Pins and needles

Much like disparate items in a home coexist and come into harmony, so do the pieces of art comprising The Holland Project’s newest exhibition, Homebodies. Culled from three contrasting artists, the pieces nonetheless share an air of domesticity, both in materials and processes. The show’s subtitle, “… and you will know us by the trail of thread,” speaks to the fact that all three artists use techniques like sewing, embroidery, needlepoint and upholstery, processes traditionally associated with utilitarian crafts, to create objects of fine art.

As co-curators Nick Larsen and Omar Pierce began conceptualizing the show, that idea of medium and process was the instinctive, immediate connection between the works of Jen Graham, Leah Ruby and Bryan Christiansen. But soon other conceptual threads emerged.

“I see nostalgia as a recurring theme,” says Larsen. “They’re all kind of marking time in an interesting way, and using materials from a specific era.”

Take, for example, Christiansen’s work, recently exhibited at the Stremmel Gallery and, a few years ago, at the Nevada Museum of Art. Like hunters deconstruct their prey, Christiansen is a sort of reverse, urban hunter, on the prowl for discarded home furnishings, which he then guts, “skins,” and repurposes into skulls, hides and trophies for display. Pieces showcased in Homebodies include “Kiddo” and “Squirt,” two enormous “skulls” reminiscent of those found in desertscapes, made entirely of box springs and wrapped in the batting. The objects evoke a sense of time—distinctively ’70s—and childhood innocence. It’s impossible to view “Kiddo” without thinking about the child—children?—who slept on the bed, scrawling words and names all over the wood with markers. “Trophy (1)” and “Trophy (3)” incorporate table legs and old chair armrests as trophy “antlers,” while three “Cushion” pieces display “hides” ripped from upholstery. All patterns evoke that same sense of nostalgia, personal and intimate history, and the inanity of hunting ritual.

While Christiansen’s work seems distinctly masculine in tone, Leah Ruby’s speaks of the feminine. Her work, which Larsen describes as conveying “the elusive and mysterious nature of motherhood,” is all curves and softness, much of it child-like. First, and most obvious upon entering the exhibit, is the 80-foot-long “Giant Squid,” made by Ruby and her oldest child out of hand-dyed bed sheets. The piece, despite its size, has a playfulness and softness that are inviting and homey, much like the family bed from which it is made. Ruby’s other pieces include a series of 10 Rorschach baby blankets, and a bronze piñata, the only piece in the exhibit that is not at all sewn, yet still draws upon domesticity.

Jen Graham, whose distinctive Civil War-style fabric “portraits” refer directly and specifically to time and place, use traditional methods of sewing and embroidery. Using photos of Civil War-era photos of soldiers and prominent figures from the Library of Congress archives, Graham embroiders reproductions onto fabric, juxtaposed with headlines that speak to modern-day issues, such as “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” or the notion of “Progress.”

Graham explains that the work is based ideologically on the idea that “we’re still kind of fighting the Civil War.” The more things change, the work seems to say, the more they stay the same.

Politically, Graham’s work is quite different from that of the other two, yet shares their playful, tongue-in-cheek style and methods. The fabrics, though new, retain an authentically old, muted appearance that are intentionally stained and made ragged.

Christiansen’s and Graham’s pieces are for sale; Ruby’s are not.

“We envisioned it feeling very warm and homey as a show,” says Larsen. “We were trying not to make too much sense of what sits next to what, kind of like things are in a house. I hope we convey that with the installation, keeping it very clean but with a homey feeling to it, very warm and tactile.”