THE MAX FACTOR.

WHITNEY BIENNIAL 2000

MICHAEL AUPING

KATY SIEGEL: How do you think this Biennial will come to be regarded in relation to others?

MICHAEL AUPING: It will arguably be the first in a series of international Biennials, because of the way we migrate today: An artist could be born in Beijing and end up working in New York. It forces the issue of what we mean when we say "American." There are also far fewer artists recognized by galleries.

KS: I think some gallery people are a little ticked off about that.

MA: I've gotten two responses. One is that they're a little ticked off that some of their more stellar artists aren't in. The other is that we've done a lot of legwork, and a number of these artists will have galleries before the opening dinner.

MA: The Whitney didn't provide us with a template. When we threw together our lists of fifty artists at the first meeting and there wasn't a single overlap, I was ready to get on the plane and go home--what were we going to do, mud-wrestle? So each curator was allowed to vote 3, 2 or I on each artist, which was very helpful in terms of the upper and lower edges of the list. If an artist got an 18, it was unanimous. If an artist got 6, it was also unanimous. The problem, of course, occurred in the middle. Where do you make the cutoff? It got a little strange when we began to see that possibly one of our favorite artists might not make the cut. Eventually we said, those of us who have passions can make a presentation, and then we'd vote again. To be effective in these situations, you have to be able to verbalize why a particular artist is important. There were lots of arguments along the way.

KS: What were the biggest contentions within the group as a whole?

KS: Who received your "passion votes"?

MA: There were no passion votes per se, but I was very passionate about Richard Tuttle--there's such a buzz about Tuttle among younger artists, I thought it was important that he be in this Biennial, not the next one.

KS: Which of your favorites didn't make the cut?

MA: Richard Serra--I think you can argue that his Torqued Ellipses are among the best works of art in the last decade; Jeff Koons, who completely polarizes the art world. When I argued for him in a meeting, one of my colleagues said, "I hate Jeff Koons," and I said, "That's the reason to have him in the Biennial."

KS: Who were the lesser-known artists you championed?

MA: One was James Drake, whose work serves as a good metaphor for the entire Biennial in the sense that it revolves around borders. I was also very much in favor of Leandro Erlich. I don't want to sound like the Texas Chamber of Commerce, but I think he's one of the bright young artists in the show.

KS: Is anything being produced especially for the show?

MA: This is the largest budget for a Biennial ever, but we could have spent it all very quickly if we'd decided to produce work. We did give a budget to artists who wanted to make things for the show, and tried to keep it even across the board so a Hans Haacke got the same amount as a Leandro Erlich.

KS: What would you describe as your biggest curatorial accomplishment prior to the Biennial?

MA: For me, doing exhibitions is the lifeblood of this job, and one tends to be most engrossed with the "next big project." Right now, I'm consumed with a Philip Guston retrospective, the largest one to date. Like most people of my generation, I'm a child of Abstract Expressionism, and Guston's role during that movement's heyday and in finally getting us out of it and reclaiming imagistic painting for late-twentieth-century art has not been fully explored. Not long after I came to the Modern Art Museum in Fort Worth, I was able to do an exhibition of Arshile Gorky's breakthrough paintings of the '40s, and partly out of luck and timing, in the mid-'80s I had the opportunity to do the largest group exhibition of Abstract Expressionism in decades.

KS: Are there curators you would have liked to see on the "team," people you particularly admire?

MA: Neal Benezra, Suzanne Ghez, or Paul Schimmel is an obvious candidate. For a younger generation, you might go to Madeleine Grynsztejn or Elizabeth Smith or Nancy Spector. I think it would also be interesting to have one or two people who are less obvious. I'd love to be on a committee like this with Susan Sontag. Aaron Betsky, the architecture and design curator at SF MOMA, would also make an interesting addition. And if the Biennial is going to continue to be more "international," it would make sense to let a non-American rummage around studios in the US. Based on the fact that our committee is a kind of experiment, it will be interesting to see what the Whitney does for the next Biennial in terms of retreating or reaching even further.

JANE FARVER

JULIE CANIGLIA: How will this Biennial be regarded in comparison to others?

JANE FARVER: I think it will be seen as more international-this is reflective of where America is going and who really lives here-and also possibly less predictable. For instance, artists like Cai Guo-Qiang, Yukinori Yanagi, and Luis Camnitzer have all lived here for years, yet they are more often labeled as representing China, Japan, or Uruguay than the US. I'm excited about their works being seen in the context of the Whitney Museum of American Art, and I'm also excited about the inclusion of artists like Michael Joo, Paul Pfeiffer, and Rina Baneijee, whose work may be informed by their Asian or South Asian heritage but who've grown up here.

JC: Was there any kind of mandate to look outside the group of artists considered part of the fashionable gallery circuit?

JF: I never felt that there was a deliberate attempt to avoid artists represented by major galleries. I didn't really care either way--nor do I think that would be an appropriate yardstick. I've lived and worked in New York for so long, and believe that galleries are an essential part of the art world, so maybe I don't share the sort of outsider take on that. However, it was good to learn about artists who are working outside the gallery scene whose work I hadn't known before.

JC: Do you see the Web making serious inroads in established art practices?

JF: That's something I'll be thinking about for some time to come, particularly since I'm now at the List Visual Arts Center at MIT. After all, the Net has been accessible to artists for nearly a decade, and our job as curators is to find a way to make Web art accessible to the general public and to apply new ways of presenting it. I give most of the credit to Larry Rinder for bringing Net art to the table, and also to Max Anderson for supporting the idea. The press has made it seem that the inclusion of Net art this year is some sort of legitimization of "new media," but I don't concur. It just seemed appropriate to consider this work in relation to other kinds of art produced in the last two years. Actually, Net artists make up a fairly high percentage of the total number of artists included, but since most of the space they occupy is virtual, it seemed reasonable to include so large a proportion.

JC: What surprised you most about this collaborative process-pleasantly or otherwise?

JF: How respectful it was. Not that there wasn't dissension, or that people wouldn't want to continue arguing for or against certain inclusions. The process was similar to jury duty in that people put things aside and did their best to come to good decisions-not just their own decision.

JC: What was most contentious for you as an individual within that group?

JF: Not being able to convince others that certain artists needed to be included. Rationally, you understood that you should be looking at this as one whole exhibition, but individually you were there really to argue for certain artists.

JC: Was there anything that was easy?

JF: Even though there was little crossover on our first lists of artists, at our second meeting the core- the first thirty or so artists-came together pretty easily. Still, I've often found that when curators are working together, after they all present images and materials, it's difficult for them not to want to begin to work with each other's artists and information.

JC: Were you surprised by that lack of overlap in the lists from the six curators?

JF: I was amazed. I thought there would be some of the same names on everybody's lists, but this points to just how many art worlds there are--and how little crossover there is between them. However, in spite of the fact that our first lists were very different, each one contained the names of artists who needed to be included, and they were.

JC: How did you come to curating?

JF: I came to curating through the alternative-space movement in the late '70s and early '80s, when much of my early work was devoted to providing opportunities for artists. I've also worked in university art galleries, and for the past seven years, until July '99, I was director of exhibitions at the Queens Museum of Art in New York. Queens has the benefit of being part of the city but just far enough from Manhattan to allow for some risks and experimentation. The exhibition "Global Conceptualism: Points of Origin, 1950s-1980s," which I organized together with Rachel Weiss, Luis Camnitzer, and a team of eleven curators from around the world, was an example of this. As for a curator I particularly admire, it would have to be John Coplans. I first met John when he was director of the Akron Art Museum. His approach to art and audiences and life changed my thinking, and it is particularly satisfying to me that his new photographic work, which is some of the strongest he has ever made, is included in this Biennial.

HUGH DAVIES 

KATY SIEGEL: How do you think this Biennial will come to be regarded in relation to others?

HUGH DAVIES: The net was cast nationally in a way it has not been before. When you're in New York and everyone's just been to the same opening, there's a

kind of introverted closed-mindedness. People who live somewhere else bring breadth.

KS: Who were some of the lesser-known artists you championed?

HD: Roman de Salvo and Marcos Ramirez Erre, two San Diego artists my fellow curators knew little about; and Josiah McElheny from Seattle. I'd seen his work in a small gallery in New York, and then at the Henry Art Gallery in Seattle. Larry Rinder had seen that show too, and there was sort of a groundswell that, yeah, this guy has been seen in New York but not nearly enough.

KS: Did the experience make you a fan of any artists you didn't know before?

HD: Linda Besemer--it's funny to come to New York and discover an artist from LA. Also, Carl and Karen Pope, and Chris Verene. Dara Friedman will present a video installation that I wish I had brought to the table.

KS: Are there people you think got left out?

HD: I think it's a weakness that there aren't more LA artists. Ed Ruscha and John Baldessari are doing incredible work now, and a lot of young artists look to Ken Price as well. There was a sense that the middle generation--Kelley, Pettibon, Ray, Burden--had received a lot of exposure. I went along with that reluctantly. The idea was to find the next generation of Angelenos and that never really happened, so I feel let down. And it wasn't for lack of trying, because we looked at a lot of work.

KS: What were the team's weaknesses?

HD: Well, that there were no LA curators. And we were too old. The good part was that we had all paid our dues, so we came to the table with credibility. If Jane Farver has seen the work of Chakaia Booker and she's excited about it, then she's an effective advocate. We're old enough that we're not trying to get someplace else, we're not trying to impress anyone. I like the Whitney a lot and working with Max Anderson is a dream for a contemporary-art person because it's not his field, so he's not about to get in there and lobby for Jim Dine.

KS: I think at the beginning there was a certain amount of doom and gloom about how this process could actually work.

HD: Yeah, I think there was a certain amount of "Hugh and Michael are guys and they'll dominate the process." Or, "The East Coast people will take over."

KS: If you got to do it all by yourself, how would you characterize your hypothetical solo Biennial?

HD: I think I probably would have had more installation work. But in general I'm really fed up with these heroic single-curator international biennials. I think they're about the curator and the artists become visual footnotes to some incredibly boring lecture.

KS: Did you feel that way about Venice?

HD: Yes. And Catherine David's Documenta was screaming to have one good painting or one decent site-specific installation or sculpture. With this Biennial there are six anonymous culture workers who are all contributing, and it's not about the curators.

KS: How did you come to curating?

HD: As an undergraduate I took a class with George Segal, which just knocked my socks off. Through that experience, I got into art-history classes with Sam Hunter and others at Princeton, and discovered New York and SoHo.

KS: What is your own sense of your most significant curatorial accomplishment preceding the Biennial?

HD: We've built a collection at the Museum of Contemporary Art, San Diego, that's very strong in installation work. I did a lot with artists like Vito Acconci, Bob Irwin, and George Trakas. We were the first museum to acquire an installation by Ann Hamilton, and the first with a Chris Burden. We did an exhibition a few years ago of installation art that's traveling now called "Blurring the Boundaries," and that may be my institution's strongest contribution to the field.

KS: Is there another curator whom you especially admire?

HD: Of those in the Biennial, Jane Farver is the one I learned the most from. As far as others working in this country go, Paul Schimmel of MOCA. "Helter Skelter," his survey of LA art, and "Hand-Painted Pop" are those rare moments

when the concept transcends the individuals, but whenever Schimmel curates he retains a sense of the artists, and respects them.

ANDREA MILLER-KELLER

CARLOS BASUALDO: In putting together the Biennial, did you have any opportunity to accommodate art beyond the museum walls?

ANDREA MILLER-KELLER: The kinds of explorations that move beyond the bounds of the museum take considerable time to nurture and develop. The absence of such public work is for me probably the greatest weakness of this Biennial. When the six of us gathered for the first time in April (and learned that the catalogue deadline would be October), we talked about choosing a theme but felt that there were hazards in making too rushed or casual a choice. We decided it would be smarter to put our efforts into showing good work by strong artists. Remember, we all had our "day jobs." We also agreed that if we couldn't get the strongest work available, then we would not show a given artist.

CB: It looks to me like there were other things going on--inviting non-US citizens, including a number of younger artists.

AMK: At the beginning, we talked about what kind of balance would be wise. We thought we'd aim for a show that had--these were our starting figures--maybe forty percent younger artists, forty percent midcareer, and twenty percent older. We never went back and checked to see how we did with those numbers--it wasn't about rigid categories or quotas at all--but that was what we thought the Biennial should present to the public.

CB: Are you satisfied with the structure of the show?

AMK: No, not entirely. I think it is appropriate and accomplished given the circumstances, but it would be much better to have a curator of contemporary art at the Whitney who takes the lead on the Biennial. Personally, I had to make a difficult decision about whether or not to participate. The five curators who had left the Whitney were all people I admired and there were other curators who were invited to participate and said no.

CB: What was your main reason for taking part in it?

AMK: A lot of people see the Biennial, so I hoped I would have a chance to speak on behalf of some artists who maybe have not been in past shows. Of those selected, only thirteen have been in previous Biennials.

CB: Could you tell me about some of the people in the show you feel most strongly about?

AMK: First, I'd rather tell you about some who I wish were in the show but are not. For example, there's Michael Singer, who made his reputation as a sculptor and is now leading architectural teams involved in major recycling projects. I think that's something that needs to be acknowledged--an artistic vision that has both aesthetic and political implications. There are others I would have included: With her large-scale Polaroids, Ellen Carey is working at ground zero in the field of photography. Beth B's portraits of women are art-historically important as well as beautiful. Then there's someone like Betty Woodman, who started out in ceramics and craft and has come to a completely different place as she turns seventy. I wish we could have introduced the general public to the work of filmmakers Diane Nerwen and Lucia Davis. On the upside, I'm delighted that the Biennial includes T. Kim-Trang Tran, Mandy Morrison, Sadie Benning, Jennifer Reeder, Sharon Lockhart, Carl Pope, Krzysztof Wodiczko, Inigo Manglano-Ov alle, Louise Lawler, Franco Mondini-Ruiz, Arthur Jafa, Bill DeLottie, [(r).sup.TM]ark and many, many others.

CB: In what way was the show important for your own practice in terms of how you think about your own work?

AMK: I don't know that it was important for me, although it was a positive experience. It's almost the total opposite of my twenty-four years of running MATRIX [at the Atheneum], which was small, low-key, low-profile, and independent. With MATRIX, each artist and I worked together in some depth, often challenging institutional boundaries, for instance, Julie Ault's 1997 "Power Up: Sister Mary Corita and Donald Moffet," or, in my last official show for MATRIX, the historical reclamation of Mierle Ukeles's 1973 "Maintenance Art" pieces inside the very museum that had totally forgotten about them.

CB: Was the avoidance of the bigger-name galleries a comment about the art world?

AMK: Well, probably for some of us. Certainly undue influence from such sources is always on my mind. But I can't speak for the other curators because that tendency wasn't by design.

CB: Were there any pressures?

AMK: There were none--except for time and money! In the past I gather that it was common to turn to galleries for substantial support when their artists were selected. That would augment the budget in a substantial way, and it's probably standard practice in many shows. I think in this respect this year's Biennial is certainly an exception.

LAWRENCE RINDER 

JULIE CANIGLIA: How do you think the 2000 Biennial will come to be regarded in relation to others?

LAWRENCE RINDER: It's more eclectic in form and spirit. We agreed from the start not to have a theme, for example--but I'm interested in seeing whether one emerges from the mix.

JC: What would your ideal Biennial look like?

LR: Well, I like this Biennial! It might even look like this one.

JC: Who were the lesser-known artists you championed?

LR: This selection was generally made not by artist but by artwork. We tried to bring to the table specific works, and the artists sank or swam on that basis. If anything is going to make this a rich and exciting Biennial, it's that. We had the freedom to propose works by artists who might be completely unknown, and it also meant that we might pass by some who might seem obvious.

JC: Did you come to the table knowing that a work was available for the show?

LR: In some cases, we knew a work was available. Sometimes, after there was consensus about a piece, one of us would have to go out and try to secure it. Of course, in a show like this, there's always a dynamic, organic process, and there were instances when an artist would complete a major new work after a previous one had been approved. In such a case, we'd likely defer to our colleague's opinions and allow a substitution.

JC: Did you deliberately avoid artists considered part of the "trendy gallery" set?

LR: No, that was a nonissue, because what we were looking at was, again, specific works of art.

JC: What was the biggest surprise about the process?

LR: Given how little consensus there was at the beginning, that we got the exhibition done at all is testimony to the fact that we had a system that worked.

JC: So you were surprised by the lack of overlap in the first lists that you and the others submitted?

LR: "Shocked" would be a more appropriate word. Of course, the six curators are people with very different aesthetic sensibilities, so learning about each other's passions was not just about a neutral engagement, it was really a matter of accepting that there are widely divergent points of view and seeing the value in what wouldn't normally cross our radar screen. That's where this Biennial will succeed or fail: The diversity and clash of sensibilities will either be illuminating and exciting, or just discordant.

JC: Was there any aspect of the process that was particularly contentious for you?

LR: Of course, we had our tense moments, especially toward the end. There were many works that I believed in and fought for that didn't make it. But when you see the writing on the wall, finally you have to let go. With such an overwhelming amount of work to do, if you carry a grudge about one piece, you're doomed. You had to be looking toward the larger goal.

JC: What was the biggest challenge?

LR: Initially, it was overcoming the negative spin about the Whitney--not letting people's opinions about the Whitney get in the way.

JC: If this is the "least gallery-driven" Biennial in a while, what quality predominates?

LR: I'm waiting to see the exhibition to decide. My gut feeling about what might be going on is that there's a quality of reflection or contemplation in the work that is more than just some sort of Zen disengagement. Even works that are taking on some heavy social or political subjects seem to have an internal, reflective quality. That measured tone may pervade this exhibition.

JC: How did you come to curating and what do you consider to be your most significant contributions to the field to date?

LR: I began in museum education and made the switch to curating back in 1987. As the Berkeley Art Museum's MATRIX curator I enjoyed working with emerging as well as more established artists who wanted to try something new. Berkeley offered a lot of creative latitude, and I think they really deserve credit for giving me and Nayland Blake the opportunity to curate "In a Different Light," our exhibition exploring the resonance of gay and lesbian experience in twentieth-century American culture. In 1997 I left Berkeley to become the founding director of the Institute for Exhibitions and Public Programs at the California College of Arts and Crafts in Oakland and San Francisco. The Institute is a new model for exhibition practice in an educational context. Our international, contemporary exhibitions and programs in the fields of art, architecture, and design have helped to catalyze CCAC's transformation into one of the most forward-looking art schools in the country.

VALERIE CASSEL 

CARLOS BASUALDO: Are you satisfied with the way the Biennial turned out?

VALERIE CASSEL: Yes, there's not much I would change because I think the exhibition is reflective of the aesthetic visions of the individuals engaged in the process. In terms of expanding the exhibition outside the walls of the museum, I think our initial ideas were much larger, but for various reasons that component won't be as visible as we had intended. In general, though, we all came together as individuals. The hand of the individual is present, but the results are very much a group effort.

CB: Where in the show could we see the hand of Valerie Cassel?

VC: I don't want to get into which artists I versus someone else brought to the table. I'm very clear that my voice and my vision are represented. All anyone has to do is to look at the type of programming that I do at the School of the Art Institute and glean from that. My approach to the curatorial frame is heavily informed by the investigation of ideas. My focus as the director of the Visiting Artists Program has been on presenting the voice of the artist--allowing them to speak to issues pertinent to contemporary art practice. The Whitney provided me with an opportunity to translate the presentation of the voice into the presentation of the object--but again that process was deeply rooted in understanding the visual discourse of the object.

CB: Were there artists you were introduced to in the process?

VC: The selection process privileged the introduction of so many artists. It also allowed for the reintroduction of others. Out of those who were selected for the exhibition, new introductions to me were Arthur Jafa, Mark Amerika, Rolf Belgum, Chris Verene, and Tara Donovan, among others. It was also wonderful to be reintroduced to the work of John Coplans.

CB: There seems to be no concept or underlying theme for the show. You emphasize the issue of process. How would you characterize that in the show?

VC: From the beginning, there was the sense that we wanted a canvas of what's happening throughout the US. Mind you, there are regions that aren't represented, but I think on the whole this Biennial is far more geographically diverse than others. Above all, we gave ourselves a mandate really to look.

CB: By including artists who live in the US but are not citizens, are you making a statement about the role of immigration in American culture?

VC: I think this is a migratory culture very much the way it was at the turn of the twentieth century. We live in a global society now. And this roster of artists is simply representative of that.

CB: How did the institutional setting and the organizational structure of the exhibition--having a group of curators who have never worked together and who come from very different backgrounds put together a show very quickly--affect the more heated questions that may have come up in the process?

VC: Well, there were factors of time and money. That's not something I feel particularly compelled to whine about. We all knew what we were walking into. I think that when all is said and done, this exhibition is successful in terms of what we had envisioned and how that manifested itself. If I had to name one thing I'm disappointed by, it would be the issue of public art, but it wasn't because the curators chose not to move in that direction. Initially, we looked at several public art projects, and decided to move on one particular work that would incorporate architecture, technology, video--and collaborate with entities outside the museum. Ultimately, it was the collaborator and artist group who determined the final outcome--which was not to proceed. I do feel, however, that in terms of expanding the exhibition beyond the walls of the Whitney, you'll get a sense of where we wanted to go. Max Anderson and the museum staff were very open when it came to the curators' collective vision. They made no effort to limit our ideas or the translation of those ideas into action. Max's role was not only facilitator, but institutional liaison. He was the individual at the table who directed the efforts of the staff (development office, etc.) to support our vision.

CB: If you were asked, say, to do a biennial in Chicago, how would it be different from the Whitney Biennial?

VC: It would delve more into particular issues and allow artists to speak to those issues. I'm an art historian, and I tend to engage the public and artists in the realm of interpretation and presentation. I'm sure that this hypothetical project would be centered on particular ideas, whether it involved artists working in a project room or the public being able to access the artists in different ways.

THE OPENING THIS MONTH OF THE 2000 BIENNIAL EXHIBITION--the latest installment of the Whitney's flagship show and the most-talked-about event on the museum's calendar--also marks a closing of sorts: that of the moderately embattled first chapter of Maxwell Anderson's tenure as director. Seventeen months into his term and with his final key appointment in place--Biennial team member Lawrence Rinder was recently named curator of contemporary art (see page 39)--the upcoming exhibition affirms one thing for certain: Any organization with the size and stature of the Whitney Museum of American Art inevitably does as much to shape the person at its helm as the person does to shape the institution.

From the start, Anderson's group-curated effort--he named a six-person curatorial body amid a firestorm of staff defections--played more as necessary expedient than motivated innovation. The exodus was precipitated by early attempts at organizational restructuring--one curator got promoted, a couple more got mad, and the resulting rush for the door left the new director in something of a fix. The tailwind of toxic PR had many Whitney watchers fretting that the museum's Kunsthalle edginess was about to go white shoe.

Of course, the Whitney's not a Kunsthalle--it's a museum; and surely Anderson had the collection in mind when he moved to reassign the institution's loose consortium of curators to period-specific departments with responsibilities in corresponding areas of acquisition, Contrasting himself with predecessor David Ross, Anderson points out, 'I'm a director, not a curator." On to the deeds.

If Marla Prather, Anderson's appointment to the new position of curator of postwar art, seemed to many solid but "safe," she boasts a pretty starchy pedigree (i.e., the National Gallery in Washington, DC); as Anderson's reported first choice, her coming on board counted as a show of strength. Next up: Lawrence Rinder. The thirty-eight-year-old California-based curator of shows by the likes of Jack Smith and Andrea Fraser may nevertheless appear a tad too white male to repair the blow those early defections dealt to the institution's justly lauded diversity. Still, the appointment was a far cry from the auto-return to the blue-chip-cozy days of Thomas Armstrong (Ross's predecessor) that many had feared of an Anderson Whitney. And the announcement of the Biennial artists--a roster notable for fresh names and the demonstrative absence of high-end New York gallery representation--has prompted even some cynics to ask whether the dark-age forebodings were exaggerated. Will necessity, as one member of the Anderson quick-fix team suggests, prove the mother of invention?

We called on the six Biennial curators--Michael Auping, Jane Farver, Hugh Davies, Andrea Miller-Keller, Lawrence Rinder, and Valerie Cassel--and judging by the balance of spirited advocacy and informed compromise their comments reveal, the collaboration seems to have been a living, breathing one. By all appearances, Anderson remained, in his own words, "a time keeper." "My role was not to choose the work," he emphasizes; while not every curator was 100 percent thrilled with the outcome, the collective effort may yield a result greater than the sum of its participants.

As for the Whitney as a whole? So far, so not-so-bad; but with the key positions, by Anderson's own reckoning, all sewn up (Prather's mandate covers the broad stretch from '50 to '85; Rinder picks up from there), some are wondering whether the '60s and '70s--arguably the most fertile (but also most challenging) period in American art--will get the short shrift. Where, too, are the high-style scribes and public presence to keep pace with the MOMA lineup? To keep its place next to its august peers as the feistiest of New York's modern venues, the Whitney will need to be more than a well-meaning (and oiled) machine--it needs to make itself a midwife of ideas and debate, not just a packager of crowd-pleasing formulae. That is the challenge ahead as Anderson's tenure enters episode two. Necessity, once again, Is it too soon to call it the Max factor?