By Lara Warren
“I’M OBSESSED WITH HOW HUMANS ARE TURNING MORE AND MORE INTO A CYBORG RACE,” Camille Rose Garcia says animatedly, as she sets down her drink. “It’s as though computers are becoming more organic, and humans are becoming more computer-like. Even microscopic things like parasites and viruses can work well together. It’s just humans who can’t.”
The sounds of two homeless men arguing outside on the deserted sidewalk below drifts in through the open window of her downtown L.A. studio as if on cue. Garcia pauses for a moment, then continues thumbing through her work.
Garcia’s sugary-sweet paintings show doe-eyed children caught in fairy tales that are more sinister than the giddy schoolgirls in them realize. Closer examination of the panels reveal he antagonists—slithering worms, scheming centipedes and parasitic outlaws. All grinning maniacally.
Her subjects look as thought they’ve been plucked straight from a silent 1920s cartoon, outlined thickly with black, a stark juxtaposition from the ghost-white complexions and simplified features. The surreal settings hint toward some sort of plague, and impending doom underneath the powdery pastels and sparkling glitter.
Oftentimes, Garcia’s pieces tell a story when viewed together. Creepcakes Bakery, a 9-piece set of silk-screen images with flocking, appears innocent at first. Mr. Snackums brings yummy treats to the bakery, and everyone quickly scarfs them down. What’s not to like? A few panels into the series, however, reveals that the sweets are actually being pushed onto the public by evil centipedes who hide deadly toxins inside. The entire town falls ill, and the protagonist flees, apparently the only one aware of the diabolical plot.
The destructive nature of capitalism and society’s indifference to, or ignorance of, evil are common themes in Garcia’s work.
“My characters are unaware of the horror that is going on around them,” she says. “They turn a blind eye to it, and pretend it’s not really there.”
Machines, parasites and pestilence are disguised as something else in her work. Her characters are seduced and enamored by the beauty of the facades. Garcia continues this theme in her upcoming show The Soft Machine—named after the Burroughs novel—at Merry Karnowsky Gallery. The show addresses the marketing of desire, but without lifting the same tired pop culture images so often seen when this theme arises in contemporary art.
Garcia tries to keep her message from being either too obvious or too obscure. “I tell stories and fables; I speak in metaphors,” she explains. “My works are basically about consumption. The characters are unaware of the repercussions of their gluttony and greed. Our culture of capitalism breeds these things. It seems like we’re on a doomed trajectory.” Garcia’s work doesn’t offer the audience any solutions.
Where did her obsessions begin? Garcia admits that she really doesn’t know. She grew up in suburbia (Huntington Beach) and moved to L.A. to earn her BFA from Otis, then her MFA at UC Davis. She served as art director of Mean magazine for a two-year stint, and before that, was at Crown Royal–magazines that, like this one, might be seen as promoting consumer culture just as much as commenting on it.
“I just needed a job,” she says with a laugh. “I never wanted to think about my work–painting–in terms of money, because I felt it would show in my work. I always needed a job that would pay the rent.”
Garcia is quite proud of the stickers and posters promoting bands and pirate radio that have earned her recognition in Los Angeles. “I always thought of it as a tool of cultural terrorism,” she explains. “That’s why I’ve made things like the comic books, posters and stickers. I like my work to be democratic. I feel like most of the art world is non-inclusive and elitist. Honestly, I really think art should be more like pirate radio.”
Glue Magazine, June 2001