A refreshing radical from many years ago

At a time when eccentricity seems to be in short supply -- and artists seem to stick to conventions more than they used to -- it’s refreshing to come across the terrific little survey of works Claire Falkenstein (1908-1997) made in the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s. At Louis Stern Fine Arts, Falkenstein’s modestly scaled sculptures and page-size drawings treat formal abstraction as a fertile ground for funky experimentation. Anything goes, the less expected the better.

When Falkenstein was coming into her own as an artist, mixing painting’s planes with sculpture’s volumes was a big deal -- and generally ridiculed. If you wanted to be taken seriously as an artist, you stuck to one medium or the other. You certainly didn’t mix the two in one work.

But that’s exactly what Falkenstein did, making flat sculptures and covering painted canvases with three-dimensional armatures of welded metal.

The exhibition includes eight examples of her two-dimensional wall-works, all titled “Never Ending Screen” and all made between 1963 and 1970. Each consists of short, mostly straight metal rods or tubes that Falkenstein has welded together at irregular angles, forming clusters of odd polygons, asymmetrical triangles and indescribable shapes.

The small ones resemble broken bits of architecture. The large ones recall maps of cities with higgledy-piggledy street plans. All create dynamic whirlpools of visual energy.

Only one oil painting is adorned with a welded steel armature, but it’s a doozy. The approximately 5-by-7-foot canvas is covered with feathery brushstrokes in soft oranges, whites and blues. The metal armature supports 12 fist-size chunks of Venetian glass, the amber, blue and bright orange tints providing highlights. “Vibrazione Venezia” (1963) is not an especially successful marriage of painting and sculpture, but it’s a wonderfully nutty attempt to have it all in one work.

Other pieces are far more resolved, accomplished, supple. “Integrating Rectangle” (1957), made of yards and yards of bronze wire, has the presence of a gracefully tangled line drawn in three dimensions. At more than 5 feet on a side and nearly 2 feet thick, it resembles a tumbleweed run through a hay bailer. It’s a sculptural homage to Jackson Pollock and a precedent to Post-minimalism.

A glistening orb of yellow glass, wrapped in molten strings of clear glass, looks like a paperweight from outer space. Other pieces consist of bent and twisted lengths of metal clustered around gorgeous globs of Venetian glass. “Chalice” (1970) gives “bad hair day” new meaning: Think Medusa, crown of thorns and writhing nest of angry snakes to get an idea of its menacing beauty.

In four “Untitled Compositions,” all circa 1970, Falkenstein creates evocative compositions that recall skeletons, military barricades and hunter’s traps, as well as pendants, brooches and bracelets. The glass provides dazzling color, the metal delivers linear structure and both materials, shaped by fiery heat, bespeak intense transformation.

Falkenstein’s drawings embody similar energy. They recall Lee Mullican’s swirling abstractions, Franz Kline’s calligraphic gestures and Julie Mehretu’s hallucinatory paintings of superimposed systems.

Falkenstein’s best works fuse painting and sculpture by inviting such middlebrow enthusiasms as glass-blowing, jewelry-making and home-decorating into the mix. It is impossible to look at recent works by Liz Larner or Pae White and not think of Falkenstein’s out-of-step, under-recognized precedents. They are as fresh and no less timely.

Louis Stern Fine Arts, 9002 Melrose Ave., (310) 276-0147, through Aug. 26. Closed Sundays and Mondays.

Capturing the mysteries of youth

American society treats contemporary art the same way it treats kids. Although we claim to cherish the intrinsic value of both, we do little to support the growth and development of either.

At Blum & Poe Gallery, Sharon Lockhart’s 19 new photographs of extraordinarily ordinary children add up to a moving meditation on the mysterious mixture of vulnerability and resilience that kids -- and art -- bring to life.

Each 4-by-3-foot color print depicts a solitary kid standing on a plain concrete floor in front of a seamless black backdrop. The youngest, Kassie, appears to be 3. But her eyes look as if they have seen enough sadness to last a lifetime.

The oldest, Ryan, could be 16 or maybe only 14. Either way, his subdued bemusement suggests that he’s too old to be a stranger to heartbreak and too young not to hope that things might turn out differently next time.

Lockhart made the photographs in a simple studio she set up in a tiny town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, where she went four years ago to get away from the busyness of life in Los Angeles. She worked on the series for three years, simultaneously shooting a film of the town’s kids being kids -- hanging out, playing around and making low-grade mischief in a spectacular natural setting. (The film screens June 21 at REDCAT.)

Lockhart won’t reveal the name or exact location of the town where she works. She has titled her series “Pine Flat Portrait Studio,” but the name is fictitious. This ethos of showing respect by giving others the freedom to be themselves is palpable in her pictures.

Most appear to have been shot in summer. Bare feet and sandals predominate. Motocross gear and cowboy outfits suggest sunny afternoons untroubled by homework.

Four kids appear twice -- the second image coming two or three years after the first. As Sarah, Mikey, Sierra and Matthew grow up, some aspects of their personalities are lost and others are intensified. Distrust becomes defiance. Uncertainty fades. Sweetness matures into kindness. And the desire to look tough grows into quiet confidence.

Lockhart gives viewers similar freedom. By letting her understated art speak for itself, she makes room for thoughtful reflection in a culture that seems predisposed to hot-button issues and knee-jerk reactions.

Blum & Poe Gallery, 2754 S. La Cienega Blvd., (310) 836-2062, through June 24. Closed Sundays and Mondays. www.blumandpoe.com

A Pop trip away from the big city

Pop art has never paid much attention to nature. Preferring the slick surfaces of consumer goods to the unpackaged messiness of flora and fauna, Pop is big-city art with little room in its repertoire for plant and animal life.

Michele Segre is changing all that. At Daniel Weinberg Gallery, the New Yorker’s second solo show in Los Angeles brings nature and culture into a lovely alliance that makes reality and fantasy appear to be two sides of the same coin.

Using beeswax, papier-mache, foam, metal and plaster, Segre builds life-size cacti. Some sprout from diorama-style mountains. Their lumpy forms echo the shape of the human body and their precarious positions elicit sympathy. Others stand on the floor, their bottoms surrounded by lime green, hot orange and bright blue gravel, which recalls the rainbow-hued rocks found in aquariums.

Some of Segre’s cacti are so realistic they could be used in botany classes. Others are more flagrant about their fakery. They seem to belong on movie sets or in the background of tableaux at Madame Tussauds. And others are flat out unbelievable, their sensual surfaces festooned with details too good to be true yet too wondrous to ignore.

Interspersed among the eight cacti are six skull-size lumps sculpted from the same materials. Two have a single, Cyclops-style eye. One sports a pair of nostrils. Another is covered with goofy protrusions. And one wears a real toupee.

Jasper Johns’ enigmatic figures, Philip Guston’s cartoon paintings and Charles Garabedian’s everyday Surrealism lie behind Segre’s whimsical works. Forming a Pop landscape that does not stop at the city limits, her playful pieces embrace the wide-open spaces of lively imaginations.

Daniel Weinberg Gallery, 6148 Wilshire Blvd., (323) 954-8425, through July 8. Closed Sundays and Mondays.

Playing with light to create illusion

The eight new works by Helen Pashgian at Patricia Faure Gallery share many features with flat-screen TVs. Both hang on the wall, like paintings. Both are technological marvels, eliciting “oh-wows” from viewers not used to such futuristic cool. And both flaunt big, semi-translucent rectangles through which light passes.

That’s where the similarities end. Pashgian’s wall-works don’t need to be plugged in. Nor do they transmit stories fashioned in distant studios. Everything that happens in front of Pashgian’s abstract light-traps takes place in the present and requires active viewer participation.

Each piece is a shallow box in which the artist has suspended copper tubes and disks as well as thin sheets of aluminum and copper whose ends curl forward, like elegant sheets of kitchen foil. Each broad, flat face is a semi-translucent layer of industrial epoxy into which Pashgian has mixed acrylic pigments.

The combination of flat surface and 3-D object behind it results in curious optical illusions. As you move around these works, the enclosed objects sometimes look two-dimensional or disappear altogether.

Shifts in color are even more subtle, especially with changes in the ambient light. Metallic dazzle turns rosy. Blue glows from what seemed to be pure black. Watery greens change to gray as silver and white flip-flop.

These shifts, however, are too detached and incidental to captivate for long. Once you figure out the mechanics of the illusion, the magic disappears. Pashgian’s pieces wrap classic Light and Space art into compact, easily transported packages; but like TV, they are no substitute for the real thing.

Patricia Faure Gallery, 2525 Michigan Ave., Bergamot Station, Santa Monica, (310) 449-1479, through July 8. Closed Sundays and Mondays. www.patriciafauregallery.com