Artists Lead The Narrative In ​“Voir Dire” Exhibition

The two men in Cal Bocicault’s painting are, first and foremost, stylish, and they know it. Peering askance at the viewer, colors coordinated with themselves and each other, together they open the shoeboxes on their laps. The shoeboxes themselves become classic MacGuffins. We have no idea what’s in the boxes. For all we know, the boxes are empty. But maybe they’re not. Maybe they contain the most stylish sneakers we’ve ever seen, footwear that elevates all the clothes around it. The important thing is that the two men can see what we can’t. They know what’s in the boxes. They’re just not telling us.

It’s Gotta Be the Shoes is part of ​“Voir Dire,” an art exhibition of 10 artists curated by Kim Weston of Wábi Gallery, on view now at Known Coworking on the fourth floor of the Palladium Building at 139 Orange St. ​“As an artist I feel it is my mission to master this language without words, and shed some light on the issues I feel are often swept under the rug. Taking control of the narrative is very important in my work,” Bocicault writes in an accompanying statement. Those words fit as a mission for the art show as a whole.

“Voir Dire” literally means ​“to speak the truth”; in legal terms, it’s the part of trial procedures in which jurors and witnesses are questioned to decide whether they can be impartial. In putting art on the walls with strong stories and points of view, Weston has created a show that interrogates us, the viewers — a feeling that resonates even more strongly because the works aren’t in a gallery, but in a space where people are living and working.

Art like Dooley-O’s, arising out of graffiti styles, used to only appear directly applied to brick walls, not on a canvas hanging against a brick wall. Once found, it was often whitewashed over. Over the decades, that has changed. Graffiti artists get commissioned to do public murals, getting a check from the city to do something that used to get them arrested. Dooley-O’s long career as an artist and musician encompasses all of that. Now his paintings get to ask questions about it. What does that legitimization mean? What’s been gained? What’s been lost? And what is still out of reach?

Likewise, Howard el-Yasin’s Bananas, Bananas, Bananas relishes in the uncomfortable. On one level, the formal qualities of the art are strong, even rigorous. A black box. A complicated texture, one that mirrors a few of the rugs in Known’s space. But it’s also art made from rotted fruit, dead things, that it doesn’t try to hide. It’s art that demands a confrontation with reality many of us prefer, in our daily lives to avoid. We throw peels like that in the trash. Now here they are again, on the wall. What do we do about it?

Artist Jasmine Nikole, meanwhile, seeks to move viewers toward empathy. Nikole ​“is inspired by the human experience,” she writes in an accompanying statement. ​“She believes we each have different perspectives that are dictated by how we feel about what we go through in life. She takes clippings of her life and artistically expresses them. Although her experience is unique to herself, she knows that people all over the world can relate to her struggles, joys, and pain and her hope is that they simultaneously feel ​‘seen.’ She sees you through your struggles, your joys, and your strength. Nikole’s hope is you see yourself and strength in her art.”

Kulimushi Barongozi’s two entries into the show then deliver short shocks to the system. One painting is of the artist’s father, ​“whose face he only has in his memory,” the artist notes. Another painting, Nothing to Worry About, is of his sister. The title is, on its face, half-ironic. Scrawled below the face is a message: ​“Nothing to worry about. The only time to worry about it is when you are doing something about it. Until then, relax. You hear a noise? You run and go help. Oh, it just a goat stranded in a tree. Break it neck. Cook it. Eat it when you wake up.” It’s a message of survival, but that survival contains a brutality inside it. The implication is that the brutality is perhaps necessary to survive. As viewers, we are there to witness it. Are we open-minded enough to accept what it has to say? Are we moved enough to do something about it?

“Voir Dire” is running now at Known Coworking, 139 Orange St., 4th Floor. Visit the coworking space’s website for hours.