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by Margaret A. Skove
A multiplicity of feelings and references explode across the surface and are buried deep beneath the layers of paint, surfacing only when the interstices make it right, or stay significantly hidden when there is no way to connect the edges. There is no single message. Don't try to get it. The sheer density of allusions and compressed self-referential symbols interlocking each painting are codes for Richard Brown Lethem, not necessarily meant for narrative retrieval by the viewer.
Ambiguity is a value sought: on one hand reinforcing the complexity of human behavior; on the other hand complying with the artist's desire to be physically involved with the sensual qualities of fluid color, the gestural drawing of the brush, and the edges or limits of the canvas or paper surface. There is no closure or clarity -the narrative has no beginning or end, the recognizable symbols or human elements are value neutral. There is no hierarchy.
Trueblood Trips Up, 1985 [Plate 1], the earliest painting in this exhibit, can perhaps be deciphered as depicting a man, simultaneously running and wounded with feverish anger. His head faces right, his body twisted towards the viewer. Initially we see skeletal legs. He is running; his right leg high-stepping so that only the fibula bone between the knee and the ankle is visible. Then we see a second set of legs, clothed in blue-gray trousers. At first glance his left arm is raised in a sure-fire, roundhouse motion to hit, strike, punch -further scrutiny shows a second left arm, again skeletal', hanging oddly disjointed. Paintbrushes are falling. A set of angular steps begins or ends at his torso, the visceral center of his body. His face is striped. His eyes blindfolded. His mouth bloodied. The composition is diagonal, the figure extending off three edges, with the fourth corner edge a whirl of wind, energy. What are we, the viewer, to make of this? Are there two individuals in this painting, the background figure and the running foreground figure? Or just one human being, stripped of his societal garments, lost in the dynamics of blind fury, fear, or denial?
Are we trying to read too much into the painting, like a children's book where we examine each drawing component to put together the story? Instead of ciphering, it may be more productive told,11ove with the drawing strokes, the bold sweeps of color, and let the seemingly disjointed or the myriad of symbols become simply adjunct incidentals. Move your eyes, move your body, let go of your preconceptions and the urge to categorize and chunk information into boxes. Come to these works as if surfacing from that zero space gained after rising from a profoundly deep and dreamless sleep or meditation.
Lethem's paintings are his touchstones, not yours, but there are slipping glimpses of commonalties in his, yours, and my experiences that can be sensed. Where these intersections occur you will find an abundance of empathy, of conjoining. The vitality stems from many formalistic concerns, of which the power of restless energy, contradictions, disturbances, eruptions, and discontinuities is, perhaps, the most obvious. On one level you may be drawn to the paintings because of their forcefulness. On another level you may resist, wanting a more familiar, comforting and uncomplicated visual: which in these works you will not find.
Seeing Trueblood Trips Up from this perspective you will notice how the high-keyed orange red is in the upper left quadrant, an area of dense activity, clashing colors, confusion and ferocity. Drawing is second nature to Lethem as an act of creating. Lines enable figures and objects to emerge from the dense, multi-layered ground. Lines allow the sense of touch, in particular the artist's touch to become personal, a way of connecting, with primarily three lightly held fingers of the hand. Broad stroke brushwork is achieved with the whole hand, all five fingers and the palm of the hand wielding the brush handle; it is less individual, more general, less humanistic, and more atmospheric. From the frenzy of the upper left quadrant our heighten anxiety gains relief, or release, with the pale creamy white skeletal arms and legs thrusting downward to the lower right quadrant. The intersecting red-orange arc over the torso, an unfulfilled circle or an organic linkage, performs much as the paint drips from the upper femur of the left leg -both are forms of release, of stepping down the tension.
Is this painting disturbing? Yes. Is it far-fetched to think that we all have our moments of growling like bears, of wanting to take a bite out of something or someone? No. Look closely; you can hear the tumult of lashing out the cacophony of shrieking bass, clanging irrational cymbals, atonal white noise and heart pounding throbs.
Everyone believes some part of him or her is extremely fragile. With experience piled on experience we become increasingly aware of the dichotomy between our strengths and vulnerabilities. Adding to that schism, in a broader context, is cultural reaction to world events and declarations of right and wrong, greed and idealism, concepts of ethics, fairness and justice. Our individual differences, the accretion of losses and perceptions of missed opportunities build up around us, shift our views, and alter our public personas. An event happening at an early age can, over the years, take on a signifier for later experiences; become the catalyst for what is the continuing saga of the sad state of human interactions, for another person the instant springboard for unleashed trauma.
The painting Vera & Me, 1989 [PLATE 7] is a tremulous love song to the artist's sister. Her curving bell-shape or arc is embracing, relaxed, filled with acceptance, and the desire for all things good to come to the viewer. She's an active woman, as the jiggling, ecstatic squiggles of bright auburn hair reference. Leaning forward with a beatific expression and wide-open eyes, she is really listening. Really listening -how often does that happen? Her clasped hands under her chin form a closure. You the viewer are in that enclosure, so overwhelming that even the inexplicable; the anonymous bureaucratic squawking -as perhaps indicated by the boxy tower in the lower brilliant blue swathe -is ultimately triviaL It may be that the box-like forms denote an. aerial view of the home where the Lethem family lived, with Red Cloud that-a-way, and the Gifford home here, north of Republican City. Vera was so dear to Lethem that the artist had, perhaps, a hard time stopping, concluding this portrait, so he added small painted details to the frame. It's hard to stop communicating about someone who meant so much to you. Unlike the majority of Lethem's work, Vera is separated from the background; she stands out from the surroundings as a Byzantine icon witnessing her love, supporting his dreams.
With WRLV8 Salesman in a Cubist Landscape, 1997 [PLATE 14] there is a shift in color palette to predominately earthy golden-yellow, olive green and cool blue-gray colors. The bright flush in. the man's cheeks, as well as his bold profile and solidly seated body, indicate someone who takes his job seriously. With minimal gestural drawing the car is recognizable. Arcs -one for the tire, another the steering wheel, the coupe design of the car roof and windshield, and the bending leaves of the cornfield in the upper right corner -flow around and through the golden dusty air. This is a visual memory of Lethem's father, who traveled through his sales district, firm in his duties, as the vast prairie landscape. flows past. Lethem's calligraphic line is sure, strong. without superfluous flourish. Thickening at one juncture, for instance along the fedora's edge, thinning to a gauzy finish along the seatback, crisply angular at the suit jacket cuff, and softly oozing along the upper edges of the tire, Lethem visualizes the minimal necessities with maximum power. Letters come into play among a number of his paintings; here, V8 stands for a Ford V8 engine, his preferred car and WRL are his father's initials -Walter Roy Lethem. Lethem allows what is referred to as serendipitous accident, the essentially unplanned coincidence of a gorgeous passage of color to remain: for example, the lower center portion of the canvas where a soft blushing pink sits comfortably in a light ochre, pale shades of tannin, nudged here and there by new green, rusty brown and slate blue.
The use of the word "cubist" in the title is perhaps not easily comprehended by those not enmeshed in the art world. Cubism posited a physical structure -ultimately on a two-dimensional canvas surface, a grid -on which the figures and objects were splayed from all viewpoints. Perhaps the word simultaneity -many sides seen from a singular perspective -on a flat surface is another way to explain the concept of Cubism in early twentieth century. By the late 1940s, as American Abstract Expressionism was gaining ground as a validated modernist movement, eventually edging out European Surrealism, Cubism became seen as the historical linkage between early and mid- twentieth century stylistic shifts. As with the paintings by Willem de Kooning, Lethem employed a loose structure, without volumetric form, perspective or other painting methods to simulate the conditions of a three-dimensional World on a two-dimensional surface.
In the late 1990s Lethem burrowed deeper into the integration of figure and ground by loosening his drawing stroke, almost, but not quite, separating the meaning of the line from the figure. Wanting More Than the Island, 1998 [PLATE 15] and Mountain Woman, 1998 [PLATE 16] depict women, who appear to be in control, confident of their environment and paths chosen. Both paintings observe the Lethem tradition of a figure extending off the canvas surface, into air.
In Wanting More than the Island the horse's head and the woman's self-absorbed, unperturbed face, both highlighted with daubs of white, and her voluptuous upper torso, are densely laden with pigment and become the heart of the painting, with the shaft of white as a bold marker between the two, accenting the spark of empathy between the center of the painting and the sepulchral darkness, the mysterious surroundings. With the exception of the signature arc bisected by a horizontal shaft, the usual predominance of drawing is less obvious, layered over with successively applied pigment. It could be said that in the penumbra of the pigment the figures of the woman and the horse are barely visible: the viewer has to push aside the aquarial atmosphere and excavate the figures.
The woman in Mountain Woman is a massive column, filling the surface of thinly applied pigment and uncharacteristic in the use of open space and pale colors. The drawn edge is forceful, unapologetic in its rawness. Large areas of carpentry colors dominant the painting --tawny gray-browns of aged wood, yellowish-brown of unfinished wood, brackish-black mahogany, and the mottled ivory of old paper. Colors cross-cut to indicate multiple fabric layers, or a lack of affectation, or perhaps a symbiosis with a high altitude, sparse terrain. The simplicity of clothing in combination with a somber downward gaze -that ignores the viewer, indeed seems to be oblivious of all but the thoughts or task at hand -gives this solitary woman a surety, a steadfastness not commonly seen among individuals of either gender. Her deep-set eyes are penetrating. Her nose is mottled, like granite, cheekbones broad, and her chin dissolving into shadow. From her uplifted right arm to the relaxed left arm there is a sinuous flow.
Pit & Parade, 2003 [PLATE 18] has two primary images separated by ,virtue of their upper and lower canvas placement, as well as by repeated arcs that define the circular wrestling pit. Overall we connect both images to circus acts: a parade of performers, starring a dignified horse (a painted pony?), and a fight between two creatures, the attacker perhaps the personification of aggressive "fear" and the "underdog" perhaps the desire for love, harmony. The velocity of this all-over pandemonium of disorderly images is emphasized by the clash of primary colors, the blood-red pigment dripping down into the cerulean blue on the right side, and the lashing brushstrokes. In this painting the plethora of elliptical lines do not ameliorate the aggressively violent tone. The wrestlers are pummeling, pulverizing, and baring their teeth; looking more like animals than humans, their battle is waged with great ferocity and hellish noise. The sounds felt by this painting are deafening: the standard calliope music overwhelmed by grunting, growling humans, roars from the crowd egging on the wrestling protagonists, and parade music -which is usually energizing and stately, but in this painting seemingly raucous and self-important. No human or animal looks at the artist or viewer; each is locked in his or her own ritual of performance.
The activity in both the pit and the parade is electric, dangerous. A sketched person, with a slashing red streak through his or her face follows the lead of the horse. A tiger (puma or lion?) leaps as if a pale shadow above the horse, a person or creature, also with a blindfold or mask, strides in the upper left quadrant, near the horse's head a black stocking leg appears, and balloon shapes cover the upper right quadrant. Quick dark vertical strokes (cages?) emphasize the lack of choice by the performers. Is this an autobiographical memory of a circus or a metaphor juxtaposing the superficial parading of the exterior persona, while the interior ego rages?
A circus holds out the possibility of close-encounter, voyeuristic adventures, death defying acts of control, and a smidgeon of laughter (at or with the clowns) and a pinch of fairy-tale glamour (the beautiful girl riding bareback). The sensory stimulation of a circus is usually overwhelming. If we could record all the stimuli encountered, our memory would be bedlam, so we select and filter. Lethem has recorded a horse, a comforting and peaceful symbol familiar in many of his works, including in this exhibit PLATE 16 and PLATE 20, surrounded by chaos. The circular nature of the painting, the way the eye is lead by either the horse's head or the interlocked wrestlers seems never ending. We will always sit on the edge of our seat.
The recumbent bareback rider in Confessions if a Trick Rider, 2004 [PLATE 19] looks directly at the artist/viewer, as does the horse. Runic marks from the English language -some print, others script, some one color, others two colors -augment the "reading" of the painting. Beginning from the top left, the text states
My Chimeras inflate the TENT
He hates the Ring, my horse
our TRICK is transparent
ARTifice & MUSIC (LIKE DEATH) LAY -ALL things BARE
I ride a cruel horse named POWER
Chimeras are magic objects whose meaning and adjunct power only the believer, the artist in this instance, knows. As a potent fantasy symbol, a chimera is something held within an individual's private lexicon. The horse, embraced by the woman, could be construed as a symbol of freedom and escape -transporting desire. Small pansy flowers, strawberries, and vine leaves are strewn in the lower and upper cent(er. The female figure echoes the contours of the horse: her right leg a repetition of the horse's front right leg. Our eyes are led into the pictorial surface by the close proximity of the horse's head and the woman's face. The protectiveness is palpable: she is pressed against the horse like a curtain on a window -the window of one individual's chimera.
Stylistically Lethem skirts every modern category, while brushing up against almost all-most obviously German Expressionism, Cubism, and Bay Area Abstract Figuration. Early twentieth century German Expression portrayed life with bold, raw color and form, without regard to volume or classical ideals of hierarchy among living creatures. Roughly during the same period, Cubism set-up a structure or grid on a two-dimens~ional surface on which the splayed figure or object could be seen from more than one viewpoint, literally shattering the idea of one perspective and the concept of one "best" point-of-view, and then introducing the concept of multiplicity. During the 1950s Bay Area [California] Figuration took the all-over surface of New York School of Abstract Expressionism and incorporated the figure literally into the ground -a hallmark of both Bonnard's and Vuillard's work in the early 20th century. While these and other twentieth century styles often rattled the porcelain teacups of connoisseurs that was hardly the point or the concern of artists. Perhaps so much the better that the works of art did upset the stasis implicit in "the establishment." Validation and market-forces are generally not the gods of artists. Personal belief, obsession, compulsion, and the desire to make visible what is generally unseen is a loosely defined goal.
Richard Brown Lethem's paintings call to mind Frank Auerbach's jostling figurative works, where recognitions that flare into knowing, lucidity, and understanding are just as quick to be snuffed out in an instant, replaced by another sensory and sensual experience. Disparate pieces of evidence, ideas, and emotions create a semi-formulated hypothesis, with the hint of reticence, and contrasts born of tradition-laden differences. To know and then to cease to know seems apt for our period of historical time. The sinuous line, the meandering river patterns as characterized by Lethem, underscore the transient nature of our mutability, the world's ceaseless political shifting and posturing.
Figure and ground are merged, knitted or seamed by the interjection of an object or symbol. The paintings, in this and other ways, embo.dy the quintessence of a montage. The ground -or background as art historians and studio artists more commonly refer to the surrounding space -melts into and through recognizable objects, changing the objects aspects and the viewer's feelings regarding the objects, in much the same way sociologists and behavioral psychologists in the mid-twentieth century deemed family and neighborhood environments to affect the choices and outcomes of children.
These works are an interior monologue. Human vulnerability, fragility -to be tender, having the capacity to be affected, harmed or simply to place you [or himself] at risk is the task Lethem has set to visualize. His paintings call to my mind the sentence "My sleep was filled with restless dreams." Like dreams, the paintings are not fully comprehended by the viewer, but they are completely articulated and honestly felt by Lethem. Everything we do is embedded in time and as time moves, so does our more finely honed points of view. The relationship of an artist, a musician, a dancer, an actor, a writer to their work is exacting, consuming, and as a result largely elusive to categorization or definition. Writing about the work of an artist of Lethem's vision is an edgy endeavor.
Margaret A. Skove
Director
Blanden Memorial Art Museum
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