When computers first started to take over our world, like, a long time ago, keen, college administrators decided it was due time for their institutions to offer requisite classes in computing for classes that would require students to compute. Programs like Microsoft Word and Office became the new pen and paper, and Power Point essentially replaced the droning Bueller, Buellers and even the more erudite instructors, who inevitably used the tool as a leisure crutch.

Academic degrees would not be handed out unless students ascertained how to promptly categorize lists, insert and manipulate clip-art, and in a more personal example taken from a class whose instructor literally co-wrote the book Introduction to MS Office, adequately conquer the task of filling in the word “love” using a photograph of her beloved stepdaughter and her fiance to give a Power Point presentation that extra spice, to separate us from machines.

Essentially, artists Tawnie Silva and Lou Laurita have taken it upon themselves to boldly bring forth this modern collegiate skill into the art world. Non-ironic digital collages, ones that would receive high marks and incite half-hearted critical thinking from a college class staring at a projector screen, fill out their first Miami solo exhibition, If You Say Hi I Will Kill You. The exhibit has shown since February 11 and concludes March 4 at Miami’s Red Dot Project.

Again, there is no irony intertwined in these works, nor is there critical commentary on our Computer Age. Musician David Byrne has earned recent acclaim for similar straight-laced works that play with technological art tools in his E.E.E.I. - his wry wit, fame and enigma notwithstanding. And Silva and Laurita too believe their collages of click-and-click-more expression can affect and enlighten viewers as genuine art.

Basically, for each piece a photograph of a random subject, like naked knees, is used as background. Other digital photos “color” in words belonging to sentences at the forefront, like "I Will Never Leave You" and, "Why Don't You Look At Me When You Fuck Me" that overlap and clash with the background like scissors taken to kinetic fireworks. There is no catch or beatnik provocation in this exhibit. No, phrases offer the same postmodern cliché, cutesy sound-bites on love’s universal complexity and cycling shallowness commonly found in Bright Eyes liner notes.

While the very remark of “I could do that” is quite brash, given a few hours, a Mac and a free-market copy of Adobe Photoshop CS, a jobless kid with a college degree could put on a solo show featuring creations not terribly dislike If You Say Hi.

Of course, maybe this duo invested greater time and thought into the photography. However, photos of flowers and hands never conjure a superlative with greater punch than “nice,” even when set against glittery backdrops that sadly and quickly draw comparisons to a self-appointed protégé of Dave LaChapelle making an ATM stop with a design-spread in Better Homes and Garden.

Not to overlook all the photo-play with masculine body hair, animal meat and parts, open surgery and hypodermic needles that offer, well, fuck, edge. See, traditional and idealized story-book romance complete with cuddling and smiles and flowers juxtaposes perfectly with these selected images taken from harsh, even sour reality. When has the swooning idealist that is dumb love rued in the company of body hair, drug addiction and violence? Miss Cupid meet Mr. Heroin. Silva and Laurita, those sly matchmakers, finally made the connection.

The populist accessibility that lives in the theme of this show is the sole enticing aspect, while the lack of subtlety is bizarre. Seeing the word “love” printed over and over on sheets mirroring computer paper leaves enough room for your brain to compute just a bit clever equation.

The press release, which I didn't read until after visiting If You Say Hi, suggests the world: declarations about the marriage of image and language and grand artistic implications. And, no, these grand statements were not listed in bullet points.

-Kyle Munzenrieder