Chu Yun's This is _______
*Disclaimer: After my exhausting visit to the Neue Galerie and writing an even more exhausting entry, my brain is now jelly and any and all words that follow may be nonsensical, of which I blame my overambitious task of spending over five hours in two museums without eating. But here goes. . .
I am a bit embarrassed to say that this was my first visit to the New Museum, but I felt that the "Generational: Younger Than Jesus" exhibition was an appropriate summation of the institution as a whole. Although performance video pieces seemed to dominate the show and underlines the collective Y-Generation's technology and digital affinities, I gravitated toward the more traditional works. Also, I found it difficult to focus on the show as a whole, as I found little continuity or consistent themes throughout the three floors with it being more a dizzying presentation of separate ideas and ideals. Thus, this is by no means a comprehensive report of the show but a response to several pieces that I found refreshing and thought-provoking.
In particular, Kateřina Šedá's (b. 1977 Brno, Czech Republic) It Doesn't Matter (2005-2007) is as much a collaboration as a commentary on generational and familial relationships and the persistence of memory. Briefly, when the artist's late grandmother, Jana, had succumbed to a severe state of apathy in her advanced age, Šedá asked her to draw from memory as many items that she could recall that were sold at a home supply store from her 33-year career as an inventory manager. Surprisingly, Jana embraced the task and, over the course of two years, produced 500 drawings. A selection of these works is displayed in orderly rows against an entire gallery wall, ceiling to floor. At first glance, it is perplexing how these almost child-like drawings would be displayed in such a grandiose fashion, reminiscent of historical paintings that would occupy entire walls. Among the drawings include distinct renderings of a mop, brushes, cups and what appears to be a motorcycle (?) and many other more objects I could not decipher. However, the heart of the work is the accompanying video, which depicts Jana, evidently tired and battered by life but one leg playfully tucked beneath her, still zealously and thoughtfully putting pen to paper. What I found so heartbreaking was her careful treatment of each image, each line and detail. When depicting, as she explains, a "lamp from the front," you can see her meticulously going over to define the lines several times. Here, it is evident that these are not mere mindless doodles but a carefully deliberate effort to not merely reproduce an image. Commentaries on memory and generational differences appears secondary, as one can see through the video her attempts to inject a personal artistic hand in her drawings and her identification of the images to herself and as clearly very much her own.
Liu Chang's (b. 1978) Buying Everything On You (2006-2008) also was a notable piece for me. Three white platforms in the middle of the gallery each displayed the personal possessions of one of three individuals. As suggested by the title, the artist approached three strangers and literally purchased everything that was on their person at that time - underwear included! The clearly male possessions included a striped polo shirt; jeans; messenger bag; cell phone; business cards from property management, real estate, printing, computer, travel and shipping businesses; a personal letter on pink stationery from a presumably female love interest; and perhaps most specifically, a Quality Management and Quality Assurance Standards certificate. The other two tables were from what we can safely assume are females and included fitted floral-patterned t-shirts and lacy undergarments; cell phones complete with trinkets; various makeup and jewelry items; and colorful sticker pictures with playful images of their friends. Stripped of the context of each individual's personal appearance and any deep knowledge of them, we are forced to piece together their personalities, occupations, likes and dislikes. For the male participant, for example, I imagined a story of a young man on the cusp of adulthood. He is forcibly thrust into a safe but well-paying job as a QA consultant (perhaps by his parents), while searching for other potential avenues in graphic design and printing. However, his heart and mind are very much with eloping with a young woman (who apparently lives so far away that she does not have access to email). The female participants are a bit more difficult to decipher, as the generic items are fairly similar between the two. However, because of this, we assume that assimilation and conformity is a large part of being a woman here. From what they wear to what they carry, fitting in requires a uniform that tells very little about what they do and think behind closed doors. As the viewer walks around each platform as if viewing a specimen's remains at a natural history museum, stereotypes and immediate impressions emerge against our better judgment. Here, we are not merely judging a book by its cover, but rewriting its contents to suit our own hard-held perceptions of those around us. Chang is asking whether Identity is who we are, or who we project ourselves to be to others. And as much as we entertain the idea that our personal possessions do not define who we are, it is telling that when faced with Chang's work, we immediately do just that.
Chu Yun's (b. 1977, Jiangxi, China) This is _______(2006) is another work to which I immediately responded. Briefly, before the doors open each day throughout the exhibition's run, one of a list of rotating paid volunteers takes a sleeping pill and rests on a bed located in the middle of the gallery. Asleep and oblivious to the rush of museum visitors around her, the volunteer (in the case when I visited, it was "Jill") is subject to the whims of the visitor. I remember reading criticisms of the work as being unimpressive, too simplistic and, worse, lazy. However, I found that the work was not so much the woman in the bed but the myriad of reactions to her. Some tried to wake her, others took pictures (including several teenagers who sat and posed on the bed with her), while still others felt uncomfortable invading what is actually a very delicate and private situation. I fell into the latter, where I respectfully tiptoed around the work for fear of waking her (silly, I know, for a work is meant to be somewhat interactive). In the context of art history and the female form, I immediately considered how it could be a commentary on the perpetuated Western view of women in terms of sexual temptress. The male viewer circles the bed like an incubus, projecting fantasies onto her vulnerable form. She is victim to any and all provocations and advances, and with his thoughts secure from the reach of others, one can imagine doing or saying things that would, in his daily buttoned-up-life, be unthinkable. He leaves the gallery, however, and the thoughts seem to dissipate and be forgotten but they merely shift back into his subconscious like a dream and await to reappear. Perhaps I am reading too much into this, but I felt that it was actually a really clever performance piece that unwittingly asks the visitor to participate in the "performance" and determine themselves how they should read and respond to the work.
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