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 Religious Themes Predominate At Apparatus Gallery's Latest Exhibition. By Margaret Regan MICHAEL LONGSTAFF HAS produced a series of ethereal Madonnas for the Apparatus Gallery's religious art show. In his photos, alternately printed in sepia and monochromatic greens, a radiant new mother holds her baby, immaculate white sheets arrayed behind her like angels' wings. Like the Blessed Mother, this mom is untroubled by the physical inconveniences of childbirth: no leaky breasts or bloody discharges stain her raiment, no afterpains afflict her. She's beatific and lovely, an emblem of maternity idealized as much as any of the great Madonnas of the Old Masters.
In an age when art and religion are so often at cross-purposes, it's no surprise that very little of the art is reverential. Many of the artists simply draw on the rich panoply of religious icons, the crosses and Baby Jesuses and angels, to suit their own purposes. And naturally some artists subvert religious iconography to critique religion, either to tiresome or provocative effect. Craig Cully's "Trans-Gender Crucifix," an oil on wood, is one of the most skillfully crafted pieces in the show, and in an election would be voted most likely to rile the devout. An elaborate carved cross is broken up into four sections, each framing a tiny, beautifully painted body part. These are realistic little paintings, much like the medieval works that carefully pictured Jesus' every wound and drop of blood. But this dead Jesus has two torsos, one atop the other, and they're male and female, the latter with dead, drooping breasts.
By contrast, Lorin Labardee's "Happy God" is an unimaginative collage in the familiar grown-up-Catholic-looks-back-in-anger category. An old family photo is framed by a holy card of Jesus crowned with thorns and a small milagro. In the picture, a forlorn little girl sits on the lap of a stern old woman, and around them are words remembered from childhood: "If I want God to be happy, I must be a good child." Haven't we heard this before? Let's give grandma a break. More of the pieces are secular re-uses of traditional religious imagery, particularly the irresistible motifs of Mexican folk Catholicism. Janet Miller makes reverse glass paintings, by putting her image backward on the back of the glass. Her "Baby Jesus Bottle Openers" cheerfully mixes the sacred and the profane. Eons away from the Nativity stable, it features a painted row of charming little Baby Jesuses that just happen to double as bottle openers. The swaddled Christmas baby and a toddler Jesus in a little dress are equally gleeful atop their respective openers, fitting comfortably into the niche of household saints. Sculptor Daniel Ptasnik works on a large scale, creating startling exaggerations of familiar Christian forms. His "Corazón," must be one of the biggest sacred hearts ever seen. Complete with heart, cross and flames, it's a swathe of steel and mesquite standing 8 feet high. There are a couple of dissenting definitions of religions. Camille Bonzani's erotically charged photos, with bits of breasts and bellies photographed in a golden light, suggest good old paganism, and its age-old link of fertility with religion. Mark Murray takes a stab at the modern cult of secular consumerism, embodied in the plastic action figures assembled in his diorama "Good vs. Evil." A big Batman is at the center of a cosmic battle pitting Ninja Turtles vs. Star Wars guys. Some kids learn everything they know about morality from action figures that they'd like to buy.
Catherine Eyde, who recently staged a one-woman Day of the Dead show at Elizabeth Cherry Contemporary Art Gallery, painted a very human Virgin of Guadalupe. This one's a close-up of the Mexican saint; here she lovingly grasps to her breast the little angel who usually lingers all alone at her feet. And Rosanna Salonia, a deft photographer, has reworked the Christian message of redemption for modern times. A near-naked young man is pinned against some rough backyard planks in "Jesus on My Fence." Shot from below in extreme perspective, Salonia's work is aggressive and sublime all at once. It posits once again the idea of Everyman as Jesus, that whatsoever you do to the least of His brethren, you do unto Him.
Multi-Cultural Religious Art Exposition continues
through Saturday, January 9, at Apparatus, 299 S. Park Ave. Hours
are 10:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Call 791-3505
for holiday hours.
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The Longstaff Madonnas are the closest to conventional Christmas
imagery an artist gets in this Multicultural Religious Art
Exposition. Dozens of local artists responded to a call for
religious art from this gallery in the Lost Barrio District east
of downtown. Their art predominantly alludes to Christianity,
particularly its colorful variant, Mexican folk Catholicism; but
it also touches on Judaism (Cy Lehrer's Israeli photos), Hinduism
(Maurice Grossman's ceramic Ganesh gods), Tibetan Buddhism (Bill
Baker's monk photos) and Native American symbolism (Robert Renfrow's
ink-jet images of sheep petroglyphs).
Deliberate or not, Cully's multi-gender Christ echoes St. Paul's
admonition that in Christ there is neither male nor female, a
Biblical passage often quoted by Christian feminists. It's provocative
to be sure, but with serious intent: It implicitly critiques the
all-male mindset that has hampered mainstream Christianity through
the ages.
Only a few artists have crafted respectful homages to traditional
religious practice. Lehrer, a local photog who has sojourned in
Israel, provides "Old Man at Prayer." In this fine black-and-white
gelatin silver print, a beam of sunlight glances off the gnarled
hand the meditative man presses to his forehead. "Veneration"
shows the transmission of religion from generation to generation.
An Israeli woman holds her baby up to the Hebrew inscriptions
on a tombstone; the child delicately traces the letters with his
or her fingers.
