plays violin badly in a good way.
& the Modern Zoo
by Jeff Jahn
an intense and pregnant time in Portland; we have the Biennial and
the Modern Zoo, which I'll cover in depth this month. Still, between
those supposed polar opposites, something is missing.
It's a nagging feeling that probably comes from institutions benefiting
more from these shows than the artists do. So, yes, it is exciting
but I'm missing the mood one gets from David Bowie's "Heroes."
Let me explain.
In "Heroes," Bowie's voice is cracking and the band seems to be
playing in some sort of giant tube with all sorts of reverb.
But somehow his urgent beyond-lust, almost wounded and bleeding
voice holds the whole thing together. He makes his point with his
delivery and it's an individual not a group that cuts
through the din.
Save for a few exceptions, I don't find that convincing, vigorous
delivery in abundance in Portland. But that deadly seriousness and
edge is setting in amongst the general pile of artists here
possibly because of the lack of more distinctive statements at the
Zoo and Biennial.
There are some very serious contenders in Portland, but a majority
of them can't be found at the Zoo or the Biennial. Truthfully, I
can count the most "actualized" serious players on my fingers; they
are not satisfied and most have changed their work recently. I might
add that they generally don't like to be lumped together in ways
of the Zoo and other big group shows.
Instead, for the most part I only find that seriousness in fits
and starts, which haven't displayed the all-important follow through
yet. You cannot be serious part of the time and then cute and apologetic
at others. The exciting thing is there is more and more movement
toward bigger statements. These things do not happen overnight.
"Cock of the Liberation."
To date, though, few young artists have really tried to articulate
what their work is about despite the fact that many do have
some sort of theoretical background.
So where are the big statements? David Eckard made one at the Art
Gym and, to a lesser degree, at the Zoo
others like Bruce Conkle,
Malia Jensen and Matthew Picton also have the goods.
I think Tom Cramer's upcoming show will turn some heads. He finally
gets to show his depth and scope in ways that will take people aback.
So let's set the bar a bit higher.
For example, artists like Alberto Giacometti, Richard Serra and
Picasso were not trying to be heroes. Yet, by their truculence,
each achieved heroic work.
Picasso, aside from his misogyny, refused to surrender Paris to
the Nazis. He painted one of my favorite paintings at its liberation,
"The Cock of the Liberation." I like when people take a stand against
Yet sticking to their own way (even if it lead to an early grave)
gave people like Modigliani, Basquiat and Eva Hesse a kind of legitimacy
that their overall seriousness indicated all along. All were rife
with contradictions but they "owned" their contradictions.
"Distraction," at the Seattle Art Museum.
Instead of distinctiveness many avoid "direction" by
using crutches like silliness, fetishizing failure or celebrating
a general feeling of being lost a very late-'80s-early-'90s
Portland has no monopoly on this malaise, and people like Kenny
Sharf, Julian Schnabel, Inigo Manglano-Ovalle and Jaume Plensa (who
has titles like "Am I?", "Life?" and "Who?") lack this rudder as
well. These artists are somewhat eternally lost, which may be comforting
to other lost people with money to burn, but for me they are tedious.
It is basically Warhol-lite. Warhol himself was never as comfortable
as Schnabel was, and that edge makes all the difference.
Having the edge means knowing yourself. One should take stock of
personality traits, including those all-important strengths and
faults. The trick is to never grow comfortable and take either for
I miss that Kandinsky-Gauguin-Pollock-Gordon Matta-Clark urgency
in art today. Still there are a few who most definitely know who
they are: Karin Davie, Barnaby Furnas, Carroll Dunham, Richard Serra,
Elizabeth Peyton, Tom Sachs, Ellsworth Kelly, Marcel Dzama, James
Turrell, Yek and William Pope.L. I have met about half of these
people and have to say all are fully formed personalities; they
do not need their art to prop up their self-esteem.
I certainly prefer the artist as a symbol of individual freedom
Bowie's "Heroes" kinda says it all: a lone voice that is so desperate
in its delivery that it's powerful despite the fact that
the band playing behind him seems to be in some sort of sonic haze
of bewilderment and comfort. It is probably one of the greatest
love songs of all time. I guess I just prefer to love art, not "tolerate"
art. So, what is satisfying?
Laura Russo Gallery
"Memory in Transit" at Laura Russo.
Elise Wagner's "Memory in Transit" at Laura Russo combines
intersecting circles that look like renaissance scientifica with
an alternate panel of fluffy, almost spontaneous, clouds.
The hasty, unaffected clouds are almost too fresh, like kissing
They are contrasted by the circles, which are too planned, like
an arranged blue-blooded wedding uniting two great houses. The result
is very compelling, just a wonderful fleeting moment with no appointments
It brings to mind Romeo and Juliet. The great thing is this painting
can unite the star-crossed lovers of two aesthetics so well.
Bean Finneran also had a focused and lovely show at PDX. Her forms
are simple, direct and elegant. This focused effect was a complete
contrast to the aptly named Zoo.
I enjoy the fragility and the fact they are made of aggregate elements.
The aggregate effect in art is very much with the emerging 21st-century
Apparently, Finneran lives in the northern salt marshes of San
Francisco Bay. I think she has learned some great lessons about
fragility and natural systems by virtue of her location. Each work
is almost like a puzzle that I would not dare try to take apart.
Portland (through Aug. 31)
"Miracle Boy" (detail).
As an experiment in the emergent complexities of the Portland art
Modern Zoo is a huge success both for PCAC and the scene.
That said, the quality of this vast, mostly uncurated show goes
from sporadically good, like Pete McCracken's display of David Eckard
(bluntly titled "Artist"), to the much more common mediocrity that
the show's missing plan invites.
Thus, the Zoo as a benchmark in chaos makes any future uncurated
or haphazardly curated shows in the city unnecessary.
I cannot say I'll miss it. I guess it is a bit like lighting a
controlled fire the forest will become healthier. In that
respect this Zoo is somewhat of a capstone for the large unwieldy
mιlange shows that have wandered around the city ... I dislike their
focus on the number of participants vs. the actual art.
do we want?
The city already expects more than the Zoo or the Biennial can,
as a whole, deliver. Portland's scene has evolved and with the many
excellent shows in the last six months, I think everyone from the
Museum, PICA, PCAC and various independent curators (myself included)
needs to shut up and reassess their expectations or approach towards
For instance, after the busy last six months, anything operating
as a Portland show that panders purely toward a Portland audience
is probably not thinking big enough. Once again, I am calling for
a seriousness that is sparse at the Zoo and the Biennial, but there
are more notable exceptions at the Zoo, and that alone makes this
experiment very important.
and Co.'s "Beltrunner."
In fact, I think the personal connections this show has facilitated
will lead to the tighter shows we now demand.
For a reverse example, one obvious problem is that the Zoo lacks
initial punch when you walk into the space. This initial reaction
sets the expectations of the viewers and this show squanders that
Somebody should have created something to accomplish that effect,
but there is still time to fix it.
Keeping that evolutionary/revisionist model in mind, the Modern
Zoo has now developed into something very important a lab
of open-ended experiments that's much more satisfying than when
it first opened June 14.
Like a rolling stone gathering moss it is fuller now and many of
the newly finished additions, like Katherine Bovee and Philippe
Blanc's "Under a Pink Sky" as well as C+'s "Bedroom Project," lift
the show from a tedious "I'll pat your back if you pat mine"
self-celebration ... to one where a few works can be described as
provocative installations. That said, the back patting has also
reached a level of fury that puts Jerry Lewis telethons to shame
and I'll try to navigate away from it.
Despite this, the Portland renaissance is legit. We have a scene
that has self-organized to include at least 10 good works out of
100-plus participants; believe me, 10 percent is an enviable number
with this sort of model.
Still, most of the successful works in the Zoo are a bit quiet,
and thus, I question their nerve. Is there anyone out there willing
Zoo from 100 feet away
So is this the start of something big from the huge pack of artists
in Portland? It certainly has mass, but is this representative of
a critical one? Most Zoo participants need to develop a stronger
presentation and critical backbone.
An example of "needs more work" is Kate O'Brian's "Administrative
Oversight," which consists of lots of stenciled sophomoric phrases
on a pink wall. Where is the meaning, other than a general dread
of office work? Another installation from the Red 76 "Ministry
of Small Things," a pink box where you insert questions and
someone inside spews an answer, is similarly cute, pink and a bit
Lucille Ball, but that doesn't make it effective art.
Still, there are a few major standouts, like Bovee, Melody Owen,
Chandra Bocci and C+. They hold up and need to take it to the next
So go see it. There are some truly excellent surprises and more
of them in this giant 110,000-square-foot warehouse space than in
the overly stewed Biennial. There is definitely room for both shows;
they provide nice contrast. Guenther shows the Zoo what professionalism
looks like and the Zoo gives the museum a kick to the crotch regarding
how adventurous media = a challenging show that doesn't patronize
out and why?
For one thing, there is innovative media here. For instance, George
Gessert's experiments in plant genetics have yielded a flowering
plant of his own design. Talking to this interesting fellow, I was
forced to consider this genetic tinkering an art form. In fact,
the flower is named after Edward Steichen, one of the fathers of
Steichen was also an early proponent of plant genomics as an art
Of course, this ran into some taboo fallouts after the Nazis' efforts
came to light and only now has the stigma been overcome by an understanding
that genetic manipulation is just another tool for artists.
Still, I find critiquing a flower difficult. It is beautiful and
the bluish-purple petal pattern is memorable, but unless this thing
opens its mouth and says "FEED ME," I'm going to have
trouble evaluating it. Maybe the field is too young, but somehow
I get the nagging feeling it's the evaluation that makes something
art. Maybe the naming of the plant and its correlation to visual
characteristics is a good place to start, but I'm going to have
to meditate on this challenge before I decide. I love this sort
It's comforting that there are other, more traditional categories
at the Zoo as well.
edginess; the Zoo has it?
edgiest of the Zoo.
Keith Rosson is the edgiest and tautest graphically oriented artist
in Portland. Thus, when he hits one out of the park (which is often)
you do not forget it. He has a great gift for displaying pathos
and grim gallows humor.
Yet the "laugh from fear" joke is often based on a very common
subject, as evidenced in his "I Give You Five Days." I think most
smokers know all about this mis en scène, but here
it is horrible, comic and poetic
a graphic novel in one frame.
Oh yes, Rosson often shows at Zeitgeist and is legally blind.
Rosson's work gives the Modern Zoo teeth capable of drawing blood
in the Dionysian mode. His work has appeared in Thrasher magazine
but he needs something higher profile than his excellent show at
Powell's to move to the next level.
Lutz's "Last Supper."
Rhoda London is another pathos trafficker. But while her "The War
Room" was good, it lacked immediacy befitting the subject.
Erik Redetzke's "Increase Responsiveness" reminded me
of Francis Bacon's "Screaming Popes" meeting Max Beckman's
tuxedoed portrait. There is tension there, but it seems a bit forced.
This work needs to take a quirkier turn.
Ahren Lutz's "Last Supper," depicting death row inmates with their
last meal, is also excellent.
In particular, I like how the space he chose looks an awful lot
like the blank institutional spaces in a prison: art by lethal injection.
Still, the installation would have been more successful if the paintings
had been human-sized, thus more effectively standing in as surrogates
for the dead men.
OK, I am a firm believer in intellectual hedonism and I very much
liked the trend toward "comfort art" at this exhibition.
In fact, the most accomplished and satisfying piece in the entire
show is C+'s "The Bedroom Project."
The project is a collaboration by five artists: Jesse Kaminash,
Midori Hirose, Jonah Groeneboer, John Vanbeers and Jacob Sharff.
This installation is particularly successful because of the contrast
between the curved, ambiently lit gossamer cave walls and the comforting
recessed lighting in the immense row of gridded shelving.
This contrast of womb-like lightness next to the grid makes the
space inviting and the strewn bedclothes and linens add to the effect
greatly. In the grid section, there are intermittent dioramas of
people's bedrooms. These dioramas are sweet but a little hard to
see and instead I prefer the general effect to the details of this
piece. Basically, the dioramas don't take anything away, but don't
add anything, either. They need to be tailored to the overall mood.
to Ernesto Neto?
Maybe some drawings of bedrooms on translucent paper would have
achieved a more integrated effect?
Still, the smell of fresh linens and the cozy surroundings transported
me to a space that was obviously public but completely intimate.
It was well done and, even without tweaking, I think this stands
up. Too bad it is so site-specific; it would wow them down at CCAC
or Site Santa Fe.
It's not quite on the level of Ernesto Neto but it differs from
him because it is a space shaper instead of a space dweller. The
smell element is important in both cases.
One of the "comfy" C+ members, Midori Hirosi, also had a solo installation.
Her soft sculptures, reminiscent of big mittens and fuzzy slippers,
were wonderfully tactile. The "Tumble in the Grass" piece
could be improved if it somehow felt inviting. Still, it did achieve
its effect; maybe combining the soft sculptures with the tumble
would have ignited even more adventures in arty comfort.
Clenaghen's "Peek a Boo Pink."
Brendan Clenaghen's works look smart. He is a purveyor of psychological
comforts and desires, which could be agitators as well.
I suppose his superior craftsmanship is what makes Hirosi's "Tumble"
piece look a little undercooked and unfinished in comparison.
Yet the work is at times a bit too methodical. Despite this, Clenaghen's
"Peek a Boo Pink" is enticing and I like how its little pink balls
pop off the surface, threatening to invade space.
That tension is good but one grows weary of it after seeing four
or more of them, since each has the same gimmick.
Eventually each of Clenaghen's works will have to become more individually
memorable if he is to pull off a signature piece that will get him
a shot at national acclaim. From a distance, his shows lack punch
and that will hurt if he doesn't address it. He is one of the brightest
players in town but needs to add more moves to round out his game.
Another comfort piece is a video installation called "The Snug"
by Emily Henderson and Molly Roth. Their room is outfitted with
nice white linen sheets and one had to take their shoes off, like
in a James Turrell piece. The very pink video cast a nice glow on
the whole place. Eventually we see that it is an out-of-focus rose.
OK, I need something more here, but the contemplative Zen mood is
a definite plus. Maybe if the space were actually more snug I could
cuddle up to this?
Bocci's "Genesis, Gummi Big Bang."
power of charm and grace
Predictably, Chandra Bocci's "Genesis, Gummy Big Bang," consisting
of fragrant gummy bears and worms, takes top honors in this category.
In many ways, I see this piece as Bocci learning a few tricks from
Matthew Picton and Bruce Conkle.
Bocci adds seductively sweet fragrance ala Conkle and the translucence
of Picton to give this work serious visual heft. Conceptually it
is a bit light other than as her typical critique/celebration of
consumer culture, emphasizing the sugary and waxy over something
more visually nutritional like Breugel's intense morality plays.
Still, by virtue of its inventiveness, her work has many parallels
to Hieronymus Bosch, whose apocalypse scenes were anything but sweet.
"The Golden Fish," a masterpiece in charm.
Maybe that is her point; maybe by treating such material as light
we fail to see its aggregate seriousness and potential for compounded
mass culture apocalypse?
In the end, I think we have to see Bocci as we see Paul Klee: an
inventive virtuoso whose wit and delivery redeem capricious dalliances
Bocci's Best Coast piece, "Swarm,"
showed her darker, more poetic side; this is her seductive and charming
In the end, the sheer success of how it looks and smells makes
this exciting and something new from her.
Another charmer is Melody Owen's "Cling," with its two rings of
suspended hummingbird feeders. It traffics in similar territory
but is more stoic than the Bocci.
The two rings of attractive sweetness probably are an analog for
a couple, and one could ask if they are attracting other potential
mates by virtue of being a couple?
Nineteenth-century painting considered birds as a sign of infidelity
or liaisons; does Owen suggest the same?
On the other hand, is "Cling" the fear of such temptations?
Cecilia Halinan's "Cake" painting and seat traffics in similar
territory, but lacks the excitement of Bocci and Owen's work. Maybe
if the cake was more than a painting, which its thick pink impasto
seems to suggest, then I could enjoy this more. Instead, it looks
like a lesser Jules Olitski knockoff.
"100 handmade wax figurines coming out of a hole in the wall."
Conversely, Camille Geharter's "100 handmade wax figurines coming
out of a hole in the wall" is visually very nice but somehow lacks
the conceptual rigor to explain this installation. Yes, it is vaguely
surreal and I suppose it is craft-oriented, but I need more.
Still, it looked cool.
Please develop this further; right now it is just a conversation
piece and I really hope it is not a comment on the art scene emerging
from a hole in the wall.
Blanc's "Under a Pink Sky."
Bovee and Blanc's "Under a Pink Sky" wins praise in this
area, since its clinical nature avoids becoming an exercise in tired
postmodern alienation. Instead, it is an interactive information
This artist team also gets points for convincingly reconfiguring
a very badly stuccoed corporate room with a rollercoaster of blue
graphic hills and a pink sky.
On one side of the room a sparse, feathery curtain of pink bars
floats, giving scale to the room. It also keeps things from feeling
purely graphic and cold, since it sways with the foot traffic and
air currents in the room.
There are also two computers; one has a program that randomly picks
photos stored online. What is interesting is how the model chosen
(a semi-pro Nikon model) produces a certain demographic of photos
depicting upper-middleclass children and scenes along with some
very professional shots. The artists explained how it would eventually
randomize the camera makes and models. Right now, the pink sky is
the canopy for an upper-middleclass theater. Still, it's fascinating.
The second computer terminal is a musical interface where a trackball
allows the participant to create some blips and sounds
a few more parameters and sounds to make it more of a serious instrument.
What is exciting is the expectancy this room creates. The pink
sky indicates a responsive future, not some alienated postmodern
I also liked the Pete McCracken installation, "Artist," which consists
of David Eckard allegedly living in this space for the duration
of the show. Of course, he isn't actually living in there full time.
Does that diminish his artist cred?
What I really liked is how people had scrawled messages on the
windows and Eckard had started to play violin (badly). Ooooh, a
Jack Benny reference; now that is truly sadistic! Whips, chains
and farm implements are unpleasant in such an expected way, whereas
violin takes about five years to play in any tolerable fashion.
Eckard is not even close to year five. The subtext is that eventually
the annoying sounds will turn to sweet melody. Nice touch! Did Eckard
or McCracken think of that part?
|As a baby
Dickson probably looked like baby David Hasselhof, shown here.
Andrew Dickson did a project photographing people who are told
or think they look like "Famous People."
I'm sure it is an interesting psychological study during the process,
but the final Polaroids are a bit unsatisfying
or maybe that is
the point; celebs are pretty dull.
Someday everyone will have to realize fame is dull, and second-hand
fame is a kinda sadistic back-handed compliment that lacks even
Then again, I like to tell people I look like Jeff Goldblum because
I once got someone to shoot the milk they were drinking out their
nose when I said it.
I think Dickson, who is very bright and droll, made an insightful
film about people deceiving themselves. The partial self-denial,
partial self-importance is so common, but nobody ever discusses
it. The film should be like a series of honest but delusional screen
tests. We shall see when the film is finished?
and Snellman shake another one down.
Another team, Natasha Snellman and Cynthia Star, created an interactive
project called "New Friend." They were trolling about the place
dressed in matching pinstriped blazers that made them seem like
a couple of real-estate agents who also did Robert Palmer videos.
OK, that's good.
Although they were really overly insistent that I go through their
"New Friend" interview process, I declined. They did not want to
take "no" for an answer.
So why, O great trier of new things that remind one of Robert
Palmer, did you not subject yourself to this very clinical friendliness,
Basically, it was a time issue and the fact that I had already
infiltrated their office, which once probably was the domain of
some mid-level manager. In it, I found their "friend"
questionnaires, where you fill out your sign and choose between
the Loch Ness monster or a giraffe, etc. Cute
I also found Star's credit card number (which I put under some
geez, be more careful) and a map. It seemed to
me like Lucy's "psychiatric advice" from the Peanuts cartoons; a
clinification for something one naturally goes about getting. In
this case, friendship.
In fact, the two were quite zealous about getting me in the hot
seat, but I felt no real desire to take part in an exercise of dominance
(not dissimilar to a job interview) and subjugation in the guise
of friendship and art.
The two also had individual projects. Snellman created a similarly
cute and very controlling "Meditate Here" outline to sit in and
Star's "30 foot earthworm" was quirky if a tad underdeveloped. Those
individual projects were more inviting but came off as private tangents
and obsessions that had little appeal for me. I think Star's paintings
in the Biennial are more open-ended and interesting.
In the end as two conceptual artist-atrixes, this team needed stronger
presentation and their ideas seemed too cute, just like my Robert
Palmer video fixation.
No way I'm not gonna claim that Robert Palmer/'80s music weakness
is art. To compare, Dickson's "Famous" project revealed a lot more
about the participants, and that level of revelation makes it more
untitiled '70s fetish freakout.
OK, there was lots of hip work, but was it original? No. Did it
get anyone laid? Maybe. OK, I can't fault that; it does add some
energy to the place. I mean, did the Biennial really get anyone
Thus, I liked some of the Lab's work, but only "A Day at the Dog
Park" by Chris Rhodes and Tom Ghillarducci pulled everything together.
Their dog park shook dog figurines back and forth so they could
navigate an inclined maze. Really, who can resist a diorama with
doggies? Once again, I have to wonder about the conceptual heft,
Chas Bowie's untitled installation of photographs on horrible '70s
paneling at least had the whole presentation-thing down. The photos
have the quiet and stoic look of cigarette ads as well as some nice
Western scenes of old '70s cars. Really, can we let the '70s die?
I remember them vividly, but I'm not going to subject you to stories
about my banana-seated red Schwinn stingray bike!
the overall effect of the dime-store frames and
'70s subject matter clustered on terrible paneling became something
of a tiki totem to me
warding me off from the '70s. Like that
fount of wisdom Don Henley sings: "don't look back / you can never
look back." Oh well, if you aren't original you might as well become
a '70s nostalgia hipster.
The Zoo was rife with work that at least addressed the physical
something Matthew Barney, Richard Serra, Jessica Stockholder,
William Pope L. and Mariana Abramovic have brought back to the fore.
"The Drawing Annex."
Red 76's "Ministry Of Small Things" included lots of physical stuff.
My favorite was Jen Rhoads' "The Drawing Annex."
Rhoads is an impressive artist and by simply setting up an annex
studio space away from her already excellent Project Room 1 space
she makes an excellent study of the physical space artists need
to work in. Her paper pieces reminiscent of Malevich and Richard
Tuttle were evocative, well done and, frankly, a cut above most
of the crud many galleries tell us is excellent geometric abstraction.
I know better, you know better, so check her out!
By setting up a studio, Rhoads got right at the crux of physicality:
making work. In this case it is very good work.
Red 76 also had an interesting pink box, into which you could feed
questions and it would spit out an answer. I remember doing this
in fourth grade, which is not necessarily good, but not necessarily
bad, either. Still, I needed more than a pink cardboard box.
physicality in evidence.
Other physical conceptual moments were Basil Childers' "The Long
View," which chronicled Chris Swain's swim of the Columbia River.
David Eckard's "Miracle Boy" was another well-done installation,
highlighting masochism, narcissism and farm implements; once again,
he gets points for carrying off a largish installation.
Nearby, Daniel Duford's "Monument to the Overland Dead" had a nice
mural but, somehow, the shattered golems looked like leftovers.
In addition, if I didn't know any better, I might mistake Duford's
installation and Eckard's as being by the same artist once
again as a curatorial rule, keep somewhat similar artists separate
from one another. Sarah Wolf Newland's work was also very well crafted.
But it came off just a tad too focused on craft because everything
had such tame, well-behaved coloring.
I also liked Zefery Throwell, Chris Rhodes and Libby Beaman's massive
"Belt Runner" contraption painting.
Lastly, Rose McCormick's "Belly" lived up to its name
concentric floor circles on white and gray certainly gave the impression
of being in the navel of something. The ceiling was nice, too, but
the walls did not get anything but lines and suffered. Maybe if
the walls became rounded ... that would make the space seem more
There was also a sound element that came from things being released
from large chunks of ice. There was an occasional "sploink" sound
of a sphere being dropped into water or a crash of something liberated
from the ice hitting metal that would interrupt the experience.
It was generally cave-like, but needed to emphasize that effect
with the walls especially considering the sound element.
Abstraction: put a fork in it.
Yes, there were many paintings. But most tended to be dull or so
typical that everyone but Lutz and Rosson looked a bit backward-thinking.
The Northwest Abstraction show proved why some think the galleries
here are dull.
Except for Judy Cooke and James Boulton, all I saw was fourth-generation
abstract expressionism, and since I am into the first generation,
I find this stuff hard to take seriously. It replaces the risk of
the first generation with the dull craft of the local. Blah
serious about abstraction having new life these days, and almost
all of this work is too traditional or formulaic to meet my standards.
It's notable that the most curated portion of the Zoo fails so
thoroughly. Real curation means comparing and contrasting works.
This is just comparing comparable works, which is the Biennial's
downfall as well.
Like I say, we've moved beyond that. And that means one-, two-
or three-person shows with some depth.