Oliver Vernon, Macro/Micro

Irvine Contemporary

April 14-May 19, 2007

by Lauren Rice

Before even looking at the press release, our resident genius, Geoffrey Aldridge, asked me which artists Oliver Vernon was influenced by. When I could not adequately answer, he exclaimed, “This guy’s work looks like Matthew Ritchie and Julie Mehretu.” You go, smarty-pants, because before I could even explore Oliver Vernon’s assessed fixation with the work of the aforementioned artists, Irvine Contemporary’s press release identified his influences by stating, “His work represents a bold and confident fusion of many trajectories in contemporary painting never before combined in one coherent vision: post-pop surrealism and visionary art, high-tech science fiction, figural abstraction, street and graffiti art, and the multi-layered, complex visualizations of Matthew Ritchie, Julie Mehretu, Fred Tomaselli and Ryan McGinness.”

After doing my research, I realized that Vernon’s work most resembles the work of British-born Matthew Ritchie. Literally, Ritchie’s The Living Will, 2004 could have been inserted into Vernon’s show without anybody noticing. This is by far my biggest complaint with Vernon’s recent body of work. While Vernon’s graphic/calligraphic aesthetic is clearly affiliated with the work of all of the artists listed in the press release as well as additional art historical examples, Ritchie’s influence on Vernon is far too overpowering. Furthermore, I also felt that Ritchie, Tomaselli and McGinness’ decision to often break away from canvas painting into installation was perhaps something that Vernon could have been more influenced by. Vernon’s sand castle sculpture in the center of the gallery did not add to or explore concepts presented in his two-dimensional works, but seemed to be the start of a completely unrelated idea. Although architectural elements existed in his paintings, I could not quite figure out why he chose to build a sand castle instead of a form that more closely related to his paintings. Perhaps this dissimilarity was heightened by the homogeneity of the painted works.

All of Vernon’s paintings seemed to be details of a larger situation, like small glimpses of a missing whole. While I feel that this is relevant considering the artist’s interest in the organic facets of the body in relation to outer space, I would have liked to see a few pieces that were either more contained by the canvas or that stretched beyond the canvas. Vernon made a few attempts at painting on irregular rectangular shapes, however, I feel this challenge could be explored further.

Initially, I was drawn to Vernon’s work. The repetition of modules, calligraphic-like designs, and even maps in the paintings did have a relationship to science fiction and technology that seemed to add to the history of abstract painting. On this same note, I also liked that from a distance the work could have been digitally generated, but upon moving closer I was aware of the artist’s hand, his struggle in the painting. However, I was also aware that the artist could benefit from a palette expansion/exploration. I felt that the same greens, light blues and neutral tans were used in almost every painting.

In light of my criticism, I feel that in my own work, which often deals with the blurring of interior dwellings and exterior landscapes, could benefit from relying more on the disconnect between the interior and exterior. If Vernon is really interested in the idea of macro and micro, perhaps he could also disconnect the two and explore each idea in a separate painting. Or, even exploring the two ideas in the same painting without allowing them to merge could be interesting. Overall, I just feel that not enough exploration had been put into the work. It seemed to rely to heavily on an aesthetic that is currently en vogue and was not done as well as the other artist participating in this particular aesthetic.

Yoko Ono, Wish Tree for Washington

Sharon Servilio

Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden

The Hirshhorn is much more successful in setting the tone and expectations for Yoko Ono’s “Wish Tree for Washington, DC.” In keeping with Ono’s tradition of simple and concise instructions, the museum simply provides a sign letting visitors know about the tree’s presence in the sculpture garden as well as our own role in creating the piece: we are to write down our wishes and tie them to the tree.

Ono’s work always rides the edge of the poetic and idealistic, ever threatening to teeter over into hokeyness. Reading the description of the wish tree is enough to make a jaded art viewer cringe, expecting the worst. However, upon actually seeing the piece, my own cynicism was disarmed. A reading the various wishes showed that the work has a very human quality. The wishes included the expected altruisms (“I wish for world peace”) but also the politically charged (“I wish for an end to abortion,” “I wish for no more Bush”), the sarcastic (“I wish Yoko would stop making music”), the alarming (“I wish for more guns in my house”), the completely random (“I wish I could catch a seagull with my bare hands”), the libidinal (“I wish for hot sex”), and the heartbreakingly personal (“I wish for a cure for MS,” “I wish my mommy and daddy were back together,” “I wish for my brother to come home from Iraq”). The piece seems to involve an honesty and a breadth of human experience, as well as a democratic nature. As one gentleman in the sculpture garden explained to his children in a matter-of-fact southern drawl, “Some people wish for small wishes and some people wish for great wishes, but we all get to wish for what we choose.” It is satisfying to note that Ono will not read or censor any of the wishes but will include them all in a peace monument she will build in Iceland. This is refreshing in a time when many equate peace with heightened security, which involves censorship and suppression.




Ono did not invent the idea of the wish tree; it is a Japanese tradition to tie prayers to a tree. It seems almost like an offering, returning the paper back to its source. The wish tree is in some sense a modern day version of prayer; in a world where many no longer believe in a god, people still want their inner desires to be heard.

Ono’s work lacks the heavy-handedness so common in the art world today. Her instructions are minimal and so she allows participants to bring their own interpretation to the work. This may be why it can succeed even when dealing with potentially cheesy subject matter, and why there is not a wide gulf between the actual work and how the artist or curator frames it.

The Collection of Cyrus and Myrtle Katzen

Lauren Rice

My opportunity to tour benefactors Dr. Cyrus and Myrtle Katzen’s apartment was certainly a rare and generous honor. That said, I am certain that any person that experienced claustrophobia in Whistler’s Peacock Room experienced it twofold under these circumstances. I am reasonably comfortable in tight spaces, particularly those crowded with inanimate objects as opposed to people so I was engaged instead of overwhelmed by the situation. The Katzen’s art collection is so large (and continues to grow!) that every spare wall surface was covered with examples of work by artists as diverse as Nancy Graves’, Pablo Picasso, Larry Rivers, Dale Chihuly among many, many others, including AU’s own Don Kimes and William Willis. Sculptures and glass works sprouted out of every corner. Most table surfaces were also used as exhibition areas. Furthermore, the artworks were surrounded by fantastically ornate furniture and patterned rugs, which added to the eccentric personality of the Katzen’s home. I find it extremely difficult to base this review on the quality of every individual piece of work at the Katzen’s apartment, or even give a complete sense of the breadth of work on view. Although, a few works stood out in particular, such as lovely little drawings by Modigliani and Milton Avery in addition to a Bill Willis painting entitled Heroes, I believe it to be much more relevant to discuss the Katzen’s space as a whole, specifically considering the Katzen’s collection of chachkas or kitsch collectibles. Furthermore, I believe it relevant to discuss kitsch’s relationship to fine art in general. Several questions come to mind based on the Katzen’s display of both kitsch and fine art. What are the differences between the two? Is there a different system of value for each type of work? Finally, how significant is humor’s role in an artwork? ( I don’t think I can answer these questions in a short review. However, I believe they are important to consider in relationship to the Katzen’s collection.)

Kitsch is defined by The American Heritage Dictionary as “Sentimentality or vulgar, often pretentious bad taste, especially in the arts,” whereas the term fine art is described as “a visual art considered to have been created primarily for aesthetic purposes and judged for its beauty and meaningfulness, specifically painting, sculpture, drawing, watercolor, graphics and architecture.” Clearly these definitions value high art over kitsch. However, given many significant artist’s use of kitsch as their works subject matter and/or the “productness” of art as their works content, the matter becomes stickier than the above definitions allow.

In addition to being kind enough to open up their home to such a motley crew of art students, the Katzen’s also lead the tour, providing myriad anecdotes along the way. Dr. Katzen was most engaged with his stories about his chachkas, delightedly showing us his collection of battery-powered dolls, including a furry gorilla that sang “I don’t want to work, I want to play drums all day” as it naturally banged on two miniature bongos. A metal sculpture of Picasso with a girl bathing in his stomach sat beneath several Picasso drawings and ceramic works. Many of the works were slightly off-color, not my grandmother’s Hummel figures by any means. My favorites of these were a series of sculptural works made by a Texas artist depicting scruffy, southern bandits hiding in trees, waiting to shoot the good guys. When I said this aloud, Myrtle, who is a painter herself, decidedly stated that she preferred the serious works while her husband liked the humorous trinkets. So I got to thinking about art and seriousness. Although I do believe that making art should not be taken lightly (and neither should looking at it), I have found myself looking more and more for humor in my work and the work of others.

Considering that the Katzen’s collection was overridingly Modernist, I began to wonder why the paintings (except perhaps for a few Larry Rivers relief paintings) and chachka collections were so disparate. Why, for example, aren’t the Katzen’s collecting Jeff Koons whose work focuses on “Art” and kitsch? Or even John Currin (I say this through gritted teeth)? For indeed, the close proximity of the chachkas and the paintings made a simple statement: art and chachkas are both products. The Katzen’s display of their collection knocked down the intellectual and emotional effect of the painted works while it built up that of the chachkas. However, the crammed apartment and the display of the chachkas added humor to the otherwise sober collection of paintings.

Barbering: A Dying Craft (And An Undergraduate Show, Floundering At Best)

Cory Oberndorfer

As a child, I spent little time alone with my father. He played the traditional role of the family breadwinner and house handyman. But once a month, we would get haircuts. Being raised in the Midwest, this meant a trip to the barbershop. It was easy to spot with the rotating white, red and blue barber pole outside. The clientele consisted of men. Old men with little hair, middle-aged men with slightly more hair, and on Saturdays, men with their sons. There was also no shortage of mustaches in the area. For years I was under the impression that barbers were required to have names with three letters or less. There were always men like Ed, Ted, Tim, Mac, Bud, Bob, Joe and at least two Jims per shop. Barbering was a family tradition and there were usually brothers or fathers and sons running the shop, and one thing was always certain—when you came in you would get a haircut. And by this, I mean you would get “the haircut”. There were only slight variations on the outcome of the haircut.

Today, for the first time in many years I visited a place I was proud to recognize as a true, honest-to-god barbershop. Hidden in a nearby residential area next to a bowling alley(natch) was the Westwood Barbershop. I didn’t need to make an appointment as the place only takes walk-ins and cash. As I walked though the door the nearest barber removed the cape from the back of his chair in a silent invitation to sit. He was a man I would estimate to be in his 80’s and I could only assume he held this profession his entire life. He deftly wrapped my neck, draped the cape over me and proceeded to begin his work with an electric razor. He used his comb to part my hair on one side and asked how I wanted my hair to lie. It took me a second to understand what he meant since I haven’t owned a comb or parted my hair in over fifteen years and my hair rarely “lies” in any particular fashion, if it “lies” at all. He emphasized that I would require hair gel to get it to lie properly at the length he was cutting it. Apparently, he takes great pride in getting hair to lie in a certain way.

As he worked on my hair with nary a word spoken, I enjoyed the time to drink in the surrounding atmosphere. The shop was small, with room for five barber chairs lined up near a counter on one wall and red vinyl chairs lining the opposite wall. There were no sinks, as a barber does not provide washes. There were no hairdryers or styling products. In the vinyl chairs sat several older gentlemen reading the paper, an act I can only assume they would continue for most of the morning. In the other barber chairs were several more gentlemen with hair only on the sides and back to be cut, as well as a man in his 30’s sitting in a chair adjacent to his 10-year-old son getting a haircut. There were probably four generations being represented. Very few words were spoken in the shop. The only conversation I could hear was that of the man next to me discussing what type of fertilizer he uses(he used to use manure but now uses this processed stuff that contains no phosphorus). The five barbers all wore the same hairstyle and matching short-sleeved blue shirts that zip up the front. None seemed under the age of 65. I’m sure the barber in his 60’s was probably referred to as “the kid” or “the new guy”. From my vantage point, I was able to see several of the name plaques displayed in the stations. They read “Joe Santini”, “Nick Santini” and “Nickolas Santini”. It just seemed right that they were all family, despite the fact that some of the names were longer than three letters.

I watched as the men displayed a mastery of their craft. In the ten minutes that my haircut lasted, Nick worked effortlessly with his razor. He never needed to check the lengths or even out the sides, as they were executed perfectly on the first pass. The top was trimmed with just a few passes of the scissors. He then placed warm shaving cream around my ears and along my neckline before taking care of the edges with a straight razor. I peeked over at Joe in time to catch him trimming the nose hair of his client.

At this point you may be asking yourself why I’m writing an art review of my trip to get a haircut. The answer is simple…pride and dedication to craft. These men had all chosen their lot in life and honored the tradition that came with it. Just as a painter makes a mark, the barber works his shears. He provides a work of art for the individual to present to the world. Call me nostalgic, but I can’t help holding the highest level of respect for these barbers and their art. Plus, Art is a perfect barber name.

American University Undergraduate Exhibition


As an American University MFA candidate, I was very curious to see what our program was churning out on the undergraduate level. After all, these are the students representing my school and its reputation. But having high hopes and expectations runs its risks…it’s easy to be disappointed. After viewing the show, I was wishing I were merely disappointed. Instead, I was appalled and ashamed.

I am well aware of the fact that the visual arts department does not emphasize Bachelor of Fine Arts degrees and that very few students seek this degree. But I also know that there are many students introduced to the arts through curriculum requirements. I also know that American University has pedigreed faculty members teaching these students. So what went wrong?

I did not see any sort of art education or instruction in the work presented in this show. There were drawings and paintings of a very naïve nature. Knowledge of line, value, contour, form and content were hinted at, at best. I did not see what I would consider a single finished piece. Most were incomplete or presented as studio sketches stuck to the wall with pins. The museum wall, I should add.

Was this show representative of the curriculum? If so, the requirements have a misguided standard. Were the advanced students not represented? Doubtful. Most artists would be thrilled at the opportunity to display their work in a museum. Is it possible that our high-quality instructors do not push the students? Perhaps they do not push them to create “finished” work, but even if the exploration of the work is the focus I could assume at least a few final products would slip through. Does the problem lie in the facilities provided? Although the new Katzen Art Center is not extravagant, the studio spaces are definitely functional and should not be a hindrance to the process.

These are just a couple of the questions the administration should be asking themselves in search of a significant improvement to the program. It is now weeks later and I am still speechless over what I saw. I could as more questions or make more observations but to be honest, I am at a loss for words.

There were, however, two parts to this show. The second part being that of the graphic design students. In my opinion, this part of the show faired better than that of the drawings and paintings, but the standards and expectations are different. Most design students with a bachelors degree are expected to enter directly into the professional world. Unfortunately, with the accessibility of computer-based design programs this field is not as elite as it used to be. There are now many graphic design degrees that can be completed over the internet, in condensed programs and through night classes. This severely ups the ante of what is expected from a quality University program. Pleasantly, it was obvious that craftsmanship is stressed in this program. Not only was the work well-presented, but the cleanliness in the layout and content was also apparent. Which leads me to the one word I would use to describe the design part of the exhibit…predictable. I saw no work that varied from the aesthetic prevalent in Print Magazine. This is often what happens when design is being taught in an educational environment by other designers. I have a feeling that many of these students will be disappointed and frustrated when they begin positions in the professional world. A world full of restrictions, and worse, clients. Their once beautiful product layouts fall victim to cost issues, quality issues of inks, paper and other materials, the bad taste of clients who feel obligated to override any decision the designer has made, and the issue of overall practicality.

To the design students, I applaud your efforts and wish you luck in your pursuits. It is not your University education that will form your career, but the first few years floundering in the real world. Brace yourself.


**With this criticism, I am admitting the fact that I am making generalizations of the show as a whole and intentionally do not mention the success or failure of individual artists.

Virgil Marti and Pae White: Directions, Hirshhorn Museum

The wall text for Marti and White’s installation in the Hirshhorn’s lobby calls it a “transformation” of the space. In its failure to live up to this buildup, the actual work is ultimately a disappointment, seeming more of a collection of disparate pieces than a space-altering installation or cohesive collaboration. The installation, however, does contain the beginnings of several interesting ideas, which would be convincing and powerful if explored further.

There are four main components to the installation. Marti created decorative sculptures in a playful goth style, with curtains made of golden bones as well as colorful chandeliers composed of resin branches and flowers and hung from the ceiling with macramé. White’s contributions ranged from a giant window decal portraying a network of bright cartoon lines to lumpy sofas draped with tapestries that depict enlarged scraps of newspaper or yellow pages.

Approaching the museum from the outside, one senses an avenue the artists could have investigated further. From outside the building, the lobby has the appearance of a gloomy, somewhat creepy church. White’s window piece acts as an out-of-control, spider-webbing stained glass window, while Marti’s chandeliers glow within. It brings to mind the idea of the museum replacing the church as the new institution that controls art. Upon entering the lobby, unfortunately, the effect is lost. The original feel of the space tames and overpowers any new feeling suggested by the installation (unfortunately, it’s difficult to find shows where that museum feeling doesn’t overpower the work). In the interview White reveals that she had considered “covering the windows completely with huge heavy tapestries;” this raises the question of why she did not choose this route, which may have helped bring about that desired transformation of the space.

The most interesting idea in the installation (and the place where collaboration is most evident) is the dialogue between Marti’s curtains and White’s newspaper sofa. White’s sofa transforms important news events into objects that are sat on while their significance goes unnoticed. In an interview she discusses the awkwardness of “a tragedy in Somalia yesterday becom[ing] furniture in Washington, DC, today.” In light of this, Marti’s curtains are laden with a new layer of meaning; the bones allude to the atrocities we commit or at least allow in order to maintain our golden wealth and status. Together, these two pieces speak of first world commodification of third world suffering. An advantage of this idea is that it doesn’t necessitate the aforementioned transformation of the space, since it seems more like a subversion of the system from within. However, it seems the artists stopped short of truly exploring the fertile territory hinted at by this idea.

In the end, the problem may be partly rooted in how the museum frames the work. In addition to the “transformation” issue, another example is a relic from the artists’ first collaboration at Skowhegan. Originally it acted as a suggestion box to fuel their interactive piece. The museum text justifies its presence as a reminiscence of the artists’ history, an allusion to the nature of collaboration as an exchange of suggestions, and an object that “echoes the form of the museum shop.” The first two reasons are valid, but the third makes me think, “So, the suggestion box and the gift shop are both sort of rectangular boxes; isn’t that kind of a stretch?” This is diagnostic of an overall attempt of the museum to justify the installation through a description that may not actually apply, thereby confusing viewers with wrong expectations and awkward inconsistencies.