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Re: [Unmuzzled Ox] The Albertfine

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  • VYT BAKAITIS
    Mick --isn t there something about this in Proust as well? Or is that goingf too far back? cheers: vyt. On Fri, 17 Jun 2005 10:51:10 -0000 mandreox
    Message 1 of 2 , Jun 19, 2005
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      Mick --isn't there something about this in Proust as well?
      Or is that goingf too far back?
      cheers: vyt.


      On Fri, 17 Jun 2005 10:51:10 -0000 mandreox <no_reply@yahoogroups.com>
      writes:
      Today, according to Butler's Lives of the Saints, is the feast of
      the founder of the Albertines. Albert was canonized by John Paul II;
      he also wrote a play about St Albert. In the late Seventies, when John
      Paul became Pope, Unmuzzled OX published The Poets' Encyclopedia.
      Ray
      Johnson wrote a piece about Albert M. Fine called The Albertfine. As
      part of a collage, Ray defined "the Albertfine" as "a
      soft, plumpy,
      decorative throw pillow perfect for throwing onto chairs and
      sofas."
      As for the real Albert Fine, he invented his own alphabet for the
      Encyclopedia. He defined many strange things. Albert resembled a
      street person; he inspired that nervousness. Albert seemed on the
      border of sanity. The Albertines work with the homeless.

      --- In unmuzzledox@yahoogroups.com mandreox wrote:
      > Emily Harvey seemed to get along very well with men, although she
      > never payed any attention to me. Our last conversation concerned --
      > Matthew Rose. I loved her gallery; Fluxus is the best. I got to
      know one of her ex-husbands Christian Xatrec when he curated the A.M.
      Fine show.Ray Johnson & Robert Buecker and Fluxus types like Cage and
      even
      > Phil Glass regarded Fine as a genius. But he was so odd. He made
      > temporary sculoptures and gave them away. I'd stick them on a shelf
      > and eventually either I or Erika Rothenberg would re-arrange the
      > elements and make them thereby into something new but not A.M.
      Fine.
      > Eventually Fine gave up on New York, walked home to Boston, and
      > died.
      >
      > --- In unmuzzledox@yahoogroups.com, "MISTAHCOUGHDROP"
      > <mistahrose@y...> wrote:
      >
      > In one of the last conversations I had with Emily Harvey she talked
      > about salt.
      >
      > "I'm still fighting the salt, but I'm winning," she said on the
      phone
      > from New York when she began chemotherapy treatments. It was May
      > 2003, and Emily was referring to the renovation of the apartments
      in
      > Venice that would form the basis of her Foundation. Emily
      > was battling back the briny waters around Venice as they attacked
      her
      > artist studios, and battling to stay alive for long enough to take
      me
      > on a promised "special tour" of Venice, such as Angelo, her third
      > husband, had given her to show her the effect of salt on the
      > friezes he had studied as an art student and followed as they
      decayed.
      >
      > I never got to take the tour with Emily, but our conversations
      about
      > both her foundation and her fight with pancreatic cancer found
      their
      > way into The New York Times in July, 2003, something she thanked me
      > for. She wanted to tell the world. Simply and directly.
      > And again, I learned what a true character Emily Harvey was. I
      > imagine I wasn't alone.
      >
      > There were the Venetian roof carpenters - "they use cork chips and
      > cement" - whom she educated about the re-roofing of the Cloisters.
      > There were the Venetian mattress replacement experts who patiently
      > emptied her mattress of its wool, combed it and refilled
      > it as Emily studied them. She giggled in delight once the bed was
      > reset back on the frame.
      > "It was a beautiful, comfortable mattress again! For fifty bucks!"
      > The local specialists, who restored the 300-year old terrazzo
      floor
      > by scraping up the existing mixture of ox's blood,
      > red brick dust and wax, must have certainly enjoyed this perky
      > American art dealer. Totally hip Emily (in her signature pigtails)
      > let them know everything there was to know about it.
      > "It feels velvety to walk on...barefoot…so luxurious," she
      > cooed. "The floor was so gorgeous."
      >
      > In early Spring 2003, when I first heard that Emily was sick, I
      > called her in New York. I was nervous and didn't know what to
      > expect. She said, calmly, "The doctors gave me three
      > months to live --11 months with chemo." She told me about the
      > foundation she was putting together and urged me to get in contact
      > with her husband Davidson, and a dozen other close friends and
      > artists who would fill me in on the project, and the history of her
      > gallery.
      >
      > I first met Emily Harvey in the late 1980s, visiting her gallery at
      > 537 Broadway, interested, as both artist and writer, in the Fluxus
      > phenomenon as it manifested years after its birth and a decade
      after
      > its reported demise. She routinely exhibited what most in the art
      > would termed "marginal," but I was continually intrigued by
      whatever
      > she would put on her walls, or floors, and most by the people who
      > regularly showed up there. I discovered books split in half by Buzz
      > Spector. There were video installations by Nam June Paik. I
      wandered
      > through the ephemera, hanging in mid-air, of A.M. Fine: drawings of
      > spoons, and obsessive typewritten notes on nickel postcards. I saw
      > the "Brown Paintings" by Dick Higgins, witnessed a lecture and
      video
      > of a plastic surgery "intervention" by French artist Orlan, and a
      > discussion of globalization by Ben Vautier. It was the most lively,
      > engaging gallery I'd found in New York. It was less a showroom for
      > expensive objects, than a kind of art house, with cats and cups of
      > coffee, and a cast of characters that helped define - for
      > > me - art in the latter the 20th century. And, from Emily, I
      gleaned
      > what was really important in making and looking at art:
      experiencing
      > it. I wrote an essay on Fluxus in America for the Lund Art Journal,
      > and another piece, focusing mainly on Emily's gallery and her role
      in
      > George Maciunas's irreverent and often conceptual art movement for
      > Connoisseur in the early 1990s.
      >
      > It was apparent that Fluxus suited her. She was irreverent, fun and
      > extremely social. In every contact with Emily and the gallery over
      > the years, I was aware of her generosity, her down to earth
      > presence, and her energy. Casually dressed in a denim frock, Emily
      > was more den mother than art dealer. She told me to call Ay-O to
      > take a tour in the dark labyrinth in the basement of 537
      > Broadway. "You must do this!" she told me. Ay-O took me through
      the
      > darkened, winding corridors of the building -"Watch your head!"- to
      > his biggest "finger box" installation. It was a literally a hidden
      > jewel, using the building as a "box."
      >
      > "Wasn't it great?," she enthused when I'd surfaced an hour later.
      >
      > Most people who came to the gallery were surprised, I think.
      Carolee
      > Schneemann told me Emily once abruptly left a conversation in mid-
      > sentence with an art collector to fetch a band-aid for someone who
      > caught a splinter in his finger. Another collector she left
      standing
      > in the gallery to have a rather engaging chat with the UPS man
      who'd
      > just arrived. She was often wielding a hammer, or making spaghetti.
      >
      > Emily's gallery was a home to probably hundreds of artists and
      > friends, who undoubtedly felt they'd come to the right place at the
      > right time. She gave to her visitors and acquaintances and friends
      > what the high-tone galleries on West Broadway and Uptown could
      never
      > offer: herself. And she gave an unmatched enthusiasm for her
      artists,
      > whom she treated as family. They in turn, adored her.
      >
      > "Her gallery was the only one in New York not connected with money
      > but with the idea of having people express themselves," said
      > Christian Xatrec, her second husband. "Emily showed artists like
      Dick
      > Higgins," he said. "Nobody else would show him." Christian came
      > to my house in Paris and told me how Emily maxed out her credit
      cards
      > to acquire the estate of AM Fine from the artist's mother, and
      used
      > her corporate art sales job as a source of ready cash for edgy
      Fluxus
      > exhibitions.
      >
      > Christian cross-referenced stories of many artists I knew of, and
      > some I had met, with stories told to me by Emily. These were the
      > people - Ray Johnson, John Cage, Daniel Spoerri, Francesco Conz,
      > Henry Flynt, Jean Dupuy, Allison Knowles, Charlotte Moorman,
      > Ben Patterson, Jackson MacLow, Robert Watts, Geoffrey Hendricks
      > (Cloudsmith), Eric Andersen, Ben Vautier, George Brecht, Olga
      Adorno,
      > Robert Filliou, Ken Friedman, Christer Hennix, Joe Jones, Takako
      > Saito, Yoshi Wada, Emmett Williams, La Monte Young, Marian
      > Zazeela, Lance Fung and Yoko Ono among others - who added in their
      > wonderfully unique way to the vaulting spirit of the former loft of
      > George Maciunas. They were the life injected into the spaces Emily
      > inhabited and opened to the world.
      >
      > I asked Christian about her many husbands and he laughed. "Emily
      > inspires in both artists and husbands a deep loyalty and love."
      >
      > And that, deep loyalty and love, was - or better, is - true. It is
      > the essence of her gift.
      >
      > When I was last in Venice in late May, 2003, I visited Emily's
      > apartments on Calle dei Cinque, and the gallery, Archivio Harvey.
      > Emily was not able to meet me. She was in New York, still
      undergoing
      > treatments at Sloan Kettering. Henry Martin, Berty Skuber and Ewa
      > Gorniak gave me the grand tour, taking me up to the roof, showing
      me
      > the terrazzo floors and introducing me to Emily's cats. We walked
      > late into the Venetian night, and talked about what Emily had done
      > over the past 10 years in Venice - and was still doing - when
      > all odds seemed against her. When most people would lay down and
      just
      > die. She was hurrying to set up the Foundation. She wanted others
      to
      > benefit from the enormous inheritance of love and fortune she'd
      been
      > blessed with. And in that spirit, I wanted to leave her something.
      It
      > was a little painted text work on wood in acid green and
      psychedelic
      > fuschia. The word was "PIU." In Italian, it means "more." I wanted
      > (and I think we all wanted) "more" Emily.
      >
      > I was happy to know Emily Harvey. I am changed because of her, and
      > every time I set foot on a terrazzo floor or remember the message
      > Dick Higgins once left on my answering machine concerning the
      nature
      > of Fluxus - "It comes in waves…" - I think of her.
      >
      > Emily Harvey died November 8, 2004.
      >
      > The Emily Harvey Foundation: 537 Broadway, NYC, NY 10012
      > The Emily Harvey Foundation: S. Polo 322, I-30125 Venice, Italy
      Tel:
      > +39-041-522-6727






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    • mandreox
      Dates are arbitrary. Is it really merely 27 July 2005? Today is also the day of the death of St Theobald of Marly who was one of the men in the early 13th
      Message 2 of 2 , Jul 27, 2005
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        Dates are arbitrary. Is it really merely 27 July 2005? Today is also
        the day of the death of St Theobald of Marly who was one of the men
        in the early 13th century who started the Louvre and Notre Dame and
        built a wall around Paris. Theobald resorted to Port Royal, near
        Montparnasse. It seems important to remember the dates when friends
        and family die, my father, say, or Sharon Gilbert.

        --- In unmuzzledox@yahoogroups.com, VYT BAKAITIS <vytbak@j...> wrote:
        > Mick --isn't there something about this in Proust as well?
        > Or is that goingf too far back?
        > cheers: vyt.
        >
        >
        > On Fri, 17 Jun 2005 10:51:10 -0000 mandreox
        <no_reply@yahoogroups.com>
        > writes:
        > Today, according to Butler's Lives of the Saints, is the feast of
        > the founder of the Albertines. Albert was canonized by John Paul
        II;
        > he also wrote a play about St Albert. In the late Seventies, when
        John
        > Paul became Pope, Unmuzzled OX published The Poets' Encyclopedia.
        > Ray
        > Johnson wrote a piece about Albert M. Fine called The Albertfine.
        As
        > part of a collage, Ray defined "the Albertfine" as "a
        > soft, plumpy,
        > decorative throw pillow perfect for throwing onto chairs and
        > sofas."
        > As for the real Albert Fine, he invented his own alphabet for the
        > Encyclopedia. He defined many strange things. Albert resembled a
        > street person; he inspired that nervousness. Albert seemed on the
        > border of sanity. The Albertines work with the homeless.
        >
        > --- In unmuzzledox@yahoogroups.com mandreox wrote:
        > > Emily Harvey seemed to get along very well with men, although she
        > > never payed any attention to me. Our last conversation concerned -
        -
        > > Matthew Rose. I loved her gallery; Fluxus is the best. I got to
        > know one of her ex-husbands Christian Xatrec when he curated the
        A.M.
        > Fine show.Ray Johnson & Robert Buecker and Fluxus types like Cage
        and
        > even
        > > Phil Glass regarded Fine as a genius. But he was so odd. He made
        > > temporary sculoptures and gave them away. I'd stick them on a
        shelf
        > > and eventually either I or Erika Rothenberg would re-arrange the
        > > elements and make them thereby into something new but not A.M.
        > Fine.
        > > Eventually Fine gave up on New York, walked home to Boston, and
        > > died.
        > >
        > > --- In unmuzzledox@yahoogroups.com, "MISTAHCOUGHDROP"
        > > <mistahrose@y...> wrote:
        > >
        > > In one of the last conversations I had with Emily Harvey she
        talked
        > > about salt.
        > >
        > > "I'm still fighting the salt, but I'm winning," she said on the
        > phone
        > > from New York when she began chemotherapy treatments. It was May
        > > 2003, and Emily was referring to the renovation of the
        apartments
        > in
        > > Venice that would form the basis of her Foundation. Emily
        > > was battling back the briny waters around Venice as they attacked
        > her
        > > artist studios, and battling to stay alive for long enough to
        take
        > me
        > > on a promised "special tour" of Venice, such as Angelo, her third
        > > husband, had given her to show her the effect of salt on the
        > > friezes he had studied as an art student and followed as they
        > decayed.
        > >
        > > I never got to take the tour with Emily, but our conversations
        > about
        > > both her foundation and her fight with pancreatic cancer found
        > their
        > > way into The New York Times in July, 2003, something she thanked
        me
        > > for. She wanted to tell the world. Simply and directly.
        > > And again, I learned what a true character Emily Harvey was. I
        > > imagine I wasn't alone.
        > >
        > > There were the Venetian roof carpenters - "they use cork chips
        and
        > > cement" - whom she educated about the re-roofing of the
        Cloisters.
        > > There were the Venetian mattress replacement experts who
        patiently
        > > emptied her mattress of its wool, combed it and refilled
        > > it as Emily studied them. She giggled in delight once the bed was
        > > reset back on the frame.
        > > "It was a beautiful, comfortable mattress again! For fifty
        bucks!"
        > > The local specialists, who restored the 300-year old terrazzo
        > floor
        > > by scraping up the existing mixture of ox's blood,
        > > red brick dust and wax, must have certainly enjoyed this perky
        > > American art dealer. Totally hip Emily (in her signature
        pigtails)
        > > let them know everything there was to know about it.
        > > "It feels velvety to walk on...barefoot…so luxurious," she
        > > cooed. "The floor was so gorgeous."
        > >
        > > In early Spring 2003, when I first heard that Emily was sick, I
        > > called her in New York. I was nervous and didn't know what to
        > > expect. She said, calmly, "The doctors gave me three
        > > months to live --11 months with chemo." She told me about the
        > > foundation she was putting together and urged me to get in
        contact
        > > with her husband Davidson, and a dozen other close friends and
        > > artists who would fill me in on the project, and the history of
        her
        > > gallery.
        > >
        > > I first met Emily Harvey in the late 1980s, visiting her gallery
        at
        > > 537 Broadway, interested, as both artist and writer, in the
        Fluxus
        > > phenomenon as it manifested years after its birth and a decade
        > after
        > > its reported demise. She routinely exhibited what most in the art
        > > would termed "marginal," but I was continually intrigued by
        > whatever
        > > she would put on her walls, or floors, and most by the people who
        > > regularly showed up there. I discovered books split in half by
        Buzz
        > > Spector. There were video installations by Nam June Paik. I
        > wandered
        > > through the ephemera, hanging in mid-air, of A.M. Fine: drawings
        of
        > > spoons, and obsessive typewritten notes on nickel postcards. I
        saw
        > > the "Brown Paintings" by Dick Higgins, witnessed a lecture and
        > video
        > > of a plastic surgery "intervention" by French artist Orlan, and a
        > > discussion of globalization by Ben Vautier. It was the most
        lively,
        > > engaging gallery I'd found in New York. It was less a showroom
        for
        > > expensive objects, than a kind of art house, with cats and cups
        of
        > > coffee, and a cast of characters that helped define - for
        > > > me - art in the latter the 20th century. And, from Emily, I
        > gleaned
        > > what was really important in making and looking at art:
        > experiencing
        > > it. I wrote an essay on Fluxus in America for the Lund Art
        Journal,
        > > and another piece, focusing mainly on Emily's gallery and her
        role
        > in
        > > George Maciunas's irreverent and often conceptual art movement
        for
        > > Connoisseur in the early 1990s.
        > >
        > > It was apparent that Fluxus suited her. She was irreverent, fun
        and
        > > extremely social. In every contact with Emily and the gallery
        over
        > > the years, I was aware of her generosity, her down to earth
        > > presence, and her energy. Casually dressed in a denim frock,
        Emily
        > > was more den mother than art dealer. She told me to call Ay-O to
        > > take a tour in the dark labyrinth in the basement of 537
        > > Broadway. "You must do this!" she told me. Ay-O took me through
        > the
        > > darkened, winding corridors of the building -"Watch your head!"-
        to
        > > his biggest "finger box" installation. It was a literally a
        hidden
        > > jewel, using the building as a "box."
        > >
        > > "Wasn't it great?," she enthused when I'd surfaced an hour later.
        > >
        > > Most people who came to the gallery were surprised, I think.
        > Carolee
        > > Schneemann told me Emily once abruptly left a conversation in mid-
        > > sentence with an art collector to fetch a band-aid for someone
        who
        > > caught a splinter in his finger. Another collector she left
        > standing
        > > in the gallery to have a rather engaging chat with the UPS man
        > who'd
        > > just arrived. She was often wielding a hammer, or making
        spaghetti.
        > >
        > > Emily's gallery was a home to probably hundreds of artists and
        > > friends, who undoubtedly felt they'd come to the right place at
        the
        > > right time. She gave to her visitors and acquaintances and
        friends
        > > what the high-tone galleries on West Broadway and Uptown could
        > never
        > > offer: herself. And she gave an unmatched enthusiasm for her
        > artists,
        > > whom she treated as family. They in turn, adored her.
        > >
        > > "Her gallery was the only one in New York not connected with
        money
        > > but with the idea of having people express themselves," said
        > > Christian Xatrec, her second husband. "Emily showed artists like
        > Dick
        > > Higgins," he said. "Nobody else would show him." Christian came
        > > to my house in Paris and told me how Emily maxed out her credit
        > cards
        > > to acquire the estate of AM Fine from the artist's mother, and
        > used
        > > her corporate art sales job as a source of ready cash for edgy
        > Fluxus
        > > exhibitions.
        > >
        > > Christian cross-referenced stories of many artists I knew of, and
        > > some I had met, with stories told to me by Emily. These were the
        > > people - Ray Johnson, John Cage, Daniel Spoerri, Francesco Conz,
        > > Henry Flynt, Jean Dupuy, Allison Knowles, Charlotte Moorman,
        > > Ben Patterson, Jackson MacLow, Robert Watts, Geoffrey Hendricks
        > > (Cloudsmith), Eric Andersen, Ben Vautier, George Brecht, Olga
        > Adorno,
        > > Robert Filliou, Ken Friedman, Christer Hennix, Joe Jones, Takako
        > > Saito, Yoshi Wada, Emmett Williams, La Monte Young, Marian
        > > Zazeela, Lance Fung and Yoko Ono among others - who added in
        their
        > > wonderfully unique way to the vaulting spirit of the former loft
        of
        > > George Maciunas. They were the life injected into the spaces
        Emily
        > > inhabited and opened to the world.
        > >
        > > I asked Christian about her many husbands and he laughed. "Emily
        > > inspires in both artists and husbands a deep loyalty and love."
        > >
        > > And that, deep loyalty and love, was - or better, is - true. It
        is
        > > the essence of her gift.
        > >
        > > When I was last in Venice in late May, 2003, I visited Emily's
        > > apartments on Calle dei Cinque, and the gallery, Archivio Harvey.
        > > Emily was not able to meet me. She was in New York, still
        > undergoing
        > > treatments at Sloan Kettering. Henry Martin, Berty Skuber and Ewa
        > > Gorniak gave me the grand tour, taking me up to the roof, showing
        > me
        > > the terrazzo floors and introducing me to Emily's cats. We walked
        > > late into the Venetian night, and talked about what Emily had
        done
        > > over the past 10 years in Venice - and was still doing - when
        > > all odds seemed against her. When most people would lay down and
        > just
        > > die. She was hurrying to set up the Foundation. She wanted
        others
        > to
        > > benefit from the enormous inheritance of love and fortune she'd
        > been
        > > blessed with. And in that spirit, I wanted to leave her
        something.
        > It
        > > was a little painted text work on wood in acid green and
        > psychedelic
        > > fuschia. The word was "PIU." In Italian, it means "more." I
        wanted
        > > (and I think we all wanted) "more" Emily.
        > >
        > > I was happy to know Emily Harvey. I am changed because of her,
        and
        > > every time I set foot on a terrazzo floor or remember the message
        > > Dick Higgins once left on my answering machine concerning the
        > nature
        > > of Fluxus - "It comes in waves…" - I think of her.
        > >
        > > Emily Harvey died November 8, 2004.
        > >
        > > The Emily Harvey Foundation: 537 Broadway, NYC, NY 10012
        > > The Emily Harvey Foundation: S. Polo 322, I-30125 Venice, Italy
        > Tel:
        > > +39-041-522-6727
        >
        >
        >
        >
        >
        >
        > Yahoo! Groups Links
        >
        > To visit your group on the web, go to:
        > http://groups.yahoo.com/group/unmuzzledox/
        >
        > To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
        > unmuzzledox-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com
        >
        > Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of
        Service.
        >
        > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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