Mini Review: Zelda McAfee's 'Hell is empty, and you are here' at ShiftSpace
In their Bachelor of Fine Arts thesis exhibition, the Wichita State artist creates an unsettling experience to confront family trauma.
When I walked into ShiftSpace Gallery on First Friday, I felt uneasy. The gallery was bare when it is usually bright and bustling. Its relative emptiness, in combination with the ominous title and multiple warning signs posted outside the entrance, made it clear that something different was happening in this room, separate from the jovial chaos in the surrounding galleries.
"Hell is empty, and you are here" is the Bachelor of Fine Arts thesis exhibition of Zelda McAfee, who will graduate from Wichita State this spring. It's on view through February 27 at WSU ShiftSpace Gallery, which is located inside Harvester Arts, 120 E. 1st St. N. in Wichita.
Enlarged photos, perhaps taken with a disposable camera, are reminiscent of the early 2000s. Some depict paper documents, such as letters, overlaid with a translucent image. Other photos look as though they're hung with colorful alphabet letters. They could belong on your grandmother's fridge — if it weren't for the hole burnt in the middle of each image, always where the child's face should be.
The exhibition also includes mirrors etched with letters, seemingly written by an abuser. These were hard to read on multiple levels. The subject matter — flagged by those posted warnings — made my stomach turn. The reflected ceiling grid interferes with the text. While trying to piece together what the letters vaguely reference, the viewer is forced to confront or avoid their own gaze. It takes a toll, especially when the narrative is finally, concretely revealed.
A Hello Kitty beanbag gazes toward the ceiling, surrounded with childhood ephemera. A picture of a baby is hung, isolated, in the middle of a wide gallery wall, captioned, "Is this Arousing?"
The exhibition centers around abuse and the complicity of those who witness it. I didn't notice until too late that I traversed the gallery backwards. Had I viewed it in the intended order, the certainty of abuse would have been immediately visible. In reverse, the subject matter felt even more looming and cryptic. I thought surely — hopefully — this can't be what it seems. Until it suddenly was. This process of discovery prompted me to consider the impulse to manifest our way out of seeing something horrible happening in front of us, pray it isn't there. Was it ever unclear, or did I close my eyes?
— Taylor Waller is the editorial assistant for The SHOUT.
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