Postcard from New York

Gramercy Park

Although it takes five modes of transport to get from Fire Island to Manhattan, it only took us three hours. When it works, it works. But as soon as we got into the taxi line at Penn, we knew it was going to be an oven. We still used the subway a lot because the cars are air conditioned, but waiting at the stations in the middle of the day is a descent into hell. The sign on a church in Gramercy Park said, “The devil called. He wants his weather back.”

Our neighborhood church tells it like it is

The diner at the corner of East 22nd and Third near where we usually stay has been reborn as a Greek restaurant. Nothing fancy, but very fresh. Perfect for the hot weather. The other food highlight was probably the Union Square Café, which was delicious this time.

Mural at Union Square Café

Our regular breakfast meeting spot is Maialino, another Danny Meyer gem. It was one of those places where you have to make a reservation for breakfast, but it wasn’t so crowded this time of year, because the neighbors can afford to get out of town. If you need another breakfast spot in Gramercy, Friend of a Farmer is a good second choice. One place to avoid for breakfast or lunch on the Upper East Side is E.A.T. The food is tasty, but the prices are stupid expensive. Speaking of avoiding places, we were treated most rudely at the Standard. It is not a hotel for the over-30 crowd. Although I still like the spatial experience beneath the pilotis when you stand on the High Line.

The very rude but handsome Standard Hotel

A good friend of ours was able to get us tickets to Book of Mormon. Given its extreme popularity, you wonder if it can be that good. It was. Even Paul liked it. As with other big Broadway hits, the authors built a base with a popular media brand, in this case the irreverent television show South Park. While it makes fun of the absurdities of Mormonism, it isn’t mean. The thread is that we all tell stories to make sense of a world that doesn’t make sense. And if you want a wild story, Mormonism is it. Even Kolob is mentioned. Don’t know about Kolob? Worth a Google search.

Book of Mormon

It was a stunning museum summer.

One of our favorite shows was also the most modest. William Menking, founder of the Architect’s Newspaper, and Wolfgang Forster have mounted a simple show about social housing in Vienna at the Austrian Cultural Forum called the Vienna Model. I had never visited Raimund Abraham’s slender landmark on East 52nd Street. The guard only lets you into the exhibit, but even the detailing on the handrails is exquisite. Using construction scaffolding, the curators create a varied armature to provide dimension and variety for what is basically a show of photographs. The catalog won’t be out until the fall, but it will be a valuable tool for all of us who care about social housing. The show reminds us that the original promise of modernism, beautiful housing for everybody, need not be dull or oppressive, but can be life affirming and joyful.

http://www.acfny.org/home/

The exhibit constructed of scaffolds.

A handrail at the Austrian Cultural Forum.

At the high end of architecture exhibit budgets, MoMA has mounted Le Corbusier: An Atlas of Modern Landscapes. It can be read in any number of ways. Most reviewers like to say his buildings were better than his paintings. I would say his paintings were better than his master plans. Some of my favorite artworks of his are the bolder tile murals. Unfortunately, those were not in evidence. But the curators did reconstruct his rustic cottage by the sea and a typical double-height living room of Unité d’Habitation, which gives the viewer a sense of the beauty of his most modest spaces. They’ve hung a beautiful wood model of Chandigarh on the wall, and that reinforces the strong relationship between the artwork and the landscape. The long scrolls are an insight into this drawing/thinking process. Despite all this research and material, I still think his individual buildings were genius and his plans were mad.

http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1321

Le Corbusier (Charles-Edouard Jeanneret) with Pierre Jeanneret.
Villa Savoye Poissy-sur-Seine, France. 1929–31.
Wood, aluminum, and plastic, 16 x 34 x 32" (40.6 x 86.4 x 81.3 cm).
The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Purchase.
© 2012 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/ADAGP, Paris/FLC 

In the next gallery, Claes Oldenburg: The Street and the Store resonated strongly with my own introduction to modern art. When I was about 12 years old, our parents took us to the then-new Berkeley Art Museum, where we saw melting electric plugs, light switches, lipstick, food, and all kinds of wonderful craziness. I had never seen a building like Mario Ciampi’s brutalist masterpiece, nor had I ever seen everyday objects memorialized. It was a turning point in my young life. MoMA is showing Oldenburg’s early explorations in cardboard and vinyl, which he designed to get the viewer to really see the everyday. This was before his work got so smooth, so shiny, so much more like the culture it was commenting on.

http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1320

"Empire" ("Papa") Ray Gun
Casein on papier-mâché over wire.
Gift of the artist. © 1959 Claes Oldenburg.
Photo: The Museum of Modern Art, Imaging and Visual Resources Department

Lunette Flag. Wood. Centre Pompidou, Paris.
 Musée national d'art moderne / Centre de création industrielle.
© 1960 Claes Oldenburg. Photo: CNAC/MNAM/Dist.
RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, NY

Giant BLT (Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato Sandwich)
Vinyl, kapok, and wood painted with acrylic.
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York.
Gift of The American Contemporary Art Foundation, Inc.,
Leonard A. Lauder, President. © 1963 Claes Oldenburg.
Photo: David Heald, Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation

Over at the Metropolitan Museum of Art was the most sublime ceramics exhibit of recent memory. It’s a long schlep to the modern art side of things at the Met, but worth the walk. Ken Price, who passed away last year in New Mexico, stayed true to his West Coast surfing roots and shows that craft can rise to art. Frank Gehry has designed a subtle (yes subtle!) background for Price’s brilliant work. The glazes are unlike any I have ever seen. His forms seem to come from the ocean and are then recast or reshaped into new life forms. Although they are highly sensuous, they are also calming.

http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2013/ken-price

Ken Price, Pastel, 1995. Fired and painted clays, 14 1/2 x 15 x 14 in.
James Corcoran Gallery, © Ken Price, photo © Fredrik Nilsenn

PUNK: Chaos to Couture had very little punk and a whole lot of couture. One thing the Met seems to do especially well are costume/fashion shows. Honestly, I am embarrassed to spend more than an hour looking at fashion promoted as art. But the museum is trying to make a connection between couture and culture, and I am a willing audience.

http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2013/PUNK

D.I.Y.: Graffiti & Agitprop
Image © The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Facsimile of CBGB bathroom, New York, 1975
Image © The Metropolitan Museum of Art

But the spectacle of the summer belongs to James Turrell. This summer, there are three unique shows devoted to his work in New York, Los Angeles, and Houston. The accomplishment is mindboggling. There will be more on all three shows in a separate blog entitled “Summer of Turrell.” Suffice it to say, it is worth a trip to the Guggenheim to check it out. Go early, avoid the weekend, and buy your ticket ahead of time.

http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell

James Turrell Aten Reign, 2013 Daylight and LED light, dimensions variable
© James Turrell Installation view: James Turrell, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum,
New York, June 21–September 25, 2013 Photo: David Heald
 © Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York

Ronin, 1968 Fluorescent light, dimensions variable Collection of the artist
© James Turrell Installation view: Jim Turrell, Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam,
April 9–May 23, 1976 Photo: Courtesy the Stedelijk Museum

For you light and space fans, Robert Irwin’s Scrim Veil—Black Rectangle—Natural Light from 1977 has been reinstalled at the Whitney. And what a triumph it is. In his quiet but sure way, he takes the measure of a place and then makes the most subtle and powerful intervention, thereby transforming the space and asking you to question your perception. While I love what Turrell is up to with his complex lighting, angles, and apertures, I am also very drawn to the simple line that Irwin traces through space.

http://whitney.org/Exhibitions/RobertIrwin

With a bit of scrim, metal, wood, and tape and just daylight,
Irwin gets you to question what you are seeing.

If you are a Hopper fan, there is also a fine show that links his sketching to his most famous works. You get your money’s worth at the Whitney! We will be sorry when they leave the Marcel Breuer fortress for the light-filled Renzo Piano jewel box down in Chelsea.

http://whitney.org/Exhibitions/HopperDrawing

Edward Hopper (1882–1967), Study for Nighthawks, 1941 or 1942.
Fabricated chalk and charcoal on paper; 11 1/8 × 15 in. (28.3 × 38.1 cm).
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York;
purchase and gift of Josephine N. Hopper by exchange 2011.65

Image courtesy of Renzo Piano Building Workshop in
collaboration with Cooper, Robertson & Partners

And this year Grand Central Station is a century old! Talk about enduring design.

Mural at Union Square Café

Postcard from Maine

Ogunquit
I imagined that this little beach town would resemble Provincetown. Tasteful renovated cottages filled by armies of queer men. The gay flavor is just a dash of Tabasco. It’s mostly filled with white tourists all over the middle economic scale. We ate in three decent restaurants, went on several waterfront walks, and avoided shopping except for the Ogunquit Art Association gallery. Marginal Way, a beautiful walk from Perkins Cove (think Cabot Cove) to the Ogunquit River, provides a level stroll with benches every few yards in case you feel compelled to propose marriage. It’s legal for everybody in Maine!

Bar Island
OK, truth is there are several islands called Bar Island off the coast of Maine. Our little Bar Island sat between the towns of Steuben and Milbridge at the north edge of the state.

Our little cottage overlooked Pigeon Hill Bay, which looks like a lake most of the day. But then it drains to a mud flat, and you know you are near a tidal body of water—in this case, the Atlantic. Our first morning, we started out to walk down our small island but were attacked by biting flies. Back for bug juice. They are supposed to let up later in the summer. But they are fierce.

From the highway, much of Maine is monotonous—short trees that vary a little in their shade of green, but look similar. Saltbox clapboard houses in S, M, and L, and mobile homes. Lots of them. The grand mansions that come in XXL are far off the highway and located on roads most of us can’t reach. (Often because you can only get to them by boat.) When you get off the main arteries, the vistas to the water and great slabs of granite come into view. Sometimes it is hard to gauge how close the next land mass might be and whether it is accessible without a boat. Smaller land masses disappear and reappear with the tides.

Desert Island
Acadia National Park takes up much of Desert Island. It is simple to drive around and offers hiking paths that range from very easy to difficult. We should have spent more time exploring the park, but we did make it to the top of Cadillac Mountain for the incredible vista.

Although a lot of folks have heard of Bar Harbor and think it might be posh, it is the worst of the coastal tourist towns. You can give the whole thing a miss.

Deer Isle
The high point was Edward Larrabee Barnes’s Haystack School. When the site was chosen, the board of the school thought Barnes would build at the top of the site with an amazing view or at the base of the granite slope next to Jericho Bay. Instead, he built on the granite slope—not into the slope, but rather lightly on top, leaving the undergrowth to continue growing undisturbed. Repeating basic modules, he created a serene rather than an austere place. The complex’s simplicity speaks of rural Maine, as does its focus on work. There are places to socialize, but this is not a retreat on a former estate with linen tablecloths and cocktails. This is a summer work camp for artists of all kinds.

While some folks have compared it to Sea Ranch because of its wood exterior, steep roof forms, and respect for nature, it represents a different kind of approach. The early architects at Sea Ranch created place through an artful combination of landscape architecture and buildings that consciously responded to or even riffed on the vernacular. Here, Barnes used a rigorous, modernist love of the module and a strict street grid (albeit a wood boardwalk street) that was softened by the natural materials. In a way, his architecture combined the ideals of high modernism with the directness that Maine dwellers are known for. Everywhere we went, we found them hospitable but without any pretense. We hope to return to Maine, and specifically to Haystack!

Living More Fully in the Present by Living in the Past?

A Interview with "Man of War" Author Charlie Schroeder

I met Charlie Schroeder a few times in Los Angeles through my friend Ian Helfer. The first time I saw him, I was struck by his WASPy good looks and confidence. I thought he must be an actor. Indeed, he had a few moments of fame as "Mr. Pussy" on "Sex and the City." He also writes for publications as varied as the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, New York Observer, and Huffington Post. His first book, Man of War: My Adventures in the World of Historical Reenactment, is about war reenactments. The book has just been released in paperback. I interviewed him by email.

You were drawn to reenactments initially because of the debauchery you enjoyed as a young person at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire?

Not necessarily because of any debauchery, but rather my curiosity about the people who came to the Faire dressed as historical characters. Who were they, I wondered, and why did they spend so much time, money, and energy creating a "kit" (the clothing and accoutrements of a reenactor)? I wanted to know what they got out of dressing like a person from the past.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know what attracts people to a particular moment in time. Why are some people Civil War buffs while others are fascinated with the 1920s? Was it historical curiosity? Or was it just a way for them to live out their fantasies?

Why are people doing this? Isn’t war awful enough? Is it a way to recast violence?

I could write an entire book about this. Wait, I already have, and the paperback version just came out.

People reenact the past (not just war, but civilian life as well) for numerous reasons, including escapism (spending a weekend without modern amenities to get away from it all); a connection to something more permanent than the ephemerality of our modern world; the opportunity to honor a relative; a love of educating people about their local history; a chance to be a war "hero" for a couple days; a fascination with militaria; and even what some reenactors call "experimental archaeology," an immersive experience into another time that helps answer nagging questions about why a particular type of soldier dressed the way he did.

Yes, war is awful enough, and I think most reenactors would agree with that. That said, many reenactors are veterans who have an interest in military strategy. It's also important to remember that for those who've served or been a reservist, their early adult years were spent bonding at boot camp. Kitting up for the weekend is often a way to reconnect with old friends who have similar interests and experiences.

Schroeder dressed as a Polish Winged Hussar at
California's Renaissance Pleasure Faire.

About to light a cannon at a French
and Indian War commemoration.
 Old Fort Niagara, Youngstown, NY.

In the book, you divide the reenactments by specific wars. But did you find that reenactors fall into camps besides the war or an epoch they identify with?

Because the hobby can be very expensive, most reenactors devote their time and energy to one particular period, so typically they fall into those camps because it'd be too expensive to reenact multiple time periods. Those with more disposable income, however, do branch out into other eras.

I was surprised to learn that many reenactors were unaware that people reenacted eras like Vietnam and Rome. In the United States, at least, Colonial America and the Civil War are the two most popular eras, so fringe time periods like 17th-century Poland and Vikings are still very underground.

There seems to be a large aesthetic interest in this endeavor, such as a focus on the right kind of stitching in a Nazi uniform or the precise rebuilding of a Roman fort in the countryside. Do you think this a response to the homogeneity of modern American culture?

Partly, yes. Although in some ways, reenactments are far more homogenous than modern America. (Because typically reenactments are a white-only affair.)

Interestingly, an entire "homegrown," noncorporate economy has sprung up around Revolutionary War reenactments. For Civil War reenactments, items are often mass-produced, but there aren't that many Revolutionary War reenactors, so clothing is made by small business owners. In that sense, there are some really wonderfully nuanced items being made, and a personal relationship develops between reenactors and bespoke tailors—not unlike the relationships soldiers of the actual time period had with their own tailors.

There is also hardly any mention of homosexuals. Why do you think this is such a straight pursuit?

History has not been kind to gays and other minorities. That, I believe, is the reason why it's a mostly straight white male hobby. If you're part of a group that's been discriminated against, why would you want to resurrect the past? The one exception I found was with a Viking reenactment group in Northern California. I met two lesbians in that group who were drawn to the era because Viking women actually enjoyed decent rights compared to their historical peers. They owned property, could divorce and kept the keys to the treasure boxes.

A "Roman fort" in Lafe, Arkansas attracts Roman
reenactors for annual mock battles.

On the St. Lawrence River. Schroeder and five
 others dressed as 18th century cargo men
and rowed and sailed replica bateaux
for four grueling days.

What did you learn from writing an entire book?

That it's a very broad hobby filled with many people who reenact for many reasons. Impossible to summarize in a sound bite or even in 87,000 plus words. I wonder if maybe I just scratched the surface of the reenacting phenomenon.

Are you working on another book? If so, what is it about?

I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. If I've learned anything about the process of writing a book, it's that you better really love your topic, because you're going to live with it for at least three years—and likely for the rest of your life. I haven't quite figured out what I want to devote my time to.

What are you doing in Hong Kong? Why did you move there?

I'm continuing to write and produce stories for public radio. To my surprise, I've also revived my dormant acting career. I completed a film in January, and I act in the occasional commercial, dub movies, and even use my acting skills to help teach communication skills.

But more than anything, I just wanted to live here. I first came to Asia in 2001 and met my wife in Hong Kong. After Man of War was released, I felt as though I was ready for a new adventure. The timing was right, and I'm so happy we made the move. The city and region pulse with an optimism that seems to be lost in America.

Your book seems to outline a paradox about history. On the one hand, historic reenactments can make us understand history better and thus experience our own time with greater awareness. On the other hand, it seems escapist. Do you agree?

Without question. Some people happily acknowledge that they kit up simply to get away from it all, while others truly are committed to educating themselves and the public. I suggest going to a reenactment, talking to the participants and then doing some follow up research on your own.

I'd also caution people against attending a reenactment and accepting what you see as fact. While you may meet lots of people who know a tremendous amount about history, there are others who have an agenda to revise history. The Civil War reenactment I participated in bore no historical resemblance whatsoever to the original skirmish. In fact, the Union basically "won" the original skirmish, but at the reenactment both sides won. The Union on Saturday and the Confederates on Sunday because the organizer wanted the Confederacy to win "on the Lord’s Day."

As far as what one can learn by reenacting, well, there’s a lot to take away, but the most immediate impact is that our modern lives are just so incredibly cushy. We're so fortunate to live in this day and age. I only wish more people would appreciate how lucky we are to be alive right now.

All photos courtesy Charlie Schroder

When Place Means Flint

A Conversation with Gordon Young, the author of Teardown: Memoir of a Vanishing City

Journalist Gordon Young escaped Flint, Michigan, and eventually found himself able to purchase a modest cottage (with nothing down!) in overpriced San Francisco. Yet the experience drew him back to his roots in Flint. He began a blog called “Flint Expatriates.” In his new book from UC Press, Teardown: Memoir of a Vanishing City, he tells the tale of trying to go home again. Place is not always the result of the work of well-intended design professionals. I interviewed Gordon about his book and his hometown.

For more information about Gordon’s book, visit www.teardownbook.com. Gordon’s blog can be found at http://www.flintexpats.com.

Tell me more about how the book came to be. You’ve created a compelling narrative from a lot of disparate threads. Most of your earlier work had been short pieces for magazines and newspapers, right? How were you able to bring all these pieces together? When did you know that you had a book?

Believe it or not, the idea for a house in Flint really emerged because my girlfriend, Traci, and I somehow managed to buy a house we really couldn’t afford in San Francisco back in 2004, just as the real estate bubble was starting to expand. Being a first-time homeowner triggered all these unexpectedly warm feelings for Flint and the house with faded green aluminum siding that I grew up in. I’m not sure this qualifies as a mid-life crisis, but I began to realize that Flint was the center of my authenticity. I still knew every street, building, and landmark. I’d covered large chunks of the city on foot, bike, and skateboard. I still had a deep connection to Flint, even though I’d only been back a few times over the years. It doesn’t matter that I’ve lived in San Francisco longer than I lived in Flint. Flint is part of me, and I’m part of Flint. I wanted to reconnect with the place that made me who I am. It’s also one of the poorest, most violent cities in the country, and I felt an obligation to help it in some way.

Looking back, I can see now that there were easier ways for me to make this happen, but I somehow convinced myself that buying a house in Flint was best way to do it. And I sort of convinced Traci. Maybe it was the prices. Anyone who’s bought property in a big city knows how insane the cost can be. Our 700-square-foot bungalow in San Francisco cost half a million dollars. We bought it with a no-money-down, interest-only loan— the sort of toxic mortgage that would eventually bring the world to the brink of economic collapse. You can buy houses in Flint by the dozen on eBay, like they’re donuts, for about $500 each.

The more time I spent in Flint, the more I realized that what was happening in Flint revealed a lot about what is happening in a lot of other cities around the country. And it seemed like every time I told someone a story about something that happened in Flint, they always said I should write a book about it.

What role did your blog play in shaping the book?

The blog was really my way of thinking out loud about Flint when all these memories of my childhood came flooding back after Traci and I moved into our house in San Francisco. It was a great way to sort out some of my feelings and connect with current and former Flint residents. But the virtual Flint obviously wasn’t the same as the real thing, even though it had better weather and less crime. I needed to go back and re-experience the real Flint.

P-Nut (left) and Aaron (right) with Gordon Young
after a day spent painting P-Nut’s new home in Civic Park,
 just a few blocks away from the house where
Young grew up. (Photo by Sherman McCathern)

Another abandoned house that fell victim to arson
 on Jane Avenue in Flint’s devastated East Side.
 Only a single residence remains on a block once filled
with small homes built primarily for autoworkers and their families.
(Photo by Gordon Young)

What about Flint’s history contributed the most to its decline?

Depends on who you ask. General Motors is an obvious culprit for eliminating close to 80,000 jobs in Flint. Some say it’s the United Automobile Workers union’s fault because the union was too militant and too demanding. Of course, labor agreements are the result of negotiations. General Motors didn’t have to give in to union demands. And union workers didn’t have anything to do with the horrible management decisions General Motors made over the years. Then there are U.S. policies that effectively swapped our industrial economy for the so-called service economy. The middle class withered, but we get to buy a lot of cheap crap at big box stores. Others point out that Flint never diversified its economy, but who diversifies during the glory years? Is Silicon Valley trying to diversify and develop something other than technology right now? So it’s a complicated question, and it’s probably a combination of all those things.

This pattern of corporations using up and wasting towns seems to be a global trend, not just a U.S. one?

Corporations abandon cities to varying degrees all the time. And that is one of the factors creating shrinking cities all over the world. Some of the statistics are pretty surprising. More cities shrank than grew in the developed world over the past 30 years. Fifty-nine U.S. cities with more than a hundred thousand people lost at least a tenth of their residents over the last 50 years. Flint and Detroit are high-profile examples because they lost half their population, but the same thing happened in Buffalo, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis. But don’t assume this is just a Rust Belt phenomenon. The Great Recession ensured that cities in the South and the Sunbelt are part of the trend now.

Throughout the city, abandoned houses like this one
 in Civic Park are ravaged by thieves known as scrappers
 in search of any metal they can resell — doorknobs,
radiators, aluminum siding, but especially copper wiring
and plumbing. (Photo by Gordon Young)

Dan Kildee, a Flint politician who advocates the shrinking city model, is now in Congress. In your book, he talks about a “regional tax-base redistribution system.” How well will that phrase work now that he is in Congress? Won’t he be accused of being a socialist?

Dan Kildee’s never been shy about taking potentially unpopular stances. He frequently says that good policy doesn’t always equal popularity. It’s a refreshing approach for a politician, and Kildee’s recent election to Congress shows he has a knack for convincing voters that he has good ideas and is willing to work to make them a reality, even if the voters don’t necessarily agree at first.

He’s a visionary thinker. As a county treasurer and head of the local land bank, he garnered international publicity for refining and enthusiastically pushing what has come to be known as the shrinking-city concept. It basically calls for abandoning irrational hope and moving on. Kildee wants cities like Flint to accept that they aren’t going to recover from population loss anytime soon. Abandoned houses should be demolished and replaced with parks, urban gardens, and green space. Down the line, incentives could be used to lure residents into higher-density neighborhoods that have been reinvigorated with infill housing and rehab projects. Theoretically, Flint could save money by reducing infrastructure costs. It’s manifest destiny in reverse, a radical urban-planning concept that rejects growth as the fundamental goal of cities.

The details of how it works can get complicated. Kildee casually throws around terms like “scattered site cross collateralized tax increment financing” in conversation. But the essence of what he’s created is a system that keeps distressed property away from real-estate speculators. It keeps that abandoned house on Flint’s East Side, where a Buick worker once raised a family, away from some guy in Nevada looking to make a quick buck. Kildee has given cities facing economic decline and a dwindling population a way to control their own real estate outside of so-called market forces. He’s given them a way to control their own territorial destiny.

Now sometimes that means money from Flint’s more prosperous suburbs are used to help the urban core. So far he’s got a lot of communities in the area to go along with the plan. I don’t see any indication he’s going to abandon this approach now that he’s in Congress.

Congressman Dan Kildee, the pied piper of the
 “shrinking city” movement, wants Flint and other troubled
urban areas across the country to accept the reality
of decline and negative growth. (Photo by Gordon Young)

For me, there were two climaxes to the narrative. The first one takes place in the chapter entitled “Home on the Range,” when you lose it at the firing range. Because at that point, I think you realize that you are not the kind of man who wants to own a gun to protect his home. And then of course in “Joy to the World,” when you break down crying following the service in Sherman McCathern’s church.

I went to the firing range with Dave Starr, a retired autoworker who still lives a few blocks from my childhood home with his wife, Judy. They bought their house in 1968 for $14,000, and it’s probably worth half that amount today. But Dave has never given up on the neighborhood. He’s still fighting to save it. I realized that if I were going to buy a house in my old neighborhood of Civic Park, I’d have to take precautions like Dave. That meant carrying a gun. So Dave showed me how to make bullets in his basement. He taught me gun safety. And we went to the shooting range together. That experience, although pretty funny in hindsight, really showed me what it would take to be a part of Flint again.

I came to view Pastor Sherman McCathern as a real unsung hero in Flint, like Dave and Judy Starr. He’s coming up with innovative ways to help the city in the face of overwhelming odds. And he’s doing it with a sense of humor and incredible resolve. He’s also someone who can be very practical but never loses sight of all the emotion that’s wrapped up in a struggling city like Flint, a place that has a real unemployment rate pushing 40 percent. I’m not exactly comfortable revealing my emotions, but the pastor has a way of tapping into what I’m really feeling. And sometimes it’s not easy to acknowledge those feelings. I was sitting in his church one Sunday while a blizzard raged outside. It was the same day Flint tied the record for the most murders in a single year. And all the emotion he brought out in me and the rest of his congregation really made me realize why I had returned to Flint after all those years.

Pastor Sherman McCathern on the altar of Joy Tabernacle Church
in Civic Park, where he leads a congregation beset by crime,
 unemployment, and heartache. “I told God that if I can’t help
these people create jobs and opportunity, I can’t stay here
and just preach to people and get them all dressed up
 with no place to go,” he said. “And that’s what I believe
 God has promised me.” (Photo by Gordon Young)

I found this a surprisingly spiritual book. The story is about big ideas like Kildee's, but also small deeds and people taking a stand that is within their means. You come across as a lapsed Catholic who is still affected by his religious upbringing. One of your challenges in the book reminds me of what Dorothy Day talks about. Altruism is rarely selfless. You are fairly open about how you need to get out the way of giving to actually give.

At best, I’d say I’m sort of a cultural Catholic now. But I’m still guided by a lot of the big lessons the nuns taught me in the Flint Catholic school system. You should help out when help is needed. And you should feel guilty—very guilty—if you don’t. Without really realizing it, I definitely had this misguided notion in the beginning that I would somehow show up in Flint, buy a house, and spur the recovery of the city. I was trying to help the city on my terms. I wanted to be a combination of the prodigal son and a conquering hero. After spending a lot of time in Flint and getting to know dozens of people there, I eventually figured out that this was a pretty selfish approach. And the reality of Flint forces you to be very practical. There is no magic bullet. No quick fix. It will take a lot of time, hard work, and small individual efforts that combine to improve the city. I think I found a way to do my part, but it required me to let go of all the plans I had cooked up back in San Francisco. I never imagined my return to Flint would turn out the way it did.

What did your family make of the book?

They love it, but that’s their job, right? Four generations of my family lived in Flint, and my mom told me the book captured the city she always loved but always longed to escape. My goal was to reveal the spirit and allure of Flint, without sugarcoating the reality of life there. This isn’t a sappy, nostalgic book. But it does reveal the powerful hold that the place where you grew up can exert on you.

What is your next book?

I’ve got three ideas for new books. I’m in the process of fine-tuning them and deciding which one makes the most sense for me at the moment. Writing Teardown was a very emotional process for me. It took four years to complete. I want to make the right choice. And I still have a lot of work left in Flint.

What’s next for you in terms of Flint? The book may be out in the world, but I don’t think your story in Flint is finished.

Without giving away too much of the book, I’ve forged strong friendships with many people in Flint. I talk to them almost daily. And there is no shortage of projects that can help the city. I’m trying to show other Flint expatriates how to connect with the city in some way. I’ve heard from a lot of people who have read the book and want to know how they can get involved. I hope that my experience can help some of the other people who left to create a bond with the city again like I did.

All photos courtesy http://www.teardownbook.com

In 1954, more than 100,000 people crowded downtown
 Flint for a parade celebrating the 50 millionth car
produced by General Motors. A “milestone car” — a gold-colored
Chevy with gold-plated parts — rolled off the assembly line
 to mark the occasion. (Photo courtesy of The Flint Journal)

Art from the Ruins

A Conversation with Artist Aaron Moran

A few years ago I took an extension class at the SF Art Institute about creating art from scrap. The truth is I took the class so I could spend more time in the concrete complex, which I love. One of my life regrets is that I didn’t pursue fine art and the SF Art Institute might have been the right place in the late 1970s. In the class I made a couple of three-dimensional sculptures out of scraps that I found. Now everywhere I turn I see litter and garbage I want to transform into small collages. But I worry about the germs.

Aaron Moran isn’t so fearful. He finds art in the waste of building sites near his home outside Vancouver where old houses have been torn down to make way for new condos. A few weeks ago I was posting images in my Art file on Pinterest and came across works by this artist I had never heard of. I tracked Aaron down and we had the following conversation via email.

Did you study artists who liked hard-edged geometric forms like (early) Frank Stella or Kenneth Noland? Did Joseph Cornell influence you in terms of reusing the discards of society?

Frank Stella was definitely someone whose work I have always remembered and admired, but I wouldn’t say I’m influenced by him. Joseph Cornell, not so much, but an artist who also worked with assemblage boxes similar to him who really did influence my work was Karl Fred Dahmen.

What was it about Dahmen’s work that influenced you?

I only stumbled across his work about the time I was in art school, but his assemblages and use of found materials were very intriguing. I loved how he created compositions out of materials regarded as waste (in many case, literally taken from junk yards).

Can you talk about other artists who were important to you growing up?

When I was younger, I enjoyed surrealism, for example Magritte and Dali, but I don’t necessarily see any connection between them and my current practice.

Do you think of your work as based in place? I understand that a lot of the raw material is detritus from sites where homes have been torn down. But is it accidentally about Vancouver and Langley, British Columbia?

The work is certainly about place. It is no accident that the pieces reference the locations they come from. Many of my earlier works are actually named after the addresses where the materials were found. I find a lot of importance in the context of the work—where it’s made, where it’s exhibited, etc. By working in Langley, I feel that the work acts as a primary source regarding the current development practices of the location.

Do you still live in Langley?

I recently moved about 15 minutes east to Surrey, British Columbia, which is experiencing similar developments, but is much further along. Instead of building town homes and condos as in Langley, they are building high-rises and sprawling multilevel malls.

What inspired you move from flat collage to more three-dimensional sculptures?

Actually, it happened the other way around—I began with three-dimensional works and eventually started creating flat ones when I was running low on material and experimenting with painting. Because the material is found, there is only so much of it available to use, so it happened out of necessity more than anything.

Have you continued to pursue larger works?

I have had a hard time working large, mainly because of limited studio space and limited space to store it once it’s complete. I hope to have the opportunity to work large or explore installations while pursuing my MFA.

Did you take shop in high school? Or did you learn to work the equipment in college?

I did take shop in high school, but only for about two years—truth be told, I was quite afraid of certain power tools. My dad has a small woodworking shop, so my confidence with working on the equipment came from experimenting and playing around throughout the years. While I have been successful creating sculptures, I am a poor carpenter.

What did you do in the one-year residency that was different from your regular life? Was it like a sabbatical from your paying job? How did it change your work?

I remained working during the residency (at a nearby university). More than anything, it gave me space and time and removed distractions. I was about 1 hour and 45 minutes from Langley, living alone with nobody nearby. It gave me the time to experiment around the clock, and while I don’t love every piece I created while there, it was responsible for creating a steppingstone for the work I create now.

Do you typically drive around the city looking for scraps?

I walk a lot, so if I find pieces small enough to carry, I pick them up while I’m out. If I find a stash that is too difficult to walk with, I will make note of it and come back with a car to pick it all up.

What is the weirdest thing you ever found?

Weird, but not too uncommon, are the belongings of people who seem to have left their properties in a hurry. Things like personally recorded VHS tapes, kids’ dolls or toys, even a photo album now and then.

A recent blog post suggested you were working with new wood and paint. Is this a different direction?

The wood, while it may appear new, is in fact gathered from bins that are designated as shop waste from several shops around town. I think this hits home the idea that people are throwing away perfectly good material without thinking of its possibilities. The use of painting is something I am exploring, but more in a way to emphasize the materials I found to begin with.

Do you use glue to hold your pieces together? Or nails? Or both?

I use a high-melting-point hot glue and air nails when necessary. Wood glue does not set fast enough for the way I work.

You’ve mentioned the phrase “organized chaos” before. In a video of one of your lectures, there were pictures of your three-dimensional sculptures underneath a photograph of the lot where you found some of the debris that went into the piece. Do the piles influence the shape of your three-dimensional work?

Absolutely—I think more than anything they reference the jagged piles of material from where they came. Also just the chaotic mess left behind by developers who bulldoze everything into unorganized piles. I try to organize them into something aesthetically pleasing.

Are your pieces like a frozen memento of what was lost?

I think that is the best way to put it. They are pieces made from structures of a different time that have been removed and forgotten about by the time something new is built where it once stood.

Does faith play a role in your work?

No.

When you are in a work groove, do you think of that time as spiritual in some way?

Not in any religious sense, but I get a natural high when I am on a roll—I feel incredibly energized. It is my time to myself, and it’s exciting to see what I can do with it.

Does anybody ever throw you off their land for trespassing?

I don’t jump fences or take material from construction lots—I only go on lots that have been abandoned for long periods of time. The worst I’ve had was a security guard asking what I was doing and asking me to leave. It’s easy enough, however, to come back at a later time.

Do you work on several pieces at one time, moving back and forth?

I always work on several pieces at a time, that way I can jump back and forth if I find pieces of material that would work better in a certain situation. Also, when I get frustrated with one piece, I can move on to another until I’m ready to come back to it.

Are you embracing social media as a way to share your art, your sensibility?

I used to have a Tumblr account, but I found it insufficient for creating a professional-looking portfolio. I don’t use Facebook for my art.

I found a number of videos about your work. Is that a medium you want to explore further?

Definitely not—in these cases, I feel that the video worked more as documentation than anything else.

Are you still thinking about pursuing a master’s degree?

I will be beginning my MFA studies this September at the University of Windsor in Ontario.

Why did you choose the University of Windsor?

I’m very interested in the Windsor/Detroit region because of its history as a “failed” manufacturing district. From my research, it seems that entire neighborhoods have turned into ghost towns. I suppose I see the area as a microcosm of the overlying development issues that I explore now.

Given how much your work has been shaped by your immediate environs, how do you think Ontario might influence your work?

I feel like the themes I explore are readily available in that region, just on a much larger scale. Windsor has a far more developed history that Langley, so I can’t help but think that my work will resonate with the place.

All images courtesy aaronsmoran.com.

Summoning Ghosts: The Art of Hung Liu

Through June 30, 2013, at the Oakland Museum

Daughter of the Revolution, 1993
courtesy museumca.org

It took me a while to warm to Hung Liu’s art. Not to the artist herself. As soon as you meet her, she pulls you in. Her combination of humor and seriousness wins you over. She uses her English-as-a-second-language as a device to outmaneuver you. Hung Liu understands how almost everything can become its opposite.

No, it took me a while to warm to the overwhelmingly representational imagery in Hung Liu’s paintings. But like so much art, traditional or conceptual, you just have to give it time.

Hung Liu was educated at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing. She moved to the United States in 1984 and graduated from UC San Diego in 1986. She draws on her social realist training in China and turns it on its head. When I look at her painting Chinese Profile III, I focus on the old woman’s hand and see a stunning abstract painting. When I rejoin the vignette to the whole, it is, once again, a beautifully rendered hand. Hung is painting realistically and abstractly simultaneously. By redeploying the realistic technique of propagandistic art, she celebrates the individual. Each person in Hung’s world asks the viewer to think about them, their life, their woes, their joy, their unique humanity.

Chinese Profile III, 1998
courtesy museumca.org

I had never seen her small paintings or photographs. In China, fearing persecution by government authorities, she had to create these works out of sight. This is why the series of small paintings are called My Secret Freedom. Art was her freedom symbolically and, eventually, literally. The curator has placed these pieces in a small side gallery that reminds the viewer that this art could not be created in the open. In contrast to the rest of the exhibition, they are small and intimate, like a treasure that has just been discovered. It is no wonder that after she moved to the United States, Hung Liu’s canvases came to be so large and to boldly command the viewer’s attention. Freedom needs to be seen and heard.

Village Photograph 8
courtesy hungliu.com

My Secret Freedom 11
courtesy hungliu.com

To Live
courtesy hungliu.com

She returns to the intimate scale when she records her mother’s belongings after she passed away. These paintings are also tucked away in another side gallery. Be sure to see them.

In a long, horizontal piece like Hua Gang (Flower Ridge), the starving men contrast with beautiful pink flowers. We know these men are likely to be dead, but the viewer can remember each unique being surrounded with beauty. Other reviewers have remarked on Hung’s drip technique, which I think of as evidence of rebellion against the strict social realist training. And as tears.

She remembers the dispossessed. Many pieces are of women in oppressive conditions, whether they are forced to serve as laborers or prostitutes or simply to suffer the restriction of bound feet. One of the most stunning works is Mu Nu (Mother and Daughter), with more shades of gray than I ever imagined.

Mu Nu (Mother and Daughter), 1997
courtesy museumca.org

Shan — Mountain, 2012
courtesy paulsonbottpress.com

The painting that took my breath away was September 2001, where a squawking bird and a child symbolize an unwilling plane and an innocent tower. The fruit, flowers, and feathers of the crown are interdependent. One way to process the enormity of the tragedy of 9/11 is to focus on one child and on the beauty of nature. Despite the preponderance of drips, the fantastic imagery rings clear. Every life matters.

September, 2001
courtesy hungliu.com

For further information:

http://www.hungliu.com/
http://www.museumca.org/gallery/summoning-ghosts-art-hung-liu
http://www.paulsonbottpress.com/artists/liu_hung/liu.html