Issue Number 127
February 14, 2004
©2004, Charles Giuliano

Charles Giuliano is a Boston based artist, curator and critic. He is a contributor to Nyartsmagazine, and the director of exhibitions for The New England School of Art & Design at Suffolk University. He is represented by FLATFILESphotography GALLERY in Chicago.


Let Them Eat Cake

Son et Lumiere
February 12 through April 14, 2004
MIT List Visual Arts Center
20 Ames Street, Cambridge, Mass. 02139

Curator: Bill Arning, Including; Allora & Guillermo Calzadilla, Bruce Bemis, Mark
Hansen and Ben Rubin, Ann Lislegaard, Michael Mittelman and Jessica Rylan.


It was a balmy August evening in 1957. At midnight the guests gathered on the
terrace of the Palace of Versailles. We had danced that night in celebration of a group of American debutantes, including my sister Josephine, presented to international society. All for the benefit of the restoration of the great palace built by Louis XIV.

Servants in powdered wigs had distributed samples of, Bal de Versailles, a
perfume created to commemorate this spectacular evening. For my family, our first and only trip together across the pond, it had been a summer-long, grand tour of Europe’s finest hotels.

The culmination of that experience was to be a reenactment of Son et Lumiere.

In later years, when I studied art history, I would come to more greatly appreciate the rarity and insight of that event. Particularly, after reading Nancy Mitford’s wonderfully chatty book, “Madame de Pompadour.” This fascinating woman, the mistress of Louis XV, had helped to bankrupt France and bring on the French Revolution through her elaborate entertainments and decorations.

Most of all, she knew how to throw a party. Mitford’s description of the Bal of the Clipped Yew Trees had always fascinated me and evoked memories of my own night at Versailles.

From the terrace of the Palace one looked down the center axis of a series of
enormous fountains that were activated and illuminated one at a time. In the forest there were groups of musicians dominated by French horns performing appropriate music. All of this culminated in a lavish burst of fireworks.

At dawn, I hitched a ride with an heiress with a stop in the market for onion
soup, while the chauffeur waited in the limo. It seemed so much like a photo spread in Vogue. But when I awoke in the late afternoon I discovered that I had turned into a pumpkin.

Such was my nostalgia and reverie while attending the opening of Son et
Lumiere at MIT the other night. Instead of flutes of rare champagne there was a selection of sparkling water, fizzy cider, and beer with almost no alcohol. While I was invited to the fun dinner following the event, I felt a cold coming on, and expressed my regrets to Jane Farver the warm and gracious director of the List. But despite feeling pooped on a Thursday night of a busy week of teaching, I was glad to be there in support of Bill Arning, who, in his time at the List has clearly become the MVP of Boston curators. His presence in the community has been ubiquitous. To a large extent this current exhibition is a reflection of that activity as a number of the artists live and work in the area. Several with direct ties to MIT.

Not that the mandate of the List is to show art and technology. On the other
hand, they do not avoid and disdain these sources as did former List director, Kathy Halbreich. She was notorious for never setting foot in the studios and laboratories on the famed Cambridge campus. Including the internationally renowned Center for Advanced Visual Studies (CAVS) under its then director, the German Zero artist, Otto Piene, (whose daughter Chloe is included in the upcoming Whitney Biennial).

Under the team of Farver and Arning, the List has been far more inclusive than
exclusive. The exhibitions have been uniformly difficult, challenging and rewarding. Which is precisely what one hopes for from such a distinguished research institution. There is always a steep learning curve when viewing a List exhibition.

My personal approach to many of the List shows is to agree to disagree.
Perhaps, I am just slow and a step off the pace. It seems to take time to catch up to the cutting edge. Particularly in the realm of new media and technology based art.

One particular challenge is that in addition to the Sound and Light in the title of
this exhibition, it would be appropriate to add, Time. These works require a self
determined duration in order to fully absorb their content. This varies among the installations. Some you “get” rather quickly while others play out over a longer curve of exposure.

Add to that, matters of creature comfort. During the well attended opening, for
example, it was difficult to access the narrow corridor space of Michael Mittelman’s, “Hallway.” It would be better to view the piece at leisure during a low traffic week day. Similarly, it was hard to find a position in a densely packed gallery to adequately view, “Listening Post,” by Mark Hansen and Ben Rubin. It takes a minimum of a half hour to fully absorb what is presented. A bench or chairs would be helpful. Some viewers sat on the floor but for my station in life that is not an option. I may get down but it is
harder to get up. Better to just stand and feel the burn for as long as it takes. Frankly, being an art critic has its wear and tear.

But this exhibition is more than rewarding. Overall, it is Arning’s best here to
date. On a scale of one to ten I give it an eight.  

Obviously, the center piece of this exhibition is “Listening Post.” It is a riveting
and mesmerizing work. On a curved, floor to ceiling curtain a grid of LED screens are fired off in varied sequences. There is an endless range of possibilities. At times, a single word or phrase crosses the space. At other intervals the entire wall is rapidly activated with words and text. Now and then there is the droning voice of a narrator uttering simplistic phrases, gleaned from internet chat rooms, set to a background of ambient music. There is a constant ebb and flow. One begins to wonder if there is a beginning or end. Are we entrapped in an endless flow of real time? And, what is the source and meaning of the words and text. It is not possible to see and absorb it all.
We find ourselves fixing on parts and details and at other times trying to view it as a whole. It is a daunting and memorable experience but don’t ask what it means.

Which is ok. I have made a personal decision not to reject routinely what I do
not understand. I accept that there is art and content that is beyond my comprehension. That my lack of understanding is irrelevant. The work exists in its own terms outside of me. I am just the observer and participant. So I am trying to be more inclusive than exclusive. But I do reserve the right to say that I am bored and that a work has no great promise of rewarding my patience. I can pull the plug. Exercise my option to limit time spent on a work. I can leave.

This was my essential response to several of the works in this enticing but not
entirely satisfying exhibition. So, what else is new?

It didn’t take that long to loose patience with Ann Lislegaard’s, “Corner
Piece-The Space Between Us,” The whispered voice and obscure text has become a cliché of contemporary art. It started for me with the “Room for Saint John of the Cross” an installation by Bill Viola some years ago at the ICA. I recall leaning into a little cubicle to hear his ecstatic poetry. Or, a couple of years back, a similar experience in a great retrospective in Montreal of conceptual artist, Janet Cardiff. I often play her CD of “walks” while working in the studio. It is a great ambient experience. But here Lislegaard’s sound piece evoked too much of the same old same old. It made me respond with impatience.

Ditto for “Traffic Patterns” by Jennifer and Guillermo Calzadilla. In an
“empty” room the space is flooded with the red, green, and yellow, traffic light,
programmed to illuminate through the plexi-paneled ceiling. We are informed that the sequence of the light intervals is controlled by a chip identical to one that operates a particular traffic light in San Juan. The List press release states that, “This communication between Puerto Rico and Cambridge mirrors the artists’ own lives, which were split between the two cities.” This appears to have greater significance to the artists (and curator) than for me. It seemed like just another approach to how to fill an empty room with an economy of means. Now, isn’t that a familiar idea.

Similarly, one advances the argument of familiarity about “Bipolar Radiance”
by Bruce Bemis. In fact, it recalls aspects of last year’s List show of video works by Paul Pfeiffer curated by Jane Farver and Dominic Molon. There is the similar theme of endless, obsessive repetition of an athletic action. Here Bemis is presenting a loop of edited, found, 16 MM film that deconstructs an endlessly twirling female ice skater.

The fixated image may recall Pfeiffer but the apparatus and presentation differs
markedly. The manner in which Bemis projects the work onto the wall is both inventive and ironic. There is a structure, which actually impedes our view of the projection, which functions less as a provider of the image than as sculpture. There are two projectors that bounce images off silver balls. They converge into one blur of action on the wall. The film loops zanily through space and is compelling to observe. The artist informed me it is a reproduction of the fragile old original film shot by an amateur redone on stronger modern stock. It stands up to abuse but he told me that the projector lights burn out and have to be regularly replaced during an installation. It is a quite wonderful piece.

Ditto for, oh did I already say that, Mittelman’s “Hallway.” It is a spooky and
entirely absorbing work. In a narrow space, flanked by framed blank, black images of varying sizes, we encounter a window with a view of the outside. The light is subdued and evokes night. There are occasional glimmers of spectral, grainy, black and white figures. The tone is ominous and foreboding. Something terrible is about to happen.

Eventually, we come to realize that we are the reflected shadows. The images have been caught by hidden cameras and after an interval recycled so we do not view our shadow in real time. It’s about space, time, and relativity. I think. Therefore I am. After all, this is an MIT show.

Across the hall in an annex gallery is “Voice of the Theater” by Jessica Rylan. A
guard lets us through a heavy theatrical curtain. As if we are entering back stage. In the space we find several large speakers recycled from razed neighborhood movie theaters. The press release informs us that she has, “gained attention in the underground noise music scene.” That about describes the experience and I have nothing to add to that.

Exhausted, I made my way home. Stopping, not for onion soup while a limo
waited, but number five, with egg roll, at my neighborhood Hong Kong Harbor. I
reflected on that night of Son et Lumiere so many years ago in my decadent youth.

Whatever became of that heiress? Ah, that was Paris. But, not Paris Hilton.

Y’All Come Back