Promiscuous Eye

Maybe(not) Mayfair

I thought Gagosian in Chelsea New York City was intimidating with it’s 50 feet high frosted heavy doors set in a massive stone structure that feels more like an uptown museum than a gallery. I love watching people as they pull the door with all their weight and with even more hesitation. Most are not quite sure if they are ‘allowed’ to go in. But galleries in the west of London seem to be even more intimidating

Imagine you are in Mayfair, one of the poshest areas in London, and everyone around you is in expensive gear. There are a plethora of Bentley’s with drivers sitting in them waiting for their boss to arrive from shopping on Seville Row. However you are the typical tourist awkwardly pulling out the gallery map after every turn struggling to find the next gallery. Trying not to look to out of place, you weave in and out of tiny streets with confidence once you have memorized the street signs, however, it does not help you are probably severely underdressed and really look like you belong back on the Regents St. where the main strip of cheap retail shops and cheesy tourist traps are located. You think goodness I just wanted to go gallery hopping why is it so much work.

You finally find the gallery you were looking for. You walk through a small dark corridor to a wooden door with gold lettering and you realize you must buzz up to the gallery in order to be let in. And you think to yourself that they may not let you in because you don’t look like the desirable millionaire with a thirst for art. Good news is that most times they will let you in, and sometimes they will ask what do you want, but to their credit in those cases they might be preparing for the next exhibition.

Oh, but the intimidation does not stop there. You go to the next gallery and the doors are flung wide open but on each pedestal displaying small bronze sculptures there is this really annoying label that reads, ‘ALARMED-PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH’ in bright red. I know you really want to touch it just to see if there really is an alarm. You wonder what will happen after the alarm goes off, will ten security men suddenly scurry out of the back gallery offices and throw you out, or will the police be called and put you in jail for a night. Can you imagine you are sitting in a dingy cell with maybe a drug dealer and a robber and they ask what are you in for and you reply, “I’m here for touching a bronze sculpture”. The kicker is you barely remember the artist’s name. It is my guess that the gallery assistant will shun and shame you to death and hope the embarrassment will make you leave.

Well in a nutshell that was essence of my experience of gallery hopping in west London (without the setting off of the alarm). I think I might stick to the east on a more consistent basis and go to the west for special exhibits and to visit this wonderful gallery/restaurant/aesthetic wonderland called Sketch. It’s beautiful. I really don’t care what the exhibit is I will be there once a week.

British Museum

British Museum

I finally went to the British museum. I say ‘finally’ because the British Museum has been part of my undergraduate and graduate research for years. The British Museum is the mother of museums. They have successfully documented British spoils acquired through unwelcomed expeditions, colonization, and war. In the beginning my blood would boil at the thought of its history. Just thinking of the arrogance of a museum to display with no shame how they stole and ravaged cultures. Over time I began to chill a bit and come to terms with the fact that this is just a consequence of war.

It all began with a conversation with a highly intelligent know-it-all artist who suggested I look into the repatriation of traditional African objects since I was really getting into the subject of Nazi-era stolen objects. Well I did and never turned back. In the beginning I was naïve and saw the issue in black in white. I felt the royal goods of Benin taken during the British punitive expedition to Nigeria in 1897 should be returned immediately. I studied the issue and wrote about it with passion. I looked at the laws, sociological concerns, anthropological opinions, and even worked for the International Council of African Museums, a non-profit organization who writes security policies. The more research I did the more I realized that the objects in some cases are better off at the British museum simply because they are safe from being stolen and sold on the black market.

The moment when I came faced to face with sculptures I stared at in books for years was not as dramatic as I imagined. I stood for I think the expected time an art historian would stare at an object. I was in complete awe of how detailed the objects were. They worked in wood, ivory and bronze all with the same consistent impressive skill. It was cool to see also the tourist objects made of ivory with ugly European men on horses. I was comparing that to our current tourist objects that I believe are complete junk, but in a couple hundred years you never know, they too could end up on a museum shelf to display the value of mass production.

Paris with Lennon

I've been having a great time in Paris. From the first night I have been gallivanting around Paris with artist Lennon Jno-Baptiste. He has been gracious enough to show the art scene in Paris. Well, I kind of just bug him enough so that he feels somewhat obligated to show me around.

Our first opening was at Vallois where well known artist Richard Jackson was showing. I really did not know what to expect, but it felt like a regular New York opening. It wasn’t disappointing, I enjoyed the pseudo-familiarity. Afterwards, I had dinner with Lennon, gallerist Carole Wagemans, a collector, and artist Alberta Mayo. We drank wine, ate fabulous food, and talked about art all night, pretty much what I would call heaven.

The next day I got really lost trying to find Lennon's apartment. I guess it’s good to get lost if you want to see more of Paris but when you are late for an appointment it just becomes annoying. Lennon was chill enough to receive me with no judgments.

The studio visit was definitely satisfying. I finally got to ask Lennon some questions about his work. I've known about his work for about two years. I love his work so much I have it on my photo ipod. I'll be interviewing him on Monday.

After the studio visit we went to see Davide Bertocchi's exhibit, One Shot at Nuke Gallery. Simply put, it was very interesting and fun. It was fun mostly because I was part of the exhibit. Last year I was one of the chosen one's from the art world to submit one song for his project Top 100 Vol. 2. The song I submitted was the Pursuit of Happiness by the Weekend Players. It just so happened I was wearing that album out when Davide asked. One Shot consisted of marble records with various statements etched into the label and a marble stereo system. When you go you are invited to choose a song from the list and the wonderful gallerist, in my case Verane Pena, will play it for you. Of course I chose my song. I wiggled my fanny while I tried to focus on all the information Verane was giving me. She sent me packing with a limited edition Top 100 Vol. 2 CD, Nuke's magazine and a list of galleries in the area. When my song was done Lennon and I attempted to go through the list of galleries.

The next evening I made poor Lennon come with me to the several gallery openings. I say poor Lennon because it was raining cats and dogs. The rain plus the chill did not make for the most inviting conditions for gallery hopping on tiny sidewalks with one umbrella. If I were in New York I wouldn’t have been out. Somehow we made due. There so many galleries we went to I really forgot most of it. I do remember that I saw way too much American art. I saw more work by U.S. Americans than French or even European. There were two galleries that I enjoyed the most, Galerie Emmanuel Perrotin and Galerie Michel Rein. At the latter gallery there was a video by Stefan Nikolaev called . This video made smoking look like the most sensual act you could engage in with another human being. The kiss was two cigarettes lighting each other while remaining in the owner's mouth and using no hands. Later I really had to have a cigarette with my drink even though I supposedly gave up smoking.

Today I will be going to Parc de la Villette for an exhibit on love. After a very soggy night I hope Lennon will not be too tired of me to come along.

Ahhh...Iceland

I am sitting in Reykjavik, Iceland. As much of an international nomad as I am I would have never guessed I would be sitting in this well designed airport. This probably the most beautiful airport I have ever set foot in. I love the clean lines and basic honey wood and dark grey coloring. It is definitely a less is more kinda thing. I wish it were my final destination, but alas I must move on to Paris. I am tempted to stay. I hear the city has a wonderful futuristic feel to it. I would spend my days looking at contemporary art and architecture and my nights meeting people. I am quite curious about the culture I know not very much about it. All I have heard about is the folklore of hidden people. How intriguing.

It would be a great place to escape to I think. It could be the naivety talking but man I wish I could stay.