David Armstrong-Six
Leak Into Space

Front Gallery

September 14 Š October 21, 2000

Artificial landscape without cultural precedent began to dawn on me.
-Tony Smith, 1966

Tony Smith's account of his legendary night drive on the unfinished Jersey Turnpike in the early 1950s has a kind of trippy, proto-virtual resonance that keeps it circulating. It is perhaps best known as the anecdote that fueled Michael Fried's case against Minimalism in 1967, thus laying bare MinimalismÕs supposed predilection for the 'empty' or 'abandoned' situation and also its flirtation with theatre, the most affected of the arts.The longevity of Smith's yarn, however, stems less from its role in twentieth century art-historical debate, than from its prescience: Smith's account fortuitously weaves together two disparate American specialties - Minimalism and road movies - slightly in advance of their arrival.

Tony Smith died in 1980, the year that the American Motors Corporation stopped producing the AMC Pacer after its five-year model run. The company subsequently went bankrupt in the mid eighties. Let's suppose that someone returns as Tony Smith sometime shortly thereafter, maybe midsummer 1986. He finds himself lying in a ditch beside the Jersey Turnpike, remembers his experience of long ago but not much else. He looks up the embankment and sees a small, brown car at the top. The passenger door is open. From this vantage-point the car looks empty, like he's rolled out of it. He lumbers back up the hill, circles the car. It's a 1980 AMC Pacer Coupe DL. The engine isn't running but the am radio is at full volume - maximum static. The noise drowns out the buzz from the open passenger door and the Pacer's heating vents pump out two strong currents of hot, dusty air.

Shimmying his way into the driver's seat, he turns off the radio, but is left with the constant flow of hot air as the control knob's missing. Though the windshieldÕs been shattered by a bullet, it remains fully intact, one hole dead center. From inside it's a peephole through the fragmented, prismatic screen. This tiny viewfinder serves to heighten the scope of the view out the back, throwing into relief the Pacer's most distinguished feature: a wide, composite rear-window with significantly more surface area than the windshield.

Determined to repeat the experience of his glory days once again, he pulls out gingerly into traffic. His eyes dart constantly between peep hole and rear-view mirror: minimum and maximum views. Tony Smith wants desperately to enjoy the ride, to take in the view, but since he can barely see out the front he takes it all in from behind. As he drives along slowly, cars rush on, speed past. What began as a series of sidelong glances out the back, soon turns into a yearning, retrospective gaze as he realizes it's the inverse of his originary ride. Proto-Minimalist turned happy rambler, the Pacer becomes for him a moving camera and theatre in one: the rotting vehicle with a big screen view.

Not more than ten miles on it starts to rain - hard. He pulls over, tries to close the sunroof, plugs up the bullet hole with a large piece of chewing gum he scraped from the dashboard. The heaterÕs still on. Within minutes the car's a sauna. He falls asleep.

II

Tony Smith has a dream about inertia: the Pacer's rolled into a bog ass-backwards, good end in. Though only six-years-old, its body is in bad shape the rust well camouflaged by its colour so the perforated underbelly was never detected. Anchored solidly in the bucket seat, he feels the bottom of the car slowly sinking as water seeps in through holes in the floor. He amuses himself in small attempts to pry open the jammed windows and the sunroof. The water is warm and murky; it feels nice as it makes its way up to his waist. At this point the Pacer bottoms out. His earlier movements disturbed the white, foamy rim at the bogÕs edge, he watches little, dislodged foam puffs floating at the waterline along the driverÕs window and again sees an artificial landscape, without cultural precedent. An abandoned situation.

Lee Rodney

This story has been written in response to Dave Armstrong's photographic series Chicago, Toronto, Montreal, Toronto, Toronto, Hackensack, Toronto.

Dave Armstrong-Six