Perhaps in anticipation of a downturn in the white hot art market to dovetail with our subprime woes, artists are once again dipping their toes into non-art realms to both frolic and fret, using site specific installations that could reach out and touch those who might not necessarily have been thinking of themselves as museum and gallery goers. Huffington Post political junkies, this means you!
Here, then, are three exhibitions for people for whom gallery hopping is generally a slog (and two out of the three, not incidentally, absolutely perfect for taking the kids.)
While a De Kooning show just opened at his gallery in Chelsea, Larry Gagosian has given over the Beverly Hills space to Tom Sachs' Space Program, what the artist bills as a bricolage on going to the moon--in his view, the art project of the twentieth century (and during which he was only three).
The day of the launch, July 17th, 1969 (the actual walk was July 20th; in its honor, at MoMA we had the next day off) a NY Times photographer captured me along with hundreds of others who jammed a television showroom then on the corner of 53rd and 5th to catch a bit of history on our way in to work.
The very same week I saw the film Easy Rider, and Creedence Clearwater Revival and Sly and the Family Stone at the Fillmore East. Isn't it obvious, then, that the moon and great art have always been connected?
Just a decade before, a great deal of time had been spent ducking and covering and watching the neighbors make fallout shelters so the Space program provided much needed airborne relief. Yet when you walk around Sach's what feels like life-size lunar module and adjoining mission control unit and supplies, you can see that the moon was just another kind of escape route. (No way of escape anymore and we all know it.) It was indeed thrilling to watch the preparations for the Walk; the Apollo missions united the country in a way that seems to have gone missing: irrespective of our national politics (which were undergoing some heavy weather at the time too), everybody wanted to see an American walk first on the moon. I happened to catch Sachs giving a team of gallery assistants a lecture and further assignments when I was there the morning after the opening. It was all very NASA like, the artist having closely absorbed both the patter and the gait of the space cowboys. There are clever bits to the bricolage and it suggests a visit to the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena where you can get an almost identical experience plus a whiff of what the space geeks are up to today. Unlike the bling art of Damien Hirst which twists you up in knots trying to figure out if the emperor has his clothes on, Sach's do-it-yourself-take on our space program has a homespun charm that carries you through some moments of is-this-really-art.
In a more painful but equally playful mode, William Pope L (b. 1955) installed Art After White People at the Santa Monica Museum of Art, a post-Katrina environment that channels a Toto-we're-not-in-Kansas- anymore cyclone replete with cubbies for box storage, a mound of assorted household debris piled to the ceiling, weeping palm trees and adjacent Bunuel-ian eye-slicing videos (the real ones on their way to LACMA as part of the what is sure to be the well-attended Dali show from the Tate Modern opening later this fall) that channels Lindsay Anderson and not least, pictures that use hair and semen as tools for portraiture.
Having tumbled into the opening at which Pope L was genially leading a pack of invitees on a discursive ramble through the spaces, and then having tried to home in on what he really means in the catalogue, I found them both all over the place--methinks Mr. Pope L could have used a firmer editing hand-- but it's an emotional journey that calls up the havoc and dismay and race and class divisions that Katrina spewed forth, much of which is still, sadly, with us today. (Suitable for older children and teens.)
In a more straightforward, market-style effort, but one that pleases nonetheless, the Maltz Gallery at Otis College of Art and Design has surveyed the state of the art of Green Design and a cornucopia of seating, clothing and architectural options (all hemp and bamboo, all the time) deliver.
Though Frank Gehry beat the greenies to it when he designed his cardboard chairs in 1970, the current generation of eco-friendly objects are clever enough and one columnar dress was actually alluring, even on the headless dressform. Check out funny You Tube about the Plastic Bag Monster:
Also up now in Los Angeles and not to be missed (though less child friendly):
The Edward Weston show at the Getty. Even for people who say they've seen all the Westons, this is a must-see. The Getty holdings are rich and deep, perfectly installed and sexy as all get out. (A book of nudes Weston was never able to pull off has finally been published by the Getty, a perfect gift for almost anyone over 18 on your list).
The Latin American art show at LACMA. The proof positive that Mexico, (and Central America) is our neighboring repository of rich and elegant art. Those who think of Mexico merely as a beach getaway, or home of trade and immigration disaster, which means most everyone, should go down to Queretaro, Guanajuato, Morelia and Mexico City to learn what a truly amazing country we have right next to us and for deeper European-style immersion in the culture. Especially now that the Euro is at an all time high against the dollar.
And to get a further bead on the current scene: Whitney Bedford at Cherry and Martin , Scott Treleaven at Marc Selwyn, Allison Cortson at the Happy Lion, Lari Pittman at Regen Projects, Kelly Nipper at Anna Helwing, and a group sculpture show at Angles Gallery.
Beginning next week, a series of posts from cultural points East. For those of you still doubtful about getting out to see art, just keep Neil Armstrong in mind: sometimes one small step for mankind can take you pretty far down the road.
Loading comments… 
