From Holland, a Closed-Circuit Mentality

One of the biggest problems with the third installment of the Los Angeles International Biennial Art Invitational is that many of the exhibitions that make up this citywide gallery event are not made up of international art. Provincial works from foreign countries are still provincial, no matter how far (or at what expense) they’ve been shipped.

A case in point is “Random Access Memory,” an exhibition of sculptural installations, drawings and paintings by six Holland-based artists at Cirrus Gallery. Organized by ex-dealer Sue Spaid and artist Twan Janssen, this muddled show is notable only because so many of its pieces look like art-school imitations of truly international works by established Los Angeles artists.

Fransje Killaars’ plaid fabrics in Day-Glo colors resemble low-budget, poorly made versions of Jim Isermann’s masterfully crafted works. Paul de Reus’ lumpy sculptures of a nude picnicker and a child with its head stuck up its mother’s skirt look like clunky knock-offs of Charles Ray’s psychologically charged manikins. Kinke Kooi’s altered photographs and psychedelic pencil drawings possess only a fraction of the power and resonance of Jim Shaw’s series “My Mirage.”

Less explicit in its mimicry--but also less intriguing--is Jaap Kroneman’s patchwork floor-covering that appears to be the dimwitted offspring of Mike Kelley’s diabolical rugs. Likewise, Twan Janssen’s props from previously staged performances copy the format of Paul McCarthy’s messy souvenirs, but without any of the infectious anxiety that animates those loaded leftovers.

Only Roland Schimmel’s wall-painting and canvas avoid such literal imitativeness. Unfortunately, that’s only because their optical effects have already been so thoroughly exploited by several generations of abstract painters and graphic designers that they’re no longer engaging.

In her catalog essay, Spaid struggles to explain the show’s stale, rehashed atmosphere by asserting that thought and recollection are really the same thing, and that “there is no perception which is not full of memories.” Such a closed-circuit outlook doesn’t leave art much room to do anything.

As the driving force behind an international exhibition, this undisciplined self-centeredness defeats the show’s purposes. After all, if art from far-away places only registers when it looks like home-grown works viewers have already seen, there’s not much reason to import it.

* Cirrus Gallery, 542 S. Alameda St., (213) 680-3473, through Aug. 16. Closed Sunday and Monday.

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Wit in Polyvinyl: Since contemporary art attracts so much hot air from detractors and proponents alike, it should come as no surprise that several artists have made works that require ample quantities of thin air. At LASCA Gallery, Federico d’Orazio’s inflatable objects play off of a humorous tradition that includes Andy Warhol’s helium-filled pillows, Maurizio Mochetti’s gigantic beach balls, Tim Hawkinson’s balloonish self-portraits and Carlos Mollura’s 3-D abstractions.

Occupying the entire rear gallery and spilling out of its entrance and newly installed window, the young artist’s blimp-size bovine udder (made of bright pink polyvinyl) is so big that it’s nearly unrecognizable. But you’ll know what you’re looking at when you see what’s almost squashed by this enormous, upside-down mammary gland.

Spread-eagled on the floor lies a stuffed, calf-size cow that appears to have collapsed under the burden of keeping six monstrous teats pointed skyward, like a half-dozen vigilant sentinels. The around-the-clock duties of breast-feeding an infant come immediately to mind.

Wearing white socks and a gas mask, d’Orazio’s overworked, undersized cow has a pint-size monitor embedded in its belly. With a live feed hooked up to the udder’s interior, the black-and-white screen shows a close-up of rapidly bubbling milk. Three round plastic windows in the sides of its udder provide even more direct views of the prosthetic cow’s inner workings.

In the gallery’s foyer, a sculpture in the shape of a book is displayed next to a set of photographs documenting its use, along with a hilarious promotional video shot on Venice Beach. Titled “O,” d’Orazio’s water-proof book unfolds and inflates to form a vinyl air-mattress that invites viewers to lie on their backs and “read” the clouds in the sky, or to literally drift off for relaxing afternoon naps.

The unrehearsed video (featuring Shara Hill) makes supple fun of late-night television and government-sponsored art exhibitions.

* LASCA Gallery, 3630 Wilshire Blvd., (213) 381-1525, through Aug. 17. Closed Sunday and Monday.

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Amiss and Lively: An untitled but remarkably consistent group show at Richard Heller Gallery showcases five artists who regularly exhibit at Winnipeg’s Plug In Gallery. Organized by guest curator Wayne Baerwaldt, this boisterous display of mechanical sculptures and obsessive drawings has the presence of a crowded garage that’s shared by a mad scientist and a relentless tinkerer.

In the side gallery are a half-dozen spindly gizmos by Bill Smith and four 20-foot-long drawings by Alison Norlen. Buzzing, twittering and jiggling, Smith’s fragile gadgetry uses baroque combinations of springs, transistors and tubes to paint a three-dimensional picture of what Dr. Frankenstein’s lab might have looked like had he been a giant insect. Norlen’s jampacked black-and-white scrolls initially appear to be diagrams for insane inventions but gradually reveal themselves to be illustrated narratives about everyday life.

Daniel Laskarin’s taxidermied deer trophy quivers as if it has caught a chill. His polar bear rug follows you around the room.Both motorized sculptures add to the carnival atmosphere in a rather predictable manner.

In the darkened back room, however, George Bures Miller’s manic sculpture derails expectations. Like the mutant offspring of a heavy-duty coat-rack and arthritic aerobics instructor, this uncanny device jumps around and emits hydraulic grunts as it engineers the illusion that it’s standing still and the room is swaying to some kind of slow-motion earthquake.

The sense that the world is amiss takes further shape in Marcel Dzama’s charmingly dark drawings, which depict various humanoids running amok. Simultaneously sweet and demented, these page-size watercolors look as if they belong in a coloring book that harbors no illusions about how strange childhood and life actually are. They round out a lively show that makes this point in fresh, inventive ways.

* Richard Heller Gallery, 2525 Michigan Ave., Bergamot Station, Santa Monica, (310) 453-9191, through Aug. 2. Closed Sunday and Monday.