The Groovy Dada Lounge Revisited

 

 

Photographs by Robert Carrithers: Basquiat, Haring, the New York scene in the 1980s and the infamous Club 57.

 

At Fotograf Gallery, Školská 28, Prague

One staircase led to heaven the other to hell” says Robert Carrithers of a building in New York’s St. Mark’s Place Street, number 57.  The building whose basement housed, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Club 57 - a creative laboratory for all non-conformists and free-thinkers from the East Village - actually belonged to the central offices of the Polish Catholic Church.

At that time New York was a city on the verge of bankruptcy and today’s luxurious East Village resembled a war zone. Refined citizens had long ago left the area as part of a progressive suburbanisation.  The area with burnt up brick buildings – a last ditch attempt by desperate property owners to earn some money was more than often insurance fraud – was left in the hands of drug dealers, immigrants and also artists working in all disciplines. The police didn’t even bother to patrol there, which was good for anyone annoyed by having the authorities riding their back, artists and criminals alike.  “It was often a matter of life and death.  You had to have eyes in the back of your head and constantly watch what was happening in the street. It was so intense that sometimes you would find a corpse lying on the sidewalk,” recalls Carrithers, who moved to New York from Chicago in 1979. He wanted to study photography, film and acting there.  The apartment that he could afford to rent was less than a 10-minute walk from Club 57.

The punk and disco scenes concentrated around the CBGB and Studio 54 clubs were losing their sense of novelty and originality, when out of nowhere a performer like Klaus Nomi appeared.  This was a man, who sang opera in the costume of a Dutch Pierrot.  Club 57 was in fact founded by two friends, who loved vaudeville – Susan Hannaford and Tom Scully – and was run by director and performer, Ann Magnuson (pictured above), who hosted its first performance.

“This place was fascinating in that, while artists had earlier met in bars or at concerts, they chatted and they drank, but in Club 57 they created something together.  Here concerts mixed with exhibitions and performances,” stresses Carrithers, when speaking of the community that first made him feel at home.  Ann Magnuson thought up theme parties for every other night of the week.  She found the decor and the furniture in the streets. Keith Haring had his first installation there and created his signature work, as did Kenny Scharf and Jean Michel Basquiat.

Club 57 exorcised America’s evil spirit. It went wild from “camp” aesthetic.  With a Dadaistic fascination and vigour, it seized on the suburban supermarket culture; stores that had become museums of the contemporary lifestyle and its plastic kitsch.  During one evening a country-western evening might take place on piles of hay, the next a burlesque event and an Elvis memorial, then a performance showing John Sex performing with his python snake Delilah or a concert by singer, Wendy Wild, and her group, The Mad Violets, which took the public on a joint trip, when hallucinogenic mushrooms were thrown into the crowd.  The group, Pulsallama, was also born here.  This was a group of twelve or thirteen girls, who sang in the style of Greek chorales, and when doing so banged on beer bottles, pans, cowbells and shot off kids‘ toy machine-guns.  Pulsallama made it so far that in 1982 they were the opening act at several concerts by The Clash.

Even almost thirty years after its closing in 1983, Club 57 is still a legend that defined a period of pop culture and still inspires it.  Many of the artists tied to the institution were unable to face up to their own wildness, drugs or the incontrollable rise of AIDs.  They died.  Others died only to become immortal (Haring, Basquiat).  Others survived to become famous later (Ann Magnuson, Marc Shaiman, Scott Whitman). Robert Carrithers was one of them.  He spontaneously documented everything that happened in the club.  The performances, the birth of success, the first exhibitions and the backstage area.  In his moment shots and portraits, which will be shown for the first time in the Czech Republic, barmen meet with writers, film-makers and future celebrities.  Thus a unique testimony was created; one that is as unbridled image-wise as the Club 57 program.

Robert Carrithers is an American photographer and film-maker, who lives in Prague.  Besides the Club 57 scene he documented the post-November cultural scene in the Czech Republic and has been working for a long time on the series, Bohemian Nude.  He is preparing a documentary on the Prague-Berlin-Australian, post-punk band, Fatal Shore. He also took part in the making of the documentary Autoluminescent about the Australian musician Rowland S. Howard (dir. Richard Lowenstein). In February he was part of The 8th Berlin International Directors Lounge not only as a director, but olso as a photographer documenting the 11 day film and club frenzy.

The Groovy Dada Lounge Revisited, Fotograf Gallery, Školská 28, Prague

21 March – 20 April 2012

     

Opening attended by the artist:

20 March, 18:00–21:00

Guests:

DJ Miki

Mark Steiner & His Problems

A showing of films of Cinema of Transgression by Nick Zedd

Curator: Pavel Turek

Ai Weiwei Projected on Chinese Consulate in NYC

Cuban artist Geandy Pavon projected a giant image of Ai Weiwei on the Consulate General of China in Manhattan on Friday night. Since the diplomatic mission’s security always runs protesters off their sidewalk and into a designated patch of concrete across the street, this was appropriate.
Protest project Nemesis Ai Weiwei: The Elusiveness of Being had a rippling Ai portrait tower over Twelfth Avenue, haunting the building with a public shaming. This video’s scenes of New Yorkers recognizing Ai’s face are heartwarming, but the action is only symbolic. Too many of Ai’s friends and associates are still missing and the reported details on Ai’s brief visit with his wife seem suspicious. Support from the international art community is growing steadily, but the Chinese government has not wavered in their demonstrative persecution of the artist.
by Marina Galperina

AS MANY EYES AS A MAN CAN HAVE

NYMan With A Movie Camera is a 64-minute, shot-for-shot remake of Dziga Vertov’s Man With A Movie Camera with a live score played by the Michael Nyman Band. Nyman has been heavily involved in cinema for most of his working life, creating the Oscar-winning score for Jane Campion’s The Piano and numerous other features including Peter Greenaway’s Drowning By Numbers and The Cook, The Thief, His Wife And Her Lover.
Conceived and directed by Nyman, Nyman With A Movie Camera painstakingly reconstructs Vertov’s iconic silent picture of 1929 using footage from Nyman’s own film archives shot over the last two decades.  

I had the pleasure of meeting Michael Nyman at the 7th Berlin International Directors Lounge and he is "what the title says", a man with a movie camera, constantly shooting, a pictophag, in his own words "greedy for information" trying to devour the whole world through the lense of the camera.  In that sense the film is also a very personal self-portrait. The following is a review by Kenton Turk, first published at the art resort.

AS MANY EYES AS A MAN CAN HAVE
NYMan With A Movie Camera respins a classic

Dziga Vertov's legendary and highly influential 1929 wordless documentary Man With A Camera receives a tribute and update at once with Michael Nyman's attempt at “a truly international absolute language”, the original's stated intention. Where Vertov's camera captured life in Soviet cities only, Nyman is able to take the aim one step further, reflecting our modern world: here, the locales themselves give evidence of today's accepted international interaction. 26 countries and territories are listed in the credits, and Nyman's camera moves as freely between continents as it does between social classes, activities and cinematic devices. What appears at times to be haphazard collage shows abundant evidence of clever segues that imply plays-on-words or various views of a single subject.

The title's tongue-in-cheek take on the original foreshadows the sly playfulness Nyman displays throughout. The film leads with the original's Russian credits, faithfully translating its aims and veering only when names of original collaborators are to be replaced with those contributing to this work. The opening scene is a filmic tribute to the original, with Vertov's cameraman atop a seemingly huge camera in split screen with a modern boom-mounted camera regarding a phalanx of press photographers. The latter camera will resurface like a symphonic theme, at times intrusively, at others as a ghostly superimposition. From here, we are treated to his vision without losing sight of the kudos due the original. In a series of further split screen shots scattered about the film displaying Vertov's work to the left, we are continually reminded of the film's comparative nature: Vertov's track sweeper sidles up beside Nyman's bullring track, someone feeling eggs is seen next to someone feeling fruit, black and white film frames are shown beside a digital photo album, people rushing to cross a street next to an old man struggling to do the same, a telephone switchboard edges up to a Nokia delivery truck, in each instance, the monochromatic contrasting with full colour. The device does not lean on the original, but rather includes it as a part of the sum of what we witness today.

Utilizing his own 2002 BFI-commissioned soundtrack to the original throughout, Nyman proceeds to lead us through a world of personal imagery, showing a predilection for recurring signposts. Most notably, dolls appear throughout, in all forms and in various frames of reference, from baby dolls wrapped in plastic following bridal portraits to Barbie dolls dressed for airline service preceding a still of a stewardess's legs behind a “Safety on board” warning. Industrial processes and workspaces, sport disciplines and means of transport, particularly trams, also abound.

Tragic scenes married to less tragic ones, such as a car bombing and its victims juxtaposed against examinations of a collection of miniature emergency vehicles only to jump back to actual crises, imply an ability to reference a situation from varying perspectives as well as a certain dark humour. The straightforward variety is also employed. We note with amusement when subjects are unsure of being watched, and are allowed guiltless voyeurism as we spy on a man picking his nose. The unnoticed is sometimes revisited for comic effect: a full shot of plastic- covered automobiles is later re-examined in close-up, with the protuberance of a car mirror so wrapped bearing stark resemblance to a condom-sheathed bulge.

Nyman's best sequences are those showing wit in making connections. Here he demonstrates awareness of the rapid associations our brains make. An electronic billboard with the name of Mexican soccer star “Israel Castro” is followed by a picture of an imam and an Iranian sport team. A shot of a man plugging his ears precedes various scenes of “playing”: first piano, then backgammon, then a toy xylophone followed by a full-sized one. A scene of a barber at work leads to a drawing of bald heads, then a bald androgynous couple, razors and scissors being sharpened, photo session preparation, and finally hedge clippers and a little girl observing the hedge-trimming while fondling her own tresses. In one of the best, scenes filmed at Ground Zero in New York are followed by barbed wire barriers and (in perhaps the film's best visual association) a bird apparently flying “into” Berlin's Fernsehturm in a shot that is eerily reminiscent of “9/11” footage.

A concerted effort is made throughout to include Vertov's many cinematic innovations and employed techniques, culminating in the final scenes, the film's most frenetic. In a Koyaanisqatsi-style escalation, we are taken through many of these in dizzyingly fast succession, all paraded out for a last look: simultaneously focused and unfocused frames, multiple images, time lapse photography, split screen, Dutch (or tilted) angles, superimposition, extreme close-ups, diagonally split images, jump cuts and more, the various techniques concentrated on performers and performing spaces, cameras and spectators. In the final shot, the red carpet press photographers of the opening are inserted into a camera's lens, turning the tables, as it were. Observers become the observed.

Nyman references not only Vertov's, but also his own forays into film. The shadowed drapery of his Witness I makes an early appearance, to be followed later in the film by the same film's haunting faces. Sequences from other Nyman offerings will also later vie for attention: the inept but unperturbed passenger of Tieman can be seen; the “Wanted” poster of Searching For Bacon briefly appears. Nyman himself, not to be forgotten, shows up Hitchcock-like in a few scenes. Vertov's shot of a Russian-language “Gorky” banner spanning a street shares the screen with a “Nyman” banner doing the same; later, electronic ribbon text announces his appearance at the Toronto International Film Festival. We see him from behind early on, later as a reflection, a man with a camera. About halfway through the film, we spy a poster with the slogan “Your sight is precious”; over it is Nyman's own reflection in glass while he brings the shot in with a slow zoom. An appropriate way to sum up the film, one thinks..

NYMan with a Movie Camera will be screened in NewYork Premiere at the MoMA,
introduced by  Michael Nyman, Sunday, May 8, 2011, 5:00 p.m.

This screening will also occur on:

Wednesday, May 11, 2011, 6:00 p.m.

Odes to the Mask

Calixte Dakpogan (Beninese, born 1958), Heviosso, 2007, Metal, plastic (shoes and combs), CD, tape, H. x W. x D.: 74 x 55 x 28.5 cm), Courtesy CAAC - The Pigozzi Collection, Geneva, © Calixte Dakpogan.

Highly creative re-imaginings of the iconic form of the African mask comprise a unique installation at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Featuring 20 works of art — 19 sculptures and one photograph — Reconfiguring an African Icon: Odes to the Mask by Modern and Contemporary Artists from Three Continents reflects on the enduring relevance of African masks as a source of inspiration for artists across cultures into the present.

Romuald Hazoumé (Beninese, born 1962), Internet, 1997, Metal can, electric cables, H. x W. x D.: 32.1 x 29.8 x 27.9 cm, Courtesy CAAC – The Pigozzi Collection, Geneva, © Romuald Hazoumé.

 
In many world cultures masks allow performers to adopt a wide range of characters and emotions. They can take on an endless variety of forms: human or animal; sacred or profane; dramatic or comedic. They are not meant to be experienced in isolation but rather as an integral component of celebrations, from the epic tributes to Dogon elders in Mali to popular holidays such as Halloween or the Day of the Dead and to the numerous Mardi Gras carnivals held throughout Europe and Latin America.
It is well established that African art forms, most notably the mask, were a source of inspiration for modern artists such as Pablo Picasso, André Derain, and Henri Matisse in the early twentieth century. The aesthetic of the African mask thus contributed to a redefinition of the Western visual lexicon. Considered especially alluring were its accessible reimagining of the human face and its aura of inscrutability.

 
Romuald Hazoumé (Beninese, born 1962), Ear Splitting, 1999, Plastic can, brush, speakers 42 x 22 x 16 cm, Courtesy CAAC – The Pigozzi Collection, Geneva, © Romuald Hazoumé.

This selection of works from Africa, Europe and the United States attests to the enduring relevance of the African mask in modern and contemporary art. The five artists represented here—Lynda Benglis, Willie Cole, Calixte Dakpogan, Romuald Hazoumé, and Man Ray—have all used the African mask as a catalyst for creative exploration. Their works reflect on a century of viewing the mask as a disembodied form—that is, as an art object in a museum removed from its original performative context. Informed by his or her respective individual experiences, each artist harnesses the transformative ability of unconventional materials to achieve unexpected reinterpretations of the idiom
African masks are often thought of as carved wooden artifacts, but they are an inherently complex and dynamic art form: to fully appreciate them, one must view them in motion, animated by costumes, dance, and music; the various media added to their surfaces are thought to imbue them with mystical powers; and the influence of foreign materials and techniques have led to a continuous redefinition of the genre. Such dynamism finds parallel expression in the work of these five artists, all of whom operate outside these traditions. Responding to the sheer physicality of the mask while alluding to its spiritual quality, each of their works pays tribute to the powerful legacy of the African mask and its infinite potential for reinvention.

 

Man Ray (American, 1890-1976), Noire et Blanche, 1926, Gelatin silver print, Private collection, New York, © 2011 Man Ray Trust / Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY / ADAGP, Paris.

Portrait Mask (Gba gba), Cote d’Ivoire © Baule peoples, before 1913, Wood, 26 x 12.4 cm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Bequest of Adrienne Minassian, 1997 (1997.277).

Surveying Contemporary and Modern African Masks as Sculpture

Metropolitan Museum of Art
1000 Fifth Avenue at 82nd Street
212-535-7710
New York
Reconfiguring an African Icon: Odes to the Mask by Modern and Contemporary Artists from Three Continents
March 8-August 21, 2011

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