Noah Elkens, “Out of Order”

From across the gallery, Noah Eikens’ “Out of Order” presents a puzzle: is this a scale model, a small machine, or maybe a toy? From out of two nested bowls that could have come from a kitchen emerges a tangle of black pipe. It looks kind of like a decorative fountain. On coming closer, it appears as a single pipe, contorted by a maze of arbitrary bends, and finally capped so that no water can spout forth. The smaller, upper bowl boasts a lip, so that once water from the pipe fills the inner bowl, it would spill into the lower, larger one. Only when quite close can the observer see that the lining of both bowls is crazed the way the desert clay cracks as it dries. And then there’s something in the bottom: a tiny replica of an American White Pelican lies dead or dying on what is seen to be a dry lake bed, such as surrounds the ever-shrinking Great Salt Lake. This bird stands in for thousands that migrate vast distances and for centuries have stopped at the Lake to rest and recuperate, but now search in vain for water not too saline to replenish their necessary journey.

Throughout the opening festivities, small groups in attendance wander over, examine this quiet, yet damning judgment on the many demands made on the Lake by those who have created their own uses for it. They look, perhaps smile, and prepare to share a laugh at the strange knot of tubing on top, but then look down and become flustered, unsure. They are the evidence that a work of art meant to slow a quick reading and interrupt assumptions is working. This is only one strategy on view here.

The President’s Art Show has been a feature of Salt Lake Community College for 30 years. Another puzzle is how one can live nearby for half that time without becoming aware of this event which, if the size of the opening crowd can be trusted, is a popular one. Of course, art venues abound in Utah, some with a commercial focus and others with public funding. Some typically present one or two artists, each with a cross section of their work to show, while others present one representative work. SLCC presents both approaches in at least three locations.

Installation view of The President’s Art Show at Salt Lake Community College, South City Campus.

Some of the artists here are exhibiting work previously shown elsewhere, which offers a chance to see how the context affects the work. A really good example, Ryan Moffett’s “I Wish I Was a Sweater,” was recently shown on a tall pedestal, isolated in the middle of a gallery like a memorial to a national hero: someone above the reach of mere mortals. Here, on a much shorter pedestal and next to a wall, where a viewer can get much closer and connect, the intimacy and love that Moffett equates with the comfort of a favorite sweater, its arms tied around the torso of the object of his affections, has a chance to quietly blossom.

Sometimes an artist whose work is familiar will take the opportunity to showcase a new approach that might be lost alongside her usual fare. Something like that may have happened with Sheryl Gillilan, whose colorful but precise, geometric quilts have become a reliable part of solo and group shows. As the title suggests, “Facing Myself” introduces a new and dramatic, even confrontational element to her dependable combination of sewn gestures and quilted textures. Entirely in black and white except for a title reference in the form of a blue eye, everything orbits and engages with the central optical illusion: two heads surrounding a vase, the faces and vase taking turns being foreground and background. Pamela Beach, who uses her figures’ postures and their painted surroundings like sign language to reveal their inner states, has recently been isolating the portrait more. Here, she revisits her earlier approach, as if refreshed with new ideas. In “What God Put In Me,” the subject musician’s all-important hands display an unusual, visual appearance indicative of the music and skill referred to in the title.

That even successful artists are still exploring and expanding their expressive means is particularly in evidence in a single medium: collage, and it’s not just the individual moving ahead, but the artform itself evolving. Excellent examples of the “state of the art” include extreme technical contrasts: Betsey Welland’s classic approach in “The New American West” combines magazine illustrations for a photo-realistic effect, while Tamia Wardle collages her own linocuts for versatility, then unifies them with a coat of wax. On another extreme, Van Williamson achieves what I like to call ‘”the illusion of depth created with real depth”: his cinematic “Fearful Buzzing” includes elements that protrude off the surface and pop out like objects in 3-D movie adventures.

Van Williamson, “Fearful Buzzing”

Justin Wheatley, “Paper House”

Grant Fuhst shows one direction in which a large segment of the art world is going with his “Starwatcher,” for which he painted elements, scanned them, then collaged the digital products in a computer and printed the result. The impact of the image is altered for an observer who notices that it’s essentially a photo of the brush work, rather than the original; yet the day may be coming when fully digital images will be all many audiences know. Arguably the most striking collage, here and now, is one that comes close to the mainstream, like one of Liberty Blake’s recollected adventures, but is representational in place of her abstraction. Justin Wheatley has explored the visual character of domestic architecture for years, but in the literally-titled “Paper House” he captures the mind through the eye. As a woman in the gallery with a talent of her own described it, “he built the house out of paper.” The uncanny match between raw paper and wood siding is amplified by the few places where he breaks it, and a single red spot seen beneath a blind in an upstairs window suggests the life within that is drained from the bleached-looking exterior.

The President’s Show presents a variety of diversely chosen awards, and while those are not the works featured here, we share a belief that art should have something to say, and say it well: issues relevant to our time, expressed in contemporary language. SLCC and 15 Bytes are two of the metaphorical trenches where real people seek answers to important questions. It’s not lost on us that during the most extensive and expensive of political seasons, while billionaires buy up land to hunker down on, none of the major candidates is talking seriously about the climate crisis. Artists are. When politicians speak of creating jobs that matter and support families, they’re talking about enabling places like SLCC. Kirsten Beitler’s “A Beehive State of Mind or The Artist As an Allegory For What It’s Like To Be a Woman in Utah” makes an unspoken demand that must be taken seriously, while Hraefn Wulfson’s “High Spirits” looks back in time to create an image of the future we must insist on: to paraphrase the ancient Greeks, a sound society in a healthy environment. Art is an instinct, a human necessity, and it’s never been more important than now.

Kirsten Beitler, “A Beehive State of Mind or The Artist As an Allegory For What It’s Like To Be a Woman in Utah”

The President’s Art Show, Salt Lake Community College: South Campus, Salt Lake City, through Nov. 13

All images courtesy of the author.

Geoff Wichert

Geoff Wichert objects to the term critic. He would rather be thought of as a advocate on behalf of those he writes about.