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What design means to art Marshall, Lisa 2007

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WHAT DESIGN MEANS TO ART by LISA MARSHALL BFA, Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design, 2003 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Fine Arts—Art History) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA October 2007 © Lisa Marshall, 2007 WHAT DESIGN MEANS TO ART by LISA MARSHALL ABSTRACT A renewed merging of art and design accompanied by the inflation of design in relation to art has been increasingly noted by writers since the 1990s. Some critics and artists such as Dan Graham have celebrated this phenomenon as a critical opportunity; others such as art historian and critic Hal Foster have criticized the trend as a catastrophic loss of the limits required for liberal subjectivity. In the first chapter, I consider Graham's position as outlined in "Art as Design/Design as Art" (1986) and contrast it with Hal Foster's argument as presented in "Design and Crime" (2002). While the writers share some points of reference, it becomes clear that the two texts are based on different critical models. My second and third chapters present case studies of works often considered to be part of the "design art" trend. At either end of the 1990s, Dia Center for the Arts realized large-scale projects: Dan Graham's Two-Way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube and a Video Salon: Rooftop Urban Park Project for Dia Arts Center (1981- 1991) and Jorge Pardo's Project (1998-2000). Both works fit the profile of art projects that make use of the modes and methods of the fields of architecture and design. My study considers how each project related to its art institutional site, to the greater art historical and contemporary context and to changes in social, political and cultural conditions that unfolded during the 1990s. My third chapter considers works by Andrea Zittel, an artist also often discussed in terms of design, architecture and life style. While Zittel's "critical optimism" offers promise, there are some critical failings of her project. I analyze some of the problems presented by Zittel's works in relation to comparable projects by Dan Graham and Jorge Pardo. These projects question, but also contribute to, the overvaluation of design that accompanies the contemporary phenomenon of obsession with styling self. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract^ ii List of Figures iv Acknowledgements^ vi I: What Design Means to Art^ 1 Art as Design/Design as Art versus Design and Crime^ 6 II: A Tale of Two Projects—Dan Graham and Jorge Pardo at Dia 50 Two-Way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube and a Video Salon: Rooftop Urban Park Project for Dia Arts Center^ 27 Project^ 38 III: Sufficient Autonomy? Andrea Zittel's wishful thinking^ 50 A-Z East^ 51 The Rules, A-Z 53 A-Z West^ 60 The frontier and other supplementary myths^ 74 Epilogue^ 78 Notes 84 Bibliography^ 97 iii LIST OF FIGURES 1.1. Dan Graham. Three Linked Cubes/Interior Design for Space Showing Videotapes, 1986, installation. ^ 7 1.2. Dan Graham. Three Linked Cubes/Interior Design for Space Showing Videotapes, 1986, architectural model^ 7 1.3. Claes Oldenburg. Bedroom Ensemble, 1963/1995, in "Full House" at the Whitney Museum.^ 9 1.4. Dan Graham. Performer/Audience Sequence (1975), San Francisco Art Institute, Dec ^ 1975^ 15 2.1. Robert Ryman. An installation designed by the artist of his paintings in five galleries, Dia Arts Center, October 7, 1988—June 18, 1989^ 26 2.2. Dan Graham, Two-Way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube and a Video Salon: Rooftop Urban Park Project for Dia Arts Center, New York, 1981/91.^ 28 2.3. Dan Graham. Pavilion/Sculpture for Argonne, Chicago, Illinois, 1981. Pavilion/Sculpture for Argonne, architectural model^ 33 2.4. Dan Graham. Waterloo Sunset at the Hayward Gallery, London, 2002-03.^ 36 2.5. Event at Waterloo Sunset, Hayward, Gallery, London^ 37 2.6. Jorge Pardo. Project, Dia Center for the Arts, New York, 2000.^ 38 2.7. Gerhard Richter and Jorge Pardo. Refraction. Exhibition at Dia Center for the Arts, September 5, 2002—June 15, 2003.^ 42 2.8. Jorge Pardo. Prototype, Exhibition at Dia: Chelsea, September 17, 2003—January 11, 2004^ 46 3.1. Andrea Zittel. A-Z East and A-Z Personal Presentation Room, 1996.^ 52 3.2. Andrea Zittel. A–Z Raugh Furniture (Jack and Lucinda), 1998 and A-Z Homestead Unit from A-Z West, with Raugh Furniture, 2001 — 2004^ 54 iv LIST OF FIGURES continued 3.3. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Escape Vehicle, 1996. ^ 57 3.4. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Cellular Compartment Units for Sammlung Goetz, Munich, Germany. May 18-November 8, 2003. Brochure for A-Z Cellular Compartment Units, 2001^ 60 3.5. Andrea Zittel. A-Z West. 2000. Joshua Tree, California^ 61 3.6. Andrea Zittel. Studio at A-Z West^ 61 3.7. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Wagon Station, 2003. 62 3.8. Dan Graham. Alteration to a Suburban House, 1978, architectural model.^ 63 3.9. Dan Graham. Homes for America. 1966-7^ 65 3.10. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Personal Uniform, 1991—present. A-Z Personal Panel Uniform, 1995-1998.^ 68 3.11. Andrea Zittel. Smockshop, project website 2007^ 70 3.12. Jorge Pardo. 4166 Sea View Lane, 1998. 72 v ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS It is a pleasure to thank the many people who made this thesis possible. It would be difficult to overstate my gratitude to my M.A. supervisor, Dr. Bill Wood. He has provided engaging and challenging classes, endless encouragement, sound advice, and has been a great resource for research ideas and suggestions. Dr. John O'Brian has also been a great source of advice, ideas and encouragement. I would like to thank the many people who have contributed to a rewarding learning experience at at the University of British Columbia including Dr. Maureen P. Ryan, Dr. Charlotte Townsend-Gault, Dr. Hsingyuan Tsao, Dr. Rhodri Windsor- Liscombe, Dr. Sherri McKay, Dr. Carol Knicely, and Dr. Serge Guilbaut. At Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design, I am grateful to Dr. Patrik Andersson for his always- engaging Art History classes that provided a great introduction to the field, to Liz Magor for her memorable and entertaining studio classes, to Dr. Randy Lee Cutler for her contagious enthusiasm about theory and to Dr. Carol Gigliotti for providing a sound introduction to Interaction Design. I would like to thank Tom Hudson for providing the best introduction to formal aesthetic principles in my first post- secondary studio training. I would also like to thank Russell Taylor for his great introduction to Design History, Chick Rice for her great initiation into photography and Alex Haas and Ken Hughes for showing me the importance of typography. I'm sure I'm missing some of the amazing instructors I had the good fortune to meet, but Laiwan, David MacWilliam, and Ingrid Koenig are more names and faces I associate with memories of great learning experiences. I am indebted to my many student colleagues for providing a stimulating and fun environment in which to learn and grow. In particular, I'd like to thank Jesse Birch, Babak Golkar, Sara Mameni, Laura Matwichuk, Liz Park and Kate Steinmann. I am grateful to the secretaries, librarians and studio technicians at both Emily Carr and UBC for assisting me in many different ways. I am grateful to supportive friends and family who pulled me away from my studies now and then, especially Melanie Bray, the Dirty Dozen, Denele and Mat Fowler, Wo Gosch, Julian Gosper, Frank Lee, Sam Levy, Isaac Marshall, Torsten Willer, Five Seventeen, Marilyn Van Egmond, Melinda, Sarah, Tina and Wayne Verwey, Eva Whiteway and Julie Szutu. I would like to thank my new colleagues Dr. Lee McIntyre and Ed Prinsen for their support and flexibility during the month of overlap while I completed my thesis. I would like to thank the many artists, art historians, art critics and philosophers who have been a source of stimulating material. In particular I would like to thank Andrea Zittel for welcoming me to A-Z West in January 2007. I wish to thank my parents, Irene and Bill Verwey for their loving support from day one. Last and certainly not least, I would like to thank my fiance, Matthew Kowalyk, for rescuing me from the odd fire now and then, for making sure I take breaks from my work, and for always being there with his sense of humour and encouragement. vi What Design Means to Art "TODAY DESIGN RULES." 1 So begins a recent review in ArtForum. The inflation of the status of design has become a commonplace, taken as a given of contemporary global culture. Under the current climate of media saturation, information overload, and advertising-marketing dominance, we find that now most everything is run in a business-like fashion, including public institutions like the museum and the university. At the same time, we see a neo-colonial aggression, a lack of strong political alternatives, numerous identity crises (at the social, political and personal levels), a ruling terrain of fashion with a corresponding loss of depth, rampant cynicism, apathy, and boredom. 2 We know the freedom associated with art is an illusion, but is it a useful fiction sometimes? Art offers promise as a fictive space where we can think not only 'outside the box' but where we might imagine radically different sets of conditions—a space where we can provisionally change the rules. But isn't art determined by the system that contains it? Isn't it merely compensatory then? And won't it always be put to use in ways that will only compromise it? 3 Perhaps art must seclude itself and lay low under current conditions. Another strategy, perhaps related, is to make it very difficult for projects to be repurposed. Maybe they can be hidden in plain view, masquerading as design. For better or worse, there has been a value shift culminating in the 1990s: whereas the designer once aspired to the status and freedom of the artist, now the artist aspires to the cool strategic positioning of the designer. The contemporary artist works with a conceptual plan in a knowing engagement with culture, dealing with the manipulation of signs and materials in an approach that may be critical, cynical, or utopian—the as yet unknown and nameless. But to be 1 knowing and strategic is to own up to a situation where art cannot pretend to its own autonomy. Design, in one form or another, has often been used by artists to confront the impasse regarding the myth of autonomy in the field of art. One such strategy has been to use fields such as design and architecture to expand the field of art, taking it from the usual spaces in the gallery or musuem out into the world where it will have contact with a greater public and where it might be able to intervene in daily life. In another strategy design might draw attention to the framing conditions of the institutional apparatus to uncover disciplinary contradictions through a critical transgression of the limits of the field. The modern field of design offered the advantage of praxis and of being useful. But there's useful and then there's a more covert sort of instrumentalization. Where once art might have been considered somewhat useful as tool of oppositional critique, for material research into utopian forms, or as supporting evidence in various ideological battles, by the 1990s it had become useful in ways that were never trumpeted the way 'criticality' and 'freedom' once were. 4 Its use became part of a much more sophisticated game by the 1990s where a lack of differentiation between cultural fields and disciplines could be transformed into stylish supplementary zones of entertainment that had not existed in a multimedia form integrated to that degree before. Minimal aesthetics could be merged with anime merged with performance merged with the readymade merged with painting merged with video merged with spatial effects merged with lighting merged with architecture merged with photography merged with conceptual art—the mixing of these media became a process that seemed more fit for the role of an art director in relation to a design project than an independent artist or a curator of an art institution in relation to art works. The differences between these roles and these aspects of culture had become more difficult to define. Generating a firm set of parameters to distinguish between cultural fields now 2 seems an impossible task. Following various critiques of disciplines and categories throughout the twentieth century, the old parameters are riddled with contradiction. But more damaging to the notion of autonomy, is the regular evidence that the almost entirely commercially-invested spaces of design and the once-separate art spaces are indistinguishable from one another. 5 The interchange between (and overall commercialization of) cultural fields was so usual by the end of the 1990s that it was no longer noteworthy, let alone scandalous. 6 Another trend that gained momentum during the 1990s is design as art. Self-proclaimed design artist Joe Scanlan provides a useful definition: Design art could be defined loosely as any artwork that attempts to play with the place, function, and style of art by commingling it with architecture, furniture and graphic design. [...]What seems crucial to design art in all its forms is that some sort of slippage occur between where art is, how it looks, and what it does. In contrast to the institutional critiques of Michael Asher or Louise Lawler, design art hopes to democratize that authority by providing mood lighting and comfortable chairs. Institution critique is based on argumentation; design art on salesmanship. 7 Under contemporary conditions, slippage occurs between institution critique and design art as well. 8 Some artists who came to be known for design art by the late 1990s are exemplary in their slipppage between critique and salemanship, with Jorge Pardo and Andrea Zittel being two well-known examples. At the same time art institutions became more intertwined with business interests, marketing and corporate identity than ever before in the 1990s, as part of an overall trend towards privatization. 9 The demystified and deconstructed field of art functioned increasingly as just another one of many sites of cultural activity, and as such, it has been under pressure. Julian Stallabrass has noted this major change arguing, "The pure opposition of art to both the instrumental life of work and to mass culture has been clouded by increasing pressures on art to surrender its free play of ideas and objects in favour of becoming useful." 10 In spite of boundary challenges coming from postmodern theory, the residue of transgressive avant-gardes, conservative trends in Western politics that question the 3 validity of a separate and oppositional form of culture and market forces that further threaten the distinction of fields of cultural activity, many artists, designers, critics and art historians continue to differentiate their respective fields to varying degrees. Yet how to define disciplinary difference in any satisfying way—without coming across as anachronistic or apologetic—remains elusive. Why maintain distinctions when we have seen how the parameters are always ideological and exclusive? It has been convincingly argued by Hal Foster that in a terrain without limits, an ever-narrowing horizon of possibility is at stake where we might imagine possibilities. 11 In other words, a removal of limits might become an unfathomable limitlessness yielding only loss of agency. Or it might play into the hands of those who would enjoy the benefits of a demise of any effective oppositional culture. An all-inclusive expansion of limits might become a model of ideological stasis under some conditions. 12 Would the melting of art into design indicate such a loss? It is the contradiction of the vague area where art meets design, caught between institution critique and complicity, that brings me to this project, as a way of thinking through the questions raised by the friction between cultural fields—and more important, to consider whether there is any friction left. How might these terms be used for critical analysis, or what might be better ones? Two pivotal and influential arguments in the debate reveal some core contradictions when compared: Dan Graham's "Art as Design/Design as Art" (1986) and Hal Foster's "Design and Crime" (2002). Graham's works and writings have been influential on generations of artists since the late 1960s. His position implies that the autonomy of the sphere of art is a conservative myth—he backs a strategy of shifting the boundary between the fields of art, architecture and design whereby a hidden truth about how they operate is revealed. 13 Foster, while agreeing that autonomy is a social construct, argues that some form of semi-autonomy might provide a useful fiction today and that it is possibly our only mode of resistance to the effects of the spectacular dimensions of advanced 4 capitalist society—as such, the separation of disciplines needs to be provisionally defined. 14 Clouding the debate, the two positions share some points of reference. Both writers agree that the main stake is that of the subject, but it becomes clear that each writer is working with a different theoretical model, each set within a unique understanding of the surrounding conditions at different moments. The differences between Graham's "Art as Design/Design as Art" and Foster's "Design and Crime" are explained to some extent by changes that had taken place in the intervening period between these publications. Two significant events affected global economics, politics and societies: the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the rapid digitization and networking of the Western world. The first event dissolved the polarity of the balance of global power, leaving a single unchallenged superpower and a triumphant rhetoric surrounding the global dominance of capitalism. Neo- imperialist policies followed soon after, cloaked under the guise of free trade initiatives or less subtly in the form of military intervention. New technologies made it much easier to spread production out to locations where labour and other resources could be acquired cheaply. 15 Foster explains in Art Since 1900 how the mid-nineties saw a new round of capitalist expansion accompanied by a shift where some artists became less interested in issues surrounging the commodification of art and turned instead to investigate the phenomenon of design and its ubiquity—"the manner in which objects or practices are so often recoded, subsumed into a greater ensemble, turned into an element of decor or lifestyle" became a site of artistic investigation. 16 At the same time, contemporary art spaces and museums were transitioning to be more like business entities in themselves. Art events—biennials, art fairs, and auctions—blended with other themed attractions and entertainment centres. In "The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum" (1991), Rosalind Krauss has described how a revisionist interpretation of Minimal art was used as justification for a new business-oriented model of the museum. 17 The spatial demands of Minimal art were 5 translated into a new museal paradigm: the encyclopedic model was displaced by the "synchronic museum" which forgoes history in exchange for intensity of experience, "an aesthetic charge that is not so much temporal (historical) as it is now radically spatial." 18 With the new model, the museum offers an experiential space that becomes the object. I explore how these matters played out in the 1990s in chapter two with an analysis of Dan Graham's and Jorge Pardo's projects at the Dia Center for the Arts. While Graham sees critical potential in design as art (and Pardo's position is deliberately ambivalent), Foster associates an inflation of design with a corresponding "spectacularization of art." 19 Does the term design mean something different for Foster than it does for Graham? Art as Design/Design as Art versus Design and Crime Dan Graham's essay was published in conjunction with the 1987 exhibition of his Three Linked Cubes/Interior Design for Space Showing Videotapes (1986) at the Fruitmarket Gallery in Edinburgh. Graham describes the work as follows: Three Linked Cubes, a series of rectangular bays with one side open and with side panels of alternating two-way mirror or transparent glass, has a dual identity. Placed outside it is an open pavilion illuminated by the sun; placed indoors, it is transformed into Interior design for space showing videotapes. Here various video monitors and speakers are placed to allow three separate programs for audiences subdivided into 6 groups. The effects of the changing illumination from the video images reflected on the glass panels effects the mirror 'ghosts' of audience members seen in other enclosed bays of the divider. The work is both functional exhibition design and an optical artwork displaying the video images as well as the spectator's reactions to the video viewing process in the social space of the video exhibition.20 In his brief description and in the title of the work itself, Graham's strategy of suspending his work between the functional and the aesthetic comes to the fore. The shifting of his works between traditional categorical boundaries is part of his longstanding investigation into the psycho-social effects of structures and systems. The aspiration behind such works might be described as a sort of Brechtian truth-telling intended to make the distracted viewer deeply aware of the usually ignored aspects 6 1.1. Left: Dan Graham. Three Linked Cubes/Interior Design for Space Showing Videotapes, 1986. 1.2 Above: Dan Graham. Three Linked Cubes/ Interior Design for Space Showing Videotapes, 1986, architectural model. of mediated experience in a moment of realization illuminating how the spectator's perception and interpretation of content is shaped by institutions, presentation format, viewing conditions and social interaction. Graham's essay and exhibition appeared at an important moment in the debate about disciplinary transgression. Since the late 1960s, designers and architects had been taking a transgressive avant-garde stance in the theorization and presentation of their projects, with positions mostly running counter to the dominant modernist design principles of the International Style—some of their key texts have been cited by Graham. 21 A period of instability and recession in the United States in the 1970s had been followed by a conservative turn in Western politics.22 Some artists, including Graham, had turned to the field of architecture and accompanying matters of public space, urban planning and the city in the late 1960s, as a strategy to avoid the pitfalls of the neutralization of art in traditional settings and its commodification in the art market. By the end of that decade there seemed to be a renewed art-world interest in the field of architecture proper. While some artists were working with site-specific notions of place in the 1970s, the end of the decade saw professional architectural drawings being exhibited in galleries. 23 The 1980s, described as "a decade of 7 casino capitalism," 24 was accompanied by a return of a highly marketable form of expressionist painting in the art world. Meanwhile, sculpture and commodity object were pushed closer together by artists such as Jeff Koons and Haim Steinbach. 25 In 1986, catalogue essays for the exhibition "Endgame: Reference and Simulation in Recent Painting and Sculpture" questioned the rise of neo-geo and commodity sculpture, arguably also facets of an art as design/design as art tendency, but ones said to be lacking the criticality espoused by Graham. 26 Fredric Jameson's Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism describes conditions where pastiche ("speech in a dead language") increasingly replaces the more coherent form known as parody (meaningful reference to past works.)27 Jameson describes a culture of empty retro fashions and a "waning of affect" that comes with the general loss of coordinates, coining "postmodern sublime" to describe how such conditions are often experienced as elation or euphoria. 28 Concerns about loss of subjectivity and agency had been building since the 1960s following waves of structuralist critique and poststructuralist deconstruction. At the same time a consumerist subject was being consolidated in a highly-mediated and disorienting public realm dominated by corporate interests, commerce and fashion. 29 In this context, Graham's essay might function in some ways as justification for a paradoxical position—perhaps already beginning to lose some of its earlier critical force—poised between the fields of art and design and between the theoretical parameters of modernism and postmodernism. Graham begins his essay with a quote from Walter Benjamin's "Paris, Capital of the Nineteenth Century," where Benjamin describes the separation of office and home. Complementary to the constrictions of outward propriety demanded by the work environment, the home interior is reserved for the private person, "to be maintained in his illusions." 30 Graham turns next to the illusion of subjectivity explored in Claes Oldenburg's work. Subjective desires as gratified through consumerist identity production 8 was a central theme of Oldenburg's Bedroom Ensemble (1963) first exhibited in New York in 1964. Graham explains that the "kitschy modern-home-furnishing" set was produced by Oldenburg during a lengthy stay in Los Angeles, an experience that must have suggested the machinations of artifice. Graham includes Oldenburg's own description of the work: The suite consisted of a bed covered by a quilted black vinyl bedspread and white vinyl sheets: a synthetic 'zebra-skin' couch with a fake leopard-skin coat placed on top of it; a bureau with a large metal 'mirror' and imitation marble lampshades. The walls are textile with black embossed patterns decorated with a pseudo Jackson Pollock silkscreened 'painting.' 31 1.3. Claes Oldenburg. Bedroom Ensemble, 1963/1995, in "Full House" at the Whitney Museum. Graham comments on the "deliberately ironic" reference to abstract expressionist painting, writing of how the inclusion of mass-produced Pollock-esque prints demonstrates its reduction to just another element in a home-decoration scheme. Oldenburg's intent to abstract industrialized objects is described by Graham, with the implication that the latent industrial kernel is thus made visible in both art and design. Paraphrasing Donald Judd he notes that "the production of the consumer's subjectivity was present in the Oldenburg object itself." 32 Bedroom Ensemble implies an equivalency not only between the subject as consumer of mass-produced objects and the subject as consumer of art, but also between subject and object, revealing the mythical nature of the autonomy of art at a time when 9 Greenbergian modernism was still dominant. Oddly, Oldenburg's transgression against Clement Greenberg's proscriptions left understated in Graham's essay, even though Oldenburg's work clearly made a demonstration of the decorative tendencies at play in modern art. He turns instead to an analysis that suggests a Brechtian critique at work in Oldenburg's design as art. Graham describes "the bizarre arbitrariness of the ensemble" that he claims generates an effect that "brings into perspective the oddness and ambiguity of the modern art gallery interior—half showroom and half business office." 33 Graham notes that "the work was specifically designed to foreground the presence of the gallery that contained it as a modern office space." 34 The gallery itself becomes a main focus of the work. The staging of art is shown to be administered just as much as the staging of products in a showroom. While Minimal art was also shifting attention to the gallery space, unlike Pop, it did not highlight the administered nature of that space, instead using it as a 'neutral' ground for phenomenological investigations. From Oldenburg's Pop art, Graham turns next to Minimal artist Dan Flavin. Here he notes a tendency in both artists to reduce fine art to decor, quoting Flavin: "I believe art is shedding its vaunted mystery for a common sense of keenly realized decoration." 35 Comparing Pop art and Minimal art, he suggests the former referred to the surrounding media in the early to mid-sixties while the latter seemed to refer to the gallery itself by the mid to late-sixties. 36 For Graham, Flavin's fluorescent light installations reveal the latent illusionism of the picture plane as they cast light and shadow on the adjacent paintings. Graham sees Flavin's light fixtures directing attention to the context and the container, suggesting not only the architecture, but also the lighting system and the electric system beyond the gallery. 37 Graham describes their effect as being "both neo-expressionist and neo-constructivist," suggesting the possibility of expression through a readymade paradigm of arranging pre-existing industrially-produced objects. 38 He suggests, "The gallery literally functioned as the 10 art." 39 Graham describes how Flavin's various arrangements of fluorescent fixtures performed a "systematic investigation" of gallery space. While the phenomenological aspirations of Minimal art have a utopian dimension, albeit a compensatory one in contradiction with the industrial aspects of the work,40 Graham's position comes close to extreme pessimism with a critical method that deconstructs the mythological terrain of art, the unexamined rituals of everyday life, and the seductions of pop culture, revealing a network of determining systems leaving no room for escape. There is truth to Graham's revelation of the absence of truth, but as Thierry de Duve has said, there remains a choice, "the whole question being whether this is to be regretted or whether one should not instead look for the political where it actually is, where there is decisiveness without eschatology. ”41 Graham's practice began in the mid-sixties with a deconstruction of the autonomous modernist subject in a series of projects that revealed the determining systems that shape not only culture, but how culture is interpreted and how and where subjectivity is formed. In 1966 'freedom' and 'autonomy' were still celebrated values of high art, but by the 1990s the masterful subject would no longer be the prevailing model as we might gather from Fredric Jameson's description of the effects of postmodern hyperspace: ...this latest mutation in space-postmodern hyperspace-has finally succeeded in transcending the capacities of the individual human body to locate itself, to organize its immediate surroundings perceptually, and cognitively to map its position in a mappable external world. 42 In "Design and Crime," Hal Foster argues for a means to resist the effects Jameson describes. Countering Graham's implicit support of disciplinary transgression as critical method, Foster argues that the loss of disciplinary distinctions under contemporary conditions leads to a situation where there are no objective limits, making a critical position impossible. He models his polemic after Adolf Loos' critique 11 of the total design of Art Nouveau, seeing fin-de-siecle Vienna as similar to recent millienial conditions where the blurring of disciplinary boundaries had become the norm. Loos described a peculiar blending of subject and object in the disciplinary blurring of the Art Nouveau Gesamtkunstwerk that for him created a subjectivity that found the self "precluded all future living and striving." Foster recounts Karl Krauss' distinction between the urn and the chamberpot, that "above all provides culture with running-room." He describes how for Krauss "the two mistakes [an urn as a chamber pot/a chamber pot as an urn] are symmetrical—both confuse use-value and art-value—and both are perverse in as much as both risk a regressive indistinction of all things: they fail to see that objective limits are necessary for the 'running-room' that allows for the making of a liberal kind of subjectivity and culture." 43 For Foster, there are many signs of a contemporary loss of limits, but the most urgent stake is that of the subject who is at risk of being subsumed in an overwhelming spectacular environment where "everything seems to be regarded as so much design." He asks, "Might this 'designed subject' be the unintended offspring of the 'constructed subject' so vaunted in postmodern culture?" For Foster, the foreclosed "complete" subject of the totally-designed environment of Art Nouveau is analogous to the constructed subject of postmodern theory as collapsed into the consumerist subject of fashion." In response, Foster posits a semi-autonomous subject who would be able to achieve some critical distance (provisional though it may be) from our contemporary surroundings, from the commodity, from the state, and from economic interests, through somewhat autonomous experience and the meaningful discourse made possible by the 'running-rooms' of disciplines. This autonomous subject is not about a primitive pre-lingual state of perception. Instead this a subject able to gain a perspective of some distance and distinction from the dominant forces at large in Western culture gone global. Foster sees the contemporary situation as an expanded threat in a more extensive terrain affecting nearly all culture and tending toward 12 the total dissolution of any meaningful public sphere. While Loos was dealing with Western Europe, today such cultural trends are operating on a global scale. Foster argues that beyond its geographical expansion, design is fundamentally different now than in its early twentieth-century forms.45 A crucial aspect of Foster's argument is contemporary design's engagement with "postindustrial technologies." 46 He rightly argues that the digitization of the professions of design and architecture profoundly changed the underlying logic of the design process. Things once anchored in material limitations are now easily manipulated and endlessly reiterated—design rapidly has become much more powerful as a result. As digital code, design became an infinitely flexible system in a culture where the surface value of signs had already become enormously inflated. This new, all-powerful, totally-flexible and invasive force is what Foster means by design. Foster explains that whatever has been gained through disciplinary transgression has been turned against its original political goals. But it is continually returned to us in a seductive package. If we agree with Foster, then the critical effects of Graham's disciplinary crossings lose their force. But there remains the question of what boundaries and whose rules we would use to gain some 'running room.' Might 'running room' only amount to a safe state of exception that leaves everything outside its purview intact? The phenomenological side of Graham's essay appears to be closer in spirit to Foster's position in that it involves imagining the possibility of modelling an autonomous subject. As an example falling somewhere between Pop and Minimal art, Graham discusses aspects of John Chamberlain's high-density foam sculpture/ furniture pieces, suggesting the object becomes an extension of the body. He argues that when the piece is situated in an institutional setting, the tactility of the experience and the sense of time made the foam pieces into vehicles for a shift in thinking; that is, through a phenomenological experience, the objectivity and linear time of the museum disappear. Writing of Chamberlain's 1971 installation in the ground-floor lobby of the 13 Guggenheim in Manhattan, Graham says, "There was a change from object observed or conceptualized as object or design concept into a subjective biophysiological sensation." 47 What Graham describes is a sort of ideal primitive state in which constructed categories melt away; he seems to suggest the possibility of transcending institutional limits through an experience of pure subjective sensation, recalling his own experiments where installation and performance meet audience involvement. But there is also a blending of subject and object at work in the minimalist focus on the "contingency of perception." 48 Graham's work negates its utopian potential by ultimately refusing the possibility of autonomy, through pushing the subject/object conflation already present in Minimal art to new extremes. With Graham's audience pieces—the numerous works where the audience becomes a focal point—he uses phenomenological aspects of Minimal art where standard building construction materials—fixtures, plaster walls and glass—are used to create audience spaces for experience over time and to reveal the conditions of the gallery experience. Influenced by Flavin's fluorescent light fixture installations, 49 Graham expanded the exposure of systems and structures he began on the printed page in the mid to late-sixties into realized spatial constructions in the seventies. But in Graham's case, the lighting and the architectural forms were being used to reflect the audience back to itself, to make the spectator more aware of the mediation filtering the act of perception. The performance pieces add the mediation of the performer/audience feedback loop, as described by Graham in his instructions for Performer/Audience Sequence (1975): I face the audience. I begin continuously describing myself—my external features—although looking in the direction of the audience. I do this for about eight minutes. Now I observe and phenomenologically describe the audience's external appearance for eight minutes. I cease this and begin again to describe the audience's responses... The pattern of alternating self-description/description of the audience continues until I decide to end the piece. 50 14 1.4. Dan Graham. Performer/Audience Sequence (1975), San Francisco Art Institute, December, 1975. Graham's performance piece/sociological experiment pushed Minimal art's disruption of the modernist art experience to extremes where the audience would be forced to acknowledge their own presence over time. The spectator observes the act of perceiving and the process of the formation of subjectivity while experiencing simultaneously how that perspective is shaped by surrounding systems, other subjectivities and structures. Such a project sounds utopian when it is suggested that the audience might become aware of a group identity, but as Thierry de Duve has pointed out, this awareness never coheres: What Graham in his notes calls the 'public's self-awareness as a group' is only the projected image of the performer whereby the audience feeds its desire for self-recognition. Then it is the turn of this individual image to be the homeostat of a collective imaginary, the parody of 'self-consciousness' without any raised consciousness. If there were a raised conscious- ness, it would be that of the most radical heteronomy (which is why there cannot be any, 'consciousness-raising' being at the very heart of the problematic of autonomy.) 51 What de Duve has called the "most radical heteronomy" is found in Graham's reduction of the subject to a body where perception is situated almost entirely externally. The fleeting impressions described by the performer are never resolved or recorded to cohere into memory: "The only 'lived experience' that a member of the audience takes away from Performer/Audience Sequence is the experience of taking nothing away, for lack of reference points or spatiotemporal invariants that could be shared by performer and audience. [...] The feedback set-up keeps the effect from recording the cause." 52 In this case, Graham's strange phenomenology is more oppressive than liberating. The odd feedback loop seals the group and the performer into a circuit that blocks individual contemplation. Time delay is an important aspect of the performance. The present can never be grasped as the performer's description always arrives too late, just after the moment in which a described behaviour took place. 15 De Duve's analysis, first published in 1983, is useful in considering why Graham's position is so difficult to pin down. De Duve argues that Graham's work "refuses the philosophy of autonomy and disalienation [...] even when seeming to draw from it." 53 He suggests that the implied philosophy of Graham's Performer/ Audience Sequence is of more theoretical importance than any explicit references Graham makes to critical philosophy: "Even if he refers to the Frankfurt School [...] or to Lacan [...] his work goes beyond the deconstructive horizon of these authors in their relation to the philosophy of the subject." 54 De Duve then argues that the radical provocation in Graham's work is that it reconstructs the subject in the media as an allegory of the "`mediatization' of political life." The allegory functions in absence of technological recording devices and as such, de Duve argues that Performer/Audience Sequence, in the audience failure to record the experience, suggests that only recording technologies, as "repositories of memory and speakers of history," can enable coherent subjectivity. In other words, "only the media can make a `subject." 55 De Duve suggests that Graham "clearly aims to contribute to a political project whose aims run counter to that society" allegorized in his work. 56 But while Graham uses words such as 'alienation' and 'reification' suggesting Frankfurt School theory, and his work often exposes these aspects of contemporary systems, his project offers only "traces of a utopia which does not fit these references." 57 De Duve continues: [...] his insistence on 'self-awareness as a group' has much less to do with the Marxist horizon of 'class consciousness' than with the American dream: the commune as the incarnation of Walt Whitman's 'transcendental I,' pop music as the basis of great ritual gatherings, the 'tribalism' of the media as an answer to the crisis of familialism. [...] The political lesson of this allegorical fable is that the production of a group imaginary—whether class consciousness or hippie conviviality—cannot result in a coherent vision of the world stated from a common viewpoint. And this is a severe critique of any political philosophy that remains captive to the autonomist ideal. 58 It seems Graham's own vague aspirations are undercut by the radical critique of autonomy underlying his approach. Returning to Graham's essay, considered in relation to his own practice and to de Duve's analysis, we see that phenomenology 16 has a critical function for Graham, but not at the service of autonomy. Instead, in its insistent revelation of how systems shape perception, of how subjectivity is made by the media, the critical target shifts towards "any political philosophy that remains captive to the autonomist ideal." Graham's critical method functions as a critique of the concept of autonomy itself. While Graham has asserted, "My work is always critical. Never pessimistic," 59 de Duve notes, "[...] it seems to leave no more room for any kind of social project of whatever sort. Is the political world, and with it perhaps even civil society, becoming a great self-regulated machine that knows no other finality than those its own retroactive circuits generate, reinforce, or moderate within it?" 6° The multivalent nature of Graham's critique, inspired by Minimal art on the one hand and Pop on the other, turns his position into an eschatological and nihilist one where an extreme form of skepticism takes over. Graham seems to be caught between the desire for a disalienated subject and the 1960s transgressive avant-garde critique of the fiction of autonomy. Graham is thus caught in a tautology: in the name of disalienated subjectivity (autonomy) he is compelled to attack autonomy as the conservative myth obfuscating the determining systems of society, which he sees as inseparable from the myth of autonomy. Graham's work is critical in that he wants to expose false autonomy, but his criticality collapses in that his politics ends up null after the contradictions and competing positions have cancelled each other out. Graham also puts forward a kind of art as design/design as art that happens to be design as business at the same time. Robert Venturi describes his design for Knoll's new showroom/office space (1982) as "putting familiar objects in a slightly unfamiliar setting. " 61 Graham points out the typically postmodern aspects of Venturi's work, particularly in the use of veneers that run counter to modernist truth to materials; in another office design project (1977) Venturi freely mixes period styles. Graham describes the result as an ambiguous meaning where the office space becomes like a museum with its diverse collection arranged for display. He remarks, "Normally, 17 the museum is distinct and not related to office decor and corporate displays of art." Returning to the Knoll space, he adds, "The historical modernism of the Knoll chairs is decontextualized by the hybrid bourgeois home/office Venturi-designed exhibition space." 62 If we follow Graham's trajectory from Claes Oldenburg to Robert Venturi, we are taken from gallery-as-showroom set within an administered space to office/ showroom-as-museum/gallery. Graham is interested in the critique of modernism that occurs through the revelation of its fictitious boundaries, an unsettling of its conventional hierarchies, and a recognition of its latent content, perhaps as a vague aspiration to release the subject from determining systems, but also possibly as a redemptive project that recalls the failed promises of the Enlightenment. While his exact intent is left ambiguous, it becomes apparent in examining his texts that a core contradiction of Graham's theoretical positioning is that it is anti-humanist and humanist all at once. Graham's writing offers a peculiar blend of Benjaminian fragments regarding subjectivity and the physical environment, Marcusian critical theory as filtered through an American 1960s hippie counter-culture, postmodern theory developed within the field of architecture and the remanants of a 1960s neo-avant-garde disciplinary transgression. 63 Graham's 1986 essay functions as a map of his contextual coordinates and a legitimation of his art practice at a time when his position would have been under pressure from a competing cynical-celebratory art-as-design/design-art-art position within the art world and the new 'critical design' from without. It would also have been threatened by an absence of the modernist theoretical dominance required to structure his own projects as 'critical.' Even so, Graham's rebel positioning, his engagement with pop culture, and his complex practice would have a lingering appeal—as Mark Francis suggests, "His writings on art, architecture, rock music and popular culture have been widely influential on younger artists, for whom he has also been exemplary as someone who crosses boundaries between disciplines." 64 18 Hal Foter's riposte to arguments for disciplinary transgression took the form of his polemic essay, published in Design and Crime in 2002, 65 and also appearing in condensed form as "The ABCs of Contemporary Design" in October that same year. 66 Where Graham saw critical (if not liberatory) prospects for design, Foster sees an overwhelming and enveloping force. Graham's kind of 'design-as-art' could be used in a dual critique to reveal not only the failed promises of modern art, but also those of modern design. But Foster's warning is that the expanded limits could have effects similar to those he outlined in "Design and Crime:" Design is all about desire, but today this desire seems almost subject-less, or at least almost lack-less: design seems to advance a kind of narcissism that is all image and no interiority—an apotheosis of the subject that may be one with its disappearance. 67 In turn, Foster's contemporary polemic has been described as totalizing, leaving his argument open to criticism characterizing it as overly pessimistic. 68 His polemic style is modeled after Loos' notorious attack on superfluous ornament, but while Loos argued against meaningless ornament in design and architecture, his attack was directed at a specific style. By contrast, Foster does not specify any particular kind of design, but this is likely due to the much wider spread of the contemporary phenomena he wishes to address. Loos' more narrowly-defined target was Art Nouveau's wanton ornament. He was not against all ornament, but he argued for its use to be meaningful; he prescribed that when work involved ornament, it would consist of classical references, and the form would otherwise be spare and utilitarian. 69 Loos took aim at the nineteenth-century trend of eclecticism in architecture and the surface decoration of Art Nouveau, while elevating what he considered to be exemplary everyday objects selected for their capacity to demonstrate the principles of effective design. 7° In contrast, Foster's target appears to be design in toto. However, the kind of design Foster has in mind becomes more clear towards the end of his essay in his discussion of Bruce Mau's Life Style, the extravagantly luxe and massive book celebrating Bruce Mau Design (BMD). Foster considers Life Style's implications: 19 [...] we may hear 'life style' as understood by Martha Stewart, but we are asked to think 'life style' as conceived by Nietzsche or Michel Foucault—an ethics of life, not a guide to decor. But the world surveyed by Life Style suggests something else—a folding of the 'examined life' into the 'designed life.' 71 In reading other chapters of Design and Crime, it becomes clear that Foster also has in mind the superstar 'great artist' status of architects such as Frank Gehry and Rem Koolhaus. 72 In 2001 the Guggenheim Museum in New York staged a Gehry retrospective where the evolution of Gehry's practice from vernacular architecture to spectacular free-form buildings was celebrated. Foster notes that the Guggenheim Bilbao's museum building designed by Gehry becomes more of a draw than the art it contains (or "swallows" as Foster vividly describes it). It becomes clear that the spectacular aspects of a contemporary trend towards a commingled art, design and architecture is Foster's Art Nouveau. He is skeptical of enveloping expansiveness, seductively disorienting interiors, and the fluid ease with which hybrid specifications are tweaked and wireframe models endlessely resurfaced and morphed. 73 Foster identifies a set of regressive tendencies in Gehry's style of postmodern architecture: to skin the armature so as to disguise structure, to ornament excessively with computer-enabled curves and flourishes, and to create massively disorienting interior spaces. But while Foster is critical of a certain kind of design and architecture, he is also critical of its equation with art. The contemporary tendency to conflate the disciplines seems to accompany and abet a tendency for surface design at the disposal of branded experience—that is, the kind of approach Foster describes where "aesthetics is conflated with the utilitarian and subsumed in the commercial." 74 In an essay about Koolhaus, Foster notes the problems of some kinds of design, but he concludes noting, "...more than ever we need designers able to reinvent the 'relationship between the formal and the social' in delirious—or at least non- defensive—ways." 75 It becomes clear that Foster's view of design is not as totalizing as it first appears. 20 The specific modernism Foster has used as the foundation for his critique has been an issue for some critics who point to the notoriously outrageous aspects of Loos' supporting principles. Foster critically deconstructs Loos' position in "A Proper Subject," published as a chapter in Prosthetic Gods, but it is unclear how much or how little of this ideological baggage has been successfully purged from Loos' theory in Foster's recent application of it to the contemporary situation. Loos' argument has its merits and relevance today, but its model of distinction and propriety is structured on race, class and gender exceptions that have an eerily familiar ring to our twenty-first century ears when taken in the context of Loos' call for a return to Germanic culture and Western classical traditions. 76 Foster clearly wants to avoid of these associations—the charge that his work uses Loos as a foundation 'uncritically' is answered by Foster's in-depth analysis of Loos' position in his later writing. 77 There are more ways Loos might be considered an odd choice for Foster as his model modernist critic for a critique of contemporary design—that is, design as it intersects with 'the logic of late capitalism.' Foster remarks that Loos was significantly influenced by his visit to the United States in that his "...intense enthusiasm not only for the practical objects of Anglo-American manufacture... but also for the pragmatic codes of living and working [...]" were clear. 78 The logic of late capitalism identified in Minimal art by Foster in "The Crux of Minimalism" 79 arguably also shapes Loos' position, albeit in an earlier stage of capitalism. The "mechanization and standardization" that Minimal art and Pop exploit according to Foster, make an early appearance in Loos' pragmatism. Loos embraced British and American product design in part because the simple, pragmatic forms worked in concert with the modes of industrial production in contrast to Art Nouveau designs where ornamental flourishes required older methods of craftsmanship. 8° European modern design, including principles espoused by Loos, filtered back into the United States and finally into corporate America. From its new headquarters, modern design, stripped of its earlier 21 social aspirations, would be disseminated to infiltrate all aspects of life touched by the media and by mass-produced goods. 81 In other words, with its roots intertwined in the logic of capitalist efficiency, marketing and mass production, Loos' theory is an odd choice for a contemporary art critic who wants to model a subject resistant to the logic of late capitalism. Could this early capitalist logic and other unwanted ideological baggage be successfully removed from the parts of Loos' argument that Foster would like to apply to the contemporary situation? Perhaps the antidote requires some of the very logic it might counter. By now we are in urgent need of new terms for critical analysis. Essentially I agree with Foster, but his terms are too easy and his judgment too automatic. 82 Perhaps we most need to find a way out of the impasse of either transgressing or bolstering disciplinary boundaries in order to return to the question of what kind of provisional limits might be used to make informed choices. Could these provisional limits amount to anything more than a temporary space of exception? We might ask then, not if something is art or if it is design—if it can be agreed that the boundary between these categories no longer holds the differential charge it once did—but what kind of subject is modeled in each case. It is not only a question of instrumentalization and autonomy in the contemporary context, but an even more complex one entailing questions of what a given thing promotes or denies, how it operates and of what kind of subject it might model at a given moment and in a particular place. The question of the autonomy of art is complicated by the fact that it is not a singular quality. Stallabrass' analysis of the kinds of autonomy in the art world might be useful to consider here—he identifies the art market, the art departments of academia and the art museum—three distinct but overlapping models. 83 As he points out, "This autonomy is not static, unitary or unchallenged." 84 In academia we are dealing with the impossibility of believing in the distinct `non-designed' space of the gallery, the museum, or the art work itself, while culture is 22 made unapologetically instrumental everywhere else, where the residue of authenticity associated with art is made instrumental by sponsors who use it to smooth over political contradictions and to neutralize "crimes the criminals have never bothered to conceal." 85 But it is not only the diminishing differentiation of art that can be observed daily; there is evidence of a reversal of values whereby commercial design becomes more powerful than other previously privileged aspects of culture. Worse, other possibilities for culture simply become part of a broader branding scheme where, for corporate sponsors, presence in the art world is just one more element in a carefully designed identity package. 86 Artists who engage in the art world must position works in response to a set of conditions which belie the ideal of freedom generally attributed to art. At the same time, as Stallabrass points out, "The bad faith lies in the very slight likelihood that the art world alone can do anything to help." 87 In 1991, Jameson could state: What has happened is that aesthetic production today has become integrated into commodity production generally: the frantic economic urgency of producing fresh waves of ever more novel-seeming goods (from clothing to aeroplanes), at ever greater rates of turnover, now assigns an increasingly essential structural function and position to aesthetic innovation and experimentation. Such economic necessities then find recognition in the varied kinds of institutional support available for the newer art, from foundations and grants to museums and other forms of patronage. ...I must remind the reader of the obvious; namely, that this whole global, yet American, postmodern culture is the internal and superstructural expression of a whole new wave of American military and economic domination throughout the world: in this sense, as throughout class history, the underside of culture is blood, torture, death, and terror. 88 Under such conditions, what does design mean to art? At times like these it can mean further encroachment on the public sphere by private interests and the further expansion of a logic that only factors capital gain. But it is important to remember that design has had other meanings, and that some art projects create objects and experiences as spectacular as any product of `design.' 89 It is extremely difficult for cultural products to be oppositional, whether classed as art or design. Today the mere transposition involved in an act of disciplinary crossover fails to reveal anything 23 we did not already know. We have seen the notion of the avant-garde become a style where it functions as a mere posture in business, advertising, fashion, art and academic discourse alike. 90 Arguably, opposition is possible only if we can imagine some opening where we might be able to offer an alternative to business-as-usual. Then we might wonder if in uncovering it, have we only accelerated its uptake into the system that inevitably destroys it? Under current conditions, it is all too likely that most emerging forms of opposition will only too quickly be canned as "authentic experience" 91 legitimized and framed by a designed space that becomes the object; the stage set of the late capitalist art institutional experience. 92 This is the situation that cultural producers who would hope to make some sort of critical intervention must be prepared to face. 24 A Tale of Two Projects Dan Graham and Jorge Pardo at Dia "We are having this experience, then, not in front of what could be called the art, but in the midst of an oddly emptied yet grandiloquent space of which the museum itself—as a building—is somehow the object." 93 Rosalind Krauss, The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum, 1991 At either end of the 1990s, Dia Center for the Arts realized two large-scale projects by artists: Dan Graham's Two-Way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube and a Video Salon: Rooftop Urban Park Project for Dia Arts Center (1981-1991) and Jorge Pardo's Project (1998 -2000). Both artists have been associated with a tendency in the 1990s where art resembles its neighbouring disciplines of design and architecture, a trend prominent enough to be dubbed 'design art' by the end of the decade. 94 Such projects often suggest a usefulness and the artist might provide the institution with an artist-designed amenity space. Graham and Pardo have both worked in these modes. In the case of the Dia, the two projects, while having similarities, bracket a decade of change that shifts the context for their relationship to the institution and to the Chelsea neighbourhood. As it was put by one writer, the founding impulse behind Dia was, "One artist, one space, forever." 95 This meant that most Dia Arts Center exhibitions lasted nearly a year and projects such as Graham's and Pardo's became semi-permanent fixtures. How has each project functioned in relation to the debates surrounding autonomy, disciplinary transgression and institutional paradigm shifts? Dia Art Foundation began its exhibition program at 548 West 22nd Street in Chelsea in 1987 in a four-story warehouse converted by architect Richard Gluckman into a space for exhibiting art. Miwon Kwon has suggested the results were "deemed austere, serious, cool, institutional, some might have said boring, off-putting, maybe even a bit glum I.. .1 with expansive white walls, grey concrete floors, high ceilings, big- scale exhibition areas." 96 The Dia's program states, "In keeping with Dia's mandate, the New York City exhibitions focus on individual artists, typically offering an artist 25 an entire floor on which to develop a new project or create a focused presentation of existing work." 97 For example, in 1988 Robert Ryman designed five galleries on the top floor for an exhibition of his paintings—the design was said to take advantage of natural light sources to best display his work in the building. 98 The surrounding conditions of the art experience have always been a central factor for the institution since Dia Foundation's inception in 1974. 2.1. Robert Ryman. an installation designed by the artist of his paintings in five galleries, Dia Arts Center, October 7, 1988—June 18, 1989. Established by husband-wife team, dealer Heiner Friedrich and collector Philippa de Menil, the foundation's official history suggests they "wished to extend the boundaries of the modern museum in order to respond to the specific requirements of a few of the most ambitious and promising artists of this generation." 99 Rosalind Krauss describes the Dia effect: The various 1970s projects, organized by Heiner Friedrich and sponsored by the Dia Foundation, which set up permanent installations—like de Maria's Earth Room or his Broken Kilometer—had the effect of reconsecrating certain urban spaces to a detached con- templation of their own "empty" presence. Which is to say that in the relationship between the work and its context, these spaces themselves increasingly emerge as the focus of the experience, one of an inscrutable but suggestive sense of impersonal, corporatelike power to penetrate art-world locales and rededicate them to another kind of nexus of contro1. 10° As part of the "'empty' presence" effect, Dia's Chelsea location was sited in an area somewhat remote from other museums, galleries and attractions. A description of the experience Dia offered in 1991 is summarized by one reviewer: 26 This is an isolated area with few other galleries, circumstances which give the visitor an impression of pilgrimage and an ability to concentrate and contemplate, now so difficult in the swarming malls of the larger museums. The two exhibitions, of recent work by the American artists Brice Marden (to 31st May) and Dan Graham (remains on show), each take advantage of this atmosphere in very different but characteristic ways. 101 Two-Way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube and a Video Salon: Rooftop Urban Park Project for Dia Arts Center Dan Graham's characteristic response to the austere conditions of a site where arguably the building had become the object was to position his work outside the institution physically but also somewhat outside in a disciplinary sense by providing quasi-functional spaces. While outside the building but remaining attached to it, the work resists the seriousness of the institutional framework while operating under its aegis. Graham confirms his intentions for his Rooftop Urban Park to counter the kind of experience constructed within the exhibition spaces of the Dia building itself when he writes, "My work requires a large, socially self-aware public audience, in contradiction to the Dia's 1970s and 1980s meditative interior, with its artificially well-lighted, perfect viewing conditions."102 In other words, Graham intended his project to be progressive and critical of what he considered regressive and mythifying institutional display conventions, while also maintaining his own mythical "outsider" status. 1 °3 Graham's Pavilion is located on the roof of the gallery, situated among the square bubble-dome skylights that provide natural light to the exhibition space below. The 36-foot square steel-framed architectural glass structure was designed by Graham in collaboration with architects Mojdeh Baratloo and Clifton Balch. Glass panels reflect and reveal views of the surrounding urban skyline, while above, the structure is open to the sky. The pavilion's inner cylindrical form echoes a nearby water tower of the kind typical to the area, while its steel-frame glass construction suggests a counterpoint to the highrise corporate offices visible in the distance. With its square area vaguely resembling a basketball court, it is unclear exactly what kind of a game 27 2.2. Dan Graham, Two-Way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube and a Video Salon: Rooftop Urban Park Project for Dia Arts Center, New York, 1981/91. might be played here. The inner space is subdivided so a subset of the spectators might be inside the inner cylinder, its pivoting curved glass-panel door looking much like the high-tech architectural devices used in the breezeways of modern glass towers and airports. Raised on a platform, the pavilion rests on a wood-slat floor that is vaguely familiar in form, suggesting the material construction of a sauna or hardwood flooring. 104 The pavilion is structured on a regular grid system to suggest the modular forms of urban building and the rational logic of the surrounding city blocks, according to Graham, who calls the piece "a microcosm of the city." 105 In reflecting the glass tower architecture dominating Manhattan and suggesting the underlying logic of urban planning, the pavilion implies a connection between these forces and the Dia Arts Center. In the context of the Dia, a holder of a major collection of Minimal art, Graham's pavilion cannot help but recall Donald Judd's large-scale blocks, Dan Flavin's industrial light-fixtures and Sol LeWitt's gridded structures. Not only does it share the modes and materials of industry with Minimal art, Graham's structure is also meant to be experienced over time and in space in a manner reminiscent of the 28 phenomenological aspects of well-known Minimal works. 106 Typical of Graham's pavilions, the optics of the glass varies depending on lighting conditions, sometimes becoming more reflective and less transparent. Superimposed reflections of people and views through the glass are said to offer spectators an "intersubjective intimacy. " 107 Graham describes his approach as setting up "a dialectic between the perception of oneself and other bodies perceiving themselves, making the spectator conscious of him or herself as a body, as a perceiving subject, in isolation from an audience." 108 Suggesting a form of embodied autonomous subjectivity, Graham's pavilions might be seen as counter-measures against not only the determining aspects of the exhibition spaces below and the disembodied experience of modernist art viewing conditions, but also against the alienating effects of the city. In "The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum," Krauss describes a trend where a revised interpretation of Minimal art's phenomenological-industrial operations has been used to justify a shift to the "synchronic museum" model of large repurposed spaces and fewer art works, where in effect the building becomes the object. 109 By the 1990s, does Graham's project participate in this tendency more than counter it? His interest in producing a site for socialization is meant to counter the reified spaces of the gallery, and to counter the corporate power associated with high modern seriousness, but does his counter-site participate in a tendency to make galleries more of a form of light entertainment—that is, does his project prepare the way for museums to become more like other sites of entertainment and leisure? Krauss has shown how this tendency is used by those who would have the museum follow a business model, where the collections are treated more as fluid assets than as cultural heritage and the space becomes a key asset itself as the setting for experience. 110 With the rise of the new mega-museums, the expectations of visitors have shifted so that intensities of experience are now taken to be a given of a visit to these institutions, newly remodeled as spectacular sites of leisure. 29 Graham's Urban Park includes a video-viewing salon and cafe along with the pavilion, itself meant to be used for performance events. Through the inclusion of multimedia programming Graham suggests his rooftop project makes reference to local alternative venues such as The Kitchen Center.'" Graham's own videos are included in the video library, referencing his past video work, while also suggesting a link to 1970s small alternative venues and video art. By the late 1980s alternative spaces such as The Kitchen Center and the once-marginal practices of video art had already been institutionalized. 112 Graham makes these connections explicit, where his essay on the project states: Programmatically, I also intended my 'installation' to modify Dia's function, in order to initiate its transition into a 90s merging of 70s alternative space—like its geographically adjacent neighbor, The Kitchen, which features work by a large variety of artists working in video, performance, and music—with 80s corporate atrium 'museum' spaces like the IBM atrium or the Wintergarden in the New Financial Center in Battery Park City, which also incorporate park-like settings and coffee and pastry bar concessions. To facilitate the histori- cal links to video, music and performance works featured in spaces such as The Kitchen, I organized a program at Dia which purchases and screens an archive of videos selected by guest curators, focusing on music, performance, animation and architecture. 113 This is Graham's vision of the future of the museum. His strategy of resisting corporate power is to merge with it formally, using its modes and materials while suggesting an attempt to rework its means for ends other than the usual profit motive of private business. Graham implies a trend where "'museum' spaces like the IBM atrium," institutions like the Dia, and alternative spaces like The Kitchen are no longer differentiated. Artists and institutions became more aware of their roles in the processes of gentrification that came under scrutiny in the 1980s in neighbourhoods like SoHo—artists had become aware of how they, in setting up peripheral sites of alternative cultural activity, might inadvertently pave the way for speculative investment in marginal neighbourhoods. 114 In the essay "Corporate Arcadias" that Graham coauthored with landscape designer Robin Hurst, published in ArtForum in December 1987, the writers sketch a brief history of the tension between city and suburbs and between technology and 30 nature. 1 is Graham has described how the concept of the park or gardens was an urban development initiated as "utopian preserve," just as the Garden City was meant to counter the loss of nature in the newly industrialized centres of the nineteenth century. Graham and Hurst expose the recent trend towards the covered-over 'parks' of corporate atriums that began appearing in the 1960s. The writers comment that, "One consequence is that atriums are beginning to replace urban parks. " 116 Graham and Hurst note the blurring of public and corporate spaces, with corporate power reigning as the umbrella structure and landlord. The result has been the emergence of new kind of private 'public' space that displaces the older models of public space exemplified in the park, the museum and the cafe. The writers compare ChemCourt's `curated' botanical display with the nearby Whitney Museum's corporate branch in the lobby of the Philip Morris building, explaining, "Major museum exhibitions today rely extensively on corporate funding: now the corporation and the museum have become virtually synonymous, providing public amenity space[...] housed in corporate headquarters." 117 Taken with the context of "Corporate Arcadias," Rooftop Urban Park could be interpreted as sly institutional critique in a move that also suggests corrupt urban planning, failed ameliorative solutions to urban anomie and the increasing privatization of public space. But without supporting texts, Graham's project does not work in this way. The spectator is presented with an odd amalgam of signs: the steel and glass of the office tower, icons of 1970s alternative art practice, cafe, park and basketball court. When considered in all its components, the work reads more as a requiem for the utopian aspirations of avant-garde art and modern design than as a critique of the institution. Graham's incorporation of alternative practices such as video and performance into the rooftop project might be convincingly argued to be meant to bring them under the critical sway of perceptual self-awareness to reveal layers of mediation. His critical method whereby "two-way mirror power" is positioned as an antidote to the power 31 relations produced by the office tower is explained by Graham: Two-way mirror used in office buildings is always totally reflective on the exterior, reflecting the sunlight and totally transparent for workers inside. Surveillance power is given to the corporate tower. In Two Adjacent Pavilions and other pavilions the inside and outside views are both quasi-reflective and quasi-transparent, and they superimpose intersubjective images of inside and outside viewers' bodies and gazes along with the landscape. 118 This reworking of the mirrored-sunglasses effect as a phenomenological device works to cause the spectator to contemplate alienating contemporary conditions, but this device might work only if it can maintain some distance from its object of critique. Changing trends and codes in contemporary architecture have made mirrored glass less ubiquitous than it once was; newer buildings often use transparent and semi- transparent scrims. Over time, as critical distance is narrowed it is possible that the phenomenological effect of Graham's work falls away, displaced by the symbolic. As Graham's materials are most clearly emblematic of the multinational corporation, they bring the iconic presence of the office tower into contact not only with Dia Arts Center, but also with alternative spaces such as The Kitchen. There is possibly a truth- telling institutional critique aspect at work here where Graham wants to allude to corporate incursions into the art world, and to the supplementary role art spaces offer power. Graham has suggested his Pavilion/Sculpture for Argonne, a commission for an energy research facility outside Chicago, "is analogous to a small, rustic or rococo pavilion in relation the larger building's technological 'Versailles' symbolism." 119 Like the rococo pavilion, his pavilions may indeed offer a counter-space and alternate set of conditions to the main structure—a sort of outside-space that suspends the standard conventions. But at the same time, the pavilion is supplementary to the larger structure it orbits. The pavilion may perform a sort of institutional critique from its semi-attached position, a difficult inside/outside paradox where the work may achieve critical distance from both the institution and from the general surroundings to perform a dual critique, aimed in both directions. 32 2.3. Dan Graham. Pavilion/Sculpture for Argonne, 1981, Chicago, Illinois. Left: Pavilion/Sculpture for Argonne, Architectural model. Graham's project in some ways continues the oppositional aspects of 1960s Conceptual art, of which he was an influential participant. However, not only is there a critical awareness of the frame, more crucially there is an expansion of it, as Graham's strategy aims his critique in multiple directions at once. His project seem most aligned with an anti-establishment ethos characterized by late 1960s happenings and be-ins, where hanging out was meant to be a political act. This is combined with transgressive avant-garde attempts to bypass institutional limits by approaching other disciplines and by either opposing or abandoning conventional exhibition spaces. It could be argued that Graham's strategies were made obsolete by the instrumentalised revision of Minimal art (and arguably such revisionism applies to other modes of neo-avant-garde practice as well.) According to Krauss, the industrialized museum needs the technological subject, one who seeks intensities over affect, one who experiences fragmentation euphorically and one for whom the field of experience is space instead of history. 12° While Graham attempts to add a historical dimension to his work with his writing, in the experience of his project 33 itself, the subject that emerges is the embodied phenomenological subject of Minimal art (already compromised) combined with the distracted subject of contemporary mass culture. In this way, Graham's project might be said to have prepared the subject for heightened levels of fragmentation, for the intensities of multimediatized spatial experience, and for the increased terrain of these offerings—that is, for the next phase of capitalist expansion. 121 Graham's pavilions could wind up reinforcing the increasing site-as-spectacle, building-as-attraction and institution-as-brand tendency already in play as art institutions and museums increasingly became concerned with attaining world-class status as attractions in and of themselves, devaluing their traditional role as guardians of cultural heritage. 122 Over time, the ambiguity of Graham's pavilions have opened them up to be read as celebratory of these conditions. His use of the very style now fully incorporated under transnational capital—glass, steel and the clean-lined geometries of the grid—fits all too neatly under a corporate identity or an institutional programme. 123 Thus it might be argued that the Urban Park Project symbolically pictures the merger of art and industry. 124 But it seems that Graham would be well aware of these contradictions. Is Rooftop Urban Park ultimately pessimistic and defeatist? Does the pavilion, if not blending into the ground of art institution and corporate architecture entirely, instead become exemplary of a total lack of autonomy, symbolic of the incursions into public space made long ago? It seems that ultimately the eventual critical failure of the pavilions lies in their becoming fully integrated into that which they would critique, finally demonstrating their own failed autonomy. In a space meant to be public and accessible—a point also debatable and meant to be—it might be said that the viewer is trained to have a renewed appreciation for the aesthetics of the glass curtain-wall of the office tower, the vast new empty spaces of the glass gallery, and the shop display window alike. 12s During the 1990s, Dia's chosen neighbourhood, once a marginal warehouse 34 district characterized by its sex trade and after-hours nightclubs, gradually became a new center for galleries, some relocating from the SoHo area which had become thoroughly commercialized in the eighties. 126 Alan Moore writes of Chelsea, Minimalism and the Dia in 1997: As the art world briefly recoups in Chelsea the industrial ambiance of its early days in SoHo, many of the initial exhibitions have returned to the style of that era, specifically, Minimalism. Minimalism is the ground-clearing style that announces a repurposing of former industrial spaces and garages into galleries. In SoHo, Minimalism was the esthetic face of Capital's global strategies [...] Despite (or because of) this close association with the emergent designs of global Capital, Minimalism remains today the baseline style of contemporary art. [...] Thanks to its pivotal art-historical role, the style has also become the principal vesture of the contemporary art institution. Conceived of as an anti-institutional avant-garde style, Minimalism today is the very mantle of museumicity. 127 It becomes apparent how the Minimalist institutional aesthetic diffused across the increasingly permeable border between the art object, the institution and its surroundings. Its presence in the Dia Arts Center signalled the coming "clean up" of the Chelsea neighbourhood and the subsequent arrival of modern-minimalist styled boutiques. By 1997 Moore could say of Chelsea: "Thus last fall did the Minimal become the style of installation in store displays of fashion, embodying and expressing the most extraordinary luxury of all in Manhattan—space." 128 It appears that like SoHo, Chelsea's galleries were followed by retail, and the minimal style became that of luxury retail instead of a neutral ground for contemplation. 129 In 1997 Benjamin Buchloh lamented the near-total merger of art and fashion, stating, "The fashion of the 1996 art season was fashion." 13° Moore draws a link between Chelsea and certain globalising tendencies: "This district, this kind of urban formation, is, like the esthetics enlisted in its formation, international. Chelsea is the outcome of a 'Soho-impulse' that has become a global western urban phenomenon." 131 Under contemporary conditions, Graham's pavilions seem to offer a Starbucks sort of site-specificity—that is, a project specific to locale only to a very limited degree, while most clearly articulating a 35 recognizable global style—that of corporate power and international commerce. His Waterloo Sunset at the Hayward Gallery (2002-03) in London most clearly illustrates this tendency as his structure blends almost seamlessly with the gallery complex, including the Starbucks cafe in the front left corner. 2.4. Dan Graham. Waterloo Sunset at the Hayward Gallery, London. (2002-03). The pavilion, the emblematic shopfront of the coffee giant and the gallery buildings alike are all glass curtain-wall facades forming an interconnected structure; the whole complex looks much like a new corporate satellite office for some multinational. 132 How it looks is maybe not so far off from its function today. Where Graham has said it was conceived as a "drop in centre for children and old people and a space for viewing cartoons," Waterloo Sunset is now offered as an artwork that can be rented out for private parties. Event planning company, The Admirable Chrichton—their tagline is "Food: Parties: Design"—provides the sales pitch: 36 Superbly located on the south bank of the River Thames and part of the South Bank Centre, the Hayward Gallery is known for its vibrant changing exhibition programme and is one of London's most sought-after venues for events. Hold an exclusive private view of one of our groundbreaking exhibitions complemented by a reception or dinner, or simply hire the stunning entertaining spaces and enjoy exclusive access to Dan Graham's artwork, Waterloo Sunset at the Hayward Gallery. [...] Unlike any other venue in London, Waterloo Sunset is an inspiring place for dinners or receptions. Part of the new foyer extension, this elliptical glass pavilion designed by artist Dan Graham is an artwork in itself. 133 It has to be explained that the pavilion is also the 'art,' to leverage the appeal and the novelty of dining in an artwork. 2.5. Event at Waterloo Sunset, Hayward, Gallery, London. In using the modes and materials of office tower construction, Graham was always at risk of appearing coextensive instead of oppositional to the reach of corporate power. As Hal Foster asked in his essay "Subversive Signs," "When does appropriation double the mythical sign critically, and when does it replicate it, even reinforce it cynically?" 134 In spite of Graham's intent to make art which functions to generate critical self-awareness, his project functions in a dated way. Its now vague indistinction from its surroundings make the critical aspects of the project too diffuse and ultimately cynical. His critical intentions behind his project dissolve and he is left designing amenities for the institutions and event planners. 135 It is no casual coincidence that Graham, once a rock music critic, named his project after a Kinks song that has lyrics about observing the world go by from the safety of a private 37 • owl n't i s 01.1 .-Hilan froinitrif1rydre^4.,31111ilmt•'Friga!111II vli riorari3n71 L apartment overlooking Waterloo Station. Graham's title for Waterloo Sunset also brings up the historical reference of Napoleon's last battle before the reinstatement of the Ancien Regime. As always, Graham's references are drawn from pop culture and history, but as such, in this case, his pavilion is a monument to defeat. Project Jorge Pardo's Project (commissioned in 1998 and realized in 2000) involved the renovation of the 9,000 square-foot ground floor of Dia Center for the Arts, including the entrance, lobby, bookstore and exhibition space. Pardo set out to counter the minimalist museum style. As one critic put it, "It's hard to overstate what a lung-filling exhilaration it is to step into the Dia Center's West 22nd Street lobby as transformed by Jorge Pardo." 136 2.6. Jorge Pardo. Project. (2000) Dia Center for the Arts, New York. The notion of exhilaration comes up repeatedly in descriptions of an experience sure to contrast with the typical white-walled expanses of the institution. If critics consider the experience exhilarating, what is being described here seems to be a space of euphoric intensity that calls to mind Jameson's idea of "a strange compensatory decorative exhilaration." 137 At the same time, to exhilarate might suggest to invigorate, to stimulate or to cheer. Thus Pardo treats the reified austerity of the 38 museum with a resurfacing in colourful tiles in hues of orange, yellow, lime, and pale blue. This kaleidoscopic surface visually connects all three areas, store, lobby and gallery, bringing them into one continual flow of space. The effect of the tiles was described by New York times critic Grace Glueck as "the California heart of it." She suggests, "the result is a transfusion of light that brings life to the arena, cheer to the visitor and a new assertiveness to the Dia presence." 138 But the kind of assertiveness the Dia was given by Pardo's Project is similar to that provided by a superficial makeover or a trendy new outfit. It lacks any real substance. All this 'cheer' seems to be an overwrought attempt to negate the existing space without really changing anything; considering the tiled surface where the structure below remained the same, the building became even more the object, but one converted into a dazzlingly distracting one. The tiled surfaces obscured the seams and structural aspects of the space—even the support columns in the exhibition area were tiled over. The installation of large glass panels allowed light to pass through while making the interior visible from the street, but Pardo also made the wall between the gallery and the store transparent, no doubt an attempt to provocatively put modernist transparency to use to disrupt the conventional separation of these spaces. Tellingly, there was not much comment about it. By 2000, this kind of disciplinary blurring and unabashed commerce in an art institution did not seem to be remarkable. 139 High-modernist design objects such as Alvar Aalto chairs and Marcel Breuer tables offered points of rest in the store, where visitors could peruse poetry anthologies, artist monographs and exhibition catalogues or browse through the selection of artist-made videos. Just on the other side of the new transparent division between store and exhibition space, the visitor would be confronted with the new showroom-like gallery featuring the full-scale clay design model of a Volkswagen Beetle on loan from the carmaker. Claims might be made that this was a strategy where the two spaces might be said to offer a critical view onto each other, but it 39 could just as easily be interpreted as an ambivalent blurring of distinctions—the lack of separation between the spaces might even suggest cynicism. Pardo's inclusion of historical modern design objects throughout the store and the inclusion of only two objects in the exhibition space added another layer to Project. The almost-empty gallery foregrounded the building's interior space as an object among a select few objects in the Pardo-curated exhibition. One of these other objects, placed in the ambiguous space of the corridor between the bookstore and lobby, was a wardrobe designed by Finnish architect Alvar Aalto for the Paimio Tuberculosis Sanatorium (1929-1932.) As architect of the sanatorium building, Aalto also designed the furnishings, fixtures and interiors with the ambition of providing a space of comfort for the patients. Aalto is known for an alternative modernism more sensitive to human comfort and local conditions than the modernism offered by Le Corbusier or Ludwig Mies Van der Rohe. Perhaps Pardo wanted to make a correlation between Aalto's modernism and his own response to the modernist legacies of the art world. Did he want to revive an alternative modernism? Miwon Kwon suggests that the collection of objects and the background display never cohere in a convincing way. She asserts that these objects are "false clues," arguing, "These objects function as decoys in the end, inhibiting rather than facilitating critical analysis of the work and its ramifications. " 140 It is difficult to accept the first phase of the exhibition of Project as a critical reassessment of modernist art and design, or even as a serious attempt to work whatever remaining tension there was to be found in the transgression of disciplinary distinctions. With the display of an emblem of an immediately recognizable notoriously "fun" legendary brand set within the colourful decor of the exhibition space—a space self-consciously produced with signs of surface design—Project could well be more about the manipulation of signs, a process at the core of the commodity system where endless equivalencies rule. 141 Or, as Jacques Derrida famously put it 40 in his formulations, the transcendental signified has been disqualified leaving the "domain and play of signification infinitely extended." 142 In this play of signs as decoys, critics might argue that the Beetle's history, threading through Nazi Germany, becoming an American icon of the 1960s, and finally being revived and made over into an object of contemporary design fetishism, is intended to suggest a parallel trajectory to the overcoming of authoritarian control over art production. This is just one of many stories that could be applied to Pardo's work, while the text accompanying the exhibition supplies the alternative modernism track. 143 But arguably Project had another function more related to the present. As already noted, the sign of high art—the minimalist white expanse of exhibition space—had been appropriated as the backdrop for displays of fashion. Pardo made this exchange complete with his introduction of stylish surfaces in the Dia's first-floor gallery. While there was a deliberate crossing of territories and disciplines with Project, Pardo has asserted his own role as artist as distinct from that of architect or designer. 144 His claims that his work contrasts with "conventional architectural practice" imply that design questions have to be brought into the art context to exceed the limits of design discourse. Pardo posits artistic space as a terrain of possibilities where we model culture, where prototypes are reworked, filters are adjusted, and boundaries are tested. There is an implication that questions of how to live should not be left only to the thoroughly professionalized and technologized fields of architecture and design. Thus it might be argued that Pardo attempted a recovery of praxis for the field of art, while asserting its distinction from neighbouring disciplines, undoubtedly a tricky, knife's-edge manoeuvre. It is questionable whether it worked this way. As with Graham's rooftop pavilion, Project seemed to be extending in too many directions at once in a situation where this kind of cultural diffusion (and confusion) had become the norm, to the point where the associated strategies were known to be art world clichés. Kwon has argued in response to claims that Pardo's Project 41 is "a radical breaching of exclusionary rules of high art" or that it contributes to a "democratization of art [with] an edgy new version of a democratic public sphere" that such claims are "predicated on certain clichés of what constitutes 'progressive,' `vanguard' or 'advanced' art and are based on assumptions about current conditions of cultural practice that are out of sync with their realities." 145 However, in fairness to Pardo, Kwon's assessment was made in response to only the first phase of his Project. As part of Pardo's Project, he co-curated a series of art exhibitions set within Dia's newly-renovated first-floor exhibition space. The first of these was a pairing of Gerhard Richter and Pardo called Re fraction. 146 It might be argued that Pardo's disruption of the fiction of neutrality of the exhibition space was heightened once his Project was used as the setting to display works situated well within the accepted boundaries of art. Richter's work, initially conceived in the 1960s for the white cube setting, was easily overpowered by Pardo's exuberant backdrop in the 2002 show. 2.7. Gerhard Richter and Jorge Pardo: Refraction. Dia Center for the Arts. September 5, 2002—June 15, 2003. With the space reading more as retail- or entertainment-oriented, Richter's works were 42 forced to confront the specters of the decorative which haunt both modern art and design. In one piece, seven panes of glass, each over seven feet tall and five feet across, have once been set within a freestanding light-weight steel frame that holds them in upright position—the seven planes are parallel to the wall and to each other. Where once this work might have been likely to suggest metaphorical windows or to provide a phenomenological experience, in the new context provided by Pardo, Richter's 2002 realization of Sieben Stehende Scheiben (Seven Standing Panes) seems likely to have read as a retail glass display unit turned on end. Pardo also designed a display case to house Richter's preliminary drawings for the glass sculptures. Pardo's response to the elder artist's works underlined the art object's tendency to tip into the ubiquitous signs of commercial display today; Pardo emphasized a latent similarity to the design process with the display of Richter's sketched plans. At the same time, the exhibition raised differences in the artists' varied uses of glass to investigate or disrupt conventions or to set up adjustments to the spatial experience of the gallery. For Pardo, glass also enabled a facile transgression, where the store becomes visible from the exhibition space (and vice versa), while allowing natural light into the interior of the first floor of the building. Was this meant to be in the spirit of institution critique, intended only as a stylish prank, or performed in the name of good design as art? It might also be seen as a counterpart to Graham's project on the roof. At certain angles, the corner of the glass-walled store created an effect that suggests Graham's pavilion, complete with materials and methods that are equally emblematic of corporate office towers, phone booths and nineteenth-century arcades. For Richter, glass is said to enable a historical investigation of the tropes of window and mirror as the two main mythical foundations of Western painting—"the notion of a painting as either a window that offers a view onto a world beyond, or a mirror which reflects whatever is held before it." 147 In Richter's case, where his work was shown in Pardo's environment, and likely conceived with a different sort of 43 environment in mind, the dramatic shift invoked by the presentation would highlight the distance from origins that is a factor usually overlooked in the display of any object of the past. However, where once the surroundings would defer to the art object, context took centre stage here—art on display was expected to adapt, compete and engage with its surroundings, which also comprise the art in this case. Thus Pardo's Project could be said to have extended Richter's questioning of the conventions of representation into the surrounding space of display and staged within a dramatically expanded set of limitations. Richter's Kugel (Sphere), "Piz Fora," (1992)—a reflective stainless steel sphere approximately six inches in diameter—engaged with the surrounding space, but without altering the surroundings in any way beyond the representational distortion in the mirroric space. Pardo, along the lines of Minimal art, institution critique, and installation, had engaged in a wholesale alteration of the display environment itself—the presentational signs which frame the works on display become the object. While, Richter is said to have begun a project of deconstructing the signs of painting and pictorial representation in the late 1960s, engaging in a scrutiny of its history and ontology, 148 his confrontation with Pardo's space raises the question of whether such a project of deconstruction inevitably leads to the reduction of the entire exhibition site to a collection of signs. In other words, does Richter's project end up with the scenario implied by Pardo's Project? Dia curator Lynne Cooke argued that "significant overlaps may be found in their (Pardo's and Richter's) practices—in particular, in their parallel questioning of issues relating to representation, to the place and role of the artwork, its frame, its borders, its relation to site, and its intersection with architecture and design." 149 In some ways, Pardo's project is similar to Richter's, but Pardo was conducting a scrutiny of the history and ontology of design and display conventions— that is, the skillful manipulation of a system of signs. Of course, by declaring this his art project, he expands the field of art to incorporate its framing devices. But it might 44 be said that he has done this critically, to expose how art had come close to design with certain neo-avant-garde practices. In the next exhibition, Reverb, each of the two artists was faced with the variable of what the other will do. Pardo installed a colourful undulating curtain throughout his Project exhibition space while Italian artist Gilberto Zorio installed a reworked version of his sound installation Microfoni (1969). As with Richter, it seems like Zorio's work would have been overpowered by the visual intensities of Pardo's installation, particularly with the addition of the heavy curtain-like barrier, no doubt meant to baffle sound as well as visually confine the space. But Zorio's involvement in reworking his own project resulted in a sonic presence that penetrated every corner of Pardo's installation. Micro foni consisted of directional microphones for picking up ambient sound, while other microphones were sited for visitors to use. Each microphone was subject to amplification and delay effects resulting in an echoing barrage of sound. 150 Again, as with Richter, Pardo was paired with an artist associated with "the radical revision of contemporary art practice" of the 1960s. In the text accompanying the exhibition, Cooke implies that Pardo was continuing an expansive shift of the boundaries of art begun in the 1960s: While the new modes of art-making that emerged in the late sixties were not always directly produced by the intellectual and social ferment that rocked that era, their experimentation and critical self-questioning were dependent on, as they contributed to, fundamental revisions in the utopian modernist project. Conceived some three decades later, Project (2000) is shaped by and moreover engages in substantially renegotiating the residue and legacy of that decisive watershed. 151 It might be argued that Pardo's Project engaged these earlier projects in the sense of furthering the avant-garde aim for integration of art and its surroundings, taking such integration to its logical conclusion. The 1960s challenges to the autonomy of art were meant to counter the exclusions of Greenbergian modernism while participating in the anti-establishment spirit of American counter-culture. But 1960s neo -avant-garde productions in some ways ended up working more in concert with the overwhelming 45 forces of capital than against the 'system.' Freed from the anchors of disciplinary convention and history, these acts of resistance were integrated into a system of signs where their significance could be manipulated and cultural capital could be accrued. Meanwhile values such as material use, historical tradition or philosophical proposition were gradually displaced by a surface difference between signs. The series of exhibitions in Project puts Pardo in confrontation with this legacy. The last of the series in Pardo's Project was the 2003-04 exhibition consisting of only the display of his own work, Prototype (2003). 2.8 Jorge Pardo: Prototype. Dia: Chelsea. September 17, 2003—January 11, 2004. A dual riff on pre-fabricated architecture and on Graham's rooftop project, Pardo's Prototype offers a flexible, adaptable, open-framework structure—it is also open in terms of use and function: in the accompanying text, it was suggested that it could be used as a pavilion, a house in the tropics, a performance space or a movie theatre in an urban park. 152 Pardo was clearly making sardonic reference to Graham's project on the roof, but to what ends? Pardo's structure is deliberately relaxed, non-controlling, open, and adjustable—as if to counter Graham's suburban house, his performance sets, his cinema and his urban park. The exhibition text claims, "As a full-scale model 46 for a prefabricated structure, it can be modified and reassembled depending on the function of the structure." 153 Once a method for suburban tract housing, Pardo has transformed the methods of prefab architecture that were criticized for yielding a drab uniformity. His model purportedly allows for structural variability, and it could be seen as an attempt to improve on the structures generated by computer-aided design technologies and by techniques associated with mass production. It could be said to be speculative in that it leads to imagining possible scenarios of use and possible formations; as well, its openness is a model that runs contrary to fixed-purpose, fixed-form structures. Prototype is a formal material investigation, worked in the Baltic birch plywood often used in mass-produced furnishings, suggesting iterative and flexible structures. Pardo's model presents an alternative to the type of computer- aided design associated with Frank Gehry's skinned armatures. Pardo blends accepted manufacturing methods, common manufacturing materials, contemporary technology and sculptural techniques with an unusual motivating principle and a hands-on process—the latter modes found more often in the history of sculpture or speculative design, as opposed to contemporary commercial design. But Pardo offers no such explanation, leaving his work open. While Graham takes great pains to write at length about his work and about art and culture in general, carefully demonstrating that the issues he raises are indeed engaged critically, Pardo makes a point of letting the work speak for itself, proclaiming in defence of his silence, "I am more interested in inscribing reflexiveness . . . by pointing to explanational limits than in making Cliff Notes for an exhibition." 154 Pardo goes with the simple title Project to name his piece while Graham uses an elaborately-descriptive seventeen-word title. Pardo makes no claims for criticality while Graham asserts, "my work is always critical." 155 As mentioned earlier, in using the architectural signs of global power, Graham's critique could just as easily function as a celebration. In contrast, Pardo's work could be in effect more honest in making 47 no claims for criticality while addressing the contemporary conditions of a narrowing separation between commercial display and art exhibition. In linking these conditions to an earlier mode of artistic production still in play today, Pardo might be said to perform a critique of the institutionalization of the transgressive avant-garde. Pardo asserts disciplinary distinctions with his assertion of his role as 'artist' as opposed to `architect,' while Graham speaks of his desire to be the 'artist-as-architect.' 156 As the enabling disciplines, architecture and design provide the powerful physical and visual display frameworks to deliver art as such. Today the gallery and the museal institution of art, once described as "mausoleum" by Paul Valery, 157 is more of a phantom presence. Finally, with design art it could be said that such spaces were being renovated through a project of redecoration and amenity development. Meant to counter the reification of the minimalist exhibition spaces, perhaps the two Dia projects most of all renovated the minimalist synchronic experiential mode of the museum, continuing and hyperbolizing a prioritization of spatial experience and surfaces over historical depth. Project was similar to Rooftop Urban Park Project in that both projects emphasized the effects of the mediated environment, as experiments with different forms of mediated experience. The critical aspect of Pardo's series of exhibitions is the link suggested between the aspirations of the 1960s neo-avant- garde and our contemporary surroundings where mediation replaces older forms of meaningful interaction. Pardo versus Zorio can be seen as a battle of mediated experience. While initially functioning as an incisive form of institution critique, meant to counter the mediating effects of the austere exhibition spaces of the gallery, Graham's project also prepared the way for a 1990s style of design art. In contrast to Graham's outdated form of resistance, Pardo delivered us into hyperspace. What kind of subject would have been modeled here? Perhaps a subject exhilaratingly overwhelmed by the dazzling surroundings, made pliable and ready to embrace the surface appeal of 48 fashion, shopping and lifestyle in Chelsea. A January 2007 headline in The New York Sun declares Chelsea "The New Capital of Design" 158— by this time Dia had already vacated the neighbourhood. 159 49 Sufficient Autonomy? Andrea Zittel's wishful thinking Sufficient Self is the title of a DVD projection Andrea Zittel produced in 2004 for the Whitney Biennial. It is described by one writer as "a meditation on the American tradition of rugged individualism." 160 It is a diary of life at A-Z West, Zittel's home and studio located on her sprawling 25-acre property in Joshua Tree, California, a two- to three-hour drive east of Los Angeles. In what appears to be a PowerPoint presentation, a series of still images of desert scenes, unusual shelters and various idiosyncratic functional objects are interspersed with screens containing white text on a black ground. This simple format is used to introduce Zittel's "intimate universe" theory where self-prescribed limitations are said to become empowering. The artist and others in her circle are shown in photographs in various states of engagement with A-Z experiments. The text describing life at A-Z West highlights different sets of limitations and a variety of relationships to regional history, to the neighbours and to the surroundings. The presentation ranges from local historical anecdotes to visits with eccentric desert dwellers and outsider artists. Regular stops are made along the way at various of Zittel's projects-in-progress. Zittel describes A-Z West as "an institute of investigative living," an "enterprise (that) encompasses all aspects of day to day living. Home furniture, clothing, food all become the sites of investigation in an ongoing endeavor to better understand human nature and the social construction of needs." 161 Sufficient Self suggests that Zittel constructs a meaningful existence around herself through hard work and determination, acting according to a loose set of fluctuating ideals suggesting the tropes of community, ingenuity, conviviality, resistance, freedom and independence. Often sounding very close to the foundational myths of American society, such as the promise of equality in a classless meritocracy, 162 Zittel's project might be seen as an elaborate show playing to the needs of a very specific audience. It also functions as a 50 document of contemporary conditions where numerous distractions and a pervasive preoccupation with self occlude larger questions. But while Zittel reveals aspects of contemporary conditions where the subject suffers a loss of coordinates resulting in fragmentation, her project is questionable in terms of its promise of providing a model of a sufficient level of autonomy to resist these conditions. Does her work present a model of liberal subjectivity? While in search of the holy grail of autonomy, Zittel's strategy may undercut her apparent goal. Something rings false in Zittel's formula of enthusiastic rulemaking-as-resistance, and the project's false tone goes well beyond the ironic sales pitch format used in the advertising and product displays which she presents along with her objects in exhibitions. Might Zittel's project contribute to the inflation of design where subjectivity is pursued on the basis of an all-absorbing total project of constructing personal identity? Or is it critical in its revelation of the machinations of design in contemporary society? The A-Z modus operandi sounds similar to what Foster has described as a contemporary total design, where the constructed subject of postmodernism ends up folded back into the fashioned subject of consumerism. Does Zittel offer something different? A-Z East Zittel's model of designing an autonomous existence goes back to her early 1990s work produced at her Brooklyn home and studio. She has told the story of how she had to emulate business by operating under the cover of her company, A-Z Administrative Services, in order to be taken seriously by suppliers. 165 In some ways Zittel's project is one of deconstruction, revealing underlying truths, such as the one that business is the only legitimate form of activity today. But at the same time she continually adds layers to a myth-making project of her own. With The A-Z (renamed A-Z East after the expansion to A-Z West in fall 2000), Zittel transformed her early studio/home into a combined showroom and live/work space. After two previous 51 3.1. Andrea Zittel. A-Z East and A-Z Personal Presentation Room, 1996. locations, The A-Z settled at 150 Wythe Avenue in Brooklyn in 1994. 166 Zittel explains how in 1996 the A-Z Personal Presentation Room "opened to the public for Thursday Evening Personal Presentations at the A-Z (1996-1997.)" 167 The cocktail parties held on Thursday evenings were said to provide socialization in the Brooklyn neighbourhood, "alleviating the absence of intimacy and familiarity in metropolitan life." 168 According to the story told by Zittel in several places, a small community formed around her based on proximity, interest, and a network of "suppliers" and "clients" (read art collectors, dealers and friends). 169 The narrative unfolded in a series of newsletters under the banner of the A-Z Personal Profiles Newsletter. While in turns utilizing the enthusiastic tone of marketing, the impersonal tone of business, and the casual tone of informal conversational musings, the newsletters imply a group effort using these modes of communication to generate a collaborative social sphere. The newsletter told of "the sense of community fostered among participants in the A-Z lifestyle experiments and gatherings"—"Zittel invited those who were inspired [...] to provide testimonials." The newsletter explained how the "expanded following of the A-Z fueled solutions to the new problems created by this ongoing social activity." 170 The live/work space of A-Z is described 52 as an experiment allowing Zittel to conduct a merging of life and work, echoing a historical anecdote in one of the newsletters describing a pre-bourgeois ideal of seamless living and social interaction. 171 While reflecting on the recent history of three successive generations of the Wythe Street building, Zittel, speculated how the previous occupants might have used the storefront below to operate a business while the upstairs would have been a private living space. Zittel suggests that these histories inspired her own experiments in reconsidering the use of space and the divisions between life and work, private and public. In actively shaping the presentation of her project, pitching it as historically relevant, site-specific and falling somewhere between a parody of small business enterprise and the togetherness of the hippie cooperative, Zittel undertakes the construction of a system of meaning for her work. Part of Zittel's myth-making activities involve an attempt to link the A-Z to historical reference points that suggest a larger social project. Allan McCollum in an interview with Zittel has suggested, "You take on the additional responsibility for describing the objects in your own terms and for articulating what kind of world they would fit into. It seems to me that you have framed art in a less important position with regards to the wider system of culture." 172 While Zittel speaks of limitations, she deals with an expanded field of culture. "I'm more interested in the world," she says. 173 The Rules, A-Z Zittel's model of independence is said to begin with the development of a set rules, as a means of coping with the expanded field of culture. Her own guiding principles come to set the parameters for A-Z projects, taking the form of a constantly evolving list of points titled "These things I know for sure." 174 Zittel's parameters end up being very different from those behind typical market-driven lifestyle models. For example, one principle reads, "All materials ultimately deteriorate and show signs of wear. It is therefore important to create designs that will look better after years 53 of distress." 175 When combined with another principle regarding the practicality of surfaces that camouflage dirt, the result is Zittel's A-Z Raugh Furniture (1998) which includes furniture-sculpture hybrids resembling natural rock formations. 3.2. Andrea Zittel. Left: A-Z Raugh Furniture (Jack and Lucinda), 1998, Foam rubber. Right: A-Z Homestead Unit from A-2 West, with Raugh Furniture, 2001 — 2004. These structures are carved from dark grey high-density foam to fit whatever space or purpose they might serve. The promotional material Zittel has designed to go with her Raugh works humourously highlights an approach where conventions governing the rational world of industrial design and the seductive world of advertising are ignored. 176 For example, the moniker Raugh (pronounced `raw'), a combination of the words 'raw' and 'rough,' would never have been proposed by a Madison Avenue advertising firm—people would not know how to say it. With Zittel's work, a misalignment comes into view between how consumer desires and expectations are formed and how life could be lived under alternate sets of parameters. Zittel brings the dominant cultural conditions to light, and she seems to do so without foreclosing the possibility of an alternative. But is a real alternative offered or is the A-Z more of a strategy of "making do?" As McCollum remarked to Zittel, "It seems like you favor being way too well adjusted to some kind of nightmarish life." 177 This is the dystopic side of A-Z. On the other hand, if desire is specified in products today through "the perpetual profiling of the commodity that drives the contemporary inflation of design," 178 then Zittel's project might investigate how this circuit of desire could be 54 interrupted through idiosyncratic products developed according to alternative systems of logic. 179 Zittel's works appear to begin a labourious project of rebuilding from scratch, to create some semblance of a value system and to build some kind of a public sphere to fill a void left by the failings of American democracy and the disappearance of past forms of the public life and community. While setting up provisional value systems, A-Z paradoxically might also be described as a project bringing together and deconstructing all threads of contemporary art: conceptual art (the aesthetics of administration); minimal art (the aesthetics of production); pop art (the aesthetics of mass culture and spectacle); institution critique (the aesthetics of opposition); modern art (the aesthetics of autonomy and materials); modern design (the aesthetics of living); and relational aesthetics (the aesthetics of the social). Zittel suggests that there is a "critical optimism" in her work, implying a practice that is at least as constructive as it is critical. 180 Her project could be argued to involve a reworking of various modernisms and a revisiting of the possibilities offered by past avant-garde practice with considerations of what traditions ought to be brought forward, which ones would be best left behind, and what needs to be investigated from scratch. Working with the idea of Zittel's work as critical, Trevor Smith, co-curator of her recent mid-career retrospective "Critical Space," suggests that the construction of possible limitations and possible ordering systems is at the core of Zittel's project. 181 In arguments for the criticality of the A-Z project, it becomes clear that what art offers Zittel is a provisional space to continually remake the rules that dictate our lives through design. What Zittel offers the art world, on the other hand, is a resolution— illusory though it may be—of the most intractable contemporary contradictions of art production. But in doing so, does her work ultimately support the system it is said to critique? Does Zittel provide the art establishment with what it would most like to hear at a moment when the possibility of convincingly using rhetoric involving the old 55 catchwords 'freedom' and 'autonomy' had been severely diminished? Cast as radically remaking the rules, closer inspection reveals more of an elaborate coping strategy of following the rules already structuring what might now be called the business of art. The project plays to exactly that which would appeal to her target audience of a small community of dealers, patrons and other artists and associates: a viable art model that allows us to have it both ways—we are enlightened, but we get to keep our cherished illusions; we are free agents but we are also hip players in the game of fashion and art. Typical of her optimism and perseverance, Zittel has found ways around obstacles, including the paradox posed by the seemingly rule-free game of contemporary art and culture in the 1990s. As she cheerfully remarks in one of the A-Z Personal Profiles newsletters, "If breaking the rules becomes the rule, then making rules is breaking the rule! " 182 While she has referenced modernist ideals such as the possibility of universal principles, Zittel sidesteps a potential pitfall by acknowledging that her rules may not be appropriate for everyone. 183 This is the point of departure she takes from early twentieth-century avant-garde projects merging art and life: the contradictions that have emerged between mass production and custom design, the universal and the personal. Zittel's work highlights this tension with an odd form of collaboration where she designs the structuring premise and the physical exterior of the object, but then turns aesthetic control over to the owner to complete the work according to personal desires. One such project, modeled after the mass- produced trailer, resulted in the A-Z Escape Vehicles (1996). The ultimate luxury in the 1990s might be described as that rarest of commodities in a world increasingly ruled by advertising, entertainment and notions of efficiency: autonomous space. The common desire for escape into personal space is tapped with Zittel's A-Z Escape Vehicles. The metallic clean-lined machine-tooled surfaces of the trailer-like objects make visible reference to minimalist aesthetics on the outside while providing 100 cubic feet of interior space as "refuge from public 56 interaction." 184 The interior is meant to be totally customized by the owner with Zittel's help. The A-Z branded Vehicles do not hide their role as vanity object for the collector, but they are positioned as offering an alternative to the norms of mass production, suggesting an older model of the producer-buyer relationship. The exterior look is based on mass-produced vehicles, but since each vehicle is designed in close collaboration between producer and owner, they represent a faded echo of the old artisan/patron relationship. The question of the artist's hand and how this lack was addressed in early industrial production through what came to be known as modern design is slyly raised. Zittel's vehicles might be said to cater to lingering and recurring bourgeois desires for the customized luxury that was eventually displaced with industrialization. Described as stationary, but transportable, it is clear the 'escape' involved in the 'use' of these vehicles is meant to be one of going nowhere but inward. 3.3. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Escape Vehicle, 1996. The trailers are wryly decorated with racing stripes in 1970s hues of orange and black, coordinating with Zittel's A-Z Escape Vehicle logo. Often set up in rows with coordinating stripes painted on the background wall and featured by spot lighting, the display has the look of a showroom. Like Claes Oldenburg's Bedroom 57 Ensemble, Zittel's installations of Escape Vehicles set up a relationship between the display of art and the showroom, but with a major difference between 1963 and 1996: Zittel's critique was presented under conditions where the art institution would have been already more likely to be mistaken for a typical commercial space than it was a mere thirty-three years earlier. The display of the Escape Vehicles calls attention to this condition, while offering the fantasy of escape from the homogenous terrain of commerce, business, technology, and fast-paced lifestyles. The Vehicles' subversion, beyond highlighting Minimal art's latent content its industrial logic—could be the revelation of the market logic that we no longer seem to be able to escape. Zittel writes of the vehicles as having a "transformative function," one physical but also one traversing from one social or psychological condition to another. 185 In this case, Zittel assigns a therapeutic role to her work, where the subject is empowered to grasp a form of her or his own autonomy. But ironically it is a perverse form of autonomy that amounts to decorating 100 cubic feet of space—a mini-apartment. The Escape Vehicles and other A-Z projects—indeed the totality of A-Z itself—function together as an allegory for the expansion of business logic and technological progress to nearly all facets of social life, private life and culture. In terms of the Escape Vehicles, if we ask what kind of subject is modeled, we see a desperate one intent on escaping into a private space that only privilege of the monied kind can buy. This new space of autonomy is all the more convincing in its personal address. Since non-instrumentalized space is under erasure, the subject is reduced to an ever smaller zone of autonomy, and it is a privilege the individual must purchase today. As such, the Escape Vehicles model a regression from the public sphere to the domain of private privilege, suggesting a total reversal of one of the better ideas to come out of the Enlightenment. In this respect, Zittel's work has an underlying pessimism that is obfuscated by the seeming optimism of her relentless reworking of rules. 58 In contrast to Dan Graham's phenomenological performer/audience works that closed down the possibility of autonomy with a determining closed loop of mediation— one that Thierry De Duve has argued functions as an allegory of political conditions under a mediated society 186 —Zittel's Vehicles humourously open the possibility of an escape into autonomous space. If autonomy fails in the social world under contemporary conditions, Zittel proposes a means of survival in a limited personally-oriented self-constructed world. This model falls in line with a long turn toward the private in what Benjamin Buchloh has described as "...American culture, where politics since the 1970s has been increasingly written out of public history by total inscription onto private self." 187 The difference in the A-Z model from the dominant trend of the focus on self is that this condition is made a public concern through Zittel's exhibitions of A-Z work in the remains of the public sphere offered by the art museum. This is where the Vehicles become political—they allegorize what is at stake in the increasing encroachment on the public sphere and personal life by private interests. Traces of the past avant-garde projects that were involved in reworking life are awkwardly and often humourously paired with an American frontier spirit and an individualist independence in some A-Z projects. The A-Z Cellular Compartment Unit (2001) provides an example of how Zittel's shelters work both ways—they offer a model of autonomy and of community, of sculptural art objects and of basic shelter. The modular cells can be arranged solo or they may be set up in group formation. In theory they could be used, but the dysfunctional aspects of their design indicate that they are objects clearly intended for exhibition. For example, the ceiling height of the cellular units is not high enough to allow an adult to stand comfortably inside them. The frontier-social and functional-dysfunctional contradictions have been productive for Zittel. 59 3.4. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Cellular Compartment Units for Sammlung Goetz, Munich, Germany. May 18-November 8, 2003. Right: Andrea Zittel. Brochure for A-Z Cellular Compartment Units, 2001. A-Z West Zittel launched her A-Z West project in the Mojave desert in the year 2000, developing a site which would become both home and studio. Zittel describes the project: Since fall 2000 the cabin and grounds have been undergoing an ongoing conversion into our all-new testing grounds for our "A-Z designs for living." [...] This desert region originally appealed to us because it seemed that one could 'do anything here'—which we are finding out isn't exactly true! It is also the historical site of the five-acre Homestead Act. In the 1940s and 50s legislation gave people 5 acres of land for free if they could improve it by building a minimal structure. The result is a seemingly infinite grid system of dirt roads that cuts up a very beautiful desert region. In the middle of each perfect square of land is a tiny shack—most of them long since abandoned. The area and its history represent a very poignant clash of human idealism, the harshness of the desert climate and the vast distances that it places in between people. 188 In this passage, Zittel illustrates how legislated rules can impact the physical and social environment while her reference to the "minimal structure" calls to mind the "primary structures" of Minimal art. A-Z West is presented as a counter test site to the militarized zone of the desert, to the industrialized terrain of life and to the ever more commercialized terrain of the public sphere, art and culture. In and around her living space at A-Z West, Zittel has installed structures generated from her personal set of evolving rules. The material realization of A-Z West was built using existing and new infrastructure. An existing 60 early twentieth-century bungalow-style home was customized with A-2 experimental furnishings and fixtures. To make the studio at A-Z West, Zittel used a U-shaped formation of white wheeless shipping trailers vaguely reminiscent of the Escape Vehicles and of the quasi-industrial objects of Minimal art. An arrangement of three containers around a courtyard opens on to the one side facing the house. 3.5. Andrea Zittel. A-Z West. 2000. Joshua Tree, California. 3.6. Andrea Zittel. Studio at A-Z West. 61 Cornelia Butler claims, "Zittel's work occupies a curious conceptual space somewhere between Robert Smithson's invention of the non-site and what I'll call the 'collective domestic,' an impulse forged by Zittel's feminist predecessors in the 1970s." 189 The past strategy of feminist artists that involved the formation of a community on the margins is echoed in Zittel's allusions to community in both A-Z East (closed in 2003) and A-Z West. The dual existences of Zittel's objects may be considered similar to Smithson's non-site concept in the dialectic that emerges between the work's exhibition form and its place in the world. At the same time, the "collective domestic" aspect of Zittel's work takes the form of a relaxed collectivity. Where the 'collective' is comprised of distinct individuals briefly coming together to form a group, as with the A-Z Wagon Stations. 3.7. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Wagon Station, 2003. Photographed at A-Z West, January, 2007. These small stationary units are named for the covered wagons of the pioneers, but they also refer to the station wagons once so ubiquitous in suburban America. 190 Consisting of a standardized shell of steel, aluminum and plexiglass, the Stations are given over to other artists and guests to customize. The Wagon Stations are said to provide Zittel's friends with places to stay when visiting A-Z West. Their small size allows them to escape the "regulatory control of bureaucratic restrictions such 62 as building codes." 191 Instead of challenging the validity of the codes, the project's politics is more in line with Michel de Certeau's concept of tactics. In The Practice of Everyday Life, he proposed that while power is marked by strategies, individuals use tactics to open space for themselves in a terrain defined by strategies. 192 Zittel explains her theory in a way that echoes de Certeau's notion of tactics: One of the main things that I have been wondering about is how one can actually live a "liberated" life, or if this is even possible. My idea right now is that perhaps the only real way to liberate oneself is to slip in between the cracks of larger authoritative systems. It interests me how often we do this by making smaller, more enclosed systems that are even more restrictive than those in the outside world. 193 With Zittel's allusions to the myths of the American frontier and the suburban dream of security and freedom, her projects seem to offer a contemporary reworked version of the American dream of a carving a space for oneself, while also suggesting an allegory for the "enclosed system" of the art world. Graham's Alteration to a Suburban House of 1978 offers an interesting point of comparison, providing another response to questions of private autonomous space and the American dream of independent living sustained by private property. 3.8. Dan Graham. Alteration to a Suburban House, 1978. Architectural model. Alteration exists only as a model, described by Graham as follows: The entire facade of a typical suburban house has been removed and replaced by a full sheet of transparent glass. Midway back and parallel to the front glass facade, a mirror divides the house into two areas. The front section is revealed to the public, while the rear, private section is not disclosed. The mirror as it faces the glass facade and the street, reflects not only the house's interior, but the street and the environment outside the house. The reflected images of the facades of the two houses opposite the cut-away 'fill in' the missing facade. 194 In contrast to the hidden self-indulgent interior of the A -Z Escape Vehicle, Graham's 63 model refuses the comforts of the private interior by creating a private/public space of display in the suburban home. The nuclear family we might imagine inhabiting Graham's model would be exposed to public view, framed behind the entire street- facing wall of glass. The living area set behind the glass wall is backed by a mirror wall. While there is an intrusion into the private interior by the scopic tyranny of glass through an extreme enlargement of the picture window, there remains a discreet domestic core. The home has a section that remains private behind the mirror wall, secluding the bedrooms and bathrooms. Graham says he was interested in the experience of the passerby who would see his reflection in the mirror along with the private space of the home from which he is excluded. With Graham's model, high modernism meets industrial logic and everyday life to highlight the antagonisms usually covered over by keeping these domains distinct. Graham's model, in combining the glass walls of modernist icons such as Mies van der Rohe's Farnsworth House and the office tower with the common suburban bungalow, raises certain questions when situated in an art context. While possibly raising an awareness of the architectural optics and the signs set in play by the exhibition space itself, there is the question of for whom such spaces are built. As with his Homes for America (1966-67) magazine piece, Alteration cuts in several directions at once. With Homes Graham had performed a Marcusian-tinged critique in essay form. Alex Alberro has suggested that Homes for America's emphasis on the formal aspects of mass-produced housing, presented in an essay published within an art magazine, connected the Minimalist aesthetic (involving repeated modules, standard units, and common building materials) to Pop art by way of vernacular architecture. 195 Thomas Crow has argued that Homes for America is not simply pointing to a formal correspondence between tract housing and Minimal art, "it is about larger conditions in the common life of society which have undercut characteristically modernist affirmations of possession and individuality rendering them archaic and unrealistic." 196 64 Homes terbeta ;^. 3.9. Dan Graham. Homes for America. 1966-7. Graham's essay includes a factual listing of marketing names, materials, and assembly-line building methods culminating in an analysis of the permutations of style and colour provided to give the illusion of individual choice. Graham calculates the permutational possibilities of a block of eight houses of four possible models, listing the possibilities in an abbreviated code form, one possible combination being ACDBACDB. Expressions of personal taste are shown to be highly circumscribed, limited to a set of very slight differences—a set narrow enough to be demonstrated in code form. Alteration connects to Graham's earlier work and to critical traditions elaborated by oppositional art practices of the 1960s. De Duve has remarked regarding Graham's architectural models: [...] If these projects anticipate anything it is certainly not the state of a society ready for their art to be built as "ordinary architecture," but rather a society where the public management of private affairs will have attained an as yet undreamed-of sophistication. [...D]estined not to be constructed [...] this is the sole reserve of utopia that they allow themselves: the hope that we don't end up there. Conversely, as 'autonomous' objects of art, they demand that we see them as though they were already built. This is their critical function as warning, without any cynicism: Big Brother is among us. 197 Changes in global politics have shifted the context to a post-totalitarian version where Big Brother might be best characterized today by abstract corporate interests. If you 65 are being watched, it is because you have been identified as a potential consumer, an abstract number in a target market, but one who will be interpellated with increasingly personal forms of address. (Alternatively, you may have been identified as a potential threat in which case you are put under surveillance to protect this system.) Zittel's Escape Vehicle's critical function is that her model warns of the implications of a society totally administered by business interests. Today the corporation in one of its various guises is always watching, always hailing us, and always structuring experience and politics. Zittel's and Graham's works share a similar concern with the aesthetics foisted on the suburbanites, but Zittel reverses Graham's aggressive alteration procedure with a different sort of offering. Where he imposes a new visible layer of oppressive power onto the suburban home, forcing a confrontation, she offers the contained space of the suburban recreational vehicle as a means of escape into a private world. In a passive- aggressive offering, Zittel realizes that escape becomes the elusive object of desire, even for those who can afford luxury retreats. We might imagine an A-Z Escape Vehicle set up in one of the great glass houses of modernism as an ironic device intended to promise its owner a means of escape from the unbearable tensions of the glassed-in structure. The "trauma and bliss" of the modernist glass house, described with a vivid vampiric symbolism by Jeff Wall, comes to mind. 198 Where the unbearable anxiety of the undead corruption at the core of modernism invokes a withdrawal, finally, "Drawing the curtains is the historical defeat of the ruling class." 199 But the model provided by Alteration has no curtains and Wall suggests that "Graham's intervention in the nihilistic play of the rulers results in an image of the final eruption of nihilism [.. .] an image of the failed liberation of the world." 200 Wall's assessment is that Alteration is ultimately an anti-monument to the defeatism at the heart of conceptual art: Conceptualist interventionism regards its exposure of nihilism to be its social ideal. Graham, in the relentless bleakness of his exposure, discloses that the whole process of exposure turns on being defeated by that which is exposed. Thus, he shows that the conceptualist 66 strategy of intervention, carried out as art's own ideal, is pure defeatism (almost raised to a higher power by its self-consciousness.) 201 By contrast to the "pure defeatism" of conceptualist intervention, Zittel's A-Z form of conceptual art seems infused with a hard-headed optimism in its refusal to accept defeat. Or perhaps it is more accurately an acceptance of defeat in one place and a moving on to another. The retreat to A-Z West is also a "drawing the curtains" in some respects when considering its peripheral position to the explosive and highly racialized class tensions of Los Angeles. 202 A-Z West models a retreat into private life and like the more standard model of suburbia, Zittel's micro-community delivers not only a model of independent living, it also provides a model for a select group to pretend to democratic community organization in another illusory public realm. Considering Wall's analysis that, "The failure of conceptualism shows that art which challenges the existing order in its own name as art will find its inherent limit in absolute negativity, unfree in relation to the unfreedom provoking it," 203 we might ask in what name Zittel performs her critique. Posited as an "institute for investigative living," A-Z West is positioned as an attempt to connect the critical aspect of conceptual art back to the speculative practice of imagining other possibilities and to the constructive practice of realizing alternative ways of living. We might then argue that Zittel's critique is offered in the name of meaningful living and disalienation. But in participating in the art world, her work also becomes pronounced in the name of art, just as conceptual art was, and A-Z West becomes prone to the charge of an inherent defeatism or cynical opportunism. Defeatism as fashion could be the outcome of the A-Z Personal Uniform series (1991, ongoing) which involves a basic garment designed by Zittel and conceived as a key wardrobe item to be worn daily. Zittel tells the story of her experience working in a gallery in New York where she was faced with the frustrations of cosmopolitan fashion demands on a limited salary. The tailored Uniform would provide the ideal solution as the anchor piece designed to be quickly and easily paired with a variety 67 3.10. Andrea Zittel. A-Z Personal Uniform, 1991-present. Right: A-Z Personal Panel Uniform, 1995-1998. of coordinating items. According to Zittel, the uniform regularity streamlined the process of getting dressed each day, reducing the distracting question of what to wear to its minimal requirements while economically meeting the need to dress `well.'2" Gradually Zittel's outfits became more experimental with materials and as she developed simple patterns in attempts to distill fashion down to its most basic forms. One series, the A-Z Personal Panel, used only a single rectangular panel for each garment. Humourously modeled after Kasimir Malevich's Suprematist paintings, the panel dresses, when hung flat on the wall, become abstract formal experiments. Another series is made with a single-strand hand-worked crochet method. As innovative as these experiments initially were, Zittel's formal and material investigations have come to resemble mainstream fashion as the experimentalism of the fashion industry has once again borrowed from that of the art world. In the recent Critical Space exhibition, the group of mannequins displaying Zittel's garments read as a scenario more likely to be encountered in a designer boutique. The once-edgy pieces have come to resemble fashion clichés where a 68 semblance of one-of-a-kind authenticity is used to entice jaded consumers back into the store in search of personal distinction. The values of originality and authenticity linger as important criteria for consumers of both designer fashion and of art—Zittel's garment projects highlight this overlap. But where the values underlying her work once differentiated it from common mass-produced objects through a process of customization and handiwork, now the garments are indistinguishable from fashions that emulate the values of 'authenticity' and 'uniqueness.' Foster's remark that the constructed subject so vaunted in postmodernism might have become the consumerist subject of fashion serves as warning that Zittel's reworking of fashion as a mode of developing a free autonomous subject is destined for failure. 205 The rules developed outside the fashion system are soon subsumed by that same system that needs an "outside" from which to draw "fresh" ideas, with the art world long valued as one of the most prized sources of such inspiration. Zittel's work often adds a hip `do-it- yourself'206 dimension where interpellation takes the powerful form of enticing the subject to identify with the possibility of constructing an identity in what seems to be a more active, creative and critical form of consumption. However, Zittel's elaborately constructed subject eventually folds into something not far off from the standard consumerist subject, now sewn back into the desires that are produced in the commodity, but at an even more complex level than ever before. As such, Buchloh's contestation of the "vapid menace" of such programs of liberation haunts Zittel's enthusiasm. 207 Perhaps with her new collaborative garment project Smockshop (2007) Zittel hopes to gain something back from the fashion system for struggling artists while proposing an alternative to sweatshop style labour relations. Zittel provides a basic shell dress design which each participating artist customizes according to personal preference. These custom dresses are then offered for sale at a price substantially higher than readymade off-the-rack garments. The commercial aspect of the project 69 MK II 71.1_0_114 SC1 721 was purportedly set up as a program to help the marginalized participating artists to earn a living. A s,o.^tnz. 21.M.4 tlObra,.,1 7,`Vnt d10, ,” Anti. pit ,4*. Of, ...nosh. ..10441.,> 0-4 ,ait■^—• wqtA +ea, sato'^art.,. xi Ivsts,rt, 3.11. Andrea Zittel. Smockshop, project website 2007. The clothing line offers a liberating promise for the consumer as well: "Rather than agonizing about what to put on each morning you can move on to larger things like experiencing the world in it's (sic) fullest and learning about new things. We promise that your full life will be far more exciting then your full closet ever was.,,208 But even in this noble-sounding promise, the potential for a semi-autonomy of critical distance is severely diminished by the fact that the A-Z strategy in this case is not detectably different from the current trends in the marketing of specialty designer clothing. Even the cheeky tone of the care instructions for the smocks is not any different than what we might find in a marketing campaign designed to appeal to the resistant consumer. In a tone typical of Zittel's upbeat style, the instructions read: "how to iron: Rebel from unnecessary and socially dictated work – don't iron your smock!" 2°9 The project might be seen as a counter to readymade apparel and an inversion of the readymade Duchampian procedure of the avant-garde, but it may not achieve enough distance from the fashion industry to perform its critique. In another example of Zittel's community-oriented activity, High Desert Test Sites (HDTS) is a yearly art event, that while organized by a core group—two artists (Zittel and Lisa Ann Auerbach), two dealers and a collector—is positioned as an effort of a far larger group including local residents, visitors, volunteers, and exhibiting 70 artists. 21 ° Butler describes the project as "an unwieldy and insistently generous amalgam of explicitly site-specific projects... loosely gathered under the umbrella of a website and Zittel's desire to make a community around her." 211 The location just beyond the urban sprawl of Los Angeles is deemed significant. For Zittel it is familiar, having grown up in a suburb of San Diego, but it is also claimed to be a counter-site to the alienating and disorienting logic of the American mega-city. 212 The mission of HDTS includes: "to create a 'center' outside of any preexisting centers," "to find common ground between contemporary art and localized art issues," and directly posited in relation to LA: To contribute to a community in which art can truly make a difference. HDTS exists in a series of communities that edge one of the largest suburban sprawls in the nation. Most of the artists who settle in this area are from larger cities, but want to live in a place where they can control and shape the development (of) their own community. For the time being there is still a feeling in the air that if we join together we can still hold back the salmon stucco housing tracts and big box retail centers. Well maybe. 213 A hint of defeatism might be read in those closing, qualifying words: "Well maybe." Like the failures of conceptual art described by Wall, HDTS also has a defeatism that might be all the more cynical for its self-consciousness. The inclusive, optimistic and generous aspects of HDTS and the lab for living at A-Z West might be described as attempts to offer a counter-model to the typical Californian suburban housing development and to the private urban oasis as exemplified in the house put forward by LA-based artist Jorge Pardo for his exhibition at MoCA (Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles.) But how different are the core operations of these projects? In a reversal of the usual chronological path of heritage sites—beginning as private home, becoming significant through the celebrity of the inhabitants or through historical interest, and eventually being made public—Pardo's house went from public site to private home. For his architecture-as-art project 4166 Sea View Lane, Pardo had a home built in the Mount Washington neighbourhood of Los Angeles in 1998, based on plans he had published several years earlier. 214 Having been invited by the MoCA 71 to participate in the Focus exhibition series, the artist saw his opportunity, to propose that his house be built on his property. In exchange, for the duration of the exhibition Pardo's house would operate as a satellite of the museum complete with security guards and tours.215 After the exhibition period between October 11 and November 15, 1998, the house became Pardo's private home. Pardo has suggested that a large part of his practice involves pushing commissioning institutions to see how far they will go-4166 Sea View Lane is no exception. His goal in his own words, was "to make a work of art that a museum can't handle." 216 It is reported that the museum contributed only a small percentage of the total investment, but nonetheless the museum's contribution has certainly raised some questions. 217 3.12. Jorge Pardo. 4166 Sea View Lane, 1998. Pardo's house has been described as an inverted form of the modernist glass house. Appearing bunker like from the street, with all the ground-to-ceiling 72 windows facing an inner courtyard in a modified hacienda style structure. 218 The inward-turning aspects of the house design exacerbate the cynical tenor of the project, particularly when considered in the context of the sprawling Los Angeles urban environment with highly-visible poverty on the one hand and gated communities on the other.219 Pardo's museum/house becomes a model of the breakdown of the public sphere that ultimately ends up being intensely private and exclusionary as modeled by Pardo's reversal of the usual private to public trajectory of the heritage site. If we consider Wall's analysis of Graham's Alteration to a Suburban Home as performing a critique not only of conceptual art, but of the nihilism of high bourgeois culture, might Pardo's inversion of the modernist house be the ultimate form of this nihilism? Using Wall's terms, the "prince in the castle" 220 of a newly modified (post)modernism (now completely divorced from its earlier social content) knows not to bother with an exterior curtain wall; fortress-style architecture is better suited to the simmering urban tensions of Los Angeles. In contrast to Pardo's model of unquestioning gratification of subjective desires, Zittel ostensibly wants to use herself as a test subject to uncover the origins of contemporary desires and lifestyle constraints, so that she might rework the conventions and peel back the layers of social construction. 221 But while Zittel does not build a fortress-like barrier to block out the exterior world, the same effect is achieved by physical distance and by a project that like Pardo's relies on a personal subjectivity expressed through a model of design as art. 4166 Seaview Lane, like the A-Z Escape Vehicles or A-Z West, reduces autonomy to a private retreat. Pardo's house reads as a celebration of individualist aspirations as expressed in a designed lifestyle as totally-designed private space. As such it is transparent as a celebration of the retreat to the private realm. Sounding more like the Gesamtkunstwerk of the Art Nouveau designer, Pardo's "design and layout of the house has been meticulously planned down to the smallest 73 details—nothing has been left to chance. He has said that he simply wanted there to be 'something interesting in every room." 222 While Pardo's work might be said to be critical in revealing the institutional limits (or lack thereof), Pardo's house functions as a design case study more than anything else, celebrating the potential of creating an ideal lifestyle by design. Pardo's home engages most directly with the history of domestic architecture in southern California and the Case Study program in particular. Sponsored by John Entenza's Arts & Architecture magazine, the program (1945-1966) was a response to the post-war housing boom. Entenza commissioned well-known architects with specific case scenarios as home design projects. They were to use new materials and mass production methods to promote the idea that high design could be made accessible and affordable. However, these homes ended up being too specific and too costly to provide realistic models for production. 223 As Pat Kirkham suggests, compared with the concerns of interwar European modernism, the "utopian aspect of modernism was considerably weaker in the United States, partly because of the comparative underdevelopment of the American labour and socialist movements and partly because of a campaign against 'un-American' state-funded mass housing. "224 Today such projects are a staple in the fetishization of modern architecture and design presented in magazines such as Wallpaper. The frontier and other supplementary myths While many examples of the 1990s merging of art and design may well be an opportunistic taking advantage of the inflation of design, Zittel's project may surpass such opportunism to be occasionally utopian in spirit. However, Zittel's model of strong-willed independence and the apparent willful reworking of the underlying logic of advanced capitalism offers a smokescreen that functions in a similar way to the foundational myths of the American frontier—myths that make claims for the erasure of class difference in favour of equal opportunity. Zittel's works may have 74 a compensatory effect where the fantasies of freedom they offer might be enough to sustain the illusion of freedom elsewhere. Presented as real life, Zittel's model also fits well with the needs of corporate capitalism—A-Z West seems to offer a model of authentic living missing elsewhere under contemporary conditions, while Pardo offers a model of honesty through relentless affirmation and over-the-top opportunism. 225 Zittel peddles a fantasy of freedom that appears to be within the reach of the average person, but a drive through Los Angeles quickly dispels such myths when confronted with the harsh realities faced by disenfranchised urbanites. 226 In the impasse between Graham's uncovering of the lack of autonomy and Foster's argument for the return of some kind of provisional autonomy, it is tempting to place Zittel's model of "critical optimism." One reviewer asks, "What's not to like about Andrea Zittel? That's a tricky and loaded question that suggests she's the full package, and if nationality and gender were added to the mix, she would be the full package American girl/artist." 227 Why would writers emphasize Zittel's nationality and gender? Zittel might fill the role for some of what would logically come after the black hole following bourgeois nihilism. 228 Her approach has similarities to the political philosophy of pragmatist-feminism. Erin KcKenna in The Task of Utopia: A Pragmatist and Feminist Perspective proposes a "process model of utopia" based on John Dewey's end-in-view approach utilizing short-term achievable goals: "There is no disjunction of means and ends. . . . each end-in-view achieved eventually becomes the means for achieving new ends-in-view." 229 McKenna describes this as a way-of-life approach that is "an open-ended process, capable of being reformed and redirected." 23° She contrasts this flexible process with the end- state or teleological model. McKenna argues that "in the end-state model of utopia, the notion that people can perfect the world—achieve some static end-state—and no longer have to participate and experiment takes hold." 231 As such, the argument claims that end-state utopias discourage critical thinking, making a passive citizenry 75 prone to authoritarianism. The feminist angle of the critique balances the pragmatist philosophy with the idea that a pluralistic dimension is required to allow difference to flourish.232 Zittel's American-style humanism is not new, recalling Walt Whitman, American pragmatists such as John Dewey and Jane Addams, 1970s feminist art collectives, and the independent outsider spirit of the post-war California assemblage artists. Zittel's vague connections—early modernism, American pragmatism, Beat culture, hippie ideals, outsider art, Constructivism, Conceptual art, Pop art and Minimal art—risk an eclecticism that threatens to disintegrate the criticality of her method. Such dissolution is held back by Zittel's ongoing generation of rules and systems to guide her work. While Zittel's work is often infused with humour, there also seems to be an intent to work through the past, to make some decisions in order to keep the good traditions, and to develop new ones as needed. With her evolving list These things I know for sure, the good is continuously redefined, but she claims that her principles are taken up in good faith and in confidence as something "known for sure." 233 Zittel admits she risks sounding naive, but she sees it as a risk worth taking in support of the idea of the "faith" required for decisive action that was so prevalent as a driving force of early modernism. 234 Zittel seems to insist on a social project, as if in response to the aftermath of apocalyptic art. 235 Zittel has made her investigations into living the groundwork for a decisiveness that is ultimately declared to be her mission. But as HDTS draws larger crowds, how long before Joshua Tree is transformed from non-site to the instrumentalized site of what might amount to just another art fair? 236 Here we might recall Smithson's warning in an essay called "Cultural Confinement" submitted for the Documenta catalogue, and appearing in ArtForum in October 1972: Artists are expected to fit into fraudulent categories. Some artists imagine they've got a hold on this apparatus, which in fact has got a hold of them. As a result, they end up supporting a cultural prison that is out of their control. Artists themselves are not confined, 76 but their output is. Museums, like asylums and jails, have wards and cells- in other words, neutral rooms called "galleries." 237 Maybe this is why Zittel claims the work is in the artist. As Smithson realized, an artist can rework the rules and establish alternate limits, but ultimately, if that artist participates in the art world, there are 'fraudulent categories' that come to be imposed on the work. However, Zittel is well aware of the fraudulence of categories and the `unfreedom' in being an artist, remarking, "We are totally dependent on collectors or institutions to invest in our work in order to continue our practice. [... We...] blatantly make products because we are aware of how contingent our existence as artists is on this exchange." 238 Foster recently wrote, "It is difficult to imagine a politics today that does not negotiate the market somehow." 239 Zittel negotiates the market but in a form that ultimately capitulates and feeds back into the compensatory myths that allow the uncontested continuation of a process of ruthless privatization. The counter- site of A-Z West is in this way supplementary to the quintessential American city as exemplified by Los Angeles. 24° 77 Epilogue Considering the question of rules or limits and the ruling status of design today, the three case studies of Dan Graham, Jorge Pardo and Andrea Zittel offer some insights into how the recent and ongoing cultural shift regarding art and design has operated. With Graham's Alteration to a Suburban House, the model needs not be built, but its warning is that we consider it as though it exists or could exist. Pardo's 4166 Seaview Lane is realized, briefly made public and then secreted away as private residence, with its modernist transparency turned entirely inward. Zittel's A-Z West offers a model that is always in progress and continually made public; not unlike the proprietors of those contemporary internet platforms for identity construction—blogs, MySpace, and the like—Zittel is burdened with the onus to keep her project going under the mediated eye of a public who may or may not be watching. The tension between the stability offered by Zittel's rules and the burden of the demand that they be continually reworked could be an avenue of further study. Another possibility for further research could be Zittel's self-imposed exile and the frontier myth. Her relationship to the desert area east of Los Angeles could be contrasted against earlier retreats to the desert by artists such as Robert Smithson and to contemporary depictions of the same region in An-My Le's 29 Palms (2003- present). Le's photographs were taken in and around the 29 Palms military base, a site used as the site for training soldiers in preparation for their deployment to Afghanistan or Iraq . 241 Many of the images suggest actual war photography, but together the photographs convey a sense of anxious anticipation and preparation, showing us the military as a carefully designed machine and a strategic program where preliminary convincing simulation as training is crucial to success. Often suggesting abstraction, the picture plane and the early history of photography, Le's black and white photographs connect the present moment with aspects of the past. 78 While taking very different approaches from each other, the intersection between Le and Zittel might be found in matters of subjectivity, mediation and the landscape. A comparison and contrast of Zittel's working relationship with the Mojave desert and Le's depictions of 29 Palms could be fruitful in future studies. The desert here might be considered as a zone of exception and as a site of simulation that might be treated as aesthetic or designed in some sense, where nature meets human intervention. Le's work might make a reversal of the dominance of design through taking strategic maneuvres—military design—and rendering these aesthetic. They begin to appear almost insignificant as the lens is pulled back to a far larger, almost geologic scale of history. At the same time as verging on the abstract, her images are unavoidably political and historical. In this way, Le's work might be said to connect to traditions of history painting and nineteenth-century photography. They hardly suggest lifestyle in the way some projects by Zittel or Pardo do, but they depict a militarized lifestyle and in using photographic images, they remind us of photography's ubiquitous presence in a heavily mediated society while also reminding us of its early relations to art and its contemporary role in mass media and advertising. Inevitably photography suggests the designed pages of a magazine layout even when presented on the gallery wall, showing us the flip-side of glossy civilian distractions. Finally, we might ask if design still rules at the time of writing. Browsing through a current issue of T Magazine (The New York Times Style Magazine: Design Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007) confirms that the inflation of design is not at all confined to the 1990s or even to the millenial turn; 242 the overvaluation of style (often labeled as design) is a contemporary phenomenon continuing to ramp up in intensity. Page after page of T Magazine deals in the interplay of art and design. Where art is featured on some pages, it is always situated within the overarching design framework of the issue, and of each story. The design obsession is linked with identity, as made apparent in advertisements with tag lines such as, "My life: my style " 243 and "The art of 79 living.”244 The glossy pages appeal to a desire for perfection that is centred around the acquisition of a collection of aesthetics, the construction of a surface image that would not only represent self but that would constitute self. The word 'acquisition' was used several times in the magazine in regards to architecture, art and design. Another item features "art and design on the same block" in a story about how the current economic turn might affect the booming market for art and design. "Double Vision" is an auction at Christie's in London on October 14, 2007 coinciding with the Frieze Art Fair and featuring both art and design: "The sale's 29 lots belong to two anonymous sellers who started collecting in the mid-1980s with equal emphasis on art and design. Back then, says Joshua Holdeman, the head of 20th-century design at Christie's, 'few people were looking at art and design on the same plane.'" 245 One of the design items, Marc Newson's Lockheed Lounges are estimated at $1.6 million to $2.4 million U.S. Realizing the irony of the afterthought art has become here, the writer comments, after listing several of the design highlights, "Oh, and with works by people like Robert Indiana, Ed Ruscha and Sigmar Polke, the art is pretty good, too. 5) 246 Repeatedly in T Magazine, painting and sculpture make appearances as props for one designed space after another. Or art makes a feature appearance if it is in partnership with fashion or design. "Show and Sell" is an item on a Takashi Murakami retrospective at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, including not only his past collaborations with fashion house Louis Vuitton, but a new "1,000-square-foot Vuitton mini-boutique on the museum's mezzanine floor." 247 The retail space will feature "an exclusive line of bags and accessories created for the show." Louis Vuitton's artistic director Marc Jacobs enthuses, "Our collaboration [Vuitton and Murakami] is the ultimate crossover. One for both the fashion and art history books." 248 If there were some who thought the merger of art and fashion that Benjamin Buchloh had noted in 1996 was a mere trend that would quickly pass, it seems they have been proven wrong. The cachet of crossover continues. 80 Another story features the "Mobile Art" container, a project that artistic director of Chanel, Karl Lagerfeld, plans to tour around the world from 2008 to 2010 with installations by 18 artists. But as the writer explains, "the real showstopper is bound to be the container itself: a Zaha Hadid-designed UFO made of gleaming white fiberglass with a ring of interactive exhibition space inside." 249 Lagerfeld compares the project with advertising, remarking, "We could have inundated the world with ads. But it is a more noble project." 250 The phase we are entering seems to be one where the lingering values attributed to art, such as noblesse, prestige and authenticity, are being more intensely harnessed for commercial interests. The results are packaged under the contemporary "good life" characterized as a totally-designed (and available for purchase) perfect state of being. An analysis of how the merger of art and design has been instrumentalized for the "experience economy" would be another fruitful area of research.251 Design becomes the cleanser and the veneer allowing us to turn our senses from harsh realities. As summarized by Hal Foster, Adolf Loos "has the architect (over) compensate for the artist, for if the artist performs sublimation, especially in his lavish interiors, the architect practices—in a sense, designs—renunciation, especially in his austere exteriors. It is on this renunciation that his conceptions of proper architecture and proper subject converge most intensely. " 252 On the one hand, design is the invisible elevation of its content or its function, acting out a renunciation of its own presence in a sense, but on the other hand, it becomes the spectacular scrim suspended over a base that it insists on concealing or disavowing. The tensions between these aspects of modern design and architecture also cropped up in modern art—art critic Clement Greenberg shunned the decorative as did many of the early theorists of modern design and modern architecture. However, their renuciation of decor did not protect the modernist works in question from becoming fetishized along with commodity objects. The 'Style' magazine of the New York Times is one thing, but a 81 more serious case study could involve how art, design and architecture have played out at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Since its inception there have been tensions between its container and that deemed to belong outside it, but there is also the question of how to organize the collection within. Why does a model created as a design for a street-based loudspeaker, Gustav Klutsis' Maquette for Radio-Announcer (1922) belong in 'Painting and Sculpture,' while Constructivist posters are deemed to belong within 'Architecture and Design?' Another area for further study is the role of abstraction and the decorative in the tensions between art and design, and modernism and postmodernism. Once the decorative enters the picture, the debate becomes gendered where decor is a pejorative term associated with the feminine—to label a work as decorative was a damning critique when levied at modern painting or modern design alike. If Loos' propriety is based on the late bourgeois split between private and public, or between the personally expressive decor of the interior and the public neo-classical façade of tradition, today we see the return of design-as-expression that Loos loathed in Art Nouveau, but now it has become intensified. It might also be a tendency unduly protected by its claims to counter early modernist chauvinisms. Exposure of a styled self is claimed to be a political act in a distortion of aspects of feminism and identity politics. Integrated across multiple mediating devices and forms—be it through fashion or Facebook, art or architecture, reality television or autobiography—the styling of self has become a contemporary preoccupation. The accompanying shift in our understanding of subjectivity, politics and questions of identity over the past century—with the underlying implications of class, race and gender—are areas where the role of design and the once-pejorative aspect of ornament in relation to art would be another possibility for further research. The question of what is lost in a reversal—an overcompensation where decor and surface style become most valued—is urgent as society continues along a trajectory where design and technology are increasingly 82 all important. We must continue to ask what the surface conceals, and from what it draws our attention. 83 Notes 1. Josiah McElheny began a recent review with the comment, "TODAY DESIGN RULES." See McElheny's review of the exhibition Josef Hoffmann: Interiors, 1902-1913 Neue Galerie, New York, 2007, Artforum (February 2007). 2. An excellent summation of contemporary conditions has been provided by the writers of Retort and by Fredric Jameson. See Retort (Jain Boal, T. J. Clark, Joseph Matthews, Michael Watts), Afflicted Powers: Capital and Spectacle in a New Age of War, (London 2005). 3. Julian Stallabrass, Art incorporated: the story of contemporary art (Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 4. See Serge Guilbaut, How New York stole the idea of modern art : abstract expressionism, freedom and the cold war (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983). 5. This 1990s phenomenon has been noted by several writers including Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, Chin-Tao Wu, Julian Stallabrass, and Miwon Kwon. See particularly Benjamin H. D. Buchloh with Yve-Alain Bois, Critical Reflections, ArtForum (January 1997); and Chin-Tao Wu, Privatising culture: corporate art intervention since the 1980s (London; New York: Verso, 2002). 6. "It seems like only yesterday that people were upset about the architecture of the Guggenheim's SoHo branch, which (before it closed) forced audiences to pass through the bookstore and gift shop in order to enter the museum. [...] And yet today, less than a decade later, that move into mass commerce seems like child's play: the Guggenheim is now considering a design collection that will double as a store, possibly even offering cars for sale. And local rival MoMA recently appointed a director of branding, and is considering stand-alone stores, not to mention a dot. coin operation run in collaboration with the Tate in London. Museums versus merchandise? Art against entertainment? Whatever walls there were between them are increasingly transparent." Tim Griffin, "Jorge Pardo: Dia Center for the Arts, September 13, 2000—June 17, 2001," Artext No. 72 (Feb.-Apr., 2001), 89-90. 7. Joe Scanlan, "Please, Eat the Daisies," Reprinted in Alex Coles, ed. Design and Art, Documents of Contemporary Art series (London: Whitechapel, 2007), 61, 63. 8. Hal Foster, et al., Art since 1900: modernism, antimodernism, postmodernism (New York : Thames & Hudson, 2004), 604. 9. The trend towards privatisation of art institutions has been well documented by Chin-Tao Wu. See Chin-Tao Wu, Privatising Culture: Corporate Art Intervention Since the 1980s (London; New York: Verso, 2002). 10. Julian Stallabrass, "Art's Monied Parties," Art Monthly, No. 286 (May 2005), 1-4. 11. A case for this argument has been made by Hal Foster. See Hal Foster, "Design and Crime," Design and Crime (New York: Verso, 2002). 12. Ibid. 13. Dan Graham, "Art as Design/Design as Art," Reprinted in Alex Coles, ed. Design and Art, Documents of Contemporary Art series (London: Whitechapel, 2007), 38-48. 14. Hal Foster, "Design and Crime," Design and Crime. (New York: Verso, 2002). 15. The writers of Retort interpret this as a new round of primitive accumulation. 84 See Retort (Iain Boal, T. J. Clark, Joseph Matthews, Michael Watts), Afflicted Powers: Capital and Spectacle in a New Age of War, (London 2005). 16. Hal Foster, et al., Art Since 1900: modernism, antimodernism, postmodernism, (New York: Thames & Hudson, 2004) 603. 17. Rosalind Krauss, "The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum," October, vol. 54 (Fall, 1990), 3-17. 18. Ibid. 19. Foster, Design and Crime. 20. Graham. 21. Marianne Brouwer, ed. Dan Graham: works 1965-2000 {Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001.) Also see Dan Graham, edited by Brian Wallis, Rock my religion, 1965-1990 (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1993). 22. David Hopkins, After Modern Art: 1945-2000, Oxford History of Art series (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.) 23. Scott Rothkopf provides some examples, Bernard Tschumi being one, an architect who pub- lished a series of essays in ArtForum in the early 1980s. Other examples are Peter Eisenmann and Robert Venturi. See Scott Rothkopf, "Other voices: Scott Rothkopf four critical vignettes- Critical Essay," Artforum (March, 2003). 24. Krauss, 3-17. 25. Foster, et al., 600-4. 26. Ibid. 27. Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, Or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (New York: Verso, 1991). 28. Ibid. 29. Buchloh tells this story and Chin-Tao Wu has documented the 1980s and 1990s corporate incur- sions into the art world. (See note 4.) 30. Graham and Wallis, ed., Rock My Religion, 208. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid., 209. 35. Ibid., 210. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid., 211. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Foster, "Crux of Minimalism," The return of the real : the avant-garde at the end of the century (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1996). 41. Thierry De Duve, "Dan Graham and the Critique of Artistic Autonomy" in Brouwer, ed. Dan 85 Graham Works: 1965-2000 (Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001), 51. 42. Jameson. 43. See Foster, Design and Crime, 13-17. Bill Wood has suggested to me that Foster's concept of 'running room' could possibly amount to only a temporary and limited space of exemption—the liberal subjectivity it allows is maybe more limited than we would like providing merely a cultural-political safety valve, so we may continue as before leaving the greater strucure intact. 44. Buchloh with Bois. Critical Reflections. ArtForum (January 1997). 45. Foster, Design and Crime. 46. Ibid. 47. Graham, "Art as Design/Design as Art." 48. Foster argues, "It is precisely such metaphysical dualisms of subject and object that minimalism seeks to overcome in phenomenological experience... far from idealist, minimalist work com- plicates the purity of conception with the contingency of perception, of the body in a particular space and time." See Foster, "Crux of Minimalism," The return of the real : the avant-garde at the end of the century, 40 49. Graham and Wallis, ed., Rock My Religion 50. Graham, in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham: works 1965-2000, 168. 51. De Duve, in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham: works 1965-2000, 51. 52. Ibid., 50. "What is experimental in the mechanism annihilates what could still be 'experiential' in the act of performance.... Spatial indicators such as the here and there are indissociable from the subject of their enunciation, and vice versa. Similarly, the temporal indicators before, after, are indissociable from the now of the subject of enunciation. But precisely, the now in which the performer describes the audience (or himself) cannot be the now in which the audience receives its description. The audience is always too early relative to the self-image that the performer reverberates back to it, and the performer is always too late relative to the image of the audience that he is about to describe. The enunciation is performative, it creates the event of which it seeks to give an account. But it does not give an account of the event it creates, or only belatedly, rushing after it in a circuit of retroaction that leaves no room for experience, for `lived experience.' The only 'lived experience' that a member of the audience takes away from Performer/Audience Sequence is the experience of taking nothing away, for lack of reference points or spatiotemporal invariants that could be shared by performer and audience. ... The feedback set-up keeps the effect from recording the cause." 53. Ibid. First published in Dan Graham: Pavilions, exh. cat., ed. Jean-Hubert Martin (Bern: Kunsthalle Bern, 1983.) De Duve, in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham: works 1965-2000, 66. 54. Ibid. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 86 58. Ibid., 52-3. 59. Graham, in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham: works 1965-2000, 81. 60. De Duve, in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham: works 1965-2000, 51. 61. Graham, in Coles, ed., Design and Art, 44-5. 62. Ibid. 63. Thierry De Duve and Benjamin Buchloh have both noted that Graham pulls from many sources, often setting up contradictory tensions in his own work and writing.Graham's eclectic theoreti- cal mix and his outside/inside relationship with the art world comes up in a recent interview. Commenting on Graham's lack of recognition by American art institutions, Buchloh asks him, "Could it also be that your apparently eclectic synthesis of pop culture, theoretical criticism, architectural models, undoubtedly perceived as a wide range of incompatible positions, disturbs people in America?" See Graham and Buchloh, "Four Conversations: December 1999-May 2000," in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham: works 1965-2000, 83. 64. Mark Francis, "Review: Brice Marden; Dan Graham. New York, Dia Center for the Arts," The Burlington Magazine, Vol. 134, No. 1067 (Feb., 1992), 143. 65. Foster, "Design and Crime," Design and Crime. (New York: Verso, 2002). 66. Foster, "The ABCs of Contemporary Design," October 100 (Spring 2002), 191-199. 67. Ibid., 25. 68. Helmut Draxler, "Letting Loos(e): Institutional Critique and Design" in Alex Alberro, ed., Conceptual art and the politics of publicity (Cambridge, Mass. : MIT Press, 2003), 151. 69. Adolf Loos. "The Plumbers," "The Story of the Poor Rich Man," and "Ornament and Crime," in Ludwig Miinz and Gustav Kiinstler, Adolf Loos: pioneer of modern architecture (New York; Washington: Frederick A. Praeger, 1966). 70. Foster, "A Proper Subject," in Prosthetic Gods (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2004). 71. Foster, Design and Crime, 22-3. 72. Foster, "Why all the hoopla?" London Review of Books. Vol. 23 No. 16 (23 August 2001). 73. Ibid. 74. Foster, Design and Crime, 17. 75. Ibid. 76. Foster, "A Proper Subject," in Prosthetic Gods. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid. 79. Foster, "Crux of Minimalism," in The Return of the Real. 80. Foster, "A Proper Subject," in Prosthetic Gods. 81. This version of events is told in many sources. See Foster, et al., Art Since 1900 or Pat Kirkham, Charles and Ray Eames: designers of the twentieth century (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1995). 82. See interview with Hal Foster, "Polemics, Postmodernism, Immersion, Militarized Space," in 87 Journal of Visual Culture, 12 (2004; vol. 3), 320 - 335. 83. Stallabrass, 124. 84. Ibid., 117. 85. See Retort, 10. "We tire of detectives solving crimes the criminals have never bothered to conceal." 86. Dutch design group Experimental Jetset have claimed, "We don't see graphic design as art, but we do see art as a form of design." in Alex Coles, ed., Design and Art. 87. Stallabrass, 191. 88. Fredric Jameson, "The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism," Accessed on September 3, 2007, URL = < http://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/us/jameson.htm> 89. Foster has offered up examples such as Olafur Eliasson. See Foster, interview in Journal of Visual Culture, note 82. 90. Matthew Jesse Jackson, "Managing the Avant-Garde," New Left Review, 32 (Mar-Apr, 2005), 105-116. 91. James H. Gilmore, B. Joseph Pine II, Authenticity: contending with the new consumer sensibility (Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 2007). 92. Krauss. 93. Rosalind Krauss, "The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum," October Vol. 54 (Autumn, 1990), 4. 94. Bob Colacello, "Remains of the Dia," Vanity Fair (September 1996), 186; as quoted in George Baker and Christian Phillip-Muller, "A Balancing Act" October Vol. 87 (Autumn, 1997), 102. Baker describes "the moment of the future German gallerist Heiner Friedrich's first major experience with a work of art. Friedrich was nineteen years old; the experience was his 1957 visit to the fourteenth-century Arena Chapel frescoes painted by Giotto in Padua." Friedrich is quoted to have said, "Seeing this chapel at age nineteen became for me the true insight for the unfolding and development of Dia." (The narrative and quote are Baker's citation of Colacello.) 95. Joe Scanlan,"Please, Eat the Daisies," Reprinted in Alex Coles, ed. Design and Art, Documents of Contemporary Art series (London: Whitechapel, 2007). 96. Miwon Kwon, "Jorge Pardo's Designs on Design," in Coles, ed., 74. 97. Dia Art Foundation Web Site, "History: Dia Art Foundation," accessed April 19, 2007: URL <http://www.diacenter.org/dia/history.html > 98. Dia Art Foundation Web Site, "History: Dia Art Foundation," accessed August 8, 2007: URL = <http://www.diacenter.org/exhibs/ryman/installation > "An installation planned by the artist will include twelve to fourteen new paintings completed for this project with some additional earlier works. The artist has designed five galleries on the top floor of this facility using the available natural light--skylights, north and south windows--to complement the paintings." 99. Dia Art Foundation Web Site, "History: Dia Art Foundation," Accessed April 19, 2007, URL <http://www.diacenter.org/dia/history.html > 100. Krauss, 14. 101. Mark Francis, "Review: Brice Marden; Dan Graham. New York, Dia Center for the Arts," The 88 Burlington Magazine, Vol. 134, No. 1067. (Feb., 1992), 143. 102. Brouwer, Marianne, ed. Dan Graham Works: 1965-2000 (Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001), 259. Graham described how his vision differed from that of Dia's founder: "Heiner Friedrich's original idea was to take one of the spaces downstairs and have a self- enclosed, discrete space, not framed by the city and outside distractions, and definitely a non-museum type of space. Something like a church. A meditational space for the ideal work of art. My idea, obviously, was the opposite. I needed a public social space, a space that would be quasi-functional. So one aspect of the piece is both a coffee bar and a video salon. Six curators were hired to buy a library archive of videos in the areas of cartoon animation, music, architec- ture, performance, and artist performance, which would be permanently installed as a library. The piece and the space around it were designed to be a kind of bar or lounge area, a space for openings and social gatherings, and a space for performances." Brouwer, Marianne, ed., Dan Graham Works: 1965-2000. (Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001). 103. Ibid. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid. 106. See Foster, Crux of Minimalism. Also see: Michael Fried, "Art and Objecthood,"Artforum 5 (June 1967), 12-23. Also see Donald Judd, "Specific Objects," 1964, Arts Yearbook 8 (1965), 94. 107. Dan Graham, et al., Two-Way Mirror Inside Cube and a Video Salon [videorecording], New York, N.Y.: Electronic Arts Intermix [distributor], 1992. 108. Lynne Cooke, "Dan Graham: Two-way Mirror Cylinder Inside Cube," Dia Center Website, accessed April, 19, 2007: URL = <http://www.diacenter.org/exhibs/graham/rooftop/essay.html > 109. Krauss. 110. Ibid. 111. Graham in Brouwer, Marianne, ed., Dan Graham Works: 1965-2000. (Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001). 112. As explained in Art Since 1900: By the late eighties more than a decade after this initial institutionalization of alternative spaces, a peculiar fusion began to appear between the two consequences of the money pressures of the sixties. The museum, its blockbuster mentality still intact, now began to see the alternative space itself as a kind of commercial opportunity, in the form of something like an art theme park." Hal Foster, et al., Art Since 1900: modernism, antimodernism, postmodernism, (New York: Thames Sc Hudson, 2004). 113. Alan Moore, "The Twilight of Minimalism," Artnet, New York, 8/12/97. Accessed April 8, 2007: URL = <http://www.artnet.com/magazine_pre2000/features/moore/moore8-11-97.asp > 114. Martha Rosier and Brian Wallis, ed., If you lived here: the city in art, theory, and social activism (Seattle: Bay Press, 1991.) 115. Graham and Robin Hurst, "Corporate Arcadias," in Graham and Brian Wallis, ed., Rock my religion, 1965-1990 (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1993), 278. 89 116. Ibid. 117. Ibid. 118. Alex Alberro, ed., Two-Way Mirror Power: selected writings by Dan Graham on his art (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1999), 174. 119. Marianne Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham Works: 1965-2000 (Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001), 196. 120. Krauss. 121. Ibid. 122. Ibid. 123. The example that comes to mind is Dan Graham's Elliptical Pavilion (1995-9), a commission for Berliner Kraft and Licht (Bewag) AG, now Vattenfall, Berlin, Germany. Graham's pavilion fits perhaps too well with the energy utility's promotional materials, photographing well and providing abstract clean lines and gleaming surfaces for the corporate art collection brochure. 124. See Krauss, Jameson and Foster on the postmodern subject, particularly in suggestions that aspects of earlier art, such as Minimalism, had prepared the subject for the next phase of capitalism. 125. Ibid. 126. Alan Moore, "The Twilight of Minimalism," Artnet (New York, 8/12/97). Accessed April 8, 2007: URL = <http://www.artnet.com/magazine_pre2000/features/moore/moore8-11-97.asp > 127. Ibid. 128. Ibid. 129. A difference is that while in SoHo the artist's were there before the galleries and eventual retail and gentrification, in Chelsea, it was only Dia. 130. Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, with introduction by Yve-Alain Bois, "Critical Reflections," Artforum (January, 1997). 131. Moore. 132. There are a couple of references Graham might be making with the title Waterloo Sunset. Considering his rock criticism, it is likely he had in mind the 1967 song by Ray Davies and performed by The Kinks. On the other hand, in this context, it is hard to ignore that the Battle of Waterloo was Napoleon's last and the subject of numerous history paintings, and that after Waterloo, Louis XVIII was restored to the throne of France. 133. The Admirable Chrichton website, accessed September 15, 2007: URL <http://www.admirable-crichton.co.uk/AC-Places_venue.aspx?id=31 > 134. Hal Foster, "Subversive Signs," in Recodings: Art, Spectacle, Cultural Politics (Port Townsend, WA; Bay Press, 1985). 135. Regarding design art becoming amenity design for the institution, see Claire Bishop, "Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics," October 110 (Fall 2004), 51-79. 136. Nancy Princenthal, "Interiors by Pardo," Art in America (V. 89, no. 4 Apr.01), 55. 137. Jameson. 138. Grace Gluck, "Art in Review; Jorge Pardo," New York Times (February 2, 2001). 90 Accessed on New York Times website, April 2, 2007, URL = <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/ fullpage.html ?res=980DEFDA153EF931A35751C0A9679C8B63> 139. Tim Griffin, "Jorge Pardo: Dia Center for the Arts," artext no. 72 (Feb.–Apr., 2001), 89-90. 140. Miwon Kwon, "Jorge Pardo's Designs on Design," in Coles, ed., 74-86. 141. "Endless equivalencies" is a reference to Roland Barthes' writings about text and sign, as cited by Hal Foster in "The Crux of Minimalism." See Hal Foster, The return of the real : the avant-garde at the end of the century (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1996). 142. Jacques Derrida, "Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences," Writing and Difference, trans. Alan Bass (London: Routledge), 278-294. 143. Dia Art Foundation Web Site, accessed April 3, 2007: URL = <http://www.diacenter.org/exhibs/ pardo/project/> 144. Ibid. The Dia statement suggests, "Pardo does not deem his intervention at Dia an architectural one, recognizing a basic difference in vision—that is, in visual training and practice—between this discipline and the fine arts." The accompanying essay (where oddly Cooke begins by stating that her "text engages in reciprocal ventriloquism" in speaking for Pardo) outlines each aspect of Project and the objects displayed therein. It discusses the design traditions at the Museum of Modern Art and the intermingling of architecture, art, and commerce in culture at large; Judd's design collection at Marfa; Aalto's wardrobe design for the Paimio Tuberculosis Sanitarium in Finland; the Volkswagen prototype; and finally the incremental working method of Pardo's process in developing the project which is described as an accretive organic approach "in contrast to conventional architectural practice." More than simply a grand display of a design fetishist's dream, the exhibition claims to narrate an alternative modernism that is not singular, not autonomous and not totalizing. 145. Kwon. 146. Dia Art Foundation Web Site, accessed April 3, 2007: URL = <http://www.diacenter.org/exhibs/ richterpardo/> 147. Lynne Cooke, Dia Art Foundation Web Site, accessed April 3, 2007: <URL =: http://www. diacenter.org/exhibs/richterpardo/essay.html> 148. Ibid. 149. Ibid. 150. Cooke, "Jorge Pardo and Gilberto Zorio: Reverb," Dia Center Web Site, accessed April, 19, 2007: URL = <http://www.diacenter.org/exhibs/pardozorio/reverb/ > 151. Ibid. 152. "Jorge Pardo: Prototype," Dia Center Web Site, accessed April, 19, 2007: URL = <http://www. diacenter.org/exhibs/pardo/prototype/> 153. Ibid. 154. Cooke. 155. Benjamin H. D. Buchloh and Dan Graham, "Four Conversations: December 1999—May 2000," in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham Works 1965-2000, 81. 91 156. Peter Doroshenko, "Dan Graham" (interview), Journal of Contemporary Art, Vol. 7 (Winter 1995), 17. 157. See Theodor Adorno, Prisms (Cambridge, Mass. : MIT Press, 1981, c1967) and Paul Valery, Eupalinos; or, The architect (London : Oxford University Press, H. Milford, 1932). 158. Brook Mason, "The New Capital of Design," The New York Sun (Thursday, January 11, 2007) 13. 159. Ibid., Chelsea went from a couple of art listings in the late 80s, to around 30 by 1997 and over 300 today. 160. Jori Finkel, "Art as Roadside Attraction," New York Times, (September 25, 2005). 161. Andrea Zittel, A-Z Website, accessed September 5, 2007, URL <http://www.zittel.org > 162. See Janny Scott and David Leonhardt, "Class Matters: Shadowy Lines That Still Divide," New York Times, published: May 15, 2005, accessed on the New York Times web site September 16, 2007, URL = < http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/15/national/class/OVERVIEW-FINAL.html?ex =11901744008cen=1dd58e6201804cbf8cei=5070 > "Today, the country has gone a long way toward an appearance of classlessness. Americans of all sorts are awash in luxuries that would have dazzled their grandparents. Social diversity has erased many of the old markers. It has become harder to read people's status in the clothes they wear, the cars they drive, the votes they cast, the god they worship, the color of their skin. The contours of class have blurred; some say they have disappeared. But class is still a powerful force in American life. Over the past three decades, it has come to play a greater, not lesser, role in important ways. At a time when education matters more than ever, success in school remains linked tightly to class. At a time when the country is increasingly integrated racially, the rich are isolating themselves more and more. At a time of extraordinary advances in medicine, class differences in health and lifespan are wide and appear to be widen- ing." 165. Zittel tells an interviewer how she began using A-Z Administrative Services as the umbrella `organization' for her practice: `"I have this Southern California mall-girl twang," she said, courtesy of her youth in a suburb of San Diego. The people who heard it, she said, "wanted to know who I was calling for. I would say 'me,' and they'd basically hang up." Soon, she began saying "A-Z Administrative Services" instead, and found it did the trick.' See Finkel, "Art as Roadside Attraction," New York Times, September 25, 2005. 166. Paola Morsiani and Trevor Smith, Andea Zittel: Critical Space (Munich, Berlin, London, New York: Prestel, 2005) 86. 167. Ibid. 168. Ibid. 169. Ibid. 170. Ibid. 171. Andrea Zittel et al., A—Z Personal Profiles Newsletter (January 1996, Issue #5). 172. Ibid. 173. Andrea Zittel and Allan McCollum, "Andrea Zittel in Conversation with Allan McCollum," Diary 01: Andrea Zittel (Gabrius Spa, Milan, Italy: Tema Celeste Editions, 2002). 92 174. Morsiani and Smith, 14. 175. Morsiani and Smith, 14. 176. Ibid., 169. 177. Zittel and McCollum. 178. Foster. 179. For example, Christina Kiaer argues that Soviet productivism developed a model to compete with the commodity fetish of capitalism with the 'comrade object.' See Christina Kiaer, Imagine no possessions: the socialist objects of Russian constructivism (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2005). 180. Zittel and McCollum. 181. Trevor Smith, "The Rules of Her Game: A-Z at Work and Play," in Morsiani and Smith, 36-43. 182. "...wasn't breaking the rules just being turned into another rule?" wondered Zittel." "If breaking the rules was the rule, then making rules would be breaking the rule!" See Zittel, et al., A-Z Personal Profiles Newsletter: "The Limited Universe" Issue! (November, 1996, Issue 3). 183. Zittel and McCollum. 184. Morsiani and Smith, 200. 185. Zittel, et al., A-Z Personal Profiles Newsletter (Oct. 1996, Issue 2). 186. Thierry De Duve, "Dan Graham and the Critique of Artistic Autonomy," in Brouwer, ed., Dan Graham Works: 1965-2000 (Dusseldorf: Richter Verlag, 2001) 49-66. 187. Benjamin H. D. Buchloh with introduction by Yve-Alain Bois, Critical Reflections, ArtForum (January 1997). 188. Andrea Zittel, A-Z Website, accessed September 5, 2007, URL = <http://www.zittel.org > 189. Cornelia Butler, "Live/Work Space," in Morsiani and Smith, 59. 190. Morsiani and Smith, 214. 191. Ibid. 192. Michel de Certeau, The practice of everyday life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988, 1984). 193. Zittel and McCollum. 194. Brouwer, ed., 179-80. 195. Alex Alberro, "Reductivism in Reverse," Tracing Cultures, (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 1994), 19. 196. Thomas Crow, Modern art in the common cultures (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1996), 185. 197. De Duve, in Brouwer, ed., 66. 198. Jeff Wall, Dan Graham's Kammerspiel (Toronto: Art Metropole, 1991). 199. Ibid., 61, 63, 65. 200. Ibid., 79. 93 201. Ibid. 202. See Mike Davis, "Who Killed Los Angeles? Part Two: The Verdict is Given," New Left Review, 1/199 (May-June 1993) 29-54; Mike Davis, "Who Killed Los Angeles? A Political Autopsy," New Left Review, 1/197 (January-February 1993) 3-28; and Mike Davis, "Los Angeles: Civil Liberties between the Hammer and the Rock," New Left Review, 1/170 (July-August 1988) 37-60. 203. Wall, 79. 204. Morsiani and Smith. 205. Hal Foster, "Design and Crime," Design and Crime (New York: Verso, 2002). 206. "DIY" has come to stand for a "do-it-yourself" ethic, a recent trend in production. "DIY." Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 30 Sep. 2007. <Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/DIY >. 207. Benjamin H.D. Buchloh and Yve-Alain Bois, "Critical Reflections," Artforum (January, 1997). 208. Zittel, Smockshop Website, accessed September 5, 2007, URL = <http://www.smockshop.org/ smockwear.html> 209. Ibid. 210. Zittel, et al., High Desert Test Sites website, accessed on September 5, 2007, URL = <http:// www.highdeserttestsites.com/> 211. Butler, in Morsiani and Smith, 59. 212. Davis. 213. Zittel, et al., High Desert Test Sites website, accessed on September 5, 2007, URL = <http:// www.highdeserttestsites.com/> 214. Susan Kandel, "Home work-artist Jorge Pardo's house in Los Angeles, California," ArtForum (Nov. 1998). 215. Emma Mahony, "The House on the Hill," Circa Art Magazine, CIRCA 97 (Autumn 2001) 23-25. 216. Ibid. 217. Ibid. "MoCA agreed and contributed a sum of about $10,000 towards the project, thereby validating it as a work of art commissioned by an art institution. Pardo raised the remaining $290,000, thereby making it his home." 218. Ibid. 219. Kandel; also see Davis. 220. Wall. 221. Zittel and McCollum. 222. Mahony. 223. Pat Kirkham, Charles and Ray Eames: Designers of the Twentieth century (Cambridge, MA and London, UK: The MIT Press, 1995), 99-100. 224. Ibid., 100. 94 225. See James H. Gilmore, B. Joseph Pine II, Authenticity: contending with the new consumer sensibility (Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 2007); also see, James H. Gilmore, B. Joseph Pine II, The Experience Economy: Work Is Theater & Every Business a Stage (Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 1999). Art was increasingly used to leverage the 'experience economy,' an advanced form of the 'service economy' that was proposed in a 1999 publication of the Harvard Business School Press. In The Experience Economy, Joseph Pine and James Gilmore suggest a strategy of "mass customiza- tion" and audience "transformation" through "memorable experiences." This experiential dimension would provide a competitive advantage over other companies offering comparable products or services. Miwon Kwon offers a good summary: They argue that the service sector is already waning as a driving force of economic growth. They assert that if companies, business and organizations want to succeed and thrive in the new millenium, they need to understand that it is no longer enough to offer quality goods and services at reasonable prices. Availability and access to goods and services have reached such a saturation point in advanced capitalist countries and markets (especially with 'friction-free transactions' allowed over the internet), that what distinguishes one company from another now is the paricularity of the experience that it offers in relation to, as part of, the acquisition of its goods and/or services. Pine and Gilmore insist that companies need to wake up to this fact and reorient their thinking to recognize experience as a distinct economic offering, and the design of experience as one of their primary tasks. Pine and Gilmore have recently added "authenticity" as an important criteria for evaluating such experiences. In Authenticity: What Consumers Really Want, they argue that since savvy consumers can sniff out fake experiential offerings designed to move product, the writers argue that businesses need to find ways to convey "authenticity." As they put it, "In a world of paid-for experiences, consumers increasingly question what is real and what is not. As a result, Authenticity is quickly becoming the new consumer sensibility – and key business imperative – determining what offerings consumers buy and who they buy those offerings from... Business today, therefore, is all about being real. Original. Genuine. Sincere. Authentic." Increasingly business seeks authentic memorable experiences to attach to its image; meanwhile art institutions are increasingly put under the same pressures that drive business. Museums are also pressured to offer uniquely memorable experiences, particularly where a significant amount of arts funding comes from corporate sponsorship—it is believed by sponsors that presence in the museum (or the biennial) gives their brands an aura of authenticity by association with art. Since "everything that has to do with money is fake"—as Pine puts it in the title of a recent lecture—the aura of autonomy and authenticity still lingering around art institutions is increas- ingly coveted by business. As Stallabrass argues, the interests of business will also destroy that very autonomy that makes art so attractive to business. If increased interdependence between economic interests and cultural institutions is pushing these forms of organization together where both function according to the demands of business models, we could project this trend to an extreme where the museum would tend toward providing business with a service similar to the offerings of advertising agencies, public relations specialists and designers: a whitewash- ing service that makes its clientele look good. Of course, this would not be a new function for art—it has often been made to function this way. The question becomes one of the potential for art to be able to subvert this function. 226. Davis. 95 227. Gary Pearson, "Andrea Zittel," Border Crossings, (2006), 108. 228. Wall, 77. 229. Erin McKenna, The Task of Utopia: A Pragmatist and Feminist Perspective (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001), 86. 230. Ibid., 93. 231. Ibid., 19. 232. Maurice Hamington, Review of The Task of Utopia: A Pragmatist and Feminist Perspective, Erin McKenna. The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, 17.2 (2003), 143. 233. Morsiani and Smith, 14. 234. Zittel and McCollum. 235. De Duve, in Brouwer, ed., 51. 236. Zittel scaled down HDTS for May 2007. 237. Robert Smithson, "Cultural Confinement," ArtForum (October 1972). 238. Zittel and McCollum. 239. Foster, "Bigness," London Review of Books (29 November 2001). 240. Davis. 241. Leslie A. Martin, ed., An-My Lé: Small Wars (New York: Aperture Foundation, 2005). 242. T Magazine, The New York Times Style Magazine: Design. (Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007). 243. Poliform. Advertisement. T Magazine, The New York Times Style Magazine: Design. (Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007) 5. 244. Ceramic Tiles of Italy. Advertisement. T Magazine, The New York Times Style Magazine: Design. (Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007) 22. 245. Pilar Viladas, "Hammer Time: Art and Design on the same block," T Magazine, The New York Times Style Magazine: Design. (Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007) 58. 246. Ibid. 247. Alex Hawgood, "Show and Sell: Murakami to Eye, Murakami to Buy," T Magazine, The New York Times Style Magazine: Design. (Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007) 52. 248. Ibid. 249. Monica Khemsurov, "Moving Pictures," T Magazine, The New York Times Style Magazine: Design. (Fall 2007 issue: 10.7.2007) 56. 250. Ibid. 251. See B. Joseph Pine II, James H. Gilmore. The Experience Economy: Work Is Theatre & Every Business a Stage. Boston : Harvard Business School Press, 1999; also see B. Joseph Pine II, James H. Gilmore. Authenticity: What Consumers Really Want,. Boston : Harvard Business School Press, 2007. 252. Hal Foster, "Prosthetic Gods" (Cambridge, MA; London, UK: MIT Press, 2004) 82-3. 96 Bibliography The Admirable Chrichton. Corporate Website. 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