ISA GENZKEN REFLECTIONS ON HER MOMA EXHIDBITION 2014

                                    Isa Genzken in studio - 1982

http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1345

http://www.creativereview.co.uk/cr-blog/2008/may/isa-genzkens-proposals-for-ground-zero

The Bauhaus, was a school in Germany that combined crafts and the fine arts. Founded by Walter Gropius with the idea of creating a "total" work of art in which all arts, including architecture, would eventually be brought together, it operated from 1919 to 1933 when the Nazis shut it down.

Isa Genzken’s stunningly moving retrospective both utilizes and repudiates Bauhaus legacy, brashly demonstrated by a seminal work entitled "Fuck The Bauhaus". Her retrospective surprised me with its range of experimental approaches, giving voice to a uniquely personal view of life – from the frottage oil paintings that looked like aerial views of bombed-out/flattened terrains to the glitzy pedestal sculptures.

When I entered the Isa Genzken show at MOMA I was floored by the beauty of an installation depicting large formally pristine kayak-like shapes lying on the ground (“ellipsoids” and “hyperbolos”) – having no contact with one another, but hovering alongside each other with a do-not-touch-beauty that is rarified. Then I turn around and the aesthetic has shifted. I chuckle to see cement blocks anthropomorphized with T.V. antenna’s shooting out of their heads – inanimate becoming animate, making a point about materials – industrial materials in particular which often seem remote and inaccessible – but now like a magnet I approach what was once unapproachable.

                                      Red-Yellow-Black Double Ellipsoid "52IN", 1982

The whole show is one of contradictions in the service of Isa Genzken’s singular humanity. She tosses off previous restraints, and I imagine her saying “fuck it – I NEED to do this!” And she does. Experimenting with materials – all kinds of detritus from the mechanical/manufactured culture to the throwaways of the consumer-merchandising sphere.

Scale dominates the show not only the physical but the psychological reaches of hierarchy and structure, often woven together - most evident in a group of building columns transmuting into intimate portraits of good friends – each subtly individualized. We are tossed around by architectural scale reduced to accessible mortal proportions.

                                        Fuck the Bauhaus #4, 2000

American capitalistic scope and power are explored; the underbelly of shame and greed, the global reach of violence and mayhem are presented in assemblages utilizing whatever objects (toy cars, dolls, fast-food wrappers, etc.) and materials that are necessary to vent her anger at man’s inhumanity to man. These assemblages employ scale to great emotional effect ie: a building structure becomes larger because a small plastic tree is placed in the tableaux, delicate and fragile; a dreamlike ornament floats next to blood and terror. Installations are ripped from the headlines - the assault on a young schoolgirl being witnessed by her classmates’ cell phone pictures – a room reeking of horror and voyeurism. 

Isa Genzken was in Manhattan on September 11, 2001, and there is a room devoted to her apocalyptic architectural proposals for Ground Zero that includes a Church, Disco, Hospital, and Memorial Tower. Monuments that do not memorialize but instead bear witness to the act of destruction itself. In Car Park miniature cars are upended in a cage-like structure that is devoid of any possible movement or passage. The journey has ended. 

Isa Genzken’s exhibition can be unabashedly gaudy wrapping the fragility and vulnerability of the human condition with the rubble and sediment of everyday objects. The result is painful and piercingly tender. The sadness enraptures.

BELFAST

 

BELFAST - a film written and directed by Kenneth Branagh is a love ballad to the city of his birth. Most of the actors were also born in Belfast except for Judi Dench (who gives her best performance in years.) Filmed almost entirely in black and white - noir turned on its head - with vivid color blasting into the picture frame when the characters are at the local movie theater or referencing life outside the realm of the small late 1960’s Belfast neighborhood at the beginning of the period of strife in Northern Ireland that is known as “the troubles”.

This is also a domestic story as seen through the eyes of an observant nine-year-old boy “Buddy” who is becoming more aware of the growing strife that will eventually befall Northern Ireland. Belfast is seen as a community that embraces both Catholics and Protestants - everyone knows everyone else and looks out for them regardless of their religious beliefs. There is a collective feeling of shared encumbrance and tender loyalty to place.

BELFAST begins with violence - portending the future, though the film does not mire itself in blood and guts. Rather it concentrates on Buddy, his brother, grandparents, and parents - seeing the whole picture from the view of one frame which encompasses an entirety. His father “Pa” (Jamie Dornan) is away working in England coming home every two weeks. His mother, the beautiful Irish actress “Ma” (Caitriona Balfe) rules the roost while her husband is gone and is fiercely devoted to her family-a tigress protecting her young-racing down the street to protect them or in a scene dancing with her husband both breathtaking in their elegant moments of visual light in the midst of the gray darkness.

The extended family includes the wonderfully wise grandfather, “Pop” Ciaran Hinds who his grandson Buddy adores, and his wife “Granny” played by Judi Dench - not glamorized but a realistically looking grandmother with an edge that comes with living a life of both coquettish love and furrowing fatigue.

As the fighting escalates between Catholics and Protestants the decision whether to leave or stay in Belfast - a city that has enveloped and insulated them since birth is a difficult one and the crux of BELFAST. There is poignancy, warmth, and kindness portrayed in this film and I shed some tears - for me always a sign of sentiment - not sentimentality.

THE FRENCH DISPATCH 11/6/21

I finally went to the movies after almost 1 3/4 years AND  gleefully bought a bag of "movie" popcorn which had its own smell perhaps coming from the rancid oil which might contribute to its wonderful taste. THE FRENCH DISPATCH directed by Wes Anderson who I feel is one of the most original filmmakers working today is a love letter and a burlesque of THE NEW YORKER magazine from the 1960s including its typography.  The film's structure also references the Sunday NY Times with its different sections -  a partitioning of tales -ie: Arts and Leisure, Design, etc. This is a sophisticated movie which I really believe will leave most audiences totally baffled.

Bill Murray is the Editor-in-Chief who supports his writers, giving them a lot of freedom to communicate in their own styles -  allowing lengthy stories on what is au courant and at the same time is fastidious about punctuation. Many of the New Yorker writers of that period are mentioned - not by name but by reputation.  Unbeknownst to my friend who accompanied me her father who wrote for the New Yorker for over 30 years is referred to and in the closing credits, his name appears along with A.J. Liebling, William Shawn, Harold Ross,  Mavis Gallant, etc. That was a poignant surprise for me - and I am sure for her as well. Regretfully that was my only emotional moment. I laughed a bit; felt nostalgic revisiting the history of my youth and loved seeing Anderson's gorgeous visuals of a fictional French city, and the animation which he throws into stories giving them added spice and beauty.

THE FRENCH DISPATCH  begins with Owen Wilson riding around a fictional town alluding to The New Yorkers' TALK OF THE TOWN - a delightful prelude to the stories to come, though the stories themselves were often silly despite hitting the "commercial" mark like an arrow that arrives at its target bent in the process. The very first narration mocked Abstract Expressionist art depicting artists as lunatics  - yes can be hilarious for some, but hit this artist like a sledgehammer - too hard and too obvious and almost Trumpian in its pedestrian sarcastic viewpoint.

There were also enough famous actors cameos to be a complete distraction trying to figure out "now who is that person????" Despite it all, I am glad I went. The theater was almost empty - maybe 6 people watching, it was great to leave the world of lights for one of darkness with my eyes glued to a screen larger than 21 inches.