Kevin Cooley: Skyward at The Boiler
When my alarm goes off, I immediately think: “Still winter. What would Louis CK do?” I figure I can order a pizza at 7:00am, Hour of Darkness that it is, and swim in a combination of shame/disgust, but I stick to a milder routine: mumble some made-up obscenity, wave a middle finger in the general direction of my window, and stare at my economy-sized container of Vitamin D supplements, all while mopping up an endless stream of poisonous, pitch-black tears. What I’m getting at is this: Stop crying and pack up your sun lamp, ‘cause this seasonal affective garbage is almost over.
Before we push the clocks forward, though, there’s Kevin Cooley’s Skyward at The Boiler and its blue stretch of surreal Los Angeles sky. The video installation—a single tracking shot that starts downtown and takes us to Palos Verdes—plays 40 feet above a plot of artificial turf, where you can sprawl out like a stargazer—like you’re kicking back in a convertible—and make the misanthropic monstrosity of MTA rush hour take a backseat. And that’s nice, isn’t it?—trading out underground asphyxiation for something kinder to human maladjustment? Something that doesn’t involve a subterranean stranger shaking down your idea of personal space and breathing so hard on you that he must think you’ll cut him a check with a dollar amount that matches MPH? Yeah, that’s nice.
What’s also nice is a prescription of airplanes, palm trees, freeways, and feathered creatures. Here’s to temporary teleportation—to daydreams of Malibu Barbie and Ryan Gosling, ca. 2011. Through March 17.
Tips and/or blisteringly cruel insults to: samantha@freewilliamsburg.com / @kaleidofox
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