My psychological space is crowded these days. Fear, grief, hope, gratitude, and anger are all jostling for control up there. Normalcy feels inadequate; available actions don’t seem to match the gravity of the compounding crises in America. I want to go sit in a museum, find a bench in front of a masterpiece and marinate my brain in something timeless. Not to deny what’s happening, but to make space to think and feel more clearly. Museums are locked, but we still have imagery. Today, I turn to an artist working in the tradition of Dutch classical still lives for a few minutes of quiet.

I’m intrigued by just about everything in Tara Fallaux’s compositions, but most eagerly, I’m attracted to their simplicity. Rich, historical colors fill the frames, but only a few at a time. We’re given one object, two or three hues, and plenty of negative space. Simplicity allows the delicate quality of light to take center stage.

Fallaux forms household items into spare, whimsical scenes, although it feels somehow like the items are arranging themselves. She animates the inanimate with humor. In her pictures, domestic objects take on a life of their own, and they seem to be dancing through the eyes of someone lost in thought.

Mental states during quarantine can be precarious. We hover around the ordinary as we do the dishes, but we threaten to go off the edge at any moment. I love to see what artists make out of isolation, and of its corresponding restrictive parameters. There’s something to be learned from Fallaux’s vision; she’s discovered a kind of harmonious companionship with her surroundings. Her photographs are a glimpse into the inner life of a creative soul left to her own devices at home. I find it quite lovely in there, a room of mystery and levity. I settle onto a bench to stay for a while.

- Lisa Woodward

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