SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER
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Lively 'Ergonomicon' plumbs environments awash in fantasy

Friday, February 25, 2005

By REGINA HACKETT
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER ART CRITIC

Ned Troide made video-game history with pocket change.

ART REVIEW

ERGONOMICON



WHERE: Consolidated Works, 500 Boren Ave. N.



WHEN: Through April 3. Hours: Thursdays-Fridays, 4-8 p.m.; Saturdays-Sundays, 1-8 p.m.



ADMISSION: Suggested donation $5

He played 62 1/2 consecutive hours of "Defender" on a single quarter, racking up the highest score ever (72,999,975 points).

In his honor, artist Paul Davies created furniture to match Troide's lifestyle.

A drinking fountain from Davies' series, "The Curious Furniture of Ned Troide," is on view at Consolidated Works as part of an exhibit titled "Ergonomicon."

The title's the only dull thing about the show, which serves as the visual art portion of ConWorks' new art, film, dance and music series known as "Vs."

Titles within titles: "Ergonomicon" examines the relationship between the body and the "built environment" within the context of ("Vs.") struggle.

Thanks to a flurry of administrative firings and resignations, plenty of bodies are missing from ConWorks' built environment. Guest curator Casey Keeler pulled off something close to a miracle under the circumstances. He organized and mounted this exhibit featuring video, installations and sculptures from 10 artists while chaos reigned around him.

For the purposes of this show, the built environment is awash in private fantasy, running on dread and dream time. Most of the art is aimed at those who'd prefer their contact with the physical to contain at least a few degrees of separation.

An easy way to find an exit from the world is to pound one into your head. Being in a blackout means never having to worry about what to do next.

If Troide had the use of the drinking fountain Davies built for him, he wouldn't have been able to slip his lucky quarter in the slot. It's a curio cabinet offering a steady stream of whiskey. Davies' other entry is a jumble of reader boards trailing electric cords and flashing messages from a maze game called "Zork." "Zork" works on the principle of the roach motel. You can check into its abstractions, but it's hard to check out.

Ephraim Russell wants to be the boy in the bubble. His spare and perfect "Cleanroom" is a self-portrait of sorts and a haven from organic threat: a clear plastic inflatable retreat built to fit the artist's body and accompanied by a computer pod.

Timea Tihanyi's two haunting sculptures are beds (coffins) for bones (porcelain pillows as a series of spines) and for body fluids distilled to pure water dripping from porcelain cups.

Sami Bin Larbi constructed a set of two pale white booths, allowing visitors to interact with themselves (projected on a screen) or extend their hands for a disembodied handshake.

Michael O'Malley's plywood construction diagrams space instead of sentences. His is a forestlike construction that's built to look as if it grew naturally, its geometries spreading with languorous grace into the air.

By air-brushing out the murders, Bruce Conkle turned video killing fields into lush and unreal landscapes. Snow hovers in baby blue air, and slightly pixilated trees seem to be pausing in dainty mist. It's a gamer's paradise of lobotomized landscapes.

Not all of these artists are into physical renunciation.

Alex Schweder's porcelain "Peescapes" (male shape for females to straddle, female for males to enter) invite your participation, being fully plumbed and operational. His weird blend of formal values and bathroom humor is growing on me.

Fernando Mastrangelo is the missing link between Salvador Dali and Matthew Barney. His rearing merman/dolphin with a flocked black tail for a head is an upscale grotesque, flamboyantly well made.

Sofia Hulten's videos document her devastating work and home environments she allegedly is trying to clean. Martha Stewart, she isn't.

Curator Keeler added another Hulten video as a commentary on ConWorks' current administrative free-fall. Hulten smashes a guitar to pieces in a small white room, glues it together off-camera and then smashes it again when the camera rolls. In the end, she tosses the ravaged instrument over her shoulder and walks away.

Jack Daws' topographical diorama appears to be a Stone Age tennis court. The earth swells in rebellion under his neat rock pile net and boundaries. It's a game without function constructed as if there's no question about its function. I'd love to see it full size in a sculpture park. Deadpan and fierce, it would be an absolute stopper for people in motion.


P-I art critic Regina Hackett can be reached at 206-448-8332 or reginahackett@seattlepi.com.

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