With a series of nightmarish polaroids, Lucas Samaras took the 1970s art world by storm. His ugly addiction to the deepest crevices of his own body became an unexpected sensation, fueled by the hazy allure of his distorted self-portraits and a series of distrurbingly glib interviews with himself. Maurice Sendak’s late partner, psychoanylist Dr. Eugene Glynn, described the artist thusly in a 1971 article:
Samaras, self-fascinated, scarcely notices society at all. He is very aware that he doesn’t like peeople. They are too warm, too pressing, too smelly. “The needs of other people” is what frightens him. He can’t think about females “in terms other than extreme anger;” he can’t think about males “in terms other than extreme anger.” He likes apricots, flowers, fireflies, he likes best to stay alone in his apartment “existing alongside my utensils, furniture, materials, surfaces, spaces with an erotic freshness.”
Samaras’ persona is a caricature of misanthropy. Through his works and interviews, he presents himself as a devilish trickster whose narcissism knows no bounds. The repulsive nature of Samaras’ character is only exceeded by the aching talent underlying his depravity. The fragile enigma of his intensely personal work almost illicits sympathy, or at least curiosity. Like Glynn, we’re tempted– beckoned– to analyze the artist and his work, poring through recurring motifs: glass, teeth, mirrors, cannibalism, materialism, the body, the place where individuals end and society begins.
Still active in the art world at 76, Samaras’ latest exhibit is currently on display at the Venice Biennale. Samaras has built a dominating sculpture of endlessly mirrored reflections, surrounded by dozens of video monitors. A series of close ups fill the screens– reaction shots of friends like Jasper Johns and Chuck Close being treated to footage of the artist getting naked in his studio. Awkward!
Reading may be a universally beloved pastime, but good books aren’t necessarily universal. Language takes care of that. Books available only in their native French or Spanish or Czech may be amazing, but for those limited to a different tongue, they may as well exist in a parallel universe.
That’s why it’s such a pleasure to find that Italian wordsmith Stefano Benni has seen his novel Margherita Dolce Vita freshly translated into English. Benni–– a hugely famous satirist in his native country––is long overdue for American adulation, and Margherita is a perfect place to start.
The title character is a spunky young girl prone to fantasizing and wordplay; a kid whose braces clash when she smooches her boyfriend “like a duel in the Illiad”. A skewed constellation of family members and a mysterious neighbor seal the premise, with Margherita cast as resourceful and unlikely savior. Best part of all? There’s no need to splurge on an Italian-English dictionary in order to read the novel. Molto sweet-o.
Later this week we are going to be working with our favorite skateboarding site Crailtap to giveaway a complete set of the Where The Wild Things Are Girl decks. If you or someone you know would be stoked on picking these up for the cost of nothing more than a fair amount of creativity then stay tuned.
The mouldering, decrepit swimming pools in photographer Gigi Cifali’s series Absence of Water are hauntingly sublime relics of another era, remnants of a vibrant past. Many of the pools she eulogizes in her somber images were built at the height of Britain’s public baths craze of the 1930s, falling out of favor in the latter part of the century until declining attendance forced many of them to shut down.
While dozens of these pools have been demolished since the Thatcher era, Cifali has been documenting the remaining pools like an archeologist of the very recent past, presenting these fallen beauties in all of their forlorn enigmatic glory.
Over the past decade, Kramer’s Ergot has established itself as the world’s premiere collection of underground comics. Quickly evolving from a hand-printed zine into a luxurious hardcover book, before climaxing in a massive, Malaysian-printed seventh volume, the anthology’s editor (and Family co-founder) Sammy Harkham’s visionary project has become so vast in its scope that even the legendary Matt Groening contributed a special Life in Hell strip to the latest installment.
Now Harkham is returning the favor, taking the editorial reigns at Groening’s Simpsons Comics for the October issue– and he’s brought many of the Kramer’s Ergot crew along with him. What’s sure to be the weirdest, raddest (officially sanctioned) take on the Simpsons ever boasts contributrions from Jordan Crane, C.F., Matthew Thurber, Jeffrey Brown, Paper Rad, and many other revered alternative comic dignitaries. Not only will each of these bodacious artists be translating The Simpsons into their offbeat personal styles, but this will also be the long-running comic’s fifteenth annual “Treehouse of Horror” issue– meaning each story must not only be funny, they’ll also have to riff on the conventions of horror. Nerdy mouths everywhere are watering in anticipation.
Nikki McClure is a self-taught artist who wields an X-acto knife to charm bold images from single sheets of paper. “All in a Day“, her children’s book with author Cynthia Rylant, is a tranquil account of life’s simple pleasures from a child’s point of view: watching the sun cross the sky, planting a seed with a friendly squirrel, taking a nap, going for a walk.
The book is one of those literary objects so immaculate it feels like portable art. Rylant’s text is loving and poetic, a perfect match for McClure’s richly expressive illustrations. The pictures also contain the requisite dose of wildness that is necessary to stoke young imaginations. The Cinder Gallery summed it up well when they wrote that “Nikki’s images exude a positivity that revolves around community, sustenance, parenting, and appreciating both the urban and rural landscape, undoubtedly influenced by her home in the Northwest and specifically Olympia.”
As if McClure’s art didn’t already define her as an awesome individual, she was a key artist in the Riot Grrrl movement and, according to her gallery, “still embodies the fiercely independent fire that fueled the passion and creativity of that time period.” Anyone need a role model?
It’s a fine day in Large Mouth– population: 754–when a drifter in bandages, goggles and a baseball cap shows up. Thus begins Jeff Lemire’s loose remake of H.G. Wells’ The Invisible Man in graphic novel form. Taking its cues from the famous 1897 science fiction novel, Lemire’s The Nobody is a blistering account of disappearances, fear and strange friendships in small-town America.
As a kid Lemire consumed his fair share of DC Comics superheroes tales, and his rapid-fire style reveals the influence, along with nods to Jose Munoz and Alberto Breccia. The character of The Nobody is a cypher with ambiguous intentions and abilities– a fascinating individual and one that ultimately remains a mystery. Not surprisingly, Lemire designed it this way: “I always try to put character before plot,” he has said. “My books are about people, not high concepts.”
It’s the perfect attitude with which to approach a high-concept work like The Invisible Man, and the result is equal parts page-turner and artful cartoon genius.
A few weeks ago we featured the splendid Vanessa Dualib on We Love You So. As if she weren’t already awesome enough, Vanessa recently pulled this brilliant recreation out of her hat. Among other materials deployed in the image are mango, kiwi, celery, a moon made of lemon and, get ready, a wolf suit made of mozzarella cheese.
Describing Trenton Duerksen’s illustrations is like reciting the lead-up to an especially freaky joke. Let’s take the above example to start. “Mark Twain, Nikola Tesla, and the Cat in the Hat are roasting marshmallows in the woods…”
See? Duerksen’s portrayal of the Last Supper (see below) also fits the pattern– it features Steve Jobs, Matthew Barney, Darwin, Kate Moss and Bjork at the table, among others. To top off the conceptual mastery, Duerksen’s skills are immaculate and deployed in the classical manner: no computers, no Google imaging, just hand-drawing and coloring with gouache. None of this Photoshop crud that everyone else is doing these days.
Those with keen vision have recognized Duerksen’s talent. He was featured in the PS1 Greater New York show, represented by Guild & Greyshkul and was artist in residence at Nest Magazine.
Duerksen’s inspirations include old masters Bruegel, Durer, and Poussin, along with MAD Magazine. If this list of references sounds loony, it also makes perfect sense. Like Bruegel, Duerksen has an acute interest in the human comedy. Like Durer, he’s a wizard of perspective. Like Poussin, he’s off the wall. And like MAD Magazine, he has a sick sense of humor. All of this plus a raging interest in the absurd equals a body of work that’s no joke to contend with. ¡Viva Duerksen!
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