Author Archive

You will not die if a penny thrown off the Empire State Building hits you.  Case in point: Anthony Savini.

About ten years ago, Anthony Savini was walking along, minding his own business, when something hit him. He turned around to yell at his assailant, but no one was there. Suddenly, it started raining pennies. He had become a magnet for money. It took him a second to realize he was right under the Empire State Building. Tourists were throwing coins off the skyscraper, as if Midtown Manhattan was a giant wishing well. Savini picked up the coin and left before another one could sting him.

“This chance encounter with a penny moving at 66 miles an hour was the beginning of my collection of coins that have stories,” says Savini. “The collection grew innocently to hundreds of coins, and collected dust in a binder.” Savini pocketed any coins he found. A 1990 penny from the Woodmere Train Station Café in New York. A 1968 yellow-painted dime, change from In & Out Burger in L.A. A penny found in a “give a penny, take a penny” dish at a deli. A quarter that was painted blue that he got as change from a truck stop in Arizona. A fingerprinted penny he found in his pocket.

After 9/11 Savini began photographing the coins he found as the series Change. For posterity’s sake, he photographed the money in the condition in which it was found. He used actual film, and only used PhotoShop for printing purposes. He explains, “Realism and the power of reality are an important part of the series.”

It is this realism that makes Change so fascinating. We live in an era in which digital retouching and plastic surgery, publicity stunts and spin doctors, and voice modulation and mockumentaries have become the norm. Even money has gotten a makeover, with collectible state quarters and safety-enhanced paper money.

“In recent years, as the dollar’s value changed for the worse, I began to look at the collection differently,” says Savini. “The Euro, China, globalization and other factors are affecting the value of the dollar in ways that ten years ago would have been unimaginable.”

It seems that these days, everything is subject to “change.”  As a backlash, people are searching for something real, something authentic. It’s given craze to unplugged and indie music, books like Found and Milk Eggs Vodka, reality TV (Savini himself has been a director of photography on numerous reality tv shows) and This American Life, and shabby chic and DIY aesthetics. Even if these trends might be bolstered by a larger corporate company and are staged or sliced and manipulated, at least they feel real. What it comes down to is that they feel personal.

And that’s what makes Change successful. The photographs are visually appealing, but aren’t particularly innovative (a quick search on Flickr reveals 54,433 photographs that match a search for “coin”). More so, Savini’s photographs are just that: copies or representations of the real thing, not the binder full of found coins. However, Savini is a wonderful storyteller that brings depth to his art.

He convincingly makes us reconsider the everyday objects in our life. Replete with endearingly genuine typos, he writes:

The photographs in Chnage [sic] are designed to bring the viewer up close to the money they use every day, surprising people who often admit they never really looked at change before. Full of detail and story, each photo on it’s [sic] own stands as an individual work of art, but as a group they take on a different role. Some of the coins feel as if they could be relics from ancient Rome and Greece, confusing something being produced today with something produced over 2000 years ago. Together the images question the value of money, the state of the dollar today, and into the future.

Change: Photographs of found coins are on view at Piola—a decidedly commercial pizza restaurants (located at 48 East 12th Street) in a city full of greasy dives—until June 30.

Savini has plans to turn Change into a book, which may in fact be a more compelling way for the artist to share his coin collection. If he chose to do so, he could tell the story behind how he found each coin. It would be interesting to hear about the laminated 1977 quarter he got as change in a 7-11. Why he’d stoop down on such a busy intersection as Seventeenth Street and Broadway just to pick up a penny. If he was purchasing equipment for photographing his coin collection when he got the black-painted dime back as change at Cameta Camera.

Coin collecting would probably be deemed about as uncool as stamp collecting, and we want to know, What are the most rare coins our readers have found? Or, if you’re more the type to go throwing your unwanted change off buildings or into fountains, Where are the most unique penny-throwing places you’ve encountered?

BookExpo America — or as we insiders like to shorten it, BEA — is like “The Convention” episode of The Office. Just like Michael Scott, publishers go to BEA to schmooze with industry bigwigs to get the cheapest paper stock and discover The Next Big Thing — please something other than The Secret — but really it’s all about the SWAG.

For the definition of SWAG, go here. It basically refers to the free promotion junk publishers give away in order to entice potential retailers to their booths. Hundreds of booths are set up in Jacob Javits Convention Center, and attendees run around like mice in a maze looking for the proverbial cheese.

Almost all publishers offered catalogues of their products and cheap candy — boring – but many also had full-length books, buttons, and notesbooks. Some publishers got creative, though. Among the highlights:

Apart from the SWAG and catching up with other book nerds, there were some costumed characters cloying for attention but not much else worth mentioning to anyone who wasn’t there with a specific agenda. BEA is a madhouse, and it’s best to have a strong game plan if you want to make any business deals.

I was ready to dismiss Mr.’s work as typical manga when I first saw it. Big-eyed, blue-haired, and cartoony, the adolescent portraitures seemed ripped from the Japanese comic books my classmates used to read back in elementary school. Taking a closer look, the Lehmann Maupin Gallery presents Mr.’s work as a funhouse of anime — larger-than-life, dizzyingly jubilant, and … verging on disturbing.

Oversized sculptures of heads perkily sitting on the gallery floor bring to mind the clown finale in a game of put-put — you want to skip all the paintings to fixate on the hole in the sculptures’ heads. No epicathal fold here as Mr. turns the eye of “Strawberry Voice” into a window. The eye really is the window to the soul. Guys, if you’ve ever wanted to know what goes on in a girl’s head, now’s your chance. But be forewarned: it’s cute overload in there. The girl doesn’t have a thought in her brain but kewpie dolls and stuffed animals.

What I’m scared to know is, what’s going on in Mr.’s head? As if the giant heads weren’t strange enough, more than one of his paintings are sexually charged portraits of naked adolescents. The press release cushioned the Japanese artist’s work in cultural context:

The Otaku subculture emerged in Japan in the 1970s and consisted mostly of males who were consumed by manga comics, anime animation, sci-fi literature and video games. Mr.’s large-eyed characters and flat color fields are influenced by this movement and its Lolita-esque fascination with adolescents. The cheerful boys with their pants down and girls in short skirts appear sexually provocative, asking the viewer to question whether the work is a comment on Otaku culture or an exploration of Mr.’s fantasy world.

Still, it’s very uncomfortable perhaps because it flirts with the sexuality of such young characters but is most likely to be bought by middle-aged white men with Asian fetishes.

This is Mr.’s first solo work in New York. His work is both skillful and thought-provoking, so keep an eye on this artist. It’s likely you’ll be hearing more of him in the future.

The work will be on display at Lehmann Maupin Gallery (540 West 26th Street, NYC) until June 23. Hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 10 AM till 6 PM. You can preview the artwork and watch a video of the installation process here.

[Photo from Lehmann Maupin Gallery.]

Poor Paris Hilton. Not in the financial sense obviously — the heiress is filthy rich simply by virtue of being born into the right family. Any job she has held has been a rather glamorous one — model, actress, author, purse designer. And she’s not poor so much in the social sense — each time her cell phone’s been hacked, her slew of celebrity friends have been revealed, and of course we always see her dancing on tables at nightclubs that wouldn’t let most of us get beyond the velvet ropes.

Wait — where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, poor Paris. She’s everyone’s favorite celebrity to pick on. People are ruthless about their opinions of her. The latest critic is Daniel Edwards, whose Paris Hilton Autopsy is currently on display at Capla Kesting Fine Art (121 Roebling Street, Brooklyn).

The sculpture of the socialite is reportedly meant to teach teens about the dangers of drinking and driving. Just a few days ago — May 4, to be exact — Hilton was sentenced to jail for drunk driving. Well, sort of. It was more that she had been speeding without her headlights on when she wasn’t even supposed to be driving at all because in September 2006 she’d been caught driving with a blood alcohol content of 0.08. And, she never signed up for a mandatory alcohol-education program.

If Edwards’ art had imagined Paris Hilton as a crashtest dummy, it would’ve gotten the point across with layered meanings: don’t drink and drive and Paris is a dummy. If Edwards made the beautiful Paris Hilton gory from a car crash, that too would’ve driven the message home that even pretty girls aren’t safe from the dangers of alcohol.

Edwards’ Paris Hilton Autopsy is not the public service announcement it claims to be, though. He has created a sexually explicit sculpture of a naked Paris Hilton. You can take her innards out, and if you do, you will discover two fetuses. This is an attack on Hilton’s sexuality. Granted, Hilton has been caught in one too many sex-tape scandals, but that has nothing to do with drunk driving.

The Paris Hilton Autopsy “includes support material from Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD),” and it is clear that the exhibit seeks to scare teens out of sex, as well as drinking. The press release for Paris Hilton Autopsy “observes the teen pregnancy crisis associated with alcohol impaired judgment,” but the truth of the matter is, Paris Hilton was not a teenager when she was charged with DUI nor when she was rumored to be pregnant, which was later reported as false anyway.

What is a fact, is that Daniel Edwards’ depictions of famous female celebrities have stirred up controversy in the past. Last year around this time, Hilton’s friend Britney Spears was the subject of Edwards’ work. Like Hilton, Spears was depicted nude, with child, and in a sexual position. The sculpture was called Monument to Pro-Life, and the artist said, “Britney provides inspiration for those struggling with the ‘right choice.’” Meanwhile, Edwards also made a bust of Hillary Clinton, in which he portrayed her in a low-cut dress, downplaying her political achivements by staring at her boobs. By sexualizing these blondes, Edwards in fact degrades women.

There is no humanity in this piece.  It merely capitalizes on making fun of someone.   Whatever message Edwards had toward promoting abstinence of alcohol and sex through the Paris Hilton Autopsy will be lost on immature teen boys who will gawk at the almost-still-beautiful naked body. Young women, on the other hand, will once again see that even in their death they are little more than an objectified body.

Being “uncool” is kinda cool these days. Page through The Hipster Handbook, and you’ll embrace the fact that you suck at sports, read books, and wear glasses. We at Uncool Kids try to take back the word “uncool,” embracing our dorky tendencies to watch Broadway shows, promote cartoons as art, watch vampire movies, walk around with art on our head, actually enjoy taking quizzes, stalk cheesy sitcom stars, watch polo, and obsess over comic books. As a runty underdog myself, I can tell you it’s taken quite a few years to get past all the scar tissue of youth and embrace my nerdiness. I have stacks of diaries to prove it—and so do the self-derogating people at Cringe.

The first Wednesday of every month, young adults flock to Freddy’s Bar and Backroom over in New York’s safe haven for the coolest of the uncool—Brooklyn. At around 9 PM, Cringe begins as “brave souls come forward and read aloud from their teenage diaries, journals, notes, letters, poems, abandoned rock operas, and other general representations of the crushing misery of their humiliating adolescence.”

“It’s better and cheaper than therapy,” boasts the Cringe website. After all, it makes you feel better to know that you weren’t the only kid to have a “Kick Me” sign taped to your back. And that maybe—just maybe—some people even had it worse than you did. Avenue Q—I told you we like Broadway plays—has a whole song about that.

Most of the crowd at Cringe look like they aren’t all that far removed from their years of dorkdom. And, actually, quite a few of them look like the Plastics that accentuated the fact that you weren’t cool. Their idea of a cringe-worthy diary entry would be gushing over some boy who their friends later deemed as lame. The backroom of Freddy’s was crammed full of apple-faced blondes and stylishly nerdy brunettes that looked like they came to Cringe as a study break from Lit 101.

The room was so full that I was relegated to cower in the stairwell with the other unfortunate losers. It was so unbearably hot down there, I started sweating like it was down to me and one other kid waiting to see who would get picked last in gym class. The pretty girl in front of me had some sort of oriental fan. I figured she probably had been here before. The room was probably full of regulars, and here I was—by myself, in the corner.

It makes sense that there’d be a lot of regulars. Cringe has been held at Freddy’s since April 2005. Everyone from “ABC Nightline” (see the video here) and “Newsweek” to “Time Out New York” and “Spin” has covered Cringe. (“This American Life” covered a similar show called Mortified.) Next month, Cringe will be held in London.

May 9th’s reading featuring a hysterical story—slurpily told in character as her younger self with braces—about a girl who in trying to achieve her “goal to masturbate and squirt tonight” almost catches her house on fire. She waxes philosophical when her parents get her priest involved

Like it’s a sin to touch yourself. What shit is that? Catholics are crazy. Mary had a baby, and you’re going to tell me she never masturbated.

Another reader was John Sellers, author of the recently released book Perfect from Now On: How Indie Rock Saved My Life. …Apparently, Sellers didn’t always have good taste in music. In his 1983 journal, “document of my geekness,” he writes a whole section on how is favorite rock group is Journey. He also write about how he loves the Wizardry videogame, how inflation has affected prices at Showbizz Pizza, and how he wishes Abraham Lincoln had never lived because then he wouldn’t have to memorize the Gettysburg Address.

So yeah, it’s worth going to Cringe even if you have to stand in the back by the aquarium of frogs.

A collage of lesbian pornography at the Metropolitan Opera makes us question the boundaries between Art and smut. It would’ve been cause for scandal if any one of the girl-on-girl images contained within the painting in question had been arbitrarily taped to a wall, but situated within the setting of The Arnold and Marie Schwartz Gallery Met, Richard Prince’s Madame Butterfly takes on more significant meaning.

The painting exists to shock the viewer. According to curator Dodie Kazanjian, Richard Prince—an artist already known for his rather explicit photographs—was specifically selected as one of the artists who could “bring highly idiosyncratic and challenging perspectives to the exhibition.”

Prince was commissioned “to capture on canvas the operas being given new productions, with a focus on their heroines.” His portrayal of Madame Butterfly engaged in various sapphic acts certainly challenges preconceived ideas of the Japanese geisha who killed herself after discovering her American husband had married an American woman.

“I went to the opera. It was Madame Butterfly. I fell asleep. When I woke up the music was by Klaus Nomi and Cio Cio San had turned into a lesbian and refused to commit suicide. It was a German ending,” state the block letters (in the typical fashion of Prince’s joke paintings) superimposed over the photographic montage. Like David Henry Hwang’s play M. Butterfly, Prince’s Madame Butterfly uses homosexuality to confront race and gender stereotypes. As a lesbian, Prince’s leading lady rejects expectations of her to be a sex object designed to please men, which in the opera was her calling as first, a geisha, and then, a wife. Prince’s heroine choses life in both a physical (she “refused to commit suicide”) and social (her mental state is not destroyed by ill-requited love) sense. Although the painting is orderly—rows of equal-sized photographs all in black-and-white—its message deconstructs the mysogyny of “the most often-performed opera in North America.”

While Prince’s painting is the most overtly sexual contribution to the exhibit, it’s perhaps not as problematic as Wangechi Mutu’s Love’s a Witch, Orfeo’s Underworld Coronation for Euridice. The heroine’s body is desmembered. Barbie-like legs explode across the canvas. At least John Currin’s Helena looks like she’s in the throes of passion.

Some patrons have been so disturbed by the graphic content at the Gallery Met that they’ve walked right out. The good news for those who don’t blush so easily is that you don’t have to have a ticket to the opera to visit the gallery. It’s free and open as late as 11 PM, through this Saturday, May 12. And, if you do go to see an opera, don’t be surprised to find that they are oftten as sex-tinged as the heroine paintings. After all, what do you think inspired the artists?

Soon the season of picnicking on overpriced-but-irresistible Whole Foods lunches will be upon us. If you want to impress your picnicking pals with more than just your ability to pick out a ripe cantaloupe, choose a park that has some public art that will wow them. Here are some highlights of temporary public art currently on display in Manhattan.

Union Square Park

Union Square Park has something straight of a 70s horror flick–a looming bronze rabbit playing a drum.After a bit of investigating, we learned that it was not some silly rabbit, but Large Left Handed Drummer, one of the hares in Barry Flanagan’s famous series.

We won’t bore you with the details, but apparently rabbits and hares “differ quite radically.” We weren’t the only ones to mistakenly interchange the two lagomorphs; Parks & Recreation Commissioner Adrian Benepe praised Flanagan’s sculpture as a “whimsical rabbit.” The Parks & Recreation gave us a little background on the artist and his work:

The Williamsburg art gallery Like the Spice (224 Roebling St.) fearlessly tackles the sensitive topic of Organized Religion. Originally scheduled to close this week, the exhibit is so popular it has been extended till June 8.

Organized Religion. The phrase alone conjures up strong feelings. For some, they may be positive. For others, negative.

In today’s hot political climate, people are searching for hope. Although many believe there’s something bigger out there than themselves, they do not trust organized religion. After all, the media would have us believe that we’ve got the Islamic Fundamentalists to blame for 9-11, the Right-wing Protestants to blame for the War on Terrorism, the Mormons to blame for immigration issues, the Catholics to blame for child molestation, so on and so forth.

No religion is left unturned as the (lucky number) thirteen artists tackle issues of holiness, the apocalypse, possession, and divine healing. The exhibit is wide ranging not just in the different religions addressed, but in its media. There are paintings, photographs, collages, plaster sculptures, and even a digital video.

Historically, religion and art have gone hand in hand. Art has been both a way to encourage faith and a way to challenge existing belief systems. Since imagery stands on its own for the viewer to interpret, visual art is a non-confrontational form of communicating one’s beliefs. The art included in Organized Religion is as hit or miss as church coffee. A lot of it is watered down and lukewarm, but there are some meditative pieces. Yoshio Itagaki’s work stands out the most for its design and message. In “Cloning Jesus,” he depicts a woman wearing a white lab coat stitched with the words “The Second Coming Project.” She is holding a baby with a halo around it. In Santa Cross he depicts a Japanese display window that shows Santa Clause nailed to a cross. (Dana Carvey’s Church Lady SNL character rearranging the letters of “Santa” to spell out “Satan” springs to mind.) On a Mac in the back of Like the Spice is Heather Boaz’s “True Miracle,” a digital video that tells the story of possession and faith. It’s very This American Life. It’s scary, incredible, and funny—and autobiographical. At one point Boaz recalls a family member putting holy oil on trolls in a toy store.Robert Guillie and Tatiana Kronberg each have a series of thought-provoking prints worth scrutiny. Tom Billings’ “Missionary Position” sculpture points out the use of a religious term in the act of sex.It’s not that the other artwork on display is without merit—some of in fact have better craftsmanship and style, and are actually quite beautiful—but the other works aren’t as memorable within the context of the exhibit. With such a dynamic topic as religion, Like the Spice could have selected images that really pushed boundaries and made one think.

For the first time in her short but celebrated career, Lori Earley has a solo exhibition in New York. If you want to be among the uncool kids in the know, you’ll venture to The Opera Gallery (115 Spring Street, NYC) this Saturday, April 28^th, from 6 pm – 9 pm, for the opening reception of Lori Earley’s Anima Sola.

We got our prying eyes on the ten paintings on display at last night’s private press preview, and are here to report that Anima Sola is a must-attend art affair. Lori Earley could very well be the person art historians will fuss over for years to come when speaking about pop surrealism.

Obsessed with couture fashion, Earley’s paintings are inspired by the fashion world’s attention-getters, Alexander McQueen, Donatalla Versace, and Jennifer Nicholson. The women in her paintings therefore wear high-fashion outfits that evoke a sense of their personalities.

In one painting, Time Passed, a young woman drapes herself over a chair in a room full of dressmaker’s dummies. In a self-referential moment, Earley includes a painting reminiscent of her The Drought in the background. Perhaps the background of cloths-making props and the artist’s own painting are true to the development of the piece, and offer further insight into Earley’s methodology:

The artist arranges a photo shoot in her studio with a model to enhance mood and accuracy of pose and figure. Lori Earley then creates a final sketch from her photograph of the model, and only then begins her painting in oil. For her new series of portraits, Lori Earley’s models pose in original Jennifer Nicholson couture dresses. The celebrity fashion designer is an avid collector of Lori Earley’s work.

Earley’s portraits depict alluring yet dangerous vixens—femme fatales who know how to use their beauty to get what they want. Take for instance, Ms. Celose, who wears a strapless pink shirt, body-hugging brown skirt, and fur, all of which could be considered indications of sexual confidence and even aggression. Her perfectly highlighted hair swells outward, conically, like many of Ray Caesar’s renditions of women. She sits resolutely on a chair that could easily be a seat in an open carriage or a throne, and it is clear that she thinks highly of herself.

Despite their alpha-dog qualities, the women show their vulnerability. Sarah channels a brooding Christina Ricci. She looks pissed off, but protectively holds her arms over her chest. The stunning woman in Regret at first glance appears strong in a sleeveless fur turtleneck, her blonde hair pinned into Princess Leia buns; but as you step in closer, you realize her eyes are brimming with tears.

The most striking aspect of these women is not their fashion statements but their eyes. Ever-expanding, the eyes of every woman painted stretches across her face. Many are almost without pupils.

Two guys at the preview had opposing views of the women. “This one scares you?” he said to his friend. “What’s wrong with you?” He was clearly enchanted by the women’s beauty. They walked away saying the paintings looked like “women from mars.”

I kept circling around the pictures, looking at them from various angles. Due to their eyes, the women looked very much like characters in a fairy tale that could summon the power of metamorphosis to turn into wild wolves. One painted women in particular conjured up images of changing into something altogether different than who she appeared to be at the moment. She was naked on top, and the painting cut off the brown that started at her waist—was she wearing a skirt, or was she perhaps part fawn? She had a siren-like lure, as if she would use her beauty to ensnare men in the thick of the forest before turning into a more vicious creature.

The dual nature of these women circles back to the exhibition’s title, Anima Sola. In the Catholic tradition, Anima Sola refers to the Lonely Souls who remorsefully worry as they wait for judgment. Perhaps the women in Earley’s paintings suffer for their wicked actions of the past.

So what did Lori Earley wear to her own press function? A tight reddish dress with a little black lace peeking out around the chest. She accessorized with black fishnets, black heels, black jewelry, and a goblet of white wine.

Blue and white colored Fifth Avenue yesterday for the 76th Annual Greek Independence Day Parade, dedicated to religious freedom. Greek Americans from throughout the TriState area lined 61st to 76th streets to celebrate their heritage — and the fact that for the first time ever the largest Greek parade outside of Greece was televised.

Anna Vissi was the Honorary Marshal. The Cyprus-born pop star (sometimes referred
to as “The Greek Madonna”) has sold 9.5 million albums across the world.

American Idol’s Constantine Maroulis was also there. Maroulis’ grandparents immigrated from Greece to the States in the 1920s, and he himself grew up in Brooklyn and Wyckoff, New Jersey.

Guiding Light star Frank Dicopoulos was another celebrity present.

Honored guests included the Hellenic Navy Band and Evzones (Greece’s elite Presidential Guard).

Government officials from Greece and the US were also there.

Greek-Americans Ernie Anastos and Nick Gregory hosted the event, along with fellow newsanchor Rosanna Scotto. Although they are Fox 5 correspondents, the parade actually aired on WWOR-TV My9.

What I want to know is, is it “uncool” to be Greek in America? Why did it take so long for the Greek parade to be televised when both the St. Patrick’s Day parade and the Puerto Rican Day parade are televised? After all, as one float pointed out, Greece is the foundation of civiliazation.

The first Greek came to the United States in 1528, and there are now around 3,000,000 Americans of Greek descent, most of whom live in New York, according to world’s best source for user-contributed knowledge, Wikipedia.

Some of the most famous Greek Americans include:

Were you at the parade? Did you see it on TV? Let us know what you think about the reflection of Greek Americans in the media.