October 21 to December 22, 2017
18 Wooster Street, between Grand and Canal streets
New York City, deitch.com

The cartoonist, so E. H. Gombrich observes, “can mythologize the world or try to dispel illusions.” Gombrich is particularly interested in the ways that political cartoonists critique wrong-headed thinking, revealing the “reality behind the empty clichés.” In this exhibition, Kenny Scharf shows some cartoon-paintings whose target is modernist painting. In Color Field painting, so we have been told, the paint stains appear formed in a radically impersonal way, as if without human intervention. But in Sloppy Melt (2017) and some of Scharf’s other paintings, at the top of the descending lines of paint one sees faces of figures like those found in comic strips, as if each stain were the extended body of one of those figures. Like Warhol, Scharf uses diamond dust to brighten his paintings. Imagine Donald Duck and Minnie Mouse depicted as spectators within a Poussin Annunciation. The result would playfully undercut the seriousness of that scene. Here, similarly, we see a comic reworking of a very solemn style of painting.

Six of the paintings on display, four of them large, are faux Color Field. A number of additional paintings, most of them small like Sloppy Star (2017), develop another motif: the lines of paint ending in a face presented in crossing lines. These, I think, are Scharf’s versions of Kenneth Noland’s plaid abstractions. And two paintings with words are his versions of Ed Ruscha word paintings. Trump Tower of Evil (2017), in which the word “TRUMP” is spelt out in capitals, in towering pink letters, is marvelous. Scharf has spoken of his interest in connecting with modernist art movements by making new hybrids, as if these earlier forms of art had been placed in a blender. His take on Color Field recalls Philip Taaffe’s notorious We Are Not Afraid (1985) with its witty deconstruction of Barnett Newman’s zips. Scharf seems to be saying, let’s show that the stripes in these abstractions really need to be animated by the figures whose heads he depicts. The attitude taken by a cartoonist to his materials, Gombrich argues, can be complex. Sometimes a cartoon is a visual critique, but it also can be an homage. As I see it, Scharf’s ironical attitude to the art he caricatures is ultimately respectful. Acknowledging the power of Color Field painting, he offers a radically revisionist visual interpretation of these works.

In a recent book, Joachim Pissarro and I surveyed the enormous range of what we call ‘wild art’, art that is outside the contemporary gallery world. What defines the present art world, we argue, is the felt need to exclude a great variety of visual art- including, of course, almost all of the cartoons like those analyzed by Gombrich. What’s so remarkable, then, about “Inner and Outer Space” is the way that Scharf successfully incorporates the concerns of an habitually excluded art form, comic caricature. Very little gallery art is intentionally humorous in the way of these works. This is a great show because it changes, permanently, how you will see some important modernist art. Morris Louis’ paintings will never look the same after you see Sloppy Melt (2017). There also are on display two kinds of relief sculptures: TV tubes decorated with oil painting and rhinestones; and small assemblages of found objects, what Joseph Cornell might have done had he responded to our contemporary pop culture. They seem finicky, but perhaps I’m just missing the joke.

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Monday, June 27, 2011
312 Bowery, between Bleecker and Houston streets
New York City, 212 466 1100

Just one day after NYC’s monumental Gay Pride Parade, the flag shed its cloth and lent its colors to an evening of naked horror.  A sizable crowd of sexy misfits gathered Monday night at Bowery’s newest venue, The Hole, for a brief yet remarkable piece, The Wall of Vagina, a rare performance by The Girls of Karen Black (GOKB).

Prior to the highly anticipated performance, the bare breasted GOKB cavorted under bright scrutiny of the gallery’s 7-11-style fluorescent lighting, mingling with guests while painted head to toe in either red, blue or purple and sporting thigh high stiletto boots, a towering red-glittered black bouffant wig and an occasional pair of black undies.  In contrast to the typical NYC “whaddya lookin’ at!” attitude, these stylish shock monsters welcomed the gaze of curious oglers.  One fellow crouched behind a GOKB to take a close up snap of her crack.  After the admirer gained her attention from a light tap on the back, she giggled and nodded in approval at the photo as her vanished lips widened, exposing a mouth full of painted-upon crushed black teeth.  A blend of Alejandro Jodorowsky and John Waters, the scene was a refreshing mix of sex, camp and horror.

Eventually the lights lowered and the sweaty crowd swiftly gathered towards a platform, constructed specially for the performance. Cell phone cams quickly shot up to catch the unique event (I had a partial-view seat between a Nokia and an IPhone) as the ladies strutted through the audience onto the stage.   Photographer, video artist and GOKB member Bijoux Altamirano photographed from below as five ladies (the highest pileup to date) climbed one by one facedown, spread eagle on top of each other, exposing their colored cheeks and shaven cherryless pits to the audience, last one on being the much adored Kembra Pfahler (lead singer of The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black from which the GOKB and their newest transgender member, Siobhan Meow, are recruited).

The remaining member on stage leaned over and squirted the crack pile with a turkey baster filled with thick white cream.  Immediately, the arching spurts of goo beautifully married ideas of infection and sexuality, a delicious combo.  Pfahler, who prefers the more delineative titles Anti-naturalist and Availabist to commonly used “performance artist” (rejecting the title, she believes “performance art” should rather be called “_____”), explains a bit of the comical yet purposefully disgusting intention behind “The Wall of Vagina”, “It’s important to have a different paradigm…we’re making fun of female sexuality.”  And her well orchestrated rejections to standards of feminine beauty and seductiveness resonate even during quiet moments of the act as the women stood still, horrifying, wide-eyed and robotic, conjuring semblance to an army of demonic inflatable sex dolls.

The attentive crowd cheered as the ladies unpiled, knelt down on one knee and raised their hands high in the air, an appropriate bow from so glorious a group.  And just like that, they trotted right out the door and the simple and saturated gesture was over.  As it was a loosely enforced invite-only event, I assume a good portion of the audience were fans who had a general sense of what to expect, so I was happy to see the brief resplendent horror satisfy their eager expectancy.

After the show, the ladies ventured back in the gallery posing for pictures while straddling one of their own handmade sculptures…real art on art action!  The piece, a larger than life black cat, meshed well with the gallery’s current exhibition, simply titled “:)“  A colorful playground of inflatable beings and cartoonish sculptures, the first NYC solo show by Miami duo FriendsWithYou provided a nice backdrop to the fun and playful feel of the night as well as setting precedent for what will fill The Hole in the future.

In keeping with its Soho predecessor, the sensational Deitch Projects, The Hole is a charming antidote to the usual hoity-toity gallery vibe.  “I want to provide a space for all of us,” proprietor Kathy Grayson, a former director of Deitch, tells me, “and that includes the big community of people displaced by Deitch closing and all these great young artists that are part of my network… I mean to stick by those guys and continue to present great works by them.”  Pfhaler, whose latest album “Fuck Island” will be released this October, described Grayson as, “…heroic and very intelligent, a huge talent.”  Defibrillators of our time, these ladies are set on shocking the pulse back into Manhattan.

By the end of the night, happy attendees piled onto the streets bearing residual bits of glitter and colorful streaks.  The brevity of the actual performance made the mixing and mingling of the unique personas seem as much a part of the event as the actual performance.  Personally, my love for the city has always been about these brief, fantastic moments where a varied crowd can come together and pay witness to the joy and horror of it all.   Please excuse their beauty.

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