Metro Pulse/Artbeat/Donna Johnson and J. William Rudd

What:
Works by Donna Johnson and J. William Rudd

Where:
The Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church Gallery, 2931 Kingston Pike

When:
Through Aug. 29, with an artists' reception and talk on Friday, July 18 from 6-8 p.m. Call 523-4176 for information

Photographs and mixed media come together in a new show

by Heather Joyner

"Mixed water media" by Donna Johnson and photographs by J. William Rudd can presently be seen at the Unitarian Church Gallery on Kingston Pike, and however accomplished, they are intriguing for a variety of reasons. What may be most intriguing, however, are questions they raise concerning the relationship between art and its viewers.

Rudd, former Dean of the College of Architecture and Planning at UT, presents 10 color photographs of towers in different parts of the world. He says, "The cultural desire to celebrate height has long existed," and goes on to explain that the term tower is derived from the Latin turris, "meaning a dynamic vertical dimension significantly greater than either horizontal dimension. A tower marks a location by standing in contrast to the repose of the horizontal."

In other words, we see the horizon everywhere, but the man-made assertion of a tower is a striking blip along that line. Rudd's prints are subdivided into images of towers "in nature", to faith, "for commerce" and "of culture," and they include a geyser (an organic tower "seeking air and light") as well as churches in Potsdam, Germany, and Portovenere, Italy.

I admit I'm at a bit of a loss when critiquing architectural photography. Because it's subject-driven, formal concerns such as perspective, composition, lighting, etc., take a backseat to the object being photographed. Nevertheless, those formal aspects influence our perception of an object's meaning within space and time. Supposedly, the challenge is to create a visually compelling image that captures the spirit of a structure without overwhelming it.

Too often, it seems restraint produces photographs that are neither illuminating nor expressive. Why, then, should we bother to look at something through someone else's eyes? For one thing, Rudd shows us places we might not be able to travel to; a form of reportage. But should his work be framed and hung on a gallery wall rather than printed into a book or magazine? Beyond being split into categories, his photographic essay on towers is laboriously labeled, with designations butting up against photographs in a distracting brochure design-like manner. As such, his prints are illustrations of concepts rather than fully independent images.

Speaking of categorization, I have noticed an ever-burgeoning trend among artists to write elaborate statements describing their work. What's more, their intentions are often stated on pieces themselves, if not in titles. Trust on the artist's part that an audience will gain insight without excessive guidance seems to be an issue. And when everything is spelled out for the viewer, he or she is deprived of an essential give and take, a dynamic that's otherwise expansive.

When Rudd tells us how to interpret his images, we are a step removed from direct experience. To a lesser extent, when Johnson lobs a load of symbols at us, we're looking at ideas rather than the distillation of experience. As influenced as he certainly was by Jungian analysis, Jackson Pollock did not attempt to incorporate Jung into his paintings. Instead, he presumably tried to connect with a sort of universal spirit while making art.

As a clinical social worker and art therapist, Johnson knows well the thought process behind her artwork. She's also no slouch when it comes to knowledge of archetypal symbolism. Titled "In Search of the Holy," her series of 13 displayed works alludes to everything from Arthurian legend and Tantric art to the Book of Kells and September 11, 2001. But do all those references get in the way of emotional clarity and immediacy? Johnson says, "I want to provoke viewers to their own dream-like introspection," but her means of provocation leave little room for drift.

Johnson's efforts become muddy when she throws too much together (surrealist shapes alongside medieval arches and Indian motifs, for example), whereas collages dominated by personal references appear crisper—more energetic. In a piece about the pain of bladder surgery, the artist combines six doctor figures—connected to one another like paper doll cutouts—with geometric elements and the image of a detached, suspended bladder. Reminiscent of work by Frida Kahlo, its specificity lends it power that certain iconography no longer possesses.

Likewise, in the triptych "It Was All A Bad Dream" (from the September 11 series), Johnson translates the trauma of an event we're all familiar with into her own terms. The tri-part format mimics similar configurations of stained glass found in a religious setting, allowing the artist "the hopeful context of spirituality." It also implies fragmentation, with the torn roughness of the watercolor paper's edges suggesting frailty. What are clearly firemen, falling figures, and remains of the Trade Center towers could appear too illustrative—or worse yet, sentimental. However, they are herein rendered in such a way as to fit into an overall whirl of bright colors and bits of scattered objects...a visual maelstrom that effectively conveys shattering helplessness.

Both artists generally make good use of their respective media. But it is when we, as viewers, are not overloaded with messages (and thus permitted freedom of interpretation) that their work is most evocative.