May 13-19, 2004
art
Go Figure
 Sidney Goodman, Two Self Portraits (2002-2003), 66 inches by 38 inches, oil on canvas.  |
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Seraphin Gallery explores the figurative tradition in Philadelphia and beyond.
As I sort through a toppling pile of accumulated press materials, I note a preponderance of summer exhibition cards depicting paintings of the human figure. Is this a resurgence of conservatism in response to our gradual national acceptance of a wartime mentality? Is it a cyclic cresting of Philly's legendary academic painting tradition -- perhaps linked in some mystic way to the 17-year cicada tsunami which will assault our eardrums this summer more intensely than ever before? Or is it my imagination?
No doubt the last guess is the correct one; however, my interest was piqued by "Masters and Mavericks" at Seraphin Gallery, which often features artists of the mid-20th century. I had not thought of Seraphin as a bastion of figurative art, yet Larry Rivers, represented in the current show by a pleasant, open figure composition, and Leon Golub, also showing a drawing, are favorites of gallery owner Tony Seraphin, who reminded me that he published the first book of Thomas Eakins' photographs, intimately linking Seraphin to the Pennsylvania Academy figurative.
Among the 34 artists in the show, Sidney Goodman stands out -- though not alone -- for quality and quantity. He's showing several studies. Among them, Figure with Caution Tape, a figure wrapped almost entirely in the distinctive yellow tape exemplifies one consistent strain of Goodman's work throughout his career, a conjunction of implied and static violence with representational and abstract rigor. A study of a Small Black Cloud, one of the minority of works in the show without a human figure, is marvelous. Goodman's recent large Two Self Portraits, in which a gesticulating, almost forbidding, contemporary self in the foreground overshadows a pensive child-self seated in the background, easily dominates one end of the gallery.
Seraphin's installation presents a sequence of effective juxtapositions which enhance the visitor's experience. A monumental charcoal self-portrait of the currently hot Susan Hauptman presents her self-analytic deadpan concentration above a carefully rendered lacy dress with a glitter-sprinkled corsage. In the foreground a dog turns from its baseball to eye us with hopeful sweetness. Vertically paired small paintings by Sandra Flood are linked to one another by a deep violet color. One work reiterates the dog motif on a violet ground. Above, in Five Months and Counting, a tired, pregnant woman droops in a violet kimono. Flood, who has several works in the show, has a deft, painterly way of depicting forms in light. Sharply edged shapes tend to be isolated against an artificially flat ground. They glow with a sweaty, frizzy-haired urban sheen and tasty color harmonies. Music and a frisson of feminist social commentary often creep into her work as subtexts.
The bare, rounded belly of Five Months is echoed in an adjacent large picture by Christian Vincent called Bump in the Night. Against a black background, a girl in a white nightgown is draped mysteriously but apparently comfortably over a massive pale cloth-covered mound. This type of ambiguous allegory is typical of much figurative painting of the last few decades. We can't be sure exactly what it means but it seems to mean more than meets the eye.
More overtly enigmatic and compelling is the late Gregory Gillespie's Mother with Pepper, a sfumato portrait augmented by the actions of miniature Hindu deities. Our lives are inhabited by forces, perhaps more idiosyncratic than we know.
A diptych and another work by Luis Borrero represent naked people in despair. I initially took the diptych to be Adam and Eve cast out from the garden of Eden; but, aside from their nudity, that interpretation is not especially encouraged by the paintings. They do seem to address an universal human condition of sorrow and loss, which is why the theme of expulsion from the garden has been popular over the centuries. Of course, loss is so much more palatable to onlookers when the losers are young and handsome, something artists also have known for centuries.
The word "figurative" can suggest any representation and though most works in this show are about human beings, some of the best pieces are exceptions. Although it contains the silhouettes of policemen, Cavin Jones' Deliver the Word is really a montage of destruction: a tornado, lightning, an emergency vehicle, a flaming urban vignette, an ecologically doomed frog -- all charged with ominous energy in this gallery of mostly serene images. Robert Cottingham's neighboring painting of signboards looks like a montage but is just a crisply composed bright urban scene. Alan Magee's trompe l'oeil representation of a pair of pairs of scissors on a gray panel is undeniably satisfying.
A few more among the many fine works to be enjoyed in this relatively small space include Paul Cadmus' color drawing of a male figure, John Morra's Vermeer-like study of an electric mixer and George Tooker's delicate Dark Angel. Maybe it's cicada madness but it seems like a fine time for figuration.
"Masters and Mavericks," through June 14, Seraphin Gallery, 1108 Pine St., 215-923-7000.
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