The closing date for an exhibit of Susan Harvey's work at Gallery 10, 1519 Connecticut Ave. NW, was incorrectly given in yesterday's Style section. It will continue through Nov. 27.
FOR A former Chattanooga debutante, Susan Harvey plays rough.
Her sculptural jabs at the male power establishment -- generals, judges, gynecologists -- can be pondered at Gallery 10.
"Capital Profiles" is the name, and assemblage is the game Harvey plays in these five installations, each a generic "portrait" made from groups of small sculptures built entirely from found objects: oxygen tanks, ammunition crates, universal joints, automobile points and organ stops. She is a master of the visual double-entendre.
"The Magistrate's Bedchamber," for example, is an altar-like installation made from objects and boxed assemblages that work by implication: a gavel, a ram's head seal, a night stick and other phallic symbols. Explains the artist: "I'm into male power and there is great power in the courts.
"I'm also into measuring male monuments," she adds. "I'd love to measure the Washington Monument."
"The Cardinal's Closet" touches on the theme of religion and persecution in the name of religion -- a subject Harvey dealt with powerfully in her last show. This is a lighter piece, but it has suggestive overtones: a lug wrench stands as a convincing vestigial crucifix atop an old cabinet filled with other cross-shaped objects. But there is an allusion here to another side of this imaginary "cardinal's" life: also tucked into his cabinet are several photographs of famous works of art--all magnificent male nudes.
"The Admiral" is fun, but is little more than a good-humored play on the coincidence of shape and subject: an upside-down spade, for instance, becomes an old-fashioned admiral's hat. (Harvey has a special gift for seeing such connections and putting them to work in her narratives.) More profound -- and ominous -- is "The General's Desk," a child's school desk painted black and covered with small bomb-shaped objects. "The difference between a boy and man is in the size of his toys," states Harvey. She makes her point: Under the desk lurks a giant bomb made from the body of an old vacuum cleaner. "It's a clean bomb."
Though the subjects of her social commentaries are often heavy, Harvey rarely loses her sense of humor. Especially funny is her own self-portrait, which traces, in photo-album format, her transformation from tulle-bedecked southern belle into a costumed character called "Junk Woman" who emerges periodically -- Superman fashion -- from a phone booth. She has yet to make a public appearance: "I'm waiting for someone to try to tear down an old building. Then I'll go out, fight the bulldozer and save it."
Harvey's provocative show continues through Nov. 7 at 1519 Connecticut Ave. NW. The gallery is open Tuesdays through Saturdays, 11 to 5. Terence Roberts at (the)
At his best, Terence Roberts makes infrared, hand-tinted photographic images that dissolve into impressionist light. His current show at (the) has some such examples, notably "The Garden Party," with its shimmering, sky-reflecting glass table. Otherwise, however, Roberts' impulse to push further into the experimental realm seems to have led him off the deep end in this show.
Forgivable is the frankly experimental black-and-white series made with a view camera, which sets out to visually interpret Lawrence Ferlinghetti's poem, "A Coney Island of the Mind." Loaded with long and multiple exposures of moving bodies and light-writing in a darkened room, it is filled with photographic cliche's.
Wholly unforgivable, however, is "Holy," a photograph of a bare tree colored-in to make it look like a stained glass window. Even worse is an image adorned not only by color, but by a real live cobweb stuck to the surface. If an artist is subject to such appalling lapses in taste, a good dealer should have the sense to keep the public from knowing about it. The show continues through November at 443 Seventh St. NW. Hours are Tuesdays through Saturdays, noon to 6.