RECOMMENDED
The centerpiece of Von Kommanivanh’s showing of new and recent work, a found-object sculpture ambitiously titled “The Milky Way” (2007), is pushed to the side of the gallery, hugging the southern wall. The positioning of this sculpture is already a clue to Von Kommanivanh’s interest in the marginal, and the marginalized. Slats of wood form a rickety staircase that can’t be climbed, on which is scrawled bits of text like “you are ugly,” a matter-of-fact assault that leaves no one to whom to appeal with one’s objection. The rhythmic, if irregular, slats of wood are punctuated by the occasional light switch with no light to ignite, hanging wires, dead floodlights. These “fixtures,” usually part of a house or institution, in this case illuminate nothing. Instead, we are left with a functionless, scattered structure in a near shambles, yet culminating in that symbol of symbols, a large cross, placed heavily at the top of the stairway. On the adjacent wall are three paintings, one of them made on a schoolroom white board, filled to brimming with obsessive marks, scrawly figures, war machines, grimaces, stranglings, splotches of color moving across the canvas without resolve. Like Dr. Seuss with the fun layers of laughter stripped off, these could be allegorical images of an epic story of misery made over the long nights in a prison. Indeed, a piece of text painted on the wall behind the wooden slats keeps coming back into mind: “They chained me to this pissy hallway—all day.” These pieces are what might have resulted had they, whomever they may been, whomever they are, given their captive a brush and a hammer. (Michelle Tupko)
Through September 28 at Museum of Contemporary Art, 220 E. Chicago, (312)397-4095