The pieces in the stairwells are my favorite (I like that they are tucked away in hidden corners, drawn/painted/pasted on the original plaster)... the Kentridge above is one of the first pieces I fell in love with via slide from the great John Saurer, and Cecily Brown, below, is one of the first shows that stopped me in my tracks in Chelsea. I sadly, sadly, sadly missed her stairwell piece this time, but saw her name and an arrow pointing down as the super efficient security guards kicked me out at 6 on the dot. Next time we'll have a moment, Cecily, next time.
The work at PS1 all exists in installation form. Even the paintings and photographs serve to 'work the crowd' in terms of experience within the art. Each room is specifically installed to serve as an experience. 90% of the work makes us uncomfortable either in explicit material or in mounting insecurities from 'not getting it.'
I get extremely frustrated in galleries when I either a) don't know the artist or b) don't understand the work. I can usually pull some sort of point of reference, most often from something I learned in Janson's or Gardner's. But PS1 pulls the cloth from under me, which I like and which I oddly crave. I don't get it most of the time. For example, I found myself sitting on the floor in a dark, red room with headphones on listening to screaming violins and watching a silent film of a Louis XVI era damsel running down stairs and chasing fountains. What the hell?!
PS1 is like the school for alternative learning. For the kids who need a little extra attention due not to behavior, but to brilliant minds too bright for the normal schools to tame. It's weird, it's challenging, and it's fun. Especially during the trippy summer Warm Up parties. That's where you'll find me mid-summer--somewhere between intense thought and careless laughter. Right where I prefer to be.