Justin Gibbens' show at G. Gibson Gallery an unnatural look at nature

The creatures in Justin Gibbens' show at G. Gibson Gallery are a strange, discomforting group: 21st-century takeoffs on Audubon's "Birds of America" that seem to reflect the current state of the planet, with its increasing toxic load and diminishing wildlife habitat. In a second show, around the corner at Punch gallery, it's a different story. Gibbens' creatures appear lighthearted, more like fantasy illustrations for children's books.

At G. Gibson, the birds are mutants. It struck me that this is how some birds of America could end up looking if they survive the centuries to come: like chemically induced accidents. They sprout multiple heads and dangling sets of extra legs. In one painting, a pair of chimney swifts dive like struck bombers, trailing smoke and flame.

Audubon, of course, was a double-edged environmentalist, documenting birds and animals by first shooting them. His method was quaint compared with the implications of Gibbens' watercolors, which are both appealingly attractive (as paintings) and sort of creepy, like those Mason-jar preserved freaks you see at county fairs. Inspired by the work of early nature painters, Gibbens tried to make his work look like it came from another era, staining the paper with tea for an aged and weathered look.

Gibbens' bird paintings are displayed at G. Gibson with Nealy Blau's photographs of faux natural settings that she devised by shooting museum dioramas up close. You can't distinguish scale, so the images give you the impression you're looking at scenes from nature, though you're left with a lingering sense of unreality. Conceptually the two bodies of work — jointly titled "Unnatural History" — suit each other. Visually they don't. Gibbens' paintings grab the spotlight and neither artist benefits from the combination.

There's a similar problem at Punch with the pairing of Gibbens' paintings and those of Amy Ross. Clearly the two artists' fantastical wildlife imagery is related, yet visually the paintings don't hang well together. Ross' watercolors are sweeter in color and content: little quail, ducks and bunnies blossoming from magnolia buds, or birds with fanciful mushroom heads, all delicately limned on stark white paper. Gibbens' work again has that aged look from oolong-tea washes and, instead of birds this time, depicts mythological creatures such as unicorns, jackalopes and wölpertingers. The artist said he was inspired in part by local legends and antique taxidermy he encountered traveling in Bavaria. He developed his watercolor technique studying traditional art practices in China.

The two artists' work is just similar enough to be confusing and different enough to distract. In this case, there's nobody to blame for the matchup but Gibbens. As a co-founder of Punch, he chose Ross, a Boston artist whose work he first encountered on the Web. He said he invited her to show with him at Punch because she was working in a similar bent and had included his work in an earlier show she assembled. That kind of networking is both an advantage and a drawback of artist-run cooperatives: There may not always be the best curatorial vision guiding what's on the walls — but at least the work is getting out there.

Sheila Farr: sfarr@seattletimes.com