BiCoastal : BiPolar

The other day, I was in Chelsea because of some X-rays connected with getting a physical exam. So I wandered way west over on 23, 24 & 25 Streets in a neat S-shaped pattern with zig-zag crossings, hoping to keep it simple and easy on my aging bones. What I saw, with few exceptions, was disheartening. Aside from the sense of being shouted at from all sides, there was a lot of unattractive bodily function on display, the kind of frenetic, anxious masturbating that you see in frightened toddlers and mental patients.

Knowing that most artists (and there are a lot of them) come from circumstances of comfort & wealth, I wonder what is at the root of this anxiety. Are they afraid their portfolios are now worthless, or, are they afraid their brand has lost market share? Have they figured out which way the wind is blowing? And then I made the mistake of reading ArtForum reviews of the latest (last?) art parties and auctions. And I learned that it was a "bloodbath" and a "freefall", that the bubble had burst and that I am going to have to go out and get a second job again.

The Richard Prince was Oh so bo-o-o-ring. But there were a few things that caught my attention: a young Philadelphia photographer named Zoe Strauss, who shoots the underbelly and does it well and generously, despite a lot of lo-res funk in the image; an assemblage show at Zoubek of some dead guy, Salvatore Meo, whose work reminds me of T's, but the prognosis isn't good. You can't just make a lot of beautiful stuff in your lifetime and expect the world to recognize you after you're gone; and a couple of other surprises that I can't now recall.

So much of the work looks over-planned and eviscerated by technique. The technique of late seems to consist mainly of producing the ugliest possible digital pictures on any surface that will take them and then scratching them up with a few hand gestures.

:::

So "customer satisfaction" is the new gospel of the marketeers. Analytics tools! Quantitative data! Kick some major butt! They are putting people into this bucket and that bucket. And then...

"Customer-driven, even though it sounds so nice and politically correct, is another totally illogical concept of the past. At our company..., we trust in an insight of Henry Ford, who once said: 'If I had asked customers what they wanted, they would have told me they wanted a faster horse'."

[an unattributed quotation from the vast world wide web. -ed] 

Oy! you read too much of this stuff and you remember why you go under the radar for half the year. Most people don't get it that I'm completely off-line from May until I get back in the fall. A couple of years ago, I came back to the city looking for a freelance gig and when I said I hadn't touched a computer in 6 months, they said "Do you think you'll have the chops for the job?" It's better to lie.

:::

T. just called from Seal Beach and F. is not dying, not right away, at any rate. So now what?

And the nurse practicioner called to say that my good cholesterol was good enough to offset the bad cholesterol, so nothing is to be done.

This, from Peter Plagens: "...in desperate search of art with feeling rather than strategy at its core". Took the words right out of my mouth.

I am reading the LA Times (online, of course) because I have an unquenchable addiction to palm trees and I fantasize constantly about moving back. Although, I was back recently because of F's 90th, and when we drove down south, not only could we not get into the Getty because of the fires, we had to drive the 91 for hours under a thick blanket of brown sky which mercifully (because it took so friggin' long) turned dark as night fell.