by Anne Gabriel
I don’t often make it downtown to the regular DTLA art walk, but I should. I dragged myself to this last go round when I heard that there was going to be a voodoo doll show—I love a good voodoo doll.
The Voodoo Doll show, a group exhibition of various dolls in various mediums, was a little disappointing. I don’t know what I was expecting, well I do, I was expecting to walk into either a black or blood red room humming with the ghosts and gods of Santeria. What I walked into instead was a brightly lit room with a center table of people sitting around crafting and having cookies and a child playing video games at the check out counter. It was unexpectedly very family friendly—for a voodoo doll art show. With that said, I did have a look around for blood splattered walls and found a a few standout pieces.
I’m Lost, by Bibi Davidson, a black bodied doll with an ace-bandaged wrapped hand and head (with 3 seemingly real teeth protruding), pierced with red-topped pins, most located in the heart and groin—read as an authentically hopeful tool rather than just something decorative made for the show.
Can’t Hurt What He Doesn’t Have, by Christine White, a framed white-bodied voodoo doll cut out with nails piercing head, heart and crotch (again)—sandwiched between layers and held in place with red yarn was simple yet aggressive.
The highlight of the show was a lovely effigy/alter/crucifixion of James Dean tied to a board and surrounded by a Chesterfield cigarette carton, hot wheels car, and coins, by Matthew DeHaven—an homage to the 1982 film by Robert Altman about an all-female James Dean fan club which reunites on the 20th anniversary of his death.
Image: Staff