Hungarian Artist- Roommates, Chez Serge & Murakami at Versailles

For the past month, I've been lucky enough to share a gorgeous apartment in the 7th arrondissement on Boulevard Saint-Germain and Rue du Bac (belonging to an American businessman-turned-artist, Giorgio, whose lovely paintings, photographs and sketches adorn every wall) with Ariel, a friend from childhood also studying here in Paris at La Sorbonne, and a Hungarian painter/photographer, Lili Kisteleki. I thought I'd take a moment to appreciate the randomness of our colocation and also the beauty and depth of her artwork (not to mention her incredible cooking skills!!). Lili had two friends, also Hungarian artists, staying with us a few weeks, Babos Bertalan Szili and Lena Kùt. Szili creates incredibly detailed, colorful drawings and paintings, mainly of faces juxtaposed with other objects, while Lena's specialty is performance art (at their exhibition at Place des Vosges, which we attended a few weeks back, she unveiled a video piece of herself being splashed repeatedly with different colors of paint, in slow motion, against a bleak desert landscape). A few of Lili's pieces:

this piece, which is actually gigantic in real life, is ironically leaned against the wall across from me as I type:

And two pieces that Lili and Szili collaborated on, which currently live in the apartment as well:

It's been great getting to know Lili, Szili and Lena, and being in such close proximity with their artwork. Check out Szili's work on his website: http://zsili.tv/

I've also discovered that I'm living right around the corner from late Parisian musical genius Serge Gainsbourg's old house on the Rue de Verneuil. (Side note: literally every time I wear my lace-up patent leather Repetto jazz shoes, at least one French boy compliments me on them, then reminds me that Serge used to wear them). Much like Oscar Wilde's grave, the house is covered in graffiti of the most loving kind-- which changes daily-- sketches of Serge and Jane Birkin, lipstick marks, song lyrics, lovers' initials.

Lastly, yesterday I paid a visit to the Château de Versailles with a few friends to see the Takashi Murakami installation. I've always had slightly mixed feelings about Murakami's work-- his colorful plastic animé sculptures hinge on kitsch and, in my opinion, don't offer a great deal of originality-- but it was interesting to see such utterly contemporary works set against the sweeping bay windows, marble statues, ancient ceiling tableaus, chandeliers and gold filigree of the Galerie des Glaces. You can see what I mean in the following pictures:

though most of the pieces in the exhibit explored the bounds of irony and juxtaposition, this piece worked a little better in my opinion, as Murakami completely outfitted the entire room in his (slightly creepy) grinning-rainbow-flower motif (notice the carpet?)

closeup on the lantern from the last shot

Suffice it to say that even though the weather has been absolutely horrendous for the past two weeks (nonstop pouring rain and wind), having all of this incredible art at my fingertips has lessened that concern!

Skin Fruit/ The Artist is Present

What better to do on a slightly-cloudy spring Sunday in New York than a little museum-hopping? Today I made it to two: the New Museum's "Skin Fruit," curated by Jeff Koons, and MoMA's "The Artist is Present" by outlandish Yugoslavian performance artist Marina Abramović. Both exhibits left a lasting impression on me-- and really got me thinking about what defines art in this day and age. Though I draw and paint, I could never in my wildest dreams imagine creating anything like the pieces I viewed today.

"Skin Fruit" showcases a plethora of often bizarre, utterly modern, mainly sexually-themed pieces from the collection of Greek billionaire Dakis Joannou, including a basketball suspended in the middle of an aquarium filled with chemically-treated water by Koons himself, and two live-performance pieces (in one, a male model changes into a loincloth behind a screen, then climbs a ladder to hang himself on a wooden cross suspended on the gallery wall; in the other, a museum guard sings "This is propaganda, you know, you know" as visitors enter the room). These are the tamer of the works-- most of the others are overtly sexual and even sometimes a little disturbing (a ClayMation video of a woman having her way with a tiger, a sculpture made entirely of male sexual organs, etc).

Some of the less graphic pieces from "Skin Fruit" at the New Museum: Rodin... The Thinker (1977) by Chris Ofili, Aluminum Girl by Charles Ray (2003) and Noodles (2009) by Urs Fischer

an interesting piece from "Skin Fruit"....

"The Artist is Present" was another story entirely-- though no less shocking. In her groundbreaking, often boundary-testing performance artwork, Abramović explores the relationship between performer and audience, the state of consciousness of the performer and her own physical and psychological limits. Her past performances have included placing herself at the mercy of others and sometimes even in grave danger (for one of her pieces, she provoked a poisonous snake and then mirrored its actions; for another (arguably her most famous piece), she allowed audience members to inflict their will upon her with various items that she laid out for their usage, including knives, nails, hammers, shards of glass and a gun with a single bullet). Her exhibit this spring includes a chronological installation of her past work in photographs, video and "recreations" of performance pieces, using live models (an example: visitors must pass in between a nude man and woman, standing facing each other in a small hallway, to get into the final room of the exhibit). In addition to this, Abramović herself is, as the title would suggest, present: she sits in a chair, staring straight ahead, for the duration of the museum's hours, inviting visitors to sit across from her and stare into her eyes.

Marina Abramović in the early 1970's, testing the boundaries of trust with Ulay, a German performance artist with whom she often collaborated

...and another performance collaboration with Ulay, in which the two artists "breathed each other's oxygen" (They soon lost consciousness).

A link to exhibition site (Watch some of the interviews with the artist; it's fascinating to hear her talk about her work and the motivation/inspiration behind it):

http://www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2010/marinaabramovic/

I recommend both exhibits, but with a caveat: suffice it to say that you might be exposed to a few more pieces of "skin fruit" than you bargained for...