p.s.1

Now for a review.

Saturday, February 6th, a few of us rallied the bravery and energy needed to forge to another borough and spend the afternoon at the museum of modern art, in queens (it might sound dramatic unless you’ve survived a new york winter – the lethargy of february leaves you with just barely enough patience to deal with the mta’s weekend service changes, rendering you short fused and freezing when you find yourself in an unfamiliar borough at the end of the journey. “This better be good” is not the overall attitude you’re trying to achieve on a saturday).

I had never been to p.s.1, the museum, only the summer warm up, a much different experience indeed. The exhibition we were loosely aiming to visit was a live action visual arts performance, comprised of three separate groups.Of the three, Cheryl (will ruin your life) was by far the most impressive. 4 kids who all went to Emerson college in Boston, they describe themselves as “a video/performance collective that explores the themes of mortality, mania, the feline-human connection, the limits of shoulders, the flammability of dollar-store hair extensions, and the staining power of fake blood.” Or, in my friend Bethany’s words: “basically they like cats, gore and dancing.”

Now, I don’t like cats, I do like shoulders, or at least what my shoulders allow me to do when I dance, and I have little to no experience with fake blood (my halloween costumes ranged from ballerina to princess as a little girl, and sexy ballerina and sexy princess as a college girl), but I do like me some modern art and I love me some performers who know how to entertain and involve. Cheryl did both. To set the scene, I should mention their act was preceded by a guy who got a hair cut from his father to the tune of war drums, and a girl who wailed un-melodiously on an electric guitar with colorful static projected behind her, for about ten minutes too long. I for one felt uncomfortable because I didn’t ‘get’ what these people were trying to ‘evoke’ in me as a ‘spectator’, and my occasional stifled snicker was met only with glares from unsympathetic ‘serious art goers’, a group of which I apparently am not a member. I can appreciate the previous artists’ inner expression or whathaveyou, and the guts it takes to show said emo’s to a room full of strangers. But I personally was not moved in any way, shape, or form by what can only be rumoured to be Dadaism Personifed, in the room floored with records, this chilly Saturday afternoon. So you can imagine my surprise when my friend bethany handed me a cat mask. “Put this on.” I did. Why not? We moved over to the corner where a video was apparently about to be screened for us. People wearing cat masks on their faces and heads and around their necks idled facing the general direction of the wall, uncertain of what to expect. Why are we wearing cat masks? Does it matter? What was displayed for us was a compilation of 3 videos from past cheryl events, similar to the one below. More can be found at Cheryl’s tumblr.

Strange, funny, and just as off the wall in principle as the guy who’s dad made a hair helmet for himself from the artist’s freshly shaved head. But something about Cheryl makes them more provocative. Maybe it’s the humour, or at least self awareness, that allows the viewer access to the artists endeavours. There were stifled snickers alright, but without the glares of disapproval. These performers *had* to know how silly they looked, they are in cat suits and capes for cryin out loud. But it wasn’t just being silly, the seriousness to the performances, the professionalism of it all was contageous. I want to know what they know, I want to have as much fun with fake bodily fluids and glitter and have a disco in a washing machine, as they are. Herein lies the difference, what sets Cheryl apart. They want to make you see, and feel, changed with their dance parties, and in effect, ruin your life.

There was a tenseness in the air, like in the first row of a comedy club – you’re hyper aware of your surroundings and searching for non-verbal cues that might prepare you for the breaking of the theatrical 4th wall. The 4th wall came crashing down right after the video montage. A few plants in the audience rushed the stage after a few rounds of a choreographed set, I posit they were plants because they knew the dance routine and simultaneously got on the stage. Shortly thereafter, all spectators were encouraged to join the dance party, a feat made easier by the members of the group running around the stage and audience and room, leaving no corner safe to stand without feeling like you were in the middle of a dance floor – rendering every bystander helpless to resist the beats. Making eye contact with my fellow museum goers, with a shrug of the ever limiting joints that are our shoulders, we were soon all dancing in our cat masks, summer warm ups seeming not so far off after all.

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Tags: art, cats, cheryl (will ruin your life), museum, ps1, review