Reflections on student art exhibit ‘When The Angels Came’

On a fall evening, I climbed up the stairs towards the Stanford Art Gallery to visit “When The Angels Came,” the current exhibit of undergraduate art. As I stepped inside, I was circled by pieces embodying unique life perspectives with dazzling creativity. 

I first went towards the right side of the gallery, where I encountered “Waterfront,” four black and white photographs by Franklin Lurie ’24 that captured the wild spirits of the Northern California coasts. I was mesmerized by the fierce soul of the ocean waves as they crashed into the steep coastal rocks. 

Where I grew up in Turkey, we are surrounded by seas; when you stare deeply to where the sea ends and sky begins, there is always the horizon, or the start of the coast across, or an island. 

But I was surprised to realize when I came to the U.S. that there isn’t such a line in the ocean. Rather it’s a blur: the ocean never ends. Similar to the American Dream, the ocean is limitless — it could go farther,  farther and farther, and you are almost lost looking at it. You are a small particle next to these almost omnipotent waters that can end your existence in seconds. 

Lurie’s “Waterfront” photos capture the effects of climate change on settlements in the area’s periphery to the coast. Lurie “examines human existence in an environment perpetually shaped by natural forces,” according to his description. These photographs induce its viewer to feel the ocean’s power. The human being is simply “fragile and transient,” as Lurie puts it, next to the ocean.

Leaving the photographs, I approached the eponymous piece of the exhibition, “When the angels came they had guns” by Gregory Medina-Kenyon ’24. Staring into the large tapestry depicting figures that seemed like elongated hands, wings and imaginary creatures in pastel colors, I was reminded of Surrealist paintings by Dali and Miro. 

Intrigued by the mystic title, I started reading its description, learning that the artist aimed to uncover how a memory “that has been lost, changed, rendered inaccessible” is represented for people with neurodegenerative diseases. The piece captures how the elements in our lives become abstract in our minds. 

The yellow patch at the right side of the tapestry reminds me of the sun; together with the wings depicted next to it, it causes an image of Icarus falling down the clouds to appear in my mind. The figures that reminded me of wings start looking like teeth. The pink figures that looked like creatures start looking like skulls, making me think of Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings that depict animal skulls next to flowers. There is a chaos softened by the pastels tones in the painting, and it’s almost like a dream: The objects and the stories are all intertwined, yet personal as they remind me of elements from my life.

The idea of people and places in our lives becoming abstract, captured by this artwork, makes me think of death. When people in your life pass away, they also become an abstraction. They are now shaped by what’s left in your memory, the small fragments of their voice when you think about them, the way they would say your name. They are now just an abstraction. 

Insignificant memories of normal days replay in your mind once you think of them. You search through the corners of your mind, looking for more remaining memories, hoping to find something you could go back to. You just want to go back to a day, a normal day, to that voice. And in your mind, you are left with a chaos and confusion resembling the one depicted in the artwork. Staring at the figures in “When the angels came they had guns,” I became immersed in these thoughts. 

As I took a few steps to the right, I encountered Sarah Dong’s ’26 “A Moment at the Louvre.” With a fascinating artistic style, the artwork is meta: there are paintings within the painting. Looking at it, in the background, you see the drawing of Delacroix’s “The Death of Sardanapalus” on the wall in the Louvre; then at the foreground, you an artist drawing the same painting, “The Death of Sardanapalus,” while standing across from it. This is a painting of paintings. 

As a romantic painting, “The Death of Sardanapalus” has a rather chaotic story. Upon a military defeat, King Sardanapalus, the last king of Assyria, orders the death and destruction of all he owns, from his slaves to his animals and all the treasures he possesses. The painting captures this mass destruction in play. 

Dong depicts a young child staring at the painting with admiration and excitement (perhaps clueless about the story it’s depicting) yet captivated by its artistic glory. Similarly, while looking at Dong’s work, I was captivated by her artistic level. There is a beauty in the chaos of bodies scattered around in Delacroix’s original depiction, which Dong portrays masterfully.

I encounter a series of family photographs edited in a way to resemble the idea of the past being forgotten and lost. Titled “Our Home Is Now A Fleeting Memory,” these photographs by Mhar Tenorio ’24 illustrate how immigration shapes the memory of your original home. Tenorio captures the melancholic feeling of looking into the pictures from your past: once you leave, these photographs become the only connection you have left to your past. They become more vulnerable, in a sense, with this added element of being the unique connection to your past. 

Tenorio’s edits on the photographs change the forms of his family members, making them spiral, elongated or blurry. I admire how they capture the fleetingness of memories and the inevitability of forgetting as time passes by. Tenorio’s work reminds me of my home and my memories of childhood, and how far, both in terms of location and time, they are. 

As I continued walking, I was intrigued by Ingrid Nordberg’s ’25 painting “I, I.” Nordberg captures a girl, which we see only the back of, staring into a huge plaster cast, reminding me of ancient Greek sculptures. It makes me ponder if Nordberg is trying to capture self-reflection. I read the description, and learned that Nordberg adds elements of her Asian ethnicity into the cast, rejecting the established European-centric idea of cast drawing in the arts. 

I realize that I hadn’t paid attention to the Asian characteristics in the face of the cast that is depicted, but it became evident to me then. The painting reminds me of looking at myself from the outside, and thinking about all my actions in the past. Do you love that person, or do you blame her for mistakes?

I left the gallery mesmerized by the level of artistic greatness and the depth of the ideas captured. The works in “When The Angels Came” are surprising, intriguing and depict complex ideas about memory, the past and the self — it is beyond worthy of experiencing. 

Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.

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