Detroit has no shortage of talented
young artists, but it is rare to find exhibiting together
two of the species exploring the possibilities of the paint medium
and also assemblage; two women who combine old-school expressionist
painterliness with mature color choices, sophisticated mark-making,
and creative use of castoff materials. Ann Gordon and Jessica Erickson,
longtime friends, have just concluded showing together at MONA in
Pontiac. In both their individual work and their collaborations, they
represent the newest generation of Detroit artists spawned by the
legendary Cass Corridor movement of the 1970s, those artists known
for powerful interpretations of the chaotic urban environment, and
arguably for "art truly of Detroit." (Although I know of
no art critic, including the doyenne, Marsha Miro, who has been able
to make real sense of that description.)
This
show's special prizes resulted from Gordon and Erickson working closely
together on several pieces. According to Jef Bourgeau, MONA's director,
their work was so authentically collaborative that even their visiting
high school art teacher was unable to discern which of the women had
painted which parts of those pieces. Despite real differences in approaches
and temperaments, Gordon and Erickson so successfully melded their
styles they achieved something truly neither here nor there: an authentic
and unforced product, representative of their special personal relationship,
one which has matured along with their work, from years spent discussing
art together and sharing studio space.
Although I no doubt reveal my age along with my preference for old-time
expressive painting, I find much lauded contemporary practice unsatisfying
as fine art because it is unrevealing of the artist's hand and devoid
of psychological insight. To me, it's the difference between a long,
filling meal, and a few quick bites of sashimi: the best art is difficult
to digest, just as the best meals sometimes provoke lingering indigestion
and groans of pain from over-indulgence.
My
aging eyes also find it hard to believe that Gordon and Erickson haven't
been holed-up studying a discounted copy of the 2001 Gordon Newton
catalogue scored from the DIA's bookstore, or a dog-eared, 1980 exhibition
catalogue of the show, "Kick Out the Jams: Detroit's Cass Corridor,
1963-1977." It's eerie how in both their individual and collaborative
work I see strong reflections of the legacy of Detroit's most exalted
artistic era, the one made historic by former DIA director, Frederick
Cummings, as "Detroit's own avant-guard." I admit: it makes
me happy to consider transferring the mantle of smartest interpreters
of Detroit's urban grit from the manly (but aging) shoulders of Newton,
Bob Sestock, and Michael Luchs -- those legendary, hard-living exemplars
of artistic machismo and derringdo -- to the slim, youthful figures
of these well-mannered young women. (Yes: they're fresh-faced, sweet,
and cute, but their work doesn't trade on that, so forget about it!)
Ann
Gordon's paintings come in several sizes; the very small ones are
often hung together in big groups. All the paintings from her recent
series are the result, however, of her looking very intently at, and
reinterpreting in marvelous ways, a multitude of sites in Detroit.
She depicts the fabled dark atmosphere of the city in all its magnificent
dirty-and-disfigured splendor. Like the Corridor artists who came
before her, she has been inspired by our down-at-its-heels city. Those
of us also only too familiar with the landscape can recognize the
places: the bridges over I-75 marked with distinctive graffiti; the
beguilingly curvaceous parking structure connected to Cobo Hall; the
elegant under-structure of the Ambassador Bridge; the (once) futuristic
walkway-with-portholes from Fort Street over the Lodge to Joe Louis
Arena, and also mundane accoutrements of our common urban experience:
striped traffic barrels signaling construction, rows of trash cans
lining the alleys, swinging traffic lights, and the repetitive voids
of apartment and office building windows which, in Gordon's unique
interpretation, provide a lively geometric backdrop to lives led in
the city.
Gordon's paintings are out-of-the-ordinary not because of what
she paints, but because she does an ad hominem redecoration
of the city by assigning idiosyncratic color where none actually exists,
and by frenetically imposing multitudes of her signature, small fantasy-shapes,
in luscious, mouth-watering combinations of reds and pinks, and purples
and blues, over the representative landscape parts. She combines abstraction
with figuration: not leaving well enough alone, she frosts hard steel
frameworks with thick white paint, slashes skeins of strong black
lines against gloomy, gray skies, and scribbles bright messages in
a personal calligraphy, like an inspired child, to enliven her surfaces.
Lastly, she sprinkles everything liberally with animated decorative
marks, like hard candies dribbled festively by a mad pastry chef on
cupcake tops.
And they are noisy paintings! Although I was alone in the gallery,
I felt like plugging my ears against the cacophony. Some are arguably
too busy, probably due to her youthful enthusiasm, but even when one
has been dismissed as too full by half, it manages to pull one's attention
back in with some odd bit of whimsy. The plausibly readable density
of her work, because it's filled with energy and gestural strength,
is the reason I've made an otherwise audacious decision to liken Gordon's
oeuvre to Gordon Newton's. Because of her youth, her work is still
in an embryonic stage, but I imagine it will only get better and better,
like fine wine.
Newton
and his fellow Corridor artists, it must be noted, didn't paint literal
scenes of Detroit, even partially hidden, as in Gordon's work. Instead,
they typically evoked the aura not the actuality of the decaying urban
environment, using discarded detritus they fashioned into gritty,
powerful assemblages, sometimes painted. Jessica Erickson's work shows
the influence of iconic Corridor pieces in both her choice of materials,
the way she combines them into a whole, and in her application of
paint, often suggesting age and neglect. She cobbles together odd
pieces of plywood and moldings, old window-frames and whatnot, recycling
junk in much the way that Newton, Luchs, and Sestock did, although
not yet always with their sophistication. Not all her pieces have
an innate energy yet, or demonstrate a highly intellectual process,
but she skillfully augments her appropriated odds and ends with enigmatic
choices of color and very powerful drawing. Too, Erickson's fascination
with shapes that look like machine parts, cogs, or gears -- no doubt
because they ignite movement on the surface and suggest power -- is
right out of the Corridor playbook.
Erickson's work is more grounded in a plainly-stated material reality
and less lyrical than Gordon's; her relied upon shapes are more solidly
monumental, her work sparer, and more related to American organic
abstraction of '30's and '40s. Because the women's drawing styles
are similarly energetic, Erickson's difference is more apparent in
her paintings, as opposed to her assemblages, because they don't evoke
the Corridor era, but, reflect the aesthetic and color choices of
Arshile Gorky, for instance. Her signature use of acid greens is another
reminder of that era. However, Erickson's drawing style is much like
Gordon's; it has a willfulness, energy, and an emphatic rhythm that
is reminiscent of his. It can now begin to serve as a emissary of
the Detroit aesthetic.
Perhaps
their collaborative work is most akin to iconic Corridor work. Combining
their talents and styles, Gordon and Erickson produced (among others)
a fascinating painting, "Out of Reach." Done on a nasty
piece of plywood with multiple, intriguing imperfections -- holes
perforating the surface and emphasized by their energetic mark-making
-- it reads as an explosion in a shipyard that's had disastrous results:
the distorted silhouette of a corpse is outlined in white. The scary
background skies are colored the shade of dried-blood. Drips of gray
paint, and edgy, dark hatching marks - which look like the results
of a lie-detector test connected to this hypothetical homicide investigation
-- enliven the surface, as do green lines that read as a faint, embedded
barcode. (And while their fun with the holes in the plywood is amusing,
it's innocent; they didn't drunkenly shot into their piece with a
gun, as Luchs did.) In this postmodern narrative, they have left the
viewer an enigma to chew on: some nasty darkness on the edge of town.
All told, Gordon and Erickson have succeeded in reinterpreting Detroit's
own aesthetic with fresh, new eyes. I look forward to following their
futures.