As I sat in front of each work of art in the “Bivouac” show in the Gallery at the LeRoy Neiman Center for Print Studies, I briefly considered how ridiculous I looked—my eyes were open as wide as my mouth.
According to the press release, the Dodge Hall exhibition aims to “update and renew Constructivist and Dadaist strategies alike.” Off-paper and on-screen, this means that the collection uses basic effects to form scenes that sometimes shock, sometimes hypnotize, and always lead to questions. As curator Fionn Meade said, the films “use very simple props and materials, [and] animate them.” They force the audience, Meade explained, to ask the question—what can this possibly be about? And while viewers will certainly find themselves asking this question at every stop in the exhibit, they will most likely find few conclusive answers.
One particularly memorable piece, Dog Video by Sung Hwan Kim, is a simple name for a psychologically complicated comparison of the artist’s two homes in Amsterdam and Seoul. Kim devotes a large chunk of the film to the portrayal of his masked father. The shots also show Kim’s dog, played by a half-naked male whose face is covered. The interaction between the father and dog is almost perverse, yet the video is so engaging it’s impossible to walk away.
Those who do decide to walk away, though, will find the exhibit pleasantly easy to navigate. A desk equipped with statements about the show and the artists, a miniature map of the space, and a full-time receptionist await at the front entrance. The videos are arranged in a simple, round-the-wall manner, with ample space between each one. That multiple videos are playing simultaneously in one small room might seem off-putting, but Meade explained that he hoped it would create a salon-style show. The curators wanted to see whether they could place groups of films in close proximity with each other without compromising their individuality. In lieu of typical salon-style seating, though, the curators decided to spice things up by placing a set of bleachers smack in the middle of the room.
Situated on its own wall across from the bleachers is Anna Molska’s Tanagrama. This piece features two mostly nude male models moving around large blocks to the beat of Soviet hymns and the voice-over of a Russian man. While the music adds a sense of noble purpose to the men’s movements, one cannot help but feel that they are just Greek statues being controlled by an invisible force, doing nothing more than playing a pointless game to pass the time.
In the far corner of the gallery is another film about control—but this one is a bit less gripping. Preenactment by video artist Lucy Raven is basically shot after shot of propaganda from 1970s China. While the idea has potential, it is hard to feel much of anything or stick around for introspection when a film is 39 straight minutes of still photographs.
The videos on display are impressive in their ability to raise concepts that usually lurk in our subconscious. Yet for those who let their attention drift for even a second, the exhibit can seem too challenging to decipher. The description of the show provided at the front desk is abstract and seems to be aimed at an audience that is already well-versed in the genre. Additionally, very little background is given on each artist’s piece. With so little information about the specific works, the viewer might feel disoriented and overwhelmed by the barrage of psychologically charged visuals.
Two mixed-media pieces by the curators themselves are also on view in the show, though they seem almost like they were placed there as an afterthought. Mary Simpson and Fionn Meade’s two works are meant to be a modern interpretation of advertisements used in salon shows years ago. They quietly remind the audience of the show’s intention—to bring the simple yet radical works of the past into an emotionally challenging present.
“Bivouac” is showing at the LeRoy Neiman Center for Print Studies, located in 310 Dodge Hall, through Sept. 29.
