There are journalistic tropes that are so long running that it seems that they are no longer even recognized as tropes. One of these is the whole East Coast/West Coast, New York/L.A. view of the world — applied liberally to the world of hip-hop in the ’90s. The other is that L.A. is a provincial agglomeration of Variety-reading, plastic surgery-enhanced, vacuous show business wannabes who care about nothing other than their Q ratings and their cars. Both of these clichés received ample column inches in Adam Nagourney’s story about Pacific Standard Time in the New York Times.

One of my standing rules on this blog is to try not to complain too regularly about the New York Times because a) it gets boring, b) that’s what everyone else does, and c) life is too damn short. But this story sent the little Califas chola that lives inside of me reaching for the razor blades she keeps tucked inside her hairdo (partially because I spent a LOT of time researching my own story about PST). And reach for those razor blades is just what I’m gonna do.

My paragraph by paragraph breakdown of Nagourney’s piece of…

1.) Nagourney kicks off with an East Coast/West Coast Narrative Arc.
This is articulated thusly right in the second paragraph (the “nut” graf, as it were): “This multi-museum event, in all of its Los Angeles-like sprawl, suggests a bit of overcompensation from a city that has long been overshadowed by the New York art establishment…” So a project that was about establishing a record of haphazardly covered movements, artists and communities becomes about loopy L.A. trying to be like it’s big, more cultured brother New York. Aren’t we over this? Isn’t this what killed Tupac and Biggie? Isn’t this just…boring… at this point?

2.) He then adds in a line about The Vapid Angeleno.
Again, let’s cut to the nut graf: “…a place that — arguably unfairly — still suffers from a reputation of being more about tinsel than about serious art, and where interest in culture starts and ends with movie grosses and who is on the cover of Vanity Fair.” Okay, so he qualifies it with “arguably unfairly.” But seriously, are we still on this? Of all the music, art, architecture and literature the place has produced and we’re still harping on the three mile radius around Beverly Hills? Has anyone told Nagourney that L.A. is 80 miles wide? That it’s majority minority? That people do stuff like work in defense, manufacturing and engineering?

3.) He then includes a horrible Dave Hickey quote.
Hickey says: “It’s corny…It’s the sort of thing that Denver would do. They would do Mountain Standard Time. It is ’50s boosterish, and I would argue largely unnecessary.” This unfortunate quote isn’t entirely Nagourney’s fault — because Hickey comes off like an asshole all on his own — but when the first quote of the story is given over to a guy who lives in New Mexico, and who it seems hasn’t been to any of the shows, well… (And let’s hope Hickey doesn’t have to make any appearances in Denver any time soon, a city that, incidentally, is about to open a museum dedicated to painter Clyfford Still.)

4.) And it’s followed by a Peter Plagens quote.
Which is inoffensively uninteresting (more East Coast/West Coast), but again: second quote in a story about PST and no one who currently lives in California has been quoted. This is then followed by a generic quote from Jeffrey Deitch, who has lived in Cali for all of five minutes and will likely be there for only five minutes more. Clearly, all the news that’s fit to print.

 5.) He then tosses in a random list of shows.
Which refers to the Hammer Museum’s Now Dig This! exhibit as showcasing the work of “local African-American artists.” Is he for serious? Does he know the show contains work by artists such as David Hammons? Who could crush Nagourney’s skull with his thoughts? And whose works are a part of MoMA’s permanent collection? And whose piece African-American Flag can be currently seen in MoMA’s second floor galleries and hanging from the façade of the Studio Museum in Harlem? Does Nagourney even go to museums when he’s in New York?

6.) Then we’re back to more East Coast/West Coast.
“No one is suggesting that Los Angeles is about to supplant New York as an art capital; it is not lost on people here that the executive directors of three of the four biggest museums in Los Angeles came here from New York.” Blah blah New York blah blah Los Angeles blah blah New York blah blah. Are New Yorkers capable of writing stories about Los Angeles that don’t mention New York?

7.) Obligatory reference to Venice Beach.
He then lets us know that he knows that there are some artists living in Venice: “The sheer sprawl of the city means that it is hard to have the kind of concentrated art district that has characterized New York over the last 50 years, though there has long been an influential colony of artists out in Venice.” Except the point that PST makes is that there were and are vibrant artistic clusters all over Southern California from the O.C. to Wilmington to East L.A. and downtown — they just haven’t always been relentlessly hyped and commercialized like some communities in Greenwich Village and SoHo and Williamsburg that I know. Update: Also, as a friend just pointed out to me: Who the hell is spending $6000 a month to rent studio space in Brooklyn?

8.) Then cut to line about how sunshine makes everyone uninterested in culture.
“And there are obstacles that come with living in this part of the country: Curators talk about the difficulty of encouraging people to walk indoors for anything but a movie in a city that has glorious weather so many months of the year.” Because all anyone does in SoCal is sunbathe and do sit-ups. Would love to know who these “curators” are.

9.) Season with more Deitch.
Who is described as the director of the “Los Angeles Modern.” That just made me snort-laugh.

10.) And with that we’re pretty much over and out.
No real references to art or movements or discoveries… Just a quote by James Cuno of the Getty, who is required to address the whole East Coast/West Coast thing AGAIN. Zzzzzzzz. Thud.

There’s been some online kerfuffling on the interwebz about the stunning lack of ladies present in Modern Art Notes March Madness-style tournament, in which he’s asking readers to vote on the “greatest work of art since World War II.” The list, which was developed by a guest panel of five curators, features a total of 64 works of art. Of these, a sum total of three are crafted by women (Cindy Sherman, Maya Lin and Marina Abramovic). Two are by artists who are non-white (Kerry James Marshall and Lin, who is in for a two-fer). Almost all of the artists represented are from the U.S. or Western Europe. Andy Warhol makes the list five times. Jackson Pollock and Jasper Johns are each represented by four works. And Gerhard Richter is in for three.

I’d never be the sort to oppose a good gimmick to goose web traffic, but it did rankle me to see this list. For one, it seems to tell a very narrow of art history.  I don’t necessarily have a problem with this, provided the labels are cleared up: In which case, we could re-baptize the tournament “The Best Art Work Created by a Dude Living in in London, New York or Berlin Sometime Between 1945 and 1960.” (But I suppose that doesn’t have that same ring to it.) Two, I was disappointed to see that a blogger who has taken arts institutions to task for being less than diverse, would publish a list that appeared to be the exact opposite. Three, I had to wonder if the world really needs that many Jasper Johns flags. I mean, really.

Green has defended his decisions on Twitter, stating that he wasn’t going to tell his invited curators which names to submit and that the list represents the “most-settled” artists in the 1945-60 canon. (Again, here.) To Green’s first point: I’d argue that the story a writer tells is colored by the sources he or she chooses to consult. Perhaps a more diverse group of experts would have yielded a more diverse result. To the second, I’d say: if the time-frame here is “since World War II” as originally stated (instead of 1945-60 as later implied on Twitter), then the canon ain’t even close to being settled.

Now, why could any of this possibly matter? After all, it’s just a silly game. Well, I think it matters a lot. For one, Green’s blog is an important outlet for coverage about arts institutions. This tournament will get linked to, it’ll get Facebook liked and it’ll turn up in Google searches when some student somewhere does a search for “greatest works of art since World War II.” Some little newspaper or arts journal might even run an item about it. In other words, it will become part of the record — a record for a system that already excels at excluding women and minorities from the larger narrative about art. (Something I’ve written about.) Which is why this is all such a bummer: an opportunity to provide a more comprehensive view of art, in a fun and interactive way, ends up being just the same old story.

For more: Brian Dupont has a blog post deconstructing the list. And Two Coats of Paint has a one- and two-part post that features various folks (Dupont, Jennifer Dalton, Michelle Vaughan, Hilary Robinson and many others) making some fantastic suggestions. You’ll find my list after the jump. (Although consider it more of a riff than a definitive list because it’s late and I’m TIRED.)

Robert Smithson, Spiral Jetty, 1970
Philip Guston, Painting, Smoking, Eating, 1973
Pollock, One, 1950
Willem de Kooning, Excavation, 1950
Jasper Johns, Flag, 1954-55
Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Portrait of Ross, 1991
Gary Panter, Jimbo in Purgatory, 2004
Asco, Spraypaint LACMA, 1972
Gordon Matta-Clark, Splitting, 1974
Gego, Reticularea, 1969
Dondi, Children of the Grave 3, 1980
Robert Rauschenberg, Bed, 1955,
Robert Rauschenberg, Erased de Kooning Drawing, 1953
ESPO, aka Steve Powers, the buff tags series from L.A., 2002 (not sure if these have an official name)
Ed Ruscha, Every Building on the Sunset Strip, 1966
John Baldessari, I Am Making Art, 1971
Rachel Whiteread, House, 1993
Cindy Sherman, Film Stills 1977-80
Julian Schnabel, Just Kidding, Wanted to Make Sure You Were Paying Attention
Yoko Ono, Cut 1964
Nam June Paik, TV Buddha, 1974
Carolee Schneeman, Interior Scroll, 1975
Eva Hesse, Sans II, 1968
Grace Hartigan, Shinnecock Canal 1957
Ana Mendieta, Silueta Series 1973-80
Alice Neel, Self-Portrait, 1980
Kara Walker, My complement, my enemy 2007
Maya Lin, Vietnam War Memorial, 1982
Louise Nevelson, Sky Cathedral, 1957
Cory Arcangel, Super Mario Clouds, 2002-05
Diane Arbus, American Rites, Manners and Customs 1963-7
Robert Frank, The Americans, 1955-59
Glenn Ligon, Runaways Series, 1993
Chris Burden, Shoot, 1971
Louise Bourgeois, Maman, 1999
Andy Warhol, Campbell’s Soup Cans, 1962
AA Bronson, Felix, June 5, 1994 (1994/99)
Francis Bacon, Study After Velazquez’s portrait of Pope Innocent X, 1953
Nan Goldin, Nan One Month After Being Battered, 1984
Joseph Beuys, Felt Suit, 1970
Cornbread, “Cornbread Lives” tagged on an elephant, sometime in the early ’70s
John Valadez, Car Show, 2001

For two days last week, I traveled to Stanford to participate in a conference on The Future of Freelancing. Needless to say, any gathering of journalists these days is akin to attending a deer-in-headlights convention. It’s a fraught time to be a freelance writer. Newspapers are shutting down left and right. Magazines, which have historically paid the livable wages, are thinner than ever. And everyone seems to want journalists to write for free, or almost free — or, worse yet, for “exposure.” And any time anyone even utters the word “exposure,” I am seized with a terrific desire to bitchslap Arianna Huffington.

The conference was interesting, if not earth-shattering. We had magazine folk (among them, Esquire‘s David Granger) talk to us about the power of story-telling, a slew of digital media types told us all about e-books and the internet, and a parade of panelists dissected the intricacies of “marketing,” “product” and “branding.” (Apparently, that’s how being a freelance journalist is referred to these days.) What will happen to our industry remained unclear. Though, to be fair, I didn’t expect the conference to answer these bigger questions because, really, who the hell knows?

What was clear is that, over the last decade, there has been a big shift in what is expected of a journalist. No longer is it sufficient to report and write well and be amenable to over-editing. There was a clear expectation by all of the VIP figures present (both digital and dead tree), that writers need to be deeply engaged with the public, that they need to cultivate their own built-in audience, and that they need “leverage their networks.” (As part of this, there was plenty of obsessing about Twitter and Facebook and blogs — and whatever other social media stuff the Redbull-saturated set may yet have in store for us.) There was also lots of talk about marketing. In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that “marketing” was the most oft-repeated word of the conference. And it wasn’t in a sexy, Mad Men kind of way.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand that journalists these days need to self-promote. I do it relentlessly. But I worry when it starts to feel like the focus of what we do. I think part of the reason that we’re in this shit-hole to begin with is precisely because of marketing. Because for decades, publications have focus-grouped their content to death, creating cover lines about 17 ways to get flat abs and pumping out written-by-committee stories about lifestyle “trends.” In fact, barring a few key titles, I think it’s safe to say that much of our media is nothing but marketing. And as a result, it feels empty and dull.

If there’s a lesson to be learned from the web in all this, it’s that there are people so passionate and so committed to certain thoughts and ideas, that they’re willing to put them out there for free. (And I’m not referring to opportunistic content mills who churn out crotch shots of Miley Cyrus.) If we expect to continue to be paid for our work, we’re gonna need a little bit of that fire in the belly, a willingness to explore new ways of telling stories, to convey a passion for what we do. What we certainly don’t need is any more marketing.

Since New Museum curator Richard Flood doesn’t understand what blogs are, I’ve helpfully saved my prairie dog opinions for WNYC, where I’ve got a two-parter on the hot mess known as Skin Fruit. Part one: my take on the show. Part two: Skin Fruit by the numbers, or how a museum that is supposed to be all about ‘new’ is doing a show that is everything but.

Enjoy!!

xox,
C.

• Who Owns What in art history. (@tabgirl.)
• Late addition: The NYT profiles Eli Broad, “a billionaire philanthropist whose beneficence comes with not just strings but with ropes that could moor an ocean liner.” (@KnightLAT.)
• I love it when Jerry Saltz gets RANTY. Dude needs a YouTube channel, stat. A few points I take issue with in this writing-about-art tirade:
  • One, there already are online art mags out there (see Triple Canopy, Idiom).
  • Two, there’s an implicit assumption that art magazines offer a writer editing. C’mon dude, one word: ArtForum. If that stuff is “edited,” I don’t want to see what it looked like before it went in. Most unedited bloggers I read produce better copy than that. Besides, good editors are hard to come by in any media.
  • Three, dude has got to get over the anonymous trolls. They’ve always been around, it’s just that the Internet makes their trolling more public. I’ve worked at news dailies and weeklies where we’ve gotten vicious, crazy shit via every imaginable means — letters, packages, e-mails, not to mention psychotic phone calls. My advice: Let. It. Go. By getting enraged about this, you’re egging those freaks on.
  • Lastly, because I have to add my two cents: I think everyone in the art industry — especially writers — should be obligated to hold at least one job outside of it at all times (like long-haul trucker), ‘cuz there’s something to be said about having experience in the big wide world and not just in cement boxes full of objects. (In the interest of transparency: My name is Carolina A. Miranda and I approved this post.)
• In a related story: the atomic drops are flying in ¡The John Yau versus Jerry Saltz Art Critic Smackdown! Let’s get ready to ruuuuuuuuuuuumble!!!!
• And because it’s All-Jerry-All-The-Time here on C-Mon: Some websquatter is trying to send the The Great Saltzino a message.
• Whew. Onto other things: Japanther is debuting a book in collaboration with Dan Graham.
• Jeff Koons is hiring. (@16miles)
• SFMOMA has raised $250 million for its new wing. (Arts Journal.)
• 17 museum admissions tags from around the world. (@musueumnerd.)
• Have been enjoying Man Bartlett’s 1stfans Twitter feed for the Brooklyn Museum. And yes, you have to be a museum member to read them. (It’s $20 a year, the price of about 5 cappuccinos. And no, I don’t want to hear any belly-aching about it.)
• Shit I Wish I’d Made Up: The Marina Abramovic Energy Blanket, only $460.
• Artspeak, “a grey porridge of abstract nouns.”
• Silvio Berlusconi made of sand.
• A Q&A with Shaquille O’Neal, curator. My favorite line: “I”m working with the greatest artist in the world, Peter Max.” (@ARTnewsmag.)
• TwitPics from space. (@simondumenco.)
• A blog called Studies in Crap. (Out There.)
• One in four Americans is employed to protect the rich. (The Rumpus.)
• When fine art plagiarizes fine photography.
• Graffiti New York, one man’s three-decade chronicle of graffiti in the NYT. Funny line: “Some European aficionados arrive and immediately start asking how they can paint the side of a train. (Mr. Felisbret says some also think that teenagers rule the city and all graffiti writers are break dancers.)” See the slideshow.
• Today’s Street Art: The tree shadows of Pablo Sánchez Herrero in Salamanca.
• Madonna, aging pop star/green architecture patron.
• Chocolate anus. Seriously.