(photo credit Thierry Bal), 2008, 13 figures ranging in height from 160 to 84”. Commissioned by inIVA, London

All images provided courtesy Hales Gallery, London UK.

The Museum of Mankind in London was for many years the repository of the British Museum’s extensive collection of ‘ethnographical’ objects – including works from the great civilisations of Africa, the Americas and Asia. These were separated out from civilisations such as the Greek, Roman, Egyptian or Celtic deemed worthy of being displayed in the main British Museum. I would often go to the Museum of Mankind to draw, and this piece “Chariots of the Gods” is composed of parts of many of it’s treasures. The title is obviously taken from Erich von Däniken’s book. It is one of a series of works inspired by the beauty and function of Heraldry, and by the ancient tapestries, banners and flags I admire – the dripping beads and cords echo their loose threads and fraying fabrics. “Chariots of the Gods” is a gold and black wall-hanging 17 feet high, and is part of the exhibition “seven @ SEVEN ” at The Boiler, Pierogi Gallery, 191 N. 14th St. Brooklyn, from 28th April until 20th May 2012.

(photo credit Thierry Bal)

2012, beads, cord, gluegun on fabric, approx. 80” high

permanent public art commissioned by Bristol City Council, 2010, ten cast iron markers, approx. 60” high (photo credit Jamie Woodley)

2012, acrylic paint and gold marker pen on c-type photograph, 74 x 50”

2011, mixed media, 70 boats installed in the Church of St Mary & St Eanswythe, Folkestone. Commissioned by The Creative Foundation for the 2nd Folkestone Triennial

2010, Cord, plastic beads, glue gun, gaffer tape. Dimensions variable

from the series “How do You Want Me?” 2007, C-type photograph, 91 x 72”

2003, pastel and charcoal on paper, 30 x 25”

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 66x60 inches

Visual Editor Noah Post interviews California based artist Ned Evans:

All images provided courtesy of William Turner Gallery, Santa Monica, CA.

Noah Post: Considering that we are publishing this interview in the “Antiquity” issue, I notice that your paintings share a visual complexity with that of woven fabrics and fiber arts. Are you inspired by any specific historical genres of textile design?

Ned Evans: Over the decades, my paintings have been steadily influenced by textiles, their patterns and colors. My first exposure was at my grandmother’s house in the 50’s and 60’s and her collection of Persian rugs. I remember being fascinated, as a child, with the intricate designs. I worked as a preparator for major exhibitions with rare Navajo rugs during the late 60’s and early 70’s and in the 80’s, I had friends dealing Pygmy paintings by women, done on bark. Later, I got really influenced by the abstract quilts by the women in Gee’s Bend, Alabama. Most recently, I’ve been really engrossed by Iranian gelims. These are just some of the major stopping points.

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 36X48 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 32.5x24 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 60x72 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 30x30 inches

NP: There is a fine balance in your work between the Compositions and Color range. My focus goes back and forth between the densities in the patterns, and in the colors. Are there preconceived pallets that lend themselves to the compositions? In general, do you do much planning before you start a canvas?

NE: I do very little planning. I don’t do maquettes. But I do have a strong sense, sometimes, of color and composition. Once I start the painting, I really don’t have a plan and often end up somewhere unexpected. I’m much more interested in the journey than in the end result and I strive to keep myself off-balance, even though my paintings are basically controlled chaos.

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 78x48 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 78x48 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 78x48 inches

NP: Are you a messy artist? Or do you keep a clean studio?

NE: I would consider myself a messy artist whose paintings come out looking orderly. I’m constantly cleaning up messes and mistakes in my paintings which eventually lead to resolution. My studio is pretty messy. I like to surround myself with work and things that influence me. I am a happy, messy artist.

NP: Why do you paint with acrylics as opposed to Oils? I ask this because I have experienced first-hand, the frustrations of color mixing with acrylic paint, and you seem to mix a lot of colors for some of your recent work. That stuff dries so damn fast!

NE: I mix all my own colors, often as I’m painting and while the entire canvas is quite wet. I have a tendency to work wet on wet and as the painting dries I’m adding and subtracting additional colors. I have a real love affair with water-based paints because I have a hard time watching paint dry. With acrylics, there’s always a confusion about what the actual color will be because they never look the same when they dry and I’ve learned to embrace that unpredictability.

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 48x60 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 48x90 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 72x60 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 72X60 inches

NP: I have read in the press release for your current show at William Turner Gallery that you cite your main influences as your “love for the desert and sea”. I know that you have been painting (and surfing) on the west coast for many years. Can you elaborate on the connection between your painting process and your geographic surroundings?

NE: I often feel like I’m looking through structures towards a landscape. There’s a desire for openness, airiness, and fluidity, but it’s always juxtaposed to the structures that exist in whatever site I envision. It’s hard for me to explain, but if I’m alone in the water or out in the desert, I sense my own physical structure and all those around me at the same time.

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 90X90 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 78X66 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 40X60 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 42X36 inches

NP: What frustrations or problems do you regularly encounter when working on a new piece?

NE: My frustrations are constant when I have too much of an idea of what I want. When I have too strong of a preconceived idea, I’m often disappointed. The less I worry about the end result, the freer I am to get to a better place. I try not to hold on to preconceptions of what a painting should be. I’m not trying to make a painting into something.

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 48X84 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 40x60 inches

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 23x20 inches

NP: What piece from this show was your most challenging to finish and why?

NE: For this show I decided to do an 8’ x 14’ mural-sized painting (shown below). The starting point for this piece was the largest wall in my studio – my main viewing wall. I decided to do a painting that took up the entire wall. There was tension in creating a painting of eight various-sized interlocking panels on the floor of my studio, having no idea whatsoever of how the entire piece would appear once hung vertically, fully assembled, because as I painted the panels on the floor, the whole was beyond my peripheral vision. Upon completion and assembly, the title revealed itself from a portion of the painting that appeared to be a Small Window onto yet another painting.

2011, acrylic and textile on canvas, 96X168 inches

Stigmata of syrup

This day is immaculate

As an open hand

—All soft palm—

The tombstones of Saint James triangle resemble
teeth of a decrepit horse, two hooves in the grave
Tumbledown monuments to the dead
and peregrine falcons, when not hunting, nest within mortar clefts
of Brooklyn Bridge

Doyers Street curved through aesthetics so idiosyncratic
must be movie-set façade
Old storefronts for illicit opium dens
Vapors & Vipers
where men burn in bare parlors
Dissipate amongst mellifluous visions, cough,
pipes, scent of rotten saccharine, no smoke squandered,
the bloom of cool nights in Persia
the Glory Glory Hallelujah
of furtive spasm in the muscle, rapture wrapped ‘round arthritic marrow
the pleasure of fever vaguely enjoyed
and valued with subtle velocity

while outside thugs, thieves, and gangsters are

shattered with hatchets

bleed out in gutters

others disappear

into the assorted markets

sordid bazaars

Done, tunnels hidden in tombs of dust and dry paper

Surrounded,
conglomerate of billboard characters
for food, foot massage, and nails did

Here,
The sun is only permitted
contact with green windowsills, and perhaps,
from time to time,
to touch aluminum drain pipes
The rest is what is shed
to the street

Past the silent hulks of government housing
humdrum monoliths of poverty

I am waiting for dinner patiently
and more so,
I’m waiting for you
to arrive
My amorous weapon
My swivel-hip anchor

You mother calls
me because she is worried
You never notice your phone
There is not a thing to fear

In this narrow bower nestled
below the belly of this metropolis
I watch cataract cancer step
alongside with beauty and youth

We’ve all got work to do,
They’ve done theirs,
I’ve done mine,
And I’ll do some more…

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

This series of images was created for the exhibition ‘Prolonging The Ecstasy’ at CO2 Gallery, Rome in December of 2011.

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

2011, Collage, 8"x10"

Studio Portraits of James Gallagher at work by Noah Post

Most of my work incorporates recordings of unusual sounds or ambiances from daily life. The Cardiovascular Medical Unit piece started with a recording of my heartbeat that was done on the two track reel to reel. A second tape machine plays a collage that was assembled from other hospital sounds recorded at the end of March. A solid state sine wave oscillator is being gated by a vintage General Radio burst generator and 40s era RCA tube driven sine wave oscillator is being played through a guitar effects device with a pedal controlling amplitude.

The piece expresses the symbiotic relationship between man and machine in modern western medicine and the uncomfortable emotional state produced by a trip to the hospital.

In March of this year the Science Museum in London announced the results of a remix competition celebrating the works of electro-acoustic pioneer Daphne Oram. The track “DO3″ took second place in the event that was judged by The Wire Magazine, DJ Spooky and Brian Eno.

Irish film maker Michael Dodds has just completed a short film using the February piece from 12FM.

There is no denying the Beastie Boys’ status in music history as legends. They stayed relevant and beyond in both music and culture for decades. It was with great sadness that we learned of the death of co-founding member Adam Yauch on May 4, 2012. Not only was MCA a talented rapper, musician, and director, he was also a humanitarian. Yauch founded the Milarepa Fund, organized the Tibetan Freedom Concert among many others, and in 1998 used his MTV Video Vanguard acceptance speech to urge the United States to practice a non-violent approach to situations in the Middle East, saying that the retaliations and racism against Muslim people had to stop “in order to find a solution to the problems that have been building up for many years.”

I remember seeing the Beasties at a “Gala Event” at Hammerstein Ballroom. It was the final show of a three-day stint that included stops at Central Park and McCarren Pool in Brooklyn. All of their gear, including their amps and instruments, were constructed of clear plexiglass. I clearly remember seeing Yauch killing it on the bass with his long skinny hands thinking, “Damn, MCA can play!”. Near the end of the show, which mostly consisted of tracks played as a band, the three of them standing stage left with wireless mics, shared a look that I also won’t forget. It was as if they were saying: Here we are in NYC, three kids still doing this, rocking the crowd like we always did. The afternoon I heard the news of MCA’s passing, I was preparing my studio for a masterclass with my students Edward Godin, Jesse McFadden, and Scot Moriarty. When they arrived, we all agreed that a Beastie remix was the only thing we could do that day. Here is the result. But now I got to pass the mic to Yauch.

Bettina has lived in the Chelsea Hotel for more than thirty years, a gem hidden away in a corner of one of the most legendary destinations in the New York art world. Her body of work, amassed through decades of quiet proliferation, employs various media to deal with themes as diverse as universality, distortion (both natural and synthetic), and hidden truth. Since Bettina has made the Chelsea her home it has fallen into disrepair and dilapidation. It has also changed hands a number of times, and the current owner has set about some necessary renovations leaving many of the tenants unsure of the future of this storied landmark. Artwork that has dwelled in the lobby and corridors for as long as Bettina has lived there has been removed.

We first became aware of Bettina through the work of documentarist Corinne Van Der Borch, whose film Girl With Black Balloons (below) is an intimate look into Bettina and her world.

Thanks to Corinne and of course to Bettina herself.

all artwork copyright Bettina
images of artwork courtesy of Craig Stokle

revealing record copy

Overall view

Overall view

Overall view

The “Flash in the Pan” was the first swingarm (rear suspension) bike I built, back in 2007. Aesthetically, a swingarm bike requires a different direction than a rigid bike, and this was how i approached it.

Detail

Detail

Detail

Detail

The motor is partially 1962 Harley Davidson, along with a variety of aftermarket components, all hand polished. The frame, swingarm, tank, fender, bars, seat, exhaust, engine assembly, wiring and plumbing were done here at Efab. The paint was applied by the legendary Robert Pradke, of Indian Larry fame. The bike also uses several original investment cast parts I developed, such as the kickstarter, taillight, footpegs, and handlebar risers. the bike is currently on display at Arpaia Lang in New Haven, CT.

Detail

Detail

Detail

Detail

Detail

Detail

Detail

Overview

1912 by John_Sloan

“and I was sitting in the din thinking drinking the ale, which never lets you grow old,” writes E.E. Cummings in a poem about McSorley’s Old Ale House, the eldest and longest continually run tavern in New York City. Since its establishment in 1854 the staff has faithfully poured the one and only beverage available to patrons, that being it’s own house brand of McSorley’s ale. This ale comes in varieties of dark or light. That’s it. That’s all there is.

The Bowery of old was New York’s original skid row, it’s sidewalks teeming with thieves, con-men and downtrodden drifters on the bum. Locals knew it as the area with the highest concentration of dive bars (and drunks) in the city. These days every time one takes the time to look it seems to morph further into the luxury promenade the real estate developers have envisioned, with slick and swanky hotels reaching skyward where once were derelict tenements, high-end retail shops where once were legendary music venues. A few months ago a 7-11 store, that once distant icon of American suburbia, opened on Third street. That McSorley’s has withstood such sweeping change is a testament both to its significance as a historic New York City destination and to the old time class and sensibility of its staff.

There is an alley that runs north from Sixth street directly to McSorley’s south-facing entrance. This alley acts as a bestowal, contributing much of the light that beams in through the front windows. The daytime light has served as one reason why the bar is a favorite amongst artists. It’s a brightness one wouldn’t expect from a ground-floor storefront in the middle of Manhattan, and it plays tricks of accent and shadow that help to bring the bar’s rustic nature to life.

One feels a warmth of atmosphere on entering the bar through the swinging, nineteenth century saloon doors. The packed and lively tables crowd in on one another as the waiters glide across the sawdust covered floor with more mugs of beer fanning out from their hands than seems possible. At first glance the furniture seems rickety and worn, but at closer inspection one finds the noticeable sturdiness of items built to last before mass production bestowed on us the modern notion of disposability.

Most will come to drink and eat amongst the mishmash of relics adorning the walls and mantle of the bar. One of the stools is known to have been Peter Cooper’s favorite, the same stool Abraham Lincoln sat on while visiting. There’s an original wanted poster for John Wilkes Booth, a pair of handcuffs that belonged to Harry Houdini, and an endless assortment of newspaper and magazine cuts covering the walls.

Perhaps none of the relics on display are better known than the wishbones that hang on the old gas lamp above the bar. Local “doughboys” (as American soldiers were once known) hung the wishbones at going away parties before leaving to fight in the First World War, their intention being to reclaim them upon safe return. While many of the doughboys were buried in Europe, their wishbones remained in New York and until last year were left undisturbed. Pressure from city officials has changed that. At the behest of the New York City Health Department, current owner Matthew Maher took up the reluctant task of cleaning the years’ accumulation of dust from the bones, taking the utmost care that they not crumble as he did. Today, the dust is removed but the bones remain and it’s imperative to McSorley’s that they honor these long forgotten veterans.

I walk past the ancient potbelly stove to the back room, where twelve Spanish women are gathered around a large round table, singing and clapping in harmony. Their revelry plays out to the delight of the other customers as they join in. A young Austrian gentleman is inspired to can-can around the room waving a hundred dollar note, a gesture that won’t go misinterpreted by the staff as his offer to buy a round for the house.

Witnessing such a scene I find it impossible to forget that McSorley’s was one of the last remaining “men only” pubs in America. “Good Ale, Raw Onions and No Ladies” was the original McSorley’s motto, and to this day a photo hangs on the wall of Dorothy O’Connell, a longtime owner who inherited the business from her father and never once stepped foot inside. On the bar’s hundredth anniversary she was passed a beer through the window while she waited on the sidewalk, respectful to the end of her father’s wish that McSorley’s remain an all male establishment.

The National Organization for Women took a discrimination case to the district court which resulted in the forced (and thoroughly begrudged) admittance of women to McSorley’s in 1970. The first women’s restroom was not installed until 1986.

Obviously this aspect of McSorley’s history should bring the role of women into strong focus. Since the beginning women have in fact been proprietors either as direct owners or in joint ownership with their husbands. The controversy surrounding the eventual allowance of women to McSorley’s played an integral part in its survival, creating massive publicity and eventually setting the stage for the bar’s transformation into the tourist attraction it is today.

Most women who now enter McSorley’s are well aware of the misogynistic echoes in its past but today enjoy equal status, a reality galvanized by the presence of female workers. Teresa, Maher’s daughter, works behind the bar. She acknowledges that her role brings a level of respect to the crowd and a sense of progress and ease to its female customers. Teresa fully admits she never believed she would be working anywhere near the bar itself, as she was always out of sight helping out in the kitchen. She had to fight the tears when her father asked her if she’d like a turn at working the counter.

I meet with bartender Michael Brannigan, Teresa’s cousin, who has worked continuously in McSorley’s since 1990 when he first came to work for his uncle. Michael is not surprised at the overflowing festivity from the ladies in the back room. On the contrary, he assures me that such episodes can be quite the norm. The bar is a huge draw for people who come looking for history and high spirits, archeology and alcohol. With its huge tables, communal seating, and no frills attitude to eating and drinking it’s the perfect setting for good time shenanigans.

Michael explains that the changes in the neighborhood began with the zero tolerance policing that began under Mayor Giuliani. He remembers the danger before the transitional period of the late 1990s, when the streets from alphabet city to the Bowery were filled with addicts. One night, he recalls, a customer returned in distress after leaving moments earlier. His car window had been smashed, the stereo stolen, and he wanted to notify the police. He was told that if he wanted to save himself some time and aggravation, he’d be better off to “just go down the corner to Saint Mark’s Place and buy it back.”

With the cleanup of the neighborhood the floodgates were opened to the tourist crowd. Seasoned regulars were prized as local celebrities, valued by visitors for their willingness to recount much of the bar and the city’s history through jokes and the anecdotes. Through the years the area has become immensely popular, bringing a wider local clientele to the establishment. Gentrification of the Bowery came fast and sudden with the expansions of NYU and Cooper Union. The bar’s atmosphere has changed immensely due to the mixture of patrons over the years, but Michael admits that no change could be bigger than the admittance of women in 1970.

That McSorley’s has balanced necessary growth in an evolving world with an enduring regard for the traditions and remnants of more than a hundred and fifty years of history is a testament to its permanence as a New York institution. Despite the challenges of changing times and tastes, the bar continues to thrive while maintaining much of its original charm. Like the city itself, it was here before we were born and remains here today. May it still be once we’re gone.

by John Sloan