Bring Back Free Clicking!

Okay, nytimes.com, we need to have a talk. The "contextual dictionary," if that's what you're calling it, isn't cute or clever. It's not helpful. It's just a pain. The New York Times may be the paper of record, but I'm not putting up with a pop-up record for every word I double click.

Oh, I double-click words—and how. I'm a habitual screensifter. When I'm reading something on the screen, I click, double-click, drag, and highlight words. Any and all words, whole blocs of text, I don't care. Idly but mercilessly, and according to rules of symmetry and aesthetics so sure and precise I won't detail them now, I highlight and grab and drag sentences, even whole paragraphs, anywhere I damn well please. If I want to just nervously click on words, that's what I do.

But the NYT wants to ruin my games—and worse still, prevent me from reading at all. I'll be the first to admit that screensifting is an obsessive–compulsive disorder (and probably a genetically inherited trait for which I'm not to blame), but nevertheless, there it is, absolutely unavoidable and necessary to the process of reading the digital fishwrap. Now, the double-clicking that happens accidentally and incidentally when I read the NYT online produces an endless, intolerable string of pop-up windows, each presenting dumb definitions for words I already know—words like "to" and "seven" and "November". It's enough to make a body read washingtonpost.com.

Yet I want to read the NYT—I want to read the likes of Roberta Smith, shake my fist at David Brooks, curse the fortune of Jennifer 8. Lee. And like Mike DeBonis points out, the Grey Lady's Web site is actually quite good, probably the best in the biz—but for being wholly insufferable in this one overriding regard.

So, screensifting reader, let's collectively ask the NYT to reconsider. I made the button that you see for any and all to use who are sympathetic. Remember, while you yourself might not be afflicted, someone you know surely is. And all he or she wants is an opportunity to read about how the other half marries. Everyone deserves at least that.

So upload your own button and use as you like. Here's a larger version to resize to suit your purposes. (To that end, Mac users can use Resize.) And a mighty please and thank you to the Governess, without whose Photoshop software and expertise I'd be just another voiceless clicker. Everyone now: BBFC!

Drawing Restraint 13: Drawing Restraint Harder

Matthew Barney, Drawing Restraint 13: The Instrument of Surrender, 2006. Cast petroleum jelly, cast polycaprolactone thermoplastic, self-lubricating plastic, and black sand.

The only meaningful way to suss out the difference between supplemental props and capital works in a Matthew Barney show is to check the tombstone text* for a number after the title—e.g., Somethin' Silly 26. But even that tactic failed me at Barbara Gladstone, where, on first glance, I saw a grab-bag exhibit of sculptures and production drawings from Drawing Restraint 9 (which I have yet to see). On closer examination (of the gallery's Web site, that is), I realize that one—well, one or two—of the sculptures is in fact Drawing Restraint 13: The Instrument of Surrender. I wasn't able to puzzle much from this piece at the gallery, and figuring that the works were mostly supplemental to the film I haven't seen anyhow, I breezed by it, eager to see the drawings that my gallery-going partner JM was so enthusiastic about.

My error, right? The artwork DR13 is (was) a site-specific performance; the sculpture at Gladstone is to some extent an artifact of that performance—which goes some way toward explaining why it's so much less accessible than the other works. It appears to be some sort of platform landing wedged into a vaseline landing. Several meters away there's a cast thermoplastic table that I took to be a different sculpture altogether, what with the realistic (and, frankly, plain stupid-looking) plastic-cast desk implements on top of the table. It didn't occur to me that these two sculptures—joined by a pair of plastic-cast shoes under the table and dollops of vaseline seemingly leading from the tread/landing—were two parts of one work.

I'm willing to accept that I missed the April 2 performance and might not be able to read too much into this particular piece. (The artifact, anyway, was totally obscure to me.) But the show opened on April 7, several days after the ostensible site-specific performance. It makes sense that Barney doesn't do live performances at this stage in his career—the crowd would dwarf the gallery, I'm sure, and anyway I get the sense that Eric Doeringer is gonna assassinate him one of these days. Keeping a low profile is an advisable strategy.

Matthew Barney, Drawing Restraint 13: The Instrument of Surrender, 2006. Cast petroleum jelly, cast polycaprolactone thermoplastic, self-lubricating plastic, and black sand.

Here, again, I'll concede that the functional DR13 artwork might be the artifact-sculpture and not the performance—there's all sorts of precedent for that. (Janine Antoni's Gnaw is the first that comes to mind.) In that case, I'd write DR13 off as obscure, and Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time Barney's taken that hit. But here's why I feel duped: The performance was recorded, and the recording will be played alongside the sculpture(s) . . . at SFMOMA, beginning in July.

Barbara Gladstone is not a gallery of modest means, and it's perfectly within the gallery's power to install an appropriate video display to accompany the work. Five will get you ten that the reason this didn't happen is that Barney requires a more professional film-editing job than could be jury rigged in 5 days.

That's just my speculation, and take it with a big glop of vaseline. But insofar as that's the case, it signals a negative development in art production. Already the pervasive opinion exists that video art does not "compete" with artistic film, since video artists lack the technical knowledge or equipment to make fine-looking movies. That's an unfair attitude that shows a poor understanding of the difference between the two genres. If a film recording of a Barney performance must share the production values of a Barney film, it's an unfair attitude to which Barney lends his weight. Couching the piece in terms of performance but holding out on showing that performance for a slicker production raises the bar for what viewers should expect from video installations and artifacts. If that's what's happening, Barney's dividing the house against itself.

Now, Barney can dictate entirely when and where his art will be received; he was careful about controlling the release and distribution of The Cremaster Cycle. But Gladstone's press release claims that "[t]he site-specific performance DRAWING RESTRAINT 13 acts as a formal and thematic coda for the exhibition." More in sadness than in anger, I say: no such luck. The work wasn't quite installed.

UPDATE: But what was the performance all about, anyway? It looked to me as if somebody "landed" on that vaseline beachhead, marched over to the table, sat down and started signing treaties. Ben Davis says: pretty much.

Near the gallery entrance, there is also a sculpture incorporating a metal platform and a wedge of congealed petroleum jelly, the remains of Drawing Restraint 13: The Instrument of Surrender, a filmed performance executed behind closed doors on Sunday, Apr. 2, during which Barney emerged from a crate atop the platform dressed as General Douglas MacArthur, fell into the jelly and then proceeded to sign several of his works with the aid of two actors.

* Name, Title, Date. Materials.