It was a sunny day, so we took Mount Rainier for a walk. We led it up the sidewalk on its leash, waited for the light to change, and crossed East Olive Way. As we passed Supercuts, a man waiting for a stylist peered out the window and gave Mount Rainier the thumbs-up. We came upon two miniature dachshunds, and I thought they might take this rumbling thing for a fellow animal—it looked like a snow-capped pet turtle on wheels—but they played in the grass and only glanced up at us.
Surrogate Mount Rainier is the name of this cooped-up papier-mâché charity case, which spends its days and nights at Crawl Space Gallery waiting to be walked. It is in a group show of public artworks. Few phrases in art sound grimmer than "a group show of public artworks," but this exhibition is diverse, funny, and intimate, unlike the blank, monolithic art we've come to expect from works that receive government funding.
In the same spirit as Vaughn Bell's miniature pet peak is Diana Falchuk's video tribute to U.S. mailboxes, in which the artist, in the dress and demeanor of a neurotic war bride from another era, coddles the mailboxes in her neighborhood. It's called Mailboxes Are People, Too.
Against one wall of the gallery is a side table where framed pictures sit upon a doily. In the pictures are the three artists John Sutton, Ben Beres, and Zac Culler, dressed up as two elderly men and a woman (Earl, Gerald, and Wendy), riding roller coasters and merry-go-rounds and marching with Bush-Cheney 2004 placards. Their story, which presumably they share with curious onlookers, is that Wendy is dating Gerald, but she used to be married to the clingy Earl.
Across the street from the gallery at Pretty Parlor, Mount Rainier's earth tones were clashing with the racks of fruity-colored summer clothes. My friend picked up the big-bellied mountain and squeezed it into the store's photo booth. When the flash went off, she pushed up the end of her nose so she resembled a pig hugging a volcano to its chest. We were having a good time, but not everyone loved the little landmass. On its way out, one of the mountain's craggy edges got stuck on the foot of another shopper. "I'm sorry," I said. "It's quite all right," she replied archly.
As we rolled home to Crawl Space, passersby eyed us but didn't say anything. To those whose stares lingered, I said informatively, "Mount Rainier." Near our final turnoff, a thin, dark-haired young man with a cane looked at Mount Rainier, blurted "Oh—the mountain!" and then shot us a glance as if we were dragging around a starving hippopotamus.
We looped the leash back on its hook at the gallery. The artist watching over the show told us, "Nobody ever takes it outside."
