NINE opening

(photo by Alex Ebstein)


Last night's opening of "NINE," showcasing work by AU's first year MFA students was well-attended.

If you missed it, you missed out on some awesome krab dip, sweet ASICS, and of course, ART JUMPING!!!!

(photo by Alex Ebstein)

(photo by Alex Ebstein)



Luckily, you can still see the terrific art. "NINE" will be up until Tuesday, so be sure to check it out.

"Proximity," our MFA Thesis Exhibition will open Friday, April 18th, from 6-9 pm. Mark your calendars!

To read more about "NINE" and for more awesome images of the opening, check out ArtCade Forum and There Were Ten Tigers.

Friday Night!!!

"NINE"
First year MFA candidates present new work.

Opening reception Friday, April 11th, 7-9 pm

Josh Baptista
Kate Gartrell
Nikki Painter
Igor Pasternak
Allison Reimus
Katherine Sable
Bonner Sale
Lana Stephens
Zac Willis

Work will be exhibited April 10th- 16th in the Katzen Arts Center.

For museum hours and information, please click here.

We hope to see you there!

Personal Landscapes: A Talk Featuring Talia Keinan

By Lana Stephens


On Friday, March 28, I attended an artist talk featuring Israeli artist, Talia Keinan. The artist presentation and brief lecture poignantly elucidated the goals and directives of the upcoming exhibition, “Personal Landscapes,” at the Katzen Art Center. “Personal Landscapes” (April 1 – May 18) will feature the work of fifteen emerging Israeli artists that through their work represent the present physical, emotional, and intellectual conditions of modern day Israel. During the talk, audience members were informed that the exhibition coincides with the 60th anniversary of the founding of the state of Israel. Exhibition collaborators include the Center for Israel Studies, the Naomi and Nehemiah Cohen Foundation, and the American University Museum. American University Museum curator, Jack Rasmussen, in conjunction with Dalia Levin and Russell Stone, traveled to Israel to become more familiar with the burgeoning art scene and in the process brought back with them extraordinary young talent.

Israeli born artist Talia Keinan lives and works in the bustling city of Tel Aviv. Keinan received her M.F.A. in 2005 from Bezalel Academy for Art and Design, located in her home town. She has a long and hearty list of solo and group exhibitions, not to mention quite a few substantial awards under her belt. Keinan has the kind of resume that makes you guess she’s much older and wiser than her thirty years of age. All credentials aside, Keinan’s work and presentation was incredibly engaging, and I felt privileged to hear what this artist, who lives and works across the globe, had to say about art.

Talia presented what can only be described as an organic body of work. She combines drawing, sound, projected video, and light to form a sort of tapestry. Her installations envelop the gallery space and even transcend the borders of dry wall to incorporate the temporal passing of day via sunlight. An example of the artist’s weaving of personal and imagined events is her installation titled “Walking Distance,” exhibited at Noga Gallery of Contemporary Art in Tel Aviv. A drawing of a landscape done in pencil on black gouache hangs on the back wall of the gallery space. The sound of a car’s engine escalates as the headlights illuminate the monochromatic drawing. The light and sound of the vehicle are synchronized so that they escalate simultaneously. The drawing, once seemingly passive, becomes active in that it serves as a definitive place for the imaginary car that is passing by. Nearby in the same space, a pool of light is projected onto the side of a wall. The “pool” forms a projected hole in the dark room of the gallery space, letting the light from the “outside” seep in. The projection is actually a recording of a public garden in Tel Aviv. Nearby still, fallen cups and saucers form a fountain that continuously flows despite their being left unattended. The fragmented elements come together to form a series of events that take place within “walking distance” of each other.

Talia Keinan, whose work I found fascinating on several different levels, experienced some mild difficulties in discussing her work on Friday. I feel communication was primarily hindered by language barriers. Though the artist was often able to articulate herself, she required the use of a translator throughout her talk (which of course is fine). I felt as though some of what the artist was trying to say was lost in translation, either by the translator or by audience members attempting to “fill in the blank” with their own assumptions about her work. I would have liked to hear more about content and historical influences as the presentation was primarily process and/or materials driven. Part of me wonders how much culture has to do with how one discusses or values art. I began to evaluate and re-evaluate how and why I discuss my work within the parameters that I, the institution, and Western culture have set. I encourage readers to attend this exhibition which I feel will ultimately broaden one’s personal and artistic horizons. I find myself increasingly challenging the doctrine under which my work is made and find that exposure to artists working within different cultural contexts can serve as a catalyst in that process.

ArtCade-Sponsored Crit Night at AU

Jeffry Cudlin spoke at AU's Crit Night (artworks by Lana Stephens, photo taken by Emily Cunetto)


By Nikki Painter

Sunday night, March 30th, six first and second year American University MFA students presented work for critique by fellow classmates, students from George Washington University, the Corcoran, and local artists.

Area artist, writer, critic, and Director of Exhibitions for the Arlington Arts Center Jeffry Cudlin also participated in the evening’s events, taking time to inform the audience about opportunities to exhibit at the AAC and some upcoming events. Cudlin mentioned that many of the proposals for shows received by the center were not from Baltimore and DC artists, and that this was something that puzzled him.

Critiques were timed to last about fifteen minutes, and the students whose work was being critiqued opened the discussion with introductory comments about his or her art.


Installation by Lauren Rice (photo taken by Alex Ebstein)

Questions asked several times during various critiques had to do with origins and inclusion of pictorial elements. Were AU artists considering their use of (socially and historically) content-laden imagery?

Other questions that arose during the evening:

What kind of research are we doing about our work? What are we reading? What other artists are we looking at?

What kind of relationship do we want viewers to have with our work? How does a viewer interact with our work?

How and why are we choosing our materials? Why draw instead of paint and vice versa? Why not use animation?

How do you know when it is finished? What “looks” finished?

How do you differentiate yourself from your contemporaries who may be working in a similar manner?

Overall, questions asked during critiques were incisive and addressed important issues AU students continue to grapple with.

“Thank you” to Jeffry Cudlin for taking time out of his busy schedule to hang out with us and talk about our work!

Thanks also to Rachel Fick and ArtCade for sponsoring and organizing our evening- check out ArtCade Forum for another account of the evening’s events.

AND be sure to read another response to the evening at There Were Ten Tigers.

Thank you to everyone who came out- there has been some really great dialog started as a result of Crit Nights, and we hope to continue to get to know our community.

“Degas to Diebenkorn: The Phillips Collects”

Richard Diebenkorn, "Ocean Park no. 54," oil on canvas, 1972

By Lana Stephens

I must admit, I had high expectations when I entered the Phillips Collection, located in D.C.’s Dupont Circle neighborhood, to view the advertised “Degas to Diebenkorn” exhibition. I was more than eager to enter the space allocated to history’s most well known and influential artists. Prepared to be inspired and transported, I began my journey through the “Phillips Collects.” Unfortunately, I hit a few roadblocks along the way.

Upon entering the exhibition I became immediately confused. I asked the security guard if I was in the right place and if this was indeed the beginning. She affirmed that it was. I was greeted by a large striking Diebenkorn painting titled “Ocean Park no.38.” Call me traditional, but I expected the exhibition to follow a historical timeline, given the title of the show. I was prepared for the exhibition to commence with Degas and culminate with Diebenkorn. Perhaps the title of the exhibition is not so literal. I put my confusion aside and drifted through the intimate rooms in the large Georgian revival home, once inhabited by founder Duncan Phillips.

The home is indeed impressive. The Phillips feels less like a cold institution than most museums I have visited, even down to the security guards who dress as they please and wear simple name tags. As I lingered in the rooms, I felt as though I could have been in the intimate quarters of a long lost friend, sifting through old photographs and keepsakes instead of admiring watershed works of art. The space lends itself to introspection, which for me, renders the experience of looking at art less academic and more meaningful.

The exhibition is introspective as well. It is titled “The Phillips Collects” after all, and takes the viewer less on a journey throughout history than on a tour through the museum’s archives. Large portions of the works chosen for display were selected not because they were turning points in history or catalysts for movements, but because they mark important events for the museum. For example, a text box informed me that a Vuillard pastel portrait is the first Vuillard drawing to enter the museum’s collection. Throughout the show viewers are offered interesting tidbits about artists and their relationships to the Phillips such as “The Phillips Collection was one of the first museums in the U.S. to host an exhibition of ....work.” The exhibition seems to glorify the museum more than the artists whose work is on display, which is actually an interesting concept.

The exhibition is essentially a celebration of newly acquired and gifted works of art, showcasing the breadth of the museum’s vast collection with over 100 new additions. Names such as Callibotte, Degas, Bonnard, Klee, Motherwell, Ansel Adams, Whistler, and Christenberry are only a few to grace the impressive roster. Don’t be misguided by the title of the exhibition however, only one Degas is on display despite the huge banners reading “From Degas to Diebenkorn.” The newly acquired Bonnard sketch is a breath of fresh air however, offering insight into how the artist built his paintings. The permanent collection hosts an impressive feat of Bonnard paintings, rendering the sketch a smart acquisition.

The exhibition could have been arranged more cohesively and in my opinion, should have followed some sort of historical timeline. Works were relationally arranged (i.e. very tactile colorful paintings in this room), which convoluted the exhibition. However, the acquisitions were impressive and I especially enjoyed the black and white photography featuring the work of Ansel Adams and Minor White. Overall, it’s an impressive collection and I suggest that individuals take advantage of not only viewing the current exhibition but taking a walk through the permanent collection as well.

“Chromophobia” at Meat Market Gallery

A Review of “Live to Tell” an exhibition featuring Lily DeSaussure and Graham Childs



By Lana Stephens

The Meat Markey gallery in Washington’s Dupont circle was busting at the seams on Friday night. The opening featured two exhibitions: “Live to Tell” by Lily DeSaussure and Graham Childs and “Naturing” by Sangbin Im and April Behnke. People navigated like rats through corridors and simulated rooms that seemed to both welcome and expel visitors.

I’m referring to an installation by DeSaussure and Childs. The white-washed interior within the gallery’s front room greets you as you enter the space. One must enter through a hanging door frame that places you in what appears to be a living room. The room is complete with crown molding and seven hanging windows, stripped bare of any curtains or blinds. The windows act as a barrier in place of actual walls from the rest of the gallery. An armature encloses the room forming a frame around invisible “open” walls. The room is decorated with household items and furniture. Dolphin figurines and frames adorn the shelves of a bookcase while a round dining room table inhabits the corner of the room. A deer head holds his perch high above, regally watching over the visitors that come and go, their skin tones and colorful jackets and scarves interrupting the stark whiteness of the room.

This is starting to sound a bit like a chapter I read from “Chromophobia,” where the author David Batchelor describes his experience of entering an entirely white home. He feels subordinate to the “aggressive” whiteness that seems insulted by his mere presence. I suppose there was a sort of aura to the installation room in the gallery, though I wish it were stronger. I felt odd being in the room, a bit out of place amongst the stark tranquility. I sucked in my breath when a gallery-goer spilled his beer on the floor of the room. His clumsiness was rendered obscene in the “pure” space.

I began coming up with stories in my head of how or why a room could end up like this. Perhaps the tenants fled, abandoning the now post-apocalyptic scene, smothered in white ash. The tea cups left on the table give it an eerie feeling, a feeling I wish was carried throughout the rest of the room. I wish there was white milk in the cups and white food on the table. I wish there were a blank newspaper folded on a chair. The white-washed plants are a nice touch however. The dolphin figurines bothered me though. There was something too generic about them. Maybe it’s because I hail from a tourist “beach” town where tacky sea life seems to invade every once respectable home. I suppose I wanted the white objects to be more personal so that the feeling of my intrusion was heightened to an uncomfortable state.



The room is not only an “environment,” it serves as an exhibition space from DeSaussure’s stitched drawings that hang, suspended in air on one side of the room. The pieces on display play a dual role; 1) decorating the domestic interior and 2) functioning as works of art that are for sale. Her work consists of multi-figural stitched compositions on paper. Lily uses embroidery floss in a painstaking process that it not only laborious, but requires quite a bit of skill, or craft. She stitches each mark, sometimes overlapping to create a more “worked,” layered surface. The compositions consist of what seems to be amiable past times between old friends and lovers. My only criticism of the three large stitched compositions is that they are not white on white. I realize white thread on white paper would be difficult to see, but the experience of being in a totally white room is also quite difficult. Call me biased, but I too, like the homeowners in Batchelor’s novel, am coming down with Chromophobia.


"Live to Tell" is on view at Meat Market Gallery until March 2nd.

Short stories, lasting impressions: A review of Paula Rego at the National Museum of Women in the Arts

Paula Rego, "Swallows the Poisoned Apple," 1995, pastel on paper


By Lana Stephens


The National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington D.C. is the first U.S. museum to host a retrospective exhibition of Paula Rego’s work. Born in 1935, Paula has led a rich and complex life that has often served as the inspiration for her work. Paula enrolled in London’s highly acclaimed Slade School of Art in the 1950s, when she was still painting in acrylic and oil. An accomplished printmaker and admirer of Francisco de Goya, Rego has always been an avid drawer.

Several pieces in the collective are accompanied by text, which, similar to her drawings, tells her life’s story and offers insight to her evocative, enigmatic work. I found myself wandering through the museum, stopping to read more about the larger than life drawings that confronted me at my every step. The exhibition is dynamic and carries the viewer chronologically through Rego’s life from a beginning art student to an internationally acclaimed artist. Though her paintings are rich in subject matter and just as controversial as her drawings and prints, Rego’s pastels are on another level altogether. The pastels sat heavy with me, demanding my attention and drawing me in.

The worked, hearty surfaces of Rego’s pastels tell the story of the artist’s hand. I’ve always loved drawings because each line is so apparent, on the surface, and completely unapologetic for its presence. Also unapologetic are the women’s figures that sit like solid masses on the paper. They give the paper weight and demand that you pay attention to them, whether you want to or not. Paula’s compositions feature robust women with muscular, dare I say stocky, limbs that climb into graceful ballerina poses in the series “Dance of the Ostriches.” The women’s bodies are real, earthbound, and not so easily swept away by a good stiff breeze. Their flesh is tangible, even slightly greasy to the touch, rendering it all the more “human.”

The female figures in Rego’s compositions often take on the role of young women or young girls while still maintaining a mature, all-knowing appearance. In “Swallows the Poison Apple,” a mature woman takes on the role of Snow White who has fallen over a couch in her last moments of struggle. Snow White, though moments from death, grips her dress to keep it from falling open. The woman’s face is not only mature, her actions signify that she knows we are watching her, and she thus acknowledges our presence. The pose also comments on the desperate predicament fairy tales place women in where youth, beauty, and chastity are essential for one’s survival.

Rego’s “Triptych” from 1998, renders the topic of abortion palpable. Rego was responding to the Portuguese government’s refusal to legalize abortion. Young school girls inhabit the uncomfortable, lonely rooms in these dark compositions. The text informs us that Rego chose to depict adult women as school children to make them seem more vulnerable and helpless in their situations. Though the figures don school uniforms, their faces appear mature and accusing as they gaze out at the viewer. One young girl buries her head into her pillow while writhing in pain. The other figures stare out whether lying on a bed or crouching over a bucket. Their pain is silent and their solitude apparent. The “Triptych” leaves one feeling weighted down with the issue that continues to face women across the globe.

Rego has received mixed responses to another controversial series titled “Dog Woman,” where women take on the attitudes and actions of dogs. The series is not about demeaning women or calling women “bitches” or championing subservience. The primary model is Rego’s close friend and nurse to her then ailing husband. The series is about the relationship that dogs have with people. They are extremely loyal, somewhat dependent, and loving. However, if you treat them badly they will curl back their gums and give you a good bite. Rego said the ordeal of losing her husband inspired the body of work. She was examining the relationship that wives have with their husbands. Both depend on each other greatly and when one is gone, it displaces the other quite a bit. Women can be both vulnerable and very strong and powerful at the same time, which the series poignantly illustrates.

Whether addressing the meanings of fairy tales, political issues or the intimate relationships between husbands and wives, Paula Rego’s work draws you in. This dynamic body of work takes you through the span of her life, informing you of the stories that inspired her and the tragedies that challenged her. The exhibition lays claim for only one complaint: it leaves you wanting more.

Everything Is Illuminated: A review of the National Museum of the American Indian

By Lana Stephens

The National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) in Washington DC is illuminated. I had not yet visited the museum located on the national mall before last week. Construction began on the museum in September of 1999, making it a fairly young addition to the Smithsonian institute. One might presume that the word "institute" or "institution" does not bode well with the American Indian population. I suppose the word itself sat heavily with me as I perused through the space allocated to the preservation of our nation’s first inhabitants.

Museums always have an “air” about them; cold, stale, uninviting, scientific, sterile. Shiny glass often keeps prying hands at bay. The NMAI arose through the collaborative efforts of Architectural firms (Jones and Jones) and the Native American Design Collaborative. The building has an Eastern orientation reflecting the solar calendar and worship of the Sun God. The bottom floor boasts an impressive “welcome hall” rotunda. The ceilings form a dome with an open center to let light in, again making reference to the sun. Light infiltrates the entire museum, whether it is sunlight, moonlight or even starlight.

As I walked up the curved stone staircases to reach the fourth and final floor, I noticed the metal guide rail was warm. Light tracts had been installed underneath the banisters to make them both visible and warm to the touch, thus less foreign and uninviting. The fourth floor is home to a star lit, lunar pathway that guides visitors around the rooms displaying ceremonial dress and artifacts. The starry ceiling stole my attention however, as I could not stop staring upward at the incandescent display. I remarked to a fellow visitor that it felt “magical.” Then I smacked myself. I had been lured and wooed by the architect’s bag of tricks. I recall more about the space and the feeling of the museum than any facts or figures I may have digested. It was all so…enticing, so welcoming. The curved walls, lack of any corners and muted “earth tones” made me feel at ease. I even felt warm and cozy with the snow raining down outside. Wait…what about the people?!

I watched a 13 minute movie presented by the museum to learn more about THE PEOPLE. The theater was round with inset benches. In the center was a tree-like structure onto which the film was projected. Everyone sat in a circle. There was no hierarchy to the seating. The film exhibited various aspects of tribal cultures. I did in fact learn that there are a multitude of tribes present in the United States. I was fascinated by the ceremonial songs and dances and the festivals that still take place every year. Just as I was taking it all in, the ceiling commanded my attention once again. I had just gotten over the glowing rock/orb in the middle of the theater when a forest encroached upon the scene. The domed ceiling had a forest full of greenery and wildlife projected onto it. “Ahh, ooh.” Magical. Wait, what did that woman in the film just say?

The NMAI captivated my attention. I’m just not sure it was in the right way. The architectural space is amazing and feels nothing like an ordinary “run of the mill ole museum”. It evokes a sense of openness and a presence of nature. Several American Indian tribes provided ideas and feedback in regard to the building of the space, and their influence is felt tremendously throughout the museum. However, I would have liked to have seen more artifacts from antiquity. The museum informs us that American Indians have inhabited the United States for thousands of years, yet most of the objects on display are from the 19th and 20th century. I would love to have learned more about what the artifacts and household objects on display were used for. Little information save for a tribe name and date was given. The collection the museum houses is absolutely massive; however, only a fraction of it is currently on display. Why is this? In addition, I would have enjoyed my visit much more without all of the glass dioramas. Display cases housed mannequins dressed in tribal costumes engaging in “everyday activities.” I felt that the act of “looking in” exoticized the American Indian people. The notion of “other” is something tribes have been continuously fighting against in life and in the arts. In addition to feeling guilty for watching the elaborately clothed mannequins, I in turn felt more like an outsider. And the museum felt more like an institution.

My experience visiting the museum was one of mixed emotions. Whereas I respect the integrity of the architecture, I am repelled by the lack of focus and presentation in the exhibitions. Though the architecture and usage of light are impressive, these things overshadow what the museum is truly about; the people.

“Claiming Space” Some American Feminist Originators at The Katzen Museum

American University


By Lana Stephens


A focus on Art and Politics


As I walked into the Katzen Museum I was immediately confronted by a diversity of intense color, rich content and material. As a whole, the show exudes a certain aura of femininity, strength and grandeur. The vast majority of works present in the show were executed using a larger than life scale that seems to both confront the viewer and demand attention, respect and contemplation. Above all, the pieces require that one reflect on the movement of feminism. The show is called “Claiming Space,” and that’s exactly what these massive works do among the white walls of the museum, institution, society, whatever.

My journey through the Katzen began with Faith Ringgold- a pioneer of the feminist and anti-racist movement. Born in 1930, Faith began a lifelong dedication of political activism against the evils of sexism and racism. “A large painting titled “Die” from the American People Series” completed in 1967 confronts the viewer as they enter the museum. Faith wanted to represent how she, an African American woman living in the U.S. during the civil rights movement felt about issues such as sexism, violence and racism in a time when only black men such as Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. were delivering speeches to the American public. Faith’s paintings, including “The Flag is Bleeding” from 1967 do not seem to be about any one culture within America but rather the collective of American Society. In “Die” both Black and White people murder and cower together. They kill and embrace each other in vivid color. The stylized schematic facial features seem reminiscent of Picasso’s Guernica while the dramatic poses and gestures seem more appropriate for a theatrical production. The piece is strangely moving as one notices that the women in the painting have neither knife nor gun –both of which are possessed by their male counterparts. The women simply have outreaching arms and open mouths as if to question the meaning of humanity in such a time that in history was not so long ago.

Faith was criticized for her paintings and even jailed for her depictions of the flag as in “The Flag is Bleeding.” She later set out to make African inspired artwork such as “The Slave Rape Series.” Faith remarked in a panel discussion that nobody liked her earlier work – that nobody would show it or buy it. The latter work shown in the museum came off as disingenuous. The face of the woman in turmoil seems cartoonish and mocking. Ringgold, though a poignant artist and enduring political activist seems at least in the 70s to have left her heart back in 1967.

Art and Politics serve as congenial companions in the work of May Stevens and Suzanne Lacy with Leslie Labowitz. May Steven’s portraits of “Big Daddy” such as “Top Man”1975 and “Big Daddy Paper Doll” 1970 focus on patriarchy and the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War. The “Big Daddy” figure is shown as a smug, fleshy elderly man in the company of his grotesque bull dog. In “Top man” Big Daddy sits amongst the heavens draped in the American Flag while wearing a halo in the outline of a solder’s helmet. On his throne he is in full support of war but far removed from its earthly destruction.

In Lacy and Labowitz’s documentation of the street performance “In Mourning and in Rage” L.A. 1977 women fight back against violence, sexual assault and their portrayal in the mass media. The artist’s intent was to critique the “sensationalized” media coverage of the “Hillside Strangler” case which consisted of repeated violent sex murders. The demonstration/performance seemed to go beyond the topic and reach the public on a much more universal level. Nine women draped in black cloth stood before a banner that read “Women Fight Back” A tenth figure draped in red stood for the rage of all women. The work of these two artists and activists is deeply moving. “In Mourning and in Rage” transcends temporal constraints reiterating its vitality in 2007 as the staggering numbers of cases of rape, sexual assault and violence against women in the U.S. and abroad seem to grow.

I’ve chosen to focus on the work of only a few artists present in the expansive show whose work was grounded in political activism during the feminist movement. The work of these women was empowering yet confronting. Why did I, a self proclaimed feminist, not know these women’s names prior to visiting the exhibition? I felt a need to be responsible as a young woman and as an artist in today’s society. Information offered on the walls of the museum inform us that the representation of women artists in museums and major collections is unexpectedly now in decline. I feel a sense of empowerment witnessing the successful collective efforts and strides made by the feminists in the show such as Faith Ringgold, Suzanne Lacy, May Stevens and the collective feminist publication “Heresies” in which nineteen or more female artists were involved in including Joyce Kozloff – another artist featured in the exhibition. The show “Claiming Space” brought about questions of why female representation in collections is now in decline and what we women of today’s generation can do about it. Perhaps it’s been just long enough for women to re-evaluate their position in the world and in the arts and as Lacy and Labowitz would put it, “Fight Back.”

Edward Hopper at The National Gallery of Art

LANA STEPHENS

Edward Hopper (1882-1967) was a rather prolific painter and draftsmen. The exhibition of Hopper’s life’s works at the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. unfolds with a series of etchings completed during the early years of the artist’s career. Hopper, who is primarily regarded as an oil painter and watercolorist, was actually a rather inclined printmaker.
The artist turned to etching around 1915 after returning to New York from several excursions in Europe where he became heavily influenced by the prints of Rembrandt and Goya. Etching proved economical and Hopper (who worked as a commercial illustrator) sought refuge in the medium. Prints such as “East Side Interior” 1922, and “Evening Wind” 1921 demonstrate the artist’s capability in successfully depicting light and shadow. In both etchings, the female is nude, her face obscured from view. “Night on the El Train” 1921 is a less successful print, but a far more successful narrative. An elusive couple converses quietly and covertly with each other, coupling in the deepest corner of the night train. For the first time one tries (though in vain) to conjure a narrative in an attempt to absolve the thick sexual tension present in the etching. In prints such as “Night Shadows” done during the same year, one is not nearly as concerned with the figures as they are the architecture.
Hopper’s paintings prior to his prints are far less successful than those created from the mid 1920s on. An example from 1908 is an oil painting titled “Railroad Train.” The painting is rather monochromatic, lacking contrast and value. It is thickly painted- an earnest attempt at oil, but poorly executed and “muddy.” His interest in technology and the landscape is however apparent at a rather early point in the artist’s career. The successful jump from drawing to painting was made through the vehicle of watercolor. The medium provided the perfect synthesis of drawing and painting. At last Hopper was able to refine his hand while training his eye to distinguish color and tone.
Hopper’s watercolors are some of the best I have seen. They are crisp and clean with a strong sense of clarity. Light and shadow dominate the paintings, though color is certainly not ignored. The color Hopper uses in his watercolor landscapes and depictions of architecture is rather true to life and limited in regard to the palette. It is far less indulged than the hearty jewel tones present in the artist’s mature work. In works such as ‘Houses of Squam Light, Gloucester” 1923 and “Light, Two Lights” 1927, the figures are absent and the architecture dominates. Hopper’s preoccupation with technology and construction in the landscape is prevalent in his watercolors as well as his oil paintings. Though Hopper maintained similar interests throughout his career, he never stopped learning or allowing the learning process to show though in his work. It is clear that his etchings influenced his watercolors (a medium that lends itself to drawing) and even more obvious that his watercolors strongly influenced his oil paintings which had previously faltered.
Instead of painting everything thickly and clumsily as in “Railroad Train” Hopper began using the canvas as a tool, much like the paper is used in watercolor. “Sunday” 1926 illustrates the artist’s new handling of the medium. Hopper uses his knife (or rag) to scrape the paint away from the surface of the painting where shadows lie and build impasto in areas of interest. The canvas bleeds through the dark windows of the storefront, illuminating them with “sunlight.” The figure is built with thicker, impasto paint. Once clumsy and unasserted, the artist now claims his tool and uses it to successfully build an environment while guiding the eye throughout the composition.
The mature work of the artist, including some of his most famous paintings “NightHawks”1942 and “Chop Suey” 1929 is more concerned with narrative and thematic interpretations. The theme “isolation” is prevalent throughout. The two women present in “Chop Suey” hardly converse or even look at one another, though they are positioned with such inclination. Sitting across from one another in a Chinese restaurant, the women appear isolated, the environment quiet and still (a far cry from the busy streets of New York). The paint in “NightHawks” is more successful than in previous works. The acidic yellow fluorescent light pervades the human forms who seem more like mannequins in a store front window than patrons at a diner. The glass window bends effortlessly around a city corner fusing the city streets and the restaurant interior seamlessly.
One finds themselves again searching for narrative in “Office at Night” 1940. The female secretary looks over her shoulder at the office manager reading over documents. The woman’s dress is fitted, showcasing her curvaceous form. The allusion of sexuality is also apparent in “Summertime” 1943 where a blonde haired woman wearing a sheer white dress stands at the base of a stoop. Seemingly innocuous at first glance, the sexualizing of women is rendered all the more insidious. Whether Hopper was commenting on societal structures, I do not know. It is evident however, that he was at least toying with the idea.
Though narrative is prevent in Hopper’s mature work, it is the palette I found most interesting. What makes his paintings so clear and decisive is the use of a very limited palette. I found that in any given painting, on average the artist used three or fewer colors. They were quite identifiable and hardly varied from their original form. “Morning Sun”1963 is Viridian, Ochre and Cadmium Red. “Sun in an Empty Room” from the same year is simply viridian and ochre. In his most successful paintings, Hopper uses at most four color choices. This was a logical and economical decision on behalf of the artist. Hopper’s use of a limited palette stems from his background as a draftsman whose only color choices were the black of the ink and the white of paper. It seems that when the artist employs the use of too many colors in his paintings they lose the quietness and stillness that has rendered them iconic. It is the decisive manner in which Hopper decides to depict form that is so ingenious and well thought. Hopper’s paintings and etchings have long been regarded as enigmatic, elusive, and covert. Narrative and theme are only alluded at. Perhaps what makes Hopper’s work so dynamic is not the theme or the narrative. Perhaps it’s just the paint.