We have to thank Mayor Bloomberg, or is it Bloomberg LLC, for the fun! We were emphatically reassured of this by head honcho from Bloomber LLC on Thursday June 24 at the press opening of the new architectural pavilion at MoMA PS1. This ludic construction made of windsurfing poles, pastel colored abdominal exercise balls, and a net , woven into an array of digital sound production devices, is built for fun.

Recalling earlier attempts and concerns by various 1960s architects—Cedric Price’s Fun Palace and London Zoo Aviary come to mind—the architects of Solid Objectives (and an array of helpers and consultants) aim to see and hear people play, and incidentally, record their activity. Alas, yes, in a purely abstract way of graphs and feedback loops that have become the signature of invisible control.

Fun, as all parents know, can also be dangerous. “I wouldn’t recommend climbing the poles” stated project architect Ilias Papageorgiu. There will be professional “pole dancers”  for that in one of the scheduled performances. But don’t get too exited! I’m sure the dancers will be apt for the “general public,” and at the sign of any tumescence or inappropriate behavior, the poles will emit a sensuous rythmic cadence surveyed on the web site, and will alert PS 1 Director Klaus Biesenbach to—yet one more time—pull the plug on the fun.

The “general public” will be saved yet again. But why not, since this work is, after all—and this was emphatically stated at the press opening—designed for the “general public.” (Remember when we used to talk about “everyone,” or “all,” as in Carnegie’s “FREE FOR ALL”). In case you’re wondering if you have gained admission to this select club, this “general public,” it is softly articulated in several ways. Of course it’s composed of all those who choose to enter MoMA PS1. And one is lured into the bunker by the elegant dancing poles, made active by people wagging—I mean playing—with them. The poles of this folly do announce themselves to the exterior world outside the solid wall of MoMA PS1. One wonders, however, why these white dancing poles do not step over the concrete perimeter wall, and advance a clear negotiation with public space. Maybe the $85,000 budget did not allow to negotiate with the city and uncover yet another layer of fun.

But don’t feel excluded, since you can still enter MoMA PS1 courtyard for free and play. You can run around, hang, pull and get wet—there are several convenient and appropriate humidity devices—and after it all, you can rest in the large and inviting orange hammocks. But, if you want to complete the experience and feel part of the “general public,”  don’t forget to whip out your iPhone and connect to the project, seeing and hearing your modulated self.  Yes of course you have one, since if you go to PS1 you must have one, right?

This last visualization strategy deployed by the architects in their attempt to blur the realm of the physical and the virtual is based on a soft yet decisive exclusion that, because of its generalized but hidden condition, becomes perverse. Carved up by the iPhone technological divide, the “general public” and the class that it assembles is finally distilled in “the kinetic elite,” an international traveling, technologically savvy and well connected alliance of people.

Yes, OK! I don’t have an iPhone! So I can never complete the project and find closure in my sad un-stylish life; but I find it better to leave the project un-closed, yes, yes, un-closed, not “open” since today “open” lies in the realm of the “general public,” of  MoMA PS1’s open courtyard, of subtle strategies that with inviting gestures and luring effects exclude and reduce the Other to simple noise.

I left the pavilion attracted by the screechings and rumblings of the elevated subway; the same noise that earlier interrupted the sound consultant when attempting to explain the interactive part of the project. This “noise” that floods the project and was summarily dismissed by the sound engineer – the irony! – is the sound that insists on the city as a common stage of conflict. The cacophony of sounds emanating from the subway are memories of dissent. The elegant poles of the 2010 PS1 pavilion translate the movement of individual bodies into sounds—sounds that, captured and recorded, are made visible. This visibility is constructed by an active blindness that, protected within the wall of MoMA PS1, excludes and ignores the rumblings of the city. The moment when the dissenting sound of the subway pierced the enclosed space however, that moment when those explaining the project had to stop and acknowledge the un-silenced Other, was the moment the fun started.

Thanks for the fun…!

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