June 26, 2006
"Uncertain States of America" at Bard (2 of 2) (warning: long post)
(The audience five minutes before the panel began.)
On Saturday afternoon I participated in a panel discussion at the opening of “Uncertain States of America” (see pictures two posts below), along with Yean Fee Quay, head of the exhibition department at the Reykjavik Art Museum (a future venue for the show), P.S. 1’s Bob Nickas, the Whitney’s Chrissie Iles, independent curator Molly Nesbit, and Trevor Smith, a curator at the New Museum. I was the youngest person on the dais by a fair margin; many more people whose work I respect sat in the audience; everyone offered pointed criticism and spirited defenses, and expressed themselves rather candidly—at least more so than at any other panel discussion I have participated in. I spoke third, after Iles and Nesbit, and was a little too nervous to phrase my thoughts very well. So this is a (hopefully) more coherent recapitulation of what I said.
The exhibition’s title has undeniable rhetorical force, and it’s probably fair to say that by substituting the word “uncertain” for “united,” a majority of those visiting the show will expect it to include artworks that comment explicitly on political or social-justice issues—to explicate the ambiguity, disunity, and precariousness implied by the title. While some artworks do elucidate aspects of this “complicated, fucked-up moment” (to use Nickas’s words), most do so obliquely, if at all. As Kori Newkirk stated during the artists’ panel that preceded our discussion, “I want my work to seduce first. The ‘political’ content can come in through the side door or window.” Tom Eccles’s elegant installation of the exhibition at Bard emphasizes this seductiveness. The suavity of the presentation and assuredness of the artists’ works—admirable traits in almost any exhibition—here suppress the uncertainty promised in the title and the political turn outlined in the rhetoric surrounding the show. There is a noticeable disconnect between what one expects and what one sees.
Instead, the uncertainty seems to be built into the curatorial process. European curators, no matter how familiar with America and American artists, will inevitably miss or misunderstand shades of complexity in art made here—and in its relationship to broader issues in American culture. (This runs both ways, as exemplified by the insipid, frequently diagrammatic politics in “The American Effect,” Larry Rinder’s 2003 exhibition.) Additionally, Birnbaum admitted at the panel that he and his cocurators, Hans-Ulrich Obrist and Gunnar Kvaran, chose “artists, not artworks,” and that much of the work on view was created specifically for the show—always a gamble.
The exhibition, as it moves from venue to venue, will “evolve” organically, with new works substituted for those already shown, new artists added, an ongoing series of performances and discussions, and additional publications (one of which I will help compile). The curators and artists spoke of the potential for future collaborations—and of the development of an “Uncertain States” community—as the exhibition lumbers from museum to museum. Considering that the exhibition itself cannot conceivably represent America, or even American art, it may be that this extra-art activity holds the greatest potential for “political” content, to create relationships that could have a potentially transformative effect on the communities visited by the show and in the communities in which the artists live and work. The forty-two artists (and artist teams) in Bard’s presentation are smart, dedicated, and good at what they do (no matter one’s opinion of their work); pairing them with the infrastructure of Bard College and the museum opens a very broad, if short-lived, horizon of possibility. Rodney McMillan’s re-presentation of Lyndon Johnson’s “Great Society” speech, which was originally delivered at the University of Michigan’s May 1964 commencement ceremony, to my mind best fulfilled this potential among the art on view, and the implications of the performance will surely stick in my mind for some time to come. But for me, meeting some of the exhibition’s artists and initiating what will hopefully be long and fruitful discussions with them may in the long run hold greater value. If the extra-art activity that spins off from the exhibition fulfills the mandate generated by the show’s title and supporting rhetoric, and the show doesn’t, where does this leave the exhibition?
Lastly, I want to clarify an initial statement, given in response to a question from Birnbaum. When I said that including artists from “second-tier” American cities (Miami, Minneapolis, Portland) inevitably draws them out of their communities and into the globalized network of the art-world’s metropolitan centers, I was not rendering judgment, but simply stating plain fact. By virtue of the imprimatur granted their work by their inclusion in this exhibition, these artists will inevitably gain momentum that will bring them toward New York, Los Angeles, London, etc. A question that I think is worth asking: What does this do to the autonomy and sense of community in the cities from which these artists come? To attempt an answer is obviously beyond the curators’ responsibility—they need not make reparations to these art communities for plucking individuals from them—but what (if anything) can be done to ensure the continued flourishing of the art scene in, say, Houston? Is there anything that can be instituted systematically to ensure that the traffic in artistic talent heads two ways?
UPDATE (7/7): Roberta Smith reviews the exhibition in today's Times.