OBViouS: Object Based Video Sculpture

video as object/video projected on objects.
space: 911 media arts, seattle
Exhibition Hours: Monday through Friday 12pm – 6pm
Saturdays 1pm. – 6pm

i was told that the purpose of this show was to explore what happens when you pit the sculptural versus the video-al. most of the pieces involve inserting the video as object into some familiar territory: a box, a case, a frame. okay. that’s nice. i would definitely want to put tina aufiero’s suitcase with reclining swan into a nice room in my future house. it’s a lovely structure and doubles as a music box.

this obviously isn’t a new concept, but it was fun to see what curator steven vroom came up with…

curator: steven vroom.

Curator, Steven Vroom

obvious is the work of seattle art historian, steven vroom. vroom’s the art critic for the capitol hill news and has been about the business of art for the past 12 years here in seattle. i never bothered to ask him where he was before that so please don’t ask me. he did mention that he’d taught at the art institute downtown. i recognize him as one of the nice guys (along with artist joe gray) who i always bump into on the infrequent moments i drop by my friend wylie bush’s Joe Bar cafe across from the harvard exit cinema…
a catalogue for the show can be found as an mp3 podcast at
vroomjournal.com

my reaction to the show was amazement. if for no other reason than that it is all about the surface of things. there were some nice jokes, artistic punch lines (the tony weathers piece) and some works took on a certain elevation of interest due to the technical wizardry behind them (joseph gray’s supercube). but over all it was just pleasant to not have to think too deeply at any point.

but then again maybe i was supposed to ponder a little deeper. for example, caroline kapp has a piece in here called, ‘pivot point.’ it’s a couple of fence posts standing side by side. kapp has projected images of braided rope hanging down the length of the posts. and that’s it. the ropes twist and turn. they hang out. it’s cute.

when talking to vroom about it i asked if the posts were the twin towers and the ropes us, america, at the end of our tether, hanging by a thread.

“nope,” he said, “the ropes are hanging from an imaginary pivot above the posts. they dangle from it…” just use your imagination to imagine that pivot up there while the ephemeral rope turns on a breeze that no one will ever feel. then i began to imagine an imaginary noose, but that’s because i’m black and black people think like that. especially all of us high yellow black men. when the revolution comes everyone will have some grudge ancienne to take out on our genetics.

there’s a good reason why some of us aren’t fit to be critics; like my old pal roland barthes, some of us see what isn’t there. we long to murder the author. we feel no shame in our over conjecture. we wonder often, “well, if you’re so goddamn smart why didn’t you at least see how deep this life is, melville?”

but enough about the headaches of the strange and the socially misaligned. it’s memorial day weekend and i have spent the last few days spewing depressed bile on the heads of the revelers at folklife. and wanting to kill myself because american festival culture is so torturously bland and thus an appropriate encapsulation, insinuation, of what i hate about this white wash of a country. i cannot wait until this beast swallows itself and we get back to parading the heads of saints on poles and bring back the orgiastic fertility rites that make life abroad so desirable.

artists: casey cahoy ‘video in flight’ 2002

casey cahoy,
a violin case with an optical insert. not working at opening, but a lovely presentation.

tina aufiero ‘swansonata’ 2002

tina aufiero, 'swansonata' 2002
suitcase with a small video monitor inserted into the upper panel. just a video of a swan sitting in the grass being a swan. and some beethoven playing (‘moonlight sonata’). i daresay you could call it a ‘swoonbox’ it’s so damn pretty.

tony weathers ‘a failed bid for clemency’ 2008

video picture frame. blinking eyes that dilate when an exterior light turns on. a synchronized automation. steve vroom, “it’s like when you look into a refrigerator.” blink. blink. blink.

joseph gray's real world/no world cube

joseph gray ‘cube etude 1.0’ 2008

2-channel generative video of a cube projected onto an actual cube.

“i made a texture map of a cube. it’s projected on to a real cube.” some real time video of the cube and it’s environment is projected on to a couple of the cube’s faces. produces an effect of infinite regression. this is also a technical exploration on gray’s part; check out his site for more details.

the twin towers

caroline kapp ‘pivot point’ 2008

two tall white fence posts have images of ropes twisting and turning from an imaginary pivot point.

and there you have it. the opening was nice. a small number of very inquisitive seattleites moving through the space. people on the back porch smoking and drinking beer. some yummy hummus and veggies for us to nibble on.

i bumped into old friends and talked to some strangers and it did nothing to change my mind about this wretched country. i still feel that this place doesn’t give the arts their just due. if they only knew what an indicator a lack of arts funding is to the health of a culture. just as the dissapearance of frogs and honey bees points towards the collapse of the ecosystem or the low album sales of madvillain as opposed to mariah shows how corrupt our political process is and how our institutions of education are in decline.

steven vroom has a sober documentation of his show on his vroomjournal site. you can look at that to see how an art historian posts notice. i found it helpful. i also find shoju, kirin, and make out sessions at the ocean side helpful if at times inappropriate to a deeper analysis of the more intellectually qualitative aspects of our lives. but i’d rather have them and art than have one without the other. and cigarettes. god i love to smoke at art openings…

Chefchouen and Meknes…

Chouen and Meknes

hyeongssi and i are in a small and wretched affair of a town called chouen or chefchouen.

it’s a few hours from tangiers. feels like being trapped in the food
court of an american mall. all the joints are themed, but hyeong-chan
loves this place so we are here for another day at least…

we’ve got the whole ditch-the-street-hustler thing down, “my wife says no.”

they all seem to think she’s japanese or chinese so there’s a lot of
‘kinichi wa-ing’ and ‘nee hau mas’ following us like the cat calls all you
ladies hear downtown. me, well i am obviously ‘rasta!’ or ‘africaine…’
pretty funny; especially when they accuse me of being paranoid for not
scoring kif or hash or cannabis…

hopefully we’ll leave this wretched tourist trap for meknes tomorrow.
they have famous musical instrument shops there and i want some
specific stuff.

for those who are wondering or were unfortunate enough to see me
before i left and knew how terrified i was of this trip (does she
still like me? will we be able to stand this much time together?) the
answer to that is yes. we are blissing out. a little rough at first,
but now we are like twin pigeons feasting on old pizza on the
waterfront of anytown, usa; the feast never ends!!!

story two:

we are in the imperial and thoroughly chilled out city of Meknes.

this is the place kids.

giant walls of stone made over one thousand years ago by a murderous tyrant named Ismail. streets paved with two thousand year old marble plundered from an ancient roman conquest site. a massive walled courtyard where 15,000 negro slave guards paraded before their king when they weren’t busy slaughtering the unruly tribes of animists who lived in the surrounding mountains. and streets that only a little more than 100 years ago ran with the blood of thieves and political dissidents.

i am home!

yesterday, the erstwhile object of all my recent affections, hyeongssi, and i went wandering through the more impoverished shrines of what barely passes for living in this country. children playing soccer to the sound of wandering mules in streets that are still broken from an earthquake of over 90 years ago. the stench of piss and shit gags
me, but hyeong-chan seems unaffected. she tells me this reminds her of home before her parents got money and the municipality of seoul, korea began to consider the fortune of finding favor in the eyes of its poorer citizens.

people eye us strangely not just because we are obviously moneyed, in
a sense, but because they never see koreans and what the hell am i
with these dreadlocks and that strange woman on my arm?

as i begin to fear the vultures are circling a man runs up from a
broken and smoldering vehicle. he is smiling and covered in grease and
obviously a mechanic. ‘how can i help? where do you go? this is a bad
place for you.’

i explain that i am looking for the gate, bab jdir, and the souk of
the berber instrument makers. he sends us on a better path, out of the
old ghetto and down to a main street. the stench and the poverty make
me reflect on the worse parts of philadelphia and mississippi and
anyone who doesn’t agree should try exploring those cities more.

after more wandering through the dead tyrant’s ancient courts and
boulevards we found our destination: the bab jdir, north western gate
to the medina. and it is amazing. everywhere old men in traditional
attire or three piecers selling instruments, spitting on the ground at
hagglers, grabbing a young hustler by the scruffiest of collars and
hurling him around the corner (‘yalla!’); it is my place and i have
come a long way to get here.

an old guy in a big chunk of wool obviously high out of his mind and
barely able to whisper, but quite capable of growling, shuffling and
depositing desirable objects and i really get into it. for 150 i want
a horn, some extra mouthpieces AND some cymbals, dammit. no way, 200
you stinking tourist; here, smoke some of this and let’s argue some
more. forget it pops, if i were to smoke that crazy mountain shit it
wouldn’t be while i’m arguing about cash and prizes. fine, but still
200 you stupid interloper.

all this occurs in the most ridiculous pigeon stew of french, spanish,
english, arabic (‘bismillah!’) and berber. eventually things get loud
and someone old and grouchy is stuffing my new horn with extra
mouthpieces while a younger guy intervenes and argues with me in pure
french. after much more haggling, a small child getting slapped for reasons i was never able to pry from these grumpy old farts, hyeongssi telling me that i am ‘beautiful language’ every ten minutes or so and snapping candid shots while being asked not to and a lot of kif
smoke clogging my contacts, i have the horn. i have the mouthpieces. i have my amazing obsidian cymbals. all wrapped in newsprint like the fish i used to watch my dad buy from the door to door muslim fish mongers when we lived in akron. muslims, muslims, muslims. i love muslims.

did i ever tell you the one about the muslim, the christian and the
jew who were trying to get into heaven? another time. just stop me on
the street or buy me a cold one and i will happily give you an
american’s rendition of real moroccan storytelling.

i have been taking a lot of photos. i just can’t post from here. or
maybe i can. it’s just too much work to find out. whatever. i will be
seeding them to some online site when i get back or else illustrating
my dormant blog with these same tales that i have been sending you. i
promise that some of these shots will be worth the wait: i have so
many nudes of young dancing boys and voluptuously large old ladies
feeding me couscous by the pea in my ramshackle bed. hey. did anybody
out there know that they finally outlawed pedophilia in this country?
can you imagine how awful the state of american and european letters
(cough.cough.) would be today if they’d done that back in the 20s and
30s? no good burroughs, or bowles or any of the rest of those boy
lovers who made our literature possible.

god bless the King! Mohammed the 5th! A’Salaam!

from Meknes, Imperial City Extraordinaire,
pol rosenthal
‘a jew in the high country…’
p.s. i do not do drugs. really. ask around. i also have not had a
drink in days. i am going crazy without my rum.