nyc artist economics

Paddy Johnson is doing a series of interviews about "survival in NY." A recent one is with Marcin Ramocki. It reminded me of a Q&A I did with a journalist shortly after the Crash that had some similar themes. I never heard back from the writer after sending off these email answers: probably this isn't the sort of crap he wanted to hear.

What brought you to New York?

For a painter it's a necessity. This city has the largest concentration of professionals devoted to the field and unlike music, video, or writing, which can be enjoyed and critiqued long distance, everyone pretty much needs to be looking at actual, physical paintings to make judgments about them. The same applies to sculpture, installation, or anything else presented in a physical space.

How has being in New York aided your career?

[long brag about accomplishments]

Has it been detrimental to your career in any ways?

No. I like it here!

What is it about New York that makes it worth the extra costs involved in living here?

See answer above about painting people all needing to be in the same room, more or less, to evaluate what's going on. Then add that you are rubbing shoulders with equally substantial communities of musicians, software and tech people, writers, filmmakers, and that you have interesting crossovers and bleeds among art and all those other fields.

Has time spent making the money required to live in New York taken away time you might have spent making art if you lived somewhere less expensive? Are you able to support yourself entirely off your art? How realistic is it today for the typical artist to expect to be able to support themselves entirely off their art? Has this ever been a realistic expectation for the average artist?

Most career artists have cycles where they are making money and cycles where they are not making money. Those artists are also navigating the shifting realities of part-, full-, or no-time work, high paid vs low paid jobs, late shift vs early shift, cheap rent vs good location, personal frugality vs needing to spend for art and lifestyle, with the goals of maximizing both their studio time and their "access time." I've been doing this balancing act like everyone else. At the moment I am making in the low billions, thanks for asking.

How were the recent boom-times in New York a good thing for artists in the city? Many things (perhaps most prominently real estate) became much more expensive. Presumably, though, some of the money being made also went towards buying art. Is there an ideal balance where there is enough money in the city to support a thriving art scene but not so much as to inflate costs of living to the point where artists are priced out of the city? How close to/on what side of that balance were we during the last 5 or 6 years?

After being deeply immersed in Chelsea in the dot com era I mostly checked out during the Bush years and have been working and playing with [cyber and net artists from around the world]. A particular focus has been how work made by this group can be shown in gallery spaces. Brooklyn has been the place for these experiments but it goes on in Chelsea as well. This is a small dedicated group that is largely unaffected by the auctions, fairs, etc. I will say the trend of showering money on newly minted MFAs was bad and I hope it's over for a while.

How is the ongoing downturn hurting artists in the area?

See my calculus above re: balancing work, living, studio--it means more day job work or moving to crappier lodgings to keep their art work going. The semi-serious will move on.

But it's really too early to say since I don't think we've felt the full impact of the Greenspan recession. Go out in Brooklyn on any night and there are still lots of people yocking it up in the bars.

Will the downturn be beneficial in any ways? (Some people I’ve spoken to have suggested a renewal of a sense of community in the art world that they’ve felt has been missing.)

I can't speak to that having found my own community during the dark Bush years.

Do you think the larger economy affects the type of art being made in a given era? Does it affect the quality of art being made?

The quality, not really. You will see more art based on scrap-picking: assemblage, bricolage, and yes, more people moving their studios online.

In the popular imagination, at least, there’s a sense that there have been certain “Golden Ages” for art in New York City – times and places where the city was particularly hospitable to artists – like, say, Greenwich Village in the ‘60s or the East Village in the early ‘80s. Is there any truth to this? Or is it largely a matter of myth and selective memory. Do you think, for instance, that Bushwick of the last five years was a fundamentally less hospitable place for making art than the East Village in 1980? Has it been a better place for making art in any ways?

As long as you have masses of students moving here after school and finding each other, in whatever neighborhood, you will have an ongoing Belle Époque.

Rondinone Gone, Yay

Was in the Bowery Arts and Restaurant Supply District yesterday (to see the movie Monsters at Landmark Sunshine--worth a look) and finally

finally

finally

...got to see what the New Museum looks like without that awful eyesore by Ugo Rondinone defacing the building.
Yes, it's a happy, joyous

rainbow_grow

kind of day because this faux kitsch oversized name tag has been removed:

rondinone_hell_yes_sucks

It is a beautiful building without the blemish but from what I've read we won't get to enjoy it long. Apparently modernist anxiety syndrome is so strong at the NewMu that they're planning to replace the Rondinone with some other dumb thing. Bad precedent, bad idea. Just revel in your white starchitect box(es)--you paid for them, they're nice, people like them, mostly.

animated GIF Q and A

The interview below, which "Dump.fm - IRL" curator Lindsay Howard did with me a few weeks ago, was slated to run in an arts mag's online edition in connection with the show. Some problems developed with the publication timing and it unfortunately hit the cutting room floor. In a post-gatekeeper world this isn't the tragedy it once might have been - the Internet is the Internet; information wants to be free - so I'm happy to present it here on my "blog":

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Do you consider GIF making your foremost artistic practice? Why does the GIF form appeal to you?

I don't consider GIFs my main medium but they are part of a family of older tech stuff I like including bitmaps, MIDI, and simple HTML design. GIF stands for "graphics interchange format" and it's a filetype that is in the public domain (no patent limitations) and not tied to any proprietary software (such as Adobe's Flash format). Most browsers read them and they're easy to make and load. To some they are a joke--a throwback to late '90s message board avatars, But there is a strong cult of users, including visual artists. I like them aesthetically as "moving bitmaps" but part of their appeal is also that they've fallen through the cracks of the software giants' plans for world domination. Google Images doesn't include an "animated GIF" checkbox (only non-moving GIFs, and only in the advanced search), the Safari and Chrome browsers handle GIFs poorly, Facebook doesn't allow them, and people complain that even tumblr limits your ability to use them. They are becoming like the abandoned playgrounds and swimming pools taken over by skaters in the '70s, or the zone of the "recently outmoded" that, according to Dan Graham, is a good place for artists to be working.

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What good is a community and why do you think we're drawn to them, both on and offline in creative environments? Is "working together" worth it? What are its benefits and what are its faults?

Visual artists wrestle with these questions in the "online era" in ways they haven't since the Romantics gave us the lonely-person-starving-in-a-garret model. Music groups and film crews traditionally work collaboratively, while the art system rewards individuality and "trade secrets" (e.g., obscure chemical processes for making "unique" paintings). But then, suddenly, technology makes it possible for artists rapidly to pass ideas, sketches, processes back and forth and even actively alter others' work, so that attribution among the various sharers becomes blurry. From discussions I had earlier in the year on Paddy Johnson's blog about painter Amy Sillman's show, I gather this potential loss of authorship is freaking some people out--traditional painters scoffed at technology and made declarations about holding the line for "tactility" and realness. Others are more willing to swallow the damage to their egos in order to reap the benefits of picking their colleagues' brains.

I read this comment of yours on a blog post:
"It has been interesting to watch big names on the Net (net art wise) come to [dump.fm], assert a personal style, and then sink or swim in the permanent tidal wave of in-jokes and sensory overload. Some get it into it and adapt their styles to the house and others never come back."
How does one create artistic voice within a group without jeopardizing the community rhetoric?

Dump.fm has a "house style" in the sense that bigger and brasher images and animations win the moment. "Things that pop on the Internet" eclipse quieter, art historical images. Graphic confections, moving images, fast-reading images, artifacts from geek culture and what Beau Sievers has called "forum culture." But within the mega-style of that image barrage individuals do stake out their own turf, unconsciously or by design. Dumper Erik Stinson wrote a blog post a few months back called "The Dumping Styles of Several People." I frankly could not write anything as perceptive and spot-on as that piece but I can mention a few broad general categories of individual styles such as "meaningful retro gifs" (TheKraken's term, meant disparagingly), use of slogans and text, animation wizardry with code or scripts, dumping iconic celebrities in the Cage/Hilton/Bieber mode, a taste for psychedelia and abstract patterns, frequent use of the "altar" format (http://dump.fm/altars), and so on.

One of the things that interests me about talking with pictures is the difficulty of conveying an opinion. How do you explain ideas with images, or what's an example of something being talked about?

Every image has political meaning--not necessarily in the propaganda sense but in the sense of some usage, place, or struggle in the human community. (This is in spite of efforts by, say, abstract artists to strip out such connotations.) But images are also sensitive to context, so that captions or adjacent pictures can completely change them. This happens on dump.fm often. A photo of Radiohead's Thom Yorke in a glassed-in helmet from the vid for "No Surprises" appears next to an image of a space-helmeted Keir Dullea in the movie 2001. Two seconds later, the same Yorke photo appears next to a paparazzi photo of Paul Rubens for a "separated at birth" gag. The theme changes from "reflections on space helmets; 60s vs 90s icons" to "men with elfin features; 80s vs 90s icons." Or someone posts a GIF of a middle-aged woman with bangs and oversized eyeglasses munching on an ice cream bar, next to the glitter text caption "frump.fm." Seconds later the same image bears the caption "as performance art." Context and meaning shift before your eyes.

dump_thumbs

What sort of implications and connotations come from using shared/found images in your art? What energy gets created by juxtaposing images from seemingly disparate sources?

As a painter, pre-Internet, I started out making single, iconic images, then got interested in diptychs and punning (or negating) relationships among pictures. I judged a show once where I was allowed to supervise the hanging and made a kind of mega-multi-panel work, to the annoyance of some of the artists. This process, or tension, between single and multiple images continues online. As I mentioned above, authorship issues can get tricky. Even after Sherrie Levine's and Jeff Koons' appropriations people want a clear line to be drawn where ownership of an idea stops and starts.

How would you describe the relationship between your blog and your art? What does an artist gain by "revealing the mechanics"?

Four or five years ago there weren't that many places to talk about the shared concerns of "gallery art" and "new media art." My blog comments were briefly a "go-to" place for that, and I had active threads of up to 60 or 70 comments. Paddy Johnson's blog is currently the best place for this kind of cross-disciplinary chat, although her threads tend to be dominated by whichever crowd is addressed in her topic. The comment process was enjoyable for me and I learned a lot but moderating the threads got to be a chore. I moved to my current URL in '07 and disabled comments. I now like having discussions in the form of blog exchanges where longer posts can be written and mulled over without the pressure of an immediate response. My blog started as a kind of open notebook or open sketchbook and lately it's returned more to that function. I'm idealistic still about publishing it on the "open Net" (or what Google is now alarmingly calling "the public internet") but am feeling increasing peer pressure to move everything behind the Facebook sign-in. I probably won't, but resistance is futile, as the Borg used to say.

colorthrow

How does a physical gallery expand and limit the conceptual ideas of the web? Why do you think net artists and curators hold onto the idea of the physical gallery?

Am reading Boris Groys' book Art Power. He keeps coming back to the idea of the museum/gallery/exhibition as a frame for all other aspects of life, that is, a space of contemplative distance capable of accommodating any readymade. Products, commercial images, behaviors, designs can be plucked from a stream of humdrum exchange and "made fresh" through viewing in an installation context. Any fragment or artifact of the Web can potentially be given this treatment and we value the gallery frame enough to keep trying. Unfortunately mistranslations occur. On a recent thread at Rhizome.org we discussed a "net art" piece by Guthrie Lonergan called "MySpace Intro Playlist." Originally this was a semi-anonymous list he made on YouTube of the videos people were using to introduce themselves on their MySpace pages. When shown at the New Museum the videos were treated as ordinary "found video," without the possibility of navigating them as you would on the web (moving back and forth among videos, checking out the original context, clicking away from the list via sidebar links, etc.). Instead, the intros were strung together one after another so that the viewer was required to watch them in serial fashion, which wasn't as much fun. The chic museum setting called more attention to the age, ethnicity, and class of the video subjects so they seemed like a mostly de-empowered "other" offered up as anthropological entertainment for the well-heeled. I'm a huge fan of Lonergan's work but preferred the earlier, "net" incarnation of this particular piece.

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top image is a remix of a frankhats piece; other GIFs are mostly mine or files I saved from the dump.fm chatroom and manipulated further