I have such a love/hate relationship with the New York Times. Its national political coverage is one step removed from tabloid-quality, but the rest of the paper is still first rate. Today was a perfect example. The Weekend Arts II section had a review of a photography exhibit at the Bronx Museum of Art by an artist named Alvin Baltrop. Baltrop's work was done in the 1970s and 1980s in the Meatpacking District and was notorious for its dilapidated buildings, vagrants, shooting (drugs) galleries, and as a safe haven for gay men. It’s now home to the Whitney, multi-million dollar condos, and that tourist death trap known as the High Line.
Baltrop documented a place and a time in New York City through thousands of black and white photos and to little public acclaim (the critic notes Baltrop only had two public exhibits of his work while he was alive and one of them was at a bar he worked at). Late in life though, Baltrop was "discovered" and after he passed away his archive of photos was saved. Now, years later, a serious examination of his work is being done at a legitimate art museum.
I loved this article first and foremost because the Times's critics, be it ones who write about art, books, television, or movies, are consistently superb. Criticism is a specialized form of writing that few can do well (trust me, I have tried for years) and it seems like the Grey Lady has a corner on the market on talented critics. I also found the subjects Baltrop studied of great interest. In the same way Diane Arbus found the humanity in society’s outcasts, Baltrop documented the lives of those who were on the margins, at risk, but just trying to be. I also loved the review of Baltrop's exhibit because it reminded me that art must be done for its own sake and that you cannot control whether or not your voice will ever be heard, only that you are putting it out for the universe to (hopefully) discover.
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