By Catherine Wagley
By Catherine Wagley
By Wendy Gilmartin
By Jennifer Swann
By Claire de Dobay Rifelj
By L.A. Weekly critics
By Catherine Wagley
By Zachary Pincus-Roth
Some artists take risks because they have insatiable confidence. French conceptualist Yves Klein may be the most famous daredevil artist. When he leapt face-forward from his rooftop in 1960, his years of judo training assured him he'd land.
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But Dutch-born, L.A.-based artist Bas Jan Ader had a different approach to risk-taking. He didn't try to defy death or gravity. In his performance art, documented by photography, he succumbed to both, toppling off roofs and ledges or out of trees and, in 1975, sailing across the Atlantic as part of his now-notorious work In Search of the Miraculous and never coming back.
Still, despite his constant stumbling and succumbing, Ader had a definite defiant streak. What he defied were boundaries, awkwardly butting up against or falling far past them.
Ader arrived in California by boat in 1963, sailing solo from Holland. He enrolled in the Otis Art Institute, where he met and married the director's daughter. Then he moved on to the art program at Claremont Graduate University and, over 10 years, developed a body of work full of films and photographs of himself performing absurdly mundane acts. In I'm Too Sad to Tell You, he cries silently, and in Fall II, he bikes too close to — then over the edge of — an Amsterdam canal. He never veers toward slapstick and always appears intensely, earnestly focused. Looking at his images makes what should be the easiest, most natural thing on Earth — surrendering to nature — seem genuinely difficult.
"No one had really done anything like him at that time," says Patrick Painter, the dealer who began representing Ader's estate in 1990, 15 years after the artist disappeared into the Atlantic. At that point, interest in Ader was just starting to grow. "Artists knew him," recalls Painter, who came across Ader's small oeuvre thanks to L.A. art-world staples Mike Kelley and Chris Burden, among others. Painter has exhibited Ader's work four times since he opened his Santa Monica space in 1997, but it remains mainly artists who appreciate him. People outside art's tighter circles, including many collectors, still say, "Bas Jan who?" "We still have work to do," Painter says.
The exhibition that opened June 25 at Painter's Bergamot Station gallery primarily features Ader's falls — three of them out of trees and one across a path. Only two images don't depict falls, and one of these, Untitled (The Elements), shows Ader standing on a rough-edged coast with ocean spray coming up to eye level and another ledge looming above him. It's no triumph à la Caspar David Friedrich, whose iconic painting Wanderer Above the Sea Fog, in which a man stands confidently on a rock overlooking the ocean, radiated humanist elitism. Here, man is not master over nature.
This lack of cocksure defiance, coupled with Ader's characteristic abandon, has compelled handfuls of young artists to pay homage to Ader over the past two decades. Many relive his mythical final journey. In 1995, Erika Yoemans made the short film In Search of Bas Jan's Miraculous, chronicling her therapeutic pilgrimage from Chicago to L.A. to meet Ader's widow and find as much of the artist as she could. Piero Golia, who happens to have a new show at Gagosian Gallery's Beverly Hills space, staged a vanishing act for Postcards From the Edge, disappearing from New York and reappearing in Copenhagen a month later.
L.A. artist Zoe Crosher's new exhibition at Las Cienegas Projects in Culver City responds to Ader less cathartically. Called "L.A.-Like: Transgressing the Pacific," it doesn't mimic Ader or even explicitly reference his work, but it does react to his penchant for going one step past the farthest edge.
"He went through, I go around," says Crosher, who spent the past few years researching and photographing the points along the ocean where seven real and fictional figures disappeared. Because her project focuses on the Pacific, westward expansion's ultimate boundary, and Ader disappeared in the Atlantic, she couldn't use him. Still, he's her "secret inspiration."
Before she began "Transgressing the Pacific," Crosher saw the first part of In Search of the Miraculous, a series of nighttime images in which Ader starts midcity and gradually moves toward the coast, with flashlight in tow. His wife, Mary Sue Andersen, followed him around with a camera. He ended up at the Pacific, and the image of him standing there fed Crosher's central question: "What do you do when you get to the border?"
"I keep thinking back to Lewis and Clark," says Crosher, "how they must have felt when they got to the ocean. Such a disappointment. A switch from the dream of health to the stunted, abrasive hard edge that's hazardous."
The first disappearance Crosher photographed was of fictional writer Roger Wade, from Robert Altman's film adaptation of Raymond Chandler's The Long Goodbye. In the movie, Wade, played by Sterling Hayden, charges into the Malibu waves as if he's fighting them to let him in. Philip Marlowe, played by Elliott Gould, runs after him. "It suddenly occurred to me that I'm not in some tank at some studio," Gould remembered years later. "This is the fucking Pacific Ocean! ... My inner voice said to me, 'Don't go in, Elliott. There's no one here to bring you back up.' "
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