The New York Times
City Room had an adorable idea for a feature: Kids Draw the News, in which children submit artwork about current events. This could have been an overly precious concept. But from the beginning, it was clear that someone at The New York Times didn’t get enough hugs as a child.
Ku Klux Kibble
Every summer, studios seem to come out with another gritty reboot of a comic book classic that serves only to remind us how messed up these masked vigilantes actually are. Batman is a Howard Hughes-esque psycho with a martyr complex and an uncanny ability to cause so much damage to Gotham’s infrastructure that it’s not even worth the price of catching the bad guys; Spider-Man is a brooding, emo geek with an infected hand; Wolverine is an alcoholic with anti-social tendencies, and Tony Stark is just an alcoholic.
As Alan Moore once famously cribbed from Roman poet Juvenal: Who watches the watchmen? Today, SVA grad Skye Greenfield is papering the Lower East Side with Wanted posters for superheroes that go one step further, accusing our childhood heroes of the most heinous crimes imaginable.
Former Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard David Duke may hate the Jews, but he sure loved his dog, Torri. When the seventeen-year-old, all-white (naturally!) Maltese died a few months back, Mr. Duke did what any of us would do after the loss of a beloved pet–he filmed a nearly fifteen minute video tribute to the dog and uploaded it to YouTube complete with an emotional folk soundtrack, photos of Torri exploring the great outdoors and musings on the nature of life, death and grief.
Mr. Duke initially made his “Tribute to Torri” private, but he has since relaxed the clip’s privacy settings at “the urging of those who met Torri over the last 17 years.” We’re so glad Mr. Duke chose to share his video, because it’s all kinds of incredible. Despite how amazing this video it is, it somehow seems to have escaped the attention of the internet, so we present it to you now.
How to cook a rat
After the rabid success of artist Laura Ginn’s $100 five-course rat feast last week, which we bravely attended, gallery owner Allegra LaViola tells The Observer they will be offering an encore: free samples of rat meat to those who venture to the Lower East Side tomorrow from 6-8 PM. The simple “grilled rat sampler,” prepared by chef Yuri Hart, will be open to the public.
Last night in the basement of the Allegra La Viola gallery on the Lower East Side, about 20 brave eaters gathered over five courses dedicated to one ingredient, providing the ultimate locavore eating experience a New Yorker could have: rat.
To participate in the evening’s program, a work by artist Laura Ginn titled “Tomorrow We Will Feast Again on What We Catch,” they had each paid $100 to dine upon the ragged pests normally seen scurrying across subway rails and digging through garbage cans.
After attendees signed a generic liability waiver and agreed not to take photographs, the artist greeted them warmly, and watched with delight as the full spectacle of her outfit washed over them. The one-shoulder, knee-length cocktail dress was constructed entirely of two hundred rat pelts (tails and all), which she told The Observer she had tanned herself and stitched together over the course of two days. It was quite stylish, actually, with white fur at the top shading into gray fur at the bottom, a sort of murine ombre. Her toenails, peeking out from wooden platform sandals, were painted gray to match.
“I’m going to be on the cover of Vogue: the post-apocalypse issue,” she joked.
With tongue placed firmly in cheek, New York’s street artist Hanksy has built a career out of poking fun at the self-serious subversives in the gallery graffiti circuit. Even his name is a satirical homage to the British Banksy, with Hanksy being a shortened tag for “Tom Hanksy.”
Picking subjects more pop than political, Hanksy has focused his art on animals and celebrity mash-ups: like the hilarious Ferrell Cats, or the pun-y “Pie Hard” stencil in Bushwick.
If Banksy’s monkeys are telling us, “Laugh now, because one day we’ll be in charge,” than Hanksy’s message might be better summarized as, “Laugh now, because this is funny.”
ART IS HARD
As is the case with college basketball and root vegetables, HBO’s generation-defining television ‘Girls’—one of those wonderful things Western Society is quite simply blessed with—must take a break for part of the year. And yet, just because we don’t see them doesn’t necessarily mean they’re gone, that their machinations aren’t engaged in some degree of motion; that they are not, for lack of a better term, bloggable.
Andre Saraiva doesn’t just own the keys (and velvet rope) to Chinatown’s most impossibly hip club, Le Baron, but the Frenchman-about-town fancies himself an artist as well. To wit, his first major solo show—subtly titled Andrépolis—premiered last night at Bowery gallery The Hole. It has been characterized as an “urban phantasmagoria” by Purple Magazine‘s Olivier Zahm, who also explains that “the exhibition has a surprise at the end, a carousel for adults, for those who are not afraid to ride the wings of desire.”
And oh, does it ever.
If you happen to be walking on Broadway right before the clock strikes midnight, do not be alarmed when several major video screens turn into digital canvases. It’s just the first of the Times Square Arts installation series, which runs from 11:57-12 a.m. from May 1 – 31. And what better artist to kick off the premiere exhibit than Watermill Center founder and premier artist, director, and curator Robert Wilson?
Could this become any more wonderful and/or absurd? Apparently, yes.
Last week, French street artist Kidult took a fire extinguisher full of pink paint, and unleashed it on Marc Jacobs’ SoHo boutique last week, painting the word “ART” over the store. Marc Jacobs had some fun with it on social media, and then, commodtized the ostensible political message by turning a photo of his painted store—which is vandalism or art, depending on how you see it—into a $700 T-Shirt, with the caption “Art by Art Jacobs.” Kidult, the artist, was pissed, and made it known.