Robert Ernst Marx is disturbed. He does not render pretty, comfortable images. His despairing muses are distorted and bound, either overtly or metaphorically; they wear the heavy signals of every kind of subjugation. But they've largely done it to themselves. Marx's artworks are compelling acts of thoughts and reflection, rife with lamentations at the "exclusivity of the institutions of church and state, abuse of both spouse and child, and our own and others' personal fears and insecurities," per the provided artist statement. Anywhere that authority is evident, abuse of power is sure to follow. But Marx also mourns the autonomy that we give up - he sees many people as terrified, willing pawns who hand over their minds and lives to a nameless machine that is herding us all toward certain doom.

"All of us to some degree are trapped by our subservience to both external oppression and deep-seated conventions," the artist writes on his website (roberternstmarx.com). We should blame not only the power-hungry machine that bulldozes us all, but also our own willingness to hand over the painful task of thinking to subtle modern tyrants, and for not wanting to rock that boat. But we are marooned by our own desire for ease and a false sense of security.

Marx often uses symbols involved in puppetry, such as masks and strings, to suggest complex power relationships. These hints are found in the painting "Chaperone," where two figures sit back to back under an umbrella, a system of ropes and rings linking both of them together, and one of the figures with something out of the picture plane. That figure reaches to pull a string, but her elbow is being lifted by another cord. A sense of chaotic and unclear connections is conveyed, and between masks and puppetry, it is not apparent who is running the show here.

Most of Marx's people read like props, simultaneously hollow and heavy with emotion plain on the outside. There is no veneer of perfection; their skin is a dirty, weatherworn gold, and many of the noses are grotesque masquerade-like beaks, as in the small profile painting "Bird," where the subject's sagging shoulders spell defeat. A bird-faced human with a wide open beak demands an answer from two women in "Tell Me What the Truth Is." The work reminds me of an Egyptian soul-judgment scene, before the journey to the afterlife is permitted, and this theme of permission-seeking is underscored by the presence of a huge dark cross behind the woman in white.

Among a number of smaller portraits is "Father Pete," featuring a vague-faced man with sloping shoulders, wearing a white cap that is by far the brightest object in the piece, commanding our attention. His status wears him: our eyes are directed to that authority symbol alone, and we can discern nothing about the man himself. "Do you see the danger in that?", the artist seems to ask. And he further complicates the piece with a sense of sadness and dissatisfaction in the man.

Nearby is the ironically named "Felicity," which is only a head, bald on top and whose loosely human face is framed with golden tresses, resembling nothing so much as a cocker spaniel's ears. Situated so close to the image of the clergyman, I was compelled to think about the loyal, unquestioning nature of dogs and some of the faithful.

The drawing of "Ate (The Goddess of Infatuation, Mischief, and Guilt)" has gaping-wide, almost circular eyes, with that blank presence of many sculptures of antiquity. She is constructed of seemingly 100 million tiny hatch-marks and smudges, and she seems a more apt patron goddess for humanity than other more trendy deities, though I'll bet she's less popular at the pantheon potlucks.

Marx's fixation with the weight of personal fears is evidenced by his painting "Old Worry," which pictures a seemingly composed woman with a sensible strand of pearls and a prim collar. A closer look reveals the subtle storm playing across her face, with eyes slightly unfocused, not unlike what you see when you have a conversation with someone whose mind is elsewhere. If that isn't enough, the chains of circle patterning on her shirt lead your eye down to her long and elegant fidgeting digits. Colors have lives and energy of their own, and the rusty muddy-vibrant orange around her can only be described as crackling with anxious tension.

"Double Dealer" is a bronze relief sculpture of a Janus-like double profile. An old woman looks back, while a young woman looks forward, but both of their eyes are bound. Their shared tuft of hair streams off the younger woman's head, covering and erasing her face above the lips. If hair is tied symbolically to women's emotional experience, then this lady's feelings are devouring her.

Marx has tipped the outward/inward balance of portraiture, and is concerned less with individual likenesses than with placing everything on the inside squarely on the characters' sleeves. Try as we might, we can't escape it. But do we ever truly bear witness to each other? The "power" and the goal of human society has long been to achieve that closed-off-in-your-own-self-sufficient-bubble life, the follow-the-assigned-path-to-success, and try-not-to-deviate-too-much mode of living. This system of ours has been failing for a long time. We've been lied to, but we've also often chosen the blinders that come with the warm, comfortable stable.

Though Marx points a stern finger at humanity's hesitation to think as individuals, his depictions of suffering are not bereft of pity or hope. Instead of "you deserve this," the message is "this should not be." But we need these slaps in the face, if we are to translate despair into initiative.

The Arrogance of Power

By Robert Ernst Marx

Through October 5

Williams Gallery, First Unitarian Church, 220 S Winton Rd.

271-9070, rochesteruniarian.org

Monday-Friday 9 a.m.-7 p.m., Sunday 9 a.m.-1 p.m.