Wes Heiss » 2009

husk

In March of 1965 a young and determined Ralph Nader appeared for the first time before the United States senate and began his assault on the automotive industry. It was the beginning of sweeping changes in America’s attitudes towards safety and a significant event in the nation’s building distrust in both their government and large corporations. At the center of this controversy was the Chevrolet Corvair. Nader accused General Motors of designing an unsafe car that, due to its unique suspension and rear engine, would easily roll over during casual driving. Even worse Nader claimed that executives at GM knew of the dangers and had consciously decided not to fix the design. Changes would have proven too expensive and the car was already over budget. Generally accepted as the most radical car ever to be produced by a major American auto manufacturer, the Corvair was both an unprecedented risk for General Motors and an easy target. With its air cooled rear engine and long list of other first time innovations, clean styling, and nearly 30 MPG; the soul of the car was more European than American.

Unfortunately it was not really the Corvair that was “Unsafe at any Speed”. Statistically it was actually far safer than other more popular cars of the time and yet these facts went completely unnoticed. The truth is that the whole industry was plagued with questionable attitudes and needed a shakeup in order to instigate change. The facts surrounding Nader, the Corvair, and the public are a complicated and seldom told story. But in the end these issues are not what’s really important. Through his attacks on the Corvair Nader had both unwittingly convinced consumers and the American automotive industry not to embrace any more wild and new ideas, and permanently damaged the image of General Motors. In an era of massive change the most powerful corporation in the United States decided it should start playing it safe.

In 1969 my parents bought a dark green 1966 Corvair Corsa. It had only a few thousand miles on it and they got it for a song. The original owner was a Wisconsin farmer who had accidentally backed his corn picker into the car’s right side. After having the fender repaired it became my parents second Corvair and, with its purchase, wholly solidified a family obsession with the notorious automobile. By this time Ralph Nader had long been famous for his mission to retool Detroit and had already started moving onto other things. As if searching for something overlooked to believe in my parents were attracted to the uniqueness of the Corvair and wanted to prove that the car was not flawed. They went on to lean everything about their cars; fixing them, showing them, racing them, and contributing to the founding of the first Corvair Club in Chicago. Of their two Corvairs they drove the green Corsa less often as it was the rare top of the line model. I remember being told stories that transformed it into a perfect and magical thing. How they drove through Ontario on the first night of their honeymoon and accidentally hit a bear. How it would always gather a crowd because of the sound of its perfectly tuned motor. How the left headlight was illegally bright as it came from the landing gear of a B-52 bomber. How my father had made engine parts for it in the chemistry lab. The machine had personality and was allowed to grow, bit by bit, into a member of the family.

Although the places where the child seat attached are still visible, I can only remember riding in it once. It was the last time it ran on a dark and cold November in the late 70s. I remember my father swearing as we limped home. He had just fixed something that had broken again almost instantly. Rust had eaten a large hole under the drivers floor and was spreading quickly like cancer across the once show winning car’s body. Looking over his shoulder I remember watching the pavement sliding effortlessly just inches from my father’s feel as we coasted into the driveway. At the time nothing seemed all that monumental about the drive. It was however the final straw. My parents decided to park their frustration until they had the time and money to fix it.

It sat for 29 years.

My parents lost in interest in trying to fix the car but could never bring themselves to get rid of it. I always thought of it with a special reverence and it became as much of an heirloom as anything could be. Not knowing the engine had permanently rusted in place I would show it off to my childhood friends when they came over. Sometimes I would eat my dinner in it to get away from a family fight or sit in it while it rained imagining what it would be like running and restored. I felt like we had let it down and allowed it to die slowly in our hands. We would pump up its tires and push it around once or twice a year as it was always sinking into the asphalt. I remember my older brother religiously rolling the windows down every day as if that would keep it nice inside. It didn’t. The upholstery had burst open everywhere and hemorrhaged material that was relaxing back into the world of plants and animals. My brother always seemed the likely candidate for the privilege of restoring the car however by the time it was clear I would have the responsibility it was far too gone. After having been driven only 42 thousand miles it would gently slip away.

'husk' installation at the Sarah Lawrence Heimbold Visual Arts Center

Kitchen chairs from my childhood home

Motor control module. The piece automatically cycles between spinning for 1 minute and then sitting at rest for 12.

Motor control module. The piece automatically cycles between spinning for 1 minute and resting for 12. Display counts down time to state change.

The car was completely dismantled, submerged in acid for 8 days to remove all rust, and then powder-coated to embalm it permanently in plastic. In some places the metal is paper thin.

Looped DVD interview of my parents recalling the history of their car.

transvision

everlast . 24" x 24" x 30" . 2004

We are overrun by dumb objects. The things that we touch, watch, eat, buy, use and throw away have no ability to think for themselves nor are they designed to make you think. The vast majority of this stuff is actually designed precisely to keep you from thinking about what they are and why they are there.

The means by which you see things determines what you get out of them, and few objects in our world take this into consideration less than the television. In terms of how it functions, the design of the television has barely changed since its introduction over half a century ago. Strangely, as it has become a nearly ubiquitous component of contemporary life, the television’s physical presence has dwindled into almost complete insignificance. It is a muted black box… anonymous, passive, inert.

Transvision is an ongoing project that reconsiders the design of the consumer television we take for granted. Shedding the pretense of operating on the future infrastructures of broadcast information, transvision instead explores the potentials of altering the mediating object itself. This mediating object is a potent and thoroughly ignored threshold between the space of your body and mind, and the stream of information from the world.

Transvision’s intent is to change you’re relationship with what you are seeing rather than simply mindlessly relaying information. Each of the fully functional transvisions proffers new prototypes for watching and reconceptualizing our ideas about television. These new schemes of interface problematize the act of watching TV by imbedding interaction into a medium traditionally resolved to the goal of complacency. The individual transformations in Transvision expose the power of the mediating object, reanimating both the content and the viewer while cutting through the static and stasis of media. Whatever you do, don’t sit back and relax.

tv_oscillator-floor

tv_lazy

radius . 5' x 2.5' x 5' . fiberglass, 13"CRT, rubber, paint . 2003i did not know that . 2003

suburban

There is a pervading sense of sadness in the work of Wesley Heiss.

In the beginning it’s negligible… barely felt at all; in fact when you first see it it’s the exact opposite. Childlike excitement and curiosity bubble up as the materials and subject matter seem like something that could bring you joy. It seems as though it will somehow entertain you and being entertained is always exciting.

But then it starts messing with you. You begin to realize you are somehow “necessary” for the piece… that you’ve gotten all “involved” without properly being asked first. There is little opportunity for passive viewing. Arguably the piece doesn’t even work unless you are there.

In order for these works to give you something you have to give them something first.

Suburban has much the same set up for immediate joy; lingering melancholy. Conjuring childhood memories of bounce houses and parades we feel the flutter of excitement that comes with those first few moments of the unexpected. Yet the same excitement that may put a nervous but welcome sensation in the stomach of a child somehow turns into something else as an adult.

Your presence, your breath, that smallest of actions, is translated into something palpable. There is an exchange rate. The breath of your body makes itself seen in the swell of the balloon. It is the most evanescent of life markers and its sweet climactic puff breathes too large for the space now made uncomfortable and claustrophobic. The inflatable is self-declaredly hollow but looms large. Expanding until you are forced to leave, it pushes you from the room only for it to begin its slow, soft, heartbreaking fall.

Complacently watching the crestfallen beast take its measured descent there is a quick surge of optimism. It feels real and sad… but okay. You can always just go stand in the spot again.

Text by Angela Fraleigh

'suburban' installed in the Arlington Museum Arlington, TX

'Suburban' at the Arlington Museum, Arlington, TX

Walk into the space. Step over the mark on the floor. Lights switch and a blower turns on. The flaccid bag inflates into a huge grey featureless puppy way too big to fit in the room. Step off the spot and the puppy slowly deflates.