Shot on a black background and printed meticulously on huge expanses of luscious, archival-quality paper, the large-scale pictures are delicacies, whether revealing the steely sheen of the toys' unpainted wings or the rhythm of the grids connecting the tiny bits of pretend killing machine. Each photo shows a miniature version of an actual U.S. warplane currently in use over the Middle East at 1/72 the size of the plane it represents, giving the viewer a distinct sense of the scale of these aircraft.
Yet the artist realizes that somewhere between the loving reproduction of these playthings and the reality of the U.S. presence in Iraq is a powerful call for analysis. It just isn't clear what that analysis might be. "Years ago in a design magazine there was an article on handguns showing them as beautiful and finely designed," Laven explains in his press materials. "A lot of people reacted angrily. My hope is that there is a certain kind of detachment in my photographs that will prevent this exhibition from looking like a romanticism of the machinery of war." The director at the show's gallery, Griff Williams, seems to anticipate the opposite reaction: When he points out, in the same document, that "This show has a political component, but it's not up on a soapbox," it sounds like he thinks visitors will assume the exhibit makes an anti-war statement.
Either way, the ambiguous meaning is part of the exhibit's allure, and both the politics and the craft are ready to fly off the page.