This is an artwork by Tino Seghal, the 8 or 9 year old girl quietly informed me. She wore nice-enough-for-public sweat pants and comfortable shirt. She wore wire rimmed glasses and a slightly messy bob of brown hair. A city kid. She asked me what I thought progress meant. Knowing this would happen, I took it seriously, and, after we passed the writhing-in-slow-motion couple on the floor, we began to walk, slowly, up the second ramp of the Guggenheim. Her eyes darting, she introduced me to a man in his twenties and then left he and me to continue discussing progress, he improvised, as did I, until we were approached by another man, with slightly wild eyes and a purple spot on his lip, who was talking about his friend, a male nanny who may or may not be starting law school soon. After a few minutes, a bit more than half way up the building, he disappeared behind a column and I met an older gentleman who claimed to be a Columbia University professor. And we discussed Ayn Rand's 'poisonous' philosophy of 'greed' versus his more humanistic view. The walk was slower, he kept looking up to see if another person was going to take over. None did, we got to the top, he shook my hand and let me know that I could go back down and start again...talk to others...or search out the same people and continue the conversation.
I had been in the building less than 15 minutes (and spent 20 fucking dollars).
Luckily, in the shadow of Seghal's work it is pretty impossible to sound pretentious, so...the artist does create something valuable in this and, I imagine, his other works that began in the field of modern dance and now occupy the moniker 'important performance art' wherever he goes. I walked through a snowy swatch of Central Park with my friend and coworker and we spent more than a few minutes talking about it, so that means something, yes? But before getting too far we came to the shared conclusion that the work was no match for New York City, nor the building itself. And I don't mean it wasn't a creative match. I mean, it doesn't work.
In other words, it got its ass kicked.
First, the kid - as a parent, I talk with all kinds of kids (my kids, my kids friends, random kids at playgrounds, sidewalks, etc.) about incredibly diverse subjects that sometimes swerve into uncomfortable pockets or open up intensely personal issues. Kids aren't a novelty act (as they are to this art work and, maybe, to this (childless?) artist in general), they are acutely smart, creative, and have a razor sharp sense of imagination and untethered vision - in this piece, they are submerged by the most obvious hierarchy and basically asked to memorize what you briefly answer until they are replaced by an adult. And the adults, oy vey, bug. Two late twenty-something hipsters who, if not speaking for the artist (ie. asked to listen more than pontificate) would be your younger new york hipster self who you loathe to think about as related to you. I suppose that if I were starved for conversation with a stranger then this 'relationship' might have been illuminating. But not many New Yorkers are, I would think, starved for conversation with strangers. We get it EVERYWHERE. The subway, the street, the store, the bar, the restaurant - and it often has a tone and feel with more at stake than these tepid back-and-forths with the post grad types I walked up the ramp with - and, guy, bringing up the Manny didn't throw me off. Again, as a parent who works, the nanny or male nanny situation is a simple part of the culture I have to tread every day. Then the slow walking professor was so concerned with hitting his mark (looking up to see if another teammate was going to enter the conversation) that he lost his point. I guess it was an interesting situation to walk with an older person and feel the same way society does toward them (frustrated or bored) but none of it really dented the surface. and then its done. Nothing. Feeling slightly ripped off, money-wise (again, nothing new to a New Yorker).
Now take the New York aspect out of the equation and it gets even worse. The Guggenheim is not a warren of gallery rooms, in which (in other cities) the artist stages very simple and also elaborate group pieces - interactive as well as spectacle. Yet, in this particular space, it seems like the artist lost his nerve altogether. A couple writhing in slow motion at the bottom and then a few conversations on the way up, then you're done? The building, in its intricate simplicity and rounded, flowing circular floors and open halls surely could have provided a more complex performance. Instead, it seems like the architecture (yes, cliche that it is a great building) baffled the conceptual artist, weakening his approach. And this is not the case with other artists - if you viewed the Kandinsky show, you will agree that that particular artist was equal to the space, and brought it to great vibrant life. It sounds like I see a lot of art, I don't.
I went to grad school in Madison, Wisconsin - Frank Lloyd Wright territory - and, sitting around a friend's house one day, one friend - a Moroccan - was talking about a story he heard about a famous Wright house that was filled with leaks. There was a pause, until another friend blew smoke out of his nose and said, Leaks? Who fucking cares about leaks. We're talking about a guy who sits down and draws a sketch in his studio and all of his people stand around watching and just beating off because he's so fucking good.
He used the jerking motion of his hand to illustrate his point. Now that's performance.
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