Prior to Beach House's show at the MFA three weeks ago, I viewed the exhibit of Rachel Whitehead, a contemporary British artist (on view through Jan. 25) . The centerpiece is an installation titled "Place (Village)," which the museum's Web site describes as a collection of "handmade English dollhouses and configured them into a sprawling "community.' " All of the houses are arranged in a dark room, interior exposed and fully lit. (See grainy photo via cell phone above.)
The work has an uncanny ability to swing between pacifying and unsettling, from a comforting, quiet, well-lit street at night to, "You're all here alone, everyone else is enjoying themselves with their families inside, what was that sound?" I can think of few works that accomplish that.
Anyway, when I entered the installation's room, there were two girls, ages probably between 17 and 22, alone inside, who were making out. I've never been in a room of art with two people making out before. Have you? I had no idea how to react, so once they continued a minute after my entrance, either unaware, indifferent or enraptured, I started taking purposefully loud footsteps. They kept kissing. At first, it actually enhanced the installation's vibe: The soft smacks of their lips bouncing off each other was a nice complement to the first placid mood the work creates. About 90 seconds later, it was annoyingly bold. Who makes out in a museum inside an installation room? A few days later, I got to thinking, What nicer public place is there for making out than an empty museum gallery?
Update: As a further postscript, I returned to the exhibit today, a very busy Saturday at the MFA. The installation was quite crowded, which made viewing it a very different experience. (Little children seemed particularly enthralled by the idea of so many lit, empty dollhouses.) Just wanted to note how much of a theoretical pleasure it is that the meaning of installation art changes depending who else you are viewing it with.
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