Bryon Gysin with Dreamachine at Musée des Art Décoratifs, Paris, 1962. The first U.S. retrospective of Gysin's work is exhibited at the New Museum until October 3rd.

I have a complex relationship with contemporary art.  Experiencing it is like falling in love with a complicated, tortured soul, the quintessential “artist” type.  I love it, and I am fascinated by it –in fact, I’ve spent this past summer absorbed in it as a participant in the MoMA In the Making program– yet I am, to say the least, perplexed by it.  Some of my friends find it pretentious and indulgent.  It confuses me, and at times I wonder why I even bother with it.  But sometimes I have experiences that remind me why I am drawn to it in the first place.

My visit to The New Museum was one such event.  I must admit, entering Brion Gysin‘s Dream Machine exhibit was daunting.  Armed with a notebook, pen, and audio excerpts via iPod, as well as a summer of studying art under my belt, I felt I might have the tools to adequately decipher and report on it, although I think the last review I ever wrote was a fifth-grade classroom book review of “Bridge to Terabithia.”  But the sensory overload that followed made me realize that the event of writing about contemporary art would not be as methodical and clear-cut as that of my previous work, and thereby more challenging.  Entering the exhibit at the same time was a lovely couple, one of whom was an artist, who must have sensed that I was slightly overwhelmed at the moment.  “Don’t worry about it, art is confusing,” they told me.  “Write about how you feel!”  And with that, I soldiered on, my anxiety quelled.

The first thing I discovered was that Gysin was a wanderer, both geographically and artistically.  These works compiled from a prolific period of his life, which vary widely in theme and medium, reflect his status as a creative nomad.  He used inspiration from his years in Morocco and painted large canvases with figures that mimic Japanese calligraphy, but the place to which it seems he most frequently ventured is the depths of his mind.  The title piece of the exhibit – the Dream Machine itself – is a cylinder of flashing light meant to be experienced by kneeling six to eight inches in front of it with closed eyes and listening to a song he selected through the iPod audio guide.  It’s a rather psychedelic experience; I suspect it’s similar to a mild acid trip of which I have no doubt Gysin was familiar.  To me, though, it was very calming – I was ensconced in a moment of peacefulness that I had not anticipated.

Another piece of his that really interested me is one of his cut-up works.  On a small computer screen appeared a phrase multiple times, the words scrambled to form every permutation possible.  Considering how abstract his other pieces are, even other ones from the cut-up series, I was surprised at the simple and mathematical nature of this one.  I then noticed that among the nonsensical permutations were some from which meanings entirely different from that of the original phrase can be extrapolated.

There are many other pieces, including short films and collages that I felt were, at the moment, lost on me.  But amid the confusion, I discovered that Gysin had a philosophy that really resonates with me: all art is connected, if not interchangeable, be it writing, painting, music, or clog-dancing (okay, I added in that last one.)  This is a belief I’ve always held, and it was satisfying to see it validated by someone as visionary as Gysin.

Also at the museum is Rivane Neuenschwander‘s A Day Like Any Other, an exhibit by which I was completely enchanted.  Her conceptual art shows a curiosity about the world and other people’s lives, creation by means of the interactive and the collaborative.  Her piece entitled “Involuntary Sculptures” is a collection of tiny trinkets made idly by the hands of people in bars and restaurants, items my mom would most likely refer to as “schmutz.”  These products of fidgeting (an act of which I’m frequently guilty) are representations of the absent-minded bursts of creativity that everyone has at one time or another.  Traditionalists might ask, how is this art, but in my opinion, why shouldn’t it be?  I think the piece brings us to consciousness about the subconscious, albeit in a charming, quaint manner.

“First Love” is a collection of drawings created by a forensic sketch artist through the descriptions of various people of their first object of affection.  I was struck not only by the incredible creativity and  sweetness of this idea, but also by the experiences many of the participants must have had, a unique and highly detailed type of nostalgia.  Although she did not physically create these pieces, she shares the position as the artist of these pieces equally with the participants and the sketch artist, a brilliant troika.

However, Neuenschwander’s “I Wish Your Wish,” located in the lobby of the museum, is perhaps her exhibit’s most deeply touching piece.  The wishes of participants in this project in its prior presentation are printed on over 10,000 ribbons in rainbow colors, dangling from rows of holes in three of the walls of the room.  Visitors are invited to take a ribbon and replace it with a wish of their own, to be written on slips of paper available at the door.  Reading the wishes the artist selected, I found that I connected to almost all of them.  The aesthetic beauty of the piece combined with Neuenschwander ‘s sensitivity to and respect for the thoughts and feelings of others really moved me.  She’s an engineer of ideas that have immense artistic and sentimental appeal, and I am always inspired when a female artist is featured so extensively for simply being a great artist rather than for the novelty of exhibiting a woman’s work.

Modern art can be confusing and at times difficult to grasp, it’s true, but after visiting The New Museum, I can truly say I believe that the feeling of viewing art, the excitement, is worth not understanding all of it, especially when the artists allow viewers to have an active role in the art, as Gysin and Neuenschwander both have.