The Ants Go Marching

By Zac Willis

The Black Box at the Hirshorn once again draws me in for a video piece that leaves me with more questions than answers. The current work is by Rivane Neuenschwander. She collaborated with Cao Guimaraes for the piece. The video consists of ants collecting left over confetti from a previous event. It is shot extremely close to the ants so the viewer can understand what they are doing. By shooting it close, it allowed the artists to capture the sounds the ants were making and other subtle noises that humans may not hear. It sounds simple, an easy concept to understand and watch, but it becomes complicated.

The ants respond and behave in ways to make one think that the confetti is a precious metal to them. It seems as though they will do anything to get their hands on it. In watching I started to see their struggles and triumphs. The ants where behaving like humans. There was a sense of pride in carrying the object, they contemplated what they were going to do with items, and they also fought over the items.

While viewing the piece I was thinking of how I collect items and covet them because they have become special to me. The ants were doing the same thing. The video was acting as a device to make me examine my own life and how I behave towards items that are special to me. I was watching the video, but I was thinking about my own situation. However, this is the shortcoming of the piece. I was bringing my own ideas into the piece and creating my own narrative to what I wanted the work to be about. I do not think that was the intention of the work. I think it was more about the ants reacting and responding to this change (confetti) to their environment. If there was to be a narrative for the work Neuenschwander would have followed one specific ant and not moved from ant to ant. Therefore, it is solely about the ants’ movement with these confetti pieces and how the ants respond to the environment with them.

In some ways I see this as nothing more than a documentary of ants that should be shown on the Discovery Channel. I am what is making this piece more than what it is. I as the viewer bring it the content to make it my own. I bring the story to give to the ants. There is nothing more for me to do than just pretend and let my mind wonder about my experiences. So in a sense, I am making the art. The viewer can not just be a viewer; they must be a participant for this piece to do anything.

“Degas to Diebenkorn: The Phillips Collects”

Richard Diebenkorn, "Ocean Park no. 54," oil on canvas, 1972

By Lana Stephens

I must admit, I had high expectations when I entered the Phillips Collection, located in D.C.’s Dupont Circle neighborhood, to view the advertised “Degas to Diebenkorn” exhibition. I was more than eager to enter the space allocated to history’s most well known and influential artists. Prepared to be inspired and transported, I began my journey through the “Phillips Collects.” Unfortunately, I hit a few roadblocks along the way.

Upon entering the exhibition I became immediately confused. I asked the security guard if I was in the right place and if this was indeed the beginning. She affirmed that it was. I was greeted by a large striking Diebenkorn painting titled “Ocean Park no.38.” Call me traditional, but I expected the exhibition to follow a historical timeline, given the title of the show. I was prepared for the exhibition to commence with Degas and culminate with Diebenkorn. Perhaps the title of the exhibition is not so literal. I put my confusion aside and drifted through the intimate rooms in the large Georgian revival home, once inhabited by founder Duncan Phillips.

The home is indeed impressive. The Phillips feels less like a cold institution than most museums I have visited, even down to the security guards who dress as they please and wear simple name tags. As I lingered in the rooms, I felt as though I could have been in the intimate quarters of a long lost friend, sifting through old photographs and keepsakes instead of admiring watershed works of art. The space lends itself to introspection, which for me, renders the experience of looking at art less academic and more meaningful.

The exhibition is introspective as well. It is titled “The Phillips Collects” after all, and takes the viewer less on a journey throughout history than on a tour through the museum’s archives. Large portions of the works chosen for display were selected not because they were turning points in history or catalysts for movements, but because they mark important events for the museum. For example, a text box informed me that a Vuillard pastel portrait is the first Vuillard drawing to enter the museum’s collection. Throughout the show viewers are offered interesting tidbits about artists and their relationships to the Phillips such as “The Phillips Collection was one of the first museums in the U.S. to host an exhibition of ....work.” The exhibition seems to glorify the museum more than the artists whose work is on display, which is actually an interesting concept.

The exhibition is essentially a celebration of newly acquired and gifted works of art, showcasing the breadth of the museum’s vast collection with over 100 new additions. Names such as Callibotte, Degas, Bonnard, Klee, Motherwell, Ansel Adams, Whistler, and Christenberry are only a few to grace the impressive roster. Don’t be misguided by the title of the exhibition however, only one Degas is on display despite the huge banners reading “From Degas to Diebenkorn.” The newly acquired Bonnard sketch is a breath of fresh air however, offering insight into how the artist built his paintings. The permanent collection hosts an impressive feat of Bonnard paintings, rendering the sketch a smart acquisition.

The exhibition could have been arranged more cohesively and in my opinion, should have followed some sort of historical timeline. Works were relationally arranged (i.e. very tactile colorful paintings in this room), which convoluted the exhibition. However, the acquisitions were impressive and I especially enjoyed the black and white photography featuring the work of Ansel Adams and Minor White. Overall, it’s an impressive collection and I suggest that individuals take advantage of not only viewing the current exhibition but taking a walk through the permanent collection as well.

Master Drawings at the National Gallery

Mary Cassatt, "Margo Wearing a Bonnet," 1903


By Katherine Sable


I spent another Saturday at the National Gallery drawing from the work in the Baroque Woodcut exhibition. As I wandered out of the three large spaces encompassing the works for that exhibition, I found myself in a dark, small room filled with drawings ranging from the 1500s to the early 1900s. At first glance, the exhibition seemed only a side note, a peculiar little room filled with a small collection disconnected from everything else in the museum. I passed by each piece quickly in awe and excitement at which one I would come to next, as each sketch held its own presence. Only later did I realize that they were drawings by Mary Cassatt, a few by Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Picasso, Durer, and a Bonnard, to name a few. There was little text, which I liked very much, leaving space for my eyes to wander and my mind to survey. The frames were as ornate as you would expect in a venue like the National Gallery, but the room was not grand and the ceilings were not high. The walls were dark and the lights dim. Not what you would expect for a show filled with the starts and honest explorations of the renowned masters of our art history. It succeeded in creating the most intimate of environments perfect for sharing a moment (or an afternoon, as I did) with these works on paper.

I was impressed by the representation of such highly esteemed artists contained in this small collection. As I stepped forward towards the second room, I found myself standing about 6 feet away from a dark drawing behind thick glass. This was a set up. I was clearly supposed to find in this room the highlight of the exhibition, the most “important” drawing. It was a Raphael and it was big, and it had its own room. The piece was almost creepy, a ghost image of a Madonna and child scene; only upon close examination did I find delicate and deliberate marks functioning to model the figures and the quiet face of the Madonna. I’m not sure if it was the atmosphere or the actual drawing, but when I entered the space designated for this drawing, I had to remind myself to breathe. Of course it is a Raphael, and it’s dated 1507. This thing shouldn’t even still survive; it was a preparatory drawing for the larger painting he would later do of "Madonna and Child with St. John the Baptist." This drawing is definitely one to write home about and it seduced me- but in my opinion, any number of the drawings in this collection deserved its own room.

I would have to award the best drawing in the house to an Albrecht Durer piece titled "The Centaur Family," dating to 1505. This miniature drawing resembles a cross-sectional study, each line carefully articulated, aiming to describe volume, mass and form of the figures. Durer’s line far exceeds description of volume, mass, and form and takes this drawing into a realm of complete complication. It is descriptive, yes, but it’s so candid. There is a curious smudge near the top of the drawing, revealing Durer’s search in this small composition. The marks are reminiscent of delicate curls, few and far between, light on touch, and completely perfect in place. This drawing is right on point. The marks are careful and quick and at the same time calculated. I spent a long time drawing from this small set of characters, each time hoping to come closer to the rhythm held comfortably in the miniature piece of paper.

Both of Van Gogh’s drawings held a completely different presence from that which I have described above. They were bold and aggressive but not contradictory; rather, they were very straightforward. The figures in "Man Polishing a Boot" and "Old Man Carrying a Bucket" held a peculiar, awkward, weighty stance. The lines, heavy and strong, faultlessly described the tired men, their exhausted bodies held a sameness with the exhausted shapes that described their bearing. I was much impressed by the quality of line Van Gogh achieved through seemingly quick mark making. The marks were deliberate but also at times haphazard. The boldness was drawn onto the surface of the paper, drawn above, paper used only to catch the day's end moments of the two men.

I also found Mary Cassatt’s graphite sketches to be quite beautiful. Cassatt’s drawing of "Margot Leaning Against Reine’s Knee" seemed to be drawn in the air, the paper acting purely as the space within the depicted world. Her lines inform the paper, but in the end surpass it and float above. In "Smiling Margot Wearing a Ruffled Bonnet," Cassatt’s ability to search and find during mark-making is much more evident. The face of the child looks to be revealed from lines and characters coming from her bonnet; slowly but suddenly my eyes find the child’s face. Cassatt exposes the child to us, and to me it felt as if that which I experienced was the same as Cassatt when the figure revealed itself during mark making.
Each drawing could stand alone, and with moments like these, I don’t know how anyone could decide which gets to be showcased in its own special room.

Confusion at the Museum

By The Ancient Urn

What should be the mission of a university museum? For those not in possession of the collections and resources of Yale or Harvard, the question is a complicated one. Funding shows, attracting shows, patronage, and filling gallery space become balls to juggle more than for the wealthy and well-endowed.

These issues are well evidenced by this year’s round of shows at the Katzen Center, which have left this MFA student scratching her head in confusion over what this museum wants to do – how it wants to present itself, what work it wants to show, how it wants to build its reputation. The range of shows has been, quite simply, staggering - and not always in a good way. The Katzen’s strategy seems to be, generally, a “blockbuster” show in the first floor galleries, with secondary or lesser known artists exhibited simultaneously in the upper floor galleries. This does not always hold, as with the Fernando Botero show on the third floor that accompanied the “Claiming Space” show of feminist artists on the first floor last fall. The “piggybacking” of minor artists on big names, though, is a recurring pattern in the museum’s exhibition schedule. Sometimes this has worked wonderfully, as with the Irving Norman show that was the third component in the “Art of Confrontation” triad that featured Botero and “Claiming Space.” Having not known Norman’s work, I for one was delighted to discover his intricate and emotionally charged social realist world. In this case, an unknown artist of merit was elevated by being shown concurrent with more recognized big name artists.

However, the Katzen sometimes plays this relationship dangerously in the opposite direction. The current exhibition group is a perfectly dismaying curatorial example. Elena Sisto’s beautiful, substantive oil paintings on the first floor are paired with still lives by Ben Summerford on the second floor that are, at best, less than thrilling, and deeply disappointing after Sisto’s works. Yet the Katzen’s press statement posted on its website claims:

“Summerford remains well-known for his still-lifes, landscapes, and interiors of exquisite color and sensitivity.
”

At the risk of sounding mean, I would seriously contest that Summerford’s work displays “exquisite color and sensitivity.” Elena Sisto’s work does. Summerford’s does not: it drags down the museum’s image and raises, doubts about the integrity of an art institution that would choose to show this work. Will the Katzen continue to attract artists of Sisto’s and Botero’s caliber if it pairs them with such as Summerford? Summerford is a professor emeritus at AU and that is certainly a factor in the museum’s curatorial decision to show him. His work may have value that is not artistic, such as historical value surrounding his role in the D.C. art world. I would assert, though, that far better work will be seen in the upcoming shows of graduate student work at the museum in April…

So far, for me, the odd mix of shows at the Katzen has worked just barely in the museum’s favor – I am still giving it the benefit of the doubt that, as with Irving Norman, I just might discover a worthwhile and previously unknown artist when I stroll down to take in a new show. It remains to be seen whether this will hold up. The museum should think seriously about what its role is and what it wants its image to be in the D.C. art world and beyond.

Is Graffiti Dead?

Banksy, "Laugh now, but one day we'll be in charge"

By Josh Baptista

Is the war over? Are there still starving kids out there? Maybe our views are too fucken narrow; maybe, we have been living in a fantasy world where the comments and convictions we make no longer have any meaning, but who knows, maybe I'm wrong.

I think we need to open the picture up. First of all, we have been communicating with graffiti from the beginning of time. It was not dead for the cave painters, the Egyptians, or the French revolution -- the birthplace of the stencil. However unfortunate it may be that "suits" have taken a hold of graffiti's marketable quality, the power of real graffiti has not diminished. I am moved every time I see a Swoon or a Banksy in a public space and cannot imagine that the intentions of the artists were for Urban Outfitters to get a hold of their influence. This is a huge concern and a problem not just for graffiti artists, but also for all alternative lifestyles. On the other hand, good graffiti has a message, and so, if the art receives attention, then more people will be exposed to the message.

Sterile surroundings provoke ideas of change in highly motivated kids. When people believe in what they are doing enough, they disregard their own safety and well being in order to benefit others. This is an ever-evolving energy that does not make sense to the corporate world, and thus, is something the corporate man will never obtain. All they do is ape the idea of graffiti without understanding exactly what graffiti really is. For example, a Rambo poster is not graffiti, no matter how hard Hollywood tries to make us think it is. It is waiting to become graffiti though, but that can only happen at the hands of artists.

The untrained person that encounters the Rambo poster that Cory Oberndorfer referenced in his review "Graf is Dead" on this blog might consider the poster to be graffiti, but then again, that same person might be wearing a graffiti-inspired t-shirt from Urban Outfitters. The poster lacks the convictions of an artist.

I would like to take a minute to question the nature of graffiti -- an art that constantly comments on its environment. With that said, do you think with an ever changing world there will be ever changing questions? In addition, yes, the suits will get a hold of that freedom that makes graffiti what it is, but this is only a cheap imitation, and it can never be authentic. This is the cycle, and the fact that it's becoming commercialized I think will only make this cult stronger. So how can the innovators die? The market needs graffiti and graffiti needs the market.

A world that has become desensitized to television, commercial stores like Urban Outfitters, and the ever-growing leeches of the marketing world. The corporate will always be trying to suck the marrow out of the honest nature of graffiti, but advertising could never possess the qualities this art has. Advertising will never be graffiti. The nature of the beast is never ending, and graffiti just keeps pushing on. As time has gone on, graffiti has just reinvented itself to stay ahead of the market. The language has only become more elaborate and sophisticated. Naïve people will always interpret advertising as graffiti, and it is job as the public writers to educate them so we do not get confused.

The exposure graffiti has received has spread worldwide awareness through the work. Graffiti is a virus of potent information and there will never be a cure for it.