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I cannot sleep. The visceral memory of too much Japanese food at dinner the other night disturbs me in these early hours. It seems I am not alone in this preoccupation with the feeling of raw flesh on my tongue. I am joined by the league of nightmare sufferers — the poor souls waking from dreams of teeth falling out, a face disambiguating into a horrible mess of flesh droplets, multiple gaping eyeballs pierced with black nails, displaced organs and little devils gnawing at your breast.
Curator Deirdre Martin sent out invitations to the artists participating in the Nightmares show at the UPPERCASE Gallery, including history notes on nightmarish beasts and demons, such as the old hag from English folklore who sits on the chests of sleepers, pushing them deeper into darkness. Martin’s curatorial direction — which focuses on the otherworldly and macabre — results in conceptually linked ruminations by some of Calgary’s best illustrators and a few international graphic designers and artists. For this short two-week show, UPPERCASE offers the art-mall crowd what Martin calls its “theatre of the macabre.” The show features original framed artworks arranged with black ribbons on a small wall between orange curtains complemented by atmospheric background music by Nick Cave and Julee Cruise. As with the uniquely old-school, handcrafted or mechanical-age direction of owner Janine Vangool’s UPPERCASE studio and gallery, the Nightmares exhibition celebrates the Gothic era’s superstitious meditation of the dark and paranormal revisited by contemporary artists. It balances out Halloween’s otherwise shallow consumption of shock-worthy gore and sugary treats.
Surrounding an immaculate figurine of a Tim Burton-esque bird-lady by Glenn Mielke are bright drawings, prints, paintings and photographs with hues of Pepto-Bismol pink and fluorescent orange set against the shimmer of black fabric. Visions by Kim Smith, Byron Eggenschwiler, Marigold Santos, Genevieve Simms, Renata Liwska, Roxanna Wang and Edward Kwong each reveal the personal recollection of a dream and its unmistakable weirdness. Whether haunting or lighthearted, together they evoke an uncanny sensation, which is heightened by the curious Day of the Dead and midnight-hour party decorations adorning the gallery.
Eggenschwiler’s lovely painting of slender lovers on a furry bed depicts the pain of heartache — a cat claws scratches on a boy’s pale back, while a girl clips her pretty nails in an act of unapologetic sadism.
Adjacent to the salon-style wall is Mike Kerr’s Fever Dream with Cough Syrup, showing a button-eyed baby in the arms of a fearsome octo-nurse who shoves medical tools and tonics at the babe from eight sides. The Alberta College of Art and Design instructor says it is based on a dream he had as a child. “I was grabbed by tentacles, which I would then pull loose. The tentacles would come at me faster and faster until I was unable to keep up and woke up screaming.” It was the drugs in cough syrup that induced such a frightening scenario.
Brennan Kelly’s series of ink drawings on paper reveal the universal pool of psychological issues that at times submerge us. His nightmare depicts a face melting away into a thousand fatty globs. The triptych portrays a slightly thicker, middle-aged man whose dream turns to horror perhaps as the result of too much “fat and greasy meats and pastry eatables” consumed before bed — a leading cause of nightmares, according to the Household Cyclopedia of 1881.
What Vangool and Martin call the lynchpin of their show is an antique doll, found at a flea market, with gothic cat-eye makeup and wiry black hair (not to mention realistic glass eyes). Motivated by budget concerns as much as concept, Vangool asked the dealer if she could purchase the doll head alone, but alas, the decapitated dolly followed its head to the gallery. The feet stick out morbidly from an office shelf and the pretty head hangs upside-down amidst the other artworks — a testament to our fascination with nightmarish imagery and characters in everyday life.
Nightmares’ eclectic instalment of everyday objects and design tools (such as curtains, clocks and an old black typewriter) into the traditional wall-mounted gallery experience mixes up categories such as commercial design, “low-art,” illustration and fine art. It is a layered and well-researched spin on a seasonal exhibition. The illogical and exaggerated nature of dreams is an appropriate fit for the artist’s imagination as well as an opportune invocation for all of us to do as surreal director David Lynch advises, and “dive within.”
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