They are made of charcoal and wax — black and burnt looking. She then used the figures like giant crayons: scribbling, smudging and smashing blurred and smoky, adumbrated memories on the raw walls. The crumbled remains of the broken bodies
lay strewn about the floor, the remains of a violent fit of art making. But, there were
also elegantly presented panels of crepuscular hazes suggestive of landscapes, and a wall hung salon style with unframed lewd snapshots that were recovered from the
ashes and enlarged, then prettily reworked with pastels and charcoal; she’s co-opted
someone else’s ghosts and made them into her own fictive necrophilic tableau.
And there was The Grotto (2008-2009). Faux boulders resembling oversized charcoal
briquettes were stacked floor to ceiling in the “South Gallery,” forming a round cave. No doubt Mr. Heffner’s grotto full of bimbos should burn down like “Larry’s” house. Votive candles were placed here and there, and several salacious video projections inside could be seen by peering through small gaps in the structure like a Peeping Tom. In fact, the entire exhibition derives from peeking into some stranger’s abandoned, dirty little secrets.