claustrophobic lyric that envisions a harmonious existence presided over by machines. While machines' dominion in our daily lives is still debatable, they openly rule the exhibit Machines of Loving Grace at LePop Gallery (a traveling "pop-up" gallery that uses empty commercial spaces, currently the former MyBuys space on Main Street).
Dazzlingly prominent throughout the exhibit is Ypsilanti-based artist Cre Fuller's fantastic array of tabletop lamps shaped like robot heads. Part of his "Tin Angry Men" collection, each robot possesses distinct facial features made up of repurposed metal parts, including coffee pots, cooking accoutrements, springs, and other odds and ends, with colored light bulbs for eyes. As Fuller's title suggests, they are a sullen bunch. One grim robot (each is named Untitled, to its detriment, I think, given their unique identities) resembles a demonic skull, with bared teeth, nasal cavity, large eye sockets, and two gleaming horns.
Another impressively crafted anthropomorphized sculpture made of found and reclaimed metal is sculptor Rick Cronn's Ur Videohead, a six-foot-ten humanoid standing on a wheeled base and fashioned from chicken wire, hammock and tent poles, and blue LED rope lights. Where we would expect a face, there is instead a portable video player and, in the back of the skull, a mounted speaker. While Ur Videohead is no Terminator, its height, skeletal appearance, and Cyclopean video screen make it a tad bit intimidating, a feeling heightened by one brief video clip of an eyeball being slit open with a scalpel.