Glen Arbor Arts Center’s “Feral Housewife” takes on gender norms

By Katie Dunn

Sun contributor

“The Feral Housewife” is the nom de guerre of Mary Beth Acosta, a longtime Leelanau County resident, whose collage work is on display at the Glen Arbor Arts Center (GAAC) until April 23. The word “feral,” generally, is defined in one of two ways: “of, relating to, or suggestive of a wild beast,” or “having escaped from domestication and become wild.” The latter definition of “feral” is that which resonates with Acosta. Indeed, she playfully sees herself as “feral.”

Acosta’s exhibit at the GAAC includes a retrospective of nine collage works that reference American culture from the 1940s through the 1960s, with an emphasis on female domesticity and Detroit automotive design. Her body of work is, essentially, a reflection on the ethos of those decades, and, also a parodic critique thereof.

That the name of Acosta’s exhibit is “A Feral Housewife” is no accident. Acosta firmly identifies as a liberated woman, and a feminist undercurrent to her work is palpable. Her work contemplates notions of idealized femininity, domesticity, patriarchy, and female subjugation. It, essentially, is a very subtle—yet powerful—critique of the traditional role of gender in modern, industrial America.

This unlikely feminist—who Acosta most certainly is—was born in Detroit and attended public schools there. She then studied at Thomas Jefferson College (once a part of Grand Valley State University) graduating with a degree in environmental science and a minor in ceramics and jewelry making. From college, Acosta embarked on life with her husband, Mike. They raised their two boys on a farm nestled in the Manistee National Forest near Mesick. In 1993, they settled in Leelanau County, having built their own cottage in Northport. Acosta and her husband now split their time between their home in Northport and a condo in Traverse City—the best of both worlds!

Acosta attributes her feminism to her upbringing. Growing up, her parents did not confine her to the traditional female sphere.

“I worked for my father in his cabinet shop when I was in high school,” Acosta says. “I learned how to use tools and that was the beginning of finding satisfaction through working with my hands. I had a high school AP English teacher who wore an identical black woolen shift, and every day an outrageous hat. It was her answer to men having a uniform to wear. She drove a 1950s pink Cadillac. She kept a bulletin board full of articles about feminists of the day. That was the [feminist] spark.”

As an adult, Acosta never felt fully at ease with conventional notions of femininity and female subordination. She continued to defy sexist norms, describing herself as “a stay-at home mom with a feminist trapped inside.” She channeled this feminist spirit into carpentry—something that typically is male-dominated. This stay-at-home mom wasn’t merely raising her two children, she also was installing the floors of their home, doing all the cabinetry work, and even building the roof.

Ultimately, Acosta began cultivating her creative energy and artistic instincts. The arts—collage, in particular—provided an outlet for her inner feminism. The inception of her collage artistry was through simple journaling. Acosta would embellish her personal journals with magazine clippings, newsprint, photographs, and the like. The embellishments were a form of language for her, replete with symbolism. Her journaling eventually evolved into collage work itself. Fittingly, her first authentic collage work was one of a self-constructed passport—perfectly metaphoric as to how collage would ultimately transport Acosta to a new creative dimension.

Acosta is very much a self-taught artist, and a prolific one. She uses a variety of media, all vintage and recycled—from magazines to newspapers to advertisements. All of the clippings are from the 1940s through the 1960s. The tools that Acosta employs are simple and rudimentary: embroidery scissors, glue stick, wax paper, wooden spoon, magnifying light, and satin polymer varnish with UVLS (to protect the vintage papers from sunlight exposure). Her collages are fastidiously constructed and extremely intricate. Remarkably, each of Acosta’s collages may be rendered out of as many as 70 trimmings. She sources the vintage pieces from garage sales, the internet, or simply from personal references. Her collected media are cataloged and meticulously preserved at Acosta’s art studio in her Traverse City home.

Regarding the craft itself, collage encompasses both the technique and resulting work of art in which pieces of magazine, newsprint, photographs, and fabric are arranged and affixed to a supporting medium, such as tagboard. From many elements, one cohesive work of collage is created. The media utilized by Acosta is generally deemed “ephemera.” Acosta defines “ephemera” as “something never meant to last.” Fleeting. But, by repurposing ephemera, she has given it a sort of immortality. “Vampires,” as Acosta says the ephemera have become by her hand. (Ironically, like vampires, her clippings are vulnerable to sunlight—hence, the necessity of polymer varnish.)

The history of collage is long and distinguished. First coined by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque, the term “collage” refers to a medium that is simultaneously serious and comedic. Also, collage historically has been a medium that is very much politically charged. It is readily apparent from “A Feral Housewife” that Acosta is continuing in that same vein.

The feminist spirit is a beautifully prominent and pervasive undercurrent to the body of work. Acosta views the female characters depicted in the ads as an idealization of women, even an objectification. And, she sees it as her duty to release them—literally and metaphorically. Acosta views the physical act of cutting of female images from the media as a sort of liberation—a symbolic freeing of women from the confining and antiquated realm of domesticity. Essentially, repurposing the iconography and giving it a whole new meaning, Acosta subverts the paternalism inherent in advertisements from the mid-20th century.

While Acosta’s current exhibit predominantly has an emphasis on domesticity and feminism, also represented is Detroit’s legacy of automotive design. Acosta has long been fascinated with mid-20th century automobile industry—not surprising considering that she grew up in the long shadow of Detroit’s glory days. The impact of Detroit’s storied auto industry for her0 was indelible: “Neighbors worked for the car industry; kids knew cars by fin size; no public transportation meant you got a new car when you got your license. My first car was a tan 1964 Ford Galaxy 500.”

One such piece, entitled “Auto Show Housewives,” is exemplary of precisely that which Acosta strives to achieve with her collages. The collage depicts smiling women blissfully—almost robotically—showcasing the latest offerings from Detroit: oversized, glossy sedans in a variety of cheerful colors. It masterfully serves as a critical meditation on the symbiotic relationship between stereotypical female iconography and the automobile industry.

“A Feral Housewife” is not Acosta’s first exhibit. In 2006, the Inside Out Gallery in Traverse City hosted Acosta’s very first show. Her work piqued the interest of The Dennos Museum Center’s former executive director, Eugene Jenneman, who approached Acosta about displaying her work there. In 2007, the museum included 25 of Acosta’s collages in a multi-artist show entitled “Romancing the Automobile,” a nostalgic reflection on America’s fascination with automobile design. In the years since, her work has been on display several times at Inside Out Gallery. Other galleries where she has shown her collages include Michigan Artists Gallery in Traverse City, Crooked Tree Arts Center in Petoskey, Kubiak Gallery in Douglas, and even galleries in Palm Springs, California.

Consider experiencing “A Feral Housewife” while it is on display at the GAAC through late April. It is visually stimulating as well as intellectually provocative.