For Art Rumors Anonymous, See How’s My Dealing?

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“Reena Spaulings” 2 Comments –

Anonymous said…
make no mistake – they are a gallery. a little scatterbrained when it comes to dealing (and i suspect some of that is intentional), but have a great, challenging list of artists and have produced some great shows.
January 27, 2009 1:34 PM

Anonymous said…
a little too cool for school
February 8, 2009 6:42 PM

I questioned Reena Spaulings Fine Art yesterday, and a visitor suggested How’s My Dealing? blog for information about the gallery, which I posted above. (Apparently I wasn’t the only one who questioned if it was a real gallery.) How’s My Dealing? is spot on in terms of picking up art world gossip, albeit anything you read should be taking with a grain of salt.

Why?

Because people comment on their experience with people in the art world anonymously. Anonymously means they can comment completely honestly without fear, but it also leaves room for much idle gossip.

Still, it’s like a semi-professional tabloid of the art world, and absolutely indulgently fun. As the moderator, Buck Naked, explains regarding their comment policy:

“Asking “does anyone know if he is gay?”, telling us who takes what drugs, commenting on appearances, and random sex information alone are not relevant. Are you saying an artist’s attractiveness or response to advances is a factor in the decision to exhibit or promote the artist? Are there abuse of power issues? You need to be clear.“

While it’s not a free for all, it’s pretty close. Things I want to check out include the galleries put on “death watch” for bad treatment of artists. The design of the blog is difficult to read, but if you’re looking for a little snark this morning, as I just might be, it’s worth the eyestrain to check it out.

For an additional amusing/horrifying art talk, check out the inadvertent gallery theft described on myartspaceblog. What a nightmare!

Seth Price at Reena Spaulings (a fake gallery)

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Contemporary Art Daily‘s post today is on Seth Price’s show at Reena Spaulings Fine Art, which I discovered was a block from my old apartment here, and half a block from my new one. Seeing it today reminded me of something I learned after attending the opening: Reena Spaulings is a fake.

It’s a real gallery…but there is no Reena or Spaulings or Reena Spaulings. Typically, galleries are named after their owners. To explain (sort of), we have the New York Times, as fine a news source on a Sunday morning as any:

“Behind the Spaulings name stands…the collective known as the Bernadette Corporation. Formed in 1994, the collective has produced films, albums, magazines and books. One of its permanent members, John Kelsey, is co-director, with Emily Sundblad, of Reena Spaulings Fine Art on the Lower East Side.”

So what the hell does that mean? “Reena Spaulings is a fictional artist, performer and art dealer,” but do we know who puts on the shows and who decides the artists. Is Seth Price a member of the collective that shows its own works? I called the gallery, but the phone just rang forever, and the only time I’ve seen a sign of life in that unremarkable doorway was at the opening.

Ah, the mysteries of the art world. Ah, the mysteries of life, which are best pondered on a fine Sunday morning on the terrace with coffee. Perhaps I’ll have more information for you after my afternoon nap.

Yoga Invades MoMA

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Pippilota Rist’s video and sound installation Pour Your Body Out at MoMA is a engrossing and delicious experience. Lights fill the white walls, and people lay back to watch the film with their shoes off. (The smell of feet is the only disquieting element.) This kind of exhibition could be enjoyed lounging, hungover, and–according to Jerry Saltz at New York Magazine–doing yoga.

To increase engagement with the installation, artist Cheryl Donegan arranged an impromptu yoga demo at MoMA that had museum goers doing triangle poses. If only I had been there! I second Donegin, that audience participation at the exhibition and at theanyspacewhatever exhibition at the Guggenhiem could have been greater, especially at the latter exhibition.

Museum goers are so used to feeling like an audiences that it can be hard to break out of that mold and touch the art and think about space playfully. Saltz describes the experience, in jealousy-inducing terms, thus:

On Friday night, I arrived to find the darkened atrium teeming with hundreds of people; Rist’s wonderful droning, chanting soundtrack filled the air with drowsy delirium, and her images of gigantic naked floating bodies, lush undergrowth, and water filled the walls. A few minutes before the appointed starting time, a dozen or so people, almost all women, shed their coats to reveal work-out clothes. At 7:00 p.m., the tall, fit, and charismatic Auder, outfitted in a gold-lamé leotard and striped leggings, announced that she was leading a free yoga class.