Octopus (2006)

“Zoopsia: New Works by Tim Hawkinson” is at the Getty Museum through Sept. 9.

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There’s only one photograph in the exhibition, but it’s a dilly. Primarily, Hawkinson is a sculptor, as three of the four works in this eccentrically small show demonstrate. I’m including the photographic piece in my count because it’s a collage in which separate prints have been glued together over spray-foam backing to dimple the surface so it’s three-dimensional.

“Zoopsia” is a term for hallucinations in which animals appear, such as a drunk with delirium tremens might have, and all four pieces are examples of that condition. His “Octopus” and another work in the exhibition, “Leviathon,” also demonstrate Hawkinson’s tendency to fashion his whimsical nightmares from imagery of his own body. “Leviathon” is a dinosaur skeleton in which the skull is a nude contortion of the artist himself; likewise, the suckers on the octopus’ tentacles are photographs of Hawkinson’s puckered lips.

Such self-centered creativity might suggest the egotism traditionally associated with artists, but the effect Hawkinson’s work has is more one of alter-egotism. The scores of kissing lips in “Octopus” threaten us with the sort of needy affection that would suck the very life out of anyone to whom they attached themselves. Here, as elsewhere, Hawkinson’s own presence in his work is something to which we can respond with delighted aversion.