by Paul Evans
There is a stunning scene in the 1978 movie The Eyes of Laura Mars where a mysterious and very fashionable photographer, played by Faye Dunaway, orchestrates detailed tableaus of super-models in the midst of violent altercations right smack dab in the middle of New York’s Columbus Circle. What’s so memorable about this scene lies in its theatricality. New York is the stage and, for a brief moment, we forget we are watching a silly B-movie, disguised as a high end vehicle for a then box office queen. What we do witness is just how a city can act as a muse. In this work of ridiculous fiction, New York City is not just the locale; it is a living and breathing character. From that scene of fighting fashionistas to Dunaway running down cobblestoned Green Street in stiletto boots, car chases in Hell’s Kitchen to abandoned warehouses on the Hudson, every scene speaks of a lost time, when New York looked run-down but Studio 54 reigned and anything seemed possible.
When first viewing the work of Venia Bechrakis, I was immediately reminded of The Eyes of Laura Mars. But where Laura Mars used her images for pure spectacle and titillation, Bechrakis is working with a different intention. It should be said that the artist does incorporate New York in her work. Or, I should say, the artist places herself in very public spaces, performing various private tasks or rituals via digital photography and creates personal yet epic dioramas that offer much more than what is initially seen.
For instance, in “Subway”, the artist places herself, laying on a futon, at the bottom of the stairwell in the Houston/Lafayette subway station. With a devil-may-care stare, the artist is confronting the viewer, as if to say, “I’m staying right here. Deal with it”. The same confrontation goes for the poor straphangers. Is the artist asking us to slow down? Does she want us to join her? The scenario would seem to put her in a vulnerable place, but one gets the feeling that she is quite safe in her sanctum. No harm will come to her. It seems she is blatantly ignoring Petula Clark’s song “Don’t Sleep in the Subway”, but Petula Clark never lived in the East Village. Behind the surface silliness, the real question is, where will our young dreamer go? Brooklyn? Uptown/Queens? Or will she stay in the once hub of the art world, now a shopping Mecca for the rich and fabulous where young artists can no longer afford to live or work.
Bechraki's journeys to the subway again in “Mopping”. Displaying herself swabbing a well-traversed subway station, the artist puts herself in a situation that no New Yorker would envy. In keeping with the artist’s desire to re-create domestic scenes, she humorously places two refrigerators behind her, one taller than the other. These megaliths suggest parental figures, making sure she gets to every spot of dirt and grime. Certain questions are raised here: Who cleans the subways? Why do we not see young, attractive people doing these jobs? What if we treated the subways and sidewalks like our own dwellings? In a city so youth- and success-obsessed, this image, so banal, is quite controversial.
Continuing with a winter theme, “Parking” shows Bechrakis in the ubiquitous NY parking lot, complete with trendy building-side alcohol advertisement. Here the bikini clad artist is poised for a tan, reclined in a beach chair, and sipping a cocktail a la said advertisement. There is one hitch. It is winter and snow is everywhere. As any New Yorker can tell you, NY snow stays white very briefly, suggesting this is only the first snowfall. This image conveys the impatience so prevalent in our society today. "I want a tan, and I want it now". Beauty at what cost? And how will this character make it home? She is nonplused by the snow. But New York always wins, and a car will speed by, drenching our protagonist with filthy, slushy snow.A girl’s got to eat, so Bechrakis takes us shopping in “Supermarket”. Our heroine is sitting upon her trusty futon, now in the produce section of her local supermarket. Candles are lit, and one might get the feeling she is awaiting a visitor. In her hands she holds two apples (a third, perfectly shiny apple sits suspiciously at her side), one large, one small. Is she wanting to share an apple with the viewer? I think not. The sexual overtones in this image cannot be overlooked and by placing personal objects in, of all places, a supermarket where one might purchase items for a night of romance, it is all the more disconcerting. By holding the apples, the drama is in place.
In each composed and meticulously thought out photograph, the element of time is always present. A beginning, middle and end can be successfully mapped out here. The photos seem right but the scenario will change. Snow will melt, rush hour will occur, lovers come and go, tourists will invade, terror alerts can bring it all to a grinding halt. But it will all start over. New York will continue to thrive and always seem like it’s not quite right. It is a place that seems like fiction. Bechrakis’ images are quite possible yet feel slightly off-kilter. In reality, these scenarios can certainly occur but will anyone take the time to look? These works are about us and somewhere in all of the confusion and chaos, a lone voice is trying to make sense of it all. Venia Bechrakis is raising her voice.
2005 Paul Evans, a painter and video artist, trained at the School of Visual Arts and writes frequently about contemporary art. He currently resides in Los Angeles.