[New York Peasant by Wilfrid: November 2, 2007]
Tick tock. A new Yankees manager, gunfights in Union Square, and the dawning realisation among New York democrats that of course...
(Scroll down for "Drawing in Space" at Feigen and Ralph Stanley at the Town Hall.)
Giuliani would be the Republican nominee in '08. I swept off in full frock-coated glory to the MOMA Seurat reception, confident that watching the scramble for free wine and crudités would restore a proper sense of triviality.
As for the Yankees, I was close on October 19 - but no banana. "Pink Pig predicts a new contract for Torre...", I said. I just didn't know it would be such a crappy one.
Anyway, Seurat having been addressed at length, I just wanted to comment on the "monumental" works in wood by Martin Furyear, replacing the already familiar Newman obelisk in the atrium. The Furyear effort includes a ladder which just goes up, up, and I expect we shall all get stiff necks looking at it.
I assume the Newman icon will be restored at the conclusion of the Furyear show, which also lines up next to Seurat on the top floor. I wonder where you keep such a thing in the meantime? I mean, it's bigger than the average toothpick.
I expected Ralph Stanley and the Clinch Mountain Boys, presented by the World Music Institute at the Town Hall, to present lower-falutin' diversion than the MOMA opening. In fact, the lengthy recitation of the honorary doctorates awarded not only to the grand man himself, but also to each of the supporting eminences, tended to give it the feel of a seminar rather than a jamboree.
I described watching eighty year-old Porter Wagoner host the Opry back in August, and heard yesterday that he has retreated to the great prairie in the sky. This makes me nervous for his contemporary Stanley who, along with his late brother Carter, did more than anyone except possibly Bill Monroe to establish bluegrass as more than a quaint regional folk style.
Although frail, the doctor managed to produce his usual fearsome howl, once he'd cleared his tubes, and even played a little banjo, "clawhammer" style. The highlight of the short set by far was not the familiar "Man of Constant Sorrow", but a chilling a capella "O Death". Spare us all over till another year, indeed.
Finally, off to the Richard L. Feigen gallery in a grey lounge suit and a hurry for the opening of Drawing In Space, a selection of sculptures and what I'd describe as drawings about space, mainly twentieth century.
Squeezed between collectors, artists and politicians, I did finally manage to navigate the exhibit. Much joy at the far end of one the second floor rooms, where a lively whirring, ticking thing made by Jean Tingueley was flanked by two enormous cheerful and colorful works on paper, one called something like "a folding screen for use in good weather" (sorry, no room to take notes).
I also found one of the smaller, monochrome Frank Stella exercises in twisted metal, nestled next to the peanuts; some fundamental cubist exercises by Picasso and Braque (making, I thought, the brash Rauschenberg combine look a bit silly - shoot me); and a great double by Joaquin Torres-Garcia - a simple, moderately sized and elegant wooden tower in shades of brown, made more engaging simply by being placed in front of a large, authoritative abstract by the artist in similar hues.
The jarring note, for me, was the vast untitled Basquiat drawing which dominated that room. I really struggled with the Basquiat retrospective in Brooklyn in '05, which seemed to take the artist at the high estimation of collectors who happened to own his work. This particular work - a few shapes, a couple of skulls, the repeated word "tar", arranged in shallow pictorial space, didn't seem to contribute much to the theme of the show. It was also - by far - the highest price work in the catalog.
Anyway, all worth seeing - and you can pick up a few Matisses and Picassos cheaply in comparison.
Information about the Feigen Gallery show is here.
