The Allure of ëFantasyí Corcoranís 47th Biennial Exhibit Rides Along Cutting Edge by Heather Nalbone If thereís a single word that comes close to describing the theme of "Fantasy Underfoot," "alluring" would be it. The pieces featured in the Corcoran Gallery of Artís 47th Biennial in many ways defy explanation. The 13-artist compilation is one that needs to be observed, rendering written descriptions hazy and indistinct. Consider, for example, Janet Cardiff and George Bures Millerís "The Paradise Institute." From the outside, the creation is a large, crudely built plywood box. But step inside and strap on a set of supplied headphones, and for 13 minutes youíll forget youíre in a museum. Within the walls the construction becomes a 16-seat movie theater, complete with a railing and rows of empty doll-size seats angled to create the feel of a real-life theater balcony. The film featured on the screen is a black-and-white digital video drawn from conventional cinema techniques and indie-art symbolism, but the real focus of the presentation is the audience itselfónot museum visitors filling the seats, but a virtual crowd invent ed by the artists. A cell phone rings behind you moments before a man a few seats back comments loudly about an attractive nurse on screen as she starts kissing her patientís stomach. When the woman next to you isnít munching loudly on popcorn, sheís either telling you what she thinks of the movie or whispering that she may have forgotten to turn off the stove before leaving home. By the end of the short film, the virtual audience merges with the movie characters. A man who begins talking in your ear sounds just like the bad guy in the movie. Meanwhile, an on-screen house engulfed in flames invokes images of the woman who left midway through the presentation to check the stove burner she was afraid she left on. Cardiff and Miller received rave reviews and a prestigious award for "The Paradise Institute" during its premier at the Venice Biennale in 2001. The artists, like several others featured in the exhibit, are well known to followers of contemporary art. One of these followers is Ken Feingold, whose computerized talking silicone heads convey a sense of the confusion and disconnectedness that are said to accompany the expansion of modern technology. Or, at the very least, they provide a good laugh for those impartial to the philosophies of contemporary culture. The conceptual themes exuded by these two installationsóthe link between reality and fiction and the question of human identity amid a technology-driven societyóare implied in other works throughout the 11-room exhibit. Two fine examples are works by Jacob Hanani and Linda Besemer, who find novel uses for common art supplies. Hananiís framed pieces look like slivers of drab wallpaper from a distance. Up close, they become thousands of miniscule ink designs intricate enough to trigger a headache if viewed too closely. Likewise, it takes a second glance to realize that Besemerís dizzying crisscross patterns on what looks like vinyl are actually nothing more than layers upon layers of acrylic paint peeled from a glass base and draped over aluminum rods. Although the conceptual artists featured at the Corcoran maintain that the concepts in their pieces are more important than the objects used to convey them, some of the works are most appealing for their sheer physical presence. Tim Hawkinsonís "Drip," though somewhat difficult to appreciate on a metaphorical level, is irresistible. A room-size water recycler connects various electrical instruments and sculptures, including what appear to be giant octopus tentacles dangling from the ceiling, to create rhythmic percussion sounds by dropping water into aluminum pie cans. At the other end of the spectrum are some of the most disturbing and thought-provoking pieces in the exhibit, fashioned using the most basic of tools. Chief among these is Marcel Dzamaís collection of watercolors painted in shades of green, brown and gray. Aside from mentioning his creations of robotic monsters, pumpkin-headed children and dismembered bodies, Dzamaís works are best described by a museum sign placed near the exhibitís entrance: "Some works of art in this exhibit may not be suitable for all visitors. Viewer discretion is advised." Equally disturbing are the animal heads fused with human bodies in Kojo Griffinís paintings of children at play. Nonetheless, both sets of paintings are captivating in their interpretations of the human psyche. Some of the installations, such as Nancy Davidsonís inflated nylon and vinyl balloon-like structure and Bruce Yonemotoís looping image sequence of a famous Alfred Hitchcock kissing scene, leave one hungering for something with a little more punch. But overall, the carefully selected contemporary pieces are witty and engaging. After all, were else in Washington can you use a microphone to tell a silicone head that you donít know why it doesnít have a body like everyone else? The 47th Corcoran Biennial "Fantasy Underfoot" runs through March 10 at the Corcoran Gallery of Art, 500 17th St., NW. For more information, please call (202) 639-1700 or visit www.corcoran.org. Heather Nalbone is a freelance writer in Silver Spring, Md.