Our bodies serve as our fragile interface with the world. It’s
how we manifest our intentions; it bears the scrutiny of ourselves and others; it’s
one important means by which we relate to and connect with one another. And it’s
also often a politically-charged battleground. The current show at Main Street
Arts, “The Human Figure,” takes all of this into consideration while
acknowledging the ages-old tradition of artwork devoted to the human form.
The national exhibition includes work by 27 artists from nine
states, selected by the show’s juror, MAG director Jonathan Binstock.
Through paintings, sculpture, prints, photography, and mixed media, the exhibit
represents our very human concerns with beauty, health, strength,
vulnerability, capacity, and personal expression from a diverse set of
perspectives.
Birmingham, Alabama-based artist Steven Romeo’s large-scale
photograph, “Ally,” is part of his “Beyond the Binary” series. This work is a
portrait of a nude person who presents traits that we assign to both masculine
and feminine identities. The figure seems biologically male, with sculpted
musculature that is highlighted by the precariously held pose while balancing
on one high-heeled foot. One arm extends downward to grip the other shoe’s
heel, holding the leg in a bent position that conceals genitalia. The figure
wears makeup and looks out at the viewer with an orchestrated balance of demure
and come-hither body language.
According to Romeo’s statement, this oeuvre is “an
exploration into the lives and bodies of genderqueer and gender non-conforming
individuals living in the United States.” Subtly, Romeo confronts the viewer
with the question of assigning a category to the subject: is it the viewer’s
right to assign an identity?
I’m grateful for the inclusion of Romeo’s work in the show.
“Ally” not only challenged me to wrestle with the constricting language and
assumptions that we take for granted, it also provided an unexpected lens for
viewing the rest of the show.
This new context wasn’t only about focusing on the gender
represented in each following artwork, and reassessing my reactions to identity
cues. There was that, but more generally speaking, I was jolted into a deeper
awareness of the ways, beyond sex and gender, that we automatically define
others, and the fact that any act of re-creating the real — in story and
artwork alike — leans heavily on using these taken-for-granted cues in order to
minimize a human subject into a digestible version of themselves. Our efforts
to understand, represent, and communicate are inherently limiting.
That sounds obvious, but we do it every day. Making
split-second judgements, packing people and situations into little categorical
boxes is how we move through the world, and in many ways that’s extremely
problematic.
For example, Kentucky-based artist Natasha Giles’s painting, “Famille,” features a group of brown-skinned children
accompanied by an adult in a boat that seems to materialize from a prismatic
ether as it approaches. More figures and the back of the boat fade into
penciled outlines and washes of color. Further back in space and just moments before,
the boat and its occupants did not exist to the viewer. And without context,
each viewer’s associations will define what they see — a family of refugees is
arriving in America, or the family is enjoying a day of fishing, or any number
of other possibilities.
The ambiguity in Giles’s work is intentional. In her
statement, she says that she pilfers source material from public images, removing
it from any context. “Many people are laying their private lives at the feet of
the masses for consumption,” she says in a provided statement. In her
paintings, Giles seeks to “imagine, investigate, and become a part of that
original moment.”
Before they are lassoed into categories, children exist in a
realm of endlessly refreshing possibility. Their newness makes them sensitive
in their navigation of the world’s rules and expectations. Massachusetts-based
artist Andrea Olmstead’s sculptural portrait of her young son, “Turtle,”
captures this vulnerability in the gentle curve of his back as he crouches on
the ground to play, and in his pensive, inward expression. A creamy monochrome
of milk paint covers the clay, and all indicates innocence or a blank slate —
except the clothing he wears.
Though there was no indication that the artist intended this
association, the turtle-shell pattern engraved into boy’s pants seemed to
allude to the hardened armor that society requires boys to don, denying them
the freedom to express their sensitivity.
Like those three, there are dozens of challenging,
thought-provoking works by talented artists selected for the exhibit. You can check
out the rest through July 1.
Upstairs from the main gallery, Honeoye Falls-based
sculptor Robin Whiteman has a solo show of her tiny, intricate artwork.
“Children of Illusion” includes 16 clay sculptures that hybridize humans with
animals, and animals with other animals, often merging myth with religious
iconography.
“This work is an ongoing exploration of consciousness,”
Whiteman says in her artist statement. “As humans we live in a world of
polarities. It seems to me as though these apparent opposites are growing more
extreme and vocal, whether coming from the natural environment, human culture,
or our inner mind states.”
“What is Possible” is a double-headed doe, with two sets of
springing front legs pulling the gentle, alert beast in opposite directions, an
equal and balanced eternal struggle. Suspended over a pile of antlers, the
vignette resembles a pyre or the aftermath of a particularly abundant hunt. And
in “Burden,” a double-doe bears the horn pile on her back.
“Pet” is one of many Whiteman works that explore dual
natures, expressed through the bust of a bear that terminates in the figure of
a woman, who is upside down and joined with the beast in the center. The woman
seems to consider her arms, which are truncated at the wrists, while above, the
bear’s be-clawed paws move to stroke the limp form of a rabbit and pig hybrid
in its arms.
The work is a labor of lovingly crafted forms that possess a blooming power. “Each piece becomes a meditation on how I can bring more
acceptance and love to the seeming divides within and around me,” Whiteman
says. “The diminutive size keeps the work personal, like a treasure or
talisman. Small and quiet, yet potent.”
This article appears in Jun 15-21, 2016.
