Short month, short review...the Jodi Lightner Code...taking a fresh look at common scenes...go big or go home

Ok, February review time!  Apologies for the absence last month, but I was conducting interviews for my other site, The Print Perspective (have you checked it lately?)  Navigation in the crossroads was difficult in the aftermath of “Snowpocalypse”, with many of the sidewalks still buried up to a foot deep in snow.  As I expected, there wasn’t a whole lot going on, but I managed to find a couple shows worth talking about, so in honor of our shortest month, here is a short review…

Jodi Lightner at Arts Incubator – Best in Show

            Jodi Lightner’s show of drawings at Arts Incubator is one that aspiring young artists should see, because she puts on a workshop of effective painting and drawing techniques.  Her pieces are relatively large, with the smallest dimension being about three feet or so, and from a distance they don’t look like much.  Most of them contain soft blends of muted colors created by imprecise brush marks.  There are a few recognizable objects that are clearly seen, and also some rough indications of buildings and other structures worked into the images.  They appear to be a similar style to Duchamp’s “Nude Descending a Staircase,” which is interesting but not incredible.  However, the key to Lightner’s work that does make it incredible is the subtle details.  The moment of realization comes when you draw in close enough to see exactly how dense and rich the image is, and find that in fact there is a framework and structure holding the loose washes and strokes of paint together.

 

            Using subtle details to pull a piece together is not uncommon.  More often than not moving in closer to examine a piece will change how its appearance for the better, but Lightner uses subtlety in a very skillful way, so well that I had no expectation of finding anything new under closer inspection.  All of her drawings are on frosted mylar, a translucent film with a matte finish.  This surface gives the final image a very different appearance than if it were on paper, canvas, or wood.  It’s hard to describe exactly, but the mylar softens everything in the work.  All the materials seem to merge together even though there are obviously separate layers of paint and ink, and the mylar reflects the light and also allows the white wall behind it to show through in a way that gives the pieces a diffused haze effect. 

This, combined with the limited amount of paint the surface can accept allows all kinds of fine lines to tie the piece together, and exploring these environments is what makes Lightner’s work so exciting.  The line work provides a sense of completion to the loosely-brushed composition and it becomes apparent that there is actually a tightly unified structure to the pieces.  In one piece a grouping of pale horizontal streaks are revealed to be fragments of a staircase.  In another, what appear to be the support cables of a suspension bridge provide grounding to roughed in fragments of ornate interior architecture.  In all the pieces she is able to strike a perfect balance of activity and stillness, line and form, detail and ambiguity.

            For me, looking at Lightner’s work brings a haunting feeling of solitude.  She portrays things associated with dwellings, but there is no indication of any people in the work.  The fragmentary portrayal of these places seems to express an idea of abandonment, as if we are seeing these spaces as they crumble in disrepair.  Several of the buildings and places she portrays actually have indications of wear – in one piece a weathered looking shack sits stranded in the middle of the page, and the walkway in “Carrying on Like a Pendulum” is littered with pebbles and grime from disuse. 

            But considering the title of the latter piece, we could also consider the possibility that these pieces mean to express a passage of time.  In a world where change is constant, we strive to construct stable environments for ourselves.  The buildings we make are part of a struggle against change and unpredictability, and the contrast between the highly rendered areas of her work and the more ambiguous parts could support the conclusion that she’s expressing something about this part of our existence.  Also at play is a consideration of the larger idea of structure vs. chaos.  When analyzing situation that is thought to be chaotic, it is likely that the apparent randomness comes from inaccurately interpreting fragments of a complex pattern.  Such is the same with Lightner’s work.  At a glance there appear to be many parts placed more or less at random, when really they are pieces of a larger underlying structure.

            There are a number of ways that the work can be taken and all of them make sense.  But I think perhaps the best way to take them is just as an interesting visual journey.  The effects gained by the mylar give the pieces a dreamy feel,  and Lightner provides many good entry points into her works with a use of perspective and recognizable objects that lead the viewer into the environment.  These pieces are about feeling, not thinking, and they’re very good at what they do.

Jodi Lightner's website can be seen here.

Anna Zimmerman at Plenum Space

            Taking interesting photos this day in age is difficult because of how ingrained cameras have become in our lives.  It was only 15 or so years ago that taking a picture at least required the effort of taking film to be developed, and printing anything larger than a 4x6 required a decent amount of skill.  It was easier to appreciate a photograph then because even a picture of something relatively common was still just above the ‘I could do that’ bar.  Now just about everyone has a digital camera on them at all times and printing anything is as easy as emailing a file to Kinko’s.  Taking an impressive photo is all the more tricky now because there is no inherent value in it.  A photo these days needs some sort of gimmick or some real thought put into the content to avoid being brushed aside as ‘just another picture’, and it seems like Anna Zimmerman understands this. 



"Symbiosis of Lime and Lichen"



            Zimmerman’s show of color photographs at Plenum Space focused on finding interesting compositions in extreme close-ups of scenes and objects.  Because she zooms in so close, the viewer does not automatically think about what the objects in the picture are.  This opens up possibilities within the viewer’s mind.  They are no longer looking at a photograph of something in specific, but an abstract image.  And because the brain doesn’t automatically recognize anything it dwells on the details more, and we are able to appreciate the shapes and forms we see for what they are, not what we think they are.  It works best in “Symbiosis of Lime and Lichen” where the photo is filled with gradients of neutral colored specks.  It takes a few seconds to realize the shot is actually an extreme close-up view of a cement step, and even after this realization comes it is still possible to enjoy the photo as the non-representational gradations of neutral-colored it was first seen as. 

Knowing that it is a picture of a step does not take away anything from the image itself, and actually enhances it a bit by getting us thinking about paying more attention to detail in our daily lives.  If a simple cement step that we walk over so often can look so interesting from a certain perspective, how many hundreds of similar instances do we pass by without even noticing?

It is clear that seeing the image as abstract and shedding the mental labels we have for objects is an important part of achieving this effect, because her photos where the objects are more recognizable are not as strong.  It is not to say that there is nothing of interest in these photos.  A shot of an orange oak leaf trapped underneath is a nice vignette of a temporary moment in life that can be enjoyed and dwelled upon, but as a photo it is too easy to just see the objects – leaf, door – and move on.  Shots like these could benefit from the same vision seen in “Symbiosis of Lime and Lichen” that would frame the scene in a more unique way, making it more memorable. 

Zimmerman also had several photos of rocks, most of which could also benefit from being shown in a more abstract way.  But there was one in particular that caught my interest, where she incorporated collaged pieces of paper into the photo and drew patterns into them.  These additions created a nice push and pull in the space.  The piece as I saw it was a little raw, perhaps in the beginning stage of exploring this idea, but it looked like it had a lot of potential and I hope she chooses to pursue it in future works.

Barbara Grad at the Kemper Gallery

            The Kemper Gallery typically attracts some pretty high-end work, and I was disappointed to find their showing of paintings by Barbara Grad very bland.  Her showing of oil paintings had all the typical elements shared by a vast majority of oil paintings seen today.  They are large-ish works with most of the canvases remaining in a safe mid-range size, the color use is primarily bright and saturated, the brush strokes create vague abstract forms with some rooting in geometry, and there are various areas built more densely with brushstrokes while other areas are subdued with thin pale washes of paint.  All typical devices, and all used in a very safe manner. 

Grad's work is similar to the band Creed.  Creed uses all the tried and true devices in the history of rock music and combines them into a safe replication of what has already been done.  They don’t take a chance in any direction.  They stick to the bare basics of the rock music formula, resulting in a completely boring music group with no flair.    

Grad’s paintings are a very static mish-mash of shapes that offer no opportunity for the viewer to discern a rhyme or reason with what they are being presented.  The shapes and forms are very generalized, with no attempt at adding definition to them after they are first painted.  Even in areas where some level of interest can be found in the layers of lines stacked upon one another, they have no impact because they are floating stranded in the middle of the canvas.  If there was some grounding or visual space created for these parts of the paintings to exist in they wouldn’t look so awkward, but instead these attempts at building a structure are surrounded by undertreated canvas, as if she forgot to work the rest of the picture and quickly filled in the remaining space just to have something there. 

Her statement claims that the work was inspired by maps her son made detailing levels of video games and aerial topography images.  Knowing this, I could detect elements of each in the paintings.  There were unmistakable portions of map layouts from Nintendo games and references to topographical lines, but it doesn’t help the work make any more sense.  These inspirations are actually so hidden among the general “painting” that I wouldn’t have found them without help, so I think it’s fair to say that considering the meaning of these elements is unimportant to the work.

In an art show, all the pieces work together to form an overall impression.  Not every aspect of a theme or concept is going to be present in every work, so it is important that each piece has something to contribute.  In Grad’s show the large pieces have very small amounts of things that the viewer might find interesting.  Her smaller paintings could help support the larger works by providing small instances of insight into what is happening in the other pieces, but instead they are even more nondescript and generalized, offering very little to the viewer.  The smaller paintings are so simplistic they actually border on being decorative, like something you might see for sale in a catalog of office art. 

Overall, there is simply nothing in these paintings to distinguish themselves from anything else in the ocean of abstract paintings that exists today.  In order to be effective the paintings need to take a risk or depart from the standard formula of abstract oil painting in some way.  There needs to be something unexpected about the work, otherwise it will continue to be completely forgettable.  

No January Reviews

Unfortunately, I have to be out of town for this month's First Friday openings, so there will be no reviews.  But I do plan on being back in full effect for February, so check back then!  And also, don't forget to visit my other site, The Print Perspective, to read about new and interesting developments in the world of printmaking.  Happy new year!

-Matt Kuhlman

The zen of Rich Bowman...Steppenwolf II: the struggle between the individual and mass production continues...halfway is no good, it's all or nothing...don't go there, Sickman!...full circle at Krzyz...finding the 5th dimension at Bespoke

            Ah, November, soon to be December.  Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees and the recent chill in the air is a reminder of the long, cold winter that will soon be here.  November is even more difficult for a non-Republican in Kansas during an election year.  It seems that voting for any other party in this state is the definition of futility.  But what better way to escape thinking about the greed-driven Sam Brownback and his oncoming pseudo-theocracy than to get lost in some wonderful paintings?

BEST IN SHOW - Rich Bowman at the Blue Gallery

            One of Rich Bowman’s paintings was granted the cover of the Pitch’s Crossroads Exhibition Guide, and it proves my belief that art must be seen in person to appreciate it.  On the guide cover, his painting “Clinton County Rise” looks more or less like a standard landscape painting with the red rays of the setting sun glinting off the fields silhouetting the darkened forms of trees.  It is a well-photographed reproduction, but being less than 1/16^th the size of the actual work there is no way it could possibly capture how magnificent the painting is.

            Bowman’s paintings are the type you can get lost in, and there are several factors that contribute to this.  First is the size of his work.  The aforementioned painting measures 52” by 52”, and even it is modestly sized compared to some of his other paintings that have measurements no smaller than 6’ in either direction.  Even when the work itself is modestly sized, he still fits in huge landscapes using panoramic views and scaling the scenes down appropriately. 

            It is important when painting any scenes this large is including the right amount of detail.  The most common tendency is to simplify everything because it’s quicker, but if the whole painting is overly simplified then it offers the viewer nothing more than what can be seen in a quick glance.  On the other hand, if too much attention to detail is given to the entire painting it can become overwhelming, leaving the viewer without any distinct focal points and unsure of where they should be looking.  Bowman is able to repeatedly find the perfect balance between scale and detail in his paintings, giving the viewer a potentially long visual journey.  The more sparse areas are still interesting enough to examine, but they are not so loaded with information as to distract from the busier highlights.

            I call his paintings landscapes, but it is the sky that actually dominates most of his compositions.  Large cloud formations are captured under dynamic lighting situations, and in the mixes of clouds and empty sky he creates a wealth of subtle detail that is accented with areas of intensely painted information.  His painting “Scottsdale Eve” is an excellent example of his skillful use of subtlety.  A majority of the painting is a muted gray haze and empty sky, but he instills a richness in these areas with soft gradations of color that create a believable environment for the highlighted feature of the cloud formation to exist in.  Looking at his paintings is equal to the sensation of looking at a breathtaking sunset in real life.

            The key element that ties all of Bowman’s paintings together is his understanding of light.  The brilliant dashes of highlights that show the path of the light as it cuts through the scenes are perfect.  It is as if he’s not actually painting the scenes themselves, but they are only a framework for him to carry the light through.  Even in his painting “Rolling Along” where there is not a strong light source, it is the atmospheric glow of the sun’s light diffusing on a cloudy day that elevates to being more than a typical landscape scene.  There were only two paintings in the show that used a more typical overhead light source, and indeed they didn’t really compare to the other works with fiery streaks of orange on the horizon or glowing orbs of clouds seen in the final moments of the day.

            Sunrises and sunsets are two of the most beautiful things that can be seen on a daily basis.  The sights and colors that can be seen during these times are unique and fleeting, disappearing right before our eyes.  Bowman is able to capture snapshots of these scenes that accurately capture the power and wonder behind them by doing this using paint instead of a camera, where the artistic understanding and appreciation of these scenes can show through.  I recommend seeing these paintings in person to understand the full scope of his work, but his works are also available on his website here.

Jim Hesse at the Leedy-Voulkos

            Jim Hesse’s work at the Leedy-Voulkos projects an impression of him being a very unique character.  From his assemblages of found materials, mostly old metal components from unknown origins, I imagine Hesse as an elderly man in the country with a white beard, trucker cap, flannel shirt, and overalls.  Either that or he obtained all these materials from someone who looks like that, because typically the only place to find a lot of materials like these is in a scrap heap on a farm.

            Most of the work on display are grids of metal scraps that have been patched together with rivets.  Some of the scraps have designs on them, some are chunks of old license plates, but most of them are unrecognizable pieces of metal.  In a few places metal objects such as house address numbers are fixed into the surface.  Most of the plain pieces of metal have splotches of paint on them, but it’s not obvious if this paint was applied by the artist or if it is from the metal’s original use. 

            Looking at one of these metal works individually is pretty interesting.  The viewer is forced to think about the components of the assemblage abstractly, and once this happens there is plenty to inspect.  There are several hundred rivets holding the patchwork pattern together, and all of the small dings and imperfections in the metal become part of a collage that tells a story about the history of the materials.  Even if a piece of the assemblage is recognizable as an object, it doesn’t stand out.  Presenting the materials in this way makes the viewer consider the physicality of the work, which ascribes a new meaning to the otherwise random collection of metal.  It is like a story quilt, one that tells a tale about a rural industrial/agricultural way of life that is disappearing and being replaced by the sleek, the shiny, and the new.

            The trouble is that there is not only one of these assemblages in the show.  There are about ten of these works, all very similarly constructed.  It is like seeing the same piece reconstructed multiple times, which causes the viewer’s mind to drift back out of looking abstractly at the materials.  They want to see something unique in each artwork, and when the pieces are very similar they begin to think in terms of what it is actually made out of, and it loses its magic.  Once you start thinking in terms of labels – I see a license plate, part of a sign, rivets, a tin ceiling tile, part of a car fender, etc. – the piece becomes no more interesting than those objects are by themselves.  On one grid he creates some relief forms by raising parts of the surface, but it’s not enough of an addition to make it interesting.  Another piece features some of the metal scraps arranged more freehandedly on a mostly plain metal surface.  This is a step closer to successfully reworking the materials with some variety, but in the context of the rest of the show it isn’t enough.  When viewed together, each piece goes from being a story quilt back to a pile of metal. 

            The pieces in the other portion of Hesse’s show, a collection of quirky birdhouse structures also made from found materials, have no problems competing with each other.  The origin of the materials does not come to mind because it is taking in the new structure that was created out of them.  Each one is constructed to hold a different sized bird egg, and while some might consider them more folk art than fine art, they are very nice structures to look at.  There are so many differences in how each one is constructed, each one retains a very distinct character, and draws you into thinking about the object and its purpose rather than what it’s made of.

Diane Boone at Studio b

            Apparently Studio b is the place to be if you’re a fauvist painter.  In September I reviewed Anne Garney’s paintings there, and this month is Diane Boone, a painter who works much more closely to the style of Matisse than the previous show.  Unfortunately, I’m pretty lukewarm on Matisse.  I just can’t appreciate some of his works from my modern perspective, but he also has some other work that I can enjoy.  Like Matisse, Boone has some parts of her work that I respond well to, and some parts that I don’t. 

            The first thing I notice when looking at the work is the very active brushstrokes.  She uses very large brushes to quickly block out shapes in the composition, and true to the fauvist style does it using very saturated color mixtures.  On a few of her paintings she goes on to define these areas with outlines and developing more of a definite structure throughout the piece.  These were the ones that I respond to better because they have definition and feel complete.  But there are several pieces where the definition lacks, making the painting feel unresolved.

            Boone’s two paintings with houses in them show a contrast of the resolved and unresolved methods in her work.  In both of these paintings the house feels grounded.  It has a definite structure that we can easily understand.  They may not be exquisitely painted, but they’re believable.  But then the foreground consists of many formless, swirling, multicolored brush strokes that are harder to deal with.  The color choices seem random, and there is no detail work to give us a sense of space or form to the land that this house should be resting on.  It creates a lot of visual confusion by creating an unbelievable space for a believable object to exist in. 

            Among all the landscapes, some are better than others, but they are for the most part dominated by this sort of non-committed mark making.  The lack of definition gives them an unfinished look, and the raw colors bring to mind a child’s crayon drawings.   These are not bad qualities in and of themselves, but they are qualities that need to be well integrated into a piece to work, and most of the paintings don’t have the unity necessary to make it believable.

            In addition to the fauvist paintings there are a few purely abstract paintings are perhaps the most interesting part of the show.  Unlike her other work, abstract paintings don’t present the viewer with a space that is to be made sense of.  I did notice that Boone’s brushwork instilled a lot of motion into the work, which in the case of a landscape doesn’t help it become more believable, but is a great asset in an abstract painting where the artist needs to make the viewer’s eyes move using only the brush.  The abstract works seem to reference the natural scenes she’s dealing with in most of her work, but it is a better approach for her free-form, emotion driven style.

Linda Sickman at {:m gallery

            I have to admit I was driven to Linda Sickman’s show by an unbearable curiosity to see what exactly “Gourd Work” meant.  And quite literally, she makes artwork out of gourds.

            To be precise, she makes gourds into imitations of Native American pottery, which was actually pretty cool because the color and texture of the gourds makes it actually look like an old pot.  The pattern work is very intricate and well done, and while it’s no comparison to the actual pots of the southwest Native Americans, it is still pretty interesting.  I saw an exhibit of southwestern pots a few years ago and was floored by the intricate psychedelic designs they used.  Sickman’s gourds use parts of what I saw in those pots in a more simple patterned way.  When she uses animal images they strongly resemble traditional images, but in a slightly modernized way that avoids crossing over into being cheesy. 

            I do have some reservations about part of the show, which consists of several “Indian heads”.  I don’t have a problem with non-native people incorporating traditional imagery into their work.  Native art is wonderful and should be used as a source of inspiration for modern artists, but these works are borderline offensive.  They obviously aren’t meant to be so, but creating decorative caricatures of people from another culture just isn’t respectful.  It plays on old stereotypes that while not negative, shouldn’t be perpetuated, especially by a person not of that culture.

Todd Meyers at Krzyz Photo

            Krzyz Photo is a funny little space, I never know what to expect out of it.  I’ve seen some very good shows there, but then some months it is closed, and in September I went there only to find that there was no actual art show but several vendors selling various handmade items.  I’m not even sure how ‘Krzyz’ is pronounced.  But this month the space housed an interesting collection of mixed media works by Todd Meyers.

            Meyers’s work uses an old idea that I played around with in the past: spontaneity - specifically, the spontaneous mark-making ability of water.  He applies thin watercolor washes on heavy paper and allows the material to form different marks and features as it dries.  There doesn’t seem to be much reworking or layering the paint either, however it looks after one shot is how it looks.  What makes this effective is that there is also an element of control involved in the process.  He doesn’t just allow the water to go wherever it pleases, he masks off certain areas for it to run free, creating a contrast between spontaneity and control that is so universal it works almost every time. 

            In a few pieces he uses this technique to portray images of the land, linking the qualities of the medium to that of the land, both of them possessing a sense of order while still not being completely under control.  On these particular pieces, the land is farmland, which provides another framework of order.  It is not a wild land, it has had a will impressed upon it.  This is accentuated by precise technical lines inked over the image.  These lines highlight the imaginary geometrical ideals that we impose on the earth, and provide a good balance between control and lack thereof in the work.

            There is a strong presence of circles in the work and they enhance both the technical and organic aspects of the images.  The circle is the only geometric form that occurs naturally, and it is also loaded with symbolic meaning.  He uses circles that are very precise which complements the hard-edged technical lines in the work, and also uses cups to apply watercolors in a circle that then bleed.  These are still technically perfect circles, but under the influence of disorder referenced in the rest of the water media.  These circles, as is the nature of the circle, bring everything back around and unify the work, integrating the natural and geometric orders.

            It also ties in a third element I haven’t mentioned yet, which is the element of religion.  Several of the pieces clearly depict crosses in the composition, one of which has red circles that were allowed to drip all the way to the bottom, an obvious reference to the blood of the crucifixion.  I don’t really care for the straightforward nature of this piece, but I can appreciate the circle as representing the idea of god.  Emerson once wrote an essay about circles and said that god is a circle whose central point is everywhere, all encompassing.  The circle represents a connection between ideas of perfection and nature.  The circle represents eternity.  It is an amazing shape, and it makes Meyers’s art work very well.

Kevin Ritchie at Bespoke Salon

            Bespoke Salon is not too far off the beaten path in the Crossroads, but it is inconspicuous.  It is part of a row of buildings where the gallery guide says there are several venues showing, but in real life they just appear to be several different businesses.  But when I saw a gigantic painting of four women puking multi-colored streams onto a white tablecloth, there was no mistaking that there was something worth looking at, and I had to go in.

            Kevin Ritchie uses an insane hyper-realism in his paintings that is normally reserved for fantasy art.  I honestly can’t imagine how long these paintings took him with so much intense detail on so many large surfaces.  He paints so realistically it goes beyond realism.  It’s like looking into another dimension, which is good because his imagery is equally surreal. 

            His paintings place people in a stark contrast with the natural world, with just a bit of twisted humor.  Two children are shown close to grizzly bears, completely unaware of the potential danger in the situation.  They could just as easily appear in a family photo album.  A painting of two gorillas shows a litter of cats intermingling with leopards, a funny link that doesn’t often occur to people. 

            The painting that originally caught my attention is called “Beauty Knows No Pain”.  Is it just a coincidence that this painting was hung in a beauty salon?  Some may find the painting too confrontational, but that’s why I like it: it’s shocking.  It’s hard to look away if this painting is within sight.  Plus the women appear to be rather calm and casual in this scene, with one of them looking coyly up at the viewer as a stream of purple liquid oozes from her mouth.  It is surreal and unworldly, and it makes sense in the series of bizarre images with humans existing in opposition with the natural world.