WOLFSON & ISRAEL, A TALE AS OLD AS THE BIBLE
Art Report Today has been a long time supporter of artist Jordan Wolfson and we will continue to be. When the bad boy joined Gagosian, I was hoping for anarchy. Instead of Punk, the troublesome lad gave us Blumhouse jump scares. All good.
When bad boys slide into manhood, it means we have learned we can no longer get away with our mayhem; the jig is up. Wolfson has emerged as a mature, thoughtful very contemporary storyteller. His Chip is getting more stately Blue by the minute.
And I can't help but imagine a story of one too many roosters in the Gagosian Coop.
I thought I knew everything, but artist, writer, designer and self-portraitist Alex Israel has been off my radar. And I am sorely embarrassed to admit it.
His CV is unnaturally perfect. With his superlative education, internships and show history, the artist has been groomed for Hollywood. He might even be a bot or an AI dream date.
Alex is every gallerist's hope, a rare miracle man. Yeah, he makes wall works to sell, but he also creates his own industries, like an eyewear brand. As a name on a gallery's stable, this thoroughbred is an earner with a very loud whinny.
I wonder if Israel and Wolfson bump into each other around the Gagosian water cooler. Director's birthday parties in the lunchroom. Hawaiian Shirt Fridays. Are they friendly? Seatmates at a Laker's game?
Or do they blithely ignore each other, high school-like? Opposite sides of the room at a collector's dinner? Or is it much, much darker? When a casual glance flashes into a seething glare. Sabotage? When the grip tightens around a steak knife.
I can't see them competing, as their work appeals to different types. Wolfson reads dark and brooding. Israel leans light and smiling.
These guys are roughly the same age. Both raised well, in stable households, each with more than one sister. Both are smart, currently Angelenos and busy making new work. No slackers.
The break between the twins is territorial and foundational. Born and raised, Wolfson is East Coast and Israel is West.
This distance has long been a problem in the arts. Much like warring street gangs, and no less violent, bitter rivalries exist in jazz, performance art, swing dancing, hip-hop and rap.
Most importantly, who pleases Daddy? Who is the favored son? To whom does Larry look fondly upon?
An author like Steinbeck would know what to do with it. Or one of the ghostwriters of the Old Testament. Old school stuff. Cain and Abel. Mano a mano. Maybe a contemporary cage fight.
For fisticuffs and savage cunning, my money goes down on Wolfson. I'd proudly and gratefully choose Israel as my son-in-law.
I'd like to think there is an exciting adventure tale somewhere in the Gagosian IP.
The ivory tower becomes an isolated bubble at the top, when the stakes are high and image is everything. Snoot always wins. Ya gotta be careful of the cranky pearl clutchers.
The Big-G monolith is so establishment, it just doesn't seem fun anymore. I wonder if he's ever felt that way. And let's not forget, Larry is a native Southern Californian. Fun is deep in his DNA.
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