By Chris Lane
By Jef With One F
By Chris Lane
By Olivia Flores Alvarez
By Angelica Leicht
By Jef Rouner
By Jef With One F
By Jef With One F
Each clock is linked to a statistic that is broken down into hours, minutes or seconds. The time increment is written on a clock hand, and the statistic is inscribed by hand on the nearby surface. In the kitchen, for example, a pair of hands tick away on a Life cereal box on which is written that worldwide four children die from hunger every 15 seconds, 75 percent of them under the age of five. A switch plate informs us that a black person was murdered every five hours in the United States in 1999.
The bathroom door reveals that in 1998 an American was diagnosed with AIDS every 12 minutes, and that one died from the disease every two hours. A bottle of hand lotion in the bathroom discloses that the Democratic Party raised $8.56 every second for the 2000 election, while a blue bottle of Noxzema tells us that the Republicans raised almost twice as much, $15 every second. A lamp shade informs us that in 1998 a couple got married every 15 seconds -- and divorced every 30 seconds. A lacy pillow on the bed announces that someone gets pregnant in the world every two seconds.
That millions of children die from hunger every year is a tragic statistic, but it's still a statistic -- a cold, abstract, almost empty bit of information. Learning that four children die every 15 seconds is somehow more immediate. How long does it take you to eat a bowl of Mikey's favorite breakfast food? How many children are dead by the time you finish? Schoyer's strategy of breaking statistics down into real segments of time, and physically inserting them into a convincingly simulated domestic environment is effective. A year can be an unwieldy length of time, but hours, minutes and seconds are much more conceivable. They are passing as you read this
Schoyer involves viewers by asking them to write down on a square of paper how they spend their own time, and then to tack up the sheet somewhere in the house. Contributions include "I spend my time working at a job I do not enjoy. I spend my evenings with people I love." Another person spends his or her time "planning things," spending time planning time. Another viewer tragically reveals, "I spend all my time thinking about art." The installation provokes a contemplation of personal as well as human time.
Linking art and community is one of the cornerstones of Project Row Houses. Houstonian Melissa Noble's purple glitter Juke Joint installation seeks to celebrate the city's blues scene and venues like El Nedo, Etta's Lounge and C. Davis Bar-B-Q, as well as unsung heroes like Sherman Robertson, Joe "Guitar" Hughes, Martha Turner, I.J. Gosey and Gloria Edwards. Once widespread, "juke joints" (usually called lounges or cafes because the Gullah word "juke" means "wicked" and "disorderly," and such establishments were often perceived as dens of iniquity) are becoming increasingly scarce as patrons age and their children's tastes run to hip-hop and pop. Houston's tendency toward slash-and-burn redevelopment may raze these places out of existence. As an outgrowth of Noble's installation, Project Row Houses is presenting a series, "Barbecue and the Blues," on Saturdays at Miss Anne's Playpen, a Third Ward venue at 3710 Dowling.
Students from PRH's after-school program worked with New York artist/landscape designer Paula Hayes to plant a "snack garden" with popcorn, peanuts and sunflowers. Hayes created a portable "Plantpack," a soft knapsacklike container with a living plant. Students took turns wearing the pack, watering and nurturing their plant. Hayes's installation Life Graceful and Green is less successful; it presents brightly colored gestural drawings that incorporate text about life and gardening. It's pretty treacly. Ditto Hayes's artist statement in which she talks about her "ongoing process of creating an art practice which weds all my endeavors concerning love and commitment." She adds, "I am now moving toward another level of synthesis, which will include animal husbandry in the relationships I've been crafting." The mind boggles.
Working with older students, New Yorker Richard Humann had them read lyrics to classic blues songs, including ones by Lightnin' Hopkins, Muddy Waters and Ma Rainey. From the recordings, he created a CD that plays from speakers in his installation Possessions for Judgment Day. The incongruity of children giving voice to adult pain changes these songs into stories meant to be memorized and passed on. The lyrics are affixed to white pedestals on top of which are acrylic resin bars that encase the letters to the words of each song -- scattered and frozen in a clear synthetic amber. The bars are created in the size and shape of U.S. government gold bars -- there are 12 in all here, a reference to the 12-bar structure of a blues tune -- which seems slightly less interesting than the idea of entombing the component parts of a song.