from the editor
Today, Fluent~Collaborative is hosting a Satellite Summit for this year's National Summit on Arts Journalism. This year, the summit is focusing on new models in cultural coverage on the web. What new possibilities for format, content and coverage does the internet present? And, importantly, what creative business models are out there for funding these projects?
These are huge questions. They are the practical side of the conceptual question, what is arts journalism today? In a matter of four hours, we can only scratch the surface. I'll report back next week on our discussion.
Enjoy this issue, and if you're looking for a quick roundup of what's on the walls of Austin's galleries right now, check out this week's ...might be good recommends.
Claire Ruud is Associate Director of Fluent~Collaborative.
By Claire Ruud
Michael Berryhill, Mi Amigo's Sound Machine, 2009, oil on canvas, 66in x 48in. Courtesy the artist and Horton & Liu.
I saw (former Austinite) Michael Berryhill's debut exhibition in Chelsea last week while I was in New York. One evening, we had drinks, talked about the mixed review he got in the New York Times, and started a conversation that we finished later by email.
…might be good (mbg): First things first, because everybody talks about this when they see your paintings: the schizophrenic style. Some passages are quite messy, while others are incredibly controlled. What’s going on?
Michael Berryhill (MB): Sometimes while I’m making things my thinking is clear, and sometimes it's full of unknowns—doubts, really. I feel compelled to include a record of these doubts because they are part of the record of how the thing is made. Maybe the messy is the not-knowing and the control is the knowing. That’s a gross generalization, but something like that.
mbg: I enjoyed seeing your work at Horton & Liu and Elliot Green’s at D’Amelio Terras on the same afternoon. I was struck by the way both of you are playing with surrealist imagery, in particular. What kind of a conversation do you see occurring between your work and Green’s?
MB: Yes, I liked Green's paintings quite a bit, and I can see that we're both keepin’ it surreal. Surrealiously though, I think we're both attempting to create hyper-interpretable imagery that can bare endless viewings and still retain its ultimate mystery. Also, both of us are exploring the results of a painting being looked at, touched, changed and thought about by its maker. Other things would be in the conversation, too, things like memory, projection and misinterpretation.
mbg: Tell me what you mean by misinterpretation.
MB: I don't think of it as a failure if my ideas or my intentionality is not “readable.” This is part of a longer discussion about the fact that I don't think art functions through direct messages, anyway. Misinterpreting or misunderstanding something is the process by which we come to understand many things. Or, at the very least, a misinterpretation is often how we start to think about something. I want my work to be that kind of beginning point, part of that process.
mbg: What else have you seen recently that’s really piqued your interest?
MB: I really like the Vincent Fecteau show at Matthew Marks—strange paper mache sculptures that are in between sculpture and painting. Though I haven't seen it yet, Franklin Evans at Sue Scott Gallery looks interesting. And I'm really looking forward to the Watteau show at the Met—to seeing some of those early Eighteenth Century-style paintings of people playing guitars.
mbg: You play music, too, right? How do you understand the relationship between your painting and your music?
MB: Yes, though I would never call myself a musician. At least, I hope I’m a better painter than I am a guitar player. But I cannot explain how much I enjoyed the feeling of playing in a band. Yeah, the live shows were great, but the practicing—I loved the practicing. Practicing is basically what painting is like: going to the studio over and over, working on the jams. The main difference for me is that I make the stuff up in my paintings, but someone else has to do it for me in music (Steve Garcia of Diagonals—genius.)
mbg: What have you got on your iPod these days?
MB: The most played list on my iTunes says: Welcome (a band I found recently, they sound very late 90's and a little Polvo-ish), Polvo (the new one’s growing on me), The Rebel (they’re favorites of mine, though I like the Country Teasers more, and they’re basically the same band), Fiery Furnaces, Melvins, Sibylle Baier.
mbg: Any other questions you’d like to answer that you wish I’d asked?
MB: Not sure what the question would be, but the answer would go something like this. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that I want to be an artist the rest of my life. I know that practicing art could remain interesting to me for 40 or 50 years, but that means I will be relying on wealthy people and money in general, which is not interesting. I don’t mean that wealthy people aren't interesting or collecting isn't interesting. I mean that money and market values aren't interesting—not nearly as interesting as talking about what's in the work, or talking to other artists and writers about their work. It’s odd.
Claire Ruud is Assoicate Director of Fluent~Collaborative.
By Claire Ruud
Co-Lab. Photo: Don Mason.
Co-Lab, the ambitious nonprofit gallery on Austin's East Side, is one year old and going strong. With a new artist project in the gallery every week, I'm amazed Sean Gaulager, the project's unofficial director, had time to talk with me last week. (BTW I'm sure Gaulager would shun the title director, but really, without him, where would Co-Lab be?)
…might be good (mbg): Over the first year of Co-Lab’s existence, you’ve sustained an almost weekly rotation of exhibitions/installations. Initially, what was the impetus behind running each exhibition for only a week?
Sean Gaulager (SG): The rotation schedule was partly informed by the idea that a 'one night only' show would lend itself better to a space focused on new media, and was also a reaction to the lack of attendance during gallery hours on the east side (especially in the 'deep east' district). The thought of sitting on a show for a month that very few people would attend didn't seem like the most prudent use of time and resources. But why justify it? Really, I just like to host parties.
mbg: What have you found to be the advantages of the week-long run?
SG: The main advantage is our ability to provide more opportunities to a wider selection of artists. Also, it allows me to take a more relaxed curatorial stance when approached by artists interested in showing; I don't need to limit the opportunities to the 10 to 12 'cream of the crop' artists when we've got 50 some-odd weekends to utilize per year. In any given month Co-Lab may have an installation one weekend, a performance the next, a screening the third, and the last weekend is reserved for "Critique + Discussion."
mbg: The limitations?
SG: I think the limitations are obvious. First of all, artists only have one night to bask in the glory of what they have created and those who couldn't make it out that night don’t have another opportunity to view the exhibition in person. Secondly, as I've heard from some people, it can be hard to follow what we are up to any given week. However, I think these problems are somewhat remedied by persistent documentation, web publishing and promotion. Photographs and/or videos of almost every show can be viewed on the website, and I spend a great deal of time keeping the site up to date, sending out newsletters, and taking advantage of online social networks. If you really want to see a particular show, you'll come, and if you really want to know what we’re doing, it's not that hard to find out.
mbg: What is the administrative structure of Co-Lab these days?
SG: At this point I am spearheading the project, but without the help of my friends, family and fellow artists, Co-Lab would certainly not be manageable. I think a lot about how to build an administrative structure around this space without slowing its momentum. Because Co-Lab is built on an unusual model, I don't have many places to look for inspiration. But I believe that over time the right structure will present itself.
mbg: How are you funding such ambitious programming?
SG: I keep the expenses low, as low as they can go (basically just bills and rent). Other expenses include Kilz, we use a lot of Kilz 'round here, and beer (sponsorship anyone?). But since Co-Lab is not a commercial space and there are no contracts or commission rates, I am not providing services like shipping, advertising, etc. It's kind of a bare bones model.
mbg: You’ve planted a community garden, too. How’s it going?
SG: It's going about as good as anyone's garden in Texas during a critical level drought. This watering once a week thing is not going to cut it. We've pulled all the spring/summer plants that got fried and are currently in the process of tilling and planting for the next season with high hopes of rain and greener times. Amanda Winkles, the garden’s founder and former garden coordinator has moved on, having found employment opportunities abroad, leaving it up to my neighbor Lewis, a few new volunteers and myself to see what we can make of this coming season.
mbg: Co-Lab places particular emphasis on its relationship to its neighborhood. Practically speaking, how does the organization cultivate this relationship?
SG: We have tried and will continue to try reaching out to those around us. Mainly we've informed the neighborhood of our larger events by distributing invites written in English and Spanish. Also, earlier this summer we harvested a ton of tomatoes, chard and a few other goodies; Lewis then took baskets of produce to every house on the street and let residents know they could get involved in the garden project.
mbg: Just over this past summer, a lot of chic new restaurants have popped up in East Austin. What changes are you seeing around your neighborhood? How is this affecting Co-Lab?
SG: I made it over to Justine’s this past week and despite the fact that a mature white crowd drinking French wine and ordering $20 appetizers is definitely different from what I’m used to experiencing around this neighborhood I’d have to say it’s a pretty cool place. Perhaps we’ll see a relationship form with the art spaces over here and the restaurant’s clientele? The only other changes in the neighborhood have been Meals on Wheels and More expanding their warehouse and the Rhizome Collective getting shut down, but neither seem to be products of gentrification. This area still seems to be one untouched little pocket, however I'm sure that won’t last long.
mbg: What questions is Co-Lab asking right now?
SG: How can we do more events, workshops, and programming? How can Co-Lab bring more people on administratively without creating a cumbersome bureaucracy? Are there other organizations with similar operational models? Can their models be applied to our own?
mbg: Have you found any models that interest you yet?
SG: I actually haven’t had much time to do research on other similar spaces but I’d be interested to hear any suggestions. My question is: When I do find such a model how do I go about discovering the real inner dynamics of an administration and not just the polished façade?
mbg: Any particular goals for the coming year?
SG: Currently the 'list' includes: refining the exhibition space, opening a commission-free store in the back, expanding the garden, giving out more free food, landscaping the property, building a fire pit, adding Sundays as a community day/open hours/artist talk/workshop time, applying for a grant (or two), obtaining sponsorship, starting a fall residency program and video podcast. Whew!
Claire is Associate Director of Fluent~Collaborative.
The 24 Hour Roman Reconstruction Project, or, Building Rome in a Day
September 25 - 26
By John R. Clarke
Liz Glynn, Wrestlers at The 24 Hour Roman Reconstruction Project, or, Building Rome in a Day, 2009. Commissioned by Arthouse at the Jones Center. Courtesy Arthouse and Thomas Allison.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” the truism trotted out to explain why New Orleans still hasn’t been rebuilt after Katrina, inspired Los Angeles-based artist Liz Glynn’s giddy, grandiose project at Arthouse. Rome was built in a day, even if it turned out to be a sprawling maze of cardboard aqueducts, temples, amphitheaters, and columns filling every available space. The builders, all volunteers, not only founded the Eternal City at midnight with Romulus and Remus installing huts on the Palatine Hill (753 B.C.), they also morphed into the Alaric’s Visigoths to destroy the city 24 hours later (A.D. 410). At this rate the city’s 1,163-year history fast-forwarded at the rate of a little over a minute a year.
This is the third and most ambition iteration of the 24-hour Rome piece, produced earlier this year at the Machine Project in Los Angeles and at the New Museum in New York as part of an exhibition entitled The Generational: Younger than Jesus. To curator Elizabeth Dunbar, Glynn’s project seemed a particularly appropriate swan-song to the old Arthouse, as it closes for a renovation that will expand its space threefold. In fact, walls came down to open more space for the model and to provide sheetrock and plywood for the eager builders, although most used cardboard—all the easier to mash to a pulp in the final act of destruction.
Liz Glynn, The 24 Hour Roman Reconstruction Project.
Time played a crucial role. Glynn orchestrated each phase down to the minute (although she whispered to me at a crucial moment “We’re lagging behind on this phase”). Punctuating the earsplitting jigsaws and the animated chatter of children and adults were performances of all sorts. While archaic Rome rose, designer J.M. Tate delivered a 3 a.m. lecture on the arch; three and a half hours later the experimental band No Mas Bodas provided a raucous accompaniment to the Gallic invasion. There was a pizza party at noon to celebrate Rome’s destruction of Carthage, followed by a wrestling match, Danny Levin fiddling as Rome burned (A.D. 64), classicist Rabun Taylor explaining Rome’s aqueduct system, and yours truly showing Augustus’ self-aggrandizing development of the Campus Martius (I was standing on the Campus Martius while speaking). Later, performance artist Silky Shoemaker ushered in the Christian era as the emperor Constantine. And then, at midnight, the Visigoths, to the tune of Waco Girls (appropriately enough, a noise band), devastated Rome.
As an historian of Roman art who sometimes wears a critic’s hat, Glynn’s piece had me thinking of precedents and parallels. The early happenings, especially those of Allan Kaprow, seem quite close in their freeform, egalitarian spirit. Take, for instance, Kaprow’s Words (1962), a happening where spectators were invited to rearrange words painted on cardboard on the gallery walls. Unwittingly or not, the gallery-goers became concrete poets, creating the aleatory strings that lined the spaces. They also made their own sound tracks by spinning 45s on portable record players. Glynn, like Kaprow, provided guidance to would-be builders in the form of laminated cards with an image of what a group was to construct, but the realization was up to them.
Glynn’s image-cards (provided to volunteer builders) were much like the one-line sentences that conceptual artists like Lawrence Wiener or Sol LeWitt produced; the form of the piece depended on the fabricator. But whereas Wiener and LeWitt insisted that the art was in the idea, not in its realization, Glynn’s art comes alive in the chaos of construction—and destruction. In the end, her piece resonates most fully with Christo’s work. For one thing, it’s about community engagement. For another, it’s “suicidal” insofar as its realization is also the end of its physical form. There was also a utopian flavor to Glynn’s Rome: for 24 hours everyone became an artist-builder, part of a community rushing headlong through the history of a far-away “eternal” city, immersed in its creation and dissolution. If, as the conceptualists insisted, art is an idea, then the participants in Glynn’s project will carry Rome in their heads for some time to come.
John R. Clarke is the Annie Laurie Howard Regents Professor in Fine Arts in the Department of Art and Art History at the University of Texas at Austin.
September 3 - November 15, 2009
By Michael Bise
Rico Gatson, History Lessons, 2004, Still from video transferred to DVD, 10 minutes 12 seconds. Courtesy: the artist and Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York.
“Thanks to Marxism, the term ‘bourgeois culture’ has become a way of lumping together anything and everything intellectuals despise. Calling that lump by that name was a way of linking the intellectual’s romance of self-creation with the oppressed worker’s desire to expropriate the expropriators. Such linkages help us intellectuals to associate ourselves with the ideals of democracy and human solidarity.” – Richard Rorty
The last twenty years has seen the birth of a special breed of curator as infatuated with the Beuysian notion of “social sculpture” as they are with the critical banishment of pictorial formalism and its demon-child, the object. The central problem with this type of politically engaged curatorial activity is one of willful opacity. Common words for socio-political realities such as “greed,” or “racism” are given names like, “post-capitalist economies,” or “Western cultural ethno-centrism.” In Truth and Progress, Richard Rorty claims that using vulgar terms to describe social and political realities robs intellectuals of the specialized knowledge that makes them suitable to function as “the avant-garde [in the] struggle against injustice.” Anyone can attempt counter racism through activism. The intellectual, however, is more capable of battling Western cultural ethno-centrism within the structure of the Gesamtkunstwerk than a housewife or an electrician.
Kurt Mueller’s curatorial thesis for Reduced Visibility operates squarely within this dynamic. Mueller writes, “Reduced Visibility attempts to show how visual abstraction may be a viable, if not also a necessary, means to engage socio-political phenomena today.” He goes on to assert that his exhibition is not about the business of “aestheticiz[ing] the direct and intentional communication of worldly matters,” as abstract art is “traditionally” thought to do. Here the curator reveals both a suspicion of objects as well as a desire to force the work in the exhibition to function as a political avant-garde. But despite Mueller’s assertions to the contrary, every artist in the exhibition is engaged, to varying degrees of success, in aestheticizing politics and politicizing aesthetics.
Several artists in Mueller’s exhibition use expressionist and post-minimal visual abstraction as empty vessels in which to dump social or political meaning. Hellen Mirra’s pine cone and pallet wood sculptures evoke shamanistic totems and a kind of shabby Carl Andre chic. Judging from titles like Bartok and Unirondack, these objects purport to address sociological issues from ethnomusicology to Unitarian Universalism. Ultimately Mirra’s humble objects aren’t formally compelling enough to inspire an effort to decode their well-hidden meaning. Trevor Paglen shamelessly apes Mark Rothko with his photographs of top-secret military sites. Paglen’s lush colors and reference to Rothko endow the images with a Romanticism that paired with the subject of government surveillance manages to seem both calculating and arbitrary. Mirra’s and Paglen’s formal choices both aestheticize and obscure a “direct and intentional communication of wordly matters.” This seems to run counter to Mueller’s curatorial claims.
Mueller fares better in illustrating his curatorial thesis with Rico Gatson and Mark Lombardi. Lombardi’s crisp, graphite diagrams of systems of international fraud are more committed to the task of revealing political and financial realities than they are in functioning as drawings. From the seemingly cheap paper on which they are laid out to the concise communication of information, the diagrams belie their obligatory status as art allowing them to function more effectively as didactic tools. In Gatson’s video History Lessons the artist subjects racist imagery from early Hollywood films to color filters and kinetic editing. Overlaid with a haunting soundtrack and featuring some of the most deplorable imagery ever produced by the film industry, Gatson’s video is at times genuinely disturbing and communicates a sadness that goes beyond the intellectual framing of racial politics and identity construction. Despite the fact that neither Gatson’s nor Lombardi’s work is abstract in any meaningful way, their inclusion carries out Mueller’s thesis more effectively because their formal means are more married to their political content. Gatson’s creation of a kind of music video seems suited to the evocation of emotion necessary to find a way in to the pain of racism while Lombardi makes no bones about his intention to educate and inform.
The critical confusion at the heart of Mueller’s exhibition can be found in his citation of Maya Lin’s Vietnam Memorial as an example of abstract art that conveys political or social meaning. The undeniable power of the wall lies not in its abstraction but in its clear and literal representation. Its simultaneously descending and ascending design is an embodiment of both the hope of life and the reality of death. The names carved into its face represent human beings, not ideas. Its mirrored surface allows us to visualize the inevitability of our own death. This movement from formal presence to metaphorical implication happens effortlessly, silently and beautifully. The people I saw there leaving memorials were the beneficiaries of an artist who was wise enough to get out of the way and let the people do the work of mourning and healing we’ve been doing for millions of years.
Michael Bise is an artist living and working in Houston.
By Claire Ruud
Levi Dugat, Protection, 2009, 30 x 22 inches, Graphite on paper. Courtesy the artist and Domy Books.
Sometimes I don’t want to listen to the whole Thriller album, I want the greatest hits from Off the Wall, Bad, Dangerous and maybe even HIStory, too. "…might be good recommends" seeks to satisfy your greatest hits needs. If you want a quick overview of what’s happening around town, this is where to come. This week, in addition to the shows I cover below, Contemporary Culture is at Lora Reynolds, but I haven’t seen it yet. Also, this Tuesday, you can be part of a performance at the Longhorn stadium: Pablo Vargas Lugo is staging Eclipses for Austin and he needs 300 volunteers to be part of it.
Leah DeVun & Levi Dugat
Through October 22
Leah DeVun and Levi Dugat teamed up to create an exhibition of (mostly) works on paper at Domy this month. DeVun’s drawings of round brilliant cut diamonds are oh-so-pretty, and have a strange affinity with Dugat’s self portraits. In both, the figures (or diamonds) feel lonely within the vast space of a white page. Dugat’s self portraits, which come in pairs such as “old me/new me,” often wave at one another, and the gesture amplifies each figure’s isolation. While the exhibition’s title asserts Your Heart Is Not A Museum, the overwhelming sensibility of the exhibition is one of detachment and longing. Perhaps the title is an incantation against the cold hard truth: even though it’s not one, sometimes your heart feels like a museum.
Through October 24
Sterling Allen’s exhibition in Art Palace’s main gallery includes a lot of upside-down photographs and a video installation of the artist performing magic tricks. The one photo I can’t get out of my head depicts a woman’s bare breasts. I spent more time than I’d like to admit in front of this image, thinking about the buoyancy of breasts and trying to figure out whether the woman was actually hanging upside down, or whether it was just the photograph that was. While this example may say more about me than about the artist, it illustrates the conundrum faced by the viewer in front of many of Allen’s works. Now, I’d like to revisit the show and see how the works hold up after your brain has solved the optical illusions involved. Fortunately, the show has been extended through October 24, so there’s ample time for me to return.
D Berman Gallery
Through October 24
In Beili Liu’s Bound, the centerpiece of her current show at D Berman, thousands of luminescent red threads span the distance between two massive piers of reclaimed wood. The piece speaks poignantly about the beauty and pain of intimacy: a needle secures each thread to the piers at each end. If these buttresses are indeed “bound” to one another, they are pierced a thousand times by the bond. Another highlight of the show is a video installation in the back gallery. The floor projection captures from below skeins of red thread floating on the surface of water. As Liu’s hands make knot after knot in one of the strands, water’s surface undulates and the thread shifts and billows.
Through October 31
Devin Flynn’s show at Okay Mountain is the artist’s first gallery exhibition, though his career has been long and successful. Flynn’s show on Adult Swim,Y’all So Stupid, sets his raw animations to fast-paced soundtracks. At Okay Mountain, Flynn projects these animations large-scale onto the wall, with great results. The gallery setting brings out the formal qualities of Flynn’s work—color, geometry and scale. Within the hypnotizing/disorienting experience of watching his videos, I started to see references to Op Art, Minimalism and P&D. Cool.
Dave Bryant & Nathan Green
Closed September 30
Dave Bryant & Nathan Green’s installation at MASS Gallery really took advantage of the space. MASS is a garage warehouse, and for this show the artists packed the space with a jumble of stuff—paintings, sculptural edifices, objects, lights—and then opened the garage door for great effect. Especially at night, when the door was open and the lights shining within, from out front the installation worked like a glowing tableau. The installation might have benefitted from a little more editing, but some of my favorite moments included a bubble-wrapped painting from Green’s recent show at Art Palace, an all-pink canvas at the back of the gallery and a plastic pineapple nestled inside a box.
Claire Ruud is Associate Director of Fluent~Collaborative.
Austin on View
Devin Flynn: Superstupid
Through October 31
Devin Flynn's show at Okay Mountain appears to be an experiment in translating his work from the commercial world (his cartoon "Y'all So Stupid" is on adultswim) into the visual art world. If his buddy Gary Panter, with whom he plays in the band Devin and Gary, can do it, why can't he?
Lora Reynolds Gallery
Through October 31
Bradley McCallum & Jacqueline Tarry's installation at the New Orleans African American Museum was one of the most memorable things I saw at Prospect.1. Installed against deep red walls throughout the museum—an historic Creole Villa—their ghostly portraits of Civil Rights leaders couldn't have found a better home. Now, Lora Reynolds brings similar portraits by the duo to Austin, along with work by Conrad Bakker, Graham Dolphin and Kehinde Wiley, among others.
D Berman Gallery
Through October 24
More than once, I've overheard someone say this is the most striking show they've seen at D Berman in a long time. So don't miss it.
Sterling Allen: Use Your Illusion
Jessica Halonen: Rx Garden
Art Palace Gallery
Through Oct 10
In the main gallery, Sterling Allen's photos mess with your head. In the project room, Jessica Halonen's delicate branch sculptures please the eye.
San Antonio on View
Jo Baer, James Bishop, Suzan Frecon
Lawrence Markey Gallery
Through October 16
An exhibition of works on paper.
Reuniting the Fragments: The Petrobelli Altarpiece
Blanton Museum of Art
October 4, 2-3pm
If you want to hear more from Stephen Gritt after watching this video about the restoration of the Petrobelli Altarpiece, he'll be in Austin to speak in conjunction with the opening of Paolo Veronese: The Petrobelli Altarpiece.
Pablo Vargas Lugo: Eclipses for Austin
Darrel K. Royal Texas Memorial Stadium, UT Austin
October 6, 10am - 2 pm
Artist Pablo Vargas Lugo is relying on volunteers to create Eclipses for Austin, a WorkSpace project at the Blanton Museum of Art. If you don't have a day job, or if you want to call in sick, write Leslie Moody Castro at firstname.lastname@example.org to offer your services.
Artist Talk: Jim Drain
Blanton Museum of Art
October 15, 7 - 8pm
Hear artist Jim Drain talk about his "unholy experiment" in the Blanton's WorkSpace gallery.
Artist Talk: Zanele Muholi
Art in the Black Diaspora Lecture Series
University of Texas at Austin, ART 1.102
October 8, 5 - 7pm
In her work, Zanele Muholi, a video artist and photographer, documents lesbian and transgender people in South Africa. Not to be missed!
Artist Talk: Beili Liu
D Berman Gallery
October 3, 1pm
Beili Liu will speak in conjunction with her solo show now at D Berman.
2010 Idea Fund
Deadline: October 30, 2009
The Idea Fund announces its second round of grants, now open statewide.
The Idea Fund provides cash awards of $4,000 to 10 Texas-based, artist-generated or artist-centered projects that exemplify the unconventional, interventionist, conceptual, entrepreneurial, participatory, or guerrilla artistic practices that occur outside the traditional framework of support.
Call for Entries
Border Art Biennial 2010
The El Paso Museum of Art of El Paso
Deadline: January 31, 2010
El Paso Museum of Art and the Museo de Arte Juarez announce the Border Art Biennial 2010, the first juried exhibition to examine and highlight the often under-represented, but vital art and artists from the states on the US/Mexico border: Arizona, Baja California, California, Chihuahua, Coahuila, New Mexico, Nuevo León, Sonora, Tamaulipas, and Texas. To emphasize the notion of collaboration, each Museum will exhibit one of two artworks by every artist selected. All works included will be be reproduced in the accompanying exhibition catalog.
We can't find the info on El Paso Museum's website, so go here for more information and to apply.
The 2010 Hunting Art Prize
The Hunting Art Prize
Deadline: November 30, 2009
The Hunting Art Prize, which is sponsored by the international oil services company Hunting PLC, is celebrating 30 years! It is a Texas-wide competition open to established artists, talented newcomers and promising amateurs. The $50,000 award is the most generous art prize given annually in the United States.
The competition is open to Texas-based artists who are 18 years of age (as of August 1, 2009) or older. Artwork submitted for consideration must be a single two-dimensional painting or drawing no larger than 72" on any one side (including frame, if any).
Temporary Installation Proposals
Austin Art Alliance
Deadline: November 2, 5pm CST.
Artists are asked to propose projects that will be fully unveiled at Art City Austin on April 24-25, 2010; however, artist’s projects should have a visibility element in downtown during Art Week Austin starting April 21st. In keeping with the nature of this project, Art Alliance Austin encourages innovation and experimentation. This is an opportunity to work in spaces not otherwise allowed and to engage the community in your art. Proposals are sought for three categories: interactive/community engagement, large scale temporary installation, and performance. Art Alliance Austin is holding an information session for artists on Thursday, October 8th from 6-8pm at AMOA. For more information, email email@example.com.