Warm Nostalgia
with Vaginal Davis + ektor garcia at Adams and Ollman
For Vaginal Davis and ektor garcia’s two-person show There’s Something About Maria, the walls of Adams and Ollman gallery in Portland, OR have been painted the light shade of salmon pink that might elicit thoughts of sunset in Moab. On this occasion, the color makes me think of coming home.
I feel warmed and invited as the scent from dried lavender envelopes me and I am greeted by votive candles, melted to full liquid and flickering gently.
The space is decidedly devotional. Filled with flowers and furnished with long plinths, it recalls a devout abuela’s Mexican Catholic home, complete with crocheted doilies, courtesy of one of the artists. This momentary home is where Vaginal Davis’s paintings and ektor garcia’s sculptural works come together in conversation and in collaboration. The shared connections to Marys, Maries, and Marias whom the artists have known, loved, or even been, intersect with numerous narratives of such named women across cultures and time.
Calling on time itself, as well as the earth who holds us, garcia crochets tiny loops of various natural materials into long, floor to ceiling objects. In one black crocheted sculpture, looping yarn embraces cast metal, which mimics the crochet pattern but loses some of the loops in its solidness. The time consuming methods of garcia’s work are supported by the reverential tone of the exhibition. The fabric of these pieces is a physical record of the artist’s continued dedication to his practice. Small
on the wall next to this not-quite-a-blanket, is a painted portrait of a
woman, one I do not recognize but whom I feel that I could know. The painting
is familiar, convivial, done in bright, complementary colors. There is
unclear writing across the surface; a note! In contrast to garcia’s
time-heavy sculptures, this painting suggests immediacy. It speaks to
the everyday devotion of to-do lists and written reminders. It calls
back to a time before handheld computers, a time of hand scribbled phone
messages and friends' likenesses captured on Polaroid film.
Ceramic
sculptures in metallic blacks and whites accompany the crocheted
sculptures as part of garcia’s offerings. Most of these pieces take the
form of vases, and rest on crocheted copper doilies. One piece, “una lágrima,”
a tear, is a white porcelain coil made of coils, bent into a U in which
the top ends melt into each other. It is small, subtle, a moment of
sadness or maybe of joy. A moment of prayer or remembrance may take
either tone, or even both.
Similar to “una lágrima,” Davis’s many portrait notes surround the room, each with her own attitude, attention, and intentions. Is “Maria Konstantinovna Bashkirtseva” giving us side-eye from behind what might be a schedule for the day? “Mary Davys”
is smiling at us, just a little. In various groups, they intermingle
with garcia’s crocheted assemblages and ceramic vessels. This party of
familiar faces and concretized objects balances the push and pull
between the sacred sowing of seconds and the venerable shorthand of
intimacy.
In a secondary space,
a small room to the back, two adjacent walls are painted red and a
final portrait hangs inside of a crocheted copper frame, accompanied by a
crocheted copper nameplate: MARIA. The room is louder in color but
quieter in affect. This corner is the crescendo of the vesper. Maria,
Mary, a million women real and imagined, some known others only learned
of, throughout history, are summoned into this space, held in high
regard, and remembered fondly.
The
show’s opening reception occurred just before sunset on the second to
last evening of summer and the warm natural light upon the walls,
mimicking the flickering candles, read as a part of the exhibition. The
golden light and the warmth it brought with it added to the sensation of
home, the atmosphere of a small gathering with loved ones. The
experience amid pink walls, kind faces, and sculptures that bring us
home can be received as an invitation to to bring others in, to share
stories and to keep memories alive. The whole thing seemed to say,
welcome, come in, sit with me and all of my Marias, here in one place,
at last.