Robert Chase Heishman‘s photography doesn’t lie. But it doesn’t tell the unvarnished truth, either. It’s like the Truman Show where the protagonist sails his boat into the horizon only to bump into a really good giclee print. Such is the mix of pleasure and claustrophobia one gets from viewing Heishman’s recent work. Merely by applying artist tape to his subjects, their physical presences and inclusions enter into real space, tracing and circumscribing the field of view such that everything tends to advance into the picture plane. I’m reminded of Gustave Courbet’s incessant crowding toward the viewer, along with hints of the world of flat screen TVs and cell phones, with their resolution and clarity but ultimate falsehood.