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Pressed to pinpoint a central defining element of Jason Rhoades's Black Pussy, one might be tempted to pick the 250 neon signs that spell out, in tidy cursive, synonyms for the female pudendum. These range from the familiar (beaver, punani) to the gnomic (noon noon, poom poom), with a stop along the way for the absurd (sweet glove, the Notorious V.A.G.). Yet the installation, which resembles a criminally neglected soundstage, is strewn with so many objects that the neon seems an afterthought. There are electrical cables, lighting equipment, and pornographic paraphernalia; heaps of dream catchers, camel-saddle footstools, and Venetian glass vegetables; hundreds of hookahs, a small Hammond organ, and an empty bottle of 1965 Charles Krug Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. "I think people should be overwhelmed," Rhoades said last year shortly before his death at the age of 41, attributed to a combination of accidental drug intoxication and preexisting heart disease (he left behind his wife, the artist Rachel Khedoori, and their three- year-old daughter). "I think it should shut you down; it should make you give up something."
The show, which just began a three-month run at New York's David Zwirner gallery, is the third part of a trilogy—a six-year effort. Each part is loosely based around the Black Stone, the object of veneration mounted on Islam's holiest site—the Kaaba, the ancient building in the Grand Mosque of Mecca toward which all Muslims pray. The silver frame in which the Black Stone is set bears an uncomfortable likeness to a vagina.
Black Pussy was Rhoades's most ambitious project ever. It originally showed in London concurrent with a "Little Sista" installation at his L.A. studio, where he held secret happenings—Black Pussy Soirée Macramé Cabarets. Bands performed, and the guests—including the likes of Dennis Hopper and John Baldessari—adhered to an all-white dress code.
Rhoades grew up near Sacramento, California, and got his M.F.A. from UCLA, where he found a mentor in Paul McCarthy—best known for his sexually provocative mannequin pieces. Later, Rhoades met David Zwirner, who became a close friend and a champion. "He came to visit my gallery in 1993 and showed me a portfolio of photos of his work," Zwirner says. "I had no idea what he was doing, but I thought he was a genius. He was the most innovative, outrageous artist I had met to that point. I offered him a show in 10 minutes."
