Tuesday, April 21, 1998
Space’s aesthetics call individuality, society into question
ART: Interrelated objects of exhibit focus attention on
mechanization, loss
By Vanessa VanderZanden
Daily Bruin Staff
In a gallery the size of a large bathroom, a few simple art
pieces take shape. However, they’re not exactly the sort of items
you might hang in the commode of your house. In fact, it probably
wouldn’t occur to you to hang these objects anywhere.
However, to artist Michael McMillen, the random crafts strung
about the Santa Monica art space make perfect sense. The items all
relate to the rustic atmosphere of the small, intimate gallery
called The Living Room in Santa Monica. Here, McMillen’s
installation, "Domestica," will show through May 9.
The most striking piece in the tiny nook comes in the form of a
six-foot-tall rusty gym locker. The narrow metal compartment stands
with an ancient Masterlock securing its peculiar contents. Peculiar
only because they emit the gush of running water, peacefully
filling the room like a tranquil, outdoor water fountain.
However, the very strange idea to hide sight of the fountain
adds an almost eerie nature to the subject. It becomes an invisible
entity, overpowering the room in its sound, yet kept from the
public’s view. And why find seclusion in a gym locker anyway?
Is this a comment on "Davy Jones Locker," the so-called burial
chamber of men at sea? Does it recognize the unseen horror of war,
the ease and comfort with which we can dump bodies into an unknown
grave, casting them away like broken rocks or chipped sea
shells?
Could be.
Meanwhile, a motorized light bulb extends down from the ceiling,
slowly swaying back and forth. A few inches away dangles a
motionless, thimble-sized ball of tinfoil. However, the shifting
light causes the ball’s shadow to swing back and forth like a
pendulum while the item itself remains stationary.
Likewise, the light plays upon the other various objects in the
room, creating a sense of motion in the immobile pieces. For
instance, on one wall, the phallic shadow of a hulking, industrial
funnel appears to grow erect and then shrink. And, not
surprisingly, the shadow of the enormous bundt pan (placed level to
the funnel on the opposing wall) seems to retract as the phallus
grows, and expands outward as the funnel’s shadow shrinks.
This give-and-take relationship veers from the static
representation McMillen seems to supply of the planet. For, in one
corner rests a soccer-ball-sized sphere, painted in swirling blues
and whites like earth as viewed by moon-bound astronauts. Its
shadow remains stable, unaffected by the whims of the light
source.
However, McMillen continues to utilize the closely walled space
to reflect on the inter-relatedness of his pieces. For example, on
one wall, a group of five grey, featureless house models (just a
bit bigger than Monopoly pieces) sit lined up like army barracks. A
string line shows the round about path some unspecified individual
may choose in travelling to one of the homes.
However, the bland scene appears so bleak and desolate that it
seems a wonder why anyone would wish to enter such an environment,
even by the most inefficient of ways. Yet, the opposite wall
clarifies the artist’s intent, as it bares a red and black
checkerboard. This scene suggests that those people walking through
the sea of tract housing become like players on a gameboard, moving
according to a scheme which fits sensibly into their world.
Below this item on a fireplace mantel (The Living Room is, after
all, merely a restored old home) sits a large, sealed glass jar.
Though it resembles the sort of container which usually holds cow
fetuses and the like in horror flicks, this time, the piece secures
a different form of destruction.
The remnants of a toy jet fighter plane wreck lie submerged in
water, atop two inches or so of sand.
Fortunately, the plastic pilot was able to eject his seat and
float safely to the surface of the mini overseas air battle. He
appeared to have sustained no injuries, though with soldiers from
Mattel, it can be hard to tell.
So it seems that’s war in a nutshell, or in this case, a large
jelly jar.
Next to this piece sit seven metal cones, each with a little
rectangular flap cut in like a teepee door. The last and smallest
abode lies crumpled on its side. Also notable in the collection is
the third cone from the left, whose rounded top gives it the
appearance of a circumcised penis, rather than a tiny tin
teepee.
Perhaps this work comments on the lack of traditional Native
American natural fiber homes at the approach of the millennium. It
could suggest that even the most unique and ecologically friendly
of manors have become like cold, tract-house style bunkers. Or it
could just be a call for Americans to escape the norm and turn
their digs into huge representations of human genitalia.
Similarly, the large metal wood holder jutting out of the
fireplace provokes some serious thought. It seems as though the
wood holder wants to say, "no more wood to burn, just me."
Yeah, just me. And aren’t we all just reduced to kindling in
this over-mechanized, war-happy society, where numbers and
efficient form mean more to us than individuality and a sense of
personal pride?
ART: "Domestica" by Michael C. McMillen shows at The Living Room
art gallery, open 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturdays, 1132 Broadway, Santa
Monica, through May 9. For more information, call (310)
451-2647.