(courtesy of antena)

Smith is evasive when discussing the details of his project. It is designed to be “nomadic,” he says, as in, “you can pick it up and take it with you.” When pressed, he describes the show as “the story of cast-off materials, told through a haunted tutorial for survival.” The intention is vague, but productive. His method of assembling detritus is well suited to his purpose; the grisly scenes he constructs seem to present a perspective that is consistent with the nature of materials that compose them. The weatherproofed windows and “backpack pandemic ventilator” probably do not function, but they realistically depict what such inventions might look like. The colorful set-up recalls the chambers of a disturbed mind, obsessed by the possibility of world catastrophe, reacting desperately to an onslaught of threats in a disordered surplus of activity.

Smith says he draws inspiration from his years in the Boy Scouts, where he learned how to whittle and build fires, attaining the rank of Eagle Scout. It is this formative experience, he says, that first drew him to a philosophy of survivalism. “It runs in my blood,” Smith says. One can’t help but wonder what kind of scouting experience Smith had: his artistic vision, and the significant part that sadomasochism appears to play in it, is distinctly at odds with the traditional ethos of the Boy Scouts. The stark worldview implied in the installation is the antithesis of the scout’s commitment to “providing service” and “reinforcing ethical standards,” and it clashes with nearly all of the values encoded in Scout Law, such as Obedience, Kindness, and Charity. Of the ideals championed in the scout’s code, Thriftiness is the only one supported in the show.

By way of context, the artist provides what he claims is a citation from the literature of the U.S. paramilitary organization the Michigan Militia: “Those that have not will attempt to take from those that have. If you prepare to survive, you deserve to survive…If you have the kind of intellect that’s geared to survival, it may be a matter of genetics.” This Darwinian worldview, which exalts survival as the highest value, is amply represented in the show. Smith says that the Michigan Militia is a “sponsor” of the show, but it is unclear if there is any real connection.

“Inland Architect” is graphic, disturbing, and ultimately ambiguous in its effect. However, it is successful in displaying a lurid sight of the depths to which the will to self-preservation can reach, and continues the series of provocative shows featured at antena.
antena, 1765 S. Laflin St. Opening reception February 19. Friday, 6-10pm. Through March 20. By appointment only. (773)257-3534. antenapilsen.com

(courtesy of antena)

The turquoise title screen at the beginning of “Cheat Codes: lessons in love” puts love in terms of video games: juxtaposing cheat codes with relationships and comparing players to the viewers of the exhibit. The new video art installation at the antena gallery uses this opening statement more as a caution than a credo. This short, playful definition sets the tone for a show whose connection to video games and digital culture is far from obvious, but whose overall meaning is derived from references and influences that are as contemporary and relevant as electronic media themselves.

Curated by Amelia Winger-Bearskin, the show features work by twelve video artists and animators whose styles differ significantly, often to powerful effect. Bubbling beneath the surface of Eunjung Hwang’s animations is an apt, if hackneyed, commentary on our society’s technology-induced atavism. In Hwang’s piece, two-dimensional figures hump and harm one another with disturbing rapidity, all the while maintaining vapid, expressionless faces that reflect as much on Hwang’s choice of medium as they do on the video’s overall motif of passionless stimulation.

Another standout piece is Amber Swanson’s video, in which a blow-up sex doll is battered and abused in three different settings: a wedding, a park, and a trade show for the adult entertainment industry. In the first circumstance, trendy young Chicagoans point at and joke drunkenly about the eerily lifelike object, all the while remaining acutely aware of the odd nature of its presence. Later, in what is probably the most moving moment in the entire show, two women wearing hot pants and shirts emblazoned with the Girls Gone Wild logo pose suggestively for an off-screen camera. Each time they freeze for a photo, their likeness to the doll is overwhelming. It seems that to Swanson, both the doll and the girls are hollow, disturbing byproducts of the objectifying tendencies of the culture that produced them.

In some ways, “Cheat Codes” benefits from its disjointed arrangement. Although Grant Worth’s psychedelic video collage bears little resemblance to Jason Martin’s green-screened performance art, the pieces hang well together precisely because they lack obvious similarities to each other and to the work’s ostensible theme. The superficial incongruity between the pieces is a reminder to the viewer that the show is devoted to what is unseen or unobvious.

But not all of the works in “Cheat Codes” present these contradictions gracefully. Jennie Brinkager’s piece features a neon-clad belly dancer being raped by and eventually wrestling with men dressed as Vikings in what appears to be a strip mall parking lot. Text detailing the artist’s views on immigration runs along the bottom of the screen, providing an awkward accompaniment to what is already a somewhat questionable subject. Jay Schleidt’s video has a more comfortable setting. His grainy footage of two amateur musicians plucking the tune of “Sweet Home Alabama” is one of the less gripping pieces in the show, but it also has one of its more poignant moments: one of the musicians starts howling incomprehensible lyrics into a microphone and the camera cuts to a dim and cluttered room, with the young performer still wailing off-screen. The haunting image seems to represent the collapse of the hopes of the musicians at the hands of frustration and domesticity.

Cheat Codes is less about game consoles and onscreen avatars than it is about the treacherous nature of identity. The videos that make up the show all provide insight into a culture whose constituents must maintain several personas at once, be they sexual, political, or virtual. While some of the pieces seem to falter in illustrating this idea, there are quite a few jewels embedded in this eclectic collection.
antena, 1765 S. Laflin St. Through February 6. Hours by appointment. (773)257-3534. antenapilsen.com

Still from a film to be shown at Death by Design Co. (Courtesy of Edra Soto)

Miguel Cortez founded antena in his home, after the closing of his previous gallery, a three-person collaboration called Polvo. The project space takes up about half a room and houses most of its work on the apartment’s west and northern walls. The gallery hosts artists from around Chicago free of charge, although Cortez gets a share of any pieces sold in his gallery. “It’s non-commercial, more experimental,” Cortez says of antena. “I let the artists alter the space for installations. I don’t focus on the commercial aspect of it.”

“Zombie: A Mindless Affair” is unusual for an antena exhibit both in that Cortez is not the curator and in the sheer number of participants. “Usually the space is just for a few-person show,” Cortez explains. Interested in the idea of a topical show, Cortez outsourced a project to local artist Edra Soto. “She’s shown here before, and she’s had a couple of solo shows here, but this time I wanted her to curate something,” says Cortez. Soto, whose work has been featured at the Museum of Contemporary Art, decided to focus the show on both the metaphorical and the literal living dead. On antena’s website, the show is described as addressing “issues referring to the mindless self in a social spectrum: leading and following; acts of automatism and fanatic behavior.” Soto assembled a group of over twenty local artists to provide literary, film, and 2D art works for use in the exhibit. It opens with a lecture and discussion hosted by Soto, followed by a screening of a film by Death by Design Co.

Death by Design Co. is a Chicago special effects enterprise that was started by artists Michelle Maynard and Teena McClelland to provide clients with a personalized, staged “death.” Maynard and McClelland will join author Scott Kenemore, who specializes in zombie literature, and artist Mindy Rose Schuartz, who is featured in the show, in the panel discussion this Friday.

Most of the art currently on display at antena was made by Cortez himself, including several wood-prints, a print-out of the aforementioned Facebook experiment, and a video still. At the end of the week, the space will be lined with artwork more appropriate for Halloween. “That was the choice by Edra, to go that route,” Cortez says of Soto’s thematic choice. “I gave her the field to do whatever she wanted, and she chose zombies… She came up with that idea, to coincide with Halloween festivities and the Day of the Dead.” Despite the seeming frivolity of an art show about zombies, Cortez and Soto have higher themes at play. The show’s description cites the zombie as “a starting point to engage in ideas of death, mindlessness and symbolisms for the occult and inexplicable”; areas with which antena has already established ample familiarity.
antena, 1765 S. Laflin St. October 23-November 21. Hours by appointment. Opening reception October 23. Friday, 6-10pm. antenapilsen.com

One of Nick Black's Mutant Toys; courtesy of antena gallery

Rubber seems to be almost entirely absent from the scene…until one sees it seeping through the walls by way of Paul Nudd’s drawings. Slimy greens and dirty browns assume organic forms resembling hairy amoebas and other oozing blobs. Each drawing features a short message, either a humorous catchphrase or a random combination of words, absorbed into the flow of the composition.

Nudd also furnishes the gallery with a large, black, smoke-emitting sculpture which blends in with its environment by clouding its own image. One corner of the room is dominated by its four hollow heads, each taller than the people staring through its eyes to the back inside surface. Each is connected to a tubular post, all four of which merge into one long tube at the base. A smoke machine positioned at the opening of the communal tube generates white smoke which slowly creeps into the room through the facial orifices. After a few rounds of smoke machine magic, the small room takes on a hazy atmosphere through which the distorted sculptures shimmer like relics from mystical religious ceremonies.

Amid the drawings, the mutant toys, and the four-headed smoke beast, podiums are dispersed throughout the room, supporting more darkly fanciful works of sculpture. This almost cluttered organization creates a surprisingly comfortable space in which viewers can feel right at home. Despite what some would probably consider unsettling imagery, the room facilitates a friendly, open environment in which to embrace such a collection. The curator seems to have meticulously thought out and arranged the objects in the space. What could have easily turned into a random muddle is successfully distributed throughout the gallery. In addition, the warm lighting helps maintain an atmosphere at ease with the disturbing art objects.

At the opening, Black fit right into the scene. He hurried to join any interested viewers, excited to share the story of the piece before them. His enthusiasm illustrates the vibe of the gallery and the type of genuine enthusiasm about experimentation in the arts that antena promotes. In the spirit of Cortez’s space, everyone excitedly engages with the art before them and shares ideas about new projects and events.

Black and Nudd have successfully created an environment in which the fanciful and bizarre both find a comfortable retreat. But while the installation provides an interesting aesthetic challenge, the art maintains itself at a certain relational distance from the observer. There is limited potential for breaking the ice between the fluidity of human emotion and the explicit absurdity of the images. That said, if you find yourself having a weird day, this exhibit will be thoroughly engaging, even refreshing.

antena gallery, 1765 S. Laflin St. Through March 21. Saturday, noon-5pm or by appointment. (773)344-1940. antenapilsen.com

But history is no deterrent for Amelia Winger-Bearskin. Winger-Bearskin, a trained opera singer turned video/performance artist, has been curating a series of time-themed video art group shows, whimsically inviting time travelers to congregate in one location. The fourth and final installment of the series, ”Time Lapse: antena,” will open in Pilsen’s antena gallery this Friday in a last, grandiose gesture, as Winger-Bearskin describes, to “make sure there is progress in this time-space continuum.”

“Time Lapse: antena” features the work of several video artists with differing stylistic tenors. As varied as their content may be, the videos are all displayed through the common technique of time-lapse photography. Images are played at a faster rate than that at which they were filmed. This time-lapse mechanism creates an illusion in which time unravels at an uncannily fast pace, forcing the immobile viewer to shed his thoughts on the imperturbable continuity of time. That is, until the video images overlap, causing “holes, lapses and mistakes,” adding yet another dimension of improbability to the exhibition. “Watching video art in this fashion is similar to time traveling,” says Winger-Bearskin. “Time traveling in this way is similar to another form of experiencing history.” Despite the uncertainties and broken moments projected on the screen, Winger-Bearskin says she composes the selections of video art to present a comprehensive viewing experience.

Winger-Bearskin, who teaches visual art classes at Vanderbilt University, shows her own work through the video art collective [PAM], the Perpetual Art Machine. She claims to be “greatly interested in exploring the fourth dimension in art, and [challenging] the visual experience in addition to the temporal connection to artistic experience.” Much in line with her realm of interests,
Winger-Bearskin’s earlier exhibitions in the series have explored the way in which people are goaded to respond to explicit manipulations of time. “It is important to me when I create a work to consider the viewer as an active witness, one whose own imagination is limitless and capable of moving beyond the mere suggestions of the piece,” explains Winger-Bearskin.

The three earlier exhibitions have opened in various American cities in the past two years. The first, ”Time Travelers,” was shown in 2007 at Polvo, antena’s predecessor in Pilsen. The subsequent ”Time Machine” was shown in Washington, DC’s Meat Market Gallery earlier in 2008. ”Time Lapse” opened in Nashville not long after.

Much to the chagrin of the artists and viewers involved, there was only a “mild turnout of time travelers” for the first curation in Polvo. Winger-Bearskin claims that the subsequent exhibitions in DC and Nashville produced a greater turnout of time travelers who “loved the live performances with the videos.” It is to be noted that the final installment of the series returns to the city in which the first took place. Perhaps this circular tour will compel more time travelers to reveal themselves.

”Time Lapse: antena” will be open to the public until December 20. Those curious about what would ostensibly bait time travelers are encouraged to partake in the viewing experience, but, of course, those of lesser curiosity are welcome as well. Let us just hope that Morlocks do not have an affinity for video art.

antena, 1765 S. Laflin St. November 21-December 20. Saturday, noon-5pm, or by appointment. antenapilsen.com

Later this month, on October 18-19, there will be another gallery tour in Pilsen: Pilsen Open Studios. But this one will not be Podmajersky-supported. This art walk roughly spans an area known as West Pilsen, running from May Street to Western Avenue, from 16th Street to 24th Street. West Pilsen is considered the more “Mexican” of the two Pilsens, and outside of the National Museum of Mexican Art it may be more known for its taquerías than its galleries. But West Pilsen has an art scene all its own, with younger, smaller galleries, local artists, and no corporate protector. The West Pilsen art scene is more dispersed with no equivalent of the packed stretch along Halsted, but 18th Street between Blue Island and Paulina (including the Pink Line stop) has a relatively high concentration of artistic spaces.

This stretch includes the headquarters of Polvo, an art collective founded in 1996 by Miguel Cortez, Elvia Rodriguez-Ochoa, and Jesus Macarena-Avila. The gallery space Polvo has maintained on and off is far from its only contribution to the West Pilsen art scene. The collective puts out a self-titled magazine at irregular intervals, and since 2003 they’ve hosted the Pilsen Open Studios. This year the event will open at 5pm on October 17 with “Made in Pilsen III,” a show featuring more than 25 artists at the Prospectus Art Gallery (1210 W. 18th Street). Here we have assembled a sampling of the galleries of West Pilsen—some old, some new, and some still unborn.

antena
antena is a new gallery from Polvo co-founder Miguel Cortez, so last April it opened to high expectations. By all accounts they have been met, and antena’s third exhibition, which closed last weekend, received positive reviews in the citywide press. On Friday, October 10, antena opens its next exhibition, “Spire Reloaded,” by Patrick Lichty. During the opening reception, Lichty, a Columbia College professor, is also showing a virtual sculpture on Columbia’s private island on Second Life. Lichty’s sculpture, and the exhibition as a whole, focuses on the recently demolished Berwyn Spindle, the so-called “car kebab” that drew tourists to a suburban mall parking lot for almost twenty years. “Spire Reloaded” continues antena’s tradition of immediately accessible art, which began with its first exhibition last April, “What Makes a Man Start Fires?”, which used video games, night vision, and Superman’s X-ray vision to comment on violence in our society. 1765 S. Laflin St. Saturday, noon-5pm or by appointment. antenapilsen.com. (773)344-1940

No Coast
The eight members of the No Coast collective first started working out of their studio at 17th and Laflin about a year ago. On October 11 at 3pm, they will officially open their storefront to the public with a barbecue, bands, and an art show, although regular hours began on October 1. Don’t be fooled by the awning outside left over from a sandwich store; inside, instead of pop, candy, and ice cream, you’ll find poster art from local venues like the Hideout, zines, apparel, screenprints, fiber arts, records, and more. In the basement is a printing studio for use by the collective and other local artists. “We really want to be a resource,” says No Coast member Alex Valentine. In keeping with that mission, No Coast hosts a variety of events, including periodic “screenprinting lock-ins,” where guests can use the facilities from 6pm one day to 6pm the next. (The next lock-in will begin on November 7.) The collective also hosts film screenings on the first Sunday of every month (starting this month) at noon, curated by Bike-In Cinema, and on October 25 they will host a 24-hour horror movie marathon. Valentine says the group enjoys their location in West Pilsen, off Halsted’s beaten path. “I feel like there’s a big difference,” he says. “Things are more active and messy over here.” 1500 W. 17th St. Wednesday-Friday, 1-7pm; Sat, noon-7pm; Sun, noon-6pm. (312)850-2338. no-coast.org

Golden Age
This clean storefront space on 18th Street, less than a block away from the Pink Line, is more than just a gallery or bookstore. Golden Age is a true center for area artists, selling and displaying books, music, jewelry, visual art, and sculpture, like the gigantic, perfectly aligned pyramid of beer cans in one display window. Marco Kane Braunschweiler, a graduate of the School of the Art Institute, started the store a little over a year ago and has received “a warm reception from the neighborhood.” As opposed to the Chicago Arts District in East Pilsen, which he calls “a little contrived,” West Pilsen is “pretty in flux right now” in Braunschweiler’s estimation. “Where there’s open storefronts [around here], those storefronts often turn into galleries,” he says. “It seems likely that there’ll be a lot more art spaces. There’s a positive atmosphere here, people are really interested in cultural events.” Braunschweiler has hosted his share of these events, including film screenings by experimental filmmaker Ben Russell (“Black and White Trypps”) and others. In the second or third week of October, Golden Age will open an exhibition by Jihee Kim consisting of “taxidermied animals along with various other sculptured things,” according to Braunschweiler. 1744 W. 18th St. Thursday-Sunday, noon-6pm. (312)850-2574. goldenagestore.com

Colectiva 18
One of the oldest art collectives in West Pilsen, Colectiva 18 began almost twenty years ago in a building on Halsted near Cermak. At that time, it was a studio for artists and printmakers, but after its move to its current location at 18th and Bishop it expanded into something of an arts-based community center, with everything from guitar classes to theatrical performances. Since then it has undergone a series of name changes, many of them incorporating the portmanteau “mestizarte,” a blend of the words for “mixed-race” and “art.” The word “Mexican,” common in previous names, has been discarded from the current moniker because it excluded people from other countries, according to collective member Isaura Gonzalez, a former professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago. The collective was once associated with Pilsen legend Carlos Cortez, a poet, artist, and activist. Now it counts artists such as Victor Alegría and Jose L. Piña Moralez among its ranks. Colectiva 18′s next exhibition opening will take place on October 11, from 6:30pm to midnight or later. 1440 W. 18th St. Saturday-Sunday, 1-6pm.

Using an intrusive shock therapy-type method, Noelle Mason created the show “What makes a man start fires” with the intention of getting people “to act, to really metaphorically start this fire—to cause change towards something that is better for us as a society.” Much of her work in the show serves to demonstrate how inured the audience is to what she calls “mediating objects,” and force viewers’ participation in ideas from which their culture tends to distance itself.

In “Bob and Weave,” for example, the audience witnesses a video of a fistfight between Mason and a large man projected onto a wall. As the tussle progresses, Mason’s bloodied face bumps in and out of the camera’s frame, the back of her opponent’s head impeding our view most of the time. The viewer is confronted with an image physically too large and too loud to avoid.

Mason’s other visual work is geared to achieve a similarly jarring response. She explains that, normally, “the television is kind of a wall, but also a window in some ways.” The television screen, like a car’s windshield or a white picket fence, is a “mediating object” in that it serves to separate the viewer from what it portrays. The show, however, compels the viewer to transgress these divisions and in so doing makes the audience more aware of the gap created by such mediating objects.

After taking part in “Mise en Scene,” another work that creates understanding by involving the viewer, one cannot help but wonder how many television screens it takes to make us savages. During “Mise en Scene,” the screens serve as a visual gateway to the interior of a white eight by eight foot cube, within which a barely clothed performer stands on a box with wire electrodes attached to her legs and arms. The viewer watches and listens to a television video of other viewers pressing a red button and observing, on another television set, the woman convulsing in pain.

The video-recorded audience members sought to connect with the woman inside the box, but as one of the audience members shrewdly observed, “the only way to communicate with her is to shock her.” In a telling shot a man with black-rimmed glasses repeatedly jabbed the button while looking at the screen, and turned to an off-camera friend while laughing and pointing at the television.

Mason also uses mediating objects to explore the transformation of traditionally cherished American individualism, which she describes “as a very noble kind of effort that got mangled and turned into [a] fearful position where you lock yourself inside of your tract home.”

In the piece “Open House,” the viewer is treated to posters of the detailed architectural plans of “Cul de Sac,” which the program says was made “using prefabricated building materials” such as plastic siding, and then watches a video performance of Mason and several others who built themselves inside this suburban equivalent of Thoreau’s house on Walden pond. It might take more than an axe and some whiskey to change the new individualism they are fighting, but at that moment that’s all it takes to destroy the pristine house from the inside out.

antena, 1765 S Laflin St. Through May 24. Saturday, 12-5 pm, or by appointment. http://www.antenapilsen.com/current.html