When I went to see Luis Maldonado’s exhibit at ThreeWalls, I almost mistook that bright blue tarp-covered door for a construction site. Luckily I was with Carrie, and she knew better. On the other side of the door was a guy standing in a booth, where the press releases were laid out. He must have been the gallery assistant, or so I thought. When we walked through the yellow cloth curtain the same guy had popped out on the other side. He picked up a microphone from a cardboard-tiled floor, which was sealed with packing tape, and greeted us.
“Welcome! My name is Luis Maldonado, and this is my show. If you have anything to barter, please let me know, and also which item you would like to barter for…” I looked around at the yellow painted walls lined with paintings and dioramas, and then looked through my purse, where I didn’t find anything I wanted to trade. He added through his microphone, “I also have a karaoke machine. If you would like to do karaoke, I can make a video of you and that can be bargained for an item also. Yesterday we had a guy do a Garth Brooks song, and he got really into it. It was great…”
After surveying the prizes around the room, Carrie and I decided to sing. Why not? We had nothing to lose. We decided on “My Favorite Things,” from The Sound of Music, which I own on VHS. Luis got out the camcorder, and Carrie and I shared the microphone he used to greet us. Although we missed a few beats, each confident chorus of “When the dog bites!” tied the performance together. Luis’s applauded enthusiastically afterwards. Later, he would brag about us to other visitors, just as he’d praised the Garth Brooks guy. He had approved. Our performance was bargainable. In fact we were so good, he said, that he would let us barter for two items instead of one. We had been talking about how we would share the single “Homie” Diorama. Six months at her place, six months at mine? But because of our stellar performance we were relieved of this dilemma. Luis even signed the bottom of my prize.
As with any exchange of goods, there is the aftermath of paperwork. Item traded: “My Favorite Things” karaoke performance. Item traded for: “Homie” Diorama. How should the artist treat your item? I trust the artist to use his discretion.
I must admit, I got a kick out of this whole thing. Perhaps this is because I am a “volunteer” enthusiast. I remember the time a magician performed at a Chinese New Year celebration that my parents and I attended. I was seven, and severely shy, but my mother talked me into raising my hand to be one of the magician’s “volunteers.” The Magician held two corners of a long red sheet lengthwise and another, older and more experienced “volunteer” held the other end. My job was to pour a cup of uncooked rice into the belly of the sheet, which the Magician and the other volunteer shook until all the grains turned into edible puffs. He offered me one and I refused to eat it. Everyone laughed; I had put on an entertaining performance.
I realize now why volunteering to participate in a staged performance is a satisfying experience. The magician from the party had it all planned out, and there was little I could do to mess up the show. And I have a feeling that even if Carrie and I had sang out of key, Luis still would have rewarded us for participating. The whole experience of interacting with the artist in a gallery space on a personal level is sort of exhilarating. In fact, the whole space was so transformed that it didn’t even feel like an institution. The painted walls and cardboard floors encouraged a playful sort of interaction.
Throughout this quarter we have often debated the merits and failures of relational aesthetics. Some of us have argued that Luis’s paintings are crappy, and the knick knacks worthless. True, my “Homie” diorama may never make it to Christie’s, but the thing that interests me is what happens when the show is over.
Luis explained that he is starting a collection of all the stuff people have bargained for. This was all displayed in a closet-turned-viewing-room. It was full of all sorts of stuff that operated on different levels of sincerity: a doll that a grandmother started and her granddaughter finished. Keys to someone’s apartment. A dollar bill embellished with permanent marker ink. DVDs of karaoke performances. Lots of other stuff. These all are items he has vowed to look after until death. Some are precious in themselves, and some are worthless without the context of “It’s all about things.” How he chooses to construct a world for these objects to exist in will determine the success of the project.
Something I felt strange about was the room full of paintings that Luis was trying to for real money. Not that there’s anything wrong with making money, but within the context of the exhibition they seemed out of place. They were priced according to size – “itty bitty” was the cheapest, and “gigantic” was the most expensive. And there was another hierarchy at work. The paintings for sale definitely looked better than the ones up for barter. So despite the utopian premise of the bartering room, in the end, money is still more valuable than our dolls, our singing, our keys – our “things.” Being in that room brought this project down to reality, and reality is somewhat disappointing.
Another room which didn’t make much sense to me was the “lounge area,” which was empty, save for a few chairs and a couple issues of ArtForum. The space seemed to encourage contemplation about the “Things” exhibition in relation to the art market, but the real-money-paintings undermine the system that I think Luis was trying to create: the absolute fiscal democracy of art collecting. In the end, there isn’t a democracy. The bartering system is not sustainable without a grant, or a sale; it’s not autonomous. People with money are art collectors, and those who lack funds settle for souvenirs.
Perhaps that “lounge” space would have better served as a museum area, a space where all that stuff we trade for Luis’s souvenirs can be displayed. If the artist is sincere in wanting to keep all of it and display it in the future, then that tiny closet space where the keepsakes were stored really did not do them justice. They were squished. The space was so narrow only one person could view them at a time. Some of the items were placed on a high shelf, out of my range of visibility. What’s the point? It would be great to see all that stuff people traded to be displayed with care, each with a title card explaining where it came from, what its significance was, and how it tells a story.
“It’s All About Things” has a lot of potential, and is bound to evolve with each new exhibition. But as of now, there isn’t a clear-cut purpose to the show. How do viewers reconcile the bartering and the selling? Maybe money and “things” can somehow come together, but we weren’t given any way of grappling with that. Real Money distracted me from the merits of the show – Luis’s excellent performance and generosity as a host, the fun experience of participation and exchange, and the potential for a really interesting museum of our “Things.”