The Knee-Jerk Mirror

February 02, 2018

An androgyne in a skin-tight blue dress, long bleach-blonde hair and a mirrored mask completely hiding any facial features wanders a bustling city street, inciting heckling that quickly escalates from harmless hijinks to bizarre violence, all the while the figure remaining entirely silent, even after being screamed at and eventually attacked.

This mirrored-mask figure has become an icon of performance art cross-pollenated with reality tv. The mask rendered the human beneath into a kind of silent cyborg, the mirrored surface simply reflecting the viewers’ own faces and fears, the lack of any language exchanged and facial expression read making the masked figure a representative of the Unknown — the ultimate human fear. The show is on view until February 11th.

Interview by John Martin Tilley
Photos courtesy of New Release Gallery

The artist behind the mask is Signe Pierce, a colorful multimedia artist who has installed a light show and the video on loop at New Release Gallery, paying homage to the gallery’s location’s former incarnation as a video store in Chinatown.

What was the inception of the idea for this video?

American Reflexxx was filmed in the summer of 2013. Prior to filming it I had been spending a lot of time writing and thinking about femininity, objectivity, reality, and using my body as a medium. I was interested in the unfettered truth that occurs “in reality," aka when you’re walking down the street. I wanted to experiment with fusing performance art with this truth in reality.

Alli Coates and I had been dating for about a year, and we were interested in filming something down in Myrtle Beach where her family had a summer home. Being two femme women in love was an interesting experience for both of us, because we were constantly being objectified in public by men as though our relationship was some pornographic fantasy come alive for them to ogle and muse. We wanted to take this “spectacle of femininity” and flip the gaze somehow, and the mirror mask was a perfect metaphor to help create that framework. Our initial objective was to film something beautiful in reality with this mirrored, cyborgian creature, but we had no idea what kind of violence was going to ensue once we hit the streets of Myrtle Beach.

Why do you think people reacted the way they did?

I think there is a general fear of “the unknown” for a lot of people. If someone sees something that they don’t understand, the reflexive inclination seems to be to fear it or hate it. We never set out to troll the people of Myrtle Beach or make an example out of them, but I feel like they revealed their own insecurities and fears by having such an obnoxious reaction to something they didn’t understand.

People are also often suspicious of anyone who chooses to conceal their eyes. I think the fact that I was hiding my identity created a sense of unease, especially when paired with the stripper heels that made me 6’4 and taller than everyone on the strip. There’s something eery about seeing this provocative figure that you’re used to seeing on a screen. Instead of her existing as some fantastical object to be consumed, she’s in front of you, standing tall whilst hiding her identity and mirroring the gaze back unto the observer. There was something intrinsically sinister about that.

I think it’s interesting to note that only one person throughout the entire film dares to name it “pretentious high art." Aka, only one person thought “Maybe this is an art piece." To me, it just goes to show how much art needs to exist in places outside of cities and metropolitan areas. Art is a helpful way of educating and enlightening people, which was part of why we wanted to do that performance in the heart of America as opposed to in NYC or LA.

It reminds me of the Marina Abramovic piece in the 70s where she laid out tools on a table, including knives and a loaded gun, and allowed gallery goers to do anything to her body. Do you connect with this idea? Were you, as Abramovic later claimed she was, prepared to die?

Yes, Rhythm 0. A lot of people have compared this performance to that piece, which makes a lot of sense, because they both confront mob mentality and submitting to the free will of the audience. I deeply connect and relate with this piece and with Marina’s work. I saw The Artist Is Present retrospective at MoMA when I was in art school and it had a profound impact on me. It was the show that got me thinking about using my body as a medium, and how much power it can convey. She really cracked open my perception of what art can be, and how we can express ourselves by using ourselves.

I’ve considered the idea of dying for art many times. Part of what makes reality so consuming to behold is that, when the subject and the events are transpiring in front of you are real, there’s always the lingering possibility that death can/may occur. It’s why watching a reality show is intriguing, even if it’s banal. You’re not watching fictional characters, you’re watching real humans, who could die at any moment. I was writing about this idea recently and summed it up with the phrase: The totality of actual reality is contained in our mortality: death. If I were to have died that night, that would’ve been my fate— the totality of my mortality.

The mask is an integral part of the piece — why does it have such power, do you think?

The built-in metaphor of the mask being a mirror was super essential to the success of the piece. It was able to say so much, without having to actually say anything at all. I think there was a serious power in watching these people have to look at themselves while they were committing abusive and angry acts.

In the months leading up to the performance, I had been thinking a lot about the inherent objectification of women and how we’re consistently dehumanized as being consumable objects of desire, and nothing more. I was so fed up with feeling like I couldn’t walk down the street without being harassed, simply for being a femme, and kept thinking about how much I wanted to flip the gaze on those who dared to objectify us. The mirror mask really helped to unlock this concept. It became a mantra/mission statement of mine around this time: “Objectifying you objectifying me." Aka, I’m going to flip this derogatory gaze back unto you. I will turn you, the objectifier, into the object. I’ll use my hyper-feminized body as a Venus Fly Trap to ensnare your objectified gaze. I’ll use this mirror on my face to reflect that violating gaze back unto you. I’ll use cameras to capture you as you wish to capture me.

Above: Marina Abromovic after Rhythm 0 and Signe Pierce after American Reflexx. Signe: "There was a brief moment after the performance ended where I took of the mask and stared at the crowd who had just dehumanized and assaulted me. Alli and I agreed that we didn't want to include this part of the footage in the film, because we wanted the identity of the cyborg to remain masked. But I think it's uncanny to see how similar my expression is to Marina's at the end of her performance."

Your work on instagram is so playful and colorful, how does that connect to your ideas of performance?

I think my Instagram can kind of go along with the aforementioned Venus Fly Trap metaphor. I like using beauty, color and aesthetics to get my work onto people’s radar. Maybe someone who isn’t privy to looking at queer intersectional feminist performance art will fall into the “trap” of my alluring Instagram imagery, and suddenly they’ll have some political ideology thrust onto their periphery. It’s sort of about the art of seduction, in an abstract way, which is what a lot of my performance work employs.

I also just genuinely love light and color and creating lush scapes and dream worlds. It’s a coping mechanism to help deal with the brutality of reality. I think people like looking at my photo and light work as a form of escapism. People have told me that they find my work to be therapeutic, which is beautiful.

You’re known for using “reality as an artistic medium” — I’m fascinated by this, tell me more.

The idea of Reality as a Medium is about not being limited to ideas of what can and cannot be art, and about allowing life itself to be art. It definitely borrows from Duchamp’s idea of the Readymade. In this case, our lives are Readymades. The things we do day in and day out have the possibility of being contextualized in an artistic manner, if the artist so chooses.

I keep using this analogy to describe Reality Art: Reality (or, “unscripted life”) is the Canvas. The artist’s life is the paint, their body is the paintbrush; moving through time and space to create the painting. When we capture our realities in media (aka video, photo, or any kind of communication data), that creates a framework (a “frame”) for it to exist as art. So, Reality is the Canvas, The Artist is the Paint. When fused together, that creates a “painting." When captured in media, that puts the painting in a frame. And thus you’re using reality as a medium. Reality as Art.

Favorite reality tv show?

I don’t watch as much Reality TV as I used to cuz it feels like it’s all the same, but Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Season 1 will forever be remembered as the program that inspired all of these ideas of using one’s own reality as a medium. I’ll never forget the breakthrough moment I had during my senior year of art school when I was stoned watching RHOBH and the idea hit me that “these women are the stars of their own reality... they’re more than actresses, because they star in the role that is their life." It prompted me to Google the term, “Hyperreality," which I had never heard of before, and that led me to all the studies of Jean Baudrillard, which deeply informed my work going forward.

I also think that the Paris episode in Season 13 of Keeping Up With the Kardashians is legendary. It confronts that idea of “the totality of mortality is death." Kim’s reliving her experience of being held hostage and how she thought she was going to die during the Paris Robbery. It illustrates that tension of what it means to be using your real life as your medium and subject, as opposed to playing a fictional role or character. I love that shit.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

Art

Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

November 15, 2024

There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

Art

The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.