The Emotional Show — Couch in the Desert

Installation view: Tamar Ettun, *Yellow Inflatable* and Miguel Rodriguez, *A Weird Black Diamond*. Photo by Claire Hart. Image courtesy the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art.

The Emotional Show at the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art
by Isabella Rivera

It is no secret that emotions make for a challenging and sensitive territory…How do we begin to express something that cannot easily be articulated or presented in tangible form for that matter?

For starters, what are emotions?

Searching online, I find a definition from Oxford Languages: “a natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one’s circumstances, mood, or relationships with others,” while a search through the Merriam-Webster dictionary tells me that emotions are “a conscious mental reaction subjectively experienced as strong feeling usually directed toward a specific object and typically accompanied by physiological and behavioral changes in the body.” But it's one thing to read about what emotions are, and another to actually experience them. Enormous, demanding, and occasionally out of control, the experience of being overcome by my inner sensations and turmoils completely outweighs the one-dimensional experience of reading a simple and general definition that explains those stirrings.

This intensity is perfectly rendered by the overall character and curation of The Emotional Show, a group exhibition of artworks by local, national, and international artists currently on display at UNLV’s Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art. I barely have to walk through the entrance to the exhibition before finding myself confronted by a large yellow inflatable sculpture, its long yellow tail-like end jutted out and pointed directly at each new visitor - as if a dare to enter at your own risk. Yellow Inflatable, by Tamar Ettun, employs the color yellow in order to represent the overwhelmingly huge emotion of desire, setting the tone for many of the other artworks in the show.

Eri King, *quotidian lovesick blues (kakemono)*, mixed media textile work, 2022. Image courtesy the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art.

One of the recurring themes in The Emotional Show is that of family, which many artists address as a way of paying tribute to their loved ones or to the memories of them. quotidian lovesick blues (kakemono) by Eri King is created in the shape of a kakemono (Japanese hanging scroll) in remembrance of her grandmother. The words “I’m crazy for crying and crazy for trying and I’m crazy for loving U.” Lyrics from from Patsy Cline’s 1961 hit “Crazy” are stitched in the center of the work. While the majority of them are stitched with green thread, the words “crazy for trying” are instead red, highlighted because King’s grandmother always emphasized those words while singing the song to her, most notably during their long-distance calls while her grandmother was beginning to battle dementia. “This piece is about love,” King writes in her statement , “and despite the underlying meaning of the song’s theme of romantic love and heartbreak, I’ve been exploring love songs beyond romance.”

Martin Kreloff, *DEMANDING MOTHERS*, acrylic on canvas, 42” x 62,” 1983. Image courtesy the artist and the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art.

Another work, DEMANDING MOTHERS, by Martin Kreloff, was created to honor and give thanks to his mother during a time in which she was terminally ill with lung cancer. Kreloff depicts the faces of two women who are instantly recognizable pop culture icons for many people: the film star Joan Crawford and the Evil Queen from Disney’s 1937 animated movie, Snow White. The painting is part of a series devoted to different aspects of motherhood, everything ranging from FUNNY MOTHERS to JEWISH MOTHERS. I look at the two faces, seeing menace in their hyper-dramatic expressions and the dark purples and blacks of their color palettes, and think of the intimidation that is sometimes imposed upon us by our own mothers. But I believe that despite those tormenting and conflicted feelings, in the end, our mothers only want what’s best for us. As I read Kreloff’s warm description of his mother on the label, I wonder if he feels this way too.

Dan45 Hernandez’s three distinctly decorated lunch boxes evoke nostalgia. Hung on a wall together, open with their lids hanging down, each one is stuffed with symbolic objects pertaining to the autobiographical stories written on the inner side of each exposed lid. You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone, but I did details a series of specific moments when, as a child, he lost components of his favorite toys, or even the toy itself. The work ultimately paints a picture of longing; a look back onto a moment in Hernandez’s life before it ultimately got ripped away from him and completely lost to time, accessible now only through the lens of memory.

Dan Hernandez, *You don't know what you've got til it's gone, but I did. No. 3 (Kermit),* mixed media, 2020. Photograph by Mikayla Whitmore. Image courtesy the artist.

Works like Jen Urso’s STATE OF EXCEPTION FLOW CHART outline the essence of what it means to grieve, especially in the wake of a tragedy or a stressful event. Through the creation of a highly detailed and intricate chart that maps out all the potential courses of action, consequences, and effects that can stem from a single catastrophic event, Urso encapsulates what it feels like to be overcome with grief and the accompanying despair, fear, trauma, and anxiety. These feelings all stem from the underlying presence of uncertainty brought about by situations that shake us to our very core. Urso writes,“After feeling despair over numerous tragic events (shootings, bombings, politics) I tried making sense of it by creating a map that looked at all the small steps that took us to where we are.”

Meanwhile, Ettun’s video artwork, How to Trap a Demon, excellently addresses the feeling of anxiety over the many things we oftentimes feel like we have no control over in our lives. Throughout the duration of the video, Ettun recites an extensive list of everyday personal stresses that frequently come to plague us, no matter how big or small. She addresses each stress as its own demon, but as she does so, she proceeds to lay down what is called an incantation bowl—a protective Middle Eastern artifact—on the ground, thereby trapping that said demon.

Another work that taps into this intensity is RB52, by Daniel Bodner. A painting depicting two faceless figures standing together amidst a swath of gray darkness, the piece suggests loneliness and fear. The figures in the center seem to experience isolation and distance from one another despite their close physical proximity, while the rough texture of the painting hints at the processes of degradation that all materials will eventually find themselves subjected to. The museum label tells me that the act of painting is “intrinsically emotional” for Bodner. But while he sees painting as a desirable creative outlet, he admits that with the practice also comes an ominous reminder of his mortality. “A kid makes a mark and has the satisfaction of knowing ‘I made this and it will stay there,’” he explains. “For an adult I think it is connected to fear of death, which is innate.”

Gabriel Barcia-Colombo, *Can’t Help Falling in Love (Featuring Heidi Rider)*, 10:34 Video loop, neon, coated polystyrene, screen, glass, 2022. Photo by Ali Fathollahi, courtesy the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art.

Individuality and identity are also explored among the selection of artworks. Gabriel Barcia-Colombo is one of the artists who make a wonderful analysis of these themes, with his video sculpture Can’t Help Falling in Love (Featuring Heidi Rider), in which the performer Heidi Rider slowly dons accessories throughout the course of the video to transform herself into Elvis Presley, before singing along to Presley’s recorded version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” A commentary on identity and self-perception, Barcia-Colombo’s video ultimately asks us the question of whether we see our true selves or an impersonation of someone else when we look in the mirror.

Another artwork, Liana Finck’s Touching, ties the theme of identity together with the universal experience of awkwardness. A letterpress print depicting two simplified figures arguing, along with overshadowed smaller versions of those same figures reaching out to one another in worry—suggesting that those smaller figures represent how each person truly feels on the inside—Finck aims to portray what it feels like to be alienated from another person while putting up a front. This work reflects a statement she has previously expressed about drawing characters, which is that they don’t have to look like anything; they just need facial expressions. “That’s how it feels to be a person,” she states. “You don’t know what you look like, you just know what you’re feeling.”

As I come to the end of my journey through The Emotional Show, I find myself particularly drawn to an artwork situated near the exit. I Am Great?, by Quindo Miller, is a 4-minute video installation that dominates a good portion of the wall on which it is projected. In it, Miller has filmed a diverse array of people, their facial features completely cut off from the frame of the video save for their eyes. Each person makes an appearance for only a few seconds, but during those few seconds, they each stare into the camera as they recite the same three words: “I am great.” They say these three words to varying degrees: some say them in a monotone voice, some in a cheerful manner. Just as we cannot see their identity in the video, we cannot determine whether their utterances are expressions of honesty, or if they are simply empty words that hide how they feel within that moment. The only thing we can see is the close-up view of their eyes, a window into what their inner truths could possibly be.

“I am great.”

But are they, really? Our sentiments aren't always what we make them appear to be on the surface, and in reality, they are usually more complex than we often like to admit. “I am great.”

The looping video creates an infinite and never-ending swarm of uncertain affirmations. Those same words follow me as I make my way out of the exhibition, pervasive around the space and still audible after I have made my exit, haunting me long after I’ve left the museum.

I am great.

I am great.

I am great?

The Emotional Show is on view at the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art on the campus of UNLV through March 16, 2024.

Isabella Rivera is a UNLV student who is currently in the process of pursuing a bachelor’s degree in art history.

Posted by Ellie Rush and published by Wendy Kveck on January 29, 2024. Images updated February 4.

CITD publisher Wendy Kveck has a work on view in the exhibition.