There are four stars in “Worlds Suspended in Reality,” the enchanting, three-person exhibit that is currently attached to the walls, stacked on the floors, tucked into the corners, lodged into cracks and hung from the ceilings at the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art.
First among them is Caroline Douglas, a ceramist whose monumental, and endlessly fascinating, “Caravan of Dreams” greets visitors at the door. Hundreds of scaled-down animal figures set on wheeled carts and lined up in a purposeful parade pull viewers in, and along for the ride, as they travel on some spiritual journey. Each of them — monkeys, rhinos, bears, snakes, dogs and more — is imbued with a ritualistic purpose and a unique self-determination that raises them above sub-species into something truly soulful.
The second is Frank Sampson, who has his own take on the inner life of animals. His paintings, culled from 50 years of labor, instill creatures with physical abilities and mental aptitude that seems to go beyond human. His pigs, bunnies, foxes, fish and lions make their own choices — some good, some questionable — as they engage in dancing, prancing, hunting, thinking and other pursuits.
The third is Patricia Bramsen, whose absurdist paintings and sculptures elevate her subconscious — and, by extension, the subconscious of her entire gender — into the driving force of existence, empowerment and subjugation. Woman float freely into the air, wear bonnets made of clouds and co-mingle with giant birds and mammals, offering up symbols of the things that enable and disable females along their life-long paths.
But fourth billing — and, perhaps, top billing — just might go to Rebecca DiDomenico, the curator, whose art isn’t on display, but whose talent for matching artists in a group show is among the best I’ve seen in awhile. “Worlds Suspended in Reality” is a cohesive journey that brings out the best in everything — the artists, the building and the viewing experience.
The through-line comes from the way that Douglas, Sampson and Bramsen mine the dream world for all of its beguiling possibilities. Each has a special skill for casting off the rules of the physical world, the order of species and the definitions of traditional art to create evolved fantasies that question the things we know.
These artists go deep with their wild scenarios and each works hard to bring their audiences into their complex scenes. By making them a trio, DiDomenico increases their powers of persuasion threefold. The fact that all three are so confident in constructing their long, strange trips makes it easier for viewers to let go of their own realities and dream along.
And so, you travel freely with Douglas and her train of salt-fired stoneware animals, who mix equally with humans in her odd caravan. What’s so weird about a chimp in a fez hat riding comfortably on the back of a sloth? Or a woman holding a giant rose while perched on a burro? Or a dog pulling along a boat loaded with some kind of wild cat? The surreal procession stretches 30 feet through the gallery.
You can question all of it, but you must do so without segregating the people from the non-people. They all share the same convictions and resolve. What are the essential differences in what it means to walk on two legs or four legs, to wear clothes or run around naked, to rule or be subordinate? Douglas suggests there are no differences, that all living things share a universal essence, that we are all in this life together. It is beautiful and profound.
Sampson’s work offers the same suggestions, though in two dimensions. His animals mingle easily — sea creatures carry on with livestock, predators blend casually with would-be prey. There’s a great deal of influence from 17th century Dutch painter Edward Hicks’ well-known scenes of animals getting along famously in pastoral settings.
But Sampson, who is now 90 and continues to work, brings a 20th century cynicism into the mix. In “Dancing Alone,” from 1987, his animals come together for a ball that seems indulgent and overly serious. Or he deconstructs his creatures into disembodied limbs collaged together, almost violently, in 1982’s “Samurai III.” Or he adds emotional stress and real-life pain into a tableaux, like 1986’s “Bandaged,” which features a very troubled human figure surrounded by dogs, pigs and fish who just seem to stare in bewilderment from the sidelines.
Sampson is an important figure in Colorado art and this exhibit, pulled from decades of work, does him justice, covering not just his mix of materials — acrylic, oil, charcoal, ink — but also the connectedness of his output over a lifetime. His major projects are in the show and so are the one-offs that have kept us guessing for years.
Curator DiDomenico presents Sampson’s work in multiple ways. Some canvases are stretched, framed and hung as solo objects; others are unstretched and simply tacked to the walls with their edges touching. It serves to bring all of the disparate works together, as if Sampson has spent his life making one endless work of art. It’s a revelation, really, that drives home his enduring metaphors that all beings have a place on this planet, that hierarchies exist only in our heads. As we see in his 2015 rendering of the classic tale of “Jonah and the Big Fish,” sometime you eat the seafood and sometimes it eats you.
Bramsen is no less sweeping in what she has to say, though her visions are more internal. They feel like personal dreams. The fact that all of her figures — the human ones anyway — are women gives them the heft for speak for all females, intentional or not.
In these works, they fight to make sense of uncertain surroundings. Women balance eggs on their backs or bird nests on their heads. They never seem worried, but they don’t appear to be in control of their situations, either. It’s easy to read these props as symbols of fertility or domesticity, the things that define a woman’s place in society, and to suppose that women are both enabled and constricted by the roles we assign them. Bramsen doesn’t seem to be judging, just reporting the facts, which aren’t always so easy to flesh out.
There are other non-painting pieces from Bramsen. For example, a bowl of peach pits is piled into a ceramic bowl and set on the floor, and 27 actual turkey and chicken wishbones are lined up in two rows and hung on the wall. They evoke ideas about who we really are and what we want to be. They are a mixed bag, the stuff of trash bins and big dreams, reality and fantasy, hard truths and false presumptions.
Like with the work of other artits, DiDomenico has her way with these objects. We see them straight-on but also, awkwardly, hung way too high on the walls or on top of pedestals, so we can barely make sense of them. It allows Bramsen’s work to flow into richer dimensions and it challenges us to play along.
In that way, this four-person effort expands into five parts. Museum visitors, invited to indulge without the usual rules of art shows, become equal players in the experience of “Worlds Suspended in Reality.” Animals, humans, makers, presenters and viewers are all part of the big parade.
“Worlds Suspended in Reality” continues through Jan. 20 at BMoCA, 1750 13th St., Boulder. Info at 303-443-2122 or bmoca.org.
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