| Bears are perhaps not the most typical subject matter for an art exhibition. In fact, whenever a show bases itself on the premise of something real—something tangible like, say, bears—it catches me off guard. Accustomed as I am to press releases that read like BS-filled college art history papers trying desperately to catch up with the enigmatic art they are supposed to represent, I found myself guarded against the surprisingly clear and concrete language of the press release for “Grizzly Proof”: |  |
Grizzly Proof – Jillian Steinhauer
Bears are perhaps not the most typical subject matter for an art exhibition. In fact, whenever a show bases itself on the premise of something real—something tangible like, say, bears—it catches me off guard. Accustomed as I am to press releases that read like BS-filled college art history papers trying desperately to catch up with the enigmatic art they are supposed to represent, I found myself guarded against the surprisingly clear and concrete language of the press release for “Grizzly Proof”:
“Our story begins with Troy Hurtubise who was attacked by a grizzly bear in the Canadian Rockies. Troy survived and decided that he would one day return to the Rockies, this time fully prepared to win. Cut to director Peter Lynch, who created a documentary called Project Grizzly about Troy and his quest to create a grizzly-proof suit…Flux Factory has invited artists from around the world to create their own response to Troy’s body of work and life’s ambition.”
So this is a show about a movie about bears. Right.
Excitement tinged with wariness, I arrived at the artists’ co-op in Long Island City that is Flux Factory on a Sunday afternoon in March. Walking into the space, I knew immediately that the press release had not lied. Bears were everywhere, and the tone of the exhibition was casual and direct like the language of the release. Refreshingly, Flux Factory is pretty much the antithesis of a Chelsea gallery. What a joy to be allowed—nay, encouraged—to interact with the art in a physical way, instead of spending my time worrying about touching something and being scolded. Caves and sleeping bags to crawl into, foosball tables to play with, sounds to listen to—I felt like a seven-year-old roaming free over an artistic playground.
Project Grizzly, it should be noted, left me amused, horrified and pensive all at once. Accordingly, much of the strength of “Grizzly Proof” came in its ability to elicit a similarly wide range of emotions. The art was thoughtful and thought provoking enough to match the film in its appeal. Yet, like the film, it never relinquished the ability to laugh at itself and the absurdity of Troy’s endeavor. Curator Jean Barberis succeeded in balancing the playful with the grave, the spoofing with the brooding, letting the show come together as its works interacted with and complimented one another.
At all times, the sounds of Peter Lynch’s Outside (the same Peter Lynch who directed Project Grizzly) pervaded the space of the gallery. The piece consisted simply of a tent with a sleeping bag inside of it and a kind of wilderness soundtrack—blowing wind, the noise of earth crunching underneath feet—the sound somehow of coldness itself. I walked around the gallery, taking in everything, but this soundtrack brought me back, time and again, to an imagined, haunting feeling of being outdoors and alone.
Still, I marveled and laughed hysterically at some of the more clever and satirical works in the show. Hiroshi Shafer mocked Troy’s Patrick Swayze-in-Dirty Dancing-esque hairdo by creating I run after you, I run after you baby!, a sculptural arc of wigs that chases after a grizzly bear. Shafer’s statement adorning the wall near the sculpture confirmed the artist’s use of the hairdo as a symbol for Troy’s singularly overt, textbook breed of manliness: “When I finished the movie Project Grizzly, I felt sadness and I could not forget his masculine hair style.” Alternatively, Katerina Lanfranco used her parody of a Natural History Museum display, The Creation of Ursus Horribilis, to highlight the convoluted way in which man tends to view nature with simultaneous admiration and distrust. The papier mache grizzly in her display case goes the way of the devil with horns and an exceptionally long tail in addition to having strange, “pod-like” growths on its body. Lanfranco’s accompanying wall text bites sardonically into the human need to label and explain nature as a way of dominating it.
Other artists went the more serious route—the bright, alert eyes of Bruno Persat’s grizzly wall painting contrasted sharply with the feathered skull that rested on a box in front of it. Still others went for novelty—Chris Hackett and Eleanor Lovinsky created an entirely usable and entirely fabulous Troy vs. grizzly foosball table. The whole show felt like a successful artistic thought experiment with works that existed as much for the viewers as for the creators. The gallery attendant offered to play a game of foosball with me, but, sadly, I was short on time. If I could, I would go back and play as the grizzlies, kicking Troy’s butt in a game of table soccer.
