Toys are us

EVEN with the advent of photography, military art remains the result of classicist painters depicting sieges and maneuvers of famous conflicts: France's Jean-Louis-Ernest Meissonier had "The Siege of Paris." England's William Roberts had "The First German Gas Attack at Ypres, 1918." America's Xanthus Russell Smith had his naval battles of the Civil War. Now, with increasingly militarized technology making for instantaneous and perpetual war at all times (see French philosopher/poet Paul Virilio's Pure War) and in all places, there is no need for old-fashioned painters to capture visual information on their canvases. Everything we need -- everything we're allowed -- to see is continually broadcast on CNN, 24 hours a day, from in-bed ... er, I mean embedded reporters.

In our era of globalization and conflict, it takes a 21^st-century artist to show us how the military-industrial complex creeps its way into every facet of our lives, from automobiles to children's playthings. That artist is University of North Carolina-Charlotte professor David Brodeur, whose new exhibit, Fallen Toy Soldiers, is in Las Vegas until Sept. 12.

The images presented in Fallen Toy Soldiers are vibrantly attractive. Brodeur uses imaging software to fashion renderings of weapons and commercial equipment, which he then prints out on digital inkjet printers. Like assembly instructions for plastic models, Brodeur's work draws your eye even as it poses dark questions to the anxious, political part of your brain -- you know, the unconscious place that considers the Iraq War to be the biggest debacle in the history of U.S. foreign policy.

Actually, Brodeur's show argues every war is a debacle from which it is impossible to extract ourselves, much less our collective imagination. In his artist statement, Brodeur cites an urge "to educate and initiate conversation about social and political issues." Fallen Toy Soldiers, in his estimation, dwells on the weapons technology and warfare and the devastation they wreak. Combining an obsession with military history and affection for military hardware with a desire to foster dialogue about the war, the artist presents little-known facts about weapons the U.S. is currently using in Iraq.

"I start with research and technical drawing and photos," says Brodeur during a recent phone interview. "I might start with plastic-model assembly instructions, combine all the drawings into one big drawing, then pull apart all the individual stages. From there, I work in Adobe Illustrator and render an image to a certain point, before using Photoshop to add shadows and make it pop. I want [the images] to look like toys."

Brodeur has always been interested in weapons and warfare since he can remember. What he can't say is whether he was born being drawn to weapons or whether he was conditioned through popular culture to adore deadly gizmos and gadgets.

"It's the old nature versus nurture question," he says. "I haven't answered the question, of course, though I think it's probably both. It's in us guys, and then it's nurtured in us, too."

Brodeur's digital inkjet prints began in 2003 while the rhetoric of the Iraq War heated up. He felt there was a lack of public dialogue about the impending conflict and wanted to do something to catch people's attention. He hit on the idea of creating signifiers -- the bright, shiny look of plastic model kits. Meanwhile, the other half of the show addresses our nation's oil addiction. Also included with Brodeur's images are facts about military hardware and oil addiction.

"I was surprised just how easy it was to find information on the Department of Defense website, where you can learn how many tons of depleted uranium they dropped in Iraq during the first Iraq War," he says. (Answer: 300 tons.) "As a teacher, I want to share information and still get viewers' attention, make them consider things like this."

"Things like this" include satellite-guided bombs like an exquisitely constructed BLU-109 hardened penetration warhead -- or "bunker-buster" -- which can be delivered from 20,000 feet in the air and hit a target within a square meter, since the bomb is triangulated from three different angles. Such a weapon can strike down through the top of a giant building and detonate precisely at the sixth floor. Brodeur's clean, crisp renderings imbue such devastating hardware with beauty.

"They're some of the most technologically advanced things men make," he admits. "And yes, they are beautiful in some ways; they're engineering masterpieces. I just question what we're using them for, really." Of course, sometimes Brodeur's politics overwhelms a piece as it does with "Dinosaurs Roam the Earth: Support Our Troops," featuring an SUV and a Bush/Cheney sticker. Or consider "Silver Bullet: Firmly Tighten Screw," wherein a cartoon tank commander urges us to "firmly tighten screw." There's a second layer of information here, too: In the background, juxtaposed against the hobbyist's warning, an Iraqi tank burns. The missile that struck the tank means low-level radiation is being emitted. Thus, the folks who destroyed the tank are absorbing harmful depleted uranium.

Brodeur says he tried to avoid political rhetoric, but things reached a point after the 2004 election where he was just plain sick of being stuck in traffic behind SUVs with Bush/Cheney stickers on them.

"It's a denial that this war is about the world's oil," he says. "If you really supported our troops, you'd be driving a fuel-efficient vehicle."