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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.

 …if you’re female, or female-presenting, or if you’re queer, or a person of color, we have made a lot of inroads in a lot of different fields, businesses, but we are in no way where we should be—where we deserve to be.”

-Lola Flash

 

Lola Flash’s retrospective at Pen + Brush, 1986 to Present, honors creative activism at its finest.

As a queer black woman, Flash, at age 59, has used the medium of photography and photographic processes to confront the dual injustice of invisibility and stereotypical portrayals of gender, sexuality, race, and age for over three decades. Her portraits, many of which were taken with a 4×5 camera, serve to capture those in her communities who are often overlooked. Beginning in 1986, Flash documented her involvement with the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP) demonstrations and also employed cross-color film processing to reverse the printed photograph’s colors—further illuminating how one person’s blue-sky can be another’s fire-red horizon.

Now on view, Flash’s “Cross-Color” series presents a new world to behold, where black is white and what’s usually identifiable is obscured, exhibited alongside five portrait series, in which Flash invites viewers to see her world, her communities of individuals, in all their unique specificity. The “[sur]passing” series explores the spectrum of race; “surmise” captures fluid presentations of gender; SALT challenges ageism; LEGENDS spotlights leaders of the LGBTQ+ movement; and Incarceration, a singular self-portrait, is the inaugural piece in a series about the mass imprisonment of people of color. Together, this historic retrospective of seventy-one photographs spans a life of advocacy that Flash explains can be united by a simple message: “Look at us,” she implores, “How can you not love us?”

“A lifetime of creative activism needs honoring,” author Juno Roche, writes in the catalog accompanying the photography exhibition, and “needs acknowledgement and celebration.” Pen + Brush, the expansive gallery and organization that has been dedicated to championing women in the arts for over a century, is doing just this by kicking off 2018, another year of resistance, with the Lola Flash Retrospective, now on view through March 17, 2018.

Read our conversation at The Rail.

For the June issue of Curve magazine, I connected with Ariel Levy to discuss “too much” women and her memoir, The Rules Do Not Apply. The interview and book review are in the Pride issue and on newsstands now.

 

 

During our interview, I asked Ariel why she published this memoir about losing the life she was authoring for herself, which included being a reporter, wife, and mother. She did not spare herself. Ariel went well beyond the writer’s call to sit down with the page and open a vein.

Yet writing is one thing, publishing another.

“These extraordinarily intense things happen to the human female animal around the reproductive system,” she responded. “If you’re female, you will have some kind of drama around menstruation or pregnancy or birth or menopause.”

Ariel continued; noting that as a feminist, she believed:

“The whole world of human reproduction in the human female animal—that affects half the human population—is not something that is a subject for literature much. So I felt strongly that this was a legitimate subject to write about and that it was worthwhile.”

Through Ariel’s willingness to put her life on the page, to lay her mind and body bare, we can become better acquainted with our own thoughts, discover shared experiences, and challenge our perceptions as we keep evolving, generation after generation.

This is the revolutionary Mother Nature of memoir.

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