'Fluff War' and 'Wildlife' are on view through June 15, 2019 at Anton Kern Gallery. All images courtesy the gallery. Lead image: 'Untitled (Exhibition of Dust)' David Shrigley.
No space is neutral, an idea which is exemplified quite dramatically in Paint the Protest. And for many of the works featured in the show, the guise of agitprop — an otherwise unsubtle medium in its use of punchy, to the point language — becomes recontextualized in the gallery space, granting works the luxury of obscurity and complexity. In the world of Paint the Protest, nothing can be taken at face value — a closer look into Richard Prince’s mostly blank placard sign paintings don’t communicate an absence of meaning, but rather a vessel for projected dissent — an exercise that requires the critical participation of a viewer.
In this vein, Spector realizes how vital the relationship between viewer and art is, because without the engagement of an external participant, the art in its essence presents no steps toward change, or activism for that matter. They are merely objects. However, it is not just this relationship — between artwork and spectator — that is a necessary part of the show’s equation, but a third part is present as well: the recognition of the space, a space that implicitly causes us to treat these works differently than those on the street, for better and for worse, and in its own way, contributing its valued voice to the spectrum of activism.
This show, which speaks to the idea of space and presentation so heavily, is also Spector's very first gallery show. Considering her long and impactful career in museums and as chief curator and artistic director of the Guggenheim, it's a momentous occasion that she is entering a non-institution and a white cube. office had the chance to talk to Spector about Paint the Protest, who offered important insights into her process while constructing the show. Read the interview below.
Hank Willis Thomas 'One Million Second Chances (The Invisible Men)'; Dread Scott 'Obliterated Power Capitol'
Generally speaking, there is a fairly deep pool of artists that work in the same vein as your show’s thesis. What initial steps did you take to narrow down this “pool” and which work did you choose to be in the show first?
The genesis for the exhibition was Richard Prince’s Protest Painting series from the early 1990s. He had shared with me that his studio practice was born in an ethos of protest, having been a student in the late 1960s. I particularly liked that the placard-shaped signs embedded in the canvas were largely blank (save for some stray jokes and his signature “bird talk” writings). This way the signs became ciphers for the idea of dissent rather than being about any specific grievance. That sentiment became the guiding force for the subsequent selections of work for the show.
How has your experience in curating past shows specifically helped the curatorial process for Paint the Protest?
It was really important to me that all of the artists included agreed to their participation and, in some cases, made new work for the presentation. Their insights into the topic informed my thinking.
Was the decision to put the Trump piece in the gallery’s bathroom an ode to your gold toilet altercation with him a couple of years ago?
I wish I could claim that I made that installation decision, but Marilyn Minter was emphatic that she wanted her plaque to be installed over the toilet.
How has your experience in curating past shows specifically helped the curatorial process for Paint the Protest?
It was really important to me that all of the artists included agreed to their participation and, in some cases, made new work for the presentation. Their insights into the topic informed my thinking.
Was the decision to put the Trump piece in the gallery’s bathroom an ode to your gold toilet altercation with him a couple of years ago?
I wish I could claim that I made that installation decision, but Marilyn Minter was emphatic that she wanted her plaque to be installed over the toilet.
Richard Prince 'Untitled Protest Painting'; Andrea Bowers 'Transfeminist (TransLatin@ Coalition, Blockade at the Beverly Center, L.A., CA, March 20th, 2015)'
Could you elaborate a bit more on the relationship between enacting dissent and describing it? How does the exhibition work to investigate that relationship?
The exhibition asks what art can do, if anything, to affect change. Art can ask questions; art can change minds. But it can’t independently do things. That takes viewers, practitioners, and participants, who might be moved by what they experience in an art context to contribute to the civic discourse.
What was it about Off Paradise’s space that you felt helped contribute to the show’s dialogue?
I love the intimacy of the gallery space, which allowed for the art works to communicate with one another in a very coherent way.
Rirkrit Tiravanija 'untitled 2021 (rich bastards beware)'; Aaron Huey 'Currency of Protest'
What do you hope the viewer takes away from Paint the Protest after seeing it?
I see this as an optimistic project and hope that those who spent time with the exhibition come away with a feeling of renewal and a sense of engagement with the issues of our day.
Did the partnership with Downtown for Democracy come before the idea for the exhibition, or did it come after you had already started brainstorming?
This idea developed in tandem with the conceptual development of the project. I wanted an exhibition that would actually do something, with a tangible contribution to supporting democracy.
Opening January 25th and closing on March 8th at Ron Herman Japan, viewers will be able to travel to the West Coast alongside Buttles, to smell the taquerias and hear the rattle of spray cans on a basketball court through his beautifully evocative exhibition. Find a preview of the works below.
For her paintings, Bellamy pulls from her personal archive of collected data including newsprints from the L.A times, photographs she's taken, and oral histories of her Afro-Cuban immigrant family's experience of environmental change. She cuts, scrunches, and rearranges news stories about a seemingly endless stream of environmental catastrophes into large-scale silkscreens that are then superimposed over idyllic scenes of the quintessential California landscape. This labor-intensive process results in dream-like narratives or windows that give form and visibility to unseen or alternative possibilities.
office had the chance to catch up with Jessica to talk about L.A., artistic influences and her first solo show on view through February 25th at the Anat Ebgi in Los Angeles – a gallery she's adored since her time in grad school.
Were you an artistic child?
Super artistic. I have a photo of myself doing abstract finger painting with a very serious face that my mom sent me when I decided to return to art school. I was always the one people came to for anything creative whether that was making a homecoming float or redesigning a room.
Does growing up in California still have a strong influence on your work?
To me, the landscapes are a bit more isolated. They could be any place really, but the use of light and colors used speak to the nature of Southern California. Growing up here means so many things, but for this particular body of work I focused on capturing the spirit of L.A. by layering fantasy and reality. Not just the glamour of Hollywood but the essence of ordinary, everyday scenes and routine.
Do you see yourself as a kind of activist, or leave that up to the interpretation of the viewer?
I’d say that I’m observing and cataloging what I see of the world in my own specific way. My work isn’t about impact control or pushing people to be biodegradable. It’s seeing L.A. in the way that I do, someone that grew up here, that loves it here, that thinks about climate change.
You primarily work with oil painting, but also incorporate screen printing, video, and sculpture into your artistic practice. How does it all come together?
I’m interested in what my hand can do with classic oil painting techniques, but love what happens to those works when I incorporate silk printing and other methods. How I treat the silk screen influences how the imprints look when they get to the canvas, but I have little control over the finished product. Layering paint with the element of chance does something visually and conceptually interesting. It creates a layer for presenting information and also feeling. What does this beautiful sunset make you feel? How does that change when it’s interrupted by a story you can’t read that also doesn’t seem like good news?
Do you come up often in your art, or is it vacant of the self?
I think I’m there in terms of my perspective. One of my pieces, which incorporates painting, video and sculpture, is inspired by all the construction sites in LA. I feel like there’s a difference between walking in a city and driving through it. I try to capture what it’s like to walk in a city, a major place on a map, especially those small daily changes that often go unnoticed.
Are you an optimistic person?
I feel like I’m an optimistic nihilist. I know it’ll all end at some point, but I try to enjoy and imbue meaning into life in whichever way I can. Realist is probably a better word. I’ve always been hyper aware of living and what that means from my cultural background and personality wise.
Do you hope your work lives on past you?
I hope to be in that continuum of people who are known as great American artists connected to LA specifically because I grew up here. It’s a huge part of my identity and I hope my art connects with all kinds of people.
How do you address the climate crisis in your work?
Some pieces are more obvious, but with the others, the element becomes more integrated where it exists but may not make you immediately think of the crisis – but it's there. It sits on the contour of your awareness, especially when in a place you really enjoy. I also have a natural interest in current events – I once worked for public radio. It’s very much in my nature to be interested in these happenings that eventually find their way into the paintings.
Who is your ideal viewer?
The more I speak with people, the more I realize I don’t actually know who is the most excited to see and talk about my work. My ideal viewer probably loves painting and is okay with the interruptions I make. Someone into materiality and storytelling who feels a little nostalgic no matter what generation. I think that’s a very LA thing, just connecting over something seemingly unrelated.
What about the methodical aspect of your work?
I love everything that’s tedious… painting the canvas in whites, browns, and grays before finding the right color… going through hundreds of newspapers and researching archives... all of it is great. I could’ve honestly made twelve pieces out of one of the collages I put together and who knows? Maybe I'll do that in the future.
