After waiting in line at the Whitney Museum for 15 minutes on one of the first sunny days in New York this spring, I thought to myself, “This had better be good.” My skepticism regarding the show only exacerbated my impatience. I so often find myself grimacing in the face of contemporary art, especially the type of works that are curated for a show such as the love-it-or-hate it Whitney Biennial.
This show was no exception. Over half of the artists present weren’t alive before 1971, and the themes of cultural mass consumption and the deconstruction of corporate America that are so very popular with that generation, were reflected in nearly every work. This could be attributed to cohesive curating, but I would assume that there were simply no other choices.
A perfect example of this theme was demonstrated by the artist Alice Könitz. She constructed a series of modernist art deco tables mimicking something you would likely find in an accountant’s office in 1985. The glossy clean metallic surfaces are only so when viewed from afar, but upon inspection, the materials used concede to be inexpensive plastics and metallic sheeting. The handiwork is purposely visible and crude. Könitz’s work is perhaps the most blatant expression of the corporate deconstruction theme, but it was not alone in its attempts. Her work, along with so many others would be much more striking if taken away from the context of the Biennial. When there are so many similarities that exist between works at such a large show, distinction becomes difficult.
Although variety was certainly lacking, there were a few standouts representing the west coast. Amanda Ross-Ho and Rodney McMillan’s installations were interesting and engaging, but I was particularly taken with Los Angeles native Ry Rocklen’s contributions. His transformation of a gutted charred box-spring into a glistening sparkling entity with the addition of hundreds of aptly placed shiny nails evoked a charming whimsy. It hearkens back to one’s childhood, and the effortless creativity of youth. In the case of this piece, cleverly entitled ‘Refuge’, simplicity and intuition have a great impact. His playful attack on the spectator’s imagination was consistent in his two additional three dimensional contributions: One entitled ‘Blue Moon’, a wooden display case full of faded shimmering family photos and sickeningly sweet ‘precious moments’ type prints, all finished with a bluish frosty gloss; the third entitled ‘Sunday Spire’, a free standing papier-maché turret filled with trapped colorful refuse all swirled together into what almost looked like a tall haphazard crown. Rocklen’s stunning trifecta turned heads as well as the corners of everyone’s mouths.
The work of fellow Angeleno Jedediah Caesar was also pleasing in its simplicity and grace. His work involves the encasing of found objects (mostly refuse and textiles like rubber, sponge, cloth, and plastics) in clear or colored resin, then revealing the trappings by slicing the resin mass into stratified tiles. The Whitney gave him an entire wall to hang a series of resin tiles that from afar, resemble swanky marbled granite. Up close the tiles reveal cross sections of remnants both identifiable and enigmatic. Just like ancient mosquitoes caught in amber, Caesar’s resin tiles force the grotesque to become something quite beautiful.
The work that stood out most in my opinion was New Yorker Matthew Brannon’s installation. Heavily influenced by the upscale Manhattan socialite lifestyle, walking into Brannon’s room was like walking into a penthouse apartment cocktail party. It was complete with an abstract representation of the New York skyline peeking out from behind luxurious floor length drapes, and a white noise machine that offered an instant escape from the rest of the Biennial hubbub. It is always amusing when an artist cleverly criticizes the very market he or she is wishing to target as potential buyers…and I emphasize the word ‘cleverly’ as this is no new idea. The first thing you see when you enter is a framed replica of a Whitney Biennial entrance ticket, the equivalent of a wink and a smile from Brannon himself. Hung on either side of three free-standing walls are the meats of the installation: a meticulously crafted series of letterpress prints. His use of old fashioned printing methods counteracts the modern nature of the graphic design inspired images and the cynical, tongue-in-cheek, and often racy text. The loosely related non sequiturs accompanying the basic and colorful images not only urge the spectator to read them more than once, but the intriguing lines really stick. Mesmerizing short sentences like: “Wearing an expensive suit but not shaving is patronizing”, along with more unabashed attacks at the expense of the spectators themselves like: “We study the wall label, forming an image of the artist from a last name. Birthplace and date of birth. From a title and a list of materials. He’s younger than I thought. He’s a She. She’s actually from Europe. It’s more than cardboard. It took him three years to make this. It’s owned by what’s his name.” Brannon’s ability to force the spectator to self-reflect is both bold and amusing.