Showing posts with label MOCAD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MOCAD. Show all posts

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Alivia Zivich at MOCAD


(link)

The well connected gallerist, the illuminated object, look at it. The billboard carries the expectation its delivery, information, something, and instead the Rorshach blot returning nothing but yourself. What do you see? Do you see two men, clubs raised, about to do berate a small fondling, locking eyes frozen, petrified by the gaze of another, or Gellar? It doesn't matter, the important part is returning the issue of subject matter to you. The celebrity like the blot is a construct of the viewer, a bland bag allowed to pour desires into. Like Warhol's own blots, Carpenter's Cobain, the important part is you lay on the couch provided and tell me about it.


see too: Merlin Carpenter at Overduin & Co

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Rob Pruitt at MOCAD

Rob Pruitt at MOCAD
(link)

Pruitt's insecure teenage aestheticism. The high school unknown of the instructor's measure of quality, the criteria vague, the grades a mystery, and the student in fear unknowing "good," knows only that enough will be enough decides instead to produce "enough," the fearful attempt to avoid the qualitative mess of "good" by supplanting the factual criteria of enough: measured, quantified, and no one can say the student didn't put in enough, its right there in it, even alongside his mates more masterful aesthetics, the student not knowing the criteria was "good" was inside him all along, its that kind of movie, and everyone feels empathy for the kid whose insecurity shines so bright, its got a kind of pathos, and teacher smiles paternally, stating Yes, Pruitt, That's enough.


see too : Rob Pruitt at Gavin Brown

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Dara Friedman at MOCAD



Simple, enjoyable, almost commercial like, recalling Apple’s early ipod campaign sans gloss, the work would almost seem sketches for Doug Aitken, or homage to the dance down the streets of Carax’s Mauvis Sang, were it not for the recent and complicated Play. There’s only 5 minutes here, but the narrative flips, charismatic actors, and unexplained circumstances make it compelling, there’s immediate narrative: a chase, whose “participants” are nude, unexplained, then we move back to answer some plot, but the discussion resolves little, and then back to the chase, capture and climax. The sort of structural play could become endless formal exercise, and the sexual layer could seem a ham-fisted easy way to “content,” and never resolving could seem conceptually masturbatory, but at least its enjoyable.