Make Ryan a Dancer
Ryan McNamara, I thought it Was You
“I know that the art I’m creating may seem silly, even stupid, or that it might have been done before, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t serious,” —Jerry Saltz
Sincerity, vulnerability, the 2010 artistic trend.
I think I like this piece is because it channels that self aware, exhibitionist feeling I getting when I dance. I’m not a great dancer. I like dancing, but I know I will never be good at it, no matter what kind of professional training I subject myself to. Ryan shares a similar viewpoint. His two videos at PS1 play simultaneously, one shows him jerking under the harsh strobe lights of an empty club, and the other is a rural exploration in bodily movement. Side by side they contrast in setting and mood, but they both show the insular awkwardness of dancing by oneself. To supplement these videos, Ryan is undertaking a grueling performance piece that takes place at P.S1 every day the museum is open (The name of this on going series is, Make Ryan a Dancer). He either invites a friend, or noteable dancer to give him a dance lesson or he practices steps he’s learned. (I’ve been lucky enough to get close to Ryan who likes dragging his 2-piece mirror into the front lobby near where I work.) It becomes this strange self- depreciating play where ryan trys to master moves his body can not accomodate while his teacher effortlessly dances besides him—exposing his true lack of coordination and ability. This failure is only further reflected in the mirrors he practices in front of and in the waning patience of his teachers who sometimes don’t understand that he just cant dance.
The public becomes a large part of this performance, creating an audience for one man’s inevitable embarrassment. Ryan is tiny, he has a dancer’s body and you would expect him to be able to pick up these steps easily, but day after day his body lets him down from front of his viewers who don’t often understand the full scope of the piece. This constant embarrassment and awkwardness rings through with unironic purity challenging most preconceptions of contemporary art. Yet he dances every day. He comes in smiling, often with large dark circles under his eyes, slightly frantic, a little sweaty, but ready to perform, as their private dancer for a group of strangers who happen to pass him by. He makes this sacrifice everyday, unabashedly opening up to his audience with brazen sincerity. He knows he will fail, that people will laugh at him and not understand what he is doing. They will assume he is a shallow performance artist making a spectacle of himself, selfishly indulging in some petty artistic narcissism, but for Ryan and for me he keeps on dancing all the same, hoping with zealous optimism, that one day he might become, A Dancer.
Perhaps a less stated component of this piece, and to piggyback on Jerry Saltz’s comment, Ryans piece doesn’t rely on a high-brow quality of redempotion. It is kind of silly, and less severe than many of the other works in greater New York, but it doesn’t mean that it shouldnt be taken seriously. If you take the time to watch him, you find your self being moved by his earnesty and shortcomings.
