thetrops – Page 3

EROICA VARIATIONS, July 2023

431 E 6th St, NYC

WED-SAT 12-5pm & by appointment

The Trops takes pride in standing behind emerging artists, whom you may not have heard of- yet- but you should, and likely soon will. By naming this survey after the Beethoven compositions we are putting forth a bold claim that these voices are heroically breaking through as a force to be reckoned with on the world stage.

Featuring:

Ben Ruhe, Nick Farhi, Rene Saheb, Armando Nin, Rawnak Rahman, Vahakn Arslanian, Jerami Dean Goodwin, David Aaron Greenberg, Conrad de Kwiatkowski

Vahakn Arslanian (b. 1975, Antwerp, Belgium) Having relocated with his family to New York City as an infant, Vahakn Arslanian is fascinated and inspired by roaring jet engine planes, explosives, luminous light bulbs and flickering candlelight. He has been nearly deaf since birth, his only sense of noise is from that which is thundering to the ears, for him, a glimpse at the vibrational frequency of sound. Along with his fascination with planes comes birds. Where this biomimetic pair have in common, Arslansian mends the two, such as his rough paintings and drawings of plane wings with bird feathers. He takes much of his work and frames them in found objects such as vintage plane windows, often broken and cracked.

Vahakn Arslanian

Fat Bird

Oil on Canvas

27 ¾ in x 35 ½ in

2008

Armando Nin Born and raised in New York, Armando Nin is a painter, photographer, and mixed media artist. His photography work captures the gritty extremities of his surroundings in the City starting in the mid 2000s into present day, and he often uses unconventional materials in his paintings and prefabrications.

Armando Nin

Coreana Chain No.

Unframed Butane Scorched Marine-grade Vinyl

24in x 36in

2022

David Aaron Greenberg is an artist who uses multiple modes of expression.His work has been exhibited in various New York City galleries and is in the permanent collection at Stanford University.His critical writing has appeared in Parkett, The Fader, Art in America and Whitehot Magazine.Along with producer David Sisko, he co-founded Disco Pusher, a New York City songwriting and recording duo. Greenberg graduated from Rutgers University, Phi Beta Kappa. He lives in New Jersey and sometimes New York City.

David Aaron Greenberg

40in x 30in

Oil on Canvas

2023

Rawnak Rahman Kantha Collection embodies her personal journey of navigating the delicate balance between upholding and challenging traditional Bangladeshi culture. She aims to disrupt and spark discussions around Bangladeshi traditions.

Rawnak Rahman

“বু” / “bu”

48” x 48”

Mixed media on wood

2023

Ben Ruhe translates interdimensional beings and textures into his distinct figurative language, integrating soulful whimsicality into his mixed media artworks,

Ben Ruhe

Untitled (captain)

Acrylic Polymer, Ink and Matte Acrylic Medium on Archival paper

14in x 11in

2023

Jerami Dean Goodwin moved to New York City in 2008. Also known as “STAINO”, his graffiti moniker, Jerami attained global notoriety for his outdoor works, recently painting murals in New York City, Los Angeles, Washington D.C. and Peekskill. Putting Out Fires is a series of paintings representing an exploration of new application processes, such as the use of a fire extinguisher.

Jerami Dean Goodwin

Untitled #1 (White)

Acrylic on canvas

48 x 60 inches

Rene Saheb was born in Tehran, Iran and frequently engages allegory to comment on the social and philosophical phenomenons of life. Saheb received her Bachelor of Art in Professional Design at Limkokwing University of Creative Technology.

Rene Saheb

The Fallen Birds 1

Discarded Ceramic Pieces, paint and Glaze

2023

EROICA VARIATIONS, July 2023 Read More »

Exhibition

Bohemian Wednesdays, June 2023

Exhibition / Alexandra Kosloski

Kanami Kusajima

Photo by Adrian Crispin, 2023

The Trops presents Bohemian Wednesdays as a cross-genre improvisation and cultural exchange existing at the intersection of community and culture. Exhibiting the diverse talents of NYC, this year’s summer series was hosted by Manero’s on Mulberry, featuring music, dance, film, painting, sculpture, and everything in between. Interactive cultural density fuels the spirit of Bohemian Wednesday events, each representing the vibrant celebration of a contemporary view towards Art.

June 14

The first evening of the summer series featured performances by Senegalese musicians Daniel Carter, Thio Afia, Khadim Sene. Carter is an improvisational “free jazz” musician, combining saxophone, flute, clarinet, and trumpet in his performances, while Afia is a vocalist and drummer based in NYC.

June 14, 2023

Photos by Adrian Crispin

Daniel Carter, Thio Afia, Khadim Sene

June 21

The following Bohemian Wednesday included a screening by Charlie Ahearn, performance art by Kanami Kusajima, improvisational jazz by Daniel Carter, and Cuban music by Singo, Jorge Bringas and Daniel Odria.

Charlie Ahearn

Photos by Adrian Crispin

Filmmaker Charlie Ahearn, known for his documentary “Wild Style”, screened a series of Hip Hop short films.

Kanami Kusajima

Photos by Adrian Crispin

Kanami Kusajima is a dancer orignally from Japan who now lives and works in New York City. Kusajima combines dancing and painting in a unique way, using Sumi ink, a traditional mixture made from soot. She drenches her bare hands and feet and dances over a white canvas, regularly performing for the public at Washington Square Park.

Singo, Jorge Bringas and Daniel Odria

Together, Singo, a Pianist specializing in the ” Tumbáo ” method, Jorge Bringas is a musician who plays bass, and percussion and vocalist Daniel Odria formed a Cuban band, with a sound that showcased the rich musical heritage of Cuba.

June 28

The final Bohemian Wednesday in June was a night to remember, featuring music by Daniel Carter and Persian musicians Mehram Rastegari and Mehdi Darvishi. Rastegari plays the Kamancheh and the Violin, and Mehdi Darvishi focuses on percussion. In addition, the event included a screening of short films by celebrated Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami, curated by fellow filmmaker Gabe Klinger.

Photos by Adrian Crispin

The Trops Mobile Application

Bohemian Wednesdays featured the launch of the anticipated The Trops mobile app!

Find and engage with art in the real world!

Download app for iPhone

Download app for Android

Bohemian Wednesdays, June 2023 Read More »

Exhibition

An Interview With Barron Claiborne (Part 3)

Exhibition / Nathalie Martin

Barron Claiborne

Rope

2001

Born and raised in Boston, Barron Claiborne moved to New York City in 1989 assisting photography legends such as Richard Avedon, Irving Penn, and Gordon Parks. Nathalie Martin spoke with Barron about what informs his practice, the limits and reaches of photography, and the importance of constantly creating. Claiborne reflects on self-taught mastery and how his extremely honest, critical, yet sensitive eye has landed him in permanent collections all over the world, including the Polaroid Museum Cambridge, the Brooklyn Museum, the Houston Museum of Fine Arts, and MoCADA.

Continued from Part 2

Part 2

NM: Are you of the opinion that the work needs another set of eyes for it to be finished?

Barron Claiborne: I think to a point. Yeah, I think so. I think it’s good to see how other people interpret your work, because usually it’s completely different than you.

NM: Do you think the viewer completes the work, or that the work is made, finished, and then shown?

Barron Claiborne: No, I think the viewer has their own opinion of the work. It matters what I thought of the work when I was making it. It’s great to hear other people’s opinions. That’s part of being an artist– I don’t mind that. If you hate my work, I don’t care, somebody else likes it. But at least tell me why you hate it. And who are you to criticize me when I’m doing some shit you can’t do?

NM: Well, totally.

Barron Claiborne: That’s the problem. When I see dudes doing crazy shit– sometimes I like to watch when people are snowboarding, doing all kinds of crazy shit, jumping out buildings with no parachutes–I’m not interested in doing it. But I still think it’s amazing that they do it. I think it’s amazing. When I see those dudes on snowboards and they’re doing like 720’s and all kinds of shit, that’s just fucking amazing. I’m not interested in doing it, but I would never want them to stop doing it. I would never want somebody to stop them from doing it. Because it’s part of the human spirit. They’re willing to risk it all. Dude, some of that shit is crazy. You see kids doing handstands in a chair on a cliff. I think it’s amazing that they want to challenge their physical body that much, that they’re doing this crazy shit, you know? It’s amazing.

NM: Definitely. It’s a form of art.

Barron Claiborne: Right, exactly. I think all that stuff is cool. I don’t think it’s dumb. They’re doing it for a reason. And it also lets you know all the different parts of the human spirit, like what humans are capable of. And that’s what’s amazing about that shit. It just shows you what humans are capable of.

NM: That’s true. Do you like discourse about your work?

Barron Claiborne: I don’t really like to talk about it. It’s visual, so what’s the point? That’s how I feel. It’s visual. You should interpret it yourself. It’s better if I don’t give you an interpretation. You can guess, you can make up your own answer, and then I find out shit about my work. You give something back to me.

NM: Totally.

Barron Claiborne: Other people tell you things that you never saw in it. You’ll be like, “Oh shit, I never thought about that.”

NM: So the meaning of your work changes?

Barron Claiborne: Sure. To different people.

Barron Claiborne

Long Life with Cigarette (Sierra Leone)

2007

NM: But even to you, I mean. When you hear other people’s discoveries about your work.

Barron Claiborne: Over time, yeah. Sometimes I’ll do photos and I never even look at them. And then I’ll look at them like, you know, five years later, and I’ll be like, “Wow, these are fucking nice.” But when I did them, I thought they were only okay. But then you start seeing ones and you’re like, “Oh shit, that’s nice.” Because you were at a different time. You were different then. But a lot of my photos I do now, I did them in childhood, I just have better equipment, and I know the techniques, how to light the camera, so I can do them better than I did when I was 10 or 11.

NM: Well, because your work too is aesthetically timeless, I feel like you can come back to it, you can return, and things are changing. Some things might work even better now than they did five years ago.

Barron Claiborne: Right. Exactly.

NM: How do you prefer your work to be shown? Do you like galleries, museums?

Barron Claiborne: No, galleries seem sterile to me. Museums too.

NM: I think in the work, the patterns and colors you play around with, shouldn’t be presented in a sterile environment.

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, I don’t like it. I saw a photo exhibit I really liked in Europe; it was in a castle. The guys’ photos were all in the castle, in the environment of this beautiful museum, and I thought that was pretty cool because it was all different shit. It was fucking weird. I thought that was cool to outfit a whole place with your work. That was different. But yeah, galleries are very sterile. And I was a commercial photographer, so I’m used to fighting with other photographers, bringing in your portfolio– like, yeah, I could go to fucking Yale and then come back big because I can theorize a picture of a chair. I could do that before I went to Yale. But that appeals to authority. People want that stuff because if you went to Yale, you must be better than most people. But in photography, that doesn’t really work.

NM: Really? Are you saying that photography is a specific medium you don’t need school or “formal training” for?

Barron Claiborne: I guess for some people. I didn’t go to school for that. I mean, nobody stops you from taking pictures, you just buy a camera and you fucking take pictures. And I think sometimes when you don’t know the rules, it’s better. Because when I moved to New York, I didn’t know there were rules, you know?

Barron Claiborne

Bjork With Heart

1998

NM: When you don’t know the rules it’s better? Don’t you think you should know the rules, so you can break them?

Barron Claiborne: No! Because you’ll still be bound by the rules. Even though you think you’re breaking them, you’re still bound by them– as opposed to not knowing the rules at all, so you don’t care. I looked in the magazines that I liked the most, and then I started going to them with my portfolio, but I didn’t have any money. I had a bunch of photos in a photo box, that’s how we used to do it if you were broke. I was teaching kids and then came back to New York, and I had like seven boxes of shit. I was like, “Oh, I got to stop being a teacher and I got to fucking do some shit with this.” So then I printed a bunch of pictures over a couple of months, put them in boxes because I couldn’t afford the book things, and I started bringing them around.

I went to the New York Times because I always liked it. I was in front of the building, and I looked inside to see the number of the photo editor, and I saw it was Kathy Ryan, and her number was there. I called her, and said, “Hi, my name is Barron, I have a bunch of photos that I’d like to show you.” And she was like, “Yeah, but this isn’t how we do things, you drop it off on Wednesday,” and I’m like, “Look, I’m right underneath you, in the building. I’ll drop it off because I know you must go to lunch,” whatever. And she says okay and tells me to come up. And I went up there and I showed her the box of photos and she gave me a job the next day.

And it was because I didn’t know any better. Everybody else to this day is like, “How the fuck did you get to shoot with the New York Times?” And I just called her from below and no one believes me. They refuse to believe. But I didn’t know the rules, so I was like, fuck it, I’ll call her, her numbers right there. She’s either going to say no, or yes. And she said yes. And I went up there. At the time I looked super young, and she was weirded out by my age when she saw me, but then I showed her the photos and they were beautiful pictures of the kids that I taught photography to at camp. So then she was like, “Wow, these are really beautiful.” And she gave me a job.

NM: Wow. Just putting yourself out there.

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, I just didn’t give a fuck, right. Because if I would have known when the right day was to drop my stuff off, or thought they were never going to take me, all this shit– I didn’t give a fuck. And that’s how I got a lot of things. I just went to them.

NM: Where did that self-confidence come from?

Barron Claiborne: I have no idea. Hungry. I was fucking hungry, dude. When I moved to New York, I would just eat slices of pizza and go buy fucking linguine and make some sauce that lasted a week, you know. I love Italians. I survived on pasta and pizza. When I moved to New York, I used to be so fucking hungry, I’d be walking around with a headache and shit looking for a job. It was crazy.

NM: You weren’t getting paid, working for these photographers?

Barron Claiborne: No, you got paid, but it was nothing. Back then, I think it was like $25 bucks a day, right? But I didn’t work as an assistant all the time because I wanted to work on my own photography. And then after a while assisting, I was like, fuck this shit. I might as well make a portfolio myself.

NM: What triggers that decision to just go for it?

Barron Claiborne: When they start having you do menial tasks, putting quarters in their car meter, shit like that. And they would ask you for your portfolio. That always made me suspicious.

NM: When the people you were assisting would ask for your portfolio?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah. You always have to show them because they would steal motherfuckers’ work.

NM: Oh, of course.

Barron Claiborne: But you didn’t know that when you were young.

NM: You think they’re just checking up on your work?

Barron Claiborne: No, I mean they would act like you’re young and naïve, and it’s like your resume. But they’re looking at your shit to steal it. Because they recognize you have a lot of talent and no one has seen your process, no one’s seen your work.

NM: I see this so much on social media with painters.

Barron Claiborne: Everyone’s just copying each other’s shit. Everywhere. It’s not even local now, because of social media. So before, I wouldn’t know what people were doing in the art scene in fucking Oklahoma, I didn’t give a fuck. But now you have access to all that. And I think it’s a bad thing.

An Interview With Barron Claiborne (Part 3) Read More »

Exhibition

The Trops Mobile Application

Trops Mobile App / Alexandra Kosloski

The Trops mobile app presents mapped exhibitions with curated art experiences across creative neighborhoods on the east coast. Culturally impactful lifestyle hubs and gathering places are featured as venues that host artwork and performance art from a vibrant community of artists.

How Art Drops Work With The Trops Mobile App

First, go visit the venue!

An art drop happens when art is “dropped” at a host venue. Before arriving at the venue, the art drop detail page only shows the artist’s name, an image and the location of the art.

Navigate to the art drops page when you are on location.

On arrival to the host venue, explorers who navigate back into the app are prompted to claim a token that unlocks more information about the art and artist.

Revisit the art memory at any time in your profile.

Each token you claim saves the art drop info to the profile in “My Collection”. As the app automatically archives the imagery and info of the artwork and the venue, you can put your phone away and enjoy the art experience in front of you, IRL.

A Treasure Hunt for Art

Explore local neighborhoods and collect art experiences around the city. “Art Drops” can be visual or performing artworks. On arrival, navigate to the Art Drop page to claim a drop token and unlock more information about the artwork. Your profile saves the art memory for future reference, so you can get off your phone and participate in the experience.

Curated Culture Maps

Art Drops are carefully curated to present art as an experience. You can explore all the art drops around you, or visit a curated mapped exhibition. The curated art drops are featured exhibitions, indicated by the purple pins

Browse the highlighted art drops in the city, by date, as individual art drops, as curated mapped exhibitions, or by the specific artist.

Support The Community

Explorers receive one drop token for each art drop visited. These drop tokens are transferrable as “tokens of appreciation”. Send to artists by visiting art drop detail page artist profile, or via the recently visited section of The Vault. Transfer tokens to other users using search by username, or by scanning the QR.

The drop tokens earned from visiting art drops can be exchanged for local products, artisanal goods, tickets, and more!

Find and engage with art in the real world!

Download app for iPhone

Download app for Android

Frequently Asked Questions

The Trops is an integrative arts platform supporting communities to find and engage with art in the real world. Through pop-ups and “Art Drops,” we produce and amplify interactive moments of gathering and culture with the creative community. Our emerging mobile application archives the where/when/who of art in spacetime.

The app acts as a navigation tool and digital black book for art experiences. We present dynamic mapping of creative events of cultural activity that “pop up” across local neighborhoods. Our platform looks to connect people with authentic culture through art exhibitions in traditional and nontraditional platforms. Upon arrival to experience art in-person, users of the mobile application can ‘collect’ the experience as a souvenir of art in spacetime, as well as a token. These tokens can be translated into real-world goods and services (Local Gems), and transferred between users.

Live artistic performance is a treasure for the senses. In that sense, we have worked to create a mobile application that presents the artists and their artwork in an engaging and “fun” way. Modeled after a treasure hunt, our curated maps present experiential invitations to visit artists, venues, and vendors through “Art Drops” and “Gem Drops”.

The app is a curated system of art and maps. If a user visits artwork in person, the app will automatically “check-In” the user, and present their profile with a collectible “drop token.” This unlocks the Art Drop, revealing additional info about the artwork and saving it to your profile as “My Collection.” Explorers can always revisit art experiences, remember the host venues, and “collect” the moment as a souvenir. Like a Digital Black Book, The Trops mobile application enables users to explore culture and keep digital “souvenirs” of artistic activity in the physical world while also supporting local artists and artisans.

It is important to have community infrastructure that empowers the ecosystem of the arts to present itself independently IRL. Our philosophy is to enable community economics, and to empower individuals and connect creatives by developing our platform and engaging neighborhoods with creative energy that can highlight and engage the human spirit.

The Trops Mobile Application Read More »

Trops Mobile App

An Interview with Barron Claiborne (Part 1)

Interview / Nathalie Martin

Barron Claiborne

Yasiin Bey with Turban

2009

NM: How did you get started in photography?

Barron Claiborne: My mom found a camera in the bank and gave it to me when I was a kid.

NM: Really? In the bank?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah.

NM: Where your mom worked?

Barron Claiborne: No, my mom was a nurse. She was in the bank one day and she found it.

NM: And she just handed it to you saying, “You would be into this, here you go?”

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, well, she just gave it to me as something to do. When I was 10, she was like, “Here, take this,” and gave it to me, and I started reading books about photography and shit like that.

NM: So, you were first exposed through your parents? Or through school?

Barron Claiborne: My mom. Then I went to school and I learned more. There was a darkroom in my high school, it was old, and no one used it. Me and another kid rebuilt it and started using it. We would take pictures and they put them in the yearbook. Then I would take pictures of myself and my friends. I always did studio pictures – I didn’t really shoot outside tons or anything. It was always people.

NM: Studios and sets?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, I like taking pictures of people and messing with sets.

NM: You were immediately drawn to portrait photography?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, totally. Because you have people constantly around, it’s the easiest shit to pull off.

NM: Totally. And it was just capturing moments with your friends?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, but less spontaneous, most of it was set-up. I would do shit like – I used to do this thing where I would set up a little tripod and a trampoline, and I would have my friends jump over the camera and take their pictures when they were landing upside down. I used to do dumb shit like that. All kinds of stuff.

NM: When you were practicing in high school, redoing dark rooms or whatever else – do you immediately know you wanted to take it seriously and go to art school?

Barron Claiborne: I was going to art school anyway. I didn’t really do much photography in art school, because by the time I got there I had already been taking pictures for around eight years. So a lot of the stuff they teach you those first years, I already knew it, and I really didn’t want to go over that shit again – like dark rooms and shit like that. I didn’t want to at all.

NM: Did you start experimenting with different mediums?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, definitely. I used all kinds of shit. I would make shit out of everything. I used to do collages. I just like doing visual things. But then I was working at restaurants and doing other shit and then one day I was like, “I should just do photography, fuck it.” You know, then everyone cautions you against being an artist, saying shit like, “You got to get a job, you got to have a backup.” Or like, “You should join the military,” or “They have really good jobs in the post office.” I was looking at them like, you’re crazy!

NM: “Yeah, work for the government!”

Barron Claiborne: Right, work for the government. Because they assume the government will always be there, so you’ll always have a job. But I never wanted to do shit like that.

NM: I remember getting told this when I was younger.

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, or they try to get you in the military. My family has a lot of people in the military. I was not going into the fucking military. Even my uncles who were in it, they were like, “Do not go into the military.” Because they knew I’d end up in jail. They were like, “Oh you’d get court-martialed.” Easily.

NM: Did you think experiential learning– especially as a photographer– and just taking photos every day was more beneficial to your practice and you as an artist than school was?

Barron Claiborne: Oh yeah, of course. I’d already been doing that. And also, I didn’t like working for other people. I always knew I couldn’t. Even when I was a kid. I used to have jobs. I’ve been working since I was like 10. I used to mow lawns, deliver paper, all that kind of shit. But I realized I could never work with anybody.

Barron Claiborne

Domino

1992

NM: So it was born out of like –

Barron Claiborne: It was just born.

NM: Out of necessity? Or internally, it was always there?

Barron Claiborne: It’s just me. It’s just the way I am. I don’t know where it comes from. I never liked any authority, even when I was a little kid. Always. It just seemed weird to me.

NM: Maybe that’s why your mom handed you the camera. She knew. She was like, “Here you go, play with this.”

Barron Claiborne: She knew, yes! It’s a weird story, right? Literally got my living from my mother. Literally. I think about that. I think it’s funny.

NM: So as you started to learn about photography and the history of art, who were your main influences?

Barron Claiborne: I always loved Richard Avedon, Gordon Parks, Irving Penn.

NM: Who were your mentors, as well.

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, I got to meet them, was the great thing. There’s a Mexican photographer, Manuel Alvarez Bravo. I really love his photos. I used photos in medical dictionaries, other weird shit, photos of flowers. My favorite book is the book of photos from all over the world, and the book is called Anonymous, because they don’t know who took the photos. Only a couple of them they know, but the rest of them, no one knows who took them. And the photos were beautiful. When I was a kid I would always be like, “Oh, I’d love to have my photos in a book and no one knows they’re mine.”

NM: So it wasn’t “I want everyone to know my name.”

Barron Claiborne: No, I don’t care about that. I didn’t really like – I was getting sort-of well-known, and I don’t like it that much. I don’t like when people call me by my first and last name and stuff like that. I don’t like it at all.

NM: Right. You as a brand, rather than a person.

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, exactly. It made me feel uncomfortable. That’s why I stopped taking pictures of celebrities, and I kind of stopped doing music videos and stuff like that. It just bored me. Because I want to do my own thing. I don’t really care about doing other people’s thing.

NM: That’s interesting, because of all the collaborative work you’ve done.

Barron Claiborne: Lately, I’ve been concentrating on collaborative work.

NM: But I mean in the past, even for publications, music videos, album covers – was that a different process for you?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, I still try to get the same feeling as my personal work. I don’t differentiate my personal work.

NM: The process stays the same?

Barron Claiborne: I do the best I can in a commercial setting. Because you can’t do the same work, it’s different. But those aren’t the photos that I like. I like the photos I do on my own because I’ve been taking pictures since I was 10. I have a lot of pictures. There were times I took pictures every day, all day for 10 years. Whether I was working or not. And I was using large format, so I don’t have as many pictures as when people use 35 mm. But I have a huge archive from all over the place. And I’ve used all kinds of cameras– toy cameras, plastic cameras, 8 x 10, 4 x 5, underwater ones– everything, everything. I like all of them.

Barron Claiborne

Notorious B.I.G as The King of New York

1997

NM: When you were doing collaborative work or working with musicians, did you just find yourself in those spaces? Was it for money?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, I was really poor. Of course, when you’re first starting you get a bunch of rejection, but then you finally get a job, and it never paid a lot, but I was broke so 300 bucks was great. Then you get more and more. Then you realize magazine work only gets you more work, it’s sort of like advertising for you, it gets people to know your name. Then I realized, for a long time, because no one had seen me and all they would see is my name, they all thought I was an old white dude, which I thought was kind of funny. I remember once I went to Paris to work, and dude, they couldn’t find me in the airport until I was like, “By the way, I’m a black dude.” Then they found me. Because they were looking for some old white guy! They were like, “It’s because your photos seem so old.” Back then, I was using the 8 x 10 and most of the stuff was large format polaroid and shit like that. So I never even thought of that. But my name is pretty waspy, I guess.

NM: But then they meet you, and it makes total sense.

Barron Claiborne: Oh yeah, I’m super waspy. I’m a waspafarian.

NM: You mentioned Avedon, Gordon Parks and Irving Penn. Those are big names. How did you come into company with them?

Barron Claiborne: Well, I just saw books as a kid, and then when I moved to New York, I assisted for a while, so I got to assist them. But I met Richard Avedon in Boston.

NM: How old were you when you came to New York?

Barron Claiborne: I was 21, 22.

NM: From Boston straight to New York?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah. I met Richard Avedon in Boston, at his exhibit, because I worked at the Museum of Contemporary Art. He had that “Out West” show there. I actually got to meet him and talk to him. They were hanging the show, he came, it was pretty cool. And then when I moved to New York, I assisted wherever I could. That’s how I met other ones, like Irving Penn.

NM: You just hit up Avedon asking if you could work for him?

Barron Claiborne: Yeah, right when I moved here, you fill out the application, they have you come in. Sometimes you would replace guys you knew who were assistants when they couldn’t work. And two of my friends worked for Irving Penn. I substituted for both.

NM: Friends from Boston?

Barron Claiborne: No, actually, New York photographers that I met early on. Yeah, when you first start out, you hang out with photographers. Over time, it changes, because people are going for money, for their career. And then you become competition. So then they get weird. But at first, you’re surrounded by photographers. We were always going to the lab. Loaning each other cameras, going to each other’s studios.

NM: Right, it was a collective.

Barron Claiborne: Yes. Because we needed it to survive.

NM: Absolutely. When you were doing music videos or album covers, was that the scene you found yourself in? Or did music really inspire your work?

Barron Claiborne: No, people would ask me if I wanted to shoot so-and-so, sometimes you didn’t want to because you didn’t like their music and were just trying to give them a good photo. I’m doing my own thing – I don’t tell you how to do your music thing, that’s your thing. You don’t tell me how to take pictures. I don’t tell you what to put in your music. But as you go higher, people always try to tell you what to do. Which is one of the things I hated. Because then you end up taking pictures for money, and you don’t like photography anymore. I saw that happen to some of us. They started making money, and then they just started taking photos for the money. But then you don’t like photography. I’ve been taking photos since I was ten. It’s so natural. I wouldn’t want to not like it, you know, so I just stop taking those jobs.

Continue to Part 2

Part 2

An Interview with Barron Claiborne (Part 1) Read More »

Interview

Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens and the South Street Renaissance

Public Art / Avery Walker

Isaiah Zagar, the artist behind Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens

Looking up at the wall, the story in its entirety stares back at you. One by one, each mosaic tile is meticulously placed, revealing an intimately personal construction. Its scale speaks to the energy behind it. Your eyes begin to section off the piece, finding little details, and discovering pieces of the puzzle. Cool tones come together in harmony and mirrored tiles shine out. Figures take shape and reveal expressive faces and phrases. It’s full of life. Facing outwardly and reflectively to the buzzing streets. Isaiah Zagar captures Philly in his murals and regifts it back to the city.

Zagar’s best-known work, Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens, is a beloved gem located on South Street’s Headhouse District. The Magic Gardens is an interactive art exhibit featuring a maze with mosaic walls bursting with color and texture. Walls of found and repurposed objects like glass bottles, bicycle parts, and ceramic dishes cluster together and create a whimsical wonderland for you to get lost in. The unique style and bewitching energy attracts Philadelphians and tourists alike to explore the South Street area, which is where most of Zagar’s work is concentrated.

Since he came to Philadelphia, Zagar’s work has breathed vitality into South Street. The value of his contributions and the powerful potential of public art as a whole can be demonstrated through South Street’s history, providing us with a case study on public art’s impact and relationship with community.

Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens

South Street’s influential origins date back to several immigrant communities who first called it home. It is a long-held tradition that South Street is a designated spot to seek entertainment and eclectic experiences. Originally, it was not a part of the Philadelphia city limits. Live music was not allowed by the Quaker doctrine, so South Street, being on the outskirts, is where live music lived. The depth of this energy can be felt reverberating through the streets and is captured exquisitely through Zagar’s works, which are peppered throughout the area. You can find the sweeping murals on street-facing building exteriors, or tucked into alleys, inviting you to explore where you are. Catching a glimpse of the first mural, then the second, and you’re suddenly searching for more. Your eyes are enticed to take in your surroundings, consciously seeking beauty.

Perusing the neighborhoods of Philadelphia becomes a familiar and energizing pastime. Every block seemingly breeds a new feeling. From Rittenhouse to Old City, from the Gayborhood to South Street; they’re all Philly, uniting in their undercurrents. Grit, ambition, and a vibrant community bond everyone. Each neighborhood connects in close proximity, making a large, urban city feel breezy and quaint. But there was a time when visions of redevelopment and suburban convenience sought to change the city.

First proposed in 1964 by the Philadelphia City Planning Commission, the Crosstown Expressway was a highway expansion that would disrupt this cultural unification by dividing the area by race and income. When the Crosstown Expressway was proposed, South Street was struggling. It was seen as a less desirable area to live in, thus contributing to the campaign for highway expansion. With low-cost property available, bohemians, artists, musicians, and hippies began moving in, including the Isaiah Zagar and his wife, Julia, who moved to South Street in the 60s. As Isaiah began constructing his public artwork, the Zagars effectively joined The South Street Renaissance. Whether they knew it or not, this move was an act of rebellion.

A CCPDCC protest

Soon, the Zagars called on their protesting skills learned in the Peace Corps and fought alongside their neighbors. Culture and art began taking over as they all came together to repair the neighborhood. As they thrust life back into South Street and other neighborhoods joined in the fight, the City Planning Commission was no match for the Philadelphian spirit. Through artistic visions and united voices, South Street was spared, allowing us to continue treasuring it today. Zagar, amongst many, was a part of the effort to protect South Street and the surrounding communities.

Community organizing was key, namely the Citizens’ Committee to Preserve and Develop the Crosstown Community (CCPDCC). The CCPDCC was created in 1968 by housing activist Alice Lipscomb, community leader George Dukes, and lawyer Robert Sugarman. Alice Lipscomb was an esteemed African American organizer, passionate about her community and its citizens. Fearless and committed, she united groups to fight against slumlords and racist housing policies.

The CCPDCC partnered with a supportive local architectural firm to convince the city South Street was salvageable with new land use plans drawn up as their rebuttal. The new plans were a contentious debate between the CCPDCC and government leaders for years, until Lipscomb broke through to newly elected mayor Frank Rizzo in 1972. Their agreement included scrapping the Crosstown Expressway, rehabilitating low-income housing, reducing household relocation, and supporting local businesses, with additional planning to be directed by the community.

Alice Lipscomb

Lipscomb’s work prevented the decimation of vibrant South Street, rallying citizens to protest alongside her. Her tireless labors of love for Philadelphia inspired Isaiah Zagar to create a sweeping, grand-scale mural in honor of this local hero in 2003 on S Sartain St. His signature style is immediately evident, as is his admiration and respect for Lipscomb. Capturing Lipscomb’s essence through abstract figures and larger than life depictions, this mural amplifies Zagar’s impressive body of work. It is another love letter to South Street.

Zagar’s work has continued to grow since South Street was salvaged, serving as a testament to what could have been lost. The Magic Gardens was completed in the 90’s and has been a cherished part of the locale since. It’s hard to imagine Center City with a major highway plunged through it. Thanks to the hard work for Alice Lipscomb and Isaiah Zagar and others who fought alongside them, it remains intact and vibrant. One Philadelphia stroll is enough to know why the South Street Renaissance fought this threat.

Isaiah and Julia Zagar

Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens and the South Street Renaissance Read More »

Public Art

An Interview with JonOne (Part 3)

Interview / Alexandra Kosloski

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

John Perello, AKA JonOne or Jon156, is an American graffiti artist living and working in Paris. In 1984, he founded the graffiti group 156 All Starz, before relocating to Paris in 1987, where he quickly made a name for himself. Working on a wealth of projects during his long career, and exhibiting on a global scale, his style is colorful and expressive.

In the final installment of their three part interview, Alexandra Kosloski and JonOne discuss “keeping it real” and his recent performance with the Trops.

Continued from Part 2

Part 2

AK: It sounds like creativity and painting and art is necessity to you, but does it ever feel like a job? Is there a toll that it takes? You were saying there’s a lot of baggage and distraction as you age.

JonOne: No, no, no, no, I wouldn’t say it feels like a job. Because I know people that work, and I wouldn’t want to do what they do– even if they get paid a lot of money. I’ve already worked. I work so hard to be where I’m at today. It wasn’t easy. It was so hard to be free and do whatever you want to do. I mean, it’s just so hard to live off your passion. It’s extremely difficult.

And I sometimes tell people,“when was the last time you bought a painting?”. So few people buy paintings, and so many people are painting. So it’s just so difficult to survive as an artist. Of course, as an artist there’s different levels; there’s the blue chip artist and then the regular artist. Everybody defines their own way of being an artist. There’s no set rules, what works for you may not necessarily work for me.

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

Like you may work in a gig gallery, and if I work at that gig gallery, I may find myself so bored working with those people, it would suck the soul out of me. So what works for other artists may not necessarily work for another artist. So everybody has to find their way to survive because… You gotta have a studio… life ain’t cheap. And painting is a rich man’s sport. The minute you start putting stuff in galleries, there’s a gallerist behind it and they’re trying to sell it. It’s not like a job but you’re selling your soul.

The thing about it is how do you keep it fun? How do you keep yourself always enjoying yourself? How do you protect yourself from people? You gotta protect yourself from people so you don’t get sucked into a system. One way or the other, people are gonna spit at you and you’re gonna spit at people. But how do you protect yourself from not being spit at so much? Because the minute you expose yourself, people are always gonna criticize you, tell you’re a sucker, you’re doing this, you’re a sell out, this and that. But how do you maintain your sanity? You know, because fame, money, and success can destroy a person.

So the way I am able to maintain my sanity and protect myself is through my art. And the process of painting has always been something that I enjoy doing, and that, nobody can take away from me. I protect that little joy I have from painting. That’s what I mean. The other part is just like formalities… It’s not formalities– but it’s just the things you’ve got to deal with because painting in itself is just 50% of the work. The other 50% is like selling yourself and seeing people and that’s something you got to deal with. But I try to enjoy that 50% is me. You know, that’s my part of joy. That’s why I don’t have chairs in my studio. So, you know, people don’t come and spend the whole day and suck my energy. So that part, that 50% belongs to me.

And I choose what I give to people. Say I gotta make some money– I’m not going to give them my masterworks. What people give me is what I give them. If you give me a certain amount of energy, then I give you back that energy, too. I’m not going to give you more energy than you deserve.

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

AK: You are very unique in that way because it feels like a lot of contemporary artists– like you said, it’s a rich man sport, so there’s this common path of getting a BFA and then an MFA and having this long vetting period where you’re not getting a lot of gratification… and you went a pretty different route.

JonOne: Yeah, definitely. I mean, I was like a street star when I was young. Sometimes when you get out of art schools and stuff like that, nobody really knows you, you got to build up, you may find a gallery– that helps. But I was already recognized for what I was doing when I was painting in the streets. Fame and success in my circle was something that I already knew. I just didn’t know the money part, you know. But fame was something I had to deal with when I was young.

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

AK: Do you think that the commercial aspects of the art world can affect an artist’s practice and how they produce work? And does it affect you?

JonOne: That whole word “commercial” is a big taboo. But you know, everybody has their own little situation going on. Some people don’t have to sell so many artworks because they have low overheads, or maybe they got rich parents, or the situation is just completely different. Maybe they have a business that has money coming in from other sources. And that’s not my case. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that I have so much responsibilities on top of me and so there has to be a matter of success and… selling, the whole aspect of selling. It’s a bad sign for me if all my paintings stay in my studio, you know, they have to come out of my studio. If they stay in my studio, it’s a bad sign. It means I’m going to have different types of problems.

I don’t really care what people say. I’m doing this for me. So what people think about me… you know…because those people who criticize you and things like that, those are the people that if you fall off, they’ll disappear in a second. They won’t be there for you. So I’m just worried for myself, really. Every day is just like “How am I going to keep the show on?”. And so that’s really my big, big, big concern every day. Because a lot of people switch off; sometimes they start doing paintings and then two years later they’re doing something else, another trend. But I’ve been doing this for so long and living off it for so long… that I give myself a pat on the back.

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photos by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

AK: So it feels like that’s kind of been your philosophy. That you’ve been unselfconscious and just doing it and then all the other things follow.

JonOne: Some people are really hard on themselves and they’re their worst critics. They let the exterior come inside the interior, you know, like criticism of people saying this and that. But I’ve been through so much shit that I come back down to earth. And I know where I come from and I know what I’ve done. I always come back down to earth. Like I don’t drive no fancy cars, I just try to have as much money as I can so I can pay people off, so I can be at peace when I paint.

But I know how it is, the starving artist thing. You know, when you try to keep it real…that word… “I gotta keep it real”. Shit… Like, yeah, I try to be open to opportunities, especially now to young people like you. I’m investing my time with you because I believed in you when I met you. So I say to myself, “you’re the future” and who knows what you’re going to do in the future? So I’m investing in you. I try to keep an open mind and not be like, “if you’re not writing for this magazine I don’t think it’s worth my time”. Just like you.

How many times has it happened to me that I’ve been like “Nah, I ain’t gonna do that,” and then that person becomes somebody humongous. Like, what a dumbass. You work with a lot of older people, established people. Shit. You never know what happens. You never know who’s who. You got to be open and flexible, you gotta be a little bit loose.

AK: So are there any current projects you’re really excited about?

JonOne: Oh yes. Well, I’m going to do a performance with The Trops. Just great. I’m really excited about that. Extremely exciting.

AK: Could you talk a little bit more about that or is it kind of a surprise?

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

JonOne: Not a surprise. Well… it’s sort of like a mystery. I’m pretty good at doing performances and getting people involved in my art that I do. Since I don’t let people inside my studio, it allows people to see the process of how I paint without revealing too much of myself. I kind of give them a little bit of the experience of what creation is about, and I think that’s a special moment. I remember being in studios sometimes, and just being there in front of artists when they were painting, and I would be like, “Wow, that’s so crazy”. So part of my performance is that. It’s just showing people the way I create these abstract images and opening up to my world. It’s going to be music, and I get into some sort of trance and yes, it becomes something really exciting for me to do.

JonOne

Performance at The Trops: Poesy

Photo by Adrian Crispin 2023 @adrian_crispin (IG)

An Interview with JonOne (Part 3) Read More »

Interview

An Interview with JonOne (Part 2)

Artist Profile, Interview / Alexandra Kosloski

JonOne

Push the Buttons

Photo by Bruno Brounch

In part 2 of their 3 part interview, JonOne tells Alexandra Kosloski about the state of his practice and his unique approach in life and art.

Continued from Part 1

Part 1

AK: Do you ever feel like your experience with graffiti gave you a particular advantage– or maybe a disadvantage– in the institutional art world?

JonOne: Well, I’ve always been an outsider. It would be nice, of course, to be challenged in a lot of different types of areas, but you cannot be everywhere or satisfy everyone. So, what I try to do is create an exciting life for myself above everything. I try to– no matter what opportunities are given to me– I try to live my life. As I should be living my life, you know, and not depend on people, that they’re gonna come and save my day. I really don’t believe in that. Sometimes it happens, it’s always a payoff to do anyway. But I tried to live in a free way, no matter what.

Because it was just so hard to access the art world. It’s just so complicated. And what’s difficult is to be able to continue throughout all the years, and I’m very grateful. Forty years, I’m still painting, and I have a studio and I have assistants– which is tiring. And I was able to raise a family through art, so I’m grateful for the things I have and the things that I don’t have. Well, whatever. Maybe it’ll come around later on– yeah, I wouldn’t mind doing a museum show. You know, why not?

JonOne

Civil Rights

Photo by Bruno Brounch

AK: So why did you move in that direction? Because going from what you’re describing at the start to mentioning a museum show– it feels like there’s some steps to take in between that. What was the catalyst for that?

JonOne: Like to go from, let’s say, vandalism or graffiti– which is beautiful also– to working inside doing canvases and things like that.

AK: Right. And I’ll pinpoint your move from New York to Paris, did that move play a role?

JonOne: Oh, yeah, it was one of the best moves ever made in my life, to have moved. It was like I was blessed.

But you know, it wasn’t like I was blessed. I always had a vision of being different. So when I say, hip hop, and all that stuff… I was always listening to a lot of different types of music. I was hanging out with a lot of different types of people. I wasn’t just limiting myself to hang out with Blacks, or Hispanics, I hung out with a lot of different people from all over the world. I already spoke two languages, which were Spanish and English. And I was very open to things. I wasn’t just uptown, I was hanging out a lot downtown. So for me to find myself in Paris, there’s no coincidences, right. Even today, I listen to a lot of different types of music, a lot of different types of dads. It’s a way of cultivating myself. So to have moved to France, it was just a transition for me that was like, okay, I really experienced New York, let me see what I can do here. And that’s the way it just became a way of moving on and spreading my art to other people.

AK: It just felt like a logical next step.

JonOne: Yeah. Because at the time when I left New York, the trains were being painted over. And they were really hard on graffiti writers, on vandals, really, really hard. Which they shouldn’t have been because in Europe, everybody was more cool about it there. And New York was supposed to be the land of free and the brave and all that stuff, but they were too much– just too… you know.

So here, I was able to continue to paint freely and not feel like I was being persecuted. A little bit like the jazz musicians were; that moved from New York or from the US and moved over to Europe, that felt more free expressing themselves in Europe than in the States. That’s the way I felt.

JonOne

Cool It Down

Photo by Bruno Brounch

AK: I do want to talk more about painting. What does a typical day in a studio look like for you?

JonOne: Well, it’s very complicated working in a studio for me. I was thinking about that today because some people from the outside world– they don’t really understand. It’s not like when you start, like when you’re a young artist, you got less baggage. But as you get older, you get more baggage to carry. It’s like the difference between dating a young guy and dating an older guy. The older guy looks good and everything, but he has all this baggage and you’re not really sure if you want to deal with this. Because you might want to just spend time with the guy, but the guy may be so complicated, you know.

Like when you paint for a while, things become more complicated. I mean, creativity wise, I’ve gained a lot of experiences throughout all the years, and that’s something that you can’t take away from me, because I’ve done a lot of different types of projects, and I know my craft pretty well, I know how to express myself, so that’s all good.

But at the same time, you create expenses around you. So when you create expenses, then you got to deal with a lot of different types of people that are gonna free you up in a way so that you’re not stressed out in your studio that much.

So that’s the baseline. Now, a typical day in my studio, I try to start by taking care of myself, first of all, because you need a good body to paint. So I go to the gym and I come here around 11 o’clock. And then I got to deal with assistants that are waiting for me to tell them what I want to do. I got people here that are going to ask me questions, you know, I’m not like, alone in my studio and just creating, listening to music. So I’ve got to deal with them first, right. And once I get them out the way and they beat, then I can paint. But then I got my girl calling me up, and I got the kids– you know, it’s complicated to create. But I’m here right now and I’m painting.

So there’s challenges at every level, at every level when you paint. So like I was saying, I went to a lot of different types of places recently– I was in South Africa and Bangkok, Alabama, I was in London. I absorbed a lot of different inspirations and I met a lot of different types of incredible people, so now when I find myself alone in the studio, I try to express that energy into my paintings. That’s what makes it so unique, my paintings. And so exciting. So right now I’m working on five, six… like 10 paintings at the same time. You know?

AK: That’s a lot.

JonOne: Yeah.

AK: You work on them all simultaneously?

JonOne: Well, some are drawings, right now as we talk. And some of them are going to leave the studio tomorrow. And some of them I’m working on right now. It turns around a lot. I have a really small studio. It’s tiny, tiny, tiny. So I’m bouncing around the place a bit.

AK: That’s interesting. So it sounds like you have to try to have a clear mind, minimize distraction, and that’s when you get the work done.

JonOne: Exactly. You said it pretty good. I have constantly tried to prioritize things and say “that’s not really what’s important”.

JonOne

My Heart Is Fragile

Photo by Bruno Brounch

What’s important is that, like in my studio, there’s no chairs, no chairs, no… No chairs. So nobody can come here and sit down and spend time here because there’s not a chair to sit down on. And I do this purposely because my studio is not a hangout spot. It’s like a laboratory. If you go to a laboratory or a dance company and they’re doing repetitions, it’s just you and the choreographer. And it’s the same thing. It’s just me in front of the painting. So I try to minimize the distractions and create a space where I’m that kid before, that’s bored on Friday nights, and he’s painting in his place, even though he has 10 billion things to do.

AK: And that makes so much sense because your paintings are so high energy.

JonOne: Yeah.

AK: Is that kind of what they’re about?

JonOne: I mean, in a way, yeah, it is. Because it’s about like… I wouldn’t say about that. But I try to live fast paced. I try to live an exciting life, you know, a fulfilling life. So then I try to express that in my canvas; live life to your fullest. So that’s what I’m trying to do.

JonOne

Photo by Gwen Le Bras

AK: Yeah, I think that definitely comes across. You just mentioned that you were jumping around quite a bit– you’re in South Africa, you’re in Bangkok… Is there a specific city or show that you’ve felt particularly passionate about?

JonOne: No, no, not really. I mean, I’m always working on new shows, so I’m always excited for the next show that I’m about to do because I like to see my work evolving. So I think that’s really important about my work; it doesn’t really stay still, it goes all over the place. And that’s what motivates me the most is working on new projects. Like on the third of May, I’m supposed to go to the south of France. And I’m preparing a show that’s going to be… most likely in a year from now. And that show will consist of… doing the show in an abandoned church. And then from there, I’m going to paint a wall– I’ll do a big wall that’s like five stories up. So, I go on the third of May to meet the mayor of the city and things like that. So there’s always an agenda coming up.

AK: That’s really exciting. So you’re always looking towards the next thing?

JonOne: Yeah. But my dream is to do something in the states. Yeah, I would love to do something in the States. I’d like to do a comeback. You know, I never did a show in the States. I would love to do something there.

AK: Yeah, that would be great. I mean, always looking towards the next thing, I feel like that’s why your career as an artist has been such a marathon.

JonOne: Yeah, it has. It’s been a marathon.

Continue to Part 3

Part 3

An Interview with JonOne (Part 2) Read More »

Artist Profile, Interview

An Interview with JonOne (Part 1)

Artist Profile, Interview / Alexandra Kosloski

JonOne

Hours On the Ground

Photo by Bruno Brounch

In part 1 of her 3 part interview with JonOne, Alexandra Kosloski discusses the artist’s early life and influences.

AK: Could you tell me a little bit about your early life in New York?

JonOne: Early life, well… I was actually born in New York so I’m a real New Yorker, you could say. I was born in a hospital called Flowers– I think it’s called Flowers. Doesn’t exist anymore. So I was born in New York in 1963 and I was brought up in Washington Heights, which is like Dominican, Hispanic, Black, all mixed types of people. My parents are originally from the Dominican Republic, so I got that Latino touch in me, which I’m very proud of. And my dad– he was a window trimmer, what he used to do was decorate store windows. And my mother used to have a boutique. It used to be “Perello’s Boutique”. She used to sell Jordache jeans, Sergio Tacchini jeans, Calvin Klein jeans, karate slippers, Weibo pads….

And I went to an all Catholic boys school called Cardinal Hayes in the Bronx. And so you can see from the little bit I’m telling you… we used to go to Coney Island in the summertime– that used to be our St. Tropez. So we used to go to Coney Island in the summertime, my mother used to bring the food from the house. So cute. She used to spend the Saturdays preparing food. And we used to spend our time in Coney Island in the summertime to cool off. I would go to Highbridge Park 175th, I think something like that. Yeah, I grew up like a real New Yorker.

JonOne

The Simple Life

Photo by Bruno Brounch

AK: So it sounds like you’re pretty proud of where you’re from. It seems like your parents have some of that creative and entrepreneurial spirit that you have.

JonOne: Yeah, they definitely do. I mean, my parents were, you know, like immigrants, and when you’re an immigrant, you get the lowest jobs possible. And they had three kids. So they had to do what they had to do to put food on the table. So that’s maybe where I got the drive… the drive to paint. From my parents, you know? Never giving up and trying my best.

AK: Was art something that you had visualized for your future?

JonOne: No, I mean, art came from boredom. What better way to become an artist– because you’re bored and you got no money. What you do when you got no money and you’re bored is you listen to music and you draw. So I would spend Friday nights listening to music and drawing all night long on a table… and then that Friday and Saturday became Sunday, and Sundays became Mondays and Mondays became like… a real passion. From just being bored.

I always encourage kids to take their boredom and use the boredom to do things. Yeah, it’s good to be bored sometimes. So I used my boredom and I painted.

AK: Yeah, the idleness kind of leads to creativity and invention and new ideas.

JonOne: Yeah, I mean, nowadays you got so much distractions. And useless distractions because it doesn’t lead you nowhere. But back then I was very, very lucky that I was able to use my boredom and do something creative with it.

When I was small, there was this film called Fame. “I want to live forever, I want to learn how to fly high”. Instead, it was the school called Juilliard but I wasn’t so talented to go to Juilliard. So there was always this thing in my head, of like dancing, music, art, expressing yourself– if not on the stage, in the streets. And I always had that necessity to want to expose myself. Sometimes people are timid, but I wanted to be known and seen. That was one of my things. So from movies like Fame and things like that, and seeing graffiti in the streets, and being around graffiti writers, and breakdancing, and hip hop and all that stuff. I slowly transitioned to a more personal type of expression, rather than just following the hip hop scene. Art became more personal, I guess.

JonOne

There Is Power In Me

Photo by Bruno Brounch

AK: So you said that you would just start drawing in your bedroom? Could you tell me a little bit more about your early art making practice?

JonOne: Yeah, I mean, I really sucked at painting. I was like, the worst of the worst. I mean, even to this day, I still can’t paint, you know, I mean, something figurative, nor represented, nor graphic… it became too structured for me. And I didn’t feel like I wanted to go through a structured type of expression because it felt like the same sort of oppression I felt in American society– where everything had to be a certain way in order for you to be accepted. So I felt more at ease expressing myself in an abstract form, which the abstract turns into a freestyle, a free style of expressing yourself. And that’s what really interested me, I didn’t want to be fitting into a box anymore than I had to be. You know, like when you paint a figure, it has to be drawn a certain way in order for it to be recognized or things like that. I wanted to be recognized for my uniqueness and my experiences that I was going through, which are very valuable.

And sometimes it was shunned by society, because people looked down at it, they were like, “That’s useless, what you’re doing”, or “That’s bad what you’re doing”. But I was like, yeah, that’s my life. And that’s an experience that’s enriching because you’re not experiencing it. And that’s what makes it unique.

JonOne

Photo by Gwen Le Bras

That’s what makes me unique– is that you’re doing what everybody else is doing, and I’m doing something that nobody’s doing. That uniqueness is what I was trying to express in an abstract form; through colors and movement and poetry and experiences and energy. And I slowly started to apply my experiences– hanging out downtown, and meeting people, and that excitement of New York when you’re young– I started to express it on canvases.

And also, it wasn’t just a joyful type of art that I was expressing. It’s also a revolting, and trying to understand “Who am I in this big city?”. You know how it is in New York. It’s like a big city, but at the same time, you can feel so lonely, and have no friends and not fit in and, you know, and just be invisible in that place.

AK: Yeah, there’s an anonymity. It sounds like you’re describing that in some ways, art and creativity was an escape for you, but simultaneously, it was a way for you to participate in your environment and in the culture. Does it function both ways for you?

JonOne: Yeah, it does. Because in a way, I was sort of like an outsider– an outsider of an outsider, you know? I felt like I was an outcast in the spectacle of this big city, and the only way of escaping was to paint. And that’s what made me happy. And it made me create my own world, and try to figure out “What is the value of this world?”, when I’m doing something in a way that’s so useless. Because who needs art anyway? You know? Who needs it? So little people consume art, or live through art, or need art in the way that I was needing it. So I was really I was an outsider of the outsiders. People would maybe sometimes dip and dab in art, but to me it was a way of breathing and… to live. So how do you bring a value to it? You know, how do you figure it? How do you figure yourself out in this thing? So it was a long process. And it’s a process that’s ongoing every day, too, it never stops.

JonOne

Juice World

Photo by Bruno Brounch

AK: So early on, you’re involved in street art in New York, and then you transition to painting on canvas. Is that correct?

JonOne: Yeah, I mean, it was a really slow transition. I want to say graffiti is what I was doing. I was doing vandalism. I wasn’t doing street art because I wasn’t really painting in the streets. I was painting on trains. And, you know, some people look at it as vandalism or degrading, but to me it was definitely none of that. The trains were my playgrounds. It was a moving gallery. It was a gallery that was in your face all the time. And it was, at the same time, very underground. So that’s what made me so excited, because I was into underground stuff. And yeah, it was my way of existing. So from there, I was very, very lucky to meet artists, and go visit studios, and start to go to museums and meet art dealers and things like that. So that was sort of my way of educating myself.

But today, yes, definitely called “street art”, which I use sometimes. Sometimes I’m a street artist, sometimes I’m an artist in terms of abstract.

JonOne

Things Are Different In Me

Photo by Bruno Brounch

AK: Yeah, you’re a little bit difficult to put in a box.

JonOne: Yeah. Because I’m just so complicated, you know, I’m extremely complicated– I mean, I’ve been doing it for, like, 40 some odd years painting or maybe even more. It’s even hard for me to define myself. I’m always curious, and trying to be curious in things like that. Not settling down yet. No.

Continue to Part 2

Part 2

An Interview with JonOne (Part 1) Read More »

Artist Profile, Interview

How To Buy Art

Editorial / Nemo Librizzi

Terracotta rim fragment of a kylix, 460-450 BCECourtesy of the Met Museum

“I seek not good fortune. I myself am good fortune.”

-Walt Whitman

This may be the smartest advice on art investment you will ever read, and yet there will be no proofs, charts or diagrams. It is extracted from a full life’s experience, itself built on my father’s life’s experience, the wisdom of which he shared readily with anyone who would listen, but especially with me. It’s about collecting art from a love of art and not in order to make money. And while I can’t promise you will make money this way, as that is not the stated intention, I also can’t see how you would fail. Yet in the end, perhaps the greatest rewards are entirely impractical, utterly ineffable, and most enriching. If energy of work and bright ideas are represented by money, the energy of inspired genius and all the best of the human spirit is represented by art, so to trade the former for the latter, we are always getting the best deal.

Maffet Ledger, 1874-81, Courtesy of the Met Museum

I hate to sound like a paradoxical fortune cookie so it’s best to draw from life experience examples. When I was a teenager I thought I was smart. So smart that I knew Picasso sucked, and that anybody who liked Picasso was stupid or brainwashed. Then my father was the middle man on a big Picasso deal and an important Picasso hung in our living room, replacing a particularly joyous Miro I loved seeing daily in passing. Now, this Picasso was so expensive that it was a special kind of ugly. That stripped down Madrid palette: black, white, gray and shitty ochre. Plus all the bells and whistles of distorted facial features. A travesty. I complained when it went up, passed it with a shudder and couldn’t wait for it to be sold, so we could reinstate the Miro, and probably fly to Europe for a celebration of the big sale as was our wont.

After a night of drinking I reclined on the sofa still swaddled in my blanket, eating a bowl of cereal and watching rap videos on MTV. I looked over at the horrible Picasso, back at Public Enemy… and then back at the Picasso. Something happened. A light went on. I can’t explain what occurred psychologically but probably something like a million brain synapses firing at once, and from that point on I could stand toe to toe with John Richardson and debate Picasso. And he was every bit as topical to date as my favorite rappers. I saw.

William Michael Harnett, The Artist’s Letter Rack , 1879, Courtesy of the Met Museum

I was a graffiti artist on the subway scene. Whenever the big guys in this underground movement had an exhibit above ground, Futura, Dondi, Rammellzee or Lee Quinones, everybody in the civilized world showed up. So as a card carrying member of this closed society, I thought of all the zillionaires and movie stars as mere hangers on. But then there came a wave of artists in their own right, very interesting ones, who brought a new kind of synergy to this popular avant garde. Luminaries like Keith Haring, Kenny Scharf, Richard Hambleton, Martin Wong, and David Wojnarowicz. This new wave of innovation was not driven by marketing or PR but– to use Robert Faris Thompson’s specialty term– because it was “cool”.

When Fun Gallery showed Basquiat we all went to the opening. Hands down one of the coolest guys downtown. Neck and neck with Rammellzee. The paintings that still smelled of fresh oil stick were $1,200 or maybe just an even grand. And Dad and I were in that group of New Yorker insiders, with money to spend, yet none of us, nobody… bought one.

Strangely, nowadays collectors only want to buy a Basquiat. It’s seen as safe, as blue chip. A (cringe) status symbol. I even meet people who want to make a million dollars SO they can buy a Basquiat. To buy and live with a Basquiat absolutely has value today, such as if one bought a Picasso or DeKooning, the investment should appreciate, and the art will radiate its riches. But clearly the best time to buy was at that Fun Gallery show. When the work was new, the ideas were raw, the artist was alive, young and hungry, living dangerously and needed the sale. Again, nobody bought one.Basquiat, in the arc of his mayfly short life, enjoyed success. However, we continually fail to recognize and support young artists, specifically, and art as a whole when we are not there to applaud a genius on their debut on the world stage.

Excluding most of the artists present at the Fun Gallery opening, everyone in that room could have afforded a Basquiat or ten, would have helped the world to be a more beautiful place, and oh my– was there a dollar to be made. But even the rich never seem to be rich enough to invest in art where it counts, in that unpredictable liminal phase, where the work is exciting and not yet market proven.

Pere Oller, Mourner, ca. 1417 , Courtesy of the Met Museum

It takes a hero, like that great collector couple. I forget their names, but I watched the documentary- the husband drove a taxi for a living. They loved art and went to all the openings together. They would fall in love with a picture, say a Rauschenberg, and tell the gallery they would pay it off little by little, from paltry wages. In this humble way this enchanted couple cobbled together a world class collection and became fabulously wealthy, but most importantly, lived surrounded by the powerful magnetic field of their passions.

My father left a stint in the military to hang around the Abstract Expressionists, Beat Poets and Be-Bop musicians, and caught the tail end of all that. He was a teenager working in an art supply store when he met Warhol, who was then still in advertising. Andy asked Pops to take a freshly minted soup can for a walk up Madison Avenue to see what he could get for them. It’s mentioned in the diaries later that “Rick Librizzi [dad] sells my prints too cheap”. And dad was never all about the money, but later I think it did affect him when we sat at Christie’s watching works he sold at 30 or 50K skyrocket to Lotto jackpot figures. Either that or his seat was very uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, he rationalized it, recalling that was the year we rented the suite at the Negresco with the sea view like Matisse. After all, Pops was born dirt poor and believed you could never make every dollar, but had to get some life lived while you had the chance. Maybe I’m wandering off topic a bit, but staying rooted in experience is the best way to show, not tell, the many ways collecting art enhances our human experience. And to invest means not just our money, but our energy, power to believe, and generosity in humble open mindedness, so that even dressed in rags we know an angel when we see one.

When I lived with my dad it was only a matter of time before calls came in from museums requesting the loan of some painting he had paid, literally, fifty dollars for, so when I came of age, I made it a point to collect every notable talent at the moment they emerged from the woodshed. True, some artists materialize on the scene, to be lauded as the toast of the town for a season, only to be damned to obscurity afresh by autumn. And if intrinsic value is anything, qualitatively some of my favorite works come from fringe names that may be lost forever to time, like some anonymous Egyptian or Greek hand. But with every crop of promising talents there is generally one, sometimes two, or in a blessed vintage three who keep at it, and keep striking that sweet spot of relevance until they become household names. This is when your head and heart can agree that your time and energy was well spent. The rise of the one artist who establishes a market pays for the lot of investments, and perhaps your own celebratory tour of European capitals on payday.

Nesting Bowl, 460-450 BCE, Courtesy of the Met Museum

Along with the dilettante who brags about a sound investment in secondary market stock, is the novice Art Historian who can downplay Picasso’s importance, perhaps citing some of his horrible personality traits, chats to be enjoyed while waiting in line for a table at the latest celebrity chef eatery, drawn in by glowing reviews heard on a television program. An entire art-world whose stance is anti-innovation, or even anti-Art. Art as a luxury item. But to venture out as a pioneer on the still-cooling volcanic horizons of a new landscape forged by a visionary avant-garde, that is where real thrills are to be had, together with risks.

When Dad was collecting East Village artists and supporting the graffiti movement, Richard Hambleton rose from anonymity, painting his menacing shadow man figures on the abandoned streets to an “overnight” art stardom bypassing the entry level investment phase favored by my father. Dad would buy cheap and sell dear as a rule, but from a distance treasured what Hambleton had contributed to the tradition. Pollock had abandoned representation for the sake of the vital gesture, and then turned around abruptly to shock and offend the art public by returning to the figure. Critic and collector felt betrayed by the ex-abstractionist, and he by them. Hambleton, according to my father, came along to push this lost cause to a solution, applying the Ab-Ex dynamic to all-American classic subject matter.

Guillaume-Benjamin-Amand Duchenne de Boulogne, Grimace, 1854, Courtesy of the Met Museum

Yet a decade later, Richard would approach my father in the park, humbly asking if he might be interested in buying an ass-kicking rodeo painting tied to the back of his old bicycle. By then Hambleton had tumbled from the ivory tower of bohemian royalty, and thus began a friendship that doubled as a symbiotic business partnership. Dad bought as many paintings as he had room for, and sold off the others to friends and collectors. And at some point my own friendship with Richard blossomed into a business alliance. I bought as many as I could hang on my walls, and visited his studio with fashion models, and pot dealers, and anyone I might encounter with means to acquire something beautiful, and with inherent value well beyond the asking price. Everyone who bought at this stage, and supported a distressed genius, was thrilled by this meaningful exchange, only some were later disgruntled when powerful agencies aligned with our family efforts restoring his market where it belonged– disgruntled that we had not effectively convinced them to invest in time.

Although I am no psychic, it did not surprise me to see Hambleton’s prices spike at the end of his life. And it was not a mere question of engineering, either. But when an artist is that authentic, that tied in with history, that unique and innovative, generally it’s merely a question of time before the trade catches up. In the annals there are of course cases like Picasso’s: a staunch purist who never resorted to charlatanism, who seized the reigns of a thriving career at a young age persevering for the next sixty years with nary a hiccup, persisting to this day as gold standard. Or Van Gogh’s, who suffered the torments of the damned in his lifetime without any respite in worldly success, who nevertheless has in time reached the hearts of zillions. And yes, the works have grown to be treasured as priceless. That a Van Gogh painting never was worthless, however unsaleable they may have been during his lifetime, therein lies the question and answer to absolute value in Art. First and foremost we must appraise an artwork for its potency in conveying human feeling. And when it succeeds at that, Art always generates a profit well beyond any financial return, even when it’s not resold.

Keisai Eisen,Winter Landscape, 460-450 BCE, Courtesy of the Met Museum

When I was a teenager Jean Michel Basquiat made me a great drawing, employing his key iconography, and I had it framed and lived with it for many years. When I became a father, I never saw bills come crashing in so quickly, so with regret I brought this sacred relic to an auction house. Whereupon they asked me for the paperwork. It had never occurred to me to have the damn thing pedigreed, and now was made to understand that the board was no longer considering certifications. I was met with disappointment, to find this precious item ripped of its price, but met my fiscal challenge in some other manner. And I continue to live with this spark of genius, that might have easily been traded in for a sack of rice, but continues to inspire and bring joy to my household instead… in that intangible way that poetry can always nourish us where bread fails.

How To Buy Art Read More »

Editorial

Museum of Graffiti Features Layer Cake’s “Versus Project III”

Exhibition / Stefanie Yaegel

When we think of artists, we don’t typically think of dangerous criminals. That is, unless you are a graffiti artist in the eyes of the law. Think property damage, felonies, and even jail time; yeah, now you have entered the high-stakes realm of graffiti. These creative risk-takers willingly partake in what many prosecutors would define as “criminal vandalism” in order to express their imaginations and opinions, typically based in social commentary.

But here’s the million dollar question- is graffiti truly vandalism, or is it a form of art? And where do policymakers and communities draw the line? These contradicting perspectives on graffiti enable some artists to be praised for their creative contributions, while allowing others to rot behind bars for the same form of self-expression.

Today, graffiti is widespread and celebrated by many. It is even used for decoration, design, and merchandising purposes, especially in Wynwood – a popular entertainment district in Miami. Some of the world’s greatest street artists have left their mark on this neighborhood, transforming spray paint and marker pens into distinguished exhibitions of their heart and soul. However, in a society that cannot make up its mind, graffitists continue to endure an uphill battle of strict fines, courtroom proceedings, and even prison sentences in hopes of one day revising the definition of graffiti in the public’s opinion. Sure, these murals may be rebellious and bold in nature, but isn’t art just mimicking life? Graffiti has set ablaze an innovative art movement that has brought more beauty, color, and vitality than ever before to cities and neighborhoods all over the world.

In honor of its significant history, the first ever Museum of Graffiti opened in none other than Wynwood, Miami, with the mission to preserve, celebrate, and educate people on the controversial style. Representing the world’s most talented graffiti artists, the museum offers general admission tickets for touring the contemplative works, at the accessible cost of $16. It also has graffiti classes for adults and drawing classes for children, led by local artists.

Currently on display at Wynwood’s Museum of Graffiti is the revolutionary Versus Project III, spearheaded by the artists Patrick Hartl and Christian “C100” Hundertmark, whose partnership is professionally known as Layer Cake. The project is a series of canvases that the duo started, but here’s where it gets interesting: Layer Cake left the canvases incomplete. The team then shipped their unfinished graffiti projects off to their favorite artists from across the globe to allow them to contribute – including Akue, Raws, Flying Förtress, Various&Gould, Bond Truluv, Thierry Furger/Buffed Paintings, Arnaud Liard, Rocco & his brothers, Hera & MadC.

Now, if this doesn’t sound right to you, that’s probably because the number one rule in the graffiti world is to never paint over someone else’s work. Typically, that is seen as a sign of disrespect for the artist and their message. However, Layer Cake’s Versus Project III takes a different stance completely. The spirit of the exhibition is rooted in collaboration and unspoken communication between the artists.

Without instructions or guidelines, the receiving artists were free to be as imaginative as possible on their collective canvas, combining their distinct styles with the artist’s markings before them. The exhibition maintains a high level of respect for each graffitist as they meticulously work with each other’s paint, merging all different techniques into one chaotically beautiful masterpiece. By layering signatures over one another, the spontaneous hybrid works well to pay tribute to contemporary art and graffiti as it brings the viewer into a dynamic world that embraces the beauty in differences.

From a distance, the Versus Project III is like a live battle for attention and space unfolding before your eyes, as you can almost feel each artist’s inner struggle as they were creating it. However, when you look closer at the canvases, you can see how no work is overshadowed or alone – every style and every color complements its neighbor. The intricate detailing and multitude of niche styles conveys a sense of movement, as if the piece is constantly evolving right in front of you. The final result showcases each artist’s unique perspectives and practices, while also uniting their efforts into an almost living and breathing piece of art.

As if witnessing a fluent conversation unfold through the adjacent approaches, the project implies a sense of unity, respect, and partnership. Explained by Layer Cake in an interview, this was the goal of their project- an exhibition that favors collaboration over competition in all aspects of society. Whether it be in the art world, or in the real world, cooperation is key to progress and harmony, says Layer Cake. And the Versus Project III, by demonstrating the importance of teamwork and trust, works well at encouraging this colossal theme for audiences to remember long after the exhibition is over.

It is through monumental installations like these that showcase the benefits of graffiti in modern society. Whether it be an inspiring mural on the side of a local business, or a joint-artist canvas hanging up in a gallery, spray paint never fails to make a powerful statement, urging social and political progress toward a brighter future. Does that sound like criminal activity to you? Well hey, you don’t have to take my word for it. Explore creative neighborhoods near you or check out the Layer Cake exhibition at the Museum of Graffiti to decide for yourself whether graffiti should be criminalized or celebrated.

Museum of Graffiti Features Layer Cake’s “Versus Project III” Read More »

Exhibition

Conscious Darkness: Richard Hambleton (Part 2)

Artist Profile, Editorial / Nemo Librizzi

“No one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge.”

-CG Jung

Continued from Part 1

Part 1

The only thing “street” about Hambleton was that his first works in New York City happened to have been painted on public property, the DOA series conceived directly on the sidewalks and asphalt, then the painterly shadow men that would make his bones as a living legend. Unlike the aforementioned artists who premiered in the trenches alongside the roguish graffiti demi-monde, Hambleton’s shadows painted on the wall did not need to be painted on the wall to be transformed into Art in context, and neither was there any entropy in the eventual transplanting thereof onto canvas, to hang in some white box with the grandeur of crown jewels. Anyone with a modicum of knowledge of Art History could draw a line directly from Monet’s splattered Water Lilies, Picasso’s expressive contortions, Pollock’s liberated unconscious arabesques, straight through Richard Hambleton’s punk rock sprezzatura sensibilities.

Very quickly Richard enjoyed a caliber of celebrity that elevated him above the fray, positioning him alongside Schnabel and Clemente, with his sold out shows and matinee idol good looks. When at last I identified the Shadow Man in a photograph, it was not from a mug shot. Here he was posing in a glossy magazine spread, the cultural ambassador for the jet set throwing paint like Yves Klein, and finally putting a glamorous face to the name, most incongruous to the terrifying images he left behind on rat-infested squatter tenements.

Richard Hambleton

5 ShadowMen

Warhol died. Basquiat died. Haring died. Hambleton fell from the ivory tower. The party was over. New faces filled the magazines. Then dad came home with a crazy story. He was digging a Jazz ensemble in Tompkins Sq Park when a wild man approached on a rickety bicycle and offered to sell him a painting for fifty bucks.

At first he had been a phantom, then a movie star, but now he was a blood and guts Bohemian, struggling with a bad habit, and just like the cowboy clinging to the reigns of a violently bucking bronco in the painting my father purchased, he was fighting for his very existence. A vulnerable human being, and a fast family friend. Little by little our house filled up with the Shadow Man’s handiwork. He was short on rent, he needed a small loan, the calls came in at odd hours. He’d emerge out of a waiting taxi, leather jacket cinched shut with a jumbo paper clip and a wild look in his eyes, and then in the living room sprung up a figure frozen in the act of leaping into the air like Nijinsky or Michael Jordan, hair standing up straight as though electrocuted.

Richard Hambleton

Horse and Rider

Pops rented a studio for him in Astoria. Against my will I joined the visit. Richard had reams of canvas stretched across the wall and painted mobs of Shadow Men standing shoulder to shoulder in volatile confrontation, hemorrhaging energy and crazy ideas in gobs of gooey black, horses rearing up, thrashing blindly to throw their rider, at last, into the dirt, dramatic as any Tyson fight, as Richard dashed across the studio, a one-man rodeo, flinging paint-caked brushes, unrolling last night’s work painted with the vivid intensity of a fever dream. Maybe I had feared that he was taking advantage of my Dad, but now I too fell under his spell.

Which of us was not scared of the dark as a child? And how much does it mean to us when some cowboy looks evil in the eye, stands up to a fear of the unknown, that darkness that dwells in all of us we somehow never get around to confronting? It is there looming in Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro, in the moody Venetians, in Rembrandt’s inky umbers, in a tonal late Rothko, heaving like the sea by night, embodying the fears and doubts we all contend with beneath the surface, that the occasional Ahab rises to the helm to reckon with in our place, and for the greater good of humanity.

Richard Hambleton

Seascape

I found time to visit Richard on my own now. He had been living in some former auto repair garage, slept in a dentist chair, with a television jury rigged to be lowered on a chain by a lever whenever he laid down. One summer night we ventured outside and painted on the streets together with Omni and Lola Schnabel. Things we never photographed, never yearned to be seen, much less sold, but painted for the sheer joy of invention.

Pops set up an exhibit for him in some gallery uptown off Madison. Maybe the horse and riders would not stand still for a moment, nor the rhapsodic brushwork they were comprised of, but as we installed, now I had occasion to sit with these works for a contemplative moment. My father shared the observation that Pollock had died in a failed effort to return to the figure after spearheading a nonrepresentational revolution, and it was Hambleton who rather carried this aim to its conclusion. In the most carefree way, Richard could articulate a horse’s anatomy as meticulously as George Stubbs, but that blurred streak of a rider was hardly even a human any more, obliterated by the storm-clouds and dust storms of unruly activity.

Continue to Part 3

Part 3

Conscious Darkness: Richard Hambleton (Part 2) Read More »

Artist Profile, Editorial