Lighting Up a Gallery, Not the World

The grace with which a work of art ages is one of its most obvious and revealing qualities. Although the qualifications for achieving timelessness are mysterious--it’s nearly impossible to discern the aesthetic, cultural or political elements of a contemporary work that will remain useful to future generations--the difference between timeless and outdated is apparent in an instant. If a work ages well, it resonates, not only for purposes of nostalgia but on its own terms. If it doesn’t, it comes to seem lifeless, often stirring up cultural memories--color schemes, materials, hairstyles or attitudes--that we’d rather forget.

Lili Lakich’s neon sculptures from the 1970s, ‘80s, and ‘90s fall into the latter category. On view in the new Art Galleries at Cal State Northridge--part of a handsome and wonderfully yellow new arts complex on that campus--these three-dimensional wall pieces reached their nadir in the mid-1980s, under the aesthetic influence of Culture Club, early Madonna, pre-grunge MTV and “Miami Vice.” The early works anticipate this illustrious moment in the history of style and the later works cling to it, but neither expands upon it or offers any particular insight into its aesthetic or cultural dynamics. Apparently stuck between a taste for commercial design and a longing for high art prestige, these sculptures have little more resonance than a clever department store window.

Their primary limitation is a narrow sense of possibility. While Lakich employs an interesting variety of materials--many types of metal, plastic and glass, found objects such as car parts and cow skulls, and neon of many colors and textures--these works do not challenge the boundaries of neon as a medium. Rather than expanding or modernizing cliched subject matter--Mardi Gras masks, Elvis figures, punk rockers, the Mona Lisa--Lakich’s lines of colored neon simply flatten the subjects into stylized drawings. One finds oneself longing for either the refined sense of purpose found in Dan Flavin’s or Jenny Holzer’s works with light and neon, or for the unbridled excess of Las Vegas. Lakich’s works, each of which is about the size of a large bay window, seem simultaneously too much and too little.

The most interesting aspect of the exhibition is the recent work, which is arranged in its own installation, titled “Sirens,” in a room adjacent to the larger galleries. Here one begins to sense the emergence of a personal vision. The space is designed to resemble a lesbian biker bar in the romantic no man’s land of the Southern California desert; Lakich’s works are interspersed with beer signs, bar stools and a pool table. While not as consuming an atmosphere as it might have been--the added props are a bit self-conscious--the installation establishes a convincingly sultry ambience.

In these works, Lakich focuses on the sculptural aspects of the found objects, using neon as an accent rather than a drawing tool. As a result, the neon becomes a more exciting element implying sexuality, promise and danger. In one of these, “Rapture” (2000), a flaming heart of neon pulsates on the chest of a figure composed of silver-, gold- and copper-colored metals. The face of the woman is stylized, much like the earlier work, but the body is fleshy; it resonates with a human dimension. In another piece, the only neon element is the phrase “Call Me,” written in small red letters on a pay phone/jukebox assemblage that advertises a phone number that, according to the catalog, is rigged to play Blondie’s “Call Me” when touched. In this piece, the neon is just enough to powerfully convey the peril and the thrill of sexual availability.

As with most contemporary media, the potential of neon rests in the artist’s ability to see beyond the aesthetics of the commercial sphere--not because those aesthetics are inferior but because noncommercial imitations almost always will be. If Lakich’s early works betray a limited vision, her new work--which is more conceptual, more visually complex, and more sensual--suggests a promising departure from that limitation.

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* Art Galleries, Cal State Northridge, 18111 Nordhoff St., Northridge. Through March 31. Closed Sundays. (818) 677-2156.