We are moths Attractive lights at SPACE BY MAGGIE KNOWLES

When you first walk in, you think they’re closed. But, as your eyes fight to adjust to the cave-like dark, a small movement arouses your peripheral vision. Randy Devost’s tiny Christmas bulbs fall almost to the floor, led in abstract circles by wavering tufts of air. It is a much cooler version of those clacker balls CEOs keep on their desk to distract their children. Now you are intrigued. Through the dim gallery, pockets of light pop at you, inviting you closer.

In a nod to winter’s many festivals of lights, 15 artists took the charge of creating sculptures for SPACE’s Light in the Dark, which runs through February 25. Because the only light source is that from the art, it is perfect for a romantic first date (or pick-pocketing). I wait for my nocturnal vision to kick in and study Devost’s other piece, a tangle of thin red wire (clown pubic hair) suspended in mid-air, one centered small bulb pulsing pure light. It reminds me of the beginning of the universe — a shimmering virgin light tucked within chaos.

It is still dark. I am alone . . . and starting to get freaked out. Someone could be hiding behind Kate Katomski’s black coffin piece and I would have no idea until it was too late. I approach her black tower and slip on the headphones. A horrible squawking stabs my ears. I fling off the set and make sure no blood is splattering down my neck. Through a boat window, a small boy’s face is talking to me. I hold the headset up so I can hear something that sounds like, "Gruuuggghhhh. Oh, oh, you look like an alien." And "Talktometalktometalktome." Not a fan of loud kids, I move on.

There is a computer humming to my left. Sweet, I can check my email. When the mouse is nudged, a Stepford-like woman appears on the screen. Her plastic expression is disconcerting. As the pointer zooms across her head, the POV changes. Top of her head; profile; under the chin. But that psycho-killer gaze never changes. Ask yourself what kind of company creator Rachel Clarke keeps.

All of a sudden, the far left wall explodes in a light show. A projector casts light upon partly textured panels of glass, suspended from the ceiling. It starts small, a square flickers images of KFC, an eyeball, a spider, an ear. Bit by bit, the whole piece comes to life: illustrations, colors, shapes, film segments bounce between the glass and your eyes. Artist James Mahoney put a lot of work into this. Coincidentally, the other "big wow" piece in the show is also Mahoney’s. Put on your wizard hat for this one. Mystical smoke aimlessly pours from a cauldron. Water trickles, the sound recalling an abandoned warehouse. Though I can’t figure out how, images appear in the smoke, changing every few moments. A steady image of the moon hovers above the piece. This guy has talent.

It is very interesting to see how varied the artists are in adopting light into their work. Slip back into the ’80s for a second when Atari was the greatest entertainment system. Remember Surround? Guy Marsden’s grid of tiny bulbs chasing each other is just like that infuriating game. Almost as infuriating as that is Mark Franchino’s alarm clock that is stuck at 6:59 a.m. You know that feeling: waking up moments before the buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing, lying there hoping for a snow day, that angst-filled stretch of seconds before 7:00 shoves you into another disappointing day.

Now that my eyes have finally accepted the fact that they are almost blind, they don’t take kindly to the blazing, TJ-Maxx-dressing-room lights (I don’t have all these leg veins in my house!!) that are coming from Kate Katomski’s display case of sheer linen. Black threads spell out words that are hard to make out, but I catch "Politicians call while the young heard the cry." I don’t know what this means, but it is hard to look away — we are moths here.

Above that is the ghost of a young girl. Her memory is fading already, only half of her face remains. Her hollow eye sockets aren’t full of fear, however; the small tilt of her chin is that of curiosity. You stare at her and she ages. It is your mind doing this, not a Dorian Gray replica. Maybe she is an old woman, instead? You tell me.

SPACE is the best thing to happen to Portland’s art scene in a long time. Only here do they have the majestic room to hold a show of this scope. As the gray-green darkness envelopes you, you forget the sun exists. It has always been this way, masking all but what needs to be seen. The darkness frames the light, letting each work shine within its halo, reminding us that one cannot exist without the other.

Maggie Knowles can be reached at margaretknowles@yahoo.com

"Light in the Dark" shows at SPACE Gallery, in Portland, through Feb. 25. Call (207) 828-5600.