RADAR 7 - Structure Infrastructure Publication Date: September 1, 2003 Work Ethic The Baltimore Museum of Art October 12, 2003 through January 4, 2004 Work Ethic largely succeeds, as a strong survey in recent art movements or an exploration of the idea of valid labor. What first appear as faults mostly turn out to be conceptual issues, and in that sense, may meet a museum's ideal. Ironically, an exhibit that aims to explain rather than alienate may struggle to get people in the door. The schools of thought—as well as artists—presented here will be obscure to the layman, but upon inspection, prove engaging. The show is sectioned into four parts: "The Artist as Manager and Worker: The Artist Creates and Completes a Task," "The Artist as Manager: The Artist Sets a Task for Others to Complete," "The Artist as Experience Maker: The Audience Completes the Work," and "Quitting Time: The Artist Tries Not to Work." The sections merge from one to the next; keeping one's orientation in mind is helpful but not necessary. The viewer consistently negotiates different facets of one question, "Is this a legitimate experience?" After a stint here at its home base, Work Ethic will travel to selected centers throughout the country; its success relies on the questions it raises, not their answers. A green candy in cellophane, still nestled between change at the bottom of my wallet, signals the positive aspects of this exhibition. From physical remnants to heady questions, as with any experience it's what one brings with them that counts. In Work Ethic we are allowed to cross certain boundaries; the encouragement to "Take One"—to participate physically or otherwise—is seen in numerous places. The survey of works is also surprisingly comprehensive for such a small space, really only a few gallery rooms. Virtually every major group from the 1960's to the present is represented, sometimes famously (Cage's Score for 4'33", Ono's Cut Piece) and sometimes less so (Hi Red Center, Serra's Hand Catching Lead). Instead of being nailed to his Volkswagen, we see Chris Burden digging trenches. Rather than Abramovich eating the onion, Vito Acconci left prints of his bitten body. Choices of artwork are sometimes questionable here. "Contemporary," by Work Ethic's definition, apparently signifies work by and large from groups in the 60's and 70's (Fluxus, Conceptual, Process)—as much a history lesson as anything. The question of validity and worth in art has indeed come under scrutiny in the later part of the last century, but labor as theme could be extended much further. Truly contemporary (i.e., recent) selections feel stuck-on, last-minute, and those left out become that much more important. Though impressive, Roxy Paine's painting machine is one of few works produced since 1990 on view. While exhibitions by nature can only deal with works created before their time, artists piggybacking on Fluxus or Minimal themes are as active now as ever. Couldn't much of contemporary work be qualified with "The Artist Tries Not to Work"? Or, does that effort ultimately equal that of a Rembrandt or Close? The irony is thick; after all, seemingly humorous and slack works by Gilbert and George (Smashed) and Piero Manzoni (Merda d'artista) indeed are wrought with some kind of effort. Their presence within a museum only lends weight to this idea. Thankfully the entire exhibition does not seem like a lesson on bygone eras. One of the most impressive acts occurs during the show: Mobtown's own Hugh Pocock drills a well in the BMA sculpture garden, then introduces found water into the HVAC system. Patrons have no choice but to consume it. If elsewhere we are confronted with evidence of performances rather than the real thing, Paine's Paint Dipper and Pocock's piece redeem the viability of those happenings. Other debates triggered by this exhibit are unanswerable but worthwhile. Is the naïve museumgoer going to have the tolerance necessary to digest these themes? The most heroic attempt in Work Ethic is that it takes on the divide between contemporary public and artist: "Is that art?" As curator Helen Molesworth suggest in her written introduction, the craft of art-making functions within our economic system, where labor roles have changed dramatically since the second World War. "Hard work" is defined by context. The joke inherent in some of this exhibition is not jovial, but cynical. What does a viewer expect from an artist and a museum? What does an artist expect? Tom Friedman stared at a blank sheet of white paper for 1000 hours, and the product is simply that: a blank sheet of paper. The museum deems it worthwhile—the art is in the act itself. But clearly, Acconci planned for Trademarks to exist past his performance, or prints would never have been made. If the merit in Bruce Nauman's Playing a Note on the Violin While I Walk Around the Studio was just the act, there would be no video relic. Perhaps the most profound piece to illustrate Work Ethic's theme is Robert Morris' Box with the Sound of its Own Making: self-contained object, evidence of its creation and human interaction. In a previous RADAR article (issue 7), questions were raised with the hope of being addressed once Work Ethic opened. Some are answerable, some are obsolete. For a museum show, Work Ethic is as close to contemporary as anything in Baltimore's recent memory. For up-to-the-minute experimental forms, we are lucky enough to have CHELA, Area 405, and trusty New York City right up the road. To answer the feminist question, embracing feminist work is one way of acknowledging gender roles in contemporary art. Yoko Ono runneth over in this exhibition, as arguably she should, and by default many Process and performative works are masculine by their nature. The exhibition does as fair a job as it could-the balance it strives for is in its survey. All in all, the presentation is a success. Witnessing many of the acts and happenings is impossible, and that's the point. But a show full of evidence is good enough, because it is well explained—on the wall, in the catalogue, by the work itself. Patience is necessary for someone new to this history, because as with anything conceptual, appreciation is not immediate. Lauren Bender