Emerging from the depths of late summer, really from everything that’s not the art world, which is to say real life, I am eager to again witness the scene as it develops. So much has changed in these post-Covid years. I feel like much of the art world is converging in Manhattan. At least half the main galleries that were in West Chelsea have decamped to Tribeca, and many that were dispersed around Brooklyn have moved to the Lower East Side. For my part, I’m not particularly devoted to following the upsurge, which eventually leads to dissolution and demise. I’m interested in what the smaller galleries are doing, especially the artist-run ones. I tend to think of my critical responses to art viewing as less reviews than critical impressions. I like to consider what I see in longer intervals of response. Sometimes the interaction really digs deeply into my soul.
To that end, I have been revisiting aesthetic recognitions from years past in a revived column which has had different names (On Second Thoughts, Art Encounters) but is now called, simply, Impressions. The many art related memories that I can recall with some discernible detail go all the way back to 1975, when I was eight, experiencing art at my father’s gallery in its West Broadway location. Later on, in my teenage years, I traveled into the East Village where I saw art at Postmasters and International With Monument, and viewed early shows in SoHo at both Leo Castelli and Mary Boone. Current posts I am recalling are a 2010 show of Anselm Kiefer at Gagosian, a 1997 Not Vital exhibition at Sperone Westwater. Others include Rachel Whiteread at Luring Augustine and James Hyde at Sikkema Jenkins, from the early Nineties and early Aughts.
One unilateral decision that I made concerning different kinds of posts is not to have a section for each on my web page, but for each to post under the main newsletter name; let each type of post–an essay on art, on a book, or an interview land in your email boxes with equanimity. Let there be a little mystery, and the opportunity for joyful discovery. The only exceptions are New York Diary, which is a photo-journal of my travels around the city; thoughts about writing called A Writer’s Letters, and of course the news and links page that this is, The Desk Dispatch. These first two sections currently live online only. You can access them individually here.
In addition to a rolling series of alternating posts, I am also working on longer essays about contemporary art and its intersection with formal concepts and their shared emergence from history, art and otherwise. These include one on nature as a theme (Natural Rapture); on line and form (Line Mind); the inspiration and authority of printed text (Texting), and on color as a subconscious force that shapes reality (Chromasomnia). One of each of these will be published seasonally, focusing on a few artists in each section.
Well that’s it for now. Let the flow of inspiration begin.
Postnote:
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Sounds exciting. I’m particularly drawn to the Chromasomnia throughline, as someone who’s constantly trying to substantiate my gusty moods.
I never met him until years later, when he had a show at Pierogi in their Greenpoint space. Haven’t seen his recent work but I’m interested