Last week, a 5-ton bottle-nosed whale made its way up the Thames, and thousands of people gathered along the banks of the river, concerned for its well-being and cheering on the rescuers.

It was a scenario familiar to artist Adam Parker Smith, who grew up in Northern California, where beached whales were a regular occurrence. "I'd get out of school and my mom would drive us down [to see it]," he says. "People would really help out, get down there in dress pants and leather shoes. There's an element of human compassion that comes out that doesn't come out in other situations."

Guy and Dolls: Adam Parker Smith says of his creations: "I've driven cross-country with them, taken them to St. Louis, a couple of them married in Reno." : Michael koehler

Smith, a Tyler graduate, has created his own scene of human curiosity and compassion, only his whales are "beached" on the hardwood floors of the Painted Bride's gallery space, and they're made of fabric and stuffing. His solo exhibition, "Sweetness," opens at the Bride this Friday. Besides the four whales, the show features what have become Smith's signature: small, soft dolls made of nylon, yarn and stuffing that resemble more pliable Jim Henson creations, or those multiculti Avenue Q puppets. These dolls will not teach any life lessons, or break out into Broadway songs. But that doesn't mean they don't have anything to say.

Smith walks around the upper floor of the two-level installation, pointing out who the dolls represent to him: "There's my studio mate; that one's this girl I met in Italy; that's the husband of a friend of mine. … Some are people I know, some I don't. Some are people I want to know," he says. "Who they are to me isn't exactly important." What is important is what the viewer sees, he says. And that would be miniature human beings in the most vulnerable of states: naked. "These dolls have insecurities," says Smith, who notes their flaws as if he didn't put them there: unibrows, varicose veins, "weird" pubic hair, pimply butts. It all started with a dream.

"I was making really bad paintings of people at the time. The people were always in awkward situations. I was really interested in Nan Goldin and capturing these raw moments." He pauses. "It was bad work," he says, laughing. "I was having trouble getting them to do the things I wanted them to do. A friend came into my studio, and said he had a dream that I was painting these same situations but with sock puppets. I was hesitant because it was his dream, his idea. But he said it was cool, because I was the one doing it in the dream, not him." It didn't take long for the dolls to leave the paintings and become tangible objects. "I have a short attention span so this allows me to do lots of different things," he says.

The dolls—he estimates he's made about 30—started to travel with Smith, who photographed them at landmarks and historic sites. "I've driven cross-country with them, taken them to St. Louis, a couple of them married in Reno. I went to Europe with them." That's when the dolls—well, mostly their unabashed nudity—got him in a bit of hot water.

In Rome working on his senior thesis in 2003, he was looking for inspiration. "My teacher was giving me a hard time for not pushing the envelope," he says. "So I went to St. Peter's with the dolls, and started setting them up." He got about five shots in before the Swiss Guard got to him and confiscated the dolls, but not before he passed off the film to a friend. "The charge was blasphemy, which is a felony in the Vatican state," says Smith, who was shuffled from the Vatican jail to an Italian jail and finally an international jail—all in one night and a day. Although backlogged, his case is still pending.

Kin of the confiscated dolls are now part of "Sweetness," whose narrative is intentionally dreamlike. Upstairs, dolls "recite" a mournful love poem, couplet by couplet, in comic-book speech bubbles: "My baby and I went out for a swim in the sea/ She told me she wanted to marry me/ As we floated along a big wave tumbled in/ And the last things I saw were her flippers and fin." Downstairs, more dolls surround the beached whales. Smith says their role is purposely left open for the viewer to consider: "Are they looking at the art? Are they part of the story?" Some interact with the whales, helping out; some just stand there. Mostly, though, it's the soft whales, with their heavy limbs, mottled flesh and sad, lifelike eyes that stay with you. On a nearby wall dozens of retreating (or are they approaching?) helicopters hover, their propellers blurry with speed, creating an ominous, almost warlike scene.

Look for Smith's work right now, too, at Delaware Center for the Contemporary Arts, and in April at Peng Gallery, where he'll hold a "funeral" for the lost Vatican dolls—he's making them out of dull gray panty hose.

Reception Fri., Feb. 3, 5-7 p.m. (also Fri., March 3, 5-7 p.m.), through March 18, Painted Bride Art Center, 230 Vine St., 215-925-9914. Smith will lead a free gallery tour on Fri., Feb. 17, 6:30 p.m.

Space 1026 unleashes "Caleb Neelon's Unrealistic Expectations," with the matter-of-fact tag, "an art installation about a boat." All aboard, then. Reception Fri., Feb. 3, 7-10 p.m., 1026 Arch St., 215-574-7630.

British artist Liz Rideal's stark photo-booth images of plants and flowers are on view at Gallery 339 in a show called "Above and Below Ground," and Rideal speaks today at 1 p.m at UArts. Reception Thu., Feb. 2, 6-8 p.m., through March 19, 339 S. 21st St., 215-731-1530.

Catherine Starr Gallery hosts Marcy Abhau's show "Behind Bars," which recalls Abhau's time tending bar at La Terrasse while in grad school and the cast of characters (real and exaggerated) that would come in. Her funny titles are alone worth the trip (i.e., Mother Theresa Asks for 4 Billion Glasses of Water to Take Out, which shows the diminutive nun at the foot of the bar). Reception Sun., Feb. 5, 4-7 p.m., through Feb. 28, 8401 Germantown Ave., 267-251-6493.