The sculptures of Gae Savannah are not what they appear to be. Loud and bright, they couldn't be more conspicuous; and yet they also hide, cherishing a lonesome interiority under a veil of spectacle. Their psychic work on the viewer is subtle and slow; at first, the large sculptures seem imposingly grandiose and saccharine, while the smaller ones look like pretty, innocent objects d'art, what used to be called "conversation pieces." But a half-hour in their presence has us caught in a revaluation of our aesthetics and a re-experiencing of our vexed culture of makeup and models and ornaments. At the first sight of "Angelique," a sophisticated reader might dismisses the sculpture as decorative (which is equivalent to calling a painting a "mere" illustration), or embrace it as sweet and harmless. Once you've done so, the weird glitz of the work is no longer a threat, and the seduction begins. You come to love the thing, and then feel a bit guilty for your initial reaction — so the blossoming footstool has got you, ethically and aesthetically.
------------Jamey Hecht, PhD, writer,
American Book Review, Splash magazine, FromTheWilderness.com