Feb. 2021 — Apr. 2021
The striking, globe-like Seth Thomas clocks are at the heart, the very center, of Grand Central Station. I admired them from the entrance of track 17. I was on my way to Thomaston, Connecticut, the exact location where the clocks had been designed and manufactured. In fact, the town was named after Seth Thomas himself. I was traveling there to speak with the current CEO, a man named Arthur Peckinpaw.
I made my way further into the tunnel, and boarded the Metro-North car. I took a seat, a window on the left. I watched the train fill up, a mix of trench coat adorned day traders escaping to the suburbs, college kids heading back to mom and dad, and the occasional drifter.
I watched the graffiti covered Bronx turn into woods. Post-industrial towns sped by, the train carving through the bones of what were once productive mills and factories. We arrived in Bridgeport, another Connecticut town once prosperous that now resembled a dismal, post- apocalyptic landscape of smoking towers and mangled buildings. Transportation budgets had been repeatedly cut year after year, and there would be a transfer to another train, which would take me to Waterbury. I exited the Metro-North commuter, and was instructed that I would be waiting on the platform for about 10 minutes until my connection arrived. I stood on the platform, watching the myriad of other passengers. A young girl with headphones moved to a rhythm, a mother in nurse scrubs chastised her son. I looked over the railing, into the black water below. The track rumbled, and I could make out the train in the distance. It was slow to arrive, an unimpressive dual caboose that was obviously much older than the Metro-North train, which now seemed flashy in comparison.
I boarded the train and took another window seat.
I arrived in Waterbury. Mr. Peckinpaw previously advised me he would be picking me up, and taking me to the Seth Thomas factory, a roughly 15 minute car ride to Thomaston. I stepped off the train onto the platform, and walked towards the parking lot where Mr. Peckinpaw was standing by the drab, grey Mercedes he had described. We briefly introduced each other and headed towards the Route 8 onramp.
The Seth Thomas Clock factory was impressive. A vast structure, filled with tall windows, with a signature massive clock in a tower, which seemed to cast a shadow over the entire small town. Mr. Peckinpaw walked me through the building. We surveyed the assembly floors, where springs, hands, and hardware filled bins and covered tables. He showed me the office quarters, where white desks sat in neat rows. He was trying to be professional, but was visibly nervous.
He told me why I had been hired. He had contacted my Manhattan advertising firm to revamp the brand. He explained how the increased availability of cheaper digital clocks had put the Seth Thomas Clock Company in a very vulnerable position. People were shying away from the heavy, complicated clocks they had grown up with and were replacing them with inexpensive, plug in clocks from Japan and Switzerland. The new clocks had alarms and radios, and could be easily moved and stored.
We entered a freight elevator, and Mr. Peckinpaw pulled down the large gate, hitting the button to take us down. I watched the many floors pass by. We exited the elevator, to the basement that stored all unsold inventory. We walked though room after room, filled with clocks of every shape, size and model. Grandfather clocks that looked heavy as stone, round clocks the size of spare tires, clocks for shelves and mantles. We turned a corner, and he opened a tall, vault-like door. We walked into a large room filled with what seemed like an endless amount of clocks. The ticking of a thousand second hands in unison was deafening.
I turned to Mr. Peckinpaw and chuckled. “Well, I guess you always know what time it is.”
Mr. Peckinpaw turned to me, and looked me dead in the face. He showed no emotion.
“There’s nothing funny about time,” he said.
Ted Gahl (b.1983) has had solo exhibitions with Halsey McKay, Zach Feuer, Retrospective, DODGE, Galleri Jacob Bjorn, Nino Mier Gallery, Cooper Cole, Green Gallery, and Romer Young.
He received his MFA from Rhode Island School of Design, and his BFA from Pratt Institute.
Jan. 2020 — Jul. 2020
Abelow is known internationally for his painterly commentary on contemporary art and culture. His paintings defy a specific genre, incorporating elements of figuration, abstraction, text, and beyond.
Joshua Abelow (b. 1976) lives and works in upstate New York and NYC. He received his BFA from Rhode Island School of Design and his MFA from The Cranbrook Academy of Art. He has exhibited widely in
the United States and internationally, and is also well known for his writing. In addition to his studio practice, Abelow also organizes exhibitions regularly under the name Freddy.
Dec. 2018 — Feb. 2019
Featuring the work of Berlin-based artist Kevin Kemter, this exhibition includes a series of large-scale paintings, connected to form life-size wall cubes. Also on view are two sculptural human-like forms fastened with a dozen drawings in flipbooks. These wooden, bodily shapes with are omnipresent within the space, somehow lurking, watching the viewer’s moves as they explore the installation.
The surfaces of the paintings and drawings reflect a litany of artistic impulses and reactions. Inspired by underground subsystems, urban exploration, and fantasy worlds, these works include forms that are both immediately recognizable but also obscured, buried or floating beneath one another within the picture plane.
Often the human body is a jumping point for integrating other common objects, which are then modified, abstracted, and layered to the point of chaotic dissonance and total disorientation. One is invited into a world of wonky and wild creatures with fantastical patterning, arranged within vividly colorful surroundings. Glittered with butterflies, heart-like shapes, teapots, these densely packed surfaces dance gracefully out of sync. One has the feeling of being included in an outer space science experiment, simultaneously lost between what is real and what is left to be discovered or unleashed.
Kevin Kemter (b. 1984, Berlin) has shown extensively in Germany, with over thirty solo and group shows. His exhibitions usually combine drawing and painting within larger contexts of installation. He is also well known as a co-founder of AKV Berlin, a publishing group, and has self-published twenty of his own books and catalogues. This is his first exhibition in Belgium.
Sep. 2018 — Nov. 2018
Guilbert’s works in Rhum Arrangé reference his Creole roots and upbringing in Reunion Island, off the southern coast of Africa. The volcano motif repeated in these works is sculpted by use of a unique process involving heated wax and oil paints. While modest in scale, the rigorously crafted surfaces imbue a certain sense of sensuality and labored intensity. The works are neither exactingly precise nor slovenly loose in their making; they propose a warm balance between the two. In person, they invite particularly close inspection.
Akin to viewing a box of jewels, the luminous and densely multi-layered surfaces encourage enjoyment from multiple points of observation, changing greatly depending on position of the viewer. The subtle details and color shifts only expand in richness and fullness when the nuanced compositions are studied more at length and at alternate depths.
Brice Guilbert (b. 1979, France) has shown in multiple exhibitions throughout Europe. Guilbert has mounted solo shows in Brussels, Berlin, and Grenoble and has shown in group shows in New York, Bucharest, Ghent, and beyond. In addition to his painting practice, Guilbert co-founded Island in Brussels, and has published two books. His Creole songs and performances are highly regarded for their poetic and harmonious nature.
NADA New York booth (2016) featuring a variety of unique works by MC artists as well as an interactive display of scarves.
Massif Central Launch Party
Our first launch party and exhibition in the Lower East Side in New York (2014) featuring our initial collection of scarves, displayed within custom frames.