There's a Peter Pan syndrome at play in the art world, with a number of male artists appearing, on the evidence of their work, drawn to the idea of inhabiting an eternal adolescence. Why don’t they want to grow up?
As Holden Caulfield walks the streets of New York City on his way to a nervous breakdown in J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, he finds himself, each time he’s about to step off a curb, beseeching his deceased little brother, “Allie, don’t let me disappear.” In his excellent video Don’t Let Me Disappear (2009–11, 10½ minutes), the sole work in his recent show at Team, Slater Bradley employs his longtime doppelgänger, the dreamy model and actor Benjamin Brock, to represent Caulfield wandering modern-day Midtown Manhattan. Sound and image come together in ways that are funny and ominous to depict a young man on the edge.
The peregrinations of a vain young man. Beautiful and angry, he strides up Manhattan, frowning at his reflection in the window of a bookstore; looking aghast at a limo, sliding down the handrail outside St John the Divine. The references are filmic, musical and literary. With his collar up, pulling a cigarette packet from his coat pocket, he’s James Dean. Walking in his black boots along the cracks in New York’s pavements, he’s a young Bob Dylan. In Central Park, where he finds a lumberjack hat, he could be that most iconic of misunderstood adolescents, Holden Caulfield. The sense of shifting personae is accentuated by the fact that Bradley’s protagonist in the film Boulevard of Broken Dreams (all works 2009) is, once again, Benjamin Brock, an actor used by the artist because of their physical resemblance. Here we hear the angst-ridden Everyman recite snippets from Novot with Cocaine, M. Ageyev’s 1934 book about hedonism degenerating into oblivion in revolutionary Russia.
Don’t Let Me Disappear, Slater Bradley’s ten-minute movie at Team Gallery on Grand until 18 February, is the fifth and final episode in his decade-long doppelgänger project. This sequence, in which Bradley’s lookalike is the model/actor, Benjamin Brock, examines what he calls “formative influences on my identity, growing up in the 1990s”. The first three were short, staged videos focusing on three of pop music’s most famously doomed figures: Ian Curtis of Joy Division, Kurt Cobain of Nirvana and Michael Jackson. Bradley finally killed off his doppelgänger by
appearing as himself with Brock in a video shown at the Aspen Art Museum last December. How did Brock feel about that?
It's better to burn out than fade away.
-Kurt Cobain, 1994
And the rest is rust and stardust.
-Vladimir Nabokov