Tag Archives: wade thompson drill hall

A ROOM IN INDIA

A Room in India

Ariane Mnouchkine and Théâtre du Soleil return to Park Ave. Armory with the epic A Room in India

UNE CHAMBRE EN INDE
Park Ave. Armory, Wade Thompson Drill Hall
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
December 5-20, $45-$150
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org
www.theatre-du-soleil.fr

In 2009, Ariane Mnouchkine and Théâtre du Soleil staged the epic Les Éphémères at Park Ave. Armory as part of the Lincoln Center Festival, asking the question “What would you do if the end of the world were imminent?” Mnouchkine and her avant-garde collective now return to the armory with the North American premiere of their latest epic, A Room in India, exploring the question “What is the role of theater and art in a world dominated by terrorism and hostility?” Directed by Mnouchkine with music by Jean-Jacques Lemêtre and Hélène Cixous and featuring a cast of thirty-five actors from around the world, the spectacle, performed in French, English, Tamil, Arabic, Japanese, and Russian (with English supertitles), explores Eastern and Western traditions as a French theater company is stranded in India and chaos descends in the form of contemporary sociopolitical issues. The production is three hours and fifty-five minutes with one intermission; to get in the mood, the armory is offering a preshow Indian meal ($30; must be ordered at least two days in advance), by chef Gaurav Anand of Moti Mahal Delux, that includes Paneer Tikka Masala, Dal Tadka, and Aloo Dum, rice, bread, naan, Indian pastries, and beer, wine, and water. On December 8 at 6:00, Mnouchkine will participate in an artist talk with Tony Kushner and New Yorker editor David Remnick. In a letter about the show, Théâtre du Soleil stirs up curiosity with a playful conversation:

“So, you’re going to put on another play about India?”

“It won’t be about India but rather will take place in India. In a room in India. That’s even the title of the play.”

“Come again? What do you mean? What happens in an India that’s not India?”

“Visions, dreams, nightmares, apparitions, moments of panic, doubts, revelations. Anything and everything that might haunt the actors and technicians of a poor theater troupe desperately in search of resolutely contemporary, political theater, a troupe stranded there by deeply moving events beyond its control, just as they are beyond our control and move us, leaving us looking for a way to face them, a way to suffer through them without resigning ourselves to adding evil to Evil through our words and our deeds.”

“And so what?”

“For now, that’s it, which is already quite a lot.”

JACQUES HERZOG, PIERRE DE MEURON, AI WEIWEI: HANSEL AND GRETEL

(photo by James Ewing)

Visitors’ paths are closely followed in immersive “Hansel & Gretel” installation at Park Avenue Armory (photo by James Ewing)

Park Avenue Armory
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
Tuesday – Sunday through August 6, $15 (free with IDNYC card)
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org

Upon walking into the Park Avenue Armory through a small back entrance on Lexington Ave. and Sixty-Sixth St. to see the immersive, interactive exhibition “Hansel & Gretel,” visitors face the following statement on a wall in front of them: “What would be a suspicious text?” The exhibit, the latest collaboration between Chinese dissident artist and activist Ai Weiwei and Swiss Pritzker Prize-winning architects Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron, is all about suspicion. It is both a fun and revealing exploration of surveillance in the twenty-first century, best experienced with no advance knowledge, so I strongly advise you to stop reading now and pick up where you left off after you have made your way through the two parts of the eye-opening show. After walking down an eerie hallway, you emerge into the Wade Thompson Drill Hall, totally dark aside from occasional pockets of light — fewer if you are lucky enough to be there when there are not many other people, more if you are there when it’s busy. You are unsure of every step, as the material under your feet feels unsafe and there appear to be rises and dips, so your physical safety is threatened by the unknown. Soon you reach a series of large rectangular grids on which are cast white and red electronic lines that trace your path, along with distorted photographs of your head and body taken by infrared cameras located across the ceiling. Occasionally a drone whirs by overhead, the propellers sending down a burst of wind while the drones take yet more pictures of you. “Here the breadcrumbs of the famous Hansel and Gretel fairy tale are not eaten by birds but rather digital crumbs are gathered and stored, reminiscent of Ray Bradbury’s poignant 1953 science-fiction, Fahrenheit 451, where an omniscient state surveils its citizens from the skies,” curators Tom Eccles and Hans-Ulrich Obrist write in the exhibition program.

(photo by James Ewing)

Latest collaboration by Ai Weiwei, Jacques Herzog, and Pierre de Meuron reveals much about privacy and surveillance in the twenty-first century (photo by James Ewing)

The installation then leads you outside, where you walk around the block to enter through the main doors on Park Avenue and encounter a series of tables with available laptops in the hallways of the Head House, lined with blurry large-scale photographs of the people around you. The computers offer an illuminating look into the history of surveillance and frightening military drone statistics while also providing background information on the creation of the project, including the facial recognition technology by Adam Harvey, the floor projections by iart, and the drones by PhotoFlight Aerial Media and Easy Aerial. Despite having just been surveiled in the drill hall, you are likely to have the computer take your photo, locate your image in its database, and reveal it on the wall — and you’re even more likely to be happy about your face now joining photos of other exhibition-goers and the portraits of American military heroes that regularly fill the hallway. It’s a brilliant commentary on how blithely we leave our personal trail of crumbs now, inured to constantly sharing our email addresses, phone numbers, image, and other facts about ourselves via social media and online purchasing. “I think we all have a personal experience of being under surveillance, but the character of surveillance is that you only see one side of the story,” Ai, who knows what it’s like to be under 24/7 watch, said at the press opening. Ai, Herzog, and de Meuron, whose fifteen-year collaboration includes the Bird’s Nest Stadium at the 2008 Beijing Olympics and the Serpentine Gallery Pavilion at the London 2012 Festival — Herzog and de Meuron are also overseeing the restoration of the Park Avenue Armory itself — have created an immersive environment that is far from a fairy-tale world and instead a dramatic and engaging public space that highlights just how much we have accepted being tracked constantly. A pair of tiny keyholes in the door at the top of the balcony lets viewers move aside brass disks to secretly observe installation visitors below, a down-to-earth analog reminder of the age-old delight humans take in spying on one another, now magnified by today’s technology into monstrous, inescapable form — with an added soupçon of exhibitionistic enjoyment.

THE HAIRY APE

(photo by Stephanie Berger)

Robert “Yank” Smith (Bobby Cannavale) asserts himself in Richard Jones’s fierce revival of Eugene O’Neill’s THE HAIRY APE (photo by Stephanie Berger)

Park Ave. Armory, Wade Thompson Drill Hall
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
Tuesday – Sunday through April 22, $60-$195
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org

If it’s subtlety you’re looking for, you won’t find it in Eugene O’Neill’s 1922 play, The Hairy Ape, which continues through April 22 at the Park Avenue Armory in a grunting, ferocious production imported from the Old Vic. Written shortly after he won two Pulitzer Prizes (for Beyond the Horizon and Anna Christie), The Hairy Ape is O’Neill’s clarion call against capitalism, classism, socialism, slavery, and even ageism, focusing on the role of each unique person in contemporary American society. “I have tried to dig deep in it, to probe in the shadows of the soul of man bewildered by the disharmony of his primitive pride and individualism at war with the mechanistic development of society,” he said of his first draft of the play, which was partially inspired by the suicide of a friend of his, a stoker named Driscoll. Bobby Cannavale is fierce as Robert “Yank” Smith, a brute of a man who is the ersatz leader of a group of men working in the stokehole of an ocean liner, feeding coal to the fires to keep the vessel moving. Stewart Laing’s eye-opening conveyor-belt set rotates on a revolving, slightly elevated strip, half of which is in front of the audience, half of it behind. The men work in a long but not very high rectangular bright-yellow metal container that is open on one side, with two locked entrances at the end, one barred, as if they’re animals in a cage. Covered in black soot that looks like it will never come off, the men sing and play rough in drunken camaraderie, fully aware of their dank and dreary situation. “T’hell wit home. Where d’yuh get dat tripe? Dis is home, see?” Yank says in his tough New York City accent. A tipsy Long (Chris Bannow) rages, “Listen ’ere, Comrades! Yank ’ere is right. ’E says this ’ere stinkin’ ship is our ’ome. And ’e says as ’ome is ’ell. And ’e’s right! This is ’ell. We lives in ’ell, Comrades — and right enough we’ll die in it.” Old Paddy (David Costabile) remembers how things once were, when the men intertwined with nature, aboard clippers, working in the fresh air and sunshine. “’Twas them days men belonged to ships, not now,” he says. “’Twas them days a ship was part of the sea, and a man was part of a ship, and the sea joined all together and made it one.” But Yank is having none of that. “I belong and he don’t. He’s dead but I’m livin’,” he declares about Paddy. “Listen to me! Sure I’m part of de engines! Why de hell not!” Later, when the stokers are hard at work with their shovels, Mimi Jordan Sherin’s dazzling lighting, filled with ever-changing primary colors, turns the container red, as if the men are trapped in the fiery furnaces of hell itself.

Stewart Laing’s sculptural sets and Mimi Jordan Sherin’s colorful lighting look stunning in Park Avenue Armory (photo by Stephanie Berger)

Rich kid Mildred Douglas (Catherine Combs) tells her aunt (Becky Ann Baker) that she’s planning on visiting the stokers working down below (photo by Stephanie Berger)

Meanwhile, Mildred Douglas (Catherine Combs), the twenty-year-old heiress to the steel company for whom the stokers toil down below, is on the promenade deck of the ship, with her aunt (Becky Ann Baker). Dressed in white, Mildred walks through the oversized sans serif logo of her father’s company as she tells her aunt that she has arranged to go meet the men. The rich Mildred believes she can help them, make their lives better, but she also sees them merely as animals. “When a leopard complains of its spots, it must sound rather grotesque,” she says in a mocking tone. “Purr, little leopard. Purr, scratch, tear, kill, gorge yourself and be happy — only stay in the jungle where your spots are camouflage. In a cage they make you conspicuous.” Her visit doesn’t go very well — Yank can’t tell if she’s an angel or a ghost — but she awakens something deep inside him; he starts considering who he really is and where he truly belongs, leading to a string of absurdist adventures in New York City.

(photo by Stephanie Berger)

Stewart Laing’s sculptural sets and Mimi Jordan Sherin’s colorful lighting look stunning in Park Avenue Armory (photo by Stephanie Berger)

O’Neill pulls no punches in the play, pitting rich vs. poor, heaven vs. hell, old vs. young, male vs. female, and the concept of “clean” vs. “dirty.” His stage notes compare the men’s camaraderie to “the bewildered, furious, baffled defiance of a beast in a cage” and calls them “chained gorillas.” Cannavale (Boardwalk Empire, The Motherfucker with the Hat) is explosive as Yank — a role previously played onstage by Paul Robeson and Willem Dafoe and on the silver screen by William Bendix — whether taking a moment and posing as Rodin’s “Thinker” or pounding his chest, expressing his mental and physical superiority. The container can’t contain him; when Yank does venture out, Laing’s objects disappear and instead Yank is faced with a large, dark, unknown space, as Olivier Award–winning theater and opera director Jones (Too Clever by Half, The Illusion) takes full advantage of the massive Wade Thompson Drill Hall while adding surreal elements. In addition, composer Sarah Angliss contributes an immersive sound design, making the audience feel as if it is trapped as well. Not everything works; for example, the face of Mildred’s father shows up in a few strange places, and it probably wasn’t necessary. Costabile excels as Paddy, waxing poetic as he drinks himself into oblivion. The cast also includes Cosmo Jarvis as a prisoner, Mark Junek as the second officer, Henry Stram as a socialist secretary, and Tommy Bracco, Emmanuel Brown, Nicholas Bruder, Jamar Williams, and Amos Wolf as stokers. (It would be unfair to give away who Phil Hill portrays.) The play features existential movement by choreographer Aletta Collins (Anna Nicole, La Traviata) and dance captain (and ensemble member) Isadora Wolfe, starts and stops that are curious but effective. The seats, arranged in rising rows against the east wall of the drill hall, are all bright yellow, matching the container, making the audience complicit in O’Neill’s marvelous manipulations. The word “yellow” is used several times in the play, primarily representing the fear that lies in the heart of humanity, particularly when it’s up against dehumanizing industrial progress; Yank calls both Long and Paddy yellow, as well as the unseen engineer blowing a whistle that means the men have to get back to work. “He ain’t got no noive. He’s yellow, get me?” Yanks says. “All de engineers is yellow. Dey got streaks a mile wide. Aw, to hell wit him!” The Hairy Ape might not be one of O’Neill’s most popular plays — although he thought it was his best — but it’s a treat to see it in such a dazzling, unpredictable version, powered by a bold and brutal lead performance.

THE HAIRY APE: CONVERSATION SERIES

A pair of special discussions accompany presentation of THE HAIRY APE at the Park Ave. Armory (photo by Manuel Harlan)

A pair of special discussions accompany presentation of THE HAIRY APE at the Park Ave. Armory (photo by Manuel Harlan)

Park Ave. Armory, Veterans Room
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
Friday, March 31, and Friday, April 14, $15, 6:00
Play continues through April 22, $60-$195
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org

The Old Vic production of Eugene O’Neill’s 1922 play, The Hairy Ape, which was also made into a 1944 film starring William Bendix, Susan Hayward, Dorothy Comingore, and John Loder, has begun previews in the Park Ave. Armory’s Wade Thompson Drill Hall, prior to a March 30 opening; the show, starring Bobby Cannavale (in a role previously played onstage by such actors as Louis Wolheim, Paul Robeson, and Willem Dafoe) and directed by Richard Jones (Into the Woods, Too Clever by Half), runs through April 22. In conjunction with the play, the armory will be hosting two special events as part of its ongoing Conversation Series. On March 31 at 6:00 in the Veterans Room, the artist talk “A Hairy Ape for the 21st Century” will feature Jones, Cannavale, and O’Neill scholar and English professor Robert M. Dowling discussing the impact of the play nearly one hundred years after its debut. Two weeks later, on April 14 at 6:00, Catherine Combs (who plays Mildred), New-York Historical Society chief historian Valerie Paley, and theater arts and gender studies associate professor Erika Rundle will delve into “The Hairy Ape & New York City: Class vs. Identity.” O’Neill fans will also want to check out The Emperor Jones, continuing through April 23 at the Irish Rep, and Target Margin Theater’s six-hour revival of Mourning Becomes Electra, running April 26 to May 20.

MANIFESTO

Cate Blanchett

Cate Blanchett plays multiple characters in Julian Rosefeldt’s MANIFESTO

Park Ave. Armory, Wade Thompson Drill Hall
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
Daily through January 8, $20
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org

As visitors go from screen to screen in Julian Rosefeldt’s thirteen-channel installation, Manifesto, at the Park Ave. Armory, they’re bombarded with declarations from cultural missives by artists and philosophers dating back more than 150 years. Various words and phrases stick out, hanging in the air like bees buzzing around flowers: “originality,” “conflict,” “infinite and shapeless variation,” “decay,” “revolution,” “recklessness,” “absolute reality,” “glorious isolation,” “obsession,” freedom,” “everlasting change,” “the unconsciousness of humanity.”

I am against action; I am for continuous contradiction: for affirmation, too. I am neither for nor against and I do not explain because I hate common sense. I am writing a manifesto because I have nothing to say.

Art requires truth, not sincerity.

Logic is a complication. Logic is always wrong.

The words are all spoken by Oscar-winning actress Cate Blanchett (Notes on a Scandal, Blue Jasmine), who plays thirteen characters in twelve of the films, which each runs ten and a half minutes and are looped concurrently. She does not appear in the shorter prologue but does provide the narration. Among the characters she portrays are a homeless man, a grade school teacher, a factory worker, a punk rocker, a scientist, a news anchor, a choreographer, and a puppeteer.

Our art is the art of a revolutionary period, simultaneously the reaction of a world going under and the herald of a new era.

Originality is nonexistent.

Purge the world of intellectual, professional, and commercialized culture!

Rosefeldt (Trilogy of Failure, Deep Gold, The Ship of Fools), a photographer and filmmaker who was born in Munich and lives and works in Berlin, has an MA in architecture, so location plays a key role in the films, many of which take place in spectacular surroundings, interiors and exteriors, that would make Andreas Gursky drool, including an abandoned Olympic village, the Klingenberg CHP Plant, the Palasseum housing project, a former fertilizer factory, the ZDF Hauptstadtstudio, and the Humboldt Universität Department of Engineering Acoustics (in which a 2001-like monolith floats in the air). Each film begins and ends with Christoph Krauss’s camera lingering on the often jaw-dropping visuals.

We must create. That’s the sign of our times.

Fluxus is a pain in art’s ass.

Existence is elsewhere.

Julian Rosefeldt, Manifesto, 2015 © Julian Rosefeldt and VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn

A homeless man screams out his thoughts on art in Julian Rosefeldt’s MANIFESTO (© 2015 Julian Rosefeldt and VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn)

The statements are delivered in unique and inventive ways, with Blanchett, looking vastly different in each scene courtesy of Bina Daigeler’s costumes, Morag Ross’s makeup, and Massimo Gattabrusi’s hairstyling, playing a mourner giving a eulogy, a mother saying grace, a teacher presenting a lesson, a choreographer yelling at her troupe, a financial analyst spouting data, a crane operator incinerating garbage, and a CEO offering a new concept at a private board meeting in a seaside villa.

I am for art that is put on and taken off, like pants; which develops holes, like socks; which is eaten, like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt, like a piece of shit.

No to the heroic. No to the anti-heroic.

Temporal and geographical alienation are forbidden.

Each section is dedicated to a separate artistic theory, discussing Pop Art, Conceptual Art / Minimalism, Fluxus, Surrealism / Spatialism, Dadaism, Suprematism / Constructivism, Stridentism / Creationism, Abstract Expressionism, Architecture, Futurism, Situationism, and Film. Heard today in this context, the statements range from the very funny to the extremely dry and boring, from the downright elitist to the realistic and relevant, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Farewell to absurd choices.

Nothing is original.

In this period of change, the role of the artist can only be that of the revolutionary: it is his duty to destroy the last remnants of an empty, irksome aesthetic, arousing the creative instincts still slumbering unconscious in the human mind.

MANIFESTO (photo by James Ewing)

Close-ups of Cate Blanchett appear simultaneously in thirteen-screen installation at Park Ave. Armory (photo by James Ewing)

The quotations come from a wide variety of sources, from little-known essays to major influential texts. They include Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels’s Manifesto of the Communist Party, Kazimir Malevich’s Suprematist Manifesto, Dziga Vertov’s WE: Variant of a Manifesto, André Breton’s Manifesto of Surrealism, Lucio Fontana’s White Manifesto, Stan Brakhage’s Metaphors on Vision, Elaine Sturtevant’s Man Is Double Man Is Copy Man Is Clone, Lars von Trier and Thomas Vinterberg’s Dogma 95, and Claes Oldenburg’s I am for an art . . . , in addition to writings by Francis Picabia, Barnett Newman, Yvonne Rainer, Kurt Schwitters, Tristan Tzara, Sol LeWitt, Paul Eluard, Wassily Kandinsky and Franz Marc, Guillaume Apollinaire, and Werner Herzog.

The past we are leaving behind us as carrion. The future we leave to the fortune-tellers. We take the present day.

All of man is fake. All of man is false.

I believe in the pure joy of the man who sets off from whatever point he chooses, along any other path save a reasonable one, and arrives wherever he can.

About two-thirds of the way through each film, all of the characters portrayed by Blanchett, seen in extreme close-up, suddenly speak their lines in monotone unison, a kind of choral cacophony of chanting and singing that echoes throughout the massive Wade Thompson Drill Hall, an exhilarating moment that makes up for some of the pompous diatribe and intellectual masturbation that preceded it. It also is a grand statement for the critical importance of art, especially during tough times when countries face cultural and sociopolitical battles that threaten personal freedoms and liberties. But the best reason to experience Manifesto, which continues through January 8, is to watch a remarkable actress in a marvelous and memorable tour de force; Blanchett fans will also want to catch her in Anton Chekhov’s The Present, which is running on Broadway through March 19.

TARYN SIMON: AN OCCUPATION OF LOSS

(photo © Naho Kubota)

Taryn Simon’s Park Ave. Armory installation resembles both a memorial pipe organ and a semicircle of crematorium chimneys (photo © Naho Kubota)

Park Ave. Armory
643 Park Ave. between 66th & 67th Sts.
September 13-25, daytime installation: Tuesday – Sunday, $10, 12 noon – 4:00
September 13-25, evening performances: Tuesday – Sunday, $45, 6:20, 7:10, 8:00, 8:50, 9:40, 10:30, 11:20
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org
tarynsimon.com

New York–based conceptual artist Taryn Simon has primarily used text and image and exhaustive research to document, collect, catalog, categorize, and classify multiple aspects of the human condition, examining such issues as politics, justice, governance, immigration, economics, and religion in such previous works as “A Living Man Dead and Other Chapters I-XVIII,” “Contraband,” “Paperwork and the Will of Capital,” and “An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar.” In her latest piece, “An Occupation of Loss,” Simon takes on all that and more in a compelling and deeply involving interactive performance installation continuing its world premiere at the Park Ave. Armory through September 25. Co-commissioned by the armory and London’s Artangel, “An Occupation of Loss” is an intimate exploration of the ritual of grief and the marginalization of professional mourners. Each evening, there are seven thirty-five-minute performances that begin with a group of fifty ticket holders waiting outside the armory on Sixty-Seventh St. At the designated start time, they are led up the stairs and into the massive Wade Thompson Drill Hall, where they line up on the balcony, overlooking eleven forty-eight-foot concrete wells (composed of eight six-foot rings apiece), arranged in a semicircle, each with a walkway leading to a small entrance. Slowly and quietly, up to three professional mourners enter each structure (designed by OMA / Shohei Shigematsu for maximum acoustical effect), which evoke Zoroastrian Towers of Silence as well as crematorium chimneys and a pipe organ. The audience is then led downstairs onto the floor of the 55,000-square-foot drill hall, through two long, narrow vertical white lights that echo the “Tribute in Light” homage to the Twin Towers (the lighting is by Urs Schönebaum), and are then permitted to enter the small, tight-fitting spaces where the mourners perform their laments. Wearing traditional clothing (except for a trio of Greeks who are in contemporary dress), the men and women sing, chant, cry, wail, and play instruments as they would at a funeral in their native country; however, in this case, since they are not mourning for any specific person, it is as if they are mourning for us all. “I was looking at the space that grief and loss generate and how it is performed and that line between something that is scripted and authentic,” Simon explains in an armory video, “and how we process that when the object of loss is not present — when there’s no body at the center. Is there a space where one actually has individual emotion, and where are our emotions governed and part of a program, and when are they liberated and something of our own? And questioning if that space even exists.” In addition to the evening performances ($45), the installation will be open Tuesday through Sunday from noon to four o’clock ($10), when visitors can walk around the wells and lament in their own way without the professional mourners, who only appear at night. The piece challenges viewers to consider such dualities as life and death, absence and presence, sound and silence, day and night, bona fide and staged, the private and the public, and light and dark.

Visitors can enter small spaces where professional mourners perform their laments (photo © Naho Kubota)

Taryn Simon’s “An Occupation of Loss” offers a fascinating look at how several cultures deal with grief in a public setting (photo © Naho Kubota)

As detailed in a booklet that visitors receive on their way out, the mourners come from Burkina Faso, India, Azerbaijan, Greece, France, Cambodia, Ghana, Ecuador, China, Romania, Russia, Malaysia, and Venezuela. The extensive information Simon had to provide in order to get the performers nonimmigrant visas forms a fascinating overview of their historic and cultural context. For example, Dr. Boureima T. Diamitani writes, in support of Burkina Faso mourners known as masks, “For many years, performers of mourning rituals are taught sacred practices to protect them from malefic powers of external enemies.” Dr. Sarah Laursen notes, “It is also customary throughout China to hire professional mourners to inspire attendance at funeral ceremonies, as it is believed that the number of attendees at a funeral is reflective of the importance of the deceased in the community.” And Juan Mullo Sandoval points out, “Along with its poetic structure and morphological system, the telluric, sentimental, and lamentation aspects of yaravíes represent the affliction that has characterized marginal sectors of the Ecuadorian population since the colonial times: problems of exclusion, economic deprivation, and exploitation.” “An Occupation of Loss” is particularly poignant in the wake of last weekend’s fifteenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, but there’s a timeless quality to it as well, given the many military actions going on around the globe right now, the frightening number of mass shootings in America, the fierce battle over immigration, and the national controversy over the killings of unarmed black men, women, and children by white police officers. Also, Simon was very careful to omit the graceful ambience of the armory, with its decorated period rooms, portraits, and plaques honoring veterans and military dead, from visitors’ experience. Thus, no one exits or enters through the main lobby; instead, a side and back door are used, allowing the installation to stand on its own. “An Occupation of Loss” might be about death and grief, but it is also a celebration of unique and different cultures at a moment when fear of the other is so prevalent in America’s psyche, and Simon doesn’t want anything else to get in the way of that.

Taryn Simon’s “An Occupation of Loss” offers a fascinating look at how many cultures deal with grief in a public setting (photo © Naho Kubota)

Visitors can enter small spaces where professional mourners perform their laments (photo © Naho Kubota)

The thirty-five minutes pass by very fast, so be sure to save some time to relax near the center of the semicircle, where all of the sounds of mourning come together to form an entrancing cacophony of lament. You will then be led out through a surprise exit that will delight those who attended the armory’s previous exhibition, Martin Creed’s “The Back Door.” And the booklet itself is also extremely worthwhile, identifying each of the professional mourners and sharing engrossing information on their specific forms of lamentation and how they relate to social, political, and economic issues in their country; over the years, many of the mourners have risked their own lives in order to help honor those that have already lost theirs, adding yet more power to this wholly original experience. [Note: Simon will be at the armory on September 24 for an artist talk moderated by scholar Homi K. Bhabha ($15, 6:00).]

MARTIN CREED: THE BACK DOOR / UNDERSTANDING

(photo by twi-ny/mdr)

A piano makes a different kind of music in “Martin Creed: The Back Door,” at the Park Ave. Armory through August 7 (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

THE BACK DOOR
Park Ave. Armory
643 Park Ave. between 66th & 67th Sts.
Through August 7, $15 (free with IDNYC card)
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org
www.martincreed.com

UNDERSTANDING
Pier 6, Brooklyn Bridge Park
Through October 23, free, 6:00 am – 11:00 pm
www.publicartfund.org
understanding slideshow

Upon going through the front door of the Park Ave. Armory and entering the lobby to see “Martin Creed: The Back Door,” visitors are greeted by Creed’s recent music video “Understanding,” which features the multidisciplinary British artist playing multiple characters. “We were arguing / And I was saying, ‘I’m a victim’ / And you were saying, ‘I’m a victim’ / And I was saying, ‘I’m a victim,’” Creed sings to a bouncy pop tune. Meanwhile, to the right, a vertical white neon sculpture hangs from the ceiling, slowly turning, with the word “Other” on one side and “People” on the reverse. The pair of works serves as an excellent introduction to Creed, who over the course of his thirty-year career has worn numerous hats (and hairstyles), building an oeuvre that includes painting, sculpture, film, installation, music recordings, performance, and more that challenge the status quo and call into question political and social convention around the world. Given full rein in the first floor of the historic armory, Creed and big-time curators Tom Eccles and Hans-Ulrich Obrist have created a masterful display, emphasizing Creed’s wide diversity and whimsical nature. Doors and curtains open and close, lights go on and off, an object partially blocks entrance to a space, and a piano isn’t used quite as expected. A marching band leads a small procession, an abandoned bar invites curiosity, and short films show people puking, defecating, and, despite physical disabilities, crossing a New York City street without canes, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs. One room is half-filled with balloons, while another features a wall of abstract portraits that call to mind the dignified paintings of military men that can be found throughout the armory; Creed’s sensibility so takes over that you might find yourself wondering whether certain of the military portraits aren’t pranks made by Creed. In the library, Creed has surreptitiously placed objects in the cabinets that display historical artifacts, exploring the very nature of labels and identification. Also in the library are small vitrines that contain exactly what their names explain they are or where they are: “Work No. 218: A sheet of paper crumpled into a ball,” “Work No. 158: Something on the left, just as you come in, not too high or low,” and “Work No. 74: As many 1″ squares as are necessary cut from 1″ masking tape and piled up, adhesive sides down, to form a 1″ cubic stack.”

(photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Martin Creed’s “Work No. 2497: Half the air in a given space” allows visitors to play in a room half-filled with white balloons (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

In the Wade Thompson Drill Hall, Creed projects his “Mouth” series onto a massive screen, short videos of people (including his mother) chewing, followed by a surprise at the back of the hall that references, among other things, what eventually happens after one eats. In the bunkers to the side, eighteen of Creed’s videos are on constant loop in different spaces, including “Let Them In” and “Border Control,” which deal with immigration and basic human rights; “Flower Kicking,” in which a man kicks a plant as if it were a soccer ball; the romantic “You’re the One for Me,” in which Creed frolics on a beach and in the ocean; and “Fuck Off,” eighty-one seconds of Creed screaming the title words. “Martin Creed: The Back Door” is an endlessly inventive intervention that confirms once again that the armory is one of the city’s most unusual and exciting places to see exhibitions that can’t be held anywhere else. (On Thursday and Friday nights, the exhibition is open till 10:00, with a bar in one of the period rooms.)

(photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Martin Creed asks for “Understanding” in Brooklyn Bridge Park (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

In a companion piece in Brooklyn Bridge Park, the Turner Prize-winning Creed, who was born in England, raised in Glasgow, and currently lives and works in London, has installed a giant revolving neon sign that very simply declares, “Understanding.” The ten-foot-tall letters, which sit atop a fifty-foot-long steel I-beam, spin around at varying speeds, sometimes coming to a brief stop, giving viewers a chance to reflect on the meaning of the word, whether seen frontward or backward. The kinetic sculpture, a project of the Public Art Fund, is visible from far away, mimicking an advertising sign, or can be viewed up close and personal, with steps that allow you to walk right up to it. As with most of Creed’s works, “Understanding” succeeds on numerous levels, particularly in a world torn apart by xenophobia, racism, hatred, and war. It is also the name of Creed’s most recent single and video, which, as noted above, can be seen in “The Back Door” (and here) and deals with victimhood. (“Understanding” can be found on Creed’s latest album, Thoughts Lined Up, which also includes such songs as “I’m Going to Do Something Soon,” “Everybody Needs Someone to Hate,” “Let’s Come to an Arrangement,” and “Difficult Thoughts.”) In addition, Lower Manhattan is visible through the letters and across the East River, where One World Trade Center has risen in the ashes of the Twin Towers. “Understanding” might seem somewhat quaint and obvious, but that’s part of the point, another thought-provoking work from an iconoclastic virtuoso who is finally getting his due.