believe in people

It would be very easy to dismiss the work of Rob Ryan as empty saccharinity. It would even be easy to feel outright cynicism for some of his messages. The first Rob Ryan piece I saw was a t-shirt wearing the bold slogan, 'BELIEVE IN PEOPLE'. And I do. But is it possible for people to believe in 'indie craft' papercuts as anything other than great greeting card material? Certainly the messages are sweet and whimsical and at times desperately romantic. But what might set Ryan's work apart from the usual Paperchase stock is the delicate intricacy of the papercuts themselves. Some boast an impressive and engaging degree of complexity that adds to the overall sensation of being taken to the top of a hill to appreciate the sprawling landscape from a contemplative distance. Rob Ryan wants to put a smile on my face. And I guess I have to ask myself what's so bad about that. I definitely won't find that these pieces stay in my memory bank as the result of some searing impact on my emotions. But just because they're the kitsch side of whimsy doesn't necessarily mean they're capricious tea towel designs. For me, they live in the middle ground. And maybe that's because I think the artist himself is wonderfully genuine.

There's a naivity in the work. Romance is depicted as an all-consuming affection that at times might seem desperate, lofty or theatrically excessive. Even if you're madly in love and enjoy work that speaks to you about romance, it's not for every mood. It doesn't offer anything particularly raw or chaotically passionate, perhaps due to its nature as a medium that has to be carefully planned and painstakingly executed. But it does seem to hand us opportunities for thanksgiving. It seems to create small moments for us to cherish other small moments.

Ryan's characters are trapped in a beguiling labyrinth of details, creating a bubble of safety and secrecy around florid declarations of love. There are elements of candy floss that can make the images seem overwrought but that's the take-it-or-leave-it nature of their appeal. One piece is a plethora of finely cut stars framing the words, ‘Stars and galaxies rotate eternally, and you and I circle each other. For you are my universe entirely, and I will always be yours.' Perhaps certain pieces would transmit with more sincerity if the words were absent, since some will find them hard on the gag reflex but could otherwise feel impressed and moved by the intricacy of the papercuts.

For me the jury's out. I responded to the work in much the same way as I did to Tim Burton's illustrations in The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy - by attempting to work out if the quirky sentiments and zany characters really had soul. There are some welcome breaks from his unapologetic fairy-tale agenda, particularly with his nods to the value of nature and his appreciation of the individual. There is something disarming about the pieces. It's as if they are asking you to do battle with your inner cynic and just 'feel the love'.