I am preoccupied lately (see any number of my blog posts, especially recent ones), with the evolving/devolving culture(s) of Los Angeles, the way art is made and experienced in this city, the way we connect with and experience that art and culture, and the way we connect (or don’t) with the city.

One of the keynotes—perhaps the hallmark—of the 2014 edition of the Hammer Museum’s biennial, Made in L.A., was its cross-sectioned view of the L.A. art-making community through the perspective of the ‘microclimate’; its recognition of the diverse L.A. art community as simultaneously hyper-localized and cosmopolitan; that L.A.’s ‘microclimates’ were shaping the way art was made and apprehended, and even exhibited throughout the city.  Microclimate should be understood in the most generous sense here—pertaining, not merely to physical locations, specific sections of the city or artist-heavy neighborhoods in the Los Angeles metropolitan region, but to groups of artists loosely allied or aligned; some grouped formally in collectives, others laboring in varying proximities to each other, but sharing similar concerns, affinities, aesthetics.  I think it was Olga Koumoundouros who first pointed out to me the extent to which L.A. artists over the past few years were beginning to address the issue of where and how they lived—the contingencies of location, site, space; the convergence of physical, social and economic, as well as aesthetic factors shaping the artist’s perspective and working decisions.  (Her own work has addressed these issues acutely.) 

Made in L.A. threw a spotlight on a few of these loose-knit or ad-hoc groupings and collectives, including Public Fiction, Lauren Mackler’s evolving not-ready-for-prime-kunsthalle-but-can-we-talk?-art(?)-players, in unpredictable residence behind a Highland Park storefront; K-Chung, a public access radio station seemingly hijacked into a 24-hour stream-of-consciousness art bull-session (morphed yet again into a television broadcaster for the duration of the Hammer show); also (still more loosely defined), the James Kidd Studio, and even the nominally individual projects of artists like Emily Mast, Wu Tsang and Samara Golden.  Emblematic of this gestalt (as I indicated in my review of the show in the September-October 2014 Artillery) was the Los Angeles Museum of Art, embracing both this sense of contingency, the transient points of intersection among distinct sensibilities (themselves, in part, the product of these ‘microclimates’) while recontextualizing and setting the work distinctly outside its ‘microclimate’, and a certain curatorial transparency. 

I hardly think it was Alice Könitz’s (the prime instigator and curatorial intelligence behind this initiative) conscious intention to ‘show the seams’, so much as to simply craft an idea or piece together such disparate or fragmentary ideas into coherent visual expression.  But it might easily describe some aspect of the work or working method of each of the artists on the REDCAT panel.   

The panel also addressed the parallel problem of how ambitious, broadly platformed and multi-dimensional work might sustain itself within the evolving urban context, and how artists themselves sustain their visions and cobble together livelihoods in the continuously evolving local and international environment.  (In other words, if it takes a ‘village’ (or, I suppose, a single ‘microclimate’) to raise an artist, it takes a city to sustain one.) 

Acting as moderator, CalArts’ Steven Lavine had Michael Ned Holte lead off by tracking back over the process of identifying the “intrinsically Los Angeles” elements he and Connie Butler were looking for in putting together their roster of 35 L.A. artists:  their early identification of artist-run, cooperative, collaborative studios and work-spaces; the fragile economics of such spaces and art practices; and how artists were thinking about the city.  A sense of contingency was built into their approach – open to the bracing discontinuities between the various installations and exhibits.  They were aware that they were creating a ‘context that [didn’t] already exist’; accounting for aspects of built-in obsolescence; sensitive to the physical/cultural anxieties surrounding contemporary art-making, as well as the on-going relationship to the art economy.  (Steven Lavine seemed elated to hear Holte recall their early impression that they had managed to “reproduce the feeling of walking into CalArts” with their installation.)

Lillian Barbeito’s approach to putting together an art (in this instance, dance) practice/collective/company in Los Angeles seemed both wedded to her particular theory and technique of dance (countertechnique, originally developed by dancer/choreographer Anouk van Dijk) and the sheer serendipity of making connections in Los Angeles.  Even her transition to Los Angeles (from New York) seemed to have more to do with a desire to support her husband’s film industry career than any ambitions of her own in or out of the dance world.  I had the impression that half the reason her company, BodyTraffic, came together was simply out of the need to continue pursuing her personal dance practice.  A critical mass of fellow practitioners essentially gave her the core of what might become an informal company.  The key intersection was with another dancer, Tina Berkett, who it turned out was looking for exactly the same thing.  The next priority was finding a space to perform, which manifested (together with a husband-wife team of choreographers from Israel) in the space of the Sinai Temple in Westwood.  (I’m guessing the Israel connection was key—but if that’s what it took to move the project forward, why not?)

Since that time, they’ve gone on to perform at the Colburn School, the Alex Theatre in Glendale and the Japan-America Theatre.  BodyTraffic is now, essentially, a partnership between Barbeito and Berkett, taking on dancers and choreographers on a project-by-project basis.  They’ve recently been working with the choreographer, Barak Marshall (who’s worked with such disparate entities as YoYo Ma and the Batsheva Dance Company). 

Since I have yet to see anything BodyTraffic’s done, it’s hard to gauge their approach to dance within the specific context of the L.A. dance or arts community.  Barbeito expressed a fascination for the ‘vast panorama’ of Los Angeles, the appeal of being able to move quasi-nomadically between sites and stages at some distance from one another—mimicking the cross-town ‘traffic’ that is part of the character of L.A. and the texture of its life.  But it seemed as if her viewpoint and approach could be adapted to almost any urban (or for that matter, non-urban) context.  And certainly she has not hesitated to recruit choreographers from across the pond. 

We’re far more familiar with Yuval Sharon here—from his work with The Industry, from Crescent City to Invisible Cities—a company that has embraced a ‘think global, act local’ modus operandi in the most concrete and visionary way possible.  If we can accept that everyone comes to the city ready to seize the opportunities its dynamic environment affords, Sharon’s path leading up to The Industry was nevertheless both more conventional (he had previously held a post at the New York City Opera) and deliberative:  he brought his own ideas about the evolving definition of opera in the 21^st century, the intersections of arts, media and culture, and the “next generation of ideas”; and clearly welcomed the opportunity to collaborate with the city’s rich pool of visual artists.  (You could almost consider the sprawling Crescent City surround/sound/stage/environmental staging as a parallel/prototype for Alice Könitz’s L.A. Museum of Art Not so coincidentally, both Könitz and Olga Koumoundouros constructed set/sculptures for the production.)

If Sharon and The Industry have been sharply influenced by L.A.’s concentration of visual fine arts production, though, one gets the impression that his real model for The Industry’s approach is something closer to L.A.’s echt legacy ‘industry’—more specifically independent film production.  Sharon doesn’t need to worry about being dubbed an “impresario” (though there’s no stigma to the term).  What his role comes closer to is that of the independent film producer—the producer (sometimes a writer, sometimes a financier, etc.) who, with one or more (and ultimately many) partners, develops, packages, finances, executive/produces and finally arranges for distribution of a film.  The Industry is slowly growing, but still an indie-prod house in size (three full-time and two part-time employees, including himself) and spirit.  

Yet there’s also something here that both craves the studio system and wants to be, as Sharon might put it, ‘nimbly’ responsive to the moment.  What I suggested to Sharon that night was that what he (and the other artists on the panel) might be reaching for was something on the order of the fashion ‘atelier.’  That may be a stretch at the moment; but assuming the company moves forward to full maturity, some semblance of it is bound to manifest (e.g., archives, properties and props, scenic/costuming elements, etc.).  The problem is keeping it nimble, dynamic—as much a roving caravan as a brick-and-mortar studio.  (I’m reminded of Rick Owens’ comment to The Independent’s Alexander Fury about not feeling weighed down or constrained by his own Paris-based atelier, “I could burn this whole fucking house down.”)   

wild Up at REDCAT, 2013

If there was one person on the panel who appeared capable of ‘burning down the house’ (and conceivably raising a new one on the same day), it was Christopher Rountree, the conductor/band-leader/prime provocateur behind wild Up, the all-but-unclassifiable ensemble (I want to say, ‘musical force field’) of eight or nine (though I think there were at least 15 when I saw them)—let’s just say, as we do in the art world, ‘dimensions vary’—musicians (several of them gifted composer/improvisers/soloists in their own right).  Their website describes them as an “experimental classical ensemble,” but this seems less than adequate to me.  Their ‘mission statement’ comes closer: 

“wild Up is a modern music collective – a group of Los Angeles-based musicians committed to creating visceral, thought-provoking happenings. Our programs are eclectic studies of people, places, and ideas that we find interesting. The group believes that music is a catalyst for shared experiences, and that the concert venue is a place for challenging, exciting, and igniting the community around us.” 

Rountree seems intent not on ‘burning down’ the concert hall, but certainly exploding it, giving full voice to its most incendiary aspects.  There is a fascination with the experience of place and all its vibratile elements that wild Up clearly taps into—and this is clearly not limited to the ‘high culture’ venues where they’ve played.  (E.g., museums, chamber music/recital halls; I saw them at the Hammer Museum.)  Although they’re well acquainted with the traditional orchestral canon (and like Sharon, Rountree has also apprenticed with more tradition-bound institutions—as a conductor at the Brooklyn Philharmonic, amongst other institutions), Rountree is dismissive of musical hierarchies.  It’s as if, having dissected the music (pop, jazz, classical, experimental—it doesn’t really matter what exactly) down to its essential ideas and intentions, he’d like to re-configure, re-construct it for the time and place it’s inhabiting in the moment of execution.  Rountree and wild Up want to privilege place and moment alongside the music itself.

While there was some discussion of the developmental and narrative arc envisioned for each of these ambitious enterprises, what was left unfinished was their connection with a larger urban narrative.  The commitment to site and moment have an inherent appeal: making a ‘moveable feast’ of the work and the city itself.  (I mean—do we really need another ‘institution’ when all we’re looking for a fresh conversation?)  But the nexus with the urban organism itself, its imbrication into that cultural fabric, is incomplete.  These are companies still negotiating their way through the warp and woof—and perhaps spinning webs that will carry them far beyond Los Angeles itself.  Like any comparable arts organizations, their scope is international.  BodyTraffic seems to have operated internationally since inception; wild Up already has international commissions and pending partnerships; and—opera has always been international—can The Industry be far behind?  It’s encouraging to see young companies that treat their respective endeavours as emerging art forms.  In 21^st century cities—where so many of us essentially feel and live like refugees with fixed addresses—this may be one way to hold on to the moment as we navigate our way through them.