Continuing through June 27, 2015
Joe Zorrilla's modest sized, staged objects hover around their galleries in repose and/or ready to attack. Taken from afar, they strike us as dark but vague, with the odd exceptions of two hanging plastic bags (each dubbed "Torn Intimacy"), one from the rafters, the other from the skylight, both filled with honey and used motor oil. They and a few other pieces are a bit quaint on their own, but in concert with the larger group of gestures, they heighten the drama and keep things moving.
Zorrilla's at his best when the up-close examination that is demanded pays off, as with "Untitled (Articulate)," a rock that's been sliced in half, a layer of felt mounted into its crevice, and finally mounted on a withdrawn corner shelf. Another “Untitled” is a found classic wood desk chair whose left-front leg in perched on a piece of bone. The show's tour de force (which gets its own room) is a bed of memory foam indented with pieces of glass and bronzed finger joints, an artichoke heart — the entire tableau balanced quietly on a sawhorse. Pilfering a line from a poem by Nicanor Parra in the show's press release helps capture Zorilla's pursuit: “… that second of all in everything I write I am hanging from the wing of a fly; or rather I am clinging tooth and nail …"
Published Courtesy of ArtSceneCal ©2015
