It’s almost creepily quiet inside Sheppard Fine Arts Gallery, so silent that my flat sandals make a soft clippity-clap noise on the floor as I move among the gallery’s stark, minimalist installations. Stepping into this large, open space means stepping into the world of Jean Barker, an artist who died mysteriously last fall. It means stepping into an uncanny world where futurism meets nostalgia, and where the damaged human body—and human psyche—meets hard-edged suits of metal armor.
The show, put together by several of the artist’s former students, is a retrospective—a display of some of Barker’s most powerful work. A bio explains that Barker, a 1967 graduated of UCLA, lived “in obscurity” battling breast cancer, alcoholism and homelessness. Barker’s sculptural works and conceptual art installations hold hints of her struggles, particularly with breast cancer.
One corner of the gallery is shrouded behind white drapes reminiscent of hospital room curtains, drapes that hide trays of strange little sculpted items which appear to be a cross between human organs and small sea creatures. Another installation, titled “Accessories,” re-creates a dressing room set. There’s a small table and a mirror on the wall behind it. A hairbrush lies on the table, filled with a generous chunk of gray horsehair. The outline of a woman is drawn onto the mirror, and a single latex breast is hooked to her chest. The other breast lies on the table.
While a theme of bodily frailty pervades the exhibit, many of the works suggest themes of fortitude and protection, such as the articles of clothing Barker created from wire mesh, including a jacket, a skirt, a pair of overalls and a helmet and gloves resembling those of a beekeeper. The articles seem both rustic and space-age, drawn from a Mad Max world of vigilante nihilism.
Amid the spare, drab works of wire and metal, an iMac computer sits on a plain black desk at the northeast corner of the gallery. To my surprise, I found the piece was interactive: Sit on the metal stool, click the mouse and discover a strange story, illustrated with photographs from the 1950s. It tells the tale of a down-and-out divorcee who misses her bus and has a brief but meaningful encounter with an eccentric old guy. The clips could almost come from some bizarre Peter Greenaway film, with all the strange repetitions and overdubs. A woman (perhaps Barker herself?) narrates some scenes, her indeterminately accented voice resembling Audrey Hepburn’s, but more gravely.
Barker had a talent for channeling her experiences into simple, subtle art forms that evoked the tragedy of her life without reverting to clichés or sentimentality. This retrospective, in its amalgam of futuristic armor, haunting explorations of cancer survival and technological storytelling, seems a fitting tribute to her life and work—just as the still, hushed gallery space provides a place of observance of her mysterious death.