August 28-September 3, 2003

art

Rio Grand

Don Burmeister, Holland Tunnel Vent (2001), 30 inches by 30 inches, C-print.

An exhibition about the American river often veers off course, but some impressive photography reels it back in.

by Robin Rice

The American landscape has fascinated armchair travelers since before Thomas Moranís posters of the Grand Canyon lured tourists onto westbound railroads. As for American rivers, well! The Hudson River School didnít acquire its name by accident, though its artists explored territories far from their spiritual touchstone.

This summer at the Philadelphia Art Alliance, "The American River," 21 two-dimensional works chosen by Amy Schlegel from a juried exhibition organized by the Great River Arts Institute, offers pleasing depictions of rivers of the Northeast, mid-Atlantic and Midwest. Although there are standout works, there is no sense of focus or mission in this exhibition beyond the subject matter.

Perhaps the show reflects the character of the entries. Certainly, Schlegel's selection accurately reflects the character of the entire exhibition, offering little that is challenging or innovative in terms of materials or techniques.

The painting by Stephen Hannock chosen as the cover for the catalog (which includes images from the whole exhibition) hints at the conservatism of the show, while promising a more thoughtful consideration of the history of American rivers than we actually find. An homage, The Oxbow, After Church, After Cole, Flooded (Flooded River for the Matriarchs E. and A. Mongan), is thoughtful in subject matter and approach. Hannock embellishes the familiar scene with well-observed details: reddish treetops touched by the light of the setting sun, bridges and twinkling automobile lights that punctuate a darkening evening prospect.

The majority of paintings and photographs at the PAA commemorate the natural beauties of the landscape, with occasional references to geometric indignities wrought by girdered bridges and power poles. There are some placid textural abstractions, like Susan Brearey's small diptych of soft blues and yellows, punctuated by the amusing silhouette of a swimming moose.

Ahren Ahrenholtz's large grid-based collage uniquely poses questions about waste and the environment. Puzzle-like squares of discarded brown paper confront the viewer with a refreshing materiality. Such familiar, reiterated trash might be found on any local riverbank. Formally beautiful, Ahrenholtz's work addresses contemporary complexities.

Art need not be admonitory, but the powerful, life-giving river, to my mind, demands a breadth of approaches. Why is there nothing here to compare with the complexity of human life on the Missouri River depicted over a century ago by George Caleb Bingham? Are we unable today to contemplate the reality of our populous environment? Ted Hendrickson's silver print, Flyfishing for Striped Bass #19, Niantic River, is one of two works in the show to include the human figure as a significant element: a static silhouette photographed from behind.

No doubt, the unpeopled character of "American River" is a lingering convention from earlier celebrations of "unconquered" wilderness. Similarly, in spite of a few expressive representations, such as David Brewster's angular storm picture, the preponderance of black-and-white or tonal works like Hendrickson's suggests pervasive nostalgia for a vanished, perhaps mythic, Eden.

Still, there is much to appreciate, especially among the photographers. Christopher Boas eulogizes the American sublime with fading mirrored vistas of the Delaware Gap. Paul Taylor is painterly in his use of a wet-plate negative to record reflections of massed trees. Don Burmeister's urban C-print, Holland Tunnel Vent, has a bronzy-gold monochrome glow. Black projecting pilings and the Doppler gleam of electric lights cast an oddly Venetian romanticism over Burmeister's industrial panorama, rare in this rural-oriented show.

In Steve Graber's drawing, Marlowe Field, a dense cottony cloud rests heavily upon a dark horizon rent by a gleaming silver thread. These strata are compressed by a weighty black expanse of sky. Tricia Rose Burt's agreeable collage journal page is all neutral tones, as is Gale Marks' fine ink sketch of reflected vegetation in siennas and whites.

I was disappointed to note that Diane Burko's three-panel folding screen of reflections in the Wissahickon was omitted from the local selection, though it's part of the larger version. Burko uses more color with more subtlety and gusto than most of the realist painters at the PAA.

Eric Aho perhaps borrows from Constable for his handsome rainy-sky effect over a smallish chunk of blue water and a wedge of golden field. Stanley Bielen's small oil sketch, Dawn, Schuylkill Valley, effectively utilizes a narrow palette of blues, grays and browns.

It's appropriate to compare this exhibition to the Ansel Adams centennial show at the Museum of Modern Art, Queens (through Nov. 3, 212-708-9400). Adams has been accused of romanticizing and idealizing. Descended from the Hudson River aesthetic, his vision of the pristine, mystically elegant wilderness permeates our American sense of who we are and what we see. When we look at nature, if we don't subconsciously seek what Adams saw, we consciously repudiate him and his ilk, searching out what they could not or would not see. Although one might complain that "The American River" suffers from a failure to maximize its premise, one can equally appreciate this show for the opportunities it allows us to critique our "American" vision.

The American River

Through Aug. 31, Philadelphia Art Alliance, 251 S. 18th St., 215-545-4302