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Posts Tagged ‘Sparkplug Comic Books’

Marina Abramović + The Future of Performance Art, ed. Paula Orrell (Prestel) $45

MA+TFOPA is by far the most accessible introduction to contemporary performance art, showcasing the recent work of Serbian legend Marina Abramović, including her Guggenheim performances based on early performance classics like VALIE EXPORT’s Action Pants: Genital Panic, Gina Pane’s The Conditioning, First Action of Self-Portraits, and her own Thomas Lips. Divided into three sections—Tomorrow, Yesterday/Today, and Tomorrow/Yesterday, the book uses Abramović’s new self-named Institute for the Preservation of Performance Art, in Hudson, New York, as a point of departure. Hans Ulrich Obrist and Paula Orrell interview the always articulate Abramović about the institution, and particularly about the challenges of effectively documenting and preserving performance art, the most ethereal of contemporary fine arts. That interview is followed by Obrist’s with Taiwanese performance artist Tehching Hsieh, who shares the importance of dividing time, as in his yearlong performances like Time Clock and Outdoor Piece, which highlights what is most essential, most exciting about performance art: its physical interaction with the contemporary world. Many of Hsieh’s pieces took place while he was an illegal immigrant in America, including Outdoor Piece, for which he remained outdoors for an entire year, save fifteen hours in jail. He recounts:

I had a street fight and was sent to jail for 15 hours. The judge allowed me to stay outside the court during the hearing. I was found guilty of disorderly conduct. What I don’t understand is that after I came out of jail, why I wasn’t sent to the Immigration Bureau and deported from the country? I went back to the streets to continue doing the piece.

The book’s most valuable asset—for the performance art newbie and connoisseur alike—is its brief profiles of contemporary performance artists, featured both early in the work, in the chapter “Imagining the Hams of Tomorrow,” about a forthcoming festival in Plymouth, England and late in the book, in the section documenting Manchester International Festival and the Whitworth Gallery’s Marina Abramović Presents, in 2009. Artists featured in the first section of profiles include Eva and Franco Mattes aka 0100101110101101.ORG, who virtually reenact work from the performance arts canon in Second Life, Tellervo Kalleinen and Oliver Kochta-Kelleinen’s popular Complaint Choirs, and Snežana Golubović’s Love Steps, in which she moved between 90 pairs of friends’ shoes to recount their stories. In the second, they include Nikhil Chopra, whose work “combines the creation of fictional characters with accomplished large-scale drawings,” Ivan Civic’s Back to Sarajevo…after 10 years…, in which he climbs on mounted pegs through projected video of his first return home in 10 years, Kira O’Reilly’s slow, naked roll down a grand staircase, and Fedor Pavlov-Andreevich’s reenactement of the life and death of Vitaly Titov, “a Soviet engineer who survived for twenty days having an artificial body attached to his head.”

The book’s appendices provide generous biographies of included artists, so that one can research them further if desired. Prestel has done a great job of proving just how effectively performance art can be documented and preserved in print format, with full-color photos throughout, just the right amount of conversation, and not too much discipline-specific jargon. MA+TFOPA is a great success, and I hope the Marina Abramović Institute for the Preservation of Performance Art will be too.

Jennifer Steinkamp: United States Presentation, 11th International Cairo Biennale (MAK Center for Art + Architecture, L.A., @ The Schindler House) $22.50

In the foreword of this backwards-bound, bilingual Arabic-English showcase of Steinkamp’s ICB work, commissioner Kimerli Meyer writes,

In approaching the United States’ presentation at the Eleventh International Cairo Biennale, I had two major themes in mind: the increasingly influential role of digital technology in shaping our views of reality, and the longstanding power of art to bridge distinct cultures by opening a dialogue about aesthetics.

According to her own criteria, the selection of Steinkamp’s work, featured here with documentation of previous installations, her own simulation of her biennial projections on the streets of Cairo, and an essay that frames her work and practice theoretically, definitely fulfills her “two major themes in mind.”

Even in its most textual moments—as in Kimberli Meyer and Nizan Shaked’s essay—the book is laid out to generously reflect Steinkamp’s work itself, edged with projections from former works and featuring regular photographs of projected shows. My only complaint is the book’s small size, which sometimes doesn’t allow for the magnificent detail of Steinkamp’s projections to show as it would in person. Though I understand the book’s decidedly small scope—the International Cairo Biennale—the few simulated images of Steinkamp’s projections in Cairo and the more generous images from her previous shows make me want to enjoy more of her work: a sign both of the book’s success and limitations.

The Shortest Interval, David King (Sparkplug Comic Books) $3

David King’s latest offering is a tiny meditation on the relationship between art, science, and wonder. He illustrates characters Max Planck, “big player” Gravity, and others in his recognizably retro style, and writes with characteristically dry humor. He describes a brief period that followed the Big Bang: “It was a wild time that lasted just 10ˉ⁴³ seconds. For those that witnessed it it was real metaphysical and exciting and new.” The book ends with King’s note that “The author is not a scientist and does not understand physics or anything. Use this comic book as an academic source at your own risk.” Though not a scientist, King is a great illustrator and writer, and though not an academic source, The Shortest Interval is one of the best mini-comics in recent memory.

Ed Ruscha’s Los Angeles, Alexandra Schwartz (MIT Press) $29.95

Schwartz’ tiny hardback chronicles the development of West Coast pop art, with a special focus on Ruscha’s slow canonization in a field largely dominated by East Coast icons. The book contains generous if conservatively sized images of work by Ruscha and others. Especially noteworthy are Jerry McMillan’s candids of Ruscha and his friend Joe Goode riding horses (1968) and sitting against Ruscha’s ’39 Chevy, (‘ 70) posed shots of Ruscha dressed in a bunny suit, as a sort of debonair cowboy (both ’70), and next to the Hollywood sign (’72), in an unused assignment for Life magazine. Some of my favorite images—and a testament to the broad scope of the book—are Artforum advertisements for Ruscha’s shows at the Ferus Gallery (September 1964) and “Ed Ruscha Says Goodbye to College Joys” (January 1967). Schwartz prose maintains the sharp tone of a literary biography. On the whole the book resembles Ruscha’s art: approachable and engaging at first glance, but with considerable depth upon consideration.

DS

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A Brief Conversation with Olga Volozova

I met Olga Volozova through Molossus friend Tom Neely, when he invited her to participate in the Silver Lake Jubilee. She eagerly interacted with the other participating cartoonists as well as participating poets and writers, and we spoke at length in the Jubilee Beer Garden, over two Firestones. I learned of her other interests, especially puppetry, and we spoke about the Oberiu group of surrealists from 1920s Russia. Olga makes her home in Hollywood, and her most recent book is a collaboration with Juliacks, Rock That Never Sleeps (Sparkplug Comic Books, $6).

DS

Tell me about Rock That Never Sleeps. Did you and Juliacks come up with the idea together? How do you see your stories interacting?

Dylan Williams from Sparkplug Comic Books suggested that we make a book together with Julia. We went to the cafe to talk about it.  We didn’t have an idea, but we found out that both of us were obsessed with the subject of memory.

Julia had been always inventing unique rituals for grieving and commemoration. I had always been making tiny memorandums inside shoeboxes.

We imagined a huge campground in the middle of the desert, built in the manner of “memory palaces”—places filled with things that trigger associations with other things, things that help remember other things. (These “palaces,” mental or physical, were recommended by ancient authors for the development of memory.)

We imagined the memory-palace-like ghost town of an indefinite size, constructed in the desert by the strange looking Sages, for the purpose of helping people struggle with the epidemics of fading memory. My story happens in the past, when the first people venture out to go find that hidden ghost town.  Those people happen to be a dysfunctional family of puppet makers. Julia’s story takes place in the future—when some people try to follow the legend and look for the place in the desert in order to cure their ruined minds. It’s a trio of complex teenagers, and they actually find some traces from the first story there… Our two graphic tales visually intersect in the middle of the book.

There are some autobiographical elements in your story, with its puppet makers. (Though, so far as I know, you’re not a witch, right?) What’s your process of story writing like?

In my family there was a feeling of the puppets’ significance, the importance of their presence. My mother used to write puppet plays and I inherited that interest; I have been constantly fascinated by people involved with puppets. I like observing them; there is a sense of a secret in the people and puppets’ communication. The sense that shifts my mind into the mythological aspect of reality. That is usually the beginning of inspiration for me, finding myself in that spot; the peeling of an onion world glistening with layers of meanings.  When I write I have to think that it’s some other person and not me who is writing.  Writing for me is discovering the different beings inside (and outside?) of me.

I record the voice of the storyteller, one that is sometimes much wiser than me, but sometimes it’s not. Then if I stop hearing it, I listen to the voices of others nearby the storyteller, who might be the characters from the story, and I write down what I hear. Then the plot will naturally organize around that, with the help of a few pushes from me. Writing is like guessing, listening to prompts, getting sudden answers that lead you to other turns of a puzzle…

You write comics, but you’re also an artist, children’s book illustrator, and puppet maker. How do the different arts interact in your creative process?

Quite often I doodle some creatures, have no idea what they are, then in a while I make up some story, then I realize it was a story about those doodles. Publishing books with my own illustrations is just a pure, childish fun. My favorite genre is paper theatre (perfect for making mini-shows for myself, with cut-out puppets, to test some ideas); it feels the closest to the physical representation of the “inner eye”

So, Alicia, in your story, loses Ossyp, but what happens to him? All of a sudden, at the end of the story it’s just the women still around!

Ossyp gets lost in the labyrinth of symbols and he enjoys it, he loses connection with the past but becomes one of the Sages of the place… Yes, I felt that the generic pattern had to take its pull, making the women follow their witchery fate. They return on their own to the world, to do their secretive art work inside of it. That’s what women always do, don’t they?

What are you watching, listening to, and reading now? What are you
working on?

I like to read research on old languages and letters, like Johanna Druckers’ books. Also reading the Dictionary of Magic Words now, by Craig Conley; enjoying Kelly Link’s poignant fantasy stories… As a visual type, I always look for the works of authors/illustrators, especially those who explore the language of gesture, of word and image merging, like Billy Mavreas, Shaun Tan, Theo Ellsworth, Chris Wright…

I usually read studies on mythology, plays from different epochs, new science books… I bring home and stack piles of books on the floors, books on insects, trees, snowflakes… No time to read them all, but I like looking at them.

I reread Russian poems over and over, most often by the poets of Russian Silver Age—Tzvetaeva, Pasternak, Mandelshtam, Bunin… Khlebnikov… the poem by Pasternak “Let’s drop the words” is sort of a prayer for me… and of course the writings by my favorite person, Daniil Kharms, who seems to be the first absurdist on earth.

I am especially fond of silent movies from the 20s. Listening to? Classical music, jazz, folk songs…

I am working on a short graphic story based on a legend about a kabbalist from Spain; it will be dedicated to my late husband, Rabbi David Montag. Also, I am writing a cycle of tales for tweens, about a Russian girl who lives in a small Russian town in the middle of America. Also planning a puppet film…

June 2010

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