Wednesday, September 21, 2016

bizou of the day

Betty Tompkins on Her “Fuck” Paintings, Art Talk, and Being Discovered by Jerry Saltz

Betty Tompkins on Her “Fuck” Paintings, Art Talk, and Being Discovered by Jerry Saltz

Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
When Betty Tompkins first moved into Manhattan’s SoHo neighborhood in the 1970s, it was a rundown, high-crime district reeling from the city’s economic decline and exodus of industrial manufacturing plants. “There was nobody else living here,” Tompkins recalls, sitting in her studio loft in the same neighborhood today, now across from the Apple store and overlooking the throngs of tourists that beat a path through the shopping mecca day and night. “The idea that regular people would want to take over these disgusting spaces and build from scratch—that had not caught on.”
Before “gentrification” had entered the general lexicon, artists moved into the area to capitalize on cheap space, despite it being a less than hospitable environment, especially for women. “At the time, this was a factory neighborhood and we were a clear minority, so to walk on the streets in the daytime was an adventure in misogyny. There were probably artists on every block. We had a whistle system; if you were out at night and you were in trouble, you blew your whistle.”
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
It was back then that Tompkins, now 69 years old, composed the first of the large-scale, soft-focus grisaille compositions of closely cropped sexual scenes that she is known for. Among the canvases propped up against the walls of her Prince Street studio on the day I visit is one of an abstract dark mass framed by hands and an orifice, elements that organize themselves in the mind’s eye to form a mouth covering an erect penis. Nearby there are several others featuring curving, intersecting lines that coalesce into images of female genitalia when viewed at a distance—all with the hazy quality achieved with an airbrush. For Tompkins, who is ebullient and excitable in person, dressed in black sweats with a wild mop of curly hair, it’s this elastic quality that interests her.
“If you walk up close,” she tells me, beckoning me to the painting’s surface, “this is the distance where painters normally paint. It’s an arm’s length away plus a couple of inches, but there’s nothing there. The image dissipates, you have no idea what you’re looking at. And as you step back, the image starts to cohere. It’s a different painting wherever you’re standing. I really love that.” This sense of dialogue with the paintings—of becoming absorbed in their soft forms before resolving them into discernible images that give “a subject matter kick,” as Tompkins describes it, is where their power resides.
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
Yet for some three decades the artist was largely overlooked. “I was going around to all of these shows every month, and I found most of the shows to be really boring,” Tompkins remembers of her early days in the New York art world. “They were all by men, of course. Every dealer that I spoke to said, ‘Come back in 10 years when you’ve found your voice,’ because that’s what they were used to—Hoffman and de Kooning, all these Abstract Expressionist guys, they didn’t have their first shows until they were somewhere in their 40s to 50s. Some of the dealers said, ‘And don’t come back then either because we don’t show women.’ It was actually very freeing to me. I had no expectations.”
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
In an era when second-wave feminist artists were creating work collectively, Tompkins set out on her own. “I had grown up on the political left as a child,” she reflects. “My father was the head of the Progressive Party in Philadelphia, which was very far-left. And I’d had enough. I didn’t like how groups dealt with semantics and split hairs, and would have huge fights instead of coming together... I saw that as a big failing.” Did she consider herself a feminist, back then? “Oh, I thought I was one, but I never went to the meetings. And according to historical perspective, if you didn’t read the books and go to the discussion groups and the meetings, you’re not actually considered a feminist.”
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
While Tompkins’s work was no less subversive than that of her feminist peers—her paintings of masturbation and penetration inverted the male gaze and addressed taboo themes of female desire—she was driven not by an agenda, but by passion and curiosity, unhindered by the expectations of her sex. The subject matter for her “Fuck” paintings arose intuitively, in response to the discovery of her first husband’s porn images. “One day I’m looking at them, and I’m like, ‘You know, if you take out all of this crap, you’ve got a really beautiful arrangement of something.’” Porn, often of a vintage ilk, would continue to be her source for the series.
Photos by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
Tompkins speaks in equally frank and uncomplicated terms about the moment that language entered her practice. “It was in the late 1970s, and conceptual art was really very big. I got so disgusted with the articles about it, because they were written in gobbledy-gook. You know, art talk. I would get so pissed off, I would take my art magazines and throw them against the wall!,” she says. “One day, I said: People want things to read? Let’s write something. So I just started writing, ‘COW, COW, COW, COW.’”
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
This led to her stamp paintings—images composed with manual word stamps, applied serially to the canvas in various tonal shades—and, later, to “Woman Words,” a project begun in 2002 and repeated in 2013, in which Tompkins invited members of the public to send her verbal descriptors of women. The response was staggering; she received 1,500 unique words and phrases in seven languages to her first appeal alone. “The four most often repeated words were the same in both groups: ‘bitch,’ ‘cunt,’ ‘slut,’ and ‘mother,’” she says matter-of-factly, sliding open a drawer and pulling out a small pile of scrapbook pages, torn from their bindings, each painted in black and overlaid with short descriptions of women in bold white text. These, along with two of her paintings, will be on view next week at Art Brussels, where they’ll be paired with the work of the young French painter Lucas Jardin in a special installation titled “A Sight for Sore Eyes”—the latest edition of #ArtsyTakeover, a project in which artists collaborate with Artsy to reimagine the art fair booth. 
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
‘Behind Every Great Man’ and ‘Weaker Sex’ (both 2015) courtesy of the artist.
Fairgoers may well be familiar with her work now, but recognition came late to Tompkins. It wasn’t until 2003 that her remaining “Fuck” paintings were uncovered from beneath the artist’s pool table, applied to stretchers, and exhibited—thanks in large part to art critic Jerry Saltz. The story goes something like this: It was the ’90s, and Tompkins heard through the grapevine that Saltz was curating a show about sex; on a whim, she sent him some of her slides. Resounding silence. A couple of years later she got a call from New York dealer Mitchell Algus, after those same slides turned up on his desk. Algus hosted a solo show of her work soon after.
“I only did nine of the original paintings, “ she recalls, “and one got destroyed. It got a rip in it. I knew nothing about conserving paintings or getting them fixed—and I didn’t have any money anyway—so out in the trash it went. And then there were eight.” Two were sold early, one to Jack Klein, “one of the biggest landlords in SoHo,” she says, “who had amassed this incredible collection by being the landlord of people like Tom Wesselmann, and taking rent in trade.” Four were sold by Algus, and Tompkins kept two for herself.
Photo by Emily Johnston for Artsy.
In recent years, Tompkins has picked up her airbrush and returned to her “Fuck” paintings once more, to considerable success—both with the old guard, as seen in her 2012 exhibition with Brussels bastion Rodolphe Janssen, and a younger New York crowd. This past winter saw her solo show at Meatpacking gallery 55 Gansevoort, and in the coming months her works will be included at NADA with LES gallery Louis B. James and at the Bruce High Quality Foundation University’s new space this fall. “It was like my hand knew what to do,” she remembers, “It was going: At last! Welcome back! Ta-da!”
—Tess Thackara
Betty Tompkins’s work will be on view at the Artsy booth at Art Brussels from April 25th – 27th, 2015.

Explore Art Brussels on Artsy.


The Beauty of Donna Huanca’s Body Art Is More Than Skin Deep

The Beauty of Donna Huanca’s Body Art Is More Than Skin Deep

Performance view of “Donna Huanca: Surrogate Painteen,” 2016. Photo courtesy of Peres Projects, Berlin.
Amid the cosmopolitan chaos of London this fall, the New York artist Donna Huanca is creating space for meditative contemplation. As Frieze Week sets in, the Zabludowicz Collection in London will be taken over by Huanca’s army of nearly-nude, pastel-painted models, who will be enshrined in a three-floor Perspex structure the artist has built. As they press and rub their bodies against the transparent walls, they’ll create a painting, which will evolve over the course of the exhibition with the gradual build up of their imprints.
They’ll move “glacially,” Huanca tells me, as they move through the structure and drape articles of clothing on sculptures that resemble rocks and minerals. For those who witness Huanca’s hypnotic, hybrid works, you can expect to experience something between the aftermath of an acid rave and the spiritual ceremony of an ancient ritual. “I am creating seven points of entry that will deepen as you infiltrate the space—as in the layers of the skin,” the artist tells me. As they pass through the exhibition, visitors will be guided by a sound installation that responds to the presence of bodies.
Huanca has been holed up in a studio in Berlin all summer, working on this major new project, as well as a September solo show at Peres Projects in Berlin. The London show will be Huanca’s first solo show in the U.K., and the first performance-led work the Zabludowicz Collection has ever commissioned. Whereas in previous productions—like her 2015 “Polystrene Braces” at Riga’s kim? Contemporary Art Centre, or “Echo Implant” at the now-defunct Joe Sheftel Gallery in New York—she incorporated live models into the creation of her static paintings and sculptures, in a manner that recalls the “Anthropometries” of Yves Klein, these new exhibitions represent fresh terrain for the American artist, both in terms of duration and execution. For the Zabludowicz show, for example, she’s worked closely with the performers who will enliven the exhibition and bring her new “Skin Paintings” to life. She’s taught them to paint themselves for the duration of the the exhibition, and although their movements have been choreographed, they have a certain autonomy that represents an evolution in the artist’s work.
Performance view of “Donna Huanca: Surrogate Painteen,” 2016. Photo courtesy of Peres Projects, Berlin.
In her solo show that opened at Peres Projects earlier this month, titled “Surrogate Painteen,” Huanca’s models, somewhat cyborg-like with their impassive gazes, confront large-scale paintings and sculptures more directly, sitting and lying on top of them, facing them and touching them—activating them. And although the body is supremely central to both shows, Huanca is less concerned with body politics than with the idea of the body as another surface or material. In the same way she reworks textiles and fabrics that make up her sculptures, or layers of printmaking and acrylics in her paintings, Huanca deconstructs and fragments the body, to dismantle and recycle it into a genderfluid, post-human device that is no longer limited by interpretations of identity.
This approach may also explains the artist’s ongoing interest in the synthetic substances she employs in her paintings and sculptures—highly textural and symbolically rich substances like pantyhose, velvet, metal, silicon, and leather. In a number of her exhibitions, Huanca has referenced the lyrics of a song by British punk band X-Ray Spex, The Day The World Turned Day-Glo, which alludes to many of the materials Huanca favors—latex, rubber, rayon, nylon, and Perspex, also among them. And yet, color is equally central to Huanca’s experiential exhibitions. “The DNA of the earth; gems, minerals, meteorites, desert landscapes; and hallucinatory states have all taught me about color and its effects on mood,” Huanca explains. These intense studies have led her to employ a psychotropic palette of purple, blue, pink, and green hues, which she applies across her new paintings, sculptures, and the bodies of performers.
Huanca’s works prompt us to reflect on the relationship between visual aesthetics and identity. It’s one of the oldest conundrums of the history of art, but it’s as relevant as ever nowadays, when identity is duplicitous. Huanca asks the viewer to challenge what Amelia Jones refers to as the “politics of visuality” in her seminal book Body Art/Performing the Subject (1998).
Performance view of “Donna Huanca: Surrogate Painteen,” 2016. Photo courtesy of Peres Projects, Berlin.
Throughout her shows, skin has been an overarching motif for Huanca. The body’s largest organ, skin contains a whole biological and cultural history within its layers—in a way, similar to the pigments of paint in an artwork, fibers in clothes, or the architectural makeup of a building. It’s apt that the Zabludowicz space inhabits a historic 19th-century building that previously housed a Methodist Church and a drama school. Site is another key element that remains consistent for Huanca. “All my works are sensitive to their environment—perhaps an attempt to take possession of a space. It is impossible for me to ignore the context the works are born in,” Huanca explains.
While the effect of the work has so much to do with the impact of the physical experience—the sounds, smells, motion, and color she orchestrates—I wonder how Huanca feels about audiences viewing her exhibitions online? “Documentation is the way most people experience art nowadays, flattened and immediate,” she concedes. “I am aware of this and consider the documentation an important part, giving the virtual audience a separate layer of experiencing the work.” However, while Huanca offers us the notion of a realm beyond the body, her living, breathing, moving artwork depends on exchange, a communal coming together of physical bodies, objects, and materials. In the words of X-ray Specs, “I live off you/ And you live off me/ And the whole world/Lives off of everybody.”

—Charlotte Jansen


The Women Who Championed Sexually Explicit Art in the ’90s Are Relevant as Ever

The Women Who Championed Sexually Explicit Art in the ’90s Are Relevant as Ever

Patricia Cronin, girls, 1993. Courtesy of David and Monica Zwirner, New York. Image courtesy of Maccarone.
In the summer of 1991, as residents at Skowhegan, the young artists Ellen Cantor and Patricia Cronin shared a strong desire to reclaim female sexuality from the male-dominated art world. “The art world and art history were telling us that sexualized images of women were made by men, for the consumption of men,” Cronin says. “We were young, we were ambitious, we were both making really sexualized work, and we thought, who is our community? Who will be part of a group to redefine female sexuality from a woman’s point of view?”
They returned to New York that fall and scoured the city for fellow female artists working in the same vein. Two years later, their efforts culminated in a 1993 group show at David Zwirner, “Coming to Power: 25 Years of Sexually X-Plicit Art By Women.” This fall, the pioneering feminist show is seeing a revival, with new curators, Pati Hertling and Julie Tolentino, a new gallery, Maccarone in New York, and a fresh performance program of queer and trans artists. Did the show have an impact in its own time? And how has creating sexually explicit art changed for women artists in the 23 years since?
The idea of staging a show was planted in Cantor’s and Cronin’s minds by one of their teachers at Skowhegan that summer, the feminist painter Joan Semmel. “She’d been a longtime art hero of mine,” Cronin says. She and Cantor sought her advice about how to advance their careers and pursue sexual imagery. “I was making sexual work from the early ’70s,” Semmel, now 83, recalls. “First I had done a whole series of outright sex images, then I went into the nude self-image—and that’s where I live.”
Left: Alice Neel, Nadya Nude, 1933. Courtesy of the Estate of Alice Neel; Right: Carolee Schneemann, Eye Body (From 36 Transformative Actions for Camera), 1963/1985. Photo by Erro, courtesy of P.P.O.W. and private collection. Images courtesy of Maccarone.
Semmel remembers Cantor and Cronin as young students. “Ellen looked like a punk street kid, and Pattie like a girl just out of a school uniform,” she says. “But they were both hard-nosed and realistic about the difficulties of being taken seriously, and entering the art world.”
Following the ’70s, when women artists gained recognition and feminist art came to prominence, the New York art scene changed for the worse again, she explains. Its focus returned to the “macho work” and male artists who had driven contemporary art before. “The competition was fierce, and the women were sidelined again, not even able to get a foot in the door,” she says. “Women students were extremely frustrated, a lot of them wouldn’t even identify as feminist. They saw what was happening at the time—they would almost be blacklisted.”
Why Feminist Artists of the 1960s and ’70s Don’t Need to Be Revived
Read full article
Semmel told Cantor and Cronin about a book she had put together in 1973, A New Eros: Sexual Imagery in Women’s Art (which was never published), and she suggested they organize a show around a similar theme. “Their work still wasn’t that formed, they were still very young,” Semmel recalls. “Curating something would be a way of establishing some identity, and that’s precisely what happened.”
Cantor and Cronin set up studio visits to begin selecting the artists who would feature in their forthcoming show. “This was before the internet, before cell phones, so we would meet in this cafĂ© in SoHo and we would make up lists,” Cronin says. With each artist they met, they asked for recommendations of others. “We were two young, crazy girls running all over Manhattan, trying to fit in every woman artist that was making really explicit sexual work—from different generations, different sexual orientations, different races,” she remembers. “We wanted to kind of redefine the representation of sexuality.”
They sought out pioneers in the field who broke out in the 1960s and ’70s, as well as their peers. The wide-ranging group of artists was producing art that spanned popular culture, pornography, and BDSM, delving into pleasure and pain alike, and working across media, from painting to video. They were eager to participate, often relieved rather than hesitant. “The most common response was ‘oh thank goodness someone’s finally doing this!’” Cronin says.
Lorraine O’Grady, Body/Ground (The Clearing: or Cortezand La Malinche. Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, N. and Me), 1991. Courtesy Alexander Gray Associates, New York © 2016 Lorraine O’Grady/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York
Before they found a gallery for the show, the pair had a falling out. Cronin found herself busy with other work and walked away from the project. Cantor (who died of cancer in 2013) was introduced to the young gallerist David Zwirner, who had just opened his first gallery on Greene Street earlier that year. “Coming to Power” would be his third show there, with Cantor as curator.
In addition to Cantor, Cronin, and Semmel, the show included pioneers like Louise BourgeoisAlice NeelHannah Wilke, and Yoko Ono, and younger artists like Marilyn MinterNancy GrossmanNicole Eisenman, and Lorraine O’Grady. It featured over two dozen artists, plus a performance program that included former porn stars Cicciolina and Candida Royalle. The art historian Linda Nochlin was among the artists and scholars who contributed critical essays to the show’s catalogue.
The artists involved remember the show as a success. “It was a difficult time, but the show seemed to have some traction,” Semmel says. “There were names of some fairly prominent women at that time, a good gallery gave it a certain validation, and then thematically it caught the attention of a lot of journalists. Sex coupled with feminism was a potent brew, and evidently still is.”
What Marilyn Minter’s Photo of Miley Cyrus Can Do for Reproductive Rights
Read full article
Minter agrees the show meant progress. “I think it was a step in the right direction, for women to own sexuality, but we were all fairly young,” she says. She recalls that the female generation before her had struggled to gain acceptance. “People like Carolee SchneemannHannah Wilke, and Lynda Benglis had been criticized so badly,” she says. “They were basically slut-shamed.” At the time, Minter herself had received criticism for the work she’d made that was inspired by hardcore pornography.
Cantor and Cronin formed a reading group that included Minter, Pat Hearn, Linda Yablonsky, Peggy Ahwesh, and others who were, in Minter’s words, “making transgressive imagery.” In addition to raising consciousness through readings like Carole Vance’s Pleasure and Danger: Exploring Female Sexuality (1984), the group functioned as a supportive community. “Women owning sexuality, especially when they’re young and beautiful, there’s just such prejudice against that, even today,” Minter explains, and adds, “but old ladies can do anything.”
Left: Marilyn Minter, Flurry, 1994. Courtesy of the artist and Salon 94, New York; Right: Zoe Leonard, Frontal View Geoffrey Benne Fashion Show, 1990. Courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth. Images courtesy of Maccarone.
This point rings true in the present moment, when many of the artists included in the original show are now revered. Other women, like Betty Tompkins, known for her large-scale “Fuck Paintings,” have developed a following among the millennial set. In addition to Maccarone’s revival of “Coming to Power,” a slew of upcoming solo shows, at museums and galleries, are dedicated to these trailblazing women.
Minter will have solo shows at the Brooklyn Museum and Salon 94 later this fall; Schneemann has concurrent gallery shows at Galerie Lelong and P.P.O.W opening in October; Semmel, Benglis, and Zoe Leonard each have new solo shows in New York galleries this September, at Alexander Gray AssociatesCheim & Read, and Hauser & Wirth, respectively; and Cantor’s work is being shown at Foxy Production, NYU’s 80WSE Gallery, and Participant Inc. this fall alone—not to mention recent renewed interest in Nicole EisenmanJudith Bernstein, and Yoko Ono, among others. MoMA will also screen the world premiere of Cantor’s film Pinochet Porn (2008–2016) on October 31st.
“I have been working with sexual content for over 50 years and in the beginning it was an immense struggle for my peers and myself to gain access to the system,” Judith Bernstein says. “Fortunately, the times are changing. Now my work has been shown in museums and galleries all over the world.” She notes that her works are especially well-received in Europe, “where sex is not viewed as puritanically as in the U.S.” Her show at Mary Boone in January, aptly titled “Dicks of Death,” was entirely devoted to phallic paintings and drawings—subject matter that she began to engage with in the ’60s and has continued into the present, this time to comment on the military industrial complex.
“They may own it in a bodily fashion, but men don’t exclusively own the phallus,” Bernstein asserts. “Women who work with sexual imagery are often lumped together, but our aesthetics and messages can be very different. I am now observing women through my ‘Birth of the Universe’ series, which deals with the Big Bang, with women at the center, and the birthing process. Sexuality is on a rotating continuum.” She describes a new painting called The Voyeurs (2015), which pictures a large vagina, as a self-portrait. “Now all eyes are on me!” she exclaims.
All eyes are also on Semmel, in her show of large-scale, nude self-portraits that opened last week. Semmel moved to New York in 1970, and amid the unrest and activism around the Vietnam War, Civil Rights, and the Women’s Liberation Movement, she sought to reach women through her art, to offer them a release from sexual repression. She quit her abstract painting practice and began to create intrepid paintings—close-ups of interlocked couples in vibrant color (one of which is in the show at Maccarone), and later, mesmerizing nude self-portraits, which she’s been creating ever since.
Left: Joan Semmel, Purple Passion, 1973. © 2016 Joan Semmel/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Courtesy of Alexander Gray Associates, New York; Right: Monica Majoli, Untitled (Bathtub Orgy), 1990. Courtesy of the artist and Air de Paris, Paris. Images courtesy of Maccarone.
“Things have changed, but not that much,” Semmel says. “Things are better, but they’re not where they need to be. [Sex] is an area of life that’s primary for everybody, and it needs a lot more work.” Despite the accomplishments of artists like Bernstein, Semmel, and Minter, younger women are still having difficulty addressing sex in art.
Given this, the revival of “Coming to Power” feels necessary. “All of the artists in the show are defying this male perspective that has, and does, describe female sexuality—whether it’s writ large in culture, entertainment, advertising, literature, art, and then how that trickles down to in between the sheets,” Cronin says. “It’s nothing short of brave and urgent. This is still radical—which is good news and bad news, actually.”
This Photo Isn’t Just a Celebration of Female Artists, It’s a Wake-Up Call
Read full article
It’s bad news because it’s an issue that women are still facing, and it can construe these artists as “ahead of their time”—a qualifier that ultimately, in this case, is diminishing. “I try to reject that language because it tries to put a positive spin on this fact: Her time couldn’t see her,” Cronin explains. “What decisions, life decisions, would these artists have made if they were supported at the height of their time? It’s great that women in their seventies and eighties are getting recognized, but don’t you want to enjoy your life now, when you’re at your peak?”
Minter believes the prevalence for slut-shaming young women, coupled with the rise of social media, continues to stop young women from engaging in sexual subject matter. “Culture is so vicious on the internet,” she says, “there’s this kind of trolling. It’s a way of policing bodies, and I think women owning the agency of sexuality makes people crazy. Other women too, but definitely men.”
Today, it still takes courage for younger generations of artists who don’t identify as heteronormative males to represent sexuality through art. “I felt very strongly that sexuality and all the things connected to it determine so much of what comes afterward in one’s life,” Semmel muses. “If you start out in a way that is oppressive, you’re going to end up with that kind of oppression in other parts of life. Harassment has always been there, but nobody ever talked about it.” She gives the example of Anita Hill. Her comments also bring to mind Columbia undergrad Emma Sulkowicz and her senior thesis performance Mattress Performance (Carry That Weight) (2014–15), through which she drew attention to her own rape, and the massive issue of campus harassment across the U.S.
I ask Cronin, who is now a professor at Brooklyn College, if she sees her students exploring sexuality. She tells me that due to the difficulties of finding success as a young artist, her students are drawn to market trends, rather than pursuing experimental practices. To challenge this behavior, she encourages them: “Focus on making art history. Don’t focus on making art market history.” Cronin, whose most recent work, Shrine For Girls—a site-specific installation that addresses the exploitation of women and girls around the world—debuted during the Venice Biennale last summer and traveled to the FLAG Art Foundation this summer, clearly speaks from experience.
Minter has also found recent critical success, but in contrast to Cronin, her work is often pigeonholed as being sexual in nature, regardless of her intention. “When I first made my work, nobody wanted anything to do with it, and now everybody wants to talk about how my work is very sexual,” she says, “and more than half of it has nothing to do with sexuality, but god forbid I paint a glass of water and it comes out ‘by sexual artist Marilyn Minter.’” She emphasizes that although sexuality is an innate part of being human, one that is vital to express, it’s not something that can easily be put in a box. “Anytime you try to categorize sexuality,” she says, “it will spit in your face.”

—Casey Lesser

“Coming to Power: 25 Years of Sexually X-Plicit Art By Women” is on view at Maccarone, New York, Sep. 9–Oct. 16, 2016.