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At first glance intarsia is strange medium for portraiture, for immediacy, or for conveying information at all. But that is looking at it through the wrong end of the chronoscope. In his current show at New Discretions, I Want Your Skull, Michael Bühler-Rose uses this permanent—or at least persistent—medium to transform temporal and subjective content into objects for history.

The large, multi-panel studiolo scene is familiar, partly because it consciously evokes the intarsia room-as-portrait of the 15th century Studiolo Gubbio at the Met, but also because Bühler-Rose has lately shown similar studiolo selfies, with different configurations of autobiographical objects.

The other three works feel like they’re doing something different. The one that caught my eye on Instagram [I have not seen the show irl yet] is the museum sticker-covered verso of Rauschenberg’s Erased de Kooning Drawing. As someone who’s been enthralled by the underseen backs of famous artworks—including this one—this feels like using intarsia’s excessive intricacy to right a historical wrong.

The other two works are the verso of a small Dali painting, and the front of a Felix Gonzalez-Torres puzzle, complete with puzzle pieces and plastic bag. Besides their relatively small scale, the main connection I see here is that both the artworks referenced sold at Christie’s in mid-May 2024. So intarsia turns a moment in time into timeless objects.

But maybe I’m overly fixated on differences when one clear similarity is right. there. Because all four works in Bühler-Rose’s show are based on photographs. The studiolo is self-evidently a composed still life. The Rauschenberg’s verso photo is a key part of its art historical record. The Felix puzzle is itself a transformation of a snapshot into an object, whose photograph is transformed in turn. And Dali’s verso picture, cropped for its inlay version, only turned up because the painting came up for sale. So photography put through its theorized paces.

And unlike other any other printing—or production—techniques, these photos have been fixed in a form we know could last 500 years, because it already has.

[A few hours later update: Bühler-Rose’s unparalleled side hustle, https://boot.foundation, will be having a bootlegs and books popup at Situations this Sunday, October 6th, from 12-6. A reminder to always check insta before posting.]

I Want Your Skull is at New Discretions at Situations’ 127 Henry Street location through 20 October 2024 [newdiscretions]
Studies for Studiolo, 2019 — [michaelbuhlerrose.com]
Studiolo Gubbio, c.1478-82 [metmuseum.org]

I wish I’d known about these before David Hudson posted one to wish Steve Reich a happy 88th birthday. Because I am transfixed.

Continue reading “On Steve Reich’s Freehand Watermark Tracings and Patterns”

The list of things I missed in mid-November 2016 continues to grow. The special issue of Die Welt edited by an artist that year was on 24 November, and the artist was Isa Genzken.

The paper that day only had five stories to use Genzken’s pictures on, and one of them was a feature on the artist herself. Notably, all Genzken’s roughly collaged pictures included photographs of herself, and one included her with her former teacher and husband, Gerhard Richter.

For his Die Welt guest edit in October 2012, Richter included many travel-related snapshots, and few images of his artworks—among them pictures of his third student and wife Sabine Moritz.

But this, I knew. The advertiser pitch deck for this year’s edition gave the whole rundown, most of which I also missed. From Baselitz, Rauch, Sherman and Schnabel to Koons, Wool, Murakami, Grosse and Kiefer, it’s enough to fill a private museum. The 2024 edition was two weeks ago. Tracey Emin, which I missed.

Maybe Genzken’s newspaper actually goes on a separate, shorter list of things I’m bummed I missed.

On October 6, 2011, Munich newspaper Die Welt replaced all the pictures in their daily edition with Ellsworth Kellys. They also published a signed, limited edition reproduction of the front page on archival paper. Which stays brighter longer, which is nice. But it’s only printed on one sheet, on one side. And so it misses the entire point of the project, while replacing it with a picture souvenir.

With this signed, dedicated copy of the actual paper being sold this week, Kelly gave Kasper König the best of both worlds. It was König’s invitation that led Kelly to make his first floor piece, Yellow Curve – Portikus (1990), the work which was re-realized at Glenstone in 2015. I guess they stayed in touch.

Sure König’s Welt already turning yellow, but it’s got eleven other Kellys inside it. And there’s even a recursive version of itself on the back. And Lufthansa knocking off Milton Glaser. AND Amanda Knox.

And again, it’s an actual newspaper, not a picture of one. And that makes all the difference.

02 Oct 2024, Lot 146: Ellsworth Kelly, Die Welt, est EUR1000-1500 [update: sold for EUR5940, which is the most] [vanham]
Previously, related: I Wanna The Kelly Welt, Chico, An Everthinisinnit
Oh right, I saw it in person, and it rocked: Wade’s Welt, Excellent

One of the things they never tell you about the WWI dazzle ship painting thing is that it made it hard to tell how big a painting of a dazzle ship is.

I had to dig around in three years worth of National Gallery of Canada Instagram to find an installation image of Edward Wadsworth’s 3-meter tall Dazzleships in Drydock at Liverpool (1919). So thank you, @arunprasaad, for your service.

I was wondering why Wadsworth painted this—I was about to say “so big,” but if you’d spent the war painting 2,000 actual ships, 10 feet would seem like a major downsizing. Oh hey, speaking of scale, he put Little Guys with brushes in there.

But I reading the 2015 Liverpool Biennial Journal about Dazzle and its history, I now understand that it was an awarded commission to commemorate the Canadian involvement in the war. And that the Memorial Committe basically said No Modernists, No Cubists. So Wadsworth, determined to revive the pre-war manifesto of the Vorticists, made a naturalistic painting of an abstract painting project.

Meanwhile, there was actually a time when the National Gallery emphasized the scale of their pictures (though tbh, that was partly to use square footage to justify the price they paid for their Barnett Newman.)

Even a couple of years after Wadsworth, Gerald Murphy had no trouble in communicating the scale of his 18 x 12 foot lost masterpiece, Boatdeck (1924):

The scale of which, it must be said, is rather hard to gauge from a picture of the picture alone. I once missed an eBay auction for an old photo of Boatdeck by a day. I’ve been crushed ever since.

Previously, related: A Domestic Proposal: at home with Voice of Fire
What I looked at today: Gerald Murphy; Giant Picasso Painting By Prince Alexander Schervachidze

At the New York preview for Christie’s Contemporary Evening Sale in May 1999, Louise Lawler made a photograph of a ghostly male figure with his hands behind his back, in front of Robert Gober’s Crib (1986) and Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Film Still #48 (1979).

She titled the photo, It could be Anthony d’Offay, wrapping the presence of one of the 20th century art market’s most recognizable and powerful figures with a bit of ambiguity.

1999 turns out to be the period of time when two different women who worked for d’Offay’s gallery in London said he subjected them to repeated, unwanted sexual advances and abuse.

One woman, then 25 and hired in 1998 as d’Offay’s assistant, who received an undisclosed settlement after leaving the gallery in 2000, described her experience on what could even have been the trip photographed by Lawler:

“He started taking me for meetings and appointments outside the gallery. He would hold on to my arm or put his arm around me. I thought it was not quite right, but dared not voice my discomfort,” she said. Her concerns deepened when he informed her that he would like her to accompany him to New York. “That’s when things escalated. He grew more touchy, and would put his hand around my waist, very close to my bum. There was no sense of boundary in respect to personal space.”

This quote, the report of these two women, plus another who complained of sex pestery and professional coercion and retaliation by d’Offay in 2004, were first made public in 2018 by The Guardian. D’Offay denied the accusations.

2018 was when Trevor Traina, the collector who purchased ed. 3/5 of Lawler’s photo, began serving as Donald Trump’s ambassador to Austria. Traina’s grandfather had also been an ambassador to Austria, in the Eisenhower era. His mother Dede Wilsey, a noted San Francisco socialite and longtime Republican donor, famously took control of the deYoung and Fine Arts Museum in 2011, after the director’s death. Traina’s Lawler was exhibited at the FAMSF in 2012, in a show titled, Reel to Reel: Photographs from the Trevor Traina Collection.

Next week Traina is selling 132 works from his collection, including the Lawler, in a single owner sale at Christie’s. “As part of an exciting and innovative partnership,” Christie’s effused, “all lots from this auction will be presented on the blockchain and offered with an associated digital certificate of ownership exclusively included with a Kresus wallet.” Traina is the founder and CEO of Kresus.

Part of the genius of Lawler’s work stems from her sensitivity art’s context, and her ability to capture fleeting moments as it moves through the world. I think it’s hard to imagine another Lawler photo—or another example of this one—accruing as much 21st century history has this one has, even before it got put on the blockchain.

The middle of November 2016 was a rough time for a lot of people, but at least you didn’t flop trying to cash out on your 9-ft tall bronze silkscreened painting by an imaginary art bro collab of a fake statue of an emperor’s butt.

[Unless, of course, you are the owner of Bruce High Quality Foundation’s The View (2013), whose art advisor and auction experts had assured you that $60-70,000 was not an unreasonable expectation. Whoops. I hope you’ll share the insights you’ve gleaned from enjoying living with this prodigious painting for an extra 7.5 years.]

I honestly don’t know where we are on BHQF these days, but this certainly appears to be one of their works. The View is nominally of one of the greatest artworks in the world, the triumphal Roman equestrian bronze monument to Marcus Aurelius. But in fact, that Michelangelo base means it’s in the Campidoglio, not in the Capitoline Museum, so it is the 1981 replica. And though the proximate view the Bruces have given us is of the emperor’s and his horse’s ass, it remains for us to fill in the actual view beyond, which is of the city from the hill, across the piazza.

The View is for sale again tomorrow, Wednesday, with no reserve, and a 90%+ lower estimate. If you’re feeling lucky and have high ceilings, tomorrow could be your lucky day. The winning bid currently stands at $200. [15 minutes later update: and it is now $1,200. This post has awakened the greg.org mob of thousandaires.] [update: sold, for $2,160, so an $1800 bid?]