On View

“At The Noyes House:Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing”Through November 28, 2020
What the galleries say: “‘At The Noyes House,’ presented by Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing, provides a unique opportunity to experience contemporary art and design in an iconic residential setting. Taking place within [architect and industrial designer] Eliot Noyes’s (1910–1977) modernist family home in New Canaan, Connecticut, the exhibition brings together just over 80 works from 34 international artists and designers, including Lucas Arruda, Lynda Benglis, Heidi Bucher, Sonia Gomes, Green River Project LLC, Mark Grotjahn, Kazunori Hamana, Sheila Hicks, Daniel Steegmann Mangrané, Antonio Obá, Gaetano Pesce, and Faye Toogood, among others…
In 1958, Noyes commented that aesthetic objects can ‘best be enjoyed in a house designed to bring art and their daily lives into as close daily contact possible.’ He created just such a place, and that sense of contact is still alive and well: a modern story, with a fairytale ending.”
Why it’s worth a look: Never before open to the public, this sleekly designed house is a work of art in and of itself—never mind the lush surroundings and eclectic art and design objects inside. Eliot Noyes, who designed the home for his family in 1955, followed the same playbook he employed in his industrial design work on the IBM Selectric typewriter and World’s Fair pavilion: using truthful materials and adhering to simple forms. The exhibition—which represents a rare collaboration among two top galleries and the design fair Object & Thing—offers delightful juxtapositions between sleek Modern architecture and contemporary artworks, many of which were created specifically for this show. If you like to fantasize about real estate, this one is for you.
What it looks like:

Alma Allen, Not Yet Titled (2020); Hugo França, Rings (2007). Courtesy of Mendes Wood DM, Blum & Poe, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo.

Antonio Obá, Wade in the water II, (2020). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo

Antonio Obá, Wade in the water II, (2020). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing.

Patricia Leite, Entre Nuvens (2020). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo

Mimi Lauter, Alla Marcia (2019); Jim McDowell, Spike (2015) and Your Chains Can’t Hold Me (2020). At right: Paulo Nazareth, Sem título, da série Objetos para tampar o Sol de seus olhos (2010). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo

Sergio Camargo, RELIEF nº 285-Paris (1970). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo

Tomoo Gokita, Looking for a Lover (2020); Daniel Valero / Mestiz, Patél chair, pair (2015/2019); Frances Palmer, group of vases (2020). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo

Sonia Gomes, Untitled from Pendentes series (2018). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing. Photo: Michael Biondo

Sonia Gomes, Untitled from Pendentes series (2018). Courtesy of Blum & Poe, Mendes Wood DM, and Object & Thing.

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What does skateboarding have to do with contemporary art? For sculptor David Brooks, both hinge on pivotal moments that provide what he describes as “a reality check.”

“Skateboarding for me was the most fulfilling when you would find a new situation in an urban context,” Brooks explains in an exclusive interview with Art21 as part of the “New York Close Up” series. “It propels one to want to actually go out in the world and explore.” Similarly, the artist’s large-scale installations also shift one’s perspective, and draw attention to the urban, built landscape, and the natural world.

When Brooks moved to New York to attend the Cooper Union in the early 1990s, he explored his new surroundings on his skateboard. Though, as a kid, he had dreams of going pro, eventually Brooks turned to art and began a practice centers around investigating the relationship between humans and culture, and the built and natural environments they live in.
In the video, Brooks recounts some of his major works, including Preserved Forest, an installation at MoMA PS1 in which the artist planted dozens of trees and then sprayed and poured concrete over them in an attempt to recreate the deforestation of the Amazon.
“We’re so desensitized to imagery of violence, both in terms of a landscape, but also in terms of a culture” Brooks tells Art21, describing the project as a way to “tether reality right back to it, just like skating, there is no ideology behind hitting the pavement.” 

Production still from the Art21 “New York Close Up” film, “David Brooks Hits the Pavement.” © Art21, Inc. 2017.

Another project the artist mentions is Continuous Service Altered Daily (2016), where he disassembled a 1976 John Deere combine harvester, and arranged the hundreds of parts for display. Combines are used to cut corn, break down kernels off the cob, and clean the grain, Brooks explains in the video. Similarly, “the exhibition breaks apart this piece of machinery into thousands of pieces.” 
Right now, at the Planting Fields Foundation in Oyster Bay, New York, an exhibition of works by David Brooks is presented alongside art by Mark Dion, who also investigates complex ecosystems. The show, titled “The Great Bird Blind Debate,” will see both artists present interpretations of bird blinds, used by birding enthusiasts to observe their subjects.

Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s series New York Close Up, below. The brand new 10th season of the show is available now at Art21.org. 
“The Great Bird Blind Debate” is open now at Planting Fields Foundation in Oyster Bay, New York. 
[embedded content]
This is an installment of “Art on Video,” a collaboration between Artnet News and Art21 that brings you clips of newsmaking artists. A new series of the nonprofit Art21’s flagship series Art in the Twenty-First Century is available now on PBS. Catch all episodes of other series like New York Close Up and Extended Play and learn about the organization’s educational programs at Art21.org.

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When the instruments of artistic production are limited and direct, urgent expression the priority, drawing is often the medium of choice. So it should be no surprise that over the last six months, we’ve seen artists the world over turn to pen and paper.
“I think there’s often a tendency to turn to drawing in challenging times,” speculates Claire Gilman, who co-curated an exhibition of 100-plus such artworks completed in 2020 that goes on view at the Drawing Center October 7.
“It has to do with the intimacy of the medium and the necessity of touch, the physical act of putting hand to paper—there’s something very grounding about that,” Gilman continues. “Especially in this moment, when the condition of that trauma is rooted in a feeling of separation and isolation, there was a need for some kind of connectedness.”
Nathaniel Mary Quinn, Treasure Hunt #2 (2020). Collection of Nathaniel Mary Quinn, Donna Augustin-Quinn.

The show, “100 Drawings from Now,” began to take shape back in April, with Gilman working alongside curators Rosario Güiraldes, Isabella Kapur, and Drawing Center executive director Laura Hoptman. “Pretty soon after things had shut down and we were starting to see things on screen,” she explains, “we became aware that there was this immediate turn to drawing on the part of many artists. Some draw regularly, but for many drawing is not their primary medium.”
Indeed, the list of participating artists is a diverse one: Maurizio Cattelan, Paul Chan, Rachel Harrison, and Paul Giamatti (yes, that Paul Giamatti) all share the same set of walls in the exhibition, which provides one of the more in-depth looks at artistic output in the quarantine-era. All the themes that have dominated the discourse over the last half-year are present: state violence, a renewed investigation of domestic space, technology’s mediation of images.
Michael Armitage, Study for Curfew (2020). Courtesy of the artist and White Cube.

In some instances, 2020’s themes sit pointedly on the surface. A spare, ink-on-paper drawing by Michael Armitage called Study for Curfew, for instance, shows a uniformed man whipping a figure on the ground—a reference to recent protests over police violence.
More abstract is an India ink illustration of a tree by William Kentridge, populated with snippets of existential text that suggest isolation: “Escaping our fate.” “And I Alone.” Katherine Bernhardt, meanwhile, honed in on a different aspect of quarantine, via a watercolor picture of cigarette butts and Xanax pills.
Sam Messer and Rochelle Feinstein, offer a different window into the moment. The duo contributes a pair of portraits, each illustrating the other person through Zoom.  
There’s a fair share of abstraction, in shape studies by Xylor Jane and Sam Moyer, for example. There’s also a lot of self-portraiture. R. Crumb and Marcus Jahmal each examine their own likenesses. Both read as exercises in healing through making. 
Katherine Bernhardt,Untitled (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Canada Gallery.

“We didn’t seek out works that addressed specific ideas, necessarily,” says Gilman. “We wanted it to be a very natural portrait of the time. We felt that everyone had something to say. And I think that the artists that said they have something they wanted to contribute thought of their work in this way, as relative to this moment.”
All artists donated works to the Drawing Center for the exhibition, the vast majority of which are on sale now through October 4 in a benefit for the venue. (Prices were determined by the individual artists; some will pocket a percentage of the profits.) 
Mounira Al Solh, Self-Portrait (2020).Courtesy of the artist.

“100 Drawings from Now” will be on view October 7 – January 17, 2021 at the Drawing Center in New York.
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John Akomfrah‘s multichannel video installations are all-encompassing: the color, sound, and especially juxtaposition of historical footage with contemporary imagery make for a truly absorbing experience. And while his works address some of the most urgent present-day issues, Akomfrah also draws inspiration from the art of the past: he traces his interests back to masterpieces by artists like Constable and Turner that he encountered as a teenager visiting Tate Britain, after his family moved from his native Accra, Ghana.
“Turner’s my guy because there’s an act of will and imagination, which is at the forefront with what I call his ‘cinematic eye,’” the artist says in an interview with Art21. “It’s a painting, but it feels like you’re in the disaster.” The interview is part of the new season of the acclaimed PBS series’s Art in the Twenty-First Century series.
Akomfrah gestures to the turbulent ocean, a hallmark of Turner’s work, which figured heavily in his 2015 film Vertigo Sea. That work is an episodic meditation on the sublime beauty and horror of the water, incorporating scenes of migrants crossing the expanse in hope of a better life, images of the whaling industry, and readings of Moby Dick along with archival and newly shot footage.
“I’m more choreographer than creator,” the artist explains in the video, “I became interested in making multi-screen films because it seemed a way of bringing disparate interests together.” For Akomfrah, the addition of archival material introduces another voice, and so another perspective. 

Still from John Akomfrah’s Vertigo Sea (2015). ©Smoking Dogs Films, courtesy of Lisson Gallery.

For Art21, Akomfrah details personal experiences and global issues that he’s engaged in his films, including Brexit, race riots, the military coup in Ghana that forced his family to flee for Britain, and a number of other political and social events. All of those historical strands, the artist says, helped to shape his own view.
“Once you’ve understood that you are a product of things, you can’t shake off realizing that from across your life,” he says.
Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s series Art in the Twenty-First Century, below. The brand new 10th season of the show is available now at Art21.org. 
[embedded content]
This is an installment of “Art on Video,” a collaboration between Artnet News and Art21 that brings you clips of newsmaking artists. A new series of the nonprofit Art21’s flagship series Art in the Twenty-First Century is available now on PBS. Catch all episodes of other series like New York Close Up and Extended Play and learn about the organization’s educational programs at Art21.org.

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Bruce Nauman has made a career out of unsettling audiences—or at least, shaking up the dailiness of life—with a various-and-sundry practice that has stretched from the absurdist, at-times whimsical performance pieces that first gained him recognition in the 1960s, to distressing sculpture and video works that boldly take torture as their subject matter.  
This month, Nauman, who at 78 is still very much at it, debuted three new works at Sperone Westwater in an exhibition that marks his 13th solo show at the gallery since his first one, 45 years ago in 1976.
Two new interactive 3-D video works and one hanging sculpture (Two Leaping Foxes, a return to the animal sculptures Nauman first made in the late 1980s) comprise the show and are given ample space in the gallery (which should be something of a comfort to those still hesitant to visit galleries in person).
Bruce Nauman, Nature Morte (2020). Courtesy of Sperone Westwater.

For fans of the provocative artist, the exhibition conjures up comparisons to earlier precedents in his long career, especially for those who still have last year’s MoMA retrospective, “Bruce Nauman: Disappearing Acts,” in mind.
That’s not to say the works are without innovation, however. The videos, Walking a Line (2019) and Nature Morte (2020), feel strangely and unexpectedly vulnerable. 
In Walking a Line (2019), Nauman walks with his arms extended out to his sides as he follows a straight line. Nauman’s Walk with Contrapposto from 1968–69 comes to mind—the seminal, and nonsensical, performance art video that showed the young artist following a path around his studio in slow-motion as he comically mimicked the stances of ancient sculptures.
But the mood of Walking a Line feels more precarious than punchy, as Nauman walks like a tightrope walker trying to maintain his balance. This is inevitably underscored by Nauman’s age—he is no longer a lithe, almost balletic young man. What’s more, the work has a 3-D element that splits the projection (and the figure of Nauman) horizontally, and plays the two segments out of sync, so that the overall effect is discordant and tenuous.
“There is transparency about his relationship with his own body as he completes what would have been a simple exercise in his youth,” Natasha Westwater told Artnet News. “In the editing, he again divides the body in half, creating asymmetry with each turn. Sometimes his lower body turns around, revolving 180 degrees before the upper half catches up, sometimes completely walking out of the frame.”
Bruce Nauman, Nature Morte (2020). Courtesy of Sperone Westwater.

What made Nauman so revolutionary in the 1960s and ‘70s was, of course, this invitation inside his space, inside the studio. In our age of Instagram and hyper-documentation, it can be hard to imagine the impact his gesture had. Already in 2001, with Mapping the Studio (2001), Nauman began to record his studio space at night, picturing it as its own object, full of mice and critters. 
But in his most recent work, Nature Morte (2020), the artist has gone much further, giving the public free reign to navigate his studio without his presence. Through three iPads, each linked to a projection, visitors can explore the space of his studio and inspect individual objects that Nauman has scanned. 
“Nauman disappears, his body is absent, and the spectator becomes the participant or performer… Nauman recorded hundreds of images documenting all parts of the studio—notes from previous artworks, books, coffee cups, vinyl records, tools, photographs of horses, the sculpture Two Leaping Foxes, and more, for over a year,” noted Westwater, who said the work “questions the conventions of art and the contradictions and ambiguities which characterize our existence in the world.”
The final effect, dizzying as it is, is provocative in a new way—it’s eerie, even lonely, especially in this unusual year, with Nauman suddenly appearing more like a seer than a jester of contemporary life. 
“Bruce Nauman” is on view at Sperone Westwater through November 7, 2020.
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“Justine Hill: Touch”Through October 31 at Denny Dimin Gallery

What the gallery says: “Justine Hill’s work explores the boundaries of abstract painting with her unique approach to form and mark making. The works in the exhibition are a continuation of what she has styled the ‘Cutouts’—paintings on shaped wood panels wrapped in canvas. Hill began to work with this process five years ago when she was questioning the circumscribed boundary of the single rectangle for a painting. The way Hill chooses to arrange the pieces, how the shapes relate to one another, and the negative spaces within and around them, are all essential to the work.
The title of the exhibition, ‘Touch,’ refers to the unquantifiable loss we have experienced in our socially distanced, remote lives over the past few months. It is an expression of desire to return to viewing art in person, because without the idea of touch, components such as texture, scale, volume, and color are impossible to understand with accuracy. Hill writes, ‘Touch is about standing in front of something or someone. It is about all that we learn by being in the same place, even when no one is speaking. It is about feeling the touch of the handmade. It is about everything that is lost in translation on a screen.’”
Why it’s worth a look: The colorful cut-out abstractions in Hill’s work are delightful to view online, and even better to see in person. Hill’s most recent series of works, titled “Replica,” are responses to the art of Marina Adams, whose abstract paintings incorporate geometric shapes and bright colors. Hill’s works evoke homemade crafts and magic markers, though their large-scale sculptural aspects and shaped canvases nod to other art-historical precedents, such as Frank Stella’s “Moby Dick” series. The works make you want to grab some art supplies and go to town.
What it looks like:

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Kilter (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Handwork (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Replica 3 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Replica 2 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Still Life 1 (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Still Life 3 (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Replica 1 (2020) detail. Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

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As galleries and art institutions around the world begin to reopen, we are spotlighting individual shows—online and IRL—that are worth your attention.

“Gina Beavers: World War Me”through October 17 at Marianne Boesky Gallery
What the gallery says: “Beavers spends hours scouring Instagram, YouTube, blogs, and other online sources in search of images that inspire, compel, repulse, and amuse her. In recent years, she has become particularly drawn to make-up tutorials created by both professional and amateur artists. Beavers takes stills from these tutorials and recreates them with incredible realism, enlivening the flattened image with dynamic physicality. To create her intensely tactile works, Beavers builds up acrylic paint so densely on the canvas that she is able to sculpt it with a knife. For larger works, she also uses foam to add to the fullness of the forms.
“’I am intrigued by the tools of creativity that are proliferating online, particularly when people apply these to their own bodies, from elaborate face and body painting to nail art,’ said Beavers. ‘For the new works in “World War Me,” I began to use these tools on my own body, borrowing techniques from the internet to make certain artists and their work a part of my own physical self. I am interested in the ways existing online is performative, and the tremendous lengths people go to in constructing their online selves. Meme-makers, face-painters, people who make their hair into sculptures, are really a frontier of a new creative world.’”
Why it’s worth a look: The genesis for this series, which focuses to a great degree on the artist’s own body, was a Sex and the City Meme featuring Carrie Bradshaw asking: “as our country entered World War III, I couldn’t help but wonder… is it time to focus on World War Me?”
And so Beavers does, using the toxicity of consumerism and the powerful lure of Instagram as a starting point for works that are as repulsive as they are enticing. Like Bradshaw’s performative introspection, a much-satirized tic of the TV series, Beavers is interested in users’ carefully constructed presences.
The canvases, built up with thick impasto paint, are not so unlike cakey foundation and spidery eyelashes, thick with dried and crusty mascara, just as pillowy soft lips are only achieved through sticky layers, prescriptions, injections, and Facetune.
What it looks like:

Gina Beavers, Addiction Lips (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Gina Beavers: World War Me” at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Photo by Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, The Artist’s Lips with Pollock, Kelly, and Kline (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Gina Beavers: World War Me” at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Photo by Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, Picasso Underwear (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, American Flag Sponge Butt Cake (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Gina Beavers: World War Me” at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Photo by Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, Nude Self-self-portrait (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, I voted (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

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“Hannah Beerman: Delicate Rubbernecking”
through October 25, 2020 at Kapp Kapp, New York
What the gallery says: “Known for her distinctly punk and vibrant assemblage paintings, Beerman’s process is heavily based in object. For Beerman, no material is discriminated against, therefore, every material becomes paint as all paint becomes material. 
‘The paintings are like fly-paper,’ says Beerman, ‘they pick up on things that are going on around them.’ Paintings in this new body of work include pita bread, pins, a book sock, neti pot, and ice tray, among others.”
Why it’s worth a look: There’s a particular joy in looking at Beerman’s everything-but-the-kitchen-sink assemblages in September 2020, as we slowly extricate ourselves from the maddening grip of quarantine. All but one of the works in “Delicate Rubbernecking” were made this year, and they feel like it, capturing the best of what the pandemic has brought out in all of us: the resourcefulness, the humility, the quotidian joy.  
Beerman is also an easy artist to root for, representing as she does another one of the positives from the last couple of months: a sense of community. In March, she launched Artists for Humans, an Instagram initiative that sees artists give away artworks in exchange for donating money to various relief causes. To date, the project has raised over $150,000 for charity.
What it looks like:
Installation view of “Hannah Beerman: Delicate Rubbernecking” at Kapp Kapp, New York, 2020. Courtesy of Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Waterproof Reversible (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Pale (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Installation view of “Hannah Beerman: Delicate Rubbernecking” at Kapp Kapp, New York, 2020. Courtesy of Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, My Vocabulary Did This to Me (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Glitter Pita (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Pants (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

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