What the show's title
has to do with its
content -- nine pieces,
only two of which might
be considered pictures
-- is a mystery. With
one exception, the seven
artists are essentially
sculptors, or at least
they create
three-dimensional
objects rather than
pictorial imagery. The
unifying factor actually
seems to be the
incongruous use of
materials. Visitors are
advised to ignore the
confusion and
concentrate on the works
themselves, for there is
some fascinating work in
this small, handsome
show, which inaugurates
the newly renovated
gallery.
The most disconcerting transformation is Susan Graham's use of icing sugar to render a pair of handguns. Accurately configured but skeletal, the pistols have been turned from lethal weapons into sweet confections -- a disarming move in both senses of the term. In ''Nest,'' Daren Kendall upends a cluster of wrestling trophy figures to fashion a sculpture that clings to a corner like a wasp's nest, conjuring the organic from the metallic. As with Jil Weinstock's row of zippers cast into a strip of transparent rubber, the original components are undisguised, making their metamorphosis all the more remarkable.
Inserting one's face into Nick Tarr's mirrored dioramas of animal skulls and toy figures brings to mind Orwell's rat-cage mask from ''1984.'' Here at least the viewer finds only inanimate, if creepy, artifacts, except for the reflected eyes taking it all in. Ruby Jackson's reeflike environments are more welcoming; her ''Tropical Triptych'' of polymer clay suggests aquariums suitable for exotic fish or adventurous miniature divers.
The puzzle-piece ingredients of Al Souza's ''Topsy-Turvy'' are a familiar form of image fragmentation, but his jigsawed views are reorganized abstractly, making nonsense of the impulse to sort out the jumbled visual information. This is the show's most pictorial work, although Dominique Figarella's ''Slip?'' might be considered a drawing, if a plumber's helper can be imagined as a graphic tool.
The most disconcerting transformation is Susan Graham's use of icing sugar to render a pair of handguns. Accurately configured but skeletal, the pistols have been turned from lethal weapons into sweet confections -- a disarming move in both senses of the term. In ''Nest,'' Daren Kendall upends a cluster of wrestling trophy figures to fashion a sculpture that clings to a corner like a wasp's nest, conjuring the organic from the metallic. As with Jil Weinstock's row of zippers cast into a strip of transparent rubber, the original components are undisguised, making their metamorphosis all the more remarkable.
Inserting one's face into Nick Tarr's mirrored dioramas of animal skulls and toy figures brings to mind Orwell's rat-cage mask from ''1984.'' Here at least the viewer finds only inanimate, if creepy, artifacts, except for the reflected eyes taking it all in. Ruby Jackson's reeflike environments are more welcoming; her ''Tropical Triptych'' of polymer clay suggests aquariums suitable for exotic fish or adventurous miniature divers.
The puzzle-piece ingredients of Al Souza's ''Topsy-Turvy'' are a familiar form of image fragmentation, but his jigsawed views are reorganized abstractly, making nonsense of the impulse to sort out the jumbled visual information. This is the show's most pictorial work, although Dominique Figarella's ''Slip?'' might be considered a drawing, if a plumber's helper can be imagined as a graphic tool.