Berlin, May 4 and 5, 2010

So why is it that just when you being to consider yourself educated, you spend a morning running across a number of facts and artifacts that are a complete mystery?

I was touring an exhibition at the Gropius Bau, a splendid exhibition space in a handsome, brick three (high) story building in the center of Berlin Tuesday morning at about 10:30 a.m. The show was called “The Treasures of the Aga Khan Museum, Masterworks of Islamic Art.” The Museum turns out to have no particular location now, but it will soon be housed in a smashing new structure under construction in Toronto designed by the Japanese architect, Fuhimiko Maki. In the meantime, the items on display at the Gropius Bau were enough to send me into my periodic swoons of anguish as to why I was born into the 20th century U.S. instead of into 17th century Persia. Bad luck, I guess.

The Aga Khan? Which one? Not the fat old guy, spiritual ruler over all of the world’s Shia who became Rita Hayworth’s father in law. His wife, the Begum, at least back in the ‘50’s would every year weigh herself on a scale balanced with huge quantities of precious stones, all of which would be donated to the poor. O well. His younger son was a Harvard classmate of mine.

The first encounters, to be repeated several times that morning, was with a totally major poet I had never heard of, namely, Ferdowsi (940-1020). Ferdowsi devoted 35 years to writing a compendium of Persian history, mythology and culture in 50,000 verses, the “Shahnameh,” only to have it rejected by a nouveau riche Persian ruler of a dynasty that was allegedly dedicated to resurrecting the then fallen fortunes of Persian culture. He was so bitter that he left the manuscript in his room and had it conclude with these chilling words:

“Heaven’s vengeance will not forget. Shrink, tyrant, from my words of fire, and tremble at the poet’s ire.”

Not exactly in the vein of Emily Dickinson. He died in poverty. How could I not have heard of this poet of obviously immense importance. His complete works have just been published in English, and the hardcover boxed volume can be had from Amazon for $395.00. Ferdowsi’s verses abounded throughout the show.

By the way, Rumi was represented, too. The label depicted above so indicates that there was an illutrated manuscript of his poetry on display.

Next I saw, among immortal pottery plates and bowls of a rough, large-grainy texture called “Frit ware.” I had seen the pottery many times, but never knew the terminology. Frit is a ceramic which is a fused material used as a basis for glazes or enamels. It is a composition from which artificial soft porcelain is made. It is used in glassmaking. I am just as befuddled as when I started. The plates were great, however.

There was a painted miniature that might be the single most romantic and accurate portrait of a loving couple ever made. The label was unclear, but the artist appears to have been one Kaysa Ragaputra, and as I now remember the portrait may derive from the Moslem Mughal culture. The title is, believe it or not, “Music for After Midnight.” It shows a beautiful young couple, seated discreetly on adjoining divans, their right arms interlocked in the manner associated with passionate toasts with champagne, but in this case the couple are exchanging sleek birds. It is amazing.

Finally, I noted another miniature, probably from somewhere in India, featuring a naked woman seated on grass with three males. I kid you not. Four or five hundred years before the Le déjeuner sur l'herbe of Manet. Manet did appropriation art? Or, there’s nothing new under the sun?

That did it. I headed for a cheap “Asian Pavilion” lunch of bad not-crispy-enough duck and noodles in the Arcade of Potsdamer Platz, followed by a double-dip cone of some of the world’s greatest ice cream.

Berlin, May 3, 2010

A rainy day, so what better to do than visit the Deutsche Guggenheim Museum on Unter der Linden on a Monday when admission is free. We were in luck, for we were able to see an impressive new show of selected works by Wangechi Mutu, an artist born in Kenya in 1972 and educated in the U.K. and in at the Cooper Union and Yale in the U.S. Wikipedia sums up her work as follows:

She creates painted and collaged images of female figures, first painting outline images on PET film, then adding detail with photographic fragments of idealised women collected from print magazines. She uses a variety of materials including archival adhesive, ink, glitter, paint, soil and pearls.

Further,

The figures generally feature grotesque distortions of form and skin texture, which critics read as commentary on a variety of feminist and racial issues ("of the history of women's representation, of cultural migration, global identity; of a litany of historical violence and destruction; of colonial legacies, exoticism and voyeuristic fascination").

The centerpiece of the exhibition is a dark, murky video projected on a dark banner hanging from the high ceiling called “Mud Shower.” A naked black woman initially stands in a twelve foot high kind of shower-stall made of stones, open at the top and to the camera and the viewer, while water and clumps of mud rain down on her body. She gradually leans over and then folds over seemingly defeated in a fetal position as the water and mud pelt down on her body with increasing intensity. Fade to black. The images are moving and telling.

Mutu disclaims solely African imagery or concerns. She wants to provide a vision of a future in which “more and more people, as migrants and permanent travelers, are becoming part of the ‘AlieNation.’ In her view, cultural identity is no longer determined by geographical origins, ancestry or biological disposition, but is increasingly becoming a hybrid construct that people can determine and change themselves.” [Can you say, Barry Sotero?] [From the Museum program, and before that from every book that Semiotext(e) at Columbia University have been publishing for twenty years.] I would comment: fair enough, provided that that state of affairs continues and that movement of peoples continues to be financed and motivated by prosperity in the parts of the world that are attracting in-migrations. If the world economy stagnates, no one moves.

The program essay concludes:

“With their masses of (re)produced images and materials, Mutu’s collages and installations address the issue of waste, the daily overload of media pictures, consumerism, ruthless exploitation of natural economic, and spiritual resources, a world where bodies have become commodities.” [To which I reply: Well, kinda and sorta. This might reflect some of the intent of the artist, but it appears more to reflect the intent of the curator. Thankfully the images are about so much more, are so richer and are such fantastic art.] The program then quotes Mutu: “I have a theory that there’s an incredible waste of resources, imagination and ideas – although they are right in front of us. Often you find them in places you’d least expect: in areas with incredible poverty, with people who seem to be the least educated, but who are actually quite ingenious because they’re still alive despite the conditions they live in. In a way, my exhibition is a homage to their systems, to their way of working, to this kind of tenacity and ingenuity.”

Several comments: (i) The idea of the noble savage dies hard. (ii) Most of the people of the world are constantly overlooked because by definition the dominant cultures have a short attention span and are myopic. This will never change, no matter how hard Ms. Mutu tries. (iii) Most of these people are “still alive,” unless they have been killed by machetes in Ruanda or by suicide bombers in market places by people who appear t be equally spirited, ingenious and tenacious, as well as also being environmentallyt destructive. (iv) All of the ideas propounded by Ms. Mutu have been current in the post-Marxist literature for at least 30 years, witness the writings of the redoubtable French psychiatrist/philosopher/activist, Felix Guattari,* among others, who focused on the creativity and social change he believed could result from social interactions of people freed from domination of (to use imprecise shorthand) economic necessity . He said:

“It is quite conceivable that a different kind of society could be organized, one that would preserve processes of singularization in the order of desire, without entailing total confusion at the scale of production and society, and without entailing generalized violence and an inability on the part of humanity to manage life. “

"Singularization is what enables us to produce, both in the material field and in the subjective field, the conditions of collective life and, at the same time, the conditions of embodying life."

*Guattari, Felix, and Rolnick, Suely, Molecular Revolution in Brazil, Translated by Karel Clapshow and Brian Holmes, Semiotext(e) Foreign Agents Series, 2008, originally published as Micropolitica: Cartographica de desejo, 1986, page 319 and page 91.

No matter. It’s a terrific exhibition.

Berlin, May 2, 2010

The day’s first event just at noon was a “vernissage,” so called by our hostess, Ingrid Roosen-Trinks, at her spacious Kreuzberg loft on the Tempelhofer Ufer that runs along the pleasant waterway south of the center of Berlin known as the Landwehrkanal. Ingrid heads the cultural foundation of the luxury hardware firm, Mont Blanc, and she is privileged with all of the glamour and flair that such a position commands and implies. She and her husband, a retired Lufthansa Captain, live in Hamburg but maintain the flat in Berlin for visits and art functions. The event of the day was a curated photography show that, among other very good works, featured one of those large, amazing airport photos from the early ‘90’s by Fischli & Weiss. Gallerists, architects and other art world people abounded, and there was a lot of handing out of cards. I did my share.

After a stop at the Johann Koenig Galerie, we took the U-Bahn to the Rosa Luxembourg Square area, site of the venerable Volksbuhne (an East Berlin theater where the likes of Brecht hung out) and other venues dedicated to the cause of early twentieth century communist utopianism. To the kids and graying would-be kids who hang out there nothing is outdated or lost. We went for the “Sun Day” show, it being the Sunday and final day of Gallery Weekend, a gathering of fifteen young Berlin and London galleries on five floors (no elevator) of an as yet unoccupied new modernistic building. The galleries were all showing new things when they weren’t resurrecting some ‘60’s hero of language in art as though that new day were still dawning. I concluded it was setting. There were a few good art pieces on view, particularly some sculptures and photos by an old friend, Raphael Danke, but most of what is displayed is merely to be tramped through while one gives the young gallerists misleading signs that you want above all for them to hang in there. Where this artworld recession will leave them all is yet to be determined. Most of them will never have the chance to get good.

Next two more galleries across the street from the Volksbuhne, including a show by one of our favorite artists in our collection, the Viennese Heimo Zobernig. On route to the U-Bahn we were detained at the coolest of Berlin clothing stores, The Apartment, near Alexander Platz. From the window we saw strange furniture and lamps, as it turned out by a woman named Hun, who is the significant other of Rick Owens, one of the most famous of now menswear designers, originally of L.A. but now from Paris. A photo of the ground floor of The Apartment appears above. The store is in the basement – an affectation that won me over years ago.

At six p.m. we walked the almost two miles (half an hour at a fast exercise pace) from out apartment to attend the Anglican service at the Marienkirche in Alexander Platz. The Rector of St. George’s parish in West Berlin, Father Chris Jage-Bowler, is a gaunt, strong, inspirational and untiring leader, and we appreciate him very much. There were two unbelievably cute Nigerian, infant, boy-girl twins in attendance, as well as a number of young Englishmen with strong voices out of the Kipling era stoutly ringing out the old hymns. Once again Abraham was narrowly prevented from sacrificing Isaac. I continually live in fear that the Angel of the Lord will not arrive in time to save Isaac, but the Angel always comes through, which I have to be told again and again is what it’s all about. A good time was had by all.

We capped off the evening with a big dinner at one of our two favorite restaurants here, Lutter & Wegner in the Gendarmenmarkt. We had something to celebrate. As last Sunday, we feasted on plump, white asparagus, a “small” schnitzel and boiled potatoes accompanied by a light, tasty white wine represented by the waiter to be a German pinot grigio, namely, a Grauburgunder from Baden, the southwest corner of Germany. The celebration called for skipping the Pilsner this time.

Berlin, May 1, 2010

Lots of art shows all over town in connection with the sixth annual Berlin Gallery Weekend. We saw two good ones, both with Neu Galerie: Nick Mauss and Tom Burr, both from New York.

We had brunch with our young friend (we have known him since he was about 13 years old), Nicholas Oberhuber, at his gallery, Koch Oberhuber Wolff, now in its second year. The gallery is set in a brilliant, seemingly wide-open four or five story structure of raw concrete and glass, an example of excellent new architecture on a faded street north of Rosenthaler Platz at Brunnenstrasse 9. KOH had a very good show by the photographer Tobias Zielony. The feature was an animation of thousands of digital stills, lasting about twelve minutes. The effect was that of an early cinema in black and white. The stills were shot in Naples at a well-intentioned but now infamous site:

“La Vele di Scampia is a futuristic housing estate in northern Naples and a Camorra* battlefield. Conceived by Francesco di Salvo in the late seventies and widely recognized for their urbanistic design, “Le Vile” (“the Sails”) were squatted by mafia families even before completion. Today, the building complex is a symbol of the Camorra power in the Naples region and a key center of European drug trafficking. Matteo Garrone shot his movie “Gomora” based on the novel by Roberto Saviano on the site in 2008.

*The Camorra is a mafia-like criminal organization, or secret society, originating in the region of Campania and its capital, Naples. A photo of the quarter and an image of the Sails are posted above.

Zielony, in the manor of Sharon Lockhart and others, lived in the complex long enough to become accepted by those living there; thus the intimate shots of mostly teens in their daily routines. The result is a rare but stark and foreboding exhibition, perhaps about the life and death of modernist utopianism.

But the denouement of the weekend came in the evening with the grand dinner of the Gallery Weekend at the Bode Museum. We had come as far from Neopolitan brute architecture as one can come.

The Bode was completely renovated two or three years ago. Built in 1903, it is the northernmost of the museums on the fabled “Museum Island” in the middle of Berlin, and it now houses relics from medieval times through the nineteenth century. The cast were the stars of the German contemporary art scene, with a few French, Austrians and Scandanavians in the mix. We counted about six Americans. Six years ago there would have been 60 out of three hundred. The discrepancy would warrant an investigation in itself, but I have been convinced for some time that the European and American cultures have been drifting apart for more than ten years. Some would point to the high flying Euro, but that is not the whole story.

Wine was served in the magnificent entry hall, with an equestrian Kaiser Frederick the Great, pictured above, towering from the floor to twenty feet or so over our heads. In the next room a splendid buffet was served, and, as has become the custom at such events, there was no seating plan and indeed very little seating. The entire evening became a three or four hour roaming, shoulder-bumping cocktail event, superb for mixing and suddenly coming up on old acquaintances and for gown-watching. We took a couple of detours through the open galleries, very few others being interested, and saw enough ecclesiastical art to convince us once again that we are suffering through an esthetically challenged era, but what the heck. We carried on with syntactically comprensible conversations for three hours or so with couples from Paris, Munich, L.A., Norway and Berlin and any number of local art folks before we folded.

At about eleven we walked somewhat unsteadily out the massive entrance portals, through the legions of cigarette smokers huddled in groups on the marble steps, and slumped into a swank 700 Series BMW Gallery Weekend limo that took us home in about six minutes.

Berlin, April 30, 2010

Highlights of a warm, sunny day:

We attended a brunch for Elizabeth Peyton’s new show at a space at Wallstrasse 84. A rough brick and concrete interior with a strange balcony surrounding the interior set off with ornate ironwork. It was suggested that the room had once been a ballroom and more lately a showroom for bathroom fixtures, but it made a good showplace for Elizabeth’s new, always small-format paintings. Her style continues to evolve into more rounded, flowing forms, with the portraits of known persons in her own or a broader celebrity circle having softer lines and angles than before and, in general, appearing less spare and austere. The show also included four or five still lifes, and these were softer-outlined and more color-saturated than earlier works. All in all a very satisfying viewing experience. The best part of the event was the chance for a chat with one of our favorite artists, Simon Starling, who was accompanying his absolutely gorgeous infant daughter, Alice.

Lunch was along the way we were walking westerly along Leipzigerstrasse, outdoors at an expensively outfitted Vietnamese restaurant. The area had the earmarks of a Vietnamese government installation, an informal PR embassy. Excellent beef and wheat noodles in broth.

We then walked further west first to a cappuccino at a sidewalk cafe and then further into the Mitte area on Markgrafenstrasse. The first stop was Carlier-Gebauer for the Mark Wallinger exhibition. Within a few minutes I recognized a rather high-pitched voice I soon identified with a remarkable work of Wallinger’s of about six years ago that was shown at a Venice Biennale. This was a ten minute or so video of a blind man with a cane, snap-brimmed hat and sunglasses on a down escalator, apparently walking up backwards at the same speed at which the escalator was going down, tapping the cane and reciting the Gospel by St. John ("In the beginning was the word..." - eerie). Sure enough, it was Wallinger himself in the gallery, talking with visitors and commenting on his installation. We had a chat about St. John, which he was somewhat startled to note somebody had remembered, and he cheerfully spoke of his new work: The large gallery space had been divided into two parts, one, an orderly placement of about 60 chairs all connected to a point on the wall at the front of the space by an individual red ribbon, some ribbons being up to 35 feet long, the assemblage devoted to portraying the human mind in its conscious, rational mode. The other half of the space had photographs on the wall, each depicting a man or woman sleeping in a public space such as a bus or park bench, signifying the unconscious mode. Well done and interesting, up to a point. Wallinger himself, now mid-fortyish and portly, turned out to be a thoroughly delightful fellow.

The next stop was Barbara Thumm’s space. Barbara graciously showed us around her smaller space that was showing a few paintings, or rather “assemblages,” by Anna Oppermann (1940-1993), who had been far ahead of her time in her collages and composite paintings, often done by laying images in photo emulsion on to canvas, during her heyday in the seventies and early ‘80’s. We were taken next to Barbara’s large new space where she was showing paintings by Jo Baer, the fabled New York painter who is now 81 years old. Baer is still largely known for her seventies’ astringent and tightly done minimalist paintings. A lyrical, softly colored and figurative period began in the early ‘80’s, and these were selections from the later work that Barbara had pried out of Ms. Baer through interventions of mutual friends that had taken months to bear fruit. Examples of the works can be seen if you go to http://www.bthumm.de/

After lunch we took an U-Bahn ride and walked briefly through an East Kreuzberg neighborhood to Peres Projects. Javier was showing Kirstine Roepstorff. Not her best work. We waited for Javier, who was hosting a gallery diiner nearby, as long as we could before leaving, but we found him on the street, dressed as usual in a made-to-make-you-gasp outfit trimmed with sport logos. We had a cordial, old time talk, mostly business as it turned out, when he had to hurry off to join clients.

Early evening found us at the Capitain-Petzel gallery on Karl-Marx Allee, in a glass fronted, flat-roofed building from the Communist ‘50’s. There one of the managing partners, Friedrich Petzel, a New York Chelsea gallerist, took us through the Tory Brauntuch show. Brauntuch had been prominent in New York in the late ‘70’s along with others who had formed the appropriation school and had largely gone underground to Texas, when Friedrich found him out and cajoled him back into the art world. As a result, Brauntuch’s paintings are selling in the six figures, and the work appears to be very strong. Brauntuch himself was in the gallery in deep conversation with Tommy Solomon, now a Los Angeles gallerist and son of the legendary New York gallerist, Holly Solomon. Tommy had shown Troy fifteen or twenty years ago, and the two were busy closing the circles. We did not interrupt them. http://www.capitainpetzel.de.

The day ended with a brief visit to neugerriemschneider for a great show and our standing by while a host of gallery visitors entered the room where the Mark Dion tree spoken of in the blog of a few days ago had been installed. We were gratified by all the sober attention which the “Library for the Birds of New York” appeared to be eliciting.

Next and finally was the taxi ride to the Villa Elisabeth, a nineteenth century mansion somewhere in the endless tracts off Invalidenstrasse that make up that part of East Berlin. The once majestic house is now a shabby shell of itself, but enough seedy elegance remains to make it an excellent party/dinner venue. We joined about 150 other intrepid souls for the joint opening night dinner for neugerriemschneider and the Neu Galerie, another venue where we have been hanging out for twelve or fifteen years. The meal was excellent, and many art notables were in attendance. We sat with a contingent from Basel responsible for the Basel Kunsthalle and the redoubtable Basel Art Fair, the main watering hole event for contemporary art people worldwide which is held in Basel the second weekend of every year. The food and drink were terrific (delicious antipasto, an asparagus risotto and a tender white fish filet). We were alert enough to hail a taxi out on the street about half past midnight, and made it safely back to our apartment.