Redefining boundaries of what’s hip

Those who tend to feel secretly sheepish at fashionable openings -- whether self-conscious about the currency of their own haircuts, unsure of who they should be talking to or nervous that they might be missing something because they don’t find the work very interesting -- are sure to take some delight in the premise of “LA Post-Cool,” a zealous if somewhat ungainly exhibition that debuted at the San Jose Museum of Art and that appears in a slightly altered form (“remixed,” according to the press release) at the Otis College of Art and Design.

Organized by independent curator and critic Michael Duncan, the show falls in roughly the same vein as his memorable 2001 exhibition, “The Importance of Being Earnest,” at Occidental College.

Here, working with many of the same artists, he continues to champion the personal, the committed and the sincere, but he strikes a more polemic stance, condemning what he sees as the all-too-common confusion of art with attitude and laying out the terms for a new movement.

“The distance, easy irony and affectation of cool,” he argues, “have backed contemporary art into a corner.”

However essential to L.A. historically (he mentions, in what seem to be positive terms, Craig Kauffman, John McCracken, Ed Ruscha and John Baldassari), today’s “cool” generally signifies “a lack of commitment, slacker ineptitude and conformity.”

“Post-Cool,” then, is a counter-stance: a revisionist endeavor aimed at restoring the humanity of art and ultimately redressing the art world’s alienation of the mainstream public.

The works assembled here, he argues, are not distant, ironic, cynical or sarcastic but “overheated, awkward, undeviating, stimulated, embarrassing, romantic, frightening and genuine.”

These are exciting arguments, at least on paper -- that is to say, in Duncan’s essay on the brochure that accompanies the show. The translation of these arguments into a three-dimensional exhibition, however, presents a number of problems.

The first concerns the format. With 76 works by 42 artists crowded into two boxy, windowless and not terribly spacious galleries, the installation feels like an end-of-the-year high school art show. The association has its charms, no doubt: It underscores the work’s general accessibility, and it lends a sense of democracy and community.

But that, combined with the fact that most of the artists are represented by only one or two works, makes it difficult to appreciate their individual merits or the nature of their relationship to the show’s theme.

Megan McManus’ exquisite oil-on-panel paintings of her own lap, for example -- so poetic when exhibited together at Post two years ago -- lose much of their potency in this congested space.

Russell Crotty’s sole hanging paper globe -- covered with an ink rendering of the night sky above mountain peaks -- communicates little on its own about the rigor or scope of his overall project. Similarly, solitary works by Amy Adler, Martin Kersels and Steve Hurd fail to make those artists’ Post-Cool status seem self-evident.

The result of this cluttered organization is that the works begin to feel more like the show’s footnotes than its primary materials, each serving to signal a point rather than embody the argument.

Another problem, related to the first, is that the qualifications of Post-Cool, when charted across existing works, seem suspiciously arbitrary. While Duncan’s catalog of adjectives -- “overheated, awkward, undeviating” -- is appealing, the terms are vague and tend to hinge on questions of motivation, which are difficult to evaluate. In the end, the most consistent through-line seems to be that of Duncan’s own appreciation for the artists, fostered presumably through personal contact. That leaves the average viewer partially out of the loop.

Finally, a fair number of these works are just plain unimpressive. Perhaps the most egregious example is a collection of painted gourds, made in 1985 by the typically dazzling Lari Pittman, that are, unless I’m missing something, remarkably ugly.

Other works are more quietly mediocre, often lacking in a sense of precision or clarity. It’s worth noting that the concept of quality doesn’t enter into Duncan’s calculations; one wonders how exactly he would rank its importance.

That said, none of these problems entirely overwhelms the pleasure of combing through the exhibit’s principal cluster of arguments. If anything, they inspire a more active state of contemplation, agitating the viewer into judgments -- no doubt part of the curator’s aim.

There are several individual works, furthermore, that do stand up to the noisy environment and manage to convey an intriguing glimpse of Post-Cool potential.

With its strange combination of amateur sentiment and painterly precision, for example, Tim Ebner’s large painting of two lions on a seashore is weirdly mesmerizing. Patty Wickman’s “Outside the Garden” (1999-2000), another large, figurative painting depicting an old man gazing anxiously toward something beyond the edge of the canvas, is also quite compelling -- something like a Gregory Crewdson photograph with heart, an appealing combination.

A modestly sized painting by Sharon Ellis -- an electric combination of blues, purples, greens and reds -- is characteristically stunning and leaves one longing for more, as does Kelly McLane’s quietly entrancing “Dead Christmas Tree Village” (2003).

Several works by Sharon Ryan convey an elegant sensibility across several media (including blood on paper and hair on silk) and two drawings by Tom Knechtel -- full of strange, bestial creatures and an obscure but evocative system of symbols -- are an intimate treat for those familiar primarily with his paintings.

Many of the most memorable works -- and those perhaps easiest to recognize as well beyond the boundaries of cool -- are the most fanciful: Adrian Saxe’s “Nirvanarrhea” (2002), a curious rock-like sculpture sprouting gold sequined stalks; Maura Bendett’s “Photon Rocket” (2003), a trippy snarl of beads and baubles; Nancy Aldrich’s “Recent Discovery” (2001), a machine that spouts clouds of little paper stars; and Marnie Weber’s entrancing video “The Ghost Trees” (2002), which chronicles an enigmatic journey through a Narnia-like land of snow.

Nancy Jackson’s “A Drop in the Ocean Deep and Blue” (1996-2002) -- a delicately crafted miniature ship adrift on a sea of blue silk and circled above by well wishing ceramic birds -- is, like much of her work, a magical experience, and Merion Estes’ installation of “Garden of Earthly Delights” (2002) -- several dozen small, round paintings of flowers and insects -- arranged with eight plant-like sculptures is pure, fantastical pleasure.

Whatever the viability of Post-Cool as a movement -- the legions of cool are certainly a formidable force, decked with advantages and not likely to give up the fight too easily. More work along these lines can only be a good thing.

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‘L.A. Post-Cool’

Where: Ben Maltz Gallery, Otis College of Art and Design, 9045 Lincoln Blvd., Westchester

When: Tuesday-Saturday, 10 a.m.-5 p.m.

Ends: Aug. 30

Contact: (310) 665-6905