Tolkkinen: Artist, show offer a whole new way to see rural Minnesota

ST. PAUL - When Kandace Creel Falcón invited me to see “Queericana,” the artist’s show in St. Paul, I was expecting canvases depicting the struggle of a queer woman to fit into deeply conservative rural Minnesota.

Instead, there was ... a painting of a toilet in an outdoor garden? Another of a cowboy boot overturned on a fence post? A severed deer leg lying in the snow?

I’m no art critic, so it took me a few beats and some assistance from Calendula Gallery co-owner Helene Woods to figure out that I was looking at a whole new way of seeing rural Minnesota.

On the surface, Creel Falcón’s paintings have nothing to do with gender or sexual identity. The paintings depict things anyone could spot in west-central Minnesota, many fairly humdrum.

There’s a security camera trained on what looks like jugs of windshield washer fluid outside a Fleet Farm store. A truck stop with a row of semis. A gargantuan hammer.

As rendered by Creel Falcón, the quotidian and kitsch reveal a truth about the rural parts of the state. Unhampered by local rules and regulations, acreages become a blank canvas for the odd, the unusual, the nonstandard, the wonderful. You don’t need township permission to turn old fuel barrels into Holstein cows. You don’t need to fill out paperwork to build a statue out of used tractor parts.

In greater Minnesota, motorists can spot a Bigfoot cutout loping through a wetland, or drive past haybales painted to look like Minions. In these bucolic settings, anything unexpected stands out.

Many things catch Creel Falcón‘s eye besides intentional art. Sometimes it’s a homemade sign or free van seats sitting on the side of the road. Sometimes it’s the juxtaposition of images in a small town.

Queericana. The assortment of oddities that shapes the landscape of rural Minnesota. “Junk piles turned sculptures, forgotten objects repurposed with flair, and a freedom to let things age, rot, or shine,” says Creel Falcón’s artist statement.

In this show, these items take on a playful yet moving optimism. And the gender and sexual identity aspect becomes apparent. A community that embraces non-cookie cutter landscapes might also accept non-cookie cutter identities.

It’s an uphill climb. I know there are people who will skip reading this column because it contains the word “queer.” Rural places and people are often not pleased with how society has changed; they are most comfortable with traditional expressions of gender and sexual identity.

Fewer people in rural America identify as LGBTQ than in urban areas, maybe because queer people flee to more welcoming communities or because they fear lingering stigma.

“I think it’s really surprising for people,” they said. Some may assume that rural areas are “maybe not safe, or maybe that we wouldn’t be accepted” as queer people.

Creel Falcón said discrimination exists in rural places, but it does in urban settings as well.

“If queer people are made to feel like they’re not allowed to be in rural places, then they won’t be in rural places,” they said. “I want this body of work to show we are needed here, because we do have a different perspective.”

“Queericana” runs through Sept. 21 at Calendula Gallery. A neighbor of the St. Paul Farmer’s Market, the gallery is an estuary of rural and urban art, with artists based in Duluth and other parts of greater Minnesota as well as from the metro area.

Two other upcoming shows in the metro area will give city folk the chance to see the work of greater Minnesota artists without having to drive for hours.