39 John St. New York, NY 10038
(40.7094606, -74.0081549)
2023-2024
#3A at 39 John was a collectively-made temporary installation in response to eviction and the 2024 election results. Our central question was: What. Art. Now?
39 John, in the Financial District in New York City, was the location of our second shared studio/workspace. A former apartment building that, during the pandemic, had been converted to art/work spaces. It wasn’t cared for–an F efficiency sign hung by the front door and the elevator didn’t work–but the rent was relatively cheap. After just 8 months, we got word from the landlord that the building had been sold and we would need to vacate by the end of the year. Coinciding with the politically seismic 2024 election results, this notice catalyzed our desire to be in community with fellow artists for a low-key clandestine rapid response.
Over text message, we invited colleagues from different disciplines to participate in a project with the following parameters:
- 1 empty room as a site for making collaborative artwork (the neighbors moved out before us and didn’t lock the door!)
- Exquisite Corpse format
- 20 artists–each person gets a 3 hour (or overnight) shift
- On Friday–gather for food, drink and discussion about what we made together
To add intrigue–and privacy, imagining a near-future when one’s political leanings and actions could be exploited by corrupt powers–we didn’t tell anyone who else was involved. Each artist was assigned a number, to which they would be referred until the gathering on Friday night.
When each artist arrived for their shift, an envelope containing this framework and creative considerations was waiting for them:
This is a building in transition. Bought for 40 million, sold for 20, not a loss, simply a write-off. It may be renovated. It may be torn down and replaced with something taller and shinier. The earth underneath, with all its human and more-than-human stories and artifacts, will remain – we hope.
This is a space where people once lived and, more recently, artists have made things, thought things, experimented, showed their work, reinvented, stayed late, wrote a grant, finished a gig, talked on the phone, drank bourbon, signed petitions, paid bills, had sex. It’s empty now. How will you: Engage it? Mark it? Record It? Adorn It? Fill It? What do you See? Feel? Sense?
We are two artists who are losing studio space, the second time in less than a year. It’s a weary story of the march of gentrification and who has currency (could it ever change?).
We are all artists who are facing a shifting political landscape. Some of us are digging deep into questions of What. Art. Now.? Others are focusing on: What does our resistance look like? And how can we support each other – individually, collectively, locally, globally – to stay sane, brave, loving, compassionate and to keep making?
The other day, we heard a young artist ask Bill T. Jones what to pursue in his art in this moment, and Jones responded with “What is urgent? What is accommodating?”
Building on these questions, we ask: What is fierce? Who is afraid? How is your spirit? How is your rage? Where is beauty? Why do you make? What’s your newest work? What’s your failed work? How is your partner? Have you called your mother? Who did she vote for? What about your friends? Are they bright red, deep blue or smoky gray? Where are your kids? Why do you make? Who came before you? Who will come after? Is the future out of reach? Are you alone? Are we together? Why did you come here? What is here? Why do you make? Is art impossible? Will it matter? Could it matter? Here?
Special thanks to our collaborators:
#3A-01 sTo Len
#3A-02 Amy Ritter
#3A-03 Jessica Maffia
#3A-04 Elizabeth Velazquez
#3A-05 Christen Clifford
#3A-06 Alison McNulty
#3A-07 Gretchen Burger
#3A-08 Kara Hearn
#3A-09 Joshua Dumas
#3A-10 Adriana Guiman
#3A-11 Sarah Cameron Sunde
#3A-12 Laurie Berg
#3A-13 Eliza Evans
#3A-14 Donna Newton
#3A-15 Tara Bracco & Shanelle Gabriel
#3A-16 Art Jones
#3A-17 Sandy Cioffi
#3A-18 Courtney Puckett
#3A-19 Suzanne Thorpe
#3A-20 June Frances Coleman
#3A-21 René Stewart Pearce
WHAT. ART. NOW?