Bonny Bronson, “Imagine.”

It’s nervy to co-opt the title of a world-famous photographer’s book and body of work (which also serves as the title of an award-winning documentary about the artist) and use it as the name of your own photography exhibit. But that’s exactly what Bonny Bronson has done with Sally Mann’s What Remains.

Bronson’s “What Remains: Ruins, Relics and Rust” is currently on view at The Gallery @ 5^th & Water. Whether the coincidence of titles is accidental—which I suspect—by calling her show “What Remains,” Bronson has set the stage for an unfortunate comparison in the eyes of viewers familiar with Mann’s work.

Bronson’s project, however, is distinct. Whereas Mann’s What Remains examines impermanence through images of decomposing cadavers, Bronson’s 33 photos depict abandoned objects and architecture. Mann’s black-and white or sepia photos involve a wet colloidal technique; Bronson’s are straightforward color shots. At the heart of both artists’ endeavors, though, is a fascination with the emptiness and decay of what was once lived-in—whether bodies or buildings.

It’s not new territory, and Bronson tends to re-walk well-worn paths. Dusty bottles? Check. Broken windows? Yep. Rusted-out cars? Uh-huh. Peeling paint and vine-entwined structures? Done and done. What Bronson offers, though, is an eye for color and an infallible sense of composition.

Bronson is a “good” photographer who plays by the rules: she understands how to use a central axis without centering her subjects; she’s aware of geometry and the strength of diagonals; and she’s attentive to natural light. Her analysis of each shot is precisely calculated, and there are no missteps. Collectively, her images could form the “decay” or “abandoned buildings” category in a stock photography catalog. All are solid if detached and dispassionate.

Nevertheless, Bronson does find beauty in some surprising places, especially with regard to color. In “Reflections,” an empty warehouse with standing water and peeling walls and uprights, half white and half green-flecked blue, resembles an abstract painting through Bronson’s lens. And in “Rusted Security,” green mottles the corroding surface of a magenta fuel tank and the chain dangling from its useless lid.

The latter photograph gets a boost from hanging on an olive green wall, indicative of the care Bronson has taken with presentation. She uses 5^th & Water’s challenging space to maximum effect.

“What Remains” is not What Remains, but Bronson nevertheless creates a few diamonds in the rust.

Bonnie Bronson’s exhibition “What Remains: Ruins, Relics, and Rust” is on view through August 31 at the Gallery @ 5^th & Water. 107 5th St. SE (located in the upstairs foyer of Hampton & Everett and Stoneking/von Storch). 979-9825.

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Kathy Plunket Versluys, “Splash Down.”

When artist Kathy Plunket Versluys began her rain-themed series of monotype prints, she could not have predicted how parched Charlottesville would be when they went on display. But the charm of Versluys’ lighthearted exhibition, “Precipitation,” currently on view at Angelo, is its reminiscence of what a good drenching feels like.

In Versluys’ rainy world, dogs prance through puddles while their owners wrestle with bumbershoots turned inside, and men in suits hunch beneath umbrellas, buying flowers on their way home from work. Such easygoing fare belies the inherent challenge of monotype printing. Unlike other printmaking techniques— etching, block printing, silkscreening, etc.— the artist gets one shot at making a successful image (putting the “mono” in the monotype).

For each of the 11 works in “Precipitation,” Versluys has carefully manipulated black ink on a plexiglass plate, mindful of what the composition would look like in reverse, before pressing paper against the plate to create the print. Because monotype prints rely on the thickness and distribution of the ink, they are by nature somewhat unpredictable, a characteristic Versluys uses to her advantage.

In fact, the more she lets chance come into play, the more energetic and fun her work becomes. For instance in “Splash Down,” downward diagonal streaks, running from left to right, suggest wind-driven rain falling around two figures composed of a rough series of marks that are, nevertheless, convincing. Adding to the dynamism are three diamond shapes jutting toward the upper right that suggest the sudden reversal of one figure’s umbrella, echoed in the translucent, upward strokes representing the figure’s head, which humorously appears to look with envy at the other figure’s right-side-out umbrella.

Elsewhere, Versluys creates stamp-like elements to express both rain and the fabric pattern of umbrellas. In “Camouflage,” each small patch is an abstract composition unto itself, and the endlessly varied ways Versluys scratches, drips, brushes, sponges, and moves the ink in these small areas is mesmerizing.

Versluys introduces color into two prints, “Brainstorm” and “Dark Day at the Market,” a playful idea that doesn’t play out particularly well. In her best pieces, the energy of her marks and the suggested gestures of her figures (including dogs) appear free and unselfconscious, but the addition of color seems to prompt a control by Versluys that robs her images of their spontaneous vitality.

Minor complaints aside, Versluys’ good-humored monotype prints are the next best thing to an actual rainy day.

Kathy Plunket Versluys’ exhibition, “Precipitation,” is on view through August 28 at Angelo. 220 E. Main St. 971-9256.

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Dave Woody, “Boxer, Austin TX (#2),” 2005, Archival digital print, 38 x 30 inches (image). Courtesy of the Artist.

I thought I knew what I was in for when I visited the University of Virginia Art Museum’s exhibit, “The Figure in Photography, 1995-2005,” curated by museum ace Andrea Douglas and art prof William Wylie. But instead of images examining the human body, what I found was a show highlighting work by eight photographers who, with one exception, explore context-specific, color portraiture.

Each artist dismantles the artificial veneer of formal portraits to disclose the vulnerability of the subjects in front of the lens. Several of the show’s photographers work within particular environments, like Dave Woody, who shoots adolescent boxers before and after bouts. In “Boxer, Austin, TX (#2),” a boy stands in three-quarter view, as sweat beads on his slight but muscled body. The composition is stunning with reds ranging from carmine shorts to ruddy raw knuckles to a pink lower lip. But what holds the viewer’s attention is the tenderness of the young fighter’s expression as he looks wistfully to one side.

The three close-up portraits by Dawould Bey also showcase teenagers. Bey asked high school students, whom he shows seated at desks, to write paragraphs revealing something about themselves. These texts accompany the images, illuminating the inner life of the individuals. In Chan Chao’s series, “Burma: Something Went Wrong,” the photographer portrays young activists living in precarious exile following the military takeover of their country.

Two of the show’s artists take a different tack, manipulating the circumstances under which they photograph their subjects. Sharon Cole’s “Drunk Series” presents formal headshots of inebriated partygoers. Their eyes half-lidded, Cole’s subjects can’t muster the pretense that normally accompanies such formal sittings. Similarly, Bettina van Zwehl, takes pictures of women after they’ve slept in white shirts, looking slightly disheveled and confused, or as they hold their breath while lying on the floor in black shirts, creating an illusion of intention.

A small photograph by Vibeke Tandberg and another by Hellen van Meene seem like off-kilter afterthoughts compared to the attention the show lavishes on the work of the previous five photographers. Meanwhile, the work of by Jenny Gage, depicting anonymous bodies shot underwater, seems lifted from a different exhibit— perhaps the one I’d originally imagined. Nevertheless, Gage’s fluid photographs of sun-outlined silhouettes are among the most beautiful on display.

Though unexpected in scope and somewhat odd in image selection, “The Figure in Photography” nevertheless puts a new face on photographic portraiture.

“The Figure in Photography, 1995-2005″ is on view through August 8 at the University of Virginia Art Museum, 155 Rugby Road. 924-3592.

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Noëlle I.K. Gray, “Mélange #53.”

Sadness. Horror. Slack-jawed amazement. These were common reactions to the tree carnage wreaked by last month’s storm. Artist Noëlle I.K. Gray may also have felt secret joy. Where the rest of us saw destruction, Gray perhaps saw opportunity since salvaged wood is at the heart of the 11 wall pieces constituting her exhibition, “Abstracts on Sculpted Wood,” currently on view at Mudhouse.

Gray sands and shapes cast-off ash and cedar pieces from a local lumberyard, preserving crevices and bark, to produce elongated flat surfaces with an organic feeling. She next obscures the underlying wood grain by painting each sculpted cross-section in a rich matte color— teal, carmine, lilac-gray, black— often subtly varying areas of darkness and light.

Over this base color, Gray drips a family of contrasting colors in seemingly random clusters of splotches. Diffuse- or lacy-edged, light-colored circlets radiate from droplets of pure pigment. Gray’s layering is complex, but she skillfully retains a sense of spontaneity in her dripped compositions, giving the impression that strange-hued lichen or algae are growing on the surface of the sculpted shapes.

As a result, her pieces appear to be natural objects, perhaps eroded rocks collected from a riverbed on another planet (although the work closest to the restrooms looks more like a strangely mottled cross-section of a dinosaur bone). Gray has strung her paintings across the wall at varying heights like colorful misshapen clouds or fossilized puddles.

The strongest aspect of Gray’s work is her sensitivity to color combinations. In “Mélange #5,” branching, interconnected filaments of white surround peach and pink droplets that burble across a sage-grey slab. Nearby, soft-edged splotches of tomato red with shadows of ochre and orange mottle the turquoise surface of “Mélange #16.” And in “Mélange #3,” frothy white surrounds olive-green clusters on a charcoal-black background.

Although Gray’s arrangements of colors are meditative and make for pleasant viewing, her technique veers dangerously close to schtick. “I look at my pieces as an emotional emanation; mental pools flowing from one image to the next,” she writes in her artist’s statement. Yet any variation in emotion is hard to detect, and each work, though superficially engaging, lacks the depth and substance required to sustain looking.

Still, Gray’s ability to create unfamiliar yet evocative organic objects is intriguing. And pulling beauty and the suggestion of growth from the scrapheap is no small feat.

Noëlle I.K. Gray’s exhibition, “Abstracts on Sculpted Wood,” is on view through August 2 at Mudhouse. 213 W. Main St. on the Downtown Mall. 960-0804.

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Agnieszka Zabawa, “Up in the Sky.”

Have you seen Work of Art, Bravo’s latest Project Runway-esque reality series? I was skeptical (understatement) that artists competing against each other in weekly challenges would make for compelling TV, but it’s surprisingly entertaining. Last week, after driving through Manhattan, the artists undertook the task of representing their impressions of New York City.

It’s too bad Charlottesville painter Agnieszka Zabawa wasn’t there, because she’d have had no problem creating a visual answer to this challenge. In fact, she has 15 of them on display in Chroma Projects’ current exhibition, “Uncounted building-wall windows multiplied a mile deep into ash-delicate sky,” which also features glass sculpture by Jackie Braitman.

For Zabawa, New York is a thicket of multi-windowed skyscrapers that loom and lurch over silhouetted pedestrians moving antlike and anonymous on the sidewalks below. Zabawa creates energy by combining media, drawing rough window shapes in pen or crayon and filling them with dabs of paint for panes. In her cartoon-like cityscapes, pastel-colored buildings bend under their own weight, and the only vehicles are yellow cabs seen from overhead.

Which is the problem (perhaps only for me): I feel like I’ve seen these images before. There is a cliché at work that calls to mind animated films that open with the camera zooming down through tall buildings before picking out a protagonist from the city’s bustling throngs. The sense of familiarity makes it easy to miss some of Zabawa’s interesting innovations, such as collaging-in a piece of notebook paper so the squares of its perforated edge serve as windows in “Uncounted building-wall windows,” or painting over pasted-in newspaper in “Shadows of the City.”

In her two most successful pieces, “Up in the Sky” and “Relationships,” Zabada abandons her pastel palette in favor of chalkboard-like surfaces, reminiscent of gritty city pavement. Instead of looking down, the perspective is skyward, and Zabawa creates frenetic energy with marks ranging from white scratches to translucent brush strokes.

Jackie Braitman’s four geometric glass sculptures provide a calm contrast to Zabawa’s paintings. Each rectangular “Silo” is a variation on a theme consisting of four elements: a vertical on one side with an inside curve matched by two abbreviated elements on the other, between which a small cylinder rests. Braitman’s colors are meditative and delicious, including pond-water greens and a raspberry-sherbet purple.

Together Zabawa’s hectic compositions and Braitman’s subdued constructions offer complementary impressions of an urban landscape where the sky’s the limit.

“Uncounted building-wall windows multiplied a mile deep into ash-delicate sky,” featuring paintings by Agnieszka Zabawa and glass sculpture by Jackie Braitman, is on view through the end of July at Chroma Projects Art Laboratory. 418 E. Main St. on the Downtown Mall. 202-0269.

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Tamara Harrison Kirschnick, “Sumac.”

Ever since the recent “microburst” stripped limbs from trunks and ripped trees out of the ground, I’ve had branches and roots on the brain. Our daily landscapes often go unnoticed until their parts are suddenly amputated and displaced, lying mangled in the streets like battlefield casualties.

But that’s not the case with the nine artists whose work comprises the exhibition, “Rare Earth,” currently on view at Chroma Projects Art Laboratory. Whether painting realistic ocean vistas, in the case of Robin Braun, or glazing an abstract sweep of horizon across a series of ceramic plates, as Catherine White does, each of the participants looks closely and thinks deeply about the possibilities of the natural world.

“Rare Earth” curator and Chroma Projects owner, Deborah McLeod, excels at creating interesting juxtapositions throughout the show. For instance, Tamara Harrison Kirschnick’s multi-paneled oil painting, “Sumac,” lush with vibrant foliage, hangs in the window behind Dalya Luttwak’s bare-limbed, iron sculpture, “Brownweed Grass.”

McLeod also wisely places the least accessible pieces in the show—  J.T. Kirkland’s minimalist “Of a Thousand Hills I and II,” which consist of barely discernible polyacrylic arches superimposed on heavily grained wood— between easy-to-like work by local favorites Braun and Frederick Nichols.

Nichols’ silkscreen prints of creek beds, dizzying in their detail, find a parallel in Greg Hennen’s acrylic-on-panel and gouache-on-paper paintings of woods. Using less riotous colors than Nichols’ near-psychedelic palette, Hennon’s stylized landscapes are flat yet filled with patterns and lines that call to mind intricate Japanese textiles.

Ashley Williams’ delicately colored oil-on-mylar pieces, on the other hand, take landscape in a direction that’s neither abstract nor realistic but rather fantastical, fusing earth and anatomy in ways simultaneously revolting and compelling. In “Beast #2, 449,” bulbous rolls of pinkish brown fat— watery in some places, sprouting fine fur in others— descend into tentacle-like roots, some covered in octopus suckers. At the top, however, the figure transforms into mountains that echo Chinese landscape painting.

Williams carries her distinctive aesthetic into three dimensions in the pedestal-top sculpture, “Breathing/Sleeping (from studies in malacology).” Tactilely inviting, the clay and wax piece, in colors ranging from ivory to sepia, consists of small spheres, cylindrical open-mouthed polyps, and tiny bowls, some with knobby surfaces, all clustered together to form the topography of an imagined coral bed.

Whether realistic or abstract, the richly varied works in “Rare Earth” make viewers reconsider the lay of the land.

The group exhibition, “Rare Earth,” is on view through June 26 at Chroma Projects Art Laboratory. 418 E. Main St. on the Downtown Mall.202-0269.

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Sam Abell, “Sloth Crossing Playa.”

The opening of “Sam Abell: Amazonia” at Les Yeux du Monde last Friday recalled those “Sensurround” movies of the 1970s. Just as Earthquake gave its audience a you-are-there experience via rumbling seats, the gallery had a distinctly jungle-like feel as throngs of Abell fans crowded into the small space on a sultry evening. Sweat trickled down the backs of my legs; only biting bugs and birdcalls were missing.

But the sensation was appropriate since Abell strives to create an intimate encounter between viewers and the tropical wildlife showcased in the exhibition. The 33 large color images result from the National Geographic photographer’s several trips into the Amazon’s headwaters, often accompanied by Danish photographer Torben Ulrick Nissen, to capture the unique ecosystem threatened by encroaching industrialization and environmental hazards. Instead of using scare tactics, Abell presents photos that compel a relationship with the beauty of the Amazonian landscape and animals.

He achieves this personal involvement by foregoing long-range lenses and remote-controlled cameras in favor of getting up close with his subjects, which include anacondas, monkeys, and brilliant butterflies. His point of view becomes our point of view. Fortunately, Abell is a skilled observer, taking note of color and spatial relationships most of us would otherwise miss. In many cases, he frames the scene and patiently waits for us to notice what’s happening.

For example, “Praying Mantis” appears to be an almost abstract composition of green grasses crossing the frame diagonally against a rich blue background. A closer look, however, reveals one of the central blades is not like the others; it is a praying mantis clinging upside down to a shoot of the same color. Similarly, a scaly head with a gleaming eye goes almost undetected beneath a carpet of fallen leaves in  “Hidden Anaconda.”

Other images are more obvious in their spectacle, such as Abell’s “Sloth Crossing Playa,” in which a mottled-gray, primate-like animal, baby beneath her belly, crawls across a sandy expanse toward a coppery stretch of river, while in the background the jungle canopy looms against the sky. Highlighting the exotic energy of the Amazon, Abell even makes a visual pun on his iconic Stay this Moment photograph of a canoe’s prow in calm blue waters by creating a nearly identical composition, “Guide at Dusk,” with an olive-green blur of river rushing by.

With Abell as our guide, “Amazonia” is an immersion experience that leaves viewers wide-eyed with wonder.

The exhibition “Sam Abell:Amazonia” is on view through July 18 and then again August 4-31 at Les Yeux du Monde. 841 Wolf Trap Road. 973-5566.

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Ed Deasy, “Cup.”

It’s strange to look at a photograph and think of sound. Specifically, it’s strange to look at a photograph and notice the lack of sound. But the quietness of the eight images that constitute Ed Deasy’s Angelo exhibition, “Black and White Dreams,” is striking. The only noise imaginable is the patter of rain or the rustling of leaves or perhaps the hushed ticking of an unseen clock.

Why a clock? Because Deasy’s specialty is experimenting with long exposures, letting his camera’s shutter remain open for periods ranging from a few seconds to several hours. This method allows the film to absorb more light, which sharpens stationary objects and blurs anything in motion.

Deasy writes in his artist’s statement that he likes “unpredictable” photographic techniques and says, “… it is the unexpected that is at the center of my work.” Perhaps, but he carefully controls the parameters in which he allows chance to happen. In fact, Deasy’s images are the opposite of snapshots; they often convey scenes of overlooked beauty, but they are carefully composed and managed.

For instance, “Office Chair” captures the way light through louvered blinds cascades across an office and creates stripes at various angles. In the bottom third of the frame, Deasy has placed a rolling wooden office chair at the center, mediating the space between a floor-to-ceiling window on the left and the edge of a desk on the lower right, as the light cuts diagonally from one to the other. The slats on the back of the chair mortar between concrete blocks lining the windows, and boxes stacked on a shelf on the left add more stripes. The result is a quiet geometric composition with a gorgeous range of tones.

This awareness of geometry and the ability to manipulate light are Deasy’s strong suits as he enables his camera to capture unusual effects, such as wavering horizontal bands flowing outside a dappled car window on a rainy day or the strange lake seeming to open in the middle of a round white coffee cup (which Deasy lit by holding a flashlight above it). One of his most memorable images is “M.J. in a Chair,” in which a blurred and otherworldly figure sits in an otherwise still room filled with antiques and houseplants, like a ghost revisiting its former home.

Deasy’s photographs may be quiet, but they speak volumes about his skill as an artist.

Photographer Ed Deasy’s exhibition, “Black and White Dreams,” is on view through June 30 at Angelo, 220 E. Main St. on the Downtown Mall. 971-9256.

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Cass Kawecki, “Outlook.”

Repeat after me: “Sorry.” “Excuse me.” “Am I in your way?” “Pardon.” Say the words over and over until they roll off your tongue without distraction because you’ll need them if you view Cass Kawecki’s exhibition, “Experiment in Process,” at Mudhouse.

The most frustrating venue in Charlottesville, Mudhouse’s gallery wall runs alongside the corridor to the counter (and beyond to the bathrooms). It may offer artists exposure to many eyes, but it is not conducive to long looks. Which is a shame because Kawecki’s 10 oil paintings and 16 smaller works— mostly watercolor-pastel combinations— deserve more than a passing glance.

The oils hang in the front of the café and include several abstract cityscapes, along with a few minimal seascapes. The urban works are particularly successful, painted in grays and blues, and filled with architectural angles and geometric shapes. Kawecki plays with how much he can obscure his original sources without losing them altogether, creating chalky layers of color, and building up and scratching through surfaces.

“Raki,” for example, seems simultaneously a geometric abstract and a vista overlooking the roof of a multi-windowed city building. Kawecki’s subtle introduction of pink in the upper left and across the top right, complemented by a few powdery areas of buff below, enriches the work. The longer one looks, the more depth and detail one discovers. (Practice; “Am I in your way?”)

Kawecki’s experimental approach to landscape continues in 12 watercolors hung in a double row at the back of the coffeehouse. Here, he plays with color relationships and ways of demarcating the horizon. In “Horizon #5,” an ochre sky fills the upper half of the frame above a gray expanse of ground. Kawecki overlays this simple landscape with unevenly spaced horizontal and vertical graphite lines, with a single diagonal slicing from the upper right to the center of the bottom. Below this image, “Horizon #1″ offers a similar composition, but with the colors of the sky and land reversed and without the imposition of lines.

In his compelling “Black Mountain” series, Kawecki further pares away the information necessary to suggest landscapes, yielding what are essentially rectangles of black. “Black Mountain #1″ is especially riveting with its flame-like streak of orange bolting across the horizon. Gorgeous in their minimalism, the four images reward lingering, but, unfortunately, hang right outside Mudhouse’s lavatories.

Alas, viewing Kawecki at Mudhouse means always having to say you’re sorry.

Cass Kawecki’s exhibition, “Experiments in Process,”is on view through May 31 at Mudhouse. 213 W. Main St. on the Downtown Mall. 984-6833.

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Cri Kars-Marshall, “Free Form.”

My first thought when walking into the McGuffey Art Center’s four-artist show, “Gathering Light,” was, “Oh, no.” But my knee-jerk reaction had nothing to do with the art and everything to do with the background music, a flute-heavy, new-age-y soundtrack that I associate with gift shops in Taos, NM, that sell dream-catchers, sage smudge sticks, and Kokopelli-emblazoned everything. Perhaps that’s your kind of thing, but for me it smacks of cheesy faux Native-American spirituality.

So calligrapher Terry Coffey, ceramics artist Cri Kars-Marshall, encaustic painter Jeannine Barton Regan, and poet Jean R. Sampson had quite a challenge to overcome my music-fueled skepticism. To their credit, the exhibit is beautifully conceived and executed. The artists each present individual work but also collaborate on nature-inspired pieces. The gallery is loosely arranged according to color schemes— earthy hues on the north and east walls, fluid greens and blues on the south wall, and lighter colors in the center.

Each artist has clearly kept the others in mind when creating individual work, so the show has a unified flow uncommon to group exhibitions. For instance, the majority of Kars-Marshall’s pieces are “Free Form” abstract sculptures rather than vessels. Cut from slabs of clay, they undulate with lines that complement and echo Jeannine Regan’s encaustic abstracts and feature smoky organic marks, a signature of Kars-Marshall’s wood-firing technique. In addition, she offers several curving mesh sculptures with surfaces enhanced by metallic wax, another visual call-out to Regan’s work.

For her part, Regan takes advantage of the fluidity and textural possibilities that working with pigmented beeswax offers. Although she includes a few landscapes and referential works in the show, Regan’s most successful pieces are abstract. In many she includes a moon-like disc that creates a resting place for the eye amid hypnotic swirls of colors. On the other hand, her “Burnt Offerings” series creates interest using only color, gesture, and surface variation.

Meanwhile, Jean Sampson’s haiku address the natural phenomena that inspire and enable Regan’s and Kars-Marshall’s work. Although a little fog-and-trees goes a long way with me, several of Sampson’s poems are memorable, e.g. “Haiku #10″: “Fire hardens clay/scratches her name in charcoal/alphabet of ash.” Terry Coffey gracefully inks each of Sampson’s poems on collaged handmade papers or ceramic tablets created by Kars-Marshall.

“Gathering Light” offers a call-and-response between four artists who understand and listen to each other. If only I didn’t have to listen to that music, too….

The exhibition, “Gathering Light,” featuring work by Terry Coffey, Cri Kars-Marshall, Jeannine Barton Regan, and Jean R. Sampson, is on view through May 30 at the McGuffey Art Center. 201 Second St. NW. 295-7973.

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Pam Black, “Theory and the Ethereal, #1.”

Mind your manners. I’m sure they’re impeccable, but if you go see Pam Black’s exhibition, “Theory and the Ethereal,” you’ll need to watch your p’s and q’s because the “Dean’s Gallery” at the University of Virginia School of Architecture includes not only the hallway outside the dean’s office, but also the assistant to the dean’s office and the dean’s office itself.

Despite the venue’s awkwardness, the setting is appropriate since many of Black’s images originated at the architecture school, where she teaches drawing. Black repurposed pages on which she’d demonstrated various principles for her students to serve as jumping-off points for her semi-abstract compositions. She limited her media to the basic tools she prescribes in the classroom— graphite, charcoal, colored pencils, ink pads, and pastels— and focused on the core of her teaching: using line and composition to establish “accuracy through expression.”

That accuracy means more than simply making the physical world recognizable in the drawings and paintings that constitute “Theory and the Ethereal”; it encompasses Black’s creating a harmonic whole out of disparate aspects of her life. Her career, symbolized by diagrams and notes illustrating perspective and linear construction, becomes the underpinning for her passion for horses, dogs, and all things bucolic, and, in a more abstract way, her commitment to art-making.

If the architect’s challenge is to establish structures in nature, Black’s images move in the opposite direction, making architecture the ground for the natural world. For example, in “Theory and the Ethereal #3,” Black overlays a background sketch depicting a hall of blue doors, which recede along a diagonal toward a vanishing point, with three smudgy studies of a dog. For one figure, she uses negative space to suggest a head. In another, a single rear paw is articulated. And in front, she adds a red collar to a sitting dog’s neck.

In each composition, Black plays with adding and subtracting information, creating a flow between areas that are defined and others that are merely suggested. She uses color in subtle and tricky ways, such as in “Theory and the Ethereal #2,” where buff and red create definition and warmth as well as link the foreground and background images.

Black’s layered marks and erasures have an open-ended energy that’s riveting. The longer one looks, the more— and less— one sees. Just remember not to fixate if you’re standing in the dean’s office.

Pam Black’s exhibition, “Theory and the Ethereal,” is on view through May 30 in the Dean’s Gallery at the University of Virginia School of Architecture. A “closing reception” (it’s not really closing) is scheduled for April 30, 5:30-7pm. Campbell Hall, second floor. 924-3715.

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Alan O’Neal, “Composition No. 3″

When confronted with abstraction, many art lovers— particularly those with a fondness for, say, Renaissance portraiture or Hudson River School landscapes— complain, “I don’t get it.” Without a recognizable reference, they turn away before allowing the art to stimulate visceral reactions or arouse subconscious associations.

Geometric abstracts, such as those Alan O’Neal carefully creates, can prove even more challenging. The nine pieces in O’Neal’s exhibition, “Compositions,” currently on view at Angelo, are mostly sharp-edged and austere. Each acrylic painting comprises rectangular bars arranged symmetrically in multiples of three. Although the artist’s precision is immediately apparent, there is little warm and welcoming about the art.

But that’s not O’Neal’s aim. In his artist’s statement, he explains he restricts himself to basic elements in order to create contemplative spaces for viewers to interact with the work. He notes that historically, geometric images were used to “induce concentration and enhance intuitive perception.”

Three works on Angelo’s east wall, “Compositions Nos. 3, 7, and 8,” offer variations on a theme. In each, O’Neal stacks three horizontal bars over three identically sized vertical bars. In the first paintings, the bars are black against a white background. In the second, the bars vary in color— lavender, ochre, and cerulean blue on top; green, yellow, and orange below— against a black background. The third also features colored bars, but in different hues against a white backdrop.

The paintings are deceptively simple, but a few minutes spent with this trio reveals the white backgrounds are more than white, subtly enriched by underlying layers of blue and other colors. Also, the bars seem to come forward or recede, depending on their color and background. Although the images are contained, they seem in constant conversation with each other.

Of all of O’Neal’s images, “Composition No. 4,” is perhaps the most accessible, thanks to the softness of its diffuse-edged horizontal rectangles painted in silvery grey against a speckled white background. O’Neal’s complex layering comes through in the rosy edges of the parallel elements, which give subtle warmth to the overall piece.

“Composition No. 1″ is less successful, with broad black and white stripes reminiscent of a prison uniform. Also difficult is “Composition No. 9,” in which nine small vertical and horizontal black blocks offer the illusion of perpetual motion, inducing a headache more than concentration.

But even those two paintings are interesting experiments in O’Neal’s ongoing effort to stir reaction through elemental arrangements.

Alan O’Neal’s exhibit, “Compositions,” is on view through the end of April at Angelo, 220 E. Main St. on the Downtown Mall. 971-9256.

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Nalani Williams, “My Pal Half-Nelson.”

Images can be deceptive. Every week, pictures fill my inbox with teasers for exhibitions around town. Usually, they’re fairly accurate, but sometimes the mailed reproductions look better than the actual art. Other times, as in the case of Nalani Williams, the mailed images barely scratch the surface of the vision and depth of detail found in the originals.

Williams, whose show, “Salt Where the Sugar Should Be,” is currently on view at The Southern, follows two artistic trajectories: photography and drawing. Although her retro-esque Polaroid snapshots and cartoon-like drawings diverge in terms of content, they share a fascination with the gritty and overlooked underside of life. Williams pursues what I call a “hipster aesthetic” of jaded naiveté. Unlike most hipsters, though, she brings an intention to her work— even when allowing happy accidents to occur— that energizes and enriches it.

Williams’ drawings at first glance appear to be charred pen-and-ink compositions peopled by oddly proportioned figures. Her chaotic and purposefully raw approach to line carries echoes of cartoonists Ralph Steadman, Roz Chast, and Mike Judge (during his Beavis and Butthead period), mixed with a dash of Cubism. But a closer examination reveals surprising textures and effects unachievable by pen and ink alone.

In truth, Williams’ technique is laborious and careful. She draws an image and then scans it into her computer, sometimes crumpling the page to alter its surface. After embellishing the work digitally, she prints the image on canvas and finishes the piece by adding further ink.

Despite this complex layering, her drawings exude a spontaneous energy. For instance, “My Pal Half-Nelson” is strangely compelling, with one line-drawn figure holding another in a headlock on the right, while most of the rest of the piece appears burned. But, tellingly, the “charred” area’s sepia edge follows the same line as the arm and shoulders of the main figure.

Williams’ photographs offer a similar impulsive quality. Capturing throwaway moments, they mimic random snapshots tossed in a box and lost by the side the road. Blurred here and mottled and scratched there, Williams’ wonderfully composed images appear to be artifacts culled from strangers’ lives. In “Ryan,” a man wearing only white gym shorts strikes a cheesecake pose on a green lawn. The viewer is cast as a voyeur, riveted by what appears to be a private photo from the 1960s.

With a wry eye for flawed beauty, Williams finds depth in damage.

Nalani Williams’ exhibition, “Salt Where the Sugar Should Be” is on view through May 2 at The Southern, 103 S. First St. 977-5590.

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Sakeena Alkateeb, “Stick Drawing.”

On a recent Project Runway episode, Tim Gunn challenged the competing designers to construct garments using only items from a hardware store. Good thing the contestants didn’t have to go up against St. Anne’s-Belfield students Hannah Velie and Katelyn Coyner, whose dresses are among the standout pieces in this year’s High School Art Show, currently on view at the McGuffey Art Center.

Velie’s mini-dress, “Far Out,” pops with swirls of blue, green, purple, and yellow paper paint swatches spiraling outward on the front and back of a yellow oilcloth shift. Velie’s piece is not only fun, it’s also dead-on in its retro pop-art sensibility. Meanwhile Coyner’s “Lucky Strike” dress wows with a fringed bodice made of red-tipped cardboard matchsticks, a wide cummerbund of layered blue Diamond matchbooks, and a fringed skirt created with long wooden fireplace matches.

Can you find all of Velie and Coyner’s components at a hardware store? Why, yes, you can— and Project Runway judge Nia Garcia would never deem their innovative designs “boring.”

Innovation and mastery of technique are the keys to several students’ successful work in this year’s show. Renaissance School student Sakeena Alkateeb’s “Stick Drawing” is simultaneously raw and sophisticated. The quick India ink marks that Alkateeb has used to create her simple figure are free and energetic, but she has softened the composition and given it presence through varied weights of charcoal shading.

Western Albemarle student Ally Slechta also dazzles with technique in her batik, “April in Paris.” Even the darkest areas of Slechta’s Eiffel Tower, rising skyward behind stylized cherry branches, feature rich detail and texture. Further down the hall, another Renaissance School student, Marian Stevenson, has created a monochromatic red block print of a heron spreading its wings while standing above a fallen women that’s both strange and compelling.

Among the ceramic pieces, St. Anne’s-Belfield student Greg Wise’s whimsical creature is especially charming. Resembling a humorous cross between a dog and an alligator, the four-legged being’s body comprises parallel discs of bisque-colored clay. But it’s the movement in the scaly tale and expression of the painted-on eyes that bring the piece to life.

Also noteworthy for their outstanding technique are Western Albemarle students Reid Meador for her hand-tinted photograph of thread spools, and classmate Aly Baker for her watercolor, “Mrs. Roy.”

They may be young, but these local high school students combine fresh imagination with mature execution. As Tim Gunn would say, they “make it work.”

The annual High School Art Show is on view through March 31 in the upstairs hall gallery at the McGuffey Art Center. 201 Second St. NE. 295-7973.

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Mary Schepisi, “Guns, Birds, and Words #8: No Violence.”

My father made a profound observation while visiting PVCC’s “Cut and Paste” show last week. He said he likes art that has meaning but which also offers “mystery,” prompting contemplation and allowing viewers to bring to it their own interpretations and associations. His words resonated when I took in Second Street Gallery’s current “Conflict/Interest” exhibition, in which war-inspired works are laden with meaning, but— with a few exceptions— not much mystery.

The nine artists who contribute to the show take an iconic approach to dealing with war by working and re-working the standard symbols: machine guns, uniformed soldiers, helicopters, etc. And many stick to a standard palette— red, black, gold, and army green— although two artists, Mary Schepisi and Eyal Danieli, opt for an in-your-face irony by using pink in two pieces.

A running theme in “Conflict/Interest” is the anonymity of war. Not only do soldiers lose their individuality in uniform, but battles also blur together in their repetition of violence. Richard Kraft’s four oversized silhouettes, printed in graphic red ink on white paper, depict uniformed men from various historical conflicts. Their outlines vaguely suggest context, such as the shape of a WWI-era trench coat or Fidel Castro’s cap, but for the most part, they’ve been reduced to action figures, a point driven home by Kraft’s entire project, “100 Soldiers for a Revolution,” printed on 2″ x 1.5″ cards that call to mind children’s trading cards or stickers. (Collect them all!)

Kraft’s piece illustrates another thread running through the exhibition’s works: a concern for how war has become an accepted part of our everyday lives. Mona Hatoum uses casts of toy soldiers in two pieces to convey war’s repetitive futility, and Mary Shepisi sews small needlepoint tapestries of guns and helicopters. Eric Parnes takes a slightly more specific approach by using gold leaf, popular in Middle Eastern homes, to gild weapons.

But with the exception of Naomi Falk’s “Re (Called) Quilt Project,” in which the artist sews vertebra-like pieces of porcelain, each representing a U.S. soldier killed in Iraq, under sheer organza in a seemingly endless quilt, the works in “Conflict/Interest” are mostly one-trick ponies. Once the viewer “gets it,” there’s little reason to keep looking. Which is a shame since SSG’s past war-themed shows by Sandow Birk, Andrew Schoultz, and Anne Kessler Shields offered multivalent reflections on armed conflict that were both relevant and rich with mystery.

“Conflict/Interest,” featuring work by Eyal Danieli, Naomi Falk, Mona Hatoum, Tim Hetherington, Richard Kraft, Eric Parnes, Steven Rubin, Mary Shepisi, and Suara Welitoff, is on view through March 27 at Second Street Gallery. 115 Second St. SE. 977-7284.

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Davette Leonard, “Tangerine.”

Most people maintain romantic notions about the lives of artists and writers. But the truth is we all have to make a living. That guy and gal who sell you cabernet and beer at the Market Street Wineshop? He’s an accomplished poet, and she’s a brilliant actor. The woman who manages the dairy case at C’ville Market? She paints jaw-dropping still lifes in the manner of Renaissance artists.

In the case of the latter, Davette Leonard may keep you in yogurt and cheese by day, but her true passion lies in using oils and glazes on masonite to realistically depict small tabletop scenes, often involving fruit. Twelve of Leonard’s paintings, plus a portrait and a still life in egg tempera, are currently on view at the McGuffey Art Center.

Although her compositions involve fewer elements than those of the 16^th century Dutch masters who inspire her work, Leonard uses a similarly rich palette with careful attention paid to light. She arranges her objects on a simple cream-colored tablecloth— sometimes creased, sometimes folded— against monochromatic backgrounds.

Leonard replicates the Renaissance tradition of “vanitas” paintings, which visually lecture against worldly desire by alluding to the impermanence of life and material wealth. But rather than paint a skull amid wilting flowers and accoutrements spilling off a table, as earlier painters were wont to do, Leonard takes a subtler approach. Her sliced fruits are alluringly juicy but also show the first signs of decay in the darkened edges of their peels and slight browning of their flesh. Leonard often includes desiccated leaves, shells, and twigs to punctuate these tableaux.

Using colors that are true-to-life and luscious, Leonard keeps evidence of her brushwork to a minimum. Her objects’ edges, though not diffuse, have a softness that seductively pulls viewers into each painting, where meticulously observed details create small dramatic moments.

In “Clementine,” a dried-out leaf curls in front of an unpeeled fruit, the arc of the leaf’s central vein echoing the pulpy lines on the backs of nearby citrus slices. Elsewhere, Leonard’s interpretation of vanitas turns toward sensual aspects of desire. In “Tangerine,” the interior of a cut-open, tempting fruit whisperingly recalls female genitalia. The suggestion is quiet, yet a central crease in the tablecloth leads the viewer’s eye to it.

Luminous and exquisite, each precisely observed painting invites contemplation. If only Leonard could quit her day job, but, alas, still life isn’t real life.

Davette Leonard’s exhibition is on view through February 28 in the downstairs hall gallery of the McGuffey Art Center. 201 Second St. NW. 295-7973.

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Matthew Lively, “Thermo Baller.”

You may not know what “albedo” means, but, trust me, you’ve experienced it big time in the past week. Albedo is the amount of solar radiation reflected back into space from the earth’s surface, and it’s essential to planetary health. The best promoter of albedo? Snow with an underlying layer of ice (see, it’s good for something!), which is why the polar icecaps’ melting is such a threat.

Scientists offer myriad solutions for combating the planet’s diminishing albedo, from painting roofs white to launching mirrored satellites to generating cloud cover. Such visually intriguing ideas provide the impetus for artist Matthew Lively’s exhibition, “Odebla,” currently on view in Piedmont Virginia Community College’s North Gallery.

Collaborating with sculptor David Culpepper, Lively imagines the domestic consequences for a world where scientific intervention is necessary to maintain life. “Odebla” includes several paintings and small sculptures, but its heart is a floor-to-ceiling installation, “Satellite,” that extends across a 22-foot length of wall.

“Satellite” offers a bird’s eye— or rather a satellite’s eye— view of a modern subdivision, with several key differences. Clustered around gracefully arcing cul-de-sacs drawn in graphite, 72 nearly identical miniature houses are painted a uniform white and interspersed with 72 latticed brown “Radio Derrick” towers. The aerial perspective emphasizes the piece’s poetic rhythm and flow, and the shadows cast— particularly by the derricks— create an additional visual component.

The two-story houses in “Satellite” are similar to the houses that provide the focus for several of Lively’s oil paintings. In each case, he depicts mechanisms, such as a satellite tethered to a roof or an accordion-like ventilation pipe with red bellows, attached to cartoon-like homes, which otherwise are emblematic of story-book happiness.

In two pieces, Lively moves away from imagining methods of engineering the earth’s atmosphere and toward considering how to keep its potential toxicity at bay. In the small sculpture, “Albedo Dome 1,” he places a cheery little house surrounded by stylized green shrubs under a blown-glass bubble. The dome’s strange frosted portals have a roundness that visually echoes the spherical bushes. Lively takes this vision into two dimensions in the large oil painting, “Thermo Baller,” which offers viewers an aerial view through brown-flecked clouds of bubble-protected domesticity.

Lively’s ideas are rich, but his execution is equally interesting, incorporating drips in his paintings and allowing sculpted elements to remain off-kilter. Consequently, “Odebla” offers both fuel for thought and entertainment for the eye.

Matthew Lively’s exhibition, “Odebla,” is on view through March 3 in the North Gallery of the V. Earl Dickinson Building at Piedmont Virginia Community College. 501 College Dr. 961-5362.

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Ross McDermott, “La Faquetigue Courir de Mardi Gras.”

Ah, the road trip: an all-American tradition, often undertaken with a friend and a theme, say, visiting minor-league ballparks or driving the length of Route 66. Local photographers Ross McDermott and Andrew Owen set off on their own odyssey in a camper fueled by veggie oil with an artistic agenda: to drive cross-country attending festivals and competitions— large and small, the odder the better— in order to document what McDermott feared was a vanishing aspect of American life.

Fourteen months, 40,000 miles, and 37 gatherings later, the duo has returned with a transformed outlook.

“Festival life is strong,” they write in the statement accompanying their exuberant exhibition, “The American Festivals Project,” currently on view at The Bridge.

A giant green map of the U.S., crisscrossed with dotted white lines indicating McDermott and Owen’s circuitous route, dominates the main gallery. Hundreds of sticky notes, each with a thumbnail snapshot of a memorable moment, plaster the map and offer insights into the photographers’ personal journey, doing away with their anonymity behind the camera.

On the surrounding walls, oversized photographs capture the color and spirit of the myriad events they witnessed, often encapsulated in a portrait of a participant. For instance, McDermott’s picture of a little girl in a pink pajama-like costume standing in the middle of a two-lane road, the mask over her eyes slightly askew, captures the homespun aura of La Faquetigue Courir de Mardi Gras in rural Louisiana.

Many of the photographs have a National Geographic sensibility— not surprising since Natty Geo helped fund the trip— but many also succeed as stand-alone images beyond their documentary context. Owen’s shot of a fish-catching demonstration inside a glass tank at the Okie Noodling Festival in Paul’s Valley, Oklahoma, is particularly stunning. In this surreal composition, a disembodied human leg and the tail of a large fish jut from left and right into the center of the frame, hazy with refracted golden sunlight.

The exhibition extends into The Bridge’s anteroom, where hundreds of 4″ x 6″ photos are clipped to five tiers of monofilament. Viewers can flip each image up to read a caption noting the festival and location. Another area features smaller portraits, and in a niche, a monitor screens a video of interviews with festival participants.

The two intrepid, road-tripping photographers conclude, “Americans love to find their tribe and celebrate.” Jump in with McDermott and Owen— they’ll show you where all the best parties are!

Ross McDermott and Andrew Owen’s “The American Festivals Project” is on view through January 30 at The Bridge. 209 Monticello Road (across from Spudnuts). 985-5669.

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Peter Krebs, “May 19.”

I confess. I occasionally feel jaded by the local art scene and drift into a been-there-seen-that attitude of lassitude. But then someone like Sonjia Weber Gilkey comes along and shatters my ash-colored glasses by turning my expectations upside down.

Tall and elegant, Gilkey always cuts a striking figure among the “usual suspects” at art openings. But now she’s given me something to admire beyond her style and presence. Gilkey, it turns out, is not just an art-lover, but also an art-maker, and her monumental wall sculptures of crocheted rope are among the highlights of the “New Members Show,” currently on view at the McGuffey Art Center.

Working in an atelier in Boothbay Harbor, Maine, Gilkey has created abstract vertical works inspired by Kundalini spiritualism that incorporate objects gleaned from beachcombing, such as fishermen’s nets, shells, feathers, worn glass, and driftwood. Gilkey skillfully balances her textural elements, introducing movement via spirals and carefully draped ruffles. Her minimal use of color– for example, a bit of purple woven into the upper tier of “Soul Traveling”– and contrast of layers with negative space enhance the impact of each piece.

Hanging at the south end of McGuffey’s upstairs hall gallery, Gilkey’s organic-feeling wall pieces complement Amber Zavada’s sculptures, crafted from natural materials, atop pedestals running the length of the hall. Although Zavada has several cast-bronze pieces on show downstairs, her upstairs work features twigs, seedpods, and twine combined in precariously balanced structures that allude to social relationships with ladders, nets, and nests. Charming yet dark and otherworldly, her small-scale sculptures create Zavada an aesthetic like the lovechild of filmmaker Tim Burton and sculptor Andy Goldsworthy.

Another new McGuffey member engaged with nature is recent New York transplant Peter Krebs, who previously exhibited in Charlottesville at the now-defunct Migration gallery. Krebs has continued his series of skyward-looking portraits of trees painted on stained wood for the McGuffey show and added several small pen-and-ink drawings of tree roots. His large nighttime image, “May 19,” featuring a starlit sky seen through a lacy black canopy of charcoal, is particularly engaging.

Rounding out the stellar upstairs-hall fare are Aaron Eichorst’s mixed-media compositions that digitally mix photography, well-known artworks, and flowers in humorous and surprising ways. Meanwhile, downstairs, highlights include Bethany Pierce’s small cosmological oils, Darrell Rose’s image-packed abstracts, and Susan Haley Northington’s minimal yet effective landscapes.

Thanks, new McGuffey members, for dispelling my local-art doldrums.

The McGuffey Art Center’s annual “New Members Show,” is on view through January 31. 201 Second St. NW. 295-7973.

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Michael Underwood, Escapement.

Occasionally, a non-filmmaking artist decides to take a stab at the cinematic art form. Sometimes the results are shockingly good. For instance, painter Julian Schnabel’s Basquiat, Before Night Falls, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly are breathtaking films. Other times, as in the case of Michael Underwood’s Escapement, currently screening at the Niche in the Fine Arts Library, well, not so much.

A photographer by training, Underwood and his brother, Matthew, set out in 2002 to make a documentary examining whether or not four dams on the Snake River, a tributary of the Columbia, should be removed to allow dwindling salmon populations to recover. In 2009, the brothers completed the project, although it’s unclear from the 28-minute video what was filmed when and how the situation may have changed over the seven-year span.

Escapement contains all the elements of a standard documentary. Shots to establish a sense of place? Check. “Talking heads” expressing contrasting viewpoints? Check. A map for geographical reference? Check. Archival photographs enlivened by camera pans, a la Ken Burns? Check. Successful documentaries, though, require attention not just to visual components but also to sound, editing, and storytelling.

Escapement’s biggest technical problem is its sound. One minute the spoken words are clear, the next they’re layered with interference. In at least two places, the stereo abruptly shifts to single channel. This inconsistent quality is jarring, distracting, and screams “amateur.” In addition, when Escapement includes voiceover, the narrator reads the script in a sing-song-y cadence that undercuts the words’ meaning.

The editing is also uneven. Interviews last too long, and the narrative thread does not un-spool smoothly. Also, the map is a visual snooze, and the use of black frames to divide the film into sections is overworked. In one instance, an interview subject’s words are inexplicably voiced over a black frame for several seconds before he is revealed.

Which is not to say Escapement doesn’t have redeeming aspects. Chief among them: every shot is beautifully composed, often contrasting the geometric lines of manufactured structures with the organic flow of nature. Underwood also skillfully imbues the video with a strong palette of red, blue, yellow, and green that provides unity.

Escapement is most successful when its compelling shots wordlessly tell the story. Underwood’s images of glass windows at a dam revealing fish swimming upstream through green water are particularly memorable.

But he probably shouldn’t quit his day job.

Michael Underwood’s documentary, Escapement, is on view through December 31 at The Niche in the Fine Arts Library. Fiske Kimball Fine Arts Library, Bayly Dr. (across from the Architecture School). For more information, visit http://thelibraryniche.blogspot.com.

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Steve Taylor, “Corn Field.”

The last time Steve Taylor exhibited at the McGuffey Art Center, he filled the main gallery with oversized oil-on-canvas landscapes. He reserved one wall, though, for a collection of small studies on paper. Taylor’s large paintings were competently executed, but these smaller works, created quickly and with less concern for control, sang with a vital lyricism.

So I smiled when I learned the title of Taylor’s current show in McGuffey’s downstairs hall gallery: “The Small Stuff.” For this body of work, Taylor combines oil, acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on paper to create landscapes from memory. All of the semi-abstract works, save two, are limited in scale and express Taylor’s affection for the Blue Ridge Mountain vistas of his present and a poignant nostalgia for English landscapes from his youth.

Many of the pieces offer Taylor’s evocative recollections of Huntcliff, a striking sheer-sided promontory that juts into the sea in northeast England. The artist provides two large photographs of the landmark for reference, but his lovely and widely varied impressions don’t rely on viewers’ familiarity with Huntcliff for their success. Taylor’s gestural strokes and deft layering of colors give viewers all the information necessary to emotionally respond to the work.

For instance, in “Huntcliff Rain,” Taylor offers an almost monochromatic painting that compels with its subtle color variations. A peach-grey sky hangs above the blue-grey cliff, quietly enlivened by green along its ridge, while a stretch of green-grey beach arcs in the foreground. The overall effect is melancholy and atmospheric.

Particularly interesting is the way Taylor uses the page itself as a frame for his images. The borders of his landscapes remain diffuse and raw, often revealing the intricate layering of his palette. Although the edges of the tiny “Corn Field,” suggest a series of horizontal sweeps across the page, the center of the image thrills with scratch-like furrows of green and reddish-pink running through a yellow field beneath a late-evening mountain skyline.

“The Small Stuff” also includes several monoprints, which are a new endeavor for Taylor. What is noteworthy is how each print is barely there and yet succeeds in evoking a landscape. For instance, “Essex” reads as a plowed field despite being essentially a faint, multi-colored blot on the page.

When it comes to Taylor’s work, contradictions rule: the less literal, the more evocative, and the smaller, the greater the impact. Less is beautifully more.

Steve Taylor’s exhibition, “The Small Stuff,” is on view through November 22 at the McGuffey Art Center. 201 Second St. NW. 295-7973.

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Still from Kevin Everson’s Erie.

One thing I look forward to during the Virginia Film Festival is the chance to view edgy, experimental pieces that usually only screen in urban centers like Chicago or New York. But this year the arty offerings are few and far between. Two exceptions are Kevin Everson’s new feature, Erie, and a group exhibition by Everson’s art students at the former C-Ville office on the Downtown Mall.

Erie contains elements familiar to Everson fans: a focus on middle-class African-American labor and leisure, an ambient soundtrack, and indications of the filmmaking process, such as scratched ends. Nevertheless, it’s a departure from the UVA art prof’s previous features. Shot in northern Ohio and Buffalo, NY, the 81-minute black and white film is a series of single takes, lasting between 10 and 11 minutes— the amount of time a film spool moves through a camera’s magazine- that are unrelated narratively.

Everson says he’s been thinking about one-take filmmaking for some time, but when he was in Europe last year he began to conceive of a piece that would string together disparate scenes, connected only by their subjects’ focus on a task at hand. Alternating between static shots and ones involving action, interiors, and exteriors, Erie is a meditative visual poem.

Opening on workers putting up a Volkswagen billboard intended to appeal to African Americans, the film cuts briefly to Niagara Falls, and then settles into a prolonged shot of a young girl in a white shirt staring at a flickering white candle. The composition is beautiful, but as the minutes tick by, with next to nothing happening, the small things— the twitch of the girl’s mouth, a drip of wax, the sound of a dog barking— become enormous.

And so it goes for the rest of the film, slow and ponderous. Which is not to say there aren’t breathtaking moments. In one memorable shot, Everson’s camera pulls back from a vocalist and pianist practicing a sentimental song on a tinny upright to follow a dancer krumping to music blasting from a CD player in another part of the warehouse-like room.

Erie screens on Thursday night, but 18 of Everson’s University of Virginia students carry the filmic art torch through the weekend with a series of video installations at 106 E. Main Street. According to fourth-year student Vashti Harrison, the eighteen pieces “are made for people to walk in and of,” and several are site-specific.

Erie, screens at 10pm on Thursday, November 5, at Regal 3 on the Downtown Mall.  For more information, call 1-800-UVA-Fest. Everson’s UVA art students’ video installations are on view Friday and Saturday, 9am-10pm, at 106 E. Main St. (former office of C-Ville). 434-242-4211.

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