The Contemporary Gladiator

Today's gladiators aren't necessarily the testosterone infused warriors above. Nor are they slaves and enemies of the state. Instead, the mortals drawn to engage in battle are plucked from the hoi polloi, the masses, and there have been many works of contemporary fiction that borrow this idea of commoners competing against each other for society's entertainment. Classic examples such as Stephen King's The Running Man and The Long Walk and Koushun Takami's Batoru Rowaiaru (Battle Royale), plunge your local neighbour, relative, and workmate into dangerous arenas that are broadcast to multitudes. I'm currently engrossed in reading the Hunger Games trilogy, and when the protagonist clinging onto life could be someone you know or even yourself, the immediate drama that unfolds becomes visceral.

Indeed, the allure and addiction of reality television is that ANYONE has the potential access to recognition and rewards but at a high risk. It's less random than a lottery ticket, and the exposed psychological reactions provide a fascinating study into the range of human emotions. A brilliant satire of today's obsession with reality TV can be seen in the film Series 7: The Contenders by director Daniel Minahan. In it, five everyday Americans are selected to fight to the death while a camera crew and producers document every blow and weepy confessional. The film is presented as a straight marathon of the show's 7th season featuring a return champion vying for her freedom. Oh, she's also pregnant.

In a more positive light, certain reality shows include the spin of including educational demonstrations and showcasing actual talent. It reminds me of a sub-genre of documentary films that follow the aspirations of quirky individuals performing in niche competitions: prepubescent spellers in Spellbound, scrabblers in Word Wars, and Chinese campaigners in Please Vote for Me come to mind. Works of fiction in a similar vein include the classic Chorus Line and Christopher Guest's deadpan movie, Best in Show.

The most radical form of schadenfreude catharsis arrived in Josh Harris's art experiment, QUIET: We Live in Public. Ondi Timoner's documentary of the same name (We Live in Public) reveals the dark and deranged footage of about 150 volunteers living together in a NYC basement fully wired with webcams and monitors. Every participant lived in a podlike bunker equipped with a TV set that showed live feeds of the orgiastic compound. No square footage was safe from scrutiny: the communal shower, dining hall, and other pods where people openly fornicated. To encourage uninhibited behavior, illicit drugs were available buffet style, and there was even a shooting range where people could go aggro after undergoing one-on-one sessions with a live-in psychologist who snapped people's spirits like uncooked spaghetti (all under the lens of course).

Two critical elements distinguish themselves in QUIET's dystopian rave party:

1) It is a non-stop surveilled environ rather than an edited product.

2) The participants of the project are simultaneously the viewer and the guinea pig.

There's something romantic about the notion of living so openly and publicly. We are ALL in the public sphere (especially so if you have a Facebook, Twitter, Blog, or even just an email account). Why not just admit privacy is a Matrix-y illusion, right? On the flip side, We Live in Public shows that a buffer or distance between fellow men and women is necessary to maintain sanity and a semblance of self. Humans are prone to attachment and sometimes the groundswell of community and fellowship can lead to activism (see: 99%) or hysteria (witch trials anyone?). I haven't figured out yet what factors contribute to where the needle pitches (light or dark) once a collective force has gathered. I only know that the technological social sap that glues us together is tasty and addictive stuff. People like Mark Zuckerberg are billionaires for knowing first.

To read about someone's experience in QUIET:

http://post.thing.net/node/2800

Watch Ondi Timoner's trailer for her excellent documentary here:

Week 1 - And we're back.

Well, for a lot of non-art people (and even currently working artists), there are numerous questions about how to land on the elusive planet known as the "art world." My background as an artist/professional began 14 years ago with a strong interest in theater stagecraft: set design, painting, lighting and costume design. I worked on numerous productions for a stellar high school theater program (Niles North in Skokie - seriously, look them up), and it was my involvement in all aspects of the stage that got me curious about deeper questions regarding why people create things that seem to serve no function at all. In other words, art.

I had taken art classes as a child too, usually preferring it as an elective to activities like tae-kwon-do and baseball. However, it was nearly a decade later when I met my first real, live, working artist that I knew, "YES, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life!" All illusions of becoming a pediatrician, forensic scientist, Harvard lecturer, [insert tiger-mom dream job here] vanished forever.

These days, I split my time wearing multiple hats to 'live the dream.' It's useful being a jack-of-all trades, but if you have a ferocious vision, that's even better. I apply most of my time in the studio to develop my practice while working part-time as a freelance assistant for other more established artists. I also devote about two days a week working for a contemporary art gallery whose artists show in major international biennales and museums around the country. My 'gallerist/curator' resume was about 10 years in the making, but more on that in a future post.

This week's theme, which is somewhat relevant to being in the art universe (ok, I'm reaaaallly stretching here) is about situational awareness. More specifically, though: HOW TO WATCH REALITY TV!

One of my secret hate to love / love to hate personal traits is that I'm a fanboy of various reality TV iterations: the original seasons of Real World and Survivor, Project Runway and the penultimate -- RuPaul's Drag Race! C.harisma, U.niqueness, N.erve, and T.alent, bitches! In this unique Venn diagram of art and reality TV, somehow I found my moment [Anyone want to make me a jpeg here!? Pics plz].

So here are two tips on enjoying any reality show:

1. Immediately, when the show begins, I pay very close attention to the sound editing and background music that accompanies the introduction of characters. Is the music upbeat and cheerful? Bumbling and oafish? Sad and melancholy? Music is the first indication of how editors want you to feel about certain characters before they've even opened their mouths. When Russell from Survivor walks on 'set' do you hear a hero's anthem or villain music? Does Tanesha from Bad Girls Club seem to have clownish trombones syncopated with her every step, or is it Flight of the Valkyries blasting from the speakers. Watch again. How do sound editors portray characters based on music alone?

2. Any contestant on any reality show that immediately is 'forgotten' by the panel of judges -- whether you're modeling a handbag in roller-skates for The Tyra or cooking pasta using avocado bat foam is D-O-O-O-M-E-D!! The worst sin on any show is to be unmemorable or boring. Better to regret than forget -- that is, stick out even if it's a bad thing rather than trying to blend and fly below the radar. Survivor may be one of the few exceptions, but I usually keep my eye on the character that the judges seem to have lost sight of.

All right, I see the noose coming. Next week a real topic: Curation. What the hell is curation and how do you do it??

Until then. Comments!