“What do ballistic gel blocks, a television commercial, business logos, a large-scale video production of gunfire, and a discarded Honda Dream motorcycle have in common?” When I walked into the MCA’s exhibition featuring The Propeller Group, this question first greeted me. Though I caught a glimpse of the three towering white flags in the entrance—I could hardly miss them—I hurried to the gallery’s introduction as a reference for the rest of my experience. Though long-winded, this question did peak my interest, so you can imagine my immediate disappointment when the very next sentence: “Each appears in this exhibition” accompanied by an explanation of the artist group themselves. The Propeller Group (Matt Lucero, Tuan Andrew Nguyen, and Phunam) is a “Vietnam-based artist team.” This exhibition is said to present an alternative perspective challenging the Western point of view that often dominates popular culture, while also exploring the similarities of political campaigns and entertainment. All this in just seven projects. (Six for me because I was unable to see the feature-length film AK-47 vs. M16 The Film screened in conjunction with the exhibition). With a lot to consider, I began my perusal of the exhibition.

Because I could no longer ignore them, I turned my attention to the towering white flags above me bearing a geometric flower design. A 60-second utopic commercial for the new communism explained that the flags bear the symbol of this movement. Moving past into the section displaying bullet remnants of AK-47 and M16, I started to experience this alternative perspective that the gallery introduction had promised me. As an American, the most I’ve heard about the Vietnam War is the student protests to it. I knew about the guerilla warfare, but in my education the ending of the war itself remains vague and unimportant. In a period where the U.S. was still feverishly fighting communism, retreating from the Vietnam War and leaving the communist influence of Northern Vietnam essentially victorious is an uncomfortable subject. Therefore my western interpretation of events was subverted by the peculiarity of that favorable take on communism, supported by the bullet fragments preserved mid-fire in ballistic gel that reflect the bitter years of fighting.

 

The Dream, The Propeller Group

 

After these bold, impressionistic pieces, I stumbled upon a quieter work of art tucked in the last room of the gallery. The skeletal frame of a Honda Dream model motorbike sturdily welded to a metal pallet sits beside a time-laps video. I move around the rest of the gallery, viewing snippets of video, a house frame, a carved piece of wood, a buffalo skull; but I kept inching back to this motorbike frame. Somehow it stands out from the other pieces. The declarations of communism and the petrified bullets were bold, loud pieces. The carved wood twisted its way to a threatening snake’s head with impressive fangs. Even the skull, despite death’s stillness, remained fierce. But the solitary frame of the motorbike felt sad, stripped of its pride and usefulness. The video displayed beside it sheds light on how the bike reached this lowly state; nestled in a small street side courtyard sits a shining white Honda Dream motorbike. The information panel tells me this is in fact the same bike, though the one on screen shares no resemblance to the hallow frame beside it. For a while the only movement is the frantic quivering of leaves on a few nearby trees and the occasional exaggerated bustle of pedestrian traffic. Eventually the first of thieves come, but they start small. As quick as they come they are gone and the bike remains mostly in tact. For the next few minutes however my steady fixation on the bike is interrupted by bursts of thieves taking more and more until I recognize the piece beside me on screen. The information panel of the piece describes how The Propeller Group uses the hidden camera to tap “into our voyeuristic fantasies—our desire to see without being seen, and to know what others do when they think no one else is watching.” I’m almost ashamed to admit that I did feel this satisfaction, like I was catching the thieves by witnessing their crime. But I wasn’t, as evidenced by the dead bike carcass beside me. Just like guerilla warfare, these thieves sporadically attacked the bike in unpredictable bursts of movements. This was a successful tactic, for I as the viewer remained on my toes and unprepared for their attacks until I was already witnessing them.

In some ways I saw the thieves more as collaborators than criminals. The artists presented the bike, but the thieves carved out the piece of art themselves, and I as their unknown observer completed the work’s presentation by viewing the video and the bike frame as a whole. This individual information panel asked an interesting question as well: “what does it mean to set out a desirable object as bait?” Upon pondering the theme of undermining Western perspectives, I settled on the idea that this is a subverted form of commerce. The bike was set out purposefully as bait, so it was mean to be stolen. Normally, objects are meant to be purchased, but not this. Therefore I’m inclined to go easy on the thieves, seeing as they were doing what was expected. In an environment where desirables are expected to be stolen, thieves fulfill rather than subvert expectation. The name of the piece, The Dream, presents a final satisfactory irony. Even the bike model’s name is enticing, but because of this, humanity’s selfish nature gets the better of them. Sometimes a self-serving attitude is necessary for survival, but that can quickly escalate to greed, infringing on the ideal operation of society. This is why communism, and other economic and government systems, fails their theorized purpose. From he hopeful commercial for new communism (basking in the glory of the towering flags) I made my way to a darker corner of the gallery where the remnants of a lonely motorbike quietly reminded me the reason for why societal systems rarely work as planed: the human element.

 

 

“The Propeller Group.” Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago. 220 E Chicago Ave
Chicago, IL 60611. 4 October 2016.

Wall text, The Propeller Group, Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago, Chicago, IL. June 4^th– November 13^th, 2016.