Johnny Payphone of Rat Patrol

In keeping with the bike-loving, consumerism-vexed/obsessed tone of this blog, I've got one more interview with Johnny Payphone of Rat Patrol. RP is non hierarchical as far as I can tell, but Johnny is a good spokesperson, as is clear by his fantastic musing on all things interesting. Here we have strong ties, weak ties, imagined ties, bricolage, community, anti-community, branding, the infamous HABITUS, Hebdidge-esque stuff oozing out the seams, etc etc etc. I’m happy with it as a closing note to the official period of Relationally Cate-ring to the blogosphere.

Thanks, readers. Followup comments to all things soon to come.

RC: Could you describe a little bit about what Rat Patrol is about?

JP: We're a trash and chopper club. Beyond that each member is welcome to manifest the club in the way they see fit, provided it doesn't reflect negatively on other members (so no cop-fighting or car-window smashing). There's a natural cycle to it- ride through the alleys, find bikes in the trash, weld them up, ride them through the alleys... very self-sustaining. Mostly we like just cruising around, maybe drinking some beers on a railroad trestle. But it can be a powerful influence on your life because you will see people living their dream. We're told all the time that "anything is possible" but you really have to see someone applying that to their life before you figure out how to do it to yours.


RC: on to freak bikes: where do the parts come from? how do people learn to make freak bikes? what does it mean to ride a freak bike?

JP: Some of it is about customizing your own transportation the same way you'd customize your outfit, or put stickers on your laptop, or whatever. But really the key is that these bikes are fun to ride. Riding around on something really fun, while people yell encouragement all day, has a tremendous effect on your state of mind. It puts a grin on your face.

The parts come from the alley, or apartment cleanouts, or scrappers. We have open build days where we share the knowledge but you do the work (no handouts here). Most of the time we have an open build at 1048 W. 37th on Sunday between 12 and 6. A few times a year we don't open the shop due to special events but for the most part if you stop by you can make a bike. We have a big pile of frames so all you need is elbow grease, maybe some beer, maybe a few bucks for supplies. Stop by! Note that sometimes Saturday night makes it hard to open promptly at noon Sunday.

RC: how about all this kind of appropriation of freak bikes? I think it was last summer that Brooklyn Industries had a freak bike in their display, and now someone is having freak bike classes in NY. It seems like freak bikes have become (at least) a commercial image. If you agree, what do you think about that? if you don't, tell me that too.

JP: Well, every single counterculture in history has been exploited to some degree. This is what the coolhunting jackals do. But some trends are inherently uncommercializable, such as anticonsumer junk cycling. You can't sell a pre-made, brand new junk bike, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be custom to your body. But then again you can't sell graffiti but there's plenty of merchandizing around that culture.

Fortunately in the bike club world we've seen this happen before and have all been very resistant to co-option. We've had offers from Puma, Coke, MTV, Adidas, etc etc... Vice Magazine came to me and said "you guys are cool we want you in the magazine" and I said "kiss my ass" and so they called us stupid weirdos in the issue... a great reminder of how vipers always smile so big but will bite you in an instant.

In the end I don't have any problem with individuals making money off their passion. Most corporations, though, don't even care what the thing is, they just want the trend. It's just like the media- are they interested in the truth, or do they want a story? If a large corporation really wanted to promote our values they'd do so in a world-improving, nonconsumer way. But of course Coca-cola's not going to do that. But, for example, there was an independent film made about Bike Club last year and the filmmakers have been extremely generous in donating proceeds from ticket, merch, and DVD sales to our African charity. They know they're exploiting a culture and they're trying to atone for it by using the film for good. This is the middle ground between gross corporate exploitation and broke-ass individual self-righteous poverty.


RC: Can you talk about the network of rat patrol groups around the world? What kind of relationships are formed/aided there. If I ride with Rat Patrol in Chicago and then went to hang out with rats elsewhere, what kind of reception would I get? Where would I find them?

In the early days of bike clubs I noticed two other clubs (BLBC [Black Label Bike Club] and Scallywags) rapidly expanding so I granted a chapter to anyone who asked for one. But the hardest thing about having a bike club is having a bike club, so most of them fizzled out. Generally it takes an in-person exchange in order to convey our spirit. I'd say you'd find chapters whose culture varies but none of us can take ourselves too seriously, just look at the bikes!

If anybody travels between chapters they're usually well received. Being in a bike club is pretty much an invitation to crash with and party with any other club in the world. How many weirdoes do this worldwide, anyway? 2000? 3000? We simply have to be friends.

We have chapters in Chicago, UK, Lafayette, New Orleans, Ghana, Oz, Tanzania, Nashville, Winnipeg, D.C., Detroit, Ottawa, and Belgium.


RC: on a related note, when I went on a ride, everyone said "once you're on a ride, you're in." What do you think about that?

In the past I've always advocated involuntary press-ganging of anybody who rides with us, ever. In reality it's much more about self-definition. Of course you don't have to be "in" the club if you don't want to, because what does it mean to be in? Each person chooses if they want to wear our colors.

But I've noticed that there's extremely high turnover in the first year, so I always suggest that people spend their first year listening instead of speaking.

To me, personally, you're a prospect until you get that year patch. Lots of people are just looking for something to belong to, so they latch on without examining what we are. Then when we turn out to be- gasp- about riding bikes and digging through the trash (and not, say, an artificial family or an anarchist protest group) they leave. This always happens within the first year. Here's a hint, folks: No matter what your group is, if somebody gets a tattoo of your logo within three months of meeting you, they are looking for identity and not for your club.


RC: How about how rat rides interact with the modern urban setting? Everyone wizzing by one another, no one paying any attention, then they see some weird bikes and fun loving kids being awesome. Could you talk about Rat Patrol peoples' place in cities?

JP: Let's face it- people's lives suck. This culture discourages creativity and uniqueness with an iron fist. Sometimes I actually get angry that riding an unusual bike is considered unusual at all! Each person *should* be creatively expressing themselves. Instead they labor to cram inside some social structure that leaves them empty and artless. Rat Patrol rips them right out of the rut if only for a moment. It's a little bit of magic in a dull grey world. We give a lot of bikes to kids because that's when they still believe in magic. Kids never question that there's a guy dressed like a monkey on a tallbike, because they are still learning and everything is new. It's amazing how often kids see us when their parents don't- most people will ignore the elephant in the room. This invisibility is what makes us subversive- to the authorities we're this charitable neighborhood dork club, but secretly we are tearing down the very structures that give them authority, by injecting magic into people's lives. It is revolutionary, but not in that "let's win people to our cause by pissing them off" style of most modern activism. Instead we use shared joy and whimsy. Can you see how this all really has nothing to do with bikes?

Untitled: “what’s your biggest fear?, sidewalk chalk on sidewalk.”

@ http://relationalaesthetics.blogspot.com/

This piece, in keeping with Carmen Suchecki’s participation in the class, is unpretentious and refreshing. The visuals of the sidewalk confessions themselves are uncomfortable and honest. The fears are easy to relate to, or at least to understand. It’s simple. I want a little more. I like that.

I like that, in contrast to Carrie MacQuaid’s confessional work, these confessions had no intermediary. People not only voluntarily gave up very personal information, but wrote it in oversized brightly colored letters in a public place – all by themselves.

I think this intensifies questions raised by MacQuaid’s work. Why would people divulge this information? Granted, they work in very different ways, but overlap along a similar theme of public vs. private. Suchecki’s public fascinates me. What on earth draws people to answer this chalked question? Is it our desire to regress to childish honesty? In that case, the medium is very encouraging.

Maybe given the option to acceptably indulge in such a rudimentary childhood pastime makes us feel that we can say anything fairly insignificantly. We used to write “Johnny loves Jessica” or “Matt smells like Miss Storts’ socks.” Now we can write “I’M AFRAID OF STDs AND MEDIOCRITY” with the same kind of humorous tone, knowing our “biggest fears” will be washed away with the next rain. Is that the allure? Johnny certainly doesn’t love Jessica anymore. And Matt smells great and gets lots of dates. Maybe if I write that I’m afraid of marriage, it won’t be so scary anymore if I wait long enough. I’m keeping an eye on the weather forecasts.

issues of access?

http://brotherelectron.blogspot.com/



Adam’s piece was the most entertaining to visualize for me. Though, as I think he noted himself, there are a lot of open questions and potential criticisms here. He is separating himself from a group of less privileged people – presumably in reality and absolutely in the construction of his project. You could easily accuse him of being socio-economically condescending, presumptuous, culturally elitist, etc… but isn’t that what education is all about? Especially an education in “art theory and practice” of all things?

Ok, I jest, but honestly, to really get anything from this project, I think you have to take those things as givens: and I think Adam has admitted and apologized for them in a way. We all know these things, we’re not pretending they don’t exist, but they are the context within which these posted items function. There you go.

From here, what do we have? I am much more interested in Adam posting his class notes than the posted notes that remain. He is entering a community as an “other,” it’s not the other way around (again, presumably in one sense, definitively in another). He is leaving his traces in this place. What will these reactions be?

Of course people could just think it’s weird, which is probably the most likely response, but it’s interesting to think of others. Of course, the first that comes to my mind is disgust. Who is rubbing this shit in our faces? Or it could be confusion, or, possibly, intrigue. Clearly, no one would objectively gain from any information posted.

The next thing I wonder is: what if he ran into an interested party while posting these notes? What kind of interaction would that yield? Would it bring those possibilities to his attention? This is what I want to see. I want to see good ole brother electron running into one of the recipients of his experimental posting and hashing out the why’s who’s and what’s.

at least a little valuable

Stephen Nyktas placed. He placed various items in various public contexts and thought about how someone might use the objects. A quarter, a marker, a tennis ball. He wanted these items to be just enticing enough to pick up.

What I found interesting was that I found myself questioning how valuable these objects were. Or, perhaps more appropriately, questioning if people would find them valuable enough to take them.

I think I’d agree that people don’t often pass by a quarter as opposed to a nickel or dime, but I found myself wondering, would people pick up a pen? Would I? How about a tennis ball? Echoes of parental warnings of “where that thing’s been” vs. the value we are socialized to assign to dime-store type items enter the dialogue in this piece.

Conversely, I don’t think the placed items could have functioned appropriately were they much more valuable. A large bill, for instance, or a camera, an ipod. These things carry the meaning of lost items rather than left items.

As the piece does exist, what does the value of these items, specifically in the American throw-away context, mean for the interaction with the unseen future recipient? Is this a sector of the gift economy? Does Stephen function as a benefactor or a careless consumer? (Obviously not as a person, but as a player in this interaction…)

To me, as an extension of the relational elements of this project, the issues of how we think as consumers is very interesting. Stephen notes that the uses of the objects may be “even a little bit exciting to find.” What I’m interested in is what, besides minute excitement, might be felt by passers by. Disgust at the previous owner’s carelessness? Proud indifference? “This passer by has about 20 tennis balls at home, thank you.” Fatalistic luck – maybe they absolutely needed a pen that second to write down a phone number or address. Of course, all of these reactions would be slightly subconscious and fleeting, but it certainly is fun to think about.



Placed: http://stephennyktas.blogspot.com/

Lee Ravenscroft of Working Bikes Co-operative

Mr. Ravenscroft is the founder of Working Bikes, a Not-for-profit organization that diverts abandoned and unwanted bikes from the waste stream. They accept donations and rescue bikes off of junk-trucks in line for the scrapper (I've seen this, it's pretty incredible).

Please do check out their website, www.workingbikes.org. This is a very efficient and helpful organization. They also have some pretty neat bikes.

Working Bikes had a piece in the A+D Gallery DIY show. "Pedal-power," in which they described how to convert an old bike into a person-powered generator. Like many pieces in the show, the Y in DIY would have to be relatively determined or technically skilled to DI. In this case, however, Working Bikes is pitching this idea to the world via Chicago gallery-goers. If Ding IY means a drastic change in your lifestyle, well, maybe that determination will bubble up after all.

I thought this was an interesting twist on the tone of all the pieces in this show. I contacted Mr. Ravenscroft to get his thoughts on the piece.


RC: For those unfamiliar to Working Bikes, could you briefly describe what the organization does?

LR: Working Bikes Co-Op collects donated bikes and recycled bikes. we repair about 1/2 of the bikes to be donated locally or sold at our humble store at 1125 S. Western.

With the proceeds from the sale of bikes we ship the remaining 1/2 to developing countries.



RC: I saw Working Bikes' contribution to the DIY show at the Columbia A+D gallery. Do you know how Working Bikes got involved? What was the goal there?

LR: The goal of the bike machines is to spread awareness of our Co-Op.

Also we believe in using bicycles and human power to alleviate people's petro-chemical dependency.

1/3 of the world has no electricity in their homes. Most rely on kerosene for light. Pedal power provides an alternative to the use of kerosene, which is dangerous and expensive.

With a bike generator, one can produce the power needed to have home lighting, watch TV, listen to the radio and run small appliances.



RC: So, the A+D gallery was presenting a show of DIY "art" projects. Among my peers, there was a lot of discussion about what the projects or pieces really were. Some said craft projects, some said items reflective of activism, some said engineering projects ranging from "sophomoric" to "pretty neat" to "useful."

Regardless of any kind of value judgments about how "arty" any of these items were, how do you feel the Bike Machines work operated within an art gallery setting? How do you feel it reflects upon Working Bikes to be involved in an "art show?"

LR: I think activism is a good description. I want to show that one can produce energy for lighting and entertainment for 1/5 the cost of solar energy using a broken bike and a broken electric scooter.



RC: How do you think it reflects upon the show (or the gallery) to include a group like Working Bikes?

LR: I hope that we were a credit to the show. As a primarily volunteer organization we have no marketing department. We rely on the generosity of others to spread the message of recycling, human power and an end to the car-culture that is ravishing the planet.

The show was an opening to the Green Festival. The Green Fest was an opening to bike machine installations in several Schools and festivals.

I believe that if people don't use human power in the first world they will not use human power in the developing world. The problem with global warming resides here and counter measures need to begin here.



RC: Has Working Bikes ever participated in something like this in the past? (presenting projects in an arts context)

LR: No, but this opened up the Green Festival and several other opportunities.



RC: In comparison to a lot "activist art" groups or collectives, I think Working Bikes does a very concrete service on a pretty incredible scale. I've seen some of the work you do, and I'm familiar with a couple of “arts activist” groups in Chicago. Now, I may be under-informed, but it seems to me like many other groups are all talk. Do you have any thoughts about these groups? How about their involvement in shows like this: empowerment through Do It Yourself!

LR: Many of the young people who volunteer or on staff with our co-op have art backgrounds. I hope that they see that we have an art component. We are restoring beautiful old bicycles and putting them back in service.

Working Bikes has changed the aesthetic for what type of bike peoples ride in Chicago. Before the Co-Op (BC), people were riding mountain bikes from Target. Now they are riding retro 3-speeds made in Chicago or Europe that they got from our Co-Op.

For the last 3 years the Co-Op has sold about 3000 bikes a year for 1/2 their appraised value. Over 90% are from the last millennium.

For the last 3 years we have also given away 15000 bicycles either in the US or in the 3rd world.

That adds up to about 25000 people on bikes over the last 3 years.

MC #2

http://chicago.craigslist.org/chc/mis/345927956.html

MC #1

I started my week of obnoxious quirkiness in public places on Monday afternoon. Here's my first urban encounter. And yes, I did wear a blue wig, because why the fuck not?


http://chicago.craigslist.org/chc/mis/345900904.html

Out 1 inspired

This past weekend, I attended what the New York Times has called the “holy grail of film screenings.” Out 1, a 1971 film by French New Wave director Jacques Rivette, screened at the Gene Siskel Film Center on May 26 and 27. This twelve-hour film is comprised of eight “episodes,” originally created for French television. After its rejection, however, Rivette explained that the ideal viewing situation would be one such as that which I experienced: two days, a few breaks, complete immersion.

Not surprisingly, the event drew a number of enthusiastic cinephiles, notable film critics, and New Wave addicts. This was the big league. The Chicago premiere: only the second event of its kind in the United States. For me, attending this screening had far less to do with the movie than those next to whom I would be noshing my overpriced popcorn.

A scene-nobody myself, I am lucky enough to know some people who know some people, allowing me to silently infiltrate the thrilling world of film critics. (Hey – to each her own…) Between the two dinner breaks and the quite necessary post-epic-screening-drinks, I had the pleasure of joining a group of fairly notable writers, once including Mr. Jonathan Rosenbaum himself, arguably the Rivette critic, though I doubt he noticed me at the end of the table, wide eyed, ears perked, if silently recovering from the events past two days.

The conversations were blissful, agitated, ecstatic, frustrated, confused. These are pros. We compare notes about character affiliations, double names, and possible future plot points. “I think we learn more about the Juliet Berto character tomorrow.” Everyone keeps score in his or her head. Because, though I’ve come to see this film for my own communal reasons, we’re all here to movie-go. That’s the bottom line. And we’re serious.

For twelve hours, give or take about 30 minutes, depending on slight changes in projection frame rate, hundreds of people gather from across the country to stare straight ahead, entering into a social situation removed from our shared presence by time, place, and narrative. It felt like we’d gone to Paris 1971 for the weekend, spending time with friends of friends, getting wrapped up in a story that, for lack of conventional editing, seemed to almost be presented in real time.

***

Though I liked the film as a whole, I think all viewers would admit that there were, in fact, “boring parts.” At one point, we saw a 45-minute scene of a theatre troupe rehearsing. They do not speak, but crawl, moan, and rub paint on one another. Forty-five minutes. After scenes such as this, the audience was delighted by the comic relief brought by Colin, or “le jeune sourd-muet” played by the dreamy Jean-Pierre Léaud (New Wave fans know him from Truffaut’s The 400 Blows and scores of films thereafter).

For the first couple of episodes, we see humorously placed scenes of Colin entering a café and making the rounds, delivering to each table an envelope reading: “I am deaf and mute. I bring you a message of destiny. Thanks!” Each envelope is also stuffed with a randomly torn page from a book. Colin then revisits each table, playing an obnoxious blast on his harmonica until the café patrons pay attention and give him a few francs. Along with these interactions, we see Colin’s solitary life in his apartment, silently stuffing and stamping envelopes, refusing to communicate with even his landlady.

As the film progresses, a mysterious character hands Colin a note that sends him on a strange chase for information. Throughout the following episodes, Colin attempts to uncover the secrets of an underground conspiratorial group: the Thirteen. The event acts as a bridge between Colin’s daily hustling and the stacks of books he keeps in his tiny room. His clues are literary. The group, as well as the film itself, refers to a Balzac novel.

Through his amateur detective work, Colin transforms from a false deaf-mute to a wannabe conspirator, memorably chanting: EQUIPAGE! EQUIPAGE! EQUIPAGE! (French for “crew”) down the street as he nears the end of his search. Through an unspoken, deaf-mute-comprehensible message, Colin is brought from his little room to community. Notably, his entrance is made through specific goals: he wants to learn of the Thirteen, he courts one of its members, he attempts to gain press credentials in order to obtain more information.

We all sat for 12 hours, watching other people interact, watching this story, theatrical rehearsals, and amusing interludes of Jean-Pierre Léaud addressing the camera, wagging his finger, announcing to the audience which way he will go next.

***
Upon reflection, Colin’s function in Out 1 illuminates the paradoxical social quality of these screenings and modern life in general. We have all decided to unite in one place, at one time, to see one print of one very long film. Though this screening can be called a social event, we spend most of our time concentrating on images of people who enacted a story 36 years ago, and delighting in the shorter scenes of a young, curious man who wants to become a deeply socially entrenched conspirator.

So his initial draw – his cutely enacted le jeune sourd-muet, brings me to a contemporary application. From Walter Benjamin to Rivette’s Colin to our own Julie Rudder, the idea of modern life’s aversion to interpersonal communication in a crowded urban world remains. I think Colin’s transformation is a particularly engaging example of this phenomenon, and a story of how intrigue trumped a desire to be completely uncommunicative.

***
Inspired by this character, this film, and this screening, I decided to experiment with the idea of being verbally closed off from those with whom I interact and simultaneously trying to engage them. I thought of craigslist’s ever popular missed connections. Now, if we see someone who interests us, it would almost be strange to address them directly. We make eye contact, maybe exchange a bit of small talk, and pledge to check the “MCs” when we get home. Missed connections allow us to factor out the same verbal communication as Colin’s con. So why are we so interested in this deaf-mute person we meet in a public space? How do we know he or she is at all engaging? Is it extra communication? Less? A shift in form? Does participation in this non-space online make meeting a stranger seem less intimidating? More? How about dangerous? Most importantly, does it make co-existing with lots of people interesting?

It could be argued that finding someone in a Benjaminian world of too many people to care reclaims the thrill of pre-urban interaction. You two now exist in a space that is separate from the city. Your missed connection occurred in a real place, but what was missed has been found in a very particular theoretical space. It has an address (though it begins with http…) and only you two belong there. It is your posted missed connection.

This may be the appeal. This may be the subconscious appeal. Obviously, a large part of the appeal is that you may again see someone to whom you were attracted and too shy to approach, and you may, at some point in time, have sex with that person, but you can always dig a little deeper with these things.

So, mentally prepared, settling into the psychological shoes of Léaud’s Colin, I hit the El lines, looking for missed connections, armed with messages of destiny.

Results to be posted soon!

Interview

Interview with representative from Working Bikes coming soon!

It's All About Things

Now, I know many of my peers have harshed on Maldonado, but I’d like to take this opportunity to play devil’s advocate a little. I see the incongruities of his shantytown at Three Walls. I see the contradiction inherent in his commentary on the “art world” vs. the way this show operates, but I think there is a lot here that sparks some thought.

“It’s All About Things” was, one could say, an interactive, participatory installation, by Luis Maldonado, an MFA at Purchase College. It showed at the Three Walls gallery in Chicago for the month of March.

Upon my arrival to the gallery, I was greeted by a friendly young woman. She welcomed me to the gallery, briefly explained the gist of the show, and offered her help had I any questions. Continuing through a curtain that separated the nondescript West Loop building from the supposedly culturally significant pith (and the purpose of my visit,) I found a relatively unimpressive space.

“Maldonado’s bartering shantytown,” to me, sounds like a labyrinthian series of small structures, (I’d even allow many separations), breaking up a larger, unaltered space. I was expecting filthy treasures in dusty corners. Art that felt like used pots and pans. The phrase evokes feelings of necessity, use, functionality (dare I use such charged words as “relation” and “practice”?), but the “shantytown” I found felt much more like, well, a small gallery space with mild partitions for the sake of… partitions.

Here, “shantytown” operates in the very form of my personal evocation - in the contrast between my connotations and the reality of the space. In Louis Maldonado’s shantytown, the limited space and awkward quiet shared between a gallery hostess and art-consumer is muted by blaring Jazz and NPR.

From the floors, covered in varied cardboard checkerboard colors, to the blue tarped ceiling, the shantytown space was, in fact, separated from all surfaces of the institutionally ubiquitous white cubed gallery experience. Maldonado achieved this much distinction of his space vs. “theirs.” (The institution? The art marketplace? It wasn’t quite clear, but I don’t think it mattered).

Maldonado’s smaller pieces were scattered around the space. Watercolor sketches hung from a clothesline. Themed paintings filled a small “room” (there were separations, however spatially unimpressive/arguably ineffective). A television connected to a karaoke machine ran images of American pop culture icons with the text: “Welcome to the United States.” Toy soldiers and other figurines filled unmarked commercially charged display boxes. A small pile of miniature protest signs lay next to them, crying, in the loudest voice afforded by a two-inch piece of cardboard: “Say No to the Establishment!” “Question the Economic System!” “What Smells?” “I love you!” from their popsicle sticks.

As is apparently fitting for this era of the art-experience, a neat lounge with muraled walls, folding chairs, and a copy of Art Forum comically demanded a good portion of the limited space in the gallery.

I had the freedom to snigger if I wanted to (as well as to refuse to react if I didn’t want to.) I visited when Maldonado wasn’t there.

I visited the shell of the art event. I did not visit the art. I felt privileged for this, and markedly more able to navigate and interpret the space without a relation-crazed artist breathing down my neck to make me perform some stunt or another. I’m kidding, of course, but I do think my experience with this work was much more comfortable and a bit more personally interpreted having not encountered the entertainer himself – which is, of course, what Maldonado functions as when he hosts karaoke, theatrical trades, and confrontational interactions with all of these… things. (Which would otherwise be nothing but!)

In his statement, Maldonado notes that the “things” which his work is all about are derived from Heidegger’s use of the word “to debunk the phrase ‘a work of art.’” Here, I think the things are things. The work of art is about the things. = IT.

IT is not the things. IT is the work of art. IT is ABOUT the things.

IT is all ABOUT things. Is that a bit better?


I was not allowed to barter without the artist present.



***

So, feeling a bit like an archeologist finding traces of this so-called “art,” I moved through the space, looking for artifacts that would explain what made this shantytown function.

What I gathered was a sense of the effect of “It’s All About Things” as the most forcibly “real” art-space the artist could put together. This, of course, went well with the events that often occupied the space, though they were not occurring during my visit.

Recalling the Kwan essay we read early in the quarter, I interpreted this show as an exemplification of site specificity in all its contemporary glory. “It’s All About Things” functions as an installation – site specific in its installation by the artist himself. It functions as performance when he is there to barter, and it functions as a relational event – significantly more entertaining and performative than Tiravanija’s dinner, while keeping a similar level of participant interaction.

Maldonado’s bartering provides a market structure for the participants in his work. They may meet at a bartering session (a karaoke performance, or whatever). He interacts with them. They may strike up a conversation with one another. Regardless, they coexist. But Maldonado ups the ante Tiravanija lays down. He not only gets people together, but engages them in one of the most universally shared activities that connects us in reality: he creates a platform for trade – a makeshift market – and what could be more real? Site specificity qua time specificity qua event qua stuff. Solid stuff you can hold and put on your coffee table and wear and show people later. Be they Maldonado sketches (these are not his art. They are things.) or someone’s apartment keys.

Now, this may be taking things too far, but is this a new type of specificity for Relational Aesthetics?

Art: site specificity:: Relational Aesthetic pieces: tangible good-based interactions?

***

But I, the archeologist, can only see what’s been left by this artist and his stuff-patrons. I cannot see into his, or Relational Aesthetics’ futures to contextualize these things.

The young woman asks me again if I have any questions. I shake my head, sitting alone in a metal folding chair listening to a story on NPR about the marching of the elephants down 34th street to Madison Square Garden. They’re unloaded off of train cars in Queens and marched through the Midtown tunnel to Manhattan in the middle of the night, when the traffic is tame. Apparently scores of people come to watch the necessary parade. A brief time, weather, and traffic update let me know that this was not an absurd staged recording for the piece, but real time radio. I loved that I questioned this. This was everything specific, and it only happened to me.

Smiling with amusement and appreciation for the connection I had just felt with the elephant watchers, I closed my notebook and went back through the curtain to the symbolically defined real world. I didn’t get to trade my stuff, but I did have the opportunity to see some things as things – and think about what that meant - a unique experience of its own in that particular shantytown.

Joshua Bell in a DC Metro station

This article hits on a number of the things we've talked about already. If you forgive the often cheesy writing, I think it's really quite something - at least something to talk about.

I think it's interesting that this was approached as a journalistic "experiment" rather than a performance or some other expression of an art event.

Any thoughts, in terms of the social interaction (or lack thereof), as well as context and site specificity?

"Learning to inhabit the world in a better way."

Hello readers-

This blog will serve as a forum for discussion on the topic of, yes, Relational Aesthetics. It is part of a seminar course at Northwestern University, led by Lane Relyea, in which we study and discuss this and related material. You can find our class blog in my links.

For any visitors not in the class, Relational Aesthetics refers, at least in part, to art which engages/addresses/exists as some kind of social or interactive behavior. If interested, you can look for Nicolas Bourriaud's work, or, if not quite so dedicated, check out this handy glossary:

http://www.gairspace.org.uk/htm/bourr.htm


I will not vouch for any official academic credibility, but it looks about right to me. Comments from those in the know?

In subsequent posts, I will be linking to/commenting on articles, events, and thoughts related to the course material. Thanks for reading/relating!