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There are plenty of euphemistic phrases connected to light, such
as "the light at the end of the tunnel," "sweetness
and light," or "shedding light" on a subject. Then
there is "keeping someone in the dark," which expresses
the same metaphor in reverse. "Putting it where the sun don't
shine" uses a metaphor for light as a contradiction to our
all too mortal human condition. Apart from this quaint colloquialism,
these terms usually imply reference to an epiphany of some sort,
an enlightenment concerning the brain. Let's call that secular.
In some small way this exhibition makes claim, and it may be an
aside, to use light in both a practical and figurative sense as
an indication of some aspiration to the divine. Think Gospel music.
It borrows its title from the Hank Williams' 1948 tune,
I Saw the Light. Not surprisingly,
the song has a built-in irony for us today, and a corny feel as
many religious and country songs do. This in itself indicates
our present day secular bias. In terms of art history, however,
where there is light, there is shadow. So this is an interesting
and difficult proposition to take light on its own terms, with
or without the spiritual connotations, and leaving out the dark/shadow
part. Oddly enough, the exhibition space is fully lighted, which
seems to reduce the nature of the questions on offer.
John Caperton of Locks Gallery curated this
petite show with a simple premise of viewer/artist looking at
light, and it succeeds through a certain earnest willfulness.
I'm not sure how much the double entendre of the title is meant
to suggest any actual religious reference to being born again,
ala Billy Graham, but the physical act of looking at light is
certainly well considered in the work. The question is whether
this physiological given is connected to any heavenly sensations,
much like a drug-induced experience. As tempting as it may be,
this secular vs. religious question seems unlikely to be completely
relevant here though it keeps coming up. It's also problematic
because there are only three artists representing what could be
a much more comprehensive idea, i.e. of seeing light directly.
There would certainly be many ways to approach that. As it is,
this is an intimate look at what could also have been a much larger
and complex show. All three artists touch on this theme but in
widely different and understated ways.
Richard Torchia's work, which always seeks to
evoke wonderment through investigations into optics and the formal
workings of the eye and lenses, is no different in this case,
although this piece is a departure in that it makes use of light
emanating from a projector and connects it to the image projected.
The glare of the projector is utilized as a facsimile for the
sun and goes through a back-projected image of the sun itself,
specifically, a 60 second video loop. So media and message are
cleverly merged by overlapping two representations of the sun.
The " * " title is a further literary nod and visual
pun (an asterix can also indicate footnotes, etc.). So this "sense
of wonder" is both illustrated and demonstrated, as well
as combined with the workings of a machine. This is a nice contradiction
and play on nature.
Richard Harrod opts for a low-tech solution
in his installation and emphasizes the after-images that are produced
on the retina when looking directly at light bulbs. He places
timed strobe lights and a single massive incandescent bulb in
front of a mirror. Around these he hangs carefully rendered drawings
of his own "after-images." For some reason, the drawings
are the less interesting part of the installation even though
they represent a good example of cause and effect. The psychedelic
obviously comes into this, but unfortunately the viewer is not
prompted to question their own retinal reaction, which might have
been more to the point. This is a fairly friendly and intuitive
piece though its connection to any underlying revelatory possiblities
remains obscure beyond the merely "spaced out." On the
floor is some comic intervention in the form of a crude wooden
campfire set beneath a water faucet (a permanent fixture in the
gallery) as if asking to be cooled down. Maybe it is our eyes
that are on fire?
The drawings of Rob Matthews might have
been outshined (no pun intended) by the two installations if they
weren't so strong. Though appropriate to the theme, there is quite
a leap back to two dimensions and the more earthly concerns of
narrative. His subtle description of dreams in a room where Iron
Giant-type robots are illuminated by flashlights are memorable.
There is a natural comic book feel but all the dark shadows and
directional light are reminiscent of Rembrandt or Goya. The religious
connection? It may be moot - something interesting to look for,
but not a condition for enjoying these drawings. This exhibition,
which at first seems formally detached and not fully realized,
contains ample wit and humor and some wonderful specific questions
about the nature of light and vision. So are these physical acts
of vision and induced semi-hallucinatory affects allusions to
a more formal rapturous experience or a substitute for it? It
may be in the eye of the beholder.
-James Rosenthal, April, 2003
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