One of the pieces on exhibit in Past Curfew by John Guzman.
Past Curfew
Real Art Ways
Hartford
Nov. 4, 2024
When I took a look at the artwork in John Guzman’s Past Curfew, my first thought was: This is the world that existed once human beings retreated to the dream world.
Guzman’s pieces are untitled, or at least there was no title given for the various works on display in the gallery just beyond the lobby of Real Art Ways. So without reading the artists’ notes in the pamphlet provided, I had almost no context as to what motivated the artworks or what they are supposed to represent. What I saw was the domestic turned dangerous. I truly enjoyed creating my own narrative out of each work.
Take this piece, which to me looks like a mutant loveseat which has decided it’s had enough of being sat upon. It twisted its arms into real arms. It turned its cushions into a makeshift head which guides its guttural, most base desires. Behind it, a larger sofa has similarly morphed, following behind mindlessly like the Lenny to the loveseat’s George. Large phalanges protrude from the ends of both freaky furniture pieces, ready to seize anyone unfortunate enough to get close.
A similar transformation has taken place in this piece, except that the furniture in question belongs in a school. After the students have left for the day, the desk contorts into a grotesque marionette, Its once pristine surface is now marred by the greasy fingerprints of messy children, graphite from bad words scribbled and erased year after year, and everything from chewed bubblegum to picked boogers stuck under its belly. The desk is tired of the abuse, and hurls a shattered pencil into the air in mute defiance, because even though it has formed arms and legs, it hasn’t yet learned to form a mouth to cry out in agony.
The art returns to the domestic site with a black and white piece. The smaller object to the right looks like an iron that is horrified by the object in front of it. The iron is shaken, so much so that it’s leaking just the tiniest amount of water that produces little dots on the ground. Its partner, the ironing board, has not mastered the art of the post-human change. It has crushed itself into a heap of bent aluminum and fabric. It shutters as its newly formed face scrapes across the ground, but it still hasn’t put everything in the right place so tears burst forth from whatever orifice is uncovered.
Guzman’s exhibit was an unabashedly fun exercise in imagination and storytelling. Of course, what I saw and what the artist drew don’t always match up. From the artwork’s description (which I never read until after I write my review):
‘While growing up [in San Antonio’s South Side], John witnessed the psychological and physical deterioration of his peers suffering from various forms of self destructive behaviors. In those early works, Guzman abstracted the human form in a way that reflected the mental and bodily harm endured by those close to him, in turn, portraying the unrecognizable transformations caused by years of punishment, relapse, and self-destruction.”
So not quite as fun as I made them out to be, but it’s a credit to the artist that someone like me was able to see the personification at work in his artwork. It’s an unsettling transformation, either for people or furniture, and one that will stay with me.
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Past Curfew continues at Real Art Ways through Dec. 17.