{"id":108382,"date":"2017-03-03T18:21:53","date_gmt":"2017-03-03T23:21:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=108382"},"modified":"2017-03-06T13:17:36","modified_gmt":"2017-03-06T18:17:36","slug":"staff-picks-enigma-exile","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/03\/03\/staff-picks-enigma-exile\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Enigma, Exile, Elongation"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/a>

Raymond Pettibon.<\/p><\/div>\n

I roamed around the New Museum last weekend in awe of the eight hundred or so works on display as part of Raymond Pettibon\u2019s retrospective, \u201cA Pen of All Work<\/a>,\u201d a name lifted from Byron\u2019s poem \u201cThe Vision of Judgment<\/a>.\u201d The exhibition is stellar: vibrant colors drench the walls; morsels of enigmatic, sometimes illegible prose are, in typical Pettibon fashion, tucked into nearly every work.\u00a0The show comprises everything from the artist\u2019s self-published zines of the seventies (with titles like\u00a0Short Teats, Bloody Milk<\/em> and\u00a0Tripping Corpse 5<\/em>) to his iconic drawings of political nimrods (Trump makes an appearance). Pettibon\u2019s work, with its accentuated comic-book style and literary prowess, is a thing of grandeur; walking through, I felt I was being pummeled by it over and over. As\u00a0Pettibon has said<\/a>\u00a0of his drawings,\u00a0\u201cEven to look at them can be an ordeal, like reading Milton at a sitting.\u201d\u00a0(NB: for a peek at his work, take a look at our\u00a0Summer 2014 issue<\/a>: his dog, Boo, graces the cover, and a portfolio of his work<\/a> is featured inside.) \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jaume Plensa is perhaps best known for his monumental public installations: you may remember the fifty-foot-tall\u00a0LED screens of his\u00a0Crown Fountain<\/em>, which once stood in Chicago\u2019s Millennium Park. Familiar with Plensa\u2019s scale, I was intrigued by\u00a0\u201cSilence<\/a>,<\/em>\u201d\u00a0<\/em>his exhibition\u00a0<\/em>at Galerie Lelong. Featuring roughly seven busts in one room, Plensa\u00a0perches his sculptures along beams of the same salvaged wood from which they were made. The heads\u2014all women\u2014are unevenly burned black, brown, and ochre. Their eyes are closed, their faces slack. Wooden rings pattern their elongated faces. Like the morbid beauty of L\u2019Inconnue de la Seine, they emanate a sense of timelessness; but they\u2019re modeled on individual women from all over the world, and so they buzz with political relevance. I perceived \u201cSilence\u201d as a diasporic space invested in the gaps and overlaps of history\u2014and allowing for reflective respite from the competing rhetoric surrounding immigration and feminism. \u2014Madeline Medeiros Pereira\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/a>

Jaume Plensa.<\/p><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

There\u2019s something fundamentally unsettling about Carlos Fonseca\u2019s debut novel,\u00a0Colonel L\u00e1grimas<\/a><\/em>, translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell. It\u2019s not the story itself: a brilliant mathematician abandons his career, absconds to a cabin in the mountains, and spends his dying days at work on his \u201cfinal project,\u201d a demented genealogy of the \u201ccaffeinated century\u201d that endured the Spanish Civil War and the Vietnam conflict. Maybe it\u2019s the intriguing silence of the Colonel\u2019s self-exile in the French Pyrenees; the whiteness of the mornings outside his windows; or the over-the-shoulder, ghostly omniscience of the narrator, who steals glances at the Colonel\u2019s project. (Doodles and diary entries, mostly, stuffed away in his desk.) I have an inkling the Colonel might not really be crazy at all\u2014if he is, it\u2019s only because of his lunacy that he\u2019s stumbled onto something monumental. Fonseca\u2019s description of the Colonel\u2019s frantically cobbled archive says it best: \u201cIf we went further and dared to open all the drawers, we would find what seems to be a universal history of the false sciences: alchemy and physiognomy, mesmerism and humorism, magic and astrology \u2026 a protohistory of science unfolding, a subterranean history of forgotten principles \u2026 that we can only attribute to a purposeful madness.\u201d \u2014Daniel Johnson<\/strong><\/p>\n

The five episodes of Andrew DeYoung\u2019s series 555<\/a><\/em>, starring John Early and Kate Berlant, are fantastical (and fantastically cruel) vignettes about struggling creative types in LA. If you think that\u2019s a tired premise, watch \u201cActing<\/a>,\u201d in which two horny, passive-aggressive aspirants attend a workshop to philosophize about characterization and motivation. Berlant and Early have painfully evocative faces, capable of registering thousands of varieties of actorly self-satisfaction. They\u2019re sensitive but vicious students of the dark side of SAG<\/small> membership\u2014and the brand of self-absorption that animates what DeYoung calls the \u201cHollywood hellscape.\u201d \u2014Dan Piepenbring<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/a>

Still from 555<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

Thoreau wrote in his journals that \u201cthe savage in man is never quite eradicated\u201d; we\u2019re still animals, irrational and sometimes violent. Steven Church takes a long look at that violence in his book One with the Tiger: Sublime and Violent Encounters Between Humans and Animals<\/em><\/a>, which proceeds from his fascination with news stories about people jumping into cages with apex predators. (It happens shockingly often.) Through the lens of Heidegger\u2019s theory of the ecstatic experience, Church mixes memoir, reportage, and criticism to grapple with the pervasion of violence in our culture; his writing is surprisingly tender, rejecting barbarity but admittedly unable to look away from it. Threaten him or his daughter, though, and he knows exactly what kind of savagery he\u2019s capable of: \u201cI want for all charismatic barbarians, for all the manimals of the world to humanize<\/em> the choice to leap, to face the savage and the wild inside,\u201d he writes. Reading One with the Tiger <\/em>is like watching Mike Tyson bite off Evander Holyfield\u2019s ear or like looking at pictures of the victims of chimpanzee attacks: horrifying and startlingly true. \u00a0\u2014Jeffery Gleaves<\/strong><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t watch the Australian Open, but after reading Rowan Ricardo Phillips\u2019s eloquent recounting of the tournament<\/a> on the Daily<\/em>, I wish I had. Phillips\u2019s latest collection of poems, Heaven<\/em><\/a>, is much the same, with rhythmically textured lines, humor, a sense of a metaphysical and spiritual history, and a keen eye for object detail. In a poem called \u201cThe God and the Goat,\u201d he writes, \u201cNacre-gnarled \u00e9corch\u00e9s of ought \/ And nought air; all caught in the thought \/ That we were just the God and the goat, \/ Once strangers, now just strange.\u201d The internal rhyme is propulsive and funny, and I like the notion of deities and goats being analogously odd. Phillips\u2019s metaphors can be subtle and sensuous: in \u201cTo an Old Friend in Paris,\u201d he writes, \u201cthat chill \/ As you write that withers into something \/ Lithe, words for the weather suddenly flush \/ With lavender and salt.\u201d In the same way that Federer\u2019s calm belies the artistry and skill of his game, Heaven <\/em>is composed at first blush, but it quivers with important and energetic writing. \u2014Noah Dow<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In this week\u2019s staff picks: Raymond Pettibon, Jaume Plensa, Carlos Fonseca, Steven Church, and more.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[27666,27663,27667,35,17,27664,27665,412,71,17756,11503,995,228,4144,27668,27669,2508,2165,747,27670,7221,165,11128,9619,5009,964,13153,883,17298],"class_list":["post-108382","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-27666","tag-a-pen-of-all-work","tag-andrew-deyoung","tag-art","tag-books","tag-carlos-fonseca","tag-colonel-lagrimas","tag-comedy","tag-fiction","tag-galerie-lelong","tag-heaven","tag-hollywood","tag-illustration","tag-jaume-plensa","tag-john-early","tag-kate-berlant","tag-new-museum","tag-nonfiction","tag-novels","tag-one-with-the-tiger","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-raymond-pettibon","tag-recommended-reading","tag-rowan-ricardo-phillips","tag-sculpture","tag-silence","tag-staff-picks","tag-steven-church"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff 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