By Seth Lower

Bay Area Now is a triennial survey of local art that questions what it means to be here (in the Bay Area) now. It’s a dense show. I saw it twice and still have the feeling that I’m missing something. And there’s primarily one reason for that: a huge chunk of the show is off-site. It’s an assortment of links to external events or tours – of Treasure Island, Golden Gate Park, the Presidio… Nearly the entire second floor, made up of groupings entitled Ground Scores, Galleon Trade, and Theory of Survival, is covered with teasers and invitations to call a phone line or to show up for a guided trek. Walls are devoted to collaborative projects that focus on one geographical area or idea, all pushing to increase public awareness of our little plot of earth. Each project has at least one free information sheet; I pick up so many that my notebook is coming undone from its binding. They look to cover issues of local history or potential futures: topography, shifts in culture, uses of land. There are guest curators and an array of collaborative interactive groups that set up shop like some esoteric trade show, offering surface materials to entice you into further inquiry. Topics like Enviro-aesthetics of Treasure Island, how to build a public library, the artifice of Golden Gate Park, etc. I quietly suggest seeing this (the second) floor first, or at least saving enough of your cognitive energy for its necessitated information processing. If you don’t read this stuff, you’ll miss it.

There’s a great, mysterious little piece up there by Jeannene Przyblyski called A Lover’s Line Thru the Presidio, a kind of collaboration with Robert Smithson. Its obliqueness is enticing: a dry, unassuming technical drawing of a Presidio trail paired with floating phrases like “Enigmas not explanations” or “A straight line followed as if it was a labyrinth,” some of which were apparently penned by Smithson. I’m not really sure what it’s about, but it conjures images of wooded film noir investigations of spurned lovers and generations of spiritual journeys within a familiar place. I’ll definitely be checking out that tour in September.

While these tour-related projects promise to further engage viewers after their museum-going, the first floor is somewhat more expected – an attempt at wrangling the here and now. I see familiar emerging artists like Leslie Shows, Misako Inaoka, and Ana Teresa Fernández, as well as new takes on old local favorites like John Roloff’s Deep Gradient/Suspect Terrain (Seasons of the Sea ‘Adrift’), that great boat-like greenhouse structure partially buried in the walkway outside YBCA. In the case of the latter, we see the original plans and video research involved in its making. This leitmotif of buried treasure or submerged icebergs is peppered throughout the show, as projects dredge up the uncertain ground on which we walk.

Another artist, Joshua Churchill, also tackles what it means to be working above Yerba Buena. His sound-light-floor paneling installation Fathom rumbles and ticks under my feet, echoing the recorded buried sounds of the building’s hidden electrical or utility rooms.

In the process of mining the Bay’s resources, the show also touches heavily on work that exhibits a mix of cultures, specifically the ancient with the contemporary. Maps show known shell mounds in the city, buried treasure, buried cultures, etc. I see it in the slickly mysterious and monumental space-orb pottery of Ian McDonald, the neo-Egyptian dry droning of Maria Antelmann’s video installation Everland, and the Middle Eastern battle scene drawings of Ala Ebtekar, which are elegantly beautiful. Paul Schiek’s large black and white photos also reference this strange new old age via a Neil Young quote that states: “the time when music could change the world is past.” It echoes themes of changing of the guards but along more nebulous lines, alluding to vaguely religious events like baptism.

There is also Brian Conley’s remnant-rumination from a performance of sorts done in Las Vegas: in effect a miniaturized nerd-friendly representation of the Iraq war that was actually used by gamers to reenact real hostage situations. Toy cars, plastic soldiers, little piles of sand grouped with images, and video of newscasts from both sides. Large photographs of toy soldiers’ distorted faces surround this table full of ephemera, sand, plastic, and information. Something nice happens in this darkened room with the mix of sonic elements, including whispers of “may we live long and die out” mingling through the air with bird calls, war sounds, and rumbling boiler amplifications.

Sound is a big part of this year’s show, and extensions of the work exhibited are available through simultaneous openings at external venues like Queen’s Nails Annex. If for no other reason, see the show to hear it; it’s the medium that’s truly collaborative and interactive.

There’s generally a lot to think about here, but you have until November to do it. Give yourself plenty of time and make sure you’re up for investigation. I recommend checking out one of the related tours of the city (the phone tours aren’t so great), if you can fit it in. As the curators are well aware, the best way to find out what is here and now is to get out there and find out.

Top Image: Miniature War of Iraq in Las Vegas, Brian Conley, 2006, video still