Actually modeled, according to Rob Pruitt, from another Andy – art collector Andy Stillpass – with a body similar to that of the late Andy — scanned in 3D – he had to stand still for five hours, according to my source – and fabricated in a “high density” material ripe for shiny plating – sort of like how Urs Fischer might have built it, maybe — the Andy Monument arrived in Union Square on this cold spring evening, standing ten feet high, gazing downtown, and standing only steps away from the glory days of the Warhol Factory.
“Would he (Andy) have become vegan had he recovered from the gall bladder infection that otherwise killed him? Because the Farmers Market would have been right outside his door.” “No, Andy hated salads and ate poorly. And the daily regiment of diet pills would have stifled his appetite, anyway.”
As he unsheathed his Andy Tower, Rob Pruitt quipped, “I hope you all like it for more than 15 minutes.”
Reminds me of:
Marc Quinn, Michael Jackson, 2010
Keith Mayerson, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, 2006
So went the pervy confessionalia of Dave Hill, a mumblecore loner whose favorite thing to do after sexual intercourse is “step out from behind the curtain to laugh at the naked people,” who recounted a weekend tryst with a Japanese toilet (for those in the know, Japanese toilets are high-tech, easily available, and intimately ac-“commod”-ating, no pun intended). Referring to the customizable, automated bidet, he recalled, “It touched me like this,” rolling his pointer finger like a caterpillar reaching for a leaf – and then told how he utilized the toilet functions designed “for woman parts.”
Mr. Hill, whose drawn face and flexi-finger I won’t forget any time soon, was part of last weekend’s Saturday Session at MOMA/PS1. That session in particular was curated by Miriam Katz, an Artforum editorial researcher, Hunter College graduate student, and weekend comedienne. Described as “experimental comedy,” though more comedic than experimental, the event also included live performances by Jon Glaser, Jenny Slate, and Reggie Watts, as well as newly commissioned videos by Maeve Higgins and Rory Scovel. (My apologies to those last two, whose videos I wish I could have watched on the monitors on opposing walls. Sadly, the sold-out event was just too crowded, and I couldn’t get close enough to view them. Luckily, a quick youtube search makes up for this.)
Jon Glaser, wearing a green mask like the Green Hornet (vintage, not the husky Rogen fail) also took the priapic prompt, though his penis-humor was more sweet and family-friendly than prurient and late-night.
But it wasn’t just the guys with minds in the gutter. Jenny Slate, better known as the voice of Marcel the Shell hilariously revealed to us her twisted brain’s fusing of Y2K meltdown with an imaginary sexual predator: “a rogue ATM would kick in my dorm room door and [NSFW].” She described – and reenacted – her childhood Lolita, imitated her angel-voiced Dad who wails like a Disney heroine, and argued for her unusual vulnerability to kidnapping.
Humorous in a more arch, ironic, and gently acerbic manner was the boom-bap teddy bear, Reggie Watts. If you didn’t get enough from the previous posting, here is another video.
Framing his live music-based performance in the tradition of John Cage (pronounced “kah-ZHAY”) whose work he suavely and concisely explained as being less about the notes and more about the space in between, he ruminated aloud about performance versus “performance” (ya dig?), invoked Ghost in the Shell, and led us into a rhetorical ambush about metaphysically simulated reality, a la Brains in a Vat. Heavy! No wonder he has that thicket of curls, must be to insulate such a probing brain. He’ll be in next autumn’s Performa Biennial, let’s check in again then.
Reggie Watts at Saturday Sessions, MOMA/PS1
What could live comedy have to do with the art world? Don’t we prefer our jokes painted or printed onto canvas? It must have something to it, because I saw such art world professionals as David Velasco, Mark Beasley, Eliza Ryan, Sam Wilson, and many other artists, too. Maybe everybody needed a weekend pick-me-up after being justifiably depressed by all the bad news coming from, well, every other continent. Turn that 🙁 upside down. Or not.
Cool, so I caught Reggie Watts performing this weekend at MOMA/PS1 Saturday Sessions. Vote Bush: his Sideshow Bob bob got me feeling guarded at first – seen that before – but Watts’ witty, astute, coy, agile, customized, curious, and undeniably “yeeeaaahhh” excursions with rhyming, beatboxing, sampling, and faux-coder are to prepared performance (and pimpin) what plein air is to painters in sunhats. Heads were nodding in the packed third-floor gallery, retro black glasses gettin steamy. Way ups like high tops to curator and hostess with the moistest (cupcakes), Miriam Katz. Thanks, both, for dropping one on me.