003. A Case for Art in Ugly Times
What I saw on Tuesday, why I think art still matters, and some reading recs.
First up, housekeeping: I’m sick and won’t be sharing any gallery recs this week. Aiming to do a roundup next week as there are some shows I am looking forward to visiting.
On Tuesday, around 4pm, I ventured to Gladstone Gallery in Chelsea to check out their election day programming, pegged to an installation of Carrie Mae Weems’ 45-minute video, The Shape of Things.
When you enter the gallery on 21st street, you step up two stairs into a large, round, carpeted space walled in with screens onto which the work is projected. For this event, a long list of writers, performers, and artists were invited to address the revolving and antsy audience from 3pm to midnight.
One artist read their own imagined diaries of Hunter Biden’s mistress, and no one but me seemed to think it was funny. Sometimes people enter a gallery space and become humorless, although I think humor is one of the most important elements of good art.
A poet, Terrance Hayes, read some of his American Sonnets to a breathless crowd while someone’s child squirmed restlessly in front of me. The squirming kid embodied how I felt, in this weird liminal space of the week, struggling to stay still.
I described the experience as “oceanic” to a friend, as I spent two hours in the thrall of the room, letting all of the words wash over me, all of the different ways people can express a similar sentiment. There are endless ways to say - Oh God, it’s so hard to be a person in this world with their eyes open to injustice, and to navigate this treacherous political system, which seemed to be the subtext of these readings.
The energy in the room was neither optimistic nor defeated, at least not from the hours of 4-6pm. I’m sure as the event crawled towards its slated end at midnight, the air turned sour and drained of its quiet hopefulness. (Weems leant her work to Harris’ campaign and I think it is safe to assume the attendees were mostly in political alignment.)
Outside on the street a crowd of people ate complimentary paella cooked by queer culinary collective Spiral Theory Test Kitchen. Modelo was flowing.
The vision for the evening was of “a refuge, an oasis, a temporary autonomous zone in the spirit of Hakim Bey,” an anarchist writer. I don’t think the fine art world actually wants to create or experience an autonomous zone, even if for one evening, as the fine art world pledges its allegiance first and foremost to money, but that’s a conversation for another time and place.
I found myself wondering, sitting on the floor, listening to the writer Lynne Tillman reading from a literary magazine, what should the role of art be in a time like this?
Is the role of art to comfort us? Do we even deserve comfort?
Is art just a distraction? Shouldn’t we be focusing on liberation and progress?
Is art elitist? Does art just further fortify the forcefield around our “blue bubble” here in New York and other metropolitan cities?
But when I look at the art that I like, and the artists that make it, and the galleries I visit, and when I think about what it’s meant to me (and, in turn, to my friends, as I share this with all of you), I can’t write it off as a folly.
If we don’t have art in our lives, what is the point of fighting for them? Art is the special sauce. Art is the howl of self-expression echoing in the darkest night. Art is proof of our embattled existence. We look at the art of a past civilization and it brings us closer to understanding that moment than any of the facts written in academic textbooks.
If you’re doing it right, making and interacting with art brings you closer to reality, other people, and your own humanity. Art should open your eyes and mind in ways that make you a better friend, neighbor, and world citizen.
I pulled four books from my shelf this morning, seeking wisdom and beauty:
Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency, by Olivia Liang
A collection of some of Liang’s columns and essays over the years. Her writing always strikes the perfect balance of melancholia and levity. You don’t have to know much about art to appreciate the way she chronicles the lives of artists.
Here is a video of Liang reading “The Abandoned Person’s Tale” - a story I love from this collection.
On Beauty and Being Just, by Elaine Scarry
Scarry is a Professor of Aesthetics at Harvard. I don’t agree with everything she argues in this book, and I found it to be a bit of a slog. HOWEVER, my takeaway from reading was the logical connection between appreciating beauty and fighting for some idea of justice. I like the idea that beautiful things sharpen our powers of observation so that we may be more alert to the injustices we encounter.
Survival Is A Style, poems by Christian Wiman
I learned to love poetry by unlearning everything I thought I knew about how to be a good reader. You have to read a poem so many times, at so many speeds, from so many angles to understand it. You have to be patient. You have to accept less than total comprehension (when all we’re taught in school about reading is comprehension!).
In that spirit, I encourage anyone who would like more poetry in their life to read this stunning book of poems by Christian Wiman.
Let Us Believe In The Beginning Of The Cold Season, poems by Forough Farrokhzad
Farrokhzad was a poet, painter, screenwriter, and filmmaker who was only 32 when she died tragically in a car accident in 1967. She is a cultural icon of contemporary Iran and these poems were painstakingly translated from Persian to English by Elizabeth T. Gray in 2022. They are full of sex, tragedy, anger, and love. They are extremely human and moving.
I hope this can mean something or provide a little validation in a very surreal moment. Enjoy some art this week and please share Art Break with anyone who might like it. xx