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 The Strib runs the new “Life” magazine, a thin shade of its fat former self. It’s just a brand now, a logo without a cause, but the back of the book sometimes throws a sop to pathetic nostalgists like myself. They ran a photo, altered ten things, and asked us to find the changes. More interesting to me were the real changes the unaltered picture shows by implication – the prices, the change in the machinery of a luncheonette, the very end of the most holy word “luncheonette.” And I wondered: where is this place? What was across the street, this ITALIAN RESTAURANT? That should be easy to Google. Computer, fetch me all records on NEW YORK and ITALIAN RESTAURANT. Working (clatter clatter clatter) Your search has returned five billion results. Hmm. Well, what’s the name of the place? The Rand Luncheonette, right?  No: shazam, it’s the Grand, on 42nd street. Old 42nd street. End of the movie-palace heyday Grand, stalwart of the horrid porno era, survivor unto the end of the old and the start of the new garish happy-happy-joy-joy Times Square, the GRAND! Now let’s go outside. But this isn’t a photo. I flipped it around to find to see what the reflections said, and this jumped out:  Very clever, Mr. Estes. He was the leading exponent of photorealism, a school of art that was probably maligned by the snoots but embraced, bemusedly, by the pop artists. All that work, dear boy, when you could have taken a Polaroid? Well, it's got flair, we'll grant you that, even if you do insist on painting real things. There is irony in here, isn't there? Oh good. He painted meticulous recreations of the reflections on glass and metal storefronts, and he insisted that the average messy collisions you find all around a city are worthy subjects for the artist without comment or embellishment. If it seems hyperrealistic it's because the places he choose to paint are almost surreal - but of course no one sees them as anything but windows and buildings and reflections. He shames all the abstract artists, if you ask me; he finds the abstract in the literal, which is much more difficult. (Because it's right there in front of your face. Anyone can make crap up, but it takes a certain skill to see the kaleidoscopic chaos we train ourselves to ignore.) You can see more of his work here, and here, and here. And here. And here. Remember: paintings, not photos. I’m at the office now, writing in the cafeteria on the Powerbook. I get more done up here. It’s all backwards – no Wifi up here, so I get my mail from the machine downstairs, extract what I need, transfer it to a USB stick, take it upstairs, etc. etc. None too efficient, but I’ve managed to finish a column, write this, do the daily Joe, and chat with a co-worker about – Well, a few weeks ago I decided to let my Entertainment Weekly subscription go. I could live without it for a month or two, then re-up when they gave me a rate I couldn’t refuse. Guess which book is in EW this week? Sigh. Or rather, hooray! Off to get Gnat from school, then off to find a copy. This is an excellent week so far; more tomorrow. Sorry for a small entry – it’s Monday, when Five Pieces Collide. Fence today; more tomorrow. |
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