Democracy in America: The Park Ave. Armory vs. Creative Time

I'd say the Armory won.

To me, Creative Time's group exhibit "Democracy in America" at the Park Avenue Armory was hampered both by a space far more interesting than its art and a collection of art that, for all its claims to radical action, was rather tame and predictable. A few pieces were successful in their aims: the Sharon Hayes video installation on the fourth floor was projected inventively and appropriately cacophonous; the installation dealing with the investigation of Steve Kurtz was interactive and got its point across strongly as the viewer sifts through a room torn up; and John Kessler's piece in the center room consisting of GI Joes, bizarre mechanical apparatuses, and a series of video cameras and monitors was intriguing and thought-provoking. Most everything else was obvious in its politics and not nearly as captivating as the relics of American military history that surrounded it. Would I rather look at a giant wooden hobby horse or dusty pieces of armor? Oddly it was the latter.

Only a few pieces verged on anything "participatory," and even those fell short of sparking real participation in a way the title invocation of "democracy" would suggest. When you first walk in, you're invited to get up on a soapbox and say whatever you want for a minute, which I thought was a great idea in theory... but being so dwarfed by the setting and smack in a crowd of people who will most likely judge whatever you have to say, hardly anyone got up to this intimidating set-up. For the record, I went up there, but felt like an idiot in the process; I was more on physical display than participating in anything.

The speeches I saw on Saturday night, which I was looking the most forward to, fell as short as most of the art. David Harvey's talk regarding urban poverty and the people's right to the cities, while profoundly eloquent in its ideology, gave the audience no real substance from which to create change. In response to a question regarding rural poverty, he cited the interconnectedness of Connecticut suburbs to New York City, which (to me) was borderline offensive; and much of his talk completely elided the specifics of our current economic crisis. W.A.G.E.'s speech, of which I heard only snippets, was nauseatingly whiny; the Yes Men's piece was humourous and well-delivered, but its audience participation part made me cringe. As everyone stated what they wanted to hear in a magical "good news" newspaper of the future, members of the audience rattled off a laundry list of leftist goals, followed by nods and sparse applause from the audience. Everything said was so predictable that when one man spoke about Israel and Palestine, the audience was noticeably startled - his statement wasn't on the pre-approved list of "safe" issues held by the target demographic.

Upon leaving this seemingly inspiring group therapy session, everyone shuffled out of the Armory onto Park Avenue and into the wealthiest zipcode in Manhattan, passing homeless people living in cardboard boxes and heading home. Why did nothing in the show address this glaring discrepancy just outside the venue? Why did this exhibit do so little to connect with its surrounding area or at least provoke debate about it? The walk back from "Democracy in America" left a bad taste in my mouth stronger than any feeling I got from anything experienced inside.

Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (1987)

The directorial debut and cult classic of art-house director Todd Haynes, Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story paints a harrowing portrait of anorexia and the debilitating forces of the American media obsession with appearance and weight. Haynes, the darling of "New Queer Cinema," uses Barbie and Ken dolls - the perfect symbol of the modern indoctrination of an unattainable (and physically impossible) body image - to re-enact the star's descent from the fatal affliction. Joan Hawkins' essay in Jeffrey Sconce's latest book Sleaze Artists: Cinema on the Margins of Taste, Style, and Politics outlines the exploitation roots of Haynes oeuvre and contains a particularly enlightening section on Superstar. The film opens like a slasher film, using grainy black-and-white footage to show the Karen's mother discovering her limp body (dead from cardiac arrest caused by an overdose of Ipecac). In the flashback that follows, we see Karen's ascent to stardom, the resulting mental illness over her weight, and the relatively uncooperative family and social environment that failed to act swiftly.

Haynes intercuts stock footage along with interviews about the Carpenters' image to paint both a social and psychic setting. In one particularly menacing sequence, the Carpenters' first record deal is treated in Eisensteinian montage with a steadily encroaching hand and holocaust footage of a woman's corpse falling into a mass grave. The formal style of the film gives insight into the psychic experience of its title character - making Ex-Lax boxes and plates of food take on an entirely different, violent meaning. In these scenes we begin to understand anorexia as a "form of fascism over the body," a point which the film is at pains to make, and is perhaps amplified by the use of dolls as actors. Dolls are anonymous, and we project our own ideas and fantasies onto them, even when they are given a particular name and narrative. The universality of Karen's story and the stark contrast between her sugary voice on the soundtrack and the story we watch unfold bring a sense of urgency to the piece - something drastically hampered by its exhibition history.

After the film aired in 1987 to modest art-house acclaim, Karen Carpenter's father became angry with the portrayal of the family, and - having discovered Haynes did not obtain the rights to use the music - sued Haynes. In 1990, all copies were seized and not allowed to be screened (even if only to clinics and support groups for eating disorders, as Haynes offered). I was elated to find this is on GoogleVideo, and hope it stays up for a long time. It's a triumph of experimental narrative filmmaking and one of the more effective social commentaries I've ever seen.

"Pre-Apocalyptic Expressionism" An Installation by Greg Haberny

Photo courtesy of the artist.

There are three levels in which to view Greg Haberny's recent installation,"Pre-Apocalyptic Expressionism" (now on view at Capla Kesting Fine Arts in Brooklyn) - the smaller works, the larger works, and the whole installation. The smaller works, all framed and often three-dimensional, remind me of medieval devotional objects, such as icons or relics, only the visceral connection here comes from the discarded and abject rather than the holy. These often humorous little works rely both on their self-proclaimed status as false (but hilarious) artifacts, such as the (two) autographed pictures of Jesus Christ, the baseball autographed by God, the recovered photo linking a jealous Joe DiMaggio to the JFK assassination, and three stolen Cy Twomblys in a cage, and also on their inclusion of actual detritus from consumer society, be it McDonalds wrapping, 1950s style advertising, or cigarette stubs. The materiality of these pieces is what makes them raw and immediate, but possibly analogous to small, collectible versions of Rauschenberg's "Combines." This association is offset, however, by the inclusion of entirely painted small works with the smaller combine pieces. I find that half the power of these works lies in their installation - the viewer digs through the mass of works sprawled along the four walls, and finds something new each time she looks back, similar to the Haberny's process of digging and filtering through the recovered materials used in many of these pieces. That these postmodern icon/relics will be sold separately and broken out of their installation setting is potentially threatening to their original appeal - an interesting tension between the saleability of smaller works and their role in installation art. The flea-market-esque atmosphere makes an interesting, analog counterpoint to that other show in Brooklyn right now, which features a store in its massive installation.

The second level on which to view the show, the larger works, includes my personal favorites. The large painting "In God We Bust," the crucifixion of an oil exec placed prominently in the rear, and the few other large paintings jump out at the viewer in particular, giving an order to the viewer's digestion of the smaller works. "In God We Bust"'s well-executed all-over abstracted composition mixed with the aesthetic and spirit of street art and cartoons makes it my favorite piece of the entire show. Two American flags with "Made in China" spray-painted on them are like larger versions of the pointed statements made on many of the smaller works, but simplified and unframed. The large paintings in particular save the installation from being too "found-object" based, rescuing the installation from the pitfalls and forgettablity of the New Museum's ho-hum all found-object sculpture show last winter.

Considering the third level - entire installation - however, changes the stakes of the whole show, particularly with regard to how the smaller works interact with each other and with the larger pieces. Oil cans hanging from the ceiling are intriguing in the same way as the small works because they also sold individually, almost like affordable souvenirs of the whole installation. Underpainting and writing on the floor brings a "street art" vibe into the show, visually and thematically connects the works, and (most importantly) directly opposes to the typical all-white anti-septic aesthetic of most galleries. For me the graffiti makes the space more inviting and informal, despite its overtly confrontational textual content. The arrangement of the works within the small rectangular space was well-planned, activating the space and generating a need to go back again and again. The destruction on the wall opposite the crucifix was very effective - particularly how it spilled out into the space we walked on. There was an overall sense of "I WAS HERE" in the space, which gave the room an aura of artistic process (and some jars testifying to the gallery's lack of restrooms).

The semi-nude (and eventually fully nude) dancer seemed a little out of place to me, both spatially and artistically. I see the intent, given Haberny's impulse towards provocation and confrontation in his works, but I felt it detracted from the work a bit in the small space and didn't fit in with this particular theme. The dancer, however, was only part of the opening reception, and I think the installation should be viewed both with AND without a boatload of cool people stuffed inside to get the full effect. That being said, the dancer was possibly a great idea because - like the beer and the overall party atmosphere of the opening - it sparked a lot of interaction and actual opinion sharing amongst the attendees...yet another refreshing change from the usual gallery experience.

Overall, the show and the works are all about sparking this type of interaction and debate through the inclusion of familiar found objects. I'm mostly intrigued with the tension between the small works as individually priced objects/relics/souvenirs and as part of a piece of installation art. This commentary on the market nature of contemporary art plays well against the material uniqueness of the individual works themselves. We must remember, not all stores sell mass-produced, shiny, usable Louis Vuitton purses, and "Pre-Apocalyptic Expressionism" prompts us to dig and wade through the detritus of society to come out on the other end having found something original (to own).

CKFA Gallery is located at 121 Roebling Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. This show runs April 18th to May 9th, 2008, with a closing party May 9th.