I’m ashamed to confess before Friday I haven’t entered a gallery space nearly 3 months. I was indulging myself with studio visits which provided a direct approach, understanding and experiencing of art and neglected to catch a few very good shows. So I got myself out of Brooklyn and ventured onto to Chelsea, which made me feel like a hermit coming out of her shell again with all that crowd and noise and officialdom. I recently had dinner with an ex-boss who’s a German transplant and Manhattan lover, engrossing himself in the noise and the incessant busy body syndrome typical of the city. I suggested he come to Williamsburg for dinner and upon arriving at Bedford he said he felt an immediate ease and stuffed his hands in pockets whilst strolling carelessly up and down Bedford. I love that I can be in that environment everyday but must admit I do miss living and working in the city sometimes. The self-appointed VIP status, the click clacking of heels, the ego tripping competition. Actually what am I talking about I don’t miss it at all!
Enlightenment Means Living a Life Unconcernedly, 2008, acrylic on canvas, 76 3/8 x 102 in, via Gagosian site
As I was saying, there were a few great shows, my favorite being the one and only Yayoi Kusama. She is a role model for me in ways in that she’s overcome boundaries that might have been set for her as an emerging artist being asian and female and a bit psychotic. I’ve found myself sympathizing with her paintings, drawings, sculptures and performances with such eery similitude that it leads me to question my sanity. She is obsessed with dots and its invasion of visual perspective. She repeats with small little swoops of gesture revealing uneven circles thtat populate a canvas suggesting no beginning or end. She in essence obliterates the world through these invasive forms. Theres a sick childplay hinting through each curve, made stronger by use of horrendously bright and neon colors, candy coated and manufactured. It’s prestinely Japanese in its enforced silence and studious repetitive rigor, deceivingly disturbing and light-hearted. Starring into these paintings my eyes would bug out as the colors and dots undulated and all I can picture are those beady eyes starring intently at the picture mindlessly repeating gestures.
I was breathtaken and frozen in place upon walking into an enclosed room, its interior covered in mirrors on all sides with a platform leading you to the center. Small flickering lights dangle from the ceiling by the hundreds. After about a minute it shuts off and you stand in silence listening to your uneven breath and slowly, and one by one each light crescendos until a beaming symphony of brightness fills you up with dots onto infinity. It was mesmerizing and I teared at its awesomeness and surreality. If you see anything in Chelsea the next few weeks I suggest you not miss the Kusama show at Gagosian.
Me as Yayoi last Halloween invading walls and people with dots. Everyone thought I was chicken pox.
UPDATE: A frenchie friend whom I met in college and has since returned to her homeland sent me this hysterical message regarding this enchanted room:
“Dude! It’s crazy! This enclosed room was in France two years ago, and I visited it. Even better I actually had sex in it (there was nobody around obviously). I know it’s unbelievable, but I did. And it was incredible. OK. I am a French whore, but hell, it was worth it. There was this incredible enclosed room, and nobody around, and then you know, one thing led to another, yadiyadi yada (haha!) Oh, and when we got out, we realised there was a camera connected to my boyfriend’s dad’s office.
So to this day, I still don’t know if he saw us..Anyway, I’ll come to NYC when I’ll have enough money, which isn’t till soon :(((((
I miss our debauchery too, take care you cunt xxxxxxxxx”