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Joyce J. Scott isn't yet famous for being famous, but she's working on it.
Like Andy Warhol, who got more than his own requisite 15 minutes, she's an artist whose persona transcends her material creations.
Warhol loved celebrity, but he was conflicted: He hated making speeches. That's why he got a professional actor to portray himself on a 1967 college lecture tour (without notifying his hosts of the switch), claiming the audience would be just as pleased to believe they'd seen him.
Scott's fans would not be so easily fooled. Scott, from Baltimore, has always been part performance artist. Audiences, especially young ones, love her. She sings as part of her presentations, and she's good. Although she's been in Philadelphia a number of times, her talk at the Art Alliance in conjunction with the opening of her current exhibition at Snyderman Gallery was particularly memorable.
But Scott's best-known as a bead worker. She re-envisions the more humble jewelry form (still part of her repertoire) to build dynamic, expressive works incorporating many materials and found objects. She transcends the ephemera of adornment to talk about the body, its preciousness and its transitory nature; the way it has been objectified, worshiped and abused. She is especially focused on the commodification of black women.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter II (pictured, p. 28), the most imposing work at Snyderman, takes a tripod form to represent a topsy-turvy woman. Strands of saffron beads hang like an oversize tassel from her inverted head. At the apex of the tripod, the splayed triangulated figure's ripped-open genitals resemble an erupting volcano. Things spew from the torn womb: a tiny winged figure, a pineapple-like silhouette decorated with sparkly candy/jewel accents, hands and playing cards. One of these cards is labeled on both sides "joker." The card suits are hearts and spades — no coincidence with this politically savvy artist.
"Both Sides Now," the exhibition title, is similarly ambiguous — perhaps an allusion to Joni Mitchell's 1967 song of that title. Scott's double-sided joker hints that both sides are a kind of trick or illusion. In addition, the dichotomy between beauty and message is intrinsic to Scott's thinking. "Both Sides" could also reference the inside and outside of anything — including beads. The defining characteristic of a bead is a hollow center repeatedly penetrated by the bead worker. Viewers see the sides of the bead; the maker focuses on the emptiness.
Several relief works combine beads, mosaic and found elements. Calligraphic rounded open (female?) spaces contrast with straight, pointed wooden (male?) objects. It looks graceful and playful.
Scott's thinking is always political, social, religious and historical; two collages in this show represent John McCain and Barack Obama in religious settings.
Screen prints in the "Sexecution" series are the fruit of Scott's recent residency at the University of Florida. They combine a photograph of female pinup in a subservient and available posture with a photograph of a room and table used for lethal injections. These lack the richness of Scott's other work; the overly determined commentary falls a little flat.
Scott's art gains authority from her intimate understanding of her materials and from the energy she has expended on it. Freestanding pieces in the show incorporating heavy blown-glass vessels, some with glass beads melted into their surfaces, are strong.
In the small installation Ancestry/Progeny, a pair of manufactured white china figurines in 18th-century European dress turn toward a disembodied dark beaded head wearing a blue headdress. The body language of the figurines seems quizzical. The masklike face on the wall could be amused or sardonic. But it's all in the eye — and mind — of the beholder, isn't it?
Joyce J. Scott: Both Sides Now | Through Nov. 15, Snyderman-Works Galleries, 303 Cherry St., 215-238-9576, snyderman-works.com
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