Shared a talk at the new Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston about art and sexual selection with the evolutionary psychologist Geoffrey Miller, author of the book The Mating Mind. He spoke first, laying the scientific groundwork for sexual selection and his proposal that creativity is one of many fitness indicators. For Miller, “reading” creative works — artwork in this case — is a way of determining social standing and genetic fitness. I followed on from this, dealing with specific examples in the art world and the ways art movements and styles contort themselves in order to signal to the desired parties that they may be a good match.
Miller was concise and clear; I was rambling and, well, maybe less clear. With practice I can get my part of the show more together, I know.
At the dinner afterwards, there was a sigh of relief that we didn’t cynically dismiss all contemporary art as a sham and a con game played by the elite, though we came pretty close. I think we said that, yes, to some extent, contemporary art appreciation is a game and tactic of the moneyed classes, who use their ‘knowledge’ to distance themselves from the hoi polloi. But, that doesn’t make the creativity any less vibrant, wondrous and enjoyable — sometimes. Other times, in my opinion, it’s pure game playing.
I began my part of the talk saying that when I moved to NYC, I was incredibly shy and socially crippled, but I could sense that my creative abilities, if anyone liked them, might be a way to make connections. I wanted to give a practical instance of creativity used for social leverage and as a genetic indicator, as described by Miller. An Italian couple at dinner expressed relief on hearing my story, as they described their son as being in a similar social situation. However, they seemed a little shocked and dismayed that my creativity didn’t start working in my favor until I was in my mid-twenties. I did say it helped me in high school too — it got me out of gym class.
The new ICA, designed by Diller Scofidio + Renfro, is lovely and practical, despite being situated in an area of Boston that is a weird urban wasteland. From what is called the backside, which is actually the main entrance, the building is nondescript, except for the glowing translucent plastic clerestory encircling the top, much like those on the galleries of Jay Jopling and Larry Gagosian.
Photo by James Muspratt
On approach, the museum seems a lonely structure in the middle of a sea of parking lots. Yet once inside, the water and the bay are in almost constant view, and the asphalt and traffic cones are forgotten. Lots of interior glass walls, even a glass-walled elevator, allow views through much of the building so you are constantly reminded of the water lapping on the other side. The exhibition spaces are practical white boxes, and there are enough of them to have a few different shows running simultaneously. (There is a wonderful design show and a Louise Bourgeois show up now.) At night, the auditorium where we spoke has the glittering bay lights as a stage backdrop, and the media center — tiered rows of Macs facing a window — was a very cool space with an angled window framing the water such that there is no visible horizon line. As an effect, it’s a little like those James Turrell rectangular opening pieces. Here it is, pre-Macs.
Photo by James Muspratt
I was drawn to the view, but frightened of it at the same time. The rows of Macs are linked only to an extranet with info about the exhibits. I can’t imagine too many people hanging out there, except to experience the room. Maybe another use can be found for it?
This part of Boston was formerly the docks and the shipyards. A little closer to town, across a bridge, there is an area of warehouse buildings that was formerly the center of the New England wool trade. These big old brick mill buildings have since been converted into funky offices. When the wool business moved elsewhere, the shipping area became a handy place to build highway interchanges, bus and rail yards and cloverleafs. Now the highways wrap the area like a tangle of spaghetti, while a few isolated buildings have been plunked down in the concrete expanse — a massive convention center and a hotel to accommodate its visitors, and a couple of other lone structures sit surrounded by half-filled parking lots. The ICA is one such structure, its galleries cantilevered over the water.
I was told that most locals feel this area is far away, though I walked here from the South Street Amtrak Station in 10 mins. One wonders if continued development will work, with the barricades of highways a constant impediment to connection and integration. But the area is right next to the city center, so it seems inevitable that it won’t stay this empty for long.
