John Hurrell – 1 December, 2024

The eleven coloured photographs of this formal portrait series by Heather Straka, originally made for a SCAPE project exhibited in Canterbury Museum in 2022, showcase devised fictitious individuals placed in constructed architectural settings. As in a photography studio.

They are positioned against a dingy hotel foyer tableau surrounded by carefully chosen symbolic props. As part of this theatricality where the background walls and shelving are dark grey, and the time period seems many decades old, a surreal symmetry emphasises historically imposing, balanced interiors with glowing lights and windows, and ‘models’ in elegant evening attire.

Oozing artifice in every direction these calculatedly contrived images (that is their point), crammed full with suggestive symbols, comment on culture, class and the invisibility of labour. Artisanal and self-references are mixed in, for occasionally we see barefooted women carrying pigment-daubed house-painting brushes as perhaps a heavy-handed tongue-in-cheek version of ‘recreational’ or ‘aesthetic’ practice.

There are four sizes available (1135 x 1635 cm; 800 x 1135 cm; 765 x 1135 cm; 435 x 525 cm) but my favourite by far happens to be the smallest work. Its emphasis is more on humour than symmetry, and in the context of the whole show, is startlingly refreshing. Tennis Racket Man shows a shirtless muscular player in the ‘hotel’ attempting to hit unseen balls dropping behind his back.

I like the tension against symmetry here, the tension from resisting conformity. The nuttiness too in the stretched contorted torso. And the odd setting. Long may it reign!

So amongst the protagonists standing on a large worn Persian rug in the foreground, we see a uniformed bellboy, a female receptionist with paintbrush, some formally positioned houseguests (one androgenous example is impressively ancient), and a homeless person reclining on the floor with his few possessions in a supermarket trolley. Conspicuous amongst the other props are a stuffed cheetah on a couch and a small crocodile on a leash.

If it is true Straka has a specific meaning assigned to every ‘symbolic’ element within each image, most viewers (if told) will nevertheless still insert their own personal interpretations, if so inclined. And probably ignore the salient formalism, apart from it being a device serving as sort of audience-attracting carrot.

The overall ambience seems to be the pathetic fading power of class, a laughable reminiscing of once enforceable social status. The images (by drawing attention to the necessity of access to spending power; and the consequences if withheld) are designed to needle, obviously to never stroke or caress.

John Hurrell

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