Ryan Trecartin

“I just feel the need to redefine everything,” says a character in P.opular S.ky (section ish), the first video that confronted viewers at this survey of recent work by the American artist Ryan Trecartin. This phrase, one of the few that could be heard crystal clearly, sounds as if it should be taken as this young American artist’s mission statement. Indeed, how successful Trecartin’s work is in “redefining” video art, and whether it is going to be relevant in even a few years time, were topics heatedly debated throughout Toronto this spring.

The Power Plant programmed two bodies of work—an interconnected trilogy from 2009 that includes the aforementioned P.opular S.ky and the four-part Re’Search Wait’S, 2010. Trecartin, recognizing that our society suffers from attention deficit disorder, seems to construct his videos in fragments, intentionally. Because of this, it’s not necessary to watch all his videos to get what they are about. For some viewers, this was a small mercy for which to thank the artist.

Trecartin’s videos examine the practice of using online social media to construct an identity. They are populated mainly by the artist and his friends, who are often tricked-out in cheap drag and makeup. (In this way, the videos have a queer sensibility, but not in any way erotic.) Also, their voices have been digitally altered, usually pitched higher. Trecartin and his crew are an interesting lot to watch. They have boundless energy, and the sense that they are having tons of fun is infectious; but for some viewers, this isn’t enough to make Trecartin’s work watchable.

Trecartin suggests that, because of social networks like Facebook and YouTube, the opportunities for constructing and reconstructing one’s identity are infinite. But a strange thing happens when viewing several of Trecartin’s videos back-to-back: they start to look and sound the same. They are loud and edited at a frantic pace, which Trecartin himself has said will seem slow in another few years. At the mid-point of several videos, the pace seems to accelerate further; the voices lose any semblance of clarity, and a lot of objects get smashed. Defenders of Trecartin’s work say that this sensory overload is the point: Trecartin’s work satirizes all the pointless and narcissistic yammering and posturing that occurs on the Internet, using the tools that make it possible in an attempt to devour the system from the inside. But it’s just as easy to argue that Trecartin’s work is what is self-indulgent. Once viewers are no longer able (or willing) to comprehend, can it be argued that a work is successfully conveying anything? To some, the chaos and “plotlessness” of the videos is the point, reflecting the disorienting rabbit’s warren that is the Internet. To others, it simply grates. His approach almost begs viewers to shut down and walk away.

Those who walked away, however, missed out on the brashest show seen here in quite some time. Many interesting and incisive things happen in Trecartin’s videos if you can bear them. [At this point, I will admit that I found some intolerable—I gave up on K-Corea INC.K (Section A) after 10 minutes—but was totally engaged by others.] It’s not possible to discuss each video here; however, The Research (from Re’Search Wait’S) was a standout. In it, Trecartin cast Disney contract players who apparently didn’t have that certain spark that put Zac Efron and Miley Cyrus over the top. Although these young people are very aware of the camera, something genuine manages to come through. Despite their altered voices, it is evident they can truly sing, and despite the rapid-fire editing, you can tell they can dance. Their dialogue is peppered with movie-set lingo—“Refresh the set!”—and sound bites based on their real-life experiences: “Speaking of your individualism and your shelf life, can I advertise on your body again?” barks one of the young women, humourlessly. One hopes that they found being in this video cathartic.

“I think we’ve all been here before,” complains the same character from P.opular S.ky. And she is right, we have. The Dadaists and the Beats, Jack Smith, Andy Warhol, David Bowie, Leigh Bowery and even Madonna have attempted to critique our homogenized, stultifying and conformist consumer society by infiltrating the distribution networks that prop the system up. In the late 60s, musician Frank Zappa and his band, The Mothers of Invention, created vinyl recordings full of found sound effects, snippets of strange dialogue and mash-ups of ragtime, psychedelic rock and early electronica. Zappa wanted listeners to have a “freak out” while listening to his records, and it seems Trecartin is inviting viewers to do the same while watching his videos. He isn’t an inventor yet, but for now, he is certainly a mother of a re-inventor. ❚

“Any Ever” was exhibited at The Power Plant in Toronto from March 26 to May 24, 2010.

Bill Clarke is a Toronto-based visual arts writer and the Executive Editor of Magenta Magazine, an online visual arts journal.