WHAT PEACE THERE MAY BE IN SILENCE
The heart of a small solo show by Korakrit Arunanondchai at PS1 is an installation called 2012–2555. It consists of a theatrical trompe-l'eoil architectural backdrop, colored fluorescent lights, an effigy of the young artist, piles and piles of plastic flowers, and – presiding over it all – two flat-screen video monitors set on easels. The artwork is right on trend, a willfully eclectic assemblage that deflates distinctions between sculpture, video, and performance, and conventional notions of composition and aesthetics. It’s just way too much: too much light, too much color, and too much stuff, all shot through with too many ideas.
The video content is similarly eccentric. The monitors are programmed with a series of artful, slow-moving clips, each about five minutes long. Among other things, they show the artist backpacking in the woods, a go-go dancer performing on a TV talent show, the artist’s grandparents walking down a shopping street in downtown Bangkok, and, movingly, the artist, disguised in pale blue bobbed wig, launching an effigy of himself into a tropical sea.
Yet, in spite of its sculptural extravagance and fragmented narratives, the installation has a deep, restful effect. It’s entirely silent. Also, huge denims pillows are piled right in front, for viewers to sink into as they take it in. My friend and I stayed for almost an hour, through an entire cycle of the videos, our bodies and minds at ease. My friend commented that the sensibility of the installation – the wild mix of plastic flowers and bright lights – was “very Bangkok,” and reminded her of the Buddhist shrines she saw there on the streets, piled thick with fruit, plants, candles, and other offerings. It’s an aesthetic of excess that, here, somehow, leads to peace.