By Christian Viveros-Faun√©
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Hug invited some 70 of his closest friends, who happen to include popular kids like Lucky DeBellevue, Robert Melee, and Tracy Nakayama, to contribute to his project. He then arranged more than 100 of their works together with such indispensable teenage paraphernalia as 1970s blacklight posters, a thrift-store painting of Michael Jackson, and an Alyssa Milano workout tape. At first take, it all looks like the work of an anarchist pack rat, but innocence and experience are deliberately and expertly juxtaposed; Nietzsche shares the bedside-reading pile with Tolkien and the Cub Scout Handbook.
Hug is actually living the teenage fantasy, at least for the duration of the show: He sleeps in the plastic race-car bed, plays with the vintage Atari, and hosts parties for his friends after gallery hours. With a wiry frame, a mop of brown hair falling over his eyes and an initial aloofness that quickly morphs into enthusiasm, Hug, who says he's 30, could probably pass for 17. Most of the "Bedroom" detritus is stuff he's saved from his own childhood in Missouri or picked up in secondhand shops over the years. He admits to occasional forays onto eBay, particularly if an item has personal significance. "The town where I grew up was really white. When I was little, I wanted a black friend, so my mom got me a Lester doll," Hug says, pointing to a printout of his latest coveted object.
Session the Bowl
18 Wooster Street
Through February 15
Hug's not alone in his regression obsession. Photographers like Justine Kurland, Collier Schorr, and Helen Van Meene have been fixated on the under-18 set for a while now, but most have a tendency to treat teenagers like exotic game. Here, the kids have a more authoritative presence. The students in Lucien Samaha's yearbook-style portraits circa 1986, made while the artist was substitute-teaching at his former high school, overcome the indignities of bad perms and goofy, braces-studded grins. The plump, bikini-clad girl in Jay Massacret's Rockaway radiates attitude that borders on sexual confidence; she's worlds away from Rineke Dijkstra's painfully self-conscious beachgoers. The confrontational subject of Ryan McGinley's Eric, Jerking Off is, whatever else one might say, master of his domain.
Collage and drawing prove ideally suited to the rebel mind-set, perhaps because, as Rachel Howe's "Teenage Art Manifesto" offers, "The tools of the teenage artist are cheap, simple and accessible." Joe Grillo's manic cut-and-paste jobs look convincingly like a misfit could have made them in art class, between sniffs of rubber cement. So do David West's graphite sketches of his "Rad Friends," if you squint a little. Aïda Ruilova's delicately penciled vampire heads and Howe's wistful, girly lap dogs are more assured, but still not too cool for school.
Part catalog, part zine, the corresponding issue of K-48 reproduces many of the "Bedroom" projects plus some notable extras, like Solvej Schou's tribute to '80s Brat Pack underdogs, Liz Armstrong's Ghost World-esque tale of flirtation with a pathetic older man, and the DJ Kid 606's impassioned defense of Britney Spears ("It's not her job to be reading Maximum Rocknroll and Punk Planet and moving to New York. It's just not who she is"). There are also more than a few teenybopper shots of electro groups, part of a music and fashion scene that seems inseparablefor better or worsefrom the whole project.
One of the more studied contributions to K-48 is Mike Paré's Teenage Geography, a CD-ROM video and text exploring "places where adults don't go, places where only the underage hang out, such as beneath bridges or in hidden areas found on rural private property." He could be describing the landscape of skateboarding, as mythologized in the recent film Dogtown and Z-Boys. "Skaters by their very nature are urban guerrillas," wrote Craig Stecyk, an artist and hanger-on who clearly fancied himself the Walter Benjamin of Dogtown, in a 1976 piece for Skateboarder magazine. "They make everyday use of the useless artifacts of the technological burden, and employ the handiwork of the government/corporate structure in a thousand ways that the original architects could never dream of."
Dogtown's legacy, the empty swimming pool that led to the aerial that led, roughly, to Tony Hawk and the half-pipe and skateboarding as we know it, inspired the centerpiece of "Session the Bowl" at Deitch Projects. Titled Free Basin, it's a wooden version of an empty pool, fabricated by the New Mexico collective Simparch. It was last seen at Documenta where, Jeffrey Deitch recalls, "it was treated as a big post-minimal sculpture." The kidney-shaped bowl is a fascinating and sensuous object, constructed on an elevated platform, with curved supports visible from beneath that suggest the ribs of a giant whale. Peering down from the bowl's edge after hours, when it is empty, one can see scuff marks and streaks of shoe rubber on the pale wooden surface.