viernes, 29 de octubre de 2010
La Bienal de Sevilla no sobrevive a la crisis
Qatar interesado en comprar la casa de subastas Christie's
"Estamos construyendo un nuevo museo y Christie´s tiene ver con lo que estamos coleccionando", explica el jefe del estado más rico del Golfo Pérsico, que tiene 58 años, y dirige con pulso firme un proyecto encaminado a sustituir el actual monocultivo petrolífero del país.
El jeque Hamad Al Thani explicó al diario londinense que no está interesado en seguir el camino de otros gobernantes de la zona, empeñados en costosos planes de rearme, aunque no niega su preocupación por lo delicado de la situación estratégica en la región.
Qatar es el mayor exportador de gas licuado del planeta, y ahora podría aprovechar el impulso de su nuevo Museo de Arte Islámico para adquirir una empresa que factura muchos millones de euros en ventas cuyo destino final es el propio emirato.
Graduate Program in Curatorial Practice at California College of the Arts
The program was established in 2003 by the curators Kate Fowle and Ralph Rugoff. It provides practical training in curating and organizing exhibitions as well as rigorous study in the history of the discipline, modern and contemporary art history, theory, and criticism. Close, ongoing partnerships with outside organizations (such as SFMOMA and the CCA Wattis Institute for Contemporary Arts) bring students into direct contact with artworks, archival materials, and artists, and allow them to engage in original research and collaborative projects. CCA offers many opportunities for interdisciplinary exchange, and we privilege collective forms of practice. The program also organizes numerous exhibitions, lectures, and symposia.
Our core faculty members include curators, art historians, and other art professionals from prominent Bay Area institutions. More than 200 curators, critics, scholars, and artists from around the world have taught courses here since the program was launched.
* NEWS: CURATORIAL PRACTICE WITH A CONCENTRATION IN ARCHITECTURE or DESIGN
CCA has extremely strong graduate programs in Architecture and Design, and students interested in pursuing curatorial avenues in either field can now apply for an MA in Curatorial Practice with a concentration in one or the other. The curriculum combines core courses in Curatorial Practice with a selection of theory and practice courses (including possibly a written thesis) in the second discipline. Applicants who wish to pursue this should indicate their interest in the personal statement that accompanies the application.
101 WATTIS CURATORIAL FELLOWSHIP
The Graduate Program in Curatorial Practice, in collaboration with the CCA Wattis Institute and the 101/Artnow Collection, supports one paid, nine-month, postgraduate curatorial research fellowship each year. In addition to regular curatorial duties at the CCA Wattis Institute, each fellow organizes an exhibition of works from the 101 Collection and proposes works for acquisition. This multiyear commitment on the part of the 101 Collection recognizes the importance of offering young curators professional opportunities as well as our program’s dual emphasis on academic knowledge and practical experience.
QUALIFICATIONS FOR ADMISSION (deadline: January 5, 2011)
• Undergraduate degree in the history of art, fine art, or other appropriate area of the humanities or social sciences
• Relevant practical experience in the visual arts and a demonstrated commitment to curating
• Strong interest in contemporary art
For full details on the application process and requirements please visit www.cca.edu/admissions/grad. Our program manager, Sue Ellen Stone (sstone@cca.edu or 415.551.9239), is always happy to answer questions.
OPEN HOUSE & INFO NIGHT: NOVEMBER 3, 2010
Prospective applicants are invited to attend our open house and info night at 7 p.m. on Wednesday, November 3, 2010, where they can meet the program chair, faculty, and current students. For more information or to RSVP please contact Sue Ellen Stone at sstone@cca.edu or 415.551.9239.
Graduate Program in Curatorial Practice at
California College of the Arts
1111 Eighth Street
San Francisco CA 94107-2247
T: 415.551.9239
http://www.cca.edu/curatorialpractice
EL Pais ::: Joyas de Artista
'El ojo del tiempo', de Salvador Dalí, en la exposición del MNAC "Joyas de artista. Del modernismo a la vanguardia"- CARLES RIBASBajo el título Joyas de artista. Del modernismo a la vanguardia, la exposición, que reúne 340 piezas, explora por primera vez el acercamiento al ámbito de la joyería de los artistas que encabezaron los principales movimientos de las primeras décadas del siglo XX. Tanto la directora del MNAC, Teresa Ocaña, como la comisaria de la exposición, Mariàngels Fondevila, han resaltado lo "inédito" de la propuesta, tanto por la lectura que se podrá hacer sobre el contexto en el que se realizaron las obras, como porque se exhiben piezas muy difíciles de ver y reunir.
Algunas proceden de colecciones privadas y otras son de instituciones y museos como el Metropolitan Museum of Art de Nueva York, el Victoria and Albert Museum de Londres, el Reina Sofía de Madrid o el Musée d'Orsay de París. La idea es mostrar cómo los grandes de la Historia del Arte en el último siglo se acercaron de forma abierta a una disciplina como la de la joyería creando obras artísticas, muchas veces con materiales nada nobles como el latón e incluso obtenidos de los contenedores por parte de un escultor como Julio González.
Piezas singulares
Reivindicando la "singularidad" de cada una de las piezas así como su aspecto fetichista en ocasiones, Fondevila no ha obviado que el "espíritu lúdico" también está muy presente y no ha escondido que algunos de los artistas acabaron moldeando pequeñas joyas, porque así lo aconsejaban sus problemas de salud, como la artrosis.
La exposición, dividida en tres ámbitos, se abre con una selección de piezas realizadas por "joyeros artistas", entre las que destacan las elaboradas por el francés René Lalique, algunas de ellas adquiridas en su momento por el Museo de Hamburgo para la Exposición Universal de París de 1900, o el colgante inédito que el industrial catalán Antoni Amatller compró para su hija Teresa. También se muestra la obra con ricos esmaltes y variadas gamas de colores del barcelonés Lluís Masriera.
El corazón de la exposición late, sin embargo,gracias a las joyas concebidas por artistas no joyeros como Manolo Hugué, Herich Heckel, Pablo Gargallo, Julio González, Josef Hoffmann, Joaquim Gomis, Charlotte Perriand, Alexander Calder, Henri Laurens, Hans Arp, Pablo Picasso, George Braque, Antoni Gaudí o Salvador Dalí. Colocadas en unas vitrinas con cuidada iluminación, las joyas se contraponen con pinturas o esculturas que se exhiben a unos metros y que se reflejan en los cristales con el objetivo de establecer un paralelismo entre las diferentes disciplinas que cultivaron todos ellos.
'El ojo del tiempo'
Entre este ámbito y el último, en el que domina la fotografía y una exhibición de vestidos procedentes del Museo del Traje de Madrid, llama la atención una imagen de Salvador Dalí, realizada por Philippe Halsman, donde lleva tapado uno de sus ojos con la joya El ojo del tiempo, un icono omnipresente desde la primera página del catálogo-libro que se ha editado para esta exposición.
En la última de las salas se explora la relación existente entre "cuerpo y joya" y, además de mostrarse una selección de trajes, uno de ellos de Coco Chanel, de 1939, hay fotografías de los años treinta de autores como Man Ray, Edward Steichen, George Hoyningen-Huené y Horst P. Horst, todos ellos alejados del mundo de la moda pero que ofrecieron "visiones rutilantes y evocadoras, en las que el cuerpo y la joya forman una estrecha alianza".
sábado, 23 de octubre de 2010
Crítica de arte ::: Nuevos Descubrimientos
De entrada, hay dos hechos que caracterizan la exploración y conquista del continente americano y otras tierras de ultramar por parte de los españoles: el primero y más importante es el mestizaje, que, desde luego, no se limitó al simple cruce racial; el segundo, que el afán de explotación no impidió el desarrollo de una formidable política de infraestructuras locales, que, por ejemplo, apenas si existió en los territorios norteamericanos bajo dominio británico. Las razones que explican este comportamiento colonial tan desparejo son diversas y complejas, pero su raíz última quizá obedezca a una concepción del poder imperial más medieval por parte de los monarcas españoles, frente a otra imperialista propia del moderno capitalismo anglosajón. Sea como sea, lo cierto es que en los territorios ultramarinos dependientes de la corona española, entre los siglos XVI y XIX, se lleva a cabo una formidable labor constructiva y artística, que no sólo forma una parte sustancial del arte de la época moderna, sino que posee una personalidad única, al surgir del entrecruzamiento de las culturas más diversas.
Nuevos Descubrimientos
Tan sólo acotando el tema al terreno de la pintura, como lo hace la exposición titulada Pintura de los Reinos. Identidades compartidas en el mundo hispánico, el resultado de lo exhibido es, se mire por donde se mire, de un interés y una calidad asombrosos. Sorprende, por tanto, que, con semejante acervo patrimonial, ninguno de sus protagonistas hayan sabido sacarle su extraordinario rendimiento potencial, empezando por lo más básico, que es explicar su auténtico sentido y su importancia, más allá de oportunistas retóricas políticas.
En el caso español, es muy elocuente la inveterada pésima gestión de lo atesorado en nuestro país de este increíble legado histórico-artístico. Hasta 1941, por ejemplo, no se crea una nueva institución del así llamado Museo de América, ni se inaugura su nueva sede física propia hasta 1965, habiéndose cobijado sus tesoros hasta entonces en el Museo Arqueológico Nacional, fundado casi un siglo antes, en 1867. Ubicado en la zona de Moncloa, muy cerca de la Ciudad Universitaria, el nuevo edificio, diseñado por los arquitectos Luis Feduchi y Luis Moya, y sus fantásticas colecciones no fueron adecuadamente dotados y promocionados. No se ha producido tampoco nunca una reflexión y un debate serios sobre cómo ordenar y distribuir sus tesoros, en los que se mezclan las obras precolombinas, el arte colonial, las artes populares e industriales, los documentos de la índole más diversa, etcétera. Por otra parte, no se ha llevado una duradera política de exposiciones temporales, ni la programación de otras muchas actividades que podrían haberlo convertido en el centro de la atención pública nacional e internacional. Con un poco de imaginación y medios, se comprende, en fin, lo que podía dar de sí una institución como ésta, hoy todavía muy poco conocida por la mayoría de los españoles, aunque debería ser uno de los cauces para que se produjera un nuevo descubrimiento de América, que sería simultáneamente también el descubrimiento de nuestro pasado y de nosotros mismos, y, por supuesto, por lo mismo, el de los pueblos americanos.
El Pais ::: Babélica Manifesta
Instalación Assembly instructions: (Tangential Logick, tangential Magick), de Alexandre Singh, en Manifesta 8.- Hasta su clausura, el 9 de enero, podrán ser visitados en la ciudad de Murcia tradicionales espacios expositivos y arrumbados edificios, abiertos expresamente para albergar esta babélica Manifesta. Emblemáticos inmuebles como la antigua oficina de Correos y Telégrafos y los dos primeros pabellones militares del cuartel de Artillería, se encontraban en estado ruinoso tras más de treinta años de abandono. También en Cartagena se ha abierto al público la prisión de San Antón, que este mismo año ha dejado de funcionar como tal. Las obras de arte se han acomodado en los desconchados interiores, lugares inhóspitos que el arquitecto Martín Lejárraga ha tenido que vehicular con escuetos remoces a las líneas argumentales de los tres equipos curatoriales para crear burbujas creativas en edificaciones que rezuman disciplina, reeducación y control moral. Hay cruces simbólicos entre espacios y okupas: los artistas exponen en el campamento militar y la cárcel y las imágenes digitales de los presos se proyectan en el Museo de Bellas Artes de Murcia.
Country Europa es el trabajo colectivo de autorrepresentación fotográfica, resultado de un taller impartido por Marcelo Expósito (Puertollano, 1966) y Verónica Iglesia (Buenos Aires, 1972) en el Centro Penitenciario de Murcia, en el que también ha intervenido Nada Prjla (Sarajevo, 1971), quien ha logrado que los presos se grabaran sin abandonar los muros. Otro artista, David Rych (Innsbruck, 1975), reproduce el encuentro entre presos y jóvenes ingresados en reformatorios. El resultado subraya las nuevas formas del poder: vigilar (sin) castigar.
La Fundación Manifesta, que ha dispuesto de un presupuesto de tres millones de euros para producir la programación, ha encargado a tres colectivos independientes la selección de artistas. Los proyectos anteriormente reseñados pertenecen al programa de Chamber of Public Secrets (CPS), amparado por Khaled Ramadan y Alfredo Cramerotti. Desde Copenhague y Oriente Próximo, a través de prácticas de producción en los mass media, fomentan diálogos que trasladan al dominio público el periodismo estético donde la realidad deviene artificio. "El resto es historia", es el lema de la estimulante propuesta que podemos iniciar en Cartagena desde el pabellón de autopsias con El proyecto de las baterías, de Laurent Grasso (Francia, 1972), artista que disecciona en sus trabajos los dispositivos de control y vigilancia, por lo que ha recorrido el litoral cartagenero buscando los emplazamientos militares que lo jalonan. Las vigilantes baterías observadas desde la costa y el zumbido de un submarino se transfiguran en inquietantes situaciones sociopolíticas. CPS también ha logrado abrir las puertas de la prisión de San Antón a los artistas con un permiso especial de la Secretaría General de Instituciones Penitenciarias. En la primera celda, un documental de Abed Anoud (Líbano, 1963) revela la sórdida historia del enclave con aportaciones de diversos protagonistas, entre los que destaca la erudición del historiador Pedro Egea. Este documento sirve de base para el recorrido guiado de Khaled Hafez (El Cairo, 1963), quien también presenta dos narraciones radiofónicas cuyo guión recorre la biografía de dos murcianos universales: los místicos sufís Abbul Abbass al Murci e Ibn Arabí. Podemos seguir hacia el fondo de la galería observando los murales pintados por los presos, allí nos encontraremos con la atronadora propuesta de Brumaria (Madrid, 2002). Descargas de metralletas, silbidos de ambulancias, turbias imágenes de guerra y un libro: Violencias expandidas. Lo resumo con la frase de Bertolt Brecht que fulminó a sus gestores: "La violencia es necesaria para cambiar este mundo asesino".
En la asociación de vecinos de Santa Lucía se exhibe una ampliación del Archivo FX de Pedro G. Romero (Aracena, 1964), seleccionado por los asamblearios Tranzit.org (Austria, República Checa, Hungría y Eslovaquia) cuyo plan expositivo se estructura en torno a un cuestionario de cuarenta preguntas denominado CET: Constitución para una exposición temporal. Sus conclusiones poscolonialistas y poscomunistas pueden verse en el cuartel de Artillería, cuyos pabellones han sido desescombrados por presos sujetos al tercer grado penitenciario que, en su programada readaptación social, han trabajado para la organización de Manifesta 8, según nos confirma la coordinadora general Esther Regueira.
Las propuestas de artistas más mediáticos se encuentran en el centro de Murcia en Correos. El irlandés Willie Doherthy (Derry, 1959), candidato en dos ocasiones al Premio Turner, ha presentado una decepcionante videocreación resuelta con una cincuentena de anodinos planos cortos grabados bajo uno de los puentes que cruza el río Segura, mientras Simón Fujiwara (Londres, 1982), ganador del Premio Cartier 2010, se acomoda a una arquitectura que rezuma tiempo por su deterioro para integrar una de sus falsas narraciones basadas en el descubrimiento arqueológico de un falo gigante hallado en el desierto. Estas propuestas son parte del comisariado de Alexandria Contemporary Arts Forum, representados por Bassam el Baroni y Jeremy Beaudry, quienes rubrican su discurso electivo con el título Overscore (tachadura).
www.manifesta8.com
martes, 19 de octubre de 2010
Roberta Smith, crítica de arte del NYT, opina sobre la pieza de Ai Weiwei en el Tate Modern
La más reciente comisión de Unilever para el Turbine Hall en el museo Tate Modern en Londres es la instalación "Sunflower Seeds" del artista chin Ai Weiwei. La instalación levanta tanto polvo de la cerámica que, por razones de salud y por posiblemente afectar a los pulmones, se ha limitado el acceso al público. Ahora, en vez de poder caminar, tocar y recostarse sobre la instalación, se debe observar a la distancia. La crítica Roberta Smith escribe sobre las consideraciones que un museo debe tomar al presentar este tipo de trabajo y comparte su opinión sobre el dilema actual:
At Tate Modern, seeds of discontent by the ton
LONDON — Last Wednesday I had a close encounter with “Sunflower Seeds,” the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei’s oceanic new installation piece in the cavernous Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern here. The work consists of roughly 100 million hand-painted porcelain sunflower seeds covering a vast expanse of floor to the depth of about four inches, and visitors were invited to wade right in. The black-and-white seeds crunched delightfully underfoot, and the whole thing resembled an indoor pebble beach, with people strolling about and then plunking down to sit or recline. One young man had buried himself.
As it turned out, my timing was lucky. By the next day “Sunflower Seeds” — the ninth in the Tate’s annual series of large-scale installations known as the Unilever commissions — had become the third to run into significant safety problems. In consultation with the artist, the Tate decided that people would no longer be allowed to enter the work, saying that the dust they stir up posed a health hazard. Now it can be viewed only from behind ropes or from the bridge that spans the Turbine Hall one floor up.
I could say I told them so, except I didn’t. I merely commented to my husband, as we looked down from the bridge a few days earlier, that the piece looked like an upper-respiratory disaster waiting to happen. It had not yet opened to the public, and was empty — except for one person off in the distance who was raking the seeds and wearing a surgical mask. That was a big clue.
My inkling was confirmed during my Wednesday visit, as I watched kids dashing through the seeds, followed by little clouds of dust, like Pigpen from “Peanuts.” And as other visitors settled into or sifted through Mr. Ai’s creation, we soon noticed our hands turning gray, as if we’d been reading a newspaper for hours.
What is the dust? The seeds, cast in porcelain, are painted with black slip — essentially liquid clay — and fired. (Some 1,600 residents of a village that once provided porcelain to the imperial court produced them over the course of several years, as documented in a video that accompanies the piece.) This process yields a matte finish that looks exactly like that of real sunflower seeds, but slip lacks glaze’s imperviousness to wear and tear.
The use of slip without glaze is highly unusual on porcelain, although typical on stoneware, with which it bonds more completely. But “stoneware” lacks the cultural resonance of “porcelain,” which refers to a form the Chinese invented, and using glaze would have made the seeds less seedlike and probably very slippery, creating a different problem for the public. All this suggests that Mr. Ai and the Tate must have known that his piece was something of a gamble from the start; so far, it appears that they took it and lost.
Holding the seeds in my hand, I found one already worn white by the friction of all the rubbing together and wondered if the entire expanse of them would have lost their markings by the end of the exhibition. Now we’ll never know, and a lot of lungs are probably the better for it.
As the perils of participatory art go, at least at the Tate, this latest example is probably the most profound. The problems in the other pieces were more easily avoided by visitors: In 2006 Carsten Höller’s enormous spiral slides reportedly caused a few injuries, and a year later three people got too close to Doris Salcedo’s “Shibboleth” — an extended, widening crack in the floor — and fell in.
Perhaps the Tate will finally learn its lesson about due diligence. For now, it is consulting with the artist about widening a pathway that runs along the long side the piece to allow more viewers to get close. It is also having what it calls the “ceramic dust” tested for its level of danger, in hopes that direct access can be restored to some extent.
Meanwhile, experientially, “Sunflower Seeds” has been severely curtailed, stripped, really, of the most appealing qualities of the work: not just the crackle produced by moving through the seeds, but also the way they slow your progress. Their quite un-sunflowery weight in your hand. The slightly overwhelming sense that each one is unique, like a fingerprint or a grain of sand, thanks to the three or four strokes of hand-painted black on both sides. None of this can really be experienced at a remove. All that remains is the vast grayness, stretching into the distance like a congealed sea, and of course the idea: the quantity, the labor, the care.
Before my Wednesday afternoon visit, I had watched a video segment on the Tate’s Web site, tate.org.uk, in which a curator cautioned people not to take the seeds. Until then, I had assumed that pocketing a few would be part of the experience, as with Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s piles of brightly wrapped candy.
And maybe now it should be — perhaps Mr. Ai and the museum should reconsider the prohibition, and hand out (or sell) little packets of the seeds. That way people could have some immediate contact and get a better idea of what moving across their gray terrain might be like, without putting their health at risk.
domingo, 17 de octubre de 2010
En Berlín, una exhibición sobre Hitler propone repensar el rol del pueblo alemán en un momento de creciente rechazo a los inmigrantes
An advertisement for the Hitler Youth program.Hitler exhibit explores a wider circle of guilt
BERLIN — As artifacts go, they are mere trinkets — an old purse, playing cards, a lantern. Even the display that caused the crowds to stop and stare is a simple embroidered tapestry, stitched by village women.
But the exhibits that opened Friday at the German Historical Museum are intentionally prosaic: they emphasize the everyday way that ordinary Germans once accepted, and often celebrated, Hitler.
The household items had Nazi logos and colors. The tapestry, a tribute to the union of church, state and party, was woven by a church congregation at the behest of their priest.
“This is what we call self-mobilization of society,” said Hans-Ulrich Thamer, one of three curators to assemble the exhibit at the German Historical Museum. “As a person, Hitler was a very ordinary man. He was nothing without the people.”
This show, “Hitler and the Germans: Nation and Crime,” opened Friday. It was billed as the first in Germany since the end of World War II to focus exclusively on Adolf Hitler. Germany outlaws public displays of some Nazi symbols, and the curators took care to avoid showing items that appeared to glorify Hitler. His uniforms, for example, remained in storage.
Instead, the show focuses on the society that nurtured and empowered him. It is not the first time historians have argued that Hitler did not corral the Germans as much as the Germans elevated Hitler. But one curator said the message was arguably more vital for Germany now than at any time in the past six decades, as rising nationalism, more open hostility to immigrants and a generational disconnect from the events of the Nazi era have older Germans concerned about repeating the past.
“The only hope for stopping extremists is to isolate them from society so that they are separated, so they do not have a relationship with the bourgeoisie and the other classes,” Mr. Thamer said. “The Nazis were members of high society. This was the dangerous moment.
“This we have to avoid from happening.”
Increasingly, Germans have put the guilt of the past behind them, reasserting their pride in national identity in many positive ways. But there also have been troubling signs seeping from the margins into the mainstream.
A best-selling book by a former banker promoted genetic theories of intelligence and said that Muslims were “dumbing down” society. A leading politician condemned “alien cultures.” A new right-wing party recently attracted hundreds to a speech by the far-right Dutch politician Geert Wilders.
Even government officials say that immigrant children are picking on native Germans. The media is filled daily with reports of conflict between immigrants, especially Muslims, and Germans.
The planners began discussing this kind of show 10 years ago, Mr. Thamer said. An expert committee viewed it as part of a continuum of penance and awareness that historians say began with the Auschwitz trials.
The process did not always go smoothly. A 1995 exhibition in Hamburg was widely condemned for showing that the Wehrmacht, or regular army, committed atrocities on the eastern front, just like the SS, the Nazi special police. The public was not ready to widen the sense of responsibility for Nazi-era wrongs.
But for this show, museum officials thought the time would be right. And in the end, they said, the timing added special value.
“It would be presumptuous to say that an exhibition could counter the radiance of populism,” said Rudolf Trabold, spokesman for the museum. “We try to achieve what we can afford, and to achieve our mission. But if that outshines the populist power of a Geert Wilders, I myself would not presume to say.”
As he walked through the exhibit on Friday, Eric Pignolet, a Belgian who has lived in Berlin for 22 years, said he was pleased that Germans were no longer saying, “I didn’t know.” But he said he was troubled by parallels between then and now.
“I think if you had someone like him today, it could be very dangerous,” he said halfway through his walk through the displays about Hitler. “There are a lot of people out there who want jobs, who are not happy with the political leadership, who would vote for someone like him if he came along.”
The line had already formed when the museum doors opened at 10 a.m. An estimated 3,000 visitors paid the $8.40 admission fee to see the nearly 1,000 items, including photographs, videos, uniforms and a narrative that explained the early appeal of a man and a party that offered jobs, pride and a sense of purpose, while employing wholesale violence and brutality to those who did not go along.
“This exhibition is about Hitler and the Germans — meaning the social and political and individual processes by which much of the German people became enablers, colluders, co-criminals in the Holocaust,” said Constanze Stelzenmüller, a senior trans-Atlantic fellow with the German Marshall Fund of the United States in Berlin. “That this was so is now a mainstream view, rejected only by a small minority of very elderly and deluded people, or the German extreme right-wing fringe. But it took us a while to get there.”
The museum placed the display downstairs, below street level, so it was dark and silent. Three images of Hitler projected on a mesh screen opened the show; behind them were pictures of cheering crowds, marching soldiers and other demonstrations of popular support. Around the corner were details of how Hitler was embraced early on, by the elite in Munich. “The wives of entrepreneurs, such as Elsa Bruckhmann, vied to be the first to drag Hitler” to a social event, one display said.
“Our teachers in the past, were integrated in that system, and I can remember they wanted to tell us that the German people became the first victim of Hitler, that they were practically mugged,” said Klaus Peter Triebel from Seefeld, near Munich.
The exhibit explains the early appeal of the Nazis, who demonstrated a keen appreciation for the politics of populism’s creating a sense of unity and purpose: “Attending popular sports events, film premiers, they dedicated autobahns and new industrial builds,” read a display.
There were also the familiar striped uniforms forced on prisoners in the concentration camps, and the cold calculation in maps that showed the division of Poland between Germany and Russia.
But over and over, the point was spelled out clearly in the exhibit’s plaques like one, near letters written by children who were sent off to concentration camps, that said: “Hitler was able to implement his military and extermination objectives because the military and economic elites were willing to carry out his war.”
The exhibit, with all its photographs of young and old adoring Hitler, also sought to dispel the notion that the Nazi spirit was simply impossible to resist. It held up Johann Georg Elser as proof that “it was possible for an individual to develop into a resistance fighter.”
Mr. Elser was a carpenter who tried to kill Hitler at the outset of the war and was hanged for his actions.
His story, however, left some viewers to wonder why their parents and grandparents had not rejected Hitler. Why everyone went mad.
“My father was a Hitler Youth,” said Gutfreund Keller, as she walked through the exhibit with her husband and two daughters. “It’s hard to understand.”
Stefan Pauly contributed reporting.
Arte contemporáneo en Venecia, Italia
| Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo's studio at Palazzo Fortuny. |
In arts capital, galleries fill a void
Venice has no permanent museum of contemporary art. Perhaps it has not felt the need for one because every two years the contemporary art world descends en masse for the Visual Arts Biennale, which for months occupies scores of locations all around the city.
In any case, there’s something paradoxical about a contemporary art museum. The longer a collection sits around, the less contemporary it becomes. The French multimillionaire François Pinault took over Palazzo Grassi, the Fiat Group’s flagship exhibition space on the Grand Canal, in 2005 and added the refurbished Dogana, or Customs House (on which he flies his own Breton flag), to his empire last year. He uses both spaces primarily to showcase his own collection of post-modern art. Some pieces on display at Palazzo Grassi go back nearly 50 years.
All of which is not to say that the city does not have a homegrown contemporary art scene, and much of it can be found in areas that have been steeped in art and artists for centuries.
Many of Venice’s commercial art galleries are concentrated in the central San Marco district, in a triangle of streets and squares between Palazzo Grassi, the Fenice Opera House and Palazzo Fortuny. There’s a cluster of galleries around the Fenice and another in and around the tiny San Samuele area behind Palazzo Grassi.
Veronese had his studio-house on the now gallery-lined Salizzada San Samuele. Casanova was born here, the illegitimate child of an actress and an aristocratic theatrical entrepreneur, and played the violin in the San Samuele theater where his mother performed. Byron lived here with his menagerie of exotic animals and mistresses. (At various points in its history, San Samuele was chiefly famous for its prostitutes.)
Fiat’s acquisition of Palazzo Grassi and the nearly 20-year run of blockbuster exhibitions it held there brought hundreds of thousands of visitors to San Samuele and encouraged the blossoming of the neighborhood’s cosmopolitan gallery scene. This was also a period when Venice’s stores were closing as the population declined and children became reluctant to follow their parents into family businesses. The spaces left vacant attracted a new generation of aspiring gallerists.
The galleries are small, and some represent only one or a limited range of artists. This is partly due to the economic squeeze: galleries fall back on reliable sellers to pay the rent rather than taking risks by showing untried artists. Italy’s arcane, restrictive licensing laws are another factor: it is easier to open an “artisanal” outlet authorized to display only one type of product, which, when applied to art, means the work of a single artist.
While the opening of a Palazzo Grassi show during the Fiat days was an event, as any of the San Samuele galleries will tell you now, Mr. Pinault has so far failed to create the same buzz. The number of visitors appears to have dwindled to a trickle — hardly surprisingly given the present show has been going on there since the last Visual Arts Biennale in 2009 and will remain in place until April, when it will have run for nearly two years. How edgy is that?
This lapse has spurred the galleries of the triangle to initiatives of their own. Fifteen of them put on “Three Days in September,” a jamboree to coincide with the opening of the Architectural Biennale and the Venice Film Festival, with late-night openings and drinks parties.
And Palazzo Fortuny, at another corner of the triangle, has become ever more lively. Shows and featured artists change frequently. At the moment there are seven simultaneous temporary exhibitions (continuing until Jan. 9) across its four floors.
The palazzo itself was once the working space of an artist. Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo arrived in Venice from Granada in 1899, four years after the first Venice Biennale, and took a studio in the attic of the 15th-century building that now bears his name. Painter, engraver, sculptor, photographer, fabric-maker, fashion and theater designer, inventor of a theatrical lighting system and stylish domestic lamps, he gradually took over the rest of the palazzo, floor by floor, to accommodate his pursuits.
At the time of his death in 1949, it was Fortuny’s hope that Palazzo Fortuny would become a Spanish cultural center, but his homeland refused the legacy and, when his widow, Henriette, died in 1956, the palazzo and its contents were left to Venice’s municipality.
Since then the palazzo has gone through phases of revival and neglect. But under the leadership of its current director, Daniela Ferretti, the Fortuny has been reborn. Over the past couple of years Ms. Ferretti has curated a series of colorful and entertaining exhibitions, increasingly mixing them with the Fortuny’s permanent collection — a successful formula, both enhancing the contemporary pieces and highlighting the collection.
Among the shows have been ones devoted to the Art Deco designer George Barbier, the sculptor and couturier Roberto Capucci, and the sculptors Isabelle de Borchgrave, working with painted papers, and Francesco Candeloro, with laser-cut plexiglass.
The current exhibitions open on the ground floor with the furniture, fabrics and portraits of the Irish artist Nuala Goodman. On the second floor, the works of two contemporary artists — the painter Marco Tirelli and the sculptor and jewelry maker Alberto Zorzi — are integrated with a rich variety of Fortuny pieces, including some beautiful examples of his fashions from two private collections. Two side rooms host a score of still-lifes by Giorgio Morandi, some on public view for the first time.
On the floor above are large canvases of Mr. Tirelli’s subtle monochrome images of geometrical forms and architectural spaces. The top floor is shared by 11 installations in glass, copper, gold and found objects by Giorgio Vigna, and by “My Wild Places,” 40 magnificent photographs by the Venetian-born Luca Campigotto, of mountains, deserts, polar wildernesses and oceans.
There are also, inevitably in Venice, artists pursuing their work, still unknown, but undaunted. On a recent Saturday morning stroll around the warren of narrow alleys near by, where the ladies of the night used to dwell, I came across an artist whose name you likely haven’t heard: Paolo Paitowsky. He was shaping his latest compositions: arrangements of carrots and apples in the iron window grills of his house, which he photographs — and then enters his work in competitions.
miércoles, 13 de octubre de 2010
Noticias :::
The floor of the gallery's vast Turbine Hall has been carpeted with 100 million porcelain seeds in a new installation by the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei. Visitors are encouraged to pick them up and crunch them underfoot for an interactive art experience.
However, Tate bosses have issued a stern warning after visitors on launch day said they were fighting the urge to take home a seed as a memento - raising the possibility that the 1,000sq metre work could be significantly smaller before the year is out.
"We are encouraging people to walk on them - but certainly not to take them," said Juliet Bingham, the curator.
The artist himself appeared tickled by the notion of his work spreading across the world via the pockets of visitors. But he said: "For the museum's part, the argument is very clear. This is a total work and we want people to see the full effect of 100 million seeds."
He was more worried about somebody mistaking them for the real thing. "People might also like to eat them. That's a safety issue. They might try to sue the Tate for that."
The installation is the latest in the Unilever Series. Previous works include Carsten Holler's giant slides and Olafur Eliasson's fake sun.
MAS INFO SOBRE LA EXHIBICION :::
The Turbine Hall at Tate Modern has been carpeted with more than 100 million "sunflower seeds" - the latest commission in the gallery's popular Unilever Series. Visitors will be able to walk on and touch the seeds - the brainchild of Chinese artist Ai Weiwei - which are in fact made of porcelain. Each imitation seed husk was individually handcrafted by skilled artisans and now covers 1,000 square metres of the London gallery's Turbine Hall. The ceramic seeds were moulded, fired at soaring temperatures, hand-painted and then fired again over the course of two years.
Sunflower seeds are a popular Chinese street snack but also hold another meaning for the artist, a political dissident in China. During the Cultural Revolution, propaganda images showed Chairman Mao as the sun and the mass of people as sunflowers turning towards him.
Chief curator Sheena Wagstaff said of the new work: "It's a beautifully simple idea that belies an extraordinary rich layer of meanings and references." Curator Juliet Bingham added: "To touch one seed is to touch the whole. It's a poignant commentary on the relationships between individuals and the masses."
More than 150 tonnes of seeds have been used for the 10cm (4in) deep, "extremely costly" installation produced by 1,600 people in China. The seeds were made over a process of 20 to 30 steps in the city of Jingdezhen, which is renowned for its production of imperial porcelain. Ai Weiwei said: "I made three or four seeds. I couldn't really make them. They picked them out and threw them away saying 'It looks so bad... It's no good'" At the end of the show all the seeds will be returned to the artist's studio in Beijing, as long as they have not broken under the weight of visitors' feet. Asked what he would do with the seeds afterwards, he joked: "I'll try to cook with them. Maybe some new product will come out." He said the artisans were surprised to have been asked to make the seeds, saying: "They are used to making practical objects" and that if he had explained the end result "nobody would believe it".
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Noticias ::: Fisk University files new plan to sell share in Stieglitz collection
Fisk University has drafted a new plan to sell a $30 million share in its art collection to an Arkansas museum, hoping that this time the court will sign off on the deal.
Documents filed with a Nashville chancery court Friday attempt to remove provisions that had raised alarms — including language that could have allowed the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art to slowly buy up the entire $73 million art collection if Fisk was unable to pay its share of the upkeep.
"Neither Fisk nor Crystal Bridges intended for this agreement to result in the erosion of Fisk's ownership in the Stieglitz collection," Fisk's attorneys wrote in the filing.
The university is asking the court to set aside the wishes of artist Georgia O'Keeffe, who gave the university 101 modern art masterpieces that she and her husband, photographer Arthur Stieglitz, had collected. The collection includes works by O'Keeffe, Picasso, Cezanne and Toulouse-Lautrec.
Fisk argued that the cost of maintaining the collection had become burdensome for the struggling school and that the $30 million sale agreement with Crystal Bridges is the only way to restore its depleted endowment fund.
Taking no chances, the university lifted much of the language for its changes directly from an earlier court order by Chancellor Ellen Hobbs Lyle. Lyle has given Tennessee Attorney General Bob Cooper — who is battling to block the sale and keep the art in Nashville — until Oct. 22 to submit new arguments against the sale.
Cooper has argued that setting aside O'Keeffe's wishes would have a chilling effect on charitable donations to other Tennessee universities and charities. In court, his attorneys also pointed out that Fisk has said it needs at least $150 million to get back on sound fiscal footing — and the $30 million art sale would be only a drop in the bucket.
"The fact remains that selling the Stieglitz Collection neither solves Fisk's underlying financial problems nor honors the intent of the donor, Georgia O'Keeffe," Cooper said in a statement. "There are alternatives that would ensure the collection remains available to Fisk students and the Nashville public in a way that honors the mission and the history of Fisk, protects the public interest and respects the donor's wishes."
Revised Plan
Earlier this fall, Cooper offered the court his proposal to keep the art in Nashville by moving it from Fisk to the Frist Center for the Visual Arts until the university was in better shape. Amid angry protests from Fisk students and the community, the judge rejected the proposal and ordered Cooper to focus on the merits of the sales agreement.
Fisk's revised sale plan removes a provision that would have set up a separate Delaware-based corporation to oversee the art and mediate between Fisk and Crystal Bridges. Opponents warned that the corporation, again, could have shifted the balance of power in the art-sharing agreement to Crystal Bridges' favor. Instead, the chancery court would oversee any disputes between the two sides.
The new contract also blocks Crystal Bridges from selling its share of the collection without the Davidson County court's permission.
It also beefs up the language in the contract urging that O'Keeffe's wishes be followed as closely as possible.
O'Keeffe's gift to Fisk came with a great many strings attached.
Along with her wish that the collection never be sold, O'Keeffe also left detailed instructions about everything from how the collection should be displayed to the color the gallery walls should be painted.
Rotating Collection
The deal Fisk hopes to strike with Crystal Bridges would rotate the collection between Nashville and Bentonville, Ark.
The new agreement outlines the first schedule for the art swap: The art would remain at Fisk until 2013, go to Crystal Bridges for two years, then return to Fisk from 2015 to 2017 and continue to rotate every two years.
While the art is out of town, the empty spaces in the university's Van Vechten gallery would be filled with images of the art and interactive computer kiosks for students to access information about the collection.
"In the 21st century, museums have adopted the practice of sharing artwork to reduce the cost of acquisition and to ensure that a broader segment of the population can view and study collections," Fisk University President Hazel O'Leary said in a statement. "The students of Fisk, to whom Georgia O'Keeffe made the gift of art, citizens of Nashville and of the state of Tennessee, are in no way adversely impacted by this sharing agreement. Rather, because of the sharing arrangement, more people in the South can enjoy and study The Stieglitz Collection which was the donor's intent."
martes, 12 de octubre de 2010
El Pais ::: La maleta mexicana
Fotografía de David Seymour, Chim (1911-1956).Me habían dejado solo en una gran habitación que tenía algo de almacén y de archivo, con una mesa muy larga en el centro, con lámparas bajas que difundían una luz de clínica. Ahora no estoy seguro de si había alguna ventana, pero el caso es que no recuerdo haberme asomado a una. La habitación estaba en el piso catorce o quince de una torre de la Sexta Avenida, muy cerca del tráfico de la Calle 42, agravado aquella mañana por esa mezcla vengativa de lluvia helada y viento que se abate sobre Nueva York algunos días de invierno. Pero en mi recuerdo de la habitación hay un silencio de cripta o cámara de seguridad que se confirmó cuando una secretaria se me acercó calladamente por detrás para pedirme que leyera y firmara una declaración de confidencialidad, uno de esos meticulosos documentos legales a los que hay tanta afición en Estados Unidos. Me comprometía a no sacar nada del archivo sin autorización expresa y a no difundir nada de lo que encontrara en él sin acuerdo previo con la institución que me había invitado. Leí por encima, más que nada por no dar una impresión de falta de seriedad a la secretaria, y firmé con mi descuido español, con prisa, para seguir volcado sobre las fundas de plástico de los archivadores en los que estaba viendo, en tiras de contactos, las más de cuatro mil fotos de la llamada maleta mexicana de Robert Capa, Gerda Taro y David Seymour, Chim.
La llegada de la secretaria me había sacado fugazmente de la cripta de tiempo en la que volví a sumergirme durante varias horas. Una semana antes había recibido un correo electrónico de Cynthia Young, del International Center of Photography. Estaban terminando de catalogar esos millares de fotografías y les quedaban dudas sobre algunos de los personajes y los lugares que aparecían en ellas. Si a mí no me importaba, si tenía tiempo, me agradecerían que fuera a revisarlas. Peleando con un paraguas que desbarataban los golpes contrarios de viento de todas las esquinas, avanzando entre la gente apresurada y el tráfico mientras la lluvia me calaba los zapatos y me mojaba en frías rachas casi horizontales los pantalones llegué a la torre contigua al edificio donde está la sala de exposiciones del ICP. Unos minutos después me había olvidado de la lluvia, de la mañana de invierno, de las sirenas de los camiones de bomberos, de Nueva York, del presente. Estaba sentado en un extremo de aquella mesa tan larga, bajo la luz blanca de las lámparas, y tenía delante de mí cinco enormes archivadores de anillas, de tapas negras. Dentro de ellos estaba mi país. Era como haber levantado la tapa de un baúl que nadie ha abierto en muchísimos años y recibir de golpe todo el olor del tiempo, el pasado intacto, en estado puro, dolorosamente familiar y al mismo tiempo desconocido; era como encontrar de pronto un yacimiento arqueológico de mi vida más íntima: de esa parte crucial de la propia vida que tuvo lugar antes de que uno naciera.
Cynthia Young, una mujer seria, joven, concentrada, tensa a la manera americana, me propuso que eligiera alguna foto que me gustara mucho y escribiera un ensayo breve sobre ella para el catálogo. Pero cómo elegir, entre aquella abundancia, entre tanto dolor de hace ya casi tres cuartos de siglo, preservado en frágiles negativos, salvado casi por un milagro del azar de la gran catástrofe de Europa. En cada foto había una sorpresa, una desgarradura, un reconocimiento. Vi campesinos trillando en el campo en cualquiera de los veranos de la guerra. Vi milicianos con alpargatas, con sombreros de paja, con cascos desiguales procedentes de quién sabe qué batallas, durmiendo tirados sobre la tierra pelada, derrumbados de agotamiento, o compartiendo platos de rancho, o lanzándose al asalto por laderas pedregosas. Vi un hombre con boina sucia y cara sin afeitar que lleva en brazos a un chico grandullón que está herido o está muerto, y detrás de él una pared encalada, y un portalón de maderas viejas. Y en cada uno de esos detalles reconocía con pena y ternura las superficies tan ásperas de mi país, que era tan pobre en los tiempos en que se tomaron esas fotografías, que lo siguió siendo cuando yo empezaba a tener recuerdos. Mi mundo verdadero estaba en las fotos, no en la sala de la que me había olvidado, no en la ciudad que se extendía más allá. Esas personas que las habrían examinado y catalogado, qué sentirían cuando vieran lo que para mí era pura memoria, cuando comprobaran en las enciclopedias los datos de una guerra nebulosa y exótica, con figurantes de uniformes tan desiguales, con mujeres y niños a los que se les veía correr huyendo de las bombas por calles abstractas de ciudades en guerra, en las que un letrero, un cartel medio desgarrado en un muro, me permitían a mí identificar un lugar exacto, una fecha.
A veces reconocía caras, y como eran fotos que no se han visto nunca o casi nunca la persona retratada cobrada una presencia estremecedora: Manuel Azaña, fotografiado por Chim, quizás en la primavera de 1936, o a principios del verano, en el tiempo tan breve que pasó entre su elección como presidente de la República y el comienzo del desastre, más cercano y verdadero porque no está posando, porque el fotógrafo lo ha tomado por sorpresa mientras charla y gesticula; Hemingway, compartiendo cigarrillos y risas con algunos militares y con Herbert Matthews, el valeroso corresponsal de The New York Times; Dolores Ibarruri, pensativa, no épica ni declamatoria, en un interior de penumbra, recostada en un sofá; y Federico García Lorca, visto de golpe, al pasar una página, inédito en ese gesto de atención cotidiana, la cara carnosa moldeada por una fuerte luz matinal, la chaqueta moderna, como de entretiempo, la corbata clara resaltando contra la camisa más oscura, un hombre joven en la plenitud de sus treinta y siete años, una mañana como cualquier otra de una vida en la que no hay ningún indicio del espantoso porvenir: el porvenir que no está fijado, que podría no suceder.
Cynthia Young me señaló una foto sobre la que no tenía ninguna pista, tomada desde una ventana: una calle ancha, con edificios altos a los lados, con toldos, con largas sombras como de principio de la mañana o final de la tarde, con automóvil y figuras diminutas de gente. Al instante reconocí la Gran Vía de Madrid, una mañana tal vez de principios de verano, por los toldos que hay en casi todos los portales, y deduje por el ángulo el lugar donde había sido tomada la foto: una ventana alta del hotel Florida, que estaba en la esquina de Callao, y donde se alojaron durante la guerra tantos corresponsales y visitantes extranjeros. Pero fijándose bien no hay signos de guerra: es una hora temprana, el aire permanece fresco en las zonas de sombra, circulan los coches, desde la distancia de la ventana muy alta se ve a la gente caminando sin miedo, sin demasiada prisa.
Rediscovered Spanish Civil War negatives by Capa, Chim, and Taro. International Center of Photography. Nueva York. Hasta el 9 de enero de 2011. www.icp.org. antoniomuñozmolina.es
lunes, 11 de octubre de 2010
Reinaugura el Museo de Arte de Ponce
lunes, 4 de octubre de 2010
Dinosaurios!
Museo de Ciencias Naturales de La Plata