Living Deeply MFA Thesis Show is life-affirming. by david hall "I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and to see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all of the marrow of life " -- Henry David Thoreau This passage from Walden is at the heart of Mary Finn Sorrentino's multimedia presentation Deep Creativity -- and it's a fitting sentiment for all the installations on view at the University of Memphis MFA Thesis Show to some degree or another. Such a spirit of vitality pervades the show that I could not help but associate Thoreau's thoughts on engaged existence with every participant. Sorrentino is concerned that advances in the materials and technology available to graphic designers in recent years have not been accompanied by innovative means for tapping our own creative energies. Her installation, the centerpiece of which is a digital video and audio demonstration via computer, encourages artists to rely on their creative intuition rather than think their next good idea will come from the latest high-tech discovery. I don't quite know how the idealistic Sorrentino, quoting Thoreau and Gandhi, will fit into the market-obsessed graphic design world, but I really dig her positive attitude and empowering message. The rear gallery contains Mary K. VanGieson's installation Hearts, with 225 hearts dangling from the ceiling, fashioned out of dress-pattern paper, replete with stitches and valves. A shiny coat of crimson spray paint on the crumpled surface seals the illusion. The room is dim and creepy, with spotlights shining on the hearts from above that cast soot-black shadows on the floor. Paint-encrusted tarps slump off the walls, looming over the tortured organs. The delicate paper hearts, so vulnerable, remind viewers that life is fragile and fleeting, and one would do well to make the most of it today. From VanGieson's dimly lit installation, one ventures into an even darker gallery containing the Shroud Series by Marian Lea McKinney. At the end of the room, three panels lean against the wall, each with a drawing of a ghost-like human form posed like a mummy. After a moment, it becomes obvious that the web of hatched lines outlining the forms has dimension, which upon closer inspection turns out to be strands of horsehair. The images exist somewhere between the ephemeral and the material, softly whispering their presence. Like VanGieson, McKinney alludes to our mortality, but rather than a sense of foreboding, the installation exudes an air of solemnity and quiet reverence for life, even as it has passed. Annie Kling has built a colossal kimono assembled from 2,000 discrete kimono interpretations, and she's included everything but the kitchen sink. For Kling, a pack rat of Fred Sanford-like proportions, anything within her grasp is suitable as art-making fodder. Kimono 2000 sports oodles of gum-machine jewelry, plastic figurines, dried beans, bedecked shoe boxes, and strands of hair, among other junk, plus every scrap of paper she ever stamped, stenciled, and dribbled paint onto. She has even strung up spent tea bags like bundles of garlic or chilies, for pete's sake. The individual pieces themselves, with a few exceptions, don't really stand up on their own; they serve more as single brushstrokes of the mega-kimono. That said, what is delightful about Kling is her absolute fearlessness with regard to the creative process. Her seat-of-the-pants approach seems to be an affirmation of the unstable and chaotic nature of creation itself, in which nothing is formulaic and all is in a state of flux. Kling is constantly in the moment, relying upon the spontaneous and the accidental to guide her hand, and as such, one never quite knows what surprises she will pull out of her hat. Of course, sometimes her attempt to ride the edge falls flat, but when it works, it is a wonder to behold. One finds out that Pamela Kugel-Rolls is hog-wild over Dupont Corian, and she has used the stuff to build some pretty impressive props for a performance piece called Living Rhythms. The artist says that the ritual, which mixes light, music, and choreographed movement, is a "breathing metaphor of a healthy family culture, where the 'whole' produces something new, something stronger than the sum of the parts." Unfortunately, I could not attend the opening and so missed the spectacle, but the sculptures are quite nice in their own right. They appear as Noguchi-inspired playground elements, one of which actually functions as a mod slide. Kugel-Rolls felt compelled to use the Corian as tile elements on her paintings exhibited nearby, which is too bad, because the rectangular chunks of the newfangled material sit awkwardly atop the biomorphic works, appearing as an afterthought. It is really quite a treat to visit a group exhibit of young artists' work and find something worthwhile and intelligent from every participant. It is to the credit of the University of Memphis Art Department that it inspires such discipline and introspection from its students. (At the University of Memphis through June 17th.) You can write David Hall at letters@memphisflyer.com.