The Whitney Biennial
March 2004

Nowhere is the relation between the whole and the sum of its parts more strange than in the case of the Whitney Biennial. This enormous show purports to show us emerging trends in the contemporary American art world, but perhaps only ends up showing us how problematic the notion of a “trend” really is.

Every two years, the Whitney Biennial is criticized to a rather ridiculous degree: “too political,” “not really representative,” “the work is bad,” “this isn’t America, this is this curator,” etc. The rule of thumb is that if an artist or a show can withstand negative criticism, then negative criticism is what they’ll get. The Biennial is so large, and we can be so sure that people will go to see it, that it can withstand quite a bit. But apparently the curators of the 2004 Biennial are not content to let it withstand the usual panning; this show seems to be very carefully designed around the hope of avoiding criticism. And it is successful in doing this. People are, out loud, saying this is the best Biennial they can remember. The problem is that this is, quite frankly, the wrong way to deal with art. There’s something corporate about it. It seems like the press release was written, and then the art was found to “fit” it. Somehow this Biennial takes something real, gathers it all together, and makes something fake out of it.

Fine art today is very difficult stuff. The best of it works for reasons which are almost impossible to explain, and to experience it is something personal and real, which doesn’t exist very often in today’s corporate-ized world of scores and results and statistics and competitiveness and attitude and money and committees and dehumanization…. Something about the calculated “smartness” of this Biennial brings a good amount of good artwork into the service of exactly this sort of world. Pitfalls and complaints have been anticipated; a formula has been created and then realized. “Art,” the actual thing has been co-opted for “Art,” the idea, as if for some advertising campaign. There was a piece on the lower level, in the 2002 Biennial, which was basically an art vending machine, the “Art-o-mat 5000” or something, a joke on the commodification of art: this serves as an accidental prelude to the current show.

This does all sound pretty grim. The other side of the coin, though, is that in this weird, over-produced, “place,” there is some outstanding artwork. Matthew Ronay’s sculpture / installation is a brilliantly fun mixing of cartoonish elements, disturbing on a conceptual level, but contradictorily whimsical as it exists in real space. Aida Ruilova’s cut-up video piece is a terrifying but transfixing experience. Ernesto Caivano as well as Zak Smith remind us how amazing pen and ink drawing can be, as humble a medium as it seems. Rob Fisher’s 30 cubic yard dumpster is a simultaneously ambitious and self-depreciating project; in some ways, literally thrown together, but in others, very carefully conceived and very intricate. Julianne Schwartz’s sound installation, with the plastic tubes, in the stairwell, is absolutely an amazing thing to discover, and very nicely subtle in every way. Eve Sussman’s video, which takes Velazques’s Las Meninas as its starting point, has this indescribable eerie feeling to it… the sound, the slow pacing, the saturated color, the vague but intensely driven narrative, and the uncanny feeling from the familiar yet somehow different scene all mesh together to bring us a very unusual ten minutes. Laura Owens’s painting, a tree, populated by these toy-like animals, is so straightforwardly, matter-of-fact-ly, confidently executed, but so fascinatingly awkward at the same time. The most innovative, intriguing, and puzzling work there is David Altmejd’s though. His installation / sculpture is composed of generally recognizable elements, mirrors, fake hair, quartz crystals, knick-knacks, mannequin heads… the sense of scale is perpetually confused: now it’s a city, now it’s a shelf…. There’s something very humorous about the whole thing, but to find this humor, you have to take a couple of steps toward insanity: why would you ever encounter two obviously fake decomposing werewolf heads displayed on a little pedestal next to a tiny plastic parrot? This work is unapologetic, original, hilarious, and profound.

Obviously, attending this show is far from a waste of time. The work is there, and it’s very exciting. It’s just that aside from the price of admission, there is the price of the strange sinking feeling, like you’re being used, and so is all of this artwork… The curatorial / critical side of the art world is taking on a new “professional,” quasi-corporate character, and what’s more, it has definitely made friends with the dealer / collector / trend-watcher side of the art world. This is an unsettling state of affairs, and it leaves the art side of the art world in an inexplicably secondary position.