At the start of this year, I was struck by three different exhibitions at SoWa galleries, all from young artists evoking surreal intimate spaces. The solo exhibitions—Campbell-Lynn McLean’s “Acquired Tastes,” Hannah Rust’s “Under the Mesh Throes,” and Baylee Schmitt’s “we settle into corners with the dust and mites”—each conjured their own unique viewpoint and world. As I was transported between them, I noticed the domestic and mundane became complicated and distorted. All three of these exhibitions ask the viewer to see beyond singularity and to experience multiple realities.
Campbell-Lynn McLean: “Acquired Tastes”
On view at Bromfield Gallery through February 2, 2025
I began by entering a world of queer community with Campbell-Lynn McLean’s “Acquired Tastes” at Bromfield Gallery. The exhibition presents a series of thirteen oil paintings on canvas that depict bold, color snapshots of domestic queer life awash in foggy hues of blue, pink, or orange. A pot of water boils on the stove beside an empty pan in Boil (2024); a mini fridge holds sushi, gatorade, and wine in Mini Fridge (2024); and a person cooks spaghetti and meatballs under dramatic blue light, the end goal of their endeavors glowing in a cloud of steam above their head in The Midnight Oil (2024).
The bright colors, combined with bold lines, large shapes, and dramatic shadows create a striking presence and surreal quality to the work—perhaps as if they exist within a dream. Adding to this effect is the warped perspectives of the paintings. Objects right next to each other are intentionally painted at different angles, leaving the viewer with the disorienting sensation of not knowing where we exist in the space. It’s entirely possible that the viewer is not supposed to be in the space at all, merely peering in at these mundane, but evocative moments.
McLean draws on depictions of the local queer community, and in these varied domestic moments shows us queerness is not based on a singular conception. There is not one version, but many lives happening simultaneously and existing as pieces of a larger community.
Hannah Rust: “Under the Mesh Throes”
On view at Steven Zevitas Gallery through February 22, 2025
In Hannah Rust’s “Under the Mesh Throes,” on view at Steven Zevitas Gallery, the Massachusetts-based artist brings the past into the present, contending with New England’s colonial history, but with an ethereal quality that obscures this process. The artist statement makes the connection to colonialism clear, though this is not overt in the artwork itself. Throughout eight paintings, six works on paper, and one ceramic relief sculpture, Rust uses images of cherubim to depict this relationship between past and present, and to act as the “unseen forces that animate the everyday.” Cherub imagery has been used throughout art history, and today often occupies the domestic space of New England homes as porcelain figurines. The larger forces Rust is exploring are not as separated from domestic life as they may seem at first glance.
I found the cherubim in Rust’s work to embody the idea that one concept—or in this case, figure—can be multiple things and exist in multiple realities. The cherubim disturb the mundane, their breath serving as wind that carries away plastic “Thank You” bags into rainstorms, throws leaves through the air, and blows out flames. In Boots (2024), the cherubim are ghostly figures looking out from inside a pair of boots—hiding in a seemingly unremarkable place. At times, they exhibit a gentleness, most noticeably in Breath of Flowers (2024) as a cherub face surrounded by flowers blows wind onto a sleeping baby. However, more frequently, the cherubim in Rust’s work appear as agents of destruction, paralleling the violence of colonialism. In Fire (2024), flames shaped like hands crawl around a bright orange face, and throughout the exhibition, I found the disembodied cherub heads to be reminiscent of something sinister, their eyes watching.
Rust’s work also creates a distortion of perspectives and this world. For instance, Wind (2024) brings something unnatural into the natural world. The painting, made of acrylic, oil, and sand shows four winds coming from the mouths of cherubs in each corner of the canvas. Leaves blow in chaos, with a singular centered leaf unmoving, as it is equally impacted by all four winds. These elements are set against a neon green background, creating a sense that the scene is not quite of this world. There is something unsettling about the present moment, as past violence and its effects permeate the artwork.
Baylee Schmitt: “we settle into corners with the dust and mites”
On view at LaiSun Keane through February 16, 2025
The past and present were woven together once again as I walked into LaiSun Keane and was transported to a crocheted recreation of artist Baylee Schmitt’s childhood bedroom. The exhibition, “we settle into corners with the dust and mites,” explores Schmitt’s complex relationship with her twin sister through depicting the bedroom the two once shared, crocheted from Schmitt’s memory. I felt I was intruding on an intimate space in the small gallery, as I walked between childhood beds, dressers, windows, doors, and wicker drawers—all of which hung suspended from the ceiling.
Schmitt gives a tangible form to the slippery abstract nature of memory in an exhibition that is both literally and figuratively suspended in space and time. The yarn acts as the threads of memory, coming together to form a version of the past that is made up of memories passed from Schmitt’s brain to her hands to the artwork.
Portraits of the twins’ faces can be seen staring from the doors and the dressers, though the scale is not the same, causing the faces to stand out and the proportions to appear slightly distorted. Inherently, the furniture and artifacts of childhood (from stuffed animals to a Twilight poster) are flat pieces and are not able to replace the real items. These distortions are not unlike the distorted nature of memory over time.
The crocheted pieces also do not convey a sense of permanence or solidity—and, in fact, they are not entirely solid. The small holes between stitches create a slightly see-through effect, and the pieces are covered in hanging strings of yarn, making them seem as if they are dripping or melting—or perhaps that if you were to pull on one, it would all unravel. The work feels fragile, in the beautiful and intimate way that memory is fragile and imperfect.
Once again, I am left considering the idea that multiple conflicting realities can be true. Two sisters can be similar in what they have shared in childhood, yet lead very different lives. Memory can be made tangible and real through art, yet this does not exclude it from being abstract and flawed. And even if we cannot always see them at the same time, multiple worlds can exist within one.
