On first glance, this three-level gallery, which is housed in a bank building from the 1920s, seems to have been abandoned and then transformed into a community center. The tall, spacious white cube has had a floor added and has been converted into a warren of offices, which include a ballroom for dancing, fencing, and other classes; a permanently closed Western Union booth; a community and computer room with welcoming staff; a thrift store; and a Conservative Party information center. The attic and roof are strewn with the detritus of squatters and the homeless. The former vaults now house a bar and karaoke room, but one finds therein a tiny indication of the space’s true nature: reproductions of Rodin drawings.
Stripped of any signage and semblance of art (no guards, gallery staff, press releases, or white walls), the space can be perplexing to viewers, particularly when obvious non–art types participate in the activities. Visitors might eventually learn that the work, Piccadilly Community Center, is by Christoph Büchel—though they will be hard-pressed to find proof. As usual, the Swiss artist has created a difficult, shabby environment, full of well-rendered nooks and crannies; however, this is his least abject and most interactive piece yet—and if you consider face-painting or yoga a relational activity, so much the better.
Like an Ed Kienholz filtered through a Chris Burden–esque Herculean energy, Büchel seems to want us to confront the squalor and seediness of human life, and here he encourages us to partake in it, though the participants seem to be from another milieu. Where the world ends and where art begins is distinctly blurred in his work, but must it always be done in an unpleasant, uneasy way?
