Our friends at Beautiful/Decay just released a great studio visit video with Los Angeles-based artist Eric Yanker. It’s a must see…

Los Angeles artist Eric Yahnker opened the doors of his downtown studio to Beautiful/Decay and Visual Creatures to give our readers insight into his witty, iconic work that is layered with pop culture influences and the deconstruction of its icons. Eric discusses his career change from Journalism to art, his disdain for painting, and his love of Mel Brooks, Woody Allen, and Rodney Dangerfield.

Eric Yahnker Beautiful/Decay Studio Visit from Beautiful/Decay Magazine on Vimeo.

Flipping through Suburbia, Bill Owens’s now seminal examination of suburban life in 1970s California, I find my initial responses closely resemble the way I recall feeling as I watched “Leave it To Beaver” or “I Love Lucy” as a child: amusement, plus a sense of distance from my own way of life.  After scanning the book, I pass it over to my father. A grin spreads across his face when he identifies a pair of shoes he shared in common with one of Owens’s protagonists: “I used to look and dress just like that guy.”

"As a union carpenter I earn $90 a day. That includes my medical, dental and retirement program. I can only work like this for about ten years before I’m burned out or injured. I want to be foreman next—more money for less work." From the “Working (I Do It For The Money)” series, circa 1976-1977. Gelatin silver print. 8 x 10 inches. Courtesy of the San Jose Museum of Art.

Up now at the San Jose Museum of Art, Bill Owens: Ordinary Folks is a small and quiet exhibition of forty vintage gelatin silver prints from three series produced by the photographer in the 1970s, shot predominantly in the Bay Area. In Suburbia (1972), Owens presents vignettes of early-seventies, middle-class suburban life, an investigation he carried on with greater specificity in Our Kind of People (1975), where he looked at fraternal organizations, youth activities and other groups.  Working (I Do It For The Money) (1976) draws its inspiration from the various professional listings in the Yellow Pages, and documents occupations ranging from executives to factory workers.

Given his in-depth examination of specific communities, critics frequently associate this work with the American tradition of social documentary photography, pioneered by figures such as Dorothea Lange, Walker Evans and Diane Arbus. Certainly, the fact that Owens was working as a photojournalist for a local newspaper at the time these photographs were produced must have informed his aesthetic inclinations. Yet there is something intimate and familiar about the photographs, an intimacy I attribute to the fact that Owens was not an outsider merely documenting a situation, but was himself implicated in the social landscape he was chronicling.

"It’s fun to break up the glass. We’re doing our thing for ecology and the Boy Scouts will give us a badge for working here." From the “Suburbia” series, 1971. Gelatin silver print. 14 x 11 inches. Courtesy of the San Jose Museum of Art.

Text also plays a significant role in experiencing these photographs. One cannot help but smile at the honest and endearing remarks of the three, stoic young boys, posed with glass bottles in hand: “It’s fun to break up the glass. We’re doing our thing for ecology and the Boy Scouts will give us a badge for working here.” While Owens’s photographs capture idiosyncrasies characteristic of a particular moment in American history, many of the comments from his subjects transcend the period. People continue to wonder what it takes to attain the “American Dream,” what this attainment might mean, and how home, lifestyle and profession shape our identities.

So expect to see extraordinary feats of home decoration, bouffant hairdos, bellbottom pants and wide lapels. But also be prepared to encounter more facets of present day society than you may initially anticipate.  Nostalgia is not all these photographs have to offer.

Bill Owens: Ordinary Folks is on display at the San Jose Museum of Art through February 5, 2012.

This Sunday we’re taking a look back at the exhibition, Infinity, curated by Andrew Schoultz in 2009. Schoultz’s own work is currently featured with Paul Klee in the exhibit, Images in Dialogue, on view at the SF MoMA until January 2012.

The following article was originally published on October 23, 2009 by Edy Pickens.

Infinity, curated by Andrew Schoultz is a collection of 15 contemporary artists’ interpretations of a boundless theme. Scion Space in Los Angeles hosts the exhibit, which opened Saturday, October 10th, and will continue through November 7th, 2009. Prior to the opening, I chatted with some of the artists as well as the curator, who revealed how relative concepts are strategically woven into the pieces, whether through mathematics, metaphor, science, or technique.

Schoultz chose artists who frequently question life’s immeasurability, like Ryan Wallace. During the process of completing oil paintings such as Fulcrum, Wallace explained that he saves pieces of tape used to mask off sharp-edges. Wallace then uses the tape and other appropriate odds and ends in his studio to make pieces like Quest. Throughout his process, Wallace experiments with how variables involved in the chemistry of oils, alkyds, acrylics, mylar, paper, and tape affect the surface of his painting. He enjoys “letting each material have its own voice based on chemical properties.” Further, his imagery questions aspects of physics that might be in play. For example, Fulcrum features two intersecting walls; yet, one cannot determine which wall is acting as the support for the other. Therefore, the walls take on an endless “push-pull” scenario. Similarly, Quest features a central orb created by light tones in the center of the panel surrounded by darker vertical strips. The sphere-like shape hovers and can be seen as an ascending or descending point simultaneously.

Chris Natrop scrutinizes the concept of infinity on a more microscopic level in that he thinks of his cut out shapes as “molecular bombardments.” Infinity features one of Natrop’s first, stand-alone sculptures, different from the room-sized installation pieces he is used to creating. In all of Natrop’s work, he deals with shapes that he has captured from his memory–spindling, interweaving forms he spontaneously cuts with a knife and hangs with transparent string. Also new to his work is the inclusion of two-way, acrylic mirrors that he had fabricated specifically for the piece displayed at Scion.

Contemporary collage artist, Hilary Pecis, is represented in the show by two of her collages. One of her works were created specifically for Infinity, as well as some of her new video installations. Pecis’s collages stay true to her fundamental aesthetics. She continues to entrance viewers with meticulous depictions of angular patterns, whether they are the varying facets of cut gemstones or the repetitive planes of her trademark ink drawings. Pecis pointed out the underlying theme of “limitless combinations” in her work. For example, she sought out multiple sources to represent white in her new collage. In the past, she may have used a single source, like fabric from a wedding dress, to fill the white spaces. Now, however, she has substituted many different magazine images in addition to other white fabrics. As usual, Pecis depicts cosmic landscapes brimming with glimpses of society’s prized commodities. She reiterated that the landscapes are basically the same place, but the seasons are different. Seasons change in her work due to the fact that the countless magazines she uses change intervals from spring, summer, fall or winter. Pecis admitted that her reliance on print media will likely shift as digital media becomes more relevant. Her video installations feature segments of her multi-faceted ink drawings interspersed with translucent, floating, shapes, some of them different types of diamonds. In one of the videos, crows horde a pile of diamonds, CD’s, and other “bling”–metaphorically showing that the “continuum of desire is never fulfilled.”

In addition to curating the show, Schoultz contributed an intricate ink drawing that speaks to “the infinite unraveling of history.” The drawing, which is reminiscent of both Indian miniature painting and 14th century German map-making, is chock full of military symbolism. The upper half of the composition is dominated by a labyrinthine mixture of vertical flags, all emblazoned with the masonic eye, and a variety of unraveling ribbons, culminating into the shape of a horizontal 8–the undeniable symbol of infinity. The lower half of the composition shows a military horse carrying a turban-clad man with his eyes closed and hands raised as if in meditation. To Schoultz, it is important to portray the duality involved, so there are references to peace as well as war, just as the infinite must also contain the finite.

Other artists who participate in the show are Ryan Travis Christian, Richard Colman, N. Dash, Noah Davis, Chris Duncan, Andres Guerrero, Joseph Hart, Andy Diaz Hope, Xylor Jane, Butt Johnson, and Aaron Noble.

For this edition of Fan Mail, Toronto based Alex McLeod has been selected from a group of worthy submissions.  If you would like to be considered, please submit to info@dailyserving.com a link to your website with ‘Fan Mail’ in the subject line.  Two artists are featured each month—the next one could be you!

Alex McLeod. "Jungle," 2011. C-print. 36 × 36 inches. Courtesy of the Artist.

My first look at Alex McLeod’s work immediately reminds me of the photographs of James Casebere and Thomas Demand. Like these contemporaries, I assumed McLeod created these elaborate environments in his studio and photographed the resulting dioramas. Yet, there are textures, forms and lighting in these landscapes that defy the logistics of this approach. In Jungle, bulbous, glassy objects appear to float throughout the scene, reflecting light from far more sources than seems possible. Concentric circles pattern innumerable surfaces with detail beyond the scope of any human hand. It was a small flock of birds in the upper left corner, though, that finally led me to investigate the specifics of McLeod’s process in creating these whimsical environs.

McLeod uses various 3D modeling programs to construct computer-generated imagery, sometimes using appropriated models from online sources. Of his approach, the artist explains, “I wanted to negotiate a space between complexity for details sake, and simplicity for aesthetics sake, like baroque meets cartoon.” While he exploits technology to achieve hyperreal detail and attention to lighting, viable representations of familiar materials like wood and water render a more accessible reality. Moderating the dichotomy between real world and fantasy, McLeod seamlessly integrates moments of commonplace and virtual realities. While some of these environments exude lightheartedness – epitomized by bright, candy-like colors and playful forms reminiscent of scenes from the 1971 Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory – others nod to more ominous circumstances.

Alex McLeod. "Copper Cavern," 2011. C-print, 36 x 36 inches. Courtesy of the Artist.

McLeod exhibits these imagined landscapes as large-scale digital C prints; his smallest works are 32 x 48 inches. The physical size of his work facilitates the viewer’s transition into an alternate reality, by forcing engagement with unfamiliar details in the context of a somewhat recognizable world.

Alex McLeod: Distant Secrets opens at Angell Gallery in Toronto, Canada on August 25^th.

L.A. Expanded: Notes from the West Coast
A weekly column by Catherine Wagley

Ana Mendieta, "Silueta Works in Mexico," 1973–77, Details, Color photographs. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles.

In 2002, feminist matriarch Judy Chicago co-curated an all-women art exhibition in China, in a place called Lugu Lake, historically a matriarchal society. At the last minute, just before the show’s opening, another curator, a man, arrived with a piece his wife had made. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that was by a man,” Chicago said to a friend. As it turned out, it was. “The guy used his wife’s name and thought he’d put one over on me,” recalled Chicago, who has looked at countless artworks by men and women and become an expert at distinguishing the sometimes slight differences in perspective. After all, telling the girls from the guys is a necessary ability when your aim is getting more girl artists onto the playing field. Though, in the past six decades, the girls have often made announcing their gender key to their projects.

Two shows up in Los Angeles right now feel like smart reunions of member of an all-girl gang, one that banded together in the 1960s then began to thrive ‘70s and continued into the early ‘80s. Not all the key members actually knew each other. But they probably knew of each other, given that they shared a goal: to show how much women mattered and how criminal it was they’d been excluded from art, which stood in for life at large.

The Personal is Political, a headily titled exhibition of work culled from the collection of MOCA Los Angeles, includes some goose-bump worthy gems. Ana Mendieta’s gently insidious Siluetas, showing of the outline of the artist’s petite body in blood, sand, dirt and greenery; pages of handwriting by Adrian Piper, chronicling the artist-philosopher’s youthful, overtly optimistic dive into Kantian metaphysics; Alice Neel’s figure painting, defiant yet wholly comfortable in its own skin. Most of the women in this compact exhibition seem bent on proving the mind to be as potent and powerful as the body, a project particularly feminine since the minds of women had been downplayed for eons.

Mary Beth Edelson, "The Last Supper," 1972.

Only a few miles away, at Subliminal Projects in Echo Park, a similar sort of corroboration plays out in an exhibition called Eve. Artists Mary Beth Edelson, Judy Chicago, Lisa Steele and Hannah Wilke—women who also belonged to the groundbreaking girl gang—again assert themselves as bodies with minds that deserve a place in history. There’s an urgent energy to their work, most of which aims to reform the art world itself. Edelson superimposes the heads of female artists on figures in da Vinci’s The Last Supper—Georgia O’Keefe appears as Christ—and Hannah Wilke poses topless in a print that posits feminists as fascists, warning the art world to watch out.

It’s a lot of fun to immerse yourself in history through these artists, especially since art has that singular ability to not just record what happened but to be what happened. Edelson’s Bringing Home the Evolution (1979), which puts maternal mastermind, sculptor Louise Bourgeois in revolutionary garb at the helm of a peace walk, not only reflects a sentiment of the time. It actually is the means Edelson used put that sentiment into the world.

But here’s the problem with Eve at Subliminal Projects, and other shows like it: in attempt to trace a trajectory, it includes work by younger female artists, who, perhaps with the exception of politically pointed Ayanah Moor, clearly do not belong to the same gang. This makes the younger artists seem more diffuse and undirected than they otherwise would.

Born in 1969 and after, they’re barely old to have witnessed third wave feminists and, as much their work grapples with experiences of women, it doesn’t aggressively assert this experience, or carve a place for itself in spheres of culture. Kim McCarty’s flowing figures are ghostlike and lost in themselves. Alex Prager’s well-dressed ladies are lost in thought as well, and the photos live in a psychological space that sometimes becomes Lynchian, while Stella Vine’s dripping, big-eyed paintings of Princess Di or Lisa Lopes humanize celebrity.

Alex Prager, "Christine," 2007.

There are other women artists who would probably fit better into the legacy of 1970s feminism than those presented here. But the point is that time has changed enough that women working today feel comfortable in a space of ambiguity. Not only has this resulted from their far less dire circumstances—women now have retrospectives at MoMA and MOCA, they get gallery shows, etc.—but out of a changing cultural landscape.

When she reviewed the feminist blockbuster exhibition WACK!, critic Hunter Drohojowska-Philp commented that the catalog cover, a sea of sexy naked bodies culled from pop culture by Martha Rosler was originally a “critique of representation.” But, “Today, it looks like an advertisement for The L Word.”  Explicitness doesn’t have the same sway as it did forty and fifty years ago, but, at least in Eve, putting ambiguous artists next to the explicit, driven women of first and second wave feminism, makes the former appear weak-willed. It’s not fair, and it’s not informative. There’s something to be said for letting history stay in the past.

Today’s feature is brought to you from our friends at Beautiful/Decay. As part of their ongoing Artist Interview Series, B/D sat down with artist and illustrator Pat Perry to see what is happening in the studio.

Between train cars and mopeds, and over the course of thousands of miles, Pat Perry slowly realizes his dream of busting outside the confines of the mundane. All too often that monotony can squelch creative impulses, but this intrepid illustrator is pretty determined to avoid that at all cost. After getting in touch with Pat over email, we exchanged a few wayward text messages and in the end, missed each other in Chicago. It was between stops on this summer expedition of his, that he was able to answer some questions about the nature of his incredibly detailed work.

In a modern art era where so much is done digitally, Pat’s calculated and surreal illustrations bend back the paradigm by once again elevating the work elaborated by a traveler’s hands. His illustrations feels perfectly proportioned, almost as if in motion. Less reliance on symmetry and more focus on flow. There’s an energy about the continuity and vibrance of his images, whether the color scheme is brilliant or tempered, and his ability to satisfy a breadth of clients while still solidifying his fine art itch is admirable. Pat is dedicated to staying on his creative toes, which only means good news for those of us who know he’s on to something.

Read full interview here.

Theaster Gates, Love Seat, cement, wood, fabric and glass, 2011, courtesy of Kavi Gupta Chicago | Berlin

Outmoded by street festivals, public music events, movies in the parks, and trips to the beach, Chicago’s summertime visual art scene is a desert of options. Dominated by loosely-themed group shows and limited gallery hours, art spaces choose to focus on scheduling studio visits and re-strategizing programming, all but closing their doors to the public.

Kavi Gupta is arguably no exception, but the lure of the gallery artists in their simply and straightforwardly-titled group show, Summer, up through September 3, was enough to draw my interest. Stepping out of the 104 degree, 100% humid exuberance of a Chicago August, into the stark, air-conditioned quiet of the gallery space, the works in this show reflect a shared, and for me mutual, sense of wildness contained.

Theaster Gates’s sculptural pieces, uniform stacks of plates entombed in box-shaped cement, yearn to be unpacked, freed from their confinement. While Loveseat, the tattered, decripit, side-view of a sofa also encased in cement speaks more to times past, loss, decay, and eventual interment, but with a nod toward the savage process of decomposition controlled.

Antonia Gurkovska Untitled (AG12) oil, acrylic, enamel paint, staples on canvas, 2011, courtesy of Kavi Gupta Chicago | Berlin

A large painting, Untitled, by Antonia Gurkovska unexpectedly reveals itself. Upon approach, pastel pours give way to vague art historically familiar figures undulating on a background of meticulous rows of staples. Something about it is both primitive and prim in a juxtaposition that evokes a feeling of being let in on a secret–whispers devious yet restrained.

Curtis Mann, Night Sky, chemically altered chromogenic development print, 2011, courtesy of Kavi Gupta Chicago | Berlin

Curtis Mann reliably delivers with his Night Sky, a mural grid of chemically treated photos, as, moving up off the horizon line, stars become tiny explosions, become splatters of light. It is spectacular and disturbing in its dazzling and subsequent collapsing of the image.

Nathaniel Donnett, Treason in the Land of Melanosites, mixed media, 2011, courtesy of Kavi Gupta Chicago | Berlin

And finally, Nathaniel Donnett’s collage-drawing, a boy, his head enigmatically composed of a black trash bag, carrying a giant, obviously burdensome chess piece. I don’t quite have it all figured out, but the title, Treason in the Land of Melanosites, makes a nod to skin pigmentation somehow gone awry, the child’s t-shirt references Tutenkhamen and (Michael?) Jackson, among others, with a prominent gold necklace stating “King” hanging around the chess piece’s de-facto neck. I struggle to put together pieces of a puzzle that isn’t yet complete, but one thing’s sure: wherever this kid is going with the strain of his gamepiece, it feels strangely hopeful. Donnett’s work will be featured in a solo show at Kavi Gupta in September, an opportunity to pick up more clues from this sphinx.

And with that, I head back out into the heat.