Paaaaiiint oooooon meeeeeee...(paint on me)....taaaake meeee hoooomee....

I felt the A-ha reference was apropos to this very slick group of work by Alexa Meade. I don't want to paraphrase too much, but I really enjoy and appreciate this kind of art. At first glance, I assumed it was paintings photoshopped into real life situations, but it's real people painted on to appear as if they're in a painting. I've said it before, I'm not art student, but I know neat when I see it.

Check it out.

Here are a couple highlights.



This is the kind of art that makes me more interested in art. It makes me want to see more by Meade and see what else she can come up with. It also helps me to want to stop seeing the box.

Lecture as Art

Last Wednesday evening I attended Deborah Hay's 'A Lecture on the Performance of Beauty' at the Great Hall at The Cooper Union. While my expectations were of a lecture on Beauty, it turned out to be a Performance Art piece in disguise. 'Beauty' is a solo piece Deborah Hay created for herself in 2002, and performed at least twice, once in Helsinki and once in London. The piece is based on 'Oh Beautiful...'. The 'lecture' begins as she speaks into a microphone in front of an easel displaying a doodle on white paper. Next to her are two large projector screens. I continue to think this is a 'lecture' while she explains her political motivations, the rehearsal process, the choreographic process, and explains that the doodle behind her is a blueprint of the piece, 'Beauty'. While she continues to speak the two video monitors begin. One shows the Helsinki performance of 'Beauty' with Hay performing in a post apocalyptic costume (punk/biker outfit with soda cans taped to each hand). The other screen shows the London performance of 'Beauty' with Hay performing in her new 'more appropriate costume' as she called it (naked, the idea conceived in a hot donated rehearsal space where she took off her clothes to cool down instead of turning on the air conditioner to save the space money). Hay, the one present, begins dramatically to read the text off a sheet of paper. As I watch her, the screens, and the doodle together I realize I am watching a composed live performance. I am not watching a lecture. The three Hays dancing together, the two on the screens and the one present, creating the union of all the incarnations of 'Beauty'. Once I got home I researched the piece a little more. I came to find out she had all the text for the lecture on her website written out somewhat like a play with character action notes and everything.

I have seen artists do this before: turn formal conventional speaking events into Art. The Artist can use the formal lecture as a vehicle of performance, and do what they do best, in Hay's case, a live dance performance. I guess you could say that all lectures are a sort of performance, but when the lecture becomes Art it extends the boundaries of a formal lecture. It creates an elusive piece of work that is composed and meant to be interpreted by the audience members.

The 'performance' ends, and we are brought back to the formal lecture with a Q and A session. In which the audience acts as they usually do in a lecture hall, although I think Hay is still performing. The last question was asked slowly, awkwardly and with a self-aware dramatic pause by a gentleman in the back row who I couldn't see. He asked Hay what she thought Dance had to do with it all. Like, why do we dance, but he asked it like he was asking what is the meaning of life. Hay stood there for awhile. To be fair it was a loaded question, but Hay replied humbly, 'All the major lessons I have learned about life I have learned through my body while dancing'. (she repeated this twice). I think Hay may interpret her whole life as a dance.

A Matter of Good Taste

This is a great clip from Ira Glass (I first saw it on a 'Craft' newsletter, but I guess it is all over the place, Brent had already seen it, and Cory actually said he may have stole this thought from another writer, although I couldn't figure out who). His thought is on how we become artists, and that one of the reasons we do is because we believe ourselves to have good taste. Explaining that when we start making work we are the first people to stop ourselves when we think the work is not up to our 'good taste' standards. He goes on to say the only way we will successfully achieve these standards is if we practice making work, lots and lots and LOTS, even if it is bad work.



I am thinking, 'Don't I know this already', but yes, I must relearn. As Doris Humphrey said, 'They can't all be masterpieces' (I think she said that). I am trying to practice this in all parts of my life in conversation, in cooking, in love and TOTALLY in writing on this blog. I don't write anything half of the time because I think the post has to be as good as the things I really like to read (and so I stop). But the truth is, it is good practice (and hopefully I don't bore you all in the meantime).

Good taste should be an aid not a hindrance, not the lock on the door, but the key that opens it.

So when I start putting boxes on people's heads in my new piece, a questionable choice I admit (Cory is already wary), I have to evaluate the decision, but not throw it out entirely because it's not the 'perfect' decision', especially when no other decisions are coming. Try it. Figure it out. And in the end I may realize it was a bad decision, but I won't know until I try. Maybe it will give me insight into something else.