In Kris Risto's exhibit " Xemophthalmia" , you are somewhat pained to look but to   fascinated to turn away.

     OK, so where does one begin reviewing an art show like "Xemophthalmia?”  The Challenge I feel, as a reviewer is the Challenge set up by the artist Kris Risto. This series of paintings, or more accurately collages, currently showing at the Schanz Gallery, challenges us on the one hand and soothes us on the other. I don't think I've ever reviewed a show where I couldn't even list the names, of the paintings in a family newspaper, let alone accurately describe the contents of the canvas. I guess the term Xemophthalmia, a medical term describing the condition of very dry eyeballs, gives us a clue. It is easy to see the work itself as akin to rubbernecking at an auto accident of the artist's id. You are somewhat pained to look but you are too fascinated to turn away, you stare, agape, and try to make sense of the images.

      I remember a time in middle school in the early 70’s (we called it junior high in those days) when I was reading a comic book in homeroom.  That wasn't too unusual in its self, perfectly permissible in those permissive heady days.   But neither Marvel nor DC published my comic book; it was a copy of ZAP! Comics put out by Kitchen Sink Press.   Yes, Virginia, there is an underground comic sub culture. Mr. Miller having seen a bit to much of the graphic renderings of artist Robert William’s Coochie Cooty and other charming characters, confiscated my bundle of ZAP! , Zippy the Pinhead, Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, Mr. Natural and Young Lust comic collection, and disposed of them in the circular file. Today those dozen or so comics would sell on E-Bay for about six hundred bucks.

     Too late! I had already been exposed to the art of Robert Williams R. Crumb, Rick Griffin, and Gilbert Shelton. Risto stands on their shoulders. His work has the composition and pallet of a graphic novel, the page layout that circulates cells of art intertwined and blended to make groupings of larger images. These works are highly colorful, emblematic two-dimensional assemblages of consciousness and unconsciousness.

     Open the valve of a fertile mind and out pours a torrent of imagery. Themes of aliens, baby pictures and advertising  motifs abound. Religious iconography is strewn throughout with devils, saints, deities, and the Pieta. . Symbols that form social structures like money, automobiles, and Tarot cards cross-pollinate and create hybrids. These don't blend, they collide, and the shattered bits fly off the surface of the work wreaking havoc.

     This mad mixture, stream of consciousness painting is vivid and wild. Also, it is controlled. The hand painting pulls the seemingly dissident images together. Graining tools are employed to create a texture that radiates from the central figure and at the same time embrace and pull in on them giving closure and connection.

     This work is both sophisticated and outsider at the same item. It pokes fun not only at society in general but at the art culture specifically. It s not just Jesse Helms,' Rudy Giuliani and the PMRC who are hell-bent toward censorship. The art world is filled with sensitive leftists who trample on art they don't like, Kris's work takes the whole lot of them out in the 'alley behind the liquor store and beats the stuffing out of them.

There are plenty of pin-up cuties, mostly with exposed and exaggerated musculature, internal organs commonly found in medical charts, bones, and eyeballs, of course. If you like your sci-fi aliens enhanced with penises, breasts and pubic hair, you have come to the - right place.

     But the pictures have depth, not just shock value. The Jack Kevorkian portrait where Dr. Death is dressed in half smock and half prison garb reflects the duality of opinions we all have regarding assisted suicide. "Hydrochloric Techno Delusion Unit," the only true 3D piece, blends classic B movie images like Ming the Merciless and the robot from "The Day the World Stood Still" with modem Japanese Hentai cassette packaging. Risto is taking the known, albeit fringe, detritus, of our collective souls and presses through the meat grinder of his imagination. The result is a bit like sausage. You may like the taste; you just don't want to see what went into it.

     Four pieces are interactive with wind-up music boxes embedded in their cores. These play "Brahms Lullaby," the theme to Alfred Hitchcock's TV show, "Baa Baa Black Sheep," and "Amazing Grace,' so we can have a sound track to our I disjointed childhood and sometimes, adult fantasies.

     Risto a graduate of both Mercyhurst Prep and Edinboro University shares his collective nightmares and, ultimately his hope with us. Some scenes are disturbing, some funny some strangely reassuring. There is a sense of Exorcism here. These are the images of paranoia which, brought out into the light and exposed, are vanquished. We can all rest a little easier. As Alfred E. Neuman would say, “What me worry?”