Showing posts with label Jan Van Eyck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jan Van Eyck. Show all posts

Monday, December 12, 2011

The Weight of 630 Years of Tradition

by Robert Boyd

In 1422, Jan van Eyck, the first great Flemish oil painter, started drawing a salary in the Hague as a painter. From then until the death of Rubens in 1640, Flemish painters were among the best, with Italian artists as their primary competition for greatest-in-the-world status. The tradition of Dutch painting continued through the late 17th and 18th centuries, but those painters are little known outside the Netherlands. The artists from the Dutch Invasion exhibit who spoke at Box 13 on Saturday nonetheless expressed the tradition of Dutch painting as a continuity--particularly painting education, which they implied was quite rigorous. It's hard to know from this show alone whether painting is particularly important within the context of contemporary Dutch art, but if they are at all representative of Dutch art, painting must be a strong current there.

I discussed the Box 13 exhibit in an earlier post. Last Thursday, the second half of the show opened in the Williams Tower gallery.

untitled
Christina Bittremieux, untitled, oil on canvas, 2007

Christina Bittrmieux spoke of her work's relationship with landscape. The images are apparently based on real places, even though in the process of being painted, they become quite abstract.One of her subjects is highway exchanges. I don't know if this is one of those piece, but it looks like it could be.

Monet Doppelganger
Hans de Bruijn, Monet/Doppelganger, oil on canvas, 2008

Hans de Bruijn seems to carry the weight of his painterly ancestors heaviest. He spoke, for example, of having fallen in love with Mark Rothko's paintings when he was 16 (he is 52 now). He said that ever since he was 17, he had wanted to see the Rothko Chapel, and having built it up in his mind for so many decades, he was disappointed. (A common reaction.) He said those big dark canvases didn't admit him, unlike other Rothko paintings which invite the viewer into the space Rothko has created. De Bruijn considers Rothko a kind of landscape painter--hence his portrait of Rothko on a beach. He then went over to the Cy Twombly gallery without such time-forged expectations and found it overwhelming. (Also a common reaction--Jim Woodring described a similar reaction when he saw them.)

Anatomy Lesson
Hans de Bruijn, The Anatomy Lesson (detail), oil on canvas, 2008

Looking at photos of the paintings taken from a distance, it's hard to see just how thick the impasto is on de Bruijn's painting. He really uses the gooey quality of paint as a substance in his paintings.


Anna Bolten
Anna Bolten

Anna Bolten is the youngest artist of the group. Her paintings are based on photos and usually combine more than one image in a single painting. Something I didn't really notice until she pointed it out is that many of the images are based on photos taken from moving cars or trains. That gives them a slightly blurred look, and they tend to be paired with images taken from a stationary position. The effect is subtle, but visible.

Demiak
Maarten Demmink, aka Demiak

Demiak's work at Williams Tower included some paintings. In my earlier review, I referred to his work as "painterly" (even though it is composed of photos of carefully created tableaux), and he confirmed that his origins as an artist was as a painter. He spoke of his teenage infatuation with the blues which evolved into a lifelong interest in the deep South (and Louisiana, especially). In fact, while his colleagues are making a pilgrimage to Marfa this week, he and his wife were heading off in the other direction to Lafayette and New Orleans. I mentioned to him that the cypress knees and trees in his photos were utterly gigantic compared to the real things. He didn't apologize--these photos weren't an attempt to create a documentary realism. His Louisiana was a fantastic land, a personal myth. I wonder if seeing the real Louisiana will change his work at all?


Share

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Maria Smits at Lawndale

Robert Boyd

I got a preview of this exhibit when I saw Maria Smits' life-size drawings at Mother Dog Studio during Artcrawl. But nothing prepared me for the gargantuan installation at Lawndale. The exhibit is called The Adoration of the Mystic Dog, and is based on the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb by Hubert and Jan van Eyck. Hubert began the alterpiece, and after he died, Jan finished it. Adoration was an early Renaissance masterpiece, but it still belongs to the medieval world--it was completed in 1432, decades before Columbus crossed the Atlantic, Luther defied the Catholic Church, or Copernicus published his heliocentric model of the solar system. (There was a great piece on the Ghent Alterpiece and the difficulties of preserving it in a recent New Yorker.)



Hubert van Eyck and Jan van Eyck, Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, paint on wood panels, 1432

Maria Smits stated purpose is to "question the importance of the role of Christian religion in our current culture," but what one will notice about her work is how 20th-century it feels. Specifically, how much like German expressionism her drawing seems.Her work doesn't exactly feel post-modern--at least the drawn component doesn't. (The sculptural part--well, you'll see.) It feels "modern" in the sense of "Modernism." And Modernism was in certain ways about challenging old beliefs and verities--and doing so without irony.



Maria Smits, The Alterpiece, charcoal and oil bar on paper, installation, 2010

To give you an idea of how large this is, I had to take the photo in three parts. There was no other way for me to capture the complete image. The figures of Adam and Eve have dog heads (as do the other figures in the work). The work looks dark and gloomy. This is in no way inconsistent with Christian art, particularly that from Northern Europe. But in Smits' case, she provides a simple symbolism for us:

Dog=God
White=Black
Shadow=Light
Night=Day

She spells this out in her artist's statement. In van Eyck's time, though, symbols in visual art were commonly known by viewers. Flemish and Dutch painting has an entire extra slayer of meaning that is not instantly perceived by modern viewers. Furthermore, contemporary artists, if they have symbols in their work, don't usually tell you the meanings--they expect you to figure it out (or not). But Smits seemingly wants you to be on the same footing as a 13th century churchgoer from Gent, who walked into the cathedral, saw the van Eycks' altarpiece, and easily read the symbols contained within.

The weird thing about it is the dog heads. I can't claim to understand the thinking here. The one thing that comes to mind is that "dog" is a palindrome of "god," but that seems a slender premise for such a large piece, especially when you include I think so I exist.



Maria Smits, I think so I exist, styrofoam, wood, 2010 

The title is a restatement of Decartes' famous humanist idea "cogito ergo sum." It was this kind of thinking that challenged the God-centered medieval universe that was painted by the Van Eycks. The sculpture, recognizably a dog, is monstrous though, both in size and form. It seems not like a cool Enlightenment repudiation of religion, but--again--a modernist scream of terror in a postmodernist form (an assemblage of wood, styrofoam, and plastic). The sculpture is simultaneously majestic and terrifying, a rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born.

But Smits dogs are not all terrifying or vicious. Maybe that is the point of using dogs. They are ambiguous. They can be wild, mad, dangerous, or they can be cute, loyal, lovable. The dogs in The Adoration of the Mystic Dog seem like the latter sort.



Maria Smits, The Adoration of the Mystic Dog, mixed media on wood, resin, 2010



Maria Smits, The Adoration of the Mystic Dog detail, mixed media on wood, resin, 2010

The prayer rails, by the way, are completely functional. I tried them out.



Maria Smits, The Adoration of the Mystic Dog detail, mixed media on wood, resin, 2010

So in the end, what is Smits' show all about? It's the kind of thing that could be used by demagogues to stir up anti-art passion, as we are currently seeing with the dreadful situation with the censored David Wojnarowicz video at The Smithsonian. The same people behind that could easily accuse  Smits of creating anti-Christian art, of engaging cheap blasphemy, épater le bourgeois. But that's not what is going on here. No one works this  hard for such a trivial result. So while I am having trouble intuiting Smits' meaning, I don't doubt that that meaning is worth stating because the means of stating it are complex and profound.