To Be Determined? Sep 16, 2011

by Eric P

A big ball of Americana. Our globe of a world rendered in the telling articles, the products that are aggressively advertised, voraciously consumed and then carelessly discarded trash. Here it is: flotsam of the culture magnetized and fitted snugly, suspended over what has been the main stage of OTB. The busy, random chaos of the everyday, the taken for granted 'stuff' that floats through our hands or by us on the grocery shelves, in our living-rooms, on the road. The overwhelming glut of information and sensation that lodges itself on your consciousness for a while only to be passed over for the next and then the next...all produced and real, taking up space (noticed or not), transformed in a season from iconic or invaluable, delightful, a staple...to a pile of junk; still here, now gathered together as 'art'. Representing the growing pile of a world: Black and white video of a soap opera. The yule log crackling on the hearth. Gumby and Pokey. A printed burlap bag of rice. The swoop of a Tide bottle's handle. Costume jewelry encrusted...the remnants of a particularly successful treasure hunt all wedged together. There's an anvil perched precariously towards the top and a spindly tree growing out it all. Walking around and around to examine either as unit, or in detail, the sensation is of exhaustion. Too much stuff. All right here, obvious and plain as day right here in your face. You've used it, you're a part of it. You live here, these are the articles of your life and you, are part of the problem. It's kindof beautiful though, right? What does that mean? What is going on?

This world, the world of OTB has been literally torn apart by the collaborative trio SuttonBeresCuller. What was the audience rise of seats is now a huge pile. Every seat taken off it's bolt, up-ended and re-fixed as a mountain there on the plywood steps. The beautiful sculpture of a spindly Frank Lloyd Wright plane crashed into and periodically smoking! Again...the notion that what we know and expect, has been changed irrevocably and for me, the feeling of great work in the dismantling (and reassembling), surrounds. The craft of mechanics and solid grunt work ground out what is a fantastic, cheeky statement on change. The known structure rearranged...long enough for the point to be made. How rich, to shake the foundation of what is participatory art. Change is constant. It's what OTB courts and is continuously examining.

Half the fun is mingling with the people...the 'displaced' audience. Some are known, others familiar faces and then strangers...but also familiar. Clustering, wandering, examining. The small-talk of social fixture blending weirdly into the mess of this installation. If one were brave enough, you could enter the set trailer of a be-wigged country girl; sit down and have a jaw wag, be lambasted or pampered with what looks like beauty-school equipment. Miss thing has a twang and is just carryin' on like it's just as normal as can be to be plunked down in a pretend 'All American' back yard. The wooden swing hanging will carry you only so far however, as it's placed right next to the wall. Impromptu lemonade stand features laboratory test-tubes with icky day-glo yellow goop for five cents.

The entire confines of OTB have been invaded and rearranged to project a clever and immersive experience that includes a pop-up "Stompy's" night club downstairs. 'Autographed' photos of celebrities lining the hall proclaim the hipness of the venue. Sunglasses wearing, deadpan faced doorman unhooking the velvet rope to allow you in...enhancing the sense of exclusivity. OTB's send-up of our silly, 'gotta have it culture'. F'ing brilliant.