A few months ago Dan Peterman and Connie Spreen hosted an open house at the still-under-construction Experimental Station, acknowledging the fifth anniversary of the predawn fire that left only a shell of brick from what was then mostly called "the Building," and which had formerly housed Ken Dunn's Resource Center and most recently served as Dan's studio and hosted a number of other community-based concerns.
I was surprised to learn it was only five years ago, April 2001. It seemed much more time had gone by. I remembered hearing about the fire from Stephanie Smith of the Smart Museum. She had just completed a project that featured Dan's work, and being on the south side, where the Building stood on the south edge of the University of Chicago's domain, she knew about it before most of the rest of us did. She wrote urgent letters to everyone she could think of who might help. Dan needed all that help, as apparently City of Chicago workers had showed up at 9 am the day of the fire with demolition permits in hand. Regardless of the cause of the fire, it seemed pretty clear someone wanted that place, and whoever that someone was had no idea of the integrity and tenacity of the admittedly ramshackle building's owners, Dan Peterman and his wife Connie Spreen. The help helped, but it was Dan and Connie that made the Experimental Station happen.
I was surprised to learn it was only five years ago, April 2001. It seemed much more time had gone by. I remembered hearing about the fire from Stephanie Smith of the Smart Museum. She had just completed a project that featured Dan's work, and being on the south side, where the Building stood on the south edge of the University of Chicago's domain, she knew about it before most of the rest of us did. She wrote urgent letters to everyone she could think of who might help. Dan needed all that help, as apparently City of Chicago workers had showed up at 9 am the day of the fire with demolition permits in hand. Regardless of the cause of the fire, it seemed pretty clear someone wanted that place, and whoever that someone was had no idea of the integrity and tenacity of the admittedly ramshackle building's owners, Dan Peterman and his wife Connie Spreen. The help helped, but it was Dan and Connie that made the Experimental Station happen.
I've been in touch pretty consistently with Dan over these past five years. I had the idea, almost immediately post-fire, that the best balm might be a time-consuming and resource-taxing solo exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Fortunately, Dan had the luxury of knowing I wasn't entirely insane to propose that out of the ashes of the Building he mount a 6,000 square foot museum show consisting of at least five major new projects, for we had worked together before. In fact, we went way back, to the Randolph Street Gallery days, where I walked in one day to see a pleasing contraption that purported to (and actually did) distill pure water from soda pop. This contraption and concept were intriguing enough, but it was the title "Eau Claire" that alerted me to the presence of a major new artist. Object and concept were seamlessly and wittily integrated. I was further delighted to learn the artist was from Wisconsin, where of course there is a town called Eau Claire. So the piece was personal as well. Always a plus in my book. And while I don't require of artists I admire that they be shining paragons of dignity and integrity, it is always delightful to find one who is. I quickly discovered that Dan in his artistic project was realizing his vision from the beginning, not learning how he might realize his vision by stabs at this and that (and learning from the "feedback" that most artists so rely on, as this is how they are trained in graduate school, of course). This is not to say Dan Peterman sprang whole from Athena's brow - no artist is fully formed from the beginning, as they are, we must remember, human beings - but he was well along the path that many others were peering down in the mid-1980s. The whole idea of reexamining paradigms, and not just aesthetic paradigms, but social paradigms as well. The idea of not just working with communities, but creating one. The idea of applying aesthetic thought to what might seem to be impossibly entrenched ideas, like the economies of material production and distribution.
For many years Dan was thought of as "that recycling guy" which frankly rankled me. Not because I am against recycling, but I knew that even in a world where pigeonholes must be to some extent tolerated for the convenience they afford, this description was completely off the mark. If anything, Dan was casting a jaundiced eye on notions of recycling as some sort of quick fix or salutatory behavior that can make otherwise wasteful beings sleep better at night because they'd sorted their plastics from their paper earlier that day. But I quickly realized that as are all true innovators, Dan was ahead of the pack, and that my scorn was not in any way matched by Dan. He was tolerant, respectful, and a true gentleman, able to express his ideas and opinions and not put anyone on the defensive about their own ideas and behaviors. And most interesting of all to me was that he dealt with "societal issues" yet he was no mere polemicist. Much like another artist I admire, Alfredo Jaar, he lived his aesthetics and ideology. No retiring to a summer home on Sag Harbor he. Dan labored in a disorganized, broken-down building not only on his own art works, but in concert with other like-minded individuals to enable such projects as the Blackstone Bicycle Works. And then his Building burned nearly to the ground and the Experimental Station was born.
To walk through the Experimental Station is to be perversely grateful that the Building did burn. The salvaged bowling alley flooring used in the upper levels is worth the price of admission alone (a figure of speech, because the Experimental Station is not a place that charges admission). It is a place vibrating with joyous potential, solidly and aesthetically built, and redolent of the passion and commitment of Dan and Connie. We ll be hearing a lot about this place in the upcoming months and years. It is making Chicago a better place.
Which leads me to the topic of expectations. I had a discussion with the Shark the other day about the state of things. He thinks things in the realm of ethics and political discourse are worse than ever in the United States. And in the arts? Well, you all know what he thinks there. I disagree. I pointed out that it is way too typical for us human beings, as we inevitably age, to think that things are much worse than they used to be (at the same time, paradoxically, that we tend to pine for "the good old days" that never were that good). I'm completely convinced this is a natural biological process that probably one day will be mapped out by neuroscientists, an evolutionary survival mechanism that allows us to be mortal beings and still have eternal thoughts. Otherwise we might all die of broken hearts at our intimations of eternity, and very few of us actually do.
This is not to say that "things" can't bear improvement or that certain "things" haven't gotten worse (there are definitely more deaths from HIV than there were fifty years ago, when there were none. But then there are definitely less deaths in childbirth, which used to be the leading cause of death in women of childbearing age. One could, of course, go on and on). But by almost any measure, Americans are better off, if one agrees that "better off" is defined by measures of income, longevity, health, access to clean water, etc. I recognize that some disagree with these bellwethers, and I respect those who might be described by the majority as Luddites in expressing an opposing viewpoint, that it might be "better" to live a meaningful life cut short by hard work and disease than a long, soft, and idle one. But most US citizens aren't Luddites, and wouldn't want to give up their "things" (triple frothy loco-mocha lattes with caramel drizzles; designer toasters in a wide choice of decorator colors; botox injections; frequent dining at sushi bars) but are convinced that things are much much worse, leading to much mental anguish and despair, which I know is real and powerful and very much interferes with the quality of life.
I agree that the safety and abundance of food in America has lead to a problem that would have been virtually unknown for the average person living during the Great Depression - obesity and all its attendant problems. I could even nod in compassion listening to someone argue that safe and plentiful food is an evil and we were "better off" living on fewer and considerably less delicious calories, as we didn't suffer diabetes and high blood pressure and so on. But then I would look around and think, "If given a chance of when to live, in the 1930s or in the 2000s, I choose now." Perhaps I am remembering my mother's tales of all the children she knew, when she was a girl in the 1920s, who had tapeworms, and how absolutely fortunate it was that she never had a tapeworm. Imagine, eating not very many and not very delicious calories, and on top of it, a tapeworm is getting most of the nutritional value.
It seems like the largest burden of contemporary life just might be inflated expectations. The hot air generated by 19th and 20th century mercantilism has resulted not only in bloated bodies, but seriously puffed-up habits of mind. And one of the most airy regions is that "life," especially in America, can do nothing but steadily improve (the old "I want my children to be better off than I was" notion).
Blowing briskly alongside the notion of "improvement" is the notion of "expansion." If one's health is "improved" (no tapeworms sucking you dry), one can physically accomplish more. If one's good health allows more to be accomplished (including inventing technologies that assist the individual and thus society in accomplishing more), this should be rewarded via a calculus that ever increases. Thus yesterday's "Be grateful for good fortune" turns into today's "You deserve everything and more." Inflated expectations turn into grotesquely inflated expectations and before you know it you are in a whirlwind whose political manifestation is dubbed "American exceptionalism."
Interestingly enough, Dan Peterman's show at the MCA was called Plastic Economies. Exactly, I thought, when he came up with the title. He is interested in the plasticity of economic systems, and of course there is that allusion to the plastic arts. Witty and rich, like all of Dan's thought. He did pieces that dealt with various economies of manufacture and consumption and the "afterlife" of materials and products. Most poignant for me were piles and piles of clothing and booties that were the required uniform of workers in food processing plants. Now is it "surplus," and what does one do with these sorts of "surplus." Perhaps look at them and recognize that they are symbolic of the safety and wealth we enjoy.
And now MCA has the extraordinary design exhibition "Massive Change" organized by Bruce Mau and an energetic group of people out of the University of Vancouver and the Vancouver Art Museum. (Read the Sun-Times Kevin Nance's excellent article here.) It is divided not into "product design" or "graphic design," but "economies," including Military Economies; Movement Economies, Image Economies. Go see it. It is worth the price of admission alone to marvel at breadth and depth of human ingenuity embedded in the flying-saucer-ish object that is a virtually fail-proof, indestructible, and inexpensive personal water desalinization device. (Oh, and this isn't a figure of speech, MCA does charge admission, but it is free on Tuesdays thanks to the support of Target, which of course is a major source for most people of designer toasters in lots of colors.) You and I may never need such an object, but if we had, through the accident of our birth, been placed on the planet say in sub-Saharan Africa, I would hazard to say we would value this humble plastic thing more than ten thousand designer toasters. And recognize that we were better off for having clean water, which in this country we squander by packaging it in plastic bottles as part of our "lifestyle."
I expect only one thing these days, that I will have to battle my own expectations. That on a daily basis I must open my eyes and look about me and seek to understand all I observe the same way I needed to the day before and day before. That nothing can ever be "solved" or even "resolved" once and for all, and despite all my informed decisions and the plans I lay from them, it's still largely a matter of improvising from moment to moment. And that in a painful paradox, the energy I have in my human container isn't infinitely expandable and "renewable." Unfortunately if I eat more, I don't have more energy. I just get fat.
More later,
Lynne
"Uptime at the Experimental Station" is a play on the title of Dan Wang's interview with Dan Peterman, Downtime at the Experimental Station published by Temporary Services.
The current issue of Art Review is filled with thoughtful writings on "Enviro/Mental: Can Art Save the Planet?" (www.artreview.com)
For many years Dan was thought of as "that recycling guy" which frankly rankled me. Not because I am against recycling, but I knew that even in a world where pigeonholes must be to some extent tolerated for the convenience they afford, this description was completely off the mark. If anything, Dan was casting a jaundiced eye on notions of recycling as some sort of quick fix or salutatory behavior that can make otherwise wasteful beings sleep better at night because they'd sorted their plastics from their paper earlier that day. But I quickly realized that as are all true innovators, Dan was ahead of the pack, and that my scorn was not in any way matched by Dan. He was tolerant, respectful, and a true gentleman, able to express his ideas and opinions and not put anyone on the defensive about their own ideas and behaviors. And most interesting of all to me was that he dealt with "societal issues" yet he was no mere polemicist. Much like another artist I admire, Alfredo Jaar, he lived his aesthetics and ideology. No retiring to a summer home on Sag Harbor he. Dan labored in a disorganized, broken-down building not only on his own art works, but in concert with other like-minded individuals to enable such projects as the Blackstone Bicycle Works. And then his Building burned nearly to the ground and the Experimental Station was born.
To walk through the Experimental Station is to be perversely grateful that the Building did burn. The salvaged bowling alley flooring used in the upper levels is worth the price of admission alone (a figure of speech, because the Experimental Station is not a place that charges admission). It is a place vibrating with joyous potential, solidly and aesthetically built, and redolent of the passion and commitment of Dan and Connie. We ll be hearing a lot about this place in the upcoming months and years. It is making Chicago a better place.
Which leads me to the topic of expectations. I had a discussion with the Shark the other day about the state of things. He thinks things in the realm of ethics and political discourse are worse than ever in the United States. And in the arts? Well, you all know what he thinks there. I disagree. I pointed out that it is way too typical for us human beings, as we inevitably age, to think that things are much worse than they used to be (at the same time, paradoxically, that we tend to pine for "the good old days" that never were that good). I'm completely convinced this is a natural biological process that probably one day will be mapped out by neuroscientists, an evolutionary survival mechanism that allows us to be mortal beings and still have eternal thoughts. Otherwise we might all die of broken hearts at our intimations of eternity, and very few of us actually do.
This is not to say that "things" can't bear improvement or that certain "things" haven't gotten worse (there are definitely more deaths from HIV than there were fifty years ago, when there were none. But then there are definitely less deaths in childbirth, which used to be the leading cause of death in women of childbearing age. One could, of course, go on and on). But by almost any measure, Americans are better off, if one agrees that "better off" is defined by measures of income, longevity, health, access to clean water, etc. I recognize that some disagree with these bellwethers, and I respect those who might be described by the majority as Luddites in expressing an opposing viewpoint, that it might be "better" to live a meaningful life cut short by hard work and disease than a long, soft, and idle one. But most US citizens aren't Luddites, and wouldn't want to give up their "things" (triple frothy loco-mocha lattes with caramel drizzles; designer toasters in a wide choice of decorator colors; botox injections; frequent dining at sushi bars) but are convinced that things are much much worse, leading to much mental anguish and despair, which I know is real and powerful and very much interferes with the quality of life.
I agree that the safety and abundance of food in America has lead to a problem that would have been virtually unknown for the average person living during the Great Depression - obesity and all its attendant problems. I could even nod in compassion listening to someone argue that safe and plentiful food is an evil and we were "better off" living on fewer and considerably less delicious calories, as we didn't suffer diabetes and high blood pressure and so on. But then I would look around and think, "If given a chance of when to live, in the 1930s or in the 2000s, I choose now." Perhaps I am remembering my mother's tales of all the children she knew, when she was a girl in the 1920s, who had tapeworms, and how absolutely fortunate it was that she never had a tapeworm. Imagine, eating not very many and not very delicious calories, and on top of it, a tapeworm is getting most of the nutritional value. It seems like the largest burden of contemporary life just might be inflated expectations. The hot air generated by 19th and 20th century mercantilism has resulted not only in bloated bodies, but seriously puffed-up habits of mind. And one of the most airy regions is that "life," especially in America, can do nothing but steadily improve (the old "I want my children to be better off than I was" notion).
Blowing briskly alongside the notion of "improvement" is the notion of "expansion." If one's health is "improved" (no tapeworms sucking you dry), one can physically accomplish more. If one's good health allows more to be accomplished (including inventing technologies that assist the individual and thus society in accomplishing more), this should be rewarded via a calculus that ever increases. Thus yesterday's "Be grateful for good fortune" turns into today's "You deserve everything and more." Inflated expectations turn into grotesquely inflated expectations and before you know it you are in a whirlwind whose political manifestation is dubbed "American exceptionalism."Interestingly enough, Dan Peterman's show at the MCA was called Plastic Economies. Exactly, I thought, when he came up with the title. He is interested in the plasticity of economic systems, and of course there is that allusion to the plastic arts. Witty and rich, like all of Dan's thought. He did pieces that dealt with various economies of manufacture and consumption and the "afterlife" of materials and products. Most poignant for me were piles and piles of clothing and booties that were the required uniform of workers in food processing plants. Now is it "surplus," and what does one do with these sorts of "surplus." Perhaps look at them and recognize that they are symbolic of the safety and wealth we enjoy.
And now MCA has the extraordinary design exhibition "Massive Change" organized by Bruce Mau and an energetic group of people out of the University of Vancouver and the Vancouver Art Museum. (Read the Sun-Times Kevin Nance's excellent article here.) It is divided not into "product design" or "graphic design," but "economies," including Military Economies; Movement Economies, Image Economies. Go see it. It is worth the price of admission alone to marvel at breadth and depth of human ingenuity embedded in the flying-saucer-ish object that is a virtually fail-proof, indestructible, and inexpensive personal water desalinization device. (Oh, and this isn't a figure of speech, MCA does charge admission, but it is free on Tuesdays thanks to the support of Target, which of course is a major source for most people of designer toasters in lots of colors.) You and I may never need such an object, but if we had, through the accident of our birth, been placed on the planet say in sub-Saharan Africa, I would hazard to say we would value this humble plastic thing more than ten thousand designer toasters. And recognize that we were better off for having clean water, which in this country we squander by packaging it in plastic bottles as part of our "lifestyle."
I expect only one thing these days, that I will have to battle my own expectations. That on a daily basis I must open my eyes and look about me and seek to understand all I observe the same way I needed to the day before and day before. That nothing can ever be "solved" or even "resolved" once and for all, and despite all my informed decisions and the plans I lay from them, it's still largely a matter of improvising from moment to moment. And that in a painful paradox, the energy I have in my human container isn't infinitely expandable and "renewable." Unfortunately if I eat more, I don't have more energy. I just get fat.
More later,
Lynne
"Uptime at the Experimental Station" is a play on the title of Dan Wang's interview with Dan Peterman, Downtime at the Experimental Station published by Temporary Services.
The current issue of Art Review is filled with thoughtful writings on "Enviro/Mental: Can Art Save the Planet?" (www.artreview.com)
In my opinion, such posts as this are one of the best aspects of Sharkforum --- getting to know of and appreciate artists of whom I had not previously heard. Thanks.