Collin Bradford, “Life, Death, Decay (Olympic Peninsula) and Greenhouse”

Now on view at Finch Lane Gallery, “Life, Death, Decay (Olympic Peninsula) and Greenhouse” consists of a shadow box, the back of which depicts the Olympic Rainforest, the closest mainland USA comes to a tropical wilderness. In front of this dense forest of huge trees springing from lush fern beds, growth that nearly blocks out the sky overhead, a fronting cover of glass has been frosted with the silhouette of an industrially glazed roof. The space between conjures a convincing replica, complete with shadows, of the interior of a greenhouse. If contemplated for longer than a glance, it presents a number of questions for viewers to consider. Does this great forest belong inside a greenhouse, or can it survive outside, where it stands? And what of us? Are we going to create a human greenhouse for ourselves? And if we do so, what happens to the rapidly warming world outside our artificial environment?

Joseph Ostraff, a widely-traveled artist and teacher who makes, or already has made, friends everywhere he goes, has announced his retirement from BYU. Anyone who’s been keeping score, who noticed for example how a career of teaching at Weber State prepared Jim Jacobs and Susan Makov to do some of their best work since making the move, will reasonably anticipate good things for those of us who are not lucky enough to be Ostraff’s students. But first, he had one more class to offer, a 400-level course, the students’ response to which attracted the attention of recent graduates and his peer professors.

Installation view of “Green House” at Finch Lane Gallery. Image by Shawn Rossiter.

Collaborative works by Joe and Melinda Ostraff. Image by Geoff Wichert.

Eighteen artists eventually contributed to Green House, an exhibition the title of which combines “green,” referring to the environmental cause, “house,” a capacious term that implies dwelling, home, and family, and “greenhouse,” Joseph Paxton’s 19th-century invention that culminated in the Crystal Palace of 1851, which revolutionized both horticulture and architecture, its glass skin bringing urban humanity closer to nature and letting natural light into the ever-larger buildings needed by cities.

A key phrase from the exhibition statement, that it was intended “to investigate the potentials that arise when diverse perspectives challenge institutional norms,” could well apply to the collaboration that arguably lies at the heart of Green House: that of Joseph Ostraff and Melinda Ostraff. Even in an age when artists and scientists, say, are not only permitted, but encouraged to work together, not everyone can find an appropriate ally. Joseph’s sophisticated and often experimental techniques and Melinda’s advanced knowledge of ethnobotany have allowed them to share tools that carry well beyond their individual disciplines: things which have served them well working together and will continue to aid them into the foreseeable future.

Just how they would think about and visualize their responses to the idea of the green house was left up to the individual contributors. Rowan Forsyth gives her personified plants a playful menace. In her fabric sculpture, “Reaching,” a pair of creepy arms seem to grow out of her pitcher plant, while teeth and, equally as disturbing, eyes sprout from her painted plants. Lydia Henry’s 2D Digital Animation, “Gator Paradise,” combines Gothic imagery and cartoon graphics with engaging results. Humor in the truest sense of the word, rather than jokes, is produced by some of the material choices here, as well.

Lydia Henry, “Gator Paradise”

Works by Fidalis Buehler. Image by Geoff Wichert.

Works by Anne Flynn

Joseph Ostraff’s BYU colleague, Fidalis Buehler, contributes four wonderful oils on paper that convey characteristic qualities about this deservedly popular artist. For someone whose brushwork may initially seem casual, they display remarkable control over paint placement. Then there’s the decision of where on the wall to put the titles, a choice that conflicts with the arrangement of the paintings, which is compounded in turn by the works having been hung with clips, studio-style, on nails, as if to invite viewers to experiment with their arrangement by switching them about. The titles, “Gardener,” “King & Queen,” “Family Tree,” and “Mother and Child” are as straightforward as the art and just as perfectly adequate. It all conspires to produce a welcome informality, even a sense of domesticity, rather than the rigor expected in a gallery.

When printing from engraved metal plates was invented, around 1500—possibly to give unemployed armor-makers a way to supplement their incomes—the resulting art was so cheap and accessible it was often simply glued to the purchasers’ walls, which accounts for so few of them surviving. Something analogous happened when digital printing emerged a few years ago, leading to transfer images that were meant to go directly on any surface, replacing graffiti with street art and making art in the home or office less fussy. Lydia Henry’s “Jumbled Jungle” and “Lilypad Picnic” don’t require framing, which was so important in the Baroque Era that patrons often literally bought the frame, for which the carpenter-cum-painter was expected to throw in the art.

Madeline Rupard, “Greenhouse Vending Machine”

One artist who clearly caught the spirit of the greenhouse, which was intended in part to have plants in a credible simulation of their natural surroundings, Anne Flynn’s pseudo-scientific specimens invert the conceit, making various fabrics stand in for plants that would be less stable on display. Somewhat more acerbic, Madeline Rupard’s “Greenhouse Vending Machine” depicts a commercial opportunity that just might appeal to visitors more than the actual plants depicted on its illuminated front.

No one expected that 18 artists from different generations and diverse cultures would all respond the same way to the prompt, “Green House,” but the actual diversity of their efforts reveals that there may be yet more chapters waiting to be written in the story of life on Earth.

Green House, curated by Joseph Ostraff, Finch Lane Gallery, Salt Lake City, through Sep. 20

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.