Earlier this month, a 3,000 square meter experimental space opened quietly in Lower Manhattan, its ethos guided by an interesting question: what if not just exhibitions, but institutions are temporary? times, on Lafayette Street, comes at a time when the center of the art ecosystem is shrinking, hope is increasingly focused on the high and low ends of the market and institutions that favor innovation and heritage over experimentation. In that widening gap between buzz and critical sanctification, the founders of the sessions—Summer Guthery, former director of Canal Projects and founder of JOAN, and curator, collector and philanthropist Francesca Sonara—saw a unique opportunity to support artists who, despite the spread of institutional institutions, still pose risks.
Inheritance, Guthery and Sonara believe, is the opposite of exploration, which is part of why timepieces have a limited lifespan of just three years. “Knowing that the organization itself is temporary can shift the focus… towards the urgency of the present,” he said. Freed from the long tail of institutional marketing, artists can quickly prioritize and focus on responding to social, political, environmental and democratic concerns.
Programs were opened on February 12 by Jana Jacuka HAa 50-minute solo performance that explores laughter as a way to survive situations where boundaries are crossed with strong, sometimes violent words and non-threatening body language. It was followed on February 21 by the opening of Nina Beier’s first New York solo show in seven years, a large-scale installation of Cornetto-style ice cream cones that melt rather than melt, falling slowly under the weight of their creation but not disappearing.
Upcoming projects will include work by Nadia Berique, Asad Raza, Liv Schulman and Gernot Wieland. Other scheduled programs include a performance by Bob Kil Koh Khoviews of Calla Henkel and Max Pitegoff’s INTRODUCTION and the launch of a new book-length novel by Travis Diehl, The Snake is Cryingon March 14.
We caught up with Guthery and Sonara to learn more about the details of the project and what it means to support artists who need the time and space to think beyond a five-year plan.
The first obvious question is: why do you choose to go into obsolescence? Is there something that the end allows you to do—sequentially, ethically or otherwise—that a permanent project doesn’t?
times: We think and talk a lot about what our society needs or lacks, and the obvious answer is space, but time is also an increasingly scarce resource for all of us. What time do we have to do, see, hear and think about it? How do we build something that not only shares space, but shares time? Both in terms of literally sharing time with each other to discuss ideas and concepts, but also making time for others—other curators, artists, producers? How do we think of time in a practical way, as a diminishing resource that needs to be used carefully?
Can you imagine artists working differently if they knew that the organization they were associated with was temporary?
Francesca Sonara: Only if the acceptance of ephemerality frees them. I also think a lot about Fisher’s theory of capitalist reality: the future is dead. Everything we do lives forever online, regardless of the lifespan of the facility. Do something now, that affects you now. Let the internet do the heavy lifting, that’s what it’s best at.
Summer Guthery: I also believe that the temporary situation will actually allow artists more freedom. Knowing that the organization itself is temporary can shift the focus from legacy building or institutional permanence back to the urgency of the moment. It can create space for artists to take risks, to try things that may not fit well into the long-term institutional agenda, or to pursue ideas that are experimental, fragile or delayed.
Can you explain your commitment to ‘deprofessionalisation’?
times: We want to be clear: deprofessionalization is not the same as a negative attitude towards ethical practice. We don’t expect artists to come forward just for the sake of a conversation. We have enough infrastructure to make sure everyone understands the expectations and shared goals. When we say deprofessionalization, we’re talking more about the backlash to the rise of business in art, where the language of management, metrics and institutional practices borrowed from other industries begin to dictate how art is produced and experienced. Those systems tend to prioritize scale, branding and efficiency over testing, maintenance and responsiveness.
You both come from a background invested in non-commercial experimentation. What, in particular, felt inadequate in the existing models that made the first moments feel necessary now?
times: We don’t think of this job as filling a gap; instead, we humbly join a long history of small, non-profit, artist-run organizations focused on the most demanding artistic practices—experimental and temporary practices. We think of ourselves as the ingredients of rich, but still very fragile organizations—both commercial and non-commercial. Our presence is meant to be a reminder, not a solution.
What timeline do you see guiding the show, and how do the original shows establish the importance of the times right from the start?
moments: The narrative arc of the first year has many entry points, but one is definitely a stupid response to the chaos. Returning to this idea of ”deprofessionalization,” we give ourselves the space to laugh, to make mistakes, to show the confusion of the big ideas that the artists of our time are against. Our first exhibition by Nina Beier, for example, features hundreds of Cornetto-style ice cream cones, which, thanks to unnatural ingredients, do not melt at all—a reference to our industrial food systems. Irrational appreciation sounds like a valid response at this point.
The Times’ mission clearly defines artists who respond to social, political, environmental and democratic issues. What prompted that?
times: We talk a lot about the surrealists and Dadaists and the evergreen interest in that period. But what makes us so eager to return to that era? It’s not just the changed urine and the melting clocks, it’s the time when those artists react as a community of builders outside the institution. They had a lot to deal with intellectually, politically, socially and geographically. It is the tragedy of their present time that has made them so widespread.
What will success look like at the end of the organization’s life? What impact would you like to see?
Francesca Sonara: I like to think of ourselves as the oil in the engine, rather than the engine itself. We keep the wheel turning or keep alive the chance to do something small, eccentric and decidedly non-algorithmically determined.
Summer Guthery: Yes, our success can mean intentionally supporting artists and projects while staying true to our values. If, in the end, artists feel like they can see ideas that may not have received support, and if we help keep space open for experimentation and risk at a time when that space feels so lacking, that can feel like a real accomplishment.
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