Colin Snapp and Daniel Turner at Martos Gallery

Installation view of Colin Snapp and Daniel Turner at Martos Gallery, New York, through July 29, 2011.


Detail view of Daniel Turner, untitled iron oxide stain, 2011

Daniel Turner's works often evince a just-barely-controlled aggression. He has scuffed crisp-white walls with rough, grey abrasions and packaged tar under folds of plastic and vinyl, keeping toxicity just out reach, rendering it almost sexy. In his best pieces, abuse and pleasure are uncomfortably bound up together.

At Martos Gallery, Turner has laid a long, thin blanket of rust across a stretch of the floor. My photographs fail to convey this, but the work bubbles with earthy, ocher, primal colors, and it wouldn't look out of place in Washington's Hoh rain forest, where Colin Snapp, the other artist here, shot some of his large-scale photographs.

Like Turner's piece, Snapp's photos are immediately cold and forbidding: dark or washed-out, blurry and almost illegible. But then, assuming you're not up too close, you notice leaves or a hint of a flower, some warmth creeping up through the severity.

"Painting Expanded" at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery

Lauren Luloff, Yellow Window, 2011. Oil, bleached bed sheets, and fabric on muslin, 76 x 60 in., in "Painting Expanded," at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York, through July 29, 2011.

Tanya Bonakdar Gallery's summer show brings together work by 17 painters, most of them young and closely watched, for a group show called "Painting Expanded," which was curated by Renee Coppola, Phyllis Lally, Emily Ruotolo, and Scot Surdez.


Sam Moyer, Untitled, 2011. Ink and bleach on canvas mounted to wood panel, 60 x 48 in.

It's a largely black, white, and beige affair on Bonakdar's ground floor, where a quirky, tightly assembled wood construction by Donelle Woolford (the nom de plume of artist Joe Scalan) hangs near a mirror wrapped in Plexiglass by Justin Beal and a bright silver denim trapezoid by Anissa Mack. The much-discussed Jacob Kassay has a small diptych that spans the floor's staid spectrum: one of the panels is white, the other black, and neither one sports Kassay's trademark burns. According to the checklist, they're brushed with oil and silver deposits, and they show Kassay exploring that ultra minimal, almost-empty zone that he ventured into in the works in his recent Mitchell-Innes & Nash show with Virginia Overton and Robert Morris.


Jacob Kassay, Untitled, 2011. Oil on linen and silver deposit on canvas in two parts, overall installed dimensions: 12 x 24 in.


Hayley Tompkins, Knife, 2009. Found object, gouache, 9 1/4 x 3/4 x 2 in.


Ivin Ballen, 62 Diamond Street, 2011. Fiberglass, aquaresin, acrylic, gouache, 80 x 74 in.

The exhibition takes a flashier turn on the second floor, which harbors most of the more-colorful works. Alchemical processes seem to be at work in a few pieces, as in Ivin Ballen's enormous 62 Diamond Street (an address out in Greenpoint), which unites pulsating, nearly-three-dimensional bands of angular, patterned abstraction with faux duct tape delicately forged from fiberglass and aquaresin. Strange magic is also at work in Anna Betbeze's Slab, which looks from afar like a gloriously decomposing piece of sod that she's actually fashioned from wood, ash, acid dye, and watercolor.

Most of the artists will be familiar to those who have visited the galleries of the Lower East Side and the less-traveled sections of Chelsea over the past few years, but that's fine by me: summer can be as much a time for catching up with old favorites as discovering new ones.


Installation view of "Painting Expanded" on the first floor of Tanya Bonakdar.

Doubling Down: "Entanglement," at Regina Rex and ART BLOG ART BLOG

Detail view of Ryan Jones, Untitled, 2011. Contractors chalk on wall, dimensions variable, in "Entanglement," at Regina Rex, Ridgewood, Queens, New York, one half of a two-part show curated by Regina Rex, also on view at ART BLOG ART BLOG, New York, through July 9, 2011.



Two galleries, one show: it's a rare spectacle and almost always a power play on the part of an artist, a dealer (or dealers), or both. Think of last year's Matthew Day Jackson double feature at Peter Blum's two New York branches or the recent transatlantic Gagosian doubleheader of John Chamberlain's mediocre, albeit awesomely named, new sculptures. Often it signals hubris: Schnabel's 1981 outing at Castelli and Boone, for example, to say nothing of Salle's tripartite show, the following year, at Castelli and both Boone outlets. (A "three-gallery parlay," Peter Schjeldahl termed it at the time.) It is the territory of those whom Michael Lewis, in his Liar's Poker (1990), termed BSDs.




Dave Hardy, It's Grey, it's grey, 2009. Unique vacuum–formed styrene panels, fluorescent tubes, fixtures, aluminum, paint, 10 x 35 x 30 ft.


Left: Anna-Lise Coste, BM, 2011. Oil on wood panel, 24 x 18 in.; right: Dave Hardy, It's Grey, it's Grey, 2009


Stills of Adam Thompson, Slideshow 6a, 2011




Robot + Horse, Cumcoral, 2011. Semen and black glitter, 2.5 in. in diameter.


Louise Despont, No. 14, 2010. Graphite on antique ledger book pages, 16 x 23 in.

It's intriguing and refreshing, then, to see two of New York's youngest, scrappiest spaces mount just such a show. Through July, Chelsea's ART BLOG ART BLOG and Ridgewood's Regina Rex — both run out of artist studios — are presenting "Entanglement," a two-gallery group show that takes the notion of doubling literally, "exploring simultaneity, symmetry and seriality" at the same time that it doubles itself. (The 12-person group behind Regina Rex handled curatorial duties.) Each gallery contains almost identical pieces by the same ten artists. There's a radiant, bright blue chalk drawing by Ryan Jones on the walls of Regina Rex and another at ABAB. Slices of ledger paper with intricate pencil drawings of masks by Louise Despont hang in both locations, as do Anne-Lise Coste's monochromes, thickly slathered with black paint. And so on.


Installation views of "Entanglement," at ART BLOG ART BLOG in Chelsea. Another Ryan Jones wall drawing: LeWitt gone electric.

I went to the Regina Rex show on opening night, June 24, and visited ABAB the next day, which induced a gentle wave of déjà vu. "Haven't I been here before?" I thought. Yes and no. (But mostly no: ABAB's majestic views of the Manhattan skyline snap you into reality pretty quickly.) Describing such feelings in his 1919 essay "The Uncanny," Freud writes, "The 'double' has become a thing of terror." Thankfully, I felt little of that, beyond my normal background anxiety.


"Entanglement," at ART BLOG ART BLOG.


Hardy's piece at ART BLOG ART BLOG, made with funds from Art in General.


Robot + Horse: the twin.


Louise Despont and Robot + Horse once more


Anna-Lise Coste, Lisha Bai, and Carlos Reyes

With perhaps the exception of Jones's lustrous circle — or, I should say, circles — none of the art quite withstands the exhibition's clever curatorial conceit. (That would take a lot.) But that's fine. In their short existences, both ABAB and Regina Rex have shown that they can exhibit new art at a relentless pace, hosting two- and three-week-long exhibitions that recall the schedules of a long-past New York art world. With "Entanglement," and its cannily repurposed blue-chip tactic, they're taking a surprising conceptual turn.


Lisha Bai

"Start Thinking": Lucy Lippard at the School of Visual Arts, New York

Lucy Lippard presenting her lecture "Ghosts, the Daily News, and Prophecy: Critical Landscape Photography" at the School of Visual Arts Theatre, New York, April 7, 2011. Photo: 16 Miles

"She is a radical who has survived," writer David Levi Strauss said last night, introducing the legendary Lucy Lippard before her lecture at the School of Visual Arts Theatre on West 23rd Street. Lippard presented a succinct lecture that she titled "Ghosts, the Daily News and Prophecy: Critical Landscape Photography," which focused on the different ways that contemporary photography attempts to engage the politics of land use and inculcate in viewers a sense of responsibility for the environment.

Her passion is for "polemical art," Lippard explained, especially since there are plenty of people writing about non-polemical art. Polemical, politically engaged art can still be visually appealing, she argued, quoting Walter Evans's famous line that "Art is never a document, but it can adopt that style." As she clicked through a PowerPoint presentation that included works by Amy Stein, duo Andrea Robbins and Max Becher, and dozens of others, she noted that her interest is in pieces that "look like artworks, not activism."

The art she is looking for today "escapes the art world and elopes with life," though she humorously admitted, "We don't know much about them because it's outside of the art world." Though she declared that she doesn't keep up with contemporary art (she lives in rural New Mexico), and she doesn't spend copious amounts of time on the Internet ("I still love to read — and walk."), she did have a Bruce High Quality Foundation slogan at the ready to make her point: "What happens in the art world stays in the art world."

There are, of course, major crises taking place outside that cloistered space. As Peter Schjeldahl put it, following the earthquake and tsunami last month, "[I]t feels a little frivolous to be doing art criticism under the ongoing, terrible circumstances." Before Lippard began her lecture, she mentioned that someone had suggested that she address the issue of Ai Weiwei's current detainment in China. "I haven't got any immediate suggestions," the lifelong activist said. Then she added excitedly, "But start thinking."

Kenya (Robinson) Eats a Cracker in The Kitchen

Performance still of Kenya (Robinson), Kenya Eats a Cracker, 2010. Cracker boxes and audio. The Kitchen, New York, March 17, 2011. Photos: 16 Miles



There were Ritz crackers, Club crackers, Triscuits, Chicken in a Biskits, Honey Maid graham crackers, and even Premium Saltines (those great objects of desire in Ed Ruscha's 1970 film Premium) sitting on plates on a table at the opening of The Kitchen's latest show, "Shame the Devil," on March 17th. Very much ready to eat, I was sad to learn that the fine spread was not for the visiting public, though my pain subsided somewhat when I learned that they were to be used for a performance by artist Kenya (Robinson). At least someone would be enjoying the tasty snacks.

(Robinson) last popped up at the Dependent Art Fair, where she occupied Recess Activities' bed as part of a long-term performance piece, The Inflatable Mattress, which involves serving as a house guest for 13 weeks, spending seven days at each location. (The Dependent was a special one-night stay.) This time, at The Kitchen, she shifted her attention from sleeping to eating, offering up Kenya Eats a Cracker. Wearing a yellow raincoat, she walked up to the cracker–covered table, sat down, and started eating. A crowd formed around her as she grabbed crackers by the handful, stuffing them in her mouth, staring up at the crowd, and chewing in rapid bursts as crumbs fell from her lips.

A voice came from nearby speakers as (Robinson) enacted her feasting. "At Triscuit, we believe less is more," the affectless narrator intoned. "That's why we bake our crackers with quality ingredients like Soft White Winter Wheat." (All quotes come from a paper available at The Kitchen, where (Robinson)'s cracker boxes are still on view.) The narrative traveled from the production of Triscuits to the history of Carr's Crackers ("Jonathan Dodgson Carr created the first table water cracker in 1890…") to the Israelites' exodus from Egypt. (Robinson) kept eating. She took rapid-fire bites, then slow, languorous chews, and then steady open-mouthed munches, offering a full compendium of eating options.

"It's best when used by January 29, 2011, or better still on January 29, 1954, when Oprah Winfrey was born," the voice continued. "Open here. Made with smiles and a product of the USA." (Robinson) continued her dining. "Open other end. Lift tab to open. Push to open. Open here." And then the voiceover ended. (Robinson) got up from her chair and walked off. There was some light applause. (Does anyone really know what to do at the end of a performance piece?)

(Robinson) seems wonderfully out of touch with the times. Much of the most acclaimed (or at least most visible) performative art recently has involved the glorification of long-term suffering (Marina Abramovic's The Artist Is Present (2010) at MoMA and Terence Koh's nothingtoodoo (2011) at Mary Boone, for instance) or the celebration of middlebrow interactivity (Tino Seghal at the Guggenheim — see Joe Scanlan's "Fair Use" in the May 2010 Artforum for more on that — and perhaps even Rirkrit Tiravanija's current show at Gavin Brown's enterprise).

In contrast, (Robinson) — while very much present in her work — engineers for herself a great and pleasurable time: she enjoys the hospitality of friends and acquaintances in The Inflatable Mattress or the bounty of an unusual buffet in Kenya Eats a Cracker. All the while, she twists the codes that govern our basic needs — shelter and food — in ambiguous ways and pushes them toward the precarious point when they may break, when the house guest outstays her welcome or when the woman munching maniacally on crackers moves from a representative of freewheeling fun to an object of ridicule. And then there are the racial overtones in Cracker's title and text. What are we to make of them? "Open other end. Lift tab to open. Push to open. Open here."

A Surprise Steinbach, Michael E. Smith's Sublimity, Lucy Lippard, etc. [Collected]

Installation view of Haim Steinbach's Mothers, Daughters, Children (with 37 Stories About Leaving Home by Shelly Silver), 1997-2011. Metal shelving, sand, wood and metal tables, wood and metal chairs, LCD TV, galvanized bucket, and latex balloon, dimensions variable. In "Entertainment" at Greene Naftali, New York, March 3, 2011.Photos: 16 Miles [more]

• "His first exhibition was with André Breton ... and his last years were spent with Keith Haring and George Condo," curator Laura Hoptman says of "idea machine" Brion Gysin in a conversation with Marina Cashdan in a new La Revue Blanche-inspired publication. [The White Review]

• "We can't help but be impressed by the three shows produced thus far by the former Citibank art advisor and freelance curator Jeffrey Deitch in his closely watched new space on Grand Street," John Good writes in "Nari Ward at Jeffrey Deitch Projects," an Artnet review published in 1996. [Artnet via Edward Winkleman]
  
  
• Four hours at the Armory. "You can drink champagne from nine in the morning until four at night," says one gentleman. Adds a lady, "The contemporary is very fresh, very alive." [Paper Monument]
  
  
• Chris Sharp on Michael E. Smith's recent exhibition at Clifton Benevento, one of my favorite shows of past last year: "It seemed as if the entire exhibition had issued from some defunct civilization whose resources had been entirely exhausted, and the artist, sifting through the rubble, had taken it upon himself to experimentally explore potential alternative resources. [K A L E I D O S C O P E]
  
  
• William Powhida, An Incomplete and Biased Guide to Some Critics, 2011. [Hyperallergic]
  
  
• Paddy Johnson points out that the two artists who took Gavin Brown's car for a spin, mistaking it for part of Rirkrit Tiravanija's current show at GBE, do not seem to have been too apologetic about the mistake. Writes Johnson, "... I’d make sure my apology was front and center..." [Art Fag City]
  
  
• Greg Allen reads Richard Prince's deposition from Cariou v. Prince, which stems from his 2008 "Canal Zone" show at Gagosian. In it, the artist mentions to Cariou's lawyer that he gave a copy of Spiritual America IV (2005) to Brooke Shields because "I'm a, you know, agreeable guy." [Greg.org]
  
  
• Here is a really nice style guide from the Association of Arts Editors. Dropping articles in titles to preserve syntax still terrifies me, but I'm going to do it in the item below. [AAE Style Guide via Image Conscious]
  
  
• In case you haven't heard, which is doubtful: Tyler Green's Art Madness has begun. I'm voting frequently for Claes Oldenburg's Store (1961), which is seeded number 39. [Modern Art Notes]
  
  
• Lucy Lippard is presenting a lecture on the evening of Thursday, April 7, at the School of Visual Arts. Its title is "Ghosts, the Daily News and Prophecy: Critical Landscape Photography." [SVA]
  

Josh Smith's High-Wire Act

Installation view of "Josh Smith" at Luhring Augustine. Photos: 16 Miles [more]


Installation view of "Josh Smith" at Luhring Augustine, New York

Not so long ago, Josh Smith was one of the most divisive artists in town, a rare figure whose work could provoke fights between friends with otherwise likeminded views on contemporary art. I was among the skeptical. His art seemed to me indulgent and lazy, all of those giant fish, leaves, and signatures accumulating in an unending, unedited stream. His success seemed to herald the emergence of a new band of what Peter Schjeldahl, in the 1980s, dubbed “the new dumb painters.”

Schjedahl placed Julian Schnabel, Sandro Chia, and George Condo in that camp, and, in a review of the latter, argued that they “bet that their own innocent pleasure in painting proves that painting (and they) will be immortal.” Pleasure and immortality: I cannot think of better words with which to characterize Smith’s interests, particularly in the numerous works in which he spells his name with thick, generous waves of color. Those words certainly apply to the pieces in his most recent show, at Luhring Augustine. Smith, of course, does not paint like those artists (though it is tempting to see some of Schnabel’s bravado in the raw confidence he projects in his art). Rather, I think that his twin forebears — indulge me here for a second — are Jasper Johns and Martin Kippenberger.

Like Johns, Smith is interested in the symbolic order of things. But, instead of flags, numbers, and targets, he paints the letters that signify his name or those that convey the information for his shows. When he paints objects — those leaves, fish, and in his current show, skeletons — they are always enlarged to fit the size of the canvas and outlined with multiple streams of color. You could not mistake them for a physical thing in the world: they are instead foundational symbols for objects, ideas of what leaves or fishes or skeletons are.


Installation view of "Josh Smith" at Luhring Augustine, New York


Josh Smith, Untitled, 2010. Mixed media on panel (12 panels), 144 x 144 in.

These objects are also enablers, maybe even excuses, for Smith’s painting, filling the same role in his practice that the egg did in Martin Kippenberger’s. (“In painting you must look what fallen fruit is left that you can paint,” Kippenberger said. “The egg has missed out there, Warhol already had the banana.”) They allow Smith to get to work, to start spreading paint around the canvas, to really let it rip. Which is great, because when he really gets going, as he does frequently here, he makes thrilling art, rich with ideas and, yes, filled with layers and layers of visual pleasure. His subjects appear again and again, but they’re presented anew each time, fresh and bizarre.

Smith’s two major innovations here also channel Johns and Kippenberger. There are red stop signs painted on squares of aluminum, another symbolic product of culture that parallels Johns’ flag. In at least one corner of each there is a dash of paint or a handprint — always some expressive touch — to differentiate them, to keep Smith in the picture. And then there are the Stage Paintings, rickety wood platforms fitted with lights that are pointed to a sheet of canvas painted with his name. The artist is up on stage, dead center, in front of the lights and performing for the crowd. (“Dear Painter, paint for me!”) I suspect that their wit would have impressed Kippenberger; this comment, made by Smith in a recent Art in America interview, certainly would have: “I don't think I've ever made the same thing twice. I have never given myself the luxury.” Is there an ascetic hiding behind all those paintings?

Smith has big projects ahead. He’s creating a site-specific installation at the Brant Foundation and has been tapped by Bice Curiger for her Venice Biennale exhibition. As curatorial consensus solidifies around him, he’s responding with admirable ambition, painting larger works — some filling six or a dozen panels — and expanding his array of options. So far, the results are explosive. Just how dramatically can he scale his work without it losing its punch? All signs suggest that he will be here for the long haul, but we’ll soon know for certain. If it does work out — and again, I suspect it will — I hope for installations that are even more elaborate and peculiar. The Stage Paintings could be just the beginning: in future shows I imagine boxing rings, tight-rope assemblies, and three-ring circuses, all draped with canvases bearing two giant words: JOSH SMITH.


Josh Smith, Untitled, 2010. Mixed media on panel, 48 x 36 in.


Detail view of Josh Smith, Untitled, 2010. Mixed media on panel (12 panels), 144 x 144 in.


Josh Smith, Stage Painting 1, 2011. Wood, paint, fabric, lights, and hardware, 96 x 68 x 54 in.


Josh Smith, Untitled, 2010. Enamel on aluminum, 48 x 48 in.

Previously: Josh Smith, "On the Water," at Deitch Studios, Long Island City, May 25, 2010

Humidifier Art, Crow on Hirst, "13 Confusions" in the Art World, etc. [Collected]

Cory Arcangel, Timeless Standards / Real Taste, 2011, in "Highways Connect and Divide," at Foxy Production, New York, through March 12. Photo: 16 Miles [more]

• The popularity of humidifier art continues to grow. Sydney Schrader and Joseph Verrill offered up three travel humidifiers in their recent Cleopatra's show, and now Cory Arcangel is presenting a retro-futuristic model, above, filled with Coke Zero, in a crisply arranged group show at Foxy Production. [FP]
  
  
• Sarah Thornton files a pithy report from the College Art Association conference, where art historian Thomas Crow art argued that the divisive opinions on Damien Hirst's work are examples of the "irreconcilable positions accomplished by real works of art." [Scene & Herd]
  
  
• "13 Confusions" about contemporary art today, from Dan Fox, who modestly states that they are "packed with tendentious generalizations and untrustworthy opinions." It includes a riff on Nina Power's 2008 proclamation that "the art world is not the world." [Frieze]
  
  
• Jonah Koppel at Klaus Von Nichtssagend's new Lower East Side location. [Anaba]
  
  
• Artist Ben Schumacher installed work by more than 30 artists — including Carol Bove, Zak Kitnick, Jon Rafman, and Daniel Turner — on the frozen Saint Lawrence River, at the northeast corner of Lake Ontario. [Saint Lawrence Ice via Image Conscious]
  
  
• Three videos of Andrea Fraser lecturing. [Strange Messenger]
  
  
• An interview with Joshua Abelow, who just had a smart show at James Fuentes, and whose work goes on view on Friday at the new Brooklyn space WILDLIFE, along with pieces by Ivin Ballen, Ethan Greenbaum, and Janine Polak. [You Have Been Here Sometime]
  
  
• Here I give thanks to Mondrian (1961) — gigantic reproductions of Colin McCahon paintings, and the last post from the wonderful History of Our World. [HoOW]
  
  
• Gerhard Richter and Isa Genzken "made a subway station together. A subway station about their relationship." [Greg.org]
  

Terence Koh with "nothingtoodoo" at Mary Boone

Terence Koh, performance still of nothingtoodoo, February 12, 2011, at the Mary Boone Gallery, New York. Photos: 16 Miles


Outside of Koh's gallery, Asia Song Society, 45 Canal Street, February 13, 2011


Terence Koh, performance still of nothingtoodoo, February 16, 2011, at the Mary Boone Gallery, New York

Sadly, there are no white-chocolate mountains on view in Terence Koh's one-person debut at Mary Boone. Koh has, at least for now, excised such easy, giddy pleasures from his work. Instead, there is a massive pile of salt sitting in the center of the gallery. There is also Koh himself, clad all in white, slowly working his way around the sculpture on his knees. This looks painful, though Koh gave no hint of discomfort on Saturday evening at his opening reception.

When I returned this afternoon, slipping through the white curtains that obscure the entrance to the main gallery, I was momentarily startled — first, to discover that Koh was still at it, and, second, that I was all alone with him. His back was faced away from me at that moment, as he went about his labor, which reads as a more masochistic, isolated version of Marina Abramović's recent MoMA performance, The Artist Is Present (2010). He performs for one more hour each day than she did, though he gets two days off to her one.

During one of those days off, Sunday, I walked from Reena Spauling Fine Arts and its charmingly low-key Matias Faldbakken show (more on that later) to Canada's divisive Joe Bradley affair, passing on the way the Asia Song Society, Koh's gallery and residence at 45 Canal. There were two white shoes sitting outside, one filled with flowers. Yesterday, I realized that he has been performing without shoes.

On Saturday evening, the gallery had been nearly still, as the crowd somberly watched Koh, silently rooting him on. Today, though, the silence was the result of emptiness. I felt guilty standing and watching as he went about his unending crawl, and I felt worse as I got ready to walk away. (Abramović had no shortage of supporters at MoMA.) I stayed for a few more minutes, and then, turning to go, quickly indulged an involuntary (and perhaps selfish) urge to pass in front of him, to let him know that someone had been staring.

Previously: Terence Koh, Silent March, November 21, 2009

Tom Thayer, Scenographic Play, at Tracy Williams, Ltd.

Performance of Tom Thayer's "Scenographic Play," at Tracy Williams Ltd., January 13, 2011. Photos: 16 Miles [more]

If Brooklyn artist and musician Tom Thayer so chose, I suspect that he could be a YouTube sensation, a music-video auteur courted by pop culture's most famous and adventurous performers. I say that because his video Old Smelly Haircut, a three-minute jewel that SculptureCenter curator Fionn Meade included in his delectable "Knight's Move" show last year remains one of the most exciting video works I have seen in a long while, a series of photomontages set in motion and allowed to swirl down weird visual pathways. It looked entirely fresh and fecund in SculptureCenter's wonderful old basement, and, should he ever tire of George Condo's paintings, I would like believe that Kanye West would swoon at the sight it.

However, Thayer seems uninterested in such easy acclaim, much less anything resembling accessibility. His work feels most at home alongside the ostensibly shambolic music of freewheeling experimental Brooklyn groups like the No-Neck Blues Band and Amolvacy, whom he has collaborated with in the past. (Wire has the video he did for a No-Neck track in 2008). His videos, reportedly spliced together on outmoded equipment (think VHS apparatuses), display a virtuosic command of the possibilities of such lo-fi technology. People and animals cut roughly from bits of paper appear in these short videos, enact quick hints of a story, and then melt away in the wake of warm analog bleeds of pure color.



On the evenings of the 13th, New Yorkers had a chance to see more than 30 minutes of Thayer's video work on a large screen at Tracy Williams, Ltd., as he performed with Wednesday Knudsen, Kyle Clyde, Caleb Considine, Alex Hubbard, and No-Neck member Keith Connolly. The doors for the show opened at 7 p.m., allowing the evening's gallery goers to swing by other openings beforehand — an ultra-minimal Tony Feher affair at Pace, followed by Patrick Hill at Bortolami and Marcel Odenbach at Anton Kern, in my case.

By 7:30, most of the standing room in the gallery — which is to say, the area that had not been filled with video projectors, keyboards, and a handful of the artist's installations, comprised of aging record players, televisions, marionettes and drawings — was occupied. The ensuing show was an amalgam of theater, performance art, and music compositions. Connolly looked imperious at the front of the action, sporting a large beard and a flat cap, brutally forcing a long curved metal rod under the strings of a bass guitar, sending knotted lines of notes through the amplifiers.

Knudsen manned a keyboard and saxophone, and at one point inflated balloons before noisily draining the air from them in long streaks, or popping them. Connolly dragged a metal walking stick across the floor, creating aching shrieks, as other rhythms and hints of melody bubbled around him. In the more theatrical realm, a towering giant of a man emerged from the gallery behind the audience, wearing a long cloak and bearing a bouquet of flowers. The crowd parted, allowing him through, and he passed in front of the video, disappearing into the gallery in the back. Then the performance continued.















As the music finally came to an end and the lights came up, a bit after 8 p.m., I was entirely confused about what had just occurred. Was it a success or a failure? And by what standards? Friends that attended the second, final performance, two days later, shared similar feelings. Mixing and matching elements of various media, Thayer seemed to be slowly piecing together some strange, handmade new art form based on shared, lived experiences. In a statement accompanying the show, Thayer provides a hint about what Scenographic Play means. He asks: "What, in essence, comes to constitute our shared 'now'?" We go to art galleries to try figure that out.



Tom Thayer, "Scenographic Play"
Tracy Williams, Ltd.
521 West 23rd Street
New York, New York
Through January