An installation view of Alissa Landefeld’s “Daydream” at the Anderson-Foothill Branch of the City Library in Salt Lake City shows “Into the Trees,” left, and “Hyacinth.”

Alissa Landefeld is one member of a small-but-mighty segment of the Utah arts scene. Originally from Montana, she started out to be a biologist, earning honors at UVU and traveling the world to connect with other students of the science of life. She found, however, that her urge to create art could not be satisfied by the illustrations her avocation called for, though in time portraits of certain animals did become a substantial part of her body of work. What appealed to her even less, though, was carrying a portfolio of her visions from place to place, gallery to museum and beyond, seeking someone to help market her prospective dreams. Instead, like a small, but important number of her peers, she set about forging a place for herself on Instagram, TikTok, and the like, trading the time she spent selling her oil paintings and prints for the percent of sales others would charge her, but all the while owning her own operation and making her own decisions.

She’s chosen 30 of her paintings for Daydream, currently in the Meeting Room, downstairs at the Anderson-Foothill Branch of the City Library. There, audience members will find a statement that rightly acknowledges her combination of nature studies, animal portraits and figures of women, imbued with folktale elements and visual playfulness. What it omits, however, is the serious vein that runs through her visions. Perhaps they should be compared with the Victorian era’s fascination with fairies, omens and innocence represented by young ladies. What Landefeld achieves is the simultaneous, late-romantic presence of youth, play and virtue amid the evils known to dwell in the world at large.

Installation view of Landefeld’s exhibit, including “Cotton Candy Dragon.”

We could start with “Cotton Candy Dragons,” in which fleecy, pink clouds share the moon-and-starlit night sky with a long-tailed, flying dragon. Then mushrooms appear in several paintings, particularly “Agarics,” the quintessential red mushrooms with white spots. These we should know are the least dangerous member of the only truly poisonous mushroom family, the Amanitas—the Death Cap, Death Angel, and so on. A student of biology would know this.

Another mushroom painting, “Portals Witches Painting,” looks into a fairy ring of Agarics, one of them having been nibbled, and finds an ornamental mirror, reflected in which are birds flying overhead. There’s a thematic connection to these works in “Into the Woods,” in which a woman in a flowing gown and a long braid saunters alone on a path lined with white flowers and yet more of these mushrooms. There’s a reason why we still prefer the Victorians’ knack for storytelling while much more recent efforts have fallen by the wayside, and it lies in their ability to imbue a tale with layers of playful, yet also mortal possibilities.

Alissa Landefeld, “Jeter Sketer.”

Two close-up portraits may be compared. One, “Hyacinthus,” has become the emblem of this show. It depicts a dark-skinned woman in an off-the-shoulder gown, a magic amulet at her throat. Two bunches of the title flowers, in three colors, both reveal and conceal her at once. The amulet is echoed by a golden disk behind her, on which she casts a shadow. It’s the sort of image one could see every day and never tire of nor fully decipher. The other, “Jeter Sketer,” presents a large and gregarious-looking dog whose face is so close to the picture plane that it touches the painting’s frame, which creates the illusion that the animal is coming through and entering the viewer’s space, its friendliness cut with unknown danger. Where “Hyacinthus” withdraws into the picture, possibly bringing the viewer into its mysteries, the dog will at least startle the unprepared visitor.

Landefeld, as might any truly freelance artist, paints a wide range of subjects in some unusual techniques. Deep textures abound. Some of her butterflies are naturalistic, while others act like silhouettes that cut out faces or bouquets of flowers. Three paintings depict books on a shelf—classics that include “Husband Literature.” Aside from the women’s portraits, perhaps the landscapes come closest to being familiar, while animals vie with baked goods for attention. Anyone not convinced that a serious mind directs the artist’s eye might pause over two works: a butterfly labeled “Mourning Cloak” and another posed in the open mouth of the title animal in “Mourning Coyote.” “Morning” is a time of day, of course, but add the “U” and the reference inverts, from fresh and bright to something else.

Being her own boss—she even makes many of her own frames—has allowed Alissa Landefeld to explore territories that are uniquely her own. Among the labels she applies to her work, one that stands out is “Cute Chaos.” It’s another hint that there is more here than the casual observer, however satisfied by a glimpse, cannot penetrate, let alone exhaust. Behind the possible impression that these are the work of a hobbyist, some far more serious contemplation of the human predicament and the natural order waits to be found.

Alissa Landefeld, “Provo River Parkway.”

Alissa Landefeld: Daydream, Anderson-Foothill Branch, Salt Lake City, through October 3.

Geoff Wichert

Geoff Wichert objects to the term critic. He would rather be thought of as a advocate on behalf of those he writes about.