If you’re in New York for the Armory Show this coming weekend (March 6-9), my stuff’s at Pier 94, Booth # 909 —Fredericks & Freiser Gallery.
Also: check out this site—it has some of my newest work up in a format where you can click and zoom in—which I love.
Dear Artists at the Upcoming Whitney Biennial,
You’re going to hear a lot in the upcoming season. Some of it will be about you, a lot more will pretend to be but—secretly—will actually be about using you as an example of someone’s cranky thesis about the Whitney Biennial or the State Of The Art World or The Meaning of America In A Post-Scarcity Creative Economy or whatever.
None of the second group of things is worth listening to. The writers are, like you, engaged in an endless propaganda war whose object is to prove to someone with money that they, the writer or author or blogger or student, deserve better than to die in a ditch without health care—just as your weapons are your works and whatever words you manage to slip under the wire, their weapons are the ferocity of their stance on the Art Issues Of The Day. They need their ferocity—everyone knows, as always, Something Must Be Done and, as always, nobody agrees what that is.
Anyway, have sympathy for them but don’t believe them: you’re not part of a thing and, more generally, you’re not a thing. Or, rather, you’re only a thing if you’ve made the conscious decision to do bad art that’s dumb—in which case stop reading now, this isn’t for you (take heart: lots of other things are).
The Biennial might feel like a slick-walled pit filled with a million reasons to compromise—but then so is every other place and every other time anyone has ever seen art.
Do your thing and then when it’s done do it again better, over and over forever until you’re dead. In the end some of the good you do will be noticed, some won’t and it’ll all be totally arbitrary and hopefully you’ll get something out of it and the world will continue to be terrible, with some consolations. Be one of them.