A picture...

.. is worth a thousand words.

... But there is no way I'm going to be that cheeky.



This blogspot image uploader is aggravating to the extreme. Either it squishes my image, or inserts a link that does not thumbnail. Yvonne is not pleased.

Here is a link to the full 800px width one.

What Was That Piece Now?

It was last Friday in early morning, and I was on my usual morning routine, walking along the crowded sidewalk towards my office. Although the city was bustling and noisy as usual, it certainly was a beautiful morning. Ironically, I never really enjoyed walking through the streets of New York City before, but fortunately on the day before that morning I had received a huge promotion in my work and an extra bonus in cash, so I was in my best mood in months. There was a swift, cool, morning breeze during that morning(which happens to be my favorite weather during morning), which made my start of the day even better. Before going to the office, I decided to stop by my favorite coffee shop and enjoy a quick meal of coffee and croissant I crave. I sat down at one of the corner tables, ordered the stuff, and began to read the day’s newspaper. When I started my first cup of coffee, someone came and sat behind me, and ordered the same coffee as mine. I continued on, reading newspaper and drinking coffee, and waited for my order of croissant.

After a moment, I finally received my crescent bread. As soon as I was about to take my first bite, I heard a loud tap on the glass window behind me. I glanced to my back, and I noticed that the person who tapped on the window had already made his way into the coffee shop. He rushed towards the man who was sitting behind me with a smile, and the man greeted him to sit down.

“Well, Mr. Mel Bochner, it’s been a long time,” the man said, “Have a seat, my fellow.”

“It certainly has been a long time, Joseph,” Mel greeted back, taking his seat, “Glad to see you here again. What brings you here to New York City again in such a long time?”

“Nothing much particularly,” Kosuth answered, “Just came back to tour around the town.”

Mel Bochner and Joseph Kosuth. Two of the most well-known conceptual artists in America. When I heard them mentioning each other’s name, I was shocked yet glad that two respected artists were sitting right behind me.

“Oh, come on. I know you better than that,” Mel said, “There has to be something for you to come back here without letting me know beforehand. And don’t tell me your drifting mind somehow led you here . . . I mean, I know that you daydream often, but you always know where you are and where you go to.”

Joseph smiled and said, “Hah, I guess I can’t go around and fool my old colleagues,” he paused, and continued, “The truth is, I got invited to come and lecture about one of my old artworks at School of Visual Arts.”

“School of Visual Arts?” Mel asked, “Isn’t that the place you studied fine arts in?”

“Yes, back in the old 60s,” Kosuth answered, “It’s a bit nostalgic, and brings back some wanted and unwanted memories.”

“Guess that proves how time flies by,” Mel said, “Back then you were just another student, and 40 years later you are invited to be a lecturer. Feels like 40 years passed by like they were yesterday and the day before.”

Kosuth agreed, “It sure feels that way.”

Mel continued with questions, “Anyways, what did the school ask you to lecture? It must be something quite big for them to invite you to be their guest lecturer.”

Kosuth hesitated for a moment, then answered, “Well, nothing too big. I am to lecture about my one of my old works, One and Three Chairs.”

“The one and what?” Mel asked. He sounded like he just heard something he has never heard before. That was weird, because even I, who don’t know much about art, have heard and seen that artwork before.

“One and Three Chair,” Kosuth answered, surprisingly without any concerns for Mel being shocked, “It was a piece I made back in the 60s when I was studying at the school.”

“Well, what kind of work was it?” Mel asked again.

“Well, you remember how I daydreamed a lot back then?” Kosuth said, “I was caught in a daydream one day, and a chair came into my sight, and I began to think ‘Oh I have to make something out of that chair’ so I started to make something out of it.”

“So what was it that you made?” Mel continued asking.

“I took the chair home,” Kosuth continued, “searched for its definition, took a photo of it, and placed them next to the actual chair that I had taken.”

“Huh . . . and what was the meaning behind all that?” Mel asked, “I know that you daydream a lot, but I also know that you are a deep thinker.”

“It’s representation, Mel,” Kosuth answered, “I wanted to represent each of the three elements to stand as its own meaning, but at the same time representing the object ‘chair’ when combined. Each can stand on its own and still be able to show people what chair is, but when I put the photo, text, and object all next to each other, it became that much more meaningful in its representation of the object ‘chair’.”

There was a moment of silence, until Mel asked, “But why a chair?”

Kosuth answered immediately, “Then why not a chair? The truth is, things like chair are used so commonly everyday that people don’t even realize the importance of them anymore. So in the end, I wanted to take something that is so common and turn it into something special by representing it in three ways so that people would realize the existence of it.”

“Huh . . . interesting,” Mel mumbled, “But why a chair?”

“Didn’t I just answer that right now?” Kosuth answered, a little irritated, “sure I could have used something like a table or a coffee cup, and named my piece ‘One and Three Tables’ or ‘One and Three Cups’, but at the moment, chair seemed to be the most ideological object or the piece.”

There was another moment of silence, and suddenly Mel started to laugh.

“What is it that you find so tremendously funny?” Kosuth asked.

“You know,” Mel started, “What you just have said has reminded me of one of my own works I did long ago, and the fact is, the idea for that piece was very similar of that of yours.”

“Oh?” Kosuth asked, “And what was that work?”

“It was called ‘Four Comments Concerning Photograph’” Mel answered, “About blocks, and it was a project for a monument exhibition. Just like you did, I first defined the term ‘block’, but after that I took a different approach and added descriptions that fell into negative direction.”

“Such as?” Kosuth asked again. The table has turned now, and Kosuth was the one asking.

“Oh, such things like why I had chosen photograph to represent a monument, and why someone would do a piece on a monument like that.” Mel answered, “The only thing I feel different about that piece from the one you had mentioned is that mine only had text represented through photography, and yours was separated into three elements of photo, text, and reality.”

“True,” Kosuth said, “perhaps we really did have similar thoughts back then. One way or another, we both came up with something representational to describe an object we were focused on.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Mel said, “Maybe it would be interesting if you created another piece similar to that chair piece you had already made.”

“Oh really?” Kosuth asked, with pitch in his voice, “And what, should I take that chair that you are sitting on right now and call it ‘One and Three Chairs The Second?”

“I’m just kidding with ya,” Mel said, smiling, “I know you are a great artist in the end, and I would respect whatever you make or do as long as it has meaning within.”

And with that, the two artists started to take their leave. By the time they were gone, I had already finished my fourth cup of coffee, and didn’t even realize I was running late for the work. However, I didn’t feel too bad about it, for hearing the exchange of words by two of the greatest conceptual artists was interesting and something that people don’t hear everyday. After my fifth cup of coffee, I rushed to work, and that was that for the morning of last Friday.

The Alien

The alien from planet Europa bought a pair of turquoise Paul Smith shoes that nicely complimented his green bulbous head. His last pair of shoes which, were a lurid shade of purple had done the opposite. They were too bright, eye catching, and had detracted from his good features instead of enhancing them.

As he wandered through the mall searching for a new outfit that would go with his shoes, and also compliment his new shoes, the mall sirens started blaring. Immediately, mass panic and chaos ensued, as shoppers poured out of the shops, and ran to the nearest exits. The alien, simply and calmly, glided into a restroom while screaming, and panicked shoppers ran past.

The restroom door hissed closed behind him, and he walked to the sink counter and placed his hands on the cool marbled stone. Leaning on the counter with the palms of his hands, he started at his reflection in the glass. "It was for the better...the alien government was all so corrupt, and there was no other choice," he thought. He turned on the faucet and splashed the frigid water on his face, and grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket to dry his face with. He then produced a gun out of the inside of his right hand coat pocket, and loaded it. "I hope those wretched humans are doing everything according to plan," he thought. He approached the door and exhaled a huge breath and opened the door.

First Impressions

I was on my way to meet a long time pen pal and friend named, Marina Abramovic. I knew nothing about her besides her interest in doing performance art that was centered around certain rituals, and human gestures. I vaguely remembered she had also mentioned that she taken a certain interest in capturing extreme forms of bodily pain. My stomach tingled and flipped, as I got out of the taxi and walked up the steps to her front door. I did not know what to expect. A deluge of thoughts raced through my mind; "What if she is not like the image you have painted of her from reading her post cards? What if she is doesn't like me? What if she is non-receptive to your... ? What would should I say to her? What if she sends me away? What if she is...." My thoughts trailed off. I closed the gap between myself and the door. I stared at it's rough texture and vivid wood patterns. Inhaling a huge gulp of air, I calmed my jittery nerves, and determinedly knocked on the door. The sound reverberated within the hollow behind it, and I heard heavy, but agile footsteps approaching the other side.

The woman I had been writing to, was nothing like the person I would have expected to open the dusty, crudely hewn wooden door. Marina came out carrying a pile of cow bones with bits of meat still attached to their creamy white, glistening surfaces. I could not help but show my surprise as my eyes came to rest on her bloody cargo. I immediately noted that minute bit information, for the strange and interesting happenings that occurred in my every day life. somehow clarify on kawara's project, the language around it... They were a part of an ongoing series which I was working on called "I Went and I Met." I stared down at the post card that was already branded with the emerald ink. It read , Sept. 29th, 1976 woke up at 5:43 am. I directed my gaze back to Marina's high, cheek-boned face, and her olive skin which was framed by her wavy, glossy, raven-black hair. She had a very strong almost stony gaze that I could tell was intensely scrutinizing me.

__________

I heard the heavy knock from outside the house, and it took me by surprise. I was shocked that On had arrived so early, and was also astonished by the vigor with which the man had knocked. I knew On had mentioned once in a past post card, that he was elderly and had been starting to have back problems. I shook that thought off, and quickly made my way to the door to greet my guest. I mentally chided myself for being so scatter-brained, and not even bothering to put down one of the pieces I had been working on. The bloody meat-speckled bones shifted in my arms as I fumbled to open the heavy door. I was surprised to see an elderly gentleman standing before my on my front steps. Scanning On, I immediately spotted the youth and vigor that kept him youthful on all his travels. There was a fire of life that burned brightly behind those rich mocha-brown irisis. The spark that lurked there, posed a stark contrast to his wispy hair that billowed from the top of his balding head, and his wrinkled skin. On's small, round, gold-rimmed spectacles, gave him the look of intelligence, owing to his years of travel, and the experience he already had on this earth. I could feel On's gaze burning over me, and then watched as his eyes widened in a bit of surprise, as his gaze flickered over the bloodied mess. Even after witnessing this carnage, On still managed to formally bow to me and say, "Nice to met you Ms. Abramovic." I looked downwards at my bloodied cargo, and without thinking, stuck out my hand to shake his, in an automatic reaction. On stared at me, and then at my blood drenched hand. I retracted my hand stupidly realizing that I still carried the bloodied project in my arms, and returned his greeting by saying, "Uh...pleasure having you Mr. Kawara," I felt like a dumb school girl, that had failed to follow directions. I wanted to melt into the shadows behind me. An awkward silence ensued between the two of us. I broke it by goofily saying, "Well...come on in."

__________

Before Marina walked further into the house, she walked sideways towards a large star that was glistening in the sunlight. I caught the strong pungent oder of petroleum. Marina then produced a match pack, bent down and struck the match alight. Marina slowly extended her hand, holding the small flame towards the gassed-up star. I watched careful as the small flame exploded to life, and quickly ran around the outline of the star, emblazoning it with a soft orange glow. I wondered if this could this be one of the rituals Marina had vaguely mentioned in one of her dated post cards? Mariana did not stop there. She dipped her fingers into a small ornate jar that was on a small stone pedestal near by the fiery star, and produced what looked like clippings of nails, and locks of hair. Marina then gently threw the mixture into the flame. I watched as the mix came in contact with the flames licking the star's outline, bursting forth into a miniature flaming inferno. Marina had stepped backwards from the fire, and closed her eyes. I watched her enter a meditative state. I turned my gaze back into the writhing flames. Somehow, there was a calming and peaceful aura that pervaded from the potentially destructive force. It reminded me of meditative Buddhist practices back in my home country, Japan. There I stood besides this woman I had barely just met in person, but had known for a few years through written letters and postcards. Somehow Marina felt familiar and foreign at the same time. We both stood peacefully just beyond Marina's frond door unwinding, and soaking up the cleansing qualities that the soft orange glow offered.

The Show

(Plays the Joel Youkhanna Show theme)

Me: Welcome back to the show, everyone. Recently, there has been a resurgence of a unique art movement known as "Minimalism." Minimalism, as a few of our viewers might know, was at its pinnacle in the 1960s to the 1980s. But, as of late, it has been weening in the art spotlight. Today, we have two world-renowned artists with me to discuss the art of minimalism. To my left is Mel Bochner, famous conceptual minimalist since the 1970s, and George Brecht, the man behind the famous New York Avante-garde "Three Chairs Event." Gentlemen, thank you for coming onto the show.

(The audience cheers)

Bochner: Thank you for having us.

Brecht: Yes, thank you.

(The two sit down in the smooth, leather chairs in the middle of the studio room. The studio is set up for the Joel Youkhanna Show, an art appreciation and theory talk show, with Joel Youkhanna as the host. The fake walls are lined with various of random artworks, to accentuate the image of the show. The television cameras position themselves to capture Bochner and Brecht, as they sit in their mahogany-colored chairs. Joel smiles at the two artists, tapping his papers on his desk.)

Joel: So, gentlemen, we are here today to find show the works of a few minimalist artist's works. For the sake of those without a art history degree, what is Minimalist art, and how would minimalist art differentiate itself from other forms?

Bochner: Well, Joel, Minimalism is exactly what it sounds like. It is a style of art where the work is stripped down to its most fundamental features. Minimalist art only uses what is necessary, and that's it.

Joel: So, for a minimalist piece... less is more?

(Bochner and Brecht laugh)

Brecht: Essentially, yes. A good example of minimalism would be an argument that proponents of “intelligent design” like to use called “Irreducible complexity”. Irreducible complexity is the theory that a single system which is composed of several parts that form to a basic “machine,” where the removal of any one of the parts causes the system to fail. Minimalism art is similar to that. We try to produce art that is reduced down to its core principle and idea.

Joel: Well, the reason why I asked, is to lead to a piece of yours, Mr. Bochner.

(Joel lifts up a picture of Mel Bochner's “Minimalist Art- The Movie.” It is a picture of a torn piece of notebook paper, with various minimalist artists linked to specific movie actors and actresses)

Bochner: Ahh haha, yeah. That was a little idea I had in 1966. I thought about who I would want to have each actor play as a specific person.

Joel: With his star studded cast, I would LOVE to see this movie, I mean, your movie idea has nearly every famous actor and actress of the time; Sean Connery, Frank Sinatra, Elsa Martinelli. The one connection I found was interesting was you, Mr. Bochner, being played by Peter Fonda.

(The back video projection screen reveals the pictures of Peter Fonda and Mel Bochner, side by side, as the two pictures go transparent overlapping each other, as the audience cheers for Bochner)

Joel: Now, you don't have the sideburns (Audience laughs), but you do have a pretty close similarity going on look-wise with Peter Fonda. Was that your main motivation, or do you have another connection to the actor?

Bochner: Well, I have always loved what Peter Fonda stood for, in terms of his morals and standards. He was the nonconformist, the rebel, the inner desire of speaking out for what is right. Hell, I think it was only a few months apart when I had my “Working Drawings And Other Visible Things On Paper Not Necessarily Meant To Be Viewed As Art”exhibit, as he was being arrested for the Sunset Strip riots in the summer of 1966. I always admired his strength and convictions. I also happen to be jealous of those sideburns as well. (Audience laughs)

Brecht: Haha, well, what I found interesting was that you put Sean Connery in the role of Donald Judd. Donald Judd would have killed us for calling him an “artist.” Although, I don't doubt that Sir Connery would do a remarkable job.

Joel: Any man who can play 007 like Sean Connery could do any role. Now, was this idea something you actually wanted to pursue, or just an idea of fancy?

(Bochner laughs)

Bochner: Oh no no. I had never thought, or even attempted beyond the writing of that paper, to continue that idea. But, in my mind, I could see how it would play out. In the movie, I would have all of the artists doing their separate projects for a large minimalist show, but having it canceled right at the last minute. The artist would then get together against the funding committee, and challenge how Minimalist art was just as influential and important as any other art style. But, I am decently not some big-shot director or anything. Cecil B. DeMille, I am not (Audience laughs).

Joel: Well, Brecht could do the soundtrack for you.

Brecht: Well, maybe. But my style of music mostly focus more avant-garde if anything. I did a few things with with violins back with the “Flute Solo” performance, but my music would be more background sounds anyway. So, if you want me, put me as your background sound mixer, or something.

Joel: Well, that is all the time we have for tonight. Again, thank you both for coming onto the show.

Brecht: It was a pleasure.

Bochner: Definetly.

Joel: And thank you, America, for joining me tonight in understanding the works of Mel Bochner. Tune in next week, as we analyze Video games, and how the growth of the industry will eventually lead to the beginning of video game “high art.” This is Joel Youkhanna, saying “Good night.”

"The Michael Tonight Show" with Betye Saar and George Brecht

Two artists have agreed to sit down and discuss their work on the "Michael Hunter Tonight Show." Each artist will let us into their minds and carry out the background and knowledge that went into their piece. First, here is a brief introduction of each artist.

George Brecht, born George Ellis MacDiarmid, is a conceptual artist who has done a piece involving three chairs. His work often involves his audience to do all the thinking on their own. Today he will describe to us his intentions for this piece and will let us in on how he came about doing this.

Our next guest goes by the name Betye Saar. She is an American artist who has earned her degree in design at the University of California in Los Angeles. She also has her graduate studies in education and printmaking at Pasadena City College and California State University, Long Beach. She has devoted most of her work studying the African-American Culture and creating assemblages based on certain cultures and stereotypes.

We now welcome both of our guests for the day!

Michael: Evening George! Evening Betye!

George: Evening Michael! It is a pleasure being on the show.

Betye: Evening Michael! It is also a pleasure.

Michael: Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for your time and coming on the show to discuss your work. Now, Betye I would like to start with you. You do all kinds of pieces related to african-american culture. What inspired you to do this piece of "Black Girl's Window?" In this piece we see a dark, silhouette figure pressing her face against the window pane with her hands also pressed against the pane. We are able to see her eyes but nothing else. Tiny stars and moons decorate her hands and are place in a row above her head. Also above her head we see three rows and three columns with different images in them. Again, there's the stars and the moon. In the middle there is a skeleton. I mean all different images with different meanings. Can you break it down for us betye?

Betye: Well first of all I would like to say that you look absolutely fabulous in that baby blue suit and tie.

Michael: Thank you Betye. When I heard you were coming on the show I knew i had to look my best.

Betye: Well you look amazing!

Michael: Thank you

Betye: Anyway, when I created this piece in a reminisence of my experience. Growing up in the L.A. Watts projects, I have seen through my eyes the horrors of this world. My idea of this piece is to have my audience feel a way of traveling from one level of conciousness to another, like the physical looking into the spiritual. I once......

George: Well when I look at it all I see is an african-american girl looking out her window. No facial features or anything. How would you describe her emotion? Or does she not have any emotion? And just how does any of that stuff on top relate to her?

Betye: Well George if I could talk for more than two seconds I would explain it to you. I once read that "art is a window, a way of sharing." A window frames the passage of our vision, inward as well as outward. It is a perplexing concept of who is looking in and who is looking out? Her eyes looking outside of the window glitter with destiny. She wants out of this box and into the world.

George: If she wants into the world why doesn't she just open the window and climb out?

Betye: You know what George? Its not that simple. On the top of her are nine little boxes in rows of three marked by the crescent, the star and the sun. But look George, in the middle box where you see the skeleton. Death is in the center.Everything evolves around death. The girl knows this and is terrified of what the world will bring her. Love, your loved ones, the earth, etc all revolved around death. Everything and everyone will eventually die one day. Even your old self.

George: That's good Betye, but there is just to much for an audience to interpret in that. How will a viewer know unless they get your over-analyzed, profound speech about your childhood and your views on life?

Betye: That seems to be my point George. I want the audience to think for themselves. Maybe they can relate to this piece and find out that they are not the only ones in this world who have this feeling. I'm sorry people can at least be creative with their thoughts on my piece, unlike your boring three chair event.

Michael: Whoa! Whoa! Easy Betye. George can you talk about this piece for us please. Maybe without boring our other guest here.

George: Only three chairs were intended for my project. The three colors I chose, were the most dominant colors, in my opinion. With the proper placement of the chairs, I wanted my audience to feel welcome to the white chair, shy away from the black chair, and not even notice the yellow chair. Each chair was used in every show, but I would switch their spots after each showing. The only chair that seemed to be tampered with by the audience, was the chair sitting outside, the yellow chair. Most people seem to be intimidated by the chair in the spotlight. They would gaze at it like it was some type of throne. Not one chair was different, besides the color. They were all the same, and each chair that was in the spotlight was profoundly stared at. The audience seemed so timid to touch it, like it was too "holy" to touch. The other two chairs, however, were barely noticed. Each chair that was placed in the bathroom was not even glanced at.

Betye: Alright George, where is the logic in this event? That's the problem with you conceptuals. You are so boring and bland. You have no logic or purpose to you project. You just do the first thing that pops into your head.

George: That's the general idea Betye. My ideas are simple and lead to others. Philosophy and specifics are not always needed. Sure it might be boring but not everyone can be as interesting as you with your complex for and detailed plans in your work. I am more of a mystic person, not bound by logic and the shackles of the world. My thoughts actually build upon other thoughts and lead to new experience.

Michael: Ok. That about does it. We'll end early today before Betye ends up taking off one of those heals. George. Betye. Thank you so much for your time tonight. Catch my show next week when we have Shaq and Kobe trying to make up their differences with their thoughts. Maybe it will be as intense as today. Goodnight folks!

A quick Encounter with an old friend.

While sitting in a stiff wooden chair on the patio at a local corner coffee shop, George Brecht, a contemporary artist had only gotten as far as to unfold his Sunday paper when a familiar face walking toward him on the sideway caught his attention. This was a familiar face that Brecht had not seen in years, and a familiar face that given the opportunity, did not want to pass up. This familiar face was none other than fellow contemporary artist Robert Smithson, Brecht’s friend. Even though Brecht was just as well known for his installation pieces such as the Three Chair Event, which was showcased in the Martha Jackson Gallery, Brecht was a long-time friend and admirer of Smithson’s work.

Smithson slowly made his way toward the side of the coffee shop where Brecht eagerly flagged him down.

“Hello dear friend Smithson! How are you?”

“George Brecht. What a wonderful surprise to see you. Nancy always asks me what I love about my afternoon strolls around town, and this is what I love; I love seeing what is being created around me, especially the landscaping; and running into old friends that I have not talked or seen in a long time,” exclaimed Robert Smithson as he made his way over to where George Brecht was sitting, who still had his unread newspaper in one hand and a half-sipped coffee in the other. “As you can see, my health is intact, my marriage is going well, and my mind is going a hundred miles an hour with new ideas that I want to explore.”

“Ah, I am so happy for you! Come sit and join me. I am very intrigued by what new ideas you want to explore. I remember the last time I talked to you, you were very much interested in mirrors and glass. I read about your show at the Dwan Gallery a couple winters ago, and how eye-opening it was. If I’m correct, it had to do with the concept of appearance and reality playing off against each other, basically allowing us, the observer to constantly form new understandings of what is intended in going on, and what you mean by creating this piece. I’m truly sorry to say that I was unable to make it, but I read and heard amazing raves about it. Congrats dear friend, congrats! Now, explain this new idea of yours,” said Brecht as he pulled out a chair for Smithson to retire in.

“Oh, dear Brecht. You are too much to kind to say such things. How about you? I heard about your Three Chair Event exhibition at the Martha Jackson Gallery from some years back. I most enjoyed the news of the subtleness of your piece, and how people were even unaware of the fact that what they were resting on what was in fact, part of the art show. How clever and different! But yes, I do have a new idea storming up in this brain of mine. As you already know, I’ve always been into the outdoors, and anything related environmentally. I have been working on the idea of constructing a site-specific earth work project. I’ve drawn out the whole idea, but now I have to actually put it into reality. Here, let me draw it out for it.”
Brecht waited as Smithson drew out his latest idea on the nearby napkin. Brecht curiously peered over at Smithson’s drawing and watched on as his friend continued to draw out a spiral-shaped form.

“Spiral? You want to create a spiral on land? Why?”

“Yes, a spiral. The reason for this is because it celebrates both nature and technology. It can also be seen as the contradicting symbol for either growth or destruction. If not that, then it can also represent the general form for the orbit of the moon – both an expanding force, and a contracting force. The center represents the sun, which is the beginning and the end of the universe.”

“I see,” Brecht said as he allowed the information that was just said to sink in. “And how would you go about making this happen? What kind of materials would you use to create this?”

“Well, I know that there is an abandoned oil rig site in the Great Salt Lake in Utah. I think it is off of Rozelle Point. I have been contacting land mining corporations to see if I could use that land. I want to make it out of materials that cannot be moved or eroded too quickly. I obviously want this piece to last as long as possible. I think the most readily available and easily accessible materials are mud, rocks, and water. I could just pick that up from the surrounding desert. I would need large dump trucks and tractors to move everything. It is definitely a work-in-progress, but I am thoroughly excited about it.”

“Wow, seems like you have everything going well for you. Again, I am very happy for you sir.”

“Enough about me. Tell me more about your Three Chair Event. I know what I read, but I want to hear everything from your mouth, and what you have done since then.”

“Okay, let me see. As you already know, it was some years ago when I had my exhibition. I had three different chairs, all different colors – white, black, and yellow. I placed the black chair in a bathroom, making it appear very nonchalant and part of the area itself. I placed the white chair in the spot-light in the middle of the gallery with a Three Chairs Event score placed nearby so that people would have the chance to realize that it was part of an art piece. Lastly, I placed the yellow chair outside the gallery where to my surprise was used by none other than Claes Oldenburg’s mother. Some years after that, I went to Rome where I worked on Chair with a History, part of a series that featured a chair with a red book on it, inviting observers to add whatever they noticed that was happening right then and there on the chair as part of its history. I think it went accordingly,” Brecht added.

“Yes, yes! I heard only good things about your series. Ah, and to be in Rome when doing it. Must have been amazing over there, what with the culture, the art, the scenery…simply amazing. Dear friend, I must get going. I told Nancy that I was only going for a quick stroll. Don’t want to keep her waiting and worried. It was so good catching up! Til next time, goodbye.”

“Goodbye Robert. Tell hello to Nancy for me,” George Brecht said as he got up to shake his companion’s hand. Brecht still with his unread newspaper in one hand and a three-fourths-sipped coffee in the other, opened the newspaper and at last began to read.

Variable Supermen

I sat there impatiently waiting for his arrival. The William Pope was late! If anything I was more annoyed. My day was filled with driving. The auto shop had not fixed my car until noon. All of the mechanics in New York went at their own pace without giving any consideration to the customer. I am guessing that the city has that effect on people. Where was William Pope?! Our brief conversation on the phone had ended with him telling me to go to the Starbucks on 48^th and Jefferson. That was over a day and half ago. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye a man dressed in all black. His skin was as dark as his outfit. To my surprise, he approached me and said, “You must be the great Mr. Huebler.” I questioned accusingly, “And who are you?” The dark man stood up, ran his fingers through his curly long hair, and replied, “I am William Pope.” At first, I was taken aback. This was THE William Pope.

Millions of thoughts raced through my mind. “Why are you so late?” I implored.

It broke the silence. He paused, shifted his eyes and said, “I had quite the long day. Today I presented one of my performances on the street.”

“Okay, which one did you do?”

“I have done this particular performance before. It was called, The Great White Way. You should have seen it! I dressed myself in this tight, spandex costume of Superman and through the streets of New York.”

“Wow! That sounds amazing. What was your intention with the piece?”

“Well, you know how some people are caught in such poverty and disabilities? I wanted to combine those two aspects of society that are not mentioned often. Those people are the ones who need a voice. I just simply want to convey that to my audience. I mean, it’s a quite interesting way of looking at it--obviously, it’s over the top. I could’ve gotten a flashier suit, but I struck people’s attention. So what have some of your works been?”

I was pulled back into reality. What had he asked me? I gulped, “Sorry, what was that?” “Oh! My works, well they are my pride and joy” I voiced. They mean to me as much as yours appear to. One particular piece comes to my mind. There was one that I did while staying in Massachusetts. I met a lot of people. I decided that deep down, it did not matter what our races were—we’re all American. It was a pretty patriotic peace. I called it Variable Peace. No pun intended, of course.”

He cocked his head from side to side. It appeared that he was in deep thought. “I find that interesting, he began. “That appears to be very difficult to make it across Massachusetts like that. How did you encounter these people?” I lifted my right leg and placed it over the left. “I stood in front of malls, grocery stores, and restaurants. Every restaurant I went to, I often ate there. I became quite the restaurant connoisseur. There was a restaurant called D’Angelo. I had a sandwich with roast beef, turkey, ham, avocados, and bacon. It was called ‘The Beast’ by the store owners. I actually took a picture of one of the waitresses there. I tipped her well.”

He clapped his hands and exclaimed, “I have been to D’Angelo! I had ‘The Beast’ too! Yes, I have family over there. My second cousins live over there and I enjoy visiting them. You should tell me when you’re there! They make the best Korean barbeque. The spices are mainly Asian; I hope you have had Korean food before.”

I touched the back of my neck, and shook my head from left to right. Then, I grinned, “I cannot say I have had that dish. My sister actually lives over there. I have a niece that’s three! She is so cute, her name is Jamie. Every time I see her, she laughs and points at my face. I want to teach her to call me ‘Uncle Doug’. My sister cooks for me a cheeseburger with seasoned ground beef and Roquefort. It is one of the few reasons I anticipate going to Massachusetts...”

He interjected, “People tend to misunderstand me. They do not think that my artistry works well. Despite what they say, it does not bother me at all. I usually let it pass and continue with my art. This feels like one of the few things I hate doing when meeting my artist friends. I know that we are all critics deep down inside.”

William Pope threw his head back, shook it, and continued

“Do you know what I did after finishing The Great White Way? I noticed all of the parts that I did not do right. If I had just yelled a little louder, or crawled a little faster, I would have caught more people’s attention. In that sense, I am the worst critic, because—I criticize myself.”

He took both hands and rubbed his face, “I apologize for that rant. Do you understand what I am talking about?”

I replied, “You do not know the criticism I had to go through before making a name for myself. My parents were so disheartened to hear that I wanted to become an artist. My father told me that it would be impossible to make any money off of paintings. He thought painting was all there was to art. So, I listened to him and went off to the Marines. With all those years spent at sea, I learned what it meant to fight for your life. I was a little seasick back then too. After time, I adjusted to being away from land. My marine brothers were the greatest men I will have ever met.”

I turned my face upwards and cursed, “My friend Ricky was always challenging me! We competed a lot with drinking and eating. I had a lot of alcohol with me. Sometimes, I would be able to drink thirty beers in one sitting. Those times spent drinking was what really brought our whole group together. Now that I have gone past that stage, the days at sea feel so far away. Well, it is getting late and I have to sleep soon. I need to go turn in rent at eight in the morning.”

He laughed, “I agree, let us meet up again in a few weeks. I would be happy to see what you will have accomplished within that time.” He extended his left hand. I shook, and left.

Memory Lane: Joseph Kosuth & On Kawara

It is a brisk Sunday morning, and at the corner of a busy street lies the hustle and bustle of a small coffee shop. Chairs and tables are set out cozily at the storefront--where locals read their papers or chatter with friends while drinking their rich coffee in delicate cups. The coffee shop is packed both inside and out--always a hit for their pastries and morning coffee--making it difficult to find a table out front, unless one is early.

A older man sits alone, across from an empty seat, and an open book in hand. He glances at his watch, looks up to survey the people around him. Hm, I wonder if I should order the coffee now, he thinks. Pondering for a moment, he dismisses the idea and goes back to reading his book.

"Joseph!"

The man looks up from his book. An elderly asian man stands at his table with a twinkle in his eye and a grin across his face--a twinkle of nostalgia, and a grin between old friends.

"Kawara-san!" He sets his book down, and the two embrace one other heartily. "It's great to finally get to see you again, I feel as though we have been too busy to catch up with what the other has been doing!" exclaims Kosuth.

"I know, huh? Time seems to fly, yet I feel as though things have only just happened yesterday! Please excuse my lateness--these old legs of mine no longer bring me to places like they did before" smiles Kawara.

"It's understandable," laughs Kosuth, "I know exactly what you mean." He waves down a waiter, and orders two specialty coffees. Setting his book aside, he smiles at Kawara.

"So how have you been since the last I've seen you? Can you believe it that it has only been a few months since we last saw that one exhibit together?" laughs Kosuth. "I forgot, whose work was it that we saw?"

"Oh, Kosuth, you have such short-term memory," chuckles Kawara. "We went to go see that one artist, what's his name... I think it was Kehinde Wiley. Remember how his works were fantastically large in scale? How they exploded of color?"

"Oh yes, yes! I remember now!" exclaims Kosuth.

The coffees arrive--with rich steam cutting through the chilly air. Both of the men take a sip, sighing with the look of pure calm on their faces. Looking out towards the street, the two of them slowly sip their coffees, and take in the morning air. "I remember when you did that one piece, the one with the articles cut and pasted together, displayed on the wall," begins Kawara. "It was very straight-forward, with no strings attached! Sometimes I wonder if others had interpreted it differently; since it was so direct, I don't know if there was any space for one to really formulate their opinions on it--it was kind of just given on a plate!"

Kosuth sets his cup down, and pushes it slightly to the side. "Now, now, why are we bringing this up?" he laughs. "What about your works, huh? Like that series of paintings you did, with just the dates painted on a solid black! I'd have to say that that was pretty straight-forward too; you didn't leave any room for interpretation at all!"

Kawara holds his cup close, and gazes out towards the street. "No, no--there you are wrong. There was plenty of space for interpretation! Not everyone experiences the same things and events on any specific day, do they? I'm sure there were people who looked at the date, and thought about what had happened on that day in their life, or even about the history of that day, if it was of any significance!"

"And what if they didn't remember what they did on that day, hm? I'm sure no one remembers what they do on any given ordinary day--noe one thought oh hm, on this date, this happened and that happened, unless it was some historical date that you painted."

"Well, I believe my work was pretty open for plenty of interpretation," laughs Kawara. He looks at Kosuth, who slowly mixes his coffee with the delicate tea spoon that comes with the cup. "And I'm still standing my ground on your piece being so close-minded," smiles Kawara.

"Oh, stop it, what is with this talk about solid ideas and solid interpretation? You are ruining my morning with this pleasant coffee," jokes Kosuth. They sit back, facing towards the street, as people walk in and out of the coffee shop, either chatting on the phone or with a friend.

Sigh. "Art is expressed so differently now," says Kosuth. "Sometimes it's hard to get a grip on what the artist is trying to say."

Kawara chuckles. "You think?" He warms his hands with his coffee cup. "Maybe it's just the presentation of the works these days that make it seem like they are being expressed differently. However, art is art--it will always be expressed differently from individual to individual, and it will always be free for all and any kind of interpretation! Just like that artist, Kehinde Wiley... His art was very nicely executed through its size and its vibrant colors--and of course, the obvious statement of framing the African-American community at a higher, more noble pedestal!"

"I know, I know," says Kosuth. He takes a sip of his coffee, which had started to settle and cool down. "Art will always be a free-for-all--it's the idea in the artist's head that matters the most!" he exclaims, as he taps his index finger to his temple. "As long as the artist has his concept solidly formed within his mind, it doesn't matter how he chooses to express it."

Kawara nods. "Definitely. I agree with you whole-heartedly."

He turns toward Kosuth, and raises his coffee cup. "To art," he smiles.

"Yes, to art..." smiles Kosuth, "...and to having silly arguments with good friends!"

They both laugh. The sun turns brighter as their laughter and chatter becomes indistinguishable from the conversations around them that make the hustle and bustle of the small coffee shop--a small taste of past and future conversations between two old friends.

George Brecht and Tacita Dean

In the fall of 1961, George Brecht presented his “Three Chair Events” piece at the Martha Jackson Gallery in New York. A few years later, visual artist Tacita Dean met with Brecht to discuss with him about his work.


Dean: Thank you, again, for meeting with me.

Brecht: I am glad to have this opportunity as well.

Dean: Please, tell me about your “Three Chair Events” piece and the events that took
place at the gallery.

Brecht: Well, I produced this piece to point toward something like Minimalism. I was interested in using chairs, because they are objects that can be unnoticed. As you might know already, no one could tell if the chairs were works of art or not.

Dean: That is true. That is what I thought was so interesting. It took a spotlight for people to notice that the chair was part of the exhibition.

Brecht: Yes. There were three chairs there, and I felt like everyone was focused on the white chair. The black chair in the bathroom was also part of the exhibition. However, it seemed like no one noticed it.

Dean: I see.

Brecht: But that was not as interesting as what happened to the yellow chair.

Dean: What do you mean?

Brecht: The most beautiful event happened to the yellow chair. You should have seen it. The yellow chair that was outside on the sidewalk and in front of the gallery was also part of the piece. But when I arrived, I saw a woman comfortably sitting in the chair while talking to her friends. Have you heard of Claes Oldenburg?

Dean: Claes Oldenburg… the sculptor?

Brecht: Yes! His mother was the woman sitting on the yellow chair outside of the gallery.

Dean: Really? Wow, how unexpected the events turned out. Now, tell me about the details of the chairs. I would like to know about that.

Brecht: Let’s see. The chairs were obviously the main focus. I thought a lot about the details of the chairs and how I wanted them to work in the gallery. I chose to have all three chairs identical. I didn't want the different types to be of any influence. For example, if I had chosen a bathroom stool to be put in the bathroom and a bench chair to be put outside of the exhibition, then I think that would have taken away the purpose of my piece.

Dean: What about the colors of the chairs?

Brecht: The colors of the chairs, however, had a specific meaning. The chairs were originally brown, but I wanted the chairs to blend in with their environment, so I painted them according to how I saw fit. For example, the white chair was placed in the exhibition with a spotlight to portray a theatrical work of art, the black chair was placed in the bathroom to blend in with the commonplace area, and the yellow chair was placed outside to reflect the outdoor sun. If I had switch up the colors of the chairs and their places, such as putting the yellow chair in the bathroom and the black chair outside, I think the same event and result would have taken place. Yet, I chose to put the white chair in the exhibit, the black chair in the bathroom, and the yellow chair outside, because I wanted to have the chairs blend in more with their surroundings.

Dean: That makes sense.


After George Brecht and Tacita Dean finished their conversation about the “Three Chair Events” piece that was presented at the Martha Jackson Gallery, Dean gave Brecht a gift. This gift was a book titled “FLOH.”


Brecht: What is this?

Dean: This is my gift for you. I wanted to thank you for meeting with me to discuss about your works. This is a book of photographs of the images I discovered in flea markets across Europe and America.

Brecht: This is wonderful. What are these photographs specifically of?

Dean: These are snapshots. They are portraits. They consist of ordinary places and amazing views that I came across. I wanted to take them and give them all a new existence. I wanted to present them as art.

Brecht: The book is beautiful.

Dean: Yes. However, after I had them printed in books, I stopped going to flea markets.

Brecht: Why is that?

Dean: Because I was afraid of finding an image that should have been in the book. I was afraid that I had missed something or that I will discover something that should been with the other photographs as a part of the book. But, I later realized that there will never be a final version to this collection.

Brecht: I see this photograph of a butterfly in this snow. Can you tell me more about this?

Dean: This photograph is a little different than the other images I have in the book. A lot of the images in the book are black and white. A lot of the images in the book are also portraits of people. I’m glad that you pointed this one out. As you can see, there is a butterfly resting on the snow. What is special is the fact that butterflies do not usually survive during the winter. I wanted to capture this image also because of the color. The colors of the butterfly contrasts well with the white background color of the snow. The black border color of the wings brings out the red-orange inner part of the wings…


George Brecht and Tacita Dean’s conversation carried on as they enjoyed each other’s different views of art.

Hesse and Kosuth

A part of a fictional AIM conversation between Eva Hesse and Joseph Kosuth. Hesse's work consists of various paintings and sculptures while Kosuth's work lean towards concept art. (The whole thing was in Internet-speak so it’s been translated it into proper English for easier reading.)

sculptHESSE101: So, I hear you like chairs.

Koseptual: And you, boxes.

sculptHESSE101: I like turning the mundane into something mind-provoking.

Koseptual: Well, what do you know? So do I!

sculptHESSE101: I especially like your "One and Three Chairs" piece. How did you come up with that?

Koseptual: I'm not quite sure myself. It was something I came up with while browsing the Internet one day. I started looking at images, which either led to shopping sites or documentary sites. Then it just hit me how everything comes in three forms like states of matter: real, photograph (or drawing), and definition. As for the chair part, I wanted to convey this idea using something people see everyday and never really think about.

scuptHESSE101: That's fascinating. It's interesting how ideas come about in random ways like that.

Koseptual: It sure is. How about your Accession II piece? How did that idea come about?

sculptHESSE101: Well, that one's a pretty complicated affair to explain.

Koseptual: Do tell.

sculptHESSE: The piece is partially inspired by a scene in the movie, Labyrinth, where the main girl falls through a hole lined with sentient hands. She didn’t know whether to go up or down, which fascinated me because most people would want to get up out of a hole, but she chose to go down farther. I wanted to see how that concept would work in a box form.

Koseptual: Why a cube shape? Why not just make it cylinder to keep with the original hole concept?

sculptHESSE101: I wanted to do a more inorganic shape to convey the idea of a prison. Sure, a prison technically can be anything that can contain a living thing, but people identified more with the manmade variety. After all, I’m going to be critiqued by people, not cats and roses.

Koseptual: Interesting. And why use plastic tubing to line it instead of, say, doornails and the like?

sculptHESSE101: I felt that nails would’ve made the piece too rigid for my liking. The plastic tubing gave me much more flexibility, literally and metaphorically speaking. Plus, it gives the piece a unique texture and the intricacy of it makes it more eye-catching. It’s something that you can’t really walk by without giving it a second look.

Koseptual: I see. How about the title? Why did you choose to call it such?

sculptHESSE101: Ah, that. I knew you were going to ask me eventually as it’s not a word that is used in everyday conversations.

Koseptual: Oh, I wasn’t aware it was an actual word. I thought it was something you made up for those particular pieces of yours.

sculptHESSE101: No, it’s a real dictionary term. It’s a more proper form of the noun form of the word “access,” like when you gain access to something.

Koseptual: Ah, I thought there was a connection to the word “access” since it’s in the word. To tell you the truth, I first thought it said “ascension” rather than “accession.”

sculptHESSE101: Oh, well that’s interesting…

Koseptual: I think you did that on purpose, though.

sculptHESSE101: Now what makes you think that?

Koseptual: Ah ha, I knew it.

sculptHESSE101: Care to take a guess as to why I chose that particular word?

Koseptual: I believe you chose the word “accession” for its original meaning to convey the idea of being able to drop one’s gaze into the piece. In other words, viewers “access” the piece without actually touching it. Although, I think you may have allowed viewers to put their hands into the box, but I haven’t been to one of your exhibits personally so I cannot vouch for this. As for the tricking the eye into seeing “ascension,” the viewer sees that word because he or she is far away. And since the piece is on the ground, the viewer has a bird’s-eye look of it, hence the “ascension.”

sculptHESSE101: That’s pretty impressive how you managed to piece all that information together even though you’ve only seen a photo of my work in a book.

Koseptual: I try my best.

sculptHESSE101: Well, you know, truth is in the eye of the beholder so my original thoughts on the piece are subjective at best.

Koseptual: That is true.

sculptHESSE101: Besides, most of what you’ve already said is my original thoughts when making the “Accession” pieces.

Koseptual: Ah, so I did hit the nail on the head, so to speak.

sculptHESSE101: So why did you decide to become a conceptual artist?

Koseptual: I tend to have a lot of different ideas and most can’t really be drawn out or painted. Like my “One and Three Chairs” piece, many of my ideas involve things that are everyday things that people see on a daily basis without giving a second thought. My ideas require a different way of standing out, but at the same time I like being able to make my works stand out while seeming common all at once.

sculptHESSE101: It works really well though.

Koseptual: Indeed it does. That’s what I like working with things that are already there. Sure, I could’ve painted a picture of the chair instead of photographing it, but then that would’ve taken a lot more time than it really needs. And in the end, people would focus on the painting instead of the entire piece as a whole. Each piece is important so I didn’t want any to stand out too much that they become the center of attention. That would have ruined the whole effect of the piece.

sculptHESSE101: You make a good point. You’ve made plenty of well-thought out decisions in creating your piece.

Koseptual: As did you.

The rest of the conversation went on to other topics that are not relevant to art so it has been omitted to maintain the focus on art.

Cassatt- Brecht comparison

What is it about the atmosphere, of the space and environment we inhabit, that fuels us to harness it? By 'harness' I mean to capture, by means of reproducing our experience, onto paper. Throughout human existence, we have sought to recreate experience with alternative mediums rather than the medium experienced first hand. There is a translation of textures. The personal interpretation of an experience shapes how one will recreate the atmosphere for a viewer, that will then affect how the viewer understands the experience for themselves. The transfer from experience to artist and then to a specific medium for a viewer to experience, completely deletes the reality of an experience. What pleasure does it bring to the viewer to observe a recreated experience that is atmospherically frozen in time and that hangs passively upon a wall like a dead corpse? In a sense we breathe a bit of life into art when we view it. But, what about art that one can experience first hand, with out some one else to translate the experience for us? Artists today seem to focus more on the ' here and now' rather than the 'there and then'. I found two artist's who contradict yet compliment each other in ways i think have helped me develop a better sense of how I experience art, upon the wall in a gallery and in everyday life. Mary Cassatt and Brecht, are two very different people with two very different views about art. I ask them to explain to me a recent piece of theirs, and they have been very kind to give me a great description of their process.

Mary Cassatt: I believe art is an intensive process. I do very much enjoy it, but one must be well versed in figure drawing. If you understand form and the function light plays upon it, then you can beautifully recreate anything. The human figure captures my attention because of the endless amount of expressions. My friends pose here and there and sometime I observe what they are creating. For example, my friend Lydia was painted at her embroidery frame, embroidering a piece of fabric. Speaking of fabric, i enjoy patterned textiles on interior decor, as well as clothing. The patterns are usually a gorgeous floral print. Flowers are another love of mine. Being outside in a garden is a heavenly experience. The array of colors I see in flowers and their exquisite perfumes make any outdoor experience much more decadent and enjoyable. That's quite frankly the way I create art. My art is inspired by the simply decadent, little pleasures, from every day life. I want to capture the beautiful moments in a flower garden, by a pond, in an opera and even a mother with her child.

Some believe I base my mother and child paintings on Mary with the baby Jesus, as seen in religious painting. Though my art history knowledge may contract a similar composition, I don't necessarily base my work on art history. I believe there is sentimental quality of a mother nurturing her child that is like nothing else. I try to capture the bond and the sweetness in those moments. I also depict women independently or with a child to emphasize women's strength and independence.

My piece, "Portrait of Madame J.", that I completed recently is one that communicates both independence and beauty. Her simple environment is embellished by the plush cream arm chair that she is seated. Its creamy eggnog material is covered a plum colored floral print that dances some what sporadically upon the chairs surface. Her garments, that cover her from the next down, are a midnight violet that contrasts the cream and pulls out the plum hues. Madame J.'s intense gaze to the ground signifies her attentive thought process. Her experience is comfortable yet attentive. She awaits an event with patience as we can see in her relaxed posture. The atmosphere sheds a cool light upon her rosy pale skin and her raspberry lips. A white lacy bow accents her neckline. she is a gorgeous, sincere and independent woman. The oil paint allows blue shadows to come from the base of the painting, and the paints' sumptuous texture leaves a dramatic contrast of colors, yet the paintings texture is woven together beneath a dream-like haze. That is How I see my "Portrait of Madame J.".

Brecht: I believe every object is an event and that every event has an object-like quality to it. I can observe this in my very own apartment. All of my objects have performed for me in some way. I have performed with the objects in someway and at some time as well. If one were to isolate their uses of kitchen utensils and lights switches, for example, the act of turning on the light or swirling the pasta with a fork becomes an 'event'. The "swirling of the pasta" is now a piece of art. The art work is essentially the art 'object'. Its an object of art, I believe, because there is an interaction with material.

The piece " Three Chair Events" I showed recently at the Martha Jackson Gallery for the Environments, Situations, Spaces exhibit, further illustrates my belief that art happens in every environment, situation and space. In order to fully convey my vision, I evaluated my apartment's interior belongings. I searched for objects that I interacted with on a daily level. Bed. Couch. Chair. Light switch. Spoon. Bowl. Microwave. Faucet. After I noted my interactions, I began to think about a public venue. I realized many of the items are for private use. However, the chair was the object that I was able to apply to any public space. It would illicit the most uninhibited interactions.

The different spaces of the gallery are different platforms for particular situations. For example, the entrance, where I wait to meet a friend... I wait and mind my own business, while I casually observe people walking by to pass the time. Once I greet my friend, we enter into the gallery 'space'. Our voices dim down and our focus becomes the pristine white walls, where the 'art' is displayed. The transition of environment defines different spaces and situations.Since the work operated in multiple spaces, I decided to use three identical wooden chairs to unify the work. The different spaces I chose were spaces gallery visitors would enter. The exterior of the gallery at the entrance, the gallery interior, and the restroom were the three spaces I chose to place each chair individually.

Though the chairs were identical in form, they varied in color. The chair propped outside the door was painted a creamy mustard. The chair in the gallery was painted an eggshell white. The chair in the restroom was painted a chalkboard black. The colors I applied to the chairs' surfaces serve to communicate their intended use. The sunny mustard yellow is welcoming and fitting for an outdoor chair. The same goes for the other two chairs. They are nothing out of the ordinary. They serve to illicit their everyday event. Everything from placement to the mellow paint, to the mass-produced, worn-down, wooden forms, resulted in gallery-goers using the chairs. And, as a result, the three wooden chairs conducted beautiful interactions with gallery visitors. The documented interactions with the three chairs became the "Three Chair Events".

In conclusion, we have two accomplished artists, who see the art object in completely different ways. Brecht would look at a painting of Cassatt's and say that the act of sitting in the plush arm chair is an interaction with a material. Why recreate what is already occurring? the art exists in that moment. The act of painting that moment is overkill and the reality and experience of that particular moment is dead. While Cassatt might see Brecht as extremely controversial. She is completely against all things abstract or out of bounds. Though Brecht's thinking may be out of the box, however, Cassatt and Brecht would both realize that they are making art to capture an experience of reality. Neither are surreal, they are both striving to capture a realness about everyday life. The realness of the human experience, our environment and our relationship to space around us. Textures of the human experience will always be interpreted differently by all walks of life, but the artist is someone who highlights the experience with our environmental textures and translates their beliefs into work.

Mail Between Johnson and Kosuth

Conversation bettween Lawrence Wagner and George Brecht

UCI art department is hosting a debate between Lawrence Weiner and George Brecht about the theories of contemporary art. Present in the auditorium are 700 student and faculty members eager to hear from those two great minds.

Lawrence Weiner and George Brecht are central figures of the conceptual art movement. Lawrence Weiner produced works of art out of almost nothing; he is famous for using text as a substitute for sculptures. He believed that text can translate what a sculpture has to say, and that through the interpretation of the text other artist can create unique works that expresses their own individualism. Lawrence Weiner believes that an art work should have three main elements, 1. The Artist may construct the piece. 2. The piece maybe fabricated. 3. The piece need not be built. As a result of Lawrence Weiner’s belief system, he is able to go beyond the traditional boundaries and explorer new territories. George Brecht famous works of art include One and Three Chair and Koan. Just like Weiner he is also an artist and theorist, he is responsible for the development of conceptual art and pushing the boundaries of modern art into new territories.

Lawrence Weiner presence is felt by everyone as he stood on top of the stage. He is tall, rugged, handsome and very serious. Then came George Brecht, he is more skinny, less intimidating, but just as serious.

“Hello Mister Lawrence Weiner, my name is George Brecht I present to you and the audience my work “one and three Chairs.”

Lawrence Weiner then says, “Ahhh, it is an honor to meet the great George Brecht, I have studied all of your works and your theories. I have to say your ideas have influenced my art and artistic thinking. I also like to say it is a great honor for me to meet you!”

As the two men stands facing each other, the audience can feel that they are in the presence of greatness. No one in the audience is fooled by the politeness of the initial encounter. It is like watching Adolf Hitler face to face with Stalin. Everyone in the audience knows both man have come to debate about art and the meeting will not end until both man have made their point.

“It is a great honor for me to meet you too Lawrence, we are here today to critique each other and to talk about art theory. So lets start the debate.”

With that George Brecht sounded the start of the debate.

Lawrence Weiner proceeds to say, “I like to start by critiquing your work One and Three Chairs. I understand where you are coming from. You want to show people that imagery, words and the real object are ultimately the same thing. However, I feel that one simple text can accomplish the same goal. I feel your art work is rather redundant. I do not think it is necessary to use a real chair, a photograph and dictionary definition of chair to get your idea across. I think it would be much simpler to just write on a paper, “chair on the wall, chair off the wall, chair found in the dictionary, are the same.””

George Brecht is a professional artist and theorist. He is not stunned or intimidated by Lawrence Weiners critique. He is prepared to defend his work.

George Brecht defends his art work by saying, “I think the method that I chose to express my theory is not flawed. I understand that you like to use text as a means to get your message across, but there are limitations to text. For example, there are almost infinite variety of sounds two metals makes when crashed into each other. Each sound the crashing metals makes is distinct from every other sound, if you were to only use text how can you show people the distinct and infinite random variations of the crashing metals? Hence, it is imperative that we use a sound recorder, to record the distinct random sound that the metal makes.”

George Brecht felt he made his point and confidently sat onto his chair and stared right into the eyes of Weiner. George is ready for the counter attack.

“It is very clear to me that as art theorists we both have investigated and read Ludwig Wittgenstein’s book “philosophical investigations”. It is very clear from Ludwig’s writing and the many writings of early Dada theorists; that there is no way for people to tell what is real and what is not real. We are all dependent on our own distinct perception organs and hearing organs. What one person hears is not necessarily the same as what someone else hears. Hence, there is no way to duplicate the exact sound that you have just described and therefore the use of text is necessary. Text can be interoperated in many different ways; one word can hold many different meaning to a person depending on the mood, intellectual ability and cognitive consistency of that person. In the end, I use text because text is reality.”

George Brecht immediately stood up after hearing from Lawrence Wagner. He stared at the audience then back at Lawrence. Then he stood next to his art work. George stood there for a long time and everyone can tell he was pondering about his counter attack.

“I agree with what you have said Mister Wagner. But, you have overlooked something fundamental with my art work. I created my art work One and Three Chair so that is encompasses every possible way of human expression. The work contains randomness, coloring, picture, text and artistic effort, it is all there. I think our difference is not whose work of art is more conceptual. Rather our difference is in the way we express our art. I think both of our art expresses conceptualism and if we combine both of our art then we move that much closer to the real conceptualism. And I have done that with my art by including text.

Before Wagner can counter argue the host announces that the debate has run out of time. In the end it was a tie and nobody could decide which artist was more correct!

A Conversation of Sorts

Watch out for Tense: I would make all of it present tense or past tense and be consistent...

Standing at the edge of a pool, looking at his feet, Felix Gonzalez-Torres contemplates his life. He dips a single toe into the water and relishes in the soothing sensation it brings. The sun beats down on his back, and he takes his hand and wipes away the sweat that tickles his neck. Looking up, he sees a man approaching from the distance. He squints his eyes and tries to figure out if he recognizes this person. As the man gets closer, Felix realizes it is Joseph Kosuth. (A longtime friend and fellow contemporary artist, Joseph liked to visit Felix whenever he could find the time.) Felix was a quiet man, and had never been the same after his lover Ross’ death. Reaching out his arms, Joseph embraces Felix.

“It’s good to see you, old friend.”

“It’s good to see you too, Felix," said Joseph. He quickly looked at the grass beneath him, so Felix couldn’t see him choking back his tears. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Felix, what are you doing here on this glorious day? This pool looks so inviting, and yet you are not taking advantage of its refreshing embrace.”

“It is true, but I don’t feel much like swimming today,” sighed Felix. He lowered his head and continued to look at the water, reflecting quietly on what he had created.

“This is one of your pieces?” asked Joseph, suddenly ashamed that he did not take the time to notice it as he had walked by. The piece was made of two circular pools, conjoined just barely on the sides, and sharing an almost undetectable amount of water.

“Well, I must say it’s quite beautiful!” exclaimed Joseph. It reminds me of your other piece, you know, the one with the clocks."

Felix let out a sigh and nodded his head, but did not look up at Joseph.

“I love that piece. The two identical clocks hanging on the wall side by side. The fact that they were timed the same, so that even the seconds ticked together in unison! It was simply breathtaking!”

Felix smiled, “I’m glad you think so. I made it as a representation of the love between two people. It doesn’t matter who you love, for time passes all the same.” Suddenly Felix began to cough and Joseph could only stand helplessly and wait for him to clear whatever was in his chest.

“Enough about my art, Joseph. Tell me about yours. I’ve been hearing things about your ‘One and Three Chairs’ installation. It’s very intriguing, I must say.”

Joseph blushed, “Well, it’s really just a visual representation of Plato’s concept of The Forms."

“Oh, don’t be so modest!” chuckled Felix, “Please, let us sit down and you will tell me all about this piece.”

“If you insist! I don’t want to bore you to death!” Joseph gasped at what had been uttered from his lips, but Felix showed no sign that he had noticed.

Clearing his throat, Joseph continued, “I’m working with using tautological statements, where things are what they say they are. It’s all very simple, really, I even wrote instructions to the exhibitor on how to display the piece. There are three components; a chair, a photograph of the chair, and the text of a dictionary definition of a ‘chair’. The exhibitor is to choose a chair, and then photograph it as it is displayed next to the wall. The photograph is enlarged to be the exactly the same size as the original chair and hung to the left of it. Lastly, the blown up text definition of a ‘chair’ is to be hung to the right of the original chair, and aligned with the photograph, “ Joseph frowns, “I’m not boring you yet, am I?”

“Not in the slightest!” Gesturing with his hand, Felix beseeched, “Please, continue.”

A cool breeze blows through Felix’s hair, and Joseph notices how gaunt his face is beginning to look. Biting his lower lip, Joseph resumes his explanation.

“I want the viewer to ask themselves upon viewing my piece, to say ‘What is real?’“

“It’s the definition, isn’t it? Without the definition, we would never know what an actual chair is in the first place.” Felix reached his hand out, as if to grab an invisible bug.

“That’s precisely it, old friend!” Joseph smiled, and watched Felix’s eyes dance around in the distance.

“I find it quite interesting how people need definitions for everything. It seems as though everything needs a label nowadays. The world can’t possibly function if something doesn’t fit into a neat little category”, sighed Felix.

“What do you mean?” Joseph inquired.

“Well, I despise the fact that most people want me to be pigeonholed as a gay, minority artist. What I struggle most with in my art is that I want people to see beyond all that. I need my viewers to be part of my work. How can I get them to feel connected when they are constantly thinking about where I was born, or what my sexual preferences are?” Felix searches Joseph’s face. “I’m dying, Joseph. I don’t want my legacy to be tainted by some homophobic bigots.”

Joseph sat, unable to offer any words that could calm his friend. It was difficult for him to understand where Felix was coming from, because he had never been judged in that way. Looking out into the pool, Joseph searched in vain for something to lighten the mood.

Breaking the silence, Felix suddenly burst, “Let’s get a drink, old friend!”

Joseph grins, and reaches into his jacket for his handkerchief. Lightly dabbing at his forehead, he looks over at Felix.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea.”

Both men got up from their chairs and walked out onto the grass. Joseph realized that this might be the last time he shares a drink with his friend. 

It will be a beautiful night, he thought.

A Conversation of Two - Ray Johnson and Douglas Huebler

Huebler. A moment passes. Huebler, Huebler. Dear Huebler. How do I begin? Mr. Huebler. Douglas Huebler. Scratch that last one. My pen crisscrosses the page in response.

I first heard about Douglas Huebler about a year ago from a friend. I remember standing inside his studio contemplating a design that I had been working on for several weeks. This particular design is the kind of thing that suffocates you and makes you run madly and wildly inside your mind. I felt extremely helpless and a little vulnerable because my ideas seemed to reach infinity, never settling to take a form that I could work with. I voiced my reflections to my friend, “William, I am struggling with a design that I’m working on now. I’m thinking ducks, like quacking ducks. What do you think?”

In the middle of replacing several books onto his shelf, William turns to me and gazes upward and to the right in thought. “Ducks” he simply says. He sort of smiles a knowing smile and finishes replacing the books onto the shelf. “Well Ray, I want to say I’m not surprised, but I am. You always seem to have a knack for riddling people with your work and I am no exception”. He walks idly over to the sofa facing the large floor-to-ceiling windows. His hand smoothed a wrinkle in the fabric along the edge of the sofa. “Why ducks?” he asks me while taking a seat on the sofa and crossing his legs comfortably. He gestured lazily toward an empty chair to his right.

“Why not ducks?” I ask in response while taking the offered chair. We both stared at the world outside and beyond his studio watching the rain make drips and drops onto the window panes. I remember it was a nice moment; a moment where I could really stop and breathe and unwind a little from the craziness that was my life at the time. No sounds except for our conversation and the rain outside reached my ears.

“Of course you’d say that” he chuckled softly, adding to the serenity and peacefulness of the moment. “You know, I think you might find some interest in some of Douglas Huebler’s work.” He got up to hand me a pamphlet from his work table. “This is just some information about his exhibit on variable pieces.” I opened the pamphlet to the introduction of Huebler’s work while William continued to explain his reasoning for my potential interest, “At first glance, you would think that the form of his work is the point of interest and no doubt, some of his photos are very interesting, but it’s not the most appealing part. He puts an immense amount of thought into his work prior to creating it. I like to think that the form only compliments the statement that he has attached to it rather than the other way around. You both think conceptually and have an understanding that the more important aspect of a piece of work is not the form which ends up in a gallery, but the temporariness of the message you want to get across.” William returned to his sitting position on the sofa and stared out the window in thought.

I valued William’s advice so I waited patiently for him to finish his thought before speaking again. A few moments later he continued, “So, it isn’t the duck you ask me about that I am interested in. I am more interested in the idea behind the quacking ducks!” He glanced sideways at me with a grin etched across his face.

Coming back from that memory, I stare down at the ninety-nine duck heads all facing the right. No two ducks are alike. I quickly and as neatly as possible scribble at the bottom of the 11 rows and 9 columns of duck heads, “A NICE, CUTE, COLORFUL, QUACKING DUCK NAMED ANDY WILL BE RAFFAELED AT THE NEW YORK CORRESPONDANCE SCHOOL MEETING MARCH 26^TH, 1969 AT SACRAMENTOE STATE COLLEGE, CALIFORNIA”. A leaflet for a conference meeting with the above location and time was posted on the campus bulletin a few months ago. I had grabbed it in hopes of using it at a later time. The nice, cute, color, quacking duck part was added to make the design my own. I hastily wrote “Dear Huebler,” at the top of the page and folded it.

Knock Knock. I scrambled to open the door and smiled largely at Huebler. “It’s great to see you Doug. Come on in, sorry for the mess” I apologize as I hurry him inside. Douglas stepped carefully over small and large texts books, photos, and papers. I laughed and ushered him into a clear chair.

“I was just thinking about you, you know. The first time I heard about you from William. William Wilson, you remember him don’t you?” I ask him while taking a seat on a stack of papers across from him.

“Ah yes, nice guy! He helped me with a few of my projects actually. Got me really thinking about some of them” he shrugged off his coat and got comfortable. “Before I forget…” he reached into his bag with all his photo supplies he always carried everywhere and took out a few large sheets of paper. “Here is the statement and some photos of Variable #34 that you asked for.” He handed it over to me.

“Thank you, I really appreciate this!” I smile and place the photos aside for now.

“Why did you want it anyway?” he asks.

“Well, you don’t know this, but your variable work has really influenced me to create Andy.” I took out the folded piece of paper I had just finished writing before he arrived. I handed it to him now. “It took me about a year to create him and some other characters, but I am finally content with the result, thank to you and William.”

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed while opening the piece. He laughed loudly, “I never do understand your work immediately, but I love to get them all the same. You have a way of making me think so hard my brain gets tired!” He laughed again, “I’m so obvious with my statements, I wonder if I could learn a little something from your subtlety.”

“Art wouldn’t be half as much fun as it is now if everyone worked in the same way!” I explained. He nodded in agreement and put Andy away. “Anyway, as I was saying earlier, you really inspired me a lot this past year and I asked you over in order to properly thank you for everything. Variables is truly a great piece.”

“I am deeply flattered by your kind words, Ray. To be absolutely honest, Variables only began when I decided to pick up my old camera again after so many years without working in photography. I was so inspired by taking photos again that ideas flooded me. That was when I began to really think about my work! I am sure William told you otherwise” He smiled a small smile and continued, “I know it isn’t the conventional way of working conceptually, but it happened to be that way for me.”

“I love when people work unconventionally! If anything, I am only more inspired by your work and work habits.” I smiled at him and got up. “I’m planning on visiting William today, would you care to join me?”

“Absolutely! Absolutely” I see a fleeting look of strong emotion on his face as he gets up, “Shall we?” He asks.