Unexpected Singularity

Our friends went for the Full Virginia: from the beach to a mountaintop and--of course--the sweet hill country in between.

We had just said goodbye to some dear friend visitors from New York and to chase away the sadness, I went for a run through the neighborhood and down into the woods. I was met by a feeling I did not expect.

As I rolled through the hills, amidst the yellow storm of pollen; past the banks of iris; along brick sidewalks and faux-brick painted asphalt crosswalks that light up and make cars stop; past farm houses and Belmont Bungaloes, stacks of spare construction materials; hearing country music, rock-and-roll, blues and young couples arguing about sex; smelling wisteria, honeysuckle and barbeque; giving and receiving suggestive glances; in an arena defined by surrounding mountains, old-seeming roads, and walls of poison ivy, I was keenly aware of how singular this place is.

By showing my friends around my favorite places, I quite naturally focused on what's good and what's unique. I had a wonderful time just spending time with them and stay-cationing in a place that's just as great to visit as to live. It was a good reminder of what I love and how well we live.

As I cruised back to my happy little house, seat of my happy life, the echoes of my friends laughter were waiting of course but there was something else: a refreshing contentment, as if waking from a good nights sleep on a bright, clear morning.

Richmond Rocks

Who says art is not affordable? It's good to see Richmond's tobacco infrastructure being repurposed for the arts.

I hadn’t really explored Richmond very much but my recent trip was a good introduction to the art scene there. There are some cool places

The main thing I realized is that it is a legitimate mid-sized city with all the cultural possibilities and interactions that status brings. Charlottesville, by contrast, is a small city—one that overachieves in a big way—but small nevertheless.

The biggest eye-opener was the Visual Arts Center—a gorgeous facility (better than any university I’ve seen) dedicated to community service through art instruction. It was abuzz with activity—in this case youth getting off the street and into the arts. It’s quite different from McGuffey that’s more about small but intense conversations.

Richmond boasts several first-rate galleries and refreshingly friendly compared to New York. The city is still small enough that everyone seems invested in growing the pie rather than dividing it up. There seems to be limitless studio space--much of it concentrated in the riotous Plant Zero | ArtWorks complex. The former was cool and the latter gave me artigo and made me appreciate McGuffey's curatorial filter.

There is plenty of funk—thrift shops, cafes, bookstores, quirky architecture—everything you would want. I was thinking about it on the drive home but I love where I am. You gotta love places (and people) for what they are and Charlottesville works for me.

It’s cool to know about this other interesting place down the road.

If the Landlord Wants it and the People Want it, What's the Problem?

In the past week, two great new murals have appeared. Both have strong messages and strong Art-Historical pedigrees and both were done with the approval of the landlord. The pictured image (under Belmont Bridge) is NOT however the subject of this post.

In the most recent Spotlight discussion, someone put forth a notion I'll call the Breeden Doctrine. We were talking about what it takes for a piece of renegade public art to last and she said it's quite simple: if it's good, the public will embrace it and allow it to stay. Therefore, if we want more public art, artists need to simply get their stuff out there--a leap of courage--and do good stuff.

Right now in Charlottesville, we see that dynamic playing out in real time.

About two weeks ago, a group of students from a local high school got together with a local bookstore/artspace to paint a huge mural on the exterior of the latter's downtown space, which is located in a fair dilapidated stretch but right in the middle of town.

Literally before the paint had dried, the City's Architectural Review Board threatened to fine the store for modifying the space without a permit. The mural depicts a Native American from Edward Curtis' famous series of portraits from the turn of the last century.

Aside from ruffling the quaintness cops' general aversion to any departure from the Jeffersonian style, the mural sits directly opposite the Lewis and Clark monument, complete with Sacagawea cowering behind the great white men. So the big impressive Indian Chief could seem like a thumb in the eye to some; it's certainly a response.

But you know what? Everyone I've spoken to loves the mural and the creative community seems to have rallied behind it. Even members of the ARB don't seem too upset--they just want their application and fee. So I think it will stay.

Some of the comments I've seen on local discussion fora worry about the precedent: would this not open the door to a monumental portrait of Hitler, for example. I think the answer is no: the public would not accept something they hate. This piece will be allowed to remain because it's right for the location--and a very fine painting.

Of course there's more to it (here| here | here) but it's an interesting question and it's inspiring to see artists inserting their voice into the public sphere, being slapped for it--and defended.

When the Furrier Flies

Liz had a Times photographer with her who shot some nice images here using a DSLR but this was an occasion where my S90 was probably a better tool for the job. A high-end point-and-shoot it is very strong in low light but its best feature in an occasion like this is its very humble appearance. No one minded me poking my toy-looking camera around or changed their behavior at all, which is very good in such a emotionally charged, intimate moment.

One of the best things about my job is visiting the myriad people and places along the Marathon route. The reason why it's such a cool event is because it's in New York: home of eccentrics, maniacs, and endless variety.

While she was writing her book about the Marathon, my friend Liz connected with an old man furrier (is there any other kind?) in Greenpoint named Irving Feller. When she heard he was going out of business, she had to make one last visit. She let me tag along.

Liz did a great job of describing Irving's sanctum of solitude, so I won't attempt (and fail) to duplicate her work. Instead I'll just share a few quick impressions.

She and I share a hearty reverence for the bygone and disappearing, the surprising and the gritty; all of these traits are abundant in Irving's musty piles of personal history. I never knew the guy, and I would not exactly call him friendly, but somehow I'm sad to see him go. For all his crankiness he's endearing and he possesses an integrity that demands immediate respect. He's not pretending anything.

Someone asked me what seemed the most valuable and in a room full of sables and minks, I did not hesitate: I went straight to an old dresser completely filled with ballpoint pen drawings Irving executed during the increasingly abundant spare time of a failing businessman and polymath artist. His daughter gave me one and I'll definitely honor it.

The streets of New York are lined with metal gates over storefronts with "For Rent" signs and each shuttered enterprise is someone's dream realized--and ended. What a privilege to be given entree into one such life story! The new is built upon the old, and there is much nourishment to be found in that composting soil.

Irving's place provided plenty of food for inspiration.

Notes from Spotlight 11.1: Official Public Art

Photo: Art in Place

MCGUFFEY ART CENTER
16 February 2011

Notes compiled by Linsey Mears

Elizabeth Breeden gives an overview of the Art in Place program, funded through the city’s 1% for art fund. The monies were originally designated for art (that was never realized) at the Water Street parking garage.

She explains a rule of official public art: publicly-owned pieces must be maintained in their original form of creation by the owning entity, or they must be returned/destroyed. This leads to a discussion about Tom Givens’ Whale Tail on the 250 bypass, destroyed by a microburst storm. The sculpture was replaced by a new generation of three smaller whale tails, at the time and expense of the artist. Also the notion of temporality of public art and its dependency on engineering and materials. Rick Brown’s tree sculpture [pictured] in McIntire Park, visible from the 250 bypass, is an example: formed from a fallen tree, it is ephemeral.

More practicalities of Art in Place: the artist retains ownership of his/her piece and is responsible for insuring it, generally with a 1-2 million dollar liability policy. There is no formal selection process for the city to purchase Art in Place pieces. Selections are generally based on the number of positive emails the city receives about each piece.

Breeden introduces another program she’s currently working on—a public art project in conjunction with the Jefferson School and Vinegar Hill, an historically African-American community in Charlottesville that was razed during “urban renewal” of the 1960s-70s. The art project is slated to launch on Juneteenth (June 19th, emancipation day) 2012. Also mentioned is a UVA student-made memorial in the works to honor the enslaved laborers

Beth Turner talks about UVa’s commitment to public art. She’s on the advisory committee to UVa’s president. She had much to do with the Calder Foundation’s lending of a Calder sculpture for Central Grounds. Shares that a Henry Moore bronze will be coming to the terrace of the Bayley Art Museum grounds.

Brings up considerations of public art—the effect on and relationship with contextual space of a work. Then there are the “care and feeding” considerations like lighting and security. Discussion about the Sanda Iliescu piece, Lines of Darkness and Light, an installation of black fabric on the columns of the Rotunda. President Sullivan wants UVa’s public art to open up the dialogue for change.

Turner emphasizes the value for artists of walking through an application process. UVa’s public art application exists online and any artist may apply. http://www.virginia.edu/arts/ (click on Resources link). She suggests looking at the NEA application as a model, and making a specific plan to present, then gathering supporters and stakeholders to help see it through.

Peter Krebs brings up the issue of the public artist’s need for project management. Discussion about artist as project manager, Michaelangelo and Richard Serra as models of artist-managers, and the need for education on the subject for artists.

George Sampson, head of the Arts Administration program at UVa, talks about the program. It began in Spring 2006 and has graduated 1000 students so far. He announces the Design Thinking mashup, a symposium at UVa School of Architecture Feb 22-23 2011. Its purpose is “to explore collaboration, creative research, and community in creative problem solving techniques.”

Aaron Eichorst, an artist and arts educator, describes his current public art project involving elementary school students. The piece will be a mosaic covering a bridge at a Habitat for Humanity site. Brings up discussion about artist as facilitator and agile thinker. The importance of the way artists approach and process a problem, and the inherent value of the artist’s thoughts. In Seattle, the city officially places an artist on every aspect of city planning.

Maggie Guggenheimer, director of Piedmont Council of the Arts, shares some of her experiences with public art administration. In 2008, PCA began the Storyline Project in Charlottesville, as an expansive, creative solution to a Cville Parks and Rec bus needing a new paint job.

Since then the Storyline Project has implemented a collaborative public art piece on the free speech monument on the downtown mall, a history walk, a Belmont wall project, and presently a Rivanna river walk. Guggenheimer describes the project as providing transformative experiences for both the participants and the artists/designers involved. She reminds us that the free speech wall is a readily available public resource for anyone—just contact the city.

Brings up an op-ed piece in the Hook about a recent drawing and erasure on the free speech wall that some may consider pushing the boundaries of acceptable speech and of censorship.
Discussion of the artist’s loss of control once art is put into the public context. An example is Nini Baekstrom’s public sculpture Terra Woman, which has been added to by individuals, thereby changing the artist’s intent. Is it an inherent aspect of public art or is it just bad manners? Breeden notes that all vandalism she knows of on the Art in Place pieces has been alcohol-induced.

Discussion of the meaning of official public art. Some ideas: public art as a dialogue between artist/architect and the landscape to achieve a harmonious interaction with a space; public art as the visual expression of a community’s heart.

More about Spotlight | More about McGuffey

Changing Spaces

A more rational division of display versus work space is more conducive to mental clarity and creativity.

The other night, a friend of mine was criticizing my studio set-up for being too much of a workshop and not the type of place that makes someone want to buy art. The best work was relegated to corners and the new projects (such as Monticello Road), which I had presented front-and-center, are not yet to a stage of realization where commerce can come into play.

I try not to give too much credence to unsolicited feedback, even (or especially) from my friends, but I couldn’t easily dismiss her logic. A little reorganization could both highlight what I’m currently working on and put my finished work in a far better light. Spring is a time to freshen things up and my time had come.

As I write this, I’m in the process of reorganizing my studio with an emphasis on visual logic. One clean wall has museum-quality work. A second big wall has affordable art, presented in a friendly manner. My largest wall, which is next to my desk, flat file and worktable has new stuff hung with thumbtacks so I can easily move it around—or out. The place looks better, but there is also more clarity about where I’ve been, where I’m going and how it fits together. It works better and is more conducive to creative thinking.

On a separate track that I now see is related, Meredith and I have been itching to transform our living space as well. We knew the house would need some changes when we bought it but we wanted to live in awhile to really get to know the place first. It seems that we’re ready for a change, even if we still don’t know what we want.

To that end we’ve brought a series of architects through our home to get estimates and we’ve gained a lot just by listening to them. Frankly, many of their best—and in retrospect most obvious—ideas are things we’d never considered. One of the coolest things we learned is that we could make some impactful changes without spending a lot of money: punching through a wall or judiciously enlarging a window, for example. Many ideas that we love will require cash that we do not yet possess and will have to wait.

For now, we’re going to use some of our tax refund to retain one of the firms to create a set of detailed measurements and drawings of what we have and provide a few scenarios, ranging from simple to elaborate. Then we’ll get to work on the pieces we can manage and have a direction forward.

We are products of our surroundings and the spaces where we live and work are more easily transformed than we might expect. When we enliven our environment, we inject new energy into our lives. It’s a process that is easily neglected but so important for living a creative, fulfilling life.

A Clank and a Howl of Laughter

A "Clank!" followed by a howl of laughter can only herald one thing.

I was working in my garden when I heard a sure harbinger of Spring: my neighbor Chloe's musical laughter ringing through the warm, moist Virginia air.

I went up the short hill to say hello and found her enjoying a game of bocce and a glass of Vinho verdi with her friend Kate. I told them about my project and asked if I could photograph them and they said "Of course."

Afterward, they offered me a glass of wine and a round of boules and I said, "Yes and yes." I summoned my best inner-old-frenchman and enjoyed a perfect and very spontaneous aperitif.

This is why my neighborhood--and Monticello Road--is so great.

The Hummus Revolution

This picture doesn't match the subject matter exactly but it's new and I like it. Maybe it's more about how nature pulls things down instead of pushing them up, but it's really all part of the same story isn't it?

Springtime comes as a a shock every year--suddenly backyard and garden are in full riot--but it shouldn't. The vivacious life we see all over the place in April is always there but it's hidden under the leaves and in the soil. The real action is at the bacterial level, weeks and months of plotting and planning in a fully decentralized way. By the time shoots break the surface, it's just a few days until full flowering and winter's dreary cloak shoved aside without possibility of reversal.

Where does it come from? Broadly speaking the answer is "the soil," the unorganized hummus left over from what came before. The ground we walk on is alive and the source of all things.

I'm really interested to see how humans manifest the same pattern. Who organized the current upheaval in the Middle East? The answer is dispersed, quite different from the Nineteenth and Twentieth Century revolutions with their parties and manifestos. It came from the People. In a world where information is widely shared and communications dispersed, there is a new process for developing ideas. It's less like a brain and more like a gut, which is how the garden works and its power is unmistakable--and difficult or impossible to control.

The creative spirit works the same way. The artist channels unnameable energies from unknown sources toward an unknowable end and this is why poets and musicians always show up on the barricades. In a time of great uncertainty, the artist is in his element. We're well accustomed to getting all muddy and we have work to do.

Why am I doing this?

The Auto Body shop has a pretty clear purpose within the life of the neighborhood. What about the artist?

What is the artist’s role in the day-to-day life of the community?

That is a difficult question, a heresy in some circles. The butcher and the baker know, why not artists? Don’t we owe our neighbors something better than “to differentiate humanity from savagery” and other such vague evasions? That stuff’s not good enough for me anymore. Even if an artist’s contributions are not as direct as, say, the postman's I firmly believe that the artist is an essential part of the civic organism. But how?

Someone told me the other day that the arts define what we, as a people, are. So the artist’s role is two-fold: investigative researcher and maker of symbols around which a community may rally. The best art defines a time and a place so strongly it lasts into posterity but it can also serve a purpose right here and now.

As I walk along Monticello Road, I’m getting to know the community in which I live and as I talk to the people I meet, I’m learning about them and they about me. We’re sharing and learning and I’m keeping track with my notebook and my camera. When the exhibition takes place, they will see my impressions but the works will also be touchstones to provoke conversation, which is the glue that cements a community together.

I hope that my explorations will help me understand the place where I live and knit me more intricately into the web of human relationships there. By sharing my investigations and giving them physical form, I hope to strengthen bonds within an already tightly-knit community and to endow this fascinating community with a sense of place that is larger than the individual people and places it comprises.

This is a broad task and it seems a tad philosophical or abstract but it is also very concrete. It is the sum of day-to-day encounters and conversations with the people and places I see every day. It’s as real and essential as the other activities happening around the neighborhood every day.

a little crazy

There’s nothing good about an inch of ice on the sidewalk, but there’s nothing not to like about a gigantic snowman with a farm-fresh carrot nose—that’s apparently been stolen.

During my last visit to New York, one of my Road Runners friends asked a question that touches the core of this blog. “When you’re here do you ever think we’re crazy for the way we live?”

Well, yes.

It was especially bad this time amid talk of laying off 20,000 (!) teachers—basically anyone hired in the last five years. Streets had not been plowed because (a) the Sani workers wanted to send a message or (b) there had just been big cuts or (c) incompetent leadership.

Responses to the above varied according to union affiliation and/or attraction to conspiracy theories. Trash piled in man-sized mounds and everyone was grateful that the sub-freezing temps kept the smell and vermin at bay. A novel solution: instead of picking up trash, place it in deep freeze, kind of like left-over turkey parts from Thanksgiving. Wait a minute: those are leftovers from Thanksgiving!

These dark thoughts swam in my head as I ice-skated down the un-shoveled sidewalk to a final brunch date before catching the train back to Virginia. After five minutes in a great café with my friend Amelia, I couldn’t care less about the street conditions. The people are what keep me coming back and they’re still amazing, inspiring, and full of surprises.

After brunch, she took me on a tour of her new gallery and my mind was repeatedly blown away by the things I saw. She showed me a video of a dance performance from Brazil that was gorgeous in its simplicity. The other works on display explore some of the issues that are front and center in my own practice and they do what art does best: reminds us that we are not alone in our emotions. I felt invigorated and ready to jump back into life, somehow restored.

Then it was time for me to rush off to the train station after a quick hug and a last smile. I’ll be glad to return to warmer and greener climes but I’m easily reminded how great it is in New York and why we went there in the first place. It’s all very exceptional and a little bit crazy.

Cheered by the Gloom

Root growth is crucial: otherwise the tree tumbles. And this is the season for it.

This drear always makes me listen to Nick Drake or Beck, which reminds me of Jeremy Blake and that takes me right back to the sources of my art. He showed me a way to make sense of the absurd contradictions that are all too apparent to 14-year old boy, and which I'm afraid never really go away. For him, they deepened and became too much. Sad stuff.

When I stepped out into the cold damp this morning for my daily walk to the studio, I was surprised at how wonderful it was: it was misty and lively, with a strong scent of the Earth. Underneath the leaves, I could smell sleeping things: plants and worms and microscopic creatures, gathering their strength and perhaps dreaming of spring. Instead of hiding under my covers I want to run and dance in it and even as I write I cannot keep my eyes away from the window. The tree branches scratching the light-table grey sky are more compelling to me than back lines and circles on my laptop screen.

I've been telling people that I love January because it's so productive--nothing to do but lock the door and get to work. But I think that's a slight misappraisal. There's something subversive about the deep parts of winter that is related to the sources of artistic inspiration--it's a renewal that takes place under the surface, a gathering of fuel. My dogwood and new cherry are showing buds that will explode in March and April. As an artist, I'm doing the same thing: working hard in the studio and developing many new ideas that I'll unleash soon. It's all very exciting.

Los Angeles seemed like an odd fit for Jeremy and his minor-key groove. Maybe that's where it all went wrong. I don't recall ever speaking to him about the season cycle or the natural world, but I can easily imagine the plastic smiles and relentless cheer would must have exhausted him.

I'm on record a huge fan of Springtime but right now I'm grateful for the January grey. Time to get out in it while it lasts!

I Love It | I Love It Not

We review a big variety of work and give each artist individual critiques and attention. It's a lot of work, not made easier by the crowded, unflattering setting.

It’s jury time at McGuffey. Three times a year, we invite new membership applications that consist mostly of four to six submitted works of art. All current renting members are required to make a decision on each applicant based on these works and to provide written feedback for those not accepted.

It’s an agonizing process that involves far more than would an exhibition or residency jury. McGuffey is those things but also much more and the process would be easier if the Art Center’s purpose were more straightforward.

This problem has existed since the founding thirty-five years ago and through the years the Council has attempted to make it easier by developing four selection criteria:

1. Inventiveness and Vision
2. Compelling and thought-provoking
3. Formal Mastery
4. Professional Presentation

Every batch includes one or two submissions that are clearly successful and a number that are obviously not there—and honestly never will be. The majority are someplace in between and they are troublesome.

It would be easy to sit high on the hill and imagine myself some kind of master, guardian of artistic excellence and keeper of the bastion. McGuffey is not a prize, however; it is a subsidized art center that provides an excellent opportunity that more advanced artists might be able to find in other ways. Or, conversely, one could equally argue that because it is such a great opportunity it should be reserved for only the most serious and committed.

Furthermore, we are not attempting to fill a fixed number of slots—we could conceivable accept or reject everyone in a given month, so a task that is subjective from the outset can seem arbitrary.

I attempt to solve the dilemma by allowing myself wiggle-room* on one (but no more) of the above criteria but I demand in exchange that the artist bring something else compelling or undeniable to the table: commitment, heart, freshness, or world-rocking on an emotional level.

And in all cases, I want to know that the artist is completely committed to their art: that is a minimum. One could easily ask who I am to judge whether someone is trying hard enough? It’s a fair question but we agreed at the outset that the process is subjective.

I take my responsibility very seriously and the applicant needs to do the same.

* Wiggle-room does not equate to a free pass. Blatant failure on any of the above counts leads to denial on any borderline case. That’s where the comment section comes in handy; some shortcomings can be corrected in future re-applications (which are invited). Others cannot and it’s better to find out before an artist is granted lifetime membership.

Spotlight

Public Art can mean many things beyond statues in traffic circles.

One of the coolest things about being a McGuffey artist is that it places me right in the heart of the Charlottesville art scene. Its central location, large number of artists and open-door environment and long history mean that McGuffey plays a really important part in the region’s cultural development. As part of the Community Relations team I get to be very active that way.

One of our main forms of outreach is our Spotlight series. This year, it will be a series of open, round-room conversations about ways to enliven the arts scene. Charlottesville is an amazing place full of interesting people with visionary ideas and big accomplishments. Yet to judge strictly by its visual appearance, it could seem like a very sedate place.

When I was having coffee with Mayor Dave hashing out the details of the Buy Art Give Art campaign, he challenged us—the arts community—to find a way to get more visual art into the daily lives of residents, and to do so in a way that is visible to visitors. Spotlight will be a forum to get the conversation going.

There will be four monthly sessions, each looking at a different form of public visual culture:

Official Public Art
Wednesday, February 16 · 7:00pm - 9:00pm
The City wants more public art and artists want more public art. What can we as a creative community do to make it happen? [info]

Unofficial Public Art
Wednesday, March 16, 2011 · 7:00pm - 9:00pm
What are the benefits of and barriers to more “unofficial” public art? [info]

Radical Personal Expression
Wednesday, April 20, 2011 · 7:00pm - 9:00pm
Body Art, Wearable Art, Yard Art, and Art Cars. [info]

From Pocket Party to Fringe Festival
Wednesday, May 18, 2011 · 7:00pm - 9:00pm
What opportunities exist for wider artistic collaborations and celebrations in the public sphere? [info]

We’re not here to give answers, lecture anyone, nor simply complain. Our goal is to bring people with new ideas together to inspire one another and to form alliances. If some kind of creative collaboration comes out of every session, it will be a success.

Drawings on the Wall

Despite the slate sky and chilly temperatures, we had plenty of help with our chalk-mural wall.

During our annual Holiday Open House, the McGuffey artists provide hands-on opportunities for children (or anyone) to make things. Because of the December date, most artists choose to holiday-themed projects—potato-print holiday cards, for example.

I couldn’t think of what to do, but then I remembered the last time I worked with masses of kids: StoryLine. In that successful project, kids went wild muralling all over the downtown Free-Expression Wall. McGuffey is surrounded by some surprisingly inactive spaces—one might not guess it’s an art center if you couldn’t see through the kaleidoscopic colors through its huge windows. A mural, full of youthful exuberance, was called for.

So I gathered as much sidewalk chalk as I could find, borrowed some hand-wipes from one of my gracious neighbors and that was all my preparation: I didn’t want to plan too much but rather see what would happen if I just turned people loose. I didn’t want to be too loose however, there had to be one rule: no words, just pictures. While StoryLine resulted in something beautiful to behold, the Free Expression wall, which must obviously be completely unregulated most times, is normally a visual black hole. Left unprodded, most people’s expressions are of the “Go Cavs” or “Johnnny {hearts} Sallie” category. I wanted art, not tags.

It turns out that blank canvas syndrome is basic human nature but it is easily overcome. No one did anything when I invited them to just draw. But, when Sebastian and I started in with a garden theme of flowers, houses, balloons, and flowers, people knew what to do and went right to work.

In an hour’s time, the wall was completely filled. Sometimes small children made only wandering lines or squiggles but with only a word or two of guidance, even they were channeling imagery. Parents and children took part in equal measure and as you can see from the photograph, the fruits of their labors were nearly indistinguishable.

Only one family frightened me with what they drew: all three kids, with blank acquiescence from the parents, calmly and systematically drew X’s through every drawing they could reach. What’s with that, I wondered? I challenged them to contribute something positive rather than simply trying to destroy what others had done. Even they came around after a few minutes.

It was a fun adventure and just like happened with the StoryLine, a driving rain quickly eradicated our efforts. It was an ownership stake, even if temporary, on the space and on our ability to create something visual and physical from our abstract thoughts and aspirations.

Next year, maybe we should use paint instead of chalk.

Fair Enough

This view shows one quarter of one of the two dozen art fairs. Granted, it's the largest but that's still a lot of art!

The circus of art fairs that happens every year in Miami can be daunting on many different levels. It’s visually overwhelming to visit a thousand or so galleries in a weekend. The schlepping is almost as taxing physically. Perhaps the hardest part for an artist, however, is the in-your-face assertion of social hierarchy and market-making. It can feel like a punch below the belt.

Because there is no objective way to measure the worth of a work of art, the market is largely built through social jockeying that established hierarchies within each Art World constituency—galleries, artists, and collectors. Position is power and while there is much that is wonderful about such a vast assemblage of creative talent, this event is a market foremost and ugly emotions such as pride and envy are not necessarily discouraged.

I went to Miami to see and be inspired by amazing art, to catch up with friends I see less frequently since moving to Virginia, and—let’s be honest here—to advance my own position within the hierarchy. How does one do that without feeling inferior or without behaving crassly?

These are standard concerns within any marketplace, but with a pretty big dose of salt for an artist since I am my business. There can be no firewall between my soul and that which I produce and sell. A least that’s how I feel. So I wanted to do well but also to stay upbeat despite all this sausage being made around me and I wasn’t sure how I would do it.

In truth though, it’s really just a decision toward the kind of person I want to be: generous, serene, joyful, and the active application of those virtues in my every action. Thinking that way made the whole experience a lot more fun, and probably more successful too.

It’s the only way to live anyway and that’s how I approached it. And you know what? It was a good weekend.

Movin' on up to the West Side

That gray dot in the distance is my 3-foot tall sculpture Niobe. That gives a taste of how vast the new space is, and we're only half-way down this one corridor, of which there are several.

I knew Annette Aaron was up to so something special when she told me that she had news that couldn't be told over the phone. But I was still floored when I learned about the coup she pulled off when she relocated the gallery her mother had established, and where I had shown since the early nineties.

Aaron Gallery was a long-time fixture on the Dupont Circle art scene but the rent has only increased over the past twenty-five years while serious walk-in traffic seriously plummeted during the harsh economic times. Every gallery is feeling the pinch.

Couple that with the headaches that come with prime real estate, such as when a car crashed through her storefront, and Annette was wondering how (or if) she could keep going. Clearly a change was needed, but how?

Moments like those can break us, or--depending on our character--propel us to great things. Annette took the latter course and struck an ingenious deal with one of her commercial clients, one of the nations's leading entertainment law firms.

They would provide her an office and allow her to hang exhibitions in their gorgeous West-End office space, have receptions, and allow visitors through on an appointment basis. This answered several needs at once: it provided a stable, low-cost base for her consultancy operations, which were always far more important than walk-in gallery traffic; it freed her from having to maintain retail-style office hours, and guaranteed a flow of culturally-aware viewers for the gallery's artworks.

The law firm is uplifted by the first-rate curated artwork that now adorns the walls of their public spaces, corridors and several conference rooms. It really looks phenomenal in the light-filled and gorgeously appointed tenth-floor location.

Annette had to make a change, but instead of folding the tent, she did just the opposite: she grew the gallery in a new and spectacular way that will redefine her entire operation and open many new doors. One can only admire the creativity and hope she succeeds.

So far so good.

The Coolest Dude in the Marathon

If I do my job properly, you don't see any of this stuff--only what they're seeing through those lenses down below. This shot was taken by our second photographer specifically positioned to capture the overall spectacle from wide (this is a crop so we can see Edison better).
Photo: Errol Anderson, Courtesy New York Road Runners.

Some people are in the spotlight because they are completely mobilized toward getting there. Then, there are those who are renowned for what they have done. Edison Pena (aka the Chilean Miner) is in the second category. Here's a guy who overcame all kinds of adversity and we brought him to New York as a guest so he could bask in some well-deserved attention on the press truck.

That wasn't what he wanted: after running to in the mine to keep his sanity, he wanted to run the Marathon to prove that, in spite of his insufficient training and many hardship, he could do it and that we can too.

The man came to New York with an agenda and we got far more than we bargained for. How fortunate that his message was exactly in line with what we preach all day long. He set the tone for the whole thing and we could not have found a more credible (or it turns out eloquent) spokesman.

Yet another way in which we are so very fortunate: not only do we not have to toil far below the Earth; we have occasional messengers who come up and remind us of what is important and what we are capable of doing if we try. [More Pena Photos | Viral YouTube Elvis Clip]

Date Selected for Monticello Road

Monticello Road will debut in at the Bridge PAI in the Spring of 2012. The Bridge is the perfect venue for the show not only because it's literally in the front yard but also because we share a fundamental belief about what art can do.

This will be much more than pictures on the wall: it will be a coming-together for the community. There will be story-telling, films, discussions, a childrens's neighborhood walk, hopefully a school program, at least one party, and a discussion series.

This project is larger than me; it belongs to the whole neighborhood and the city. There are many ways to grow the project through collaboration and I'm wide open to suggestions.

For now, there's a small selections of early photographs for the show on Facebook.

Orange October

When I'm not swimming in a sea of orange jackets at the ING New York City Marathon, it's the abundant splendor of the autumn trees.

When I agreed to continue working the ING New York City Marathon after moving to Charlottesville, I had this fantasy that I would live an almost normal life at home, then parachute into New York at the last second to save the day. The opposite has been the case: for the last few weeks my focus has been much more on New York and my very demanding employment.

But Life continues unimpressed with workaday dramas and concerns. In fact my art career is undergoing a major growth spurt at the moment and I simply cannot lay it aside for a few weeks. Consequently, the past three days—my last shore leave before ten straight 10+ hour efforts at the Marathon—have been just this side of insanity. These days it feels like I air-drop back into my life to take care of things in a major hustle.

If you’re curious, here’s a bit of my agenda during this Virginia trip:

Thursday
Arrive home from New York at 1:00 am. Sleep a few hours.
Laundry, breakfast, take Sebastian to school
Go running through the stunning golden forest on Carter’s Mountain
Conference call for work
One hour of photography (Monticello Road) while autumn splendor lasts
Quick meeting at The Bridge PAI to discuss Monticello Road
Meeting at McGuffey to discuss First Night Virginia
Work emails
Clean studio, water dying plants, etc
Pick Sebastian up from school, playground for an hour
Conference call
Make dinner for family, Sebastian to bed. Early to bed myself

Friday
Up early to take a sculpture up to my gallery in DC (Aaron Gallery). Fortunately the drive was very smooth and in this season, it is incredibly beautiful.
But first about an hour and a half of Road Runners work
Book it back to Charlottesville in time to winterize my garden ahead of upcoming frost
Pick up Sebastian from School
Stand in half-mile line to see Obama. Thankfully Sebastian’s grandma got a good spot for us.
Obama!!!
Ham sandwich dinner then as early to bed as possible.

Saturday
Up REALLY early for sunrise time trial. Ran adequately well but with moderate expectations due to insufficient sleep and second-rate nutrition
Woke Sebastian, fed him and took him to the Farmers Market
Office hours at McGuffey while Sebastian played cars, boats, and pirates on the playmat we made. I fell asleep at my desk
Home for lunch, more laundry, various household chores
Pack for extended return to New York
Work emails
Finally that nap I apparently needed
Playground with Sebastian and a tightly contested basketball match
Make dinner for family and our visiting Aunt Virginia
Date with Meredith: premiere of Danger. Zombies. Run. Q&A and afterparty
Left early to get decent sleep

Sunday
Up early for 7:00 am train
Breakfast in dining car followed by blogging
Multiple meetings await this afternoon in New York

It’s enough to make my own head spin but you know what? It is invigorating and it feels good to be busy. Somehow, I’m managing to do the bread-and-butter part of my job, grow my art career (meetings with 3 separate galleries in 5 days—one more next week), make some art (lots of photos), keep up with my running (not improving but maintaining for this spell), do some fun things, and hang out with my family as much as possible.

That last part is the rub: during the rest of the year I’m very spoiled in that I have nearly unlimited time with Sebastian but the toll of being away from Sebastian so much is becoming very apparent to me. I don’t get to take him trick-or-treating and I never have. This weekend he stayed very, very close to me and has come into our bed every night, which is uncharacteristic. He was extremely attentive and hopped to my every request and instruction. He has always been a very easy child and a pleasure to be around but you can tell he’s insecure about losing me and that bothers me.

Fortunately, this craziness only lasts for a few weeks and I am in the home stretch. The rest of the year, I enjoy unusually much time with Sebastian and my family, am really present in the neighborhood, and a nearly unfettered studio practice.

This period is exhausting. And exhilarating. I enjoy it but I will be glad when it’s over.

Monticello Road

I will have four full seasons to capture the neighborhood in all its costumes.

Update: The exhibition is scheduled for Spring, 2012

I'm very excited to say that The Bridge Public Art Initiative has agreed to host my Monticello Road exhibition. It's a wonderful opportunity and a tremendous vote of confidence from an institution that's doing some terrific work.

The exhibition will examine the people and places along one of America's most historic byways. Monticello Road is an ancient trail that has been in use since Paleolithic times and, as its name suggests, the principal route to Monticello and points south. At the same time, this is a place where people (myself included) live their daily lives. Any exploration of a place so steeped in history must necessarily mine the past but this project is firmly seated in the present--it's about what is there now.

Due to the inevitable changes that history brings, only about a mile of Monticello Road still exists, which is actually good for my purposes. It will be quite manageable for me to explore its entire length in some depth.

We have not selected a date or scope for the exhibit, so check back for more details. I am quite excited though: this is a project with many possibilities and broad support within the community itself.

It will be alot of fun.