Marla Sweeney
Pro-Jex Gallery
through October
When I saw Marla Sweeney’s compelling photos at Laughing at the Sun’s “Extreme
Exposure” show a couple of months back, I hoped to see more of her work soon.
Well, I got my chance, and it didn’t disappoint.
Sweeney, a transplant from New York, spent six months taking pictures of
residents of an in-patient psychiatric hospital, and the results are very
intense. These color photos give a glimpse into the lives of folks most of us
either forget about or fear, a glimpse that is glaringly real and a little
disquieting.
Sweeney notes, “We generally fear insanity — we are shocked when we learn
they are like us.” And that’s exactly what these works do: remind us that these
people are people, not monsters or relics or criminals. Some photos are
spontaneous, some posed, but all reflect the residents with intimacy. Whether
the subject is fishing for apples, smoking a cigarette, clutching a baby doll,
or staring into space, we are exposed to an intensely personal moment.
Sweeney shows a true ability to catch a moment, both technically and
emotionally. On each face, every crease is clear; smiles, frowns, and looks of
bewilderment come out with stark reality. Most of the subjects convey
confusion, indifference, or something incomprehensible — a true “out there”
look. In “Myra,” we can see this woman’s long, hard life. It is evident in her
blotchy skin, her rumpled clothes, the lost look on her weathered face.
This is perhaps photography’s greatest ability as an art form: to show us
something real and allow the subject’s own beauty and/or ugliness to convey a
message. For Sweeney, photography is “confrontation, psychology, and intimacy”;
possibly the three best words to describe this collection. — Cari
Marshall
Hand Not Hand
Hills Snyder
Austin Museum of Art at Laguna Gloria
through October 27
A fortuitous collaboration between ArtPace, a foundation for contemporary art
in San Antonio, and Austin Museum of Art brings an exhibit of work by Hills
Snyder to town. Laurence Miller, former director of Laguna Gloria Art Museum
(before it became AMOA) and current director of ArtPace, offered the show (and
a grant from the foundation) to AMOA, which happened to have a break in its
schedule. It is a reunion for Snyder — he worked with the Austin museum in the
Eighties — marked by cultural icons, represented and joyfully magnified by the
artist.
The galleries look like playrooms for grown-ups, with not too many objects —
just enough. The day after the opening in Austin, the artist was smiling. His
is a small-mouthed smile, impish and quick, not the broad grin of the happy
face he’s used so well and so often in his work. His happy faces — yes, those
perfect circles wearing wide grins and polka dot eyes — bunnies, handgun,
peace sign, and multi-part line drawings interact with the walls, the floors,
the doorway, and are energized by museum lighting. One piece is bathed in a
recessed green neon glow, marking the exact position in the gallery, says
Snyder, where his work has been exhibited before. Light completes a happy face
lying on the floor and activates a peace sign. One drawing gives new meaning to
the phrase “stretch” limo. “How big is your love?” asks the title and the work
answers, big as a Cadillac, with a nod to Buddy Holly. But how do you quantify
love, asks the artist. Can you?
I love this show, I can tell you that. Each object is well-crafted, takes
charge of its position in the gallery, makes me smile. They wink good-naturedly
at each other, perfectly filling the space. A limited palette of friendly
colors and simple shapes provide pleasure for viewers of all ages, although I
suspect their appeal is especially strong for us baby boomers and our
successors. For better or worse, the iconography belongs to us. The artist uses
it to provide intellectual, visual, and emotional pleasure — at least that is
his intent. Mission accomplished, I say. A simple black exclamation mark
installed in the upstairs hallway and visible from the gallery below, has the
last word. “!” — Rebecca S. Cohen
This article appears in October 25 • 1996 and October 25 • 1996 (Cover).