Art Out Of The Box

Insert Object, and Out Comes an Artful Replica

Reprinted in part from the NY Times / November 23, 2005

Sometimes - never often enough - there's magic in new art. You'll find a sweet, rude shot of it, at least until 10 tonight, at Leo Koenig in Chelsea, where the Vienna-based collective Gelitin is in residence. Over the past week, the group has turned the gallery into a sociable, raunchy, pixilated all-night version of Santa's workshop, pumping out free art on demand, and turning the image of a money-choked, object-clogged New York art world on its head.

Gelitin itself has remained all the while invisible. What you'll see while visiting Koenig, at 545 West 23rd Street, is a sealed, space-hogging wooden box, the size of a small house or a pre-1970's mainframe computer. It has two extensions; one like a cabinet, the other like a top-loading chest. You are invited to place an object, any object, into the chestlike extension. Close the hatch. A yellow light goes on. You hear a sliding sound and a clunk. Your item has temporarily disappeared into the big box, just as dozens of others have, including wallets, photographs, specially made items (artists have brought their own work) and, memorably, a 2-year-old child. (The daughter of another Koenig artist, Erik Parker, spent a few hours in the box, emerging delighted but respectfully mum about her experiences - the Gelitin team had sworn her to secrecy.)

Take a seat. Eventually - the wait can be from a few minutes to more than an hour - a light on the other extension goes on. Open the door, and you'll find your object joined by a brand-new, handmade "duplicate," or at least something that more or less resembles the original. Both items will elicit admiring responses from the other people waiting their turn. And there always are people; the show has generated an avid community of shared interest. When the ooh's and aah's have subsided, you can take your new art home.

Gelitin itself has remained all the while invisible. What you'll see while visiting Koenig, at 545 West 23rd Street, is a sealed, space-hogging wooden box, the size of a small house or a pre-1970's mainframe computer. It has two extensions; one like a cabinet, the other like a top-loading chest. You are invited to place an object, any object, into the chestlike extension. Close the hatch. A yellow light goes on. You hear a sliding sound and a clunk. Your item has temporarily disappeared into the big box, just as dozens of others have, including wallets, photographs, specially made items (artists have brought their own work) and, memorably, a 2-year-old child. (CONTINUE READING...)

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