Byline: Marieke Treilhard

The ​ ​provocation​ ​of​ ​vulnerability​ ​has​ ​long​ ​been​ ​a​ ​mainstay​ ​of​ ​impactful​ ​art.​ ​Video​ ​and​ ​film media,​ ​given​ ​their​ ​reliance​ ​on​ ​the​ ​staging​ ​of​ ​exposure​ ​and​ ​emotional​ ​confrontation,​ ​are​ ​no exception.​ ​An​ ​exhibition​ ​at​ ​Young​ ​Projects​ ​in​ ​Los​ ​Angeles​ ​curated​ ​by​ ​NextArt​ ​explores​ ​these very​ ​themes,​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​the​ ​ways​ ​in​ ​which​ ​technology​ ​can​ ​interpolate​ ​human​ ​vulnerability​ ​and probe​ ​the​ ​complex​ ​interstitial​ ​spaces​ ​of​ ​mediated​ ​human​ ​encounters.​ “V​​ulnerability:​ ​The​ ​Space Between”​​ ​features​ ​both​ ​contemporary​ ​and​ ​historical​ ​works​ ​that​ ​paradoxically​ ​re-sensitize​ ​affect through​ ​facsimile,​ ​performance,​ ​surveillance,​ ​virtual​ ​reality,​ ​film,​ ​and​ ​installation.​ ​In​ ​an​ ​era​ ​of increasing​ ​detachment​ ​and​ ​impoverished​ ​cultural​ ​empathy,​ ​the​ ​exhibition​ ​reminds​ ​us​ ​of​ ​the fragility​ ​and​ ​pain​ ​of​ ​the​ ​human​ ​condition​ ​and​ ​the​ ​healing​ ​and​ ​redemptive​ ​potential​ ​of​ ​its acknowledgment.

The​ ​exhibition​ ​opens​ ​with​ ​a​ ​series​ ​of​ ​recent​ ​and​ ​historical​ ​performance-based​ ​works​ ​from​ ​the 1970s​ ​on,​ ​including​ ​works​ ​by​ ​Marina​ ​Abramovic,​ ​Bas​ ​Jan​ ​Ader,​ ​Chris​ ​Burden,​ ​Sophie​ ​Calle, Valie​ ​Export,​ ​Regina​ ​José​ ​Galindo,​ ​and​ ​Yoko​ ​Ono,​ ​among​ ​others.​ One of the earliest incarnations of video was as documentation of the more ephemeral medium of performance.​Both​ ​monologic and​ ​interactive​ ​examples​ ​set​ ​the​ ​stage​ ​for​ ​this​ ​exploration​ ​of​ ​corporeal​ ​and​ ​emotional vulnerability.​ ​In​ ​​Blind​ ​Spot​ ​(Punto​ ​Ciego​),​ ​a​ ​performance​ ​piece​ ​by​ ​Galindo​ ​from​ ​2010,​ ​the​ ​artist stands​ ​naked​ ​on​ ​a​ ​pedestal​ ​in​ ​a​ ​gallery​ ​and​ ​allows​ ​blind​ ​tourists,​ ​unprepared​ ​for​ ​the​ ​nature​ ​of their​ ​encounter,​ ​to​ ​touch​ ​and​ ​explore​ ​her​ ​body​ ​unhindered​ ​by​ ​resistance​ ​or​ ​self-protection. This​ ​physical​ ​act​ ​of​ ​touch,​ ​innocent​ ​in​ ​its​ ​unknowingness​ ​and​ ​yet​ ​explicitly​ ​dangerous​ ​in​ ​its lack​ ​of​ ​prophylactic​ ​barrier​ ​speaks​ ​volumes​ ​to​ ​the​ ​simultaneous​ ​freedom​ ​and​ ​bondage​ ​of contact.

Similarly,​ ​the legendary and often imitated performance​ ​by​ ​Yoko​ ​Ono​,​ ​​Cut​ ​Piece​​ ​(1964),​ ​shows​ ​the​ ​artist​ ​sitting​ ​on​ ​a​ ​stage in​ ​”her​ ​best​ ​suit”​ ​with​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​scissors​ ​ominously​ ​set​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her.​ ​The​ ​audience​ ​is​ ​told​ ​they may​ ​approach​ ​and​ ​cut​ ​a​ ​small​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​the​ ​fabric​ ​clothing​ ​her,​ ​taking​ ​it​ ​with​ ​them.​ ​The imminence​ ​of​ ​potential​ ​danger​ ​is​ ​apparent,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​supremely​ ​vulnerable​ ​act​ ​of​ ​submitting​ ​to the​ ​will​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​and​ ​trusting​ ​in​ ​their​ ​adherence​ ​to​ ​an​ ​unspoken​ ​social​ ​contract​ ​of​ ​mutual care​ ​is​ ​palpable.

Other​ ​works​ ​in​ ​the​ ​exhibition,​ ​such​ ​as​ ​​Coming​ ​Out​ ​Simulator​​ ​(2014)​ ​by​ ​Nicky​ ​Case,​ ​attempt​ ​to create​ ​a​ ​facsimile​ ​of​ ​self-disclosure​ ​and​ ​confession.​ ​As​ ​a​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​interactive​ ​game,​ ​the​ ​viewer​ ​is given​ ​the​ ​chance​ ​to​ ​navigate​ ​a​ ​moment​ ​in​ ​the​ ​artist’s​ ​personal​ ​history,​ ​simulating​ ​the conversation​ ​in​ ​which​ ​he​ ​comes​ ​out​ ​to​ ​his​ ​mother​ ​as​ ​gay.​ ​This​ ​personal​ ​revelation​ ​captures​ ​a feeling​ ​of​ ​communicative​ ​despair​ ​in​ ​which​ ​self-exposure​ ​becomes​ ​painful​ ​and​ ​negating because​ ​of​ ​the​ ​hurtful​ ​reaction​ ​elicited​ ​by​ ​the​ ​other.

Another​ ​piece​ ​in​ ​the​ ​show,​ ​​VVVR​ (2017) ​by​ ​Plus​ ​Four​​ ​(Ray​ ​McClure​ ​and​ ​Casey​ ​McGonagle),​ ​offers​ ​a positive​ ​counterpoint​ ​to​ ​communicative​ ​risk,​ ​as​ ​an​ ​interactive​ ​virtual​ ​reality​ ​in​ ​which​ ​two​ ​must participate​ ​and​ ​”connect”​ ​virtually​ ​by​ ​donning​ ​Oculus​ ​headsets​ ​and​ ​finding​ ​common​ ​ground​ ​in an​ ​immaterial​ ​context.​ ​Their​ ​voices​ ​and​ ​emissions​ ​activate​ ​the​ ​exchange​ ​within​ ​a​ ​virtual​ ​void, becoming​ ​ecstatic​ ​visualizations​ ​of​ ​speech​ ​and​ ​sound​ ​within​ ​a​ ​vaguely​ ​utopian,​ ​though tenantless,​ ​space.

Other​ ​works​ ​in​ ​the​ ​exhibition​ ​flirt​ ​with​ ​themes​ ​of​ ​surveillance​ ​and​ ​omniscience​ ​such​ ​as​ I​​f​ ​The Walls​ ​Had​ ​Eyes​​ ​(2014)​ ​by​ ​Luxloop​ ​(Ivaylo​ ​Getov​ ​&​ ​Mandy​ ​Mandelstein),​ ​a​ ​digital​ ​installation​ ​of blinking​ ​human​ ​eyes​ ​that​ ​watch​ ​and​ ​follow​ ​the​ ​movements​ ​of​ ​the​ ​viewer​ ​as​ ​they​ ​move​ ​within the​ ​range​ ​of​ ​their​ ​”gaze,”​ ​and​ ​Lauren​ ​(2016)​ ​by​ ​Lauren​ ​McCarthy​ ​an​ ​”Alexa”​ ​like​ ​device capable​ ​of​ ​human​ ​empathy​ ​who​ ​surveils​ ​the​ ​home​ ​of​ ​participants​ ​while​ ​intuiting​ ​their​ ​needs with​ ​an​ ​anticipatory​ ​thoughtfulness.

Among​ ​the​ ​works​ ​in​ ​the​ ​exhibition,​ ​​I​ ​Love​ ​You​ ​And​ ​That​ ​Makes​ ​Me​ ​God​​ ​(2017)​ ​by​ ​Fawn​ ​Rogers resonates​ ​deeply,​ ​tapping​ ​into​ ​something​ ​darker​ ​and​ ​far​ ​more​ ​unsettling​ ​in​ ​the​ ​vein​ ​of​ ​a confessional.​ ​This​ ​immersive​ ​installation​ ​requires​ ​that​ ​the​ ​viewer​ ​enter​ ​a​ ​secluded,​ ​darkened space​ ​at​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​gallery.​ ​Cornered​ ​by​ ​two​ ​screens​ ​in​ ​which​ ​nearly​ ​60​ ​individuals​ ​are video-taped​ ​repeating​ ​a​ ​phrase​ ​that​ ​simultaneously​ ​feels​ ​like​ ​admission,​ ​threat,​ ​and​ ​mantra, we​ ​are​ ​left​ ​feeling​ ​vulnerable​ ​ourselves,​ ​accosted​ ​at​ ​times,​ ​and​ ​seduced​ ​at​ ​others.​ ​As​ ​each subject​ ​repeats​ ​”I​ ​love​ ​you​ ​and​ ​that​ ​makes​ ​me​ ​god”​ ​with​ ​varying​ ​degrees​ ​of​ ​honesty,​ ​artifice, disingenuousness,​ ​sympathy,​ ​and​ ​even​ ​aggression,​ ​the​ ​full​ ​spectrum​ ​of​ ​human​ ​vulnerability seems​ ​to​ ​unfold​ ​before​ ​our​ ​eyes,​ ​both​ i​n​ ​the​ ​delivery​ ​and​ ​in​ ​our​ ​receipt​ ​of​ ​its​ ​offering.

True​ ​vulnerability​ ​is​ ​an​ ​admission.​ ​Whether​ ​it​ ​be​ ​the​ ​need​ ​for​ ​love,​ ​the​ ​search​ ​for​ ​meaning,​ ​the acknowledged​ ​imperfection​ ​of​ ​self,​ ​the​ ​persistent​ ​feeling​ ​of​ ​worthlessness,​ ​or​ ​the​ ​fear​ ​of​ ​loss,​ ​it is​ ​all​ ​in​ ​one​ ​way​ ​or​ ​another​ ​dependent​ ​on​ ​the​ ​existence,​ ​recognition,​ ​approval,​ ​or​ ​disavowal​ ​of the​ ​other.​ ​Rogers​ ​captures​ ​the​ ​problematic​ ​coexistence​ ​of​ ​these​ ​impulses​ ​in​ ​her​ ​piece,​ ​not​ ​to mention​ ​the​ ​flawed​ ​social​ ​contract​ ​of​ ​reciprocity​ ​that​ ​is​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​everything​ ​in​ ​place—but often fails​ ​to​ ​protect​ ​or​ ​return.​ ​”I​ ​love​ ​you​ ​and​ ​that​ ​makes​ ​me​ ​god”​—the​ ​phrase​ ​itself​ ​is​ ​repellant​ ​in its​ ​threat​ ​of​ ​subjugation,​ ​but​ ​inexplicably​ ​coercive​ ​in​ ​its​ ​implied​ ​promise​ ​of​ ​affection.

Much​ ​in​ ​the​ ​same​ ​way​ ​that​ ​Abramovic’s​ ​viewers​ ​would​ ​burst​ ​into​ ​tears​ ​when​ ​confronted​ ​with empty​ ​stillness,​ ​so​ ​too​ ​are​ ​Rogers’​ ​viewers​ ​overwhelmed​ ​by​ ​the​ ​rhetorical​ ​offering​ ​of​ ​love​ ​and its​ ​fractious​ ​condition​ ​of​ ​power.​ ​Standing​ ​alone​ ​with​ ​this​ ​loaded​ ​installation,​ ​undeniably​ ​staged to​ ​feel​ ​confrontational​ ​and​ ​imperative,​ ​something​ ​pathological​ ​is​ ​happening​ ​in​ ​our​ ​moment​ ​of repeated​ ​exposure.​ ​Each​ ​subject’s​ ​delivery,​ ​as​ ​captured​ ​by​ ​Rogers,​ ​is​ ​different,​ ​and​ ​thus​ ​each individual’s​ ​experience​ ​of​ ​the​ ​mantra​ ​is​ ​singular,​ ​making​ ​the​ ​potential​ ​for​ ​mixed​ ​meaning​ ​and ambivalent​ ​reception​ ​endless.​ ​Love​ ​and​ ​our​ ​need​ ​for​ ​it​ ​become​ ​something​ ​potentially redemptive,​ ​harmful,​ ​extravagant,​ ​and​ ​conditional,​ ​as​ ​variegated​ ​as​ ​the​ ​word​ ​itself​ ​is​ ​reductive.

“Vulnerability: ​The​ ​Space​ ​in​ ​Between”​​ ​offers​ ​a​ ​disarming​ ​experience​ ​of​ ​admission​ ​and disclosure. Alone​ ​in​ ​the​ ​darkened​ ​gallery​ ​space,​ ​surrounded​ ​by​ ​technologically​ ​mediated​ ​experiences,​ ​we are​ ​brought​ ​strangely​ ​closer​ ​to​ ​an​ ​empathic​ ​encounter​ ​than​ ​were​ ​we​ ​out​ ​in​ the ​realm​ ​of​ ​the​ ​real.

“Vulnerability: ​The​ ​Space​ ​in​ ​Between,” October 5 – December 29, 2017 at ​​Young Projects Gallery, 8687 Melrose Ave. #B230, West Hollywood CA 90069. www.youngprojectsgallery.com

 

Humor is often a neglected muse in the production of fine art. Seldom is it thought of as a legitimate field of cultural inquiry or a productive platform for the creation of an aesthetic. Los Angeles-based mixed media artist Marc Horowitz, known for his socially experimental practice and his penchant for pranks, however, begs to differ. His current exhibition, “Interior, Day (A Door Opens),” attests to the symbiotic possibilities of comedy and art. In his first major solo exhibition of painting, sculpture and drawing, Horowitz offers a cleverly staged mash-up of art historical references and popular culture, with the affable lightness, comedic timing and understated depth for which he’s known.

With an art practice driven by social experiments, made in the spirit of waggish relational aesthetics, Horowitz has relied heavily on social media and web-based platforms. “The National Dinner Tour” (2004) was spurred by a cheeky intervention made while working on the commercial production of a Crate & Barrel catalog. The artist wrote his name and number on a dry-erase board featured in a home-office product shoot, and upon distribution of the catalog, the intervention undetected, Horowitz received more than 30,000 calls. He spent the subsequent year on a nationwide tour making dinner plans with strangers. In another notable project funded by Creative Time entitled “The Advice of Strangers” (2011), Horowitz crowd-sourced everyday decision making for an entire year of his personal life; everything from what he should wear to what he should eat, he offered up to public scrutiny and popular opinion. By co-opting commercial marketing strategies, Horowitz has cleverly reasserted a disobediently human quotient into an otherwise impersonal and quantified approach to social information.

Unique in his resistance to cynicism and his desire to connect, his work conveys playful irreverence; it is a candid offering activated by self-conscious social poetics. Horowitz also enjoys drawing attention to the very act of viewing; even his titles reveal the inner-workings of this near cinematic sensibility: Ding. The Elevator Opens (all works 2015) and The Camera Moves Close Until Her Ear Fills The Frame, are cases in point. And Horowitz wants his viewers to become a part of the staging. A master of the mise-en-scène, Horowitz arranges objects, people, references, encounters, but preserves enough room for accident and aberration, allowing the end-result to emerge in the spirit of contingency. Unexpected outcomes and spontaneous results, though marshaled by clever positioning and gestures, allows viewers to lose their balance long enough to see something new.

“Interior Day (A Door Opens),” represents a return to painting for the artist after 15 years of working in more ephemeral and experimental media. The exhibition is polished and thoughtful, but just like Horowitz, doesn’t take itself too seriously. The paintings are gestural, funny and complex; the sculptures combine classic statuary with junky bobbles worthy of an Olympic-level hoarder—and protruding phallic noses, somehow a constant reminder that the comedian is lurking somewhere in the wings. A cardboard cutout gondolier frames a phenomenal large-format painting in a back room, and a campy, giant oversized bunch of plaster grapes surprises you around a corner. At every turn there is something unexpected, just enough to create the productive space of imbalance in which Horowitz thrives.

Show ends Jan. 30. 2016

“Straight from Cuba” at Lois Lambert Gallery, is an unexpectedly compelling exhibition. To subsist as a contemporary artist in present-day Cuba is no small feat. With little to no resources at their disposal in the way of art materials and economic support, and political censorship to impede free expression at every turn, artists in Cuba must be driven by something far more powerful than a desire for notoriety or commercial ambition. The three Cuban artists featured in this exhibition display a passion that exceeds reason and it’s difficult not to idealize the kind of creative compulsion that weathers persistent discouragement with an inspiring resilience.

Showcasing the work of Alan Manuel Gonzalez, Luis Rodriguez NOA and Darwin Estacio Martinez, “Straight from Cuba” presents three very distinct aesthetic visions united by the difficulty of a shared cultural and political legacy. All three artists are exhibiting in Los Angeles for the very first time, an opportunity that would have been unthinkable pre-2013, the year in which the exit permit system was abolished. The system, in effect for some 50 years, prohibited its citizens from traveling freely beyond Cuba. With an ambivalent view of their country’s future—despite recently improved diplomatic relations with the United States and the relaxation of isolationist embargoes—all remain skeptical of Cuba’s ability to slacken the hyper-politicization that has quarantined it culturally for so many decades. 

 

 

In spite of the political and economic discomfort of the country, there is a deeply sown love, pride and history that binds the inhabitants and tempers the cultural fabric of Cuba. When asked whether there was a defining element that made Cuban artists Cuban, NOA—whose beautifully chaotic work emerges from stream of consciousness replied, “There’s a Cuban ingredient in every Cuban artist, dancer, writer. It’s a clear and deep sense of belonging to our home and our land.” Gonzalez, whose work is more explicitly political, offered, “I have been trying to express a kind of invisible prison. Cuba is beautiful but constrained. We have to express ourselves through metaphor in order to jump over the censorship that binds us. I’m expressing our pains, I want the message to be understood.”

 

 

 

NOA, a self-described Surrealist, captures the daily bustle and frenetic energy of his hometown, Havana. Creating intuitive works based on the impressions he distills from daily street life, he captures the improvisational nature of the culture. Streets are filled with people and chaos, a dynamic and unrelenting city hum through his dense “drawing paintings.” His poetic observations capture the ambulant energy of city life in Havana, described by the artist as a mix of architectural styles in various states of disrepair, constant cacophony, makeshift solutions for lack of resource, laundry strung from balconies, poverty and laughter. In his words: “We improvise every day. There is poetry in improvisation. You cannot predict things in Cuba, you have to look for solutions. People have to create things from what they have.”

 

 

Gonzalez is a hyperrealist painter. His highly detailed works are of microcosmic worlds and landscapes contained within glass vessels. The imagery of containment is intended to communicate the political entrapment and censorship Gonzalez identifies as the defining plight of Cuban culture. His visual metaphors are direct and poignant, at times painfully so, illustrating the confinement of a Cuba that withholds and denies freedom from its citizens. According to Gonzalez: “There is no journalism in Cuba. The government retains complete control. I don’t want people to be overly optimistic about what’s really happening there. I hope my work will convey the truth of our situation.” Gonzalez’ deliberate choice of a hyperrealist style is intended to illustrate clear and accessible analogies for the viewer. In a touching segue, Gonzalez shared the material ingenuity with which he creates his work. He has used the same acrylic paint cans since 2004, diluting the pigments and extending their use for as long as possible, and re-purposes flour bags as canvas substrates. As an artist in Cuba, material scarcity engenders some ingenious solutions.

 

 

 Finally, Martinez is a graphic painter, also from Havana, who sets up partial narratives and incomplete frames with a cinematic quality. A lover of American painters (and the stylistic debt to Alex Katz is apparent), Martinez’ paintings are about insinuation and suggestion. Citing Oscar Wilde, the artist appeals to the idea of literally conveying mystery through the visible, by creating compelling stories through the partial disclosure of seemingly innocuous and generic details. The paintings are ultimately about the possibility of what remains undisclosed and beyond the frame. Perhaps in keeping with this theme, the figures in his works remain persistently anonymous as their faces are never shown, allowing their identities to remain unspecific. Martinez’ paintings play with the ubiquity of political censorship in Cuba, intentionally withholding contextual details and explicit narratives to encourage the freedom of suggestion and inference. In his words: “Painting is a way of being free. I try to see the things we have, but my paintings communicate the wish of a generation for a higher level of freedom.” 

 

 

Straight From Cuba: Alan Manuel Gonzalez, Darwin Estacio Martinez, and Luis Rodriguez NOA 

May 16 – July 12, 2015 

at Lois Lambert Gallery 

2525 Michigan Ave, E3 

Santa Monica, CA 90404