Andrew Allard ‘25
Editor-in-Chief
It is often said that a picture is worth a thousand words. This is, of course, an erroneous conclusion resulting from sampling error. The average picture is worth no more than a few words. Could you say a thousand words about your most recent selfie? Or that blurry photo you took of the sunset? Come on.
Ironically, the “thousand words” axiom is often used to refer to pictures worth well more than a thousand words. There are over five thousand words about the Mona Lisa in its Wikipedia article alone.
But I digress. Much has been said recently in the pages of this paper about the unceremonious destruction of the Slaughter Hall staircase—and much remains to be said. But little has been said about the no less unceremonious removal of the student org posters that once graced Slaughter Hall.
Whatever the (in)accuracy of the “thousand words” cliché, the artworks in Slaughter Hall that have supplanted the student org posters are worth at least a few hundred words. And here I am committing them to paper. There you are reading them. Hi.
All but one of the new pieces in Slaughter Hall are unlabeled, so I do not know who the artists are.[1] But it seems possible from some repeated motifs that they are from a singular source. At the very least, they were apparently curated with a theme in mind. Since they are not labeled, I will assume the honor of (informally) titling them.
1. The Elastic Wasteland
This eye-catching and provocative piece inspired the article that you now read. This imposing canvas greets visitors arriving through the Law School’s western entrance, towering above the middle of Slaughter Hall and adjacent to the Purcell Reading room. The largest of the four pieces in this segment of Slaughter Hall, The Elastic Wasteland is at home in the intimidatingly named “Slaughter” Hall.
But the grandiosity of The Elastic Wasteland is not its only intimidating characteristic. The bands that crisscross the canvas appear to mark a crime scene. “Do not cross.” Adding to this impression is the bloody crimson of some of the bands, all of which appear tattered and worn. Visitors are promptly warned that they have entered a building in which solemn stories are told and perhaps even created.
Pictured: The Elastic Wasteland
Photo Credit: Glorious EIC, Blessed Be His Name
The layering of the bands also creates a noticeable depth to the piece. The sense of space created by the artist’s use of a third dimension meets with the horizontal and vertical bands bordering the piece—among the few bands not oriented at an angle—to create a cage-like appearance. Is this a commentary on the bonds of the criminal justice system and the role that law students play in sustaining it? Indeed, the red, (off) white, and blue colors of the bands make an obvious allusion to the American flag, and by extension our system of government.
Or does the cage refer to the law student experience itself—that students are “trapped” in three years of classes before they may roam free in their sought-after careers? This latter interpretation may seem unlikely, given the Law School’s reputation for a high quality of life. But the piece creates a palpable malaise. The bands also resemble the surface of a rubber band ball, which quite accurately reflects the feeling that the piece elicits—tension. With all the anxieties that this artwork represents—the flawed American criminal justice system and feelings of imprisonment—it is no wonder that law students, much like an over-stretched rubber band, are too often on the verge of snapping.
2. All The World’s
Four red and white orbs lie at the center of this piece, reflected along a red and white horizon. The orbs are cast partially in shadow, masking the offset checkerboard pattern on their surfaces. Red—associated in Western tradition with life, blood, and passion—meets white—representing light or perhaps even bone. Its placement next to The Elastic Wasteland builds on that piece’s violent motifs. But it promotes a far more optimistic response. The stripes encircle the orbs; they are the pathways on the myriad journeys that we take on this Earth.
Pictured: All the World’s
Photo Credit: Glorious EIC, Blessed Be His Name
3. Checker’d Past
Checker’d Past continues the checkerboard-esque motif of All the World’s, though more overtly, a characteristic it shares with the only new named piece, Robert Reed’s Tree for Mine, Snap, Crackle, Bop (1988).
The piece depicts a series of checkerboards, tiled together and cropped by a circular frame. Each checkerboard varies in its size, color, and orientation—no two are exactly alike. These distinct panels reflect the unique individuals whose stories unfold in the Law School’s halls. The choice of a checkerboard pattern reflects the strategizing that allows students to survive three years at this elite institution. Each of their strategies and stories—like the patterns or a game of chess—is unique.
The cropping of the checkerboards at the outer rim of the piece is a reminder that we do not and cannot know everyone’s history. Each person is a universe, and in the brief time that we roam these halls, we cannot know them all. Scattered among the checkerboards are four large white squares, perhaps reflecting those stories that remain untold or that have not yet begun.
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tya2us@virginia.edu
[1] Out of respect for Robert Reed, I will not subject his work to my pathetic attempts at art criticism. But since the other ones are unlabeled, I consider them fair game.