1410
(1 vote, average 5.00 out of 5)
Written by Kat Murrell, Contributing writer
Aug 25, 2010
Steven & Billy Blaise Dufala, Long Runner, 2009. – Photo: Courtesy Fleisher Ollman Gallery, Pennsylvania
What’s the difference between an art museum and a comedy club? Metaphorically speaking, maybe not much, considering the current exhibition at the John Michael Kohler Arts Center. “A Sense of Humor,” which runs through Sept. 26, showcases over 20 artists in a cavalcade of works that play on strange juxtapositions, witty words and pictures, plus the playfulness and poignancy of the modern condition.
One can imagine the curator as MC, arranging the show to keep the contrasts in artistic style and sense of humor energized. The organization of the gallery space disguises the scope of the exhibition and allows for some genuine surprises.
One of the most memorable sculptures is “Meet Mr. Weekend,” a sock puppet by Mike Simi. It is about 15-feet tall, and it talks. That alone sounds pretty funny, but Simi adeptly mixes comedy with tragedy. The armature under the sock is a piece of machinery from a shuttered Chrysler plant in Michigan. The sock puppet laments his loss and muses about the future, which could include eating some art. Go figure.
Sock puppets lend themselves well to humor, and so do body parts, which show up frequently in various works. Jeffu Warmouth organizes grocery store shelves stocked with self-referential goods like cans of “Forked Tongue” and “Peeled Toes,” in addition to less physical ingredients like “Crushed Resolve” and “Bruised Ego.” Quotations of body parts and unexpected poses are rather poetic in the photographs of Matt Stuart, whose street images recall the exquisite French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson.
There is more going on than just physical humor, as many artworks unabashedly expose society’s foibles and fears. Life is not idealized for its grandeur and accomplishment, but made to admit the cheap pettiness that often abounds. Jean Lowe’s paintings reference the ornate beauty of baroque palace interiors, but the stuff inside is consumer culture crap – discount racks of tacky, disposable stuff desired for cheapness rather than style. The paint mimics these blunt tastes through the unsubtle clarity of direct, opaque color.
A sense of grace, and even sentimentality, appear in Barnaby Barford’s video “Damaged Goods.” The visuals are interesting and lovely, as porcelain figures come to life amidst knickknacks and Victorian clutter. Ceramic animals play and a crazy sideshow circus appears out of nowhere, but the main story is a forbidden love with disastrous consequences, à la Romeo and Juliet. The ending takes a surprise twist, but the theme overtly suggests we are all damaged goods in our own way. As is suggested in much of this exhibition, there is truth in that.
While most of the art focuses on humans, one artist who famously does not is William Wegman, known for his ubiquitous photographs of Weimaraners. The dogs are irresistible for their sleekness and charm, but Wegman escapes the snare of kitsch. He is like a talented film director, coaxing stellar performances from the dogs in still photos and an early video called “Dog Duet.” Two dogs sit in an ambiguous space, their heads moving in unison like spectators following a tennis match. Even the dogs’ eyebrows become funny, but ultimately, whose attention is more raptly held? Is it us watching the dogs, or the dogs watching the mystery item revealed at the end of the video?
Besides the main exhibition space, additional galleries host smaller shows. Jim Neel presents “Babel,” an installation of ceramic, life-sized chimpanzees in military garb reflecting ancient and modern civilizations. The strongest visual reference is to the famous Chinese terra cotta warriors, as these chimps are similarly organized. Though Neel has rich ambitions through visual cues and poetic references to Percy Bysshe Shelley’s sonnet “Ozymandias,” the end result is more likely to invoke “Planet of the Apes” in the mind of the viewer.
For those with a penchant for reading Sunday funnies in the newspaper, a gallery displays “Lynda Barry and Roz Chast: Comic Reflections.” Chaz, whose cartoons often appear in the New Yorker, draws out urban anxiety and offers up some fantastic one-liners to share with friends. “Prayers of the Faithful” depicts a sidewalk scene of people with thought bubbles over their heads, revealing their futile hopes: “Pilates will change my life.” “It’s not too late to invest in Google.” “Perhaps her answering machine is broken.”
Danish artist Mads Lynnerup, in a small solo show called “Flip-Flop Ordinary,” also plays on inner desires and motivations. “Routines” explores the habits of a neighborhood, teasing out the secret life of regulars in their daily stops at the liquor store, out for smoke breaks or walking the dog. On a more insular tone, a paper umbrella on the floor sets up a suggestion of rain, but becomes an amusing surprise when viewed from behind. “Flip-Flop Floor,” an installation where visitors can walk around in cardboard flip-flops (and take them home, rather like a toy surprise in a gallery), melds grown-up sophistication with childlike play.
That, in itself, is an art.
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Jodina
of http://ItalianoWithJodina.com