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Keith Haring’s “Red” (detail), on view at the Gladstone Gallery through July 1.1982-1984. Gouache and ink on paper. Complete work 106 3/4 x 274 inches (271.1 x 696 cm). ©Keith Haring Foundation. Courtesy Gladstone Gallery, New York.
By Paul Ben-Itzak
Copyright 2011, 2018 Paul Ben-Itzak
(First published on the DI/AV on May 9, 2011 and re-published today in memory of Randy Shilts. Keith Haring is one of the 100,000 Americans and one million people world-wide who had died from AIDS-related illnesses by the end of George H.W. Bush’s presidency, a presidency largely indifferent to their plight. Bush died on Saturday, World AIDS Day, at the age of 94. And the band played on.)
NEW YORK — “These are markers,” Bill T. Jones was telling me. We were at last Wednesday’s opening for the Gladstone Gallery’s ambitious exhibition of the three mammoth works Keith Haring painted in real-time during a series of performances by the Bill T. Jones / Arnie Zane Company in 1982, as well as two long display cases packed with drawings taken from Haring’s notebooks, including a couple of dozen sketches of penises, most poignantly several under which the artist has written, “Drawing penises in front of Tiffany’s.” Jones looked from tableau to tableau, reflected, and added: “I’m a marker.” Only Bill T. Jones can say this without seeming ostentatious or self-important. What he meant is that, like Haring and like the affliction they shared, the one ultimately succumbing and the other surviving, still here, he signified the artistically audacious and personally daring gestalt of a certain New York epoch. Where he was being unfair to himself, though, was that his tone implied the word *was*, and of the three iconic signifiers of the ’80s NY art scene I encountered last Wednesday meandering from Gladstone’s vast Chelsea gallery near the Hudson to the intimate Rattlestick Theater on Waverly Place, where Suzanne Vega was holding court as Carson McCullers, or pretending to, Jones was the only one who was of his time without being trapped in it. That said, with this courageous exhibition, Barbara Gladstone has liberated Haring from the sanitized version that has been passed down to us in the two decades since his death from AIDS-related illnesses in 1990, at the age of 31. If Jones is “Still / Here,” thanks to Gladsone, Haring is here again, in his full unadulterated glory.
It’s not that Haring’s animated tableaux don’t appeal to adults as well as children — they do. But I suspect my own fascination with them is in large part nostalgic, because they recall the at least surface innocence of that period in Greenwich Village, a sort of resurrection of the down but not out Beat spirit of New York in the ‘50s after the anarchic disarray of the ‘60s and the downer of the ‘70s, with its taint of corruption and its tint of soot. Jones danced, Haring made figures who danced — cartoons that managed to be simultaneously hip and naive, innocent rather than ironic — and Vega sang of an innocent neighbor child (his name was Luca, in case you’ve forgotten), beaten by his parents. Even the monotone vocal delivery and accompanying a-musicality of “Tom’s Diner” didn’t prevent that anecdotal anthem from being playful, a romp in an older Manhattan — the diner — seen through the eyes of a hip young singer, perhaps slightly jaded but still able to appreciate the scene she was describing. This was when irony still seemed a novelty.
But wait. Look more deeply at Haring’s murals painted for Jones’s 1982 shows and you see a serpent extending from the prolonged body of one of the dancers. Consider the dozens of drawings of penises, apparently including at least one of his own (one ageing original hipster at Wednesday’s opening, picking a penis to pose by so his friend could take a photo, passed on one which Haring noted was a a true depiction of the author’s, erect, saying, “Not accurate.”), and, being told earlier in the day by another survivor about what John Giorno wrote about having anonymous sex with Haring in the subway bathrooms of New York while others watched, one also has to recall the moment it all came crashing down in a shower of T-cells, and Haring’s death at 31 of AIDS.
When I told my AIDS survivor friend that I was considering publishing Haring’s sketches under which he has written “Drawing penises in front of Tiffany’s,” (part of his 1978 series, “Manhattan Penis Drawings for Ken Hicks”), juxtaposing them with the fact of his dying of what Prince called the big disease with a little name, my friend suggested I would be stigmatizing Haring, and by inference other gay men who died of AIDS. In other words, I would be saying, “This is what all their penis fancies lead to.” Perhaps, if the art in question was called, “Drawing penises in front of the subway restroom,” but what’s jarring here is the tragic transformation signified by the Tiffany’s context and framing. When Truman Capote’s Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn in Blake Edwards’s 1961 film) stands in front of the famous Fifth Avenue display window after a night of partying staring winsomely at diamonds while eating her croissant and coffee one early New York morning, the route that might open that window for her is sleeping with wealthy men. When Keith Haring stands in front of the same window some 20 years later, the baubles, bangles, and bright shiny beads he’s dreaming of will (probably; the exact reason he contracted AIDS was not divulged) ultimately serve as the instrument of his death. Both Holly and Haring arrived from small towns with Big Apple dreams, but oh how the booty of those dreams — of the free lifestyle celebrated by Golightly and pursued by thousands of Hollys and Harings afterwards, perhaps inspired by her story — had changed! And as far as stigmatization goes, well, look at the way society treated each: Holly was lionized — never mind that her means were greased by a lighter form of selling herself; and Keith, or at least the larger social strata which encadred him, gay men, was stigmatized — never mind that unlike Holly he wasn’t using others to get rich, he was just a guy who wanted to have fun.
Keith Haring, “Manhattan Penis Drawings for Ken Hicks,” 1978. Graphite on paper. 8 1/2 x 5 1/2 inches (21.6 x 14 cm). ©Keith Haring Foundation. Courtesy Gladstone Gallery, New York.
Are Haring’s drawings of penises in front of Tiffany’s great art? In my view, no. (But, as a colleague here at the DI pointed out to me, who am I to judge?) Viewed with the awareness that he would die of AIDs a decade later, do they make a powerful statement about a prodigious artist, and about how the consequences for innocents who arrived in New York with the dream of living an artful life changed so direly over the span of just two decades, and about the death of innocence? Absolutely. (And even without this social context, when juxtaposed with Haring’s later, technically more sophisticated and graphically more involved and intricate work — as we’ve done on this page — they do in fact help complete the portrait of the artist.)
Contrast this tribute with Suzanne Vega’s “Carson McCullers Talks about Love,” a shallow homage to a complicated artist which takes absolutely no risks in what was billed as an effort to understand the author of “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter,” “The Member of the Wedding,” and other work that played its own part in signifying an earlier era. McCullers championed misfits, and in probing her story, one would have hoped that Vega would have taken a deeper look at the personal idiosyncracies that informed her oeuvre, particularly ‘Heart,’ and made it ring so true. Vega not only avoids exploring these facets — including McCullers’s sexual ambidextrousness – but after making the decision to go with a generic southern accent, she can’t even bother to develop its nuances. Every line has the same cadence, except when she flubs one, which is frequently. The lyrics of the dozen or so songs are trite, which almost has the effect of trivializing their subject; how can one treat a personality whose chief talent was verbal lyricism with such one-dimensional language? The evening appears to have had a director, Kay Matschullat, but desperately needs a dramaturge. Vega’s fascination with McCullers seems to have started with seeing her photo on a book jacket — “She looked like a wise old child,” the singer recalls in a short introduction spoken as herself before dawning a wig and the unfortunate accent — but her stage portrait doesn’t really delve deeper than that one dimension. In effect, Vega has become the man standing outside the window of Tom’s Diner. She has not ventured inside the restaurant, leaving us to wonder if she really sees her subject. One gets the feeling that we’re beholding a sanitized version of an artist, McCullers, who was anything but. Consequently, she has taught us nothing new about the author; we leave the theater no more enlightened than we were coming in.
Barbara Gladstone, the owner of the Gladstone Gallery, could have gone the same route. She could have just presented the three large works on paper Haring painted during the Bill T. Jones / Arnie Zane performance, which, lustrous and enjoyable as they are, would simply have confirmed the Keith Haring we already know, the one who’s art is safe enough to put on coffee cups. But she clearly didn’t want to just profit from the artist — she wanted to serve him and enchance his reputation and the public’s appreciation of his authenticity and understanding of his art. Personally, on a visceral level, I was repulsed by the penis images. But as an art maven recently returned from France, where the performing arts at least still have some intellectual heft and pose difficult questions, to a New York — New York City, skyscrapers and everythang! — where the lively arts (at least as manifest in what I’ve seen) rarely seem to go beyond the surface any more, where the former town crier the Village Voice is a shadow of its former self, where the spectators don’t seem to know the difference, and where the majority of the artists who populate the Chelsea galleries seem to be so lightweight, and most of the curators not to know the difference, I celebrate the opportunity to get to know an artist I thought I already knew even better, and I applaud a gallery owner’s caring enough to provide the opportunity
Haven’t yet subscribed to the DI? This week you’re missing Parker Herren’s Flash Review of Charles Atlas Presents: The Kitchen Follies, with performances by Dancenoise, Jodi Melnick, and others, and the accompanying retrospective of Atlas’s video work recently presented at the New York theater. This week subscribers also receive, exclusively by e-mail, from the DI’s Archive of more than 2,000 reviews of performances on five continents by more than 150 writers, Angela Jones’s 2004 Flash of Margie Gillis performing at the Joyce Theater, which begins: “Margie Gillis is the reason I dance and choreograph.” And, from the same year, Chris Dohse’s Flash of Tere O’Connor’s “Frozen Mommy,” which, Chris writes, “burns into the mind’s retina like an 8-millimeter film with embarrassing footage from your childhood that sticks in the projector and melts against its bulb, blistering the image to smithereens.” To subscribe to the DI and access both new content and stories from our 20-year archive, for just $39.95/year individuals (students: $19.95 with university ID) or $49.95 institutions, just designate your PayPal payment in that amount to firstname.lastname@example.org, or write us at that address to find out about payment by check or in Euros. (In the latter case, the payments will be directed to our European correspondents.) You can also contact us at that address to find out about limited, well-integrated e-mail and Web site advertising and sponsor options. The Dance Insider is sponsored by Freespace Dance (top) and Slippery Rock University Dance (above).
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By Martha Graham
(As taken from public probate records)
(First published on the Dance Insider on January 18, 2001, as part of its comprehensive, unparalleled coverage of the Graham v. Graham legal saga pitting Ron Protas, Graham’s legal heir, against her company, school, and center. DI subscribers get full access to the complete coverage, plus our archive of 2,000 reviews of performances, news, and art from around the world by 150 leading dance critics dating back to 1998. To subscribe to the DI for just $29.95/year, just designate your PayPal payment in that amount to firstname.lastname@example.org, or write us at that address to find out about payment by check or in Euros. Martha Graham was born 124 years ago today.)
I, MARTHA GRAHAM, of the County, City and State of New York, make, publish, and declare this to be my last will and testament.
I hereby revoke all former wills and codicils thereto made by me at any time.
I appoint my friend, Ron Protas, to be executor thereof. If he shall not qualify or, having qualified, shall cease to act as executor hereof, I appoint my friend, Alex Racolin, to be executor hereof. I direct that no executor appointed herein shall be required to give bond or other security for the faithful performance of his duties in any jurisdiction.
All personal and household effects, and other tangible personal property, held for purposes of use or enjoyment as distinguished from business or investment purposes, which I now own or may hereafter acquire, if owned by me at the time of my death, I give and bequeath to my said friend, Ron Protas, if he shall survive me. I request, but do not enjoin, that he distribute certain of such items in accordance with my wishes which are known to him.
The residue, remaining after funeral and estate administration expenses and debts have been paid and after the foregoing provisions hereof have been satisfied, of all my property, real and personal, of every kind and description and wherever situated, including all property over which I may have power of appointment at the time of my death, all such powers being hereby expressly exercised, and including all property not otherwise effectively disposed of hereunder (said residue being hereinafter referred to as my “residuary estate”), I give, (unclear), and bequeath to my said friend, Ron Protas, if he shall survive me, or, if he shall not survive me, to the Martha Graham Center of Contemporary Dance, Inc.
In connection with any rights or interests in any dance works, musical scores, scenery sets, my personal papers, and the use of my name, which may pass to my said friend Ron Protas under this Article IV, I request, but do not enjoin, that he consult with my friends, Linda Hodes, Diane Gray, Halston, Ted Michaelson, Alex Racolin and Lee Traub, regarding the use of (unclear) rights or interests.
To provide for the execution of the provisions of the will, the administration of my estate and related matters:
(A) I give to my executor, in affirma[tion] and extension of the authority and power given to executors by law, the authority and power (1) to retain and hold my property, real and personal, or any part or parts thereof, in the form in which the same may be invested at the time of my death, and to sell the same at public or private sale, with or without notice, for cash or credit or upon such terms and conditions as my executor may deem wise, and in like manner to convey, exchange, lease, mortgage, pledge or otherwise encumber the same; (2) to invest funds and change investments without regard to whether such investments or reinvestments are of the character prescribed or authorized by law for the investment of trust funds; (3) to exercise or assert in person or by proxy all rights, privileges and powers accruing upon, appurtenant to, or available in connection with securities included in my estate; and (4) to execute all such instruments and to perform all such acts as shall be incidental to or necessary or expedient in connection with the foregoing authority and power or the proper execution of the provisions of this will or the proper administration of my estate, all the authority and power given herein to be exercised for such purposes as in the discretion of my executor maybe deemed proper without the authorization or confirmation of any court.
(B) I direct (1) that the term “executor,” as used herein, shall be deemed to mean the executor or alternate executor appointed herein, whichever shall be acting; (2) that a person shall be deemed not to have survived me as such term is used herein where such person dies simultaneously with me or dies under such circumstances that in the judgment of my executor it cannot be determined with certainty whether such person survived me or it would be impracticable to attempt to do so; and (3) that my executor shall pay my death taxes without apportionment, as if they were expenses of administering my estate, out of property which, otherwise would be included in my residuary estate; and the term “death taxes,” as used herein, shall be understood to mean all inheritance, transfer, succession and estate taxes levied by reason of my death, regardless of whether such taxes are levied on property passing or not passing under this will, and to include all interest and penalties on such taxes.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand and seal at New York, this (handwriting unclear) day of (handwriting unclear), 1989.
(The will is signed here, in handwriting, “Martha Graham.”)
The foregoing instrument was subscribed by the above-named MARTHA GRAHAM, on the day and year first above written, (unclear) our presence and was at the same time published and declared (unclear) her in the presence of each of us to be her last will and testament, and thereupon we, at her request, and in her presence and in the presence of each other, did subscribe our names as attesting witnesses.
(The will is signed, here, in handwriting, with three names, the only one of which is legible in the copy provided to the DI by the Martha Graham Center is that of Linda Hodes.)
By Philip W. Sandstrom
Copyright 2005, 2018 Philip W. Sandstrom
Founded in 1998 by a collective of professional dance artists and journalists to build the dance audience, tell stories not told elsewhere, and give a voice to dancers, the DI is celebrating its 20th anniversary this week by offering one-year subscriptions for just $20, including full access to our archive of 2,000 reviews of performances and art from around the world by 150 leading dance critics. Subscribe through PayPal by designating your payment to email@example.com, or write us at that address to learn how to pay by check. The longtime technical director of Dance Theater Workshop, acclaimed lighting designer Philip W. Sandstrom is a DI senior critic.
NEW YORK — For her new “Daylight,” Sarah Michelson radically reconfigured PS 122’s second-floor theater, effectively dropping a new performance space into the midst of the old one. If you’ve performed in or observed performances at this space, you know the stage is bisected by two permanent columns; Michelson plopped the seating — three custom-seating risers — adjacent to and in between these fixtures. Then she painted everything — including the walls — white. The only exception to this snowy landscape was Claude Wampler’s four large portraits of the dancers, delineated, etch-a-sketch style, in a continuous thin black line on an all-white canvas. A phalanx of upright chrome theatrical lights, mounted on poles like speared heads, confronted the audience at the lip of the stage. A gentle haze thinly filled the air and the theater was bathed in natural blue-sky light pouring through a large exposed window on the south side of the auditorium.
To receive the complete article, first published on June 28, 2005, subscribers please contact publisher Paul Ben-Itzak at firstname.lastname@example.org. Not a subscriber? This week you can subscribe to the DI for one year at the discounted rate of $20. Just designate your PayPal payment in that amount to email@example.com, or write us at that address to learn how to pay by check. Subscribers receive full access to the DI/AV Archive of 2,000 exclusive reviews by 150 leading critics of performances and art on five continents from 1998 through 2015.