If at any point in your life you happened to be a kid, you're probably familiar with a Slinky. Try to remember the wonder and amazement you felt the first time you watched a Slinky tumble down the stairs.
Artist Eric Singer's solo exhibition, "Living in the Future," showing now at SPACE gallery, Downtown, is a show of oppositions. Mr. Singer combines a childlike sense of wonder with the perplex spirit of seeing our childhood memories dangling from the ceiling -- accompanied by off-the-wall electronic music, of course.
If you're one of those uptight art enthusiasts who holds your nose higher than the work itself, "Living in the Future" is not for you. Mr. Singer has created a show that encourages what most of the artistic elite fear more than anything; he allows you to touch each and every piece in the collection, which ranges from a xylophone to windchimes.
In this space, children are as welcome as the artistically conscious, and the interactivity is more than a gimmick. There's a context to the art on display here, and the artist makes that very clear. But then again, it's OK if you don't walk away feeling as if you just experienced a Duchamp exhibition for the first time.
Within this exhibition, Mr. Singer single-handedly challenges so many preconceived notions about art and how it's displayed. It's not often the casual artgoer readily lines up to experience the dazzling wonderments of computer programming, software design and multimedia engineering. This show minimizes the pretentious, stuffy feeling usually associated with galleries yet also eliminates the cold aura typically associated with technologically complex geeky stuff.
What comes as a surprise is that the sophisticated mechanical composition of Mr. Singer's pieces are not emphasized in the slightest. This is a fully interactive experience that children are supposed to enjoy just as much as their parents. That is, if their parents aren't too busy wrestling with their inner 12-year-old as it bursts from inside at the thought of plucking a Slinky as it dangles from the ceiling.
It's this kind of childlike innocence and sense of freedom that immediately takes over upon entering the SPACE gallery to view (all right, to play with) Mr. Singer's creations. The immediate aural overload tugs at the childhood you've kept hidden for years as beeps and boops almost indistinguishable from the electro swishes and swooshes pulsate throughout the gallery, begging for their sources to be explored.
What you'll find are objects that were clearly not, upon their initial creation, meant to burst with the sonic overload of a Kylie Minogue concert. The "Guiro-tron" draws inspiration from the traditional instrument. The cylindrical structure mirrors the physical makeup of a typical guiro, complete with ridges and a sticklike object to brush over them. What results is not a hollow clicking noise as tradition would suggest, but rather an onslaught of electronic bliss that can be manipulated, distorted and even swapped out for another song by pressing any combination of the buttons lining the piece's casing.
Other pieces achieve similar more-than-meets-the-eye levels of fascinating complexity, including the "Sonic Banana" and the "Marimbot," both of which appear to be unremarkable objects yet come alive with even the gentlest of motions.
The Marimbot is activated by simply waving your hand above a metallic silver box -- no precision of motion required. It's this kind of reinvention of the way music is made that makes Mr. Singer's work so enticing. The physicality and calculated manner of creating music on a "normal" instrument is eliminated, yet the pleasure of creating blissful harmonics is still there. This sort of forced perspective is entirely alternative to how we're used to digesting (and for some of us, creating) music.
And that's really the main draw of "Living in the Future." The LEMURtron, tucked away behind a black curtain, emanates with perhaps the loudest (thanks in part to the instruments as well as from those interacting with the piece) sounds of the entire show. A giant screen lies flat on the floor as dozens of neon-colored spheres are projected onto it. The artist's note urges spectators to actually step on the screen. When they do, motion sensors send the spheres careening to every corner of the screen, triggering the orchestra of rudimentary instruments to come alive.
Most pleasing to the ear are the soft pluckings of guitar strings that seem to be missing their typical wooden sounding board. Instead, mechanized fingers spin various picks across their surface, creating gorgeous melodies that wouldn't feel entirely out of place accompanying one of filmmaker Sofia Coppola's iconic cityscape shots. The entire experience is a dazzling assault on the senses that invites you to indulge in the carefree fantasy Mr. Singer has crafted.
While "Living in the Future" might be a bold reconstruction of familiarity, just down the street at the Wood Street Galleries exists a thematically complementary (yet stylistically contrasting) show by Bill Vorn. "Hysterical Machines" has its last showing today (11 a.m. to 5 p.m., free admission).
The show encompasses two levels of the Wood Street Galleries, both of which contain installation pieces comprising robotic arms that move with humanlike precision yet retain a cold technological dexterity. Mr. Vorn's robotic pieces are bathed in nightclub-esque lighting and tinged with dark techno basslines thumping overhead, in a way functioning as the antithesis to Mr. Singer's work.
Mr. Singer prides himself on disguising the mechanical makeup of his pieces whereas Mr. Vorn's pieces function as immediate transportation to a technologically overloaded atmosphere. Both shows, however, ultimately retain an immersive sensory experience that complements the other, warranting a visit to both if for no other reason than their close proximity.
While both artists are undoubtedly pushing art to new limits within "Living in the Future" and "Hysterical Machines," neither has forgotten the simple art of creating an amazing experience.
"Living" continues through June 26 at 812 Liberty Ave., Downtown. Admission is free. Hours are 11 a.m to 6 p.m. Wednesday and Thursday, 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sunday. Information: 412-325-7723 or spacepittsburgh.org.
First Published: June 19, 2011, 8:00 a.m.
