IonHartford

I think that one of the many reasons I love Hartford is the one default attribute always thrown around in such conversations: it’s distance to New York City. Boston is also used in the discussion but I get really bad “Everybody Loves Mary” type of acne every time I get near that dirty water sippin, hahvad yahd pahking, sucky red sox rootin city. Regardless, for as much as I love the big manzana, I realized that in the past two to three years I’ve probably only made the trip once or twice. So, being ripe for a spontaneous invitation, I was ecstatic to receive and accept an invitation to go with a dear friend to Manhattan for a surprise B-day pahty, uh sorry…party for a friend of hers.

My bud is Andrea Miller Keller, founder and former Curator of the Wadsworth Atheneums Matrix Gallery. The Matrix Gallery is the Wadsworths Contemporary art cubby and home of the first one-person shows for a virtual hall of fame of great artists including Janine Antoni, Keith Haring, Byron Kim, Louise Lawler, Sylvia Mangold, Cady Loland, Adrian Piper, Lorna Simpson, and Carrie Mae Weems.

The surprise birthday party was for local monster collector Mickey Cartin. Mr. Cartin (pictured at left) owns the Cartin Collection, one of the largest contemporary collections in el mundo. The party was titled (that’s right…titled) Festschrift. Festschrift is a German word which refers to a book honouring a respected academic and presented during his or her lifetime. The impressive volume and party was put together by Steven Holmes, former Curator of Visual Arts at Real Art Ways. The shenanigan was held at the Dickinson Gallery up on East 66th Street and, oh, hold on (wait a minute), I’m so getting ahead of myself…let’s step back for a sec. {weird warping, going back in time noise}

BEEFOOOREE going to the party which you all don’t know anything about just yet, Andrea suggested we leave Hartford a little early in order to check out “The New York City Waterfalls” by Olafur Eliasson. This massive public installation of four man made waterfalls is on the southern tip of Manhattan on the East River. We drove to the South Street Seaport and sat on the 3rd floor eating a hogie and enjoying the view of all four waterfalls.

Without sounding hoitee toitee, the experience was pretty freaking awesome. Sitting at the pier with hundreds of other folks of different shapes, sizes,and colors around us just existing with no judgment whatsoever was kick ass. The pieces were, for lack of a better word, functional. They consisted of a series of pipes, with a suction mechanism which sucked the water up from the river (and a cool filtration net to assure that no water animals were sucked in) and cascaded back down. The tallest one is as tall as the Statue of Liberty which is kinda deceptive because it’s as tall as the actual statue…NOT what people now know as the statue of liberty with it’s huge base. One thing that Andrea mentioned which I want to agree to is the fact that these pieces were not “hollywood-ized”…meaning, not glamored up in an attempt to make them something they’re not…just functional. I was truly moved by the whole thing and only wish that Hartford could become a place that participates in similar massive public installations.

Now…to the party!!

We drove up the east side highway back uptown and the drive was pretty smooth. Come to think of it, the entire trip was gellin like a freakin felon (can you tell I’ve had a couple.) We came down the Merritt, hit the Hutchinson, got lost a little, and ended up on the FDR, which was cool cuz we wanted to be on that side anyways and didn’t know how. Anyways, we got to the gallery and it’s this small ass space. Imagine a 4 story walk-up converted into a gallery. The first floor (which would really be the basement) is the welcome space…just one room with a sign-in table and an alcohol table. The first person we meet are Cary Smith and his Wife. Cary Smith is a fellow Puerto Rican (born on the island) painter who was launched by the Wadsworth in an interesting show called The Colt Four which featured four Colt Building artists; Peter Waite, Mary Keneally (sp?), Cary, and Ellen Carey.

I was instantly struck by the man because he had shorts on…and anyone who knows the Louster, knows, that he la’him some shorts. Cary mingled with us on the first floor introducing aspiring artists to Andrea. It was kinda funny how many people were obviously artists but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…it’s nueva yorki!!

The next celebrity to come by was truly a rock star, Jock Reynolds, Gallery Director of the Yale Art Gallery. This man reeks Contemporary Art through his finely combed quaff of silver hair. I was psyched to meet him because Andrea spent some time telling me about his background and an incredible Sol Lewitt retrospective planned at Mass MOCA in November.

The retrospective is set to open November 16th, so people, please let me know if you’re interested … I’ll charter a short bus if we have to.

By this time I’ve moved upto the second floor which has two regular sized rooms. One room has a projector which is projecting pages of the actual Festschrift. Images of all the artists which comprise the Cartin Collection. I noticed Basquiat, LeWitt, Mel Chin and a guy I met who was freaking cool as all getout, Jacob El Hanani. I haven’t heard of this Israeli born artist but I was so truck by his humor (which I resonate towards that I will definitely put him on my radar.)

Jock (yeah, I know, cool name) introduced us to the surprise of the evening, Jen Mergel, Associate Curator at the Boston ICA. She was a breath of fresh air. A contemporary art lover who exuded the same down home compassion and respect for people (in the vein of Andrea Miller Keller) that one could not help but be drawn to her. Shetalked to me about the newly formed Institute for Contemporary Art and how its target market were youth at age 19. Imagine that, a museum catering to the young and NOT the older generation with their money. I always felt that one of Real Art Ways’ downfall was the lack of a proper Contemporary Art 101 type of community workshop for the youth. Something that will allow viewers to truly get into a piece instead of “here! it’s art…Looovvve it!”

I talked to Jen for a bit and she was kinda impressed that I knew her boss, co-party planner and Head Curator @ ICA, Nicholas Baume. I’ve actually only met Señor Baume once, but will never forget it (and I’ll leave your ineterest piqued on that point). But, he was one of the many fine curators who passed by the Wadsworth once Andrea left. If that didn’t impress her, she was floored when I shrieked (that’s right, shrieked) when I saw my buddy James Rondeau. James (pictured at left) was Associate Curator under Andrea and was just a kick ass mofo when he hung out her in Hartford. He has since become the number one contemporary art guy at the Chicago Institute of Art and is among the top two contemporary art curators in the country…no shit…really…he is.

Rondeau was funny. He gave me a huge hug and kiss and then took a good look and said something like “Luis…you’re doing so … well.” Mind you, the last time I saw James has got to be around 10 years and 20lbs ago. It felt like my mom saying “mira nene! deja de comer tanta morsilla que se va salir de tu culo….canto de gordo feo!” For those of you not blessed with literacy in Spanish…consider yourselves lucky.

But I digress, Mickey had already come in with his entourage. The Birthday boy was here and all the planned festivities was about to begin. STRIPPERS! … that’s right, strippers, began to do their thing. I was freaking. I was never a big fan of strip clubs (seriously) and was super duper stupified (great…now I feel like Harry Potter) when, at a swank upper east side gallery opening, these strippers start doing their thing.

There was a young lady cover in photographs…only. She was naked except for 3×5’s all over her body. The first stripper was dressed in a very elegant 50s style get-up. She could’ve easily been confused for a “regular” guestexcept she starts to take off her “je nous se qua” (that makes no sense.) People were so packed in that it was hard to see and I was standing with Andrea and Carol Lewitt so I couldn’t really crane my neck without looking like my boy Fred who makes a living at going to strip joints.

Before I could fully digest the going ons of the progressively scantily clad females, Andrea expressed her desire to leave and we gave our adioses and proceeded out. I like to think that everybody got naked and recreated some cutting room floor scene from Caligula, but I will never know.

I have never been good with my endings, so I will end it as follows:

We got in the car and drove back home.

The End.