Close Encounters Now Dig This!by Linda Yablonsky

The chickens come home to roost in Anthology, a vital solo show by Clifford Owens at MoMA PS1. Owens puts a fascinating spin on a

catalogue of new or neglected performance works by African American artists that deserves the lift he is giving it. He also gives

issues of race a good going-over.
On the gallery walls are 26, Fluxus-style scores, or instructions, for tasks either previously done by others, or created by others

especially for Owens, who carried them out during a residency at PS 1 last summer. Imagination and the insidious subtleties of racial

politics play a big part throughout.
Lorraine OGradys text for Xenosphere first defines the title word as a combination of foreign and globe, then directs Owens to

choose an Other (animal, vegetable, or mineral), to create a record of his interactions with that Other, and finally to send her a

low-tech copy of whatever transpires.
Owens met the challenge with a lasciviousness that is initially hilarious -- until his actions, displayed on three flat-screen

monitors, turn so sadistic and dark it made me glad I was watching from a remove. His Others include a live chicken that he presses

to his groin and treats as an autoerotic tool; a naked white woman who moves around an empty room in a series of submissive (and

ultimately humiliating) poses; and a spread of fruit, berries and vegetables that Owens eroticizes by repeatedly gutting, rimming,

fingering and smashing them, splattering the walls with their flying flesh and blood.
As a metaphor for the abuse of power, its literally ripping. The tension only mounts with Maren Hassingers Repose, which that

senior, Los Angeles-based artist describes as a relaxation -- a reprieve from action.
Owens was relaxed, all right. For the performance, seen in a discomfiting, and silent, single-channel video, he lies on the floor

naked, utterly passive and nonresistant, while small groups of mostly white people in street clothes lift him into five different

positions, forcing open his legs, making him sit, or turning him over as if to examine the merchandise before purchase.
Kara Walkers untitled score begins with these instructions: French-kiss an audience member. Force them against a wall and demand

Sex. If anyone is willing, she goes on, Owens is suddenly to play the victim and accuse his attacker of sex abuse. Says the text:

Seek help from others, describe your ordeal. Repeat. Unfortunately, the silent videos of what transpired arent quite as

provocative as the written score, mainly because we only see the kissing and do not hear anything of the ordeal.
It appears that the men and women lined up against the wall -- the same wall where the video monitors now hang -- didnt much mind

Owens coming on to them. (Hes quite good-looking and powerfully built, his hair cut in a mohawk for this work.) If he did complain,

it only seemed to make them giggle. Still, it leaves you thinking.
William Pope.Ls score is one of the simplest -- and most consternating. It says, Be African American. Be very African American.

Owens wasnt fazed. He did it several different ways, with different collaborators, instructing one to run along a line of white tape

that he had installed through the building and repeat the title phrase or ask visitors to name their favorite black artist.