The reasons for the breakdown of the family unit are always
a hotbed of venomous debate. The culprits are often feminists,
gays, greed, violence on TV or rock music that has a secret
Satan voice whispering in the chorus (personally, I think
it all started with those slice ‘n’ bake cookies—how
do you bond with a kid over that?). Of course, what some
see as a breakdown might really just be a new kind of
family—and yet something has definitely gone awry
in our domestic bliss.
In “Great Divide,” visionary creators Daniel
Zacharczuk, Cory Granados, Ricky Yarnall, Nicole Sloan,
Kelly Rice and Phuc Le address that troubling truth, and
have their own modern reasoning for the disintegration:
ego.
The first line of the curatorial statement says it all:
“Often, personal goals take over the need to foster
relationships within a family.” Both shocking and
obvious, no? Clearly, personal goals keep many people
from spending more time with their family, and that’s
sick, right? But, then, what is the appropriate balance
between selfishness and sacrifice? Does “workaholic”
just mean you’d rather be single than with your
family and that you probably shouldn’t have started
one? Is totally shredding your identity in pursuit of
some altruistic parental ideal actually a good thing?
Wasn’t it the goal of the ’60s and ’70s
to unshackle everyone so they were free to be you and
me?
Fortunately, that’s just my baggage; the point of
this exhibit isn’t to get all psychological on you,
but instead to make you feel the results of where that
psychology leads.
To put you right in the center of it, the artists have
created a house inside the gallery; there are no inhabitants,
just empty spaces where people should be and discarded
belongings of people who once were.
The living room is first. There is a birdcage with no
bird, magazine racks with no media, a muted TV with images
of trees, the sky and flowers through a window flipping
by, a little doll and some toy cars scattered on the floor,
a pair of men’s slippers, a pair of ladies shoes,
and a vase of dying flowers. The desk has no papers in
it, the jewelry box no jewels, and the silence is so acute,
it’s as if it’s another item in the room.
There is a feeling as if something terrible has happened,
as if some plague or mass catastrophe has whisked the
people away. It’s like walking into a Twilight Zone
episode or a Ray Bradbury story, and it’s disturbing.
The dining room is next. Here, a table and chairs hang
from fishing line, as if caught in a frozen moment; a
lone broken glass and spilled water lay beneath them.
They seem to be falling from the ceiling or perhaps erupting
from the floor. Perhaps they really are just floating,
unattached to the Earth now that no life is there to bind
them to it.
The kitchen is tomblike, with just a few dishes in the
sink, two of them broken, and a pair of dirty coffee cups.
The refrigerator has the standard, random ingredients
from which you can make nothing for no one: a can of beer,
two oranges a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of ketchup.
Around the corner, the bathroom door is open, but only
enough to expose the jars of pills in the medicine cabinet;
there are no more pills than the usual number, really.
The backyard patio is sterile Astroturf, dimly lit by
the cold blue of a bug zapper lamp—more fitting
for sorrowful thinking than a barbecue. And it is that
sadness that permeates the structure, as though we’ve
just wandered through a dreary cemetery or an abandoned
museum. And really, it is a museum—filled with all
of the things people covet and work for their entire lives;
lots of stuff and no people. And this begs the question:
Is materialism the plague of the modern family? Personally,
I’ve never been very good at tucking a plasma TV
into bed.
“Great Divide” at SCA Project Gallery, 281
S. Thomas St., Pomona, (909) 865-0252, www.scagallery.com.
Thurs-Sat, noon-4PM. Thru Oct. 31. Free. |
