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864 pages

English

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Following on from the much-lauded Interviews on Art, HENI presents the first in a two-volume publication featuring the collected writings on art by Robert Storr, one of the world's leading art critics and curators. Featuring the best of Storr's criticism, reviews, essays, and other writings from the 1980s to the mid 2000s, the book includes his essays on artists such as Eva Hesse, Martin Puryear, Eric Fischl, Brice Marden, Arshile Gorky, Ilya and Emilia Kabakov, Bruce Nauman and Adrian Piper. Written with his signature intellect and wit, his writings range from essays on gender in the work of Louise Bourgeois to a reviews of Art Spiegelman's comix memoir Maus. Expertly curated from his prolific output, and illustrated with 175 images to accompany the texts, Robert Storr: Writings on Art is the definitive collection of Storr's multi-faceted writing - a must read for curators and students, artists, exhibition-goers and all those interested in the art and culture of today.

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Publié par	Distributed by eBookpartnership
Date de parution	23 juin 2022
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781912122585
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	91 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,1000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Robert Storr
Writings on Art 1980 – 2005
Edited and with an introduction by Francesca Pietropaolo
Robert Storr in his MoMA office, c. late 1990s
Photograph by Jason Schmidt
© Jason Schmidt / Trunk Archive
Contents
The Accidental Critic by Robert Storr
When Sparks Fly: A Wordsmith in His Own Right by Francesca Pietropaolo
1980s
Anne and Patrick Poirier; Aldo Rossi
Louise Bourgeois: Gender & Possession
Roy DeCarava at the Studio Museum in Harlem
Pearlstein Today: Upping the Ante
Rackstraw Downes: Painter as Geographer
Desperate Pleasures [Eric Fischl]
Peter Saul: Radical Distaste
Frank Stella s Norton Lectures. A Response
“Tilted Arc”: Enemy of the People? [Richard Serra]
The Theoretical Come-On [Yvonne Rainer]
Added Dimension [Elizabeth Murray]
Other Others
The Scholar-Artist: Meyer Schapiro
Nancy Spero: Central Issues - Peripheral Visions
Riddled Sphinxes [Leon Golub]
Master Bill [Willem de Kooning]
Louise Lawler: Unpacking the White Cube
1990s
Fertile Mirrors [Arshile Gorky]
All in a Day s Work [Susan Rothenberg]
No Joy in Mudville: Greenberg s Modernism Then and Now
Two Hundred Beats Per Min. [Jean-Michel Basquiat]
Art, Censorship, and the First Amendment . This Is Not a Test
DIS LOCATIONS
Martin Puryear: The Hand s Proportion
Making Maus [Art Spiegelman]
The Architect of Emptiness [Ilya Kabakov]
Do the Wrong Thing: Eva Hesse and the Abstract Grotesque
Beyond Words [Bruce Nauman]
The Stop-Action Cosmos [Vija Celmins]
Foreword [Adrian Piper]
The Struggle Between Forgetting and Remembering [Rachel Whiteread]
The Gentle Art of Pleasing Oneself [Rudy Burckhardt]
Masquerades and Operas [J rg Immendorff]
Beastly Beauties [Jim Nutt]
No Stage, No Actors, but It s Theater (and Art)
A Piece of the Action [Jackson Pollock]
2000s
The Devil s Handyman [H. C. Westermann]
Slow Burn [Carroll Dunham]
The Beckmann Effect
Sunday in the Park with Franz [Franz West]
Ch ri Samba, Painter of Modern Life
Disparities and Deformations: Our Grotesque
What s Not to Like? [Mike Kelley]
He Who Gets Slapped [Martin Kippenberger]
Touching Down Lightly [Richard Tuttle]

Bibliography: Robert Storr
Artists List
Index
Author Biographies
Acknowledgements

The Accidental Critic
by Robert Storr
I served my apprenticeship in art criticism writing letters. This practice began in notes to a distant relative - my maternal great-aunt - living in New York City who, starting in 1968 when I was eighteen, gave me the grand tour of the Manhattan art world. These missives recounting what I had seen and thought were my way of thanking a person who “had everything” for showing me around. Also, she was everything I was not - stylish, moneyed, and worldly. Indeed, she knew or had known “everyone who was anyone” in painting, sculpture, music, dance, and literature since the 1930s on both sides of the Atlantic and down to Mexico - really knew them. And she generously put me in direct touch with people, places, and things I had only read about, beginning with The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas (1933) by Gertrude Stein, which I pulled off the shelf for summer reading when I was a very impressionable sixteen. But why was a copy so near at hand? Because Stein and Toklas were not only among my great-aunt s friends, they had been guests in the rooming house run by my widowed paternal grandmother in Olivet, Michigan, during the Great Depression while they were making their trans-American promotional tour that caused the Autobiography to become a bestseller and the pair improbable national celebrities in an otherwise self-absorbed, largely anti-modernist, not to mention homophobic, country.
One evening, early in our acquaintance, my great-aunt took me downtown to the loft of William Rubin, the then newly named chief curator of the Department of Painting and Sculpture at MoMA. For uptown people like her, the world below 20th Street was still largely terra incognita . As someone who was for the most part raised in Chicago, all of New York was wondrously strange to me, and in the late 1960s and early 1970s much of it was dark and sinister - this was in the era of Charles Bronson s vigilante movies. I d grown up on the unpredictably violent streets of Chicago s South Side, but Manhattan struck me as so much more monolithically menacing.
In a whirlwind that evening, for the first time I “met” Christo and his wife JeanneClaude, Frank Stella, Patty and Claes Oldenburg, George Segal, Jasper Johns, and Lee Krasner, who handed me my first high-octane drink, took me in tow, and maneuvered me into place when she needed protection from collectors and dealers zeroing in on her in order to get preferential access to paintings by her late husband Jackson Pollock, a stunning example of which hung on the wall. She made no secret of how hurtful the sidelining of her own achievements was, but just as obviously she also enjoyed toying with suitors for his remaining masterworks. Even so, Krasner s palpable resentment was an early lesson in the sexual politics of art that I would remember.
Likewise, I owe to my great-aunt exposure to Eva Hesse s last show during Hesse s short lifetime (it was at Fischbach Gallery, New York, in April 1970) and a chance to see Henry Geldzahler s controversial landmark survey New York Painting and Sculpture, 1940-1970 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1969. Nor have I ever forgotten the Robert Ryman retrospective at the Guggenheim in 1972 that I also saw thanks to her. Nothing in my upbringing or schooling had prepared me for its combination of austerity and sensuality, but the sustained freshness of Ryman s painting had an immediate, profound, and abiding impact. So too did memorable concerts and evenings at the ballet where I was able for the first time to witness high-class schmoozing among such luminaries as Edward Gorey, Andy Warhol, Lincoln Kirstein, and his sister Mina Curtiss. I felt like I was the na ve, impecunious, young provincial in a Balzac novel, much as I subsequently have on many similar occasions thereafter.
This episodic education by immersion lasted almost exactly a decade. During the first four years of it, I attended Swarthmore College just outside of Philadelphia where I studied French literature, history, and art, after having been a student in France during the eventful year of 1967-68. At Swarthmore I had two remarkable art-history professors but was unable to take any studio courses, though I drew a great deal on my own. During one summer, thanks to a roommate whose Old Left father had taken his family to Mexico during the McCarthy era, I was introduced to the expatriate African-American artist Elizabeth Catlett Mora. She in turn introduced me to David Alfaro Siqueiros for whom I worked for several months as an assistant at his studio in Cuernavaca and on his last major public project, the Polyforum Cultural in downtown Mexico City. Just outside of that site, I had a rendezvous with my great-aunt who was returning to the place where she had befriended Diego Rivera and Jos Clemente Orozco in the 1930s but never met Siqueiros. Although her staunchly Republican politics were completely at odds with his - and mine - she was happy that I was in a position to introduce her to him at long last.
Philadelphia not only boasted a great encyclopedic museum but also the fabled, and at that time still all but shut away, Barnes Foundation, which I visited with the same art-history professor who also got his classes into the print collection of Lessing Rosenwald in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania, a vast, exquisitely chosen resource that in time became the core of the National Gallery s graphic-art holdings from D rer to Picasso.
From Philadelphia I moved to Boston and worked in Cambridge, where I made my living as an importer of foreign-language and art books. Boston was also rich in museums - such as Harvard s Fogg and Busch-Reisinger Museums as well as the marvelously eccentric Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, which I visited regularly - and home of the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, where I took drawing courses at night. Eventually, after three years, I returned to Chicago, where I had been raised, and applied to the graduate studio program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. There, for the first time, I was able to paint with full concentration. By chance, one of my professors was the Funkmaster Ed Paschke, who also served as Jeff Koons s mentor. I completed my Master degree in 1978 making painterly realist still lifes and interiors that loosely resembled those of Wayne Thiebaud and Philip Pearlstein without being directly influenced by either. From the Art Institute I went directly to the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture that summer and I struck up a contentious relationship with Peter Saul who, like Paschke, was a contrarian in ways that I was not, yet who was a dissenter from the conventional modernist wisdom of the day, as was I.
1980 found me back in Cambridge, after a year living in Holland with my wife-to-be who had gone to The Hague to study the viola da gamba at the Royal Conservatoire. During that time I had a small studio near the Gemeentemuseum, home of the Slijper collection of works by Mondrian (which I visited at least once a week). Shortly after we returned to Massachusetts, my great-aunt died, bringing that source of information about art and that outlet for my thoughts to an end. To fill the gap in the latter respect I accepted the offer to be the Boston correspondent for the Chicago-based New Art Examiner , the first time my writing was ever published. But, after two years back in New England, I realized that my wife and I would be sucked into the mire of an art world dominated by conservative taste and compromised by academic politics and dependencies, where, furthermore, my wife had hit the glass ceiling of her musical opportunities.
With nothing more to go on than a few sa