Continuing Education Blog

Paintings of Blondes by Lisa Yuskavage (l) and John Currin (r)

In an EXCLUSIVE statement to this School of Visual Arts CE Blog, Jeffrey Deitch announced his first exhibition at LA MOCA, where he was recently appointed as its Director.

The survey Gentlemen Prefer Blondes will inaugurate Deitch’s directorship of the institution, which has struggled in recent years.  Focusing on art made by or about blonde American women artists, it will also take the unorthodox position of including art represented and sold by blonde women, and art collected by blonde women.

(l-r) Sothebys' Lisa Dennison; Artist Kristin Baker, gentleman, Curator Alison Gingeras

“Just What Is It that Makes Today’s Blondes So Different, So Appealing?” asks Deitch, both rhetorically and literally.  “Moreover, Where Do Blondes Come From? What Are Blondes? Where Are Blondes Going?”

More Fun: (l-r) Artist Jen DeNike, Gallerist Amy Smith-Stewart, Artist Meredith Danluck

“Jeffrey realized that there’s something special about blondes, that they are rare, and they are often charismatic and individual,” said a Deitch/LA MOCA staff member who requested anonymity because she was not authorized to comment.  “Being blonde is a special talent that really can’t be taught.  In that sense, Blondes are much like artists.  Both are often marginalized.  The show is ultimately about awareness.”

Cicciolina (top) and Jeff Koons (bottom)

To even further defy convention, “Gentlemen” will also include art made by famous actresses and media figures, living or dead, perhaps a consequence of Deitch’s recent relocation to Hollywood.  Sources have reported that Deitch has met with several top talent agencies, while today’s statement already confirms the inclusion of blonde entertainers Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Paris Hilton, Jennifer Aniston, Jihad Jane, Anne Coulter, and Carrie Prejean, who currently faces a lawsuit regarding unpaid PR services, as reported earlier this week.

Jihad Jane (l), Cindy McCain (r)

Though the show will occupy the entire MOCA facility, one gallery will be dedicated to Brittany Murphy, whose death last December occurred in the same week that Deitch negotiated with Eli Broad over the future of LA MOCA.

“Blondes are just as famous in life as in death,” says Deitch.  “Take the late JonBenet Ramsey.  She has become a near universal icon of the dangers faced by little blonde girls.”

The controversial show raises some complicated questions about curating and exhibiting art, and indeed, the nature of art itself.

(l-r) Karen Kilimnik w/ Kirsten Dunst; Kim Cattrall w/ Klaus Biesenbach

(l-r) Artist Anne Collier; Artist Charline von Heyl w/ Kim Gordon

“We embrace troubling questions,” says Deitch.  “For example, what about women who have dyed their hair blonde?  Dyed blondes commit their time, energy, and money to maintain their blonde look.  Dedication like that proves that they might truly be blonde on the inside.”

(l-r) Brunettes w/ Blonde gallerist Elizabeth Dee

“Anyway, it’s the only way to admit Madge,” he added, before gently chiding viewers about blonde classification.  “We prefer not to call them ‘Bottle Blondes,’ which others may mistakenly relate to nursing.  And in this economy, let’s tread lightly around hair coloring products, which make up a multi-billion dollar industry.”

(l-r) Curator Lauren Cornell w/ brunettes; brunette assisting art dealer Marianne Boesky

Deitch anticipates unease about framing a show around its participants’ hair color, something that is arguably, in a larger sense, outside of their control.  To solve this problem, Deitch has invited blonde Lauren Cornell, Executive Director of Rhizome and Adjunct Curator at the New Museum, to work alongside MOCA curator Paul Schimmel.  Previously, Lauren Cornell co-curated Younger than Jesus at the New Museum, a show similarly determined in part by the biological constitution of its participants.

Smart Blonde: Lauren Cornell (l) and Lauren Cornell (r)

“She is a smart blonde,” Deitch asserts.

Artist Jessica Craig-Martin reading Sean Landers' book, SIC

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes also takes risks because it is comprised entirely of women.  Will this strike museum audiences as myopic – or even discriminatory?  And is this problem compounded by the prevalence of male artists painting female subjects?  Deitch demurs, insisting that Blonde women deserve institutional regard.

Amanda Lepore by David LaChapelle, ditto

“First, women artists have been systematically underexposed, even though they have always contributed just as much to Art as men have.  Remember, there would be no artists at all if women did not give birth to them.”

Sante D'Orazio, "Smiling" (l) and Mel Ramos "Doggie Dinah" (r)

“Second, ‘blonde’ is culturally a more potent signifier where women are concerned.  It is gender-specific.  Blonde women can be idolized.  Blond men, ironically, seem emasculated.”

Blond Men: Do They Matter?

With uncharacteristic brio, Deitch dares the reader:

“Name three famous blonde women and three famous blond men.  The latter is considerably more difficult, because nobody cares about blond men.”

Gold = fun ; more Gold = more fun

What just happened? was the dominant thought as dumbstruck art kids shuffled out of a second-floor gallery at PS1.  To hear the varied accounts is like watching Rashomon.  Everyone saw the same events unfold, but every version is different.

As part of the new Saturday Sessions initiative at PS1, curators Sarvia Jasso and Andres Bedoya brought their Brooklyn is Burning faction to Queens.  After performance artist Georgia Sagri completed her self-hijacking fugue, most viewers were shocked when the next performer, Ann Liv Young, took the stage and verbally trashed Georgia’s romp.  Then it gets blurry (and messy).

Ann Liv Young urinated into a tray, Georgia left and then returned with middle fingers ablazing, both taunted each other, and then Ann Liv Young began masturbating on the floor, flopping and grinding her pelvis toward Georgia, her bare flesh flapping against Christian Marclay’s matrix of vinyl records.

Ann Liv Young, censored by me (Photo: David Shapiro/MUSEO)

Not sure what happened to Georgia after that, because most (wide) eyes were on Ann, who now appeared to be bleeding downstairs and staggering around with the tray of urine, only to spill a little and then dump it over herself like a Gatorade tank on Coach Paterno.  And now the lights are out.  “Is this real?” some wondered aloud.  “Is it part of the show?” “Maybe it’s like a Martin Creed sort of thing.”  No wonder the NY Times said of Ann Liv Young, “For the viewer it can be hard to tell if the show is unraveling or if Young’s behavior is the show itself.”

Who made the call to cut the power?  Many people blame the PS1 staff for silencing a daring performance.  That would be especially confusing if it came down from new Director Klaus Biesenbach.  The champion of the edgy and provocative Marina Abramovic wouldn’t be easily shocked; Ann Liv Young has nothing he hasn’t seen before, right?

(l-r) Ulay, some guy, Marina Abramovic; Marina Abramovic

After all, who can forget “the Vault,” which was the subterranean sex dungeon component of Klaus’ 2006 survey at PS1, Into Me/Out of Me?  How about the sensational Pipilotti Rist supervideo he brought to MoMA, Pour Your Body Out (7354 Cubic Meters)?  Rist’s psyche-sanguine content was risky (risty?) business, too – and one of the absolute coolest undertakings we’ve ever seen at the new MoMA.  He also brought us the mesmerizing Douglas Gordon: Timeline and at PS1, Fassbinder: Berlin Alexanderplatz. Hot!

That Marina photo reminds me of Man Ray's "Le Violin D'Ingres"

But then PS1 has compromised unusual projects for specious reasons.  One example comes from a few years ago, when PS1 support staff removed part of an installation by Jesse Bercowetz & Matt Bua: a dead chicken suspended from a window.

Artist and Brooklyn is Burning participant Julia Oldham might be the first to have blogged about the event.  We chatted about it over email and I spoke for the steady stream of dejected viewers upset about a repressive gesture that looked reactionary and hypocritical.  But don’t listen to me; I was just riled up after watching Keith Olbermann all day to help with my merciless winter depression.

Even if Klaus issued the cut-off directive, it might be unfair to wolf-cry censorship.  Censorship entails a greater degree of deliberation for the purpose of personal or political gain. If an aggressive performer is bleeding, flinging urine, and staggering around, maybe a prudent adult should hit the Panic Button.  Intervening into the escalating altercation might have prevented a catfight or worse.  Or maybe PS1 thought Ann Liv Young’s performance spilled over into uncooth hysteria, and censorship doesn’t apply, since antics aren’t really content.  Maybe Admiral Klaus ruled that Ann had jumped the shark when the mad clam bared its teeth.

nom nom nom meow

More Ann Liv Young (link NSFW)

UPDATE 1: From BiB co-curator Sarvia Jasso:
As one of the curators of BiB, I would like to take this opportunity to express my opinion about the event at PS1. Despite the fact that BiB is a collaborative project, my fellow curator Andres Bedoya and I have respectfully diverging opinions that have not necessarily been fully reflected in any of the statements posted thusfar.

While I do not claim to know the reason the museum turned the lights off, I can say that the perceived animosity and escalating verbal and gestural attacks in the room from one artist to another were absolutely antithetical to my understanding of what BiB represents. The situation ultimately compromised the participation of the other artists involved, causing the last artist to perform in the dark. Despite the unforeseen and unfortunate outcome, I remain committed to a completely open format for expression. I think the framework (content and context) for any ensuing discussions should take into account the complexities of experiencing a live performance within an institution, instead of jumping to the conclusion that the impetus for removing power during the event originated in an attempt at censoring the performers.

A claim of censorship could easily develop into a self-serving mythology with its own inertia, which could then quickly become detached from the event itself. I think we need to be very clear that no one was asked to leave and all of the planned performances occurred during the course of the event.
From a curatorial point of view, a broad range of performances is vital to the program, but the underlying message always stays the same—BiB is forging a community that respects and celebrates diversity in all its complexities. Anybody who has ever attended a BiB event can attest to the fact that we try to create a positive environment in which to present work that can be challenging and, at times, difficult to digest.

UPDATE 2: From PS1:
The decision by the Director of PS1 to curtail the performances near the end of Saturday Sessions was made to safeguard the audience, performers, and PS1 staff from an escalating and potentially volatile situation. The performers’ actions were not previously discussed with or planned by PS1.

James Franco was there! Where’s my camera? Battery is dead! Quick, help me MacGyve a camera using some girl’s compact mirror and a Heineken bottle! Results are fuzzy, but better than nothing…

Sharp-dressed man Klaus Biesenbach threw a private bash at the Raleigh Hotel to celebrate his new assignment as Director of PS1. As the silver-haired don ushered around his Pineapple Puffin’ Silver-Screen Sensation – mutual fans of each other – the surrounding starstruck aesthetes whispered to each other about Franco: “Is he or isn’t he?” Nobody knew for sure, and those kissing scenes in Milk were just fiction – right? And who will he kiss in the upcoming Howl film? (Insert “beard” pun here…)

(l-r) James Franco confers with Klaus Biesenbach

Video artist/ soap opera auteur/ cocoa cabaret/ Guggenheim fellow Kalup Linzy did her best to rock the mic – in a wig and onesie, she worked it – despite the distracting technical difficulties that cut the mic every few seconds. Still, nothing could cut that look. “Nice package,” someone murmured. (”What did you say, James?”)

Package delivered: Kalup Linzy performs at The Raleigh

And Ryan McNamara seized the night with a Saint-Theresa reverie that entailed gazing misty eyed to the heavens, and then waving and gyrating frenetically through the crowd, pelvic-thrusting and air-humping with a dramatic (and shiny-faced) climax perched on the windowsill, grinding against the glass pane. Keen eyes might have noticed that he was wearing two left shoes, one of which lingered long after the party ended. Maybe it’s still there.

My Left Foot: Ryan McNamara

Koh intern and vamp, Val

“If I were a member, I’d be livid,” whispered one super fierce publishing figure last night at the National Arts Club, referring to the dinner jacket-clad grown-ups who weren’t there for the Terence Koh lecture, who might have felt uncomfortably bumrushed by the scores of the artist’s ab fab fans, friends, a-KOH-lytes, and KOH-konspirators.

Garrick Gott and event organizer Stacy Engman, NAC Chair of Contemporary Art

To appease the outnumbered, but patient and actually very welcoming real NAC members, and to satiate the hungry, anxious club visitors, refreshments were abundant, including exotic absinthe spritzers, chocolate covered ants, port wine cheese spread, and Campbell’s soup with straws.

Who was there? Who wasn’t?

NAC President Arlene S. Hamsun introduces Terence Koh

Marina Abramovic, Klaus Biesenbach, Phil and Shelley Aarons, Jerry Saltz, Roberta Smith, Cecilia Dean, Adam McEwen, Jeffrey Deitch, Mary Boone (happy belated birthday, still sexy at 58), RoseLee Goldberg, Kathy Grayson, Sophia Lamar…

…and lots of fashion people I can identify only by their looks.

W.W.W.D.?

The patrician, oil-on-canvas dinner jacket set would have been pleased.

Armchair historians

At 45 minutes, with nearly 400 images handpicked from local libraries and the artist’s bookshelves, individually scanned to ensure the highest quality, Terence Koh’s Art History 1642-2009 was a whirlwind tour of Western and Eastern Art, mostly chronological from 1642 to the present, and admitting into the Koh canon a few book covers, party photos, vintage porn, and even some line graph charts to diagram art market confidence.

Autumnal Degas moment at the NAC

Who was in it?  Who made the Terence Koh Canon?

KOHlympia

Marcel Duchamp, Vermeer, Velasquez, Warhol, Koons, Aurel Schmidt, Adam McEwen, Marina Abramovic, David Shrigley, Goya, Rembrandt, Judd, Bourgeois, Wojnarowicz, William Blake, Hockney, Rob Pruitt, Kelley Walker, Dash Snow, Bruce High Quality Foundation, Karen Black/Kembra Pfahler, Christian Holstad;

Maurizio Cattelan, Aaron Bondaroff, Muntean/Rosenblum, Yoko Ono, Bianca Jagger, Nauman, Robert Smithson, Yayoi Kusama, James Lee Byars, Girodet, Chardin, Flavin, Jenny Saville, Damien Hirst, Julian Schnabel, Murakami, Zhang Huan, General Idea, Dan Colen – not in that order (no McGinley? no AVAF?) – and that’s just a fraction of art history according to Terence Koh – which is more expansive than the Eurocentric humanities courses I took in college.

RIP Jeanne-Claude, Long live Bruce High Quality

Koh spoke his own private ida-Koh language, which sounds something like Proto-Indo-Cabbie, though I heard someone ask Terence if it was Swedish.

Tonight at NAC

He barely stopped to breathe, only taking breaks to sip from his glass of vodka.  He frequently strided away from his lectern to gesticulate and indicate details of the projected images.

A few times, he ranted at a rapid-fire clip, sounded like a Sotheby’s auctioneer, notably while discussing the Jeff Koons chrome bunny, which at the scale of the projection, looked like a anthropomorphic Sputnik.

RIP Dash Snow

Terence shouted and waved his arms indignantly while covering pictures of Hitler looking at artwork, and in the more emotive moments, slowed and spoke solemnly, especially when Dash Snow appeared, and when he displayed AA Bronson’s heartbreaking AIDS revelation, Felix, which is, for me, one of the most moving images of contemporary art since I first saw it in the 2002 Whitney Biennial.

Long live AA Bronson

In these heavyhearted moments, Terence sounded plantive and morose, though somehow resisted tears.  His lecture was politically charged, addressing, for example, 20th Century China and the Reagan administration’s delusional failure to intervene during the incipient AIDS epidemic.

Ups and Downs

And although nobody but Terence understood his words, he still said a lot, contextualizing himself and refreshingly reminding us that ultimately, art is remembered for being seen, and all that matters is how it looks!

Shrigley vs. Seymour (vs. Brant)

Is this the new Terence Koh, post market crash, post Snow?  Still cheeky, but more substantial, orchestrated, polychrome, narrative, and profound?  Let’s find out at his “secret” performance tomorrow evening at Tompkins Square Park.

Ike-Koh (gesundheit!)

Oh, and rumor reveals a potential Terence Koh/Lady Gaga collaboration! DisKOH Stick!

From the misty Accabonac Harbor, Terence Koh arrived by kayak. His magnificent wedding gown enveloped him like a cloud of cornstarch.* The wedding attendees whispered and chuckled in awe and mirth, respectively, as the art star bride touched upon the shore and disembarked from his vessel. He tip-toed through the rain-soaked grass to his groom, Garrick Gott, who sat perched in a tree like the charming lovebird he is.

Böcklin, Isle of the Dead, 1880

Twenty (or so) lovers of love responded to the last-minute request of the pleasure of their company at the marriage of longtime lovers and former Canadians, Terence Koh and Garrick Gott. The private garden ceremony was New York-minute brief, yet epic; beach casual, yet precious. And despite the overwhelming fabulosity, the palpable romance fostered wholesome tenderness.

Alight Up My Life

Koh patron and host Philip Aarons presided, offering an eloquent, anecdotal canticle on the young couple. Terence and Garrick beamed as they smooched under the Koh-crafted tulle veil (KOHTURE, he calls it), thanked everyone for coming, then tossed the bouquet. Nobody caught it the first time, so they tossed it again.

Curator Shamim M. Momin

After cutting the cake, Terence led a toast, pausing to honor his late friend, Dash Snow.

...in a tree; K-I-S-S-I-N-G..

Attendees included art world luminaries Kathy Grayson, Lisa Anastos, Shamim Momin, Edsel Williams, Klaus Biesenbach, the Schnabel scions, and many more. Some compared notes on the annual Watermill party from the night previous. Others commented on the tenebrous skies, appropriate for an otherwise gleeful celebration of this master of effete art. Muslin veils are signature Koh material; would this wedding make it into his future catalogue raisonn-gay? Will it be recreated for a museum show on wedding gowns? You could include Robert Gober here and here.

Ride that Train

Embracing atop a Ned Smyth kinetic sculpture, the newlyweds danced to Joy Division. Courtesy of Shamim’s upper body strength, they turned, beaming with each revolution. “Let’s stop now,” Terence chirped. “This is getting too gay.”

The small congregation began to thin and the Just-Married cooed and nuzzled, careful not to spill their Veuve Clicquot. I had joked that Terence was the only virgin bride I had met; but that gown looked capacious enough for two. Was the honeymoon about to begin?

*Or other white powder. 

Fleur Du Mal

IMAGES: Michael Bilsborough