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The Shirts of Beatrice Joan Wilson Powell vs. Jackson Pollock

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血洗净城 - Blood Washes the Capital

血洗京城 – Blood Washes the Capital (鄧 =Deng Xiaoping)

“WHAT makes an artist great? Brilliant composition, no doubt. Superb draughtsmanship, certainly. Originality of subject or of concept, sometimes. But surely true greatness means that the creator of a painting has brought a certain je ne sais quoi to the work as well.”The Economist

In the tradition of Chimpanzee or not Chimpanzee, I’ve assembled  Jackson Pollocks. Certainly no child, chimp, or artist could replicate them? Or could they? Pollock’s defenders often claim that his works cannot be replicated. And to the naked eye this may be so, but what about the discerning critic, specifically, the art collector willing to pay millions of dollars to own an original. Well, turns out Pollock can be copied to the extent that even the “experts” can be fooled.

Yankee Pot Roast:  If Jackson Pollock Wrote Poetry.

The Economist: “(The) art market pretends that great artists are inimitable, and that this inimitability justifies the often absurd prices their work commands. Most famous artists are good: that is not in question. But as forgers like van Meegeren and Pei-Shen Qian, the painter who turned out Ms Rosales’s Rothkos and Pollocks, show, they are very imitable indeed…Expensive pictures are primarily what economists call positional goods—things that are valuable largely because other people can’t have them…Ms Rosales’s career is thus a searing social commentary on a business which purports to celebrate humanity’s highest culture but in which names are more important than aesthetics and experts cannot tell the difference between an original and a fake. Unusual, authentic, full of meaning—her life itself is surely art, even if the paintings were not.”

Go ahead! Click and pick your Pollocks. To finish this mini-jeremiad on abstract work, I offer an abstract conclusion:  Pollocks may be more valuable or interesting than the T-shirts of Beatrice Joan Wilson Powell, but the T-shirts have gone much further on less.

Jagger

Jagger

Transfascination

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Orange is the New Black star Laverne Cox said at The Huffington Post: “The preoccupation with transition surgery objectifies trans people and then we don’t get to really deal with the real lived experiences. The reality of trans people’s lives is that so often we’re targets of violence.”

I’m no Sarrasine, Honoré de Balzac’s anti-hero who falls in love with the castrato Zimbanella, discovers “she” is a “he,” and postally freaks in a 19th Century way. I’m trans friendly and curious, so when a friend introduced me to a tran artist, I had some questions.

INTERVIEW

Caleb Powell: What attracted you to become a woman?

Andie DeRoux: Ever since I was young I knew was different. I identified with girls, in being around them.

Did you date women?

I did. I grew up in a very conservative family, so I had to bury myself to survive and so when I finally went to college I was able to explore. My sophomore year I met a friend, a woman, and she was interested in me, well, I got involved with a gentleman who was friends with my friend, we all got together, and it felt very natural. I never thought of myself as bisexual. I thought of myself as more try-sexual. Namely, I’ll try anything once, and if it feels good and I like it, then I’ll do it (laughs).

Trysexual. I’ve never heard that. So you consider yourself bisexual?

Yeah. And I never had been attracted to the idea of having more than one partner, but here I was seeing this girl, and she was seeing this other guy, and we would all three get together. It felt natural to fall asleep together, and wake up together, and that was awesome. That happened for about a year.

Was this the first time men were involved?

That was it.

How old were you?

Twenty, maybe. I only knew of one other transsexual, and didn’t connect. I never thought transitioning or living the way I am inside was possible. I met my soon to be wife, she’d dated boys and girls, was bisexual. It didn’t bother her that I cross-dressed.

How long did the marriage last?

Seven years until we started the divorce proceedings. I said, “It’s not working anymore.” And she said, “I know.” We both knew. So we decided take care of it. Namely, getting a divorce.

From this point what made you become who you are. Namely, trans…what? You’re not quite transsexual, are you?

I am transsexual. Pre-op.

What does that mean?

Since 2002 I’d been taking herbal supplements. It’s bad for your liver. My spouse didn’t know. In 2008 I had this therapist, and I asked her, “How much therapy do I need?” You need a certain amount before a therapist or psychiatrist can write a letter to a primary care physician to receive hormone replacement therapy – HRT. It’s a legal requirement. You need to be living as the gender you are. I was living as a woman. When I went out with my wife, people thought we were lesbians, although she’s more heterosexual than lesbian.

And at this time you’re almost a hermaphrodite.

No. I’m a pre-transition transgender person. Often, when we traveled I would dress up as a woman, and that would put us in uncomfortable situations (laughs). My wife asked me in public once, “Can’t you turn it off?” And I said, “No. I can’t.” At this point my parents know nothing. Well, sometimes I wear nail polish and I have pink hair. And they don’t like that.

So about your parts.

(Laughs) You’re fascinated by that, aren’t you?

I am. Okay, so you’re going to have them all removed. Only partly?

The side effects of HRT mean your genitals shrink. Atrophy.

What percent? Ninety percent? Fifty percent?

I would say seventy-five percent.

So four inches would go to one. Eight inches to two.

Uh huh. That’s about right. I’m going to get rid of my testicles. The procedure’s called an orchiectomy. That’s going to be in the next few months.

Are you going to eventually get rid of your penis?

I call it my clit now, because it’s so small. And I’m a female. But no, I don’t think so. That surgery is too invasive.

Right. Have you ever been in a bar and flirted with someone as a woman and the man thinks you’re actually a woman?

Great question. I would say twenty-five or thirty percent of people that I run into, strangers, on a day-to-day basis, know. If I’m in a bar and someone starts talking to me, I’m not going to say, “Hey, I’m a transsexual.” If they ask, or if it looks like it might go further, then I’ll tell. It’s partially for safety, because people, especially men, well, it messes with their own sexuality.

It’s happened to me.

Namely? You thought you were with a woman and that wasn’t the case?

Exactly.

That’s deceptive. What happened?

When I found out, let’s just say I felt deflated.

(Laughs) That’s understandable. I’ve had sex with girls, see, who are transsexual. They’ve had vaginoplasty, and you would honestly never know. There’s a woman I know, transsexual post-op, and she dates men and doesn’t tell them. She was dating a chiropractor, suspicious, and he started feeling her hips and ribs.

And what? She had an extra rib?

No, that’s a myth, men and women both have twelve. But he could tell from the bone structure. He got upset, of course. Because he felt deceived, and they had been dating for a while. Being deceived is the part people get upset about. And that she was born with male genitalia. But more about being deceived.

How much of this emerges in your art?

A lot. When I got out of school I created hermaphroditic warrior women paintings, and after school I went more abstract. And I’m also into photography. There’s a huge overlap with photography, porn, and eroticism, within visual art.

It sounds like you’re very happy no longer to be in the past.

You refer to my past life, as a boy or a man, but that’s not how I look at myself. I never felt like I was male. I did wish, every night in bed, that I would wake up with a different body that matched me inside. I imagined dying and being re-born with a girl’s body. I am unique and have this perspective on life because of who I am, and what I’ve experienced. Now I realize it is a gift that I have lived as I have.

Written by Caleb Powell

March 14, 2014 at 9:35 am

James Franco Options I Think You’re Totally Wrong: A Quarrel by David Shields and Caleb Powell

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PUBLISHERS MARKETPLACE ANNOUNCES:  December 4, 2013 – James Franco to direct I Think You’re Totally Wrong, based on the book written by David Shields and Caleb Powell. (Movie Finished – James Franco directs I Think You’re Totally Wrong)

I Think You’re Totally Wrong: A Quarrel: A debate, nearly to the death, about life and art. Caleb Powell always wanted to become an artist, but he overcommitted to life (he’s a stay-at-home dad to three young girls), whereas his former professor David Shields always wanted to become a human being, but he has overcommitted to art.

Film rights – NYT bestselling author of Reality Hunger David Shields and Caleb Powell’s I THINK YOU’RE TOTALLY WRONG: A QUARREL, a debate about life and art, enacting an impassioned and ongoing “quarrel” between the two actors: Powell always wanted to become an artist, but he overcommitted to life (he’s a stay-at-home dad to three young girls), whereas Shields always wanted to become a human being, but he has overcommitted to art, optioned to James Franco for his production company, Rabbit Bandini Productions, with Franco directing, and Shields and Powell adapting and playing themselves, by Charlotte Gusay at The Charlotte Gusay Literary Agency.”

Written by Caleb Powell

December 6, 2013 at 3:46 pm

Posted in Art, Life

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Tom Wolfe Sticks Piet Mondrian’s Stick Art

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“All profoundly original work looks ugly at first.” – Clement Greenberg

“All ugly work looks ugly at first.” – Anonymous

“Frankly, these days, without a theory to go with it, I can’t see a painting.” – Tom Wolfe

The surrounding lines and colored quadrangles are “works” by Piet Mondrian. They speak.

“The notion that the public accepts or rejects anything in modern art … is merely romantic fiction….The game is completed and the trophies distributed long before the public knows what has happened.” – Tom Wolfe

Observe the descent or rise of art from Modernists to Abstract Expressionism to Pop Art to Op Art to Minimalism. Take Neo-Plasticism, originating 100 years ago, Mondrian, and the De Stijl art movement. Then Pollock, Rothko, Frankenthaler et al, competent but not good enough, they explored other directions. Their ilk repeats versions of the same with “individual” flourishes, moving art, supposedly, as the elite collect and promote. The debate is whether this advances society. Tom Wolfe , to paraphrase from The Painted Word, noted that 400 art critics suffice to create enough steam for an artist to become absolutely rich, but for the literary artist, no matter how beautiful the written word, without mass appreciation there is little hope for financial success.

“But nobody is visually naïve any longer. We are cluttered with images, and only abstract art can bring us to the threshold of the divine.”― Dominique De Menil, The Rothko Chapel: Writings on Art and the Threshold of the Divine

Written by Caleb Powell

March 21, 2013 at 3:15 pm

Bruegel the Elder vs. Beatrice Joan Wilson Powell

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Tower of Babel

Brief Bio Part II – More Boring Stuff: (From Brief Bio I) While in New York my father, in the Navy Reserves, was called to active duty and sent to Taiwan and then Saigon. My mother, at the time, was a grad student at Columbia and writing her dissertation with perhaps six months of work to attain her Ph.D. She chose to postpone her degree and join my father in a decision that can be seen as a metaphor for much of her work. She never finished her dissertation.  My mother stayed in Taiwan, where she taught Mandarin at the Taipei International School.

Half-Castle

Competition: But how does having an “EBD” (Everything but dissertation) become a metaphor? Because my mother lacks the gene that drives successful artists to create until completion. In previous posts my mother has taken on Paul Doran, Helen Frankenthaler, and Clyfford Still, and her technique has handily defeated them. However, beating those three replicates an adult winning a tennis tournament against 8-year-olds. To paint better than Pollock or Rothko or Motherwell eludes the point. Their whole shtick depends on the shock value of not aspiring to the heights of technique. When it comes to abstract expressionism and similar disciplines, mental energy focuses on conceptual ambiguities that escape the interest of many, and thus comparing Beatrice Powell to them is, as I like to hammer redundantly and self-indulgently, comparing Apples to Orangutans. (Apples and orange are both round sweet fruit, they are similar, so why not compare apes to apes and fruit to fruit and find a new cliché?) I do not respond to Pollock & company, but I realize that many people do, thus the exorbitant pricetags of their work. And this pisses me off.

Anyway, I diverge and die…gress. I’m trying to pay homage to the greatest painters. How would my mother fair against, say, Pieter Bruegel the Elder?

Caricatures

Bruegel suffered to paint. His life was his art, it was not a hobby, a part time whim or fancy; art consumed him 100% of the time. He kept painting, seeking an illusive redemption. There is no romanticizing or exaggeration, in the 45 years or so that he lived, and by the less than 50 canvasses that remain of his work from the 16th Century, he became, without hyperbole, a master.

My mother, ah, my mother. Look at her two paintings sandwiched between the Bruegels. The “Half-Castle” illustrates her unfinished “finished” painting. “Caricatures” is a hoot, but the white spaces remain. These watercolors show how she often loses the fire and hunger mid-painting.  My mother has not suffered to paint. She is happy. This can lead to complacency and, dare I say, laziness. She has had moments of dedication and hunger and study, especially in her youth, but as with her Ph.D., art was never that important too her. She chose family and happiness, and I love her for that. Who could blame her? I admire her talent, and yet, the artist in me wonders where she would be if she had been consumed more by art.

Dulle Griet

Art Criticism: Vice Magazine vs. Big Other

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The mug of beer represents Manu. Now that’s art!

The fact that the latest round of proposals for the fourth plinth at Trafalgar Square included Tracey Emin’s idea for a little group of sculpted meerkats as “a symbol of unity and safety” reconfirms what everyone already knows: that it is possible to gain a reputation as a serious and important artist on the basis of work devoid of seriousness and importance.” – Geoff Dyer

This is a Tracey Emin…

              

Manu vs. Tracey Emin

The other day at 24-Hour Fitness we’re warming up shooting hoops, and my friend Manu walks in, bouncing a ball, gyrating his hips, doing his best Sir Mix-A-Lot, saying, “There’s a girl outside dribbling a ball like she’s practicing for the bedroom. Woo! Woo!” My man Jerome starts cracking up as if this is the second coming of Eddie Murphy. I tell them, “I don’t know who I’m more pissed off at, Manu for telling that turd, or Rome for laughing at it.” Now, Manu’s a cool dude, he has game, and on the humor side his delivery ain’t bad, he’s got a certain shmoo quality worth a chuckle, but he’s a long way from auditioning for comedian. But Rome or anyone laughing at such schlock only encourages more schlock and gives Manu the illusion he is funny. Don’t encourage schlock!

…and this is another. Seriously. Manu is funnier than Emin, and probably a better artist, whatever that means.

This same dynamic is at work in art such as that by Tracey Emin and her posse of overrated artists, the weird, rich, anti-talented doofs that somehow garner attention and money. It goes back years, to the befuddling success of  Warhol, Pollock (Yankee Pot Roast captures my opinion), Frankenthaler, Still,  etc.  I classify Tracey Emin as a parallel mystery.

Vice Magazine, an international site read by millions, satirized Emin: I’m Sick of Pretending: I Don’t “Get” Art. The visuals displayed didn’t need captions, and the finale cogently illuminated the difference between art and “art.” (See: I Still Don’t “Get” Art & OK, Do It: Teach Me How to “Get” Art)

Big Other, a literary “agree-fest,” questioned Vice author Glen Coco with:  “I Don’t Get Art.”  Basically, Vice Mag demolished Tracey Emin, and Big Other man James Todd Adcox volleyed with a “don’t make fun of art unless you try to understand and engage” shtick balanced with a “people take pride announcing that they don’t get art. It’s a particularly easy way of being culturally brave.” No. It’s a way of being fucking sane. Now, I enjoy the crew at Big Other, and drop in on the blog every now and then, but really bad art needs to be called out.

Sure, Vice was unsophisticated, but so? The artist needs to hone in on what should be taken seriously, what promotes culture and humanity, and what doesn’t. What Geoff Dyer said. Tracey Emin lowers the bar, her work should be execrated, desecrated, and eviscerated. Vice didn’t go far enough.  I’m angry at Big Other in the same way I’m angry at Rome. Don’t encourage schlock!

Written by Caleb Powell

June 5, 2012 at 3:07 pm

“Ai Weiwei Loves the Future” at The Evergreen Review

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RIP to Barney Rosset (1922-2012), founder and editor of Grove Press and The Evergreen Review.

Ai Weiwei has had a tough year. He was arrested and mistreated in detention by the Chinese government. Time Magazine nominated him for Man of the Year, and his story of promoting humanitarian causes through art continues. Last spring, shortly after his arrest, I wrote two poems about him, one published at Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, “Double Fuck the Party Central Communist.” The second is now at Evergreen Review. Thanks to managing editor Aliya Tyus-Barnwell and everyone at Evergreen for selecting my poem:

艾未未 – 中國藝術家

Ài Wèiwèi Loves the Future

艾未未

刘晓波 Liú Xiǎobō

December, 2009: The Chinese Communist Party Central Committee sentenced Liú Xiǎobō to eleven years for inciting the subversion of state power. In 2010 Mr Liú received the Nobel Peace Prize, the fourth recipient awarded the honor while in detention. Ài Wèiwèi publicly denounced the Chinese government’s treatment of Liú. April, 2011: Ài Wèiwèi is arrested.

i. ài

ài  a common surname…(continue)

FRONTLINE VIDEO: 谁在害怕艾未未 = Who’s Afraid of Ai Weiwei?

Helen Frankenthaler vs. Beatrice Joan Wilson Powell

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This post has four pictures, two of them are painted by Helen Frankenthaler, an abstract expressionist who achieved no small amount of attention. She passed away on December 27, 2011. And here are two self-explanatory examples of her art, which I’ll call “Blue” & “Yellow.” Pleasant, indeed, but worthy of greatness? The paintings above and below are the work of one of her unknown contempories, Beatrice Joan Wilson Powell, aka Cove Loon, aka Mom. Frankenthaler achieved fame and attention, yet comes from a period that I simply do not get. She counts artists such as Jackson Pollock among her influences. This is problematic, Pollock is not great. Certainly, he is among the many of her contemporaries that have changed & influenced art, but I would argue that they have not advanced art. They’ve lowered the aesthetic bar, added elements that take away from pursuits of beauty and meaning and replaced them with simplicity. Often I think the art world has gone nuts, and rewarded people not on skill or talent or aesthetic but on random chance and marketing. Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Paul Doran, Arshile Gorky, Damien Hirst, Lee Krasner, Dale Malner, Robert Motherwell, Barnett Newman, Robert Rauschenberg, Mark Rothko, Clyfford Still, Andy Warhol, et al somehow managed to replicate pop culture or fill a niche or fund bizarre projects as they spread globs of paint on canvas or as they manufactured junk into a visual display; their art is craft or promotion. Am I an unsophisticated lout who has no appreciation of art? That usually is a defense artistes wage against detractors, fair enough, but I have grown up amidst art, am familiar with the art historians, and think that for an artist to be great, one of the criteria is that they must have talent.

As far as Frankenthaler’s art, intuitively and with a further and deeper glance, I do not see why her paintings have value. Her art does not interest me, I pass it by and look for something else.

This brings me to my mother, and do not think I imply that she should be famous. Her talent is worthy of greatness, but her output, ambition, drive, complacency et al have hindered her overall body of work. She is exactly where she should be in the art world, someone who is appreciated by family and friends. Nevertheless, take a look at the art within this post. What would you rather have on your wall?

Monkeybicycle & Word Riot

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Two more works out in July. The poem Cao: An Etymology in Word Riot, and flash fiction Leaving Aisha in Monkeybicycle. See article on Monkeybicycle in The Stranger.

“Aisha and I paddled a canoe between willows at the edge of Lake Washington, amidst spring flowers pink and yellow. She described herself as a liberal Muslim. We fell in love; became engaged. Then she said we could not marry unless I converted. For it is haram. Not permitted in Islam. And so Aisha requested I go to mosque…” 

 Cào: An Etymology

 

Written by Caleb Powell

July 20, 2009 at 9:24 pm

The Copenhagen Review

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The Copenhagen Review, edited by Faulkner Faculty poet Gordon Walmsley, has published a watercolor by my mother, Beatrice Powell, in their Fourth Issue.

My mother studied Fine Art at Cooper Union in New York City, and has painted oil and watercolor all her life.  She started visiting Copenhagen during the four years her daughter, my sister, lived off Fredericksburg Alle, and painted many scenes of Copenhagen. Here is another – Havfruen, Nyhavn 2005:

Written by Caleb Powell

May 24, 2009 at 4:11 am

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