pete mcgovern

The Winter issue of Source is about new photography organisations. Despite the economic downturn and the dominance of digital technology the last five years has seen the appearance of new galleries, publications and festivals dedicated to the medium. Jennifer Good has spoken to the people behind five new photo galleries: Third Floor Gallery, White Cloth Gallery, Fishbar, Hotshoe Gallery (which has since closed) and Brancolini Grimaldi.  - 2012 My browser always opens on an old page on the Source website, the one which has the text above about new photography gallery spaces. I decided to look how they were doing, and hats off to the people who took the mad decision to open them but disappointingly, (inevitably?), all of them had closed in a year or two, apart from Fishbar, which last put on a show seven months ago, albeit in a borrowed space. Of the five the only one I visited was the Brancolini Grimaldi, twice, I think, including to the Joachim Brohm show in the link.  Third ...

This is one of several prize wnning books I've been reading lately and the one I've stuck with after bailing on the previous two. I'm not sure why I'm staying with this one. It offers limpid writing of that particular Japanese style designed to assuage life's tensions, but at times I'm tempted to say it's really for 12 year olds. Overly sensitive ones. Who are very lonely. As a reward after they have dutifully finished three hours of homework. What has been curious is the way the oh so depthless depiction of scenes occasionally brings in a particularly overt nod to Zen spiritual teaching. These moments would, I imagine, be mostly super conspicuous to a Japanese or Chinese reader, and firmly impress the philosophy of the book beyond any doubt. The Western reader loses nothing by not knowing when the Zen paintbrush is being applied, and perhaps gains as it seems rather heavy-handed. The first daub was referencing a famous zen koan, and giving it a slight, and ...

Many thousands of years ago I remember an evening TV arts programme deigning to discuss... a photography book. (It has never been attempted since by a national broadcaster.) It was Richard Avedon's portrait series from his adventure into the wilds,  ' In the American West '.  The guests discussing it were the regular line up of writers and crtics, cultured in literature and theatre, but, it quickly became apparent, who knew nothing about American photography, or likely any photography. So, perhaps inevitably, someone eventually proffered a rather odd, but forceful, interpretation, of one particular picture, John Harrison, Lumber Salesman, and His Daughter Melissa, Lewisville, Texas, November 22, 1981. This picture of John and his daughter Melissa was said to foreshadow Melissa's life, resorting to literalism to deduce the toddler will permanently have her world turned upside down - by being in the care of such an over-bearing father.  No-one saw fit to contradict. Fate ...

If two money-less artists met in the street in nineteen fifties new york and asked one another, ' are you working? ' the reply might well be, ' no, I've got a job at the moment '.

Ninth Street Women  is comprehensive in the care given to include everyone who had a connection with the subjects of the book, and to name particular break-through paintings. Hence, constantly having to google people or pictures, but almost always to be disappointed by what they were producing. Until this evening.  Looking up Mike Goldberg, who a newly married Joan Mitchell was smitten by when she segued her way into the scene of beautiful losers in the Village, was different.   While the book makes clear he was a high-risk reprobate for everyone who met him, but a charming one, it was a revelation to find online that he was the real thing, a great artist. Unexpectedly, many of his pictures go to auction today with guide prices in the low thousands, which seems a bit suspect. It made much more sense to me to see this large painting, in May 2025, sell for a more comprehensible, (but still seemingly modest), $239,400. It's fabulous, but I guess by 1958, abstract expre...

I bounced out of bed early(ish) today and was already home from my icy-ditch shoot by one, slightly slowed by an interaction of sorts with a young lad of about 3 maybe, (' Hello. My name is Ronnie ') who was out walking with his mum when they had the audacity to encroach on my shoot to cross to another field. My guess was he may not have a dad-shaped object in his life as he was keen to stop and hang out with someone vaguely resembling what one might look like. ' What's your name ?' he eventually continued. I could just about muster an answer to that but any meagre attempt at conversation on my part only went as far as suggesting he needs a hat as it's so cold, (minus 6 wind-chill). He pondered that for a moment, ruffling his hair and smiling while totally failing to explain the oversight. Perhaps he has a similar ineptness at lengthy man-conversation although admittedly has had less time to get up to speed than me. He then wanted to be helpful and started to l...

Reading ' Ninth Street Women ' by Mary Gabriel and I've reached the point where things are happening, both for Lee Krasner and Jackson Pollock. While living out in the sticks at Springs, Krasner worked on two mosaic table tops which incidentally led to a breakthrough in her approach to painting, which had been going nowhere for years. ' Noon ', which she knew at the time to be a good painting, was seen by visitor Clem Greenberg whose immediate response was, ' That's hot. It's cookin' . Lee admitted, 'It took very little feedback to sustain me,' and she would ride high for years on that offhand remark.