Monthly Archives: March 2009

Art Reads: Straight Up or With a Twist?

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I enjoy art history straight up, but I don’t mind it with a twist. Lately, I’ve stumbled upon more than one exciting new fiction read that takes you into the art world. The fine arts get plenty of non-fiction, wether they are art historical or, like the bestselling 7 Days in the Art World, sociological. Artist’s biographies are fascinating. While I might indulge in a little creative biographical fiction, Leonardo’s Muse or whathaveyou, I put those books on the shelve right above the romance novels. I can admit to another weakness though, which developed out of a passion for Agatha Christie and art.
Art heist and forgery books get me every time, and it doesn’t matter to me if they are based on real life. Clever, with the most interesting characters (when they aren’t out and out thugs) involving passion, nerve, and wiles I love these escapades. I secretly hope that if I read enough of them I’ll be able to pull off my own heist. I just finished The Art Theif’s Guide to Paris, which, if not plausible, does involve a theft from the Pompidou and a forgery, making it the best of both worlds. The Forger’s Spell : a True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century is on my list next.
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Volta Vs. Bridge

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The art fairs kept me busy this weekend, but not necessarily happy. The hip little cousin of the Armory show, Volta, a 7 W. 34th St. shows a respectable amount of polished, cutting edge talent that runs the gamut. Bridge seems more open to a gamut of artists that ranged from polished, impressive works to not so much in a variety of styles. Both left me underwhelmed in terms of originality, and not to mention I dislike the quietly desperate hawking air.


And I said cutting-edge, didn’t I? I don’t mean that. While the works were of higher quality than the random gallery crawl often provides, the ideas behind them weren’t. Make patterns out of florescent bulbs, write funny, insolent things about art on pieces of cardboard, sculptures out of everyday objects, fur-covered totem poles on the ceiling, tufted rugs on the floor (who hasn’t done that before?), painting over vintage black and white prints to create cheeky, absurdist scenes, painting of large abstractions in the style of photography and, god save us, paintings of colors. Black and gold for example. My point is, this territory has already been covered. People are doing these things all over the streets of Brooklyn and in MFA programs. Kudos to Bridge for offering something a little different, even if different in some cases meant loud and kitsch in an uncool way.

There were exceptions, both in terms of the works and in terms of the events. The Williamsburg Gallery association put on a fun Saturday night walkabout, and the Lower East Side gallery tours going from the New Museum to the LaViola Banks Gallery on Sunday put some local pride in my heart. Yet I’m disappointed that I didn’t fall in love with anything. Did I go to the wrong shows? Would the Armory have been better?

I’ll tell you what perked up my weekend; this great article about Larry Gagosian’s wheelings and dealings in the New York Times.

Noel Coward: Blithe Charm

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Noel Coward, performer, singer, librettist and playwright, got by primarily on charm from his birth in 1899 until his death in 1973 with what Time Magazine called, “a sense of personal style, a combination of cheek and chic, pose and poise.” Sensibilities have changed, but there’s still a certain old-school, British charm to this theatircal jack-of-all-trades. Indeed, that’s what he banked on, often writing plays designed to feature himself.

Mad dogs and Englishman, one of his many ditties, is light and above all entertaining. If you need more evidence of Coward’s genius for entertaining and you happen to be in Manhattan, go see the revival of Blithe Spirit at the Shubert Theater. This comedy features a stellar cast including Angela Lansbury, and made me laugh more than I ever have at a Broadway play. As good as the production was, the merit lay in the play itself.