 by Valerie Valentine
The Moon Museum’s pacific blue hue soothes frazzled nerves. Mellow colors and artifacts invite musing and meditation. But wait...look—there’s a ladder made of giant bones! And that greenish plastic blob might start oozing at any minute. In fact, the whole room burbles disquietingly with low, arrhythmic music. Something is going to happen here. A latent energy dully vibrates beneath the surface of the benign colors.
Milwaukee-based artist Scott Reeder has built a set for his film project “Moon
Dust,” a narrative film describing the story of a failing moon resort.
With the help of Tyson Reeder and Sara Clendening, he has put together a collection
of “futurist primitive” art and costumes, ready to be used in the
production of the film. The three artists hope to have “Moon Dust”
ready for submission to the Sundance Film Festival next fall.
 The
effect of turning works of art into film props significantly alters their impact.
The artwork becomes secondary to the actors’ presence. Even when the actors
aren’t there, just knowing it’s a film set creates distance between
the viewer and the artwork.
Consider the distance between viewer and artwork at a regular museum. We are
separated from the origin of the work by the time in which it was created to
the time in which we see it. We are then further distanced by the miles it took
for it to get from the artist’s studio to the museum. Now multiply that
by the vast space between here and the moon, and add the detachment we feel
as viewers of art in a museum, plus the separation we feel from events in a
film. We get so far removed from the actual artwork that we nearly come full
circle to understanding it.
Envision this scene from the film: The painter works in a virtual reality chamber.
He sneaks into the moon resort to explore, mainly because it’s off-limits.
The scenario offers the potential for action, something removed from the “look,
don't touch” message that we experience in a museum.
Will he jump through the hanging white frame? Will he touch the night sky, glimmering
through the portal window? Does he want to roll the pink wagon wheel around
the hexagonal room? Maybe he will try to eat the coconut that’s hanging
off a green canvas. He could certainly somersault down the pale blue corridor,
and waggle the wiggly wood staff at his reflection in the mirrors.
Midway Contemporary has offered up a delightful environment of absurdity, inviting
visitors to consider resonances of the remote. ||
Moon Museum: Scene 52 (Shots 1–10) runs through March 19 at Midway
Contemporary Art, 3338 University Ave. SE #400, Mpls. 612-605-4504. Gallery
hours Wed.–Sat. noon–5 p.m.
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