70 Clock Galerie / Pull Ups and Psy-Op-20
Traction au Vineyard Theater
Vineyard Theater Pull Up
June 2020
This node captures the cultural paralysis of lockdown against the facade of the Vineyard Theatre. Dana H. survives as a poster for a performance arrested in time, while the huge numerals from the interrupted season act as a chronological tether inside forty-tw
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This node captures the cultural paralysis of lockdown against the facade of the Vineyard Theatre. Dana H. survives as a poster for a performance arrested in time, while the huge numerals from the interrupted season act as a chronological tether inside forty-two images of urban purgatory. The scaffold becomes brutalist stage machinery and Chakubie its only available actor. A merciless white lamp blooms overhead, making the abandoned theater look less closed than interrogated.
This is the only work in the exhibition with such an explicit date visible inside the frame. That small calendrical detail matters because the series otherwise feels suspended in a continuous urban present. Here, the signage fixes the ritual to the moment when stages, rehearsal rooms, and audiences had gone quiet, even as bodies continued to rehearse other forms of endurance outside.
The image makes performance migrate from the closed theater to the sidewalk. There is no curtain and no seated audience; the architecture frames a single repeated action. The poster preserves the promise of one kind of performance while Chakubie's pull-up supplies another—brief, unscripted, and inseparable from the conditions of the street.
The poster's survival inside the frame gives the photograph an archival density that no later caption could manufacture. It records not simply a place but an interrupted schedule. The pull-up answers interruption with recurrence: one planned cultural event halted, one unplanned physical performance completed beneath its announcement.
A violent white work light blooms at the top of the frame, bleaching part of the Vineyard Theatre sign and producing a theatrical glare more severe than any footlight. The poster's large 2019 numerals remain stranded in the background, a year that suddenly belonged to another social world. Reddish light appears to drip down Dana H.'s poster image, an accidental effect that lends the facade a wounded, almost melodramatic tonality. Chakubie occupies the center like an actor who has climbed out of the interrupted program and invented a one-movement play for an audience of scaffolding.
A date appears to stabilize the evidence, but timestamps can become theater too. The viewer is given a factual coordinate and invited to mistake chronology for certainty.
Opening the gallery…