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MILTON RESNICK: ALLEGORY AND INSIGNIA (1917- 2004) Milton Resnick was born in Bratslav Russia in 1917 anrimmigrated to New York City with his family in 1923.He grew up in brooklyn, and entered the American artist school in 1933. In the 1930's he was on the WPA Artist's Project and met William de Kooning, Arshile Gorky, John Graham, and other downtown artist. In 1940, Resnick was drafted and served in the U.S. Army through all of World War II. After returning to New York in September 1945, Resnick immediately began painting abstractions, thereby cementing his historical position as a member of the first generation of American Abstract Expressionists. he was a founding member of the Artist's Club 1950's.Over his long career, Resnick painted "through" classic Abstract Expressionist action painting to arrive at works that gave the impression of allover monochromatic fields, although in fact comprised of myriad hues. Through the 1970s and 1980s his paint application became increasingly dense and his palette generally darkened, resulting in canvases of subtle, almost topographical presence. radically uncompromising in their reliance on the materiality of paint, yet romantic and deeply satisfying, these works are considered to be his major achievement. They include the landmark works ELEPHANT, 1987, at 18 feet long the largest painting in the exhibition , and DEBRIS, 1971, which is 17 feet long. In the last years of his life. Resnick turned to figurative and imagistic paintings, alternating darkness and mystery with humor. He died in 2004 in New York.

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MIND AND MATTER knowing knowing what is mind and matter ahat tugs the moon and stars knowing nothing of the future back to the beginning the minute swayed by light the wisdom in the air that agitates the heart the bells ring mouths open that changes everything in the bushes and indoors in new york and occasionally links to eternity

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SINCE IT'S SUMMER 1 since it's summer a beautiful day for children left behind for questioning the spontaneity of arithmetic since it's necessary to be depressed I shall write about absolute urges reduced to stale bread a burden to humanity like the ghosts you see at night and paintings you expect when you can't find something better to do but since it's summer don't put it down to sun seizures think of a big idea the Spanish armada comes to mind sunk in the interests of white race and as a tribute to t s eliot what do I think about Picasso you can guess

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2 since its summer I smile thinking of gertrude stein sitting with alice her friend in a car that won't go and I push them over a cliff lots of dead horses down there I'm lucky I'm alive since it's summer can't find anything to do like something sincere but not flowery let's go for the classics I'm not quite finished with one of those guides to success but I see a fly on the ceiling and quickly put a lid on the pot just being alert pays

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3 monuments you would like to believe people you can trust alas shadows oh poet be kind to the salamander dance with the lonely armadillo ignore the bed although the beehives are full honey is only a commodity and only the milky way is beautiful the moons can be fateful the suns influence ignorance Jupiter the giant is gaseous and mercury chases you around the flagpole

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CAN YOU BELIEVE PLATO can you believe plato do you think the things you see are lies how can we live that way in this country we have facts the sky is blue there's intelligence out there sometimes we have visitors from mars and you in love are you also blind venus made it happen we rely on Pluto whenever we go to cragsmoor and stop the mice from eating everything up we need facts so we can open little doors in the brain there's so many ideas cooking in there and teeming words to diffuse into the world for we need to get ahead so we can get away from stinking city weekends and grow old gracefully

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AN ACCIDENT An accident on the mountain showing the superiority of chance I fell and thought I saw horses in the sky the horses shiver they don't understand if you don't whip what's more false than the horse of dream the race, the grass, the sun I should doubt for a painter nature is paradox but you don't need me to mix colors what one likes does not trot out of painting dreams still function they could be expressing the mystic the indistinct line of nature wanted for great heart I know this anxiety allowable in the forced loneliness of the studio and for the god-forsaken Jew hiding as someone else but for the god-like that explode in song and dance the drum won't do and idealistic protest will not win the field for the years deliver us of pity yesterday for instance I stopped reading about the earthquake in Mexico

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I thought the news was getting beyond nightmare beyond everchanging shadows lying in wait for dawn the rosy-fingered beyond the likely as for me I hardly recognize the day It's so early something in the air threatens insects the horrors eat they need the blood you need they take from us hat we have none cast in hell as usual if all that talk of sin comes to pass the parades I shall see new light on what I know and feel all in a single drop is nothing in presence of the mountain a mad thought I don't look a thing grinning in pain

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LONELINESS / PAIN / EMBARRASSMENT loneliness pain embarrassment the high price of a long life a good reason for suicide instead I promise plain poetry and out of date painting Oh worshipful sky over New York could you materialize a serious angel to reduce arthritis and help me walk how little you care for art and losing sleep next door screams what's existence all about

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BLACK HOLLOWS ON THE HORIZON Black hollows on the horizon a perspective of despair too insistent for my thoughts I come from work I am not myself crazy from the experience of years I dream I am brushing the secrets of life on canvas but why does paint dry to indescribable shadows is it moonshine or is it more serious a picture of the world for the first time out of inspiration my genius hand does not deliver the comprehensive I could almost understand Plato how philosophy evaporates the concrete how instinct yields the unreal will shadows save the day

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THE BRAIN IS EXPLAINED the brain is explained as a kind of motionless ocean from which concept emerges also as a way of gathering information the important thing is not to drown not to destroy the gift of nature there you are stunning in doubt since daydreams can go on forever the future in America is in work

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THE RUSSIAN LEADER SAID the russian leader said don't talk we have a long road to go I read that all he meant is a new culture starts when the people deserve it before becoming abstract art pointed a way to join the image to the actual to bleed the image the instant veins opened nature appeared and the image did not last who knows maybe some russian said it I'm not crazy for the truth

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ANYTHING TO BE LIGHTHEARTED anything to be lighthearted and fall in love again why do I feel a slight weight in my heart it must be the tide the full moon bewilderment that causes dancing and you twist because the wires melt inside and you are in the dark wanting to cry on someone's shoulder and the door acts poorly

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NATURE MODELED Nature modeled in briny froth the future of America crowded in macdonalds find new ways to fuck don't shove I have my glasses on entrance by cold backs I find the old tricks the amorous kind good I remember the gargoyles of notre dame pissing on the cobbled streets of paris and agile pigeons move on

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DO YOU CARE do you care for one of my poems this will also be in character with toots for blushing brides and famous artists sentiments are ok you can stretch your wings everywhere and if you like the weather you can lie on the grass and if you must have friends let them cry on your shoulder and cheer the slow clouds above

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[excerpts from Endless Days Endless Nights: 1995} Let it be said enough when it comes to the old tales we are exercising sweet talk preparing for suicide what goes on in the frame is not all look around we are the ins and outs of large happenings who will help who can stop it not sexy says pat to refuse help and she brought me sweet potatoes with apple slivers and nuts i grew up liking russian jewish food once i swallowed a pebble thought i would die a noble thought not to tell my mother talk about decadence and forgiveness i had a bellyful lately let it be said enough is enough

.......... When things are not right a poet restores the sun's magnificent fire that melts the snow on low hills and reincarnates a dog smell what is poor tilly barking at will god understand when things are not right when you abuse the old language scream like crazy until tired and frightened you look for love from a human ..........

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Confusion in the studio so don't expect a pose something on my mind o pat when we married in city hall i did not limp it did not rain grass suffered all over the world i hate all that fuss about art pat you saw me cry who saved the day who watered the plants i assume it was love it makes no difference this is another day to fool with paint so that i better understand my helplessness and happiness isn't better when you can't sleep o pat I dream I have lost you i just sneezed the lover who became your husband has cold hands

God makes me stay awake all night to read we are going to the moon with deafening rocket steam can't imagine genesis on a dead planet with computers look at new york nothing to brag about nevertheless it might come about god will deluge a pure sea rob every head of knowledge i hate to be suspicious i would rather know dawn arm in arm with love

..........

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I see Christmas lights according to people a son of god was born worth dying for what do I know words words better to dwell in dreams you know since my goddam knees keep me from sleeping recently i walked a few blocks imagining i was in the desert with moses i hate imagining and never meet anyone i know will you listen i slave for in my heart i am a straw in the winds On canvas bigger than god if there is one i feel like falling but i don't for i am not dead which is weird perhaps i am laconic about the dexterity of paint to imitate nature but when the image is reduced to zero it is awful so you learn enough to model breasts is hard work enough next to valasquez who dissolved perfumed men in the sweet changes of light the face so disliked decided history by an act of faith oh computers you have given away the brush a perfect tool perhaps you can ride to the moon with no danger to yourself but there's doubt you will save your soul Why suffer what strangers think do you have to paint all i can say depression comes often and multiplies the infinite consciousness until there's no room to spare all over the world and you cant breathe a word

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problems even body problems swell knees so that you can't sleep my eyes are not for reading the peacock hour is over i know so little about myself that from early morning in winter i must wear a hat the mystery of space on my mind its entirely circumstantial what i paint i hate what comes next in five minutes you are old hat very often because of ideas you depend on .......... During winter with heat and vision i may want to live a little longer and prevent the old order of cause and effect to decay but after a long night of suffering i think of heaven where there is no fire no pain no pride for a sense of detachment has soul but for now i swallow a pill and hope to live today i have seventy eight years second wind and look to the future the spirits are sorry

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MICHEAL GITLIN "Broken Infinity" The "Broken Infinity" project was initiated in 1988 by the curator Annelie Pohlen for the Bonner Kunstverein, twenty-six years later, in 2014, the project was reproduced on the occasion of Micheal Gitlin's miniretrospective show at the Petach Tikva Museum in Israel. "Broken Infinity" is a site specific installation that adopts variable dimensions; at the heart of every iteration of the work is a central interrogation of the Mobius strip, a form that denotes infinity but that in its material realization offers a meditation on the finite.

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Seeing Ideas: Sigredo Chacon and Joe Zucker

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Born in Caracas and Chicago respectively,Chacon Zucker share a career-long interest in foundational, endlessly malleable signs of modern art such as grids and monochromes. Each has also focused on the material conditions of painting,with particular attention to the cognitive and perceptual experience of the viewer within an exhibition space. Chacon and Zucker's rigorous formalism, match with a prompt to the viewer to reflect on the conditions and contexts of modern painting, oscillates between direct dialogue with the canon and the so called "postmodern condition." Seeing Idea's curator Ysabel Pinyol Blasi examines how Chacon and Zucker's respective approaches to structure,color, and conceptual painting speak to each other across historical and geographical distance. In her canonical 1979 essay "Grid's" Rosalind Krauss observes that because the grid simultaneously points to the compositional world of the painting and beyond the frame--"an introjection of the boundaries of the world into the interior of the work; it is a mapping of the space inside the frame onto itself--it became a paradigmatic modernist structure. Likewise, the monochrome seems to signal, via Rodchenko and Duchamp, the end of painting. Yet it also from the perspective of color, the point at which the painting becomes an object. That is, the "end" of painting is also the beginning of an expanded practice. Both forms also have distinct resonances in the cosmopolitan milieus in which both Chacon and Zucker have worked, as well as their later homes of Miami and New York. A former student of legendary artist Gego, Silfredo Chacon emerged in a postwar Venezuelan context in which European modernism precepts and debates were systematically interrogated and redirected toward local ends. By the time of his first solo exhibition in 1971, Venezuelan abstraction had bifurcated into the chromatically absorptive environments of kinetic artist like Jesus Rafael Soto and Carlos Cruz-Diez on the one

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hand,and the structural deconstruction of painting (and other traditional genres) by a new wave of conceptual and performance artist such as Eugene Espinoza and Antonieta Sosa on the other. While Chacon is generationally in the latter camp, and has frequently described his explicitly conceptual goal of "Seeing Ideas" the phenomenological legacy of kinetic art continues to resonate in his installation work. His Horror Vacui series (1994-2019) which will be shown at Mana as a site-responsive installation along with related drawings, consist of a series of monochrome frames with empty centers, alternatingly hung and propped against the walls . The witty conceit of the work is evident as a literalized organizing principle, and yet to fully experience the work, the viewer has to cover ground, experiencing each shift in color and spatial orientation in turn, as if reading a sentence Joe Zucker was born and educated in a postwar Chicago under the spell of Imagists, an array of artists, including collectives Monster Roster and the Hairy Who, devoted to outlandish representation. In this milieu, Zucker's wry, Pop-inspired approach to geometric abstraction went against the grain, proving a better match for Post minimalist painters in New York where he moved in 1968. It was at this point that Zucker embarked upon a signature, provocative return to representation in his cotton-ball paintings: direct references to the material nature of the canvas that also examine the troubling material histories of slavery and southern textile production. For Seeing Ideas, Zucker will install Joes Lakes (2000-2001), a suite of monochromes that inform one another, alternating as horizontals and vertcals in a way that suggests a disassembled grid. Seeing Ideas raises the question of what it looks like to juxtapose contemporary artist from different countries free of hierarchy or anxiety regarding the origins of good ideas. In the final analysis, Chacon and Zucker will generate unexpected insights about one another's work in a project akin to Hubert Damisch"s idea of modernism as a "chessboard" home to near-endless variations.

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EUGENE LEMAY : DARK SILENCE BY RICHARD VINE

The works of Eugene Lemay- for the most part large inkjet prints of landscapes, skies, or Hebrewand Arabic-like texts cast in rich mottled blackpresent viewers with a string of somber visual riddles. What am I actually seeing? How can these images be so obscure and yet, once finally discerned, so incredible? Why is the artist compelled to communicate and yet to veil his work's content in rich darkness? Why does he evoke visual and verbal language, while simultaneously subverting its most basic function? Bit by bit, one's eyes and mind adjust to the pictorial gloom, a simple but terrible answer begins to dawn. Lemay-in stark contrast to many other contemporary artist-chooses gradual, almost ritualistic revelation because his message is too wrenching to communicate in a flash.

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Upon discharge, Lemay returned for a year to the kibbutz, and then, with funds accumulated from his army savings and odd jobs, booked passage to New York. He arrived at JFK in 1984 with $4,000 in his pocket-an amount that he immediately lost in a threecard monte game outside Grand Central Station Disastrous as this loss might sound-and no doubt felt at the time-it in fact led to the making of Lemay's new life. A friend helped him secure parttime hourly work at Moishe Mana's moving company, headquartered in Jersey City, N.J. Although Lemay had no professionalexperience in business, and least of all in the sideline of fine art moving and storage that the company was just then entering, he did have exceptional managerial skills. (You don't survivelit-erally-if you run an Israeli commando unit in a haphazard fashion.) He advanced quickly in the firm, eventually reaching his current position as chief executive of its international art storage and moving operations. Lemay is also director of it's Mana Contemporary Art Center in Jersey City, which encompasses 2 million square feet, including storage facili-ties, 80 artists studios, eight exhibition galleries, a foundry, a dance studio, a print workshop, and an immense sculpture and installation pavilion. A branch of Mana Contemporary recently opened in Chicago, and others are planned. In 2013, Lemay was named to Art & Auction magazine's power 100 list, which includes such international figures as collector and LVMH chief executive Bernard Arnault, art-ist Jeff Koons, and Guggenheim Museum director Richard Armstrong. In addition Lemay married in 1996 and is now the father of four children. Given the artist's wartime shocks and anxieties, these personal accomplishments represent a triumph of renormalization-a longing that lies at the core of his work.

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While this puzzling oeuvre is best understood in terms of certain formal and thematic preoccupations, its genesis is directly biographical. Born in Grand Rapids, Mich., in 1960, Lemay was the ninth of 15 children produced by his French Canadian father and Lebanese-Syrian mother. Social activists deeply committed to the era's civil rights movement, his parents, who were both Christians at the time, moved the family into a troubled black neighborhood, greatly complicating Eugene's adolescent adjustment problems. In 1969, his father converted to Judaism, which was soon adopted by all the family members, and in 1973 the entire household emigrated to the Sarid kibbutz in Israel. At age 19, Lemay joined the Israeli army. Attaining the rank of sergeant in the Sayeret Golani commando reconnaissance unit, he saw repeated action in the First Lebanese War(1982). The most searingly memorable of these encounters was his squad's assault on the Beaufort Crusader Castle in southern Lebanon. The ancient citadel, perched atop a 980-foot cliff overlooking the Litani River, provided its s ore of PLO occupiers a wide range of fire on the countryside below and an excellent vantage point for directing artillery shelling throughout the area. Although a shift in Israeli battle plans rendered Beaufort a nonessential target to be circumvented rather than stormed, this information was "delayed" in reaching the front, and direct attack was ordered. In the night, according to Lemay, the Sayeret Golani scaled the cliff face, eventually taking fire from above, and managed to overrun the PLO position, killing its defenders. Of the 18 men in Lemay's assault unit six were killed. Lemay's years of military service, during which he frequently had to scout enemy territory at night and once found himself occupying Tebnine, Lebanon, the home village of his mother's father, would become central to his later artistic practice-a future at that point completely undreamed of.

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The irony of this impressive career trajectory is that Lemay had no great interest in art, and certainly no thought of becoming an artist, until 1993, when he visited a Robert Ryman retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The 80 paintings on view, produced over nearly 40 years, filled Lemay with wonder. Here was a sustained and seemingly inexhaustible exploration of abstract white-on-white composition. The work, at once giving and reserved, struck a psychological chord; within days, Lemay began hisown artistic experiments. But, for this thoughtful ex-soldier, the notes that resonated were not in Ryman's bright major key but in a dark minor that evoked Lemay's long-sup-pressed battlefield traumas.

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