Last week’s visit to the New Museum’s Be(com)ing Dutch closing party made me contemplate of the value of the exhibit curator.
While looking at some of the installations on lower floors it was difficult not to feel the weight of the obsolescence of it all. My tolerance for sitting through a media exhibition that wasn’t tailored explicitly for me has been greatly lowered because of the availability of more compelling & timely work out in the streets & tweets. Having become accustomed to using cable TV’s, PC’s and portable media to curate my own entertainment media ‘exhibitions’ at home as well as on the go, I fear that curation may go the way of desktop publishing and disc jockeying. Meaning:
The tools used to curate media exhibitions are widely available and a person’s formal training in this skill is no longer the barrier to entry.
A high point of the talk was hearing about the resistance that the curators of Be(com)ing Dutch received from artists and citizens concerning how museums were no longer qualified to create compelling exhibitions for their community, about their community with art that was housed inside of buildings which created a barrier between the community that co-created the art and the art itself.
There are a few spots in NYC that feel like portals to me, crossroads that make me stop and take notice.
DJ Herbert – Kenneth Herbert Hyman
DJ Scribe – Ben Goldfarb
DJ J.Period – Joel Astman
DJ Mark Ronson – Mark Ronson
DJ Workhorse – Jonathan Schnapp
DJ Cassidy – Cassidy Podell
DJ Bill Sharp – William Sharp
DJ Captain Planet / Chuck Wild – Charlie Bethel
DJ $mall Â¢hange – James Dier
DJ Cosmo Baker – Cosmo Baker
DJ AM – Adam Goldstein
30ish, came of age in a multicultural 90’s world, sons of Steve Jobs, indicative of Obama’s progressive, wealthy, educated, White, male demographic talked about by the cable media pundits. Rumors of a regime shift, away from a Presidency funded by the old guard oil guys, toward one funded by the ex-hippies and hip nouveau riche tech guys.
He was screaming at the top of his lungs in front of the bar. Or he was nodding off to sleep in an armchair, a tilted glass of ruby wine dangling from his fingertips. Still, it could be he was dragging on a cigarette sitting with his legs crossed flitting ash and exhaling smoke, his head banked to one side in mid conversation. Then again, he may have very well been laughing loud and obnoxious, his shoulders heaving underneath a jokeâ€™s imminent weight much to the surprise of the surrounding uninformed.