Walking through SCMA’s newest exhibit, I couldn’t get the chorus of The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” out of my head: “Don’t cry / don’t raise your eye / it’s only teenage wasteland.” The song’s otherworldly warning seems to be woven throughout the artwork in “Plastic Entanglements: Ecology, Aesthetics, Materials,” an exhibit that documents the past, present and future of plastics and human existence. The 20th century got to enjoy the thrilling innovations of plastic, inadvertently creating an archive of the costly convenience of daily life. Now, the upcoming waves of youth will inherit what is left of this material’s legacy: an impending wasteland. “Entanglements” confronts the viewer with the medium’s metamorphosis, asking whether the possibilities of plastic can ever make up for the destruction it wreaks.
Given the subject of environmental destruction, this exhibit is disquieting yet endlessly fascinating. Although there are certainly pieces that speak to the urgency of the climate crisis, the curators make sure to not inundate the viewer with preachy or heavy-handed takes on the subject. Instead, the gallery gives a balanced mix of sad and hopeful pieces, making the former all the more unsettling. One that stands out in particular is Chris Jordan’s video installation called “Camel Gastrolith.” Set off to a side corner, the viewer sits on a small bench in front of the video, in which a mass of congealed plastic and trash rotates on a pedestal in a pitch-black room. In the background, an eerie gong echoes against the walls. The mass — including over 500 plastic bags and bits of metal and glass — was found inside of a camel’s stomach in the Arabian Desert.
In the middle of the main exhibit hall is another eye-catching work called “Akpalakpa II (Weave)” by Ifeoma U. Anyaeji. On her website, she describes her art style as “Plasto-Art,” using non-biodegradable plastics as her primary medium. “Akpalakpa II” is a large woven sculpture that incorporates elements of traditional Nigerian hair plaiting and textile weaving. The closer you get to the piece, the more colors you find hidden among the intricate patterns; some museum-goers even laid on the floor in order to get a better look at the sculpture. Also breathtaking is Gisela Colón’s creation in the downstairs “Speculative Futures” section called “Hyper Ellipsoid.” The shimmering ellipsoid resembles a chrysalis or egg; a golden oval is encased in an array of greens and purples that change color as you move closer or tilt your head. In this moment, it’s hard to acknowledge that the same ugly mass of plastic “cud” in the camel’s stomach is made of the same material as the pod. Colón gives us one glistening prediction of many for our future.
Tying the whole exhibit together are the interactive portions scattered throughout the hall. Visitors can write their thoughts on the subject in two notebooks — one labeled “I wonder” in the past and present hall and one labeled “I hope” in the future section. Although I visited on just the second day of opening, the pages were already filled with comments. One anonymous writer pointed out that the exhibit focuses a lot on single-use plastics, only briefly touching on the amount of waste that corporations in the beauty, fast-fashion or even art supply industries produce. The show does give visitors a chance to send a postcard to corporations and pressure them to decrease their pollution, but it still raises an important question: How much blame is to be put on individual consumers versus giant corporations? “Entanglements” doesn’t want to give a clear answer. Some of the art may inspire you to write to your congressman or ditch all single-use objects, while other pieces may push you to work completely outside the system. Or perhaps you’ll choose to do nothing at all and embrace the plastic future with open arms. The only thing “Plastic Entanglements” guarantees is that if you’re haunted by the complicated life of plastic, you’re in good company.
“Plastic Entanglements: Ecology, Aesthetics, Materials” will be on display on the main and lower levels of the Smith College Museum of Art until July 28, 2019.
