Paperwork #9356 (2009) is spectacular. And if that isn’t enough, you’re also confronted by The Triumph of Good and Evil (2009) by Chris Gilmour. It’s obvious that this sculpture is made from cardboard. But it’s so monolithic, that it defies the quotidian nature of the material.

While much of this show is jaw-droppingly fun, there’s plenty of work that is more subtle and just as interesting. Nava Lubelski’s Crush (2008) is a paper terrain created from cut and shredded love letters received while the artist was coming to grips with his homosexuality. Or how about the strangely beautiful Placebos (2008-09). This work was created by Celio Braga using the prescription-medicine instructions of friends and family.

Thomas Demand’s Shed (2006) was a three dimensional paper recreation of a found photograph, which was then photographed. Olafur Elisson offered Your House (2006), an editioned work of laser-cut, blank pages that created an architectural void inside the pages of a book. Tom Friedman gave us Quaker Oats (2009), which featured hundreds of Quaker Oats boxes. It looked like a frozen, digital effect from the breakfast scene in some sci-fi film.

My pick for best work in the show is Oliver Herring’s Alex (2009). Herring’s meticulous, existential works approach human experience in thoughtful, startling ways. Alex is a haunting work that stares deep into your eyes, searching for secrets.

As the ultimate museum-photography killjoys, MAD doesn’t even allow you to take pictures in the lobby. Which is too bad because the lobby featured Andrea’s Mastrovito’s Nothing Left to Do But Cry (2009), a paper, storm-driven ocean complete with sinking pirate ship all hanging upside down from the ceiling. Amazing.

Oh I know the real art critics like to trash shows like this as too friendly, too forced, too haphazard, too something. But I say critics be damned. Because sometimes, you want to be reminded that art isn’t just for the critics or the billionaire collectors. It’s also for people who want to spend an afternoon at a museum and walk away feeling inspired.

I also say museum photography bans be damned. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I can still show photographs of works from Slash: Paper Under the Knife. Well at least until I get a cease and desist order.

MAD's new building which opened in September 2008 at 2 Columbus Circle.

Me trying to take a self portrait in front of the building.

Andreas Kocks, Paper work #9356, 2009

Graphite on Hahnemuhle Cornwall paper

Chris Gilmour, The Triumph of Good and Evil, 2009

Cardboard, glue

Celio Braga, Placebos, 2008-09

Medicine instructions, clear tape, paper, c-print cutouts

Olafur Eliasson, Your House, 2006,

Laser cut and hand-bound book, edition of 225

Tom Friedman, Quaker Oats, 2009

Quaker Oats boxes, Quaker Oats, glue

Oliver Herring creating Alex, 2009

Digital c-prints, museum board, foamcore, polystyrene

Politically pinned.

There’s been a lot of press recently about Madeleine Albright’s new book, Read My Pins. And although it may add fuel to the argument that I’m really an old lady (because if there was ever museum show created for old ladies, this is it), I was intrigued. So I stopped by New York City’s Museum of Arts and Design to take a look and the corresponding exhibition.

Although located in a smallish gallery, there was plenty to see with hundreds of pins and brooches on display, many of which were inexpensive costume jewelry. However, there’s more to this show than just a bunch a pins. That’s because Albright used pins as a communication device during diplomatic meetings. It all started a long time ago when Seddam Hussein called Albright a snake. So Albright showed up at her next diplomatic meeting with Iraq sporting an antique gold snake pin (see inset photo).

After that, Albright made a habit of wearing brooches meant to communicate something about her diplomatic intensions. When Albright felt Russian officials were ignoring human-rights violation in Chechnya, she wore a trio of monkeys in classic hear-no-evil, speak-no-evil, see-no-evil poses. When she needed to convey a tough message, she often wore wasp pins to deliver an extra sting. There were pins made from chunks of the Berlin Wall. Pins designed to appeal to children. Pins given to Albright by diplomats and world leaders. Suffragette pins. Crude ceramic heart pins made by Albriht’s young daughter. Even a giant lobster pin that (if I’d been allowed to take pictures) would have inspired a post entitled Art Lobster: Old Lady Edition.

The pins were fun to look at. But the best part of the exhibit was the accompanying stories, many of which were surprisingly emotional. Take the story of a young man who lost his mother in hurricane Katrina. He approached Albright and told her that his mother was a big fan of the secretary of state and that she knew Albright loved and wore pins. In tribute to his mother, he gave Albright a diamond and jewel pin that was given to his mother by his father as an anniversary gift.

Yes, I spent an hour surrounded by women, most of whom were older. But I’m happy to embrace my inner old lady. Because Read My Pins offered a strange mix of whimsy, history, and emotion that made me happy.

Gold and the Guggenheim.

Just this past week, I made my first visit to the Guggenheim New York. I went specifically to see the exhibit Paired, Gold: Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Roni Horn.

But before I get to that, let’s talk about museum lines. Because it always amazes me how many people show up to New York museums. I arrived at the Guggenheim ten minutes before it was set to open and already there was a line around the block.

But at least waiting in line gave me a chance to enjoy the museum's architecture.

Even as I left the museum an hour later, there was a still a long line of people waiting to get in.

I don’t think the people in line were there to see Paired, Gold based on the reaction I got from the audio tour attendants when I asked if the audio tour included information about the gold show. (It didn’t, by the way.) Everyone was there to see the big Kandinsky exhibit (and it was big). I was on a tight schedule with less than a full day to hit several museum shows. So I skipped the Kandinsky and headed to the farthest reaches of the Guggenheim to see the Felix Gonzalez-Torres works.

I have to say, the publicity for Paired, Gold made it seem like this was a fairly big show. In reality, it was two works, one by Gonzalez-Torres and the other by Roni Horn. These works were shown together because Horn influenced the work of Gonzalez-Torres and vice versa. I’d recently seen the same Gonzalez-Torres work on display at SFMOMA. So I was a little disappointed because I was hoping to see some of the artist’s work that I hadn’t seen before. But it’s still a dang cool work of art and it offered all the magic and intrusiveness that you expect from Gonzalez-Torres.

This was the first time I’d seen any art by Roni Horn. Her work, Gold Field consists of two pounds of gold (and we're talking the real stuff) pressed into a mat. I’d read about the work but had never even seen pictures of it. It wasn’t what I expected. I thought two pounds of gold would feel dense and weighty. But surprisingly, two pounds of gold pressed into a shape roughly the size of a door mat looks fragile and ethereal, almost translucent.

The Guggenheim doesn’t allow photography anywhere in the museum except the lobby (killjoys). But fortunately, they do offer press photos on their Web site. You can use the photos as long give the provided photo credit. So here’s the photo followed by the credit.

Installation view: Paired, Gold: Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Roni Horn, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, October 2, 2009–January 6, 2010 Works shown, foreground: Felix Gonzalez-Torres, “Untitled” (Golden), 1995; background: Roni Horn, Gold Field, 1980–82 
Photo: David Heald © The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York

Welcome to the new neighborhood.

After years of planning, rezoning, and what seems like endless starts and stops, the new condos next to my house are finally nearing completion. And this is what it now looks like next door.

With such a fancy dancy building next door, my house is looking a little tired. So I’m working on fixing things up. First fix was a new fence. Sure I’m still waiting for my gate even though I ordered it three months ago. But with the landscaping in next door, the new fence is looking great.

I also had my crumbly chimneys repaired and they’ve never looked better.

Next up, a new paint job.