Go Get the Butter (NSFW)

Robert Boyd


Clayton Porter, Trying Hard, 2012, multiple videos on three 32 in. TVs, time variable

Let's get the dick out of the way right up front. In the big downstairs gallery at Lawndale where the exhibit Staring at the Wall: The Art of Boredom is, you hear the words "work" and "hard" being repeated over and over, with slightly varying rhythms. Three 32-inch TVs are facing each other, so that their screens are mostly hidden from the viewer. That's where the sound is coming from.


Clayton Porter, Trying Hard, 2012, multiple videos on three 32 in. TVs, time variable

 Only when you get close and peek through the narrow slits between the TVs do you see erect penises (presumably artist Clayton Porter's penis) being pressed into soft sticks of butter. There are many things one could say to describe this, but "boring" is not one of them. That's the first clue that the title of the exhibit is not really about your boredom. It's more about what boredom unlocks. Being bored is an inducement to do something. For example, masturbation. And if mere masturbation isn't cutting it, why not press your dick into some soft butter? As The Waitresses sang, "It might not be better but I'll settle for different."

 
Clayton Porter, untitled (casts of melted butter), 2012, eight plaster of paris sculptures

Boredom here seems to be the inspiration for new work, a video installation called Trying Hard. And this apparently resulted in a series of little sculptures.

  
Clayton Porter, untitled (casts of melted butter), 2012, plaster of paris


Clayton Porter, untitled (casts of melted butter), 2012, plaster of paris

I had a discussion about these sculptures with a friend last night. He had two thoughts--first, as casts they seemed too perfect. He didn't believe that these were actual casts of butter that had been smushed by Porter's erect penis. He thought the technical challenges of creating such a cast might be too great. And there is nothing in the exhibit that states that what they are casts of the penis-smushed butter sticks--but everyone who sees them jumps to that conclusion. The other thing was that the sculptures were a way to turn this activity--pressing his penis into butter--into a salable object. He felt that detracted from the video installation, that the sculptures were unnecessary adjuncts. Perhaps so, but the fact that he could take this seemingly boredom-born activity and turn it into discreet sculptures is kind of impressive.

The thing about Staring at the Wall: The Art of Boredom is that Clayton Porter is everywhere. His work comes close to overwhelming the show. In addition to the loud dick piece and eight sculptures that seem to be associated with it, he has two more pieces in the exhibit.


Clayton Porter, Anal Patina, 2012, bronze, displayed with stationary bike and photograph, 11.5" x 12" x 2.75" (seat)

With Anal Patina, Porter made a bronze cast of his stationary bicycle seat and rode it naked for 650 miles. The patina (which I couldn't really see) was formed by his butt sweat. Boredom may have played a part (riding a stationary bike isn't exactly exciting). The piece is meant to "focus on the body," according to the notes. But mostly it elicits a laugh. In fact, one thing conspicuously absent in the show's notes (presumably written by curator Katia Zavistovski) about Anal Patina and Trying Hard is that they're funny. Porter is described as being preoccupied "with identity, sexuality and power relations." But the most obvious aspect of these two pieces, humor, is not mentioned.


Clayton Porter, Untitled (Sunlight Across My Face), 2012, video


Clayton Porter, Untitled Drawing (Self-Portrait), 2011, graphite and wax on paper, 9" x 11.5"

His last two pieces in the show are linked to each other. First is a pencil self-portrait--nothing special but well-executed. This is mounted on a freestanding bulletin-board-like structure. On the other side from the portrait is a projection, Untitled (Sunlight on My Face). This one is where Porter brings the boredom to us. This is, apparently, a video of sunlight slowly creeping across this portrait. It's only 19 minutes long, but I suspect no one watches the whole thing--too boring. I was reminded of Michael Snow's Wavelength, another film that few people watch all the way through unless they have to.

The boredom of the artist comes through in Chris Akin's work. Akin is a guard at the Menil Museum and apparently spends a whole lot of time looking at the floor. I can understand why. Standing in one place waiting for the occasional person to illicitly whip out a camera so you can actually do something must be excruciatingly boring. And the worn wood floors at the Menil are admittedly pretty interesting--I notice them every time I'm there.


Chris Akin, from the Menil Floor Drawing series, 2004-2006, metallic paint pen and pencil on paper, 2 5/8" x 4 1/4" each

Akin has taken his boredom and spun it into a body of work--drawings from 2004 to 2006, then collages from 2010 to 2012. Staring at the floors of the Menil has kept him artistically busy for years.


Chris Akin, from the Menil Floor Drawing series, 2010-2012, mixed media on paper, imensions variable

The pieces feel nostalgic, recalling cubist drawings and paintings as well as abstractions from the late 50s and 60s. In this way, they have a secondary relationship to the Menil through the content of its collection.

Another artist whose work references other older artwork is Jenny Schlief. She specifically references a well-known video by John Baldessari called I Am Making Art.


Jenny Schlief, I Am Making Art: After Baldessari, 2010, iPhone video, 29 seconds looped

The show catalog acknowledges that Schlief has humorous intentions. Taking Baldessari's dryly humorous video and replacing it with a baby with ants in her pants is funny. Apparently the link to boredom here has to do with the struggle of a parent to keep her child from being bored. But it could also relate to John Baldessari's ironic artistic statement, I Will Not Make Any More Boring Art.

Jeremy DePrez evidently kills time doodling on a scratch pad. One of his paintings in the show is based on this material.


Jeremy DePrez, untitled, 2012, oil on canvas, 52" x 78"

Boredom is not all that far from obsession. The need to fill the vacuum of time leads us to pointlessly repetitive acts like the careful filling of blank space on this scratch pad that DePrez has expanded and immortalized. Horror vacui also comes hand in hand with boredom. We clutter up our environments to stave off boredom.


Uta Barth, ...and to draw a bright white line with light (Untitled 11.1) (left side), 2011, inkjet prints face-mounted against matte acrylic, framed in painted aluminum frames, diptych--each panel 37 1/2" x 55 3/4"


Uta Barth, ...and to draw a bright white line with light (Untitled 11.1) (right side), 2011, inkjet prints face-mounted against matte acrylic, framed in painted aluminum frames, diptych--each panel 37 1/2" x 55 3/4"

Uta Barth and Seth Alverson both depict interior scenes (curtains and a chair respectively) which are related to the theme of the show via the idea that loneliness is related to boredom. I think this connection is weaker than what we see in the other works. At least it is for me. Sitting in a chair staring at the light as it plays across the curtains, catching dust particles in the air, and zoning out is not boredom. Being bored is feeling each second pass. Barth and Alverson's pieces make me think of those moments when time ceases to exist. I suppose the question is whether satori comes out of boredom or if it is a banishment of boredom. In any case, I feel these two pieces are closer to depicting a kind of satori than mere boredom. They have a gorgeous emptiness.


Seth Alverson, Chair, 2012, oil on canvas, 30" x 30"

Staring at the Wall: The Art of Boredom runs through January 12 at Lawndale Art Center.

Pan Recommends for the week of November 29 to December 5

Robert Boyd

Another Thanksgiving has passed, and that means we are on the home-stretch for the year and that galleries and art-spaces are putting up their final shows of the season. And that means there's a lot happening this week. Here are just some of the shows and performances we're looking forward to.

THURSDAY

Jamal Cyrus performing "Texas Fried Tenor" at the CAMH at 6:30 pm. Part of a series of performances at CAMH for Radical Presence: Black Performance in Contemporary Art, this one was  inspired by Steely Dan's song "Deacon Blues" which may be the only time the oblique-but-smooth jazz-rock stylings of Steely Dan have ever inspired a piece of performance art (although I'd be happy to be corrected if I'm wrong).

FRIDAY

A bunch of shows at Lawndale Art Center, tonight at 6:30 and running through January 12. It's the usual grab bag of shows at Lawndale, but I'm looking especially forward to Staring at the Wall: The Art of Boredom curated by Katia Zavistovski because ever since I heard Thomas McEvilley described L'Avventura as "exquisitely boring" in film history class, boredom has been one of my favorite subjects. It includes art by Chris Akin, Seth Alverson, Uta Barth, Jeremy DePrez, Clayton Porter and Jenny Schlief. Also, James Ciosek's HUMAN HAMSTER WHEEL!

SATURDAY 


Theaster Gates performing See, Sit, Sup, Sing:Holding Court at CAMH at 2 pm. Another of the performances for Radical Presence: Black Performance in Contemporary Art. Theaster Gates is one of the best-known social practice artists around, so this performance is a "must-see".


Situation Sculpture #1 by the Art Guys at 4400 block of Airline Drive (at East Whitney Street) at 3 pm. This sculpture (which as far as I can tell is a bunch of sewer hook-ups in an empty lot) is part of the Art Guys' 30-year anniversary celebration. This conflicts somewhat with Theaster Gates--tough choice. If you can't decide, let the weather decide for you. If it's nasty, see Theaster Gates. If it's nice, see the Art Guys. (Although if you are willing to discard accepted safe-driving standards, you may be able to see both.)

Demiak at Redbud Gallery, opening at 6 pm [on view through December 30]. Martin Demmink, aka Demiak, is coming back to Houston after participating last year in a pair of group shows at Williams Tower and Box 13. His work in those shows involved photographing dioramas of Louisiana swamp scenes. I wonder if Dutch guys developing an affinity for Louisiana is a thing (I'm thinking of the character "Sonny" from Treme). Anyway, those pieces from last year were great so I have high hopes for this new exhibit.

What are you looking forward to seeing this weekend? Let us know in the comments section.

Dennis Harper's Show of Shows

by Robert Boyd



I wanted to lead off with this statement. Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike artists' statements? If you had read this prior to making a decision about whether to go to the Joanna and see this thing, you'd stay home and watch reruns. The problem with artists' statements is that the make even really exciting art sound boring. Fortunately, I didn't read this statement until I got to the Joanna, so I was already committed.

So let me try to give you a flavor of the show--Dennis Harper invited his friends to come together for a one-night only evening of performance on October 22 at The Joanna. The structure was like an evening of broadcast TV, where you might have an Entertainment Tonight-like program followed by some comedy then by a game show, etc. Now The Joanna is a pretty bad place to see performance--it's a house, so the largest room is the relatively small living room. To get around this problem, Harper installed a closed circuit TV system. I think there were four screens in all--two in interior rooms, one on a walled-in porch, and one outside in the back yard. This way, everyone could see the performances. But Harper went an extra step--he created a fake TV studio out of paper--giant paper cameras, lights, microphones, etc. So while he had, in effect, a real TV studio (with tiny modern cameras feeding into Harper's computer, from which he directed the scene and controlled what was seen on the closed circuit monitors), on top of that he had layered a fake 1960s era TV studio.



Dennis Harper, paper microphone at iPageant, paper and PVC, 2011



Dennis Harper, fake TV studio for iPageant, mixed media, 2011

That's sculptor Woody Golden above operating one of the real cameras as various Houston art figures take their places for a game of What's My Line. The camera to the left is made of paper.



Dennis Harper, directing iPageant, 2011



Tina McPherson conducting red-carpet interviews

Tina McPherson, whose day job supervisor of the William R. Jenkins Art and Architecture Library at U.H., is also a local arts scenester. (Lots of local scenesters have day jobs that are tangentially related, at best, to their position within the local art scene.) She conducted interviews of arriving guests (pretty much anyone who came through) similar to those red-carpet interviews one might see on awards shows or celebrity-oriented shows. I've always thought it was weird how the backdrop to these interviews would be wallpaper printed with copies of corporate and/or product logos. iPageant parodied this tendency by putting up Tyvek, the super-strong water-proof paper that home builders use to cover the wooden framing of modern houses. Tyvek has its logo printed in a regular pattern, making Tyvek paper perfect for a red-carpet backdrop. McPherson treated everyone who came in as if they were a celebrity, whose answers to her repetitious questions were actually worth hearing. This went out live on the closed-circuit feed. Lots of people tried to fluster McPherson by giving outrageous answers to her questions, but she never broke character as far as I saw.

Then in the room to the left of the entryway, Herbert Melichar was taking headshot photos of everyone who walked in. He had lights set up and a black background. The photos were dramatic. He put them up in a gallery on his Facebook page and his Flickr page (whichever you prefer).



Nancy Douthey, iPageant perfomance on closed circuit TV

Next up was Nancy Douthey. As I mentioned in an earlier post, this performance was very much based on acting. Douthey was an old-fashioned telephone operator (a job rendered obsolete by technology). You've seen such operators in movies and on TV--they would be sitting before a bank of lights and sockets, and their job was to connect specific callers with specific receivers. Douthey uses practice to engage in a series of one sided conversations. It's not totally clear whether each conversation was meant to be a different person, or if it was the same person, whose personality changed depending on with whom she was speaking. The latter scenario was how I interpreted it, and I saw it as being about how our identity depends so much on other people--and other circumstances. We are not the same person when we are talking to our mother as opposed to when we are talking to our lover.


excerpt from Nancy Douthey's iPageant performance

Then it was time for the main event. both the fake television studio and the real one were set up in the Joanna's living room. A set for a game show was there with seats for four panelists, one host, and one contestant. This was a recreation of What's My Line, which was a weekly prime time game show from 1950 to 1967, and a daily syndicated show from 1967 to 1975. The idea behind the show is that the panelists, who wore blindfolds, would have to guess who the guest was based on a series of yes or no questions. If they failed to guess within a certain number of questions, the guest won (I'm assuming the guest, who was a celebrity, was playing on behalf of someone).



Two of the What's My Line panelists, Dennis Nance and Shane Tolbert

The host was played by Mat Wolf. The guests were Jenny Schlief, Dennis Nance, Shane Tolbert and Lane Hagood. The look was "natty."



It started off a little awkwardly, but as they got into the act, the players got better and better.



The first mystery guest was Blaffer director Claudia Schmuckli. It didn't take long for the panelists to guess who she was. The next contestant was a twist--two people, Cody Ledvina and Brian Rod, the guys behind The Joanna. The panelists never guessed who they were because of their confusing, contradictory answers.

Between each act, the closed circuit TV camera showed this sign.



I left after the "What's My Line" act (which I kind of wish could have gone on longer--how often do you say that about performance art, eh?), and because of this I missed some other things that apparently happened later (to go by the photographic evidence here).

What I didn't quite understand was what all this had to do with social networking. There were a few obvious references (the "like" sign in the place of an "applause" sign), but it seemed to have more to do with television and our shared history of television than anything. But on a little bit of signage showing all of Harper's collaborators, we do get an idea of the interconnectedness of one part of Houston's art scene.




I thought it was fantastic fun, and the format seems replicable. If Harper wanted to host additional performance nights, the fake TV studio with closed circuit monitors would be a good way to structure it. I'd go see them.