The return of the red-brick alternative

Art in America, Jan, 1998 by Eleanor Heartney

The weather on Oct. 26, the date of P.S. 1's long-awaited reopening, wasn't very promising. Drizzling rain that turned heavier at times stymied plans for an open-air concert in the newly graveled courtyard, forcing musicians John Cale, Elliott Sharp and D.J. Lo-ki to retreat to the teeming indoor reception area. But the rain didn't keep hordes of art lovers from pouring in from the subway and expressway. For most of the afternoon, a bottleneck persisted at the new walled entryway that now separates the familiar three-story red-brick school building from the surrounding Long Island City neighborhood.

Conservative estimates put the crowd that Sunday at 10,000. The caterers reported that there were at least 3,000 people on each of the three floors at any one time, The roof, which had also been annexed for exhibition space, had to be closed off for fear of collapse. Visitors, ranging from the cognoscenti to the merely curious, shuffled shoulder to shoulder around mobbed drink tables, up the narrow staircases and into cubicles and mazelike corridors filled with newly minted art. It was a triumphant confirmation of director Alanna Heiss's belief that her freshly renovated contemporary art center could pull in an audience to rival its formidable competitors across the East River.

P.S. 1's exultant return is all the more remarkable considering its apparent decline in the years just prior to the institution's closing for much-needed renovations in 1994. In part, the problem was physical -- in the mid-'90s, visitors to the drafty former elementary school were confronted with roped-off stairwells, crumbling walls and sagging ceilings rather uncertainly propped up with 1-beams. As conditions worsened, more and more of the building was placed off limits. But beyond the structural decline was a larger philosophical problem. During its heyday front the late '70s to the mid '80s, P.S. 1 gained the affection of New York art aficionados by offering, as critic Nancy Foote put it, "The Apotheosis of the Crummy Space." The place was delightfully funky, cheerfully unorganized and remarkably open to the off-beat, the underappreciated and the just barely emerging. But by the early '90s, art and commerce had formed an uneasy alliance. Museums were going global and many upscaling alternative spaces found themselves competing for artists with savvy commercial galleries. In this environment, P.S. 1's let's-all-roll-up-our-sleeves-and-make-an-art-center mentality seemed seriously out of step with the zeitgeist.

But zeitgeists change. Having shed various earlier appellations -- The Institute for Art and Urban Resources, The Institute for Contemporary Art, P.S. 1 Museum -- the newly rechristened P.S. 1 Contemporary Art Center makes its return in a much more sympathetic art environment. Revulsion against the boutique invasion in SoHo has spurred an exodus to the still chicly unchic spaces of Chelsea on Manhattan's far west side. Despite periodic announcements by art arbiters that installation, performance and site-specific art are passed, these anti-commercial forms of artistic expression continue to gather strength. And while the art stars of the '80s, some of them slinking back to art-making after inauspicious Hollywood directorial debuts, have diminished in stature, the seminal figures of the '70s are enjoying renewed attention.

Thus, it seems fair to read the tremendous turnout for the reopening ceremonies both as a sign of nostalgia for the kinder, gentler '70s and as a vote for a less commercially focused art world. However, the reopening makes it clear that P.S. 1 has not emerged from the convulsions of the '80s unchanged. In a recent conversation, Heiss noted that during the "money episode" of the 1980s, P.S. 1 did not share in the general largesse and hence was well equipped to weather the subsequent art-market crash. But with a staff enlarged to 10 or 11 (the exact figure seems in doubt), 40 percent more exhibition space, and a commitment to remain open year-round, she admits that the institution she heads "will need much more money."

In this respect, P.S. 1 shares the dilemma faced by other contemporary art spaces: how to balance necessary growth against the risk that expansion will dull the cutting edge by holding an organization hostage to fund-raising. Any number of factors have fueled an expansionary trend among museums and alternative spaces, including the global scope of contemporary art and the belief that since "money follows money" a bigger institution has a better chance of attracting funding than a smaller one does. The issue Heiss now seems to face is whether P.S. 1 can compete for needed funding while retaining the anti-institutional aura for which it is famous.

The architectural renovation provides a visual metaphor for the slightly schizophrenic nature of P.S. 1's new identity. The most dramatic change is the complete reversal of the building's orientation, and the creation of a walled courtyard which leads to the new entryway. The old entrance was an inconspicuous door on what has become the back of the building -- the flank that faces Manhattan. Now visitors pass through a grand labyrinth of high concrete walls which mask out the surrounding neighborhood. These lead into a vast open space which serves as a sculpture garden. Viewed from the courtyard, the rectangular masses of the building have the monumental and subtly diminishing quality of something out of Fritz Lang's Metropolis. This effect is accentuated in the opening show by Marina Abramovic's attenuated 35-foot-high chair, which towers over visitors approaching the main entrance.