NEW YORK: "The Art of the Motorcycle" at the Guggenheim

Art in America, Dec, 1998 by James Hyde

You have to wonder--what's a dressed-up trade show doing at the Guggenheim? Whatever you might think of the appropriateness of "The Art of the Motorcycle" exhibition at a museum, you had to admit its presentation was exquisite. Frank Gehry's installation was elegant and respectful of Wright's building, whose closest architectural relative is, after all, the parking garage. By simply cladding the ramp with reflective stainless steel, Gehry kept the installation minimal and yet gave it some humor: the steel cladding made the Guggenheim interior look like a giant inverted motorcycle engine cylinder. Barely detectable hardware was used to keep the motorcycles upright, giving an impression of their balance at speed and allowing their design to be seen as purposeful architecture.

Motorcycles are the most exotic denizens of the road and, from this exhibition, it appears this has long been the case, from the torqued-up grandfather-clock and horse-cartlike contraptions of the late 19th century through the bicyclelike machines of the early 20th century to the machines of the 1930s, when the profile of the motorcycle as we know it emerged. At the top of the spiral were the ergonomic and body twisting motorcycles of today. Even the Curtiss V-8, a single-purpose speed-bike that broke the land speed record in 1907 at 136 mph, has a finely proportioned, symmetrical engine. As the commentary surrounding the show proved, the motorcycle is also a lightning-rod for all sorts of personal, cultural, sexual and social obsessions. It's impressive to think about how much effort and imagination has gone into making (and speculating on) what is essentially a chair designed to move at 15 to 150 mph.

As with any large exhibition it is possible to quibble about the selection of objects--couldn't the museum get the legendary 1954 Moro Guzzi V-8 race bike? More significantly, with the exception of the two military machines, a whole dimension of motorcycling was missing. It's hard to imagine, seeing this show, that motorcycles have a utilitarian purpose. With the rush to estheticize and symbolize a functional object, machines that speak of everyday use were left out, and hardly any of the perfectly restored machines on view looked like they had ever been ridden. Also overlooked was the integral role of motorcycles in the developing world, where they are often used and modified in interesting ways. A friend once sent me a photo of a motorcycle in Korea which had been "chopped" to become a trike with a cotton-candy machine added on. Also missing were police bikes, though it's easy to see how these would have cut against the show's themes of freedom and rebellion.

The wide appeal of such themes helped "The Art of the Motorcycle" set attendance records for the Guggenheim. From a museological perspective, the exhibition really was a tarted-up trade show. As such, it becomes an important marker in the shifting relationship of popular and high culture, which has characterized a major discourse in American art since mid-century. Compare this show to MOMA's 1990-91 "High & Low" exhibition. In "High & Low" popular art was represented by a few cartoonists occupying a tiny fraction of the museum, while apart from some brochures and advertisements "The Art of the Motorcycle" was all motorcycles, all the time.