Archives for category: Art

Unabashedly gushing over artist Zilia Sánchez in Bust

Bust’s raison d’être is for feminists with something to get off their chests. So I wrote about experiencing Zilia Sánchez’s work for the first time in 2018 and being furious about it. See why: Artist Zilia Sánchez’s Soy Isla (I Am an Island) Retrospective Comes Ashore. 

ElMuseo ZiliaSanchez

Like two plumes of smoke rising on a bright day, Juana de Arco (Joan of Arc) (1987) features two painted panels billowing nearly to the ceiling. The immensity of the body brings to mind the historic magnitude of the title’s heroine, and as I look closely at the curves, crevices, lips, and nipples, the sensation of surveying the landscape around the open legs of a love with whom I want to forget time.

Soy Isla is scheduled to be on view at  El Museo Del Barrio November 20, 2019 – March 22, 2020. (El Museo is closed for public health concerns – stay tuned for more information.)

The exhibition catalog is viewable here: Embodied Spaces of Zilia Sánchez.

Twenty years ago, I studied abroad in England–curious to learn something new. When I arrived, I took a train into London for a welcome orientation weekend, before heading north to Lancaster University. Moments after checking into a nondescript, student-friendly hotel, I met Mel.

Our connection was instantaneous; it felt timeless, as if we had always been and would forever be.

Mel was destined for the University of Sussex. And nobody–not even baby dykes–started a long-distance relationship on the first day of study abroad, back when prepaid phone cards were the only option.

We became friends and eventually partners. The only anniversary we cared to celebrate was the day we met.

For our 20th, we went back to London. We found our hotel, piecing together fragments from my journal, her scrapbook, my photographic memory, her pigeon-like sense of direction. It was still a hotel. And London was still London; so the rain started to fall as we gazed up at the third-floor window of the bunkbed room we first shared.

Mel and I ducked into the lobby and were kindly offered a cup of tea. We waited out the passing shower.

“This is where we met,” we kept repeating.

Tracey Emin I want my time with you 2018

Tracey Emin, I want my time with you, 2018

Serendipitously, one of my favorite artists, Tracey Emin, also had a public art piece on view at the St Pancras International station.

I Want My Time With You stretched 20 meters, over 65-feet, across wrought iron and glass roof. The nearby Champagne Bar by Searcys offered a stunner view.

We rang for Champagne but learned there was an English sparkling on the menu we decided to give a go.

Mel and I toasted to our time–and to wanting more.

Coming across public art often feels like stumbling upon unburied treasure. Never before have I had a chance to see it planted.

I commute through Madison Square Park. For months, I’ve watched the installation of contemporary artist Diana Al-Hadid’s Delirious Matter.

Like an artist sketch made public, the construction began last April. The first of her six sculptures began to take form. Webby steel cables rose from the park’s dry, reflection pool, covered in construction tarps and CAUTION tape.

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WIP, mid-installation. Delirious Matter by Diana Al-Hadid

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“Citadel” slowly emerged. The site-specific sculpture, a bust of a female figure, took shape from Al-Hadid’s materials of delicately dripped polymer modified gypsum and fiberglass, a plaster mixture that resembles a blown open beehive.

“Citadel” by Diana Al-Hadid

One of three “Synonym”

Each day, I walked a different route through the park to observe the progress. Three reclining female figures, titled “Synonym,” were erected, headless, and elevated on their own lawns in peripheral gardens.

For a week of mornings, I left early to ogle at a grounds crew plowing trenches.

“They’re actually digging up Madison Square Park,” I told my colleague who was also interested in art.

“We usually can’t even sit on the grass,” he said, impressed. “I’m gonna have to check this out.”

We looked up the New York Times review by journalist Hilarie Sheets.

“I was educated by Modernist instructors in the Midwest,” said Al-Hadid, who was born in Aleppo, Syria and emigrated to Ohio as a child, “but also was raised in an Islamic household with a culture that very much prizes narrative and folklore.”

“If you look back at old masters, you can extract a lot about the role of women, either encased in a giant pile of fabric or lounging horizontally — dead or fainting or sleeping,” Al-Hadid told the Times.

“Tracing how women have been depicted in art history as objects of purity or desire,” Sheets wrote, “Diana Al-Hadid will exhibit new architecturally scaled sculptures riffing off timeworn female types.”

“The Grotto” and “Gradiva”

The trenches were planted with what Madison Square Park Conservancy refers to as “plant material,” first, undulating at all different heights, and then trimmed into line. The shrubbery rows united two 14-foot wall sculptures, “Gradiva” and “The Grotto,” into a rectangular hedge room in the middle of the Oval Lawn.

The sculptures were inspired by the “Allegory of Chastity” (circa 1475) and a bas-relief of a woman named Gradiva, Latin for “she who walks,” that Sheets reported was a fixation of Sigmund Freud, amongst others.

“These figurative fragments,” said Brooke Kamin Rapaport, of Mad. Sq. Art, “pivot between ruin and regeneration.”

Like the female experience. Like Spring. Like community life in a public park, turned gallery, for an outdoor exhibition.

Since Delirious Matter launched in May, here are a few the moments I’ve observed swirling around Al-Hadid’s art:

Pre-school Graduation and “Citadel”

  • A pre-school graduation
  • Countless coffees
  • Thunderstorms with lightening
  • A dead squirrel being fished out of the watery gown of “Citadel
  • Piano players
  • Dogs peeing
  • Someone barking into his smartphone that a co-worker was a “cunt, bitch”
  • Another that someone was a “pussy”
  • A game of tag running around the base of a “Synonym
  • Nanny meetups
  • Solo lunch breaks, people in office clothes silently eating salads with company badges clipped to their belt loops

A “Synonym” and the Hedge Room

Once every so often, the fences were rolled back. My partner and I happened upon the such an opening one strangely quiet Friday evening at dusk. Up close, we observed Al-Hadid’s sculptures and were surprised by their durability. From afar, they appeared ephemeral, willowy but tenacious, as spider webs or maybe more accurately described as their nests.

A toddler climbed on “Gradiva.

“Whose kid is this?” I shouted (likely including an expletive).

As Spring warmed to record-breaking Summer heatwaves:

  • A sunbather in a bikini, reading a book, dipped her toes in “Citadel
  • Daydreamers
  • Picnics beneath “The Grotto”
  • A man learning to play the harmonica
  • Female colleagues plotting
  • A kids’ concert, strollers parked near one of the “Synonym” like taxis idling at JFK
  • Pride
  • That steam pipe explosion, blowing clouds uptown over the entirety of the park and its Delirious Matter.
  • And finally, this blog.

I wrote a draft, sitting on the Oval Lawn, my back against a tree, alternating my gaze from the page to Al-Hadid’s hedge room.

My commute changes on Monday, but Delirious Matter shows through September 3, 2018.

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