Christmas has a funny way of recalling the innocent joys of childhood
even as the world around us looks less and less innocent. But was it
ever innocent? Stephen Paul Day's magnificently crafted, yet totally
weird,
Queen of Mirth show features oversize recreations of
actual vintage children's games and pop culture collectibles from the
shadowy recesses of America's past. Day has always mixed nostalgia with
nihilism, but never has his work so perfectly aligned with a time when
the news consists of incoherent incendiary tweets mingled with a nutty
nostalgia for a fairy tale past that never was.
Some of it is almost innocent. The title piece,
Queen of Mirth,
top, is a vastly oversize replica of a match box with a top-hatted
chorus girl tossing party favors to tiny, fawning bon vivants, a scene
set off by protruding red match tips. Maybe people were just as nutty a
century ago, but at least they had better style. Things take a creepier
turn in an oversize replica of a 1950s children's game,
Hook-a-Crook, featuring profiles of sketchy looking guys whose features
suggest suspicious foreigners. Another children's game illustrated with
figures from minstrel shows is decorous yet distinctly sinister. Day's
devious craftsmanship shines in two identical cast iron busts of Abraham
Lincoln positioned so they appear to be kissing. The sheer whimsy and
craftsmanship of such works make this show visually engaging and
aesthetically intriguing – yet it is also a tad unsettling considering
that there is obviously no equivalence between Abe Lincoln and any
prominent contemporary political narcissists!
A more reassuring treatment of vintage objects appears in a mini-exhibit
of Audra Kohout's sculptures at Soren Christensen. Here castaway
objects are reborn as fantastical waifs who seem to dwell in a magical
corner of the Victorian imagination – and redemption takes the form of a
cast iron music box shaped like a woman with a glass bauble in her
belly where butterflies flutter to the accompaniment of tinny, yet
ethereal, tunes from the past.
Queen of Mirth: New Works by Stephen Paul Day, Through Dec. 23,
Arthur Roger Gallery, 432 Julia St. 522-1999.
Christmas has a funny way of recalling the innocent joys of childhood
even as the world around us looks less and less innocent. But was it
ever innocent? Stephen Paul Day's magnificently crafted, yet totally
weird, Queen of Mirth show features oversize recreations of
actual vintage children's games and pop culture collectibles from the
shadowy recesses of America's past. Day has always mixed nostalgia with
nihilism, but never has his work so perfectly aligned with a time when
the news consists of incoherent incendiary tweets mingled with a nutty
nostalgia for a fairy tale past that never was. 
A more reassuring treatment of vintage objects appears in a mini-exhibit
of Audra Kohout's sculptures at Soren Christensen. Here castaway
objects are reborn as fantastical waifs who seem to dwell in a magical
corner of the Victorian imagination – and redemption takes the form of a
cast iron music box shaped like a woman with a glass bauble in her
belly where butterflies flutter to the accompaniment of tinny, yet
ethereal, tunes from the past. Queen of Mirth: New Works by Stephen Paul Day, Through Dec. 23, Arthur Roger Gallery, 432 Julia St. 522-1999. 
