All notes from Archives | Notes on Looking

Patricia Fernández, Box (a proposition for ten years)

Patricia Fernández’s Box (a proposition for ten years) is taller than it was when I first met it on a warm Sunday in late April. Back then, in the back room of Commonwealth & Council, the blood red and brown wooden box came up to my chest. I could easily peer down at its carved and dimpled surface, lift its swinging top to inspect its patinaed hinges, and kneel as I pulled enchanting, delicate objects from their shelved home with my bare hands. But now at LAM Gallery the Box comes up to my nose.  Instead of looking down I lift myself up, balancing on the balls of my feet to peer over the top of the thing to see if anything has changed. It has. It grew. It’s growing. And it’ll keep growing until 2022. At LAM Gallery, the Box’s innards are spread out, pinned, and presented on the white walls of a narrow room. Around the original wooden carrier, Patricia has hung a medley of objects, suspended in circulation as if a soft explosion has cast a constellation of lingering memories and fragmented mementos into orbit. The woodworking insignia of Patricia’s maternal grandfather marks the box as well as segments of wooden trim, some worn and painted white from the 2014 exhibition of the Box at CW&C, are installed in a wandering succession across the surrounding walls. In this way, the exhibition history of the Box becomes embedded in the work as it is re-displayed over time. As the sculpture ages, objects accumulate within its elongating chronicle. The persistence of tradition into the present runs throughout Patricia’s...

Rosha Yaghmai: Easy Journey to Other Planets

  Receiving a $500 phone bill is an unfortunate surprise. Unfortunate because it’s like receiving five phone bills at once. It’s a consequence for not considering the future, so caught up in the moment that you are actually living outside of it. It’s important, though, because it provides a visual testament of a time of convergence, something actually is happening, and neither sender nor receiver can deny that space that has been shared; but it also solidifies a distance. Simply talking with someone, the experience of their voice, the constant entertainment and creative ways of affection keep each yearning for more; yet the actual distance can leave both parties departing with a sigh. Closing your eyes at least takes the empty room away—the act of falling asleep draws them near even if decorated with unfamiliar faces, waking up to their call, “How did you sleep?”… “Fine, how was your day?” Rosha Yaghmai’s solo exhibition Easy Journey to Other Planets at Kayne Griffin Corcoran started with a list of simple questions she sent out to multiple people. -Who is a person/some people you associate with Los Angeles? (can be from any era) -What are a few important or memorable events that occurred here? (ex: The ’84 Olympics, the new pier… Manson murders… can be major, or not) -What is your favorite place here? Please describe it. -If you aren’t from here, when you moved here what was surprising to you? (ex: there are mountains, tangerine juice) -When you travel, what do people ask you (or talk with you) about LA? -If you could move anywhere else in the world, where...

A conversation: Chris Adler & Ali Edmark with David Bell

DB. When we live behind, in or between the exhibition space, we are putting our life on display alongside the art exhibited. Home, which is uniquely located from person to person but often rooted in some form of solid or safely identifiable location, becomes malleable; allowing for a violent breakdown of identity, your comfort becomes a representation of those around you, constantly penetrated. When I walked into Vacancy for the first time, the show Casual Friday had a cohesiveness that stood out immediately. Not only did the work go together, there was an obvious relinquishment of space from each artist, each person giving up a little self, and in the end benefiting tremendously. I find this deliciously satisfying, as it forces the artists to hone in on each of their strengths, simulating perhaps the experience you have living with it, sharing your home or allowing your home to be less about you (two). C&A. Yesterday, a visitor walked into our space while we were sharing some sandwiches. One of us had recently spilled aioli on his shirt (not naming names). No time to change, he went out to greet the guest, gesturing a little too much with his hands, unconsciously signaling the mid-belly stain. The ironic proximity to our own wardrobe in that moment is perhaps the reflection of a choice to have a more chance-based privacy. It’s a funny thing that our bedroom almost transforms into our office during open hours, but with the constant lull of, say, working while sitting in bed with your shoes nearby. There is a more than slight confusion of the front-stage and back-stage. In...