I jumped at the chance to meet Laurie Anderson, when her exhibition “The Weather” opened at the Hirshhorn in September. She has been a working artist since the 1970’s, influencing innumerable aspects of art: performance, music, sculpture, opera, multimedia, and writing. She reached a wider audience than art-world-famous when her song, “O Superman,” rose to No. 2 on British pop charts in 1981.
As I walked toward the Hirshhorn from the Metro station, I got the uncomfortable sensation of being watched by a large, all-seeing presence, and sure enough – the museum building had been surrounded by scaffolding for a renovation project. Rather than letting an opportunity to make lemonade go to waste, the Hirshhorn commissioned Nicolas Party to design a site-specific artwork enveloping the entire building. “Draw the Curtain” is composed of several huge faces partially hidden by draperies. The effect is of classical portraiture with eyes following one about the room, but enlarged by a few orders of magnitude.
It’s an opportunity to contemplate the way indoor and outdoor spaces are being redefined in the time of covid and climate change; of a piece with choosing “streeteries” over the interiors of restaurants, and farmers markets rather than grocery stores. Also, to feel relief from a gargantuan gaze by entering the Hirshhorn courtyard.
Inside the building, we were greeted warmly by the museum staff, then treated to a walking tour of the exhibit by the artist.
The exhibit is a combination retrospective of her past career and new work. Highlights include a corridor of flags dipping and rising by automation (“Red Flags”) referring to “O Superman;” a swath of shredded pages from Crime and Punishment as a matrix for a video projection; a series of newspaper front pages deconstructed, recombined and superimposed; and the room which Ms. Anderson spent hours painting and in which an observer could spend hours absorbing in and through all senses: “Four Talks.”
Ms. Anderson covered the walls with whatever spontaneously occurred to her, a frozen stream of consciousness, accompanied by ambient sound and four related works. Among them, two birds stand out: an oversized raven (“The Witness Protection Program (The Raven)”) and a parrot that looks like bronze but is painted foam (My Day Beats Your Year (The Parrot)”). While the raven is mute, the parrot (true to its kind), speaks. Actually, it mumbles, and needed a little electronic assistance to be heard.
Although I was enjoying the event for the art that surrounded us, I felt an obligation to provide reader service by seeking out any food-related references I could find – and there were a few: a slice of devil’s food cake and a reference to Dairy Queen among the painted bon mots, and two IRL references.
The negroni bag is part of a fundraiser for bartenders and other restaurant workers who lost jobs because of the pandemic. It’s also a very clever reference to to-go cups from New York City diners.
As we processed into another room covered with large-scale paintings which Ms. Anderson was still tweaking just days before the public opening, I realized that the woman with recording equipment was Davia Nelson, one half of the Kitchen Sisters. She produces terrific audio stories for her podcast and NPR. The Sisters have widened their scope from the first series of stories on “Hidden Kitchens” to encompass many things lost and found. I can’t wait to hear their take on this exhibit!
As the tour ended, I asked Ms. Anderson if she had any perspectives on food or cooking. She allowed as she did have “one recipe” and described the procedure for “Hotel Hot Dogs.” One strips the insulation from a lamp cord and sticks it into a bratwurst – and “BOOM!” Did I believe she had ever done this? Not until I found the story on the web. Even so, keep that grain of salt handy – and consider the accompanying photo includes a man who looks very much like Andy Warhol.
There’s plenty of time to see this exhibit. It will be at the Hirshhorn until July 2022, and Ms. Anderson is scheduled to make live appearances starting in January. But, unless you’re Superman, don’t cook bratwurst with a lamp cord!
