I asked Kim about his intentions when he came up with the idea and he had this to say: “It was definitely intended as a conceptual critique. I was trying to get my head around the idea of assigning value to someone’s life work. How do we determine who should get this prize? Within the biennial, the artists have varying degrees of commercial success, so how does that play into their chances of winning? The idea of a popular vote is also problematic—how much criticality would be involved? I think the Mohn Games expose the award as another form of entertainment, which derives its value from art.” Kim also wondered whether a large enough betting pool, say $50,000, might generate enough attention to influence the opinions of the jurors and the voting public. He noted that there are many unseen influences that affect the nomination process, and that the Mohn Games could potentially blow that dynamic open. Fascinatingly, this was accomplished to some extent in 2002 by Turner Prize-winner Keith Tyson, who placed so many bets on himself as a nominee that he increased his own odds from underdog to a favorite. His gambling actually earned him more than winning what was then a $20,000 purse.4From within the “Made in LA” biennial itself, Fiona Connor’s alternative exhibition catalogue project, conducted over a two-week period in early July, was a yet more direct assertion of agency. The project took place in and around her Lobbies on Wilshire installation, an architectural intervention that duplicates and then displaces a portion of the Hammer’s marble stairway, facing it outward towards Wilshire Boulevard. Connor borrowed a photocopy machine, a computer, a table, and chairs from the Hammer‘s offices and set up a publishing station in the museum lobby. She and her team then engaged in talks and exhibition walk-throughs with visitors, museum staff, artists, and friends, all of which were recorded and transcribed for the self-published alternative catalogue. Visitors were invited to contribute images by Xeroxing random items, such as the contents of their purses, and various magazine articles of interest—like The Atlantic’s recent “Why Women Still Can’t Have It All” and Martha Rosler’s “The Artistic Mode of Revolution: From Gentrification to Occupation,” from e-flux Journal—were also copied for inclusion. The resulting “essays” were piled atop the stairs and banister that comprised Connor’s sculptural installation, where you could then assemble your own personalized “catalogue” by walking through and picking up whichever pieces interested you.

Simply picking up this catalogue was a great opportunity to interact with the artist and her work; but to read it was to be greeted by a wonderfully freeform explosion of voices discussing art, the Hammer, the work in the show, larger social issues, and their personal lives. In a museum environment, where only sanctioned voices and perfected presentations are given play, this catalogue—with its multitude of typos, uncited quotations, casually shared opinions, improvised layouts, and exposed production process—was an invigorating breath of fresh air.

When I told Connor that I was working on an essay about the Mohn Award, she immediately directed me to a 59-page transcript of an artists’ gathering at Barnsdall Park that she had attended the week before. It soon became apparent that this was the same gathering that had been referred to by the artist I was chatting with at Ooga Booga, and it was initiated by biennial artist Ashley Hunt. Hunt was interested in creating a space—artist-generated and separate from the “official” discursive spaces of the biennial—for the 60 participants to have some meaningful conversation with one another on how they felt about the exhibition and their positions within it.

Inevitably, much of the first meeting, which occurred a few days before the five finalists were announced, was devoted to discussing the Mohn Award. Grievances get aired at length, and recurring throughout the transcript is a complaint that the Mohn Award—like the Getty’s much maligned “Pacific Standard Time” poster campaign that celebrated only heavy hitters like Baldessari and Ruscha—had been unleashed upon these artists without their permission or input, introducing a dynamic of competitive spectacle that was uncomfortable.5The timing of the prize’s announcement had also been awkward, having been “sprung” upon them at a celebratory dinner after their work had already been installed. They bemoan the loss of the artist’s voice and discuss ways to retrieve it, such as refusing the prize if it is given to them, or by distributing it among the other 59 artists. They also talk about how the prize reduces the quality of the dialogue around the exhibition—but the more they talk, the more they find themselves counteracting the prize’s effects. They make plans to keep meeting every week.

A few weeks later, I’m at Barnsdall Park and I run into this same group of artists, now engaged in a talk with biennial artist [and Mohn Award finalist] Simone Forti about her exhibited work. One of the things that had come out of their weekly meetings was a desire to keep forging relationships with one another through mutual studio visits, and here they were doing just that. Connor later told me that she felt the group had realized that this was what they wanted all along and that, for the most part, they had processed their feelings about the Mohn Award and were over it. They had moved on.

“Community Is More Important”

In conducting research for this essay, it became apparent to me how deeply important a sense of community is to the LA art world. Perhaps LA’s geography naturally encourages so much isolation and loneliness that community must constantly be sought, lest one becomes permanently lost. Perhaps the city’s long history as a haven for utopian thinkers encourages it. But for whatever reason, collaboration, mutual support, and shared resources are what fuel the engine of art production in LA.  In such an interconnected ecosystem, giving a large cash prize to a single recipient can seem a bit discordant.6

When speaking on the record about the possibility of winning the prize, the Mohn Award finalists tended to deflect attention away from themselves. Asked on KPCC Radio’s Off Ramp what she would do with the $100,000 if she were to win, Liz Glynn’s answer was “I would get space for other artists to do something awesome.” In my interview with her, Forti said that she couldn’t keep all the money for herself—she might split it among the five finalists, or donate it where it’s needed, like the public library system—while Erika Vogt pointed out that there should be more discussion around the need for more funding sources within the region.7

It may well be that in our heart of hearts, having agency and building community are more important than giving one person $100,000, as Forti stressed to me. But I don’t think this means that the Mohn Award is a bad thing for Los Angeles. Veteran gallerist Thomas Solomon points out that at this critical point in its development, the local art world needs to show that there is substantial recognition and support for artists coming from within LA—without this, it is difficult to generate support from outside of the city. Meg Cranston, a mid-career biennial artist, also feels that the prize is important from a development standpoint and could help the Hammer Museum to leverage more money for other projects. As an artist who has been nominated for many prizes, Cranston offers a more philosophical take: “If anyone thinks that winning this award means that you are the best or most important artist, they are mistaken. It’s just a matter of someone’s karma lining up in a particular way to get a particular prize. It’s the luck of the draw.”

Tate director Nicholas Serota, who has played a pivotal role in the development of the Turner Prize, has admitted that he initially felt bad about the “discomfort” of artists, but eventually decided that it was a necessary evil in the quest to engage the broader public in contemporary art.8Anya Gallacio, a 2003 finalist, suggests that now that the prize has done that job, perhaps the powers that be could move on to find a more authentic way to showcase British art.9Here in Los Angeles in 2012, with the luxury of hindsight and with the pitfalls of the Turner Prize as cautionary tale, might we be able to move straight into that better phase and decide what our own agenda is going to be?

Rather than looking at the Mohn Award as either a positive or a negative, it could be looked at as an opportunity to shape what is perhaps an inevitable phenomenon to our liking. The artists themselves have already done this, and can continue to do this, by exercising their agency and talking to one another. The Hammer, which prides itself on being more of an experimental, artist-oriented laboratory for museological practices rather than a traditional museum per se, has also stated that they are open to discussing the various particulars of the biennial exhibition and the awarding of the prize going forward.10Based on feedback from their Artist Council, they have already changed the name of the award from its original moniker, the Mohn Prize, to the more serious-sounding Mohn Award. They may also convene a meeting in the fall so that the biennial artists, Jarl Mohn, and the Artist Council can discuss the future administration of the Mohn Award.

If the character of the prize’s founder is any indicator, I think the chances of a positive outcome that benefits the many rather than the few are strong. I interviewed Mohn and found him to be a regular, down-to-earth guy who very slowly developed his appreciation and his collection over the years. His passion and enthusiasm for the art and artists of the emerging LA art scene were palpable, and he is much more excited about the monographic publication than he is about the cash prize itself. “It’s going to be a limited edition and we’re going to mail them internationally to the people that we think are the real tastemakers in contemporary art—collectors, curators, critics, galleries, museums—to say, ‘look at what’s happening here.’” The book will be designed by the same team who designed the biennial catalogue and the two volumes will be bundled together as a set. “What I’d like to see, five or ten years from now,” Mohn says, “is a recognition everywhere that [Los Angeles] is the spot, and to be a real catalyst for helping careers.”

In addition to having his heart in the right place, Mohn also has a terrific sense of humor. During our interview, the Hammer’s Communications Director, Sarah Stifler, told him about the Mohn Games betting pool and he was tickled pink. “You’re shitting me! How funny! Did anybody do well? I have to go look it up. My daughters [one of whom is in graduate school for art history and curatorial studies] will go crazy. They’ll think that’s hilarious. I’d love to see if anybody nails it.”

After the interview, I was driving home when I received a phone call from Eric Kim.

“Hey Carol, do you know Jarl Mohn?”
“Yeah, I just interviewed him. Why?”
“He just matched the Mohn betting pool.”

It would appear the odds are in our favor. Like the song says, the kids are gonna be alright.