Tag Archives: the Shed

PARDO È PAPEL: THE GLORIOUS VICTORY AND NEW POWER

Maxwell Alexandre’s “Pardo é Papel: The Glorious Victory and New Power” reimagines the museum/gallery experience (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

PARDO È PAPEL: THE GLORIOUS VICTORY AND NEW POWER
The Shed, the Bloomberg Building at Hudson Yards
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Wednesday – Sunday through January 8, $10
theshed.org
online slideshow

As you enter Brazilian artist Maxwell Alexandre’s debut North American solo exhibition at the Shed, “Pardo é Papel: The Glorious Victory and New Power,” the key work is to your immediate right, a large, vertical empty gold frame on wrinkled brown kraft paper hanging from the ceiling on plastic wires, its borders populated by cartoonish characters. What’s critical is what’s not in the frame: a person, particularly a Black one. It is also infused with an engaging yet disturbing fragility, as if it could fall apart at any minute.

The Shed’s level four gallery is divided into two sections, “The Glorious Victory” and “New Power,” two series that make up Alexandre’s “Pardo é Papel,” which translates as “brown is paper”; the term refers not only to the pardo paper Alexandre uses but the Brazilian census category that forces citizens to choose between Black, brown (mixed race), or white, identifying themselves by skin color and not culture and ancestry and contributing to the whitening of the country since fewer people will call themselves Black. The exhibition, organized by curator at large Alessandra Gómez, is arranged as mazes filled with images that celebrate Black empowerment and foster the idea of community amid rampant consumerism and discrimination.

“When I started painting on brown paper, it was not only a conceptual issue but a political and social issue as well,” Alexandre explains in a promotional video. “And some years later, I had an idea of painting a self-portrait, much for the sake of wanting to represent a character that was Black and blond, with dyed hair. . . . ‘Pardo é Papel’ is a series that talks specifically about empowerment, self-esteem, and the speculation of the future of glory and prosperity for Black people. So it starts pointing to these various directions, and these paintings for me are very representative because they speak of this moment of ascension, of my ascension as an artist. That I have my integrity as a Black Brazilian favelado, and as an individual, as an artist.”

The works feature pop-culture references scattered throughout, from such recording artists as Baco Exu do Blues, Djonga, BK, and Nina Simone to such consumer goods as the chocolate drink Toddynho (with its smiling mascot), Danone yogurt, and Capri pools; the latter is the focus of one of the most powerful pieces in the show, Até Deus inveja o homem preto (Even God envies the Black man), which depicts a Black swimmer with blond hair at the upper left, sucking on a long red-and-white straw that goes into the butt of Toddynho at the lower right, an actual small pool of water on the floor at the corner of the painting.

Alexandre, who was born in Rio de Janeiro in 1990 and was a professional street inline skater for twelve years, also incorporates shoe polish on many canvases, the same polish he used while serving in the army. The majority of the people in his works do not have full faces, adding to the confusion surrounding their identity. In the back room, a painting of velvet ropes is next to a long, vertical work in which four couples — and Brazilian soccer star Neymar — are looking around, as if at an art gallery, but above them is a gold landscape with no figures; at the far end, an older, perhaps wiser gentleman is walking away, ready for a different future. Meanwhile, access is blocked to a second door from the hallway, but we can see the back of a painting, in which a small, solitary Black person is floating in the upper right rectangle, facing the hall, not the gallery, as if being kept out, not allowed inside.

“Pardo é Papel” calls into question how we experience galleries and museums, from the figures depicted in the works to the creators, bringing to the forefront the history of the exclusion of artists of color; even the wall text is written on pardo paper. Discussing “New Power” in the accompanying pamphlet, Alexandre notes, “From a biographical perspective, the series talks about how I, upon arriving at a position of success, looked around and found myself in a world dominated almost exclusively by white people. The series is a study and mapping of the contradictions, pitfalls, and opportunities in this field so that more Black people can infiltrate it not only as spectators or subjects but also as agents in positions of power: curators, artists, collectors, directors, funders, gallerists, and so on.”

“Pardo é Papel” goes a long way to that necessary goal.

STRAIGHT LINE CRAZY

Ralph Fiennes as Robert Moses in David Hare’s Straight Line Crazy (photo by Kate Glicksberg)

STRAIGHT LINE CRAZY
The Griffin Theater at the Shed
The Bloomberg Building at Hudson Yards
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through December 18
646-455-3494
theshed.org

David Hare’s sparkling, intense Straight Line Crazy, which opened Wednesday night at the Shed’s Griffin Theater, begins with Ralph Fiennes walking down Bob Crowley’s T-shaped stage, barefoot and wearing a suit. He does not need to introduce his character to the New York City audience; he is portraying infamous urban planner Robert Moses. Before he can say anything, the sold-out crowd erupts in entrance applause for the two-time Oscar and Emmy nominee and Tony winner. In a brief monologue, Moses says, explaining his penchant for swimming, “The further I swim the happier I am. At night, best of all. So how do I feel when people say ‘We were worried. You were gone so long. We called the coast guard.’ How do I feel? I tell them, ‘Why did you panic? Nothing’s going to happen to me.’”

A moment later, Helen Schlesinger, in frumpy attire — Crowley also designed the costumes — approaches, announcing, “I’m Jane Jacobs.” The audience again bursts into applause, but it’s not for the British television and theater actress as much as for her character, a woman whose name is instantly familiar to so many New Yorkers as Moses’s longtime archnemesis even though, as she points out, they never met. Explaining her original lack of interest in architecture, she states about her change of mind, “What made me think about architecture was that moment when I realized I was going to die. I remember thinking, what will be left of us? After we’re gone? And I remember reading that only two things remain. Cities and songs.”

Straight Line Crazy begins in 1926, as Moses, the chairman of the New York State Council of Parks (and later secretary of state and Parks and Recreation commissioner), is hard at work developing plans for the building of the Southern State and Northern State Parkways on Long Island. He sees the automobile as the future and is determined to bring access to Jones Beach to the masses, despite strong pushback from such wealthy landowners as the Morgans, the Whitneys, and the Fricks.

Jane Jacobs (Helen Schlesinger) won’t give up the fight against Robert Moses in Straight Line Crazy (photo by Kate Glicksberg)

“Every summer those few adventurous souls who dare to head this way are brought to a halt, as their overheated engines expire on badly maintained tracks,” Moses tells Henry Vanderbilt (Guy Paul). “Everything possible is done to discourage them. Well, no longer. My new parkways will make travelling as attractive as arriving.” Vanderbilt promises “impassioned and intransigent opposition to all your plans . . . unified, organized, and unyielding.” But there’s nothing Moses enjoys more than a good fight. When Vanderbilt calls him a revolutionary, Moses responds, “To the contrary. The very opposite. My aim is to forestall revolution, not to incite it.” However, his revolution is strictly for cars; he adamantly refuses to include any form of public transportation, no buses or trains.

Moses is a bold, severe man, unwilling to accept that he’s ever wrong, unable to consider compromises or concessions of any kind, unafraid of brazenly skirting the law. He speaks in aphorisms whether discussing plans with the two main members of his team, the fictional duo of Finnuala Connell (Judith Roddy) and Ariel Porter (Adam Silver), or the rambunctious, cigar-chomping New York governor, Al Smith (Danny Webb). “I made the mistake of thinking that if I proposed something which was logical, reasonable, and effective, people would at once see its merits and fall in behind it. . . . They blocked it at every turn,” Moses tells Porter. He says to Connell, “I’m a ditchdigger, I’m not an academic. I put academia behind me. It’s for the young. It’s for the inadequate. . . . The people lack imagination. The job of the leader is to provide it.”

In a swirling, exciting conversation with Smith, Moses explains, “I never ask favors. I ask my due.” On his way out, Smith tells Porter and Connell, “Hard to leave a meeting with Moses without feeling you’ve been robbed. But just as hard to know what the fuck you’ve been robbed of.”

Meanwhile, in the background, Jacobs starts making her case against Moses. “If you think fighting power is fun, I’d advise you to think again,” she says to the audience. The second act moves to 1955, as Jacobs is leading the battle against Moses’s plan to run a sunken highway right through the middle of Washington Square Park. While he claims it is to liberate traffic and offer a desperately needed throughfare into Lower Manhattan, Jacobs, along with fellow activists Shirley Hayes (Alana Maria), Sandy McQuade (Al Coppola), Carole Ames (Krysten Peck), Nicole Savage (Mary Stillwaggon Stewart), and Lewis Mason (Andrew Lewis), are arguing against the project.

Robert Moses (Ralph Fiennes) lets Gov. Al Smith (Danny Webb) know what’s on his mind in Straight Line Crazy (photo by Kate Glicksberg)

Also expressing her displeasure is one of Moses’s newest employees, Mariah Heller (Alisha Bailey), a Black architect with dreams of supporting the public good while harboring nightmares about how Moses’s destruction of the South Bronx negatively impacted her family. “You’re no different from anyone else, Mr. Moses,” she says to him. “Sometimes you’re right and sometimes you’re wrong. And in this particular instance, you’re handling things wrong.” Heller represents all the people of color who were seemingly cast aside by Moses through five decades of racist and classist public planning, as brought to light in Robert Caro’s seminal biography, The Power Broker, and by other historians.

But after all that time, Moses is as intransigent as ever. With Porter and Connell still at his side, Moses is even more cold and distant, ultimately a lonely, ill-tempered man whose reputation — for achievements that include Jones Beach, Lincoln Center, the West Side Highway, the United Nations, the state park system, and the Robert Moses Causeway — has been torn down by the wrecking ball of time, faster than it was built.

Directors Nicholas Hytner (Miss Saigon, The History Boys) and Jamie Armitage (Six, Southern Belles) manage to keep things interesting despite several stagnant scenes with lots of sitting and standing around as characters explicate and speechify. George Fenton’s original music, which is thankfully not used very often, is faint and distracting, complicating George Dennis’s sound design.

Webb (King Lear, Pennyworth) injects much-needed electricity as Smith, who is willing to go toe-to-toe with Moses, swilling bourbon, chomping on a stogie, and loudly pontificating on his relationship with the people of New York. You practically get swept up by the wind swirling around him as he marches across the stage.

Silver (Masters of the Air, Sons of the Prophet) and Roddy (Translations, Knives in Hens) are solid as two longtime Moses employees who understand their boss all too well and have remained loyal despite his failure to see them as individuals with lives outside the office. There’s not much Bailey can do in the thankless, anachronistic role of Heller, who openly calls Moses out on his racist tactics; her character seems forced, included primarily as a way for Hare (Plenty, Skylight) to address Moses’s biases.

Fiennes (Schindler’s List, The English Patient), who previously played architect Halvard Solness in Hare’s adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s The Master Builder and teamed with Hare and Hytner in Hare’s coronavirus play, Beat the Devil, is dazzling as Moses, a larger-than-life figure played by one of the greatest actors of his generation. Fiennes’s previous stage appearances in New York City came on Broadway in 1995 in Hamlet, at BAM in 2000 in Coriolanus and Richard II, and back on Broadway in 2006 in Brian Friel’s Faith Healer, all as the title character. When he stands atop an enormous layout of New York on the floor, a man bigger than the city itself, you can the sovereignty that is surging inside him is palpable.

Fiennes’s turn as the iconoclastic Moses was greatly anticipated here: The show’s entire run sold out and resale tickets are available online for between $800 and $1800. It is a giant of a performance; Fiennes, who played Lord Voldemort in the Harry Potter films, commands the stage with a powerful authority and determination that matches that of Moses himself, although he is much more generous with the actors surrounding him than Moses was to his supporting cast.

It is also fitting that the show, a London Theatre production, takes place at the Shed, the entertainment venue at Hudson Yards, home to a chic, high-end mall and a tourist-attraction sculpture (the Vessel) with a sad history of attracting suicides, next to the West Side train lot, the High Line, and the Javits Center, where buses compete with car traffic. I think not even Moses would know what to make of it all.

HELP

April Matthis is fabulous as the only person of color in Claudia Rankine’s Help (photo by Kate Glicksberg for the Shed)

HELP
The Griffin Theater at the Shed
The Bloomberg Building at Hudson Yards
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through April 10, $29-$77
646-455-3494
theshed.org

Poet, playwright, and professor Claudia Rankine wanted to know what white people were thinking, so she asked them. The results can be seen in the blistering new show Help, which opened last night at the Shed’s Griffin Theater.

Several recent plays by Black playwrights, including David Harris’s Tambo & Bones, Jordan E. Cooper’s Ain’t No Mo’, and Jackie Sibblies Drury’s Fairview, have used fictional narratives to address systemic racism, breaking the fourth wall and directly confronting the predominantly white audience.

But Rankine goes right to the facts in Help, which consists of verbatim dialogue from interviews with white men and white women conducted separately by Rankine, who is Black, filmmaker Whitney Dow, who is white, and civil rights activist and theologian Ruby Nell Sales, who is Black; responses to Rankine’s 2019 New York Times article “I Wanted to Know What White Men Thought About Their Privilege. So I Asked”; and quotes from such politicians, writers, and other public figures as James Baldwin, Elon Musk, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Audre Lord, Donald Trump, Eddie Murphy, Bill Gates, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Dr. Richard Sackler, Mitch McConnell, Toshi Reagon, and Fred Moten.

Obie winner April Matthis hosts the evening as the Narrator, portraying a version of Rankine, speaking straight to the audience. “I am here — not as I — but as we — a representative of my category,” she says at the start. “The approximately eight percent of the U.S. population known as Black women.” After listing a few real names and epithets of Black women, she declares, “Ultimately, whatever name you use, all of them, begin with the letter N.”

She walks back and forth across the front of the long, horizontal stage, either holding a microphone or stopping at the stand near the middle, like a comedian performing a semiautobiographical one-person show. Although the ninety-minute play has plenty of laughs, it is also deadly serious when it comes to racism, white supremacy, reverse racism, and white privilege. And she’s not about to let the mostly white theatergoers off the hook because they have bought a ticket to see such a progressive show and clap at all the politically correct moments.

White men and women display their privilege through dance in Help (photo by Kate Glicksberg for the Shed)

Behind the Narrator is a glassed-in airport waiting room populated by nine white men and two white women in business attire, a stark contrast to the Narrator’s green jumpsuit. They often interact with her, either joining her at the front or welcoming her into their space. Actually, “welcoming” might not be the best word, because they usually don’t like what she has to say, even though she attempts to be neutral, not responding the way she wants to as they refuse to acknowledge the advantages their whiteness automatically brings them and turning it back on her.

In an early vignette, people are lining up to board a plane, in number order according to their ticket. The Narrator wants to make sure she is in the right spot but is not thrilled when one man (Jeremy Webb) says to another (Tom O’Keefe), “You never know who they’re letting into first class these days.” In a sidebar, her therapist (Tina Benko) tells her, “You didn’t matter to him. That’s why he could step in front of you in the first place. His embarrassment, if it was embarrassment, had everything to do with how he was seen by the person who did matter: his male companion. He made a mistake in front of his companion. You are allowing yourself to have too much presence in his imagination.”

The Narrator responds, “I want a new narrative, one that doesn’t demand, or require, or want . . . one that doesn’t accept my invisibility. I need a narrative that includes your whiteness as part of the diagnosis. . . . The limits of his world are the limits of your world too.” She’s not speaking to just the therapist but to everyone in the theater.

A few moments later, the Narrator assumes the man (Nick Wyman) in front of her voted for Trump, and he snidely replies, “You can stand in this line with me, but you’ll never be in line with me. That’s why I’ll vote for him again. And again.” And another (Rory Scholl) doesn’t hesitate to admit to her, “If the cost of my way of life is your life — that’s not my concern.”

It’s a war of words, interpretations, meanings, and intent that makes for an uneasy flight as she leads us through barrages of racist statements made by familiar names (identified specifically in the play’s online resources page) as well as a few brief chats in which the other person wants to be an ally but doesn’t know how to deal with their inherent privilege. She won’t even give her husband (O’Keefe), who is white, a break. “I’m not demonizing, I’m historicizing,” she tells us. “To stay alive, forget thriving, I need to negotiate whiteness.”

The white cast, which also includes Jess Barbagallo, David Beach, Charlotte Bydwell, Zach McNally, Joseph Medeiros, John Selya, and Charlette Speigner, occasionally breaks into group social dances, choreographed by Shamel Pitts, that sometimes involve the rolling waiting room chairs as the men and women put their whiteness on further display. The original music is by JJJJJerome Ellis and James Harrison Monaco, with sound by Lee Kinney, lighting by John Torres and costumes by Dede Ayite; Nicole Brewer is the antiracist coordinator.

The Narrator (April Matthis) navigates through a white world in Claudia Rankine play (photo by Kate Glicksberg for the Shed)

Over the last two years, Rankine (Just Us: An American Conversation, Citizen: An American Lyric) and Obie-winning director Taibi Magar (Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992, Is God Is) reshaped and updated the play, which had to shut down during previews in March 2020 because of the pandemic, working in the January 6 insurrection, the murder of George Floyd, the Covid-19 crisis, and other recent events, although there is, unfortunately, a timeless quality to everything, as racism doesn’t look like it’s going away soon. They’re not teaching or preaching, but they steadily navigate so the audience doesn’t feel backed into a corner.

At the center of it all is Matthis (Toni Stone, Fairview), who is brilliant as the Narrator, guiding the interactions while making sure the audience remains uncomfortable even when laughing, since Rankine pulls no punches. “Imagine if my fellow travelers were to wrestle with their own privilege, instead of with my presence. For once,” she says. Once again, she’s not just referring to the characters in the play; we’re all in the waiting room together.

Tony winner Mimi Lien’s fab set matches the Narrator’s description of it as a “liminal space, a space neither here nor there, a space we move through on our way to other places, a space full of imaginative possibilities.” Clearly, it’s white people who are doing most of the moving as minorities face more of a stasis. “There’s no outrunning the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” the Narrator reminds us. Meanwhile, another white man (Beach) insists, “The dominant culture is colorless,” later adding that classic phrase, “I don’t see color.”

The program features several excellent essays, by Rankine, Dow, Simone White, and Sales, who, in “Can We Just Get Down to the Conversation About Whiteness?,” writes, “We must ask, is it a privilege to inherit a death driven system that predicates itself on the decimation of the potential and possibility of white men to reach the fullness of their humanities? Contrary to calling out the worst in them as the system does, we must see the good in them that they do not see in themselves. Our work must enable them to find new meaning in their lives and provide relief from their brokenness and fragmentation.” Help is no mere attack on whiteness but a declaration that things can and must change, with help from everyone.

The Narrator sums it up best when she says, “There is, after all, no racism without racists.” At its heart, the show is about the fear that pervades white people who are desperately trying to hold on to the past, and their power, as the world changes right before their eyes. They’re afraid they and their kids won’t get into the right schools, won’t get the good jobs, won’t have the same opportunities they’ve had for more than two hundred years since the birth of the nation.

At the end of her writer’s note, Rankine points out, “As Ruby Sales has said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with being European American; that’s not the problem. It’s how you actualize that history and how you actualize that reality.’” And that’s what Help is about.

TOMÁS SARACENO: PARTICULAR MATTER(S) / SILENT AUTUMN

Spiders and their webs are at the center of Tomás Saraceno’s immersive, multimedia exhibitions at the Shed and Tanya Bonakdar Gallery (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

TOMÁS SARACENO: PARTICULAR MATTER(S)
The Shed
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through April 17
Upper level + gallery: $42; lower level + gallery: $35; gallery exhibition only: $12
646-455-3494
theshed.org
studiotomassaraceno.org

The integration of art, technology, nature, and the environment is central to Argentina-born artist Tomás Saraceno’s discipline, currently on display in a pair of complex immersive exhibitions in the city. In “Silent Autumn” at Tanya Bonakdar in Chelsea and “Particular Matter(s)” at the Shed in Hudson Yards, Saraceno investigates toxic air and water, the reuse of plastic bags, rampant consumerism, and, most of all, spiders though collaborations with MIT and NASA, among others, attempting to find ways to fix a broken planet in this out-of-control Capitalocene era.

In a 2014 lecture he gave at MIT, Saraceno discussed the “sociability” of spiders. “It’s very similar to humans,” he said. “Spiders are social because they have enough space and food. But if you put a lot of social spiders in a very tiny space, they are not social. They eat each other. They’re pretty much like humans. There are forty-three thousand species of spider and only twenty are social. Knowing that sociability is a big trend for the survival of the planet, no one really understands this. What we do is try to make [the spiders] operate and work, one with the other, the solitary and the social.” It sounds all too close as humanity emerges from a global pandemic.

Continuing through April 17, “Particular Matter(s)” leads visitors on an audiovisual journey through the kingdom of the spiders. Webs of At-tent(s)ion consists of seven encased hybrid spider webs, hanging in midair and lit so it appears that they’re glowing in the dark. Each case is like its own universe, with different species of spider building on what others started, resulting in magical architectural structures made of spider silk and carbon fibers.

Radio Galena turns a crystal into a wireless radio receptor. Printed Matter(s) reproduces cosmic dust from 1982 in a series of ten photos printed using black carbon PM2.5 pollution extracted from the air in Mumbai; they are arranged loosely on a wall, as if they might blow away and break up into shreds, like the atmosphere being destroyed by pollution. Particular Matter(s) is a light beam that reveals how much dust is in the air that we breathe, poisoned by the burning of fossil fuels.

Arachnomancy features a deck of thirty-three tarot-like meteorological “oracle” cards, printed on carbon-footprint-neutral paper, spread out across a table, based on the beliefs of the spider diviners of Somié, Cameroon, who make cards out of leaves, forecasting weather events. The cards include images of maps, plants, human figures, and webs, with such titles as “Bad News,” “Planetary Drift,” “Invertebrate Rights,” “Entanglement,” and “Fortunate Webbing.” Dangling above the table is a web built by two Cyrtophora citricola spiders that looks like you could rip it apart with a soft breath.

Inspired by the writings of science journalist Harriet A. Washington, We Do Not All Breathe the Same Air uses black carbon, soot, and PM2.5 and PM10 to reveal how pollution impacts air quality in different parts of the country, adversely affecting BIPOC and poorer areas. A red sliding sheet laser brings spider webs to life in a long horizontal window in How to entangle the universe in a spider/web,? which resembles a trip through the human circulatory system or into a far-off galaxy. The concept of spider ballooning and visitors’ movement combine to create music in Sounding the Air, an installation in which five threads of spider silk form an aeolian instrument that emits sonic frequencies when it encounters heat, wind, body movement, and other elements.

A Thermodynamic Imaginary is a room filled with many wonders of Saraceno’s oeuvre, a fantasy world comprising sculpture, projected video (Tata Inti and Living at the bottom of the ocean of air), shadows, reflections, large bubbles, and more, like its own galaxy in what the artist calls the Aerocene: “a stateless state, both tethered and free floating; a community, an open source initiative; a name for change, and an era to live and breathe in.”

On the fourth floor, you have to remove your shoes to walk into Museo Aero Solar, devised by Saraceno and Alberto Pesavento in 2007, an ecological balloon composed of plastic bags sewn together, their brands and trademarks visible, seeking to eventually eliminate the use of fossil fuels by providing sustainable, free-floating options. The gallery also includes documentation of the project and such items as an Aerocene Backpack and flight starter kits.

The centerpiece of “Particular Matter(s)” is Free the Air: How to hear the universe in a spider/web, a live eight-minute concert held in an almost blindingly white two-level, ninety-five-foot diameter floating sculpture, commissioned by the Shed for this exhibition. The limited audience gets misted as they enter the foggy space, which contains 450,000 cubic feet of air and features a large-scale net made of steel and thick wire that evokes a giant spider web on which people lie down; it’s a rather tenuous trampoline with gaps in it, so if you jump, it will affect not only your balance but others’ as well, so don’t play around too much. If you’re on the lower level, you can look up to see the people above you, almost walking on air.

Darkness ensues and the concert in four movements begins, prerecorded sound waves and vibrations of spiders interacting with their webs that are impacted by the audience’s presence, incorporating Sounding the Air, Webs of At-tent(s)ion, and other items in “Particular Matter(s).” It’s a welcoming atmosphere of interspecies communion and coexistence that plots a course for ways to save our increasingly fragile planet using our innate spider-sense and expanding our idea of what home is.

Advance tickets are necessary for the special experience and sell out quickly, so act fast. As part of the Shed program “Matter(s) for Conversation and Action,” on March 30 at 6:00 there will be a free Zoom panel discussion, “Invention, Experimentation, and Radical Imagination,” with MIT professor Caroline A. Jones, climate scientist Dr. Kate Marvel, and Vassar professor Molly Nesbit, moderated by designer, teacher, and entrepreneur Sandra Goldmark, followed on April 13 at noon by “Rights of Nature, Activism, and Change” with lawyer Alicia Chalabe, Dartmouth professor N. Bruce Duthu, and sociologist and writer Maristella Svampa, moderated by Columbia Law School professor Michael B. Gerrard.

Tomás Saraceno gallery show at Tanya Bonakdar complements Shed exhibition (photo courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery)

TOMÁS SARACENO: SILENT AUTUMN
Tanya Bonakdar Gallery
521 West 21st St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
Tuesday – Saturday through March 26, free, 10:00 am – 6:00 pm
www.tanyabonakdargallery.com

In conjunction with the Shed show, Tanya Bonakdar is presenting “Silent Autumn” through March 26. The title plays off Rachel Carson’s seminal 1962 book, Silent Spring, a “fable for tomorrow” that called for the elimination of such chemicals as DDT in order to maintain a living, breathing Earth. The exhibit begins with An Open Letter for Invertebrate Rights, in which Spider/Webs explain, “Do not be afraid. Let us move from arachnophobia to arachnophilia by sensing new threads of connectivity, or else face the eternal silence of extinction.”

Visitors must put booties over their shoes in order to enter Algo-r(h)i(y)thms, a musical instrument comprising a vast network of webs, the strings of which make warming sounds when plucked. You can either create your own solo or work in tandem with others for a more ornate score. Surrounding the instrument are Arachne’s handwoven Spider/Web Map of Andrómeda, with a duet of Nephila inaurata — four weeks and ensemble of Cyrtophora citricola — three weeks and Cosmic Filaments, intricate black-and-white architectural drawings of web universes.

The title diptychs (and one triptych) pair framed leaves glued to inkjet paper next to framed photographs of the leaves; the two works initially look identical, but over time the real leaves will fade and disintegrate while the picture endures. Silent Spring comprises four panels of pressed poppy flowers from contaminated soil near Saraceno’s Berlin-Rummelsburg studio, with shutters that protect them from the sun, although they too will fade; the dirt was polluted by a photographic film and dye manufacturer, so the piece is very much part of Saraceno’s personalized mission of recycling and sustainability.

In the same room, three stainless-steel and wood sculptures hang from the ceiling at different heights, evoking the much larger structures Saraceno installed on the Met roof for “Cloud City” in 2012 as well as the Silent Autumn framed leaves. In a smaller room, the blown glass pieces Pneuma, Aeolus, Aeroscale, and Aerosolar Serpens probe breathing, physical presence, and the brittleness of existence. Other works continue Saraceno’s exploration of overconsumption, pollution, climate change, and the future of life on the planet — and throughout the universe.

Saraceno is a genius at bringing us into his world by creating fascinating objects that are ravishing to look at, then hitting us with the heavily researched science behind it all as he attempts to save the world. But he can only do it with our help.

DRIFT: FRAGILE FUTURE / DRIFT MATERIALISM: PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE

DRIFT: FRAGILE FUTURE
The Shed, the McCourt
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Wednesday – Sunday through December 19, exhibition $25, Drifters and exhibition $35
Includes admission to Ian Cheng: Life After BOB
646-455-3494
theshed.org
online slideshow

Since 2007, the Amsterdam-based duo DRIFT, a partnership between Lonneke Gordijn and Ralph Nauta, have been exploring the intersection and interdependence of humans, nature, and technology. Their environmentally conscious, multidimensional works are like individual ecosystems that present hope for a future potentially doomed by climate change. Continuing through December 19 at the Shed at Hudson Yards, Fragile Future is a wonderland of experiential installations, presented by Superblue, which specializes in immersive art.

The exhibition begins with Fragile Future, a light sculpture with a modular system based on the growth of dandelions, constructed from LED lights, phosphor bronze, printed circuit board, and the hairs and seeds of dandelions themselves. Coded Coincidence consists of dozens and dozens of beaded lights that move about a long, rectangular, netted space, sudden gusts of air making them mimic the flight of elm seeds in the spring. There’s an emotional aspect to the movement as they travel in groups and gather in a corner, or, with a kind of sadness, one gets trapped in the netting, alone until it can be freed and join the rest of the herd.

Ego might be composed of nylon fiber, ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene fiber monofilaments, polyester, and polyvinyl fluoride and run by motors set to specific algorithms, but it seems to have an organic life of its own. Created for Nederlandse Reisopera’s production of Monteverdi’s opera L’Orfeo, about the love between Orpheus and Eurydice and his descent into the underworld, Ego is a monumental handmade woven block that rises, falls, spreads out, collapses, and twists and turns as if magically floating through space, evoking human emotions amid a gentle soundscape. Describing its construction, Gordijn explains in a Drift video, “It depends on how that ego is shaped, how flexible it is, or how rigid it is. Because if it is rigid, there is only one truth, and if it’s flexible, you can move along with what is needed in order for it to accept certain truths or accept how life is or how the world is being built. And I think it’s a big difficulty in everybody’s life to be flexible in your vision and to be flexible in your perspective. But we have to be flexible, and I like that about Ego, that it can be a very rigid block but it can also completely change. It can be a solution.”

The next room is filled with “Materialism,” a collection of reverse-engineered sculptures that reduce such consumer products as a Big Mac menu, a coffee cup, an iPhone, a pencil, and a bicycle into colored blocks based on the size of their raw materials, resulting in miniature architectural models meant to reveal how we exploit the earth and its labor force.

In the two-channel, twelve-minute film Drifters, Drift’s iconic concrete blocks float through New York City at one end of a long room and across mountains, rivers, and forests at the other end, searching for where they came from and what awaits them.

The pièce de resistance takes place in the McCourt, the Shed’s 17,000-square-foot McCourt performance venue, only at certain times and with an extra charge, so plan your visit carefully. Four levitating Drifters, real versions of the blocks from the film in the previous room, move slowly throughout the space for more than an hour, set to a droning soundtrack by Anohni, the English singer-songwriter who used to lead the band Antony and the Johnsons. The blocks are floating without wires, engaged in a butoh-like dance as they very (very) slowly flip, lower, and rise, sometimes dangling just overhead. Occasionally they gently bump into each other in a kind of soft kiss. The audience can walk around the area, sit in folding chairs, or lie down on their backs on the floor as these monoliths put on a mesmerizing show that could be an outtake from Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. During the performance, I asked Gordijn how they did it. After offering two guesses that she quickly said no to, I suggested a third, which she simply smiled at. It’s extraordinarily peaceful and relaxing while also instilling hope for a future where humans, nature, and technology can exist together in harmony.

[On December 10 and 11, Ego will be activated by special dance performances, featuring Company Wo. (Daniel Kersh, Marcella Ann Lewis, Erika Choe, Jordan Demetrius Lloyd, and Myssi Robinson) from 11:30 to 5:00 and Project-TAG (Mizuho Kappa) from 5:30 to 8:00 on Friday and Limón Dance Company (Jessica Sgambelluri) from 11:30 to 2:00 and Battery Dance (Durgesh Gangani, Jillian Linkowski, Razvan Stoian, Randall Riley, Sarah Housepian, and Vivake Khamsingsavath) from 2:30 to 8:00 on Saturday.]

Drift exhibit at Pace features self-portraits of founders Lonneke Gordijn and Ralph Nauta (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

DRIFT MATERIALISM: PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE
Pace Gallery
540 West Twenty-Fifth St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
November 5 – December 18, free
www.pacegallery.com

In an April 2020 online Pace discussion with musician Lee Ranaldo — he was supposed to play live with Ego when it was previously at Pace but it was canceled because of the pandemic — Gordijn said about the lockdown, “One of the beautiful things I found in the last days or weeks, actually, was that I realized that every night at a certain time, a group of crows is flying the same circles as if they’re all waiting for each other. Every day it is around 8:00, before sunset. This sort of connection with a place, where you start to get to know the animals, the plants, and the particularities, that is what I would love to explore more and the relationship that you can have with that.”

It is that kind of worldview that makes Drift’s work so compelling. In conjunction with Drift: Fragile Future, Pace is presenting “Drift Materialism: Past, Present, Future,” which expands on the “Materialism” room at the Shed. Continuing through December 18, the small show features sculptures that resemble Russian Constructivism filtered through children’s blocks. For the large-scale wall hanging 1980 Beetle, Gordijn and Nauta took apart a Volkswagen and put it back together. The resulting blocks represent forty-two materials, reduced to their accumulated mass.

Drift usually deconstructs inanimate objects, but two new works explore the molecular elements of the human body, side-by-side self-portraits of Gordijn and Nauta that are exactly equal. In the back room, the augmented reality Block Universe consists of a plexiglass sun surrounded by planets; the gallery supplies iPads that depict orbiting Drifters and other elements. The title comes from the theory that everything is happening at once, that past, present, and future exist in unison.

“We’re not having relationships with the materials and objects around us anymore,” Nauta explains in a Drift video. “And if you start losing the connection with this, you’re going to be very unhappy, because you lose the wonder in life.”

Next up is Drift’s kinetic sculpture Amplitude, a permanent commission slated to go on view at 45 Rockefeller Plaza, providing yet more wonder.

THE SHED: OPEN CALL

“Open Call” features eleven immersive installations by emerging NYC-based artists (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

OPEN CALL
The Shed
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Thursday – Sunday through August 1, free with advance RSVP, 11:00 am – 6:00 pm
646-455-3494
theshed.org

In December 2020, I saw Aisha Amin’s Friday, a short film about a historic Brooklyn mosque, as part of the BAM virtual series “Programmers’ Notebook: New York Lives.” Its reinvention as the immersive installation The Earth Has Been Made a Place of Prayer for the fourth iteration of the Shed’s “Open Call” group show is emblematic of the current exhibition, which focuses on works by early-career New York City–based artists that explore ritual, diverse communities of color, and coming together as we emerge from the Covid-19 crisis. Amin’s film is projected on four screens hanging from the ceiling, forming a large “X,” and viewers are encouraged to watch it while sitting on one of thirty-two red and white prayer rugs that face Mecca, as if we’re all members of Masjid At-Taqwa in Bed-Stuy. “My film documents a communal prayer that happens every Friday afternoon in a confined space. It takes place in a room that is small for the amount of people who come to pray,” Amin says in a Shed interview with fellow “Open Call” artist Cindy Tran. “So, I’ve been thinking, too, about what it means to be in such close corners with people. For the audio, I had placed a recorder in the mosque to capture the two-hour prayer, and the amount of coughing and throat-clearing and sniffling and chatter I recorded. . . . Now, it would be a terrifying experience to go there if you didn’t have a mask and weren’t vaccinated, but there’s also something so nice about the closeness of the people in that space.” After I sat down, several other people joined me as we formed our own temporary community.

The exhibition features eleven installations in addition to thirteen live performances that have just concluded, chosen from approximately fifteen hundred applications, dealing with grief, loss, and mourning as well as joy, hope, and public congregation. Ayanna Dozier’s Cities of the Dead is a compelling faux documentary that details Solomon Riley’s (Ricky Goldman) dream of creating “Negro Coney Island” on Hart Island, which was scheduled to open July 4, 1924, before the city stepped in and halted the project. Hart Island was later used as a potters field for victims of AIDS and Covid-19, which disproportionately affected people of color. Kenneth Tam’s video sculpture The Crane and the Snake explores Asian American hazing and assimilation.

Aisha Amin reimagines her film Friday for Shed exhibit (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Simon Liu invites viewers into a partially enclosed circular space to experience Devil’s Peak, a multichannel audiovisual journey into the troubled city of Hong Kong, a flurry of images with hidden bonuses just outside in one corner. Pauline Shaw’s stunning The Tomb-Sweeper’s Mosquito Bite uses MRI scans, science, memory, and the idea of diaspora in a large, hanging tapestry counterbalanced by objects encased in hand-blown glass vessels. “Autobiographical memory relies very much on the dormant network, so it’s really hard to separate what is happening in your daily life and what is happening in your memory,” she explains in a Shed talk with Liu. “Our notions of self, memory, and everyday experience are completely intertwined. Those are the intricate, scientific details of the MRI process. I’m translating the images that resulted into felt.”

Pauline Shaw explores memory and the diaspora in The Tomb-Sweeper’s Mosquito Bite (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Emilie Gossiaux takes on anti-disability and anti-animal prejudices and celebrates her relationship with her seeing-eye dog in True Love Will Find You in the End, a pair of life-size sculptures that exhibit both human and canine characteristics shown holding hands. Stand in the middle of Tajh Rust’s Passages to read a quote from Caribbean philosopher Édouard Glissant, “I made an attempt to communicate with this absence,” stenciled repeatedly on two freestanding partially mirrored glass panels, evoking colonialism and migration. You’re encouraged to walk through Anne Wu’s A Patterned Universe, a kind of architectural playground with decorative elements representative of Flushing’s Chinese immigrant neighborhood. Esteban Jefferson pays tribute to a friend who passed away in 2019 with We Love You Devra Freelander, a pair of paintings documenting the passing of one year. Caroline Garcia mourns the loss of her mother in The Headless Headhunt, incorporating the Indigenous Filipino practice of headhunting related to grief, here enhanced with augmented reality.

And Le’Andra LeSeur’s There is no movement without rhythm, consisting of five rectangular screens arranged in a circle so people can stand in the middle, was inspired by jazz and blues and Gnawa male-dominated ceremonial traditions that LeSeur commandeers by filming herself holding objects and grasping her naked body. “I love the idea of thinking about what’s happening right now in this time and how we as artists are really processing and pushing forward with creation as a framework for healing,” LeSeur tells Open Call artist AnAkA in a conversation that gets to the heart of the exhibition as a whole. “And I’m also interested to hear you talk about this kind of collective movement. I think right now, in this time, it’s not necessarily about self, it’s about we and community, how we’re doing things not just for now but for the future. Even if we don’t have the opportunity to celebrate what we’re reclaiming, we’re creating a space for the future to have this opportunity to celebrate. And the beauty in that is really profound.”

KYLE MARSHALL: BAC / THE SHED

Kyle Marshall (right) has a busy June with Stellar at BAC (above) and two live performances at the Shed

Who: Kyle Marshall, Charmaine Warren
What: Dance film, virtual discussion, live performance
Where: BAC online, the Shed
When: BAC Zoom talk Wednesday, June 16, free with RSVP, 7:00; Shed performances Friday, June 25, 7:00, and Saturday, June 26, 8:00, free with RSVP
Why: In a May 2018 Movement Research Critical Correspondence talk with performer, historian, consultant, and dance writer Charmaine Warren, dancer, teacher, and choreographer Kyle Marshall said about working with Myssi Robinson, Mimi Gabriel, Nick Sciscione and Dare Ayorinde, “So it’s the five of us and we’ve known each other for a long time and so coming together, that sense of community I’m realizing is important to my work. The people in the room and that personal investment has to be there and that’s something I’m realizing going into new projects. But with Wage as opposed to Colored, which was a celebration of a black identity, I think with Wage I’m looking at white supremacy and capitalism and how it kind of fits within our bodies and how our bodies are victims of that cycle and perpetrators of that cycle. And how through making Colored I realized I had white supremacist thinking in my own body, about myself, about other people. And so this work came out of that thinking. I’m working with two male-identified dancers, two female-identified dancers, two black dancers, and two white dancers. I’m interested in how these binary things collide and the tension of these things. I’m curious about how bodies are seen and how bodies learn things, and how that history and learning comes into the room and also as a viewer, how do you see a performer as an archetype, as a stereotype. And also themselves because we’re both but we see each other as both and that kind of messy gray area, it’s a lot.”

Marshall continues to explore “that kind of messy gray area” in his Baryshnikov Arts Center commission Stellar, streaming for free through June 21. In the twenty-two-minute piece filmed at BAC’s Jerome Robbins Theater, Marshall, Bree Breeden, and Ariana Speight, in colorful, artistically designed hoodies (by Malcolm-x Betts), float about the space, lifting their arms, kneeling on the ground, clapping, running in circles, and staring into an ominous darkness, set to an electronic score that incorporates jazz, Afrofuturism, and percussive and other sounds by Kwami Winfield. Filmed and edited by Tatyana Tenenbaum, who previously shot Holland Andrews’s meditative Museum of Calm at BAC, it’s a poignant piece that furthers what Marshall was talking about with Warren three years ago.

Marshall and Warren, who last July spoke about creating dance during the pandemic in a “Black Dance Stories” episode, will be back in conversation on June 16 at 7:00 in a BAC Zoom discussion about Stellar. Marshall, who released the dance film Hudson in January, is also part of the Shed’s “Open Call” exhibition, performing live at the Hudson Yards venue on June 25-26, presenting a “dance honoring the spirit of humanity and sacredness of gathering”; limited free tickets are available, and the first show will be livestreamed as well.