For bad-boy artist Clifford Owens, a performance isn’t something you simply show up for and watch. Rather, it’s a charged participatory sport, one in which a viewer’s racial, gender, and sexual identity is pushed, sometimes uncomfortably, to the front lines. Persuading onlookers to divulge the most intimate of details, Owens’s works are notable for how prominently his viewers are featured, as if he took to heart Jacques Rancière’s call for a more “emancipated” spectator. Passive onlookers become performers, and performers turn back into onlookers—an upending where viewing and performing, artist and audience, become almost one and the same.
In performances such as “Photographs with an Audience,” 2008–ongoing, Owens asks viewers thorny questions, such as “Who voted for Bush?”
and “Who thinks performance art means someone takes their clothes off?” Photographing the groups according to their answers, Owens offers up a representative record of his spectators, each of whom, ready or not, becomes the work’s loaded subject matter. For his solo exhibition “Anthology” at MOMA PS1 from November 2011 to May 2012, Owens invited 26 prominent African-American artists to write or submit scores for him to interpret and perform, in a nod to Fluxus—a movement in the 1960s and ’70s that produced easy, DIY scores anyone could feasibly enact. Benjamin Patterson, an African-American Fluxus artist, wrote a directive to lick whipped cream off a woman. William Pope L., meanwhile, instructed Owens to “Be African-American. Be very African-American.” “Anthology” provided a platform with which to highlight, if not canonize, a neglected legacy of African-American performance art.
More often than not, though, what’s emphasized in Owens’s work is his own outsize personality; one that, as some writers have argued, plays up a virile, hypersexualized, “scary” black-man persona. In that sense he embodies the macho man-of-color archetype that Adrian Piper so memorably parodied in her “Mythic Being” performances from 1972 to 1975. Smoking
a Tiparillo cigar while wearing an Afro wig, sunglasses, and mustache, she walked the streets of New York as a black or Latino man with exaggerated swagger and rode the subway with legs spread wide to accommodate a large fake set of dick and balls.
Owens’s strong presence in his work tends to attract sensationalized press attention that in some ways overshadows his art-historical interests and in others underscores the work’s intrinsic politics and power relations. With an attention-grabbing headline from March 8, 2012, the website Gallerist published a story titled “Will Clifford Owens ‘Force A Sex Act’ on His Audience at MOMA PS1 on Sunday?”, bringing the prospect of rape
into the artist’s first high-profile New York museum showing. The controversial score in question, by Kara Walker, read in full:
French kiss an audience member. Force them against a wall and demand sex. The audience/viewer should be an adult. If they are willing to participate in the forced sex act abruptly turn the tables and you assume the role of victim. Accuse your attacker. Seek help from others, describe your ordeal. Repeat.
"Clifford Owens: Anthology" at MoMA PS1, 2011
Performing it several times, Owens invited unsuspecting museumgoers to participate. Prior to each performance, curator Christopher Y. Lew read the score out loud. All were aware of the instructions, as well as the right to leave if they wished. Lining up a dozen or so diverse individuals along
a wall, Owens stalked them like a vulture, walking up to those he deemed attractive, both men and women. Getting uncomfortably close, he pressed his body firmly against theirs—going in for the kill, so to speak. With his hair styled into a tightly cropped mohawk, he looked like a threatening sex gremlin as he made out earnestly with one person after another. Some got into it. Others didn’t, refusing to reciprocate. Those who invited further play were rewarded with groping of their breasts, asses, and dicks, though it never went beyond that.
For his last performance of the score, he told Gallerist, “There’s a reason I don’t try to force a sex act on the audience. But Sunday, I’m going to take
it there. And I’m really nervous about it.” Concerned, Walker withdrew her score, and then acquiesced
and took a leading role, directing the performance and telling those gathered the aggressive things Owens would say, including “I’m going to fuck your brains out” and “This is what you think I am, just a nigger toy.” As the performance progressed, she stood by, a leery supervisor. The two spoke intermittently, Walker expressing occasional resentment for being implicated. At one point Owens asked his nervous participants
if they’d like his cock in their mouths. A young blonde woman replied “certainly,” though her wish wasn’t granted—she claimed in a later interview she never feared for her safety.
By trusting viewers to monitor his behavior, as well as the behavior of their peers, such dynamics of mutual responsibility might recall Marina Abramovic ’s Rhythm 0, 1974, in which she placed 72 objects on a table—roses, a pen, scissors, honey, a pistol and bullet, among other things—and let viewers pick a tool and do with it what they wished. Initially tentative, spectators got bolder as the performance progressed. They cut her clothes, stuck thorns in her stomach, and even aimed the gun at her head. As Abramovic recalled later, “What I learned was that...if you leave it up to the audience, they can kill you.”
Taking a break from performing himself, Owens was in residence over the summer at Pioneer Works, a beautiful, brick, cathedral-like 19th-century former machine factory turned exhibition space and studio in Red Hook, Brooklyn. As part of his residency,
he taught a five-day performance-art workshop for
a group of young recent MFA graduates, culminating in two evenings of performances titled “seminar,”
on July 20 and 21. Running into him at local bar Brooklyn Ice House, I told him about this profile and that I was excited to see what he would come up
with at “seminar.” What I withheld was that two can play this fun sexual-objectification game; having a thing for black men, the prospect of Owens naked— something he’s wont to do in his performances—was something I was looking forward to. He invites sexual desire in his work, and I was eagerly falling for it, troubling my own critical distance. If his track record was any indication, there could be inches and inches of Owens on display at “seminar.”
Unfortunately, when I met up with him later at
his sunny Pioneer Works studio, he neither raped me nor “fucked my brains out” as some sort of kinky revenge fantasy on art critics everywhere. Rather, he spent a lot of time complaining about the controversy surrounding his work. Friendly, though wary of press attention in light of the coverage by Gallerist, he downplayed the racial implications of his practice, choosing instead to focus on how race is just one component of people’s assertion of power over one another, and saying that while he intentionally exaggerates the role of sexual aggressor, even relishes it, he’s interested less in “imposing power than in how we share power.”
While this interest in power is undoubtedly genuine, it’s also clear that his skin color plays a pivotal part in his work, as “Anthology” readily illustrates. The performances employ these power dynamics to critically address how blackness is constructed through cultural stereotypes that are inextricably tied to class and social status. (In my case, one effect of this is the impulse of sexual desire for the “other.”) This is not to say that Owens’s aim isn’t ultimately deconstructive, but that it’s a strategy nonetheless, with its own identity politics–related limitations; he posits not a post-race utopia but, rather, a self-perpetuating racialness—and of the most aggressive kind. Calling his detractors “assholes,” it’s easy to see he’s asking for controversy, maybe even benefiting from it.
It’s possible, though, that it’s the other way around, and that his strategy isn’t leading to easy success in the market or in the academic sphere.
He was represented by hot Lower East Side gallery On Stellar Rays, but that relationship ended months ago. Moreover, Yale declined to renew his adjunct teaching position. Maybe, then, Owens is sticking
it to the man, so to speak, by pursuing a vaguely pedagogical agenda at Pioneer Works because no one else would let him. Documentation indicates that
this might be because pedagogy, as Owens practiced it during the week of 9-to-5 workshops leading
up to “seminar,” was something like an adult ropes course necessitating the show-and-tell of his penis
to his pupils, slow-dancing, bear hugging, and swapping clothes, among other performative activities designed to build trust and sexual self-confidence,
if not total liberation.
If the two “seminar” performances were any indication, however, the end result seemed less liberation than exploitation, as nudity was the apparent prerequisite for almost every work, whether or not it was warranted
or substantive. Such was the case with Alexandria Eregbu, who took off her shirt midway through the jumps and sprints of Father’s Heart (all works 2013) for no good reason, before putting it back on again, breathless; one would hope her breasts have little bearing on her father-daughter relationship. Also topless was Angeli Sion for Pneuma et Spiritus: Body Action Studies, though a long red balloon was tied to her neck. It bounced back and forth in the air between two large floor-based fans as she
stood, silently, before launching into an energetic duet with her two companions. Performer Nina Ber was not topless for Marko Markovic’s Fuck the System. She wasn’t, however, wearing any underwear beneath her long, sliplike red shirt when she lifted it above her waist and her vagina became the grudging receptacle for Markovic’s tongue for nearly 20 minutes. Uncomfortably standing with her fist raised high in the air,
as if hitting a vague protest gesture, she didn’t seem to be enjoying any of the dude’s earnest attentions as he buried his face deep in her pussy. Maybe she was too busy pondering “protest movements and powers of resistance against oppressive apparatus[es],” as Markovic’s program blurb stated. Or maybe she was just bored like the rest of us, who found little interesting about standard-fare cunnilingus.
Nina Ber and Marko Markovic’s performance "Fuck the System" [Photo by David Deng]
More circus than revelation, “Seminar” lacked the critical gravitas of “Anthology,” which attempted to both canonize a long-neglected history
of black performance art and address larger questions of performance and re-performance. Abramovic herself has pursued this interest since the
first Performa biennial in 2005, when she re-performed several historical works in Seven Easy Pieces. Ultimately, there was little to chew on but spectacle itself—a hazard Owens tends to trip over. For the 2013 Performa biennial, he’ll be debuting a new performance involving a range of objects and conflict scenarios, titled Five Days’ Worth at Third streaming. This is in conjunction with the exhibition Radical Presence: Black Performance in Contemporary Art, at the studio museum in Harlem.
As of this writing Owens is coy about what exactly will transpire, though he will say he’s the principal performer, along with a few others. This is not the first time he’s been featured in Performa. In 2005 he presented a range of scenarios in which invited artists and curators, including the biennial’s director, RoseLee Goldberg, made collaborative works with him. Asked about the more provocative aspects of Owens’s work, Goldberg noted, “They have a reason to be. He has a strong sense of what it means to use performance as a kind of knife through history, of making art that can move people, that forces them to pay attention. Combined with a consciousness of race and gender, he operates on many levels.” While this is true, provocation is Owens’s calling card that tends to trump all others, which is all fine and good as long as there’s a reason
for the feather-ruffling. Sometimes with Owens, though, sensationalism can distract too much from his work.
This article is published in the November 2013 issue of Modern Painters.