The most famous three words in mountaineering, apparently, are George Mallory’s: “Because it’s there.” These words, his response to a reporter who asked him why he wanted to climb Mt. Everest, were relayed to an audience by artist-curator Matthew Porter at the opening of Seven Summits, a photography exhibition on view through the summer. Porter’s talk, the first of five on the evening of Friday, July 16th, ignored direct description of the works on view and a straightforward explanation of his curatorial choices in favor of an in-depth look at Mallory’s final Everest climb. The talk implied a connection between the pioneering climber’s attempts to reach impossible summits back in the 1920s, and a curatorial vision of the photographer as adventurer. Here, each artist is represented by two pieces: one a studio investigation and the other shot out in the world at large.

The artists who gave short talks took an equally creative approach to the form of an artist’s lecture. The night consisted of individual performances that complimented the photographs, leaving these objects on the walls to speak for themselves. As artist presenter Arthur Ou mentioned after the show, the environment at MTA is one that seemed, to the artists, to encourage experimentation; alternative takes on discussion of the work were an attractive choice. Indeed, the performances we welcomed by the audience, who arrived at this Friday evening opening early in order to enjoy a BBQ dinner, complete with vegetables out of the garden. A large group of dancers was also present for the event, as they were living in residence with choreographer Miguel Gutierrez and scheduled to perform in the same space the following night.

Following Porter’s talk, Dan Torop stood behind the podium and told a fanciful story about a climbing expedition of his own. Looking at a topographical map, he said, he was inspired to climb what looked, from a distanced vantage point, like the nose of a giant baboon. In his story, he never makes it to the top of the monkey’s nose, and the audience is never quite sure whether the entire construction is fact or fiction. His is, however, quite certainly a funny story, and the audience welcomed his entertaining presence. Athur Ou, who spoke later, challenged the audience a bit more with projections of repetitive, spinning images that he paired with difficult-to-understand voice-over text coming from his computer. He didn’t speak a word, but managed to imbue the space with a live-art experience of his aesthetic that matched his abstract photographic prints on the walls.

Boru O’Brien O’Connell similarly shied away from speaking directly to the audience, instead choosing this opportunity to show a split-screen film in the darkened room. As time drifted from early to late evening and the crowd thinned a bit in response to the hour, Nayland Blake played to the increasingly intimate space; he wore a full clown costume and stood in front of a well-chosen slide show of images. Again, without a word, this artist presented more of an experience to compliment his work than an explanation of it—Blake stood in his big clown shoes and his make-up, and he cried. His full-bodied sobbing didn’t cease until the slide show ended, but Blake never said a word.

Once the lights were back on and the performances over, the work on the walls seemed just a bit more present in the space. It had been given a proper introduction; now it was up to the gallery visitors to look.