Specter Field, Lawndale Art Center, Houston

The wandering nature of this exhibit complicates
presentation of photos. Every decision to show
one piece in isolation may unintentionally
create or destroy a relationship in a
way the artists did
not intend.

May be slippery warns a small sign posted at one entry to the gallery. Presumably the sign refers to powders scattered on the black floor of Lawndale's John M. O'Quinn gallery. 

Two artists, Harold Mendez and Ronny Quevedo, collaborated on Specter Field, unelevated assemblies amid the high white walls of the gallery. 

The collaboration's centerpiece is a work of dusts so squat and so dark the ridges of powder are barely discernible. The powders are accompanied by a low stack of bricks, a bright blue ball and a linoleum section that lies flat on the floor. 

A streak of bright blue powder calls attention to the existence of the larger work, a fortunate feature as the centerpiece was often unseen by visitors. At the opening, two gallery attendants were designated catchers of visitors who desired to walk across the gallery to view art, unaware it was currently under their feet. A more focused lighting design to help patrons see the art, not walk on it, would be a worthwhile addition.

In the room's perimeter, assemblies of disparate objects resemble detritus found after a storm. Three sacks of hardened concrete are wrapped in a cord and sprinkled with a rusty dust. A few yards away, shiny shards anchor an array of twiggy wire uprights; a snakeskin drapes over one twig. Across the room, tree roots thickly painted in industrial grey are accented with a clump of gold leaf and a drift of dried white paper. In a fourth assembly, stiff and darkened newsprint is the bed for straggly but upright plant forms.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that the nation and our city are recognizing the 10-year anniversary of Katrina. Perhaps the work reflects our unconscious awareness of this mark on our collective calendar. We will never know for sure. In their talk, the artists may have referenced Katrina and more, but noisy conversations in the adjoining gallery overpowered their comments.

In a printed brochure the artists use high-bullshit quotient terms familiar to readers of artists' statements, including "perceptional concepts", "generative forms", "reclaimed objects", and "new approaches for contextualizing". The combination of these frequently bogus terms and the visual art itself prompts many questions.

Buddhistsand mandalas and Navajo sand paintings provide precedence for making art with particles and powders. Both, however, have extreme visual organization. This exhibit does not. If an artist creates a piece that viewers cannot see, should we question the presence of art? (Yes, I'm referencing that old story about an emperor who may or may not be naked.)

Quevedo's Wiphala on Broadway of bright colored light bulbs and milk crates mounted high up in a corner feels completely unrelated to the exhibit as a whole. Was it included at the last moment or planned? Given its high contrast from the other pieces, if it was included at the last moment, what role is it designed to play? If its vast contrast to the other pieces was a planned inclusion, why do so?

My sense of this exhibit is that it held more promise in words, in artspeak discussion, than in execution. I think the artists should try again.