My cousin Greg came to the Big City last week for the first time. His employer shipped him and his co-worker Dan out here for a week-long training class in lower Manhattan. They accomplished job-specific computer software training in a classroom by day but had evenings and the weekend free to roam and explore.
I was able to meet up with them two nights last week.
Cousin Greg lives with his wife in the Upper Peninsula town of Hancock, MI. About three months my senior, Greg is one of ten living cousins I have on my Mom’s side and the one I most closely identified with as a youngster when the extended family would gather either in Chicago’s northwest suburbs or at our Grandparents’ place in Fon du Lac, Wisconsin.
The highlight of this visit came Friday night. We met up at the Museum of Modern Art and walked in for nothing. Admission is normally 25 bucks but a national retail chain underwrites the freebie fun for four hours every Friday night.
Up on the sixth floor, the Museum is currently presenting a comprehensive retrospective of work from the artist Cindy Sherman. Cousin Greg’s familiarity with Sherman and his delivery of a brief primer before entering the exhibit space heightened the excitement for me. I’m totally in the dark on art of the type that hangs on walls. But I love being in the company of people who are seriously into it – and who offer on-the-scene commentary while being in the presence of it.
Sherman’s work will grab you.
We walked through the maze of rooms containing 170 some portraits spanning four decades of output in reverse chronological order. I call them portraits – and they are – but Sherman’s technique is an extremely unique form of photography that will leave you scratching your head at the brilliant application of depth, thought and creativity. Sherman doesn’t title individual works, she numbers them. She mocks the notion of aging gracefully. She also incorporates New York City style into her work without many clear-cut giveaways on the location of her shoots.
The museum doesn’t allow picture-taking in the Sherman space, but check out “Untitled number #299.” It was made in 1994 and shows Sherman in a zoned-out, semi-slouched position. She was 40 years old at the time. Seen up close, there is great detail beneath the sheer outer garment. The attitude is fierce despite the tired eyes and usage of index finger to simulate a revolver.
Every so often, Sherman’s photos are sold at auction. Buyers have spent in excess of $3 million for a single work. All of the black and white stills from an early series of Sherman photos are owned my MOMA. The current exhibit there runs through mid-June.
After museum staff announced it was time to leave at 8 PM, we headed down to Artichoke Basille’s on 14th Street for the city’s best pizza pie. Basille’s has added a new dining room adjacent to their original narrow space. They sell big beers in Styrofoam cups now as well.
It was great seeing cousin Greg. I’m hoping the next time I see him will be to celebrate the completion of his made-from–scratch home up in the U-P. Greg and his wife have created a website to document this endeavor. The amount of work and thought that is going into it is pretty amazing. Check it out.