Exposed but hidden faces

Layla Rudneva Mackay: Green with Envy
Starkwhite
May 27 – June 20 2009

In contrast to her last exhibition where she made 'portraits' where heads, faces and whole bodies were hidden from view, this new Layla Rudneva-Mackay show uses exposed faces, but still hidden behind make up - white-faced or tinted pancake, foundations and creams. The six photographs here in Starkwhite’s new back gallery allude to the theatre: they are stagey with appropriately coloured backdrops, costumes and props. They tease out the notion of applied facial makeup as rudimentary mask – not for disguise though, but accentuation of mood. An elaboration of a psychological state or - more permanently, a character trait.

The way they attempt to expose, not conceal, hints at the symbolic use of colours like green and yellow. A bit like Shakespeare and his flowers and weeds. One model is masked around eyes and nose bridge only, others are confined to the face, another is face and neck, another still is eyes, nose and cheeks (but not mouth or chin). Five women and one bearded man.

One image of two long haired, white-faced young women in jeans and t-shirts is trite. It is far too ordinary – as if from a card shop. The others though have a strange intensity, a surprising eroticism even. However it is not the colours of the shaped and somewhat impassive ‘faces’ that do that but the contrast with the normal skin of arms, shoulders and neck. It confirms the ideas of McLuhan’s “the medium is the massage” where tactility and partially covered surfaces create spaces more loaded than anything nudity can create.

What is impressive is the care of the artist has taken in her compositional placement. ‘Blue’ refers to Vermeer, uses a hand-held blue mask as well as blue make-up and backdrop, and has very controlled lighting on the model’s neck, hand and arm. ‘Yellow’ features a yellow transparent backdrop with red peeking through from underneath, and strategically exposing a red corner on the bottom left of the photograph so it counterbalances a blue blouse and red skirt.

With this very fine second exhibition at Starkwhite, Layla Rudneva-Mackay continues to surprise. Though not as overtly provocative or nihilistic as her first ‘outdoor’ show, this ‘indoor’ one is more measured and contemplative, and more sensual. Well worth visiting.

Leave that sticky pad alone

Layla Rudneva–Mackay: 6 French Street, New Plymouth 2003
Te Tuhi billboard project, Pakuranga
23 February - 29 June 2008

Rudneva-Mackay recently had a show of her ‘portrait’ photographs at Starkwhite, works where the subjects had their faces hidden while posing in landscapes. They were quite different from this current Te Tuhi billboard show which features images from a few years earlier, taken when she was boarding in New Plymouth for a few months.

Also portraits of a kind, they depict no bodies or faces. Only sticky notepad pages bearing written messages, stuck on kitchen or bathroom walls. Scribbled as instructions for the future tenant of a temporarily leased house, they tell us a lot about a worried house owner. She or he is clearly anxious about the hygiene of future inhabitants and how they will use household equipment.

When blown up, taken out of the kitchen or bathroom and exposed to the gaze of street traffic and pedestrians, these stress-laden missives are wonderfully incongruous, if not surreal. They are steeped in a humour that mocks obsessiveness and excessive preoccupation with procedure and detail.

They are symptoms of a certain psychological type, often referred to as ‘control freaks.’ People who always want to supervise others and not let them be independent. This variety though never stops worrying about germs, danger, or possible accident, insists on always articulating detailed ways of avoiding calamity, and is never satisfied that sufficient precautions have ever been taken. Rudneva-Mackay’s landlord/lady obviously lost sleep worrying about tenants not figuring out how to use the shower tap, or sterilize dishcloths (three methods are explained) or cut the correct food on the provided boards or plastic sheets.

It seems the artist regularly muttered and fumed while living in French Street, and this is her revenge. However more than any catharsis she privately might get out of this project, it is a clever and entertaining idea to use public hoardings in such a mind-focussed fashion, featuring particularly casual and discardable material like sticky notes. It creates an adventurous and very unusual approach to photography and public art.

The hidden

Layla Rudneva – Mackay: Tell yourself you’re OK
Starkwhite, Auckland
21 April - 17 May 2008

Hiding one’s ‘real’ personality or identity behind a constructed persona is not that rare an occurrence in art, literary or entertainment circles, but making self portraits while constantly hiding your face and body (and perhaps those of a helpful friend) is.

Initially the behaviour seen in these photographs can perhaps be interpreted as a form of comedic body sculpture like that of Erwin Wurm, or functioning as a human display stand for certain fabrics that are for sale. Maybe they are something else - the consequences of self-loathing or shame. The show’s title supports that view.

It is hard to imagine why any artist (any person) in today’s liberal climate, could ever feel seriously ashamed - whatever the cause - to the degree that they see themselves as a leper. Support groups of kindred souls and counsellors are always easy to find, and usually self–directed dread comes from imaginary causes anyway.

So to hide behind towels or blankets for photographs, if it is to go beyond a shallow gimmick, needs to be looked at in an art historical context. Is it related for example to John Baldessari’s late eighties news photographs where all faces were hidden by coloured discs. Or is the mystery of the unseen artist’s face and body something like Duchamp’s With hidden noise (1916), where a rattling unknown object is hidden inside a ball of string that has plates bolted on both sides. In these photos Rudneva-Mackay does rattle on.

Are we likely to care if she is ok or not? Is there a strong motivation for us to become curious about an artist's disability or hang-up? What about the photos’ landscape backdrop and the prints’ colour quality? Will liking those drive us into seeking out further authorial information or will they suffice?

Well I’m getting a little carried away here, aren’t I? Layla Rudneva–Mackay is not exactly poncing around Auckland locked into an iron mask. It is not a performance she is doing, only making some photographs – and she is happy we concentrate on those. On what the camera sees or doesn’t see.

Yet the title of her series asks for speculation, something she could have avoided with a less psychological caption. She is inviting our interest in her well being. She wants her art to be about something outside these images. She thinks she has a problem and she wants us to be concerned about that.

Perhaps some of us will be.