Once inside, it didn’t take long to realize that apart from a massive mirror ball resting on the floor, which looked like it was perhaps swung a bit too aggressively by somebody who had drunk a bit too much, there was not much more on display than empty plastic cups, bottles and cigarette butts spread out on the floor. The space was one big black empty room, lit only in corners by multi-coloured spotlights. I almost forgot that I came to see some art. Instead I felt like I did miss out on some big happening.
What mocked me the most were the ashtrays with their unfinished cigarettes everywhere. They looked so freshly abandoned. Being a smoker myself, I was instantly tempted to light up. After all, the evidence was there. I asked the bouncer if it was possible to smoke. The reply I got was rather surprising. I was informed that smoking was allowed last week, during the actual party. Was he serious? I thought the opening of the show was tonight…
Prohibited from contributing, I had no choice but to remain a passive observer. I did feel slightly amused at my willing suspension of disbelief. Did I really think they would let me light up in a social institution? It was worth a try nevertheless, the stage set by the witty Berlin based duo surely did trick me.
I decided to check out the rest of the show. From below, the numerous crowding legs made it seem like there still just might be some action upstairs. I made my way up a lengthy flight of stairs only to be greeted by a large steel door, with the engraving “V.I.P”. It was shut of course. Once again I had fallen for the illusion. The landing was really only big enough to fit five people all of whom were busy examining the photos on the wall. Photos of this enigmatic party last week, I presumed. The people in them looked like they were having fun.
Back downstairs I noticed some people staring up. I did too. Lined with mirrors, the ceiling revealed the contents of the V.I.P room. Nothing much happening there; just another room. Yet, in the far corner, the reflection of a seated body (a mannequin or perhaps even a real person, resting from a late night?) with its back to us, bystanders, somehow managed to keep the room alive, in suspense and out of bounds.
The social charade acted out by Elmgreen and Dragset becomes a success as it immerses us into the scene yet at the same time isolates us from it completely. An all too familiar feeling of exclusion in the social game, similar to that of having browsed a photo album of a not so close friend on Facebook of a party which you didn’t attend. Or flicking through the celebrity snapshots of the “Out last night” pages of the Londonpaper.
What I had walked into was indeed a party room. But the party was not there anymore. I had been left with the remains, which were intensified by all the reflective surfaces within; the ceiling, the lonely mirror ball and stainless steel walls bearing faintly printed outlines of dancing silhouettes. My own reflection did not help fill the void. Instead the presence of my body added to the feeling of displacement, which the installation evoked. I felt out of place. I doubt I would have felt different had I been on time. Here I would have always been late.
