By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
Co-founder Jeanette Ingberman flips through a binder filled with the proposals they selected for the show opening March 8the first Exit Biennial, "The Reconstruction." An open call for work related to relocation/renovation/rebirth elicited over 400 responses in a matter of weeks. They chose 34 hard-to-categorize projects: an artist who will live in a life-size incubator for seven days, 24 hours a day; an artist who will clean the floor with a toothbrush; artists who will build a wall out of Jell-O and mortar; an artist who says she can turn anyone into a Puerto Rican (Ricanstruction); three artists who will build themselves a sweatshop and emerge with a product on May 4, the day the show closes.
After 20 years in Soho, Ingberman and Colo are thrilled with their new digs. They're going to build two theaters in the bunker, one for film, one for performance. Colo also promises "the most exotic bar possible" down there. Ingberman likes the fact that they have street-level space for the first time. Looking out at Tenth Avenue, where traffic moves at a glacial pace towards the Lincoln Tunnel, she sees a captive audience and wonders what they might put in the windows.
Of course, Exit Art has always reinvented itself, coming at the art world from unexpected angles, sometimes a lab, sometimes a museum. The first show they ever did remains a benchmark. That was "Illegal America," an examination of censorship that still embodies a core value: representing the underdog. Upcoming exhibits include work on the environment, "The Homo Museum," and four more biennials, the next dealing with traffic.
As Colo once put it: "We say 'exit' to suggest moving away from the established art system and its stereotypical way of thinking. Every exit is an entrance."
The plate tectonics of the art world are shifting again. Exit Art is one of several nonprofit arts organizations currently in transition, though Dixon Place, Artists Space, Movement Research, and Roulette have yet to make their moves.
Exit Art has a 10-year lease and a rent Ingberman calls expensive yet "generous," thanks to a landlord who pursued them. "He knew it would be good for his building and good for the neighborhood." At Tenth Avenue and 36th Street, they sit at the heart of the area Mayor Bloomberg recently proposed redeveloping with a subway extension, a tree-lined boulevard, and high-rises galore. Commercial galleries haven't crept this far northyetbut the new Baryshnikov Center for Dance will open around the corner on 37th next year. Last year and two avenues away (on 36th and Eighth), the Alliance of Resident Theaters took a 20-year lease on a couple of floors which they've sublet to 24 arts organizations. Meanwhile, the Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts bought a building on 39th Street behind the Port Authority in 1998, since converted into studio space for 110 visual artists. It's full, with a two-year waiting list for those who've already made it through a rigorous selection process.
Space to live and work is the biggest problem artists face now. "What happens when everybody gets pushed out to the point they have to send in slides like people in Iowa do?" says Jane Stephenson of the Elizabeth Foundation, a public charity devoted to finding space for artists. Only a few other organizations are trying to address this crisis. The Maria Walsh Sharpe Art Foundation gives studio space to 14 artists a year. Chashama, the artists' organization in Times Square, just got access to a building on 18th Street with space for another 14 studios.
It isn't news that artists get used like detergentcleaning up a neighborhood, then flushed away. What does seem like a huge shift is that some artists spaces are trying to buck this trend by buying buildings. Organizations as diverse as the Bowery Poetry Club and the SculptureCenter already have.
Considering its origins, Dixon Place may be the most unexpected among the would-be purchasers. DP operated for 13 years in the living room of its founder and executive director, Ellie Covan, first in an East Village storefront, then in a loft on the Bowery. Tired of a life in which she could never go home, Covan found a theater in 1999 on 26th Streetin a formerly subsidized space that returned to market rate. So DP went into exile this season, with every performance at a different venue, from the Public Theater to Patio Bar, while the office and rehearsal space returned to the old DP on the Bowery. (Covan walled off a third of it as her apartment.) Exile has been "fun but exhausting," she says. She hopes to find a single venue for next year's work. And she has her eye on a building on the Lower East Side that she wants to own.