Musings following last night's opening

I spent several hours last evening at Kavi Gupta Gallery, attending his shared openings of new work by Curtis Mann, a Chicago based conceptual photographer who most recently was included in the 2010 Whitney Biennial, and James Krone, a (perhaps conceptual) painter and sculptor who is previously from Chicago (when he attended the SAIC) but who now resides in Berlin. Each artist showed a set of recently completed works; pieces that both encompass multiple aspects of their practice, and that hold a direct line to ongoing projects shown elsewhere. As such, there was a palpable excitement accompanying each artist's presentation of his work and a quite fine pleasure experienced as a result. What was at first quite diverse as well about the two exhibitions ultimately proved to be in turn evidence of a shared set of ideas and approaches to their respective practices. This emerged over time spent talking to each of the artists and with the opportunity to engage in repeat visits across the evening, walking among the growing opening crowd, to spend time with the works across the gallery's spaces. Surprisingly, I came to realize that what I took from each was a shared effort at containing and contextualizing memory.

Mann has captured my interest on several occasions this past year -- first, when I viewed his work included in the Whitney Biennial and then again, when I had the chance to spend time with his piece at Kavi's booth during this year's Art Chicago. While there was considerable buzz about other artist's efforts in both of these exhibits, Mann's work nonetheless proved quite engaging, and opened an interesting dialog for me. I kept it on low boil and asked, on occasion, about what was coming together for him for this current show. But despite my interest, I remained uncertain. That changed quite quickly for me on walking into the gallery and seeing (thanks to gallery director, Julia Fischbach's kind direction) two specific smaller pieces, Injured and Interior, that serve as game changers, harbingers of where Mann is going from his larger scale works previously on display. While the large scale pieces in the current show shine (particularly Pillar and Removal,Two Sides), with clear efforts at exploring and then redetermining Mann's experiences with the conflict playing out in the Middle East, they do not grab me as readily as each of these smaller works proved to -- given their subtle play on the personal within the conflict, as well as how the true horrors of war play out at an individual level. Interior in particular captivated me, with its small bore release of fire and gas. In contrast, Injured suggested an almost in the moment experience of the conflagration that likely contributed to the injury. The efforts made by Mann to manipulate and recontextualize the photographs only serve to bring their content to the foreground directly and aggressively. The beauty of each piece is its ability to direct the viewer's gaze, to the exact elements that reveal its underlying content. On discussion with Julia, I recognized that my interest in Mann was now clearly and effectively defined; I chose to add these works to my collection.

Krone's work continues to sit with me today, particularly the black paintings (Ceremonial Paintings I-III), but even moreso, the perfume painting (Sigil-Nightflight I). I spent time talking with Kavi's Berlin director, Marc Leblanc, about Krone's practice (James himself was busy greeting the many visitors coming to catch up with him and congratulate him on the show), as well as some of the background for the pieces. Both Marc and Julia shared enough information to provide a broader context for the pieces, as well as to guide me in seeing that Krone is in many ways giving representation to his experiences of loss and self-revitalization. The almost monastic process behind the black paintings served to convince me of a definite engagement by Krone with both the historical (reinterpreting in his own language a lineage with such artists as Johns, Reinhardt, or Rothko) as well as the strongly personal. I was surprisingly moved by Krone's perfume painting in particular -- its beauty further enhanced by the use of a perfume from his childhood home, gathered after his father's death. Coupled with the bright, yet quite calm and serene paintings of the fabric print on chairs left by a former partner (Chair Painting I-IV), the varied works, including the sculptures (Ashtray I-IV), all spoke quietly of making sense of one's self and experience. I left after having a brief conversation with Krone, telling him I looked forward to discussing his practice in greater length.

It was a quite engaging evening, one I am pleased to have had. I appreciate the pleasure it left me with, including the chance to say hello to several very well regarded artists of whom I continue to be excited to know.

My thoughts on Richard Hawkins: Third Mind at the AIC

With a practice encompassing multiple, diverse approaches, including painting, sculpture, correspondence, collage and cultural appropriation, Richard Hawkins has created a body of work that represents active voyeurism in juxtaposition with the inherent ambiguities that underlie highly literate gay male desire. Since the late 1980s, when he first began to actively present his work in shows in Los Angeles and San Francisco, Hawkins has challenged the viewer’s notions of context and experience. Through engagement with the ephemera of queer culture, Thai sex tourism, ancient Greek and Roman sculpture, 19th century French Decadent painting and literature, and pop cultural references, Hawkins has pushed us to reconsider our ideas of sensuality and desire, and to embrace what is frequently left under wraps, both physically and psychologically.

Hawkins’ first American museum survey, curated by Lisa Dorin, proves a wonderful introduction to the broad spectrum of his practice. Across multiple rooms in the Art Institute of Chicago’s Modern Wing, and Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, viewers are treated to a range of seductions that ultimately serve to “shake up” both the personal experience of viewing and the relative quiet of the museum setting. This is quite liberating. Hawkins’ varied works engage psychologically and physically at multiple levels, challenging both the intellect and the libido, often simultaneously. As well, the initial discomfort and even embarrassment one first encounters with his work subsides with time spent taking it in, with a mostly tender experience of relief. Ultimately, as Hawkins himself strives to reconstruct ideas about art practice and its references, so to does the viewer, by joining him in first confronting and then ultimately entering the unfolding enjoyment and subtle satisfaction that is inherent in the creation of each piece. Leaving the exhibit is as if leaving a deeply satisfying conversation; you feel both challenged and surprisingly open to a broader set of concerns.