Doug Aitken’s Black Mirror is a place at once sacred and mundane, retro and high-tech, a sort of chapel from the disco era, a human-size jewelry box. Aimed at contemplation and entertainment, the installation consists of a hexagonal structure with ceiling and walls covered by black mirrors. At the center of this space, there is a smaller structure, a sort of coffee table, also hexagonal. Five screens (one on every wall except for one) show actress Chloë Sevigny getting on and off planes and checking in and out of motels. All screens present the same image at the same time, producing infinite reflections. In the video, we see Sevigny as she traverses, suitcase in hand, corridors, drives her car, sits in an airplane, and packs and unpacks her bag. In one instance, she fires a gun in a shooting range, but for the most part, she is on the move or in her motel room, speaking on her cell and using her computer. The change of landscape is inconsequential to her, and, therefore, it is hardly seen. She seems to have no connection to anything but to herself and the worlds contained by her technological gadgets. Thus, the room becomes a micro-cosmos in itself: a stage where acrobats pole-dance around her bed or a couple of men stand outside her window singing, very appropriately, I only have eyes for you, for the song deals with someone unaware of his surroundings. Sevigny looks at the camera and says: “Never stagnate, never stop, exchange, connect, move on”. In its reiteration, exposure has become meaningless to her and nothing seems to register any longer. This demystification of traveling continues in another exhibition room displaying a white plaster wall sculpture with the words “sun set”, and several photographs of dusk, the quinta-essential image of promises fulfilled, new beginnings, romance, and exoticism, that is, of travelling.
Two recent films deal with existential emptiness, Shame (2011), by Steve McQueen, and Somewhere (2011), by Sophia Coppola. In both, the protagonists seem to live an endless repetition of identical, meaningless experiences, which pile up on top of one another but amount to nothing. Doug Aitken may suggest something similar (this thinning of experience in contemporary life), but, to me, he doesn’t quite succeed. There is a sense of self-indulgence in Black Mirror that I cannot pin point exactly. Maybe it is that I find the hexagon excessive (a too heavy rhetoric devise for such a piece) or that the camera lingers too complacently on Sevigny, making it difficult to pass beyond her, but the truth is that, despite its beauty and impeccable facture, Black Mirror ends up falling short.
Galería Helga de Alvear, Madrid
www.helgadealvear.com
www.dougaitkenblackmirror.com
January 19th – March 10th 2012
Author : Emilia Garcia Romeu

































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