Up to our eyeballs

Two new shows up at the powerHouse Arena...

Magnum photographer David Alan Harvey documents hip hop's finger print across the world with Living Proof...
and...
Wild Style The Sampler by Charlie Ahearn celebrates the 25th anniversary of the film that defined the hip hop generation...

Check, www.powerhousearena.com for more information

and with the Book Expo America fair this weeekend, we're up to our eyeballs!

New Kid on the Block

Galapagos Art Space is headed to our side of town, so says the NY Times. GAS cites rising rent in their Williamsburg digs as the reason for the move. In keeping with the artistic and cultural flavor of the neighborhood that Two Trees has been mindful to maintain, Galapagos is the ideal new tenant.

It's like we're getting a little sister!

And we're totally impressed with GAS' green attitude. "At 16 Main, Galapagos Art Space will install a geothermal radiant heating and cooling system,"

A geo what! Sounds kind of cool and radioactive.

"a green sidewalk that lets water pass through to the soil below delaying its path to the city’s storm sewer system, catch and reprocess rainwater for the heating and cooling of the building, plant (flowering) trees, and install a green roof on top of 16 Main. The venue will be powered with electricity sourced from upstate wind and run-of-the-river hydro sources."

Maybe we need to look into that geothermal thing, because as of right now, apparently our AC is broken!

So I guess we should take them a casserole or something. No, wait, casseroles are for when someone dies. What do you take for a birth...a cigar? A box of Macanudos for you GAS! Let us know when you're here.

Completely organized

"My idea of a good picture is one that's in focus and of a famous person doing something unfamous. It's being in the right place at the wrong time. That's why my favorite photographer is Ron Galella."
-Andy Warhol

Ron is an easy interview. He likes to talk. He speaks about photography with a vintage enthusiasm and afterward, I feel as though I've just taken a class on photojournalism. He's 76 years old but his passion is incredibly evident. And his memory is sharp! Ron recalls events that happened thirty years ago as if they were yesterday. Clarity of the mind, how does one maintain that?

He takes me down to his offices on the first floor of the house. Everything is so neatly organized. There are shelves of boxes, each labeled with the celebrity's name in black letters. In anther room are black and white prints and color prints, all neatly placed in binders. There's a dark room and several computers and scanners. It's quite amazing to seen an entire career so immaculately catalogued.

People are such slobs today. Look at your desk. Be like Ron, go clean it.

Thank god for Google Maps

I actually found my way to the tree-lined neighborhood of Ron Galella. And I wasn't late! Montville, New Jersey, feels rural and suburban and a much more peaceful haven, I'm sure, than their former digs in Yonkers.

The Galellas mailbox is decorated with bunnies. "Wait, am I at the correct house?" I park on the street instead of using the circular driveway with fountain, which I thought might be rude. I walk up to the large front doors. Inside, I see large mounted black and white prints of Goldie Hawn and Liz Taylor and dozens of other familiar faces. They're resting on easels and almost life-size. Now I know I'm at the right place. I ring the doorbell. No answer. I knock. No answer. I knock loud and hard. A woman answers the door. She's in her bathrobe. "We forgot you were coming," Betty Galella apologizes. Clearly, I've interrupted a relaxing and rainy Saturday afternoon. She's in the kitchen watching television and Ron is downstairs doing some last minute work for a Warhol book he is working on.

While I wait, Betty keeps me company and shows me around. The front of the house is like a gallery. There are countless black and white pictures on the walls, upstairs and downstairs. I look at all of them...Dustin Hoffman, Marlon Brando, Elvis. Each image is an American icon. I think, these pictures will still look great fifty years from now. They're timeless. It makes me think of celebrity culture today and how different it is. Clearly, pictures of Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan will never stand the test of time the way these do. (to be continued...)

Chargin' to Jersey

Driving in New Jersey is ridiculous. Oh, but you already knew that, right? "You're so brave," is the reaction I got most when telling people that I was driving out to Montville. "But I'm from Los Angeles," I declared. "Driving is like breathing to me."

So I headed boldly to Avis and got me a steel blue Dodge Charger...

After tackling the mess of NY/NJ roads and byways, I will say this: What you East Coast-ers consider highways, is just sad. That BQE thing is so narrow and confining. And people don't care if there are lines to distinguish between lanes. Drivers meander all over the road. And how 'bout once in New Jersey, there are several different exits for one exit! Do y0u want 17A or 17B or 17C? It's just stupid and confusing, but again, you knew that. And if you don't immediately turn once you see the exit sign, then you've missed it. On the West Coast, there are signs miles away from turnoffs, informing you that you'll be turning in two miles. Then there will be another sign a mile away, and then one a half mile away. Clarity, that's what it's about, and there's none of it in Jersey.

But I did make my trek out there a little more worthwhile by visiting Ikea, which was kind of a bust. They were out of those pillows I wanted and then there were screeching children by the dozens. Ain't no better form of birth control than the children's section of Ikea on a Saturday morning. But you knew that too, right?

So why was I driving to New Jersey? To interview photographer Ron Galella for powerHouse magazine's next issue...to be continued...

Dumbolio recap: Kevin Devine is dreamy, experimental theater is weird

(above: Aldo Perez, below: Kevin Devine)


I was late to Saturday night's Dumbolio. Having gotten hopelessly lost on countless Jersey country roads, somehow, miraculously, I made it out of the Holland Tunnel, over the Manhattan Bridge, and into DUMBO. I parked the rental in the first space I could find and booked it to the Arena, as I was supposed to be filming the entire performance. Whoops.

When I arrived, Jonathan Ames was on stage discussing orgasms and hairbrushes. Then Aldo Perez and company performed some bizarre combination of mime and opera. It was a little too experimental theater for us, but it didn't matter though, because most of the attendees were there to see one person...and that was Kevin Devine. He was the jewel of the night, the belle of the ball. If you could have only seen those girls in the front two rows, their bright and shining faces. Ugh, it was heart breaking.

Dumbolio

The powerHouse Arena is rearranging our concrete book tables yet again, this time for playwright Ed Schmidt’s monthly variety show, Dumbolio. Tomorrow night even includes origami. Brave the rain. Food and drink, of course, will be present.

We did what?

Yeah, so apparently people were offended.

Last weekend, powerHouse hosted a portion of the BKLYN Designs fair in our Arena gallery space. Generally, when the Arena is rented for specialty functions such as these, any art up on the walls is taken down. BKLYN Designs asked that only the explicit images from The Male Gaze (currently on display) be hidden or removed because of the large amounts of children who would be attending the show. This seemingly simple compliance ignited debate. Irate even. One angry attendee wrote, “Why not just go for it and become the day care center you’re heading for. How dare you censor any art at all.”

Our publisher, Daniel Power, answered, “This is the conflict we encounter in being a space for many constituents and occasionally showing sexually charged content. powerHouse and BKLYN Designs agreed to the conditions of the rental of the Arena before The Male Gaze was conceived.”

Wanna hear what they're saying, go to ww.artforum.com, www.queerty.com, and www.towleroad.com.

Take a gander for yourself: http://www.powerhousearena.com/male_gaze/themalegaze_home.html

And we're back...

The blog is resurrected.

Just off the jet from California. New apartment, new job, new voice at powerHouse.

Speaking of the jet, I watched over four hours of television while on the flight from Los Angeles. My attention span astounds me when on airplanes. A few months ago on my way home from Tokyo, I shamefully admit that I was able to watch The Lake House in its entirety. During my recent travels last week, I watched a healthy dose of the Food Network, VH1, and MTV, specifically The Real World: Denver. It was like watching emotional math equations. Roommate + obvious rage issues = several toddler-like meltdowns. Roommate + alcohol + fight with new girlfriend = arrest for urinating in public. Granted, this roommate is black, living in a televised petri dish of a very white Colorado city, but what I’m getting at is, what happened to those idyllic first season days of the show when roommates were simpler archetypes. Or maybe the point really is, turn off the television and pick up a book.

Then you’ve come to the right place.

Again, welcome to the powerHouse blog, where you may acquaint yourself with us, our titles, our gallery, and our events. Let us know who you are and what you’re looking for. We’re open.

The dialogue begins anew.

Yours truly,
pH
www.powerHouseBoooks.com