A desire for more personal and intimate access to
the viewer seems to permeate the current Whitney
Biennial, although the success of this undertaking
remains dubious. For the most part this exhibition
does not allow for any real intensity, psychological,
or otherwise and only a few artists were able to
break through into exciting territory. Few works are
aggressive, or outrageous, or provocative,and most
are somehow complacently half-asleep. But, this
year's Whitney is no sleeping monster I wish it
were. The themes that emerge could be
encapsulated by a new set of trendy critical
precepts: let's be personal, let's be sensitive, let's
develop an intimate dialogue, let's communicate
and interact. In themselves, these represent quite
admirable possibilities, but what we are presented
with here is a multitude of artful, but unfortunately
not very innovative or exiting works that seem to be
either trying to play it safe or simply have nowhere
to go.
The photographic works presented here set the
mood, and expose much that is problematic about
this exhibition. They all seem to try to orchestrate a
subtle dialogue between different registers of voices:
for instance, by featuring the public voice of the
artist, while at the same time trying to offer access to
a more private subjectivity. Wendy Ewald quite
evidently exploits this modus operandi when she
intimates an inner voice within the creative voice in
titles such as Dalida Reyes, My First
Communion Dress Hanging on the Wall or
Denise Dixon, I am the Girl With the Snake
Around Her Neck. Although the metaphorical
fusion of different voices remains an interesting
possibility, Ewald does so only in her titles, and the
somewhat marginal, folklorist and Third World
themes she prefers are by now a somewhat
hackneyed mannerism and run the danger of be-
coming a tired example of "cultural appreciation"
politics. John Schabel seems to be searching for
some hidden moment of intimate contact in his
grainy portraits of passengers isolated within the
frames of aeroplane windows. Similarly, Philip-Lorca
diCorcia suggests a kind of individual and collective
troubled visage in his color prints of relentlessly
moving and presumably depersonalized urban
crowds. Sharon Lockhart's C-prints not only depict
quiet and fleeting moments, but also seem to be
inspired by a similar form of emotional malaise or
existential melancholia that gives the impression of
being lifted from a Godard movie. All of these
photographs, however, remain rather innocuous and
display what has become a conventional aesthetic
clichι. They offer little humor and assiduously avoid
any awkwardness or peculiarity that might enable
them to escape from their aesthetic confines. The
ideas they uphold have become mainstream by now
and their approach is all too illustrative. Only Doug-
las Blau and Zoe Leonard bring in more imaginative
narrative scenarios. Leonard scripts together a
photographic collection that ranges from the casual,
family snap-shot to what appears to be publicity
and documentary photos, in order to depict the
biography of an enigmatic character named Fae
Richards. Leonard's archival process obliquely
intertwines reality and fiction and in the end leaves
us in a state of curious irresolution. On the other
hand, Gabriel Orozco's undeniably handsome
photographs depicting quiet and simple moments: a
leaking hose or a dog's wagging tail leaving an
imprint in the ground, struggle to convey an extra
aesthetic and highly sensitive perceptual
experience, but do they convey sentience or just
represent its idealized presence? Although some of
the Orozco photographs can be quite touching, the
obvious machinery of communication involved in
most of these creative strategies is disenchanting.
Their formalized (re)presentation does little to fulfill
the essential requirement of art to temporarily
suspend disbelief, and does little to disturb our
ingrained idea of an artwork neatly framed by the
twentieth century institutions of the Museum and
gallery exhibition space. This is a problem that also
applies to all of the paintings in the show they
simply don't fit here.
As part of a new critical recipe, the biennial seems
to want to emphasize intimacy, subjectivity, the
personal touch, and a community of sensitive
correspondences between artwork artist
viewer, what Julia Kristeva a few years back labeled
"inter-subjectivity". But, this also encapsulates the
problem of this exhibition. We all agree that these
are significant and worthy issues, but much of the
work seems stilted, tightly framed in its own
aesthetic and conceptual formalization as well as in
the institutional framework of the Museum in a way
that allows for little access into novel or interesting
experiences that would enlarge its domain or
expand the viewer's perception. Glen Seator's rather
outrageous transformation of, interestingly enough,
the Whitney Museum Director's office into a huge
cube precariously and fantastically balanced on one
of its corners at first seems to be a rare exception. Its
raw visual appeal seems spectacular and fascinating,
but the representation of instability is too clear and
in line with his previous trademark architectural
make-overs, suggesting that this is simply a benign
and playful deconstruction of space, lacking in
political punch.
Despite the apparent desire of the curators to
expand form into a sentient dimension, much of
what is displayed remains obdurately and stiffly
formal. Bryan Crockett's Ignis fatuus is
outright frustrating, by disingenuously promising
more than it delivers. At first glance this huge,
blubbery concoction of dangling forms made of
epoxy resin, balloons and cord, seems to entice us
into playful interaction. But, this is no squishy toy.
This is a very virtual "organic" thing carried to a
very artful resolution. Nothing will disappear or
transform by the end of the show, nor is any
interactive interference intended, whether on the
basis of some organic internal mechanism from
within or externally from the public. It won't rot, it
won't change. Ignis fatuus remains firm
in its positions, tightly framed, preserved,
institutionalized. Sentience, the personal touch, the
concepts of smallness and modesty, seem to have
been underlying curatorial preoccupations and
come up in a number of works, but are
unfortunately too often reduced to a rather
disappointing "touchy-feely" quality. Antonio
Martorell's slightly nostalgic drawings and lacy
cotton works based on old maps allow a more
generous merger of form and content, but the ones
exhibited here flirt a little too openly with prevailing
tenets of correctness. The two lacy objects are
fabricated by local Puerto Rican Borinquen
embroiderers, bringing in the idea of an extended,
more collaborative art production into play, while
their delicate handicraft suggests a kind of "get in
touch with your feminine side" aesthetic. Although
attractive and perhaps alluding to the passage of
time, the crackling waxiness of the drawing surface
in Unlaced Atlas / Mundillo Desencajado (The
Caribbean) all too easily underscores a
somatic metaphor.
Louise Bourgeois, Gabriel Orozco and Cecilia
Vicuna are more effective in the area of sentient
communication, although here they also reflect the
crisis of formal presentation that is assuming ever
greater critical attention. Displayed on low lying
pedestals almost at floor level, Vicuna's delicate and
rather gauche pieces are nonetheless formalized
through their presentation. Clearly, in Vicuna's case,
the curators were sensitive to this problem of
presentation that has plagued Modernist practice
and theory and already keenly noted by Brancusi.
Bourgeois' very personal pieces also seem strangely
stilted. They give the impression of being artfully
embalmed in their glass vitrines, as in a way
are Gabriel Orozco's small objects on their pedestal
cum. table display case. Flexibly positioned
between different formal possibilities and concepts,
Orozco's art is usually quite exciting and often hints
at some future horizon of creative possibilities. But,
this table collection of small individual pieces along
with miniature models and details of earlier works
denigrates them to the level of little souvenirs and
nothing more. Orozco, Bourgeois and Vicuna's
work begs to ask, how can one find an exit from the
rigid enclosure of aesthetic formulation and break
into a less inhibiting sphere. Of course, standard
museum policy, financial and insurance concerns,
as well as the protection of the pieces are all
arguments in favor of Bourgeois, but Orozco and
Vicuna seem less dependent on these exigencies. In
the context of this exhibition these artists reveal a
central crisis of the late Modernist exhibition
context, especially its unhealthy ability to pacify
rather than to activate art. Ironically, at its most
poignant, the Biennial undermines the prestige of
the museum context, that souvenir of Modernism,
with its hierarchical structures and archival impulses
and tendency to frame and formalize.
By the time I got to Diana Thater's video installation
Electric Mind, I was eager for something
visually more engaging. Filmed during a behavioral
training session with a chimpanzee, Thater's quasi-
political images projected against the exhibition
space walls shift positions and play with changes of
scale and distance to quite smartly attract our
attention. I only hope that the shifting "points of
view" and the very theatrical integration of the
viewer's shadow within the installation were not
deliberate attempts to establish some sort of
existential implication of collective complicity.
Although it only succeeds in momentarily absorbing
us, at its best the installation is quite canny it
entraps more than it embraces. Yet, even this
potentially intense psychological situation is diluted,
through its artful shadow play. Tony Oursler's
elegant installation is also dependent on technical
hardware. By now frozen and formalized by their
very success, Oursler's works have become to
epitomize pathos in art: but isn't the droning of the
audio tape (I hate you, you hate me) just
a shade too simplistic? Despite its attractive
potential, the one liner monotony of Oursler's
design concept increasingly compromises
intimacy.
By contrast, the Bruce Nauman audio-visual installa-
tion is sensitive, captivating and sexy. Visually
striking, accompanied by haunting music, it invites
us into an embrace we don't want to relinquish
easily. It creates access to a perceptive moment, not
some artful cineastic fabrication. Like Nauman,
Charles Long attempts to expand communication
into a broader perceptive model. Long's
Amorphous Body Study Center, a Sci-Fi
lounge, complete with bar stools, headphones and
water cooler, suggests a quasi-functional aspect and
proposes a somewhat more enclosed
communication in the sense that it seems in some
strange way ordered or programmed. Frivolously,
and with acuity, Long manages to extend a normal
phenomenon into something a little more alien and
unchartered. Jennifer Pastor's unashamedly visual
objects from the series titled The Four
Seasons are equally appealing. In all four
pieces exhibited, the artist shows a sensitive sense of
scale. Everything is slightly off, from the oversized
colorful cornflower to the shelf of miniature ever-
greens with their allusion to kitschy Christmas
window displays. Although it's simple, Pastor's work
floats before us like a breath of unpretentious fresh
air. It lets us imagine and dream on our own.
The Chris Burden installation, ridiculously titled
Pizza City, 1991/96 is one of the more
provocative exhibitions. This elaborate stage-set of
toys and model buildings mounted on 25 tables is at
once visually appealing as it appears inviting. What
interested me most about this installation was its
naughty depreciation of the whole concept of a
Museum show. The artist must have known of the
difficulties such an intricate and seductive installa-
tion, that naturally calls us to play, would provoke
within the inherently authoritarian and
claustrophobic context of a museum. It is carefully
guarded and the circulation of viewers constantly
monitored, so that we can't really come in and play
in its garden of innocent delights. Hence, it enacts a
number of contradictions. There is nothing harmless
and innocent about this conceptual tour de force.
Like all vintage Burden works, it is insidious,
aggressive and ingeniously disingenuous. What a
world of difference lies between the complexities of
Burden and Jason Rhoades' very one-sided
installation! Rhoades' mixed media extravaganza, a
seemingly chaotic scattering of various things and
objects occupies a whole room and is also very
much about control, authority and access between
artist, artwork and viewer. But, in Rhoades' rec-
room, fun, play and chaos are structured by the
artist, and solely for the benefit of, the artist. As in-
stalled here at the Whitney, Uno Momento /
theater in my dick / a look to the physical /
ephemeral, makes a very forced, artificial
impression. The circulation pattern for the public is
strictly delineated, the borders between artwork and
viewer are too obviously regimented and only
synthetically scatter our gaze. In an interesting way,
Rhoades' project is rather sophist, it is deceptively
playful.
The best works in the Biennial exhibition search for
a communication that can go beyond apparent
artfulness and involve the viewer in expressive
situations on their own terms. A good example is
Ilya Kabakov's mixed media installation
Treatment With Memories, 1997. At first
it seemed quite didactic, but one is quickly diverted
to a different set of concerns. The artist interfaces art
and a real life clinical situation practiced at hospital
wards for the elderly in Russia to invigorate memory
function. The viewer will either go for it or not,
which is a matter of taste and choice, but will very
likely also become more actively invoked by this
distinct situation. Such work is able to splinter our
consciousness of what art is, to capture the eye and
the mind, and move us from one moment of
perception to another and beyond. If nothing else,
this Biennial discloses the pivotal problem of crea-
tive communication at the end of Modernism, that
translates into the necessity of finding new methods
and structures that will forcefully convey expression.
For the most part, however, this Biennial lacked fine
nuances, resulting in an overall feeling of ennui that
in the final analysis reflects an all too summary and
middle-of-the-road approach to art. In their zeal to
be sensitive, the curators seem to have misplaced
the prerogative of provocation. It is sometimes better
to be outrageous.
Copyright ©1997 Maia Damianovic & REVIEW All Rights Reserved
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