Katrina Santa Ana Jose’s “The Room Breathes In”
Grüna Gallery
15304 Kercheval Ave.
Grosse Pointe Park
Saturday, Aug. 15
It feels so good to go to an art show you can actually touch.
At this mini-show for textile artist Katrina Santa Ana Jose’s “The Room Breathes In,” you can actually sit your ass down on one of her pieces.
It’s a small foam cushion called “Soft Landing” (a steal at $250!) sewn with competing flannel-esque textiles on the outside. It’s warm and inviting with at least one patron sprawling out on “Soft Landing” to take a photo.
You know how good it feels to go to a show that’s actually functional?
When I say “mini-show,” it’s not a comment on the substance of the show. It’s the fact that it’s actually quite small. Not just the collection itself (six pieces total), but the space it’s in. Grüna Gallery is basically a makeshift hallway separating the facade and the artist studio of Louise Jones, who operates Grüna and is hosting “The Room Breathes In.” The location blends in with the rest of the brick-and-mortar retail on this block in Grosse Pointe Park.
It’s a bite-sized model I’d love to see more artists’ consider using their own space for.
Outside of the use of space and location, the show itself is a lovely one that likely wouldn’t feel as welcoming and comforting in a larger space, or if it was stuffed in as part of a group show.
Like the natural fibers she’s using, Santa Ana Jose’s textile creations breathe. Aside from the cushion, the rest are hanging pieces — perhaps as standalone art but here mainly envisioned as curtains allowing light to pour into the mini-gallery. As guests walk by, they grab the fabrics and stretch them out to see the details and let go to watch the fabric waft back into its hanging position. It’s a simple yet utterly satisfying part of “The Room Breathes In.” It’s material you’re used to, but presented as art, which you’re never able to play with like this (gently, of course).
For this show, they are made from a bunch of leftover aprons and other oddities from a former butcher shop in Mount Clemens that she stumbled upon during an estate sale. You can see some of the original logos and uses for these materials still on her creations.
That’s the beating heart of her practice — breathing new life into old fabrics or, as it’s described in a release about the show, the “process of grief becoming material reconstruction.” Because the fabrics she’s using are natural fibers (for this show, mainly cotton and linen), they can “ultimately return to the earth, completing a cycle of reuse and regeneration.”
“Upcycling” is the common term thrown around, but that feels cheap and a bit overused for something like this exhibition, which feels elegantly simplistic and light and fresh.
That’s likely because it’s got an actual ethos behind its creation that goes far beyond a buzzy term.
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