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Nine Picks from the Litter
The 2008 Whitney Biennial

By Edward Rubin

Edward Rubin is a New York City based writer and artist. His writings appear regularly in such publications as Art & Antiques, Sculpture, Hispanic Outlook, New York Arts and Art Fairs International magazines.

A biennial, as Adam Weinberg, the Director of the Whitney Museum of American Art, writes in the Whitney Biennial catalogue, is an exercise in imposing temporary order and control onto a situation that is essentially out of control. We are living in a moment, he writes, a rather extended one at that -- in which art has come to be characterized by heterogeneity, dispersal, and contradiction rather than unity or orthodoxy.
Karen Kilimnik, "The castle great staircase, Scotland",
water soluble oil color on canvas , 14 x 11 in (35.6 x 27.9 cm). Collection of The Stephanie and Peter Brant Foundation.

Turning the exhibition’s curators into “creators” Weinberg goes on the say that given the fact that no single underlying theme emerged to connect the works of art it should come as no surprise that to organize an exhibition of such diverse material, besides being a calculated response, is itself an act of origination. This curatorial feat, neither neutral nor objective, as Weinberg is quick to note, is a by-product of the curators’ sensibilities, knowledge, training, and artistic connections, all of it leavened, by chance. In the end,” the director concludes, “the curators, like all of us, are reacting to what they have had the occasion to see and experience.”

The Biennial’s two curators, Henriette Huldisch and Shamim M. Momin, on the same page as Weinberg, voice similar explanation in their catalog essays. Noting that art since the late 60s has been characterized by pervasive and increasing dispersal, decentralization, and heterogeneity Huldisch writes that it is inherently impossible to present a properly historical account of the present. The Beckett quoting curator attributes the difficulty of categorizing to the tenor of the new millennium, which is distinguished above all by polarization of art and artist and by an accompanying sense of anxiety brought on by the uncertain social, political and economic climate of the times. Taking the argument a bit further -- the theory quoting Momin, who talks about transformative reconfiguration of time and space as one of the central points connecting many of the works in the Biennial, states that artists in the immediate reality of our uncertain sociopolitical times, rather than positing a definitive answer or approach, are exhibiting, in all modes and practices, a passion for the search.

Like, Weinberg, I can’t help but quote something -- it seems both timely and relevant -- that Susan Sontag wrote almost half a century ago (and this before the deluge of the Biennales and Art Fairs) in Against Interpretation. “Ours is a culture based on excess, on overproduction; the result is a steady loss of sharpness in our sensory experience. All of the conditions of modern life -- its material plentitude, its sheer crowdedness -- conjoin to dull our sensory facilities.” Sontag concludes from this state of affairs that “The function of criticism should be to show how it is, what it is, even that it is what it is, rather then show what it means.” While this caveat emptor approach applies to critics, and as Weinberg would have it, to curators too, it becomes somewhat problematical for the fast-walking general public when the art on view -- despite the menu-like wall labels explaining how art and artist came to be -- appears to have little or no meaning to anybody but the artist. However, on the upside, for those addicted few who have a strong need and an acute ability to mine such clusters of clutter for any evidence of life -- I confess to be one of them -- such a disparate display of ideas, however insular or arcane, does serve a purpose greater than ones self.

That said, for whatever reasons, be it time or budget constraints or countless favors owed to the art market -- galleries, collectors and artists -- the Biennial’s curators, in supporting their current state of the contemporary art world arguments, did not cast their nets all that widely. Out of the 87 artists on view, virtually all are living and working n New York City and Los Angeles. Of the 54 artists who live in New York City, 23 are from another state, 14 another country. Out of LA’s 33 artists, 11 are from another state, and only one from another country. As far as age, half of the artists were born in the 70s, one third in the 60s, and fifteen percent in the 40s and 50s. As far as gender, 51 are male, 36 female. From this supposedly culturally diagnostic mélange I managed to ferret out nine works -- 5 film/videos and 4 installations -- that managed to both engage my eye, entertain my brain, and of course give me something to write about.

In Harry Dodge and Stanya Kahn’s video Can’t Swallow It, Can’t Spit It Out (2006), described by the artists as “a portrait of civilian anxiety in a time of war,” artist/actress Khan, and Dodge, her off-screen cameraman and director, are seen roaming Los Angeles looking for Rodney King-like action. Dressed as a Valkyrie, with a Viking hat, a hunk of fake cheese under her arm, and an unexplained blood stain on the side of her mouth, Kahn, regales us with stories and crazy ramblings, a few which begin, “When I was in hell…” As fate would have it, all they find in their searching is the blank, institutional walls, empty spaces, and near-desolate freeways of the urban city. Though the fast swirling face of current events are temporarily out of view -- silence tells all -- we never once forget, perhaps, with 9/11 still hovering somewhere in the background, that the entire world can come crashing down upon us at any given moment.

Olaf Breuning, "Still from Home 2", High-definition digital video, color, sound; 30 min. Collection of the artist. Courtesy Metro Pictures, New York.

Olaf Breuning’s Home 2 (2007) is another on the road video saga. Here actor Brian Kerstetter joins a tourist group traveling through Papua New Guinea. Like many tourists he is searching for some pure place that no longer exists or never actually did. Like Sacha Baron Cohen in Borat, the actor stumbles his way through assorted villages and tribes variously charming and insulting both the tourists and “natives” he encounters. With tongue in cheek he riffs mercilessly on bourgeois notions of how indigenous peoples embody the “real.” In one particularly humorous but poignant, non PC moment which mocks the ubiquitous travel advertisements, Kerstetter, after swimming in the ocean with native Africans, runs up to the camera and loudly proclaims that "for the first time I feel soooh real.”

Adding a bit of underground spice to the exhibition, filmmaker William T. Jones’s Tearoom (1962/2007) presents found footage of sexual interactions between men in a public restroom that was a shot by a hidden camera as part of a 1962 police sting to be used as evidence supporting sodomy charges. Presented without a soundtrack the film records the daily traffic of a men’s restroom in Ohio. The tightly edited shots of men masturbating and having sex underpin the film’s voyeuristic nature. Like most of Jones films, which deal with the struggle for freedom though subversion, Tearoom -- a gay history document -- captures the extent of the dehumanization that gay people endured during that era.

Julia Meltzer and David Thorne, "Still from not a matter of if but when: brief records of a time when expectations were repeatedly raised and lowered and people grew exhausted from never knowing if the moment was at hand or was still to come". Video projection, color, sound; 32 min. Collection of the artists.
"Still from not a matter of if but when: brief records of a time when expectations were repeatedly raised and lowered and people grew exhausted from never knowing if the moment was at hand or was still to come" Julia Meltzer’s and David Thorne’s video. despite bearing the longest of titles, in its simplicity and subtle irony, is the most poignant of all the videos on view. Here, in short cinéma vérité scenes, a young, dark-eyed Syrian man, sitting before a white screen, shares his highly provocative thoughts in fast clip sayings. In one breath he tellingly spouts “Everybody has a jet and my grandfather has a donkey.” In the next he bitingly asks, “What freedoms -- Licking ass and eating shit?” With the Middle East conflagration in our thoughts, his insistent will to live in the face of inescapable face of death is quite harrowing.

One of the more satisfying installations, modesty situated in a room of its own, is Karen Kilimik’s the castle great staircase, Scotland. It is one of the few works in which painting, something this Biennial is extremely short on, makes a major impression. Lit by a chandelier, Kilimik’s gallery, features four small, beautifully painted scenes of what appears to be the interior of a palatial home. Separated from the work of other artists’, this exhibition within an exhibition, gives one the distinct feeling that they are attending, if not an intimate sit-down dinner waiting to happen, a small but choice, one woman show.

In The House that Frank Lloyd Wright built 4 Fred Hampton and Mark Clark (2006) using architecture to talk about history, artist William Cordova recreates the skeletal structure of Fred Hampton’s house -- Hampton, an Illinois chairman of the Black Panther party, was murdered by the police in 1969 -- as recalled by the FBI agent involved in the case. Working their way through the wooden structure, the viewer gets to “walk through history,” perhaps even forensically (think CSI) reliving it, as he follows the footsteps of the house’s original inhabitants.

Phoebe Washburn, While Enhancing a Diminishing Deep Down Thirst, the Juice Broke Loose (the Birth of a Soda Shop), 2008 Installation views from 2008 Biennial (March 6-June 1, 2008) Courtesy Whitney Museum of American Art, N.Y.
Considerably more complicated, if not more fun, visually and intellectually, are the walk–in, walk-around installations of Mika Rottenberg, Phoebe Washburn and the late Jason Rhodes. In "While Enhancing a Diminishing Deep Down Thirst, The Juice Broke Loose (The Birth of a Soda Shop)", Washburn constructs a complex Rube Goldberg-like machine cum eco-system from found materials. Its sole purpose, after many convoluted twists and turns, is to create an irrigation system fueled by Gatorade, which in turn supports an aquarium full of Easter flowers. Rottenberg’s Cheese (2007) is an interactive work in which the viewer walks through a ramshackle wooden house. Working their way though the structure’s winding pathways, the viewer pieces together their own story, by watching randomly placed videos of six woman -- all with lengthy tresses that reach the floor -- milk goats, produce cheese, and as strange as it seems, attempt to “milk” their own hair. For the artist, these nurturing caretakers, with the wondrous ability to “grow things out of their body” represent the maternal aspects of Mother Nature.

Situated in the museum’s first floor project gallery -- the pride of place -- is the late Jason Rhoades’s (1965-2006) The Grand Machine/THEAREOLA (2002). Over the top, but totally sane, this installation is the Biennale’s pièce de résistance. Looking like a crazy person’s idea of what Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory might have looked like, Rhodes’s fantastical creation, constructed like a factory complete with a conveyor belt, is both a comment of everything that has ever happened in the world and the story (it can also be read as the mechanics) of his/our life. This thingamajig set, peppered with CDs, desk chairs, TV monitors, an early Marilyn Chambers porn poster, a small toy gun, a replica of an AK-47 rifle, and hundreds of cosmically strewn gadgets, punctuated with written instructions at each of the factory’s nine work stations, when taken together, creates it own zeitgeist. In the middle of this phantasmagoric mess is a huge clock reminds us that we are all living on borrowed time. It could also mean, for those that like their medicine with sugar, that it is now time to go home.

Public Service Announcement: Though not exactly aspiring to art, the museum, with a charitable bow towards those who were displaced, disrupted and destroyed by Katrina, the Whitney chose to include Spike Lee’s Spike Lee’s documentary When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts. Originally broadcast on HBO, Lee’s film memorializes New Orleans before, during, and after Katrina’s devastation. Amassing four hours worth of interviews, archival footage, photographs, and news reports, the filmmaker re-presents the people who lost their homes, lives that were changed forever, and the government officials whose pallid excuses added insult to injury. “One of the things that I hope this documentary does is remind Americans that New Orleans is not over with,” Lee has said. “Americans have very, very short attention spans.”

Edward Rubin is a New York City based writer and artist. His writings appear regularly in such publications as Art & Antiques, Sculpture, Hispanic Outlook, New York Arts and Art Fairs International magazines.
You can reach Ed at
Erubin5000@aol.com


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