#munchgallery

Bubi Canal’s Magic Garden Solo Show: A Journal of Realms In Between.

On the eve of the Ides of March—which was also π (Pi) Day, as Aaron pointed out later—Bubi’s second solo show opened at Munch Gallery. It was a momentous day, which I anticipated with great emotion, having witnessed the creation of many of the images from inception to completion. Like Bubi mentioned during a conversation we had after the show, the exhibit also functions as a diary of the life of imagination.

Bubi and I habitually meet during the week at Little Skips, the Bushwick café where we run internet errands and bounce ideas around. I had the honor of helping Bubi generate some of images for the show, by modeling or providing assistance, which gave me unique insight into the power of resourcefulness and ingenuity.

For the piece Lord, I wore a headband Bubi created for the character, with large beaded necklace and bracelets he strung in his trademark primary color wave. Moreover, he had me hold a baton with a plastic chicken on it, a sign of pure kismet, as chickens are so close and dear to my heart.

In a day-to-day, organic fashion, Bubi gathers artifacts from his daily comings and goings and creates an archive from which he draws materials for his work. Last summer, many afternoons were spent taking photographs and filming video, with endless variations Bubi would later edit into final mix of the show.

The video Hologram went through various incarnations, and its characters were also photographed for portraits. For one session, we went to Flushing Meadows park on Madonna’s birthday to do some filming and stills, next to Philip Johnson’s New York Pavilion. Miuko, Idan, Bubi and I enjoyed an impromptu picnic with tortilla española and sandwiches, and we listened to music on a bluetooth Bose on a sunny day.

As I saw the show, I remembered conversations where Bubi mentioned how he had created dioramas in the basement of his mother-in-law’s house, gathered plastic pieces and knit sweaters to remodel into sculpture, and also anecdotes, similar to the ones I have about favorite pieces of clothing, on how items he had collected from even years ago suddenly found a place in his ouevre.

In the end, the show is a story of the power of conviction and mentalism, of how keeping your desires in focus, within an atmosphere of generalized well-being, is fundamental to manifesting creativity and its end products. The world of dreams, for instance, can become concrete, teletransported from another dimension to the physical realm.

Speaking of serendipity, Abel and Idan had gifted me a sweater on my birthday that, upon first glance, was obviously meant for this opening. I wore the primary color waved creation with Vinti Andrews Eco-Jeans, Keith Haring SPRZ socks Scooter had also gifted me on my birthday, Adidas Jam Master Jay Ultrastar Superstar vintage sneakers, a bespoke necklace by Bubi, Alain Mikli/Philippe Starck Biocity frames and a Nadaam/Knickerbocker cashmere baseball cap customized with an insignia Bubi brought me from a flea market in Sicily.

Bubi was wearing a sweater of his own design, custom manufactured by his friend Senyor Pablo in Spain.

After the show, we all went to the El Nuevo Amanecer Mexican/Dominican restaurant to grab a bite. Ladyfag was having the afterparty for the show at Holy Mountain; we went to the super well-attended event late into the night, and even enjoyed a surprise concert by Crystal Waters.

Beautiful Mystery III, C­-print, 24x30 inches, Bubi Canal 2015

Magic Garden, a solo show by Bubi Canal 

Munch Gallery, New York. March 14 through April 19, 2015

Munch Gallery is proud to present Bubi Canal’s second solo show in New York, Magic Garden. Since his first show with the gallery in 2013, Canal’s work has been featured in esteemed publications such as RV PAPERS, The Wall Street Journal, a cover feature of The British Journal of Photography, and his first monograph book, Dreamtime. He was invited to participate at the UNSEEN photography fair 2014 in Amsterdam and the P2P PHotoEspaña 2014 in Madrid. The new body of work was created in New York and Rochester over the past two years.

Magic Garden presents new photography, video, and sculpture. The exhibition’s eponymous sculptures, assembled from colorful pieces of found plastic, radiate totemic energy. One photographic series, Beautiful Mystery, features a typical American suburban den — replete with faux wood paneling, baseboard radiator, and gold rug — metamorphosed into a surreal backdrop for tactile anthropomorphic figures who are all the more beguiling for their context.

“I began to work on Beautiful Mystery with the intention of producing a series of still lifes, but what emerged instead were portraits. So, the project took an entirely different path. For me, it is important to let the work speak and tell me what it wants to be, without imposing any preconceived notions.” In doing so, Canal reveals the world that lies beneath the surface of immediate sensation, a subliminal cosmos of awe and magic.

The artist’s video, Hologram, depicts characters who embark on a journey from darkness and fear to light and love. According to Canal, “the external world of Hologram is a manifestation of the characters’ subconscious. They communicate with each other through a choreography that transforms them.” He believes that optimism and illusion are contagious, and hopes that his work will have a similarly transformative effect on the viewer.

Like a hologram, the coherent totality of Canal’s universe can be accessed through each of the works on view. Every piece activates a dimension where memory, imagination, and reality are mutable and inextricably linked. Magic Garden is imbued with wondrous intent.

"Travels With Johnny," a solo show by Scooter LaForge, on view at Munch Gallery through March 8th. 

A week ago, I rushed home after work to get ready for Scooter’s show. I was getting some hair off a cape I had bought at Housing Works, which I wanted to wear, and I was pressing pieces of plastic packing tape all over its surface. The whole week had been building up to the opening—I couldn’t wait to see all of the beautiful paintings Scooter had made in the setting of the white gallery walls. I knew that the show would hold surprises.

I decided to wear my vintage Vivienne Westwood World’s End pirate shirt, which is my one of my favorite pieces, with Scooter’s kilt, the cape—from Lord & Taylor’s Young New Yorker line—long purple cashmere socks, Pendleton TPC Black Sonora Mountain bag, Jean Paul Gaultier/Alain Mikli frames and Dr. Martens Monochromatic boots. 

Scooter stopped by the Ranch on his way to the gallery to pick me up and I wasn’t ready, because at the last minute I couldn’t find my socks, so I asked him if I could meet him at the gallery in a few. We gave blessings to each other and off he was—moments later I found the socks, showered and got dressed. 

Tony was texting from the show and said everything looked wonderful, mentioning he had talked with Scooter for a while and said hello to Johnny Rozsa as he made his entrance. He and Dominic would he heading to Williamsburg soon, as we also had tickets to go see Owen Pallett at the Music Hall. 

I got to the show and said hello to David, who was talking with Christopher Stribley near the entrance. I went in to say hello to Scooter, and Tony Mansfield said my name out loud and asked me to go right by the man of the evening and kiss him on the cheek, while Joey Arias did the same. There was much merriment and excitement in the room. Lillan and I hugged, and I chatted with Julio Callejas for a while, and Norberto, and then went to the back of the gallery to start seeing the paintings. 

At the back is my favorite one, “Roadside Memorial With Virgin Mary (Bisbee, Az),” which is very dear to me because it has a double image of the Virgin of the Miraculous Medal, my mother’s protector. 

(When my mother was a teenager, she was riding down the huge hill of the farm house in Moca, Puerto Rico, on a bike, and she lost control and landed head first on the ground. My grandparents thought she was dead and laid her on the dining room table. My grandfather Zenón prayed to the Virgin and my mother came back to life…she had actually had an epilectic seizure. Years later, when my mom was studying at the University of Puerto Rico in Río Piedras, and was lodged by Bessie, an elderly woman who had no children, my mom and her became mother and daughter. Bessie had a statue of the Virgin in a niche near the balcony of her house, and that statue is now on a special table in the hallway of our house in Río Piedras Heights.) 

I was immediately aware upon looking at this painting that Scooter is at a crossroads. I had seen some of the works in his studio, but was now viewing the whole story. Gone were the pop characters, overt erotic imagery and go-to “tricks” of his previous paintings, replaced by a painterly attitude on linen, the sacred cloth of the masters. This linen is in evidence everywhere, framing the pictures with presence, signaling a newfound introspective quality. I have always relished, as a poet, minute details of the everyday. In my earliest writing, my goal was to be like a tape recorder. I thought if I could record every single word that was said around me, to later break them up into lines and stanzas, the result would be instant poetry…almost found, if you will. 

Scooter’s repertoire of characters took a field trip to the realm of clothing, where they are alive and well in various incarnations. On the linen, there is a sense of exploration, of having gone past the pride of rebellion to actually stop and smell the flowers. In doing so, details become monumental. An “Owl With Combat Boot and Flowers (Douglas, Az),” is an allegory that summarizes the entire show: the beauty of capturing details that surface, with edge and verve, after having thoroughly mastered punk iconography and reference…the veritable calm after the storm…unafraid to look at darkness with authority while traveling towards the light. 

I turned around and saw Johnny sitting on a windowsill…a vision…dressed as an off white on white dandy wrapped in a gorgeous Lanvin scarf. Spot on for menswear trends for this year, he sported ombre frames, meshing luxe 70s with nineteenth century appointments that lit up the room. He later said, during a breakfast chitchat at The Bean, that he had done it all for Scooter, and alas, the show’s imagery is based on photos of a cross-country trip experienced by these two best friends, while Johnny read, as captured in another painting, a “1st Edition of Travels With Charley, John Steinbeck.” 

I looked at a painting of “Mushrooms in Kansas,” which endeared me with its atmosphere suitable for faeries, and “Bear and Roadside Tornado,” which Dominic told me later was his favorite. Magic abounds when a “Bullet Hole In Window” seems to exude the same aura that frames the face on a self portrait…like the brain, which sees the beauty in all forms without judgment. 

Tony Mansfield seemed to direct the scene and posed people in groups while he took pictures. His non-stop banter filled the room with joy and entertainment. At the end of the evening, we sang “Happy Birthday” to the Warhol superstar, and he was visibly moved. 

I said hello to Reiko, Hina, Runn—who told me the crowd included many layers of friends from his lifetime—and Gazelle, and Kenneth, who were sitting by the window with easy grace. I took pictures of the paintings. Sara had arrived; I was so happy to see her. We talked for a while, she got to chat with Van, and took a picture of my neighbor Rachel and I. Love how Rachel’s witchy look, in head-to-toe Scooter, makes us the exact same height. 

I checked in with Scooter and Lillan at the end of the evening, and Van patiently took pictures of Scooter, Lillan and I a bit later, while Cesar Terranova documented all for a film.

Monastic Mr. Bubble Party Dress by Scooter LaForge.

You may have seen my detailed presentations of dear friend Scooter’s important creations—like the “Suit” and “Corporate” looks. Now I show up close a party dress I chose to wear on my 50th birthday.

I have loved Mr. Bubble since I lived in Maryland from 1970-71. I clearly remember the allure of the pink character on the gorgeous cardboard boxes that lined the rows at Safeway, the local supermarket in Adelphi.

And often, especially when I donned the most unorthodox looks throughout my life, many have interpreted orthodoxy and even monastic discipline in my presentation.

I remember how my mother would tell people I was in divinity school back in 1985, when I was dying turquoise Forenza baggy pants black and combining them with a black Street Life cotton coat from Traffico and a black over dyed camo military parka from Canal Jean Co.

I admired during a 1978 tour through Europe with my parents the ropes Franciscan monks wear in the town of Assisi, which I yearned for while buying a rosary made of olive pits left over from monastic dinners, which I lost years later while dancing at a country disco in Caimito.

Alas, all these signifiers made their way into Scooter’s mind via the ether and as I went to his studio one day in the fall, this dress had just manifested.

I tried it on and fell in love. I felt like I had worn it forever and knew it was destined for commemorating a milestone.

Today, on the eve of the opening of Scooter’s solo show at Munch Gallery, I asked him to photograph me in the dress, and he kindly obliged.

Again, in the spirit of transmission, he embellished the dress with a plethora of buttons and accessories from his treasure box, styled in a way that evokes how I would dive into my dad’s toolbox in the carport closet, looking for objects I could affix to my clothes with pins.