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"Support businesses and organizations that support Chelsea Now" THE DOWNTOWN LITTLE SCHOOL
Pulp friction Keeping up with the Joneses By Debra Jenks One of the byproducts of the corporatization of culture has been the disappearance of collective and directly experienced activities. We spend a lot of time alone, commuting to work in cars or in front of TVs and computers. “Keeping Up With the Joneses,” organized by Jane Harris, brings together a group of artists who explore the underbelly of modern culture, whether it’s the strangeness of banality, contrary behaviors, or the idiosyncrasies and alienation resulting from current standards of success and happiness. Laurel Nakadate’s video “I want to be the one to walk in the sun” presents us with a series of vignettes that form an enigmatic narrative — the kind you might get if Pedro Almodóvar lived in Twin Peaks. Nakadate casts herself as a rural truck stop streetwalker and wannabe pole dancer. We see her practicing this dance on empty train station platforms and gas stations, reminiscent of Edward Hopper, or on the porch of the American Gothic house from the well-known Grant Wood painting. One of Nakadate’s subjects is loneliness and its many faces. She explores this through the character of the socially awkward single male, and through the discomfort of putting herself into risky or uncomfortable situations. Nevertheless, Nakadate is the one in control of these perversely self-objectifying scenarios. She began by recruiting men who tried to pick her up and casting them as characters in her videos. In one instance we see a man with a flabby physique and oversized eyeglasses standing opposite Nakadate in his underwear. He pirouettes in response to her finger motioning him to do so. While Nakadate remains emotionless, the scene is somehow tender, like a contemporary beauty and the beast. We feel embarrassed for or empathize with the ugly guy being manipulated by his scantily clad counterpart. In most scenes the mood is blue and the time is twilight. In one, she walks across a frosted landscape like a Victoria’s Secret runway with bare midriff, as an early morning mist rises from a small pond. In another, she paces about a parking lot and meets a shadowy figure to the tune of Sam Cooke’s “Sad Mood.” There’s also a sort of deviant comic relief, as in the piece where Nakadate is dressed in a skimpy maid’s outfit, posing in different pinup positions while a dog humps her leg. While Nakadate creates her own personas, Carol Saft documents her brother, Todd in his copious incarnations. Saft has been making videos of Todd, since 2001, and “I am Gladiator” is one of 21 in the series. The films are humorous but poignant portraits seen through a poetic lens. Saft is as enthralled by Todd’s offbeat behavior as he is with his guns and the art of warfare, art being one commonality of their close-knit collaborations. Nothing is scripted. The films are spontaneous documents in real-time and Saft tries to stay out of the picture, or as the she states, “let Todd to the talking as much as possible.” Saft presents us with a cultural taboo in the form of adult play that expresses itself outside the confines of Sunday Superbowls. “I am Gladiator” depicts Todd in a homemade Gladiator outfit. The “Romanesque” helmet is a hardhat with a broom attached to the top and what appears to be a tinfoil mask or face guard. Todd makes fire and builds a pyre for a deer that has wandered into the backyard and died. It has the feel of a Medieval ritual or something out of Macbeth. It’s also one of the most ingenious and ceremonious methods I’ve seen for taking care of roadkill. LaToya Ruby Fraizer also documents her family. She speaks of her photographs as “a starting point to understand my identity and psychological state,” and as “a way to break unspoken intergenerational cycles.” The austerity and brooding of these images brings to mind Charles Burnett’s black and white film classic “Killer of Sheep,” filmed in Watts, Los Angeles in 1977. Most are devoid of eye contact or direct communication between the family members. Instead, relationships are played out through body positions, facial expressions or gestures. It’s emotionally charged and stunningly raw. In “Mom and Her Boyfriend Mr. Art” a man sits on the edge of a bed holding a remote, as a woman, visible from the waste down, reclines next to him. “Me and Mr. Art,” shows the artist sitting on a bed with her back against a thin wall that divides her from a man in the next room, who seems to become Frazier’s mirror image. Other works in the show include William Pope.L.’s Spam sculpture, “Western Geometry.” Pope.L. is best known for his performance piece “The Great White Way: 22 miles, 5 years, 1 street,” where he crawled from Battery Park to the Bronx in a Superman suit. “Entering John Jamelske,” an installation by Marion Wilson, documents the house of serial rapist John T. Jamelske, including a video that takes us down to the basement where the crimes occurred. It’s empty except for a broom leaning against the wall. There’s a sense of confinement, of covering up or sweeping clean which seems to be a metaphor for suburbia itself. There’s also a C-print portrait of a kitchen dominatrix, by Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and Alessandra Exposito’s exqusite lacquer and jewel embellished animal skulls. “Chamblee,” a video by Janet Biggs, depicts two wresters in a headlock vying for position, like stags locking horns. They move each other back and forth in an endless repetition while an audio collage of spectators and authoritarian voices taunt and shout orders. “Can we do it one more time? Let’s go! What’s the matter with you? Move your asses! We got a game to win. Push it! Push it! What the hell was that? You call that a hit? What are you, female? Keep going! Win! Win! Win! Win! Take your shot. You only get one chance. Hey, it’s what we’re here for, right?” Challenging this raison d’etre is what makes “Keeping up with the Joneses” a winning show.
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