Where: C2C Project Space, Potrero Hill, 1695-18th St #413
Looking at this art is better than a pagan solstice celebration
A ferocious bulldog named Kevin guarded the entrance to C2C Project Space. Actually, Kevin was a friendly human in a blazer doing a favor for his friend by letting people into the building. Kevin was thirsty though, and asked that when we found Kirk, that we'd have him send a beer down. Always ready for a mission, the Lanky One and I agreed.
We found Kirk easily: he greeted us when we entered the Project Space. The Project Space is his living room when it's not a gallery. We figured out pretty quickly that most of the other people there knew Kirk, or were there with a friend who knew Kirk. This made perfect sense, the atmosphere was warmly intimate. Art hung in opportunistic places: on an overhanging corner above the entryway, set on a windowsill, or tucked above the sink in the barricaded kitchen. Warm light melted in through the large windows, recommending that you step out to the balcony to enjoy the longest day of the year and a beer or glass of white wine from the ice filled bin.
Kirk created C2C Project Space to close the nostalgic gap between time spent in New York and time spent in San Francisco. If you can't actually live in both at once, you can at least surround yourself with the art and people of each. As someone who's also lived in those cities, I understand the need to hold on to both. For the instillations at C2C, Kirk pairs an NYC artist with a Bay Area artist and lets them show us what they come up with. This is the third show at C2C.
Marsh, from the Bay Area is the photographer; McNally, the sculptor, is based in New York. Only one piece from their collaboration made it into the show: a small pairing of a photograph with a rubbing from the same site. The pairing was tucked away by the entryway and not really a highlight of the show. The rest of the artists' collaboration went into selecting complimentary pieces to display in the small space. Marsh displayed blown up negatives from her experiments with pin hole cameras, and McNally's sculptures carried through the same simplicity and black/white/neutral color array.
McNally's sculptures encouraged close inspection. He interlocked wood and plaster in ways that made it hard to tell where where or how their borders materialized. The chunky angles suggested formation by natural processes, or ancient tribal carvings made with crude tools. Making something look natural or unconsidered is sometimes the hardest task in art. The pieces made us want to touch them. At one point we looked up to see a slender blonde man with his hands all over one, talking about it energetically - I assumed this was McNally and felt a little jealous for the artist's tactile privilege.
Even though Marsh was representing for the Bay Area, the palm trees in her photographs deceptively brought to mind SoCal. If you drive around Oakland though, it turns out palm trees don't always need to be by the beach. Marsh's theory for the intermittent stands of palm trees in the East Bay is that back when everyone lived on sprawling ranches they used palm trees to mark their homesteads. You can see the trees from miles away and use them to navigate. Redwoods get massively wide with age, but palm trees keep getting taller and lankier until reaching a maximum height. The palm trees Marsh fixated on were exhaustingly tall.
The Lanky One was fascinated by the way the power lines crossed Marsh's photographs in gentle waves. The angle of the power lines intersecting the palm trees didn't make sense. Marsh explained that she got the images when she started pointing her pin hole cameras up instead of forward. The black and white images at C2C were actually negatives: to get a negative the size of a poster, you need a giant camera. Marsh made her camera from a garbage can. She recounted the bizarre experience of hauling her garbage can camera around an Oakland homeless encampment to get images of a particular stand of palm trees. She raised the curiosity of the residents and took away from the interactions an appreciation for the way photography can get you to engage with communities you would normally stay separate from.
I don't know what Kirk misses about New York, but this time of year I'm pulled by the memories of sweating on rooftops, and long lazy days trying to stay cool in grassy parks. San Francisco summers involve trying to figure out how many layers I'll need to stay warm and getting out of town as much as possible. Maybe the only thing that summer in New York and San Francisco have in common is that June 21st is the longest day of the year in both of them. The Lanky One and I lost track of time hanging out in Kirk's gallery living room talking to the transients he'd collected around his love of art. Suddenly the light faded to what I used to think of as mosquito time; when the gold fades to grey and if you stay outside, you're likely to get bit. This being San Francisco, there are no mosquitos and we headed out instead of heading in. Kevin faithfully remained by the gate downstairs.
