P.S. 122 FIELD TRIPS
I can understand doing it; what I can’t understand is why certain artists behave as if it’s never been done before. Artists worth their salt, particularly in this century, push boundaries; that’s just a given. But the act of testing formal boundaries does not in itself make an artist good. It’s rarely radical form that offends or excites–it’s radical content. The artists of Field Trips attempt a radical content of sorts, by creating onstage personas that are solipsistic, ironic, and vaguely infantile. But Samuel Beckett did that 50 years ago.
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But how do you concoct a likable persona in our skeptical age? Danny Mydlack gives the most direct answer in his piece, “A Danny Sampler.” This accordionist/singer/comedian is so self-consciously self-conscious that he comes across as both cutting-edge hip and a throwback to earlier forms–he’s a Jimmy Stewart who stammers and blushes, watches himself stammering and blushing, and stammers and blushes some more. I don’t doubt for a minute that there’s something naive and a little square about the real Danny Mydlack, but when the onstage Danny removes his shirt to make an easel of his own chest (he covers it with shaving cream), his little smiling grimace of modesty–“I have to do this for my art”–is pure camp. Ditto for Mydlack’s opening pose, hands clasped ingratiatingly in front of him in the manner of a damp-palmed minister. If Letterman ever decides to retire, Mydlack could replace him as the king of irony.
Ann Carlson, a dancer/performance artist, presented two excerpts from two different series: “Middle Child” from “Real People” and “Sarah” from her “Animal” series. “Middle Child” starts with a report by the ditsy performer–a middle child herself?–on the way birth order affects personality. (Carlson is so apologetic about introducing this bit of pop psychology I thought she must be making fun of it; but as the piece went on it seemed she was relying on birth-order ideas too much to be able to ridicule them.) Then she launches into a description of her favorite TV programs as a child, and we’re invited to watch them with her as they’re projected on one wall (nothing ever appears there).
The music of violinist Guy Yarden and a short film, “Footsie,” by Pat Oleszko rounded out the evening. “Footsie” essentially records the old childhood game of pretending your index and middle fingers are legs, but Oleszko outfits her “star” in tiny anklets and Mary Janes. “Footsie” does have an element of visual shock–the star has too many knees, and of course she’s always out of scale with her environment–but it’s a childish joke that can barely sustain a film even this short.
