Peter Voulkos: On Improvisation
When Peter Voulkos began to exhibit his large-scale works in the mid-1950s, he had already been recognized as a leading potter in the U.S. Voulkos won prizes at the National Ceramic Exhibition, as well as a Gold Medal at the International Exposition of Ceramics in Cannes, France. Yet, during this time he also absorbed many influences, from Flamenco to Jazz, and from Picasso to Abstract Expressionism.
An early article in Craft Horizons, published in October 1956, has many quotes from Peter. This is the period of time when Voulkos was breaking away from craft traditions, so he had a lot to say about his working method. One quote that has stayed with me is this:
“The minute you begin to understand what you’re doing it loses that searching quality. You have to forget about the little technical problems that don’t matter—you’ve overcome them long ago anyway. You finally reach a point where you’re no longer concerned with keeping this blob of clay centered on the wheel and up in the air. Your emotions take over and what happens just happens. Usually you don’t know it’s happened until after it’s done.”
Voulkos kept to this way of working throughout his life, freely improvising like a musician. His straightforward, powerful and direct way of working was later characterized by Ken Price as “direct frontal onslaught”. I recently found this 1984 photo, from Peter’s show at the Faith and Charity in Hope Gallery—a gallery owned and operated by Edward Kienholz and his wife Nancy. Kienholz not only admired Voulkos’ work, he owned a work from 1958.
How to Present Art, Part 2: Asher Faure Gallery
I’ve given a little bit of background on Betty Asher in my last post, regarding the sophisticated sensibilities of certain Californians—a group that definitely included Ken Price and Betty Asher. I’ve also posted previously an amazing group photo from a field trip to Las Vegas with Marcel Duchamp. In the Archives of American Art interview with Betty by Thomas Garver, she describes the evening:
“At dinner we went to the Stardust and they have the follies or something, a girlie theater, and I was sitting next to Marcel at the table and the picture is a result of one of those girls in short skirts coming around with a big camera to take pictures. And just as she was about to click, I put my arm around Marcel, my fingertips very gingerly touched his shoulder because I didn’t want him to know that I was doing this, so I have this nice picture of Marcel with my arm around him.”
Asher’s collection of early Pop paintings, important works by sculptors such as Larry Bell, and ceramics (teapots, cups—famously—and figurative sculpture) was housed until the end of her life in an open and spacious condominium in Beverly Hills. I visited there during the early 1990s, and saw the variety of work—from a Jasper Johns Flag to a Philip Guston painting, from a Larry Bell to an Ed Ruscha. Betty continued collecting Ken Price’s work. Her legendary collection of cups, many of which are now in the LACMA permanent collection, was prominently displayed. In an archive, I have found this photo of her living room.
In the late 1970s, along with business partner Patricia Faure, Betty Asher opened a gallery at 8221 Santa Monica Boulevard. Their idea was “to have not only our own small group of young artists, or artists we represented who wouldn’t necessarily have to be young. In addition to that we wanted to work with New York dealers in a way that hadn’t been done before. We wanted to bring work that we liked and that hadn’t been seen for a long time, or ever, in the Los Angeles area, to our gallery…” Asher recalled in the AAA interview.
Later, the gallery moved to Almont in West Hollywood. A new voluminous space was constructed behind a small bungalow, and Betty and Patricia Faure continued their exhibition program. Remarkably, they exhibited many ceramic artists, including Viola Frey, Marilyn Levine, and others–in addition to sculpture by Joel Shapiro and Michael McMillan, and paintings by Joe Goode, Margaret Nielsen, and dozens of others. I’ve been able to research these shows, and scan some of the images from the Asher Faure archives. The image shown here is the installation of monumental figurative work by Viola Frey, which Asher championed during the 1980s, and also collected herself.
What’s fascinating is to compare 
that same room—the aforementioned gallery space behind the West Hollywood bungalow—when it has an installation of paintings by Craig Kauffman. In the next image, we can see a series of paintings by Craig Kaffman playfully known as the “cage paintings”—a loose, open architecture of painted lines that resemble the framing of a structure. Kauffman, an artist who exhibited many times at Asher Faure, has often used the skipping, playful line in his work. It’s great for me to remember this exhibit, and the integration of ceramics and painting at the Asher Faure Gallery.
Betty Asher and Ken Price
I’ve been reading my way through huge piles of old catalogue essays, curatorial statements, and reviews about art in the 1960s. I have an interest in these things from a dealer’s point of view, to be sure. After all, many of the artists that we represent were very active during that period of time. The way that their work is presently perceived is often a result of the statements made by critics, curators and writers from the 1960s. But I have a personal interest in the art and artists of the 60s, since that is my “point of entry”. I grew up then, and cut my teeth on contemporary art at the old Pasadena Art Museum.
I never tire of Peter Schjeldahl, and whether I come across his writing in an old catalogue or a new article in the New Yorker, it is poetic and insightful. One of the best articles has the unfortunately over-used title “Feats of Clay” (anyone who reads a lot of ceramic artists’ resumes has seen that show title far too many times). The October 6, 2003 New Yorker essay’s subject is the ceramic art of Ken Price. I keep a copy around the gallery, and ruthlessly photocopy it for clients and collectors. At the beginning of the fourth paragraph, Schjeldahl states succinctly:
“Price has always been a tough sell in New York, and is practically unknown in Europe, owing to a hardwired prejudice in the art world against ceramics as a minor, retrograde medium. To overeducated eyes, a perceived relation of an art object to conventions of domestic function is corny unless pointedly ironic. Other cultures—Japanese and Chinese, Mexican and Southwest Native American—have not shared this bias. Alertness to those traditions is a richly civilized element of certain Californian sensibilities. Price’s art, witty and sophisticated while shunning irony, is grounded in the aesthetic quiddity of ceramics. Painting exercises the eye; sculpture echoes the body. Ceramics express and are addressed to the hand.”
It’s something that I read again today, after researching the Archives of American Art interview with Betty Asher, a formidable force in the history of Los Angeles Art. Betty Asher was an influential curator, collector, and dealer (in his appreciation for the Los Angeles Times, following Asher’s passing in 1994, critic Christopher Knight knowingly acknowledged her as a “triple threat”). Asher was one of the first people to collect Pop Art, as is often cited, but began collecting before that movement. She chronicled the many ventures of her collecting history in an interview with Thomas Garver for the Archives of American Art. I think it is a great way to begin to understand, indeed, the more sophisticated Californian sensibility, in which ceramics were given space in celebrated collections as well as significant galleries. Asher, of course, exhibited many artists whose primary medium was fired clay—such as Viola Frey, Marilyn Levine, and Richard Shaw, among others. That part of her collection must have stemmed from her familiarity with the work of Ken Price. Here’s the passage in the AAA interview:
“BETTY ASHER: Well, probably the first large painting I bought was a Lobdell, 
and it was a large black painting. And then I bought Bob Irwin and Frank Stella and Ellsworth Kelly.
THOMAS H. GARVER: Now this is not the late fifties.
BETTY ASHER: That probably was early sixties, right. But late fifties was Lobdell. And I got interested in Kenny Price, and the entire group at Ferus, you know.”
I’ll be posting some examples of the Asher Faure Gallery’s integration of ceramics with painting and other sculpture—following along from the posts about Felix Landau, Ferus, and Janus Gallery.
Don’t Rain on Our Parade
(Photo: Al Seib / Los Angeles Times / June 17, 2009)
We’ve got to honor and respect the place of sports in society.
Following the Lakers’ world championship victory in Game 5 of the NBA Finals, there were reasons for L.A. fans to celebrate. A Lakers victory brought a well-deserved sense of pride to the players, and many messages to their fans. This Lakers team demonstrated some of the time-honored lessons of sports. They showed the beauty of athletic performance, the will to overcome adversity, the value of teamwork and individual leadership, and the determination to redeem oneself.
The arena of sports provides us with focused and measurable accomplishment. The invented constraints of time and regulations give the boundaries, while the immeasurable human forces of competition, determination and frustration give sports its spirit. At least since Greek times and the original Olympics, these things have been valued by Civilization. Kurt Streeter’s eloquent report from Eugene, Oregon on the Prefontaine Classic reminded us (“This is track as it should be”, Los Angeles Times, Monday, June 8, 2009).
But there have been two things to mar the Lakers’ victory, and we should be careful to nip them in the bud. First, of course, was the needless and mindless violence that erupted around Staples Center on Sunday night. Police chief Bratton rightfully called those involved “knuckleheads”.
Times editors must bear the responsibility for the other knucklehead, T. J. Simers (“Idolatry of Lakers is ludicrous”, Los Angeles Times, Monday June 15, page U2). When the Times continues to employ a sportswriter whose main concern is criticizing professional athletes’ personas (witness his on-going feuds with many a Dodger or Laker player, coach or owner), it does a disservice to the readership. “Winning it all makes them no more appealing, Kobe still over the top absurd in his mood swings, Pau still carrying on like someone swiped his rattle, Phil so above it all it’s surprising he doesn’t demand to be carried off the court like Cleopatra…” writes Simers.
What’s amazing to this sports fan is just how cooperative the athletes can be with television and print journalists. How strong and supremely patient do you have to be, in order to answer all those questions—from the immediate on-court interview at half-time, to the endless questions during the after-game press conference? Not to mention the pre-recorded features, the public appearances, and the competitive pressure of the game itself. And then to have some wisecracking hack write, “a victory doesn’t make unlikable athletes likable.”
The Lakers, with the salary cap, have to decide about bringing back Odom and Ariza. But for the Times, operating at a loss already, there should be no hesitation: Get rid of T. J. Simers. Bring on a brilliant writer, like Dan Neil, to review the sleek performance of the human athlete. Or assign the compassionate and eloquent Steve Lopez to the story of Derek Fisher’s challenges as a parent.
But don’t let us suffer through another column by T. J. Simers.
How to Present Art
Sometimes the gallery seems to be an information kiosk. Visitors ask all kinds of questions. I’ve written about some behind-the-scenes topics on this blog in the past, including how our announcement photos are taken, and how I was introduced to ceramics. But frequently I’ve also answered the question, “How did you become a dealer?”
I learned about the art business from lots of people, mostly dealers and artists in Los Angeles. But, when pressed, I would have to say that the most influential was Jan Turner. I had an entry-level job at her Janus Gallery, during the early 1980s. I was the exhibition preparator. It was during that time that I met Ed Moses, Peter Shire, and many other artists. It was at the Janus Gallery that I learned how to present an exhibition.
The Janus Gallery, in several locations over a fifteen-year period, exhibited paintings, sculpture, photography, and ceramics. The stylish and sophisticated Jan Turner showed paintings by Ed Moses and Carlos Armaraz, as well as the ceramic sculpture of Peter Shire, Elsa Rady, and Mineo Mizuno. This was in the context of the hippest architecture (Coy Howard designed the space), at openings that featured Hollywood’s “A” list, and to much critical acclaim. The risk taken was enormous. For one exhibit by Elsa Rady, architect Frederick Fisher designed the installation, special walls and fixtures were built, and the largest space in the gallery was dedicated to “Conjugations”—a series of works that grouped Rady’s vessels in oscillating, mutable forms.
From the beginning of the gallery, Turner promoted the work of Peter Shire. Shire’s playful architectonic works, rooted in constructivism but altered by bright color and a zany sense of humor, eventually became known internationally. His experiments with the teapot form bridged into the design world and their playful form adapted well in the postmodern world of architecture and 
design. So well, in fact, that they were featured in several magazines in the early 1980s, and one article caught the eye of Ettore Sottsass. Peter Shire was invited to join the Memphis Group, becoming the only American member of the European design team. Shire branched out into furniture design, worked in glass, and gained major sculptural commissions, but has since returned to ceramics on occasion.
The hallmarks of the Jan Turner years were exquisite presentation, and the paintings or sculpture were displayed in a perfect sequence, with just the right isolation. No expense was spared in lighting, pedestal design, or detail. As one might imagine, Jan presented herself with impeccable style as well—and still does. She was our guest at the opening of our Ed Moses show, with her daughter Aimee. I often think of how much I learned, over 25 years ago, from working in her gallery.
Ed Moses on KCRW
I’m a proud member of KCRW, the Santa Monica National Public Radio station. I’ve spent many an hour in my car, hanging on every word of Morning Edition during a national crisis. I’ve become addicted to This American Life, and I’ve often marveled at the cogent summation of a Supreme Court decision, as told by Nina Totenberg. Who can top the interview ability of Terry Gross? As the NPR site states: “Though Fresh Air has been categorized as a “talk show,” it hardly fits the mold. Its 1994 Peabody Award citation credits Fresh Air with “probing questions, revelatory interviews and unusual insights.” Then, of course there is always the role of KCRW as tastemaker for new music. That keeps me young.
Last year, for professional support, we sponsored a few underwriting “spots” and let people know about our exhibit of Robert Graham’s work. It was the most meaningful advertising support that we’ve ever made. But for personal excitement, I’ve hardly had more thrills than today, when Ed Moses was interviewed on KCRW.
Veteran station manager Ruth Seymour took a special interest in Moses’ exhibit at the gallery, and came to see it last Saturday. Ms. Seymour and KCRW art critic Edward Goldman talked with Moses today for a full half hour. She conducted a superb interview with Ed, and the painter extended his reputation as an outspoken legend. Because of the station’s generous use of technology, we can offer it to you here.
Peter Voulkos: Words from Irving Blum
A friend of the gallery sent me the Ferus book, a publication of the Gagosian Gallery in New York. The book was published on the occasion of their Ferus exhibition in 2002. It’s a handsome record of the artists and exhibits, and contains an interview with Irving Blum as well as an article about Andy Warhol—written by the late, great curator Kirk Varnedoe.
In addition to the brilliant graphic design (by Bruce Mau of Toronto), there are classic black and white photos (a number are by the late William Claxton, who is best known for his images of Jazz musicians). The graphic record of announcements and posters speaks about the vision of the gallery program. Then, there’s the insight into the legendary Irving Blum himself. Sure enough, in the interview I found a reference to something I’ve posted before: the tremendous influence of Peter Voulkos on artists in L.A. during the late 1950s and early 1960s.
In the interview, Roberta Bernstein stated to Irving Blum: “Peter Voulkos was an important influence on many of 
the artists who showed at Ferus, “ and Irving responded, “Absolutely. Billy Al Bengston studied with Peter and Peter was always an enormous presence. He had a profound influence even among the painters.”
I’ve been going over a lot of texts recently, and the passage reminded me of something from Barbara Isenberg’s essay about the Otis years, included in the publication celebrating the school’s 50th anniversary:
“Bengston thinks that every artist in Los Angeles’ fabled Ferus Gallery was influenced by ceramics at the time, and Ferus’ director, the dealer Irving Blum concurs. “Billy Al would do a show and if Ken Price or John Altoon came in and thought it was hot potatoes—that meant something. The artists informed each other, and I think the Ferus scene would have been far less energetic without the Peter Voulkos influence.”
This is quite a testament to the magnetic power of Peter Voulkos on the L.A. scene—especially when one realizes that Voulkos never even showed at Ferus. His work was first represented by Felix Landau, and then by David Stuart.
Longevity
I was stuck in traffic this morning, a common experience in Los Angeles. When faced with an endless line of tail lights, I usually just listen to NPR or select a CD. Traffic is tough, so I’ve developed a golden rule for the L.A freeways: stay in your lane, and don’t hit the car in front of you. So, there I was—stranded, with my attention focused on the bumper of the car ahead—and I happened to scan the personalized license plate: WKNDOG.
It’s a game we frequently play with personalized plates: What on earth does that stand for? Weekend Dog? Weakend Dog? Walkin’ the Dog? I looked for more clues—and perhaps a dog in the front seat. But, alas, I was stuck behind the car (obeying my number one traffic rule) and couldn’t identify the driver. Then, suddenly, I noticed the license plate frame, and there was my clue, because the frame read: “I’m not over the hill; I’m just on the back nine.”
Not over the hill, just walking the dog and on the back nine. What a great attitude, I thought. Longevity has been on my mind lately because of my rapidly advancing age. As I consider the issues of productivity and stagnation, I’m looking for moments of inspiration. The personalized license plate was certainly one—a pleasant reminder of walking a dog combined with a simple sports analogy.
Over the past 15 years, I’ve been fortunate—this gallery has presented the work of legendary artists such as Beatrice Wood, who continued to work in
the studio until she was 105. I have witnessed the incredible burst of energy and power in the monumental late works of Peter Voulkos. And this month, I have received some more inspiration, in the form of the paintings of Ed Moses.
Ed has produced what several viewers have said could be the work of a young man—perhaps in his twenties. For a painter who is so well known for large-scale abstract work, to venture into the territory of decorative patterning and figuration is risky. What 83-year old do you know who would take this much risk? His productivity is astounding, with a vitality and inventiveness that few can match—at any age. It seems to me that he has a key to longevity.
Philadelphia
Last week I hopped on an early morning Amtrak train from Penn Station to the 30th Street Station in Philadelphia. The short trip on the Northeast Regional is common for commuters, but unusual for me. I was in New York on business, and I had reserved a full day for art viewing in Philadelphia. My day-long plan included a timed-entry ticket to the Cézanne and Beyond exhibit, a tour of the collections in the Philadelphia Museum, and a visit to the Institute of Contemporary Art.
I arrived in plenty of time for Cézanne and Beyond, a show that made me believe again in painting, museums, and exhibitions. It’s worth every inconvenient wait, and it’s worth every moment when your view gets blocked—that’s the way it is with blockbuster shows. This brilliant exhibit juxtaposes and connects the painters that follow Cézanne’s pivotal move into the flattening of space, the structure of painting, and repeated study of subject matter. I was blown away by room after room, but especially struck by the last sequence. Ellsworth Kelly, Piet Mondrian, and Jasper Johns followed the shifting density and light of Cézanne’s painting of a large pine. It was a stunning juxtaposition—simply categorized as “Trees”.
I thought about writing more about the Cézanne and Beyond show, but wound up becoming overwhelmed by the crowd and the chattering acoustiguides. As I’ve noted before, I like my museum experience to be a bit sparer. So it was best for me to retreat through the other galleries—with superb collections but without so many people.
I wandered upstairs to find the Art of Japanese Craft exhibition, a delightful collection that is the gift of connoisseur Frederick McBrien III. It is in 3 galleries, just off the large skylight indoor garden area that contains the Japanese teahouse. How wonderful to come to a quiet area within the building, and what a great location for the show. This is a sensitively assembled collection of a true connoisseur, our gallery friend and patron, Fred. The wide range of works extends from a waterfall ink drawing on silk scroll to exquisite lacquered containers, as well as contemporary ceramics.
The nature-based imagery of Japanese craft of the Meiji period (and beyond) is strongly represented in this collection. The emphasis on the revival of Japanese craft shows in the delicate woodcarving and extraordinary inlaid lacquer ware. More recent porcelain vessels evoke nature through shape and process, and present new reflections of the craft.
There is a wonderful description and video of the tea ceremony just outside the special exhibit, which tells the function and purpose of the tea ceremony. Since is it based in the deliberate observation of detail and the contemplation of nature, the tea ceremony celebrates the imperfections and processes of nature. The Way of Tea teaches appreciation of fleeting moments; concentration on the sounds and the movements teaches attention to detail. I had found a respite from the urban environment and the crowds.
Monte Factor: L.A. Collector
Two weeks ago, I called my friend Monte Factor and invited him to go to the Hammer Museum. Monte and his late wife Betty were early supporters of contemporary art in Los Angeles, and long ago acquired the work of Lynn Foulkes. So I knew he would be a good museum companion for my second visit to Nine Lives in L.A. at the Hammer.
The show starts and ends with Lynn Foulkes, appropriately. Foulkes’ space is totally unreal, a kind of compression and illusion that is found in dioramas. Constructed of such unlikely materials—from carved plywood to found objects and even common towels—the paintings and the space totally work. The artist’s one-man band is featured on recordings near the exit for the show. One can listen on headphones. Both Monte and I were entranced by the constructions and the music.
A few days later, I helped to arrange for the Getty Research Institute to come and interview Monte at his home. The GRI was responsive and inquisitive, ably represented by Andrew Perchuk and Rani Singh. Monte gave a guided tour of his home and collection. When he flipped a switch at the base of one Ed Keinholz assemblage, two blue lights flashed on at the top edge. Monte explained that the gun, which is pointed at the viewer, is set to go off once in the next 200 years. ”Ed wanted the message to be about risk and contingency in our everyday life. There is live ammunition in the gun. He got in a lot of trouble with the German police over this piece,” added Monte.
Later in the afternoon, there was a moment that gave me goose bumps. As Andrew Perchuck and Rani Singh came upon a photograph mounted on one wall, there was a moment of recognition of Los Angeles art history. Andrew calmly asked Monte to identify the people in the photograph, from left to right. He repeated what had been written about the picture before: “This photograph was taken in the showroom of the Stardust Hotel in Las Vegas in 1963. From left to right are Teeny Duchamp, Richard Hamilton, Betty Factor, Bill Copley, myself clenching a cigar, Walter Hopps, Betty Asher, and Marcel Duchamp.”
