>> This work seen in MOCA Cleveland's exhibition:
"There Goes the Neighborhood"

This multi-media installation is an architectural memory bank—a container of remembrances, a collection of recollections. It is, on the one hand, a commemorative glimpse into the past, a historiography of location and presence. And on the other hand, it is a sobering narrative about loss and abandonment, about dislocation and absence. It is a place about places, both physical and conceptual. When combined, the elements of the overall work (the structure, the video, the audio) all coalesce into an experiential conjuring of the bleak melancholy associated with the desertion of the American neighborhood, and really, too, of the tremendous erosion of the very concept of neighborliness.

The Structure:
The sculptural element of this work is an allegory for the countless lost properties that have become a ubiquitous casualty of economic disparity and an unwavering housing crisis—an “everyhouse” of sorts. The structure is a ghostly tableau for the discarded remnants of residencies gone before their time, and by extension, the horribly interrupted lives of their occupants. A sense of physical place is surely evident in the building itself. But, a more subtle metaphor for people and lives (an architecture of humanity) surfaces in the work as well, particularly in the element of the porch which greets viewers as they enter the exhibition. Historically, the porch has been built as a component of the house that represents a social institution—a place to welcome neighbors, to survey communities, a place to mingle with friends and family, and at times even say “hello” to an unfamiliar face. Here, the porch represents all of that, and as a functioning component of the work, it is a perch from which viewers are intended to experience the video compendium assembled for the overall installation. It is a place to stand that is itself a stand-in for the very porches I visited to collect the video footage. And, as something more than just a three-dimensional video screen, the porch and house are visual props for the actual places where people once lived—the residencies that have lost their residents. An occupied porch is a place for encounters, a place of possibilities. But here, the viewer encounters and inhabits a momentary glimpse of quiet emptiness and becomes, for an instant, a channel of reminiscence and a steward for silent solace.

The Video/Audio Components:
On several weekend days during a two month stint at the onset of spring 2009, I set out with a friend, a clipboard, and a video camera to search the city for abandoned, foreclosed, and condemned properties. It goes without saying that the fruits of this search were very low hanging. Poignant as it was, throughout the shooting period, there was never a shortage of properties that fit the profile. While I have been (and continue to be) interested in the rather hard facts and statistics that surround this topic, my approach for gathering material was less scientific and more empirical. Influenced by strategies of Psychogeography, I collected the footage I wanted through the spirit of exploration and adventure, rather than simply using a housing database or some kind of resource that could have easily plotted me from one property to the next. In this way, I was able to witness first hand, and in an arbitrary way, the incredible blight of discarded real estate across neighborhoods and communities throughout Cleveland and the inner-ring suburbs. From these properties, the camera was positioned on the porch (a structural requirement of the properties in which I was interested), pointed out in the direction of the actual view from the porch. The result is montage of vistas that are as beautiful as they are unsightly—as hauntingly stark as they are warmly welcoming. Moreover, the accompanying audio that corresponded with the video shots proved equally compelling, especially given the particular timing (as mentioned, at the onset of spring). These sounds are perhaps one of the starkest juxtapositions of the whole work—the flutters of spring and life (chirping birds, playing children, wind chimes, barking dogs, etc.) create an unsparing juxtaposition to the solemn collection of images within the video.

The varied elements of this artwork (the sculptural porch and house, the video elements, and the sounds) provide an overarching experience and a sense of character that is as much about people as it about place. The installation represents not just the bygone constructions of actual dwellings, but too the heart and spirit of former occupants. It is a voyeur’s view of actual places and a vicarious visit into the past lives of unknown others. It addresses the complex social dilemma of our lost sense of concern and care for neighborhoods and communities everywhere—a dilemma that is exacerbated by the perpetuation of individualism and the struggle to compete with one another as opposed to lending a hand. In their book, “The Lonely American: Drifting Apart in the 21st Century,” Jacqueline Olds and Richard S. Schwartz write, “Being neighborly used to mean visiting people. Now being nice to your neighbors means not bothering them.” This artwork underscores the truth of that statement and calls for a consideration. It asks us to turn away from our knee-jerk assumptions about the things we watch in our neighborhoods, away from the ill will and nervous skepticism—and to instead consider the potential in places, the good in people, and the promise of accord in our communities.

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