*pics and review of show to come.

Street artists generally leave their work on, y’know, the street. But then there was that one time Banksy hung his art in the Louvre (and the Met, and the Natural History Museum, and MOMA…). And now Nick Walker, another artist from the U.K., is leaving his mark on… Asian Pub?

Yup. Walker (sorry, TMZ, that’s not the elusive Banksy), was spotted atop a cherry picker Monday night working on one of his signature “Morning After Pieces.” And Asian Pub got a little bit more hip.

Call it street art, call it graffiti, call it tagging or piecing—whatever it is, it has been made clear once again that the form is changing. In earlier incarnations, New York City officials worked hard to keep it off the streets, white washing tagged subway cars and locking up vandals. But these days, if you’ve got a couple (500) thousand dollars sitting around, you can have an original Banksy for yourself. Not in this economy?

Not a problem. Try UrbanOutfitters—last time I checked they carried his books. Some attribute this change in street art to the “Banksy Effect,” while others to a market economy. Either way, one thing’s for sure: with the direction the street art world is moving, all those graffitied subway cars we whitewashed back in the day? They probably could have bailed out those poor guys down on Wall Street. Talk about a revolution…

No matter what you think of the changing scene, Nick Walker is someone to keep an eye on. So while Asian Pub is still a far cry from the next big thing, Walker’s New York skyline doused in paint is worth checking out.

If it strikes your interest, look for his umbrella-wielding fellow at Thunder Jackson’s on Bleeker or his vandalizing giraffe at the Roebling Tea Room in Williamsburg. And if you still want more, start saving—this stuff’s not cheap.

Photo by Flickr user pureandapplied used under the Creative Commons

Gothamist and Anonymous Gallery have said, loudly and proudly, that the installation of PLAF is illegal, but so far, I can’t seem to find anything which lets me know why exactly that is so. Is it because oscillating colored planks are distracting for boats?

Some of the earlier name ideas tossed around included Wet Wet Wet, Illegal Wet And Moving, and Pirate Pilings. Browse through the Anonymous Gallery blog, because it really is quite interesting. Call it the poor man’s Eliasson’s water art, but there is something so cute and cheeky about these structures.

The video below shows that installation of the one in Williamsburg:

PLAF – East River State Park from MOMO on Vimeo.

Photo by Anonymous Gallery

In Banksy’s world, you and Fluffy the pet rabbit can sweep pink blush against your porcelain cheekbones (and, er, fur) as you get ready for a night of wild club hopping together. The enigmatic British street artist has designed a mock-pet store in the West Village in which animals adopt human mannerisms and are displayed as manufactured edible and material goods. Titled “The Village Pet Store and Charcoal Grill”, the art exhibition bridges animal and human behaviors and habitats into a trippy world of encaged frat boy chimps and makeup-applying Peter (or Patty, more accurately) Cottontails. A monkey sits behind an episode of mating chimpanzees on the Discovery Channel, a crushed beer can under his foot and headphones perched on his ears. The white rabbit perfects her appearance in a vanity mirror complete with used nail polish bottles and eye shadows.

Not only does Banksy provoke the questioning of animal humanization with these two characters (think the emergence of doggie boutiques and fitness centers), but he also portrays them as literal products of human intervention in the natural world. In one cage, a poised hen overlooks two fried chicken nuggets self-sacrificially dipping themselves into barbecue sauce and a scrambled egg hatching from its shell. A wall of creepily pulsating, caged lunchmeat is placed beside a vertical rack of packaged lunchmeat that appears to be part of the store. Two mammoth fish sticks swim in a bowl, and a lizard emerges from a discarded Louis Vuitton purse, the same logo etched on its back. Human consumption has invaded the animal world, and you should continue our species’ hedonistic whims by seeing this exhibit in person! If this description didn’t wet your whistle and you don’t have the time to head over to 89 7th Ave. S. between W. 4th and Bleecker, you can check out the Times’ photoshoot.
Photos by Allix Geneslaw

Elizabeth Peyton has been widely credited with “bringing back” portraiture. Perhaps she brought it back from wherever Warhol dropped it when he died. She paints portraits from clippings, photographs, and sitters. To study her subjects is to get to know who she is or what she wants to be: classical, yet relevant; intellectual, yet sincere; attractive, but shy; independent, but still fragile.

Elizabeth Peyton is very serious about her work. But not in the same sense as Koons, Hirst, or Murakami with their 100+ studio assistants. Peyton is the only person touching her canvases. She treats her studio like her own private chapel.

In her new show, which opened last night at New Museum, you can find portraits of those who fascinate her (or at least did at one point in time). Live Forever features historical figures, rock stars, fellow artists, ex-lovers, fashion designers, and even herself. Elizabeth Peyton only paints those she feels some connection with, allowing sincerity and earnestness to be present in her work.

“My work is my life,” she said to me over a cup of tea.

Elizabeth Peyton’s paintings are comparable to Wes Anderson’s movies with their delicate richness that is awkwardly appealing. They are what you secretly want your life to be and look like (but not really). They are interesting, melancholy, and set to the perfect soundtrack. What I enjoy most about Peyton’s work is the contrast between tight and loose handling of the brush; for every broad stroke, you’ll find intricate, neat ones. This contrast translates into a vulnerability that can be seen in most of her subjects.

Live Forever is Peyton’s first big solo show in a museum—a retrospective, highlighting her earliest to most recent work. Over 100 paintings span the third and fourth floors of New Museum.

There is a fascinating mini-site for the exhibition including a timeline of Peyton’s life and an interview between Peyton and Laura Hoptman, the shows curator (wife of Verne Dawson, Peyton’s contemporary).

Live Forever: Elizabeth Peyton runs until January 11th, 2009 at New Museum, 235 Bowery.

(Full Disclosure: I interned for Elizabeth Peyton’s assistant from March to June 2008. I only met with her once in person and she was very polite. I also interned at New Museum this summer and worked on the show, Live Forever: Elizabeth Peyton. She most likely has no idea who I am.)

New York artist Annamarie Ho is recreating a booth from which betelnut, a type of seed, is often sold by nearly-naked women to passing men in Taiwan. From her website:

Betelnut, a mild stimulant, is consumed throughout Asia; only in Taiwan, however, is it sold by binlang xi shi, scantily-clad girls in glass booths found on street corners and highways, catering to a clientele consisting primarily of working-class men. 

Binlang Xi Shi (Betelnut Girls) recreates one of these booths with a hired actress playing the role of the betelnut girl.  During the performance dates, she will sell betelnut to passers-by.

The piece intends to examine the complicated social and cultural exchange between the girls and the customers. 

On September 13th, Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, a seminal gallery that launched the careers of many of today’s big contemporary art-stars (commence eye-rolling?), opened their new Rob Pruitt show, “iPhotos.”  No, you heard me right: iPhotos.

Those same “Mobile Uploads” albums that pop up on your feed have become works of art. That includes the pics of your friends getting drunk, screen shots from movies like Funny Games, and even photos of panda bears from that one time you went to the zoo.

The show looked, and was, pretty fantastic overall, but in a very specific “This is ridiculous, but it’s amazing!” sort of way. Giant blown up iPhotos line every wall (inside and out), keeping you scanning for something recognizable or remarkable.

The show also recreates a cemetery on the gallery floor with appropriately decorated tombstones made in honor of (somewhat) recently deceased celebrities. For instance, a showgirl-esque mirrored tombstone has the name “Anna Nicole” scrawled across it in hot pink lipstick. Another is painted yellow with a black stripe, to mimic Charlie Brown’s shirt, is dedicated to Peanuts creator Charles Schulz.

Piles and piles of “leaves,” cut from magazines, are swirled around the gallery by wind-blowers. Perhaps with the juxtaposition of a cemetery and iPhotos, Pruitt is invoking the recent David Brooks op-ed “Lord of the Memes” in which the columnist bemoans contemporary hipsterdom and mourns the release of the new iPhone as the day when “media displaced culture.”

Whatever the “point” may be, Rob Pruitt is an “artist,” and although this show may be seen as obvious, it can still be enjoyed for its effort, sincerity, and visually stimulating qualities. For the show, Pruitt wrote a surprisingly sentimental artist’s statement about discovering the iPhone and how it changed his life.  “iPhotos,” much like Twitter or Facebook statuses, allow us to live vicariously through the experiences of people far-removed from ourselves.

All in all, it made for an intriguing opening: a good show, free tacos, and oh, John Waters was there.

As the art school kids already know, The Metropolitan Museum of Art have named their next director. Back in January, current director Philippe de Montebello announced that 2008 would be his last year in the position and the museum has been searching for a new director ever since. The job, one of the art world’s most prestigious, is obviously an honor, but is also doubtlessly pretty damn hard.

Apparently up for the challenge, Thomas Campbell was named on Tuesday as the Met’s ninth director in 138 years. Unlike vice presidential slots, they apparently don’t just hand this job out. But not unlike Mrs. Palin, some may consider Campbell short on experience—currently, he works as a curator at the Met in European tapestries, a rather small niche. His first day on the job, though, is not until January 1st, 2009, giving him some time to learn.

But what will this mean for the next time you go to the Met to see the collection, the Damian Hirst shark, or to sit on the Gossip Girl-approved steps in between class?

1) Let’s be honest… Who really knows this early on.

2) Perhaps more shows in the same vein as European tapestries. (Think monumental archaic Greek sculpture.)

3) Most likely no serious construction.

It seems that this guy is pretty young (at least for Met standards) and that at first he will only try to keep the museum running at the same nearly-perfect pace that Montebello set after 32 years of rule. Still, here’s to hoping that he’ll also give more attention to Contemporary art, a section that the Met typically looks over.  Fingers are also crossed that he won’t pull a Guggenheim (which also has a new director).

Either way, only time will tell.  Field trip in ’09 anyone?

On Sunday, August 31, performance artist Irina Danilova invited audience members to shave her head. Bald.

The Quadrennial Shaving Performance was hosted by The Tank, a non-profit organization that provides space to emerging artists of all disciplines, and occurred at the Manhattan Children’s Theatre. It was, however, not child’s play.

Nor was it a joke, a political action, or a narcissistic exhibition of de-beautification. Rather, Danilova offered an informal ceremony commemorating the sixth anniversary of what has become a regular ritual in her life.

Every four years since 1984, Ukrainian ex-pat Danilova has shaved off all her hair. The first shaving took place in Communist Moscow and was executed by friends at the artists’ request; Danilova then sold her hair for one kilogram of butter.

The circumstances of each subsequent shaving have varied over the years. In 1992, the private tradition became a public performance, immediately prior to Danilova’s move to America. She likened the action to personal sacrifice: “You shaved for monastery; you shaved for America.”

The artist, whose English reveals a strong Russian accent, was adorned Sunday night by long, coarse, flowing, salt-and-pepper hair. By the end of the evening, her scalp was stubbly—made so by three volunteers from the audience—and signed in permanent marker by every person present.

“It’s a performance about loss,” explained Danilova. Moreover, the collection of braids saved from each shaving “show time,” she says, and compares the growth of hair to a timeline. Each thick braid, the first portion of her hair to get chopped, is stored in a plastic tube, added to her collection, and displayed at future performances. The collection of braids now consists of six.

Film projections of previous haircuts accompanied the performance—as did brown Russian bread, pickles, and free shots of vodka. Danilova indicated that the liquid courage was for anyone who might need it in order to participate in the hair cutting or head signing. Clearly, the bravest person present was none of the volunteer shavers or the audience members; without a doubt it was the artist Danilova, who shared her personal loss as a public performance.

Photos by Ignat Ayzenberg and Hiram Levy