The press release for Songs in the Key of Mard – the solo show of Nathaniel Mellors at The Box in Downtown L.A.’s Arts District – was a musical track, accessible through a QR code. Nathaniel Mellors plays with the words “press release,” repurposing the term into a call to action. The creative license taken with the format introduces the audience to a multi-disciplinary experience rather than a static visual arts show. I took issue with the decision because I read press releases and rely upon them for information – though calculated and biased – to understand the work, the artist’s intention, and the gallery sales strategy. I appreciate a well-written essay and the labor that goes into it.
The lack of a proper press release forced me to approach the work without a guide or filter. It also made me think of the absurdity of the system like the art world that requires submission to templates and formats to function. The press release is an example of how the corporate class forces creatives to contort themselves in order to be seen. I had to reflect upon how I have been trained to think and to see throughout my career of reading and writing these documents.
Songs in the Key of Mard was a good show by an artist who has made more interesting work in more compelling exhibitions. As a fan of Mellors’ aesthetic, I have a sick affinity for David Cronenberg films and body horror, and I am fascinated with the grotesque. The hand reaching out from the toilet bowl in High Five (2023) hit just right for me. A sculpture/painting pairing that works is the juxtaposition of A Wall Against Time (2023) and Painting Against Time (Blue) (2023). The wall sculpture was, of course, the stronger piece; It had a couple of my favorite things working for it: time and tubing. A blue liquid was pumped through silicone tubing hung in the shape of an hourglass on the wall. It was a prime example of simple, yet elegant. I wanted to stare at it all day.
The” Weeper” series consisted of five sculpted male heads with water pumped through tubes that connect a fiberglass tank to the eyeholes, making the sculptures “weep”. The series opens a discussion about masculinity, fragility, and the limitations enforced by the narrow path of socially acceptable expressions. It makes one reflect upon the antiquated saying, “boys don’t cry.” The figures represent Western masculine archetypes that remain consistent over space and time. Weeper One (Classical Problems) (2023) suggests a Zeus-like deity, the idealized classical father-figure. Weeper Two (Future Neanderthal) (2023) and Weeper Five (A Neanderthalized Actor) (2024) recall a familiar theme from Mellors’ previous film and animatronic projects in which the Neanderthal shows more sophistication than the modern man.
The sculptures could facilitate a meditative state as viewers got lost in the sound of the water trickling from the eye holes. The Neanderthal, a recurring character in Mellors’ earlier film and animatronic works, asks the viewer to ponder what makes us “civilized” or “modern”. It not only appears in the sculptural work, but as a theme of his 2022 BROW paintings, Low Brow sprouts a big brain and Browserer (For a Flex) sprouts a grotesque cluster of flexing muscles.
The most recent series of paintings, Sad Balls (2022) takes the weeping down below. Though the series was meant to complement the sculptures, I initially believed that the exhibition would’ve been stronger without them. I yearned for either the multimedia maximalism with film and animatronics or an austere sculptural exhibition.
It took me many weeks to figure out why the images of Caucasian testicles rubbed me the wrong way. Why did the works evoke such a visceral response? At first, I could only see another heteronormative white man focusing on his genitalia. Guys always want to show off their junk, as seen in the multitude of unsolicited dick pics that have assaulted my senses like a digital flasher without the trench coat. The weeping men made me think of predators who try to present themselves as victims, panicking at the thought of losing any the unearned privilege that men have enjoyed for generations. “Sad Balls” also triggered memories of hearing complaints of “blue balls” like I had some obligation to provide a release and relief. I also thought of the pathetic act of male partner begging for sex or having a crying tantrum when I haven’t been in the mood. But that may be the point. Maybe these are all tears of toxicity.
I then realized that my aversion was personal. Being confronted by so many weeping white balls on the walls triggered memories of decades of bad decisions that resulted in my being confronted with the most hideous part of the human body. At the closing reception I had to confess to the artist, “I think I’m gay.”
