The final two dozen artists have been selected to appear in the 9th Annual Northwest Biennial (from 543 entrants). Two of these artists are included in my upcoming curatorial presentation .meta at Linfield College Art Gallery opening on October 15 and the timing is right to see new work by Stephanie Robison (Portland) and Jack Daws (Seattle) among others. The Biennial also includes Susan Robb who appeared in my very last curatorial venture, invisible.other (2007, NAAU). The full list of selectees are:
Rick Araluce; Gala Bent; Michael Brophy; Jack Daws; Eric Elliott; Tannaz Farsi; Sarah Hood; Denzil Hurley; Linda Hutchins; Robert Jones; Michael Kenna; Doug Keyes; Isaac Layman; Zhi Lin; Micki Lippe; Margie Livingston; Victor Maldonado; Debora Moore; Susan Robb; Stephanie Robison; Ross Sawyers; Susan Seubert; Chang-Ae Song, and Scott Trimble.
Sixteen from Seattle, five from Portland, two from Eugene, and one from Sammamish. The exhibition, held at the Tacoma Art Museum, opens in January 2009. More soon…
OBAMA VICTORY FUND: Gemini G.E.L. is also hosting a fundraiser called Artists for Obama, an amazing portfolio of thirteen prints by artists ranging from Jasper Johns to Ann Hamilton.
SEATTLE - THIS WEEK: I am thrilled to announce that I will once again head up to our sister city to participate in this year’s Decibel Festival, Seattle’s premiere, annual electronic music festival. This year the proceedings take place September 25-28 and I will be seated on an interesting panel. The future of music journalism is the topic of discussion and the panel is stacking up to look like a well rounded group of experts in vast cross-pollinated fields. Should make for a rowdy chat. Here’s what the catalogue says:
PANEL 1 : Wasted Words : The Future of Music Journalism FRIDAY, September 26 @ 12:30@ NW Film Forum
We will explore music writing - criticism, reviewing and description of performances and recording processes and ask whether or not they still have any relevance today and if they have a use and audience in the future. Our panel includes musicians, writers, and representatives of record companies engaged in an attempt to find answers to these perplexing questions. When Frank Zappa said; ‘…writing about music is like dancing about architecture…”, he was referring to the difficulty, if not futility of interpreting one art form using the methods of another.
Be that as it may, for as long as people have made music, others have been compelled to talk and write about it; in an attempt to describe, understand and share the experience of music. Up to now, writing about music has been important – critical to spread public awareness of and reinforce music cultures. Does music writing in the “internet era” have the same influence that it once did in the “print era”? Is there an identifiable audience for music writing? Is the role and form of music writing changing? And if so, how and why? Is the emergence of the blogosphere a benefit or just a lot of white noise? Are there benchmarks to measure the effectiveness of using the printed word to describe auditory experiences? Join us as we explore the role and relevance of music journalism, criticism, blogging, performance reviews and more!
Panelists include Dale Lloyd (and/OAR and the Phonographers Union), TJ Norris (ARTnews, Signal to Noise and MIT/Leonardo Magazine), Dave Segal (XLR8R and The Stranger), Todd Burns (NA Editor for Resident Advisor), Robert Crouch (co-director and curator of Bleeding Edge Festival and Volume Projects) and Lusine (Ghostly Recording artist). Moderated by Chris DeLaurenti (The Stranger, Wire Magazine).
This year’s Optical, the visual arts portion of the festival, will be held mostly at the Grey Gallery & Lounge. Some acts included later this month are house favorites like Detroit’s Carl Craig, veteran sound art composer William Basinski, and Mexico’s amazing Fax…but there are over 100 performers involved, so if you are a fan of contemporary music head up to SEA-town for your early Fall dose of aural stimulation.
Once upon a time I was an angst-ridden youth like the rest of you. To part with some of this pent up frustration, like many young people, I listened to music. I remember going to concerts by Nina Hagen, The Plasmatics, Dead Kennedys, X, Echo & the Bunnymen…the list goes on. And sometime in the 80’s there was this emergence of a sound that was a bit darker, more gothic, something that sprouted from the seams of bands like Bauhaus, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Ministry, Coil, Sisters of Mercy and many others. One of the bands that kept a somewhat low profile, but has been at it since 1980 is the Slovenian outfit Laibach. They emerged (or eclipsed) alongside others like Front Line Assembly, Skinny Puppy, Front 242, Bigod 20 and KMFDM. This was a newer, even socially darker, perhaps more grey than black, take on the scene…though there was still a lot of associated eyeliner. These bands shared a common grasp of politics, links to martial law (uniforms, aesthetics), what eventually would emerge as the industrial scene. And tonight they played the Crystal Ballroom.
Here they showcased much of what appeared on their 2006 recording Volk (national anthems) and highlighted this with upcoming material from Laibachkunstderfuge, their interpretation of Bach’s Die Kunst der Fuge. And after nearly thirty years in the biz they delivered with a visual wallop (to a 1/2 filled hall no less, but one suited up for the evening in various shades of drab and military motif). The lighting and video kept the theater at hand tactfully captivating, while the drastically alternating male (Milan Fras)/female (Mina Špiler) vocals were highlighted by a powerful percussion that had both a rock hard beat and a pivot in its pop soul. The sound was loud and proud, and though I sat in the front row of the balcony under the grandiose chandelier, I’m unsure if this type of show appeals to me as much now as it once did. It certainly drew the kids of the night. I’m less interested in the overall “image” projected by the band, and moreso about their history as visual artists, performers (cover artists and original composers), ambiguous socio-politico MTV bad boys, and their hybrids into the neo-classical realm. Overall, as the recipient of a contest win (thanks e* and PICA) the show was worth seeing in hindsight of my past and their heyday.
“I believe that the use of noise to make music will continue and increase until we reach a music produced through the aid of electrical instruments which will make available for musical purposes any and all sounds that can be heard.” - John Cage, The Future of Music: Credo (1937)
She’s outdone herself. In a grander scale than ever before if you haven’t already, you must take the trip down to McMinville to catch up with Eugenia Pardue. The show runs through October 4th at the Linfield College Art Gallery at the Miller Fine Arts Center and it would seem her stars are officially aligned. In Anomaly the artist has taken to the anthropormophic, plotted against a pale sky blue backdrop that simply highlights the void created by her human scale neutral shapes strewn across the gallery’s walls. It’s a galaxy of spheres and squares, bulbous floral embellishments drained of cheeky color and circumstance. These works equally reference the organics in the work of Roxy Paine as it does to something about grandma’s Wedgewood collection, or even more oddly enough, decorative cake design. The patterns are something stolen from a virgin bride, or appropriated from decades old Italian tile work. Yeah, I’d even venture to call this a modern day fresco mural. Somehow the mix just works, quirky as it seems. The intricate cross between object and surface utilizes the fearless twist of creeping through space (walls and floor) like a budding in-situ installation. To heighten your sense of the unreal, Pardue will offer an Artist’s Talk next Wednesday, September 24th at 4PM.
MY CARBON FOOTPRINT WEIGHS A TON is the cleverly titled new show by collagist/painter John Brodie who is of late using remnants from discarded billboards to build his new larger scale pieces. Trust me, our studios are side-by-side and the man who also plays restauranteur has been very hard at work on his first solo show since ‘06. Opening on October 3 (6-9PM) at Jáce Gáce at 2045 SE Belmont, this is just another forward-thinking show at this gallery also serving as an amazing lil’ waffle shop. Since I was just there yesterday alongside the sea lions, the site of Kindergarten Cop, the cool new cafe and the cool old column I thought I’d mention that in November he, along with Blair Saxon-Hill will show at Lunar Boy Gallery in Astoria.
This Sunday (7-10PM) check out this book launch and exhibition celebration at Reed College Student Union (3203 SE Woodstock Ave) - an event that will perhaps curl your brow. Including Cryovac® food, talks and music with Stephanie Snyder and Matthew Stadler, Shawn Records, some puppetry from Zwischenspiel, poetry by Sam Lohmann and many others. The Cooley Gallery will be open late until 7PM just prior to the event in case you want to take a peek of Suddenly/Animal Estates beforehand.
FACING CHRIS JOHANSON: Now showing at Deitch Projects in his first NY solo show in a half dozen years, is like bringing a touch of our coast to theirs. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, this oft bearded 40yo, horn-rimmed wearing artist w/a “tree-hugging way” (her words, not mine) is repped by two of the nations best (Jack Hanley being the other). Johanson, married to fellow artist Jo Jackson, was also championed in the APEX Series by PAM’s exiting NW Curator Jennifer Gately. What’s he up to in Totalities? It certainly looks like something worlds apart from work created just last year (see below). One thing is for sure, his blend of 2/3D, while one can buck-up for straws on its visual/conceptual merit, is for sure within the hybriding nature necessary to secure yourself as an export these days it seems. The review doesn’t mention that this artist, with a flair for scrawled texts and crudely drawn figures, hails from Portland these days, so I guess he’ll remain our lil’ secret, for now?
The house that newlywed artists Anna Gray and Ryan Wilson Paulsen rented rooms in caught fire last Wednesday morning. Thankfully, no one was home at the time. A quick thinking neighbor broke the windows, enabling their dog Maggie to escape. Their cat appeared as they arrived at the scene. The cause is thought to be electrical, probably a clothes dryer. Their studio, which contained art, computers, printers, photographic equipment, musical instruments, furniture and clothes was a complete loss. They were able to save about one third of their books, dinnerware made by Anna and a clock that was given to them as a wedding present. Although Ryan and Anna are not homeless or destitute, they did not have renters insurance and are set to begin the MFA program at PSU in a few weeks. Paulsen was involved in PICA’s TBA Festival as well as shows at PDX and Milepost5 among others. A fund is now set up, handled by Mack McFarland of PNCA’s Feldman Gallery as follows:
Ryan Wilson Paulsen and Anna Gray
c/o Feldman Gallery
PNCA
1241 NW Johnson Street
Portland, OR 97209
HAPPY/END: The Superamas came and conquered making for an exhilirating finale for my overall TBA:08 experience. Some parts of TBA will continue throughout the month (check the site + listings). What a way to kick it out! The nearly ten year old French/Austrian troupe, Superamas, took PSU’s Lincoln Hall by storm with their Big 3rd Episode. Having no problem whatsoever using the body as sex object through the lens of rock n’ roll and modeling, this company of sexy woman and surly men employs a very Euro aesthetic and plenty of tongue-in-cheek lip-sync. It clearly pokes fun at overly fetischized (American?) beauty and brawn along with its trappings, in doing so it also crosses gender barriers, so delicately. Ala Prêt-à-Porter meets This is Spinal Tap this fresh show is broken into bits, and re-run as if we controlled the remote, rewinding to more closely examine the subtext. And there’s a colorful dance party, video of tantric massage and themes perhaps from the cutting room floor of a softcore Bruce la Bruce flick. With more lighting cues than most off-Broadway, of course it spoke to me.
[ TBA:08 ] As I sit here late night rubber-necking to Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam w/Full Force I’m reminicing about both of tonight’s performances which had an aire of the aloof, finessing folly and engaging the impromptu.
IMAGO THEATER: A few years back I thoroughly enjoyed La Démangeaison Des Ailes by Philippe Quesne/Vivarium Studio. The same could be said for L’Effet de Serge. Maybe a little moreso. A single French guy in his flat that’s comprised of a pingpong table, a stereo, a few chairs and misc. gadgets has friends over to drink wine and watch him perform tricks to the sounds of Wagner, John Cage, Vic Chestnut….Wonderfully bombastic gimmicks ensue with ’special effects’ as he calls them. A suburban magician perhaps? It’s poignant and Quesne walks you through his steps as he moves along, directing the audience to the beginning and ending of the show as being extensions of previous and future such programs. There’s a sense of loss, and boyish fantasy. Part body language, part flat, drawn out humor, it’s a delight to watch, and staged superbly with a fantastic set that comes alive in time.
WINNINGSTAD THEATER: Sight is the sense that dying people tend to lose first isTIM ETCHELLS’ contribution to TBA. This bare stage 55-minute free-association dialogue uses a long winded series of truisms and commonplace phrases in succession. Reciting things that came to mind such as “Ice is Cold”, “You Can’t Fall to Pieces” or “Pull Yourself Together”. He was very matter-of-fact, and somewhat stoic - making some of his very common knowledge information quite funny, and often a touch moving, as if you were listening to someone who might be autistic for instance. The 3/4 audience was fairly silent, save for the random audience member that left as Jim Fletcher (who performed the piece) went on and on. As a person would leave he would stare in their direction, and stop talking for a moment or two. His timing was on, only missing a beat here and there for a second or less. This would be a great entry into the English language for an alien in all of its simplicity and subtle naivete. Covering religion, the animal kingdom, temperature, the solar system, crime and punishment and the battle between the sexes. The phraseology became romatic when he started to explain himsel. He then abruptly moves to a vastly different topic, and then he moves towards a series of relational words or ideas. It’s clever and appealing word play, without a true beginning, middle or end.
[ TBA:08 ] MIKE DAISEY was so good the first time around that my compadre Rob didn’t have to do too much convincing to head back to see If You See Something Say Something - his second contribution to TBA. This time around the larger-than-life monologuist discussed a resoundingly salient topic on this 9/11 evening - Homeland Security. His entire show was dedicated to probing deeper questions about our safety as a people, through ethical and socially political analysis and personal experience. Daisey recounted a field trip he made to Trinity, White SandsLos Alamos in all its visceral banality, the makers and histories of deadly weapons, and the goverment agency with the second biggest budget. Especially poignant on an evening of rememberance he recalled the human spirit that disenabled a fourth plane from causing further destruction on that fateful day in 2001. Contrasting this with a parody of every possible frustration and pet peeve everyone experiences when traveling through airports. And how technology has yet to catch up with the times in such events, inconveniencing the masses at the expense of our culture of fear. This, his newest work, is here prior to a run in NY later this year, and you also may want to see it sometime through Sunday. [NOTE: Time posted was 6:30-8:10, however, the show runs 15-30 minutes longer].
[ TBA:08 ] As part of the TBA Festival PICA’s Kristan Kennedy has curated an exhibition titled The New Absurdists. The provocation that there is a movement at work herein is a palpable one. Jacob Hartman’s wonderfully overdone _______Head is a great entryway into an exhibition that is otherwise a passage of time. Kennedy has most certainly captured an elongated aesthetic, ensnaring several artists within one bite. Most of the work here, while topical, may only be time-based as in its relationship to the fest, literally. In this light, what is captured is the essence of the moment, temporary expression via cheap, easy-access materials. Color is used blatantly, and in its wake comes a raw by-product in the attack of its own physical, material nature. This odd show downstairs at the Leftbank (240 N. Broadway, viewable most days 12-6PM) is perhaps a sight for sore eyes (though you’ll have to go into the beer garden to smoke). Call me old-fashioned, but as a whole it’s perhaps just too ‘right now’ for me. Granted, most of this work is presented in a well designed setting of video booths, accented by sculptural objects. The overall feel is playfully farse and downright absurd. Yeah, it makes its point, and then some - that’s the rub, the tension here.
Part of this exhibition includes the Mike Kelley film I reported on earlier. The highlight in the two large rooms below the performance venue is certainly Jeffry Mitchell’s California. It’s just pure kitcsh and the cloud orgasm wallpaper is over-the-top. Justin Gorman’s Results Under Action (on view in other citywide locations) is a close contender by offering short isms that speak of the conceptual context of place/placement. Neither of these artists are strangers to the local scene, where we’ve experienced their work in multiple venues in differing forms, but they each make a distinct comment on the breaking point of capitalism and/or the poker-faced urban experience. Otherwise I couldn’t consciously connect with the work of Corey Lunn, Harry Dodge/Stanya Kahn or Tamy Ben-Tor, they just seemed to play to an Audience for Dummies, and the haphazardness of the Lizzie Fitch installation left me wanting to add and subtract parts and pieces. Don’t get me wrong, it is a playground for the spirit, just not at all high art by any stretch - and doesn’t pose as such. It’s the frivolous factor, the hijinks and goofiness that I find off-putting somehow. But that’s just me (or is it?).
I didn’t get to see the Ryan Trecartin piece as a mini crowd formed a clusterf*ck in the small space. Other work in the show had some moments worth the trip - but there is something unique to be said about the instantaneous improv motivation/bastardazation of video art as funneled say, ala YouTube. Adding to this, The Yes Men at PNCA (an extension curated by Astria Suparak) takes to corporate America on overload. I loved the every detail covered donut breakroom. Otherwise it’s pretty self-serve, leaving you mostly on your own to deal with what’s left behind - not unlike the greasy stains from the cruellers and jellies! There are connected outdoor events and activities, something that may appeal to a multitude of sensibilities. Portland PDX Art captured some snapshots of the exhibition as well. Despite my edge of criticism, Kennedy has captured the spirit of the place like no other before, this is by far the most PORTLAND show I’ve ever seen. For those in the know, well, you know.
The current September issue of ARTnews (the oldest, most-widely read fine arts magazine in the world), now on newsstands, has a section devoted to reviews of recent shows in the greater Portland metro area. These pages feature my debut as a roving critic.
As the sun started its drop behind the West Hills TBA-goer’s made it out to the evening’s offerings, and with the slight tinge of Fall in the air tonight all was well in the Pearl and Old Town. Both duo female/male performances offered a hearty, tongue-in-cheek, out loud “f*ck you” (literally) to their audiences tonight.
Things got kicked off within the fine walls of the Elizabeth Leach Gallery, who has been involved with TBA for a few years now, in one way or another. The TIM CROUCH show, England, took on two parts that didn’t quite seem particularly distinct, however, moved from the front room of the gallery where the audience stood, into the back where we were seated. As things begun rather informally the two performers (Crouch and Hannah Ringham) stood among us and started a conversation, or, rather, speaking inner thoughts about partnerships and the space we were standing in, its history, the artist’s work on the wall (I hope Sean Healy actually gets to see this - nudge!). It was a very point blank approach to warming us up - then we were in order to be taken elsewhere. In these travels we visited the UK and other sundry places and learned a lot about an art collector boyfriend who speaks four languages, how art “helps people feel better about their illnesses”, a jam factory, and many references to death and dying (and the high price of heart transplants between varied cultured individuals). The tone of the performers never became melancholy or obtuse, almost exclusively like an inner-narrative spoken aloud. The two are what you might refer to as docents at a museum of sorts, a museum of life. They fill in blank spots, readily telling more about the juicy bits and secrets behind-the scenes than the outcome. It’s pretty up-front, and an interesting piece with plenty of metaphors and references that could connect to the most seasoned viewer. (Note: This performance is for a limited audience and requires advance reservations. Two additional performances this week).
Unabashedly soulful Kenny Mellman and Bridget Everett excitedly brought some sass to the fest stage in Sexercise Live! at the Someday Lounge (for the first of three shows). Conjuring the soulful down-n-dirty diva of disco, soulstress and hitmaker, Millie Jackson, the two sets out to combo-pack longform songs with a baudy edge. Pairing Jackson’s ouvre with a raunchy take on the average joe and jane slacker needing some (s)exercise in their life, they in turn spiced up the nightlife with a fun night of brassy cabaret. Mellman’s piano man and three piece band was nearly balanced but not a complete match for the fiery Everett (the costume change was perfect), whose vocals and antics conjured some mystic cross between Rita Coolidge and Molly Shannon. Her bluesy vocals had just the perfect rasp and growl to take it home. Throw in a “how-to Sexercise” video with Neal Medlyn and voila - instant party! Pssst - though it’s bright and over-the-top live, if you can’t get in (or afford it) for some reason, you might just be able to watch it online(?). I’m just sayin’…..
Admittedly I showed up at the wrong theater by mistake, yet I was by chance right on time for the North American premiere of Materias Diversos by TIAGO GUEDES. Unsure if bringing this piece all the way from Portugal was a good thing or not, however, this 50-minute piece became something of music concrète at some point. By incorporating ready household, cheap materials like newspaper, tape and sheet plastics Guedes turned the stage into an instant landscape art project. He used his body to morph/form a bridge (or rainbow), burned and watered down his hanging work of art commenting on the death and recycle of nature. His movements were basic, and pretty symmetrical, but the work had very little to do with contemporary dance, and the initial cleverness wore off after a lengthy opening sequence that was mostly jeans and t-shirt mime. One of the low points in the fest thusfar.
Because of my schedule snafu, the performance by Jérôme Bel was what I became a full 40 minutes late for. His Pichet Klunchun and Myself was well underway upon my arrival as a rear row latecomer. I was able to catch about 45 minutes of the piece which seemed drawn from subtle drama that can happen in the face of a conversation between two people talking about themselves. The tone reminded me of early poker-faced Steven Wright, slight movements and comedic undertones - perhaps issuing the fear/questioning of the end of contemporary art in and of itself. I appreciated his comments about such, that had an air of hope for the future while waddling in the pool of flat mediocrity of the everyday. What was being presented on stage was self-indicative to the audience’s transparent understanding. How the gist of movements, and the passion behind music pattern our understanding of where we are in the moment. I most certainly must have missed something and have said too much.
After the discombobulating evening of theater fare it was off to the Leftbank for some sound relief. This was my first chance to peruse the beer garden and many familiar faces lit the crowd. I like the casual cafe set up done by Backspace with cardboard tube chairs and silvery flyaway wallpaper, gently moving in the air as people sauntered by. The night began with a very short set by Ethan Rose (a mere 20 or so minutes). Well worth the time, but not enough to indulge in all his eccentricities of what might have been offered by a full concert, it was more a taster. I kept on thinking how great it would have been to have seen this same work presented in the Winningstad instead. I think that’s where I would have programmed it. As such, there was too much in common with the club scene of say Holocene or Someday Lounge in this informal setting. Having known and seen him and his work over these many years, it was just great to see him taking the TBA stage solo. A weary-eyed Rose played harmonica, flute, player piano, pedals, tambourine and inventions, with a fluid grace and a precise take on improv. Au was up next and we stayed only for a short bit of their warm-up taking the form of a melange cross tween free jazz and rootsy fringe rock.
[ TBA:08 ] One evening of two back-to-back tour de force performances by solo east coasters, each with a very different background, made for a perfect completion of week one of TBA.
LEMON ANDERSEN came up in Park Slope Brooklyn of mixed race family heritage. His raw performance about his relationship to the ‘hood and his parents who both died of AIDS-related complications when he was a mere teen, is truly heart-shattering. Having grown up in the white version of his reality I see fairly eye-to-eye with this guy only ten years my junior. County of Kings is a spoken word, hip-hop bare bones stage production that never lets you from its grip for a single moment. The story of a young kid having to sell drugs on the street with the dreams of Pumas dancing in his head. Andersen, following the path of his stepdad, was simply retracing his elder’s steps in order to be treated to Chuck E. Cheese. Unbeknownst to a life as large when you are little, the dreams of a boy get tossled in the mix of strange lawlessness and determination through hardship. His words are powerful and don’t pull punches, his living room homey style is refreshing from the usual homogenized variations on similar themes. Don’t miss his final performance tonight (note: the show is about 90 minutes w/intermission not the posted one hour)!
MIKE DAISEY was well worth the 10 minute sprint from the Winningstad to the Armory in the throws of an otherwise quiet Sunday evening (part of the literal breathtaking pace this fest offers). In the form of a monologue, Monopoly! is a raucous rant meets slapstick meets non-fiction piece about power (literal and figurative). Daisey blends stories about the honorous relations ‘tween Nikola Tesla and Edison, the conceptual patent and foundations (worth $500 evidentally) of a famous board game, fear and loathing at Microsoft, and the inversion of society via Walmart in his smalltown boy Maine. For nearly two hours this hulk of a man fearlessly speaks to us in charming tones and expletives a plenty, without warning or provocation. His voice is passionately broken at times, believable as if having an open discussion about random shit on a caffeine buzz. He sweats all the way through but doesn’t stop but to take perhaps only two sips of water. And as he sits at a simple table, looking out to the crowd, he completes each vignette with a dramatic turn of a page. What he shares is astute and terribly funny, not Chris Farley funny as I heard remarked in the crowd, but something more about the human condition and how we are trapped in a world of those who unleash their ideas upon the passive majority. A bell went off loud and clear. If you missed the two performances, this Seattle transplant is also here for four performances of If You See Something Say Something.
[ TBA:08 ] How apropos? I opened up my latest issue of Modern Painters and abruptly closed the pages shut after seeing an ad for photoMiami depicting wolfboy. For reasons I will not elaborate, though it did remind me of the barbershop sequence in the 2005 Mike Kelley film Day is Done (Extracurricular Activity Projective Reconstructions #2–32). Now playing as part of the TBA Festival, this near 3-hour pastische drew from wild opposites. Part Cremaster rip-off, part It Couldn’t Happen Here (1987), with inflections of Kenneth Anger-lite and something ala Waiting for Guffman-style community auditions for a local Christian talent show. The opening segment has a trio of dancers who form a mini train (chugga-chugga-chugga) and dance all around what appears to be the hallways of a middle school, all to a cool repetitive rhythm. And sure, Day is Done has more pop culture references than you can shake a stick at, but who wants to be left with the short end? Honestly, for a stalwart LA artist of his pedigree, Kelley has envisioned a lacklustre transition from the sculptural installation realm into performative moving pictures.
Recently I visited the Broad Collection (fantastic website btw) and got to walk through his Gym Interior (2005) which is pretty much a bunkered down version of the same thing, made for museum-goers. Still, here, I found something sorely lacking that embodied the cahones-grabbing stuffed animal manifestos, deodorizers, hermaphrodites or even his works combining a multitude of buttons, bangles and beads. This film poses one too many extracurricular activities (thirty in all!) shmooshed together in one place at one time (nazis, drag queens, gansta-luv), and not enough to make it over-the-top crazy ridiculous. Originally presented as part of a big bad Gagosian expo - and you too can choke on Michael Kimmelman’s original review of the exhibition that helped launch this spectacle. Though I appreciate his riff on educational institutions, classic b-horror films and religion, I just didn’t see anything that could possibly refer back to the Vienna Actionists. And the overall drug-haze lost-in-the-wilderness drone never quite picks up. There are certainly good moments (hey, I sat through it) though with three hours to endure, even with the built-in ‘Intermission’ its just too much an investment for any typical arthouse cinemaphile (three more shows through 9/14 at the Whitsell).
Mark Russell is obsessed w/Divas*: The day was just getting started (or so I thought), and after a quick slice/salad combo I next ventured over to PSU’s Lincoln Hall (a nice space) to witness Leesaar’s Geisha. These folks, after all, are Guggenheim receipients and have been lauded with accolades aplenty. Perhaps I was expecting a lovely geisha to appear before my eyes, but at third row center none ever appeared. No make-up, no get-up, just a singular half-nude asian lady upon the stage performing what seemed to be mime, and some modern dance. For someone who rarely sees nude women, this dancer had a very interesting, and thin body that was flexible, yet almost robotic. These moves were intersected by well delivered (lip-synched?) Israeli songs performed with all the trappings of a big Celine Dion number. When a second dancer appeared on stage things livened up. A beautifully lithe man, whose moves were fluid and seductive joined the first. When the two danced together on stage something clicked, but suddenly we were transported back to the arena for the whale of another diva loop-de-loop. The work seemed broken and in progress, incomplete somehow. The production is a bit cold and skimpy - something of a stretch from its title. Though their body churning was acrobatic and in sync, most of this movement harkened back to much seen from modern dance over the last couple decades, nothing new, really. [*there is more than a single hint of Beyonce interwoven within this fest]
MILE-HIGH + RISING: I kicked myself for not having seen Seattle-based Reggie Watts last year in this festival, so I was determined to get to the theater early to see Transition. But now, with sore bottom, I recommend you get yours into one of them there seats tonight at 9PM for the final of three shows. This man rocks. Plain & Simple. The stripped-down show uses comedy, video and hip-hop beats that don’t take all too much seriousness into account, and simultaneously never becomes slaphappy or too self-righteous in its delivery. Watts’ transitions from characters are sharp, and the (at times gun-toting) company’s use of technology, movement and innuendo is tightly woven into a fresh production. The spoof on MJF is priceless. And the man has rhythm, presence and a soulful vocal range that is infectious - all the while twisting knobs and sampling away. If I were to have any criticism at all it would only be to double the length of the show, we want more, we want more! So far, this is the hit of the fest.
TEN TINY DANCES: The perennial 4′ square favorite was at SRO last night. My buddy Rob joined me for my first entry into the Leftbank Project - and it left an immediate impression. I am sure anyone there would agree that the lack of air in the space made for a most stuffy (spelled HOT) night to watch live dance performance. The body heat from the audience and lights superceded the cavernous space that seemed to morph for this event - and once the dancers took the stage of 16 square feet nothing else seemed to matter. Though, it made for a strange sense of intimacy given those coordinates, and didn’t steal from some stellar performances. Three of those included Meshi Chavez (sinewy, muscular, intense), Portland Taiko (who needs coffee?) and the phenomenal Hot Little Hands (a trio of square pegs atop the teeny stage). I was also pleasantly surprised that not all of the dancers were perfectly built, nor only youth. And the choices of musical accompaniment was quite diverse - from traditional Kathak (Archana Kumar) to the rigidity of Apparat (Chavez). The audience reflected this same diversity. Due to illness (etc) we were only treated to 8 of 10 dances…perhaps the box office could have refunded everyone two dollars (for tipping…) by importing the ’special guest’ appearing at Silverado just across the river last night (it was reportedly going to be RuPaul, but was a Mary J. Blige impersonator, and 2xist models instead). What can I say - I thrive on culture clash. I was disappointed that there was no access to the visual art installations downstairs as a friend mentioned they were underwhelming, and I wanted a chance to prove otherwise, though maybe next time.
Last night the stage was dark as a singular voice emerged slowly into the lightness of air, ringing through the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, otherwise softened in opulence. Here taking center stage was Antony standing lone in front of the massive curtain, himself morphed, save for his quavering instrument, donning a silvery toga. Backed by the Oregon Symphony Orchestra, and his band, the Johnsons, they performed for just under 90 minutes to a near sold out crowd at the opening festivities of PICA’s TBA Festival. Songs included I Fell in Love With A Dead Boy, Cripple and the Starfish, River of Sorrow, For Today I Am A Boy and many others, both new and from their short back catalogue of recordings. With little physical gesturing, save the elegant movement of his arms to the sky, Antony was as stoic as any opera diva who’s come before. Never becoming a pop spectacle they chose not to feature their most popular songs, in favor of short vignettes and an socio-pop defying version of Beyonce’s fluffy, hiphop lite breakout hit Crazy in Love which could have taken a ridiculous turn, but split the difference nicely. These are the torch songs of our time, here given proper treatment, reversing the cliched context with Antony’s operatic tongue-in-cheek emoting tremelo. The orchestra perfectly incited a sense of the deeper emotional inflections in the music which engaged the subtleties of his voice and the band’s original compositions. One bracing encore towards a solid standing ovation made for a rapt audience pondering every trill and lull in the textural orchestration and warm silences.
[ TBA:08 ] Khris Soden’s Portland Tour of Tilburg gets you out there. I mean really out of your sense of immediate place. In what may be my first inter-tour of a place I’ve never been, through my footsteps on my own hometown turf, Soden tele-translates and superimposes the experience in his walking tour of downtown Portland. Well versed in the streets of this third largest city in Holland, he befits every tourists questions about population density, landmarks, et al. His visionary, topographical crossroads has you in this European enclave of 200K in no time. A literal breath of fresh air for brain and body. This geography lesson is worth the hour or so, and a great way to lose yourself by getting some historical background (and a bit of exercise). Guests on my tour included the familiar faces of Troy Briggs (recently at Audio Cinema), Linda Hutchins (now at Pulliam Deffenbaugh), Mark Russell (TBA Artistic Director) and others. Sixteen separate tours all starting at TBA Central through September 14 - Get Out There!
THROUGH SUNDAY: Over this Summer I have worked with Hilary Pfeifer on a piece called Capture which will be shown at the Museum of Contemporary Craft opening on August 30th. As part of the ‘Collaborations‘ show organized by sculptor Greg Wilbur, we will debut this work that includes photography and objects. This is the second year running in which I have been included, last year w/Scott Wayne Indiana. We developed a piece that crosses into the realm of the performative on one level, questions the breaking point between art and craft on another. The work will only be on view through September 7th in the Museum’s Lab as part of Art in the Pearl. The show is also partly a fundraiser for Sisters of the Road Cafe. The MCC is on the North Park Blocks, in the Desoto Building.
