Now that I have seen Ryan Trecartin’s exhibit “Any Ever” at PS1 for myself, I think it can be fairly said that, in time, Trecartin is more likely to be seen as the most inconsequential artist of his generation and not, as Peter Schjeldahl had it in his New Yorker review, the most consequential. I mean this both as a neutral observation and a value judgment.
The videos are installed in seven adjoining rooms at the museum, each cluttered with furniture related to some of the sets in the videos but otherwise not contributing much to the experience in terms of context or atmosphere. Though each room has a low-level, ambient audio playing, headsets are required to experience the full, screeching assault of the frantically-edited, squeaky-voiced narrative. The first twenty minutes of this is quite excruciating but then the central nervous system capitulates and it becomes easier to bear.
Much is made, in reviews and the wall text, of the numerous “characters” to which the viewer is introduced but a single paragraph of the laughably inscrutable wall text offers greater character development than many hours of interlinked videos. The characters don’t function as types so much as parodies of types and the work as a whole reads less as a distillation of youth culture than as a bastardization of it, intended to appeal to an aging generation of art critics who were young in the Sixties and learned from that era that the surest line to take is to celebrate whatever the kids are doing. Today, the actual kids — or, anyway, the twenty-something hipsters at PS1 with me — responded to the work with no visible pleasure or evident identification. If Schjeldahl or Roberta Smith (who called the exhibit “game-changing” in a mostly glowing review in the Times) were younger they might have realized that the best way to describe Trecartin’s work is that it’s like watching the static content of 4chan turned into a video stream and amped up to hyper speed. If you’re many decades removed from youth culture, that description might sound laudably zeitgeisty but if you’ve spent much time on 4chan you realize just how trying a video stream of it would be.
Peter Schjeldahl’s review (my response to it can be read here) was the more hyperbolic in its claims and threadbare in its argument so is the more quickly dismissed. I wrote at the time that Schjeldahl’s review read as a kind of duel-commencing glove slap to the face of former Times critic Michael Kimmelman, who in 1999 made a similarly chest-thumping and unpersuasive declaration that Matthew Barney was the most important artist of his generation. Schjeldahl was specific in saying that Trecartin was the most consequential artist “since Jeff Koons,” which elides Barney’s entire career in one deft phrase. But what I came to understand at the PS1 exhibit is just how similar his work is to Barney’s. To be sure, there are aesthetic differences, but in both cases their narratives replicate like fractals in a surfeit of superficially distinct artistic choices — hundreds of characters, thousands of props, infinite obscure storylines and internal mythologies — that mistake the exercise of choice for the creation of meaning or sensation. What is most remarkable about seeing Trecartin’s videos installed at PS1 is how utterly the same they all are and how impossible it is to imagine that Schjeldahl — or anyone, really — could actually sit through every minute of this work he trumpeted.
Roberta Smith may have called Trecartin’s show game-changing (click here to read my response to her review) but at least she took a stab at defending that claim. The core of her argument was this:
[Trecartin's] art could be said to combine the retinal extravagance of much 1980s art with the political awareness of the ’90s and the inclusiveness and technological savvy of the postmillennium. This exhibition shreds the false dichotomies and mutually demonizing oppositions that have plagued the art world for decades — between the political and the aesthetic, the conceptual and the formal, high and low, art and entertainment, outsider and insider, irony and sincerity, gay and straight. Queerness here is not a cause; it is a constant condition that has now permeated the culture at large.
To be sure, no one can deny that Trecartin indulges in a staggering amount of retinal extravagance but to anyone who remembers the sometimes strident but often forceful politics addressed in the art of the 1990s Trecartin’s videos seem about as political as the Gawker home page. As for the “technological savvy of the postmillennium” this seems almost exactly wrong: his videos are undoubtedly murder to edit for reasons of sheer tedium but they are ostentatiously unsavvy and as much a throwback to the cheap graphics and early-video aesthetics of the 1980s as Cory Arcangel’s Atari hacks.
And so to the issue of the false dichotomies, which young Trecartin is credited with resolving in his work. High versus low art? Conceptual versus formal? Can we still be discussing this? These are indeed false dichotomies — not just in that they were never fully opposed but that their supposed opposition was resolved a decade or two ago, in some cases many decades ago. Their insertion now into Smith’s review suggests an attempt to pad out the claims made on Trecartin’s behalf. I mean, really: no kidding that queerness has permeated the culture at large — where would Lady Gaga be without it?