Humanism to potatoism Beautiful Mutants at SPACE BY MAGGIE KNOWLES

Here’s a little pre-back-to-school experiment: Fetch a head shot of yourself and a piece of paper. Now, bisect your face with the paper, right then left. Notice how one side of your face appears innocent/light and the other evil/dark. Weird, huh? But it’s true and here’s why: Humans are asymmetrical and within our face we reflect the good and the bad of the universe. No, I am not getting all Star Wars on you, it is science . . . e.g., we learn that snowflakes have perfect symmetry and, in all their virginal white glory, are quite boring. Humans, on the other hand, are lopsided beasts lurching through life with character. We have two ears and two eyes but they are far from an identical duo.

Symmetrically, we are more like potatoes, we just don’t taste as good mashed. This inherent facial asymmetry is a source of irritation, thus artistic inspiration, to Mark Mothersbaugh, whose freakish interpretation of a proportionate world is on show at SPACE through October 16.

Mothersbaugh claims that asymmetrical behavior and appearance hide the true content in each of us, and his "corrected" photographs reveal inner reality. Who knew the former Devo member was such a psychologist at heart? But his work does have a base in psychology and the best way to begin describing it is in relation to ink spots: Those blotchy yet symmetric cards, properly called Rorschach cards, shrinks use to determine if one has brain damage or psychosis ("I see a fridge with breasts, I see a pumpkin with breasts, I see my mom with antlers and breasts . . .") titillated Mothersbaugh to mimic them in his studio.

About six years ago, amidst writing scores for iconoclastic hits such as Rugrats, Mothersbaugh took symmetrical portraits using a laborious process of fun-house mirrors and lights; soon after, he discovered Photoshop. He now takes people from vintage photographs and makes them symmetrical by slicing them in half and flipping one side to match up with the other. Huh, you think, I don’t look that different right to left, how weird can these be?

How about 100 percent sideshow whacked-out bizarre?

But creative as hell.

He turns people into a kaleidoscope of sorts, a twisted, spun, tossed salad of facial pieces, which resemble the circus freaks you have nightmares about. In his laboratory, he denies babies and children of the one shot they have to be purely beautiful by massacring their noses into broad plateaus; smooshing their curious eyes into one giant pupil in the middle of their pointed heads; and turning their rosebud lips into a cleft raisin. Yet, they are mesmerizing in that watching-an-ant-drown-in-liquid-soap sort of way.

"Petting Zoo" is benign, as the child herself is unscathed. It fashions a pretty little girl, all bows and frilly skirts, gently petting a four-legged hairy ham. Her eyes don’t register the animal has no head or neck, (God forbid she try to offer it a snack) her shy smile is clueless to her identical — yet reversed — twin’s hand on the other end of the creature. Here the message is almost sweet: children see animals as mystical beings that can offer them passage away from chores and boredom. Then Mothersbaugh takes this idea a step further in "Seal Boy." The child’s cherub-like face is normal. His eyes are filled with glossy excitement. But his body is twisted inward so his arms become awkward legs; his head sits at the intersection of his shoulders so it appears he is attempting a very uncomfortable version of Downward Dog.

If you were quickly browsing these photos, nothing would leap out as horrifically wrong because the rearranging is quite subtle. Since the photos are vintage, sepia serves to soften the transformation. Study "Baby Curl." A little one stares at you from a swaddling of white poof. The longer you look the more uncomfortable you become without being able to put your finger on why. Her filbert-shaped eyes get larger and darker; they burn into your mind like satanic matchsticks. Her large forehead spreads over a rifted nose and a triangle mouth. It is sinister . . . it is symmetrical.

Which is strange because those considered by society to be "the most beautiful" are also the most symmetrical. Big magazines have done mathematic studies on Cindy Crawford and Brad Pitt to prove this. So, why, when Mothersbaugh makes people symmetrical do they turn ugly? And if he is revealing the inner secrets of humanity via symmetry, we’re pretty fucked up. We’re fugly.

We’re fugly because, on a daily basis, we undermine the perceived attractiveness of ourselves and those around us. Think about how much time is wasted thinking about how we look. Mothersbaugh’s collection is a jab at that notion. He selects images that are poised, posed, and rehearsed to find that perfect shot — the one that shows off Susie’s dimpled smile, Johnny’s crystal blue eyes, Melvin’s apple cheeks. Then he makes them horrific. He mauls the children who epitomize sparkling, healthy beauty. He is foreshadowing that period, 15-years down the road, when high school eats away at self-esteem and pride, or when the physically pretty teens are so rancid on the inside that they stomp on peers’ egos.

Mothersbaugh brings one great fear — being ugly — to light and frames it for all to gasp at. And to wonder about. What if my arms really looked like that? What would I do if my child’s face was distorted like that? Look at what part of yourself you see as grotesque and reconsider.

And if on one sunny Tuesday you are walking down Commercial Street and peer into the carriage of a friend only to see "Baby Hoodie-Hoo," her gigantic eye focused in on you, her four chins rattling beneath a noseless face, well, then says you, "She must take after your husband’s side of the family."

Maggie Knowles can be reached at margaretknowles@yahoo.com

Mark Mothersbaugh’s "Beautiful Mutants" shows at SPACE, in Portland, through Oct. 16. Call (207) 828-5600.