By Kevin Lee Associate Editor

Maybe it’s the Spanish Moss, the natural drapery that seems to give the archetypal South a gothic quality.

There’s the seemingly omnipresent moisture and sense of a root in things primeval, a feeling that as Faulkner famously said, “The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even past.”

That very phrase heads an artist’s statement at the current Southern Gothic Now show residing at Space 301. The Centre for the Living Arts facility was founded as locus for contemporary art in downtown and has measured up to that task with aplomb. This show carries that aim forward.

The last exhibit assembled by departing curator Clayton Colvin, the number of works isn’t overwhelming but the disparity in mediums and styles gives a wide sense to the show while mostly managing to weave a subtext of the gothic theme throughout the entire collection.

Four works from Georgia artist Kojo Griffin carry his familiar human figures with animal heads, and the subjects are all engaged in ominously suspicious or even foreboding activities, such as an ambush in motion or the disposal of a bound figure. The unease created certainly gives a hint of a gothic nature, but there is little to tie the emotion with the region, other than the artist’s orgins.

A Greg Hopkins piece entitled “AIYUP” certainly has more Southern air about it and the unusually literary artist’s statement carries that further with a vignette that could have been lifted from thousands of Southern lives. The shapes employed are reminiscent of both Creole style wrought iron work and floral patterned wallpaper found in the region’s numerous old homes. Initially, the work seems a bit “on the nose,” but paired with the statement, it develops another layer.

My only question therefore is one in where the art should lie. Is it in the work itself primarily? If the statement is needed to give the work sufficient depth, is the art conveying a complete message? However, if video work is acceptable with sight and sound, why not use language to complete visual work?

Another artist, Douglas Pierre Baulos explained in his statement about his fascination with books, “because they allow the viewer to be guided through a thought process.”

Consequently, Baulos’ “Ballad of the Sad Café” is an attempt to portray the central characters of author Carson McCullers’ novella of the same name. Baulos’ juxtaposition of the inner and outer embraces the visceral and grotesque nature of the Southern Gothic gestalt and certainly gives a sense of the alienation in McCullers’ tale of unrequited love.

Maysey Craddock’s pair of silhouettes, both Gouache, silk thread on paper bag, are evocative of the theme, carrying a subtle sense of age and mystery. In particular, “ghost on the water, Biloxi” possesses the requisite eeriness, taken as it was from the vision of a former casino – purposefully evocative of past centuries – tattered by Hurricane Katrina.

Merrilee Challiss’ work, bathes in both bloody and religious imagery. The artist acknowledges cognizant reference to the Southern Gothic role in her statement, throwing out the names of Eudora Welty and Flannery O’ Connor. Her technique is precise, her themes confrontational. The overall effect gives pause, creates a return visit.

Artist Chris Jahncke keeps a studio in the woods on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain and the primeval setting inspired his collaged meteorite series of mixed medium and the otherworldly stones mounted on wood. Aesthetically wonderful, they do a good job of evoking a wide swath of time and contain a dark quality that could be interpreted as fitting a gothic feel, but they set the mind on a track that extends far beyond the American South.

Nicole Charbonnet’s work with paper, creating images to hide and then later reveal beneath later work, are a great embodiment of the South and the ghosts that litter every movement and step here.

Other work in the show is good, but not necessarily reminiscent of a typical sense of “Southern Gothic.”

An interactive work by the TM Sisters and Samuel Lopez de Victoria is clever and engaging. It makes a great attempt at pulling viewers in, and seems to carry a latter day Warhol vibe with its use of pop symbology, but “Southern”...not so sure.

And Julie Puttgen’s Buddhist-influenced “Cloudmapping” series is more compact and illustrative than much of the other work, but drawing that thread of connectivity simply attributed to supernatural systems didn’t seem to bring it closer to magnolia territory.

Most satisfying was Barbara Campbell’s “Blue Collider” collage, although it seemed neither Southern or gothic on its face. Initially vibrant, the tacks holding the work together seemed the perfect subtext, an ubiquitous reminder of the transitory nature of the work, the emotions they elicit and, ultimately, to the nature of the observer.

Colvin’s departure is unfortunate because, as this show reveals, he was interested in challenging every aspect of the experience. Using novel ideas such as this to test himself, the artists and the viewers was a forte needed in these parts.

Kevin Lee is Lagniappe associate editor. Contact him at klee@lagniappemobile.com.

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