The War Between Lust and Self Implied Boredom is a new editorial by Los Angeles based photographer Carlos Nunez.
photographs by Death of Youth. See more after the jump.
Assume Vivid Astro Focus
"What strip mining is to nature the art market has become to culture." Robert Hughes
This is the quote I was turning around in my mind as I flew towards Miami. Your virtuous young narrator had a lot of preconceived ideas about this colossal, annual art happening. More specifically, I was expecting a total shit show, with a who's-booth-screams-louder mentality and corporate tie-in's down to the toilet paper level - all in the neon-lighted, silicon-augmented context of South Beach, Miami. A place fittingly described in my Wallpaper guide book as 'a sunny place for shady people.'
Fresh from the emphatically not-commercial Documenta exhibition in Kassel, Germany, your virtuous young narrator arrived with a lofty air of skepticism about this base spectacle of consumerism and celebrity. A thin veneer allowing for unguilty participation in activities that fundamentally offend ones better judgement. There aren't many opportunities to see this scope of work, I reasoned and I have good friends flying in from all over who I'm happy to see. As one gallerist later put it, 'a nice chance to see some art, go to some parties and get a tan before the holidays.'
I arrived at the (not quite) freshly opened Freehand Hostel in Miami, helmed by the hotel group behind the NoMad and the Ace New York, featuring a maritime-meets-flea-market ambiance by the gifted interior designers Roman & Williams. We had secured a private 'quad' for our variable group, with bunk beds and a sleep away camp for 20-somethings vibe. In the morning, I borrowed one of the communal red beach cruisers and made my way down to the press preview of the main Art Basel show. I checked in, received my credentials and sat uncomfortably through some profuse thanking from the mayor and entirely unmemorable comments from the directors and a wealth management fund or something. By the time the show opened at 11, the motley cast of press, adorned in wreaths of ostentatiously colored credentials, were drinking complimentary champagne beside a gaudy cigar brand pavilion and perusing artist-embellished luxury-brand racing cars.
Allora & Calzadilla / Gladstone Gallery
It's with mild exaggeration that one could describe the full scope of Art Basel and it's countless satellites as byzantine. Art Basel being the official epicenter, orbited by fairs like Nada, Untitled, Pulse, Art Miami, Design Miami, Scope, Miami Project and Aqua; and permanent collections like the Rubel, Margulies and De La Cruz; and museums like the Bass and Moca; and special installations, exhibitions, conversations, screenings and events in myriad hotels, stores, clubs, mansions, boats, airstreams, and airplanes.
Your virtuous young narrator began methodically traversing the fair, row by row, sparingly rationing attention for the pieces with the loudest siren song. Several hours later, feeling significantly reduced, I recessed for a bathroom break, some deep breathing and a recalibration of what could realistically be accomplished in my time here. I gave up on my methodical approach and proceeded with a liberating, follow the wind, work, crowd, light, feeling, friend or pretty girl approach - which closer resembles the way I proceed through life.
The art was world class. Established artists shown beside emerging artists and galleries from every corner of the world. Almost on par was the people-watching and eavesdropping. Fashionable art world insiders, wealthy collectors, celebrities, aspiring artists, scenesters, snowbirds, obvious locals (with tanned, overflowing breasts and muscles), and beautiful and seductive gallerinas with names like Salame (I'm not making this up).
Jason Middlebrook / Dodge Gallery
I collected some memorable vignettes and impressions; A tour of shiny, wide-eyed sexagenarians nervously fingering their pearls as a docent/consultant type assured them you can find an Anish Kapoor in the dining room of any serious collectors home (I heard the same anecdote a half an hour later substituting fireplaces for dining rooms). A technical and tedious conversation about a Bill Viola new media piece, centered on logistical installation, maintenance (tech support?) and international tax code. A fairly constant ratio of 2:5 people on their cellphones. Unprecedented, for me at least, volumes of floral print and loafers. And children, seeming to enjoy the art and experience exponentially greater then their adult counterparts, in sync with the child-like abandon requisite to create great works of art in the first place.
Regretfully, all of the illuminating 10am conversations between the directors of the worlds finest art institutions were invariably slept through. My Basel was an ebb and flow of dilatory, diurnal culture consumption and nocturnal moral negotiation. Exclusive events seemed to overshadow art as a conversation topic. It felt as though many conversations were a variation on the theme of exclusivity, espoused to status, in a self-policing, relationally-determined social hierarchy. From the hysterical throngs of guests throwing designer-purse-embellished elbows, vying for entree through the velvet rope, to admonitions like 'to really experience the fair you have to get into the closets, all the best work is kept in the closets,' this refrain kept resurfacing like a ritornello. As unpleasant as it may be, there is a genuine reason for this exclusivity. In a word, finiteness. There are only so many works of enduring beauty and significance to collect, only so much space at that momentous party, and only so many places in those of upper echelons of social strata that shape the contemporary art landscape.
Jon Kessler / Salon 94
In this frenetic milieu, I found moments of absolute serenity. Glithero's Lost Time installation of hanging illuminated pearls reflected in a cool black pool at the design Basel show - tucked away in dark stillness from the anxiety-generating opening ceremonies. 12 Gordon Park prints at the Margulies collection that say more about civil rights in America, than I learned in my entire formal education. Adarsha Benjamin's Kurt Cobain-centric performance, featuring a superlative cast of artist friends and a resounding battle cry to choose love over fear. A saintly portrait of Marina Abramovic, in breathing white linen, cradling a goat, that will likely reside permanently in my mind. And many other moments of joy and fascination. Dap's impeccably curated selection of art books. Meals at the wondrous Haitian eatery (and informal cultural center) Tap Tap. Unscheduled and regenerative dips in the glowing, saline Atlantic. A forward looking exhibition of GIF's staged in a giant pitch-black warehouse space. Jon Kessler's insane mind. A swirling, stop-and-go Kentridge video piece. 4am, shiny, undulating disco bliss at Chez Andre. And plenty of impromptu conversations and jaunts with new found friends.
Your virtuous young narrator's Basel experience concluded with a slippery, alcohol-lubed nocturnal capitulation into a hazy cab ride towards a strip club in downtown Miami hosting a closing party. Not long after, fending off lap dances and watching naked daughters and sisters rub against one another in a violent precipitation of dollar bills and brown liquor. Sigh. Onwards, through my sui generis moral Manichaeanism, ethically compromised and culturally richer.
And now I sit and reflect in McNally Jackson bookstore on a crisp and chilly afternoon in Nolita, listening to baroque classical music, sipping hot hibiscus tea and typing these impressions. Outside, familiar faces, in their familiar context, walk by on Prince street and I idly envisage my return next year.
Text and photography by Perry Shimon for Pas Un Autre. See more photographs below.
Brice and Regis Abby
Snarkitecture's Drift Pavilion for Design Miami
Art Basel Main Fair
Marina Abramović / Gagosian Gallery
Taryn Simon / Gagosian Gallery
Rad girls outside Moving the Still GIF Exhibition
Glithero x Perrier-Jouet / Design Miami
Holton Rower / The Hole Gallery
Beautiful young lady at the Design Fair behind a Corbusier mural (super cool parents not pictured)
Ed Ruscha / Plane Text
Retna / Michael Kohn Gallery
Adarsha Benjamin / KURT / Olympia Theater
Gordon Parks / Margulies Collection
Fried Yucca, Okra and Plantains, Avacado Salad / Tap Tap Restaurant
International Art Police, issuing citations for infractions like 'excessive tax on audience time,' 'famous artist, but not for this one' and 'who cares?'
Steve Powers / Joshua Liner Gallery
Hedi Slimane's newest edition of his Defeated Architecture series appropriately takes advantage of an American landscape not unaffected by an afflicted economy; here Slimane's location is an abandoned commercial structure in Palm Springs, California.
These photos are from an abandoned motel in southern Ohio. It seemed as if people had just up and left giving the place a very apocalyptic, Chernobylesque feeling. Text and photography by Christopher Lusher. See more photographs after the jump.
This beautiful editorial, entitled Black Heart, comes to us from Portugal based photographer Carla Pires featuring model Ana Cassian (central models) - [MUA: Raquel Carmelo / Styling: Margarida Viegas].
These stunning photographs come to us from filmmaker Dustin Lynn who recently went on a surf trip to Iceland and shares with us these images of a mystical, frozen, seemingly otherworldly landscape. See more photographs after the jump.
When approaching the creation of the Zakary le Stéle Spring/Summer 2013 Lookbook, photographer Tsasha Olivier looked to his chosen themes such as claustrophobia and mental disintegration to create a world locked inside a rural Portuguese villa. The photos swallow the viewer into a compound-like setting where the model, Lien Vieira, is unravelling, revealing her inner turmoil, an effect heightened by the hypnotic abstract prints of the collection. The theme is harshly juxtaposed with the designer's floaty, windswept vision. Soft, fluid, diaphanous silks billow in the breeze peacefully and freely, with wild tilapia fish leather accents and structured camel wool cut sharply to the body in a modern sweep. View rest of the photos after the jump.
Photography by Tsasha Olivier / Model: Lien Vieira / Stylist: Abri Ferebani / Hair & Makeup by Pat McLou
This new fashion shoot comes to us from photographer Javier Ferrer Vidal featuring jewelry by Spanish based Ma Jewellery from the collection entitled On The Road Leopard. Designer of Ma Jewellery, Marina Figueiredo says, "The leopard owns something unique and paradoxical: its speckled coat. It’s something rare, but it gives a very good camouflagte when this big cat has to go unnoticed. Its life is quite more nocturnal, above all when the hour of hunting is coming: darkness, silence and agility define this moment." See more photos after the jump.
CAT + I,, Wanda Wulz, Italian, 1903-1984, Gelatine silver print, 1932
What do people have against reality? Real reality, that is. I don’t know, ask Republicans, reality show producers, or long-dead 19th century photographers. You won’t get a straight answer from any of them, but at least the latter has a good excuse. And the really unreal, but often real-looking doctored images of many of these lensmen (plus some 20th century pros too) can be seen at a new exhibition entitled Faking It: Manipulated Photography Before Photoshop on view now at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. See more after the jump.
Audrey Hepburn, New York, January 1967, Richard Avedon, American 1923-2004 Collage of gelatin silver prints, with applied media, mylar overlay with applied media, 1967
It seems that right out of the starting gate –- photography was invented in 1839 –- early shutterbugs were tinkering with images, tweaking in the cause of art, commerce, practical necessity or laughs. Some fiddling was the result of inherent limitations of the nascent medium; the required long exposure times washed out skies, so landscape artists like Carlton E. Watkins would expose clouds separately and combine two or more negatives for a moodier, even more “realistic” look. When Matthew Brady arranged a sitting for Union General William Tecumseh Sherman & his generals and one failed to show up, Brady snapped the group without him, posed the tardy fellow later and dropped him into the shot. (Frankly, it looks it. But, hey, we’re talking 1865.) I was impressed with the 3D-ish effect achieved by a couple of small relievo ambrotypes, in which a painted background behind an image on glass pushes out the foreground without the aid of a stereoscope. Check out these early craftsman and artists who were photoshopping long before Photoshop, and with no tech support. Faking It: Manipulated Photography Before Photoshop will be on view through January 27, 2013 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 5th Avenue, New York, New York.
Text by Michael Barrie for Pas Un Autre. (Michael Barrie is a writer for the Late Show With David Letterman, he has been nominated for 20 Emmys, he has also contributed to The Huffington Post)
Grete Stern, Argentinian, born Germany, 1904-1999 Dream No. 1: Electrical Appliances for the Home 1948
Wildfox presents a new collection of intimates as part of their White Label for Fall 2012 – "This collection is for girls who only have whiskey in the freezer, milk and leftover cheesecake in the fridge, dream constantly, and love to gaze at the canals from their window in Venice. They bike everywhere, kiss strangers and waltz through the house to Frank Sinatra on vinyl."
Wait In Vain is a new series by photographer Adarsha Benjamin shot in the Bowery Hotel in New York that explores the loneliness and longing of waiting. Starring artist and actress Nina Ljeti, Annakim Violette–daughter of Tom Petty and talented artist in her own right, and make-up artist Jordan Bree Long this series is an introspective view of solitude, femininity, strength and beauty. Set in informal and natural lighting, Benjamin's subject inhabit the hotel room's walls like beautiful and romantic ghosts.
All apparel provided by Condor
Documenta is a contemporary art exhibition that happens every 5 years for 100 days in the decidedly uncool town of Kassel, Germany. Armed with a map, a new friend and a bicycle, I set off on a tour of museums, galleries, train stations, bakeries, hospitals, libraries, planetariums, back alleys, parks, public squares, contentious religious sites, campy hotels, department store windows and nondescript, unmarked sheds to engage with art of nearly every conceivable medium. There are hundreds of artists who participate under the curatorial purview of Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev, the past head curator for P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center and Castello di Rivoli Museum of Contemporary Art in Turin.
Experiencing the expansive breadth of the work could very well take the full 100 days and I spent 4 days there, which allowed me to see the majority of the show and much of it in haste. Walking into the Fridericianum, the central museum of the Documenta which houses the 'brain' of the exhibition, I got a feel for Carolyn's distinctly light touch - works like “I Need Some Meaning I Can Memorise (The Invisible Pull),” by Ryan Gander, which is nothing more than a cool breeze blowing through the cavernous gallery and Ceal Floyer's 'Til I Get It Right,' a warm, scratchy, saccharin loop of 'so I'll just keep on…til I get it right." These pieces set the tone and my expectations for the show; restrained, intelligent, subtle, poetic, conceptual, lyrical - a change of pace from super-sized commercial art fairs, Deitch grandiosity, YBA-ness, Louis Vuitton Collaboration's and the such. What followed next, was a sprawling, city-wide, choose-your-own-adventure. The sheer amount of relationships between artists, viewers and spaces is immeasurable, that is to say, there are infinite ways to experience the documenta and what follows here are my most resonant impressions and pictures:
Sitting in a wooded patch of Karlsaue Park encircled in the sound cathedral created by Janet Cardiff and George Buress Miller. A cleansing rain washes away a soaring airstrike and blooms into a transcendent choral piece which blends into the light filled spaces between the gently pendulating leaves.
The metronome of Kader Attia's slide projector, firing images of extra occidental masks, objects, scarification, deformation and repair in concert with western faces, deformed and mutilated, in the dark shadows of colonialism.
William Kentridege's locomotive, swirling, immersive, existential, mathematical, fantastical Refusal of Time; hommage to Georges Méliès with a Loie Fuller phoenix rising and a dramatic procession of silhouettes summoning Kara Walker and Plato.
Geoffry Farmer's field of American LIFE.
Opening a door and walking into the pitch black of an unmarked shed in the lushly green courtyard of the Hugenottenhaus. Inching forward into the complete darkness that begins to hum with the sound of layered voices warming-up and then erupting into a celebratory a-capella arrangement of Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys. The paling of the dark and recognition of the dancing and singing performers around me. The joy of dancing and harmonizing human voices. The new visitors cautiously inching into the complete unknown. The feeling of seniority, knowing, belonging. The quickness of the cycle. (Tino Sehgal)
Rabih Mroué's pixelated, obsessive exploration of technology's role and implications in the Arab Spring.
Entering the baroque orangerie, ambling through the Cabinet of Astronomy and Physics and happening upon the love machine synthesizer, lovingly constructed by the finnish philosopher-composer Erkki Kurenniemi, which requires the touch of 2 or more people to generate sound. The inborn ability of his machine to bring together complete strangers in giddy wonder and human touch. People from disparate ages, countries and social strata holding and touching each other in different ways to change the tones. The universality of music. The power of human touch.
Goshka Macuga's bright and ethereal mash up of history and medium, arcing around the broad rotunda of the Fridericianum - self-referential, anachronistic and vertiginous
Listening to the almost uncomfortably candid thoughts of Janet Cardiff in my ears, as I followed her augmented video tour of the old train station on an iPhone. Experiencing the very real, ebb and flow of station as I simultaneously experience Janet's augmented, non-temporal, immortalized experience of the same space - Perplexed staring from onlookers - Wandering through the back staircases of the station. 'No matter how much you love someone, no matter how hard we cling to hold onto them, we will always be separate from them.' - Jeers from a young man I cut off stepping back into the realtime flow of station - Standing in a carnally vacant, digitally augmented corner, with tears in my eyes, watching lilliputian dancers in a pas de deux expressing that echoing, magnificently lonely sentiment.
Text and photography by Perry Shimon for Pas Un Autre
Dress: Diana Matias/Shirt: Ricardo Andrez/Sweat: Maria Gambina/Leggins: Sara Maia
Kham is an editorial directed and styled by Nelson Vieira and photographed by Aloisio Brito and their brilliant creative team based in Oporto, Portugal exclusively for Pas Un Autre. Kham paints a dusty, bucolic landscape, replete with sheep and their restless herder who meanders dirt roads and jagged mountainous byways perhaps begging longingly for whats beyond the great horizon.
Left:Dress: Ricardo Dourado/Shirt: Luis Buchinho Right: Sweat: Estelita Mendonça/Troussers: Hugo Costa/Coat: Luis Buchinho
Left:Dress: Ricardo Dourado/Shirt: Luis Buchinho
Sweat: Ricardo Dourado/Skirt: Diana Matias
Knitted sweat: Claudia Garrido/Skirt, Leggins and Shirt: Sara Maia
Sweat: Estelita Mendonça/Troussers: Hugo Costa/Coat: Luis Buchinho
Sweat: Ricardo Dourado/Short: Maria Gambina/Leggins: Diana Matias
Photography by Aloisio Brito/Fashion Stylist and Art Director: Nelson Vieira/Hair Model: Joana Castro, Best Models Stylist: Juliana Lamares with Style Master Revlon Professional products/Make-up: Tinoca with MAC products/Assistant Photography: Luisa Rodrigues