The title of Austin Irving’s recent exhibition at Wilding Cran Gallery, “Not An Exit,” might lead viewers to anticipate the opposite— that the LA-transplant photographed scenes that create the illusion of said exit, before confounding our expectations. This, however, is decidedly not the case. Instead, the vantage point offered by Irving’s empty hallways seem to lead the viewer ever inward, toward the heart of an urban labyrinth. The photographer relates her inclination towards the somewhat claustrophobic subject with her upbringing in the concrete jungle otherwise known as New York, though the subjects of her work, save one, hail from locations far beyond the familiar Manhattan skyline.
Each of the large-scale digital prints (ranging from five to six feet tall, and shot with a traditional 4×5 view camera) are carefully constructed from specific vantage points that result in unsettling distortions on the viewer’s perspective and ability to enter into the scene. The floors seem to rise awkwardly, and in some cases aggressively, pushing the viewer back while creating a vague sense of unease. This leads to the next conundrum, for these interior scenes are simultaneously familiar and remote. Although they seem to be archetypes, a public restroom, ’70s office building, or sterile hospital hallway, they lack any concrete clues or signage to indicate where these twisting passageways actually exist. Irving seems to take delight in creating something not quite attainable, and our presumptions of place quickly change to a visceral, anxious dread: where are we, and exactly how do we get out?
In Irving’s previous series, she photographed entry/exit points, pathways and souvenirs shops located within the familiar tourist-cave experience, which might be read as highlighting the commodification of nature through prepackaged and pre-routed experiences. These images portray popular destinations such as Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, Howe Caverns in New York, and Dau Go Cave in Vietnam—although without Irving’s titles, the novice may be hard pressed to differentiate between them. Relating the two bodies of work, the interventions into the natural formations bear a striking resemblance to the angular architectural pathways of the current series. Along with the delicious vertigo of Irving’s dizzying corridors is the somewhat dismaying realization of the universality of these architectural formations.