Life and Art with Mark Lombardi

People like to dwell on an artist’s untimely death. Somehow, asking unanswerable questions like “why” are easier than looking at the “what”—the work that’s survived them—and figuring out what it means to us now, what its legacy is.

Enter Pierogi Gallery today, however, and you’ll find that some strong (and heartfelt) curatorial light is being shed, on the late Mark Lombardi’s work, on Mark Lombardi the man, and the incredible and amazing (optimistic!) vibe his legacy has in store.

Lombardi (a master draftsman and concept artist, who died of an apparent suicide in 2000) made notes on tens of thousands of index cards; a few bundles of them, tied up with rubber bands, are here, displayed in a vitrine, along with his personal files and other writings saved in boxes, untouched, by dealer Joe Amrhein.
 

Getting so personal with him, with such honesty, pays off. You can really understand the work and see it through the eyes of folks who cared about him (Amrhein among them). For instance, there’s a huge drawing that got stained with rusted water from a burst pipe in Lombardi’s studio, on view. Lombardi worked for three days with almost no sleep to fix it for a big show he had at PS1. Amrhein shows it here, spatters and all.

And, if understanding his complex diagrammatic drawings (which trace connections and insider deals and money exchanges between governments, banks, the mafia— you name it) is what you’re after, you’ll have what you need. The show also takes you through “sketch” versions like this one:
 

and large, chrono-based drawings like this one:

(those horizontal lines are time lines—can you see them?) and, finally, his later, circular drawings. He opted for a less horizontal format towards the end of his life. The works became circular—all the better to show how incredibly interconnected the planet is.
 

My favorite part of the show, however, was also the most intense part: the artist’s books, re-installed here on bookshelves as they would have been in his studio when he died. There are archived magazines like Art Forum and Art in America and even (I’m getting really personal here) an issue or two in which my own writing appeared.

So, lo and behold, I pulled out Lombardi’s own copy of an old Art on Paper magazine, sat down on Pierogi’s bench, and read my own reviews.
 

It was dated Jan/Feb 2000. That was the year he died.

I didn’t know him well at all, but as you can see, there was some sort of conversation going on. About art. About life. What’s really optimistic about all this? Everybody can join in.

Mark Lombardi at Pierogi — 25 Feb – 3 April, 2011, Gallery 1 + 2