Portraitist Elizabeth Peyton is no Warhol (and not as fun as C.L.U.E. either)

The New Museum of Contemporary Art of Bowery is hosting Live Forever, works by portraitist Elizabeth Peyton, and so I took my excited little butt there last night, after a long day of work. (Not coincidentally, the New Museum is free on Thursdays from 7 to 10 p.m.)

I had only seen Peyton’s images online, but thought they used color well and that it was exciting to see something as traditional as figurative portraiture make a splash on the contemporary art scene. Peyton paints friends and also cultural icons in her remarkably cohesive oeuvre. As it was her paintings of Kurt Cobain, lead singer of grunge band Nirvana who committed suicide in the 90s, that brought Peyton into the limelight, I thought I would be encountering something Warhol-esque, where the confluence of the individual and pop culture become huge statements about our cultural identity.
My expectations were confounded. Peyton perhaps gives us an intimate glance into her interior world, but I wouldn’t even go so far as to say she’s making a statement about herself. And yet, she manages to say nothing about the people she portrays at the same time. Remarkable.

Peyton’s works are small and intimate, consequently seeming overwhelmed by the whiteness of the New Museum’s gallery space, and painterly in a broad way. Miniatures are often exquisitely detailed, but these approximately 10″ x 12″ works were broadly sketched out like watercolors. They were unlike traditional portraiture in that, instead of taking the subject in a formal pose, these were composed like Polaroids as if the subjects were caught unawares at extreme angles. They were well-painted and pleasant. Unfortunately, I can’t say much more in their favor.

While Peyton is a figurative portraitist, she does have a distinctive style that colonizes her subjects as her own. All her subjects become triangular faces with bright red mouths and slanty eyes, and she seems to prefer fey males. The works are stylized enough to be distinctly hers, and are more revealing of her than the subject. Perhaps that itself is the difference between her work and traditional portraiture.

Seeing her oeuvre at once, I had the idea of that this was her interior world in which the works were snapshots of memory.Peyton’s style does not seem to have evolved–any of the portraits could have been painted at any point in her career. Overall, it was a little…boring.

However, I insist you stop the New Museum anyhow, for a very small and very fun installation. Wedged into the interior staircase between the third and fourth floors, an installation called “C.L.U.E.” will entertain you better than clowns and acrobats at the big top. According to its press release, “C.L.U.E. (color location ultimate experience) is a collaboration between artists A.L. Steiner and robbinschilds (Layla Childs and Sonya Robbins), AJ Blandford, and Kinski. Like a living organism, C.L.U.E. adapts to the space it temporarily occupies. In this manifestation at the New Museum, it takes the form of site-specific performance, multichannel video installation, and video projection.”

What does that mean? It means that, once you put on the headphones, you can’t help but bob your head in time as the matching pair of girls do funny dances across parking lots, deserts and redwood forests, all via projector through the window onto the building across the way. A blast.

News Alert! Obama Cannot Save Art

Yesterday the stock market dropped 486 points, despite the fact that most of the world is excited to have a new president coming into office. The economy seems to be entering the big “R” (recession) despite all that hope and change rigmarole. Let’s relate this to the art market.

Without actually reading any of the articles below, what can we surmise from their headlines?

New York Times:
Bleak Night at Christie’s, in Both Sales and Prices

BBC:
Top art fails to sell at auction

Yesterday’s headlines from The Art Newspaper:
Auction houses embark on damage limitation exercise as market slumps
After years of growth, a long way to fall?
“Hot” categories cool rapidly as crisis bites

Anyone have an idea what this means? Any wild guesses? No…well, let’s look at this chart from The Art Newspaper’s “After Years of Growth” article, which ends in September 2008:

Note how the lines, representing different prices points, went way up. Now see my graph, using advanced scientific formulas and graphing software, to irrefutably predict the future:

Countless people, like your prudent parents, and articles will be telling you how to save money in the upcoming recession, stretch your dollar, etc. Well, I won’t tell you that. I’m telling you

BUY BUY BUY!

Buy what you love. Do it now if you are at all in a position to do so. Snatch up that cheap Chinese masterpiece or contemporary cutting edge foot statue you’ve been eyeing. This is your chance.

I would if I could.

Unfinished and Unread Books

Lately all these arts and culture posts have been artsy in a visual way. That’s fine in itself, except it’s a symptom of a greater malady. And no, not being sick of hearing about the presidential election. It’s that I can’t dig my teeth into any new book. True, I could be to blame. I did try to read up on medieval history and found my enthusiasm waned quickly. There were no pictures. But I also took out a collection of short stories by Russian author Isaac Babel, whose style is excellent and subjects are humorous and folksy. He has a great short story, Guy de Maupassant, and it inspired me to go for the whole oeuvre at once. Sigh…bad idea.

I went to the New York Public library online. It’s hard to search their catalogs, and I ended up almost ordering a dozen old favorites. However, the point is that I want new contemporary fiction. After my Milan Kundera phase, I want a new pet author. And I do not want this to became a fall of Dostoevsky or a winter of Proust. Dear god, I want to get through the winter without committing suicide. Classics thought they may be, my mind doesn’t seem to be up for a challenge.

So I went to Borders looking for a cure. Tragic. The books they put on those shelves did not inspire me to read, but to finish my novel in a hurry, while the general reading public has no taste. Maybe then my project would survive on the turbulent waters of publishing.

What else has fallen beside the wayside? Poetry. I love the 17th century British poets, Langston Hughes, Edna St. Vincent-Millay, and of course Lord Byron. Lately, nothing has moved me.

Any suggestions to stir me out of this apathy? Anything? I’m on the library website now…