I never had much sympathy for people when their dogs died. Animals come and go. We buy and sell them like property. When people went into mourning over their lost pets, tearing up, calling in sick at work, going on endlessly about the whole mess, I thought they were being dramatic.
Then I got a dog.
You know how this story ends. We were best friends for 14 years, from the day my family met her at Denver’s MaxFund animal shelter until just this February, when a very kind veterinarian drove to our house through a raging snowstorm to help little Ivy (an adorable, and never well-behaved, mutt) through the final hours of her life. I will hold on to a piece of that day’s grief forever.
So here I am, writing about an exhibition of dog art at the Denver gallery Bell Projects; something that never would have happened even a short while ago when an effort like this would have seemed too sentimental and self-indulgent, and probably too low-art, for me to appreciate it.
And if you understand why I am here, then maybe you would appreciate this show as much as I do.
For “The Dog Show,” gallery owner Lindsey Bell has assembled work by 35 artists, mostly regional, with varying skill sets and all at different levels of their careers. Many of the contributors I never heard of, and some I have written about in the past, including Ravi Zupa, Julio Alejandro, Markus Puskar and Brady Dollyhigh. This is not an art show for art’s sake — with so much work on the walls, the small-ish, storefront gallery feels less like a high temple of culture and more like the well-appointed basement rec room of someone who loves their pets more than their own kids and can’t help but show them off. Prices range from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars.
That is because Bell understood her mission — to skip the posturing and get at that feeling humans have for dogs, which is difficult to explain in words but comes through clearly in the language of drawing, painting, photography, prints and collage. She accompanies the exhibition with a gallery guide where each artist gives a short, and earnest, statement on the pieces.
Some of the works unfold with refreshing simplicity. Among them is Zach Miners’ “Rufio,” a black-and-white photo portrait of his own pet, taken during a hike in 2018. Rufio is not doing so much in the scene, just looking back at the camera with his tongue hanging out; not at all self-conscious of the fact that his picture is being taken in an unflattering moment.
Miners crops his scene so that we can see that the field is something close to a dump and that this day is anything but special — there are dead trees and graffiti present in the background, and there are blurry spots on the surface of the print. The photo captures a number of things: how dogs connect to nature, how easy they find satisfaction, how they transform nothing days into special events.
On the other side of this free-wheeling exhibition, there is the elevation of dogs to mythic and literary status. Eve Rose’s acrylic painting “Corgerus” reinterprets the three-headed mythological creatures called Cerberus who guard the gates of hell as a three-headed corgi who would more likely snuggle up with you on the sofa. Kiera McIntosh’s “I Shall Take No Bite of Your Body” is an oil portrait of two overly-excited, teeth-bearing poodles and was inspired by the Sylvia Plath poem “Medusa,” which examines the relationships between women.
There is, not surprisingly, humor in the mix. Emmanuel Balderrama Moreno’s “Lola’s Favorite Sweater” uses both acrylic paint and applied fabric to depict an exceptionally long dachshund with an equally exaggerated striped sweater. Taylor Faulkner’s pastel “The Mangy Little Dog” is a comic-like rendering of a chihuahua snapping his teeth at a human hand. The artist’s goal was to capture the essence of a type of pint-sized pup that is always “waiting to curl up at your feet while biting off your toes,” according to the artist’s statement.
There is finer art on the roster — pieces that challenge human-dog norms or speculate on the spiritual qualities of canines — and art that looks more homemade, and appears to be inspired by pure sentiment. Like I said, it is a mixed lineup.
But it comes together experientially to reflect the deep relationships we have with our pets. We do love them to death, and that sort of thing is telegraphed in pieces like Miguel Aguilar’s “Bad Boy,” an oil painting of a man carrying his over-sized dog on his shoulder, the way parents cart sleeping children off to bed.
At the same time, we wonder about their inner lives. John Hazekamp’s “Meditation for Moose” shows a canine surrounded by a ray of rainbow-colored lights. The digital print is part photo, part pixel manipulation and suggests this dog, now deceased, has gone on to some greater glory in the afterlife.
But mostly we just care for them unconditionally, the way we think they care for us — though we never really know what they are thinking. It is a complex bond that we pretend is simple; it is serious and enduring and, simultaneously, foolish and fleeting, as I was reminded on a cold February afternoon.
Dog people have it in for themselves. They know they are signing up for a terrible heartbreak and they do it anyway. Of course humans are going to outlive their dogs; do the math.
All that bad feeling that inevitably comes is their own fault. Though now I will always have sympathy for them when it happens. Because there is something in us — and this exhibit captures it — that drives us equally toward bliss and ruin.
IF YOU GO
“The Dog Show” continues through June 2 at Bell Projects, 2822 E. 17th Ave. It is free. Info: bell-projects.com
