The Brooklyn Rail

Jason Rhoades (1965–2006) is best known for creating immersive, provocative installations that engaged with contemporary social and political issues, both local and global. His works are an embodiment of the concept that all art is inherently a social practice. They function as spaces for cultural critique, audience participation, and the challenging of cultural norms, making them deeply political despite the fact that they do not conform to traditional notions of political art. That Rhoades is able to do this without resorting to didacticism or overt messaging sets his work apart from many of his contemporaries. The scary part of Rhoades’s works is that although they are a product of the 1990s and early-2000s LA art scene, they seem neither dated nor anachronistic today—the mixture of historical and contemporary global and regional themes Rhoades probed seems not to have significantly shifted since then.

DRIVE II, currently on view at Hauser & Wirth, can be read as a nuanced and complex commentary on art, consumerism, and personal mythology. Cars are its principal referent. The cars that make up DRIVE II were all owned, used, and modified by Rhoades, but in no dramatic manner. Rhoades's selection of vehicles reflects a keen understanding of how cars function as cultural signifiers and markers of social stratification. There are five cars in all. The inclusion of American mass-market cars such as a Chevrolet Caprice and an Impala speaks to the central role automobiles play in middle-class American culture. Interestingly, among his fleet of cars, there is neither a muscle car (an American-made sports coupe with a powerful engine) nor a pickup truck, both of which are often associated with masculinity and gendered power dynamics.

By acquiring vehicles with previous lives (e.g., the Caprice had been a police car), Rhoades incorporated their larger narratives into his work. Each car comes with an anecdote supplied by wall text that explains how it came into Rhoades's possession or how it was used or modified by him. In one case, he adds a Ferrari sticker onto the front of the American-made Fiero, a wanna-be European-styled sports car manufactured by Pontiac. In another, we find a dreamcatcher hanging from the rear-view mirror of the Impala along with a few inconsequential possessions left behind—this car Rhoades encouraged other artists to borrow so as to increase its aura. As for the Caprice, it was enough to preserve the residual markings of its previous life as a police car. The most unfamiliar car included here is a Ligier microcar. These are typically very small, with two seats, and are known as “cars without a license.” For his Ligier, Rhoades reversed the front seat so he could have face-to-face conversations with his passenger. Given these aesthetic and anecdotal enhancements, all of these cars now function as assisted readymades—that is, as sculptures. In the case of the Ferrari, Rhoades’s trophy car, he had “traded up” the Caprice sculpture, which as an artwork had attained the value of the Ferrari, which Rhoades ironically viewed as a sign of his own success, if not that of his work.

By using cars as readymades and infusing them with personal anecdotes, Rhoades creates a multi-layered commentary on the intersection of art, culture, consumerism, and identity. This reading is reinforced by the inclusion of the assemblage Fucking Picabia Cars with Ejection Seat in the show. Created in 1997 and 2000, this work is assembled from aluminum poles, plywood silhouettes, plastic buckets, pornographic images, and other materials. The sculpture, inspired by Picabia's fascination with cars (in his case, Bugattis), exemplifies Rhoades's ability to create provocative, multi-layered works that engage with complex cultural realities. The piece features a pair of automotive silhouettes that appear conjoined and suspended high in the air. The inclusion of an “ejection seat” and the suspended nature of the piece dramatize the precarious nature of sexual prowess, status, and power associated with ownership. This sculpture in particular made me realize the connection between Rhoades’s work in general and that of Robert Rauschenberg, whose “Combines” also, in an encoded way, comment on social and political issues.

Also included at Hauser & Wirth is a video featuring Rhoades driving around Los Angeles in 1998 while being interviewed by curator Hans Ulrich Obrist. In this “performance” Rhoades fervently expounds on his ideas about cars and their role in his art. He discusses how driving in LA provides extended time for the mind to wander and how being in a car gives one a sense of control over climate, entertainment, and power. He explains the relationship between cars and his art, equating parking with situating a sculpture. He also explores cars as icons of art history and symbols of aspiration and class. The radio is tuned to Power 106 FM, adding a hip-hop soundtrack to the drive.

Because it is devoid of the spectacle usually associated with his installations, the effectiveness of DRIVE II is found in how, in the most subtle manner, it exemplifies Rhoades's approach to the intersection of art, the everyday life of the viewer, and that of the artist. This exhibition reflects how his multifaceted approach to art-making and cultural critique differs from many of his nineties peers such as Tom Sachs or Jenny Holzer. Like them, Rhoades uses everyday objects as a medium for social commentary, but he differs by combining his critique with personal narrative. The result is that his work simultaneously addresses such themes as identity, status, consumerism, and materialism in American society, while the overwhelming nature of Rhoades's sculptures and installations reflects the saturation of information and stimuli in modern society. Given this mash-up, Rhoades’s work is less focused on immediate public reaction, recognition, or controversy, but instead on prompting his audience to examine their own—as well as his—relationship to these cultural and social issues.