Leslie Baum
HOMEWORK
Some ramblings from The Salon Series founder, John Coyle Steinbrunner
LINKS:
The invite mailer
Leslie Baum in Artforum (PDF)
Press Release
Leslie Baum's website
THE SALON SERIES
Let's begin with a bit of backstory: it started with dissatisfaction. Contrary to popular belief, being an artist is not the most lucrative of careers. Throw in a recession and things just look worse. How to get the word out? At the same time, I was growing more and more frustrated with communication in general. I hit existential bottom reading about a new iPhone app. They'd replaced the "phone" job of a phone with an app that sent a voice recording to your contacts' voice mail. Add in email, Facebook, texting, emoticons, status updates, fan pages, Twitter and a host of other layers. Did anyone have an actual conversation anymore?
What if there were a place and time for people to gather, talk, gab, chat, mumble, misspeak and debate with courtesy and respect – but also with opinions well-formed and defended – over things that normally came off obtuse: art, wine and, lately, each other?
Tom MacDonald, the owner of The Bluebird and Webster's Wine Bar and a dear friend, felt the same way about food and wine. After countless hours complaining about it, we decided to act. Artist Mary Livoni and I had always wanted to show together. Tom wanted The Bluebird to be more than just another neighborhood bar. The Bluebird had a nice back room. We all liked talking. The Salon Series.
A PAINTER'S PAINTER
In my invites I mention that Leslie Baum is a real painter's painter. But what does that mean? To me it means that her paintings are inspired by her travels but are also about the process of making a painting. Like DNA or the fossil record, they are evidence of their own creation. Painting's about expression, sure, but it's served with a hefty dollop of navel-gazing. Painting is a lot about paint. Abstract, Realist, it's all about making marks. Have you ever gotten up close to a John Singer Sargent? Like nose-close? It's a delightful mess.
Leslie's marks pile up and relate in complex ways that are rich and mysterious. They are landscapes; they are something much else. These paintings sketch a scene while explaining how it was made yet reveal nothing. It's like a magician revealing his trick ... as he does it. The thrill and mystery don't diminish as you look from washes of paint to thick blobby glops piled on top of each other, over and over again.
Here's the work you will see Sunday:
THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY
So why was I thinking about Giotto? I mean this guy is The Man when it comes to painting ... in the 1300s. What about Italian frescoes had anything to do with Leslie's work? Then it hit me: rocks. Giotto obsesses over the faces of his Christ and Apostles, but his landscapes and skies, rocks and dust are roughed in, quickly and efficiently. Light brown + medium brown + dark brown = boulder. They serve a purpose, guiding you around the painting, leading your eye through the narrative.
Leslie's paintings remind me of those bits. I confessed this to her last night, expecting a blank look, perhaps disdain. Instead eyes light up and we're jabbering about "The Lamentation." (Yeah, art geeks over here.) Ask her why. It's not for the same reasons I'm talking about. For me, personally, all these paintings map out routes and leave you to wander within them forging connections and branching off in unique ways – picking up and examining rocks, chuffing the dust with your shoe. I've never looked at one of Leslie's paintings the same way twice.
ANGKOR
Leslie's work was inspired by a trip to the ancient city of Angkor (cf. a recent National Geographic). The temples are impressive, sure, but Leslie's focus was much more narrow: potsherds and rubble on the grounds arranged by tourists. All the paintings are titled "Pile Up." I'll leave it at that. My fascination? The leveling of what economists call "agency": artifacts of one culture arranged by visitors from another and interpreted into a new (painted) artifact by a third. Leslie's compadre calls it "non-hierarchical painting." It can make for a real "Who's on First?" conversation, but that's why we serve you wine with dinner.
Furthermore, Leslie's process in making these things merits your attention. Photography, drawing, watercolors, more drawing, more watercolors lead up to the final painting. In a digital age, her process is satisfyingly offline. I'm as excited as you are to know more. She's bringing some examples.
THE NEW YORKER
Louis Menand wrote a fantastic article in a recent New Yorker on Andy Warhol's legacy ("Top of the Pops", Jan 11, 2010). I was taken less with the Warhol story than the sub-plot about what was the history of art, anyway? Writing about art critic Arthur Danto, Menand outlines an argument about how we make art (read below):
The article goes on to debate this point. It captures a facet of painting that may or may not matter – a what-do-I-do-now-ism. Leslie's work is an exit: you just paint. You care, but who cares; it's all a part of the conversation. Painting more than most any fine art is beholden to its history – obsessed about it, really. I think Leslie's work acknowledges this – gives history a brief, arched brow – and then keeps moving forward, addressing its own concerns. Her own concerns.
Does this really have anything to do with Leslie? Maybe no. Maybe I'm forcing a point. I think the agency question relates. And personally as an artist I appreciate being reminded of the distinction between art history and art making. Sometimes the history of art confounds or overwhelms us and affects how we look at art. We can get a little insecure. Sometimes you just have to look.
Whew! This sure is a lot of typing, so I'll leave you here and we'll pick it up on Sunday. If all this sounds heady-verging-on-boring art talk/snooze fest, don't worry: I'll probably throw in a fart joke or spill a drink. The point is let's have fun and talk to each other about interesting things. Bring your appetite and your enthusiasm. See you at 7.
– John Coyle Steinbrunner