On the train to Santa Fe, a woman suggested I find my way to Discovery Park the next time I’m in Seattle. She said I would need to make it a destination because Discovery Park is not a place you normally pass through on the way to somewhere else, although you can take the bus. She was also quick to inform me that Miami and New York get more precipitation than Seattle and that sunglass sales in The Emerald City are through the roof.
“But sure,” she said, “the city does suffer from a lot of gray days.” Over her shoulder, through the train window, I saw a rusting, light blue Fiat behind someone’s house.
I finally went to see The Dissolve, the current biennial at SITE Santa Fe. I can’t get much traction by going into all of the videos in the show, and that should be stated up front: it’s a video show-and that was the pejorative attached to this biennial before it landed in June. Because video (and film for that matter) can feel so flat when it’s embraced simply for its kinetic nature. It’s moving and flickering. Like how my son can watch a commercial for soap or beans or Grand Theft Auto with equal attention. But The Dissolve tries really hard, feeling like a nerd-proud survey of homemade animation mixed into David Adjaye’s thoughtful and colorful exhibition design. My initial reaction was actually against the design. Here is the blue room. Here is the green room. Next you’re going to tell me that there is a red room. Oh, here’s the red room. I just wasn’t feeling it. It all made sense, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that it was so tight, so neat. But once I started watching the animations–which describes most of the videos–I mostly forgot the palette into which all of these images were being painted into. Bill T. Jones’ 3-D ghost world and Thomas Demand’s rain piece are just too magical and seductive. I was immersed in the processes. This took 7,000 photographs? This was painted and repainted and painted and repainted? The work isn’t detached, but constructed, like a painting or a score and you witness how time has been constructed by each of the artists. It’s a strong collection that stands on the shoulders of novelty to get at something richer.
There are basically 30 works in the show, 26 of which are by contemporary artists with 4 additional historical pieces. When you look at George Griffin’s mutoscope, the work from the Fleischer Brothers and Thomas Edison’s film you have to wonder why Cindy Sherman’s piece is not considered “historical”; but of course, that’s the idea. The basic premise of the show is that you have a group of living artists that are committed to the handmade even while implementing seemingly new technology, which, for the purposes of The Dissolve, extends primarily to the means involved in creating these animations. Anaglyphic, or stereoscopic imagery, has existed since the 1850s, but its current use has surpassed its initial awe-inspiring effects. It’s not just curiosity flypaper; it adds meaning and depth to what is being shown. On that note, the hand–being handmade–promotes the development of the personal on the part of the artist and requires more subjectivity in the work’s reception.
There is less pomp to this biennial, less Robert Storr swagger, less dick-swinging curation.
Maybe Laura Steward is right about biennials; that they’re played out. And maybe this is a biennial in name only. But SITE couldn’t afford to lose this platform, so how does it see its future? That’s a good question for incoming director Irene Hofmann. Not only does the biennial bring in a number of international art heavyweights (dick-swinging aside), it also provides an intellectual substance that all of Santa Fe has embraced and become proud of, I think. The biennial, of course, provides that platform, allowing curators to bring in every one they think we should know, but also opening the door to thousands of writers, collectors, art lovers, critics, educators, artists and students.
Finally, whatever, I didn’t want to take Spanish in high school or college, taking French instead. Which explains why it took a Dominican woman visiting from Miami to tell me that La Choza means “the shed” in Spanish.
*I have no idea what either of my French teachers’ names were.
Loved the Demand rain piece. did you know the”drops” were quick shots of clear candy wrappers?
best of luck with the new Generator space. looking forward to seeing the show…..