Alyssa Olson's cutting-edge photography stands with the masters in its austere frankness and power to transcend the boundaries of vacuous art-speak. There is an academic debate raging over whether Olson's photographs are, in an ironic, post-modern way, about nothing more than expired woodland creatures who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or if they represent, in fact, a powerful statement about abortion. Olson herself is coyly cryptic on this issue.
To this critic, her art
is boldly commenting not about expired highway animals per se, but
rather, is commenting on the commentary itself, a reaction to the
reaction, if you will, an anticipatory reaction of the commentary on the
reaction to itself. Or, put another way, it elicits a very post-digital
schadenfreude, wherein the narrative subsumes a sesquipedalian gestalt
toward its own essential "what-ness." What the photography
ultimately delivers is an opportunity to have a discussion,
fundamentally, about opportunities to have discussions. Not so much
opportunities for discussions as opportunities of discussions, about the
reactions to the commentary of the schadenfreude, or vice versa. And
so, like all perfect works of art, her photography comes full circle.
Hillersby F. Prigbottom III Professor of Advanced Pretension and What-ness Oxyaleford
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Molotov Comics Press believes all great art needs to be grossly misunderstood, preferably while eating brie.
