Rolf Brommelsiek Ice, Man and Car 3 // AKA Kicks without Route 66

Rolf Brommelsiek, Ice, Man, and Car 3, 2010, archival pigment print

I look at what we now consider classic cars and I’m amazed. There was something quite romantic, dare I say foxy, about cars from these eras, but it seems today’s vehicles are missing that something special. Although car innards have changed and evolved greatly since then, there seems to have been a vast reduction in soul. Instead of relishing the freedom a car affords during a fine spring drive, or carefully protecting the investment with a weekly coat of wax, we are crippled by the necessity of our cars. Some might venture to say that their vehicle is their second home: a dining room during commutes, a phone booth during lunch hours, a rest area between classes. There was a time when drinking a coke and eating a cheeseburger in a car was the quaint pastime of teenagers having fun with their pals – now we have to shove burgers down our gullets between phone calls and periodic stops. Our car interiors slowly take on the scent of a fast food joint, our cup holders now hold the soppy remains of fountain drinks left sitting too long, and our carpeting houses the unkempt stains of tacos eaten too hastily, or milkshakes slipping from fingers. Now not only are cars a necessity, they are decidedly less zazzy, and an even greater detriment to the world we drive ‘em on. Our home away from home is swiftly killing our natural home, and coupled with the mounting list of tasks associated with car ownership it can become overwhelming. There might be something freeing about saying the hell with it; destroying our cars.

In his image Ice, Man and Car 3 artist Rolf Brommelsiek gives viewers the opportunity to see just that. Once scanning the dark scene viewers can easily discern a car enveloped in ice as a figure watches from the safety of an embankment surrounding the frozen body of water. In reality, the subjects are minute figurines, but they are projected within the photograph. Although the image is static, the texture of the ice hearkens back to the movement that once was: the popping bubbles of oxygen frozen in time hint at the waters movement as it slowly became rigid. The ice has a milky façade and provides a sweet lightness to the ominous coloration of the surrounding area. The light reflecting off of the dim rocks on the edge of the image, and the light on the very edge of the figure itself, provides a greater sense of darkness and a greater depth of texture. The rich darkness gives viewers a sense of isolation and loss, but the contrasting lightness hints at the freedom.

There is a liberating sense of exhalation as the figure stands motionless, watching a symbol of industrial growth, personal autonomy, and beauty left to disintegrate in, and fuse to, the ice. Viewers naturally question why the figure isn’t doing anything to help the situation or save the car: instead of stopping the rusting of its various mechanisms and minute parts the figure simply watches. Sw

Katherine O’Hara Con&De-Struction I – VI // Things That Make You Go Hmm

Con&De-struction I – VI, 2011 ceramic, variable dimensions

Perhaps it’s the idea of prehistoric remnants tucked into layers of our Earth, or the romantic images of mermaids using sea shells as hand mirrors, but there is something magical about fossils and sea shells. They’re like the petite remnants of old worlds gone by, or little hints at the secret worlds still around us; they exude imagination.  We can look at a fossil and imagine archaic ferns or dinosaurs, and we can grasp a shell and imagine the creature that once occupied it, or how long it rolled in the sea before making its way into sand castles or the catch-all dishes of cutesy bathrooms. Of course I have a love of all things miniature, but there is something particularly alluring about skeletal blue prints locked into stone, and the pearly finish of sea beaten mollusk homes: they strike the imagination, they’re transformative and, of course, beautiful.

In this spirit Artist Katherine Marie O’Hara has me bitten with her collection Con&De-Struction I - VI. The six pieces within this collection look like shells or the fossilized remains of sea creatures, and their origin is just as fantastic. Beginning with yarn O’Hara knits and crochets the basis of each piece, and then she completely transforms them with a ceramic bath to create the rigid, shell-like aesthetic. There is something seductive about O’Hara’s ability to simultaneously give structure to a soft, malleable material (yarn) and provide an element of tenderness to a rigid material (ceramic). The process itself brings opposing mediums together and provides a spark to the imagination, much like the fusion of life and death exuded by fossils. Each one of O’Hara’s pieces hangs or rests gracefully; revealing the voids and subtle shapes created by the ceramic adhering to, and drying against, the fibers underneath its chalky layers. These findings beg the pieces to be touched, and perhaps bathed in water with the hopes that they might grow like sponges; ultimately they tug at your imagination.

They say imagination is built upon knowledge, and certainly once the eye becomes aware of the mediums and processes in creating these little gems it becomes easier and easier to transport these pieces onto a beach somewhere, or into the hollowed out wall of a cave or tree stump. Pieces III and IV  look as though they could rest on the backs of Hermit Crabs, gently dawdling along the sand; piece I could be the vestige of an ancient plant meant for collecting water droplets or bumble bees. Ultimately, these precious little sculptures have an unparalleled delicacy and an essence of whimsy that sparks my imagination and leaves me pining for childhood.

- Halcombe Miller

Con&De-struction III

Daniel Cheek Artificial Natural // AKA Aspartame v. Sugar

Daniel Cheek
The Arctic, Tucson, Arizona, 2011
silver gelatin print

I’m mildly obsessed with (wo)man’s ability to manipulate and cajole the senses. I grew-up in a diabetic household, and for that reason I prefer the taste of sugar-free everything. You name it and I will happily choose the one devoid of natural sugar. But that’s not to say I don’t enjoy the taste of sweetness, I do, but I prefer the metallic aftertaste of aspartame to the syrupiness of real sugar. By way of sugar, science has manipulated me into loving artificial sweetness, and so I choose Splenda instead of Sugar in the Raw.

(Wo)man has done this with more than just our taste buds. Now our noses are falling prey to the perfection of scientifically mastered scents. When I made the switch to plant-based cleaners as an adult this notion of perfected scent finally became noticeable. With a few sprays of my plant based kitchen cleaner (scented with Lavender) I initially disliked the smell; the scent wasn’t fresh and bright, it was thick and, well, plant-y. It took a few more uses for me to realize that my spray really smelled quite amazing, and what tripped me up initially was my fluency with the scientifically perfected smell of “lavender” resting inside my old Febreez can. My nose was accustomed to the artificial scent of natural things, and despite the deliciousness of essential lavender oil it just can’t compare to the hyper-lavender of today’s laboratories. So our noses and tongues fight between what is real (natural) and what was perfected for us (artificial). And more often than not it seems that in the fight of science lab v. flower petals the science lab wins.

Photographer Daniel Cheek understands the quandary of artificially created nature. And while sugar and cleaning products aren’t a part of his equation he highlights this very phenomenon in his collection of photography entitled just that – Artificial Natural. From an exhibition in the International Wildlife Museum to the enduring indoor climbing rock wall, Cheek examines and exposes the increasing awkwardness of mimicking something natural, something inherent to our Earth, with synthetic materials.

I found his photographs of the International Wildlife Museum in Tucson, Arizona to be particularly effective in explicating this modern dynamic of artificial nature. The composition of each photo makes it impossible to discern any of the exhibits boundary lines. The seamless edges of the shot make the styling accomplished by the museum all the more impressive; at first glance his piece The Arctic, Tucson Arizona truly looks like a first person view of the glacial setting. Similarly, his piece Climbing Gym gives viewers a superb perspective on replicating nature for the sake of fitness; the gun metal gray of the walls and the austere ropes dangling from the ceiling give the illusion of a deep cavernous climb. With this collection Cheek puts false nature into perspective: it is strange that (wo)man has so perfectly replicated the Arctic and the craggy side of a mountain for the purpose of entertainment. We’ve got artificial sugar and mountains – what’s next?

- Halcombe Miller

Christina Dostaler Uncontainable // AKA Plastics Make it Possible

Christina Dostaler
Uncontainable, 2010
found plastics, foam
electrical tape, acrylic on mylar
monofilament, and paper
24 x 14 x 10 inches

Growing up in the nineties I distinctly remember the Plastics Make it Possible ads on television depicting the monumental capabilities of plastic. One in particular showed a slew of two liter bottles toppling to the ground only to bounce, unblemished (a far cry from the glass milk bottle days); then a row of premature babies, encapsulated in plastic incubators, thriving in spite of their size (a major feat to any generation); next a woman cleaning up after a dinner party by simply tossing the plastic tableware into an equally convenient plastic trash bag (a revolution in entertaining). From the home to the hospital plastics were taking over. But while my adolescent mind was aware that the cup in my hand, the curtain on my shower, and the pencil case in my desk were all made of plastic it never occurred to me that plastic was prolific enough to make its way onto my bedroom walls. What more could plastic possibly do? As if bouncing two-liter bottles and 6 ounce babies thriving in plastic wombs weren’t impressive enough, now there was latex paint. The term “latex” referred originally to the use of latex from rubber trees in paint. This latex accounted for the solid part of the paint and the classy film we now associate with a nicely painted surface. Today various plastics are used in paint such as polyvinyls, polyurethanes, polyesters and acrylics. With these variations in latex paint we have been afforded a slew of saucy paint textures, polishes, you name it.

Artist Christina Dostaler has embraced these variations, and in doing so she creates work that collages the entire plastics family. From acrylic to latex to polyvinyl, Dostaler makes spellbinding pieces from the material of possibilities: plastic. In her piece Uncontainable she creates a lavish, tactile experience that entices the eyes to explore the all too familiar, yet oh so foreign, world of plastics. As viewers scan the piece it’s difficult to ignore its mesmerizing and whimsical essence: the colors and textures are so vivid and inviting that it’s difficult not to touch the exposed bits and pieces, and it seems plausible that, if given the chance to taste it, the piece would be sweet like candy. A plastic paint tray serves as the base of the piece and contained within it are some common household items – bubble wrap, blue and yellow sacks, foam, a roll of vibrant yellow electrical tape dangling elegantly from the bottom of the vertically hung tray. Cascading across the façade of the piece is dreamy plastic webbing, composed of monofilament dipped in acrylic, and a large fan of slim petals and a rustic paper chain fashioned from acrylic on Mylar. Dostaler masters the tension of the sacks bulging beneath the acrylic webbing, the intensity of the fan of petals draping over the plastic mass, the tenuous ribbon of bold tape barely gracing the floor. All the components create a sense of movement within the seemingly rigid plastic form: the inflexible material swells from its center, uncontainable, and beautifully limitless.

When plastics began to touch our lives in almost every corner we thought the material had reached its limits. Now plastics are showing up in polymer banknotes, fibers made of recycled plastic and fashioned into fabric, durable furniture and rust-proof kitchen utensils. But with the thought that acrylic paint is at its root composed of plastic it is easy to see how plastics have touched the world of fine arts. Christina Dostaler has taken the notion of plastics and expanded them into a full collection of thought provoking pieces of art. Outside of just acrylic, but within the confines of the plastics family, she takes the expected and creates something new. Indeed, plastics really are making things possible.

-Halcombe Miller

Davin Watne “Within Reach” // AKA What Lurks in the Deep

       

Davin Watne
Within Reach, 2010
oil on canvas
24 x 36 inches

When I was a kid I had a Lisa Frank notebook that depicted an underwater view of pink and purple sea creatures, and they all coexisted peacefully. No sharp teeth, no bloody waters, no fear; just underwater friendships with an endless sunset. I went to the beach for the first time when I was eight years old and I was fearless. Salty waters were an opportunity to plunge my hands deep into the sand, and to swim out far enough to feel the wave’s crash against my body, plunging me deep under water. It was in the ocean I could test the breadth of my limbs, and imagine the Lisa Frank-esque wonderland of grinning dolphins just below my feet as I tread water. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was a magical place. It took one jelly fish kiss on my thigh to shatter that dream. And as the stinging spread, and my day at the beach cut short, I became all too aware of the natural worlds powers, and the false sense of safety and control I felt as I so naively barged into its vastness. The sucker shaped kiss on my thigh remained for some months. I stopped swimming in the ocean.

It is this duality – modern (wo)man existing within the awe striking natural world – that fascinates artist Davin Watne. In his body of oil paintings Watne explicates this dichotomy rough striking images of animals as they explore, and coexist with, mangled cars strewn to the side of the highway. These striking images give viewers an adjusted perspective of modern life: contemporary conveniences prevail over nature, but at what expense? We both share a habitat, and we both feel a rightful claim to our home, but it is the increasing technology, and the lack of humility (or compromise), that set us apart from our natural neighbors. We’ve all seen images of natural predators befriending, even snuggling, their natural prey: when the lions belly is swollen with nourishment there is no need to attack the deer. But as humans we have discovered our bellies can be fuller, and with this mentality our entitlement balloons. With his work Watne gives viewers the opportunity to put their entitlement in check, and to see just how unnatural (wo)man is when (s)he collides with the natural world. And though we feel we can fathom the natural world, that we can truly exist within it, we must remember that nature is at once beautiful and inviting, cruel and unpredictable.

In his piece Within Reach Watne gives viewers a rare chance to see both sides of nature, the beauty and the unpredictability, and to ponder who (or what) is in control. Upon first glance it’s easy to see the depiction of a woman floating within the dark waters of the ocean, but her relationship with the water is vague. Amongst the thrilling dark swirls of sea and foamy ruffles of wave her frame skims the surface of the glassy waters: the beauty of the scene is palpable. The water runs off her smooth skin, the moonlight bounces off the portions not yet submerged, and the fullness of her small belly, the tautness of her breasts, are revealed. But a secondary instinct of fear washes away the immediate beauty of the scene. Viewers begin to question her presence in the dark, endless sea. Is she emerging from the water, or is she being overtaken by the power of the tide and the depth of the water? Is her backstroke intentional? Is she in control of her swim, or is the sea in control of her lifeless form? None of these questions can be readily answered. After the wave of panic subsides, and viewers have absorbed the entire image, they can see that Watne has coupled the dark sea with the indistinct positioning of a striking woman to create a dichotomy between humanity and nature. He magnifies the majesty and vastness of nature while emphasizing the fragility of human existence, and leaves viewers questioning not just the woman’s presence in the sea, but the presence of humanity in nature at large.

The idea of my leaping into the clutches of the ocean with a late night skinny dip is terrifying, but Lisa Frank, and the inherent sense of exotic leisure associated with the beach, have left me in the minority. Everyone loves the beach. That is until a shark swims too close to shore or a jelly fish grazes the leg of child, but what do we blame? The ocean. Indeed the coexistence of the modern world and the natural world is unavoidable, but Within Reach is a reminder of just how strange it is when our two worlds fully collide. When the sea leaves a woman on the verge of fatality, or tranquility, and when deer are forced to mingle with mangled cars, we can truly see this odd coexistence, and begin to question our personal role within it.

- Halcombe Miller

Susan White “Four Twenty am” and “Three Fifteen am” // AKA Things That Go Bump in the Night

Susan White
Four Twenty am
archival pigment print
20-1/2 x 29-1/2 inches
edition 1/3

Susan White
Three Fifteen am
archival pigment print, 2011
20-1/2 x 29-1/2 inches
edition 1/3

It’s early in the morning, that time of day when the brightness of morning fuses with the deep black of night, and all is seemingly quiet. Existence is hibernating, soaking up sweet sleep and preparing for the next day. I am waiting. Waiting for my eyes to close of their own accord, waiting for my brain to clock-out for the day, for any sign that dizzying sleep is near. I toss, I turn, I commit to counting numbers, but these techniques only further distract me from the task at hand. Sleep. I manage to find an image to focus on, a tree or pink frosty layer cake, but just as I reach the cusp of unconscious bliss – pop! My mind crackles with those finicky mental creatures, the bits and pieces of my life that reside only in the depths of my gray matter, and decide to show up when I crave only sleep. But the aggressors, the creatures themselves, have no face, no name. There is no way to speak rationally to them. Excuse me, sirs. I don’t enjoy my anxiety ridden memories of struggling to communicate in France, and I’m not sure why you’re pushing them to the front of my brain right now, please, let me sleep. And there is no way to physically attack them, to force them to stop with fists and brass knuckles because they are amorphous, they reside in the ether. The frustration only mounts as these realities present themselves, and soon I find myself cursing the air. If only I could assign blame to something tangible.

Introducing The “Artists in Resonance” Essay Series

Cara and Cabezas Contemporary is pleased to introduce a new essay series featuring works by “Artists in Resonance.” Each essay is written by the gallery’s writing intern, Halcombe Miller, who received her BA in English from Rockhurst University, and began her work with the gallery in Spring of 2010.

Each written response is artist and piece specific, and intended to give viewers a complementary lens for viewing and interpreting the artwork on view.