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Visual Arts

Visual Arts


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  string(3539) "Nothing about the glowing light and color in Katherine Taylor's Casino paintings at the Callanwolde Fine Arts Center Gallery evokes the muddy Mississippi River. At least not since the hopeful transformation of Biloxi into a land of glitz and glimmer.

In a series of photo-based works in oil and watercolor, Taylor paints ambiguous scenes from the strip of lights that have cast a pall over her sense of place. Taylor grew up in the working-class culture of Biloxi, which is now flooded with artifice. Her childhood haunts have disappeared beneath efforts to revive the depressed economy of a town 90 long miles north of New Orleans. Not far from her family's house, the man-made beach constructed a century ago for Louisiana tourists is covered over with hotels and gaming venues. These days, an unnaturally brilliant light keeps the sky and water forever bright.

About a year ago, the Georgia State University graduate student began videotaping her hometown. The Gulf Coast community once alive with shrimping and fishing, edged with canneries and factories where her aunts worked, is just a memory. Taylor filmed different spots along the riverbank, mostly standing on a pier where she hung out as a child. From there, she could capture a complete view of the back bay. Film stills generated from the footage were somewhat blurred to begin with. By the time she got to the paintings, Taylor had so distanced herself from the original images that she was creating abstractions.

The intensity of light has always fascinated Taylor, whose work has tended to be autobiographical and figurative. Her paintings of beauty queens (she was once crowned Miss Mississippi Gulf Coast) represent a personal and social reckoning. Crowned in light, her beauties will play a part in the upcoming Lipstick show at City Gallery East.

As much a psychological study as a cultural appraisal, Casino is one gorgeous case of sublimation. The artist's images are beautiful, hazy impressions, rather than glaring exposés. This blurring has a visceral impact — the effect (perhaps tied to the decadent subject) of having indulged in one too many cocktails. Naming her compositions "Bayview," "Beau Rivage," "Island Princess" and "Fountain's Pier," Taylor compels the viewer to try and make out the shape of a particular hotel, club or landmark.

A number of her paintings are conceived in intimate postcard size. Arranged in linear sequence or in a grid within a shadow box, they project a dreamy landscape. One can imagine nighttime reflections on rainy pavement, or harbor lights seen through a fog. Up close or far away, they have the lure of shiny candies or exotic drinks in fluorescent colors — lipstick red, hot pink, bright yellow and icy white against periwinkle blue, deep violet and gray black. Slick and seductive, just like the neon oases of Las Vegas and Atlantic City. At night, the prostituted environment becomes a visually transcendent pleasure.

Taylor says her focus is "on the convergence of light and its alignment with privilege." She's acutely concerned about the megalomaniacal fantasies that have compelled such developments — changes that exaggerate the splendor of moneymaking and displace the community. But most of all, these luminous paintings reflect a metaphoric pulse of energy in Taylor's ebbing spiritual connections with a place she used to call home.

Casino continues through June 8 at Callanwolde Fine Arts Center, 980 Briarcliff Road. 10 a.m.-8 p.m. Mon.-Fri., 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Sat. 404-872-5338.??


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  string(3544) "Nothing about the glowing light and color in Katherine Taylor's ''Casino'' paintings at the Callanwolde Fine Arts Center Gallery evokes the muddy Mississippi River. At least not since the hopeful transformation of Biloxi into a land of glitz and glimmer.

In a series of photo-based works in oil and watercolor, Taylor paints ambiguous scenes from the strip of lights that have cast a pall over her sense of place. Taylor grew up in the working-class culture of Biloxi, which is now flooded with artifice. Her childhood haunts have disappeared beneath efforts to revive the depressed economy of a town 90 long miles north of New Orleans. Not far from her family's house, the man-made beach constructed a century ago for Louisiana tourists is covered over with hotels and gaming venues. These days, an unnaturally brilliant light keeps the sky and water forever bright.

About a year ago, the Georgia State University graduate student began videotaping her hometown. The Gulf Coast community once alive with shrimping and fishing, edged with canneries and factories where her aunts worked, is just a memory. Taylor filmed different spots along the riverbank, mostly standing on a pier where she hung out as a child. From there, she could capture a complete view of the back bay. Film stills generated from the footage were somewhat blurred to begin with. By the time she got to the paintings, Taylor had so distanced herself from the original images that she was creating abstractions.

The intensity of light has always fascinated Taylor, whose work has tended to be autobiographical and figurative. Her paintings of beauty queens (she was once crowned Miss Mississippi Gulf Coast) represent a personal and social reckoning. Crowned in light, her beauties will play a part in the upcoming ''Lipstick'' show at City Gallery East.

As much a psychological study as a cultural appraisal, ''Casino'' is one gorgeous case of sublimation. The artist's images are beautiful, hazy impressions, rather than glaring exposés. This blurring has a visceral impact -- the effect (perhaps tied to the decadent subject) of having indulged in one too many cocktails. Naming her compositions "Bayview," "Beau Rivage," "Island Princess" and "Fountain's Pier," Taylor compels the viewer to try and make out the shape of a particular hotel, club or landmark.

A number of her paintings are conceived in intimate postcard size. Arranged in linear sequence or in a grid within a shadow box, they project a dreamy landscape. One can imagine nighttime reflections on rainy pavement, or harbor lights seen through a fog. Up close or far away, they have the lure of shiny candies or exotic drinks in fluorescent colors -- lipstick red, hot pink, bright yellow and icy white against periwinkle blue, deep violet and gray black. Slick and seductive, just like the neon oases of Las Vegas and Atlantic City. At night, the prostituted environment becomes a visually transcendent pleasure.

Taylor says her focus is "on the convergence of light and its alignment with privilege." She's acutely concerned about the megalomaniacal fantasies that have compelled such developments -- changes that exaggerate the splendor of moneymaking and displace the community. But most of all, these luminous paintings reflect a metaphoric pulse of energy in Taylor's ebbing spiritual connections with a place she used to call ''home''.

Casino'' continues through June 8 at Callanwolde Fine Arts Center, 980 Briarcliff Road. 10 a.m.-8 p.m. Mon.-Fri., 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Sat. 404-872-5338.''??


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  string(3755) "    Abstracts explore Biloxi's transformation at Callanwolde   2001-05-23T04:04:00+00:00 Casino real   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-05-23T04:04:00+00:00  Nothing about the glowing light and color in Katherine Taylor's Casino paintings at the Callanwolde Fine Arts Center Gallery evokes the muddy Mississippi River. At least not since the hopeful transformation of Biloxi into a land of glitz and glimmer.

In a series of photo-based works in oil and watercolor, Taylor paints ambiguous scenes from the strip of lights that have cast a pall over her sense of place. Taylor grew up in the working-class culture of Biloxi, which is now flooded with artifice. Her childhood haunts have disappeared beneath efforts to revive the depressed economy of a town 90 long miles north of New Orleans. Not far from her family's house, the man-made beach constructed a century ago for Louisiana tourists is covered over with hotels and gaming venues. These days, an unnaturally brilliant light keeps the sky and water forever bright.

About a year ago, the Georgia State University graduate student began videotaping her hometown. The Gulf Coast community once alive with shrimping and fishing, edged with canneries and factories where her aunts worked, is just a memory. Taylor filmed different spots along the riverbank, mostly standing on a pier where she hung out as a child. From there, she could capture a complete view of the back bay. Film stills generated from the footage were somewhat blurred to begin with. By the time she got to the paintings, Taylor had so distanced herself from the original images that she was creating abstractions.

The intensity of light has always fascinated Taylor, whose work has tended to be autobiographical and figurative. Her paintings of beauty queens (she was once crowned Miss Mississippi Gulf Coast) represent a personal and social reckoning. Crowned in light, her beauties will play a part in the upcoming Lipstick show at City Gallery East.

As much a psychological study as a cultural appraisal, Casino is one gorgeous case of sublimation. The artist's images are beautiful, hazy impressions, rather than glaring exposés. This blurring has a visceral impact — the effect (perhaps tied to the decadent subject) of having indulged in one too many cocktails. Naming her compositions "Bayview," "Beau Rivage," "Island Princess" and "Fountain's Pier," Taylor compels the viewer to try and make out the shape of a particular hotel, club or landmark.

A number of her paintings are conceived in intimate postcard size. Arranged in linear sequence or in a grid within a shadow box, they project a dreamy landscape. One can imagine nighttime reflections on rainy pavement, or harbor lights seen through a fog. Up close or far away, they have the lure of shiny candies or exotic drinks in fluorescent colors — lipstick red, hot pink, bright yellow and icy white against periwinkle blue, deep violet and gray black. Slick and seductive, just like the neon oases of Las Vegas and Atlantic City. At night, the prostituted environment becomes a visually transcendent pleasure.

Taylor says her focus is "on the convergence of light and its alignment with privilege." She's acutely concerned about the megalomaniacal fantasies that have compelled such developments — changes that exaggerate the splendor of moneymaking and displace the community. But most of all, these luminous paintings reflect a metaphoric pulse of energy in Taylor's ebbing spiritual connections with a place she used to call home.

Casino continues through June 8 at Callanwolde Fine Arts Center, 980 Briarcliff Road. 10 a.m.-8 p.m. Mon.-Fri., 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Sat. 404-872-5338.??


             13004365 1231248                          Casino real "
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Article

Wednesday May 23, 2001 12:04 am EDT
Abstracts explore Biloxi's transformation at Callanwolde | more...
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  string(20) "Under deconstruction"
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  string(15) "Felicia Feaster"
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  string(58) "America's quest for progress subverted at Swan Coach House"
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  string(4646) "King Thackston's sublime drawings at the Swan Coach House Gallery are a wry riff on the 19th century documentation of the conquest and construction of America.

Manifest destiny, the glory of man and his creations and humankind's power over nature are all asserted in photographs of industrious, brave men carving trails to the Pacific in the 19th century or erecting skyscrapers in the 20th. Thackston employs the style of these posed, heroic photographs by Lewis Hine or Timothy O'Sullivan, but he subverts the notion of "progress" they assert by showing how our national advancement is often a process of erasing the past.

It's as if the very mythos of man and maker has been revealed as a delicious folly in his large-scale pencil drawings. An artist who uses the most whimsical forms to challenge how history and ideals are constructed, Thackston once created a model railroad complete with tiny vignettes of crime scenes, racism and other public misdeeds to get at the mucky realities brewing beneath peachy-keen Americana. Thackston's punchy subtext in Deconstruction of American Icons is a similar investigation of how all our glorious myths of princesses and presidents are just as easily dismantled.

The American fixation with great and noble patriarchs, for instance, is given a postmodern gutting in Thackston's drawing "Deconstructing the U.S. Presidency," in which two of the faces on Mount Rushmore — Teddy Roosevelt and George Washington — are split into two separate images of their upper and lower faces. The work implies that in our post-Watergate, post-Clinton, hanky-panky fixated era, our trust in the institution is similarly bifurcated.

Thackston's show is also a dismantling of our notion of heroic masculinity, from his depiction of the ravishing of the Lincoln Monument, to the dissolution of Frank Lloyd Wright's "Fallingwater" and Auguste Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty. The idea of noble, individual achievement is something of a joke in Thackston's work, considering how summarily it is destroyed.

Even more intangible myths, like the one about fairy princesses and their ostentatious abodes, are contested in "Taking Down Sleeping Beauty's Castle," an enormous, finely executed 42-by-65-inch drawing of the Disney residence with its soaring turrets and Tinkerbell bas-relief encased in scaffolding.

While simply challenging the bedrock of beliefs on which our nation rests might seem a hollow and trite postmodern stunt of cynical naysaying, Thackston's project is far richer. The artist's work is invested with a lyricism and even a sense of lost innocence due in part to his chosen medium of fanciful, beautifully precise graphite drawings.

There is a hint of the fantastic in the scenarios Thackston envisions, like the giant redwood harvested from the inside-out in "Deconstructing the U.S. Forest," in which workers pose for their photograph in the hollowed-out bowl of an enormous tree. We see the humble ambition of man to tame his environments and carve out his identity, or seek immortality (and end up dead like the fallen magician in "Houdini's Funeral"). And we also see the less pleasant outcome of a country where each accomplishment is wiped out to clear the slate for the next guy. Though the content of Thackston's "Deconstruction" suggests a possible future, the poses and the style of the drawings are all indicative of the past, which endows the work with a precisely focused sense of uneasiness.

Thackston's hypothetical "Believe It or Not!" musings are not always so inconceivable. Considering the frequency with which modernist architects' designs are razed to make way for faux-Tudor McMansions, the artist's drawing "Dismantling Fallingwater," in which Frank Lloyd Wright's most famous design is being turned into scrap, has the ring of a terrible sci-fi prophecy materialized.

The work is capable of provoking a genuine shudder of dismay, as with Thackston's drawing of the Lincoln Memorial being dissected, with the president's arms lying at its side and marble head long parted from its shoulders. And that response only illustrates, quite cleverly, how emotionally invested we are in not necessarily the ideals themselves, but in the signifiers of those ideals.

And yet, what is the cherished American belief in progress if not a process of erasure? It's an insight especially applicable for a city like Atlanta, a city whose history is the land on which we lay the future's parking lots.

Deconstruction of American Icons: Drawings by King Thackston runs through June 16 at Swan Coach House Gallery, 3130 Slaton Drive. Tues.-Sat. 10 a.m.- 4 p.m. 404-266-2636.??


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  string(4648) "King Thackston's sublime drawings at the Swan Coach House Gallery are a wry riff on the 19th century documentation of the conquest and construction of America.

Manifest destiny, the glory of man and his creations and humankind's power over nature are all asserted in photographs of industrious, brave men carving trails to the Pacific in the 19th century or erecting skyscrapers in the 20th. Thackston employs the style of these posed, heroic photographs by Lewis Hine or Timothy O'Sullivan, but he subverts the notion of "progress" they assert by showing how our national advancement is often a process of erasing the past.

It's as if the very mythos of man and maker has been revealed as a delicious folly in his large-scale pencil drawings. An artist who uses the most whimsical forms to challenge how history and ideals are constructed, Thackston once created a model railroad complete with tiny vignettes of crime scenes, racism and other public misdeeds to get at the mucky realities brewing beneath peachy-keen Americana. Thackston's punchy subtext in ''Deconstruction of American Icons'' is a similar investigation of how all our glorious myths of princesses and presidents are just as easily dismantled.

The American fixation with great and noble patriarchs, for instance, is given a postmodern gutting in Thackston's drawing "Deconstructing the U.S. Presidency," in which two of the faces on Mount Rushmore -- Teddy Roosevelt and George Washington -- are split into two separate images of their upper and lower faces. The work implies that in our post-Watergate, post-Clinton, hanky-panky fixated era, our trust in the institution is similarly bifurcated.

Thackston's show is also a dismantling of our notion of heroic masculinity, from his depiction of the ravishing of the Lincoln Monument, to the dissolution of Frank Lloyd Wright's "Fallingwater" and Auguste Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty. The idea of noble, individual achievement is something of a joke in Thackston's work, considering how summarily it is destroyed.

Even more intangible myths, like the one about fairy princesses and their ostentatious abodes, are contested in "Taking Down Sleeping Beauty's Castle," an enormous, finely executed 42-by-65-inch drawing of the Disney residence with its soaring turrets and Tinkerbell bas-relief encased in scaffolding.

While simply challenging the bedrock of beliefs on which our nation rests might seem a hollow and trite postmodern stunt of cynical naysaying, Thackston's project is far richer. The artist's work is invested with a lyricism and even a sense of lost innocence due in part to his chosen medium of fanciful, beautifully precise graphite drawings.

There is a hint of the fantastic in the scenarios Thackston envisions, like the giant redwood harvested from the inside-out in "Deconstructing the U.S. Forest," in which workers pose for their photograph in the hollowed-out bowl of an enormous tree. We see the humble ambition of man to tame his environments and carve out his identity, or seek immortality (and end up dead like the fallen magician in "Houdini's Funeral"). And we also see the less pleasant outcome of a country where each accomplishment is wiped out to clear the slate for the next guy. Though the content of Thackston's "Deconstruction" suggests a possible future, the poses and the style of the drawings are all indicative of the past, which endows the work with a precisely focused sense of uneasiness.

Thackston's hypothetical "Believe It or Not!" musings are not always so inconceivable. Considering the frequency with which modernist architects' designs are razed to make way for faux-Tudor McMansions, the artist's drawing "Dismantling Fallingwater," in which Frank Lloyd Wright's most famous design is being turned into scrap, has the ring of a terrible sci-fi prophecy materialized.

The work is capable of provoking a genuine shudder of dismay, as with Thackston's drawing of the Lincoln Memorial being dissected, with the president's arms lying at its side and marble head long parted from its shoulders. And that response only illustrates, quite cleverly, how emotionally invested we are in not necessarily the ''ideals'' themselves, but in the signifiers of those ideals.

And yet, what is the cherished American belief in progress if not a process of erasure? It's an insight especially applicable for a city like Atlanta, a city whose history is the land on which we lay the future's parking lots.

Deconstruction of American Icons: Drawings by King Thackston ''runs through June 16 at Swan Coach House Gallery, 3130 Slaton Drive. Tues.-Sat. 10 a.m.- 4 p.m. 404-266-2636.''??


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  string(4887) "    America's quest for progress subverted at Swan Coach House   2001-05-23T04:04:00+00:00 Under deconstruction   Felicia Feaster 1223506 2001-05-23T04:04:00+00:00  King Thackston's sublime drawings at the Swan Coach House Gallery are a wry riff on the 19th century documentation of the conquest and construction of America.

Manifest destiny, the glory of man and his creations and humankind's power over nature are all asserted in photographs of industrious, brave men carving trails to the Pacific in the 19th century or erecting skyscrapers in the 20th. Thackston employs the style of these posed, heroic photographs by Lewis Hine or Timothy O'Sullivan, but he subverts the notion of "progress" they assert by showing how our national advancement is often a process of erasing the past.

It's as if the very mythos of man and maker has been revealed as a delicious folly in his large-scale pencil drawings. An artist who uses the most whimsical forms to challenge how history and ideals are constructed, Thackston once created a model railroad complete with tiny vignettes of crime scenes, racism and other public misdeeds to get at the mucky realities brewing beneath peachy-keen Americana. Thackston's punchy subtext in Deconstruction of American Icons is a similar investigation of how all our glorious myths of princesses and presidents are just as easily dismantled.

The American fixation with great and noble patriarchs, for instance, is given a postmodern gutting in Thackston's drawing "Deconstructing the U.S. Presidency," in which two of the faces on Mount Rushmore — Teddy Roosevelt and George Washington — are split into two separate images of their upper and lower faces. The work implies that in our post-Watergate, post-Clinton, hanky-panky fixated era, our trust in the institution is similarly bifurcated.

Thackston's show is also a dismantling of our notion of heroic masculinity, from his depiction of the ravishing of the Lincoln Monument, to the dissolution of Frank Lloyd Wright's "Fallingwater" and Auguste Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty. The idea of noble, individual achievement is something of a joke in Thackston's work, considering how summarily it is destroyed.

Even more intangible myths, like the one about fairy princesses and their ostentatious abodes, are contested in "Taking Down Sleeping Beauty's Castle," an enormous, finely executed 42-by-65-inch drawing of the Disney residence with its soaring turrets and Tinkerbell bas-relief encased in scaffolding.

While simply challenging the bedrock of beliefs on which our nation rests might seem a hollow and trite postmodern stunt of cynical naysaying, Thackston's project is far richer. The artist's work is invested with a lyricism and even a sense of lost innocence due in part to his chosen medium of fanciful, beautifully precise graphite drawings.

There is a hint of the fantastic in the scenarios Thackston envisions, like the giant redwood harvested from the inside-out in "Deconstructing the U.S. Forest," in which workers pose for their photograph in the hollowed-out bowl of an enormous tree. We see the humble ambition of man to tame his environments and carve out his identity, or seek immortality (and end up dead like the fallen magician in "Houdini's Funeral"). And we also see the less pleasant outcome of a country where each accomplishment is wiped out to clear the slate for the next guy. Though the content of Thackston's "Deconstruction" suggests a possible future, the poses and the style of the drawings are all indicative of the past, which endows the work with a precisely focused sense of uneasiness.

Thackston's hypothetical "Believe It or Not!" musings are not always so inconceivable. Considering the frequency with which modernist architects' designs are razed to make way for faux-Tudor McMansions, the artist's drawing "Dismantling Fallingwater," in which Frank Lloyd Wright's most famous design is being turned into scrap, has the ring of a terrible sci-fi prophecy materialized.

The work is capable of provoking a genuine shudder of dismay, as with Thackston's drawing of the Lincoln Memorial being dissected, with the president's arms lying at its side and marble head long parted from its shoulders. And that response only illustrates, quite cleverly, how emotionally invested we are in not necessarily the ideals themselves, but in the signifiers of those ideals.

And yet, what is the cherished American belief in progress if not a process of erasure? It's an insight especially applicable for a city like Atlanta, a city whose history is the land on which we lay the future's parking lots.

Deconstruction of American Icons: Drawings by King Thackston runs through June 16 at Swan Coach House Gallery, 3130 Slaton Drive. Tues.-Sat. 10 a.m.- 4 p.m. 404-266-2636.??


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Wednesday May 23, 2001 12:04 am EDT
America's quest for progress subverted at Swan Coach House | more...
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  string(4778) "Named for a brand of spray paint, the Krylon and Beyond graffiti renaissance at Young Blood Gallery supplants the '80s loopy, bubble letters, evocative of the script favored by junior high girls, with a jagged, angular '90s style that more often suggests Arabic script or barbed wire. Krylon artist Seven executes this approach with illustrative finesse, his letters spiked with insect-like pincers, but in a melding of new and old, still graced with the requisite custom car sparkles of the classical '80s tags.

Young Blood is a plucky gallery started two years ago with an ultra-laid back, seams-showing aesthetic (down to the wobbly-typed wall labels and works hung with  the precision of a child's drawings stuck to a refrigerator). It straddles the gentrifying armpit of Grant Park where winos sleep off a Saturday night bender in the overgrown grass of a derelict house while a couple of blocks away, shotgun houses are being pasteled and picket-fenced and made ready for the nouveau suburbanites. In this context, graffiti art seems not so much a response to the hopelessness or limitations of urban blight as an attempt to keep the vibrant and funky aspects of city life alive in the midst of Atlanta's snowballing  yuppification.

The encroaching cutesifying of the neighborhood only makes one respect the rough-edged but endearing outpouring of all that was once urban and defiant in Krylon. Outside the gallery, a long wooden "fence" snakes through the parking lot, which artists have decorated front and back with their spray-can calligraphy, in a more controlled, civically minded form  of graffiti.

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The more interesting works in Krylon make a statement, like Lerner's, about  the individual vs. the grid, or somehow manage to sketch a subjective view of The State of Things. Artist Totem's painting  of a crowd scene is typically dire, executed in morose grays. A haze of words rises above this representative sampling of humanity's heads like a smog, signifying the combined mania of a hundred different thoughts — an invisible, intellectual  graffiti of multiple identities colliding like bumper cars.

In much graffiti art, a sense of naive optimism is encoded within its pessimistic, shrugging collision with the status quo. Beneath the youthful angst and apocalyptic sense of gloom is an aerosol acrylic olive branch, from Seven's ferocious color bursts busting out of gray backgrounds like meteors exploding in space, to the show's one girl piece, by "Colleen." A cityscape rendered in moody reds and blacks, Colleen's work is inscribed with the kinda sweet Lilith Fair answer to this Boypalooza, all about feelings expressed in phrases like, "I'm safe with you," "I love you" and "I give you my heart."

The artists' pricing system is its own statement of starry-eyed young adult dithering, with some pieces defiantly marked "NFS" and another tagged either dreamily or irreverently $999.

That by turns frustrating, and infectious, inspiring spirit of youth, with all  its blindered hopefulness and its grandiose sense of doom, too, makes Krylon as telling an encapsulation of the post-teen spirit as punk music or the desperate, dreamy, frantic doodlings that fill spiral-bound notebooks and crowd concrete buildings in urban centers and small  towns alike.

Krylon and Beyond runs through May 27 at Young Blood Gallery, 629 Glenwood Ave. Tues.-Thurs. and Sat.-Sun. noon- 5 p.m. 404-627-0393.??


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Young Blood is a plucky gallery started two years ago with an ultra-laid back, seams-showing aesthetic (down to the wobbly-typed wall labels and works hung with  the precision of a child's drawings stuck to a refrigerator). It straddles the gentrifying armpit of Grant Park where winos sleep off a Saturday night bender in the overgrown grass of a derelict house while a couple of blocks away, shotgun houses are being pasteled and picket-fenced and made ready for the nouveau suburbanites. In this context, graffiti art seems not so much a response to the hopelessness or limitations of urban blight as an attempt to keep the vibrant and funky aspects of city life alive in the midst of Atlanta's snowballing  yuppification.

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Krylon and Beyond runs through May 27 at Young Blood Gallery, 629 Glenwood Ave. Tues.-Thurs. and Sat.-Sun. noon- 5 p.m. 404-627-0393.??


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Wednesday May 16, 2001 12:04 am EDT
Young Blood keeps urban spirit alive in Grant Park with Krylon and Beyond | more...

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  string(4039) "Featuring work in various media devoted to that by turns extraordinary and prosaic creature, Celebration of the Horse at the Marietta/Cobb Museum of Art stretches from a 16th-century Albrecht Durer engraving to the present contributions of the American Academy of Equine Art's stallion enthusiasts. Though the  curator's faves appear to be the prominently placed AAEA oil paintings and bronze statues in the museum's antechamber, it  is the work that treats the horse more as incidental subject rather than as fetish object that makes the show interesting.

With its prevalent bronze sculptures of spirited, ornery, frisky and contemplative horses, the show's introductory view is not its most enticing one, often suggesting a collection of paperweights putting on airs. Much of the sculptural work in this first room is just an economic bracket or two removed from "World's Greatest Dad" and "I Love You This Much" figurines. Take, for example, Jan Woods' sculpture "Pony Tails," of a little miss wearing the aforementioned hairstyle astride a pony in a vignette that missed its calling as a commemorative plate.

The trailer park imagery of crocheted toilet paper cozies and pissing kiddie yard art has nuthin' on the high-class corn pone of this horsy fare. The work acknowledges the blind, sentimental love of people for their pets in terms sure to alienate those who don't share such devotion.

Pushing the kitsch factor up to stratospheric heights — should love of horse prove too limited a theme — "Stars & Stripes" is a work that manages to combine equine-eros and nationalistic ardor, with its jockeys dressed in red, white and blue jerseys, flanked by a wealth of billowing American flags. If any painting in the show is able to ignite the art-loving spirit in Cobb County, this is the one.

Most of the initial work in Celebration of the Horse depicts  what soon becomes a recognizable theme: the Perfect Horse Moment. Often rendered in a Mary Kay  spectrum of candied fuchsias and marigolds, the sunlight is dappled,  the landscape is in exquisite, voluptuous bloom. And all seems designed to elicit a perfumed sigh over God's perfect creature lovingly framed like a pastry in  a Viennese bakery.

But there is an interesting shift as one delves deeper into the equine in successive rooms. The presence of the artist comes more interestingly into play later in the show, in works like James Ward's (1769-1859) lithographs of horses with haunted faces and ghostly white coats — gothic  pictures of ravens and full moons and troubled skies. With these older works,  it's all  about the equine eyes as repositories of thought and feeling while more contemporary artists represented in Celebration seem to  fixate more on the  animal's athleticism as if they were fullbacks on four legs.

The show is worth a quick perusal not only for curiosity's sake. There are treasures as well, like Leonard H. Reedy's lovely TV Western scenarios of rascally injuns and ambushed wagon trains rendered in the immediately pleasing honeyed tones of vintage paint-by-numbers sets. A duo of Reedy's watercolors are equally beguiling — the kind of animated, romantic, exciting scenes of cowboys and Indians that could illustrate boys' adventure stories (in fact, Reedy worked as an illustrator for Western pulp magazines). Equally redolent of time and place are Henry Stull's (1851-1913) lithe, glossy horses and jockeys, where the satiny sheen of the horses' coat is answered in the rider's silken jersey and an overall atmosphere of visual opulence.

Despite such momentary pleasures, too much of the work in Celebration of the Horse illustrates the danger of being too close to your subject and the difference between rendering something because you love it above all others versus because you are an artist, and a good-looking broodmare has caught your eye.

Celebration of the Horse runs through June 3 at Marietta/Cobb Museum of Art, 30 Atlanta St., Marietta. 770-528-1444. Tues.-Sat., 11 a.m.-5 p.m. Sun. 1-5 p.m.??


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With its prevalent bronze sculptures of spirited, ornery, frisky and contemplative horses, the show's introductory view is not its most enticing one, often suggesting a collection of paperweights putting on airs. Much of the sculptural work in this first room is just an economic bracket or two removed from "World's Greatest Dad" and "I Love You ''This'' Much" figurines. Take, for example, Jan Woods' sculpture "Pony Tails," of a little miss wearing the aforementioned hairstyle astride a pony in a vignette that missed its calling as a commemorative plate.

The trailer park imagery of crocheted toilet paper cozies and pissing kiddie yard art has nuthin' on the high-class corn pone of this horsy fare. The work acknowledges the blind, sentimental love of people for their pets in terms sure to alienate those who don't share such devotion.

Pushing the kitsch factor up to stratospheric heights -- should love of horse prove too limited a theme -- "Stars & Stripes" is a work that manages to combine equine-eros ''and'' nationalistic ardor, with its jockeys dressed in red, white and blue jerseys, flanked by a wealth of billowing American flags. If any painting in the show is able to ignite the art-loving spirit in Cobb County, this is the one.

Most of the initial work in ''Celebration of the Horse'' depicts  what soon becomes a recognizable theme: the Perfect Horse Moment. Often rendered in a Mary Kay  spectrum of candied fuchsias and marigolds, the sunlight is dappled,  the landscape is in exquisite, voluptuous bloom. And all seems designed to elicit a perfumed sigh over God's perfect creature lovingly framed like a pastry in  a Viennese bakery.

But there is an interesting shift as one delves deeper into the equine in successive rooms. The presence of the artist comes more interestingly into play later in the show, in works like James Ward's (1769-1859) lithographs of horses with haunted faces and ghostly white coats -- gothic  pictures of ravens and full moons and troubled skies. With these older works,  it's all  about the equine ''eyes'' as repositories of thought and feeling while more contemporary artists represented in ''Celebration'' seem to  fixate more on the  animal's athleticism as if they were fullbacks on four legs.

The show is worth a quick perusal not only for curiosity's sake. There are treasures as well, like Leonard H. Reedy's lovely TV Western scenarios of rascally injuns and ambushed wagon trains rendered in the immediately pleasing honeyed tones of vintage paint-by-numbers sets. A duo of Reedy's watercolors are equally beguiling -- the kind of animated, romantic, exciting scenes of cowboys and Indians that could illustrate boys' adventure stories (in fact, Reedy worked as an illustrator for Western pulp magazines). Equally redolent of time and place are Henry Stull's (1851-1913) lithe, glossy horses and jockeys, where the satiny sheen of the horses' coat is answered in the rider's silken jersey and an overall atmosphere of visual opulence.

Despite such momentary pleasures, too much of the work in ''Celebration of the Horse'' illustrates the danger of being too close to your subject and the difference between rendering something because you love it above all others versus because you are an artist, and a good-looking broodmare has caught your eye.

Celebration of the Horse ''runs through June 3 at Marietta/Cobb Museum of Art, 30 Atlanta St., Marietta. 770-528-1444. Tues.-Sat., 11 a.m.-5 p.m. Sun. 1-5 p.m.''??


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With its prevalent bronze sculptures of spirited, ornery, frisky and contemplative horses, the show's introductory view is not its most enticing one, often suggesting a collection of paperweights putting on airs. Much of the sculptural work in this first room is just an economic bracket or two removed from "World's Greatest Dad" and "I Love You This Much" figurines. Take, for example, Jan Woods' sculpture "Pony Tails," of a little miss wearing the aforementioned hairstyle astride a pony in a vignette that missed its calling as a commemorative plate.

The trailer park imagery of crocheted toilet paper cozies and pissing kiddie yard art has nuthin' on the high-class corn pone of this horsy fare. The work acknowledges the blind, sentimental love of people for their pets in terms sure to alienate those who don't share such devotion.

Pushing the kitsch factor up to stratospheric heights — should love of horse prove too limited a theme — "Stars & Stripes" is a work that manages to combine equine-eros and nationalistic ardor, with its jockeys dressed in red, white and blue jerseys, flanked by a wealth of billowing American flags. If any painting in the show is able to ignite the art-loving spirit in Cobb County, this is the one.

Most of the initial work in Celebration of the Horse depicts  what soon becomes a recognizable theme: the Perfect Horse Moment. Often rendered in a Mary Kay  spectrum of candied fuchsias and marigolds, the sunlight is dappled,  the landscape is in exquisite, voluptuous bloom. And all seems designed to elicit a perfumed sigh over God's perfect creature lovingly framed like a pastry in  a Viennese bakery.

But there is an interesting shift as one delves deeper into the equine in successive rooms. The presence of the artist comes more interestingly into play later in the show, in works like James Ward's (1769-1859) lithographs of horses with haunted faces and ghostly white coats — gothic  pictures of ravens and full moons and troubled skies. With these older works,  it's all  about the equine eyes as repositories of thought and feeling while more contemporary artists represented in Celebration seem to  fixate more on the  animal's athleticism as if they were fullbacks on four legs.

The show is worth a quick perusal not only for curiosity's sake. There are treasures as well, like Leonard H. Reedy's lovely TV Western scenarios of rascally injuns and ambushed wagon trains rendered in the immediately pleasing honeyed tones of vintage paint-by-numbers sets. A duo of Reedy's watercolors are equally beguiling — the kind of animated, romantic, exciting scenes of cowboys and Indians that could illustrate boys' adventure stories (in fact, Reedy worked as an illustrator for Western pulp magazines). Equally redolent of time and place are Henry Stull's (1851-1913) lithe, glossy horses and jockeys, where the satiny sheen of the horses' coat is answered in the rider's silken jersey and an overall atmosphere of visual opulence.

Despite such momentary pleasures, too much of the work in Celebration of the Horse illustrates the danger of being too close to your subject and the difference between rendering something because you love it above all others versus because you are an artist, and a good-looking broodmare has caught your eye.

Celebration of the Horse runs through June 3 at Marietta/Cobb Museum of Art, 30 Atlanta St., Marietta. 770-528-1444. Tues.-Sat., 11 a.m.-5 p.m. Sun. 1-5 p.m.??


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Wednesday May 16, 2001 12:04 am EDT
Equine fever rages at Marietta museum | more...
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  string(1287) "Most surveys of the famous women of history focus on the role models and icons of the sort you'd find on a dollar coin — your Susan B. Anthonys and Sacagaweas. Theatre Gael and Blue Machine consider the ladies of the flip side with Peripheral Visions, an evening of vignettes devoted to notorious females.

An off-shoot of the Marginal Women project of short plays (from which come three of the evening's 15 pieces), Peripheral Visions, offers a distaff rogue's gallery from history, literature and pop culture, ranging from Ophelia to Anna Nicole Smith, from notorious Transylvanian sadist Countess Elizabeth Bathory to Barbie and her pal Midge.

With the exception of director and Marginal Women co-founder David Crowe, Peripheral Visions features only women as performers, writers and directors. The cast includes Johanna Linden, Sharron Cain, Wesley Usher, Claire Bronson, Dede Bloodworth, with scripts written by such playwrights as Marki Shalloe, Karla Jennings, Shirlene Holmes, Kendra Myers and Lauren Gunderson, and directors including Carol Mitchell-Leon, Brenda Porter, Lorna Howley, Rachel May and Emily Pender.

Marginal Women: Peripheral Visions plays May 14-23 at the 14th Street Playhouse, 173 14th St., with performances at 8 p.m. Mon.-Wed. $10. 404-876-1138.??


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Marginal Women: Peripheral Visions'' plays May 14-23 at the 14th Street Playhouse, 173 14th St., with performances at 8 p.m. Mon.-Wed. $10. 404-876-1138.''??


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Wednesday May 9, 2001 12:04 am EDT
Peripheral Visions gives a nod to notorious females | more...
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  string(3645) "E.K. Huckaby, an artist with a bent for mad science and slightly unnatural history, has created a nostalgic Southern environment inside Solomon Projects this month. Now painted in mauve, the venue once again reveals its chameleon properties.

Entering Dept. of Dysiatrics is like dipping into a well of melancholy. Assembled, altered and concocted objects — vintage medicine bottles, handkerchiefs, tiny vials of amber liquid, human teeth, stuffed birds, reels of film, snails, stamps, a tapestry, eggs and other curiosities — haunt the space.

Viewers may need a dictionary for this show. Huckaby has long been known for giving his work obtuse titles. Dysiatrics is a word that Huckaby contrived from Greek roots "dys" (mistakes) and "iatrics" (the practice of), the essence of his artistic process. Every piece in the show is about losing something vital, about the loss of memory, words, innocence and identity. In a universe glossed over with the ever new, this inventive homage to the past is more than thought-provoking.

At the entrance, the artist shaped a vintage telephone out of wax to remember "That Soft Voice That I'll Never Hear Again." Nearby, the diorama "Tooth Fairy" animates childhood dreams and fairytales. A wood sideboard, a pile of extracted human teeth, ivory, coins and a small gray bearded figure set the stage for shared memory. The assemblage evokes any number of magical rituals devised to ease the inevitable ruin of innocence.

Stamps from around the world line the inner walls of an old post office booth for "Aporia" (expression of doubt), reliquary for a disappearing means of personal communication. Besides all the stamps, there's a pile of letters neatly addressed by hand  to the Department of Dysiatrics in Brooks, Ga. (Huckaby's home town). On a shelf  in a glass jar floats the specimen of a tongue, sacrificial reminder of profound human loss.

One of the show's two paintings, "Lethe," refers to the river in Dante's Inferno where memory is lost. On its slumping surface, numbered white pins point out otherwise unremarkable moments in a dark topography. "Lethe" recalls Huckaby's earlier paintings made with hand-mixed pigments intended to shift and harden over time. The painting seems to fix the dark shape of our inner emotional landscape.

"Aphasia," meaning "loss of words," refers both to a medical condition and a temporary failure to enunciate thought. Here, clear glass tubes contain vertical rows of tiny, white, hand-lettered beads that once comprised sentences. Purposely jostled on its journey to the gallery, only the title word (wired in place) remains fixed. This work, among others in the show, makes one think about the beauty that may come with the loss of clarity.

In "Other People," a rectangular, wall-mounted wooden box displays two rows of eggs. Each shell is sectioned off with neatly handwritten descriptive words such as perspicacity, zealotry, awkward, maladroit, cleanliness, vulgarity, submissive and unruly. Delightfully obtuse, one wonders whether Huckaby is critiquing the practice of labels or mocking the emotional impotence of science.

The artist calls these tableaux a "sentimental insignia of what has vanished and what may never be." Familiar symbols in his intricate and multi-layered art compel the viewer to slow down and think about incongruities in life. A whimsical lament, Dept. of Dysiatrics is remarkable for its sophisticated ambiguity and deep reverence of the Southern experience.

Dept. of Dysiatrics continues through June 2 at Solomon Projects, 1037 Monroe Drive. Wed.-Sat. 11 a.m.-6 p.m. 404 875-7100. www.solomonprojects.com.??


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Entering ''Dept. of Dysiatrics'' is like dipping into a well of melancholy. Assembled, altered and concocted objects -- vintage medicine bottles, handkerchiefs, tiny vials of amber liquid, human teeth, stuffed birds, reels of film, snails, stamps, a tapestry, eggs and other curiosities -- haunt the space.

Viewers may need a dictionary for this show. Huckaby has long been known for giving his work obtuse titles. ''Dysiatrics'' is a word that Huckaby contrived from Greek roots "dys" (mistakes) and "iatrics" (the practice of), the essence of his artistic process. Every piece in the show is about losing something vital, about the loss of memory, words, innocence and identity. In a universe glossed over with the ever new, this inventive homage to the past is more than thought-provoking.

At the entrance, the artist shaped a vintage telephone out of wax to remember "That Soft Voice That I'll Never Hear Again." Nearby, the diorama "Tooth Fairy" animates childhood dreams and fairytales. A wood sideboard, a pile of extracted human teeth, ivory, coins and a small gray bearded figure set the stage for shared memory. The assemblage evokes any number of magical rituals devised to ease the inevitable ruin of innocence.

Stamps from around the world line the inner walls of an old post office booth for "Aporia" (expression of doubt), reliquary for a disappearing means of personal communication. Besides all the stamps, there's a pile of letters neatly addressed by hand  to the Department of Dysiatrics in Brooks, Ga. (Huckaby's home town). On a shelf  in a glass jar floats the specimen of a tongue, sacrificial reminder of profound human loss.

One of the show's two paintings, "Lethe," refers to the river in Dante's ''Inferno'' where memory is lost. On its slumping surface, numbered white pins point out otherwise unremarkable moments in a dark topography. "Lethe" recalls Huckaby's earlier paintings made with hand-mixed pigments intended to shift and harden over time. The painting seems to fix the dark shape of our inner emotional landscape.

"Aphasia," meaning "loss of words," refers both to a medical condition and a temporary failure to enunciate thought. Here, clear glass tubes contain vertical rows of tiny, white, hand-lettered beads that once comprised sentences. Purposely jostled on its journey to the gallery, only the title word (wired in place) remains fixed. This work, among others in the show, makes one think about the beauty that may come with the loss of clarity.

In "Other People," a rectangular, wall-mounted wooden box displays two rows of eggs. Each shell is sectioned off with neatly handwritten descriptive words such as ''perspicacity'', ''zealotry'', ''awkward'', ''maladroit'', ''cleanliness'', ''vulgarity'', ''submissive'' and ''unruly''. Delightfully obtuse, one wonders whether Huckaby is critiquing the practice of labels or mocking the emotional impotence of science.

The artist calls these tableaux a "sentimental insignia of what has vanished and what may never be." Familiar symbols in his intricate and multi-layered art compel the viewer to slow down and think about incongruities in life. A whimsical lament, ''Dept. of Dysiatrics'' is remarkable for its sophisticated ambiguity and deep reverence of the Southern experience.

Dept. of Dysiatrics ''continues through June 2 at Solomon Projects, 1037 Monroe Drive. Wed.-Sat. 11 a.m.-6 p.m. 404 875-7100. www.solomonprojects.com.''??


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  string(3854) "    E.K. Huckaby laments loss at Solomon Projects   2001-05-09T04:04:00+00:00 Vanishing act   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-05-09T04:04:00+00:00  E.K. Huckaby, an artist with a bent for mad science and slightly unnatural history, has created a nostalgic Southern environment inside Solomon Projects this month. Now painted in mauve, the venue once again reveals its chameleon properties.

Entering Dept. of Dysiatrics is like dipping into a well of melancholy. Assembled, altered and concocted objects — vintage medicine bottles, handkerchiefs, tiny vials of amber liquid, human teeth, stuffed birds, reels of film, snails, stamps, a tapestry, eggs and other curiosities — haunt the space.

Viewers may need a dictionary for this show. Huckaby has long been known for giving his work obtuse titles. Dysiatrics is a word that Huckaby contrived from Greek roots "dys" (mistakes) and "iatrics" (the practice of), the essence of his artistic process. Every piece in the show is about losing something vital, about the loss of memory, words, innocence and identity. In a universe glossed over with the ever new, this inventive homage to the past is more than thought-provoking.

At the entrance, the artist shaped a vintage telephone out of wax to remember "That Soft Voice That I'll Never Hear Again." Nearby, the diorama "Tooth Fairy" animates childhood dreams and fairytales. A wood sideboard, a pile of extracted human teeth, ivory, coins and a small gray bearded figure set the stage for shared memory. The assemblage evokes any number of magical rituals devised to ease the inevitable ruin of innocence.

Stamps from around the world line the inner walls of an old post office booth for "Aporia" (expression of doubt), reliquary for a disappearing means of personal communication. Besides all the stamps, there's a pile of letters neatly addressed by hand  to the Department of Dysiatrics in Brooks, Ga. (Huckaby's home town). On a shelf  in a glass jar floats the specimen of a tongue, sacrificial reminder of profound human loss.

One of the show's two paintings, "Lethe," refers to the river in Dante's Inferno where memory is lost. On its slumping surface, numbered white pins point out otherwise unremarkable moments in a dark topography. "Lethe" recalls Huckaby's earlier paintings made with hand-mixed pigments intended to shift and harden over time. The painting seems to fix the dark shape of our inner emotional landscape.

"Aphasia," meaning "loss of words," refers both to a medical condition and a temporary failure to enunciate thought. Here, clear glass tubes contain vertical rows of tiny, white, hand-lettered beads that once comprised sentences. Purposely jostled on its journey to the gallery, only the title word (wired in place) remains fixed. This work, among others in the show, makes one think about the beauty that may come with the loss of clarity.

In "Other People," a rectangular, wall-mounted wooden box displays two rows of eggs. Each shell is sectioned off with neatly handwritten descriptive words such as perspicacity, zealotry, awkward, maladroit, cleanliness, vulgarity, submissive and unruly. Delightfully obtuse, one wonders whether Huckaby is critiquing the practice of labels or mocking the emotional impotence of science.

The artist calls these tableaux a "sentimental insignia of what has vanished and what may never be." Familiar symbols in his intricate and multi-layered art compel the viewer to slow down and think about incongruities in life. A whimsical lament, Dept. of Dysiatrics is remarkable for its sophisticated ambiguity and deep reverence of the Southern experience.

Dept. of Dysiatrics continues through June 2 at Solomon Projects, 1037 Monroe Drive. Wed.-Sat. 11 a.m.-6 p.m. 404 875-7100. www.solomonprojects.com.??


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Wednesday May 9, 2001 12:04 am EDT
E.K. Huckaby laments loss at Solomon Projects | more...
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  string(18) "Me, myself and eye"
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  string(61) "City Gallery East's Index examines the art of self-reflection"
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  string(4123) "Bridget, star singleton in the new British film comedy Bridget Jones's Diary, has some quirky allies this month at City Gallery East, where 16 local and international artists display years of ritual self-reflection. In a show called Index, their installations allude to the diary's continuous process of self-documentation.

Curator Angela Willcocks asked other artists to join her in making a daily visual record of their lives. The project that initially began on a two-dimensional, 4-by-6-inch scale developed into quite a different animal; there are books, collages, collected and concocted objects, photos, wall drawings, rubbings, digital art and postcards among these notations.

The greatest share of Index narratives are more abstract than Bridget's ("I hate him!"). Only one is as playfully self-mocking. Cecilia Kane assembles a very long wall of used paper coffee cups and photos that catch her in the day-by-day self indulgence of caffeine addiction. Strung with rows of tiny blinking Christmas lights, "Coffee Jesus" is a comic kitsch ode to the freaky power of Java.

Jill Larson continues to etch out her life with endless rolls of film. The photographer covers a wall floor-to-ceiling in colorful 4-by-6-inch prints depicting son, husband, family, friends, personally significant objects and fragments of her work. The mundane is not described as artfully here as it was in the long filmstrip of daily life that she presented at Nexus Contemporary Art Center a few years ago. That dramatized view of intimate routine offered a more interesting read.

The most thoughtful abstraction of Index as a concept was literally impressed on the exhibition space by Suk Ja Kang-Engles. To create "Distemporal Deliverance of a Sentence," she layered her own inky fingerprints across the upper half of four white walls in a small room built into the edge of the gallery. Her poetic vision spills around the outer corners in a continuing line of oblong smudges.

Julia Rose Loffredo constructed another striking rendition of the diary. Her "Daily Ritual" is marked out in rows of tiny gray and black stitches on 5-by-5-inch black squares of linen. Loffredo's personal calendar describes the intimate relationship of the hand with artmaking while it references the passing of time. She transports handicraft to the level of formal abstraction in this installation. Many will sense a rapport between her work and the measured minimalist drawings of Atlanta artist Annette Cone-Skelton recently on view at the Kiang Gallery.

Susan Cipcic's written introduction is essential to appreciating an enigmatic and very personal assemblage. "Carbon Dating," she explains, connects to the experience of scattering her brother's ashes in the Colorado Rockies this year. A wall covered in charcoal X's in a penciled grid stands behind a fat sketchbook, a box of papier mache X's and a narrow armoire where small drawers hold ashes that were once her collection of daily recordings.

Other artists exhibit more emotional distance. Charcoal sketches and photo copies allow Adrienne Anderson to overlap memories and Renaissance archetypes in her array of drawings, paintings and books. Gregor Turk's textual rubbings from historic plaques are souvenirs from a subjective document, revealing both personal and cultural values in wax and oil on paper. His triage results in the display of words such as rare, terror, prime, significance and inferior. Maurice Clifford presents a book of printouts from his electronic diary, "The Aleph Project," inviting viewers to visit his Internet site eternal at http://170.140.65.180.

Including herself in Index, Willcocks joins a self-fulfilling pattern established by local curators in the past few years. In a wall statement, she refers to her pile of Ziploc bags holding art and found objects as "pockets of energy." She acknowledges how journaling — for her and her contemporaries in this show — can become a way of proving one's own existence.

Index continues through May 19 at City Gallery East, 675 Ponce de Leon Ave. 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Mon.-Fri., 1-5 p.m. Sat. 404-817-7956. ??


"
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  string(4190) "Bridget, star singleton in the new British film comedy ''Bridget Jones's Diary'', has some quirky allies this month at City Gallery East, where 16 local and international artists display years of ritual self-reflection. In a show called ''Index'', their installations allude to the diary's continuous process of self-documentation.

Curator Angela Willcocks asked other artists to join her in making a daily visual record of their lives. The project that initially began on a two-dimensional, 4-by-6-inch scale developed into quite a different animal; there are books, collages, collected and concocted objects, photos, wall drawings, rubbings, digital art and postcards among these notations.

The greatest share of ''Index'' narratives are more abstract than Bridget's (''"I hate him!"''). Only one is as playfully self-mocking. Cecilia Kane assembles a very long wall of used paper coffee cups and photos that catch her in the day-by-day self indulgence of caffeine addiction. Strung with rows of tiny blinking Christmas lights, "Coffee Jesus" is a comic kitsch ode to the freaky power of Java.

Jill Larson continues to etch out her life with endless rolls of film. The photographer covers a wall floor-to-ceiling in colorful 4-by-6-inch prints depicting son, husband, family, friends, personally significant objects and fragments of her work. The mundane is not described as artfully here as it was in the long filmstrip of daily life that she presented at Nexus Contemporary Art Center a few years ago. That dramatized view of intimate routine offered a more interesting ''read''.

The most thoughtful abstraction of ''Index'' as a concept was literally impressed on the exhibition space by Suk Ja Kang-Engles. To create "Distemporal Deliverance of a Sentence," she layered her own inky fingerprints across the upper half of four white walls in a small room built into the edge of the gallery. Her poetic vision spills around the outer corners in a continuing line of oblong smudges.

Julia Rose Loffredo constructed another striking rendition of the diary. Her "Daily Ritual" is marked out in rows of tiny gray and black stitches on 5-by-5-inch black squares of linen. Loffredo's personal calendar describes the intimate relationship of the hand with artmaking while it references the passing of time. She transports handicraft to the level of formal abstraction in this installation. Many will sense a rapport between her work and the measured minimalist drawings of Atlanta artist Annette Cone-Skelton recently on view at the Kiang Gallery.

Susan Cipcic's written introduction is essential to appreciating an enigmatic and very personal assemblage. "Carbon Dating," she explains, connects to the experience of scattering her brother's ashes in the Colorado Rockies this year. A wall covered in charcoal X's in a penciled grid stands behind a fat sketchbook, a box of papier mache X's and a narrow armoire where small drawers hold ashes that were once her collection of daily recordings.

Other artists exhibit more emotional distance. Charcoal sketches and photo copies allow Adrienne Anderson to overlap memories and Renaissance archetypes in her array of drawings, paintings and books. Gregor Turk's textual rubbings from historic plaques are souvenirs from a subjective document, revealing both personal and cultural values in wax and oil on paper. His triage results in the display of words such as ''rare'', ''terror'', ''prime'', ''significance'' and ''inferior''. Maurice Clifford presents a book of printouts from his electronic diary, "The Aleph Project," inviting viewers to visit his Internet site eternal at [http://170.140.65.180/|http://170.140.65.180].

Including herself in ''Index'', Willcocks joins a self-fulfilling pattern established by local curators in the past few years. In a wall statement, she refers to her pile of Ziploc bags holding art and found objects as "pockets of energy." She acknowledges how journaling -- for her and her contemporaries in this show -- can become a way of proving one's own existence.

Index ''continues through May 19 at City Gallery East, 675 Ponce de Leon Ave. 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Mon.-Fri., 1-5 p.m. Sat. 404-817-7956. ''??


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  string(4358) "    City Gallery East's Index examines the art of self-reflection   2001-05-02T04:04:00+00:00 Me, myself and eye   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-05-02T04:04:00+00:00  Bridget, star singleton in the new British film comedy Bridget Jones's Diary, has some quirky allies this month at City Gallery East, where 16 local and international artists display years of ritual self-reflection. In a show called Index, their installations allude to the diary's continuous process of self-documentation.

Curator Angela Willcocks asked other artists to join her in making a daily visual record of their lives. The project that initially began on a two-dimensional, 4-by-6-inch scale developed into quite a different animal; there are books, collages, collected and concocted objects, photos, wall drawings, rubbings, digital art and postcards among these notations.

The greatest share of Index narratives are more abstract than Bridget's ("I hate him!"). Only one is as playfully self-mocking. Cecilia Kane assembles a very long wall of used paper coffee cups and photos that catch her in the day-by-day self indulgence of caffeine addiction. Strung with rows of tiny blinking Christmas lights, "Coffee Jesus" is a comic kitsch ode to the freaky power of Java.

Jill Larson continues to etch out her life with endless rolls of film. The photographer covers a wall floor-to-ceiling in colorful 4-by-6-inch prints depicting son, husband, family, friends, personally significant objects and fragments of her work. The mundane is not described as artfully here as it was in the long filmstrip of daily life that she presented at Nexus Contemporary Art Center a few years ago. That dramatized view of intimate routine offered a more interesting read.

The most thoughtful abstraction of Index as a concept was literally impressed on the exhibition space by Suk Ja Kang-Engles. To create "Distemporal Deliverance of a Sentence," she layered her own inky fingerprints across the upper half of four white walls in a small room built into the edge of the gallery. Her poetic vision spills around the outer corners in a continuing line of oblong smudges.

Julia Rose Loffredo constructed another striking rendition of the diary. Her "Daily Ritual" is marked out in rows of tiny gray and black stitches on 5-by-5-inch black squares of linen. Loffredo's personal calendar describes the intimate relationship of the hand with artmaking while it references the passing of time. She transports handicraft to the level of formal abstraction in this installation. Many will sense a rapport between her work and the measured minimalist drawings of Atlanta artist Annette Cone-Skelton recently on view at the Kiang Gallery.

Susan Cipcic's written introduction is essential to appreciating an enigmatic and very personal assemblage. "Carbon Dating," she explains, connects to the experience of scattering her brother's ashes in the Colorado Rockies this year. A wall covered in charcoal X's in a penciled grid stands behind a fat sketchbook, a box of papier mache X's and a narrow armoire where small drawers hold ashes that were once her collection of daily recordings.

Other artists exhibit more emotional distance. Charcoal sketches and photo copies allow Adrienne Anderson to overlap memories and Renaissance archetypes in her array of drawings, paintings and books. Gregor Turk's textual rubbings from historic plaques are souvenirs from a subjective document, revealing both personal and cultural values in wax and oil on paper. His triage results in the display of words such as rare, terror, prime, significance and inferior. Maurice Clifford presents a book of printouts from his electronic diary, "The Aleph Project," inviting viewers to visit his Internet site eternal at http://170.140.65.180.

Including herself in Index, Willcocks joins a self-fulfilling pattern established by local curators in the past few years. In a wall statement, she refers to her pile of Ziploc bags holding art and found objects as "pockets of energy." She acknowledges how journaling — for her and her contemporaries in this show — can become a way of proving one's own existence.

Index continues through May 19 at City Gallery East, 675 Ponce de Leon Ave. 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Mon.-Fri., 1-5 p.m. Sat. 404-817-7956. ??


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When Georgia Schley Ritchie began curating shows in London, she says she was just another person interested in British art. But in Atlanta, Schley Ritchie's shows are a break from the ordinary. This weekend's More Cool Britannia brings a host of works by 18 British artists to a seldom-open downtown space.

More Cool Britannia is the second local offering from Young Masters, the company Ritchie started in 1995. A graduate of the University of Georgia, Schley Ritchie returned to Atlanta last year after practicing law and curating shows in England and Japan. She discovered that a 10,000-square-foot space at the Hastings Seed Building was owned by friends.

"All I really needed was a space because I had the artists and the knowledge," she says. "So I cleaned the space up and put a lot of lights in, and now I can call it my own until the owners decide to do something with it."

Though the artists featured in More Cool Britannia share common citizenship, their similarities end there, Schley Ritchie says, promising a show encompassing styles from traditional expressionism to contemporary abstraction. Amassing such a variety of individuals who happen to live on another continent is no small task. "It's a huge organizational feat, and my poor children won't see me until a week after the show," she says.

An opening reception for More Cool Britannia takes place May 4 at 8:30 p.m. at The Gallery, Hastings Seed Building, 434 Marietta St. The show runs through May 6. Free. 404-355-9463.??


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''More Cool Britannia'' is the second local offering from Young Masters, the company Ritchie started in 1995. A graduate of the University of Georgia, Schley Ritchie returned to Atlanta last year after practicing law and curating shows in England and Japan. She discovered that a 10,000-square-foot space at the Hastings Seed Building was owned by friends.

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Though the artists featured in ''More Cool Britannia'' share common citizenship, their similarities end there, Schley Ritchie says, promising a show encompassing styles from traditional expressionism to contemporary abstraction. Amassing such a variety of individuals who happen to live on another continent is no small task. "It's a huge organizational feat, and my poor children won't see me until a week after the show," she says.

''An opening reception for ''More Cool Britannia'' takes place May 4 at 8:30 p.m. at The Gallery, Hastings Seed Building, 434 Marietta St. The show runs through May 6. Free. 404-355-9463.''??


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When Georgia Schley Ritchie began curating shows in London, she says she was just another person interested in British art. But in Atlanta, Schley Ritchie's shows are a break from the ordinary. This weekend's More Cool Britannia brings a host of works by 18 British artists to a seldom-open downtown space.

More Cool Britannia is the second local offering from Young Masters, the company Ritchie started in 1995. A graduate of the University of Georgia, Schley Ritchie returned to Atlanta last year after practicing law and curating shows in England and Japan. She discovered that a 10,000-square-foot space at the Hastings Seed Building was owned by friends.

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Though the artists featured in More Cool Britannia share common citizenship, their similarities end there, Schley Ritchie says, promising a show encompassing styles from traditional expressionism to contemporary abstraction. Amassing such a variety of individuals who happen to live on another continent is no small task. "It's a huge organizational feat, and my poor children won't see me until a week after the show," she says.

An opening reception for More Cool Britannia takes place May 4 at 8:30 p.m. at The Gallery, Hastings Seed Building, 434 Marietta St. The show runs through May 6. Free. 404-355-9463.??


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When Georgia Schley Ritchie began curating shows in London, she says she was just another person interested in British art. But in Atlanta, Schley Ritchie's shows are a break from the ordinary. This weekend's More Cool Britannia brings a host of works by 18 British artists to a seldom-open downtown space.

More Cool Britannia is the second local offering from Young Masters, the company...

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  string(1682) "In a town whose funkiness quotient seems to be dwindling weekly, thank goodness for alternative art spaces like the Ballroom Studios, a cultural upstart hidden away in a nondescript Fairlie-Poplar walk-up. Beginning April 20 the space hosts Atlanta College of Art graduate and current Brooklyn resident Jena Jones' not cute-cute, but scary-scary, anatomically correct sculptures of the life stages of babies from a goober-sized fetus to a thumb-sucking 10-pounder.

Feel like an obstetrician (or carny mark) as you part the red curtain and appraise the babes rendered like cockroaches belly-up on the kitchen floor, and in all their helpless postures in-between.

A co-founder of the Ballroom Studios, Jones has packed up her creepy kiddies and trucked 'em on down to Atlanta, plunking her cocoa babies rendered in a tree-sap colored casting wax (though the sculptures will be sold in bronze) onto white pedestals. That jarring juxtaposition of naked infant and high art display tactic gives the show its air of weird 19th century science, evoking freak shows and pickled punk exhibitions, made all the more eerie when you consider the oddly adult features on the baby's faces. Things get curiouser still when Jones tackles the twin with a quartet of conjoined sculptures devoted to those embryonic roommates. And the twins are a little, well, different too — like the set of conjoined male and female babies captured in an oddly sexual bond, or the duo touching fingertips like Michelangelo's God and Adam.

Baby Small: A Sculptural Exploration of the Infant runs from April 20-May 19 at Ballroom Studios, 107 Luckie St. 2nd Floor. 404-522-2709. www.ballroomstudios.com.??


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Feel like an obstetrician (or carny mark) as you part the red curtain and appraise the babes rendered like cockroaches belly-up on the kitchen floor, and in all their helpless postures in-between.

A co-founder of the Ballroom Studios, Jones has packed up her creepy kiddies and trucked 'em on down to Atlanta, plunking her cocoa babies rendered in a tree-sap colored casting wax (though the sculptures will be sold in bronze) onto white pedestals. That jarring juxtaposition of naked infant and high art display tactic gives the show its air of weird 19th century science, evoking freak shows and pickled punk exhibitions, made all the more eerie when you consider the oddly adult features on the baby's faces. Things get curiouser still when Jones tackles the twin with a quartet of conjoined sculptures devoted to those embryonic roommates. And the twins are a little, well, different too — like the set of conjoined male and female babies captured in an oddly sexual bond, or the duo touching fingertips like Michelangelo's God and Adam.

Baby Small: A Sculptural Exploration of the Infant runs from April 20-May 19 at Ballroom Studios, 107 Luckie St. 2nd Floor. 404-522-2709. www.ballroomstudios.com.??


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Article

Wednesday April 25, 2001 12:04 am EDT
In a town whose funkiness quotient seems to be dwindling weekly, thank goodness for alternative art spaces like the Ballroom Studios, a cultural upstart hidden away in a nondescript Fairlie-Poplar walk-up. Beginning April 20 the space hosts Atlanta College of Art graduate and current Brooklyn resident Jena Jones' not cute-cute, but scary-scary, anatomically correct sculptures of the life stages... | more...
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  string(57) "Breaking into NYC art scene no easy task for ex-Atlantans"
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  string(11039) "Habitues of the Atlanta art scene are all too familiar with the yearly migration of artists from the city, an exodus that can often make Atlanta feel like a Greyhound bus terminal en route to the beckoning art capital of New York. And lately the numbers of those heading for that beacon of urine-scented avenues and sandpaper personalities have been legion. That, coupled with the closing of contemporary art gallery Vaknin Schwartz in January and the migration of curators specializing in bringing contemporary work to Atlanta (Chris Scoates, Debra Wilbur, Cay Sophie Rabinowitz, Peter Pachano, Jason Forrest), implies that flight is a necessary response to a town that remains unreceptive to conceptual, cutting-edge work."It's really strange to live in Atlanta, because there's such amazing wealth in this city and it seems to me that very little of that wealth is being funneled back into the cultural life of the city," says Jeremy Helton, who will be joining fellow members of the multimedia collaborative fascia, Honnie Goode and Todd Kitchens, in New York at the end of April."For artists that are working in mediums that are fairly new like video art and video installation, I think many of us do see there might be greater opportunities in New York."As far as achieving a modicum of success as a visual artist in Atlanta, "it's kind of an uphill battle" concedes former Atlanta artist and current director of New York's Brent Sikkema Gallery, Michael Jenkins. "There's not a strong collector base."There has long been a pessimistic buzz in Atlanta, that the city is not an art center and is a difficult place for a young, emerging artist to make a living. But does the move to New York necessarily bring with it greater artistic success?"We felt that Atlanta's art scene had become limiting in terms of contemporary work," says Jeremy Spears of the art partnership Spears/Nayadley.Graduates of the Atlanta College of Art, the art partnership of Spears/Nayadley had its photography featured in a Fay Gold exhibition of promising young Atlanta artists and received prominent placement in the City Hall East show When Tears Come Down. But, "we felt that Atlanta's art scene had become limiting in terms of contemporary work," says Spears.Residents of New York since 1998, Spears now works as a headhunter for graphic designers and Elizabeth Nayadley is a print and digital photography technician. But the artists "don't have any set plans for shows at the moment," concedes Spears."It's a much larger community of artists" in New York says Spears, "so I would have to say that it's harder in New York."A significant number of Atlanta artists are relocating to the city's flourishing art hub, the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Jody Fausett, who moved to New York a year-and-a-half ago, recalls attending a party in Williamsburg recently where "75 percent of the people were from Atlanta."Fausett has not had a New York gallery show of his photography since moving to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, though he has managed to break into the commercial fashion photography sphere, with recent layouts for Soma and Surface magazines."Let's face it, the positive side of that is a huge chunk of money that I can make in a short period of time," admits Fausett of his crossover to fashion work.A catch-22 of life in New York is that artists who relocate to New York for the expanded cultural possibilities and higher-paying jobs can often become so distracted soaking in other artists' work and paying the bills that their own art-making assumes a lower priority."I couldn't have it both ways in this particular city. If I was going to work and work and work at my day job, I can't do the art. And in Atlanta you're able to balance it more," says Jennifer Ray, an artist whose work has appeared at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Chastain and City Hall East galleries and who moved to Williamsburg a year ago. Ray currently works for a public relations firm. Ultimately, she says, "you're exhausted."Ray is pragmatic about the sacrifices artists often make to live in the city. "It really tears away any veils that you've built up to protect yourself from not doing all that you can," she warns.Coupled with the strain of day-to-day living in New York is the chance of ever truly "making it" it as an artist."Distractions can be a problem, and they can be expensive," concedes Atlanta gallery owner Nancy Solomon whose exhibitions often incorporate both local and New York-based artists. Most often such distractions result in neglecting the very mission that first led the innocent artist to the Apple: the art.Like that other apple proffered by a serpent in the Garden of Eden, New York promises the possibility of an instantaneous art career. But many Atlanta artists now living in the city seem to agree that the Big Apple is not exactly the quick ticket to art world immortality. The city often seems more rewarding as a source of inspiration and stimulation, offering the kind of exposure to artwork that no other city in the world can deliver.Robert Walden, whose pen-and-ink works on paper have been shown at Vaknin Schwartz and the ACA Gallery, moved to Manhattan's Lower East Side five years ago and now works as an art installer for galleries like Barbara Gladstone and the Guggenheim Museum. He's even started WALDEN, his own nonprofit gallery specializing in "contemporary conceptual work of various media from installation to painting."But Walden admits that he has yet to show his own artwork in the city. "I haven't pursued it. I wasn't secure enough with the work that I was doing to be able to present it."But Walden admits that what New York can offer an artist is a more prestigious address. "There is an aura of being a New York artist that people cling on to." And that jump in status can often be enough to convince a gallery outside New York to show work that looked somehow less funky and cutting edge when the artist bought her gesso at Wal-Mart.While Atlanta artists migrating to New York may not find the move an immediate boost to their art careers, the move can offer a boost in status that makes the move feel psychologically advantageous."It's almost like there's a certain validation living in New York and then when you return to Atlanta — and I've seen  this with bands, with artists — there's  this greater validity because you have, in some way, made it in New York City,"  says Helton.Like many of the other transplanted Atlanta artists, photographer Jason Forrest, who moved to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a year ago, seems to have also put his photography career — well established in Atlanta — on hold. Forrest has instead been delving into new projects such as a documentary about contemporary digital music and, ironically, concentrating on a curatorial project back in Atlanta: an exhibition at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center.Though the prospect of making it as an artist in New York can be daunting, it has been done. And there are ways to make the transition from Atlanta's relative art hinterland to an art career in New York that don't involve an artist with a Gallery Guide hand-trucking her slides from gallery to gallery with no idea of the kind of work the gallery shows. "I would have absolutely no interest in anybody that didn't know already what I did here. I'm perplexed why they would even want to show," cautions Jenkins, "because art is about nothing but context.""It's a very cagey thing. In New York City people see you coming a mile away. I know that very well by the job I do — I mean I'm hit on every day," says Jenkins. "What you really need to do is become involved with other artists who are like yourself and make connections where you see yourself as an artist; that way you feel your work is contextualized properly."Jenkins, whose Brent Sikkema Gallery represents Kara Walker and Vik Muniz, moved to New York in 1998 and had his work shown at the prestigious Jay Gorney Modern Art within four years. He attributes that early success to laying a foundation while still in Atlanta, where he ran a film program at Georgia State, invited visiting speakers to the city and volunteered at Nexus, where he was privy to the variety of guest artists and speakers who visited the art space. "I think I sized up opportunities and sort of took advantage of them when I could without being offensive to the people involved. I tried not to let an opportunity get away."`Like many of the newer arrivals to New York who have put their art careers on  the back burner for commercial work, Jenkins gave up his own artwork five years ago when he began working at Brent Sikkema. "I don't have time," he says. "I get such a vicarious sort of rush about what I do, I don't feel any loss whatsoever. I really get involved with artists a lot, and it's so much nicer to go to an opening for someone else."Jenkins' transition from gallery-represented artist to gallery director only illustrates a larger condition in many of the stories of people who move to New York with a desire to launch an art career. In a city where achieving even fleeting artistic success is so difficult, it is often far easier and more consistent to find some niche that fulfills your creative needs without requiring a lifetime of waiting, salesmanship and rejection and the schizophrenic faddishness of the art world.But despite the nearly impossible odds and the increasing expense of eking out a living in New York, Jenkins remains like most who have lived in the city — intoxicated by the opportunity New York presents with each waking day, of seeing something, or doing something that can make all the difficulty worthwhile."I'm a real believer in pursuing what you really love. I think you have to follow it through even if you turn around and move somewhere else," Jenkins says. Going to school where he saw many of his teachers "never reconciled" about failing to even give New York a shot taught him the importance of at least trying.Despite the difficulties, all of the artists and gallery directors interviewed were unanimously in favor of a move to the art capital as a positive one for artists, if only for the experience."My life has changed for the better," says Honnie Goode, an Atlanta painter represented by the Lowe Gallery and a member of fascia who's been in New York for a month. "It's hard here. I won't say it has been easy because getting an apartment here can be a nightmare. Plus, it takes about a month to get adjusted to the city. It's sink or swim."Gallery owners like Atlanta's Nancy Solomon are encouraging about promising artists striking out in New York. Asked what advice she would give Atlanta artists thinking about making the jump to New York, she answers, "Do it! But do it because you want to have an experience, to learn and grow, to see things and stretch your awareness, to meet a lot of different types of people. And by all means, be realistic. Realistic about the compromises you will have to make and the focus it will take."??


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  string(11246) "Habitues of the Atlanta art scene are all too familiar with the yearly migration of artists from the city, an exodus that can often make Atlanta feel like a Greyhound bus terminal en route to the beckoning art capital of New York. And lately the numbers of those heading for that beacon of urine-scented avenues and sandpaper personalities have been legion. That, coupled with the closing of contemporary art gallery Vaknin Schwartz in January and the migration of curators specializing in bringing contemporary work to Atlanta (Chris Scoates, Debra Wilbur, Cay Sophie Rabinowitz, Peter Pachano, Jason Forrest), implies that flight is a necessary response to a town that remains unreceptive to conceptual, cutting-edge work.%%%%%%"It's really strange to live in Atlanta, because there's such amazing wealth in this city and it seems to me that very little of that wealth is being funneled back into the cultural life of the city," says Jeremy Helton, who will be joining fellow members of the multimedia collaborative fascia, Honnie Goode and Todd Kitchens, in New York at the end of April.%%%%%%"For artists that are working in mediums that are fairly new like video art and video installation, I think many of us do see there might be greater opportunities in New York."%%%%%%As far as achieving a modicum of success as a visual artist in Atlanta, "it's kind of an uphill battle" concedes former Atlanta artist and current director of New York's Brent Sikkema Gallery, Michael Jenkins. "There's not a strong collector base."%%%%%%There has long been a pessimistic buzz in Atlanta, that the city is not an art center and is a difficult place for a young, emerging artist to make a living. But does the move to New York necessarily bring with it greater artistic success?%%%%%%"We felt that Atlanta's art scene had become limiting in terms of contemporary work," says Jeremy Spears of the art partnership Spears/Nayadley.%%%%%%Graduates of the Atlanta College of Art, the art partnership of Spears/Nayadley had its photography featured in a Fay Gold exhibition of promising young Atlanta artists and received prominent placement in the City Hall East show ''When Tears Come Down.'' But, "we felt that Atlanta's art scene had become limiting in terms of contemporary work," says Spears.%%%%%%Residents of New York since 1998, Spears now works as a headhunter for graphic designers and Elizabeth Nayadley is a print and digital photography technician. But the artists "don't have any set plans for shows at the moment," concedes Spears.%%%%%%"It's a much larger community of artists" in New York says Spears, "so I would have to say that it's harder in New York."%%%%%%A significant number of Atlanta artists are relocating to the city's flourishing art hub, the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Jody Fausett, who moved to New York a year-and-a-half ago, recalls attending a party in Williamsburg recently where "75 percent of the people were from Atlanta."%%%%%%Fausett has not had a New York gallery show of his photography since moving to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, though he has managed to break into the commercial fashion photography sphere, with recent layouts for ''Soma'' and ''Surface'' magazines.%%%%%%"Let's face it, the positive side of that is a huge chunk of money that I can make in a short period of time," admits Fausett of his crossover to fashion work.%%%%%%A catch-22 of life in New York is that artists who relocate to New York for the expanded cultural possibilities and higher-paying jobs can often become so distracted soaking in ''other'' artists' work and paying the bills that their own art-making assumes a lower priority.%%%%%%"I couldn't have it both ways in this particular city. If I was going to work and work and work at my day job, I can't do [[the art]. And in Atlanta you're able to balance it more," says Jennifer Ray, an artist whose work has appeared at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Chastain and City Hall East galleries and who moved to Williamsburg a year ago. Ray currently works for a public relations firm. Ultimately, she says, "you're ''exhausted''."%%%%%%Ray is pragmatic about the sacrifices artists often make to live in the city. "It really tears away any veils that you've built up to protect yourself from not doing all that you can," she warns.%%%%%%Coupled with the strain of day-to-day living in New York is the chance of ever truly "making it" it as an artist.%%%%%%"Distractions can be a problem, and they can be expensive," concedes Atlanta gallery owner Nancy Solomon whose exhibitions often incorporate both local and New York-based artists. Most often such distractions result in neglecting the very mission that first led the innocent artist to the Apple: ''the art''.%%%%%%Like that other apple proffered by a serpent in the Garden of Eden, New York promises the possibility of an instantaneous art career. But many Atlanta artists now living in the city seem to agree that the Big Apple is not exactly the quick ticket to art world immortality. The city often seems more rewarding as a source of inspiration and stimulation, offering the kind of exposure to artwork that no other city in the world can deliver.%%%%%%Robert Walden, whose pen-and-ink works on paper have been shown at Vaknin Schwartz and the ACA Gallery, moved to Manhattan's Lower East Side five years ago and now works as an art installer for galleries like Barbara Gladstone and the Guggenheim Museum. He's even started WALDEN, his own nonprofit gallery specializing in "contemporary conceptual work of various media from installation to painting."%%%%%%But Walden admits that he has yet to show his own artwork in the city. "I haven't pursued it. I wasn't secure enough with the work that I was doing to be able to present it."%%%%%%But Walden admits that what New York can offer an artist is a more prestigious address. "There is an aura of being a New York artist that people cling on to." And that jump in status can often be enough to convince a gallery ''outside'' New York to show work that looked somehow less funky and cutting edge when the artist bought her gesso at Wal-Mart.%%%%%%While Atlanta artists migrating to New York may not find the move an immediate boost to their art careers, the move can offer a boost in status that makes the move feel psychologically advantageous.%%%%%%"It's almost like there's a certain validation living in New York and then when you return to Atlanta -- and I've seen  this with bands, with artists -- there's  this greater validity because you have, in some way, made it in New York City,"  says Helton.%%%%%%Like many of the other transplanted Atlanta artists, photographer Jason Forrest, who moved to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a year ago, seems to have also put his photography career -- well established in Atlanta -- on hold. Forrest has instead been delving into new projects such as a documentary about contemporary digital music and, ironically, concentrating on a curatorial project back in Atlanta: an exhibition at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center.%%%%%%Though the prospect of making it as an artist in New York can be daunting, it has been done. And there are ways to make the transition from Atlanta's relative art hinterland to an art career in New York that don't involve an artist with a ''Gallery Guide'' hand-trucking her slides from gallery to gallery with no idea of the kind of work the gallery shows. "I would have absolutely no interest in anybody that didn't know already what I did here. I'm perplexed why they would even want to show," cautions Jenkins, "because art is about nothing but context."%%%%%%"It's a very cagey thing. In New York City people see you coming a mile away. I know that very well by the job I do -- I mean I'm hit on every day," says Jenkins. "What you really need to do is become involved with other artists who are like yourself and make connections where you see yourself as an artist; that way you feel your work is contextualized properly."%%%%%%Jenkins, whose Brent Sikkema Gallery represents Kara Walker and Vik Muniz, moved to New York in 1998 and had his work shown at the prestigious Jay Gorney Modern Art within four years. He attributes that early success to laying a foundation while still in Atlanta, where he ran a film program at Georgia State, invited visiting speakers to the city and volunteered at Nexus, where he was privy to the variety of guest artists and speakers who visited the art space. "I think I sized up opportunities and sort of took advantage of them when I could without being offensive to the people involved. I tried not to let an opportunity get away."`%%%%%%Like many of the newer arrivals to New York who have put their art careers on  the back burner for commercial work, Jenkins gave up his own artwork five years ago when he began working at Brent Sikkema. "I don't have time," he says. "I get such a vicarious sort of rush about what I do, I don't feel any loss whatsoever. I really get involved with artists a lot, and it's so much nicer to go to an opening for someone else."%%%%%%Jenkins' transition from gallery-represented artist to gallery director only illustrates a larger condition in many of the stories of people who move to New York with a desire to launch an art career. In a city where achieving even fleeting artistic success is so difficult, it is often far easier and more consistent to find some niche that fulfills your creative needs without requiring a lifetime of waiting, salesmanship and rejection and the schizophrenic faddishness of the art world.%%%%%%But despite the nearly impossible odds and the increasing expense of eking out a living in New York, Jenkins remains like most who have lived in the city -- intoxicated by the opportunity New York presents with each waking day, of seeing something, or doing something that can make all the difficulty worthwhile.%%%%%%"I'm a real believer in pursuing what you really love. I think you have to follow it through even if you turn around and move somewhere else," Jenkins says. Going to school where he saw many of his teachers "never reconciled" about failing to even give New York a shot taught him the importance of at least ''trying''.%%%%%%Despite the difficulties, all of the artists and gallery directors interviewed were unanimously in favor of a move to the art capital as a positive one for artists, if only for the experience.%%%%%%"My life has changed for the better," says Honnie Goode, an Atlanta painter represented by the Lowe Gallery and a member of fascia who's been in New York for a month. "It's hard here. I won't say it has been easy because getting an apartment here can be a nightmare. Plus, it takes about a month to get adjusted to the city. It's sink or swim."%%%%%%Gallery owners like Atlanta's Nancy Solomon are encouraging about promising artists striking out in New York. Asked what advice she would give Atlanta artists thinking about making the jump to New York, she answers, "Do it! But do it because you want to have an experience, to learn and grow, to see things and stretch your awareness, to meet a lot of different types of people. And by all means, be realistic. Realistic about the compromises you will have to make and the focus it will take."??


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  string(11259) "    Breaking into NYC art scene no easy task for ex-Atlantans   2001-04-25T04:04:00+00:00 Art flight   Felicia Feaster 1223506 2001-04-25T04:04:00+00:00  Habitues of the Atlanta art scene are all too familiar with the yearly migration of artists from the city, an exodus that can often make Atlanta feel like a Greyhound bus terminal en route to the beckoning art capital of New York. And lately the numbers of those heading for that beacon of urine-scented avenues and sandpaper personalities have been legion. That, coupled with the closing of contemporary art gallery Vaknin Schwartz in January and the migration of curators specializing in bringing contemporary work to Atlanta (Chris Scoates, Debra Wilbur, Cay Sophie Rabinowitz, Peter Pachano, Jason Forrest), implies that flight is a necessary response to a town that remains unreceptive to conceptual, cutting-edge work."It's really strange to live in Atlanta, because there's such amazing wealth in this city and it seems to me that very little of that wealth is being funneled back into the cultural life of the city," says Jeremy Helton, who will be joining fellow members of the multimedia collaborative fascia, Honnie Goode and Todd Kitchens, in New York at the end of April."For artists that are working in mediums that are fairly new like video art and video installation, I think many of us do see there might be greater opportunities in New York."As far as achieving a modicum of success as a visual artist in Atlanta, "it's kind of an uphill battle" concedes former Atlanta artist and current director of New York's Brent Sikkema Gallery, Michael Jenkins. "There's not a strong collector base."There has long been a pessimistic buzz in Atlanta, that the city is not an art center and is a difficult place for a young, emerging artist to make a living. But does the move to New York necessarily bring with it greater artistic success?"We felt that Atlanta's art scene had become limiting in terms of contemporary work," says Jeremy Spears of the art partnership Spears/Nayadley.Graduates of the Atlanta College of Art, the art partnership of Spears/Nayadley had its photography featured in a Fay Gold exhibition of promising young Atlanta artists and received prominent placement in the City Hall East show When Tears Come Down. But, "we felt that Atlanta's art scene had become limiting in terms of contemporary work," says Spears.Residents of New York since 1998, Spears now works as a headhunter for graphic designers and Elizabeth Nayadley is a print and digital photography technician. But the artists "don't have any set plans for shows at the moment," concedes Spears."It's a much larger community of artists" in New York says Spears, "so I would have to say that it's harder in New York."A significant number of Atlanta artists are relocating to the city's flourishing art hub, the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Jody Fausett, who moved to New York a year-and-a-half ago, recalls attending a party in Williamsburg recently where "75 percent of the people were from Atlanta."Fausett has not had a New York gallery show of his photography since moving to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, though he has managed to break into the commercial fashion photography sphere, with recent layouts for Soma and Surface magazines."Let's face it, the positive side of that is a huge chunk of money that I can make in a short period of time," admits Fausett of his crossover to fashion work.A catch-22 of life in New York is that artists who relocate to New York for the expanded cultural possibilities and higher-paying jobs can often become so distracted soaking in other artists' work and paying the bills that their own art-making assumes a lower priority."I couldn't have it both ways in this particular city. If I was going to work and work and work at my day job, I can't do the art. And in Atlanta you're able to balance it more," says Jennifer Ray, an artist whose work has appeared at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Chastain and City Hall East galleries and who moved to Williamsburg a year ago. Ray currently works for a public relations firm. Ultimately, she says, "you're exhausted."Ray is pragmatic about the sacrifices artists often make to live in the city. "It really tears away any veils that you've built up to protect yourself from not doing all that you can," she warns.Coupled with the strain of day-to-day living in New York is the chance of ever truly "making it" it as an artist."Distractions can be a problem, and they can be expensive," concedes Atlanta gallery owner Nancy Solomon whose exhibitions often incorporate both local and New York-based artists. Most often such distractions result in neglecting the very mission that first led the innocent artist to the Apple: the art.Like that other apple proffered by a serpent in the Garden of Eden, New York promises the possibility of an instantaneous art career. But many Atlanta artists now living in the city seem to agree that the Big Apple is not exactly the quick ticket to art world immortality. The city often seems more rewarding as a source of inspiration and stimulation, offering the kind of exposure to artwork that no other city in the world can deliver.Robert Walden, whose pen-and-ink works on paper have been shown at Vaknin Schwartz and the ACA Gallery, moved to Manhattan's Lower East Side five years ago and now works as an art installer for galleries like Barbara Gladstone and the Guggenheim Museum. He's even started WALDEN, his own nonprofit gallery specializing in "contemporary conceptual work of various media from installation to painting."But Walden admits that he has yet to show his own artwork in the city. "I haven't pursued it. I wasn't secure enough with the work that I was doing to be able to present it."But Walden admits that what New York can offer an artist is a more prestigious address. "There is an aura of being a New York artist that people cling on to." And that jump in status can often be enough to convince a gallery outside New York to show work that looked somehow less funky and cutting edge when the artist bought her gesso at Wal-Mart.While Atlanta artists migrating to New York may not find the move an immediate boost to their art careers, the move can offer a boost in status that makes the move feel psychologically advantageous."It's almost like there's a certain validation living in New York and then when you return to Atlanta — and I've seen  this with bands, with artists — there's  this greater validity because you have, in some way, made it in New York City,"  says Helton.Like many of the other transplanted Atlanta artists, photographer Jason Forrest, who moved to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a year ago, seems to have also put his photography career — well established in Atlanta — on hold. Forrest has instead been delving into new projects such as a documentary about contemporary digital music and, ironically, concentrating on a curatorial project back in Atlanta: an exhibition at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center.Though the prospect of making it as an artist in New York can be daunting, it has been done. And there are ways to make the transition from Atlanta's relative art hinterland to an art career in New York that don't involve an artist with a Gallery Guide hand-trucking her slides from gallery to gallery with no idea of the kind of work the gallery shows. "I would have absolutely no interest in anybody that didn't know already what I did here. I'm perplexed why they would even want to show," cautions Jenkins, "because art is about nothing but context.""It's a very cagey thing. In New York City people see you coming a mile away. I know that very well by the job I do — I mean I'm hit on every day," says Jenkins. "What you really need to do is become involved with other artists who are like yourself and make connections where you see yourself as an artist; that way you feel your work is contextualized properly."Jenkins, whose Brent Sikkema Gallery represents Kara Walker and Vik Muniz, moved to New York in 1998 and had his work shown at the prestigious Jay Gorney Modern Art within four years. He attributes that early success to laying a foundation while still in Atlanta, where he ran a film program at Georgia State, invited visiting speakers to the city and volunteered at Nexus, where he was privy to the variety of guest artists and speakers who visited the art space. "I think I sized up opportunities and sort of took advantage of them when I could without being offensive to the people involved. I tried not to let an opportunity get away."`Like many of the newer arrivals to New York who have put their art careers on  the back burner for commercial work, Jenkins gave up his own artwork five years ago when he began working at Brent Sikkema. "I don't have time," he says. "I get such a vicarious sort of rush about what I do, I don't feel any loss whatsoever. I really get involved with artists a lot, and it's so much nicer to go to an opening for someone else."Jenkins' transition from gallery-represented artist to gallery director only illustrates a larger condition in many of the stories of people who move to New York with a desire to launch an art career. In a city where achieving even fleeting artistic success is so difficult, it is often far easier and more consistent to find some niche that fulfills your creative needs without requiring a lifetime of waiting, salesmanship and rejection and the schizophrenic faddishness of the art world.But despite the nearly impossible odds and the increasing expense of eking out a living in New York, Jenkins remains like most who have lived in the city — intoxicated by the opportunity New York presents with each waking day, of seeing something, or doing something that can make all the difficulty worthwhile."I'm a real believer in pursuing what you really love. I think you have to follow it through even if you turn around and move somewhere else," Jenkins says. Going to school where he saw many of his teachers "never reconciled" about failing to even give New York a shot taught him the importance of at least trying.Despite the difficulties, all of the artists and gallery directors interviewed were unanimously in favor of a move to the art capital as a positive one for artists, if only for the experience."My life has changed for the better," says Honnie Goode, an Atlanta painter represented by the Lowe Gallery and a member of fascia who's been in New York for a month. "It's hard here. I won't say it has been easy because getting an apartment here can be a nightmare. Plus, it takes about a month to get adjusted to the city. It's sink or swim."Gallery owners like Atlanta's Nancy Solomon are encouraging about promising artists striking out in New York. Asked what advice she would give Atlanta artists thinking about making the jump to New York, she answers, "Do it! But do it because you want to have an experience, to learn and grow, to see things and stretch your awareness, to meet a lot of different types of people. And by all means, be realistic. Realistic about the compromises you will have to make and the focus it will take."??


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Wednesday April 25, 2001 12:04 am EDT
Breaking into NYC art scene no easy task for ex-Atlantans | more...
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  string(65) "Atlanta Biennial 2001  combines the whimsical with the disturbing"
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  string(7233) "Toy soldiers and paper dolls. Graffiti, comics and messy craft projects. Animated films, storytelling and a raft of hand-folded boats. That's what this year's Atlanta Biennial is made of. With a title taken from the lyrics of a classic lullaby, When the Wind Blows at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center presents a view of the world that reinforces a contemporary cultural truism: We don't want to grow up, even if we have seen the underbelly of childhood.

Art as a sign of the times is a role played out in most biannual showcase exhibitions. Last year's Whitney Biennial, with its first display of new media art, is an example of how the New York exhibition focuses on developments in process as much as conceptual shifts. The 2000 biennial also drew in more artists from outside New York. The Contemporary's curator Teresa Bramlette followed suit, choosing artists beyond the usual 100-mile radius of Atlanta for the 2001 show.

This year's display is distinctly more thematic than the 1999 Local Figures. Bramlette originally intended to develop a drawing-based exhibition, but as she began to select artists, she saw fantasy world connections and expressions of childhood desire among the artists' works.

When the Wind Blows includes drawing, painting, sculpture and video as well as installation. An over-the-top project by Mark Guilbeau and Rian Kerrane best reflects the exhibition's gestalt. Their "False Security of Overconsumption" is an irresistible Land of Make-Believe.

Two artists from Charlotte, N.C., crowd a room with the flotsam and jetsam of a child's imagination, complete with a bridge, a lookout tower and suspended objects — a tricycle, a globe and plastic guns, a stream of naked baby dolls and a whirling fleet of portable mixers. Thousands of plastic army men play war on the walls and cover a hanging sphere. Ropes, strings and electrical cords crisscross the space mechanically connecting one element to another. A flotilla of newspaper boats sails under the bridge. The cluttered obsession encompasses a sound track, more electrically kinetic sculptures and an observation camera that projects the visitor onto a television monitor suspended in a cage overhead.

The writing is on the wall (literally) in one line of the poem they have written there: " ... one thing leads to another." "False Security" looks like a rough-cut model of the World Wide Web. "Both of our languages are incorporated in this playground. The objects and imagery present the world that created us," says Guilbeau.

Such visible thought patterns tying one object to another are echoed throughout the show. In her teenage-year drawings, Atlanta artist Kathy Yancey built a dream universe on paper. She combined pencil drawings and paper dolls with collaged Easter egg foils and bits of feather to concoct a series of characters and histories. While surprising in their global consciousness, her female heroes developed along accepted standards for girls — growing up, getting married and having children.

Macon-based Robin Starbuck is more critical of those guilt-ridden stereotypes. In her semiotic study of vintage children's books, she explores the way behavior is coded in language. The message in Starbuck's monotype transfer drawings feels dry and outdated next to the color-drenched paintings of Samantha Simpson. Without a word, the Philadelphia artist has created a smart cast of sharp-toothed mouse girls that belie and indulge in the feminine. She has one over on the Powerpuff Girls. The scenarios depicted in airbrush ink on paper communicate the artful cunning of truly empowered females.

Mischo McKay, who lives in Athens, shows a set of intricate pen-and-ink drawings that dwell in the darkness of unattractiveness. His protagonist is a patched together Ugly Little Doll shown in a series of ignoble moments. Visual references to "The Elves and the Shoemaker," "The Nutcracker" and "Corduroy" appear, though this misfit doesn't get a fairytale finish. In fact, the story never ends; McKay has animated the unfortunate boy doll on dreamspan.com. (Aptly included in the exhibition are excerpts from Dreamspan Inc.'s Short Attention Span Film and Video Festival.)

McKay cleverly interprets the angst and pain in the life of an ugly child. At least on paper, he avoids the raw physicality that often preoccupies the young. Not so Angela Willcocks, whose dimensional "drawings" mean to dig up disturbing thoughts. The Atlanta-based artist has grown from making whimsical allusions to pregnancy, birth and motherhood to a less comfortable conceptual space.

In one corner of the gallery, she, too, constructs a world. Stretched gut, hairballs, clothes dryer lint, a bit of felt and sequins figure in. Hair cuttings work as paint and texture. There are allusions to Rebecca Horn's art in the fallout of blue dust and hair that lie beneath these wall sculptures. A line of blue-tipped plastic whatsits climbs from floor to ceiling in one spot. A nearby assemblage touts a cluster of freaky phallus symbols, rubber finger guards with hair popping out the ends. Willcocks' mix of science and the self has an off-putting effect.

Another odd vision comes from Ryan Berg. He brings his mix of ceramics and amateur craftwork to the subject of 1970s teenage daydreams. The atypical ceramist from Tampa, Fla., constructs a gaudy interior landscape with painted wood cutouts and greatly embellished household lamps. In his wickedly funny hands, glam rock meets the Wizard of Oz. A satyr becomes a satire. Pinocchio and Porky Pig are beheaded and made into lamps while still bleeding. Inspired by Dr. Seuss and rock bands, the exuberant set-up is definitely the creation of one gnarly dude. Berg's may be the most inventive look at what he calls the "useless, pathetic fantasy" that comes with youthful bravado.

Neater, cleaner artmaking is the rule for other contributors, whose works are less connected to childhood discovery than to a growing adult sense of identity. Didi Dunphy, an artist from Athens, imagines a place where art history is feminized. Shaping both intimate and wall-sized color studies and grids from Naugahyde cushions and embroidery floss, she avenges the scorned traditions associated with women's creativity. Atlantan Arge represents his gay world in colorful caricatures that spin off larger-than-life friends and "The Jetsons" cartoons. Woodstock-based Scott Murphy shows spare graffiti portraits made with stencils and spray paint on paper. Safe inside a gallery, his art reveals the maker's vulnerability.

"I like to surprise each time," remarked Bramlette of her curatorial efforts. "I wanted this show to be funny and friendly, provocative and bright. I like work with a sense of humor in it, but I also like the fact that it's somewhat subversive." Does the 2001 Atlanta Biennial reflect the best artists in our universe and the freshest ideas as they emerge? Not entirely, but When the Wind Blows cleverly uncovers the dangers in our quest for the happily ever after.

Atlanta Biennial 2001: When the Wind Blows runs through June 2 at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, 535 Means St. Tues.-Sat. 11 a.m.-5 p.m. $3 general admission, $1 students and seniors. 404-688-1970.??


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Art as a sign of the times is a role played out in most biannual showcase exhibitions. Last year's Whitney Biennial, with its first display of new media art, is an example of how the New York exhibition focuses on developments in process as much as conceptual shifts. The 2000 biennial also drew in more artists from outside New York. The Contemporary's curator Teresa Bramlette followed suit, choosing artists beyond the usual 100-mile radius of Atlanta for the 2001 show.

This year's display is distinctly more thematic than the 1999 ''Local Figures''. Bramlette originally intended to develop a drawing-based exhibition, but as she began to select artists, she saw fantasy world connections and expressions of childhood desire among the artists' works.

''When the Wind Blows'' includes drawing, painting, sculpture and video as well as installation. An over-the-top project by Mark Guilbeau and Rian Kerrane best reflects the exhibition's gestalt. Their "False Security of Overconsumption" is an irresistible Land of Make-Believe.

Two artists from Charlotte, N.C., crowd a room with the flotsam and jetsam of a child's imagination, complete with a bridge, a lookout tower and suspended objects -- a tricycle, a globe and plastic guns, a stream of naked baby dolls and a whirling fleet of portable mixers. Thousands of plastic army men play war on the walls and cover a hanging sphere. Ropes, strings and electrical cords crisscross the space mechanically connecting one element to another. A flotilla of newspaper boats sails under the bridge. The cluttered obsession encompasses a sound track, more electrically kinetic sculptures and an observation camera that projects the visitor onto a television monitor suspended in a cage overhead.

The writing is on the wall (literally) in one line of the poem they have written there: " ... one thing leads to another." "False Security" looks like a rough-cut model of the World Wide Web. "Both of our languages are incorporated in this playground. The objects and imagery present the world that created us," says Guilbeau.

Such visible thought patterns tying one object to another are echoed throughout the show. In her teenage-year drawings, Atlanta artist Kathy Yancey built a dream universe on paper. She combined pencil drawings and paper dolls with collaged Easter egg foils and bits of feather to concoct a series of characters and histories. While surprising in their global consciousness, her female heroes developed along accepted standards for girls -- growing up, getting married and having children.

Macon-based Robin Starbuck is more critical of those guilt-ridden stereotypes. In her semiotic study of vintage children's books, she explores the way behavior is coded in language. The message in Starbuck's monotype transfer drawings feels dry and outdated next to the color-drenched paintings of Samantha Simpson. Without a word, the Philadelphia artist has created a smart cast of sharp-toothed mouse girls that belie and indulge in the feminine. She has one over on the ''Powerpuff Girls''. The scenarios depicted in airbrush ink on paper communicate the artful cunning of truly empowered females.

Mischo McKay, who lives in Athens, shows a set of intricate pen-and-ink drawings that dwell in the darkness of unattractiveness. His protagonist is a patched together ''Ugly Little Doll'' shown in a series of ignoble moments. Visual references to "The Elves and the Shoemaker," "The Nutcracker" and "Corduroy" appear, though this misfit doesn't get a fairytale finish. In fact, the story never ends; McKay has animated the unfortunate boy doll on [http://dreamspan.com/|dreamspan.com]. (Aptly included in the exhibition are excerpts from Dreamspan Inc.'s Short Attention Span Film and Video Festival.)

McKay cleverly interprets the angst and pain in the life of an ugly child. At least on paper, he avoids the raw physicality that often preoccupies the young. Not so Angela Willcocks, whose dimensional "drawings" mean to dig up disturbing thoughts. The Atlanta-based artist has grown from making whimsical allusions to pregnancy, birth and motherhood to a less comfortable conceptual space.

In one corner of the gallery, she, too, constructs a world. Stretched gut, hairballs, clothes dryer lint, a bit of felt and sequins figure in. Hair cuttings work as paint and texture. There are allusions to Rebecca Horn's art in the fallout of blue dust and hair that lie beneath these wall sculptures. A line of blue-tipped plastic whatsits climbs from floor to ceiling in one spot. A nearby assemblage touts a cluster of freaky phallus symbols, rubber finger guards with hair popping out the ends. Willcocks' mix of science and the self has an off-putting effect.

Another odd vision comes from Ryan Berg. He brings his mix of ceramics and amateur craftwork to the subject of 1970s teenage daydreams. The atypical ceramist from Tampa, Fla., constructs a gaudy interior landscape with painted wood cutouts and greatly embellished household lamps. In his wickedly funny hands, glam rock meets the ''Wizard of Oz''. A satyr becomes a satire. Pinocchio and Porky Pig are beheaded and made into lamps while still bleeding. Inspired by Dr. Seuss and rock bands, the exuberant set-up is definitely the creation of one gnarly dude. Berg's may be the most inventive look at what he calls the "useless, pathetic fantasy" that comes with youthful bravado.

Neater, cleaner artmaking is the rule for other contributors, whose works are less connected to childhood discovery than to a growing adult sense of identity. Didi Dunphy, an artist from Athens, imagines a place where art history is feminized. Shaping both intimate and wall-sized color studies and grids from Naugahyde cushions and embroidery floss, she avenges the scorned traditions associated with women's creativity. Atlantan Arge represents his gay world in colorful caricatures that spin off larger-than-life friends and "The Jetsons" cartoons. Woodstock-based Scott Murphy shows spare graffiti portraits made with stencils and spray paint on paper. Safe inside a gallery, his art reveals the maker's vulnerability.

"I like to surprise each time," remarked Bramlette of her curatorial efforts. "I wanted this show to be funny and friendly, provocative and bright. I like work with a sense of humor in it, but I also like the fact that it's somewhat subversive." Does the 2001 Atlanta Biennial reflect the best artists in our universe and the freshest ideas as they emerge? Not entirely, but ''When the Wind Blows'' cleverly uncovers the dangers in our quest for the happily ever after.

Atlanta Biennial 2001: When the Wind Blows ''runs through June 2 at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, 535 Means St. Tues.-Sat. 11 a.m.-5 p.m. $3 general admission, $1 students and seniors. 404-688-1970.''??


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  string(7484) "    Atlanta Biennial 2001  combines the whimsical with the disturbing   2001-04-11T04:04:00+00:00 Fantasies and nightmares   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-04-11T04:04:00+00:00  Toy soldiers and paper dolls. Graffiti, comics and messy craft projects. Animated films, storytelling and a raft of hand-folded boats. That's what this year's Atlanta Biennial is made of. With a title taken from the lyrics of a classic lullaby, When the Wind Blows at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center presents a view of the world that reinforces a contemporary cultural truism: We don't want to grow up, even if we have seen the underbelly of childhood.

Art as a sign of the times is a role played out in most biannual showcase exhibitions. Last year's Whitney Biennial, with its first display of new media art, is an example of how the New York exhibition focuses on developments in process as much as conceptual shifts. The 2000 biennial also drew in more artists from outside New York. The Contemporary's curator Teresa Bramlette followed suit, choosing artists beyond the usual 100-mile radius of Atlanta for the 2001 show.

This year's display is distinctly more thematic than the 1999 Local Figures. Bramlette originally intended to develop a drawing-based exhibition, but as she began to select artists, she saw fantasy world connections and expressions of childhood desire among the artists' works.

When the Wind Blows includes drawing, painting, sculpture and video as well as installation. An over-the-top project by Mark Guilbeau and Rian Kerrane best reflects the exhibition's gestalt. Their "False Security of Overconsumption" is an irresistible Land of Make-Believe.

Two artists from Charlotte, N.C., crowd a room with the flotsam and jetsam of a child's imagination, complete with a bridge, a lookout tower and suspended objects — a tricycle, a globe and plastic guns, a stream of naked baby dolls and a whirling fleet of portable mixers. Thousands of plastic army men play war on the walls and cover a hanging sphere. Ropes, strings and electrical cords crisscross the space mechanically connecting one element to another. A flotilla of newspaper boats sails under the bridge. The cluttered obsession encompasses a sound track, more electrically kinetic sculptures and an observation camera that projects the visitor onto a television monitor suspended in a cage overhead.

The writing is on the wall (literally) in one line of the poem they have written there: " ... one thing leads to another." "False Security" looks like a rough-cut model of the World Wide Web. "Both of our languages are incorporated in this playground. The objects and imagery present the world that created us," says Guilbeau.

Such visible thought patterns tying one object to another are echoed throughout the show. In her teenage-year drawings, Atlanta artist Kathy Yancey built a dream universe on paper. She combined pencil drawings and paper dolls with collaged Easter egg foils and bits of feather to concoct a series of characters and histories. While surprising in their global consciousness, her female heroes developed along accepted standards for girls — growing up, getting married and having children.

Macon-based Robin Starbuck is more critical of those guilt-ridden stereotypes. In her semiotic study of vintage children's books, she explores the way behavior is coded in language. The message in Starbuck's monotype transfer drawings feels dry and outdated next to the color-drenched paintings of Samantha Simpson. Without a word, the Philadelphia artist has created a smart cast of sharp-toothed mouse girls that belie and indulge in the feminine. She has one over on the Powerpuff Girls. The scenarios depicted in airbrush ink on paper communicate the artful cunning of truly empowered females.

Mischo McKay, who lives in Athens, shows a set of intricate pen-and-ink drawings that dwell in the darkness of unattractiveness. His protagonist is a patched together Ugly Little Doll shown in a series of ignoble moments. Visual references to "The Elves and the Shoemaker," "The Nutcracker" and "Corduroy" appear, though this misfit doesn't get a fairytale finish. In fact, the story never ends; McKay has animated the unfortunate boy doll on dreamspan.com. (Aptly included in the exhibition are excerpts from Dreamspan Inc.'s Short Attention Span Film and Video Festival.)

McKay cleverly interprets the angst and pain in the life of an ugly child. At least on paper, he avoids the raw physicality that often preoccupies the young. Not so Angela Willcocks, whose dimensional "drawings" mean to dig up disturbing thoughts. The Atlanta-based artist has grown from making whimsical allusions to pregnancy, birth and motherhood to a less comfortable conceptual space.

In one corner of the gallery, she, too, constructs a world. Stretched gut, hairballs, clothes dryer lint, a bit of felt and sequins figure in. Hair cuttings work as paint and texture. There are allusions to Rebecca Horn's art in the fallout of blue dust and hair that lie beneath these wall sculptures. A line of blue-tipped plastic whatsits climbs from floor to ceiling in one spot. A nearby assemblage touts a cluster of freaky phallus symbols, rubber finger guards with hair popping out the ends. Willcocks' mix of science and the self has an off-putting effect.

Another odd vision comes from Ryan Berg. He brings his mix of ceramics and amateur craftwork to the subject of 1970s teenage daydreams. The atypical ceramist from Tampa, Fla., constructs a gaudy interior landscape with painted wood cutouts and greatly embellished household lamps. In his wickedly funny hands, glam rock meets the Wizard of Oz. A satyr becomes a satire. Pinocchio and Porky Pig are beheaded and made into lamps while still bleeding. Inspired by Dr. Seuss and rock bands, the exuberant set-up is definitely the creation of one gnarly dude. Berg's may be the most inventive look at what he calls the "useless, pathetic fantasy" that comes with youthful bravado.

Neater, cleaner artmaking is the rule for other contributors, whose works are less connected to childhood discovery than to a growing adult sense of identity. Didi Dunphy, an artist from Athens, imagines a place where art history is feminized. Shaping both intimate and wall-sized color studies and grids from Naugahyde cushions and embroidery floss, she avenges the scorned traditions associated with women's creativity. Atlantan Arge represents his gay world in colorful caricatures that spin off larger-than-life friends and "The Jetsons" cartoons. Woodstock-based Scott Murphy shows spare graffiti portraits made with stencils and spray paint on paper. Safe inside a gallery, his art reveals the maker's vulnerability.

"I like to surprise each time," remarked Bramlette of her curatorial efforts. "I wanted this show to be funny and friendly, provocative and bright. I like work with a sense of humor in it, but I also like the fact that it's somewhat subversive." Does the 2001 Atlanta Biennial reflect the best artists in our universe and the freshest ideas as they emerge? Not entirely, but When the Wind Blows cleverly uncovers the dangers in our quest for the happily ever after.

Atlanta Biennial 2001: When the Wind Blows runs through June 2 at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, 535 Means St. Tues.-Sat. 11 a.m.-5 p.m. $3 general admission, $1 students and seniors. 404-688-1970.??


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Wednesday April 11, 2001 12:04 am EDT
Atlanta Biennial 2001 combines the whimsical with the disturbing | more...
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  string(1562) "The senior exit show is a rite of passage for graduating art students everywhere, a typically dull affair where pupils, parents, teachers and classmates come together for a final round of backslaps and coos before entering the harsh reality of the market.

But Lee Causseux and Chantelle Minarcine have a grander exit in mind. The graduating seniors from the Atlanta College of Art have organized Kultur, an off-campus exhibition of their own work as well as that of 25 classmates.

"The school gives us such a small space to exhibit our work. We thought we could go further and help get our names out there," says Minarcine, a sculptor who also does sound-experimental and audience-interactive art. She and partner Causseaux, also a sculptor, chose Cabbagetown's Art Farm as the venue for an exit show of their own. "We were given such a large space that we decided to open it up for the entire graduating class," Minarcine says.

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An opening reception for Kultur takes place April 14 at 8 p.m. at Art Farm, 835 Wylie St. (off Carroll Street in Cabbagetown). The show runs through April 22. Free, open bar. 404-786-5795.??


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"The school gives us such a small space to exhibit our work. We thought we could go further and help get our names out there," says Minarcine, a sculptor who also does sound-experimental and audience-interactive art. She and partner Causseaux, also a sculptor, chose Cabbagetown's Art Farm as the venue for an exit show of their own. "We were given such a large space that we decided to open it up for the entire graduating class," Minarcine says.

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''An opening reception for ''Kultur'' takes place April 14 at 8 p.m. at Art Farm, 835 Wylie St. (off Carroll Street in Cabbagetown). The show runs through April 22. Free, open bar. 404-786-5795.''??


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But Lee Causseux and Chantelle Minarcine have a grander exit in mind. The graduating seniors from the Atlanta College of Art have organized Kultur, an off-campus exhibition of their own work as well as that of 25 classmates.

"The school gives us such a small space to exhibit our work. We thought we could go further and help get our names out there," says Minarcine, a sculptor who also does sound-experimental and audience-interactive art. She and partner Causseaux, also a sculptor, chose Cabbagetown's Art Farm as the venue for an exit show of their own. "We were given such a large space that we decided to open it up for the entire graduating class," Minarcine says.

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An opening reception for Kultur takes place April 14 at 8 p.m. at Art Farm, 835 Wylie St. (off Carroll Street in Cabbagetown). The show runs through April 22. Free, open bar. 404-786-5795.??


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Wednesday April 11, 2001 12:04 am EDT

The senior exit show is a rite of passage for graduating art students everywhere, a typically dull affair where pupils, parents, teachers and classmates come together for a final round of backslaps and coos before entering the harsh reality of the market.

But Lee Causseux and Chantelle Minarcine have a grander exit in mind. The graduating seniors from the Atlanta College of Art have organized...

| more...

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  string(4544) "Parallels, the current exhibition by German artists at the Atlanta College of Art Gallery, means to connect the cultural centers of Atlanta and Berlin. As a visual liaison between Berlin's Hochschule der Künste (University of the Arts, or HdK) and ACA, it is incredibly obtuse. There is no way, with this exhibition, to determine the points of commonality between the institutions other than a shared focus on artmaking. As an introduction to five artists who teach at HdK, the show succeeds, though not without difficulty, because the juxtaposition of their work is physically jarring.

George Baselitz has his own separate "room," formed by a temporary cement block wall that cuts across the gallery at an angle. He enters the gestalt of his large-scale paintings by composing them on unstretched canvas on the floor. He literally turns the psychology of painting on its head with "Elke Si Riposa," which features a young girl's head, upside down, with great pink blooms encircling her profile.

The artist joins other contemporary artists in mocking the cerebral subtext in art with a painting in which he scratches out the word "Sigmund" with thin black marks. Beneath the name, a curious hand reaches toward a small hole at the center of a furry black space.

Visitors rounding the central floor-to-ceiling wall (constructed last week by Atlanta College of Art students) will come upon the stark installation work of Christiane Möbus. The wall provides the backdrop for her morality play. On the left end of its white expanse, a stuffed chamois (a goat antelope) hangs by the horns from a dark metal bracket, its rear hooves almost grazing the gray floor.

Taxidermist specimens always illustrate what is unnatural about civilization. This one speaks to German culture specifically. The chamois is a national icon in Germany, and a tuft of the animal's fur is used for a traditional hat decoration. This beast — displaced, stuffed and displayed — represents the universal, though somewhat familiar, nature vs. culture dialectic.

Dieter Appelt's two-dimensional bodywork forms a cross on an adjacent wall. His sense of humanity's connection to nature contrasts with Möbus' view of the sacrificial beast. On the left, a series of photos in metal frames picture what might be an archaeological storage site where bones are indexed and stacked. In a column of photographs that spans the center of the wall, the artist places his pigment-covered hands within a similar framework. Five black-and-white photos laid out horizontally on the right picture a younger Appelt in raw natural scenes, his nude, prone body masked in layers of mud. By exposing himself to the elements and placing his corpus in visual rapport with humankind's past and present vulnerability, the artist makes his own body a symbol. That aesthetic practice has a long history in contemporary art.

Another wall of the gallery holds a series of seven red photo portraits. Blown up and tightly framed, these are manipulations of artist Katharina Sieverding's passport pictures. Her successively altered visage reveals bestial possibilities, as the nose takes on the indentations of a snout and the eyes become triangles. Her treatment of identity issues is diluted by its fragmented presentation — only seven of 16 images in the series are on view.

The semiotic work of Lothar Baumgarten is as full of obsessive process as it is devoid of emotion. Parallels includes excerpts from his Carbon project commissioned by the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art. Photographs show train tracks and stations as they crisscross the American landscape. An intersecting wall text names interconnecting rail lines. His book installation documents how intently the verbal architect studied the cultural form and meaning of our railway system — an incredibly dry topic when the element of humanity is omitted.

Worldly, mature artists, Appelt, Baselitz, Baumgarten, Möbus and Sieverding exhibit notions about artmaking that we've seen illustrated by their contemporaries here in Atlanta. In that respect, Parallels does initiate a dialogue about the insular world of art and ideas. Hopefully, future academic and aesthetic exchanges proposed for HdK and ACA will challenge artists from both sides of the ocean to develop fresh aesthetics.

Parallels continues through April 29 at the Atlanta College of Art Gallery, Woodruff Arts Center, 1280 Peachtree St. Tues., Wed., Sat. 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Thurs.-Fri. 10 a.m.-9:30 p.m.; Sun. noon-5 p.m. 404-733-5050.??


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  string(4544) "''Parallels'', the current exhibition by German artists at the Atlanta College of Art Gallery, means to connect the cultural centers of Atlanta and Berlin. As a visual liaison between Berlin's Hochschule der Künste (University of the Arts, or HdK) and ACA, it is incredibly obtuse. There is no way, with this exhibition, to determine the points of commonality between the institutions other than a shared focus on artmaking. As an introduction to five artists who teach at HdK, the show succeeds, though not without difficulty, because the juxtaposition of their work is physically jarring.

George Baselitz has his own separate "room," formed by a temporary cement block wall that cuts across the gallery at an angle. He enters the gestalt of his large-scale paintings by composing them on unstretched canvas on the floor. He literally turns the psychology of painting on its head with "Elke Si Riposa," which features a young girl's head, upside down, with great pink blooms encircling her profile.

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Dieter Appelt's two-dimensional bodywork forms a cross on an adjacent wall. His sense of humanity's connection to nature contrasts with Möbus' view of the sacrificial beast. On the left, a series of photos in metal frames picture what might be an archaeological storage site where bones are indexed and stacked. In a column of photographs that spans the center of the wall, the artist places his pigment-covered hands within a similar framework. Five black-and-white photos laid out horizontally on the right picture a younger Appelt in raw natural scenes, his nude, prone body masked in layers of mud. By exposing himself to the elements and placing his corpus in visual rapport with humankind's past and present vulnerability, the artist makes his own body a symbol. That aesthetic practice has a long history in contemporary art.

Another wall of the gallery holds a series of seven red photo portraits. Blown up and tightly framed, these are manipulations of artist Katharina Sieverding's passport pictures. Her successively altered visage reveals bestial possibilities, as the nose takes on the indentations of a snout and the eyes become triangles. Her treatment of identity issues is diluted by its fragmented presentation -- only seven of 16 images in the series are on view.

The semiotic work of Lothar Baumgarten is as full of obsessive process as it is devoid of emotion. ''Parallels'' includes excerpts from his ''Carbon'' project commissioned by the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art. Photographs show train tracks and stations as they crisscross the American landscape. An intersecting wall text names interconnecting rail lines. His book installation documents how intently the verbal architect studied the cultural form and meaning of our railway system -- an incredibly dry topic when the element of humanity is omitted.

Worldly, mature artists, Appelt, Baselitz, Baumgarten, Möbus and Sieverding exhibit notions about artmaking that we've seen illustrated by their contemporaries here in Atlanta. In that respect, ''Parallels'' does initiate a dialogue about the insular world of art and ideas. Hopefully, future academic and aesthetic exchanges proposed for HdK and ACA will challenge artists from both sides of the ocean to develop fresh aesthetics.

Parallels ''continues through April 29 at the Atlanta College of Art Gallery, Woodruff Arts Center, 1280 Peachtree St. Tues., Wed., Sat. 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Thurs.-Fri. 10 a.m.-9:30 p.m.; Sun. noon-5 p.m. 404-733-5050.''??


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  string(4768) "    Works by German arts educators tread familiar ground   2001-03-28T05:04:00+00:00 Cultural exchange   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-03-28T05:04:00+00:00  Parallels, the current exhibition by German artists at the Atlanta College of Art Gallery, means to connect the cultural centers of Atlanta and Berlin. As a visual liaison between Berlin's Hochschule der Künste (University of the Arts, or HdK) and ACA, it is incredibly obtuse. There is no way, with this exhibition, to determine the points of commonality between the institutions other than a shared focus on artmaking. As an introduction to five artists who teach at HdK, the show succeeds, though not without difficulty, because the juxtaposition of their work is physically jarring.

George Baselitz has his own separate "room," formed by a temporary cement block wall that cuts across the gallery at an angle. He enters the gestalt of his large-scale paintings by composing them on unstretched canvas on the floor. He literally turns the psychology of painting on its head with "Elke Si Riposa," which features a young girl's head, upside down, with great pink blooms encircling her profile.

The artist joins other contemporary artists in mocking the cerebral subtext in art with a painting in which he scratches out the word "Sigmund" with thin black marks. Beneath the name, a curious hand reaches toward a small hole at the center of a furry black space.

Visitors rounding the central floor-to-ceiling wall (constructed last week by Atlanta College of Art students) will come upon the stark installation work of Christiane Möbus. The wall provides the backdrop for her morality play. On the left end of its white expanse, a stuffed chamois (a goat antelope) hangs by the horns from a dark metal bracket, its rear hooves almost grazing the gray floor.

Taxidermist specimens always illustrate what is unnatural about civilization. This one speaks to German culture specifically. The chamois is a national icon in Germany, and a tuft of the animal's fur is used for a traditional hat decoration. This beast — displaced, stuffed and displayed — represents the universal, though somewhat familiar, nature vs. culture dialectic.

Dieter Appelt's two-dimensional bodywork forms a cross on an adjacent wall. His sense of humanity's connection to nature contrasts with Möbus' view of the sacrificial beast. On the left, a series of photos in metal frames picture what might be an archaeological storage site where bones are indexed and stacked. In a column of photographs that spans the center of the wall, the artist places his pigment-covered hands within a similar framework. Five black-and-white photos laid out horizontally on the right picture a younger Appelt in raw natural scenes, his nude, prone body masked in layers of mud. By exposing himself to the elements and placing his corpus in visual rapport with humankind's past and present vulnerability, the artist makes his own body a symbol. That aesthetic practice has a long history in contemporary art.

Another wall of the gallery holds a series of seven red photo portraits. Blown up and tightly framed, these are manipulations of artist Katharina Sieverding's passport pictures. Her successively altered visage reveals bestial possibilities, as the nose takes on the indentations of a snout and the eyes become triangles. Her treatment of identity issues is diluted by its fragmented presentation — only seven of 16 images in the series are on view.

The semiotic work of Lothar Baumgarten is as full of obsessive process as it is devoid of emotion. Parallels includes excerpts from his Carbon project commissioned by the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art. Photographs show train tracks and stations as they crisscross the American landscape. An intersecting wall text names interconnecting rail lines. His book installation documents how intently the verbal architect studied the cultural form and meaning of our railway system — an incredibly dry topic when the element of humanity is omitted.

Worldly, mature artists, Appelt, Baselitz, Baumgarten, Möbus and Sieverding exhibit notions about artmaking that we've seen illustrated by their contemporaries here in Atlanta. In that respect, Parallels does initiate a dialogue about the insular world of art and ideas. Hopefully, future academic and aesthetic exchanges proposed for HdK and ACA will challenge artists from both sides of the ocean to develop fresh aesthetics.

Parallels continues through April 29 at the Atlanta College of Art Gallery, Woodruff Arts Center, 1280 Peachtree St. Tues., Wed., Sat. 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Thurs.-Fri. 10 a.m.-9:30 p.m.; Sun. noon-5 p.m. 404-733-5050.??


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  string(2946) "A masterwork for collaborating artists Dan Walsh and Scott Silvey, subSensory at City Gallery @ Chastain is a delightful full-body experience. Headed in an entirely different direction from other new media art in Atlanta, their exhibition combines sculptural and digital mediums in a truly innovative way.

The show, presented by the City of Atlanta Bureau of Cultural Affairs, features the outcome of the Bureau's first Emerging Artist Grant. Walsh received the $1,000 award last year and decided to share the funds with Silvey.

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"This work is about how something ordinary can take on significant meaning," Walsh says. Without a doubt, the show points to the comic drama of the everyday. The viewer dropped into a house haunted by mundane rituals can't help but contemplate the history of human energy that's bound up in domestic objects. There's magic in the way that subSensory encourages us to reconsider the power in an empty chair and the importance of water waiting in the shower.

subSensory continues through April 28 at City Gallery @ Chastain, 135 W. Wieuca Road. Mon.-Sat. noon to 5 p.m. 404-257-1804.??


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The show, presented by the City of Atlanta Bureau of Cultural Affairs, features the outcome of the Bureau's first Emerging Artist Grant. Walsh received the $1,000 award last year and decided to share the funds with Silvey.

Working together for the first time, Walsh and Silvey have intimately linked imagery to environment in a rigorous creative process. The two created a deceptively simple domestic environment inside the gallery. Their simulated home has no walls, though Silvey's sculptures describe a life-sized kitchen, bedroom and bath. In the kitchen, he's shaped steel into the outline of a counter, refrigerator and stove. Walsh's video enters the room through projected images of translucent people and objects in silhouette that actually seem to move through the space. In red, blue and orange, his characters pantomime domestic activities -- carrying in bowls, placing food in the oven and dishes in the fridge, taking a shower, reading a book.

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subSensory ''continues through April 28 at City Gallery @ Chastain, 135 W. Wieuca Road. Mon.-Sat. noon to 5 p.m. 404-257-1804.''??


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Wednesday March 28, 2001 12:04 am EST
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  string(1588) "If you like your art with cream on top, don't miss the fifth annual erotica art show this weekend. Founded by former Atlanta artist William Downs in the mid-1990s, the show has taken place in various alternative venues around town, including the Lake Claire Baptist Church and the Mattress Factory. This year, it's being held in a subterranean space attached to a seedy strip mall on Howell Mill Road, the perfect place for illicit sex. Local erotic art supporters Jefferson Holt and Kim Parker are whipping the cream, while Downs stirs in artists from Maryland Institute College of Art where he's attending grad school.

More than 60 artists from Atlanta, London, New York, L.A. and Baltimore will present their notions of titillating pottery, paintings, drawings, photography, film, installation, video and fashion. "From previous years, I can say that what's erotic to some is certainly not to others," says Parker. "It might be the rolling hills of a landscape that recall a woman's hips, but there are also images that, well, might be considered porn."

Veteran erotica artists Shana Robbins, James Booth, Sarah Emerson and Melvin Occasio are in the mix, along with new contributors. Atlantan Peter Bahouth, who collects stereoscopic images, shares racy burlesque and glamour shots from the 1950s, and an installation by Wisconsin artist Sara Daleiden will feature a seductive image projected through a clear plastic dress.

cream erotica art show takes place March 31 from 7-10 p.m. at 1181 Howell Mill Road (between 14th Street and Huff Road) $3. 404-377-0780 or 404-607-1913.??


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cream ''erotica art show takes place March 31 from 7-10 p.m. at 1181 Howell Mill Road (between 14th Street and Huff Road) $3. 404-377-0780 or 404-607-1913.''??


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  string(1752) "       2001-03-28T05:04:00+00:00 Whipped cream   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-03-28T05:04:00+00:00  If you like your art with cream on top, don't miss the fifth annual erotica art show this weekend. Founded by former Atlanta artist William Downs in the mid-1990s, the show has taken place in various alternative venues around town, including the Lake Claire Baptist Church and the Mattress Factory. This year, it's being held in a subterranean space attached to a seedy strip mall on Howell Mill Road, the perfect place for illicit sex. Local erotic art supporters Jefferson Holt and Kim Parker are whipping the cream, while Downs stirs in artists from Maryland Institute College of Art where he's attending grad school.

More than 60 artists from Atlanta, London, New York, L.A. and Baltimore will present their notions of titillating pottery, paintings, drawings, photography, film, installation, video and fashion. "From previous years, I can say that what's erotic to some is certainly not to others," says Parker. "It might be the rolling hills of a landscape that recall a woman's hips, but there are also images that, well, might be considered porn."

Veteran erotica artists Shana Robbins, James Booth, Sarah Emerson and Melvin Occasio are in the mix, along with new contributors. Atlantan Peter Bahouth, who collects stereoscopic images, shares racy burlesque and glamour shots from the 1950s, and an installation by Wisconsin artist Sara Daleiden will feature a seductive image projected through a clear plastic dress.

cream erotica art show takes place March 31 from 7-10 p.m. at 1181 Howell Mill Road (between 14th Street and Huff Road) $3. 404-377-0780 or 404-607-1913.??


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Wednesday March 28, 2001 12:04 am EST
If you like your art with cream on top, don't miss the fifth annual erotica art show this weekend. Founded by former Atlanta artist William Downs in the mid-1990s, the show has taken place in various alternative venues around town, including the Lake Claire Baptist Church and the Mattress Factory. This year, it's being held in a subterranean space attached to a seedy strip mall on Howell Mill... | more...
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  string(2825) "Congruit Universa, Latin for "corresponding worlds," is an exhibition by two New York artists at Soho Myriad gallery that might be more aptly titled Colliding Worlds.

Not exactly at the heart of the Atlanta art scene, the venue, attached to a framing and art consulting business, is located in the Westside design district, a few blocks from Bacchanalia, Macon Fine Art, Mondo and Taqueria del Sol. Beginning in a room at the front entrance, the art flows through a wide hallway and spills onto the walls edging a large workspace and storage area.

A series of slick-surfaced diptychs by Carol Peligian in the first gallery space studies landscape and abstraction. Her Congruit Universa juxtaposes media — epoxy and ink on wood and steel meet oil - on canvas to an interesting effect. The compositions introduce the nonobjective by presenting its relationship to the figurative. A smaller vignette or detail on the left references a large-scale painting on the right.

In "Congruit Universa II," Peligian frames the deep violet and lime green image of a pond in a wide swath of shiny deep green. The connected painting transforms that small environment into a green expanse bruised with murky brown, dark blue and purple. A life-sized painting of birch trees dominates "Congruit Universa I," where an adjacent small-scale version of the same scene is framed in iridescent white enamel.

By far Peligian's most interesting vision is her "Notebook." With 11 entries, the 143-by-12-inch diary moves along the wall in squares of green, blue, white, fleshy pink, butter yellow and silver. Imagery slides from solid to patterned, textured to smooth, photographic to painterly. "Notebook" remembers life as a suite composed of sky, wispy clouds, empty space, freshly hatched eggs, a box of white feathers, glimmering cells and crushed velvet.

Down the hall, Lisa Ingram applies oil to paper and canvas in a sequence of abstractions. Her best achievement on paper recalls the gorgeous sculptural wax works of Petah Coyne that cascaded from the ceiling of the High Museum a few years back. Like chandeliers dripping with wax or great layer cakes that flow with icing, each element in the series "Time I-IV" is filled with spouts, drizzles and pools of burgundy and indigo, gray and sage green.

When Ingram works in oil on canvas, her idea of color becomes vibrant, her images more atmospheric. "Canopy" evokes a luminous clearing in a garden, while the enormous painting she calls "Oracle" erupts in great bursts of yellow, blue, green, pink and purple across a 16-foot wall.

Unfortunately, the life in those imaginary worlds is choked by the frameshop reality that surrounds them. This expressive art has no room to breathe.

Congruit Universa continues through April 20 at Soho Myriad, 1250 Menlo Drive. 404-351-5656.??


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Not exactly at the heart of the Atlanta art scene, the venue, attached to a framing and art consulting business, is located in the Westside design district, a few blocks from Bacchanalia, Macon Fine Art, Mondo and Taqueria del Sol. Beginning in a room at the front entrance, the art flows through a wide hallway and spills onto the walls edging a large workspace and storage area.

A series of slick-surfaced diptychs by Carol Peligian in the first gallery space studies landscape and abstraction. Her ''Congruit Universa'' juxtaposes media -- epoxy and ink on wood and steel meet oil - on canvas to an interesting effect. The compositions introduce the nonobjective by presenting its relationship to the figurative. A smaller vignette or detail on the left references a large-scale painting on the right.

In "Congruit Universa II," Peligian frames the deep violet and lime green image of a pond in a wide swath of shiny deep green. The connected painting transforms that small environment into a green expanse bruised with murky brown, dark blue and purple. A life-sized painting of birch trees dominates "Congruit Universa I," where an adjacent small-scale version of the same scene is framed in iridescent white enamel.

By far Peligian's most interesting vision is her "Notebook." With 11 entries, the 143-by-12-inch diary moves along the wall in squares of green, blue, white, fleshy pink, butter yellow and silver. Imagery slides from solid to patterned, textured to smooth, photographic to painterly. "Notebook" remembers life as a suite composed of sky, wispy clouds, empty space, freshly hatched eggs, a box of white feathers, glimmering cells and crushed velvet.

Down the hall, Lisa Ingram applies oil to paper and canvas in a sequence of abstractions. Her best achievement on paper recalls the gorgeous sculptural wax works of Petah Coyne that cascaded from the ceiling of the High Museum a few years back. Like chandeliers dripping with wax or great layer cakes that flow with icing, each element in the series "Time I-IV" is filled with spouts, drizzles and pools of burgundy and indigo, gray and sage green.

When Ingram works in oil on canvas, her idea of color becomes vibrant, her images more atmospheric. "Canopy" evokes a luminous clearing in a garden, while the enormous painting she calls "Oracle" erupts in great bursts of yellow, blue, green, pink and purple across a 16-foot wall.

Unfortunately, the life in those imaginary worlds is choked by the frameshop reality that surrounds them. This expressive art has no room to breathe.

Congruit Universa ''continues through April 20 at Soho Myriad, 1250 Menlo Drive. 404-351-5656.''??


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  string(3092) "    Soho Myriad show illuminates venue's shortcomings   2001-03-21T05:04:00+00:00 Visual Arts - Worlds apart - Soho Myriad   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-03-21T05:04:00+00:00  Congruit Universa, Latin for "corresponding worlds," is an exhibition by two New York artists at Soho Myriad gallery that might be more aptly titled Colliding Worlds.

Not exactly at the heart of the Atlanta art scene, the venue, attached to a framing and art consulting business, is located in the Westside design district, a few blocks from Bacchanalia, Macon Fine Art, Mondo and Taqueria del Sol. Beginning in a room at the front entrance, the art flows through a wide hallway and spills onto the walls edging a large workspace and storage area.

A series of slick-surfaced diptychs by Carol Peligian in the first gallery space studies landscape and abstraction. Her Congruit Universa juxtaposes media — epoxy and ink on wood and steel meet oil - on canvas to an interesting effect. The compositions introduce the nonobjective by presenting its relationship to the figurative. A smaller vignette or detail on the left references a large-scale painting on the right.

In "Congruit Universa II," Peligian frames the deep violet and lime green image of a pond in a wide swath of shiny deep green. The connected painting transforms that small environment into a green expanse bruised with murky brown, dark blue and purple. A life-sized painting of birch trees dominates "Congruit Universa I," where an adjacent small-scale version of the same scene is framed in iridescent white enamel.

By far Peligian's most interesting vision is her "Notebook." With 11 entries, the 143-by-12-inch diary moves along the wall in squares of green, blue, white, fleshy pink, butter yellow and silver. Imagery slides from solid to patterned, textured to smooth, photographic to painterly. "Notebook" remembers life as a suite composed of sky, wispy clouds, empty space, freshly hatched eggs, a box of white feathers, glimmering cells and crushed velvet.

Down the hall, Lisa Ingram applies oil to paper and canvas in a sequence of abstractions. Her best achievement on paper recalls the gorgeous sculptural wax works of Petah Coyne that cascaded from the ceiling of the High Museum a few years back. Like chandeliers dripping with wax or great layer cakes that flow with icing, each element in the series "Time I-IV" is filled with spouts, drizzles and pools of burgundy and indigo, gray and sage green.

When Ingram works in oil on canvas, her idea of color becomes vibrant, her images more atmospheric. "Canopy" evokes a luminous clearing in a garden, while the enormous painting she calls "Oracle" erupts in great bursts of yellow, blue, green, pink and purple across a 16-foot wall.

Unfortunately, the life in those imaginary worlds is choked by the frameshop reality that surrounds them. This expressive art has no room to breathe.

Congruit Universa continues through April 20 at Soho Myriad, 1250 Menlo Drive. 404-351-5656.??


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Wednesday March 21, 2001 12:04 am EST
Soho Myriad show illuminates venue's shortcomings | more...
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  string(5172) "Most contemporary art lovers would not consider the paintings, sculptures, drawings and prints in Degas & America: The Early Collectors cutting edge in any respect. Au contraire. But the current show at the High Museum of Art illustrates how American art collectors were some of the world's most daring when it came to acquiring the evolving work of Edgar Degas and other French impressionists. For that reason, the exhibition works well in tandem with the museum's simultaneous showing of The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art.

Although it seems odd to think of Degas as a revolutionary, his now almost clichéd images of ballet, horseracing and women bathing were radical in their time. In Europe, modern life was not seen as appropriate artistic subject matter in the late 1800s. Degas and his peers rejected that notion, choosing to depict friends and family ("The Bellilli Family," "Portrait of Mlle. Hortense Valpincon"), informal scenes ("The Ballet Class," "The Song Rehearsal"), domestic rituals ("The Laundress Ironing," "The Morning Bath") and popular pastimes ("At the Races: The Start").

Curators Ann Dumas and David Brenneman display a wide spectrum of work collected by the Impressionists' open-minded American patrons. More than 80 works are on view, including the popular cast bronze "Little Dancer of Fourteen Years," with her gauze tutu and silk ribbon, which continues to be an irresistible draw. (A preview gala at the High created the buzz of a showbiz exhibition by bringing the young girl to life in a host of local teenage ballerinas.)

The show reveals how Degas reused a number of his favorite figures and poses, recording forms on tracing paper so he could apply them in different scenes. In a variety of mediums he exhibits an intuitive ability to capture women's unconscious seductiveness. He places the viewer in the role of voyeur, inviting contemplation of intimate, largely unobserved activities. "Women Combing Their Hair" looks at three young women on a beach stroking combs through their long hair. In "Actresses in Their Dressing Rooms," one woman holds up her tresses before a mirror, while another is glimpsed from behind as she changes costumes. And he depicts a vulnerable bather leaning to dry her hip in "Nude Woman Standing, Drying Herself."

In many ways, the show points to the significant power of one female figure in particular — Mary Cassatt. A key player in the rising status of Impressionism at the turn of the 20th century, the savvy American artist led patrons and eventually institutions to purchase Impressionist works. Cassatt's close friend Louisine Havemeyer was the first American to collect art by Degas. Havemeyer eventually bequeathed her impressive collection to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1929. Both private collectors and museums from across the United States and Canada are represented by works in this show.

Degas & America, organized by the High Museum in collaboration with the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, will travel to Minneapolis this summer. The attractive exhibition is the latest in a suite of popular shows at the High since the mid-1990s, and the third impressionist show originating at the High in the past two years.

Spokeswoman Sally Corbett notes that  Art Newspaper's recent survey of exhibition attendance for the year 2000 reported Impressionist and Post-Impressionist shows as the top two draws in the world for the last three years. "Almost all American museums with the means to present Impressionist work do so with some regularity," she says.

And, of course, popular shows sell tickets and increase membership. According to Corbett, the Olympics exhibition Rings: Five Passions in World Art and the Great Forces in 20th Century Culture series, which included Picasso, Matisse, Pop Art and Norman Rockwell shows, have contributed to a rise in membership at the High from 15,000 to 40,000. The museum generated its biggest controversy to date with the artist vs. illustrator debate that came when it co-organized Norman Rockwell Pictures for the American People. Beyond that and the warmed over Pop Art show in 1998, the Atlanta institution has refrained from exposing much art inspired by contemporary culture. Last fall's Chorus of Light: Photographs From the Sir Elton John Collection was an exception that came with star power to bolster popular interest.

The truly conservative nature of the majority of the High's larger exhibitions makes contemporary art lovers long to see something more arousing — say, British collector Charles Saatchi's scandalously fun Sensation or Paul McCarthey's gross-out retrospective — take over the High. Even contemporary ethnographic studies like the hip-hop exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum of Art or the Curves: Art of the Guitar that showed at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston would be refreshing. Degas would have loved those less-refined investigations of art and life.

Degas & America: The Early Collectors continues through May 27 at the High Museum of Art, 1280 Peachtree St. Tues.-Sun., 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Hours extended to  9 p.m. May 18-May 20 and May 25-27.  404-733-4436.??


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  string(5201) "Most contemporary art lovers would not consider the paintings, sculptures, drawings and prints in ''Degas & America: The Early Collectors'' cutting edge in any respect. Au contraire. But the current show at the High Museum of Art illustrates how American art collectors were some of the world's most daring when it came to acquiring the evolving work of Edgar Degas and other French impressionists. For that reason, the exhibition works well in tandem with the museum's simultaneous showing of ''The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art.''

Although it seems odd to think of Degas as a revolutionary, his now almost clichéd images of ballet, horseracing and women bathing were radical in their time. In Europe, modern life was not seen as appropriate artistic subject matter in the late 1800s. Degas and his peers rejected that notion, choosing to depict friends and family ("The Bellilli Family," "Portrait of Mlle. Hortense Valpincon"), informal scenes ("The Ballet Class," "The Song Rehearsal"), domestic rituals ("The Laundress Ironing," "The Morning Bath") and popular pastimes ("At the Races: The Start").

Curators Ann Dumas and David Brenneman display a wide spectrum of work collected by the Impressionists' open-minded American patrons. More than 80 works are on view, including the popular cast bronze "Little Dancer of Fourteen Years," with her gauze tutu and silk ribbon, which continues to be an irresistible draw. (A preview gala at the High created the buzz of a showbiz exhibition by bringing the young girl to life in a host of local teenage ballerinas.)

The show reveals how Degas reused a number of his favorite figures and poses, recording forms on tracing paper so he could apply them in different scenes. In a variety of mediums he exhibits an intuitive ability to capture women's unconscious seductiveness. He places the viewer in the role of voyeur, inviting contemplation of intimate, largely unobserved activities. "Women Combing Their Hair" looks at three young women on a beach stroking combs through their long hair. In "Actresses in Their Dressing Rooms," one woman holds up her tresses before a mirror, while another is glimpsed from behind as she changes costumes. And he depicts a vulnerable bather leaning to dry her hip in "Nude Woman Standing, Drying Herself."

In many ways, the show points to the significant power of one female figure in particular -- Mary Cassatt. A key player in the rising status of Impressionism at the turn of the 20th century, the savvy American artist led patrons and eventually institutions to purchase Impressionist works. Cassatt's close friend Louisine Havemeyer was the first American to collect art by Degas. Havemeyer eventually bequeathed her impressive collection to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1929. Both private collectors and museums from across the United States and Canada are represented by works in this show.

''Degas & America'', organized by the High Museum in collaboration with the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, will travel to Minneapolis this summer. The attractive exhibition is the latest in a suite of popular shows at the High since the mid-1990s, and the third impressionist show originating at the High in the past two years.

Spokeswoman Sally Corbett notes that '' Art Newspaper'''s recent survey of exhibition attendance for the year 2000 reported Impressionist and Post-Impressionist shows as the top two draws in the world for the last three years. "Almost all American museums with the means to present Impressionist work do so with some regularity," she says.

And, of course, popular shows sell tickets and increase membership. According to Corbett, the Olympics exhibition ''Rings: Five Passions in World Art'' and the ''Great Forces in 20th Century Culture'' series, which included Picasso, Matisse, Pop Art and Norman Rockwell shows, have contributed to a rise in membership at the High from 15,000 to 40,000. The museum generated its biggest controversy to date with the artist vs. illustrator debate that came when it co-organized ''Norman Rockwell Pictures for the American People''. Beyond that and the warmed over Pop Art show in 1998, the Atlanta institution has refrained from exposing much art inspired by contemporary culture. Last fall's ''Chorus of Light: Photographs From the Sir Elton John Collection'' was an exception that came with star power to bolster popular interest.

The truly conservative nature of the majority of the High's larger exhibitions makes contemporary art lovers long to see something more arousing -- say, British collector Charles Saatchi's scandalously fun ''Sensation'' or Paul McCarthey's gross-out retrospective -- take over the High. Even contemporary ethnographic studies like the hip-hop exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum of Art or the ''Curves: Art of the Guitar'' that showed at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston would be refreshing. Degas would have loved those less-refined investigations of art and life.

Degas & America: The Early Collectors ''continues through May 27 at the High Museum of Art, 1280 Peachtree St. Tues.-Sun., 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Hours extended to  9 p.m. May 18-May 20 and May 25-27.  404-733-4436.''??


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  string(5418) "    Degas exhibition reasserts High's penchant for impressionism   2001-03-21T05:04:00+00:00 Making a good impression   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-03-21T05:04:00+00:00  Most contemporary art lovers would not consider the paintings, sculptures, drawings and prints in Degas & America: The Early Collectors cutting edge in any respect. Au contraire. But the current show at the High Museum of Art illustrates how American art collectors were some of the world's most daring when it came to acquiring the evolving work of Edgar Degas and other French impressionists. For that reason, the exhibition works well in tandem with the museum's simultaneous showing of The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art.

Although it seems odd to think of Degas as a revolutionary, his now almost clichéd images of ballet, horseracing and women bathing were radical in their time. In Europe, modern life was not seen as appropriate artistic subject matter in the late 1800s. Degas and his peers rejected that notion, choosing to depict friends and family ("The Bellilli Family," "Portrait of Mlle. Hortense Valpincon"), informal scenes ("The Ballet Class," "The Song Rehearsal"), domestic rituals ("The Laundress Ironing," "The Morning Bath") and popular pastimes ("At the Races: The Start").

Curators Ann Dumas and David Brenneman display a wide spectrum of work collected by the Impressionists' open-minded American patrons. More than 80 works are on view, including the popular cast bronze "Little Dancer of Fourteen Years," with her gauze tutu and silk ribbon, which continues to be an irresistible draw. (A preview gala at the High created the buzz of a showbiz exhibition by bringing the young girl to life in a host of local teenage ballerinas.)

The show reveals how Degas reused a number of his favorite figures and poses, recording forms on tracing paper so he could apply them in different scenes. In a variety of mediums he exhibits an intuitive ability to capture women's unconscious seductiveness. He places the viewer in the role of voyeur, inviting contemplation of intimate, largely unobserved activities. "Women Combing Their Hair" looks at three young women on a beach stroking combs through their long hair. In "Actresses in Their Dressing Rooms," one woman holds up her tresses before a mirror, while another is glimpsed from behind as she changes costumes. And he depicts a vulnerable bather leaning to dry her hip in "Nude Woman Standing, Drying Herself."

In many ways, the show points to the significant power of one female figure in particular — Mary Cassatt. A key player in the rising status of Impressionism at the turn of the 20th century, the savvy American artist led patrons and eventually institutions to purchase Impressionist works. Cassatt's close friend Louisine Havemeyer was the first American to collect art by Degas. Havemeyer eventually bequeathed her impressive collection to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1929. Both private collectors and museums from across the United States and Canada are represented by works in this show.

Degas & America, organized by the High Museum in collaboration with the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, will travel to Minneapolis this summer. The attractive exhibition is the latest in a suite of popular shows at the High since the mid-1990s, and the third impressionist show originating at the High in the past two years.

Spokeswoman Sally Corbett notes that  Art Newspaper's recent survey of exhibition attendance for the year 2000 reported Impressionist and Post-Impressionist shows as the top two draws in the world for the last three years. "Almost all American museums with the means to present Impressionist work do so with some regularity," she says.

And, of course, popular shows sell tickets and increase membership. According to Corbett, the Olympics exhibition Rings: Five Passions in World Art and the Great Forces in 20th Century Culture series, which included Picasso, Matisse, Pop Art and Norman Rockwell shows, have contributed to a rise in membership at the High from 15,000 to 40,000. The museum generated its biggest controversy to date with the artist vs. illustrator debate that came when it co-organized Norman Rockwell Pictures for the American People. Beyond that and the warmed over Pop Art show in 1998, the Atlanta institution has refrained from exposing much art inspired by contemporary culture. Last fall's Chorus of Light: Photographs From the Sir Elton John Collection was an exception that came with star power to bolster popular interest.

The truly conservative nature of the majority of the High's larger exhibitions makes contemporary art lovers long to see something more arousing — say, British collector Charles Saatchi's scandalously fun Sensation or Paul McCarthey's gross-out retrospective — take over the High. Even contemporary ethnographic studies like the hip-hop exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum of Art or the Curves: Art of the Guitar that showed at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston would be refreshing. Degas would have loved those less-refined investigations of art and life.

Degas & America: The Early Collectors continues through May 27 at the High Museum of Art, 1280 Peachtree St. Tues.-Sun., 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Hours extended to  9 p.m. May 18-May 20 and May 25-27.  404-733-4436.??


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Wednesday March 21, 2001 12:04 am EST
Degas exhibition reasserts High's penchant for impressionism | more...
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  string(4832) "While Degas & America: The Early Collectors may be the headliner at the High Museum of Art this spring, a significant contemporary art exhibition is also on view. The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art represents 40 years of thoughtful, sometimes daring, acquisitions by an Atlanta couple deeply committed to art.
The Golds have long maintained a vital relationship with the High. Over the years, the late Lenore Gold continuously sought counsel from the museum's 20th century curators, Peter Morrin, Susan Crane and Carrie Przybilla, the current curator of modern and contemporary art. The Golds relished their role in the arts early on, joining the High's 20th Century Art Society and encouraging the museum to exhibit and collect contemporary art. Lenore, in particular, was fully engaged in developing the Atlanta art scene. Actively pursuing art for her own collection, they stimulated other local collectors.
The couple's donations to the institution's permanent holdings began in the 1970s. Of the 45 artworks in this show, 27 are promised gifts to the museum. "Taken cumulatively, the Golds' recent donations to the High's modern and contemporary art collection are certainly the most substantial from a single donor in such a short period of time and among the more generous donations ever made to that collection," says High spokeswoman Melissa Thurmond.
Przybilla designed the exhibition to accentuate the importance of each artist, starting at the entrance with Nancy Graves' "Rope Pull," from 1986. Accented in green, blue and orange, the lyric sculpture fuses abstract with figurative elements in a delightful airy composition of patinaed and enameled iron, steel and bronze.
The nearby "Price Tag #149" (1988) by Donald Lipski resembles the tusk of a great elephant or a trumpet. In fact, his wall-mounted work is a tight furl of layered white price tags, its curve encircled by one silver C-clamp. A vintage hypodermic syringe caps the pointed end. A florescent light sculpture by Dan Flavin (1973) glows yellow from the corner of one room. Viewers will come unexpectedly upon George Segal's signature, two white cast plaster figures. One seems about to enter the space through a blue door, while the other sits waiting in a chair.
A small room is dedicated to Alexander Calder. The couple was drawn to the late American artist's work early in their collecting. His whimsical gouache paintings and delicate cascading mobile appear to take notes from the massive Calder sculpture on the High's front lawn.
The Golds also collected the dimensional art of Louise Nevelson ("Shadows," 1959) and Christian Boltanski ("Monument/Odessa," 1990). Boltanski's installation, one of the more conceptual pieces in the show, is an assemblage of photographs, biscuit boxes, light bulbs, glass and electrical cords. Sculptural works in the collection include artists' books. Anne Hamilton's "Untitled (Stone Book)" from 1992 remains in the collection of Burt Gold, while Anselm Keifer's lead-paged "Brunhilde Sleeps" (1987) was given to the High in 1996.
Deborah Butterfield's "Untitled" horse sculpted from burnt, crushed steel and barbed wire documents a fascination with raw and found materials among contemporary artists. The Golds have collected John Chamberlain (crushed car parts), Mel Kendrick (pieced, pierced and grooved poplar) and Jin Soo Kim (chenille bedspread, paper and chair), as well. They found equally appealing Donald Judd's minimal modernism. In his untitled wall-mounted work from 1988, six aluminum and orange Plexiglas rectangles present a discretely nuanced vertical pattern.
Diverse paintings by Peter Halley, Donald Sultan, Jules Olitski, Mimmo Paladino and Julian Schnabel have made their way into the collection. Also a contemporary filmmaker, Schnabel (whose Before Night Falls is currently playing in Atlanta) is represented by a large velvet painting. His "He Mistook Kindness for Weakness" shares an expressionistic aesthetic with Paladino's "Room in a Tempest."
The limited number of works on paper include a handful of photographs. Imogene Cunningham's floral "Datura" was the Gold's first gift to the High in 1975. The 1930 floral print contrasts starkly with the social statements of Garry Winogrand's "Coney Island, New York," Lorna Simpson's "H.S." and Thomas Struth's "Museum of Modern Art I, New York," a 1994 print that is a playful look at people and how they experience art. This exhibition makes a dimensional statement on the same subject. The Golds have cycled high; as they moved from looking to contemplating to collecting to sharing, they've expanded Atlanta's exposure to exceptional contemporary art.
The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art continues through May 27 at the High Museum of Art, 1280 Peachtree St. www.high.org. 404-733-5000.


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The Golds have long maintained a vital relationship with the High. Over the years, the late Lenore Gold continuously sought counsel from the museum's 20th century curators, Peter Morrin, Susan Crane and Carrie Przybilla, the current curator of modern and contemporary art. The Golds relished their role in the arts early on, joining the High's 20th Century Art Society and encouraging the museum to exhibit and collect contemporary art. Lenore, in particular, was fully engaged in developing the Atlanta art scene. Actively pursuing art for her own collection, they stimulated other local collectors.
The couple's donations to the institution's permanent holdings began in the 1970s. Of the 45 artworks in this show, 27 are promised gifts to the museum. "Taken cumulatively, the Golds' recent donations to the High's modern and contemporary art collection are certainly the most substantial from a single donor in such a short period of time and among the more generous donations ever made to that collection," says High spokeswoman Melissa Thurmond.
Przybilla designed the exhibition to accentuate the importance of each artist, starting at the entrance with Nancy Graves' "Rope Pull," from 1986. Accented in green, blue and orange, the lyric sculpture fuses abstract with figurative elements in a delightful airy composition of patinaed and enameled iron, steel and bronze.
The nearby "Price Tag #149" (1988) by Donald Lipski resembles the tusk of a great elephant or a trumpet. In fact, his wall-mounted work is a tight furl of layered white price tags, its curve encircled by one silver C-clamp. A vintage hypodermic syringe caps the pointed end. A florescent light sculpture by Dan Flavin (1973) glows yellow from the corner of one room. Viewers will come unexpectedly upon George Segal's signature, two white cast plaster figures. One seems about to enter the space through a blue door, while the other sits waiting in a chair.
A small room is dedicated to Alexander Calder. The couple was drawn to the late American artist's work early in their collecting. His whimsical gouache paintings and delicate cascading mobile appear to take notes from the massive Calder sculpture on the High's front lawn.
The Golds also collected the dimensional art of Louise Nevelson ("Shadows," 1959) and Christian Boltanski ("Monument/Odessa," 1990). Boltanski's installation, one of the more conceptual pieces in the show, is an assemblage of photographs, biscuit boxes, light bulbs, glass and electrical cords. Sculptural works in the collection include artists' books. Anne Hamilton's "Untitled (Stone Book)" from 1992 remains in the collection of Burt Gold, while Anselm Keifer's lead-paged "Brunhilde Sleeps" (1987) was given to the High in 1996.
Deborah Butterfield's "Untitled" horse sculpted from burnt, crushed steel and barbed wire documents a fascination with raw and found materials among contemporary artists. The Golds have collected John Chamberlain (crushed car parts), Mel Kendrick (pieced, pierced and grooved poplar) and Jin Soo Kim (chenille bedspread, paper and chair), as well. They found equally appealing Donald Judd's minimal modernism. In his untitled wall-mounted work from 1988, six aluminum and orange Plexiglas rectangles present a discretely nuanced vertical pattern.
Diverse paintings by Peter Halley, Donald Sultan, Jules Olitski, Mimmo Paladino and Julian Schnabel have made their way into the collection. Also a contemporary filmmaker, Schnabel (whose ''Before Night Falls'' is currently playing in Atlanta) is represented by a large velvet painting. His "He Mistook Kindness for Weakness" shares an expressionistic aesthetic with Paladino's "Room in a Tempest."
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The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art ''continues through May 27 at the High Museum of Art, 1280 Peachtree St. [http://www.high.org/|www.high.org]. 404-733-5000.''


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The Golds have long maintained a vital relationship with the High. Over the years, the late Lenore Gold continuously sought counsel from the museum's 20th century curators, Peter Morrin, Susan Crane and Carrie Przybilla, the current curator of modern and contemporary art. The Golds relished their role in the arts early on, joining the High's 20th Century Art Society and encouraging the museum to exhibit and collect contemporary art. Lenore, in particular, was fully engaged in developing the Atlanta art scene. Actively pursuing art for her own collection, they stimulated other local collectors.
The couple's donations to the institution's permanent holdings began in the 1970s. Of the 45 artworks in this show, 27 are promised gifts to the museum. "Taken cumulatively, the Golds' recent donations to the High's modern and contemporary art collection are certainly the most substantial from a single donor in such a short period of time and among the more generous donations ever made to that collection," says High spokeswoman Melissa Thurmond.
Przybilla designed the exhibition to accentuate the importance of each artist, starting at the entrance with Nancy Graves' "Rope Pull," from 1986. Accented in green, blue and orange, the lyric sculpture fuses abstract with figurative elements in a delightful airy composition of patinaed and enameled iron, steel and bronze.
The nearby "Price Tag #149" (1988) by Donald Lipski resembles the tusk of a great elephant or a trumpet. In fact, his wall-mounted work is a tight furl of layered white price tags, its curve encircled by one silver C-clamp. A vintage hypodermic syringe caps the pointed end. A florescent light sculpture by Dan Flavin (1973) glows yellow from the corner of one room. Viewers will come unexpectedly upon George Segal's signature, two white cast plaster figures. One seems about to enter the space through a blue door, while the other sits waiting in a chair.
A small room is dedicated to Alexander Calder. The couple was drawn to the late American artist's work early in their collecting. His whimsical gouache paintings and delicate cascading mobile appear to take notes from the massive Calder sculpture on the High's front lawn.
The Golds also collected the dimensional art of Louise Nevelson ("Shadows," 1959) and Christian Boltanski ("Monument/Odessa," 1990). Boltanski's installation, one of the more conceptual pieces in the show, is an assemblage of photographs, biscuit boxes, light bulbs, glass and electrical cords. Sculptural works in the collection include artists' books. Anne Hamilton's "Untitled (Stone Book)" from 1992 remains in the collection of Burt Gold, while Anselm Keifer's lead-paged "Brunhilde Sleeps" (1987) was given to the High in 1996.
Deborah Butterfield's "Untitled" horse sculpted from burnt, crushed steel and barbed wire documents a fascination with raw and found materials among contemporary artists. The Golds have collected John Chamberlain (crushed car parts), Mel Kendrick (pieced, pierced and grooved poplar) and Jin Soo Kim (chenille bedspread, paper and chair), as well. They found equally appealing Donald Judd's minimal modernism. In his untitled wall-mounted work from 1988, six aluminum and orange Plexiglas rectangles present a discretely nuanced vertical pattern.
Diverse paintings by Peter Halley, Donald Sultan, Jules Olitski, Mimmo Paladino and Julian Schnabel have made their way into the collection. Also a contemporary filmmaker, Schnabel (whose Before Night Falls is currently playing in Atlanta) is represented by a large velvet painting. His "He Mistook Kindness for Weakness" shares an expressionistic aesthetic with Paladino's "Room in a Tempest."
The limited number of works on paper include a handful of photographs. Imogene Cunningham's floral "Datura" was the Gold's first gift to the High in 1975. The 1930 floral print contrasts starkly with the social statements of Garry Winogrand's "Coney Island, New York," Lorna Simpson's "H.S." and Thomas Struth's "Museum of Modern Art I, New York," a 1994 print that is a playful look at people and how they experience art. This exhibition makes a dimensional statement on the same subject. The Golds have cycled high; as they moved from looking to contemplating to collecting to sharing, they've expanded Atlanta's exposure to exceptional contemporary art.
The Lenore and Burton Gold Collection of 20th Century Art continues through May 27 at the High Museum of Art, 1280 Peachtree St. www.high.org. 404-733-5000.


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Modern art exhibition bears mark of astute collectors | more...
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  string(1657) "       2001-03-14T05:04:00+00:00 4X4   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-03-14T05:04:00+00:00  Imagine taking a 10-week art class where your assignment is to mount an actual exhibition. That's just what happened to four students in the Gallery Management program at the Atlanta College of Art community education division. Instructor Mustafah Dhada decided that his four students already had the know-how to organize a show. So they did. 4walls debuts and ends on the same night, March 16, at the Hastings Seed Factory on Marietta Street.
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Last fall, Orr coordinated ShedSpace, a series of shows in alternative settings around Atlanta. He's introducing Atlantan Tom Wegrzynowski's Devil Series. Georgia Schley Ritchie, whose interest is in British and Asian artists, recently organized "Young Masters Atlanta" at the former seed factory. Ritchie shows the oil paintings of British artist Paul Bassingthwaighte. Artist and art consultant Jimmie Wright just formed her own company, The Wright Art. She's promoting the painted cardboard collages of Vincent Farley, an Atlanta artist. Patricia Saenz-Abello, who represents Latin American and Caribbean art makers, selected Cuban-born Ana Alonso-Moller, who paints on glass.
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Wednesday March 14, 2001 12:04 am EST
Imagine taking a 10-week art class where your assignment is to mount an actual exhibition. That's just what happened to four students in the Gallery Management program at the Atlanta College of Art community education division. Instructor Mustafah Dhada decided that his four students already had the know-how to organize a show. So they did. 4walls debuts and ends on the same night, March 16, at... | more...
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  string(1728) "As Atlanta's public transportation system grows increasingly inaccessible, it should come as no surprise that self-propulsion is the subject of two shows at Eyedrum this month titled Heavy Metal: The Bikes of Matt Colman and I Am My Transportation. From the banal to the bizarre, a handful of local artists have created a series of works dealing with everything from bicycle and shoe fetishes, to birds enhanced by man-made propulsion units.
For the street-level gallery, Colman has assembled a collection of 25 bicycles that illustrate the often under appreciated designs that give each bicycle its own personality. Downstairs, I Am My Transportation features Kris Benotti showcasing her favorite shoes while Mark Giorgione and Wade Thompson have created a series of drawings that examine everything from footwear to methods of propulsion lifted straight from the annals of science fiction.
Giorgione's drawings portray shoes at various stages of development, including schematics of basic sneakers and one piece that weighs the aerodynamics of a stealth bomber against the sleek designs of hi-end athletic footwear. Thompson's drawings depict a bird's ability to fly wherever and whenever it wants. Don't expect any Audubon rip-offs however; these birds have been retrofitted with rocket boosters, propellers, steering wheels and bucket seats.
From bicycles to birds, these artists offer some inventive notions of traveling at one's accord.
Heavy Metal: The Bikes of Matt Colman and I Am My Transportation continue through March, 31 at Eyedrum Art & Music Gallery, 253 Trinity Ave. Tues. & Thurs. 2-7 p.m., Wed. noon-5 p.m., Fri. 7-9 p.m., Sat. noon-5 p.m., by appointment and during music/sound performances. 404-522-0655.


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For the street-level gallery, Colman has assembled a collection of 25 bicycles that illustrate the often under appreciated designs that give each bicycle its own personality. Downstairs, ''I Am My Transportation'' features Kris Benotti showcasing her favorite shoes while Mark Giorgione and Wade Thompson have created a series of drawings that examine everything from footwear to methods of propulsion lifted straight from the annals of science fiction.
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From bicycles to birds, these artists offer some inventive notions of traveling at one's accord.
Heavy Metal: The Bikes of Matt Colman ''and'' I Am My Transportation'' continue through March, 31 at Eyedrum Art & Music Gallery, 253 Trinity Ave. Tues. & Thurs. 2-7 p.m., Wed. noon-5 p.m., Fri. 7-9 p.m., Sat. noon-5 p.m., by appointment and during music/sound performances. 404-522-0655.''


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  string(1897) "       2001-03-14T05:04:00+00:00 Foot traffic   Chad Radford Chad Radford 2001-03-14T05:04:00+00:00  As Atlanta's public transportation system grows increasingly inaccessible, it should come as no surprise that self-propulsion is the subject of two shows at Eyedrum this month titled Heavy Metal: The Bikes of Matt Colman and I Am My Transportation. From the banal to the bizarre, a handful of local artists have created a series of works dealing with everything from bicycle and shoe fetishes, to birds enhanced by man-made propulsion units.
For the street-level gallery, Colman has assembled a collection of 25 bicycles that illustrate the often under appreciated designs that give each bicycle its own personality. Downstairs, I Am My Transportation features Kris Benotti showcasing her favorite shoes while Mark Giorgione and Wade Thompson have created a series of drawings that examine everything from footwear to methods of propulsion lifted straight from the annals of science fiction.
Giorgione's drawings portray shoes at various stages of development, including schematics of basic sneakers and one piece that weighs the aerodynamics of a stealth bomber against the sleek designs of hi-end athletic footwear. Thompson's drawings depict a bird's ability to fly wherever and whenever it wants. Don't expect any Audubon rip-offs however; these birds have been retrofitted with rocket boosters, propellers, steering wheels and bucket seats.
From bicycles to birds, these artists offer some inventive notions of traveling at one's accord.
Heavy Metal: The Bikes of Matt Colman and I Am My Transportation continue through March, 31 at Eyedrum Art & Music Gallery, 253 Trinity Ave. Tues. & Thurs. 2-7 p.m., Wed. noon-5 p.m., Fri. 7-9 p.m., Sat. noon-5 p.m., by appointment and during music/sound performances. 404-522-0655.


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Wednesday March 14, 2001 12:04 am EST
As Atlanta's public transportation system grows increasingly inaccessible, it should come as no surprise that self-propulsion is the subject of two shows at Eyedrum this month titled Heavy Metal: The Bikes of Matt Colman and I Am My Transportation. From the banal to the bizarre, a handful of local artists have created a series of works dealing with everything from bicycle and shoe fetishes, to... | more...
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  string(3565) "For most of us, leaving home is a rite of passage, a necessary transition to adulthood and the only way we can gain the education and exposure we need to "make it." The late self-taught artist William Edmondson proved quite the opposite. His story, told in The Art of William Edmondson at the High Museum of Art Folk Art & Photography Galleries, illustrates how, in this fast-moving, far-flung world, there's meaning and fulfillment to be found quite close by.
Edmondson's life began in 1874 on a former plantation in southwestern Davidson County in Tennessee, and ended in 1951, less than three miles away, in Nashville. When a spiritual vision in 1933 led him to begin sculpting tombstones, he gathered discarded stones from the streets and fields and used old railroad spikes and a hammer to chisel a series of simple rectangles. He figured out how to add decorative relief along with lettering to the stones and began to sculpt birdbaths, birds and animals. Eventually, his yard became a world inhabited by a myriad of limestone forms that he constantly rearranged.
In 1935, Edmondson's magical environment was discovered by a Harper's Bazaar fashion photographer, Louise Dahl-Wolfe. Magazine owner William Randolph Hearst wouldn't allow a black artist's work to appear in the publication at the time, so Dahl-Wolfe took photographs of the artist and his sculptures to Alfred Barr, then director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Barr arranged for Edmondson's one-man museum show in 1937, the first for an African-American artist.
Dahl-Wolfe's photographs, along with those of renowned artist Edward Weston and Consuelo Kanaga, accompany the sculptures in this exhibition. The photographers that captured the spirit of the carver and his creative process often were drawn to his pensive visage and sensitive, slim-fingered hands.
Edmondson's subjects depict his influences — a deep spirituality, his community, African-American folklore and popular culture. The artist often spoke of allowing forms to emerge from the stones by setting free their spirits. His philosophy parallels that of stone sculptors ranging from Michelangelo to first generation Zimbabwean Shona sculptors.
Certain aspects of his sculptures connect Edmondson with the late Nellie Mae Rowe, whose work was featured in the High Museum's downtown space last year. His sphinx-like "Talking Owl" fuses animal and human form. There are two galleries of creatures — turtles, rabbits, eagles, rams, horses and a bear/possum that the artist called "Critter."
Though he never married, the artist was surrounded and influenced by women. He carved many female figures, including "Girl With Cape," "Bride," a schoolteacher, a nurse. His small statue of Eleanor Roosevelt features the late first lady with a high-collared coat and hair that cascades down her back all the way to her feet. There's an "Eve," whose form evokes the work of Fernand Leger. The most practical of his biblical references to woman is the delightful "Angel With a Pocketbook."
One Weston portrait portrays Edmondson's realm as poignant theater. A white curtain pulled up and back reveals the artist seated beside a few rectangles of stone, crumbled stone at his feet. His noble demeanor belies his tattered clothes and shoes worn completely through at the toes. Those metaphoric shoes speak volumes about a man who went a long way, without straying far from home.
The Art of William Edmondson continues through May 19. High Museum Folk Art and Photography Galleries, 30 John Wesley Dobbs Ave. 404-577-6940.


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Edmondson's life began in 1874 on a former plantation in southwestern Davidson County in Tennessee, and ended in 1951, less than three miles away, in Nashville. When a spiritual vision in 1933 led him to begin sculpting tombstones, he gathered discarded stones from the streets and fields and used old railroad spikes and a hammer to chisel a series of simple rectangles. He figured out how to add decorative relief along with lettering to the stones and began to sculpt birdbaths, birds and animals. Eventually, his yard became a world inhabited by a myriad of limestone forms that he constantly rearranged.
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Dahl-Wolfe's photographs, along with those of renowned artist Edward Weston and Consuelo Kanaga, accompany the sculptures in this exhibition. The photographers that captured the spirit of the carver and his creative process often were drawn to his pensive visage and sensitive, slim-fingered hands.
Edmondson's subjects depict his influences -- a deep spirituality, his community, African-American folklore and popular culture. The artist often spoke of allowing forms to emerge from the stones by setting free their spirits. His philosophy parallels that of stone sculptors ranging from Michelangelo to first generation Zimbabwean Shona sculptors.
Certain aspects of his sculptures connect Edmondson with the late Nellie Mae Rowe, whose work was featured in the High Museum's downtown space last year. His sphinx-like "Talking Owl" fuses animal and human form. There are two galleries of creatures -- turtles, rabbits, eagles, rams, horses and a bear/possum that the artist called "Critter."
Though he never married, the artist was surrounded and influenced by women. He carved many female figures, including "Girl With Cape," "Bride," a schoolteacher, a nurse. His small statue of Eleanor Roosevelt features the late first lady with a high-collared coat and hair that cascades down her back all the way to her feet. There's an "Eve," whose form evokes the work of Fernand Leger. The most practical of his biblical references to woman is the delightful "Angel With a Pocketbook."
One Weston portrait portrays Edmondson's realm as poignant theater. A white curtain pulled up and back reveals the artist seated beside a few rectangles of stone, crumbled stone at his feet. His noble demeanor belies his tattered clothes and shoes worn completely through at the toes. Those metaphoric shoes speak volumes about a man who went a long way, without straying far from home.
The Art of William Edmondson ''continues through May 19. High Museum Folk Art and Photography Galleries, 30 John Wesley Dobbs Ave. 404-577-6940.''


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  string(3809) "    First African-American to solo at MOMA featured at High's downtown gallery   2001-03-07T05:04:00+00:00 Carving charisma   Cathy Byrd 1223509 2001-03-07T05:04:00+00:00  For most of us, leaving home is a rite of passage, a necessary transition to adulthood and the only way we can gain the education and exposure we need to "make it." The late self-taught artist William Edmondson proved quite the opposite. His story, told in The Art of William Edmondson at the High Museum of Art Folk Art & Photography Galleries, illustrates how, in this fast-moving, far-flung world, there's meaning and fulfillment to be found quite close by.
Edmondson's life began in 1874 on a former plantation in southwestern Davidson County in Tennessee, and ended in 1951, less than three miles away, in Nashville. When a spiritual vision in 1933 led him to begin sculpting tombstones, he gathered discarded stones from the streets and fields and used old railroad spikes and a hammer to chisel a series of simple rectangles. He figured out how to add decorative relief along with lettering to the stones and began to sculpt birdbaths, birds and animals. Eventually, his yard became a world inhabited by a myriad of limestone forms that he constantly rearranged.
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Dahl-Wolfe's photographs, along with those of renowned artist Edward Weston and Consuelo Kanaga, accompany the sculptures in this exhibition. The photographers that captured the spirit of the carver and his creative process often were drawn to his pensive visage and sensitive, slim-fingered hands.
Edmondson's subjects depict his influences — a deep spirituality, his community, African-American folklore and popular culture. The artist often spoke of allowing forms to emerge from the stones by setting free their spirits. His philosophy parallels that of stone sculptors ranging from Michelangelo to first generation Zimbabwean Shona sculptors.
Certain aspects of his sculptures connect Edmondson with the late Nellie Mae Rowe, whose work was featured in the High Museum's downtown space last year. His sphinx-like "Talking Owl" fuses animal and human form. There are two galleries of creatures — turtles, rabbits, eagles, rams, horses and a bear/possum that the artist called "Critter."
Though he never married, the artist was surrounded and influenced by women. He carved many female figures, including "Girl With Cape," "Bride," a schoolteacher, a nurse. His small statue of Eleanor Roosevelt features the late first lady with a high-collared coat and hair that cascades down her back all the way to her feet. There's an "Eve," whose form evokes the work of Fernand Leger. The most practical of his biblical references to woman is the delightful "Angel With a Pocketbook."
One Weston portrait portrays Edmondson's realm as poignant theater. A white curtain pulled up and back reveals the artist seated beside a few rectangles of stone, crumbled stone at his feet. His noble demeanor belies his tattered clothes and shoes worn completely through at the toes. Those metaphoric shoes speak volumes about a man who went a long way, without straying far from home.
The Art of William Edmondson continues through May 19. High Museum Folk Art and Photography Galleries, 30 John Wesley Dobbs Ave. 404-577-6940.


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Wednesday March 7, 2001 12:04 am EST
First African-American to solo at MOMA featured at High's downtown gallery | more...
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  string(3504) "The key to any encounter with the exhibition Retreat: Palimpsest of a Georgia Sea Island Plantation at Clark Atlanta University Galleries is an understanding of "palimpsest." According to The American Heritage College Dictionary, palimpsest is defined as "a manuscript, usually of papyrus or parchment, written on more than once, with the earlier writing incompletely erased and often legible." Memory is like a palimpsest; our minds are layered in forgotten and repressed history. Who does not embellish the past for the purpose of a sweeter recollection?
Land, possessing the same malleable qualities, sometimes swallows history whole. Focusing on the history of coastal land once known as Retreat Plantation on St. Simons Island, local artist Lisa Tuttle and local historian Melanie Pavich-Lindsay play with the notion of sublimation. In doing so, they revive a textured Southern chronicle.
Commencing with the shell mounds left by nomadic Guale Indians, the multi-dimensional installation carries the viewer through time to the current use of the land as a golf club and resort. Survey maps and pages copied from history books, bones, alligator hide and collaged vintage portraits begin the task of creating and effacing. An area of the exhibition defined as "Section 2: Retreat" dwells on the cotton plantation years. Here Tuttle's gift for fabricating narratives takes over. "Authentic" representations of Anna Matilda Page King, daughter of the original Retreat plantation owner, along with her family and slaves, evoke rather than recall factual history through delicate domestic artifacts, photographs and pages from antique auction catalogs, along with photocopied excerpts of letters and ledgers from the 1800s.
The overlay of fact and fiction may somewhat confound the viewer. In the "Museum of the Now" section of Retreat, the collaborators bring the viewer back to reality with copies of real documents and present day photographs. Careful readers learn the true life story of Neptune Small, a slave who accompanied one of King's sons into the Civil War, brought the son's body home and cared for the grave until he died. The wall display shows that an island garden club since has been named after Small, while amateur snapshots illustrate how the plantation's historic ruins have been reduced to an island inside the resort.
Though golf balls may have replaced cotton bolls on the land known as Retreat, in the mind of Atlanta artist Lynn Marshall-Linnemeier, deep psychological and emotional scars remain. Her own display, "A Slave Speaks of Silence," recalls what she imagines to be the voice of Rhina, Anna King's personal slave. In a small side room, Marshall-Linnemeier's large-scale, brightly embellished photoportraits of black women bring to life some of the thoughts that surface on viewing the cooler statement of Retreat. Pink, green, blue and yellow backdrops seem to deny the hand-written text that remembers the pathos of servitude. "The colors are bright," says Marshall-Linnemeier, "symbolizing the endurance and happiness gleaned from the surreal existence of being owned by another human being." The contemporary photographs, she notes, are to remind American blacks "that any of us could have been slaves."
Retreat: Palimpsest of a Georgia Sea Island Plantation is on view through April 13 at Clark Atlanta University Galleries, 223 James P. Brawley Drive. 404-880-6102. Sunday Discussion Circle will be held March 11 at 3 p.m. ("On Knowing and Speaking-Education").


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Land, possessing the same malleable qualities, sometimes swallows history whole. Focusing on the history of coastal land once known as Retreat Plantation on St. Simons Island, local artist Lisa Tuttle and local historian Melanie Pavich-Lindsay play with the notion of sublimation. In doing so, they revive a textured Southern chronicle.
Commencing with the shell mounds left by nomadic Guale Indians, the multi-dimensional installation carries the viewer through time to the current use of the land as a golf club and resort. Survey maps and pages copied from history books, bones, alligator hide and collaged vintage portraits begin the task of creating and effacing. An area of the exhibition defined as "Section 2: Retreat" dwells on the cotton plantation years. Here Tuttle's gift for fabricating narratives takes over. "Authentic" representations of Anna Matilda Page King, daughter of the original Retreat plantation owner, along with her family and slaves, evoke rather than recall factual history through delicate domestic artifacts, photographs and pages from antique auction catalogs, along with photocopied excerpts of letters and ledgers from the 1800s.
The overlay of fact and fiction may somewhat confound the viewer. In the "Museum of the Now" section of ''Retreat'', the collaborators bring the viewer back to reality with copies of real documents and present day photographs. Careful readers learn the true life story of Neptune Small, a slave who accompanied one of King's sons into the Civil War, brought the son's body home and cared for the grave until he died. The wall display shows that an island garden club since has been named after Small, while amateur snapshots illustrate how the plantation's historic ruins have been reduced to an island inside the resort.
Though golf balls may have replaced cotton bolls on the land known as Retreat, in the mind of Atlanta artist Lynn Marshall-Linnemeier, deep psychological and emotional scars remain. Her own display, "A Slave Speaks of Silence," recalls what she imagines to be the voice of Rhina, Anna King's personal slave. In a small side room, Marshall-Linnemeier's large-scale, brightly embellished photoportraits of black women bring to life some of the thoughts that surface on viewing the cooler statement of ''Retreat''. Pink, green, blue and yellow backdrops seem to deny the hand-written text that remembers the pathos of servitude. "The colors are bright," says Marshall-Linnemeier, "symbolizing the endurance and happiness gleaned from the surreal existence of being owned by another human being." The contemporary photographs, she notes, are to remind American blacks "that any of us could have been slaves."
Retreat: Palimpsest of a Georgia Sea Island Plantation ''is on view through April 13 at Clark Atlanta University Galleries, 223 James P. Brawley Drive. 404-880-6102. Sunday Discussion Circle will be held March 11 at 3 p.m. ("On Knowing and Speaking-Education").''


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Commencing with the shell mounds left by nomadic Guale Indians, the multi-dimensional installation carries the viewer through time to the current use of the land as a golf club and resort. Survey maps and pages copied from history books, bones, alligator hide and collaged vintage portraits begin the task of creating and effacing. An area of the exhibition defined as "Section 2: Retreat" dwells on the cotton plantation years. Here Tuttle's gift for fabricating narratives takes over. "Authentic" representations of Anna Matilda Page King, daughter of the original Retreat plantation owner, along with her family and slaves, evoke rather than recall factual history through delicate domestic artifacts, photographs and pages from antique auction catalogs, along with photocopied excerpts of letters and ledgers from the 1800s.
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Though golf balls may have replaced cotton bolls on the land known as Retreat, in the mind of Atlanta artist Lynn Marshall-Linnemeier, deep psychological and emotional scars remain. Her own display, "A Slave Speaks of Silence," recalls what she imagines to be the voice of Rhina, Anna King's personal slave. In a small side room, Marshall-Linnemeier's large-scale, brightly embellished photoportraits of black women bring to life some of the thoughts that surface on viewing the cooler statement of Retreat. Pink, green, blue and yellow backdrops seem to deny the hand-written text that remembers the pathos of servitude. "The colors are bright," says Marshall-Linnemeier, "symbolizing the endurance and happiness gleaned from the surreal existence of being owned by another human being." The contemporary photographs, she notes, are to remind American blacks "that any of us could have been slaves."
Retreat: Palimpsest of a Georgia Sea Island Plantation is on view through April 13 at Clark Atlanta University Galleries, 223 James P. Brawley Drive. 404-880-6102. Sunday Discussion Circle will be held March 11 at 3 p.m. ("On Knowing and Speaking-Education").


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Article

Wednesday February 28, 2001 12:04 am EST
Palimpsest examines history, both real and imagined | more...