To the uninitiated, Salt Creek Artworks is a labyrinth. Just a dozen blocks south of downtown but clearly beyond the boundaries of gentrification, the 2-story building on Fourth Street S. houses a whopping 45 artists' studios, about a quarter of which are currently available, and two spacious galleries for art exhibits. Paintings and sculpture fill the building's nooks and crannies, the walls are uneven, and air conditioning is strictly BYO, but the artists wouldn't trade it.
"We like the funk," says Lance Rodgers, a painter who rents a studio in the complex and also serves as curator for the gallery exhibits.
In the 14 years since he's worked as an artist at Salt Creek, not once has Rodgers seen a body float down the eponymous creek that several of the spacious studios overlook, though he half expects it given SCA's somewhat seedy setting on the gritty fringe of downtown. Still, Rodgers is acutely aware of the property's value — and the fact that his and other resident artists' creative endeavors are subsidized by the patience and generosity of owner Pat Burgess, who rents the studios.
"We're so lucky," Rodgers says. "She could have sold this place to developers I don't know how many times."
When it comes to exhibiting their artwork, Salt Creekers skip the fashion models and hip local bands (despite being a former musician, Rodgers says he doesn't see the point in making it impossible to hear or talk during receptions) in favor of creating a space where art is the focus. In addition to arranging shows for resident artists, Rodgers brings in outside talents to do as they please with the two galleries, which he claims constitute the largest non-museum exhibition space in the Bay area.
One such outsider is Valrico artist Kim Radatz, whose exhibit, titled Talking Out Loud, opens Friday. Radatz — a longtime Gala Corina participant and Best In Show winner at the 2006 Gasparilla Festival of the Arts — caught Rodgers' eye last month at the Coconut Grove Art Festival in Miami, where she was exhibiting her work. Rodgers invited Radatz to show at Salt Creek, challenging her to use both galleries for an expansive one-woman show. "Knock me out. Do something you can't do in a booth or in a small gallery," he said.
And so Radatz, who works primarily in the medium of installation, has brought her game to Salt Creek — in more ways than one. About a dozen of her pieces, some of them interactive, are spread out over the two galleries; together they constitute an exploratory space where visitors are confronted with the possibilities and perils of communication and play.
Two pieces bear the title "Games People Play." In one, a wall of touch-activated lights marked with vinyl letters lets visitors spell out words in a life-sized game that's alternately whimsical and confessional. In the other "Games," the contents of a personal letter — from a friend of the artist describing a wedding tinged with Iraq war tragedy — covers a black wall in chalk; in front of the wall, a sandbox with a swing-set becomes a desert graveyard for a pile of military action figures painted white. A third installation confronts viewers with a grid of mirrors covered with the enigmatic thoughts a person might have about herself over the course of a day. "I am resigned," reads one; "I am old," "I can change," "I am vain" and "I am not my mother," say others. Of all the mirrors, the one printed with that last phrase was the one most requested at Coconut Grove, the artist says, though she refused to sell them individually.
Rounding out the more interactive pieces are several groupings of Radatz's signature dresses, fragile silhouettes that are neither as frivolous nor as innocent as they might initially seem. ("SAFE" reads the ominous inscription on one sepia-stained frock ringed by a life preserver painted with red crosses.) These pieces are at their strongest when delving into ambiguous, even disturbing territory — like one delicate, hand-sewn apron that hovers above a pile of rocks, a reference to the doomed protagonist of Shirley Jackson's short story "The Lottery." In a couple of weaker instances, the dresses aim simply to be light-hearted ("Clowning Around," announces one's stenciled front), which Radatz admits is a response to accusations that the tone of her work is too serious.
There's a place for the sillier dresses — it's at outdoor fairs like Coconut Grove or Gasparilla — but when you've got the support of a venue like Salt Creek, why pull your punches even a little bit?
This article appears in Mar 12-18, 2008.