The Rock 'N Roll Lifestyle (documented)

Cory Oberndorfer

I was fortunate enough about a year and a half ago to catch a screening of a film at Sundance called Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out. It was composed almost entirely of archived footage shot by The Police drummer Stewart Copeland on his Super 8 camera. Over twenty years after the dissolution of the band, Copeland began sorting through reels of home videos made from early in the band’s existence up until their very last photo shoot. It reinforces the “life on the road” standard for touring musicians. A life of performances, photo shoots, traveling and, after success, throngs of adoring fans and groupies. All of this is done with an entourage of bandmates, roadies and organizers. The opportunity to play with Super 8 is obviously a pleasant distraction.
The film itself does not formulate too much more than home movies documenting moments in time. The playful nature overshadows the opportunity that would have been available to provide an intimate look inside one of the biggest bands of the time. Instead, we see a few guys just goofing off, enjoying their celebrity. This was reinforced during Copeland’s Q & A session, where he seemed to still be living in the time when he was a celebrity and relished in his stories of fame, wealth and women. His solipsistic attitude explained why the camera was focused on him during most of the film.
The film did not disappoint my expectations. It provided a healthy dose of nostalgia for those who grew up enjoying the band’s music and is more than likely one of the instigating factors for their current reunion tour. More than anything, Stewart Copeland merely passed on his “pleasant distraction” for 74 minutes.

Eighteen months later, The Police have kicked off their world tour, selling out large venues and enjoying their moment on top once again.

One day in late June I wandered into Frank Pictures Gallery in Santa Monica, California. The gallery was displaying a show of photographs taken by Andy Summers, The Police’s guitarist. Recalling my experience the year before, I was looking forward to a fun little experience with a musician and a camera. Instead, I found an artist who invested care, time and understanding to his craft. During his time on the road, Summers took some 25,000 pictures with his Leica camera. It is obvious that he found a sort of focus (pun not intended) with his camera. Rather than filming his existing world, Summers created his own universe from the world around him.
From the 32 photographs in the exhibit, the life of a musician is certainly documented in an expected fashion, but the execution of the photography transcends the mundane standard. Today, photographers have the luxury to snap off thousands of pictures and review them to find the few that turn out (I count myself among the guilty). However, Summers’ Leica forced him to plan his compositions and invest greater care in each image. Do these pictures only promote the sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll stereotype? Certainly. But the results also capture an intimacy that can only be told from the inside. It’s photographs such as these and Annie Leibovitz’s that define the era of music. Cameron Crowe and John Toll were certainly influenced by these artists when they filmed Almost Famous.
Needless to say, the photographs of Andy Summers filled the void that Copeland did not even attempt to enter, and for those wondering, Summers is lugging around camera equipment on his current world tour.



Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out is available on DVD.
I’ll Be Watching You: Inside the Police 1980-83, a book of photographs by Summers printed by Taschen is soon available, including over 600 photographs.

A Review of Vik Muniz: Reflex

Cory Oberndorfer

On my recent trip to New York City, I saw dozens of galleries and work from hundreds of artists. The contemporary artwork being shown was heavy with content or craft and, on occasion, both content and craft. But it was not until I viewed Vik Muniz’s show at P.S.1 that I saw work that contained content, craft and the ever-elusive third element of art…fun. This is what I consider to be a trifecta of success in imagery.

Muniz’s show at P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center is a selection from a larger exhibition organized by Miami Art Museum and curated by Peter Boswell. It includes photographs from each of the artist’s major series, as edited by the artist, P.S.1 Director Alanna Heiss, and Boswell.



Technically, Muniz could be labeled as a photographer. That is to say, the work he displays is photographs. But he is a photographer in the vein of Goldsworthy, as his true art is in the creation and temporal product being photographed. The first photograph to greet the view in this show is a portrait. As you get closer to the large print you realize that the entire portrait is composed of thousands of hole punch remains. It was impressive, yes, but I was wondering if a feat like this could continue, escalate or falter as I reached the rest of his show. The next photograph was a reproduction of Goya’s Saturn devouring one of his Sons. The medium used was “junk”. This junk was scattered around until it formed the shapes to mimic the original composition. As I looked closer I realized the scale of this project. There were objects like car doors, 55 gallon drums and ladders. I can’t even imagine the time, skill and space necessary for it’s completion!

One series of prints consisted of reproducing famous photographs with chocolate syrup. The Hans Namuth action photo of Jackson Pollock especially lent itself to this medium. Not only did I marvel at the skill in reproducing such detail with an unconventional medium, but I also became very hungry for chocolate. (It is rumored that Muniz actually eats his chocolate paintings after they have been photographed)

The “fun” aspect and “craft” aspect of these photographs had sucked me in, but you may be asking, “What about the content? Aren’t these just gimmicky photos?” Well, he also had representations from series such as Sugar Children where he reproduced his own photographs of children of sugar-cane workers. He did so by pouring white sugar onto black paper, creating a multitude of values in the image. Is this the ultimate irony of the medium? The product from workers experiencing terrible conditions isn’t even used for consumption. Instead, the sugar, the product of their labor, is used to form images of the other product of their labor—their own children.




Pictures of Ink takes the idea of image reproduction to another level. His technique is that of newspaper and magazine printing methods. He uses ink in halftone patterns to construct famous photographs mass produced by the media. His ink is placed on a surface that does not absorb letting the ink pool into itself and creating light reflections that illustrate the three-dimensionality of the texture. The photos in this exhibition were Terrorist(the well-known image of a terrorist peering over a balcony in Munich during the 1972 Olympics), Monster(the most published photo of the Loch Ness Monster) and Disaster(the explosion of the Hindenberg). Viewed up close, you can see the detail in each dot but as you further yourself from the print, the image becomes one you have seen thousands of times. The oddest aspect of this series is reflected in his titling. With his other works he places the name of the original creator in the title. This time he does not. Does this image appropriation seem a little unfair? These are by far the most recognizable to the public. Perhaps they are so ingrained into our culture that they become the property of our society as a whole, but very few people can actually name the original photographer, whereas those who recognize an image created by Caravaggio can instantly name the artist. When I think of image appropriation, I have always put it in the context of artist-to-artist. I am now conscious that images can be appropriated by the culture of society.



As I dealt the heavy cultural ramifications of his choices, I stepped to the next photograph—that of a cartoon cloud created by a skywriter over the skyline of Manhattan. The “fun” overwhelmed me again. The absurdity of a cartoon drawing of cloud in the sky recalls the tradition of Oldenburg creating ridiculously large ordinary objects, poking fun at the seriousness surrounding the abstract artists in the middle of the 1900’s. Dirt, sugar, string, junk, chocolate syrup, diamonds, caviar, pennies, wire, shadows, plastic army men, dust, pigment. Muniz is adept at using any of these as a medium to produce what he calls “the worst possible illusion that will still fool the eyes of the average person”. I disagree with his choice of words. While his illusion-making may not be revolutionary, it is my far some of the most fun. So let me say that he is skilled at making the most enjoyable illusion that will still fool the eyes of the average person.

Jessie Mann "Self Possessed" photographs by Len Prince

Thomas Debari visits Adamson Gallery

Being in the business of making images is second nature. Len Prince has been making the scene on magazines since the 70’s and Mann in her mother's photographs since she was born. Mann’s background is one well-written and argued in terms of her mother’s depictions of her and her siblings naked. That said we move into the light where both of these virtuosos are great, Mann for vogueing and Len prince for snapping those moments. The photographs designed with flawless form and content, are referential to all of art history. The true gift of the poser is a the blank embodiment of genre. Quickly changing from starlet to Venus as brown hair to blond, they reconfigure images from pop to Ingres. Small photographs result in the attachment we personally have to these images, while still maintaining a fun for everyone approach. “Art matters.” Or so they say. In their case, it is the truth. The history of the photograph is explored through Prince’s and Mann’s experiences.

Len being the fashion and celebrity photographer uses similar sets sometimes identical for both the commercial work and the Self Possessed Series. In doing this, they no longer mimic but transcend into that same space and time of the mainstream glitz. The lighting on the shots and Lens camera make the viewer wet in the light and shadow play. The staging being perfect at what it is then ready for the other. She walks in stage right robbed as it falls you seen it before. A naked Jessie Mann, but now all grown up. So familiar and unabashedly feminine, she centers herself no smile and click, hot work from a young hot girl with a hot name in photography. As they flip through pages of an Art history book or a POP magazine, they take and reestablish ownership of the images. The Birth of Venus is in the backyard next to the sprinkler. This girl has that intangible something. An ability to ham it up or shut down either way she seems to be exactly where she needs to be at the right time. Her strategy of being in front of the camera is something that is expected and refreshing to see again in context with the history of photography. As Jessie Mann headlines this exhibit, I wonder who does the majority of the work. Is it the model or the photographer? Who owns these images more? Alas, it is a community’s effort anyways and marked as such. Who is more powerful? Mann or Prince.

Mann must be the princess. Prince must be a man and do all the hard work. Judging from the majority of photos present was set at Princes studio.

Mann’s abilities though are not to be diminished for this must be second nature and a natural model that she is and has been. Through out her career she has been in the front exposed and so she is again. With issues that are strong in cases of authorship. What they do in the photos are pieces of the issue they make art about other artist. Embodying the content, the branding of the work as Jessie Mann and the secondary Len Prince they go further. They reach a place uncharted by Cindy Sherman, though starting from similar places in the end this truly is collaborators saying I like art.

This small hole that is constructed is one, which they push through on the Mann’s back.
Jessie Mann is Self-Possessed by what? Jessie Mann is consistently redefining herself sometimes with the photo cord sometimes with out. Their references spiral to the borders of accepted of images. She poses to the images that they hold near. As the art market holds her close we remember when this was the art world.

Nicholas Kahn and Richard Selesnick at Irvine Contemporary

Lauren Rice

I would not ordinarily feel compelled to review a photography exhibition. However, after reviewing Melissa Ichiuji’s soft sculptures, I wandered into an adjoining room only to discover, well, a photography exhibition. Due to lack of time, I thought, what the hey, I’ll give it a shot.

This was my first thought. My second thought was that these works are somehow connected to Leonardo da Vinci and his flying machines diagrams. The works of collaborators Nicholas Kahn and Richard Selesnick’s The Apollo Prophesies, at Irvine Contemporary evoked a feeling of fantastical innovation, a feeling of speed, dreams and desire. Furthermore, their photographs, which are reminiscent of film stills, began to discuss the history of humankind’s ambition to fly in order to colonize a new land or escape an old one. Perhaps I initially connected these photographs to da Vinci’s flight studies because da Vinci’s drawings appeal to this same dramatic feeling. Secondarily, the mixed media works directly referenced da Vinci’s initial flight diagrams.

These photos have a comedic quality. Perhaps it is because the men in the images feel too big for their flying apparatus and that they are so invested in what seems to be an absurd process. I have to admit that I have never been overtly fond of photography. And so my bias is stated. However, most of Kahn and Selesnick’s photos have a surreal value contrast that I find formally intriguing in addition to the absurdity of the images. The characters in these works display an ambition comparable to da Vinci’s own ambitious flying machines drawings. However, we are a good many years past the age of da Vinci and have already mastered flight. So why are these images being exhibited?

The myth of Icarus and mankind’s long-lived desire to fly to high for his own good comes to mind. And why was Icarus attempting to fly anyway? In order to escape, says the myth. So from where are these cumbersome aeronauts attempting to flee? Perhaps a planet that they have destroyed? Hmmmm.

Apollo, commonly affiliated with the Greek sun god is also (according to Encyclopedia Mythica) the god of prophecy and colonization. He is also affiliated with plague (!). I remember from my childhood that he also tried to woo poor Daphne who had to turn herself into a tree in order to escape his advances. And we must assume the “Apollo Prophecy” is mankind’s failure at flight. The title of the exhibition suggests that humans may begin with good ideas and intentions, but that we abuse our powers of innovation and are therefore destined to fail. The aforementioned comical aspect of these photographs reiterates this assesment. After all, although we have “mastered” flight, it still poses significant obstacles.

One of my favorite works on view, Launch, shows two men in the pilot seats of a rocket. However, the rocket is splayed in half revealing the maze of intestinal machinery in the bowels of the rocket ship. Perhaps I found this most interesting because of its connection of Ichiuji’s adjacent sculptures. We often forget to engage with the interior of things and the complexity that makes them function. In this way, both exhibitions at Irvine dealt with exposure of the underneath.

My last thought regarding these photographs occurred as I’ve been writing. And the thought goes: why photography? These images felt better suited to a film narrative; they were illustrative. I know that there was an accompanying book to the show (I did not have a chance to look at it…) so perhaps the artists literally illustrated a story there. However, these works as photographs in frames on a gallery wall just did not complete the picture for me. No pun intended.

Embedded at Conner Contemporary

reviewed by David Waddell

I visited the Maria Friberg exhibition at Conner Contemporary the other day. This Swedish video artist and photographer has had three solo shows at Conner in the past six years. This one is titled ‘Embedded,’ which features one video triptych and four photographs. While I did not pay as much attention to the photography, the video completely mesmerized me. Two of the three screens were packed for PULSE art fair, but I still enjoyed the experience on the single screen. It made gallery hopping worthwhile.

The video fits into a range of categories. It reflects nature, fashion photography, advertisements, landscape and subjects of masculinity and feminism.

Due to the pace of the video, one primarily associates the work with nature. Four men dressed in black, slowly emerge from the center of a mattress which is luxuriously draped in white sheets. Some compare the action in the video to the cycle of a caterpillar transforming in a cocoon. My immediate thoughts were that of a rose bud opening its petals. The figures are born from the center and creep towards the parameters of the screen. A horizonless background allows the viewer to dismiss scale. It might as well be the center of a flower.

I had wondered if Friberg incorporated stop-motion animation. Norm McClaren shot frame-by-frame to capture humans performing impossible tasks. I suspected that the movement was altered and slowed down as well. Friberg states that the work was done in real time. While I gasp at the thought of a person having to perform this excruciatingly slow act, she explains that dancers were no good at the assigned task. Rather, those who used meditation were successful.

It makes sense that Friberg uses men who meditate. The work is about isolation and the mental and physical boundaries of the body. It is about the individual that is so much smaller than the scope of the world. We never can escape ourselves and pull out to see ‘the bigger picture.’ Even those in the same bed are not in communication. They are silent bed partners and separate entities. The bed acts as a cloud, an island, a raft and an iceberg.

When listening to the discussion between Friberg and Julee Holcombe on feminism, I thought, “Yes, these men are the muse.” The woman is stands behind the camera as a director and in control. The men seem limp and without control at all. Contrary to the visuals, this is a real act and these men are in complete control of their movement. Their minds are in tune with their bodies through meditation. Friberg is documenter in this instance.

The aesthetics of the work emasculates these men as they slide off this bed, in a flaccid manner. They are arched back, stretched out and beautified. I associate these men with the backup dancers for this one Shania Twain video. Twain is dressed in a suit as a man. She has the microphone and is in control. She is surrounded by men with shaved heads and red fishnet shirts. They play fake guitars and are merely present as eye candy in this gender role reversal.

I also associate these men with a skin commercial due to the black-and-white color schematics and costuming. The exposed body parts are central locations for lotion: the hands, feet and face. In the commercial, a leathery alligator waddles through a minimal stage towards someone who needs lotion. I feel the same deliberate staging in this work.

I find this work so appealing because it falls into the realm of good photography, advertising, and staged fashion. Friberg has an acute sense of color and compostion because she was a trained painter. This is evident in the video as well as her photography.

Friberg got into this line of work because she did not want to be isolated in the studio. And yet she makes work about isolation. When viewing ‘Embedded’ I felt like I was alone in the gallery having an intimate moment with the video screen.

Tim Hyde at G Fine Art

by Geoffrey Aldridge

The recent exhibition of photography at G Fine Art Gallery is a cohesive display of artists using architecture and landscape to create an endless field of distortion and manipulation. The ambiguity in the work falls on the imagery and disconnect of what is seemingly referential.

Tim Hyde’s work of “architectural” forms is allusive and generic in a way that specificity is lost in the image: the building, parking lot or window could belong to any western country’s’ landscape. The most interesting, the image of a parking lot and what seems to be some type of discount super store (Wal-Mart, Target, etc), is surrounded by a blackening sky and absent landscape. The lights in the parking lot become illuminated palm trees that give the bare hint of what type of structure exists beneath.

Referencing the notion of banality, the level of curiosity in Mr. Hyde’s work is similar to digging for a sweater in the back of a dark closet. Why distort the image to a level of allusive location and range? The work’s ambiguity attempts to isolate the generic qualities of architecture to blur the boundaries between what is everyday and everywhere. The isolation and manipulation of the color field surrounding the imagery becomes an atmospheric haze.

Hyde is conscious of contemporary photography and it’s identity crisis to look like painting. Actually the crisis doesn’t lie with photography, but painting. Since this is the case, are we inclined to engage paintings’ vernacular and history when discussing Mr. Hyde’s work?

The influence of painting is apparent in Hyde’s work, referencing artists such as Turner and Ruscha. The flat forms of blocky mass represent architecture and landscape in a way similar to Ed Ruscha’s work. Similar in distortion whether it’s perspective of compositionally, Hyde creates an ambiguous relationship between the forms and its surrounding atmosphere.

What I understand about Mr. Hyde’s work is the transcendent quality of the imagery to question our environment of everyday experiences and our physical relationship to our surroundings. That’s clearer to me because of the separation between the natural atmosphere and the developed architectural forms. It’s within that contrast that allows for an interceding viewer to respond.

Nasty Nice and Apollo Prophecies, Sharon Servilio reviews Irvine

Melissa Ichiuji: Nasty Nice, Irvine Gallery

Melissa Ichiuji’s sculptures take the cozy world of homemade dolls into the more menacing territory of female roles and relationships. Her women, girls, and occasional animals are crudely hand-sown from nylon stockings and other fabrics, and incorporate such peculiar materials as the mouth of a fox. The figures, which range from about one foot to three feet in height, stand on pedestals that fill the entire gallery, inviting an intimate encounter with the viewer. Each figure engages in a different activity, allowing the artist to explore a wide range of ideas in the realms of sexuality, violence, coming of age, and identity. Initially disarming the viewer with their whimsical cuteness, the sculptures quickly lead to ruminations on sobering topics.

In Garden Party, four figures are sown using a floral fabric reminiscent of couch cushions and domesticity, giving them an air of rural naiveté. They peer at each other inquisitively as they try on penises made of pantyhose. The real strength of this piece is the remarkable precision in the gesture of the figures. Since they are faceless and their bodies consist of highly simplified shapes, gesture alone must tell their story and carry their emotive impact. Deftly posed, the figures seem uncannily ready to spring to life, instilling a feeling of playful curiosity into their experimentation with gender.

Another piece in which gesture enriches the narrative is Forgotten Girl. Two nylon girls stand on opposite sides of what seems to be a mirror. One is alert and clad in lighter, brighter colors; the other is dejected and somber, with bent posture and scars made of thread traversing her body. Immediately it raises the question: which is the forgotten girl? Is the sadder version looking back to an innocent, forgotten time of her youth? Or is the perky girl looking at a despondent version of herself repressed under her cheerful exterior? These are only two of many potential interpretations. Again, the success of the piece is due to the subtlety of the gesture, which endows these inanimate objects with a spark of humanity, evoking empathy and engaging the viewer’s imagination.

In Girl with Turtle, the gesture of the protagonist suggests ambiguity. Having just killed a turtle (her pet?), intentionally or unintentionally, she stands in a position that hovers between remorse and coyness, making her innocence questionable. In dialogue with another piece that portrays a girl and her dog dressed for a sadomasochistic relationship, it also calls into question the line between affection and violence.

The sculptures fall short when they slip into one-liners with too simple a read. In Snake-n-Eggs, a snake prepares to strike a woman’s vagina, which is portrayed as a nest with bird’s eggs. The analogy is humorous, but too obvious to suggest more depth. In Girl with Rabbit, a schoolgirl holds up a rabbit dripping with blood, while another bloody puddle forms from what seems to be her first menstruation. The comparison of the loss of innocence in coming of age to the loss of innocence in killing something is again too obvious of a read, leaving the viewer with a desire for more complexity.

In the overall installation, however, there are enough complex pieces to outweigh the one-liners. As a group, the sculptures open an expansive network of associations, questions, memories, and feelings about the many facets of girlhood, womanhood, and the transition between them.

Nicholas Kahn and Richard Selesnick: The Apollo Prophecies: New Photographs, Irvine Gallery

The Apollo Prophecies is more than a series of photographs; it is a thoroughly realized myth presented in documentary format. According to the artists’ story, the astronauts of the Apollo missions encountered a lunar colony of previous space explorers from the Edwardian era. The exhibit includes various forms of fabricated documentation, such as a booklet containing a lengthy prophecy held by the Edwardian moon-dwellers, which Kahn and Selesnick wrote in collaboration with a physics student. The prophecy foretells the coming of the Apollo astronauts in symbolic biblical language, and contains esoteric references to historical figures and events surrounding the lunar missions of the 1960’s. As visual documentation, astronauts and their equipment are portrayed in soft-edged, Edwardian-style photographs, while small drawings appear to be plans or studies for building equipment and space suits.

The focal point of the exhibition is a series of lush panoramic black-and-white digital prints, each 10 by 72 inches, which dreamily narrate both the original flight to the moon by the Edwardians and their discovery in the 1960’s by Apollo astronauts. The most breathtaking of these are the three newest photos, all from 2006, which open the series with the preparation and liftoff of the Edwardian rocket. These are all staged and composed with the highest degree of precision. The photographers’ formal decisions included setting the entire breadth and depth of field in high focus, as well as lighting the scene as an overcast day, creating a delicious range of low-contrast grays. All of these elements, combined with the fantastical imagery, sustain a vision that is theatrical, romantic, nostalgic, and epic.

In Radarmen, the panorama spans a landscape which seems to merge beach and desert. The rocket ship has just taken off, and can be seen in the distance with a perfectly formed, curving trail of smoke behind it. In the foreground, a dozen men act as human radar. With pyramid-shaped cloth satellite dishes strapped to their backs, the men bend and contort enthusiastically to receive the signals while a commander directs and encourages. The satisfying composition is calculated to its minutest detail, and the choreography of the men is reminiscent of classical compositions like The School of Athens. Among the characters there is an overall feeling of idealism and loyalty to the mission.

In fact, the overall exhibition evokes a nostalgia for a time when scientific explorations were seen as idealistic, humanistic ventures, and the unknown world of space travel a thrilling enigma, experienced only through the fiction of H.G. Wells and Jules Verne. With the proliferation of bad science fiction, the stigma associated with “trekkie” culture, and the regularity of NASA missions reported on the news, most people no longer look at space exploration with wonder. The humanistic tone of the work is reinforced by repeated references to the Renaissance. In addition to the classicism noted above, the artists’ drawings resemble Da Vinci’s sketches of inventions, and the artists themselves state that the narrative is meant to be structured after fresco cycles such as Masaccio’s chapel.

The weakness of the exhibition lies in the earlier panoramas (2004-5), which include the scenes on the moon. With a more fragmented composition, shallow space, and stage-like lighting, these images do not sustain the fiction. Rather than acting as a comprehensive experience, they seem more like a backdrop to display the inventive costumes, space capsules, and other whimsical creations of the artists. However, if the newer work is an indication of the artists’ future direction, it seems to predict that their world will become increasingly more believable.