Scrappy the Bandit and the Outlaw Wolf

Abstract

The gallery has always sparked an expectant feeling of forgetfulness in me, whether I am an unsuspecting viewer or conceiving of an installation for a particular space. More specifically, entering an art gallery evokes a feeling of being in between the safe, assured and comforting feeling of knowing, and the completely lost and vague feeling of having my mind turn blank. The moment of entry -- if I could slow it down and clearly perceive my heightened expectation -- is like going into a room to get something but forgetting what I’m looking for. I liken the experience to that of going into the basement for something -- not quite remembering what -- and opening a box. It might be the height of summer or above ground there might be three feet of snow. The basement is cool, like always; it is dark, a little damp, in a state of disarray or rigid organization. Within the stacks of boxes there are the possibilities of finding Christmas lights and water wings alike. Until a box is opened or its label read, the basement is neutral, quiet and waiting.Scrappy the Bandit and the Outlaw Wolf has come to encompass this type of experience: the ambiguity of being both the moment before something happens, and the tucked-away-until-next-year Long Goodbye of an event’s neatened and tissue-wrapped aftermath. And the heart of this exhibition offers a number of parallel narratives; these are illustrated by coils of pennants seemingly stored away, a perch in which to sit and wait, a shelter from which to make forays, and an oversize toy wolf that watches over the space.