{"id":1014,"date":"2017-03-08T19:43:48","date_gmt":"2017-03-08T19:43:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/miriamposner.com\/classes\/dh150w17\/?p=1014"},"modified":"2017-03-25T03:32:21","modified_gmt":"2017-03-25T03:32:21","slug":"spruth-magers-vr","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/miriamposner.com\/classes\/dh150w17\/2017\/03\/08\/spruth-magers-vr\/","title":{"rendered":"Spruth Magers VR"},"content":{"rendered":"

I visited Spruth Magers, which is a gallery located across the street from LACMA. The opening exhibition featured the work of digital media artists Stan VanDerBeek and Jon Rafman, and included video, sculpture, immersive environments, and a VR installation. The exhibition loosely focused on the evolution of digital video over the span of 50 years via the work of two experimental video artists, but seemed to lean toward the body horror associated with human\/machine symbiosis and the contrast between organic and artificial timespans in digital media. <\/span><\/p>\n

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This response will focus solely on the VR aspect of the exhibition. My observation time with the VR headset installation overlapped with my presence in the waiting line, as there we upwards of 15 people waiting to have a turn. While there were multiple VR headsets available, the line was still long and dominated the back space of the gallery, both as a point of obstruction and anticipation. I waited about 20 minutes for a turn, while observing the installation of the headsets in the space. There was no visual projection of what the headset users were seeing, so the content maintained its mystery throughout the exhibition. There were a number of other videos playing in the space that were within sight from the VR line, so guests settled for watching them from afar or had open conversations with other visitors as they waited. It seemed that most visitors were not paying attention to the reactions of those in the headset, which I found particularly unfortunate as watching someone who does not know you are watching is a pleasing experience given the voyeurism. Though in retrospect I understand that people do not stare out of courtesy. <\/span><\/p>\n

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There seems to be an element of embarrassment involved with putting on a headset, inasmuch that you willingly make yourself vulnerable to the observation of others. This is sometimes tempered by an overcompensation of performance when wearing the headset (e.g. overreactions). That said, those who started out embarrassed seemed to have their social anxieties melt away after the simulation begins. I noticed that the participants immediately forget their place in the social sphere of the gallery, i.e. that their presence in the room is no longer considered. Their awareness of other people dissolves as they react (sometimes embarrassingly) to the visual stimuli. That said, I noticed that some older gentlemen almost didn’t react at all, absolutely in any way, perhaps because they were a) unable to fully immerse or b) unable to forget their social presence in the gallery. In this way, there appears to be a politics surrounding whether or not someone will react to this type of visual stimuli encountered in a VR headset. <\/span>
\nFor this particular installation, there was no wall text provided. The only guiding information about the piece was delivered via a patient docent who helped guests strap on the headset and blindly find a seat on the VR bench. While I do not believe that VR installations are pardoned from providing didactics about the work for the benefit of the viewer, I found that this particular piece operated well without it. The visualization was abstract and autonomous enough that it did not require an explanation — it simply asked for the time and participation of the viewer to be led through a story.<\/span><\/p>\n

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