Chris Curreri at Daniel Faria Gallery
Until Jan. 7, 188 St. Helen's Ave., Toronto; danielfariagallery.com
Beside Myself, Toronto-based photo-conceptualist Chris Curreri's latest exhibition, at the new Daniel Faria Gallery, could be described as un-porn, backward erotica.
A simple but jolting juxtaposition is at work here. First, a male torso, one with the build of a superhero, is photographed from the waist up in various body-builder poses. The light plays on the model's pectorals and biceps, highlight both the lines of the muscles and the delineations of flesh.
The other half of the equation, however, is the model's head, which Curreri has photographed covered with a thick, rubbery layer of pizza dough. The meeting of these two forms of depiction – one hyper real, the other abstracted and estranged – creates a profound disconnect.
The viewer soon forgets the ogle-worthy physique and instead searches the obscured face for wholly unavailable detail. The gaze is directed away from the desirable object, the body, toward a very different (yet equally unattainable) goal – the veiled (doughed?) face.
Then again, since all erotica/pornography (I make no distinction, considering one simply the middle class version of the other) sells the desired but distant, perhaps Curreri has created a kind of archetypal, assembly-required erotica – one that obscures the seductive object while dangling same before the eyes.
Relational aesthetics meets P90X – can a pinup calendar be far off?
Nicholas Galanin at Toronto Free Gallery
Until Dec. 18, 1277 Bloor St. W., Toronto; torontofreegallery.org
If Nicholas Galanin's work in First Law of Motion (a survey of recent projects curated by Wanda Nanibush) reminds you of the art of Kent Monkman or Brian Jungen, you're not alone. Nor does that twinkle of recognition detract from Galanin's particular sparkle.
Part of a generation of aboriginal artists whose work conflates pre-European invasion tropes with contemporary, post-everything culture, the Alaska-based multimedia whiz loves to jump up and down on the (questionable to begin with) boundaries.
To wit, observe his series of dance masks made from shredded Bibles, or his assemblage of carved masks and a canoe paddle blended with cheesy toile de Jouy wallpaper. Even more blunt is Galanin's role-reverse video, wherein a ceremonial dancer, in full cape and mask regalia, dances to an electro soundtrack and, topsy-turvy, a hip-hop dancer pops and locks to a sacred drum composition.
I hesitate to impose an agenda on this work, but it does appear to call for a new synthesis of aboriginal and post-colonial cultures; one that values blending at least as much as preservationist gestures. But I'm not aboriginal, so I'll leave that to the experts.
Galanin's skillful exploration of new possibilities between cultures, however, is as undeniably playful as it is testing.
IN OTHER VENUES
Lost Secrets of The Royal at A Space Gallery
Until Dec. 11, No. 110, 401 Richmond St. W., Toronto; aspacegallery.org
A witty, beautiful collection of four film-based works by prominent Asian-Canadian artists – works prompted by and employing scenes from decaying Hong Kong movies supposedly unearthed in the basement of a Toronto cinema. The whole project might be an art-world hoax, but who cares? This is top grade plunder/mash up mixology.
Cathy Daley at Birch Libralato Gallery
Until Jan. 21, 129 Tecumseth St., Toronto; birchlibralato.com
Daley's signature oil pastel on vellum images of wind-blown, skirts-up figures – gamboling gamines, all nubile legs and gravity defying textiles – make haute couture's rigid calculations of the feminine look stolid and amateurish. In Daley's world, femininity equals movement, twisters in full twirl, not pristine encasement. The "kicky skirt" takes on whole new meaning.
Oscar Wolfman
Toronto photographer Oscar Wolfman died last week. He was only 55. Wolfman's blending of imagery culled from queer, Jewish and S&M cultures, a considered yet fearlessly transgressive practice, was just beginning to become better known to the public – or, perhaps, we were finally ready for his work. The man will be missed, his art must not be.