art
Sydney Yeager
'Sydney Yeager: Moving Parts'
'Rapture in Rupture' reflects our times
Truth Seeker
'A Cabinet of Drawings'
Austin Museum of Art Receives Donation in Honor of Mary McIntyre Malott


'Sydney Yeager: Moving Parts'
D Berman Gallery Through Dec. 13

By Robert Faires
Austin Chronicle
December 5, 2008

Picture a spectacular cannon-blast of confetti: The air comes alive with this dense cloud of shifting hues as thousands of tiny scraps of multicolored paper float and flutter, catching the light – a visual field that's active and festive and seductive, as well. That may be the best approximation I can offer of the feel of the new paintings by Sydney Yeager showing at D Berman Gallery. Canvas after canvas is tightly packed with bunches of small geometric figures that, while perfectly still, suggest motion – and not in the sensually curvy manner of the artist's previous work. The elongated swirls and loops of "Billow and Fold," Yeager's last show at D Berman, have been replaced by punchy little rectangles – sometimes skinny strips and sometimes chunky blocks – that abut and crowd and jostle one another like overheated atoms, that erupt in thick streams or fly in random, chaotic bursts. These are some busy little abstracts, charged with a different kind of kineticism than Yeager has evoked before. Using such small shapes as the base for the works, she's able to play around even more with color fields and layering, cramming more patches of complementary and contrasting shades into the canvas, packing in more places where shapes can meet and overlap, creating the illusion of greater depth in the image and of intense humming, vibrating activity.

Almost all the paintings share that sense of animation, and yet there's an intriguing degree of variety in the way it's expressed. The way Yeager plays with color here colors the mood of the motion in the various paintings. The dominance of black, white, and gray in Ordered Clarity, with its thick, curling clumps of cigarette-thin blocks, calls to mind the slow eddy of fog on a gloomy night. Under the Influence, on the other hand, with its voluptuous play of reds and roses, is the party girl of the exhibition, the one that arrives in a smart little crimson cocktail dress that no one can take his eyes off of; it's a work that dances. And next to it is a piece of sublime contrast, Local Innocence, whose soft spring greens and creams give off a calm, pastoral air, say, the gentle movement of a country breeze.

Admittedly, these descriptions take things a bit too far into the realm of the representational as far as interpretations go and may do a bit of a disservice to what are, after all, abstracts. It's just that Yeager's masterful manipulation of shapes and colors creates distinctively different kinds of energy in the various works. Perhaps it's best left said that there is an abundance in them to get your eye moving, and maybe that will spark some movement inside you, as well.

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Lauren Kelley, Wild Seed, stop-animation video, (still image)

'Rapture in Rupture' reflects our times
Big, frenzied, messy, fabulously full of contradictions and uncertainties -- the work of these four artists reflects our times.

By Jeanne Claire van Ryzin
Austin American-Statesman
Thursday, December 18, 2008

Big, frenzied, messy, fabulously full of contradictions and uncertainties - "Rapture in Rupture," on exhibit through Jan. 11 at Arthouse, couldn't be more indicative of the times in which we live.

Though composed of just 11 works by four emerging artists from around the world - Lauren Kelley, Shiri Mordechay, Mindy Shapero and Nicolau Vergueiro - "Rapture in Rupture" speaks volumes. We don't live in comfortable, predictable or well-defined times. And through wholly mesmerizing works, this quartet of artistic voices tells us so.

Nothing is pure in terms of material or form here. Dispense with the nomenclature of naming specific artworks a "painting" or a "sculpture." Everything in "Rapture in Rupture" blurs all heady distinctions.

Mordechay's massive untitled mixed-media on paper artwork sprawls more than 14 feet and spews string, hair and other found objects from its baroquely embellished surface. It's both alluring and repulsive, a richly detailed tableau demonstrating the darker side of human behavior (horrible acts of violence) that nevertheless seduces with the virtuosity of its complex composition. Its hideous acts writ large and beautiful, and so we cannot help but look.

Shapero's shape-shifting three-dimensional artworks collide abstraction with figuration, clunkiness with elegance, the literal with the illusory. Her poetic, dream-inspired title - "The infinite truths of flatterland (hugging air 'til it hurts and spinning out into other dimensions in between nights)" - results in funky, lopsided layers of thick rainbows of acrylic paint stacked atop one another with craft clay dividers. It's all fluxation and obsessiveness. After all, if you can't find any stability in this world, why not frantically create, or consume, instead?

Even Kelley's stop-animation digital video "Wild Seed" - with its handmade puppets and digitally heightened special effects - never settles into a solid idiom, lying somewhere between low-tech and high-tech. "Wild Seed" looks more like a public television children's film from the 1970s than a probing exploration of femininity and race. Kelley might stage her stories to look like fairy tales (in the case of "Wild Seed," it's funny-looking dolls in a fake topiary garden), but they are views of the harsh reality of discrimination.

But no one gets more topsy-turvy than Vergueiro. His fabric creations hang on the wall or sit on the floor. They require armatures for support or they stand independently. They are made of gaudy velvet, cheap metallic cloth, slick polyester. They're ripped or cut neatly; spray-painted or splotched with marker. They're beautiful; they're ugly. They're a mess.

But then our world is currently a mess - still lovely, but a mess.

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Fishing crews assemble early in the morning, ready to leave for the Mattanza, Sicily, Italy, 1991
Photo by Sebastião Salgado

Truth Seeker
Photographer Sebastião Salgado bears witness to the world in black and white

By Andrew Long
Austin Chronicle
Friday, December 19, 2008

Whenever an oppressive regime takes over a nation or state, one of the first acts of the coup leader is to round up the poets and silence their oppositional voices. Why? Because they are the songbirds, the reflecting pool, the eloquent truth seekers. We are lucky Sebastião Salgado is not dead. He is a poet with a camera, illuminating the truth for all to see in extraordinary images of black and white. Fortunately, he does not belong to any one nation. Instead, he is a rover who gets into a place when he needs to and gets out just in time. As can be seen in the exhibition "Workers: Sebastião Salgado" at the Austin Museum of Art – Downtown, the regimes he confronts are exploitation and globalization.

Originally trained as an economist, Salgado first began taking photographs in 1970 with a camera borrowed from his wife during an economic advisory trip across Africa. He viewed this as a chance encounter with photography. Three years later, he quit his profession and returned to Africa to document the increasing famine travesty there. For the next decade, he worked for various international magazines as a photojournalist. Wanting to tell a story with greater complexity than an immediate editorial deadline would allow, Salgado again abandoned what he knew and devoted himself primarily to project-based documentary work. Today Salgado is regarded as an activist and a documentary photography superstar, although he sees himself differently. He believes that without fate, he would still be back home in Brazil, working on his family's farm. "I don't feel I am an activist; it is a way of life." Salgado, the songbird, recognizes that the abilities to witness and to act are within everyone. His images allow viewers to confront their own feelings about a subject because he explores it with such a gripping intensity and thoroughness.

In addition to becoming a master and champion of documentary photography, Salgado pushed the boundaries of the form by creating aesthetically heightened images. Given the subject matter, his photographs are often perceived as being too beautiful. He has also enlarged the scope and length of the traditional documentary project to epic proportions by exploring and documenting a subject over several years.

Salgado not only crossed over into the art world but broke new ground in the ways in which projects were funded and images were presented by partnering with nongovernmental organizations such as Doctors Without Borders and UNICEF.

Photography as the agent of social or political change is largely a 20th century practice but has its roots in efforts such as the Glasgow Improvement Trust's commission of Thomas Annan to document the Scottish working-class slums in 1868 and Jacob Riis' series "How the Other Half Lives" 22 years later. Riis' images of New York City's immigrant poor moved then-head of the New York City Police board of commissioners and future President Theodore Roosevelt to initiate reformation of police-run poorhouses, perhaps the first time photography provoked a call to action.

As the Industrial Revolution provided new opportunities for exploitation, Lewis Hine's images of children toiling in sweatshops helped prompt Washington to draft sweeping child-labor laws.With a specific image in hand for all to see, no one could deny the truth.

Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, and former University of Texas professor Russell Lee were all part of America's largest governmental effort to record history when the Farm Security Administration hired noted photographers to document the effects of the Great Depression. Lange's image Migrant Mother is perhaps the most recognizable and defining image of this era. Today, Iris Davis, a resident of Austin, is the official printer for the Dorothea Lange Collection at the Oakland Museum and is often asked to make trips to California just to print this iconic image.

Austin currently has several high-caliber documentary photographers, including Donna De Cesare and Eli Reed of the UT Documentary Center and the Texas Center for Documentary Photography's Alan Pogue. Collectively, they have been on the front line documenting war, famine, refugees, racism, prison, and migrant farmworkers abuse. (Austin is also home to award-winning documentary filmmakers Paul Stekler and Hector Galán, whose work has been shown on PBS.)

The difference between a photojournalist and a documentary photographer is often confused. De Cesare defines it like this: "A photojournalist covers a crisis in Act I. The documentary photographer might also cover that but goes on to explore Act II and further – the aftermath, the what, the why." Pogue says: "As a photojournalist, your time is so limited. Normally, you have a couple of days or a week to cover an assignment. Magazines are only going to print three to four images, so you automatically self-edit as you go. By working on a project over a longer period of time, you can record all the seasons, all the parts, all the players in order to get to the truth."

Images reflect who we are in real time. The overused phrase "the camera does not lie" is repeated in mythic proportions. The stark images of Abu Ghraib make a solid case for such a statement. All moments are historical, although some events have greater significance than others. It is the job of the documentary photographer to parse this difference. When the camera's shutter fires at 1/500, it is recording a precise moment by opening and closing to let light in at one-five-hundredth of a second. It is unfathomable just how fast this is. The great French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson coined it the "decisive moment."

Today, the moving image has vastly replaced the fixed image. During the golden age of photojournalism after World War II, photographs ruled. Images such as the six soldiers raising the flag on Iwo Jima or Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald are seared in our memories, leaving us to fill in with our own imaginations what happened before and after those decisive moments. With the World Trade Center attacks in 2001, nothing was left to the imagination. One could not escape the graphic moving images of the planes crashing into the twin towers as documented by numerous personal and professional sources, shot from multiple angles, and replayed countless times. Our memories of this tragic event are remembered through several seconds of footage. The once powerful decisive moment was elongated and virtually eclipsed.

Salgado's work is so rewarding because we are able to navigate simultaneously his emotionally precise images and the body of work as a whole. The first allows us to stop and contemplate each moment. The second overwhelms us, moving us in time and providing an overarching theme and its humanitarian ramifications. "I want to provoke a discussion, to provoke a debate," Salgado has said. He is our truth seeker.

But truth can be a slippery concept, as history has proven. News publisher William Randolph Hearst fabricated events during the Spanish-American War, leading to the term "yellow journalism." Fast forward to Fox News' coverage of weapons of mass destruction during the buildup to the Iraq war. Some things don't change. "You have the responsibility to bear witness and to record truthfully. You are the front line of history, making a record that others in 50 years will go back to for context," De Cesare says.

How the photographer chooses to document an event can influence our perception of it, though. Use of a long focal-length lens will compress the space, seeming to bring parts of the image closer together. (Look at images of a football game in the newspaper, and players seem piled up on one another, even though in reality they are yards apart.) A wide-angle lens increases the subject's intensity, broadening the picture plane by pushing the background away and pulling the foreground close. The latter is a technique Salgado often uses to his advantage; he makes the subject larger than life, adding an emotional intensity and creating a comparative composition.

Where Cartier-Bresson photographed from an almost voyeuristic distance, placing the viewer on the outside, Salgado moves the viewer inside. His compositions are charged with concave lines, forced perspectives, and often employ triangular structures where your eye is determined to shift.

Although Salgado is rooted in documentary photography, the formal and visually charged images he creates generate discussions usually reserved for art world photographers. He activates the picture frame in such a way that one can't help but look. And isn't that the point? Look at these starving children; look at these exploited workers; look at this injustice. More importantly, the viewer becomes an active participant, which leads to awareness, which, in turn, hopefully leads to change.

"Salgado has his photography foot in several circles, the art print world as well as photojournalism and documentary," says Pogue. "Russell Lee would show every aspect and let the body of work explain it. It wasn't based on an individual image. Salgado does both; each image is riveting, as well as the whole."

Salgado's prints are extraordinary. Normally, photographers strive to create a tonal range, to have just a bit of black on one end of the spectrum and a tad of white on the opposite, with a myriad of rich gray midtones in between – the equivalent to a composer's use of half, quarter, eighth, and sixteenth notes. In most cases, Salgado does the opposite, restricting the dynamic range of the print. He pushes the shadowy areas to be void of light, almost punk. By limiting the viewpoint, he creates a less-is-more event and therefore makes you look deeper. The prints almost seem to be illuminated from the inside, an effect accomplished through selective bleaching and edge burn, a technique in which the perimeter of the frame is printed slightly darker so your eye is forced to the middle.

"The print size is so manageable, especially in this age of large digital prints. They invite you to walk up and view them in a more personal way," Davis says. "The quality of the black-and-white prints is extraordinary. The people in Salgado's photographs are living under the most horrible conditions and circumstances. By making a beautiful image, he is honoring them the best way he can, just as Lange did with Migrant Mother."

The decision by Salgado to exhibit and sell his work through art galleries and museums has been controversial, as some view this as the commodification of others' suffering. "Salgado is one of the first documentary photographers to position himself in the art world," says De Cesare. "He made it possible for large groups of people who don't have the interest or inclination to be socially or politically challenged. He made it easier for them to look because the prints are so stunningly beautiful, which is something he has also been criticized for."

Salgado is determined to enlist us all in witnessing our humanity. He bridges the geographic distance between people here and in other lands, between us and them, eventually dismantling such distinctions. "My hope is that, as individuals, as groups, as societies, we can pause and reflect the human condition. In its rawest form, individualism remains a prescription for catastrophe." Salgado the truth seeker wants us all to bear witness. His images continually remind us that the decisive moment for change is now.

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'A Cabinet of Drawings'
Harry Ransom Center through Jan. 4

By Wayne Alan Brenner
Austin Chronicle
Friday, December 19, 2008

Paint on parchment, pigment on paper, stains of the human mind impressed upon the battered, flattened flesh of plants:

We're so used to seeing copies of creations, especially in these days of Internetted everything-is-everywhere, we can forget the power of the original until the original is there in front of us, again or for the first time, in all its irreducible majesty. Majesty, yes, and one of its finest courts is UT's Harry Ransom Center, where the exhibition "A Cabinet of Drawings" is currently ruling the visual and textural spectra as rendered by some of the finest artists in history.

Here are initial studies and sketches for larger works by such giants as Pre-Raphaelites Dante Gabriel Rossetti (La Pia de Tolomei in colored chalk on paper) and Edward Burne-Jones (life-sized cartoons for stained-glass windows), theatrical and industrial designs by Norman Bel Geddes, enormous photographs by Man Ray, a Diego Rivera portrait of himself and wife Frida Kahlo and one of Jean Cocteau. Because so much of the Ransom Center's archives are predicated on things literary, there's a large section of original illustrations for printed matter: Arthur Rackham's watercolor for Edgar Allan Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum," a James Bingham illustration for one of Erle Stanley Gardner's Perry Mason mysteries, a William Blake rendition of Satan Calling Up His Legions.

Perhaps you've encountered copies of these works while rummaging used bookstores or the holdings of public libraries over the years, perhaps while surfing helter-skelter through the World Wide Web's inundation of visuals; even then, you've been missing out. The nuances of shades, the faintest shifts of texture where fabric has been altered by its knowledge of a medium's fluid, the greater context of ground later truncated for ease of reproduction: All of these are vibrantly present to stimulate the eyes and their detail-hungry brain. The effect is, cumulatively, stunning.

More examples you want before venturing on-campus to the treasures waiting behind the HRC's exterior walls of etched glass? OK: Doodles by Samuel Beckett in the notebook in which he wrote Watt. The original drawings of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. A meticulous Al Hirschfeld caricature of Ernest Hemingway reading Joyce's Ulysses.

Stand amid these artifacts and all the others, and feel the waves of personal industry, of yellow-edged and timeworn actuality marking your own place in the chronicles of artistic achievement. It's a feeling you can't get via reproductions; it's an experience that's beyond the reach of the most killer of apps; it's what the Ransom Center does so very well in the realm of literature and the printed visual arts, in documenting the foundations on which even the most virtual of expressions must be built.

Meatspace. Let them show you it.

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Austin Museum of Art Receives Donation
in Honor of Mary McIntyre Malott

The Austin Museum of Art is pleased to announce a $50,000 gift in honor of Mary McIntyre Malott, an influential local artist and former trustee. The gift comes from her daughters Barbara McIntyre, Carolyn White, and Sylvia McIntyre-Crook. A new painting studio will be dedicated in honor of this gift.

The dedication of the painting studio is a fitting commemoration for a woman who in the 1960s helped shape and perpetuate what was then known as Laguna Gloria Art Museum, serving as a volunteer director, trustee, docent, art teacher and annual exhibitor at Fiesta. In her daughters' words, "Mary returns in spirit to continue her support for local Austin art in the form of a memorial dedication of the new painting studio at AMOA-Laguna Gloria in her honor."

In April of 2008, the Austin Museum of Art-Laguna Gloria successfully expanded its facilities, including two new state-of-the-art studios and a Gatehouse Visitors Center that features an Art School Gallery, Café Laguna, and Museum Store.

Malotts commitment to the arts was evident throughout her lifetime. She grew up as an artist, attended art school and won several accolades for her work. Through her many years in Austin from 1957 to 1982, Malott continued as a professional artist as she influenced the development of art in Austin. In addition to her devotion of time and expertise to Laguna Gloria in the mid '60s, she taught art classes at Huston-Tillotson College and Concordia University.

By 1991, signs of Malott's Alzheimer's were emerging, yet she continued her work. She stopped painting by 1994. Malott's daughter Carolyn would visit weekly with her own young daughters, Audrey and Eve. In 1995, when the girls were drawing with Craypas, Malott joined in and drew a portrait of granddaughter Eve. With the encouragement of her family, Malott did a series of 20 portraits in Craypas over a six month period. This is a poignant and revealing series that shows her abilities to perceive, despite her declining aptitude. Malott died of Alzheimer's disease on January 21, 2008.

For more information about Malott, please visit www.amoa.org/marymalott.

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