New Museum

David Goldblatt's photographs are understated and, at times, quietly horrifying. The New Museum's exhibit juxtaposes his Apartheid and post-Apartheid photographs, and while the small, standard museum tags provide some context, the show's impact relies heavily on the viewer's knowledge of the horrors of Apartheid and South Africa's post-Apartheid experiments with Truth and Reconciliation. One powerful set of juxtapositions involves the Apartheid-era systematic destruction of black South African homes and post-Apartheid, government-sponsored chronically unfinished homes for black South Africans. What has changed? One of the most unsettling photographs shows a few black South Africans at a dilapidated work site moving tires. Given white Afrikaners' use of "necklacing" blacks to death with flaming tires, this photograph makes the skin crawl. My concern, for an important show like this, is that viewers without the necessary historical background might miss the "meaning" of the juxtapositions or focus on the photographs' "aesthetic" qualities rather than their ethical import.

The New Museum's Emory Douglas show, by contrast, strikes me as a model for showing important political-cultural-historical work to new audiences. It was powerful, engaging and contextualizing information seemed more readily available than that of the Greenblatt show. I learned a lot, despite knowing quite a bit about the Black Panthers. With the Greenblatt show, by contrast, I had to rely on what I already knew to "activate" the images. Again, though, I feel a little queasy about seeing "artifacts" of an important political movement -- and one that is not over, despite the election of Obama -- in an art museum. But I keep arguing with myself over this issue. In the end, I am simply glad this show is on view somewhere.

Rigo 23. It was an odd experience to see a a spotless, well-lit cell-shape. Having spent a night in a NYC jail for civil disobedience, this pristine shape did little to evoke the experience, which appears to be its intent. A jail cell is an assault on all the senses: Cold, dank, dirty, a stinking toilet (no lid) in the corner, 24 hour fluorescent lights, constant blaring of the guard's radio, periodic visits for, yet again, one's name, address, Social Security number throughout the night, no sleep. For those who have never spent time in one, this piece seems to aestheticize incarceration in a truly creepy way.