Postmodern Mannequins
From Gambit, New Orleans, LA, November 2000
D. Eric Bookhardt
WHAT:The Spectacle of the Mannequin, new paintings by Lory Lockwood
WHEN: Through November
WHERE: Sylvia Schmidt Gallery, 400A Julia St., 522-2000
WITH WORKS LIKE STALLED, LORY LOCKWOOD MAKES US WONDER WHETHER MANNEQUINS HAVE BECOME MORE REALISTIC OR WHETHER HUMANS HAVE BECOME MORE ROBOTIC.
Their presence is sometimes almost human. As models for the fashion industry's latest wares, mannequins are an inescapable presence in stores and shop windows, tireless troopers in the ongoing battle for consumer dollars. But there's a difference between male mannequins, who are colorless stiffs for the most part, and female mannequins, who not only tend to be more lifelike, but are often outfitted more elaborately and posed more provocatively, as well.
Where female mannequins are concerned, allure is the operative word, as they attract window shoppers to fashions that they hope will enhance their own attractiveness. Yet, things get tricky when we invest inanimate objects with personal qualities, not to mention sex appeal, and those ambiguities are what Lory Lockwood explores in her new paintings at Sylvia Schmidt. Titled The Spectacle of the Mannequin, the series focuses on mannequins in both typical and atypical situations, and while they may not look all that out of the ordinary at first, they become rather eerie on contemplation.
Impasse is a realistically rendered view of two party-girl mannequins in the window of a trendy New York boutique. Wearing a tight black skirt and halter top, one mannequin stares sharply at her similarly attired companion, whose head seems cocked as if to return her steely gaze. The fashions are minimally fetishistic with techno overtones; a backdrop of glossy silver mylar rounds out the chi-chi, post-industrial ambience. Beyond the fashions themselves, the mannequins' psychic dispositions are expressed in their body language, a mixture of urban angst and conspiratorial intrigue.
Similar dynamics appear in Coveted, a view of another pair of party-girl mannequins. Like Impasse, the setting is the window of a trendy shop, only here the tone is different as one mannequin faces the viewer while the other stands apart, as if preparing to make a dramatic exit. And in fact, there is a palpable sense of isolation and vulnerability about the mannequin who gazes back at us. Looking demure, hopeful yet a little lost within the scant confines of her iridescent green miniskirt, she clenches her teeth into a brave smile as her electric blue hair falls coquettishly across her button-cute face. And it might almost be a scene from a life, some private mini-drama that just happens to be enacted by mannequins at an alternative boutique on lower Decatur Street.
Lockwood's meticulous style is a tad more painterly than what we associate with photorealism, but her emphasis on surfaces and street scenes is much the same. Focusing on mannequins lends her work an added aura of theatricality, a quality that is emphasized in the more atypical images such as The Woman in the Mirror. Here, the drama occurs in a private residence instead of on the street, as a mannequin with bright red hair and a contrasting iridescent blue party dress stands pensively in a corner. Her arm is extended as if frozen in motion, and her wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression suggests someone taken by surprise. A large mirror behind her reflects her back and shoulders, and the whole scene has a near-voyeuristic aura of suspense about it, like some peculiar Alfred Hitchcock scenario observed through a window.
The mannequin's realistic features contrast with the rigidity of her pose, resulting in a rather unreal quality emphasized by the unnatural colors of the hair, fabrics and makeup. At first glance, The Woman in the Mirror might almost suggest a rather garishly painted image of a real person, at least until we notice the seams where the hands and body parts are attached. The same mannequin appears in another painting, Stalled, behind the wheel of a shiny blue Mercedes. Here, it becomes clear that something has gone awry, as the head slumps halfway out the front window, revealing a bare shoulder from which the arm has been detached. The lifelike eyes gaze into space, and the implied drama shifts from the realm of Hitchcockian suspense to the dark side of Polanski in a scene that recalls the violent finale of the film Chinatown.
Like the stars of movies and TV shows, mannequins are icons, surrogates that embody the hopes, dreams and dramas of real people. Unlike actors, however, mannequins are things, manufactured objects that reflect the aspirations of commercial enterprises. And it is that realm of ambiguity somewhere between reality and technological artifice that Lockwood explores in these paintings of thoroughly postmodern maidens adrift in the limbo zones of allure.
