Trockel pulls out all the stops in engaging the viewer in Favorite Things, now on display at the Donald Young Gallery. The German artist continues to develop her familiar themes, this time in a quiet, melancholic expression.

Immediately what draws a viewer into the larger room are the two eerie, seemingly floating minimalist sculptures, which resemble high-end furniture. The sculptures create a more dynamic space, and play into more themes of loss. Any meaning by the literal forms is negated by their stark nature, and by using the minimalist sculpture Trockel distances herself from the experience of the viewer. Viewers move through the space, their experience determined by ambient conditions, and the art becomes relative to the viewers' vision. Trockel willingly looses some control over the meaning, or at least the physical view, of her work, owing much to Roland Barthes theory on the loss of authorial agency.

Trockel's show is undoubtedly feminine, but a masculine feminine; a Katharine Hepburn of an art show. All the obvious symbols are there: fabric, fashion, boobs, the drippy, paint-stained wood backgrounds to the wall pieces, reminiscent of Helen Frankenthaler. The plexiglass covers that enclose the wall pieces give the impression of storefront windows or showcases, bringing the material inside down from high art status to decoration or handicraft and further feminizing the work.

The feminine motifs in the wall works and minimalist sculpture command a certain to-be-looked-at-ness, even though only three wall works contain images of women. Still, though, the indices of femininity command some attention and feelings of reverence or some attachment. The piece of bed sheet in Night Origami, sink-like form of avalanche, and conservative, easy clothing in several wall works all emit a familiar, motherly ambiance. This feeling from the series of wall works to set the tone for the minimalist sculpture.

Parts of the series of wall works that do not contain explicitly feminine objects or images still try to have a strong psychological effect on the viewer. Instead of evoking memory, some wall pieces simply draw in the viewer with aural spectacle. Nobody will Survive 2 stares back with a synthetic eye, presented theatrically with silver curtain-like strips and a tactile terry cloth strip that doubles as a full bottomed wig. The Dessert series invites viewers to gaze into their crackled, disjoined centers, which amount to vanity mirrors. Surrounded by rugged, coarse ceramic, the built-out edges of the mirrors come off like fool's gold, framing the nebulous reflection of the viewer in the center.

The women’s wear featured in the wall works reads masculine. It owes much to menswear as separates, and the clothing looks like it is made out of synthetic materials. Flat shoes and loose-fitting velvet pants look like they’re made for day wear, ease and comfort, not typical feminine fashion. As in previous work, the possibility of collapsing the masculine and feminine reappears with the nearly gender-neutral clothing

. Only one piece of clothing really breaks with this theme: the one white dress pictured in She is Dead 4. The dress, though, looks like a traditional garment, an allusion to a wedding dress. The images of clothing all end up as indices of a lived life, of the elderly. The best example of this, then, is the shaw, which lays on the bed-like sculpture. The shaw is not only an ominous black cloth lying on the stark white bed, but also a symbol of ethnic fashion and tradition in deathly jet black, set against the literal, empty sculpture's form.

But the relationship in the wall work between these photographs and their backdrop again addresses the confrontation of masculine and feminine. These indices of elderly women are aggressively stapled onto painted wood, stroked arbitrarily with color. The juxtaposition of a vacant female form with the masculine brushstroke polarizes the genders—one aggressive and artistic, the other passive and rooted in handicraft. Both, though, are locked within the framed edges of the collage and caged in behind plexiglass, confusingly shut off from the real world.

Finally all of these images of clothing relate to Joseph Beuys, whose influence is evident in her use of industrial machinery in the knitted work

. The evacuated blouses, pants, and shoes evoke Beuys's Felt Suit (1970). The images of laid-out clothing turn into indices of indices—the clothing is more than a kind of self-portrait, as Beuys designated his work. Laid out on couches and tables the clothing is a trace of a body, a melancholy reminder of something that has withered away or dematerialized. But their presence is still felt, because, like Felt Suit, the pieces of clothing, especially the knit sweater and velvet drawstring pants, evoke thoughts of warmth.

Despite the feelings of warmth, though, Favorite Things still leaves the viewer cold. This is illustrated by the trickery of the materials in avalanche and dream tank, a grey box accessorized with a ceramic cup. Both have the appearance of cardboard—a depressed, dilapidated material painted, in the case of dream tank, or smeared with clay and enameled in the case of avalanche. Their tattered, disjoined form contributes to the melancholy but poetic mood of the show, but they are ultimately industrial. dream tank, made from cast bronze, and avalanche, made from ceramic metal, both lure the viewer in with motherly, domestic ease on the surface. But the reality of the sculptures is their industrial, masculine approach. 

Trockel’s Favorite Things is another nuance of her usual themes. The show, though, takes a much less overtly political stance, sacrificing cheekiness for subtlety and melancholy. The lack of obvious commentary on commercialization and explicit references to gender themes removes any shock value to the work and puts greater emphasis on gender contradiction and contemplation.

¹ Stitch, Sidra. “The Affirmation of Difference in the Art of Rosemarie Trockel.” Rosemarie Trockel. By Stich. Munich: Prestel, 1987.

² Sobin, Isabelle. Painting Machines: Industrial Image and Process in Contemporary Art. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1997.

PRORSUM: THE TAG LINE

"THE LIMELIGHT"

From .spectrum magazine. Evocative of both the selective process of subjects, and Peter Gatien's seminal New York nightclub.

SYNECDOCHE METONYMY METAPHOR & IRONY

LETTER

Prorsum is moving forward. Loving both fashion photographers and television stars, gossip columnists and art critics, this publication is the "Approval Matrix," but redone as a number line. It's very democratizing. There's an emphasis on progress, on forward thinking, on Version 2.0, on not getting ahead of ourselves.

But more importantly is the emphasis on communication, not concept. The language in Prorsum bypasses jargon. It seems like such a basic idea, readability. Writers don't necessarily sacrifice sophistication when they use non-technical language. It might take a few more words to get the point across, but writers should communicate their ideas clearly and simply, or see the most effective way to explain an argument. There's as much honor in explaining an idea through an example or giving up the more specific term for the common or more general word. Not doing so can condescend to the reader and turn reading into work. A fast, conversational tone pervades Prorsum. A transcribed interview or an IM conversation isn't off limits. The presentation of these things should be an erotics of culture.

Prorsum is irreverent. It's like what Marc Jacobs says about fashion—how important and fashion shouldn't be used in the same sentence. Fashion is indulgent, a luxury. He says no one should go out of his or her way to conform to his ideas because his garments are only the intersection of his ideas about how people should look and his reaction to what other designers did last season. He's moving the tradition forward. He's not pandering to a specific audience or dictating taste, and neither should magazines. Like his line, a magazine should be an extension of an audience, a component of its cultural citizenship. 

But most importantly, magazines should be self-evident. They shouldn't require an explanation. BlackBook doesn't need an explanation to show that it's the bi-coastal, younger New York, and Interview doesn't need to spell out all the ways in which it's Andy Warhol's brainchild. Everything about a magazine should revolve around its central idea. Take i-D, for instance. From the winking, sideways title that seems to taunt Anna Wintour, who shares a motherland with the magazine, to the way it gobbles up said-and-done models, W's sloppy seconds—it's a giant middle finger to high fashion magazines. So, for example, in Prorsum, the fonts I chose, both sans-serif, one tall, the other from the Helvetica family, reflect what I feel is new, noticeable, and capable of breaking through the clutter. And the layout will change with the ongoing development of ideas about freshness.

So how do these things all move forward? It's kitschy and equates art and entertainment. Prorsum doesn't mind blurring the lines. Like Glenn O'Brien said in his article "Art Is a Joke!": "Theater is over. Music is over. Literature is over. Art is hanging on by its press-on nails." So kill it off, and get on with it.

DETAILS

Writers: Art & Culture

Greil Marcus

Michael Musto

Glenn O'Brien

Bill Powers

Elvis Mitchell

Fran Lebowitz

Jefferson Hack

Matt Diehl

Dana Thomas

Stephen Mooallem

Steven Connor

Stephen W. Melville

TJ Clark

Harold Rosenberg

Peter Schjedahl

Nancy Jo Sales

Meghan Daum

Alexandra Marshall

Anthony Haden-Guest

Bruno Maddox

Graham Fuller

More Writers:

Pico Iyer

DBC Pierre

JT Leroy

Ariel Levy

A.M. Homes

Some Featured Photographers & Artists:

Jamie Chard

Miles Aldridge

François-Marie Banier

Brett Ranter

Richard Prince

Paul P

 

The audience is interested in both the highbrow and the lowbrow. They see both of these as very important to culture, the mass produced and the exclusive, the luxurious and the mundane. Another central theme is taste. The reader isn't afraid to admit that the new Britney Spears song is kind of catchy or that the Fug Girls are hilarious writers. By the same token they appreciate the artistry of Paul P and revere Paul Poiret. Readers are interested in the most forward thinking cultural creators, but don't mind camp appreciate kitsch in a knowing way. They absolutely cannot stand clichés.

25% advertising, 35% front-of-book fodder, 40% features

Total circulation: 465,000 (50,000 newsstand) 

Biannual glossy. 450-500 pages.

Sold in major chains, museums, and newsstands

Front-of-book fodder includes: film reviews, previews and personal views; music reviews, previews and personal views; fashion journalism; short art criticism or show reviews; artist/actor/band/writer/architect profiles; interior and industrial design reports; editorial notes; letters; contributor blurbs.

Features include: Book excerpts; long form artist/architect/designer profiles; long form art criticism; editorial fashion; long form cultural commentary; in-depth (but not necessarily cynical) looks at marketing, advertising, and brand identity; interiors.

Most content revolves around either contemporary art or fashion, with architecture or industrial design coming in a close third. All things film and music are front of book and make up about 50% of the fodder.

The choice to make Prorsum a biannual comes from the types of projects and writing within the magazine. Even though the magazine works to sample a broad range of cultural topics, the slower publishing pace allows writers to see if their subjects really have cultural robustness. This effective selection of content is central to the quality and power of the publication.

Website by either Hi-ReS! or CreateThe Group

RUPAUL "BACK TO MY ROOTS" (1993)

RuPaul dared to outdo herself with this song, which is almost catchier than her first single, "Supermodel (You Better Work)." MTV banned "Back to My Roots" from the airwaves, saying in a formal statement that the video did not live up to the network's standards—despite the song's genuineness and seemingly fun multiculturalism. More remarkably, though, is Ru's powerful ability to not alienate any other audience while singing about black identity.

SISCHY, BRANT LEAVE INTERVIEW

It's the end of an era at Interview magazine, where editor-in-chief Ingrid Sischy and publisher Sandra Brant recently called it quits. Sischy, who was editor for 18 years, is handing over the creative reigns of Interview, Art in America, and The Magazine Antiques to Glenn O'Brien and French Vogue's Fabien Baron, alleviating any worries that Warhol's legendary magazine would follow in the footsteps of Jane.

FUGGER JESSICA ACKNOWLEDGES MY EXISTENCE

POWER SHOULDERS

Power dressing of the 1980s—it was bound to resurface. By the early 1990s, fashion journalists and cultural critics looked back on the heyday of the power shoulder to give it a gendered meaning: women entering the white-collar work force had to contend with their male coworkers. But the use of a wide shoulder only serves in fashion to make the waist look small in comparison, creating a classically feminine silhouette. Such a silhouette has been coming back into style for the past few seasons—from Dolce & Gabbana's metal corset-cum-chastity belt of last spring to Balenciaga's sculptural dresses for next season. And now the power shoulder has been redesigned, the beta version is sleeker than ever.

IZAK

In the book Stylist, French Vogue editor Carine Roitfeld says "All that matters to me when you look at a page is, 'Do you want to be that girl?'". But isn't it more impressive when an illustrator can trump the photographer?

Aaron Van Dyke's C-Side, Deluxe Edition! at Western Exhibitions turns down the volume of his previous work. Two series and a sculpture made up the show, which contained several common themes but did not convey any one particular thesis.

Seven posters made up the dominant series. These posters, mostly square, contained the markings reminiscent of Van Dyke's past work, but differed in their straight edges. On some posters the marks were clearly black, but others were less clearly defined, implying a digital color-inversion process and confusing the distinction between foreground and background. The works in the new show lacked the same kind of inherent interest as past work. Van Dyke's government documents, advertisements, and covers of LPs from past shows were engaging, young, conversational. It was vandalism and censorship, original and remix, public document written in legalese processed through his own violent interpretation. It was reminiscent of youth-targeted mass marketing or promotion, but more personal.

This C-Side series is inherently dead; the marked papers are littered with hair. Hair almost completely covers some posters—some have clumps, on others the hair is spread evenly and scantly. The hair, itself a symbol of irreclaimable loss, gives the same effect of the lost text, victim to black ink. The hair pasted over black marks disappeared—but this time, what is disappearing is private and bodily. The posters collapse the re-appropriation of the readymade, the chance factor of abstract expressionism, and the physicality of body art.

The play on the body is continued through the truncated obelisk sculpture. The sculpture, made of plaster and wire lattice, has a smooth, minimalist appearance on the outside and a rougher and more industrial inside, challenging the look of process art. Attached to the exterior are photographs and computer printouts of the artist Photoshopping an image of a wig along with a sheet of computer paper that contains more hair. Photographs of Van Dyke constructing the sculpture while wearing several fake beards are also attached to the sculpture, and a longhaired Peter Frampton makes another cameo at this Van Dyke show. This time his photograph has a psychedelic effect, and he is holding a phallic guitar. The masculine theme continues with psychedelic porn and photocopied essays on a men's prison and the Oedipus complex. Photographs of the sculpture, itself, and its construction are posted on its sides. These allusions to Gordon Matta-Clark are cemented by the photograph of Splitting (1973), which is attached to the inside of the sculpture. In this way the construction of the sculpture is the work, making the sculpture like a happening. This theme is echoed in the sculpture's Frampton photo, which takes on a more object-image role than the images in the third series.

Three images make up the third series, all of them based on Peter Frampton. The two end images are monochromes based on the same image of Frampton on the sculpture. The leftmost image is not doctored any more than the image on the sculpture. Like the sculpture's image of Frampton, two toupees are digitally added to his portrait, one on either side of his head. In the rightmost image Frampton has disappeared, painted into the background. The area of middle image where Frampton would presumably be is spray painted over in the same black and white of the posters. The spray paint, though, is digital—Photoshop's spray can. Here the inking out is virtual, but built into the printout. The vandal is a digital artist; a Perez Hilton of the art world.