Dimitris Yeros, Louise Bourgeois, New York, 2009

David Seidner, Louise Bourgeois, 1992

David Seidner, Louise Bourgeois, contact sheet, 1992

Louise Bourgeois
With all its contents, the studio that Louise Bourgeois occupies in Brooklyn is like a giant version of one of her installations. I entered a nondescript masonry building and was met by a bright white fluorescent-lit hallway—like an isolation chamber from the artist’s space. Once inside, I encountered the old foreman’s office from the loft’s last life. There, Louise now keeps her own office and watches over what goes on in the antechamber through a window. She hides in that cubicle until she’s ready to receive her visitors. A room off the main studio was bursting with decades of work. Rarely has the autobiographical manifestation of plastic form taken such a tangible human presence. There was a profusion of limbs, phallic tendrils, pistons, lumps, cylinders, and erections, in wood, plaster, marble, bronze, and latex—a dizzying maze of psycho-sexuality. When she emerged from her womb-like office, Bourgeois was tentative, coquettish, impossible. She did not strike me as a Surrealist. Rather, she has her own reality, a staccato stream of consciousness that goes in myriad directions at once. She seemed to speak in non-sequitors, so I stopped trying to anticipate any kind of logical conversation and simply deferred to her wishes. She was a bully until I seduced her by complimenting her work, talking about past museum shows and installations. Then, she became a docile little girl, smiling, almost blushing. I had been warned beforehand that she would want to take the film from the sitting. develop it, edit, and decide what would be the final print. So, to make sure I left with a portrait, I instructed my assistant to put a mason jar full of water in the trash bag in which we would put the Polaroid negative.
She saw the Polaroid and loved it, and began rearranging her collar, hair, and scarf. I only mention this because the woman seemed to have a total absence of vanity, but in true French fashion, was very concerned with the way she looked. I had been trying to photograph Louise for three years. When I originally called about doing her portrait for Beaux Arts magazine, I sent over a copy of a book of fragmented fashion photographs. She said, “The way you cut up women is phenomenally cruel and I will not subject myself to that!” And she hung up on me… Her energy was daunting I loved spending time with her in Brooklyn, and in her modest townhouse in West Chelsea where she seemed to have been forever… Given to philosophizing and grand proclamations, she told me that her favorite bedtime reading was Le Concept de l’Angoisse by Soren Kierkegaard. Her answers to questions at first seemed convoluted, but on closer inspection, revealed a razor sharp clarity. The answers turned and came back around on themselves, so that the answer and the question both became Bourgeois’ own doing. That seemed to me a fitting metaphor.

David Seidner, Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists, 1999, p. 34–41

Horst P. Horst, Coco Chanel, Paris, 1937

David Seidner, Tina Chow/Chanel, 1984

David Seidner, Betty Lago, Chanel, 1985

Coco Chanel was one of the world’s top couturiers. From the founding of the House of Chanel in 1909 until her death in 1971, Chanel held the title of “Chief Designer.” Famous for her cardigan suits and the perfume “Chanel No. 5,”  Chanel was credited with revolutionizing fashion with her modern, elegant, and simple designs.

André Kertész, Underwater Swimming, August 31, 1917

David Seidner, Rosima, ca. 1985

Weegee, [Woman (distortion)], ca. 1946-48/ca. 1955

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of distortion is as follows:

distortion (noun)

1: the act of distorting

2: the quality or state of being distorted : a product of distorting: as

a: a lack of proportionality in an image resulting from defects in the optical system

b: falsified reproduction of an audio or visual signal caused by change in the wave form of the original signal

As one can see, the definition of the word is almost entirely negative and the connotation of the word brings to mind changed (for the worst) or corrupted. But in the world of photography, distortion can produce a beauty all its own.

The large loft on West 18th Street that John Cage shared with Merce Cunningham was a simple, sunny, skylit living-working studio. It was divided into a sleeping area, a working space with a desk right off the kitchen… and an area for playing chess that was literally overgrown with plants. There was a long row of south-facing windows and a large central skylight.

There was a cat in the loft that he and Merce named “Rimpoche Taxicab.”… Everything was fun with John Cage – he was extremely serious without ever taking himself seriously. In his twilight years John was preserving his early work and making new work, drawings of smoke and river rocks and new compositions; receiving friends and pilgrims; and always cooking…

The chess board is one that he played at with Duchamp; the tool box photographed with all the little screws and nuts and bolts was from his first prepared piano piece in 1937. It was a magical day for me: the guru and his disciple. I said to him: “You know John, reading your book Silence at eighteen had a profound effect on me. And your encouragement over the years has meant more to me than you can imagine.”

Without hesitation, he answered in his even high-pitched voice, “Yes, many people tell me that.” And we both laughed. John laughed a lot. He was goodness and generosity personified.
He wasted nothing. Everything was grist for his extraordinary mill and he was appreciative of everything.

He took nothing for granted. He talked about how fortunate he and Merce were to have the space, how much he appreciated any kind of recognition. He was gentle, serious, hard-working, brilliant. He was also endlessly quotable: “Avant-garde is a consumptional necessity as we’ve used up all the rest.” and “Anything can be art, all you have to do is change your mind.”

Photographs and words by David Seidner. Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists. New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 1999. pp. 42-49

It was a visit to the “Ju Ware from the Northern Sung Dynasty” exhibition, (and the Painting and Calligraphy of the Northern Sung, and Sung Dynasty Rare Books exhibitions), at the National Palace Museum in Taipei, Taiwan, in 2006, that inspired Brice Marden’s recent paintings, Letters, currently on view at the Matthew Marks gallery.

Ju ceramic wares of the Northern Sung, fired in the early 12th century, are porcelains renowned for the classical beauty of their warm and glossy sky-blue glaze. Surviving pieces of Ju ware are extremely rare, with less than 70 found in collections around the world today. The National Palace Museum is fortunate to have 21, the most of any collection. With the discovery of the Ju kiln site, both the scattered unearthed shards and the archaeological excavation of the entire kiln site now offer a better understanding of this kiln and its products. In exploring Ju ware from a single kiln to the broader level of cultural exchange, combined with observations by means of modern scientific equipment, we also have gradually gained a clearer and richer view into its transmission and craftsmanship. [From the National Palace Musuem's website.]

Located on the Bowery above a noisy, congested block of restaurant-supply shops, it is a stunning contrast to the frenetic pitch of New York. After ascending a nondescript flight of wooden stairs, one penetrates the studio’s aqueous world of cool, washed calm. I am always impressed by how straightforward the place is. It is almost ascetic—clip-on metal lights, a neutral palette, an eastern exposure. Spartan, like a Zen temple to painting. Although there are hints of color here and there—a blue bottle or a yellow painting, or mark of orange —there is an overriding sense of neutrality, a suspension of time and place. The room is vast, about three thousand square feet, with columns, as in most downtown lofts, and very high ceilings. It is the perfect environment for the man, who is quiet, quirky, funny, and intense. Only Brice can explain, in the most unexpected and backhanded way, where references in his work come from: one may allude to an esoteric Ming vessel, another may echo an ancient Japanese stone… But he observes more than he participates. As with the kid who refuses to talk in class, words have to be coaxed out of him. Through spare, his words always deliver.

David Seidner. Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists. New York: Rizzoli, 1999, pp. 78–89

David Seidner, [Brice Marden's Studio], ca. 1990

Cy Twombly’s studio is in Lexington, Virginia, his original hometown. Though he now commutes between Lexington and Rome, and has spent a good deal of his life in Italy, he has never lost the drawl of a Southern gentleman. These photographs were taken on a glorious Spring day, a bit cool and foggy in the morning but clearing to reveal great expanses of green rolling hills. Lexington is horse country and the home of a famous military institute. Everywhere gorgeous cookie-cutter cadets in starched and pressed uniforms marched about with impeccable posture.

Cy’s father was an important political figure in this part of the country, and a high-school gymnasium is named after Twombly. We began our day with a quick visit to his simple white clapboard house, homey and comfortable at the end of a long drive. Then we went to the make shift studio–a warehouse that is about a five or ten minute ride from the house… When I asked Cy about the near absence of brushes he said, “Oh, I never use brushes.” What do you use?” I asked. And he answered, “Oh, rags, sticks… whatever I can get my hands on.”

The only photographs of Twombly I can remember seeing before his 1994 retrospective at MoMA were one by Horst, I believe from the 1960s, and one by Deborah Turbeville, from the 1970s. Or perhaps something else seen from very far away. Cy is the king of painters and the Garbo of the art world.

I had been trying to get him to sit down for a portrait since 1977, but he only wanted to be known by his work. But there are strong similarities between the man and the work: each was expansive, funny, spare, accessible, noble and discreet. Cy was never grand; he always stayed in the same modest Left Bank hotel in Paris, la Louisiane. Our lives often intertwined through mutual friends. In the 1970s, Cy was very close to a fellow Southerner then living in Paris, named William Burke. William had a gallery called La Remise du Parc with Samia Saouma, who was my mentor.

Cy often traveled with a beautiful and gentle Italian friend, Nicola del Roscio, and we once spent a memorable day in Paris together, walking across the Luxembourg gardens with Thomas Ammann. Rows of chestnut trees were in bloom, and we stopped at an antique fair in the Place St. Sulpice before ending up in Montparnasse. It was a carefree and idyllic day full of joy, surrounded by the beauty of Paris in early summer.

David Seidner, Artists at Work, 1999, pp. 136–139

David Seidner, [Cy Twombly's studio], ca. 1999

Seeberger Frères, [Two Unidentified Women, Deauville, France], August 18, 1912

Alfred Eisenstaedt, Janet MacLeod wearing a black-eyed veil attached to a hat by Lilly Daché, New York City, 1937

LIFE, October 5, 1942

Jack Delano, Miss Selma Barbour, Manager of the Cecilian specialty hat shop on 454 East 47th Street, Chicago, April 1942

Lisa Larsen, [Miss Sweden Anita Ekberg sporting a veiled hat by Mr. John during her hat-buying spree while visiting the United States for possible work as model], 1951

Davis Seidner, Hat by Balenciaga, 1988

David Seidner, [Yves Saint Laurent], 1983 (2007.63.7)

Louise Dahl-Wolf, Natalie in Grès coat, Kairouan, 1950 (82.1982)

Alfred Eisenstaedt, A New York vacationer in Miami Beach, 1940 (331.1989)

Martin Munkacsi, [Woman wearing Jaeger travel coat on wing of airplane], 1939 (2007.110.2267)

Edward Steichen, [Shoes], 1930 (698.2000)

David Seidner, Martial & Armand, 1990 (2007.69.4)

Ferenc Berko, Woman’s Legs, Brookfield Zoo, October 1950 (595.1993)

Elliott Erwitt, New York City, 1974 (743.1986)

Chris Collins, Mouse in Shoe, 1990 (278.1991)

Balenciaga, Schiaparelli, Nina Ricci, and Hermès are all names associated with French high fashion, but in 1944, each designer tried their hand at outfitting a much smaller client–a miniature wire mannequin measuring at just a third of the size of a real person. These dolls were made for the Theatre de la Mode, a Parisian traveling exhibition that was intended to champion the skill of French couture at a time when the industry had been hit hard by the war.

After their hugely popular 1945 world tour, the dolls sat in storage and were later acquired by the Maryhill Museum of Art in Washington. In 1990, the dolls were rediscovered and sent back to Paris to be restored and then re-showcased at the Musée de la Mode. The magic of these impeccably dressed dolls was captured by fashion photographer David Seidner, who gave each of the fashion dolls its own photo shoot for the book Theatre de la Mode. 

David Seidner, Jean Patou “Fleurs de Mal,” 1990 (2009.27.6)

David Seidner, Balenciaga, 1990 (2009.27.5)

David Seidner, Robert Piguet, Raphael, Pierre Balmain, 1990 (2009.27.1)

Tina Barney, The Son, 1987 (2.1998.a)

Gregory Crewdson, Untitled, 1998 (9.2001)

Gran Fury, Read My Lips (boys), 1988 (1138.2000)

David Seidner, [Pavlos, Prince of Greece], ca. 1994 (2007.65.13)

Sheng Qi, Memories (Me), 2000 (7.2004)

The son becomes the part of the future family that takes place in the mind of the viewers.

Constructs of masculinity vary across historical and cultural contexts. I would like to question the set of qualities, characteristics, or roles generally considered typical of, or rather appropriate to, a man in our society. This selection is based on the stereotyped expectations of the inappropriate mindset of the growing up teenager. What images he would look at or rather what images he would have on his computer desktop nowadays? Who is his hero and who he would like to become when he grew up? I am interested in the narrative quality of photographs that opens up the discussion for the wider context. How by looking at photographs we assume and create stories in our heads. This curatorial decision of selecting images shared with the viewers is presented to open the dialogue of reading images through personal selection rather than based on the historical or project related context. I am interested in presenting both: documentary and staged work to create a whole new spectrum of the constructed narrative, and the play between curator and viewers.

–Kasia Gumpert, ICP-Bard 2014

David Seidner, John Cage, 1977 (2007.120.19)

The large loft on West 18th Street that John Cage shared with Merce Cunningham was a simple, sunny, skylight living-working studio… It was a magical day for me: the guru and his disciple. I said to him: “You know John, reading your book Silence at eighteen had a profound effect on me. And your encouragement over the years has meant more to me than you can imagine.” Without hesitation, he answered in his even high-pitched voice, “Yes, many people tell me that.” And we both laughed. John laughed a lot. He was goodness and generosity personified. He wasted nothing. Everything was grist for his extraordinary mill and he was appreciative of everything. He took nothing for granted. He talked about how fortunate he and Merce were to have the space, how much he appreciated any kind of recognition. He was gentle, serious, hard-working, brilliant. He was also endlessly quotable: “Avant-garde is a consumptional necessity as we’ve used up all the rest.” and “Anything can be art, all you have to do is change your mind.”

Photographs and words by David Seidner. Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists. New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 1999. pp. 42-49

Happy Birthday John Cage!
The website of the John Cage Trust: JohnCage.org
An Autobiographical Statement from JohnCage.org
John Cage Prepared Piano app

Another amazeballs blog post, a Fansinaflashbulb classic, about David Seidner (1957-1999) and John Cage (1912-1992) can be found here.

Joan Mitchell lived and worked in a suburb about an hour from Paris called Vétheuil. The house was a rambling stone structure, not grand but very comfortable. In the back was her studio, a separate traditional, skylit artist’s atelier, down a corridor of paving stones set amid beautiful gardens created by Mitchell herself.

From Mitchell’s house one was afforded views of the green-grey Seine, and square and rectangular patches of wheat colored fields in the dusty June light. She talked a great deal about the “beautiful, grey, Ile de France light,” how it brought colors to life. We were introduced by our mutual friend John Cheim. When these photographs were taken, she had not recovered from hip surgery and had top work on crutches – quite unlike the younger Mitchell, who was always scrambling up and down ladders.

Mitchell painted very much alone and needed to isolate herself to do so. She never worked with an assistant. She identified her self as an American painted and hated when critics called her the continuation of French painting. Yet, she stated in an interview in the New York Times, “French artists have a sense of beauty – a sense of color – that isn’t allowed in New York City. To me, painting is French.”

She loved to recite poetry, especially poems about nature, and one could easily see in her the archetypal old-school artist: she swore and smoked and drank; she was ornery, cantankerous, and impossible. I adored her and we became instant friends. She described herself to me as being two people: “little Joan” and “big Joan.” “Little Joan” was the creative child that toiled alone in her studio and “big Joan” went out into the world to protect “little Joan.”

She was simple in appearance yet complex in demeanor, a little girl with a mature exterior. She was a great friend of Beckett’s and a staunch defender of abstraction and the nonlinear. But she had an enormously sentimental side to her and at heart was an old-fashioned romantic. In addition to the time we spent together in her painting studio in Vétheuil, she once took me to a small pastel studio she kept in the city. It was in a traditional 1930s artists’ studio building on the La rue Campagne-Première, a street made famous by Jean-Paul Belmondo in Breathless but also home to many famous artists, including Rilke, Man Ray, and Atget.

Photographs of Joan Mitchell (1925–1992) and her studio by David Seidner (1957-1999).
Words from David Seidner: Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists, Rizzoli, New York, 1999, pp 90-103.
David Seidner Joan Mitchell Foundation

Studio Visit is an occasional series exploring a diverse array of working artists’ studios.

The large loft on West 18th Street that John Cage shared with Merce Cunningham was a simple, sunny, skylit living-working studio. It was divided into a sleeping area, a working space with a desk right off the kitchen […] and an area for playing chess that was literally overgrown with plants. There was a long row of south-facing windows and a large central skylight.

There was a cat in the loft that he and Merce named “Rimpoche Taxicab.” […] Everything was fun with John Cage – he was extremely serious without ever taking himself seriously. In his twilight years John was preserving his early work and making new work, drawings of smoke and river rocks and new compositions; receiving friends and pilgrims; and always cooking.

The chess board is one that he played at with Duchamp; the tool box photographed with all the little screws and nuts and bolts was from his first prepared piano piece in 1937. It was a magical day for me: the guru and his disciple. I said to him: “You know John, reading your book Silence at eighteen had a profound effect on me. And your encouragement over the years has meant more to me than you can imagine.”

Without hesitation, he answered in his even high-pitched voice, “Yes, many people tell me that.” And we both laughed. John laughed a lot. He was goodness and generosity personified.
He wasted nothing. Everything was grist for his extraordinary mill and he was appreciative of everything.

He took nothing for granted. He talked about how fortunate he and Merce were to have the space, how much he appreciated any kind of recognition. He was gentle, serious, hard-working, brilliant. He was also endlessly quotable: “Avant-garde is a consumptional necessity as we’ve used up all the rest.” and “Anything can be art, all you have to do is change your mind.”

Photographs and words by David Seidner (1957-1999). Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists. New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 1999. pp. 42-49

John Cage, was born September 5, 1912.

johncage.org

The large loft on West 18th Street that John Cage shared with Merce Cunningham was a simple, sunny, skylit living-working studio. It was divided into a sleeping area, a working space with a desk right off the kitchen (which was the center of John’s universe since he and Merce were strict macrobiotics), and an area for playing chess that was literally overgrown with plants. There was a long row of south-facing windows and a large central skylight. There was a cat in the loft that he and Merce named “Rimpoche Taxicab.” They amused themselves by putting a cardboard box over Rimpoche the cat and watching it move through the loft inside the box, becoming “Rimpoche Taxicab.” Everything was fun with John Cage – he was extremely serious without ever taking himself seriously. In his twilight years John was preserving his early work and making new work, drawings of smoke and river rocks and new compositions; receiving friends and pilgrims; and always cooking.This was probably John’s last portrait. The chess board is one that he played at with Duchamp; the tool box photographed with all the little screws and nuts and bolts was from his first prepared piano piece in 1937. It was a magical day for me: the guru and his disciple. I said to him: “You know John, reading your book Silence at eighteen had a profound effect on me. And your encouragement over the years has meant more to me than you can imagine.” Without hesitation, he answered in his even high-pitched voice, “Yes, many people tell me that.” And we both laughed. John laughed a lot. He was goodness and generosity personified.

He wasted nothing. Everything was grist for his extraordinary mill and he was appreciative of everything. He took nothing for granted. He talked about how fortunate he and Merce were to have the space, how much he appreciated any kind of recognition. He was gentle, serious, hard-working, brilliant. He was also endlessly quotable: “Avant-garde is a consumptional necessity as we’ve used up all the rest.” and “Anything can be art, all you have to do is change your mind.”

Photographs and words by David Seidner. Artists at Work: Inside the Studios of Today’s Most Celebrated Artists. New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 1999. pp. 42-49.

Several photos featuring plants in John Cage and Merce Cunningham’s loft and a Polaroid portrait to commemorate John Cage, who was born 106 years ago today.

Barbara Morgan, Merce Cunningham – Totem Ancestor, 1942 (545.1986)

(Totem Ancestor: Choreography: Merce Cunningham; Music: John Cage; Costumes: Charlotte Trowbridge)

Arnold Eagle, Merce Cunningham in Appalachian Spring, Martha Graham Company, 1944 (552.1987)

(Appalachian Spring: Choreography: Martha Graham; Music: Aaron Copland; Set design: Isamu Noguchi)

Jack Mitchell, Merce Cunningham, 1975 (434.1983)

John Loengard, Merce Cunningham, 1987 (188.1987)

David Seidner, [Merce Cunningham], 1978 (2007.120.13)

“John Cage records his stories of collaborator, dancer Merce Cunningham from 1968 for a ‘Panegyric for Merce Cunningham.'”
From Pacifica Radio Archives.

Barbara Morgan, Merce Cunningham – Totem Ancestor, 1942 (545.1986)

Totem Ancestor: Choreography: Merce Cunningham; Music: John Cage; Costumes: Charlotte Trowbridge)

Arnold Eagle, Merce Cunningham in Appalachian Spring, Martha Graham Company, 1944 (552.1987)

Appalachian Spring: Choreography: Martha Graham; Music: Aaron Copland; Set design: Isamu Noguchi

Arnold Eagle, Appalachian Spring, 1944 (99.1989)

Jack Mitchell, Merce Cunningham, 1975 (434.1983)

David Seidner, [Merce Cunningham], 1978 (2007.120.13)

John Loengard , Merce Cunningham, 1987 (188.1987)

Happy 100th birthday Merce Cunningham…

David Seidner, [John Cage and Merce Cunningham’s 18th Street loft, New York], ca. 1994

David Seidner, [John Cage and Merce Cunningham’s 18th Street loft, New York], ca. 1994

David Seidner, [John Cage and Merce Cunningham’s 18th Street loft, New York], ca. 1994

About a dozen of David Seidner’s photos of John Cage and Merce Cunningham’s 18th Street loft illustrate a beautiful new book:
Love, Icebox: Letters from John Cage to Merce Cunningham, Edited with text by Laura Kuhn. Photography by Emily Martin. New York: The John Cage Trust, 2019

John Cage was born September 5, 1912. The John Cage Trust is here.

David Seidner, John Baldessari, 1991 (2007.60.7) (Platinum print)

John Baldessari (in conversation with Douglas Huebler, moderated by Charles Stainback) at ICP on Setember 30, 1992; this talk accompanied the exhibition “Special Collections: The Photographic Order from Pop to Now.”