Sacred fantasies
At Denver’s Goodwill, an exhibit that questions the real value of all our stuff
It would be easy to dismiss artist Jerry De La Cruz’s new exhibit at Goodwill Denver as a novelty act. A fine art show at a thrift store, where the pieces are constructed from bric a brac found on the shelves, is certainly unusual.
But “Reliquary,” which runs through Sept. 1, is more than a clever trash-meets-treasure prank. The 38 pieces on display in the shop’s shiny window on South Broadway are entertaining, often flat-out funny, but De La Cruz means them as serious challenges to what we hold dear as a culture — and to what we ought to dismiss. They explore ideas around myths and propaganda, faith and folklore, class and power.
De La Cruz’s vehicle here is the reliquary, those elaborate statues that typically sit on altars in churches and temples and contain the “relics” of sacred individuals. They may hold a tiny bone fragment of a saint, or a swatch of fabric salvaged from the robe of a divine prophet.
These very specific shrines appear across religious denominations — Christians, Buddhists, Hindus and others all value reliquaries and their treasured contents and worship in their presence. Catholics, in particular, have turned them into masterworks, surrounding their solemn bits in delicately crafted precious metals that push them into high art.
But reliquaries are also the subject of great suspicion. Their origins are often unknown and their contents unverified. While the faithful adore them without ques-
tion, skeptics might like to see a little DNA testing or carbon dating on the relics to back up the claims. Religions have wrestled with authenticity issues for generations.
De La Cruz uses that window of doubt to let the sunshine in, employing it as an excuse to create his own sacred stories developed off the objects he discovered at Goodwill and other second-hand shops.
He posits — and you are free to believe him or not — that a pair of nerdy eyeglasses he picked up off a crowded rack were actually worn by Marilyn Monroe; that a vintage photo of a young 19th century girl is really Annie Oakley; that a wooden statue of a Polynesian dancer was whittled by Captain Cook himself in 1778; that a dusty circuit connector was originally used on the transcontinental telegraph line.
His fantasy objects cross the line between religion and pop culture, between nationalism and science.
And you’d write them off as a prank if De La Cruz didn’t sell them so hard. His objects are encased in glass and decorated — to the max — in finely honed brass, silver and marble. They are surrounded by dancing cherubs and gilded flora. Their overwrought bearing demands you simply believe.
Look closely, though, and it is a bit of a hoax. The works are actually assemblages of serving bowls turned upside down and dissembled table lamps. There are recycled picture frames and trophy parts, costume jewelry and wall clocks. Their Goodwill roots show through.
Part of De La Cruz’s power is due to his eye for construction; the works really are exquisitely assembled. He has a skill for seeing the color and geometry in his junk collection and for putting parts together in a way that is balanced and visually appealing. They are, to say the least, unrestrained, but he rarely wastes material — every piece has its purpose.
He also chooses his “sacred” objects in a way that retains their mystery. Some of the objects really are valuable antiques, like an actual prehistoric shark’s tooth he found at Goodwill or a 1930s-era RCA ribbon microphone he picked up down the road.
Those authentic moves are almost — almost — enough to up the authenticity factor for a pack of Zig Zag rolling papers purportedly found in rocker Jerry Garcia’s guitar case in 1969; the Playboy bunny money clip salvaged from the estate of Dean Martin; a golden locket containing a photo of JFK.
De La Cruz can’t help but go too far at times, especially with the titles, like “Squeaky” the oil can, “found on the road to Emer- ald City,” or “Clink & Clank,” which features a set of spiky spurs. The Garcia is titled “Puff,” and it’s a little corny.
But the show comes together sweetly at the supermarket-sized Goodwill. The works are just a few feet away from the shop’s many shelves, loaded with unwanted items. A viewer can break the genetic code of these art objects by simply looking around at the used vases, teapots, cookie jars, spice racks, planters. It seems endless.
Goodwill shows a sense of humor by hosting this rare art exhibit and displays a keen sense of itself. The store trades in society’s shifting concepts of value, and De La Cruz’s works ask its customers to question their choices. Are they overvaluing those castaways just because they are cheap, or maybe because people can never own enough junk to make them happy?
But it also inspires the buying at the same time. People go to Goodwill looking for treasures. Maybe, just maybe, that old painting no one else wants was created by Rembrandt, maybe there are more ancient shark teeth among the debris. De La Cruz sets a shopper’s fantasies swirling.