Michael Smith & Joshua White at Lauren Wittels - New York, New York - Review of Exhibitions - Brief Article

Art in America, Oct, 1997 by Janet Koplos

Since the mid-'70s, Michael Smith has been developing the arts of blandness and pathos, mostly through the invented persona of a loser in denial called Mike. The disparate works in which Smith appears as Mike constitute a variety of theater that focuses on the establishment of character, scene and mood more than on plot. Last fall, at the Brooklyn gallery Pierogi 2000, Mike recounted, in installation, performance and video, the honor of being invited to apply for inclusion in an organization called Outstanding Young Men in America -- and his discovery that he was actually past the age limit. Two years earlier, Mike and a collaborator packed the house at Jay Gorney's SoHo gallery for two performances of "Adult Entertainment," a sort of faux-naif vaudeville routine.

In this latest installment, at Lauren Wittels, there was no performance per se. But with an installation so thorough and convincing that some visitors thought the gallery had moved and been replaced by a tacky business, Smith reached a pinnacle of achievement. The meticulously complete environment started at the gallery door, where photocopied notices stuck up with duct tape promised "our valued customers" that "Musco" was not going out of business but only relocating. Musco, one learned inside the doors, is a "music-color" firm, purveyor of light-show and other illumination equipment, supposedly founded in 1969 by Mike, along with Joshua White. Although Mike is fictional, White is a real person who once made light shows at the Fillmore East and who collaborated with Smith for this exhibition.

Images of slow but earnest Mike were seen everywhere -- in the Musco commercial running on the TV by the sales counter, which told the story of the firm's founding and its merchandise innovations, on the detailed new-product announcements hanging on the wall in plastic sleeves, on the bank of fake video monitors in the "display" room, in snapshots in the Musco office. The office walls were papered with photos, diagrams, posters and a framed dollar bill. The desk was smothered with three Rolodexes, a full ashtray, a file folder of bills. Shelves were stuffed with supply catalogues and draped with chain loops of color chips, while gel samples covered the switched-on light table. In the "display" room a mirror ball, strobes and other devices did their razzle dazzle above a table piled with discounted merchandise.

Consistent with Smith's notion of theater, the installation lacked a conclusion, although it did offer a chronology (Musco's attempts to keep up with the times) and a modicum of suspense (would Musco survive?). As the set for this representation, the installation was not merely a sensory environment but had the depth of an individual and social history. But what tied the work together was the dramatis persona of Mike, the schlemiel Everyman, who was mostly seen alone and plodding. A mix of Willy Loman and a neurotic from a Woody Allen movie, Mike follows the rules for personal and business success, without success. He is both funny and tragic. Only as a creation is he masterly.