Somebody is smoking crack at the Museum of Modern Art. How else to explain exhibiting Dog Aitkin’s “Sleepwalkers”, an outdoor exhibition, in the middle of frigin’ WINTER! The night I ventured out into the breach was the first time in my life I could literally empathize with a witch’s tit, and not in a good way.

However, once my extremities got acclimated I was actually able to appreciate, if not fully enjoy, the sublimely unique New Yorkiness of what I was experiencing. The main stage of the exhibit was situated in the outdoor sculpture garden, which is barricaded on three sides by the glass walls of the museum itself.

Six separate films exposed themselves on the naked exterior of the buildings with only the cacophony of the city acting as their Philip Glass-esque soundtrack. At first sight it was a truly breathtaking nocturnal panorama.

The movies were 16 minute shorts each depicting a solitary soul slogging through the drudgery of their daily lives. The movies, though autonomous, flowed together as one through the use of perfectly timed edits that occurred simultaneously in all six pieces at exactly the same moment lending a soothingly mellow synchronization that was wicked cool.

Another super sweet aspect was that every so often each of the six films would flash the same image; such as a sunset, facial close up or high speed traffic scene, creating a multiplied mirror effect that I found quite trippy.

I took advantage of the audio commentary, which was cleverly accessed through a cell phone number. I learned that the artist told his actors to, “dissolve into the landscapes”. His belief is that a city is heat and energy without boundaries and that the city itself and the people in it are micro and macro reflections of each other. I dig that, but as my balls burrowed deeper into my belly I began to get increasingly disturbed.

NOBODY was smiling. None of the actors in the films, none of the hundred or so audience members, NOBODY! The movies themselves ,while gorgeous, were intense and bleak. Even the physical projection on the windows gave them a bleached out, spectral look.

The thing is: Mr. Aitken created this instillation to showcase the organic heat of life in our city, but what I experienced was not the city I know and love. To me it wasn’t so much a celebration of New York life as it was a depressing homage to the remorse and alienation one feels riding the L train at rush hour. Then again, that’s just one humble kid from Jersey’s opinion.

HIGHLIGHTS:

· It’s FREE
· They won’t bust your balls if you light up a smoke
· It truly is a unique piece of art
· The cell phone audio commentary is free and enlightening: 408-794-0886
· Connolly’s Irish Pub is right across the street on 54th, and a $6 shot of Jack goes a long way after freezing your ass off in the winter night for half an hour.